A Complicated Fable, or, Sybil's Birthday Story by beduini Posted February 2001 Rating: Very VERY NC-17 Category: MSR, Post episodic for all things, Brand X, and Hollywood A.D. Keywords: Mulder/Scully Spoilers: Yes, for The Unnatural, Theef, First Person Shooter and Per Manum. Archive: Please ask Sybil at Redwyne@satx.rr.com Disclaimer: I treat them well, that should count for something. Summary: A very smutty romp through Los Angeles. Notes: This is a sequel to "Sex, Violence, and Filling in the Gaps." You don't need to read it to know what's going on here. If you want to, you'll find it at: http://www.justduckies.org/beduini/SexViolence.html Thanks to Kemystre for beta and helpful suggestions. Happy Birthday, dearest, sweetest, lightest Sybil. You asked. And you asked. And you asked. This is your sequel. Now stop bugging me about it. Love to all the Duckies, xox. XxXxX Prologue Once upon a time, there were two federal agents named Mulder and Scully who worked for the FBI. Mulder was a very attractive man. Scully was a very attractive woman. Everyone knows when an attractive man and an attractive woman work together for long, they will eventually have sex. This is a story about that very thing. XxXxX The Way Things Were Mulder and Scully were the best of friends, and worked together platonically as partners for many years. Scully wanted to have a baby, because her biological clock was ticking, but mostly because she was told she couldn't have one, so they saw a doctor and tried to make a baby together in the old-fashioned laboratory way, but it didn't work out. All the while they remained good, platonic but affectionate friends. Until one day, they spoke about sex. The conversation wasn't about the two of them together, or the possibility or even hypothetical notion of the two of them having sex together. They'd already tried to create a baby together, for God's sake. Whatever private thoughts each had about the other they kept it to themselves. At least, Scully did. Mulder tried to, but once in a while, innuendo leaked out. But by the time of the conversation about sex, besides trying to create a baby, they'd played baseball and snuggled under the guise of holding a bat, and shared a warm, on-the-lips kiss at the stroke of midnight, ringing in the new millennium. It wasn't much to look at, as there was little passion and no tongue. But it was a big deal for them. Another few inches forward in Mulder and Scully's slow crawl toward intimacy, or so we all chose to believe that year. The subject of sex was very much on Mulder's mind months after the conversation. Not that the subject wasn't very much on his mind anyway, but more than ever the subject predominantly featured Scully. He wanted the opportunity to prod at the issue, expand it, test the waters. He and Scully had grown closer than ever, but he wanted more. He wanted to know Scully in the Biblical way. He wanted to make the beast with two backs, the horizontal hula, the naked pretzel. He wanted her for his mate. Scully wanted...well, that was anyone's guess at that point. She certainly cared for Mulder, and they were clearly attracted to each other. But there was something or someone holding her back. She wasn't ready for mating season. ----- Early April, from Mulder's Perspective He leaves her alone for less than three days and she turns a metaphorical corner, sometime between his return from England and running into her old boyfriend...manfriend...lover, whatever you called him...at the hospital. Exactly which corner she'd turned and how that pertains to him isn't clear. Mulder can't say he is unhappy about the outcome - she'd been faced with a past relationship and was offered a second chance to have something that seems to have been something she'd wanted at one time in her life. A second chance she'd chosen not to take. She tells him all about her experience over tea. But she is exhausted and falls asleep in the middle of a revealing conversation about fate. He is the one who had flown across the Atlantic and back in less than three days - by all measures, he should be exhausted as well. But his body clock is off and while she sleeps he is wide awake, considering all of the possible scenarios that might propel them into that elusive other kind of partnership, as he'd considered so many times before and since that fateful conversation about sex. Wondering when she might be open to talking about it again. Not fate - sex. Or maybe fate as it relates to sex. That would be sex as it relates to the two of them. Together. In truth, he has to admit talking isn't something they do often. They speak every day, but they don't talk much about themselves and their feelings for each other or how they fit into each other's private lives. When they do, it is more covert than overt. Like after they'd played the First Person Shooter game to stop a cyber- killer. She'd asked about his attraction to blasting the crap out of things and the question segued into what he'd come to think of as THE TALK - the talk about sex. It started as a game within a game, a conversation within a conversation. Ultimately, they shared with each other what they liked and what they missed most about being in a sexual relationship. Things like, Scully enjoyed giving head. The thought BLEW his mind. Scully. Head. Scully. Giving head. Scully. And sex. Sex with Scully. Various acts in various positions. Including head. He'd examined the thought over and over, profiling her and himself and their time together. They'd come a long way. Ironically, sex is pretty much the only thing absent from their relationship, like it is almost an afterthought. Well, that and saying the words. They have everything else - affection, commitment, exclusivity - inasmuch as neither of them is involved with anyone else to the extent that they are involved with each other. She asked him to donate sperm to create a baby with her. That should count for something. Still...why aren't they having sex? Nobody else that he knew, now or previously, in law enforcement or elsewhere, has or has had a relationship like his relationship with Scully. It is complex. Complicated. On the job she is an excellent partner, except for the occasional disagreement about things like facts and proof. She is the perfect playmate. Intelligent, clever, loyal. Strong and enigmatic. Beautiful. Okay, she's hot. Scully is a very attractive woman, and she becomes even more attractive as she grows older. He'd always thought her pretty, her sharp intelligence turning him as much as her big blue eyes and little round ass that he pretends not to notice. Somewhere along the way, partner or not, he gave himself over to the attraction and starting wanting her in the basic way that a man wants a woman. It became second nature, a part of the complicated dynamic of their relationship. Wanting Scully. He considers himself neither a stupid nor an oblivious man, and he can see her attraction to him, perhaps it had been more obvious earlier in their partnership than she is letting on of late. She holds a part of herself back, never completely opening up enough to let him get his foot in the door. Metaphorically, that is, because feet and doors are not what he is aiming for anymore than cigars and tunnels, although keys and hearts might figure into it. At any rate, in their work they'd experienced a lot of personal grief and it has defined them both individually. He thinks he's gotten wiser, whereas she's compartmentalized, becoming much more private and reserved. Getting her to open the door to the right compartment is tricky. He thinks she wants him, too. If not consciously, then in the abstract, perhaps. Subconsciously, deep within her Id. In reality, Fox Mulder admits that he carries a lot of personal baggage. She'd certainly been through most, if not all of it with him. There aren't many items hidden in his valise that Scully doesn't know about. She knows him better than anyone, and that, in a way, is the problem. They are well beyond the point of being able to have casual sex. He wouldn't want just casual sex, anyway. Well, maybe if they'd done it on their first case. Now it is, "Take me, take all of my shit." And they have a lot of things to consider in the equation. They are everything to each other as friends. They have their work. The fate of the world hangs in the balance. It is complicated. Anyway, Scully found him at the hospital when he'd returned from England, they'd had tea and talked. Not about sex, but about life. About fate and making choices. The only thing he can make of it is that she is slowly coming to terms with the past and present, about things that he was unaware of, and maybe the door might be unlocking to the possibilities of the future. Unlike their unprecedented conversation months before, this time she'd opened up to him readily, telling him about her past affair and her emotional and spiritual revelations. Fact: She had been offered a second chance with a man she had once loved, a man she had given up not out of desire but out of moral obligation...and she'd taken a pass. It was a big decision for Scully. She'd found closure in her own past instead, and something else. Something...more...that they were just starting to touch upon when she fell asleep on his sofa. He senses the time is right to move ahead, if they both want it. He wants it. He wants her. He knows she knows this. He notices beautiful women every day - after all, he's a heterosexual male with the same urges as anyone - but she is the only one he wants, has wanted so much that it makes him ache through to the bone, so to speak, to think about it. She's as much a part of him as his hand or his DNA. They don't play well with others when others come into the picture. He knows if either of them were to become involved in a relationship with someone else it would damage, possibly even destroy the delicate balance of their own relationship. And that is not an option. The way he sees it, they have only one option, and that is to move their relationship forward. Together. This isn't a new idea to him, but now they are closer than