SETTING:           Season Six, after the events of Milagro but before 
The Unnatural
SPOILERS:	Milagro
CATEGORY:      MSR, Angst
SUMMARY:	Into the Woods With Mulder and Scully, or How to 
Exorcise a Demon on a Full Moon
RATING:             NC-17.  Under 18: beyond this point, there be 
dragons.  Don't go there.   Seriously.
KUDOS:	To Ropo, Lena, Brandon and Shannon O.:  the best of 
the best.  Period.
ARCHIVE:          Sure, but please tell me where so I can make sure my 
mother never visits.
DISCLAIMER:   CC, Fox and 1013 own 'em, yadda, yadda, yadda. But 
I keep 'em satisfied.
NOTE:		And before someone emails me saying that I spelled 
Beltane wrong and it should be "Beltaine", all of my books bounce 
between the two.  So we shall accept the spelling as it appears.  Right?
FEEDBACK:	Forwarded to Pebbles from pebblesb@earthlink.net.  
Please make the woman smile!



Tickled Fancy
by Pebbles


Every time I go into the woods with Mulder bad things happen.  
Sometimes we go willingly into the forest in search of trouble that is 
already there; often it closes in on us once we enter unfamiliar territory.  
Small wonder I feel nothing but trepidation when Mulder says he wants 
to take me to the woods.  For a little rest and relaxation.

"C'mon, Scully," he urges, nudging my foot with his.  It is the middle 
of the night and we are sipping at our Tension Tamer tea, thoughtfully 
prepared by the scruffy man playing footsie with me under my kitchen 
table.  He is here because he has adamantly refused to leave me alone 
for more than ten minutes since the Phillip Padgett ordeal.  I haven't 
pressed the issue because I'm not quite ready for him to go. 

My couch is beginning to show the permanent imprint of his long, lean 
body from so many consecutive nights of his lying there, guarding my 
sleep in silent sentry while I refused him my bed, sick with revulsion at 
what had nearly happened to me.

Several times those first few nights, and again tonight, I experienced 
vivid flashbacks of Padgett and the way he manipulated me in his sick 
fantasy.  I would struggle to wakefulness in a cold sweat, gasping and 
clutching the silk pajamas over my heart, protecting myself from the 
hands of a madman's ghost.  Every single time I awoke in this state 
Mulder was there in an instant, touching my cheek to make sure I knew 
it was him before silently enfolding me in his arms, where I would 
quake and quiver against him until the nightmare faded.

More often than not he remained in my bed, wrapping himself around 
me like a cloak and making me feel so safe that I knew the dragons of 
my dreams would not dare to venture forth with a guardian such as he 
to protect me.

In the week and a half since the incident the memories have been 
reluctant to release me.  They invade the little bit of sleep I am getting, 
leaving me physically drained and emotionally exhausted.  Tonight I 
was driven from my bed once again, terrified and in full flight mode, 
relentlessly pursued by the demon of my dreams.  Mulder, blissfully 
channel surfing on my couch, sensed my presence in the doorway and 
turned toward me.  One look at my face told him what was amiss and 
he came to me immediately, wrapping his arms around me as I threw 
myself against him, seeking deliverance from evil in the heaven of his 
embrace.

My face pressed against his chest, so warm and solid and infinitely 
soothing, his arms tight around my back, he had comforted me in just 
this way for night after night after night.  He cradled me against his 
body and took unto himself all of the little pieces into which I had 
broken and just held me, allowing me time to put myself back together 
and draw sustenance from the strength of his love for me.  He is good 
that way, always giving me room to heal myself if it can be done.  And 
when it can't, he is there to help me along.  Ever my knight, ever my 
hero.

I used to resent that in him.  But after six years of saving and being 
saved, I have come to appreciate the importance of that aspect of our 
relationship.  We depend on each other to provide whatever it is that 
the other one lacks.  And we are, and always will be, there for each 
other.  No matter what.

Wrapped in his arms a little while ago, I eventually calmed to a point 
where I could draw steady breaths, gentled by the feel of his hands 
rubbing lightly against my back, softly caressing my shoulders.  I felt 
his lips in my hair at the top of my head and I snuggled closer, 
luxuriating in the peace that came upon me while being held by him.

Gently he eased me around to his side and tucked me into his shoulder, 
leading me into the kitchen where he settled me into a chair and put the 
kettle on to boil.  It was at this point that he announced his proposition 
for getting me out of the city, away from unpleasant memories.  We are 
sitting here now fantasizing about what we would do if we had no 
boundaries and no need to report to work for an entire week.

My answer is quick and tidy:  sleep.  Mulder, being Mulder, wants to 
do something more adventurous.  He wants us to go hiking.   On the 
Appalachian Trail.  In the wilderness.

"Come on, Scully," he wheedles.  "God knows we've got the vacation 
time coming.  Use it or lose it, remember?"  The brows go up and the 
smile comes out full force.  "It'll be a nice little trip to the forest."

I give him the You Can't be Serious Look, setting my cup on the table 
with a small thump.  "Mulder, the last time I heard that line we were 
very nearly cocooned."

