TITLE:		FANCY FOREPLAY
AUTHOR:	Pebbles
RATING:	Robbie *made* me rate this NC-17; no bad language, 
tho.  Still say it ain't smut. 
ARCHIVE:	Sure, you can.  But drop me a line, first, please and 
let me know where.
DISCLAIMER:	They belong to Chris.  Dang it.
SPOILERS:	Maybe a bitty for Rain King.  You don't even need to 
read the other Fancies for this one.
CATEGORY:	MSR, Improv challenge for Scullyfic
THANKS TO:	Brandon, Brynna, Ropo, Shannon  - the usual crew
FEEDBACK:	Make my toes curl at pebblesb@earthlink.net


Fancy Foreplay
By Pebbles


The insistent ringing of the phone lures me from pleasant dreams of 
autumn leaves and picnic tables, which I am reluctant to leave.  
Groaning, I fling out a hand and grope for the receiver, bringing it to 
my ear and managing a sleepy "'lo?"

"Dana, honey?  It's Mom."

Of course it's Mom, I think, coming instantly awake.  Nobody in the 
world says "Dana, honey?" quite like she does.  Especially when she is 
about to deliver bad news.  She sounds very much like she did when 
she called in the wee hours of the morning nearly six years ago to tell 
me that my father had died.   She isn't crying, but I have the distinct 
impression that she's about to tell me something I don't want to hear, 
and I feel myself tense in anticipation.

"What is it, Mom?" 

"I don't mean to worry you," she continues, "but I have to catch a plane 
to Jacksonville and I just wanted to let you know where I'll be."

I glance at the clock, a crimson 11:20 that illuminates the darkened 
room.  "Why are you leaving town at this hour, Mom?  Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, honey," she assures me, even though it's obvious that she is 
not.  For once I am on the receiving end of that line and I suddenly feel 
a twinge of empathy for Mulder.  "It's your Aunt Olive.  She's been 
admitted to the hospital and I'm flying down there tonight to see after 
her.  I promised your father a long time ago that I would always watch 
out for her if anything happened to him."

Her voice catches a little at the reference and my heart clenches with 
renewed realization that she misses him even more than I do. 

"What's wrong with her, Mom?"  Aunt Olive is about as Irish as they 
come, full of piss and vinegar, as Ahab used to say.  She had been his 
favorite aunt as a child, and mine, as well.  
"She's suffered a major stroke, Dana," Mom's voice is quivering again.  
"They don't expect her to make it, honey.  And I can't let her die alone.  
I just can't."

"Oh, Mom," I sigh, my heart aching for her, and at the thought that I 
may never again know the quiet joy of listening to Aunt Olive spin one 
of her tales.  "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, no, honey.   I don't expect there's anything you can do.  She's 
lapsed into a coma.  So, even if you were there, I doubt she would be 
aware of it."

I'm reminded of the fallacy of that notion by the watery memory of 
Mulder at my own bedside, when I was hovering between life and 
death and no one expected me to make it; when even Mulder wasn't 
sure that I would.   I knew that he was there, the whole time, despite my 
comatose state.  I always have known when he's near.  I always will.  
We're in tune that way.

"I've got a taxi on the way here now to take me to Dulles."  Mom is 
going on without me.  "I'll call you from Jacksonville, after I get 
checked into my room and after I've been able to see your aunt.   I'll be 
staying at the Rivergate, where we stayed the last time we went to see 
her.  Do you remember?"

I nod, as if she can see me across the miles from her home to mine.  
"Yes, I remember," I tell her.  "Give Aunt Olive my love when you see 
her, Mom.  She'll hear you.  I know she'll be listening.   And call me 
tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay, honey," she promises.  "I love you."

"Love you, too," I remind her.  "Be careful."

"I will, sweetie," she assures me.  "Give Fox my love."

And she clicks off the line.

I stare at the receiver a minute, smiling at Mom's zinger, tickled that 
she knows, really.  And that she accepts.

"Scully?" I hear Mulder mumble from behind me.  "You okay?"

I put the receiver down and turn back to him, nestling into the crook of 
his shoulder, as his arm tightens around me.

"I'm okay," I murmur.  Not 'fine'; 'okay.'  I must be making progress.  
"I'm just a little sad, that's all."