ever. On the verge, the cusp...still, actually doing something about it isn't an easy step. The balance is delicate. As he lay in his bed in the dark with Scully asleep on the sofa in the next room, it doesn't seem like such a huge leap to make from where they stand. It is only during the day while they are in their professional personas that it seems so difficult. The potential for rejection, for damage, is very real. So close, and yet so far. As he lets himself consider possibilities, Scully appears in the doorway between his bedroom and the living room, her small, curvy frame just a shadow in the moonlight. He doesn't see her immediately, but he doesn't need to see her to know that she is there. Like a sixth sense, he always knows where she is in relation to him. She stands watching him for a long while. What is she thinking? Is she looking ahead to the next day at work? An autopsy? She is wondering if he is asleep, perhaps. Or just deciding if she should use the restroom before heading home to her own apartment. She always keeps him guessing about what she is thinking, about what motivates her to do the things she does. Maybe she is considering the same thing as he. Maybe... "I've got room enough for two," he nearly whispers through the darkness. His offer is vague enough that she can brush it off as a joke if she chooses to. She remains still, then slowly moves out of the doorway, walking toward the bed. As she comes nearer, her dark silhouette takes shape, and he can see her features and the unreadable expression on her face. "I imagine you do. Is that a statement or an offer?" "Depends on how you want to take it." "How did you mean it?" He is silent for a beat. "C'mere and find out, Scully." She steps closer, but doesn't advance all the way. "You know, Mulder, one of these days I might surprise you and accept." "You surprise me every day. What's your point?" He sees a flicker of something pass through her eyes in the moonlight. "You expect me to surprise you." "I don't expect anything. You're a complete mystery to me. Every day is a brand new day." "A brand new day," she says in confirmation. She steps closer still. "You don't expect me to challenge your theories, Mulder?" She takes her jacket off, laying it on the foot of the bed and straightening to her full, majestic height. "To present the facts as I see them?" She crosses her arms in front of her, watching him closely. "If you were a betting man, Mulder, what would you say my next move will be?" He loves it when she plays with him like this. Shifting casually underneath the covers, he purrs, "That's a sucker's bet, Scully. Whatever I say you'll do the opposite to prove me wrong." "Is that what you expect of me, Mulder? To always try to prove you wrong?" "I didn't say that." "But you're not denying it, either." "Scully..." he nearly whines. She is silent, and he pauses a moment, his expression serious. Finally, he says, "I think you do what you feel is right." She nods thoughtfully. "We're alike in that respect." "I'm more like you than you'd expect." "And I've realized I'm more like you than you'd expect." "We seem to be on the same page." She is silent, her eyes on his in the darkness. "Or turning a corner, if that analogy suits you better," he adds. "The question is, are we going to pass each other or move ahead in the same direction?" She doesn't reply immediately but keeps her eyes on his. "Why aren't you sleeping?" "I don't know. Thinking too much, I guess." "Thinking about what?" He lets out a long sigh. "I don't know...fate, converging paths, all things leading to one exact moment in time. You, me..." he doesn't continue, the rest of his thought unspoken. His offer is still on the table, and is growing more ominous by the minute. She hasn't exactly rejected it. She nods once, stepping closer still. "Come to any conclusions?" "A few." "Such as?" He watches her, considering how much of the truth and what is on his mind he should share with her. He's put the feelers out already, so he decides not to say anything. To his surprise, in a fluid motion she pulls the hem of her sweater up over her head. "Was this one, Mulder?" she asks, pulling the sleeves off her arms and dropping the sweater on the bed next to her jacket. He stares at her, standing before him in just her bra and skirt. Her expression is still difficult to read as she stares back at him. He swallows turning dumb at the sight of Scully's flesh. "Uh, yeah, actually." Her hands move to the side of her skirt, drawing the zipper down slowly. Without taking his eyes off of her, he moves over on the bed, leaving room for her to join him as he assumes is her intent. He hopes. She slides the black skirt down her hips, letting it fall to the floor and stepping out of it. In the filtered moonlight, her skin glows pale in contrast to her dark panties and bra. He licks his lips without thinking, feeling his breathing grow heavier without it registering. Scully steps closer to the bed, slipping out of the last few scraps of clothing before pulling back the comforter and laying down next to him. She turns on her side to face him as he does the same. This is really happening. "What now?" she asks, her voice soft. He reaches out, his index finger tracing a line down her cheek and around the edges of her lips. Scooting closer, he rises up on his elbow, hovering above her and looking down into her face. "We do what we feel is right. Together." Her eyes travel over his face, resting on his mouth, then back up to his eyes. Lifting a hand to the back of his neck, her fingers slide through his hair, pulling his face down to hers as her eyes drift shut. With his mouth pressed to hers, his hands begin to explore and she is compact and firm, with incredibly soft places that he is finally allowed to touch and taste without discrimination. As he discovers the nuances of her lips and mouth, he touches her reverently, intent on visiting and tasting every secret place. But she stops his descent down her body with a move that places her in control. Moving over his chest slowly, she tastes his flat nipples and the contours of his solid abdominal muscles until she runs out of skin, pulling down his flannel pajama bottoms for more. She pauses as he springs to life before her, offering him a slightly feline grin, then resumes her descent, her soft lips pressing against taut, heated skin. When her lips wrap around the hardest place on his body he falls slack on the bed, everything focusing on that one, rigid spot and the warm, wet feel of her mouth on him. XxXxX That may not have been exactly how it happened. Mulder had had a lot of time afterward to think about that night, wishing for all of his life that a photographic memory included sensory recollection. He knew it was an incredible experience, but he couldn't recreate it in his mind with any satisfaction. He was a man with a large catalog of sexual acts readily available to his imagination, and knew technically what he'd done to Scully and what she'd done to him. But there was no slow-motion function on the real-life experience and the sequence of events was somewhat vague in his fogged memory, competing with love and passion and the desire to know and do more. He had, after all, waited it to happen for quite a while. And circumstances forced him to wait for it to happen again. When he thought about the things he wished he'd done, he always had himself saying something clever and pithy and impressing the hell out of her. Or at least getting a raised eyebrow. As always, in his recreation of events Scully was equally responsive with the repartee, maybe a little more of an exhibitionist, perhaps a little more or a little less aggressive in the lovemaking, depending on where his mind happened to take him and what mood he was in. Sometimes, they didn't speak at all, they just made animal noises. Scully's thoughts on the subject were equally muddled. Of course, climbing into a man's bed without a stitch on might be viewed as aggressive by some. He'd offered, and she knew what she wanted. For her it was simply the result of a decision already made. She was slightly nervous, being out of practice in sex and romance for so long. But Mulder responded favorably and was all over her from the moment she slid between the sheets, devouring her from head to toe. Or maybe it was she who had devoured him. It was difficult to recall exactly everything about who did what when and to whom. Their previous conversation involving sex the month and a half before had proven to be invaluable. She'd given him a vague idea of what she liked and what she wasn't comfortable with. She'd known what she was doing and how Mulder would process the information. Or how she hoped Mulder would process the information. Whatever her issues may have been with cunnilingus in the past, she certainly enjoyed herself. Score one for Fox Mulder. She was able to give it back to him - she knew he'd have passed the point of no return if he didn't get some quality attention post haste. He was so ready when she finally wrapped her lips around him she could see he had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep himself from exploding in her mouth. She loved the giving, and she loved the control. Score one for Dana Scully. ----- More About It from Scully's Point of View She thinks he controls himself admirably, really. She knows Mulder has had plenty of practice but hasn't been in a real game at least as long as she. Here they are, finally at the main event, and after all of the desire, the years of attraction and the verbal and oral foreplay, her mind raises a question about their physical compatibility. With Mulder pushing her into the bed, the head of his penis already inside of her and his face contorted into a mask of extreme concentration, it occurs to her that it might be the grandest of cosmic jokes if there were not physically compatible. She knows it's practically impossible for them to be incompatible and she is more than ready for him, but the thought makes her vaginal muscles involuntarily clench, making his slide into home extremely difficult. He is