He has the grace to look abashed at the memory, ducking his head to 
hide his chagrin.  But then he looks back up at me, through those 
lashes, with those eyes, and that damned puppy dog look.

And I know that my fate is sealed.

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

So, two days later, here we are in the woods.  Again.

I am not happy.  I don't like to hike, period.  I certainly don't like to 
hike carrying anything larger than a sun visor.  And I especially don't 
like to hike with a fully-loaded pack on my back, into a wilderness 
area, beside the quintessential Indian Guide, who looks as if he could 
walk from sunup to sunset carrying a sixty pound pack and never break 
a sweat.  Which is probably just what he intends to do, damn him.

I have agreed to hike a partial leg of the Appalachian Trail with him.  
To be quite honest, I blanked out the names just after Mulder 
announced the distance between Point Whatever-It's-Called and Point 
Really Far Away, a distance which we are now going to hike, with 
packs heavily laden.  I cannot believe I have agreed to go along with 
him on this one.  How in the *hell* does he talk me into these things?

I have no choice but to follow the lure of my partner's fine-toned butt as 
he hits the trail, lithe and lean in jeans and hiking boots, moving 
effortlessly and surely, as if he owns the forest.  I have a sudden sweet 
vision of the boy he might once have been, polished and proud in his 
Indian Guide uniform, long-legged and wiry and bursting with the need 
to know everything there is to know.  Before his sister's abduction, and 
the self-destruction of his family.  My heart aches anew for the man, 
and for the boy, upon whom life dealt such a blow so early on.

He turns to look at me over his shoulder and the light in his eyes and 
the smile on his face are enough to lift my mood, no matter the distance 
I am being asked to hike.  I am with him, he is with me, and, more 
important, we are *together*.  And we are solving no mysteries on this 
trip, only searching for our own little bit of peace and quiet in an often 
turbulent world.  Mulder has promised me a little R&R.  Somehow I 
can't help thinking that his idea of Rest & Relaxation and mine are 
likely to be polar opposites.

As we head into the woods on this beautiful late April morning, I have 
to admit that despite my dread of the hike to come, the scenery out here 
is spectacular.  The air is filled with the joyous chirping of myriad 
birds.  The land is painted with scarlet splashes of wild azaleas and 
delicate mountain laurel, with brilliant fuchsia rhododendron and bright 
orange tiger lilies, cascading plumes of purple and white wisteria 
seeming to drip from every branch of every tree.  As we hike in 
comfortable silence I am lulled into a peaceful state by the quiet beauty 
of the forest, and the majesty of nature in her springtime glory.

We reach the top of a small ridge and pause to admire the endless vista 
of mountains spread before us in a vast panorama.  I see wave upon 
wave of gentle slopes and craggy peaks, bursting with new life in every 
shade of green in the spectrum.  Patches of clouds linger in the valleys 
in stark contrast to the deep and brilliant blue of the skies above the 
showcase.

I catch my breath at the grandeur of the scene, and stand frozen in 
wonder at the perfection of God's handiwork.  And as I feast my eyes 
on this masterpiece, that small part of me that has been cowering inside 
reawakens with the memory of something positive and good, 
something I have been chastising myself for wanting, but which I have 
proven myself hopelessly inept at repelling.

I look up at Mulder to find him watching me, that little half-smile on 
his face, his eyes just turning up at the corners.  I can feel myself blush.  
"What?" I ask, stifling a nervous, and very uncharacteristic, giggle.

"Your eyes," he says, a smile in his voice.  "Do you know that the sky 
today is the exact same shade of blue as your eyes?"

From anyone else the words would have been a cheesy pick-up line, but 
somehow Mulder's eyes convey his loopy sincerity and utter 
believability.  I have no response to this.  I simply duck my head with a 
shyness I haven't felt around him -- or any man -- in a long while now.

I feel his fingers beneath my chin and I do not resist when he tips my 
face up to his.  I meet his eyes willingly, swallowing whole the look in 
the mossy green ones staring back at me.   *I'm here*, they are saying.  
*I know*, I am trying to say with mine.
 
He leans in as if to kiss my mouth but hesitates halfway there, opting to 
brush his lips lightly against my forehead instead.  I am saddened at 
that hesitation, there because of my own.  He has been so wonderful to 
me these last few weeks, giving of himself as never before.  And I have 
taken every bit of support he has offered, greedily feeding on it in the 
wee hours of the morning, when my dreams have brought him to my 
side, then pushing him away in the cold light of day, embarrassed and 
unsure of myself. 

Now he has brought me to this beautiful place, and is even attempting a 
Sweet Nothing, and all I can do is silently repel him with my 
skittishness.  I don't know why I do this, but I hate it.   And I don't want 
to push him away anymore.

I reach my hand to his face and cup his cheek, stroking his lower lip 
gently with my thumb.  "Thank you, Mulder," I say softly, and smile at 
his quizzical expression.

"What for, G-woman?"  My smile widens.  He hasn't called me that in 
ages.  

"For holding me when I fall apart; and for keeping it to yourself.  For 
giving me the room to put myself back together again, but not being far 
enough away so that I have to wait for you to reach me.  For being so 
patient with me.  For not pushing."