I feel his hand brush the hair away from my forehead and his lips 
planting a kiss there as he brings his other arm up and around me, 
completely enfolding me in his warm embrace.

"You never told me about your Aunt Olive," he says into the silence.  
"Just that one cryptic mention of her when we were out in Kroner." 

I smile softly to myself, thinking of my dear old aunt who is just a little 
loopy.  Thinking how I'm going to miss her.  Thinking how good it 
would feel to remember her with the man who knows my heart, and 
how glad I am that he is here with me to share the memories that I now 
let flow over me like rainwater. 

When I was a little girl, I would spend hours at her knee, enraptured by 
passages from Jane Austen novels, which she was forever reading to 
me.  I thought the characters were silly, really, but I loved Aunt Olive 
and it made her happy to have me there.  So I listened patiently to her 
sweetly lilting Irish voice, telling stories of women with no ambition 
and even less sense, characters for whom I could feel no empathy.

Aunt Olive comes from an age long-passed, and she is forever 
entrenched in its memory, and of similar fantasies from a by-gone era.  
My family considers her eccentric and we have often feared that she 
would one day slip too far into her little fantasy world and never again 
emerge. It seems that that day may have finally come.

"She was my father's favorite aunt, and mine," I tell Mulder.  "She lived 
in a world all her own, one inhabited by 19th century ladies and gents.  
Aunt Olive believed she was guided by the spirits of those who had 
gone before her, and was forever weaving tales about them.  She's the 
one who taught me all that ancient Celtic legend and lore you like to 
hear so much."

I feel Mulder's smile against my forehead, where his lips have come to 
rest as he listens to me talk.  "She sounds wonderful," he says softly.  
I'm sometimes forcefully reminded that Mulder had grown up with 
none of this family closeness, and how alien it must seem to him, 
though he secretly wants it so badly for himself.

"She is," I agree.  "She was a debutante in the '20s and went to all of 
these parties along the southeastern coast.  She knew the Carnegies 
who owned the majority of Cumberland Island, actually was a very 
close friend of one of the daughters.   Oh, she told the most romantic 
stories to delight a 12-year old girl you can ever imagine."

Mulder's chest vibrates with his chuckle.  "Don't go there, Scully," he 
warns me.  "Trust me."

I poke him in the ribs.  "Ass!" I chide.  He settles and we lie quietly for 
several moments, comfortable in our silence, while I indulge in my trip 
down memory lane.

"In my freshman year in college, when role playing games had become 
all the rage, Aunt Olive sent me a 'Pride and Prejudice' role playing 
game," I recall, smiling at the memory.  "At first everyone groaned 
about it, but it turned out to be a rousing success in the dorm during one 
long, wet and otherwise dreary weekend."

"Oh, schoolgirl Scully," he murmurs.  "You trying to turn me on, 
baby?"
 
I cuff him gently on the chin, not willing for the moment to leave my 
precious memories.  

"She used to tell the most wonderful ghost stories, Mulder," I go on.  
"Tales that had been handed down generation by generation, from the 
people who lived along the coast and knew its legends like the back of 
their hand."

I can practically feel his ears perking up at my words, the gears already 
shifting into place in the steel trap of his mind.  "Ghost stories?  What 
kind of ghost stories?"

"Stories of spirits of shipwrecked sailors and lost lovers roaming lonely 
beaches."  I have him now.  I snuggle contentedly in his arms and 
launch into a legend.

"There was the one about the Gray Man, a wealthy planter who lived 
on the Island in the '20s, who was on his way to propose marriage to 
the daughter of a neighbor and was thrown from his horse into 
quicksand and killed.  Two days later, his heartbroken lady love was 
walking alone on the beach when she saw a gray figure.  When she 
approached it, she recognized the figure as her lover, but he 
disappeared as soon as she reached him.

 "That night she had a terrible dream about being caught in a storm at 
sea.  The next day she and her family left for the mainland and 
narrowly missed a hurricane that subsequently ravaged the Island.  
Since then, according to Aunt Olive, the Gray Man has appeared 
sporadically, but always just before the Island is struck by a major 
storm, most recently in 1989 just before Hurricane Hugo."

"Interesting story, Scully," Mulder murmurs into my hair, smoothing it 
back so that he can place light little kisses on my temple and across my 
forehead.  "Rather strange to be hearing something like that from you.  
Does this mean that, all these years, you've been a closet ghostbuster?"