too considerate of her to risk hurting her, even though it seems to be hurting him to restrain. "Relax, Scully," he says, panting as he gently tries to score that elusive home run. "Give me a minute," she whispers back to him, her voice tense. He pauses and stills, ever the gentleman, the head of his penis still inside of her and his breath still coming in short bursts. As a doctor and a woman not completely without experience, she knows getting to know somebody sexually is an ongoing process, and the first time is rarely more than an initiation into a sexual relationship. She'd theorized about the two of them wrapping themselves around each other, writhing and clutching, Mulder being Mulder but also being a man and ultimately drilling her into the mattress not without finesse as they released years of sexual frustration in a few short moments of intense, mind-blowing, screaming-at-the-top-of-your-lungs sex. Or so she hopes. He is, she admits privately, quite a dish. There had been many surprises that night already, and her patience is wearing thin. So instead of risking Mulder's sanity and potentially fucking with his perceived manhood, she suggests he let her take the lead. They roll over so that he's on his back, and straddling his hips, she positions him at her entrance once more and slowly lowers herself down on him until he fills her completely. They take a moment to feel and let the notion sink in, the reality of their joining. It is... Sublime. It had been a long time for both of them, and Scully didn't remember how good it felt to have sex until she's actually doing it again. From the look on Mulder's face, he must be thinking the same thing. Their passion is as silent as it is intense, their deliberate, careful movements igniting every nerve in her body. He lets her set the pace and she takes deep breaths every time she rises up, letting them out slowly as he fills her again and again, and again and again. He breathes in time with her, and watching each other under hooded eyes, they keep it up for what seems like forever and yet not long enough. Finally he rolls her underneath him, rising up above her to look down at her with turbulent eyes full of need and emotion. Mulder is, after all, a man - and thank you Jesus - and his physiological needs are not unlike any other male human being. This time she is ready and able, and he slides into her easily. More than that, she wants him with a basic need throbbing between her legs that overpowers any rational thought. She wants to be taken by him. Wrapping her legs and arms around him while he thrusts into her, she knows without a doubt they are absolutely, physically compatible. In fact, she thinks not only do they fit each other perfectly, they are in perfect time with each other, their bodies moving together as graceful and as fluid as any masterfully choreographed ballet. They speak without words, using their eyes and their lips and the movement of their bodies. The more he gives, the more she responds and returns, until they thunder to the edge of the mattress and over, feeling themselves sliding, nearly falling onto the floor at the height of their passion. Suddenly she is floating in ecstasy, descending, but he has pulled her back onto the mattress at the last moment, the two of them landing together in the downy softness of his tousled bed. His body releases its tension and he cries out profanity and devotion, melting into her. XxXxX For the record, it was just profanity. She wasn't really paying attention, still glowing from the aftereffects of a powerful orgasm finally not induced by a vibrator or shower massage. For Dana Scully was an idealistic person, and therefore her views on love and sex had a tendency to take on a more romantically poetic angle, even for a medical doctor. She liked the image of the two of them making love in a beautiful pas de deux better than the two of them awkwardly fucking their way across the bed while her eyes roll back in their sockets. Regardless of semantics, it was a hell of an orgasm. She felt delightfully warm and sensual afterward, and wondered why the hell they didn't do it before. As they caught their breath and held each other loosely underneath the thick comforter, Mulder wanted to treat her right, trying to make pillow talk in the afterglow. But his nearly forty year-old body wouldn't allow it for more than a few thickly crooned lines and heavy-limbed caresses. Snuggled up next to Scully's warm little body, he drifted off into a world-traveler's deeply sated sleep. Scully didn't really notice, because she'd forgotten how sleepy she actually was. ----- In Mulder's Bed, The Morning Afterr When he wakes, the bed smells like her, but she isn't in it. Tangled in sheets, he rolls over to reach the telephone. She picks up the call in her apartment on the third ring. "Scully." "You're not here." She pauses. "No, I'm not. But you know that, because you called me." Her voice sounds warmer, more intimate than it did just the day before. He is aware of every nuance in tone, every one of her breaths as she inhales and exhales. "What are you doing?" "What you should be doing, Mulder, I'm getting ready for work." He settles deeper into the bed, feeling playful. "Who says I'm not ready for work?" There is another pause on her end, accompanied by the sound of running water. "Where are you, Mulder?" Her voice holds very little question and too much confidence. He knows the woman knows him too well. "Uhhhhh..." pulling the comforter up, he looks down at his bare torso and one happy dick that could easily be enticed into a little more action if his woman were only there to participate. "I'm in the office waiting for you." He is already semi-erect from the memory of what they'd done and the sound of her voice combined with the smell of her on his sheets and skin. He could service himself, but he's had plenty of that, and now wants more of her, and a lot of it. The sound of water in the background suddenly stops and she is silent as if reading his mind. But then again, she doesn't need to read his mind, because she already knows him better than anyone. Finally, she says neutrally, "Then you've already listened to your messages and know that Skinner has asked us to consult on a case in North Carolina A.S.A.P." He sits up in the bed, his interest refocused from his dick to the case. The work is the major reason he'd survived so many years of unresolved sexual tension with his partner. "A case?" "A case, Mulder, involving an unusual death and a multi-million dollar lawsuit against Morley Tobacco." He knows immediately this is no small case, and he rises to the occasion. "I'll be ready in twenty." "I'll meet you at the autopool." There is the sound of a smile in her voice. Maybe it isn't his ideal scenario, making love in the morning before you're fully awake, but he'd take it. It was real, and nothing changed that fact. And just because they'd had sex didn't change the fact that they were still federal agents. XxXxX If Mulder hadn't been so ill, he surely would have been repulsed by his dire and disgusting condition. They'd traveled to North Carolina and investigated the case involving Morley Tobacco. He'd seen Tobacco beetles burrow their way out of a man's body, and somehow along the way his own body had become infested with the larvae. When he awoke in the hospital, Scully was watching him openly, her aching heart evident on her face. She held his hand between both of hers, too concerned about him to be repulsed by something as elemental as beetle larvae, even though she'd supervised the entire procedure wherein the writhing little maggots were sucked right out of his lungs. "Oo, must be bad," Mulder scratched out at the look on her face. Then he joked about being attacked by a Dustbuster. Scully was really worried. She smiled bravely, asking Mulder to hold on. He wasn't going to give up, though. Not even when he felt like he was drowning and couldn't get enough oxygen. Even as eggs turned to larvae in his lungs and he gasped for breath he knew Scully would take care of him. She'd find a way. Scully always found a way. Then he coughed up a big, creepy, crawling black beetle. Scully didn't allow herself any other option but to find a way to heal Mulder. She nearly lost him to the invading insects, but ultimately, she saved his life with nicotine. She also gave Morley Tobacco the cure for their genetically altered Tobacco beetle. ----- Late April, through Scully's Eyes Mulder is recovered and well enough to travel just in time for the Hollywood premiere of "The Lazarus Bowl," a film based on their experience working on X-Files. LOOSELY based, he qualifies once more, as they climb into a limousine waiting to take them anywhere they want to go. The film is awful. She is convinced it will tank at the box office, but regardless, it made the boss happy enough to be overly generous with his entertainment budget. So with a Bureau-issued credit card and a limousine at their disposal, she and Mulder are settled into buttery leather seats, helping themselves to the mini-bar as the hired car travels they-know-not-where through the streets of Los Angeles. "So where are we going?" Scully asks him with a raised eyebrow as she takes a sip of a gin and tonic that is more gin than tonic. Mulder reaches over and places a lime slice on the edge of her glass tumbler, licking the juice off his fingers before taking a sip from his own glass. "I'll know when we get there." "So that means you don't have a clue." He gives her a look and takes another sip of his own drink. "The night is young, Scully. Let go of agendas and schedules. Live a little." She smiles at him in amusement, remembering that less than an hour before he'd been morose and despondent over "The Lazarus Bowl" and Fox Mulder's legacy on the silver screen. He looks up, watching out the window as they pass a series of large, well-manicured homes, monumental houses of great proportion, each one slightly different from the next. "Doesn't it seem like the objective is to build the home as large as possible for the size of the lot?" She looks up, her