He turns his head until his lips connect with my hand and slowly 
nuzzles his way into my palm.  His mouth is warm and moist and soft 
and sensual and sends a barrage of tiny shocks through my hand, up my 
arm and down, directly into my nether regions.  I remember the mouth, 
too.  Quite well, actually.  Not to mention all the lovely things he can 
do with it.

"Thanks for coming to the woods with me, Scully," he whispers against 
my skin.

I rise on tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the cheek, lingering a 
moment longer than necessary so that I may relish the heady scent of 
Eau de Mulder on a Warm Day.

"You're welcome," I say politely.  "I think."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 
We make camp on top of a ridge that overlooks a valley to our east, in a 
clearing surrounded by hemlock pines and mountain ash.  The grove of 
trees where we have decided to stay the night is dense and cozy yet 
provides enough open space for a grand fire, which Mulder 
immediately kindles the moment the tent is pitched.  Although the 
weather was quite comfortable all through the hike up the ridge, with 
the setting sun goes the warmth of the day and I have a sinking feeling 
that the night will be chilly.

Which means both of us.  In the tent.  In sleeping bags.  Together.

I don't know why I am backing away from the thought of our being 
physically intimate again.  We had only just entered this new phase of 
our relationship a few weeks before I became the object of Phillip 
Padgett's twisted fantasy.  I soon found that the awkwardness of 
Padgett's obsession with me, coupled with my horror at what had 
ultimately resulted, had thoroughly driven all carnal thoughts from my 
mind.

It's a shame, really.  Here lately, whenever I would find myself looking 
at my partner, as I am doing now, I would unfailingly think "What a 
waste!"  I remember all too well the feeling of his hands on my body, 
the sensual play of his tongue on my hot spots, the very essence of him 
as he buried himself deep inside me, only to pull back and drive home 
again and again and again.  When I think of it now, even after all these 
weeks, I can still actually *feel* the thrill of his entry, the first time, 
back in his apartment, on the couch where I will never again be able to 
sit without remembering the activities of the night.

Well, maybe carnal thoughts have not been driven quite so thoroughly 
from my mind as I had thought.

I watch Mulder now with salacious intent, eyeing his long, lean, 
runner's legs in his faded jeans, the sleeves of his equally faded denim 
shirt rolled up to reveal the muscular forearms that have always been 
my private pleasure to observe in action.  Like now, as he arranges logs 
in the fire pit, I enjoy watching the muscles beneath the skin bunch and 
relax with the movement of his arms.  The hair on them is rich and 
golden and unbelievably soft.

Oh, yes, I remember that, too.  How soft his hair is, everywhere, 
dusting over his body lightly and lovingly, thicker in some spots than 
others, coarser here than there. The evening breeze ruffles the soft 
brown hair on his head as he bends to his task and in the setting sun his 
skin is burnished to near bronze.

Good God, he is beautiful.  It almost hurts to look at him, he is so 
beautiful.  And he is mine.  If I will let him be.

He looks up suddenly and finds me studying him, winks in that 
endearingly teasing manner he adopted with me the first year we 
worked together.  "So what's the word, Scully?" he asks casually, 
cocking his head as he looks up at the sky.  "Think it'll rain sleeping 
bags tonight?"

I can't hide my smile at his audacity.  He knows exactly what he is 
doing to me, posing like that, all Manly Man And You Like It, Too.  "It 
might," I murmur and am rewarded with his full-of-himself grin.  I'm 
not altogether sure if I'm ready for anything more than the luxury of 
getting my hands on him, but get my hands on him I must.  I want to 
touch him and stroke his hair and his face and all his other parts, in the 
way I have learned will make him moan my name in that sexy baritone 
that still sends chills up my spine.

He meets my eyes knowingly and I have the sudden, vivid visual image 
of the two of us, making love outdoors, here, on the ground, before the 
fire, with the moon and stars above us - and no demons anywhere in 
sight.

Suddenly I feel much, much better about this trip to the woods.

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

"Hey, Scully, do you know what day it is?"  Mulder's voice reaches me 
from across the stream.  He spotted a mother lode of deadwood on the 
other side a few minutes ago and crossed to retrieve it while I rinse the 
aluminum camp plates on which we ate our dinner.  Nothing like 
freeze-dried stroganoff in the deep woods, helped along by a piece of 
whole wheat pita bread and several healthy swigs of water from the 
flask at my hip.  I certainly won't be gaining any weight on this trip.

"No, Mulder," I answer automatically, not really concentrating on his 
question because I am looking all around me in the encroaching 
darkness, certain my eyes will light upon something staring back at me 
before I finish my task.  "What day is it?"

"April 30th," he answers readily.  "May Eve."

I dip the plates in the cool water, my fingers finding a handful of sand 
in the stream bed and scrubbing each plate in turn.  "And?"  When he 
doesn't answer right away I look up to find him making his way back 
toward me, burdened with an armful of kindling.

He stone hops across the stream and waits as I rinse the plates a final 
time.  I stand up and sling the excess water from them.  My task 
finished, I look back up only to find a mocking Mulder watching me, 
an evil glint in his eye.