"I said I loved to hear the stories, Mulder," I remind him.  "I didn't say 
that I believed them.  Aunt Olive liked to tell them and I enjoyed 
listening to them, enjoyed just being in her company.  She was like all 
of my favorite library books combined into one sweet little old lady.  
All she had to do was open her mouth and these wonderful, fanciful 
stories would come pouring out, taking me places I'd never have a 
chance to see myself."

We fall quiet again, each lost in our own thoughts until finally Mulder 
breaks the silence.  "I'm sorry about your Aunt Olive, Scully," he says 
softly, his lips against my hair.  "Do you want to go to her?  We could, 
if you want to."

I shake my head against his chest, sighing.  "No, I'd rather remember 
her the way she was the last time I saw her; all dressed up for the 
annual Hallowe'en Ball at the Greyfield Inn on Cumberland Island."  I 
smile at the memory of Aunt Olive in her finery, all dolled up for her 
role as a 19th century matron.  "Last year Mom and I flew down there 
to see her, and ended up being left on our own to pass out candy while 
Aunt Olive tended to her very busy social schedule."

"Beats the hell out of *my* Hallowe'en last year," Mulder snorts.  
"Spending all night chasing three-foot tall Frankenstein pranksters 
away from my building was not my idea of a good time."

"You could have gone to the Gunmen's party," I remind him.  "We 
weren't in the middle of anything pressing.  Why didn't you?"

"Kersh was riding my ass, you were out of town.  And I just really 
didn't want to go without you.  We're a team, remember?"

I kiss his chest where my lips rest against his skin, my fingers toying 
with the soft hair that tickles my nose.  "Yes, we are," I agree.  After a 
long and rocky road these last months, we are finally once again in 
tandem.

He tightens his arms in a gentle squeeze of acknowledgment before 
launching into memories of his own.  "Besides," he says, "no costume 
we could come up with could ever top the costume we had the year 
before anyway, when we won for most original.  Better to go out on 
top, I say."

I have the sudden vivid recollection of going to the Gunmen's 
Hallowe'en party two years ago, reluctant and there only under extreme 
duress, dressed in the costume Mulder had procured for us right after he 
conned me into going with him.  We were to be the Tin Woodsman and 
Woodswoman, something I thought would be reasonably safe when 
Mulder had called me from the costume shop.

To my horror, the costumes consisted of nothing but snugly fitting gray 
body suits that left nothing to the imagination and silver funnels that 
were strategically attached with velcro to the sex-defining parts of the 
body.  I nearly swallowed my tongue at the thought of walking into the 
Gunmen's lair dressed like that.  But then I imagined Mulder walking 
around all night in that get up and suddenly the thought didn't seem half 
bad.  At any rate, there was no time to find a suitable substitute, so I 
had donned the offending garment and endured the evening with a grin-
and-bear it attitude.  And, every time I looked at my partner, I couldn't 
keep myself from grinning.  

The night ended up being more fun that I would have ever imagined 
and, in fact, brought me closer to the Gunmen in the way that you're 
more connected with someone after having been around them with their 
hair down. Best of all, perhaps, was Langly, who came dressed in a 
hospital gown whose ties kept coming apart
in back, only to reveal the most garish pair of boxers I've ever seen.

"That was a fun night," I agree.  "A far cry from the next Hallowe'en."

"At least you got out of the city last year, Scully," he reminds me.  
"And the southeastern coast is nice this time of year.  Come to think of 
it, that might not be a bad place for us to slip away to."

"In our dreams, Mulder," I tell him, just a touch of sadness in my voice.  
"Our lives don't allow for flights of fancy, remember?"

He places a gentle kiss on my forehead.  "Well, maybe we should start 
allowing for the occasional flight," he murmurs against my skin.   "I've 
never made love to you on a haunted island before.  I'll bet it's a 
spiritual experience."

I lift my head so that I can reach his mouth with mine and press a soft 
kiss there.  "It's always a spiritual experience with you," I remind him.  
His eyes twinkle in the faint light from the red numbers on the clock.

His hands begin to caress me where they hold me against him and as he 
pulls me closer his erection becomes apparent.  I still thrill that he can 
get so aroused so quickly, and over something as simple as a kiss.