eyes narrowing slightly as she assesses the passing landscape. "Doesn't it seem strange to you that every city in the United States has such varied living accommodations?" "Not really. Essentially, it's all the same. Of course, location and climate are huge factors. Cultural history plays a part. What's interesting in a city like Los Angeles, though, is that there are so many different potential living situations within this one metropolitan area. Downtown city apartments, Hollywood Spanish- style bungalows, suburban tract homes, mansions, ocean views, mountain views, lakes, valleys, farmland...each person has a different experience based on economic status and the way he or she chooses to live." She nods, taking another sip from her glass. "How would you live, Mulder? If you could choose anything." He turns to look at her and she is watching him with interest, her head cocked slightly to the side, holding his gaze. "You mean here?" She blinks at him in interest. "Anywhere." "I've always envisioned myself near water." He watches the ice in his glass slide around in one large frozen clump, then looks over at her. "What about you?" She is looking down at her own glass, running her index finger around the rim. "I'd choose to be by some large body of water. Preferably the sea." When she looks up at him she sees a soft smile on his lips, his eyes warm as he regards her. They understand each other, and she thinks it's such a huge comfort that they have this. She feels tension between them but it isn't a bad thing. It's that chemical attraction, energizing, radiating heat and promise. Mulder breaks their eye contact to turn back to the window, watching the neighborhood go by. "These are some really beautiful houses. Look at that one." He points to a large two-story brick estate, landscaped and decoratively lit, trimmed with wrought iron like something out of the Louisiana countryside. "Mmmm," she nods her assent. "I could see you in a house like that." He turns his head and looks at her, his eyes searching hers but for what exactly she doesn't know. She looks back out the window, the house now out of her field of vision, and thinks about his comment. Granted, at one time she'd wanted all of the good things in life - a career, a family, a beautiful home, nice cars, nice clothes. But it really isn't who she has become. She loves her job, and although it's a stretch at times, she's able to buy herself nice clothes. She's learned that possessions like automobiles, nice or otherwise, can get damaged far too easily and therefore aren't worth putting too much time and money into. And there's Mulder. He's a part of the equation, but his role in her life isn't clearly defined by words like boyfriend or lover. Partner seems to fit, even in their new intimacy. Could she see Mulder in a house like that? Could she see herself and Mulder together in a house like that? Truthfully, no. Not that she doesn't think he could be comfortable there, but somehow it just isn't who he is anymore than it is who she is. She hadn't given any thought to the idea of the two of them living together, so she had nothing to base that idea on. She didn't know if they could or ever would broach the subject of living together one day, or if it is something that Mulder would even consider. But if they did, it wouldn't be in a house like that. "It's a nice house, but my needs are much simpler," she says. "I don't need so many rooms. Just a living room, dining room, kitchen, bath...a room to sleep in and maybe an office." She pauses. "And a sun porch. I'd like a sun porch." "Looking out to sea." She hums slightly. "That would be nice." "With large overstuffed furniture you could stack a few books next to and spend a lazy afternoon just reading and feeling the ocean breeze." In her mind she can see his long limbs stretched on a comfortably faded floral sofa, his glasses perched on the end of his nose as he reads. She would be nearby, watching the sea and watching him. "And a bench swing," she adds. "And a swing." He nods, thinking. "In the bathroom you'd have a great big Jacuzzi tub, next to a large picture window that also looks out to the sea. And more books." "And a skylight to let in sun or to see the stars at night." "And heated towel racks." She grins, remembering the issue he made over the heated towel racks in one of the nicer hotels they'd stayed in on a case. "And heated towel racks. And a gourmet kitchen with a big industrial size range and lots of cabinet space." He looks at her, surprised. "You cook, Scully?" She breaks his gaze. "No." She isn't Holly Homemaker, whipping up batches of cookies and pies on a whim. She doesn't have much time to cook, and even if she did it would be for one. She doesn't have much time for domesticity in general, cleaning only when the dust threatens to take over, preferring to send everything except her undergarments out to the cleaners to be cleaned and pressed for her. But that doesn't mean her home isn't important to her. Cooking - serious cooking - was always something she wanted to learn how to do one day, just for fun. She thinks it might be fun mastering dish after dish, cuisine after cuisine. Sharing the result with...well, what fun would it be learning how to cook for one. Mulder says, "You'd have all of the gadgets and the most up-to-date appliances." "Of course. You can't do anything without the proper tools." He nods. "So what about the office? Working office or private space?" Shifting against the cool leather, she sinks further into the seat. "Both. It would be warm and comfortable, and have a nice big desk and computer." He nods in agreement. "The walls would be nothing but bookshelves covered with novels and books on every subject imaginable. For research and for pleasure." "Between the two of us we already have that part cov-" he stops, too late to take back the words that are too revealing, so he turns to look out the window once more. She looks down at the drink in her hand, avoiding his eyes watching her in the reflection of the glass. Admittedly, she had been doing it - placing the two of them there together. Mulder laying on the porch and her whipping up dinner in the kitchen. They'd only made love just one time a few weeks ago. Still, how could her perfect scenario not include a place for Mulder? She runs her hand along the edge of the leather car seat, the texture soft under her fingertips. "Your leather sofa would fit in great in that room," she says absently, looking out the window on the other side of the car. He turns to face her and now she is the one watching him in the glass, seeing the dark, searching look in his eyes once more. She realizes the look is hope - hope for the future. Along with it, she senses a need for something concrete. "Would it?" he asks in his maddeningly direct way, meeting her eyes in the reflection. She wants to answer, but she is not ready to have this conversation. Not yet - not because she doubts him, or his feelings, or the strength of their relationship. They simply need more time in these new roles they are assuming with each other. So she says nothing, dropping her gaze. He doesn't push. The silence between them feels strained the longer it continues. "Driver, stop here," Mulder calls out, and she looks up with alarm, wondering if he is at all upset. The driver pulls the car up to the curb, and Mulder steps out onto the sidewalk, shutting the door and turning his back to her as she says, "Mul-" She is about to come after him when he bends down, looking at her through the window. "We're here, Scully." She gives the area a quick visual once over before turning back to him. The nice neighborhood with big interesting houses is long gone. "Where is here?" He points over his shoulder at a neon sign with the word "Swingers" written in cursive red letters over a black door. She looks at him, her expression saying, 'you're kidding.' He doesn't appear to notice, so she opens the door and climbs out of the car, standing stiffly beside him on the sidewalk. A young couple in retro 1940's clothing passes by, their arms around each other. When they open the black door to enter, the sound of swing music flows out into the street. Mulder is shifting his weight on his feet, the energy of the music already making an impression on him. She glances up at him with uncertainty, and smiling down at her warmly, he holds out his hand. XxXxX They may have been the oldest couple in the club, but Mulder and Scully could enjoy themselves with the youngest and hippest of the younger crowd. They laughed during the faster tunes at their attempts to swing dance like the other patrons, like they remembered seeing in old movie footage from the 1940's and The Gap commercials of the 1990's. They held each other close, smiling at each other and speaking in hushed voices about inconsequential things during the slower tunes. They stared into each other's eyes and grew serious from time to time, as the music swelled. They smiled and broke the tension when things threatened to become too serious. All the other patrons envied them, for they could see, as we all could, that they were deeply in love. And there was no greater love on earth than the love between Mulder and Scully. Like Adam and Eve, Odysseus and Penelope, Peanut Butter and Jelly, they were the ideal lovers. A matched pair, a perfect set. ----- Pork is a Nice, Sweet Meat Besides a dance floor, Swingers also has a lounge area near the bar, and Mulder guides Scully over to a velvet sofa near a dimly lit corner, ordering two vodka martinis from the cocktail waitress as they pass. He makes a quick trip to the men's room, noticing a row of small spaces with armchairs and cocktail tables, sectioned off from the others by heavy gold lame drapes. Some of the drapes are pulled shut, the soft sound of laughter and conversation within indicating that the spaces are occupied by other patrons of the club. Their drinks have already arrived when he returns to Scully on the sofa, and picking up his glass, he crosses his legs toward her, placing his free arm across the sofa's back. The music is still fairly