"What?" I say with a twinge of exasperation.

"You don't know what that date means?" he asks as we begin the short 
walk back to our camp.

"Should I, Mulder?"  I hurry past him to the massive oak that skirts the 
camp where we have fixed a backpack with ropes slung over one of the 
lower branches.  Quickly storing the plates in the pouch and locking all 
the zippers, I pull on the rope and the pack ascends into the wild dark 
yonder.   I secure the rope around the base of the tree and return to 
Mulder, who has stoked the fire to his satisfaction and is now kneeling 
to spread one of the sleeping bags on the ground.

"Scully," he scoffs, "anybody with as much obviously Celtic blood as 
you have should know the ancient legends, how her ancestors 
celebrated the changing of the season, and the reawakening of the 
land."

I suppress a smile at what I know and he does not.  Cocky bastard, I 
think.  I'll show you.  I approach him by the fireside.  He pats the 
sleeping bag invitingly.  "C'mon, Scully," he coaxes, on his knees at 
one end of the sleeping bag.  "Come on over here and let me tell you a 
story."

I feel my brow go up.  "Story, Mulder?" I say.  "What about?"

"About the origin of the Maypole and Beltane rites and the renewal of 
the land through an appreciation by its people."   Again he pats the 
space beside him.

I make a big show of appearing to consider his offer, although secretly 
thinking how nice it would be to take him up on it.  I want very much 
to sit before the fire with him, watching it die down to glowing embers 
while we talk of things dark and mysterious and perhaps a little 
revealing.   After a respectable interval, I move to the fireside and 
lower myself to the sleeping bag opposite his spot, demurely folding 
my legs and tucking them to the side.  "Beltane?" I ask innocently, as if 
I'd never heard the word before.
 
"Beltane," he nods and I see that spark in his eyes that says that 
Professor Mulder is going to launch into a lesson.  "Also known as May 
Eve."  He knee-walks over to my side of the sleeping bag and slips in 
behind me, resting his long legs on either side of mine.  His arms 
encircle me and pull me into the shelter of his solid strength and I 
willingly surrender to the lure of intimate contact with his body.  I 
settle back against him with a sigh, hug his arms a little tighter across 
my middle, and allow myself the luxury of leaning into the comfortable 
pillow of his chest, supremely content.  "Did you ever learn anything 
about Beltane, Scully?"

"I grew up in Catholic school, Mulder," I remind him.  "The nuns 
weren't too keen on teaching the young ladies all about the history of 
ancient pagan fire festivals which encourage sexual romps in the forest 
and fornication in the fields to ensure a bountiful harvest."

I feel a suspicious twitch behind me, in the vicinity of my tailbone, see 
him jerk in surprise at my words, and from the corner of my eye I can 
see him peering around at me.  Good; I've managed to shock him.

"Sexual romps, huh?" he asks in his dangerous voice, the one that drips 
with intent to test me and give me a run for my money.  I don't need to 
see his face to know that he is pleased at what I have revealed.   "Well, 
then, tell me, Dr. Scully," he continues, "just exactly what is the 
purpose of this yearly celebration?"

I suppress a smile, knowing I have him but wanting to drag it out as 
long as possible.  "Well, Mulder," I begin.  "Beltane - or May Eve, as 
you called it - is a complex folk festival, associated with both life and 
death and the changing of the seasons.  Traditionally a celebration 
marking the start of the light half of the year, it was a time of profound 
significance for the people who worked the land.  The return of the 
light meant a return of fertility for their mother the Earth, and they 
celebrated accordingly."

"Do tell," he urges in my ear.  "I'm all a-tingle."

I stifle a grin.  Ass.  Taking a deep breath, I continue my oral 
dissertation.  "In ancient times the people of the community would rise 
at midnight on May Eve and gather boughs and flowers with which to 
decorate their homes. They would observe the sunrise from a hilltop 
and later visit apple orchards, where they would bury cider and cakes to 
insure a fruitful harvest.  People would hold hands and walk the fields, 
tossing cakes into the air as they went and later burying the remains to 
enhance the proceedings."

Mulder is resting his chin on my right shoulder, apparently listening 
intently as I go on.  "Caudles - a kind of beverage consisting of warm 
ale or wine mixed with sugar, oatmeal, butter, eggs and milk - were 
prepared over fires kindled in holes in the earth, and partaken by 
everyone.  Celebratory bonfires were built.  The men of the community 
would leap through the flames, followed by the women, and finally the 
herd animals were driven through the smoking embers as an act of 
purification and protection."

I feel a distinct pressure against my back where I am lounging against 
him and I suppress another grin.  I always suspected Mulder got a hard-
on when I talked science, and especially when I surprised him and gave 
him a dose of his own medicine.  It's nice to see that I was right about 
yet another facet of his personality.
 
"Impressive," Mulder murmurs, his left cheek rubbing against my right. 
"You know quite a bit about what the folk did on May Day, Scully.  
Except that you left out the part about the Maypole."