"Hey, Scully, do you remember dancing at the party?" he asks me as 
the fingers of his left hand work their way up to my breast and start to 
play lightly with the nipple.  His other hand has moved to my hip and is 
slowly working my panties over my bottom.  I rock my pelvis for him 
to remove them completely and feel them slide down my legs to my 
knees, where I hook them with my toes and peel them the rest of the 
way off.

My hand moves through the hair at his chest and across his hard, flat 
stomach until I am able to take him in my hand.  "I have a dim memory 
of doing the Hokey Pokey at some point," I admit, slowly moving my 
hand up and down his length, teasing the head with my thumb.

Mulder's breathing is coming faster as I stroke him, and he reaches 
between us to cup his hand over my mons.  His fingers work their way 
down into the damp curls to find my opening and I gasp as he plunges 
one long finger deep inside me.

"You put your finger in," he chants against my cheek while he teases 
me with his finger play.  "You put your finger out, you put your finger 
in, and you shake it all about."

This last action elicits a throaty moan and I surrender to the sensations 
he's stirring.   I ride them for a few moments before turning the tables 
on him and rolling him over onto his back.  Lying over him, my hands 
resting on his chest, my chin on top of them, I raise innocent eyes to his 
fiery hazel ones and issue a challenge.  "Why, Mulder," I purr.  "Do 
you want to pokey my hokey?"

He chuckles as he lifts me away from his body just enough to slip 
inside me, then slowly eases me back down on him until he fills me to 
the brim.

"That's what it's all about," he sighs as I begin to rock on top of him, 
slowly at first, progressing to a swirl of the hips every few strokes.  He 
brings both hands to my breasts and cups them, his thumbs dancing 
across their peaks as I ride him.  He lifts his head to take a nipple into 
his mouth and the movement causes him to shift within me, bringing 
forth yet another moan from some animalistic part of me that I rarely 
let out.

Slowly he suckles me, one breast and then the other, over and over 
again, while I hook my legs around his hips and hang onto his 
shoulders for dear life and allow my body to take over the wild ride.  I 
am close, so close, and Mulder somehow knows it, removing his mouth 
from my breast to turn his assault on my lips.  He kisses me with a hard 
fury that reminds me of the time we made love by the campfire, when 
we were both seemingly possessed by the wild spirits of the night.

He bucks beneath me, and I dance on top of him until I am suddenly 
shuddering with the thrill of his release and mine, and he groans from 
deep in his throat, into my mouth, his arms clasping me tightly against 
him.  The next thing I know the world has exploded and all the colors 
of the rainbow are pouring down upon us, drenching us in shared 
ecstasy. 

This is heaven.  This is spiritual.  This is the elemental Scully and 
Mulder, down to the bones cohesion.

Eventually it is too much, and I have to fall over him and allow him to 
slip out of me, only to be caught up in his arms as he turns us onto our 
sides and spoons himself behind me.  We lie quietly, allowing our 
breathing to return to normal, enjoying the bliss of afterglow, the joy of 
communion.

I start to drift again as sleep beckons, and I find myself caught in 
fanciful scenes of making love to Mulder beneath the moss-draped 
branches of centuries-old live water oaks.  I hear the distant crashing of 
waves against the shore, the roar of the sea as it calls to me.

I think hazily of my great aunt and wish her Godspeed on her journey 
to whatever lies ahead.  And just before I drift off to sleep I say a 
prayer of thanks for the blessing that was Aunt Olive, and for the 
special place she holds in my heart, for the timeless images she has 
embedded in my mind.

And somehow, deep down, I know that I haven't seen the last of her. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NOTES:  Okay, okay, so this isn't a complete story - think of it as a 
forward to the next Fancy, because the elements I was given gave me a 
perfect lead-in for that piece.   So if anyone actually *does* want to 
make love to the Big MD beneath the moss draped branches of ancient 
live water oaks, not to mention exploring ghostly gatherings at a 
haunted island mansion, get thee to Fancy Haunts.  And thanks for 
reading!  

Elements are:

M&S at a costume party - extra points if they're wearing matching 
costumes
A hospital gown
A Pride and Prejudice role playing game
A three foot tall Frankenstein running amok in DC and
The Hokey Pokey - (that's what it's all about!).

Thanks for the fun, guys and gals!