loud, even in the lounge, and he leans in to speak to her so he doesn't have to shout. "You've done this before," he rasps warmly in her ear. "What, go out on the town?" she asks, tilting her head toward him slightly and raising an eyebrow without taking her eyes off a particularly skilled couple on the dance floor. She is sipping on her martini, the fat green olive still sitting in the bottom of the glass. He takes a sip of his drink, looks up and watches the same couple she is watching as they dominate the dance floor. The woman's flared skirt twirls around her muscular thighs as the man spins her around. "No, dancing." "So have you, Mulder," she replies, turning her eyes from the couple to meet his. Then she looks down and reaches into her glass, plucks out the olive, popping it into her mouth and chewing before looking up at him once again. "You've never mentioned you could dance." "It never really came up in conversation." He moves his arm from behind her so he can retrieve the olive from the bottom of his own glass and he chews and swallows it, continuing, "All the kids on the Vineyard went to Mrs. Ballard for ballroom dancing, it's a secret pack among all of the parents. If you wanted to play ball after school, you had to go to dance class first. No one had a choice in the matter." He takes another sip of his martini. What about you?" "My dad taught me. Then I went to prom and got my feet stepped on, just like everyone else I knew." "I wouldn't have stepped on your little feet." She gives him a look at the little feet comment, but lets it slide. "You taught me how to play baseball." He grins, sliding his arm along the sofa back and around her shoulders, leaning closer into her space. She smells wonderful - warm and inviting. "Yes, I did. You learned quickly." He nuzzles her hair with the tip of his nose, remembering how his groin pressed up against her firm little ass, the way his arms wrapped around her and both of them clutched the bat, Scully's delicate hands gripping the wood like there was no tomorrow. "Maybe a little too quickly. I was enjoying the tutoring." He presses his lips to the shell of her ear and she tilts her head slightly, smiling a private, knowing smile. "So was I." He pulls back just a little to look into her face, and she presses her lips together in amusement, the truth of her confession shining in her eyes as she looks back at him. "It wasn't a bad piece of ash, either." He grins, glancing up as the couple they had watched dancing passes by, whispering intimately as they disappear into the back of the lounge. Scully leans into him and presses her lips to his exposed neck, right over the cartoid artery, nipping lightly with her teeth before touching the tip of her tongue to the tingling spot, giggling softly when he shivers. He'd been hearing a lot of that giggle, and he really liked the sound of it. It wasn't a schoolgirl giggle, but the giggle of a very playful, very flirty woman. He thinks he'd hear a lot more of it if they were someplace a little more private. Sitting forward, he downs the rest of his martini and puts the glass on the cocktail table in front of them before standing. "Come with me." "Where?" she replies, placing her empty glass on the table next to his and standing before he can respond. She teeters just a little, and he wonders if she could be tipsy already. He tries to remember how many drinks she's had so far. He nods his head toward the back of the lounge. "Someplace a little more private." Scully runs her eyes over the length of him briefly, and smiles flirtatiously. "You go on ahead. I'm ordering another round." He looks her over the way she did him, and wets his lips. "Fine." Out of his peripheral vision, he sees her turn her entire body to watch him walk away. The woman never ceases to amaze him. There is only one available space in the back, and that space has only one large red leather wingback chair and a cocktail table. He supposes they can share the chair, sinking down into the cracking leather. He likes that idea a lot, actually. Nearly a month since they'd had sex, and his dick had been begging for it again since the morning he woke up and the scent of her was still in the bed. Scully sitting on his lap would be a very good thing. She seems to be having a good time at the club, he muses, but she also seems pretty open to playing the evening by ear. So maybe they should finish their drinks, get back in the car and see how may bases she would let him steal in the back seat before they reach their next destination, preferably the hotel. His dick twitches at that thought, and he spreads his legs a little to give it some breathing room. Tonight, he's hoping to hit the ball all the way out of the park, to steal home. His body is healed, they have the entire rest of the night ahead of them, and he wants this woman more now than he ever did before. Scully appears with two more martinis, placing them on the cocktail table next to the chair and giving him a raised eyebrow, presumably because he's taken the only chair. She turns to pull the drapes shut, leaving the two of them surrounded on all sides by gold lame in the dim space. Then she turns and looks at him, her expression sobering. They stare at each other, the heat between them rising. "Mind if I join you?" she asks from several steps away, their eyes locked on each other. He lifts a hand and moves his knees together, starting to sit up in the chair, but she says, "No, don't move." His hand drops weightlessly back down onto the arm of the chair and she advances, stopping just in front of him. Then she leans forward, grabbing hold of the back of the chair, and places first one knee, and then the other in his lap, her shins on top of his thighs as she kneels over him. She pauses, staring into his eyes, and he reaches for her. "Don't move," Scully whispers again, firmer, cradling his face in her hands, holding it still. Holding him still. Slowly she descends toward his mouth, her lips parted, their eyes still locked as the tension flares exponentially. He wants to touch her, but he heeds her words and sits perfectly still, letting her lips graze over his softly even though he wants pull her into his lap, grind against her and shove his tongue into her mouth. She pauses, pulling back slightly. Their eyes lock together once more, and he swallows reflexively. "You realize you're using every ounce of control that I have at this very moment." "You're gonna like the result, Mulder, I can guarantee it." She moves one foot down between his knees and nudges them apart, then places her foot on the floor and lowers the other one, standing between his knees with her feet together while her hands continue to cradle his face. "Without a doubt, but I'm not gonna guarantee I'll play by your rules." "You're not gonna have a choice." She bends down to kiss him again, but her lips fall on his chin and she places an open-mouthed kiss there, gently biting him before turning his head back and tilting her own head to the side to do the same to the soft spot underneath his chin. He swallows again, a deep breath escaping his lungs when she bites his neck. Farther down, his dick grows more attentive, aware of her every move. When she slides her hands down over the front of his chest and drops to her knees his dick twitches in anticipation, although he knows that she would never go as far he wants her to go in a public nightclub, surrounded by nothing more than gold lame curtains. Not Scully. He knows this even when she nudges his stiffening flesh with the tip of her nose, exhaling a warm breath over him and letting out a short giggle at the responsive twitch that action earns her. The woman is the Heifitz of the tease. And then she takes his zipper between her teeth, and starts to pull. He can't help the groan that escapes through his clenched teeth when she pops open the button on his trousers, or the thrust of his hips when she pulls the elastic waistband of his boxers down and his dick rises unhindered to full, glorious height in his lap. "Jesus Christ," he exhales through his still-clenched teeth when her head starts to go down. "Sc..." he pants, panicking. And then she takes him into her hot, wet mouth, flicking the tip of her tongue over the ridge of his little head. Christ, she is doing it. She is really, fucking doing it - Scully is on her knees giving him head in the back room of a nightclub. Oh Jesus... Oh... He wants to grab her head and start thrusting into her mouth because it feels so goddamn good to be there, but he still has an ounce of sense. He grips the arms of the chair tightly, letting her have her way with him, watching her blow his mind, her pretty red lips wrapped around his rigid dick. Right there in the nightclub. Scully is giving him head and it feels fucking incredible and anybody could walk in on them. His eyes flick over to the drawn curtain, his heart pounding. Two federal agents engaging in oral sex in public. They could lose their jobs over this. They could... She takes him in until his little head nudges the back of her mouth, sliding her mouth up and down over his shaft a few times, and his hips jerk with the rhythm she creates. His eyes flick to the curtain once more, but watching her is too powerful for him to resist. Oh yeah, screw the consequences, he decides, if they get caught, then they get caught. "Scully," he groans softly, panting, forcing himself not to close his eyes in ecstasy, even though he wants to, even though watching her go down on him is such a supreme turn-on. Scully, Scully, Scully, he chants in his head, what you do to me. She raises her eyes to his as if she'd heard his thoughts, then hums softly, wrapping her thumb and forefinger around the base of his shaft. She begins to twist gently, her hand slick and warm from her saliva. She does this as she continues to take him all of the way in her mouth on the down stroke, applying slight suction and firm pressure with her lips on the up stroke. Still flicking the tip of her tongue around and over the ridge of his little head before she takes him all of the way into her mouth