"I haven't gotten to that yet, Mulder," I tell him.  "Give me time."  I 
wonder how much I am going to taunt him with the description of 
something so innocent in its very basic humanity yet graphically sexual 
at the same time.

"The Maypole," I finally begin, "was traditionally made of birch, the 
tree known as the Lady of the Woods. Birch is the symbol of the Earth 
Mother, representing the feminine powers of growth, healing and the 
natural world.  Her chief strength is the ability to cultivate 
unconditional love for all beings."  

"That's real nice, Scully," his voice rumbles from beside my ear and his 
breath is warm against my skin.  "But what does it *mean*?  You still 
haven't told me what exactly is the significance of the Maypole itself.  
Do you even know?" he taunts.

"Patience, Mulder," I admonish.  "I'm not finished yet."  He lapses into 
silence and I continue.  "The pole itself represented the movement of 
energy between Earth and sky, movement that resulted in the renewal 
of growth in the spring.  Herbs and tree branches were brought into the 
home as a way of concentrating healing and fertile energies."

I pause, savoring the moment, and his anticipated reaction.  The 
maypole behind me has been growing rapidly and I can feel the heat of 
his arousal through the fabric of two pair of jeans.  I am feeling feral, 
earthy and elemental, as elemental as the earth upon which we sit, as 
the air around us and the little stream which sings in the distance, as 
elemental as the fire which now heats the space we inhabit and compels 
me to boldness.

"Maypoles were erected," I say slowly, deliberately, "and danced 
around to energize the soil...the symbolic male phallic pole being 
buried snugly in the female Earth."

I hear Mulder's quick intake of breath, feel the more insistent prodding 
of his own phallic pole, and I grin with erotic intent.  "After all the 
feasting and dancing was over, young couples disappeared into the 
hills, forests and newly plowed fields to further energize the land with 
their activities."

Mulder is silent for a moment before clearing his throat and thus 
managing to croak a question.  "What activities would those be, 
Scully?"
 
"Well, Mulder," I tell him smugly.  "*You're* the expert on pagan 
rituals.  *You* figure it out."

We are silent for a few moments, lost in our thoughts, imaginings and 
individual fancies. We sit quietly by the fire, and the air around us 
fairly snaps with sexual tension, unrelieved these past two weeks.  The 
fire crackles, the creek babbles and somewhere off in the distance a 
whippoorwill sounds a lonely cry.  Finally, Mulder speaks again and 
when he does his words go straight to my heart, speaking to something 
so deeply buried I had not realized that it was there.

"Beltane marks something else, you know.  The return of vitality, of 
passion and hopes consummated."  He pauses meaningfully before 
answering the brow I have raised in silent question.  "Beltane is our 
time, Scully," he explains, kissing my cheek softly, just below my right 
ear.  *This* is our time."

I can feel the beating of his heart in a steady thump against my back 
and suddenly the hands that have rested quite contentedly on his feel 
the need to roam.  They begin a leisurely slide upward, caressing the 
forearms that I had so admired earlier in the day.  The hair on them is 
soft and furred and I want to rub my face against it, like a cat onto the 
scent of her mate.

"You know, Mulder," I say in a husky voice.  "Beltane also marks the 
coming together of the Horned God and the Lady of the Greenwood."

He laughs deep in his throat, a laugh that is cut off as I scoot my bottom 
a little more tightly against his crotch, where I can feel the heat coming 
off his now fully erect pole in waves of sensuality.  "Well, I don't know 
about the god part," he murmurs, burying his lips in the sensitive skin 
at the juncture of my neck and shoulder.  I reward him with a gasp of 
my own and I feel his smile against my skin.  "But I might be up to 
fulfilling the requirements of a horned beast."

I turn in his arms and look up at him, my heart in my eyes, my soul 
bared and my body anxious to be bared as well.  And then he goes and 
rips me to pieces with his next words.

"But what about you, Scully?" he asks, his eyes piercing, his voice a 
mere whisper.  "Are you my Goddess?" 

"I'm whatever you want me to be, Mulder," I tell him, touching his face 
gently with one hand, the back of his neck with the other.  I want to be 
closer to him, though we are now pressed mere centimeters apart.  It is 
too much, and I can't bear the distance another moment.

I pull him down to me and put my mouth to his, softly at first, then 
more daringly, pushing his lips apart with my tongue, demanding and 
receiving entrance.  I feel an immediate surge of arousal, the insistent 
earlier vision of our coupling out here by the fire coming back to 
remind me of what I shared with this man just a few short weeks ago.  
His arms are tight around me, as if he is pulling me into his body, and 
at this moment I want him to do just that.  Or, more precisely, I want to 
pull him into *mine*.

I moan with the sudden flashback of his taking me to unbelievable 
heights and the sound appears to snap the control he has maintained all 
evening.  Emitting a low growl, his body urges mine to lie back on the 
sleeping bag while his mouth lays siege to my lips.  His kiss is fierce 
and possessive and for once I don't mind being possessed, and kiss him 
back, abandoning my own control just as he has abandoned his.  His 
hands are suddenly everywhere, caressing the back of my head, 
smoothing over my hips, cupping underneath my buttocks and 
squeezing as if he were testing a melon for ripeness.