again. With her free hand she strokes his balls through his trousers. He closes his eyes, and groans, the pleasure so great that he is unable to keep them open any longer. Oh yeah, everything is centered in that one place, in her wonderful, hot mouth, and his hips start to rise and fall on their own. Yeah, yeah, oh fuck, like that. She picks up his rhythm, oh yeah, oh fuck yeah, oh, oh, oh, can't - God, he's coming, shit, fuck, fuck, biting back his shout, exploding, jerking, feels so good, oh shit... She is quick to react and doesn't jerk away, swallowing, swallowing again before she gets any on her, holding his hips down in the chair with her elbows, keeping him in her mouth until he is completely empty. She is an expert, the fucking Jean-Pierre Rampal of the skin flute. And not a drop of evidence to be found at this scene. She cleans him up, tucks him in and zips him up, his eyes glazed over and his body too stunned to move. God, that mouth. What it can do. Ah, Scully, he thinks hazily, trying to catch his breath, thank God you were raised a Catholic girl. Shit. Scully, Scully, Scully. He'd be embarrassed at his staying power if he didn't believe that she knew exactly what she was doing to him and there was nothing he could have done about it. She is looking at him like the cat that swallowed the canary, and he knows now, without a doubt, she owns him, body and soul. XxXxX When he'd recovered and began thinking with his big head again, he led her by the hand out to the bar and charmed the bartender into selling him an unopened bottle of vodka for the ride back to the hotel. Maybe it was the telltale smile Mulder wore, one the bartender had seen far too often on far too many customers coming out of the back of the lounge. Or maybe it was the unmistakable smell of sex and heat emanating off of and surrounding the two of them. They'd found the privacy controls in the limo, blocking them from the driver's field of vision, and Mulder kissed Scully relentlessly, pressing her into the back corner of the leather seat and raising her level of arousal higher and higher. He touched her through her clothing, working one hand up under her skirt, sliding his fingers into her wetness. He kissed her mouth both hard and soft, with deep thrusting tongue and gentle nips and licks. He fucked her with his fingers, stroked her clit and reached up to tease her G-spot, all the while pushing her higher and higher but never letting her come. He was calling the shots now. Through his leisurely teasing he kept one hand free to liberally pour from the bottle of vodka, the two of them sharing the alcohol straight-up. They drank it from a glass, and they stole sips from each other's mouths. Who knew that vodka could ever taste so good. And when they arrived at the hotel, they were so preoccupied with each other and the task of getting to the hotel room with all of their clothes on that neither noticed that nearly three-quarters of the bottle was gone. ----- Fellatio, Alcohol and the Forty Yeear-Old Male She has Mulder pinned against the outside door to her hotel room, her hands on either side of his face and her mouth plundering his with reckless abandon. She has restrained herself through the hotel lobby, in the elevator with two other guests who knew by the heavy pheremones and their rumpled appearance exactly what they were up to, and down the long, long hallway leading to her room. It is Mulder's tight ass pointed toward her as he tries to slide the keycard into the slot on the door that breaks her control. She is, she admits, quite inebriated, and excruciatingly horny. Very much so. So much so, that she is sliding her hand down the front of his trousers right there in the hotel corridor. The current state of his penis is promising but not nearly as promising as it had been earlier that evening, and she strokes it, running her thumb over the soft head, coaxing it into action. There is a little movement in her hand, but not as much as she wants. Come on, Mulder, you can do it. Come on, she urges, trying a little harder. She doesn't realize she has been saying the last part out loud, and in her state of clouded judgement tries a little too hard, causing Mulder to flinch and grab her hand. "Not so rough, Scully," he says, his voice straining, raising slightly in pitch. "I still need that." "Mulder," she nearly whines. God, she's wired, she's gotta have it, her body wound up like a spring, her clit swollen and throbbing and her vagina aching to be filled. What he'd done to her in the car was nothing short of torture. She is drunk and she's never wanted to fuck somebody so bad in her entire life. And she's stuck in the hallway. The door and Mulder's penis aren't cooperating. "Scully, shhhh, it's okay, Scully," he replies, stroking the hair on the back of her head. Mulder is drunk, too, his eyes little curved slits and the most ridiculous grin plastered on his face ever since they left the club. His voice has taken on a softer, slightly feminine quality, and he has adopted an annoying habit of saying her name at the end of every sentence and every other place he can fit it in. "Trust me, okay Scully?" His 'Scully-this' and 'Scully-that' pisses her off, his calmness in the face of her dilemma pisses her off, and she doesn't want to be coddled or patted on the head like a goddamn dog. She wants to wipe the goddamn smirk off his face. Goddamn you Mulder, she curses to herself. Goddamn you, this is all your fault. She crosses her arms in front of her, glaring at him. He must see the frustration in her eyes, and he turns around to try the keycard on the door again. She hears him chuckle softly to himself and it pisses her off even more that he is laughing at her in her time of need. Goddamnit. After putting her in this situation in the first place. Biting the inside of her cheek, her foot taps against the floor with nervous, pent-up energy, causing her entire body to shake. She casts an impatient look down the hallway. The first man that appears in her field of vision is going to get very, very lucky, she vows. Then there is a click, and Mulder pushes the door open, turning his stupid, idiotic smile at her, holding the door for her to enter ahead of him like he's a goddamn genius for getting it open in the first goddamn place. She pushes past him, stopping in the middle of the room and turning three-quarters toward him but not all the way, crossing her arms once more. Mulder shuts the door and lumbers over to her in that squinty-eyed, goofy-grinned, cocky, inebriated way, smiling down at her while she continues to glare at him. "We're in, Scully," he says, still grinning. She glares at him, wondering if he expects a goddamn medal. His smile fades some, although his eyes are still squinty. "You're really cute when you're horny." At least he left "Scully" out of the sentence this time, but he chose the wrong thing to say. She is not cute, she is a federal agent. She doesn't say anything, but continues to glare at him, her lips pursed. He stands there awkwardly, biting his lower lip, a big, doofy oaf in a wrinkled tuxedo. "Scully?" he says with uncertainty, raising a hand to pat her head again but then thinking better of it when she shoots a warning glance at him. He starts to reach for her hand, hesitates, starts again, then settles for tucking his hands up under his arms. Standing there like that he reminds her of that cartoon frog that sings and dances, but not when it's asked to. It merely sits on stage with a dumb, blank look on its face and it's long limp limbs tucked up under it, a dumb little tophat on its head. She teeters on her heels as she visualizes the little frog sitting on Mulder's shoulder. Finally, after a long silence, he asks soberly, "Do you want me to leave?" She is thrust back into the moment, her eyes widening in alarm at the prospect of him leaving her alone, and she turns to face him. He studies her expression, his eyes glowing emerald green through heavy eyelids. He is still biting his lip, and looks much more Mulder-like than frog-like. "Would you like me to stay?" he asked pointedly. When her body sways a little but she doesn't say anything either way, he purses his lips with displeasure, and scratches out in irritation, "Tell me what you want me to do, Scully." Her silence has suddenly forced her into the awkward position of having to actually tell Mulder what she wants him to do. She knows he will leave, and she knows what she wants him to do, but she would rather die than actually say the words 'fuck me' to Mulder. Because...he should know what she wants. She's pissed at him for not knowing what she wants when he knows every-goddamn-other-thing else about her, and because he's Mulder. Especially because he's Mulder. Because she's never wanted anybody this bad in her entire life before. And it's Mulder. She stares at him, unable to say the words. Mulder looks extremely uncomfortable, and lets out a sigh, averting his eyes from her. This isn't how it was supposed to happen. She is still horny and frustrated, but suddenly isn't angry anymore. She's....she doesn't know what she is - she can't think straight. She's confused from hormones and alcohol. Guilty because she thinks she just ruined the whole night and they were having so much fun together. Afraid she may have ruined so much more than just the night. It's all too jumbled and she's too drunk to try to explain it to Mulder, even if she could analyze it and make sense of it in her present condition. And she's probably not going to get to have sex now unless she gets in the shower and does it to herself. She really, really wants Mulder. Still, she can't say the words. Mulder takes a step toward her, and she cautiously raises her face to look up into his eyes. He is studying her, and she blinks back at him, waiting to see what he will do next. In his eyes, she sees understanding and tenderness, but not accusation or blame or even hurt. He seems to have a better handle on the situation than she does at the moment. He reaches out and tucks her hair back behind her ear, brushing his thumb over her cheek. "Scully," he says softly, warmth