I pull my mouth away from his for a moment, gasping.  "So, Mulder, 
am I ripe?"  In answer his hand travels from my hip up my side, sliding 
sensuously along my torso until it reaches my breasts.
 
"Dunno, Scully," he tells me, his hand stroking, his erection throbbing 
against my belly.   "I haven't been to the market in a while.  And 
sometimes the signs are pretty confusing.  I may have forgotten how to 
tell."  He cups my breast then, kneading the flesh, his thumb darting in 
to trace my nipple in concentric circles, zeroing in on the peak and 
tweaking it through the thin cotton of my campshirt.

The feel of his hands through my clothes is achingly erotic.  I am 
beginning to quiver with my need for more of him.

"I have great faith in you, Mulder," I assure him.  "I'm sure it'll come 
back to you."   My head lolls back on the sleeping bag and my eyes 
drift shut as I feel his long fingers against the skin of my belly, where 
he has breached the hem of my shirt and is beginning his trek 
northward.  My breath hitches in my throat as his hand encounters my 
bra then deftly dips behind my back to unsnap the hooks and return to 
my front without missing a beat.

I feel him push the fabric up and I lift my arms and allow him to pull 
shirt and bra off together, tossing them to the side, away from the fire.  
I open my eyes to see him sitting back on his heels, gazing at me as I 
lie there, bare-chested and open to him, his eyes drinking me in as if he 
had never seen me like this before.  Perhaps he hasn't.  Not in this way.  
Not the way he is looking at me tonight.

He lifts his hands and brings them toward my breasts, moving with 
infinite slowness, and I cease breathing until they finally reach their 
destination.  He cups my breasts in his hands and lowers his head to 
bury it between them, his mouth warm and wet against my skin.  All 
the while his thumbs are doing their circular dance, arousing me as 
never before.

Oh, my God, *this* is what I nearly pushed away.  The wonder of his 
hands on my body, his mouth covering my nipples one after the other, 
his tongue darting out and around and over and above and beyond the 
realms of my imagination.  I am heated to an unbearable degree, from 
without by the fire now roaring and seeming to build even as our 
passion mounts, from within by the ferocity of my desire for my 
partner.

I want to touch him, to feel his skin beneath my fingers but he is still 
fully clothed and I cannot bear to break the action on my nipples, now 
throbbing with the need to be suckled, a need which he fulfills to the 
nth degree.  I can't believe the things this man can do with his mouth.  
He is making me whimper with need, and Scullys don't whimper.  
Except, perhaps, when they're whimpering with need. 

"Mu-Mulder," I finally breathe into the night air.  "Mulder, lose the 
shirt.  I want to touch you."

Without taking his mouth from its ministrations he reaches beneath him 
and tears at his shirt, popping the buttons all over the place, jerking it 
off his shoulders and down his arms.  He tosses it behind him with a 
flick of his arm before returning his hands to my body to continue their 
conquest.  Now that I can get my hands on him, I do, kneading his 
shoulders, stroking the hard muscles beneath the smooth skin, reveling 
in the power I feel in the man who is about to join with me here in the 
forest, beneath the full moon now rising over the treetops.

And then I remember the significance of this night in Beltane lore, how 
it was said that this night the sexual forces of the world are at their 
peak.  They would certainly get no argument from me there.

Mulder moves from my breasts to work his way down my body, 
unbuttoning my jeans and sliding them down, taking my panties along 
for the ride.  He pushes them down to my ankles and I try to kick them 
off, only to be hampered by the heavy hiking boots that still encase my 
feet.  I want to squeal with frusatration, but only a moment, for he 
immediately unties and removes my boots, casually tossing them aside, 
and repeating the action with my socks.  Finally, after an interval that 
seems eternal, he peels off my jeans and panties, dropping them to the 
ground behind him as I lie back on the sleeping bag, proudly baring 
myself to him, and to whatever future the fates hold for us.

"Yours, too," I command in a ragged whisper and he complies in a 
heartbeat, shucking his boots, socks and pants in record time, until he 
kneels naked before me.  He is on his knees, his erection standing out 
proudly from his body, rigid and regal and full of power for me, only 
for me.

His eyes glisten, sweat beads on his forehead and his breathing is 
labored as he leans over me, tracing my body with his hands.  "God, 
Scully," he whispers.  "You are so beautiful.  So very beautiful."  I look 
up into his eyes, and I can almost see myself reflected in them, lying 
there in the moonlight, with the fire painting patterns on my skin and 
my eyes as dark with desire for him as his are for me.

He bends to kiss my mouth lightly, softly, reverently.  "*You* are my 
goddess, Scully."  His lips move to the hollow of my throat.   "You are 
Dana, Moon Goddess, Patroness of rivers and water and magic and 
wisdom."  His mouth has now made its way to my chest, kissing my 
skin, just above my heart.  "Let me worship you."

I can't believe the things he is saying to me tonight.  This isn't Mulder.  
He never gets all sappy on me.  But somehow it doesn't feel sappy 
tonight.  I can't deny myself the pleasure I am receiving from the 
delicious attention he is paying me, certainly not as his mouth travels 
down the length of my torso, stopping at my navel to swirl his tongue 
in and around it.  Certainly not after his mouth touches me where I feel 
myself on fire, making me cry out with the sheer ecstasy of the 
sensation of his heat on mine.  And most assuredly not when he opens 
me with those nimble fingers and goes to work on me in earnest.

This feels so good it *must* be a sin, I think for a split second, before 
the elemental Dana takes over and reminds me that this is the very 
essence of divine blessing.  I surrender to the sweet sensations wrought 
by his tongue, by the feel of that lower lip I love so much as it joins 
with its mate and slides over my clitoris, suckling me to the point 
where I am sobbing in my need for release.  

I feel him moan against my screaming flesh and the vibration is enough 
to put me over the edge.  I fling my arms out beside me, my fingers 
clawing at the ground, eyes widening in wonder as my orgasm builds 
and builds and builds to a point where I think I will surely die from the 
sheer bliss of it all.

I look up into the star-spangled sky and scream as rockets explode in 
my body, making my hips jerk off the sleeping bag but not once jarring 
Mulder's mouth from my core.  He holds my bottom with both hands 
and steadies me, continuing to feast upon me with the insatiable 
appetite of a starving man.   Even as the echos resound in my body 
from the first orgasm, I am slammed with another, more powerful one 
and this time I moan his name over and over as I come, lost in a 
netherworld of orgasmic bliss.

Now I can feel him moving up my body and I open my eyes to see him 
hovering above me, his skin glistening in the firelight, his chest 
heaving, his mouth wet with me.

"Come here," I command, my arms drawing him to me.  "I need you in 
me, Mulder.  I need you now."

He complies in an instant, positioning himself over me and entering in 
one smooth motion.  He doesn't stop until he is nudging against my 
pubic bone, and I moan at the sheer power of his body as it merges with 
mine.  My muscles tighten around him and I bring my legs up around 
his hips as he begins to rock me, slowly at first, back and forth, back 
and forth.  I cannot believe the sensations he is arousing.  My flesh is 
resounding in waves of pleasure with every stroke, and I find that I 
can't suppress the little moans that are now coming from my throat 
continuously.

He reaches down and positions his arms to the back of my knees, 
raising my legs higher and farther apart, deepening his penetration .  I 
hang onto his shoulders, feeling the play of muscles as he moves his 
body, tightening my grip with every stroke into me, loosening it with 
every retreat.

He speaks as he pumps steadily into me, words I can barely register 
through the haze of rampant pleasure, but when I do realize it I listen 
closer and what I hear is my undoing.

"Love you, love you, love you, Scully, love you, love you, Scully, love 
you, Scully, love  you, love you, love you..."

I feel every muscle in my body draw up into a tight little ball and 
explode with the force of a thousand suns.  I am clutching and clawing 
and crying and sobbing his name over and over and this time I am sure 
I am going to die.

"...love you, love you, Scully, love you, Scully, love you, love you, 
love you, Scully, Scully,  Sculleeee!"  His body spasms, spending itself 
deep within me, as we have spent ourselves in each other for years.  I 
tighten my inner muscles and hold him right where he is, right where I 
want him to be.  Right where he belongs.

We ride the waves together, surfing joyously until we are set back on 
the beach of reality, back in our little camp, beneath the moon and the 
stars.
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fire is roaring, lighting the heated air around us, adding to the 
afterglow of our pagan romp.

Mulder's chest is plastered to my breasts, his arms still hooked behind 
my knees, and the sudden realization of the image we must present is 
shocking to my good girl upbringing.  But the primal Dana, the ancient 
goddess within all women, *that* woman revels in the very essence of 
the moment.  Out here, beneath the stars, the trickling stream providing 
a lover's serenade, the blazing fire heating and illuminating our 
coupling, the breeze gently stirring his hair as he hovers above me, the 
fertile earth at my back, my body both nestling and being nestled by all 
of the elements at once - out here I feel very much like my Celtic 
namesake, *Dana*, the moon goddess.  Mulder's goddess.

Never in my life have I felt so worshipped.  His eyes look down at me 
with such love that I feel my own brim with tears.  The significance of 
the moment fills me as completely as he does, and I tighten my inner 
muscles against him in reaction to the pleasurable pain I am feeling at 
the intensity of my emotions.  I hear a gasp.  I think it is mine.  But it 
might also have been his.

"God, Scul-ly," he whispers, his voice breaking on my name.  He 
closes his eyes, swallows and gives his head a small shake before 
looking at me again.  Tears glisten and a bead of sweat falls from his 
forehead to land on mine and join with the moisture that escapes his 
eyes.   They mingle and meander down to my hairline and seep into my 
wet and tousled hair.

I take one arm from the shoulder I was hanging onto for dear life a few 
short moments ago and reach to gently cup his cheek in my palm.  I 
meet his eyes unflinchingly, letting the whole of my heart into the look 
that both accepts and offers.  *Here I am*, I say with my body, mind, 
heart, soul.  *Take me, accept me, as I take and accept you.*  Out here I 
can allow myself to feel these wayward emotions.  Out here I can give 
myself to him wholeheartedly and completely, without worrying about 
the repercussions of tomorrow.