and affection and so many things in his voice as he says her name. His eyes are so green and so very serious. Looking into his eyes she feels liquid and warm, and she leans into his touch. He really is such a wonderful, brilliant man and she loves him, really, really loves him, sooooooo, sooooo much. It is the most natural response in the world for her to slide her arms around his neck and kiss him, with her sincerest apologies and all of her love because he is soooooo, sooooo...Mulder. He responds tenderly, his smile returning as he gently bestows kisses to her lips, her face, her chin, then moving back to her lips. As they continue this way, kissing softly, not pushing and not plundering, the occasional light touch of one tongue to another in between soft, small nips against warm lips, he is unzipping her dress and walking her backward until she is up against the foot of the bed. She groans, nearly a whimper when he parts the halves of her dress separated by the open zipper and pushes the dress down onto the floor. Her body is thrumming and her groin is wet and throbbing, her uterus tight and nearly cramping for the want of sexual release. And she wants Mulder. She loves Mulder. But Mulder doesn't touch her there now. Now he barely touches her anywhere except the places his fingers graze as he undresses her, leaving her flesh pebbled like a goose. She had already untied his black bow tie in the car, and unbuttons a few more buttons on his shirt, kissing the smooth skin on his neck and chest in between the kisses he is placing on her bare neck and shoulders as he removes her black bra. She pushes his jacket off over his shoulders and onto the floor, and pulls the tail of his shirt out of the waistband of his trousers. His smile is sly and affectionate as he watches her, focusing everything on her one simple task of undressing him. She abandons the rest of the buttons on the shirt and moves her hands down to unbutton and unzip his trousers, pushing them down over his hips along with his boxers. "Climb up on the bed," he says, toeing off his shoes and pushing the boxers and trousers to the floor. His voice is rough and it gives her a thrill to hear him speak in that tone. She sits on the bed and bends over to remove her shoes, but he says, "No, leave them on." She looks up with a spark in her eyes and scoots back on the bed, watching him step out of his pants and noting that he's still in only a semi-erect state but hoping that will change shortly. He's still in his shirt as he climbs onto the bed and crawls on his hands and knees over her. "The way you were in the car, Scully...I've never seen you that unleashed before, not that I've seen you that way a lot. Jesus...I wish you'd let that woman out to play a little more often, it was incredible." She exhales, wrapping her arms around him, sliding her fingers into his hair as he lowers his body down on top of hers and kisses her neck in the same soft, sensual way they'd recently established. "And that sound you were making in the back of your throat, that sound, when I touch you...unfuckingbelieveable..." "Mulder..." she whimpers, holding on to his head while he plants kisses over her throat. "Nothing has ever sounded so sweet in my ears, Scully," he lifts his head and looks into her face, his eyes bloodshot but so adoring, whispering the words to her before kissing her neck again. He groans as she makes the noise once more. "This is unreal. I can't believe we're finally...Scully, it's fucking unreal." She is completely out of her mind, or he is in there with her...she is thinking the same thing, this is so unreal, so...alive, she feels so alive and awake and...Mulder, Mulder...God he feels so good, so masculine and large, his physicality completely overwhelming her. She wants to feel his skin against hers and under her hands, but his shirt is in the way. She pushes it down over his shoulders, but there are still buttons buttoned and the shirt doesn't come off. She tries again, then pulls on it, trying to pull it off over his head. But the buttons on the cuffs are still fastened, and the shirt doesn't budge. "Mulder..." she puffs in frustration, reaching for his cuffs. He shifts his weight to one arm to give her better access to the other, smiling at her in amusement, then repeats on the other side until she has both cuffs unbuttoned. Pulling the shirt off over his head, she wads it into a ball and flings it somewhere on the other side of the room. She groans softly into his neck as he lowers his body down on hers again, running her hands over his shoulder blades and down, feeling nothing but smooth, warm skin. This is nice, really, really, nice. She hums, warm and happy with her current situation. She likes this. No, she loves this. Mulder moves, his lips kissing a path down her neck and shoulders to her sternum. He lifts his body and slides lower, and she does not want him to move, making a sound of impatience, but he is kissing her breasts, taking her nipples into his mouth and it feels wonderful to have his warm tongue swirling around them. He is using his teeth, too, and that feels really good. But he is moving farther and farther away and she wants his face and his body back up where she can reach him, where she can kiss him and feel his skin and...oh, he's nipping at her abdomen, just below her belly button, his tongue dipping into her navel, and...he is placing her feet flat on the bed, her heels catching on the bedspread...God, she's still wearing her shoes! Now he's pulling her farther down the bed, and her heels are almost up to her ass, and she's completely exposed to him and oh God oh God he's gonna go down, that was his plan all along, he's gonna... "OH GOD!" Her voice is low and hoarse, and doesn't sound like her at all. Mulder's fingers are inside her, and her back is arching off the bed. "That's what made you so hot in the car, isn't it?" his voice is soft and his smile incredibly self-satisfied. He is watching her, studying her reactions. She doesn't reply to his question, assuming it was rhetori- "OH MY GOD!" Mulder's mouth is on her, his tongue teasing her clit, his fingers reaching up into her and setting a gentle rhythm and her hands are clutching the bedspread. She's levitating off the bed, Jesus Christ, he's completely down on her and in her and she's spinning, winding, God, his teeth, her body is going into rigor mortis it's so rigid, God, she's dying... "God! Oh God! Muld-" His fingers are still pressing on that one exquisite spot inside of her, that one, delicate, sensitive spot, that...how the hell does he know how to find that spot every time, he's like an expert craftsman... "Oh - my - God!" "Christ, you really like that, don't you Scully," he whispers, almost to himself, his mouth leaving her clit long enough for him to raise his head and look up at her. "Muller," she slurs, wanting him to shut up, wanting him to put his mouth back on her and Jesus Christ, he does and his tongue is driving her insane, oh God, it's...it's... "GOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDD!" Her back is off the mattress and hard, sharp contractions are hitting her uterus, extending out in waves like an earthquake through the muscles of her vagina. Throbbing, so intense she nearly cramps in pain, nearly pain, but not quite...gasping for breath...panting...oh God, the liquid heat following in its wake, turning everything soft, fluid, soothing, releasing the tension as it expands, her body melting back into the mattress. Her fingers release their hold on the comforter, opening, her palms curling face up and slack as the last bit of tension leaves her body. "Mul-" She's unable to finish saying his name. XxXxX Scully had, simply put, tuned out and turned off. She was over- processed, fried, baked, completely done. No wonder, because she'd consumed four times the legal blood limit in alcohol, performed lewd and indecent acts in a public establishment, and let her partner feel her up in a limousine paid for with government funds. What they did in the privacy of their hotel room wasn't anyone's business. Mulder had climbed up the bed and collapsed onto his stomach beside her before he passed out, exhausted, emptied, inebriated and mentally and physically overstimulated to the point that he just couldn't process anything else. They had danced, drank, and made love. And then they slept. ----- The Happily Ever Morning After The irrefutable evidence, the tell-tale sign. He smells it before he even opens his eyes. Scully. And sex. He inhales again, the soft, silky strands of her hair tickling his nose. His face is in Scully's hair. And there's something more. Something smooth and soft underneath his arm. Skin. Bare skin. He moves his arm, and his hand brushes against something even softer. It is warm, and he thinks it is a breast. "Mmmmmm," he groans, shifting his hips and feeling his morning erection scrape against the bed. He isn't quite awake, and his mouth tastes like cotton. His head feels like there's a sheet of plexiglass surrounding his brain. Shifting his hips again, he scoots closer to the Scully-smell, burying his nose deeper into her hair. This is much more pleasant. He is aware of her breathing, the slow, even sound of a deep sleep. She is laying on her stomach, turned slightly to the side, and he has draped himself over her back, his thick, warm erection now scraping deliciously against her round little butt cheek. It is entirely possible that this is a dream, and if it is, he doesn't want to wake up yet. Underneath him, Scully whimpers softly, dreaming about a heavy blanket that smells like Mulder, and how warm and comfortable it feels draped across her back. There is the strange sensation of something thick and smooth pressing against her bottom, and something else gently gliding against her breast. She likes this dream. She tucks her arm up to her body, holding the warm thing against her breast. Mulder finds the soft skin at the nape of her neck and nuzzles it with his nose, grazing his lips against it, reveling in the way it feels. He presses a kiss there, rubbing his erection up