He gently removes his arms from around my knees, and I lower my 
legs to wrap snugly around his waist, crossing my ankles at the small of 
his back, unwilling to let him leave my body just yet.  He eases his 
arms beneath me, one around my shoulder, the other around my waist, 
keeping me pressed tightly against him.

Oh, God, I want to stay like this forever.  Life cannot possibly get any 
better than this moment.  This here and now.

"Kill me now," he breathes as he plants tiny, soft kisses against my 
chin, his lips working their way up the line of my jaw to my ear.  "This 
is as good as it gets," he murmurs.  "You and me, out here, like this."  
He sighs contentedly.  "This is the meat."

"No, Mulder," I contest, nipping at his lower lip as he makes another 
pass.  "*You* are the meat."

Our bodies shake together in silent laughter and I marvel that we have 
come to this, so to speak.  The fact that I can lie here with my partner, 
naked beneath a moonlit sky, entwined like the roots of the massive 
trees that tower above us, and can laugh with such deep-seated joy is a 
blessing I never thought to share in this life.

We laugh so hard that he inadvertently slips out of me and my body 
immediately craves his return.  He deftly turns us and pulls me against 
him, bringing one arm out to lie against the ground and provide a 
pillow for my head.  We lie there, spooned and spent by the fire.  I feel 
like purring and maybe I am.

Blissful and blurry, sated beyond belief, I allow myself the luxury of 
going to sleep in Mulder's arms.

I drift into a dreamworld of love and lust and satyrs and nymphs, 
gnomes and fairies and toads and rabbits.  I dream of a huge maypole 
planted snugly in Mother Earth and a couple writhing in passion on the 
heated ground beside a blazing fire.

Somewhere in the deep of the night, or the wee hours of the morning, I 
drift to the surface of wakefulness to the feeling of soft caresses on my 
nether parts.  No wonder I was dreaming of phallic symbols and mating 
rituals, I think briefly before his touch banishes all thought.

"Hey, Scully?" he breathes against the back of my neck, his fingers 
again working their magic on me.

"Yeah?" I sigh, arousal already taking hold.

"You liked it."  He did not question; how could he, with the evidence 
so obviously and literally at hand?  "A little while ago," he elaborates, 
"under the moonlight, with the wind and the fire, on the ground with 
the water flowing past.  You liked it when I took you out here, among 
the elements."

"Yeah, Mulder," I answer dreamily.  "You tickled my fancy, all right."

I feel his answering grin against my skin.  It's probably the cocky one, I 
think.  The one he wears so well.    "Tickled your fancy, huh?"  He 
seems enormously pleased with himself.  And, after that performance, 
he should be.

We are quiet for a moment, the stroker and the strokee, savoring the 
sensations of touching and being touched.  I feel his kisses against my 
hair, my ear, the side of my neck, my shoulder where it peeps out from 
underneath the shelter of his arm.

"Hey, Scully?" he whispers in my ear.  "You know what day it is?"

I sigh with a touch of exasperation.  "Mulder, didn't we just go through 
this a few hours ago?"  Not that I would mind a repeat performance, but 
variety *is* the spice of life.

"Yesterday, Scully," he points out.  "It's well past midnight, you know."

"May Day?" I look over my shoulder at him, crooking a brow.

He gives me the Mega-Watt-Mulder-Shit-Eating-Grin and waggles his 
own brows.  "Hail, hail, the first of May," he begins.

"Outdoor fucking begins today," I finish for him.

"Scully!" he cries, pretending to be scandalized.  I rarely use the "f" 
word and, for this reason, it has great impact when I do.

We dissolve into a fit of giggles, our bodies rocking in unison, fitting 
together in all the right places.  I am so happy here.  And for the first 
time ever, I feel that we are perfectly in sync.  I wish I could bottle this 
moment and make it last forever.  God knows there may be days ahead 
when we could well use it.

"Hey, Scully," he whispers against my ear again, his hand stroking 
again.

I turn in his arms until my face is an inch from his.  I look up into his 
eyes and see the primal Mulder lurking, waiting for permission to come 
out and play.  "Yeah, Mulder?"

"Want me to tickle it again?"

Without warning, I shove him onto his back and climb aboard, 
straddling his hips and laughing at his surprised expression.  I cock one 
eyebrow at him from my perch on high and put on my best Mae West 
impersonation:  "How about I tickle *yours* instead?"

"Scully!" he says in that I-Just-Got-Very-Turned-On tone, his eyes 
wide, his face glowing with the light of his smile and, I think, reflecting 
the happiness he sees in mine.

I lean over his chest, reaching with my mouth to take his lower lip in 
mine, suckling gently.  He is ready for me again, I can feel his insistent 
knocking at my back door.

But this time the lady will have her wicked way with the horned beast.

"It's a full moon, Mulder" I remind him, grinning lasciviously.  "And 
*this* time, I'm going to make *you* howl."

 - END - 

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