against her bottom, hearing a responding sigh that encourages him to insinuate himself against her tighter. He slides a leg over hers, his hairy leg scratching against a smooth stocking and scraping against a pointed heel. His fuzzy brain tells him Scully is still wearing her thigh-highs and fuck-me shoes, and it makes his dick twitch excitedly, a resounding groan escaping his throat. God, the things they did last night. He rubs his leg up and down against hers, feeling the sweet friction. It is entirely possible that his memory is turned around, and what he thinks happened last night is the dream and this is live, or maybe both this and last night are a dream and he's gonna wake up from one of the biggest wet dreams of his life. Or maybe last night and right now are real and he's one lucky, lucky son of a bitch. He hopes. Scully has yet to become a consenting participant in his little morning after fantasy. A soft groan underneath him tells him she's waking, or trying not to, shifting her weight slightly and burrowing her face into the comforter. He rubs his erection against her ass, kissing her ear. "Good morning, beautiful," he whispers softly into her ear, hearing her groan once more. An eye blinks open, and he sees the blue of her iris briefly before her eye closes again with another groan. "I slept in my shoes." He chuckles softly, rubbing his leg against hers. "I know. It's sexy as hell." "Mmmmm," she responds, pushing her bottom back against him to see if his erection is still there. "Is this a peace offering for last night?" He takes her earlobe between his teeth, then kisses it. "Mmmm, if you want it to be." "I think something died in my mouth." He lifts his head slightly, looking down at her with sleepy eyes. "Thank you for that mental image, Scully." Sliding his hand between the mattress and her hips, he lightly brushes his finger over the exposed tip of her clit. It is sensitive from prolonged stimulation the night before and she makes the noise in the back of her throat that he recognizes as approval, pushing her ass back against his dick once again. He brushes his fingertip over her lightly a few times, then draws his hand back, raising up on his arms to nudge her legs farther apart and slide his other leg between them, his dick now firm between her little ass cheeks. He rubs up and down, feeling the delicious way her skin feels against the underside of his shaft and bending down to kiss her neck and shoulders. She shifts again, pulling her arm out from underneath her pillow and reaching down to touch her clit the way he had done. Her fingers brush against his sac and he opens his eyes partway. "Mmmm, Scully," he whispers into her ear, causing her eyes to flicker open, then shut again. He is undulating against her and her breathing is becoming heavy, her arousal growing as quickly as his. After a few more gentle thrusts against her ass he nudges one of her knees up and reaches down to rub the blunt head of his penis against her wet opening. She is definitely consenting, and he guides his head in, thrusting gently, slowly pushing forward a thrust at a time until he's buried in her, tight and hot and wet and sooo, sooo good. Scully is making that noise again, her fingers still sliding around her clit and occasionally grazing against his sac. He lifts himself up onto his forearms, thrusting into her steadily in easy, full strokes, and she braces one arm underneath her, bending her other knee to raise her ass a little higher so he can get deeper inside of her. Her forearm is braced just above her head, and she lowers her forehead down to her wrist, her lips parted and her breathing heavy. Her head hurts, but he feels so hard and so delightfully good that she chooses to ignore the throbbing of her head and concentrate on the sensation of him, filling her over and over, synchronizing the swirling of her fingers around her clit with the rhythm of his thrusting. "God, I love this," Mulder groans between thrusts, bending down to place a sloppy kiss on the back of her neck. Anchoring himself on one arm, he reaches down behind her knee, pulling it up farther and thrusting faster. In this modified position her fingers are brushing against his sac in a steady rhythm, hastening his need to release. His breath leaves his lungs in short little pants and then he groans, clenching his teeth and throwing his head back as he comes, thrusting through his orgasm. Scully's fingers are moving frantically, her body tight, striving for that release. Mulder is still inside of her, lightly thrusting but without the same intensity, his penis still erect but slowly losing its form. She lets out an impatient whimper, grinding against him, and feels the orgasm start to build. "Don't move," she whispers urgently. He holds himself still, willing his own body to comply just a few seconds more. Letting out a few more sharp breaths, she makes the noise, his favorite noise, in the back of her throat. Her inner muscles undulate around his penis as she comes, the rhythm becoming slower and less frequent and finally stopping. Slowly she sinks down into the mattress, Mulder sinking down on top of her, peppering her neck with soft kisses. "I need some Tylenol," Scully mutters underneath him. He lifts his head, then rolls off of her. "I've got some in my bag." "This is my room, Mulder." "Then I've got some in your bag." He sits up, groaning and holding his head between his hands. "Shit." Stumbling across the room toward the bathroom, he rubs an eye with his index finger. He finds Scully's Extra-Strength Tylenol in her overnight case on the counter, shaking out three caplets, then two more. Popping three into his mouth he swallows them dry, making a face as they slide down his throat. Then he sees a glass in the corner and fills it with tap water, drinking it down. Smacking his lips together, he makes another face and grabs Scully's toothbrush. When Mulder finally appears in Scully's line of vision by the side of the bed, he is bearing two Tylenol and a glass of water. Handing them to her, he watches her pop the caplets into her mouth and wash them down. He's still nude, except for his black socks, and she wonders why he didn't wrap a towel around himself or something. She'd had the presence of mind to pull the edge of the comforter over herself when he left the bed. "I'm gonna take a shower," he says, picking up the empty glass to take it back to the bathroom. "Save some hot water for me." She watches his naked ass as he crosses the room, and she has to admit, it's a fine piece of ash. "There's room for two if you feel like conserving," he calls out, turning on the taps. She rolls over onto her back and lays there a moment, blinking up at the ceiling. Déjà vu. Then she tosses the covers aside and sits up, groaning. Mulder's already in the shower by the time she reaches the bathroom. She wants to brush her teeth first, and finds her toothbrush next to the sink. Wet. "Mulder, did you use my toothbrush?" His wet head pops out from behind the curtain, drops of water hanging off of the tip of his nose. She is turned toward him, holding the toothbrush in her hand, and he gives her bare torso the once-over before replying, "Is that a problem?" She lets out a sigh and turns back toward the sink, rinsing her toothbrush under the tap before squeezing out a moderate amount of toothpaste and brushing her teeth. He is slightly surprised, looking over his shoulder at her when the curtain draws back and Scully finally steps into the shower with him. She blinks up at him, squinting as stray drops of water splatter over her face. Mulder is blocking the flow of water from the showerhead. "Wait a minute," he says, pulling her close and sidestepping the two of them around so that she's in front of him, under the spray. The water is hitting the back of her head and she reaches up, pushing the wet hair out of her face. Mulder grins down at her, his hair plastered to his head and looking very much like a drowned rat. "Better?" She groans, and he laughs, reaching out and pulling her close. She lays her head on his chest, sliding her arms around his waist. "Are you sorry, Scully?" he asks, his voice warm but serious. "About what, the shower?" "Last night." She is silent a moment. "Not at all. Why do you ask?" He shrugs his shoulders, running his fingers through her wet hair. "Just what you said about a peace offering for last night." She is silent again, this time longer than before. "Last night was wonderful." He smiles, leans down and kisses the top of her wet head. "I have no complaints." She closes her eyes, thinking about the night before. "I had too much to drink." "We both did." She blinks, staring at the shower curtain. "And you opened some doors for me that I wasn't comfortable with opening, so I suppose I should thank you for that." He is still playing with her hair, listening. When she doesn't continue, he asks, "And now?" She lets out a long breath. "I'd like to work on being a little more open about what I want." "You mean like when you were mad and you wouldn't tell me you wanted to have intercourse?" She sighs, not surprised that he'd figured it out. After all, he does know her so well. "Yeah, like that." "Tell me something." "What?" "If we were to find ourselves in a situation like that again sometime..." he pauses, and when he doesn't continue, she lifts her head off his chest and looks up at him. He meets her gaze and smiles. "Well, not exactly like that...say the situation were slightly different, and things were a little more...equitable..." A smile plays at the corners of her mouth. "Yes...?" "If I suggest we get a little...creative..." "How so?" "Um, I don't know...walls, or coffee tables, maybe..." He bites the corner of his lip, studying her. Her voices sounds like she's surprised herself by the answer. "I'd consider it." He grins, and leans down, kissing her on the lips. She gives him another kiss, then turns her head, laying it against his chest once again. There is a knowing smile on her face. "But I'd rather wait and surprise you." fin beduini@justduckies.org http://www.justduckies.org/beduini