HOLLYWOOD NIGHTS Kristel S. Oxley-Johns Kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com Rating: NC-17 (language, graphic sex) Classification: SR Archive: Yes. (Redistribute with permission only) Spoilers: Anything through "Hollywood A.D." is fair game Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance Summary: Mulder's reaction to the events in "Hollywood A.D." in light of the events that transpired in my earlier fanfic "Hegira." It's not going to make much sense to you unless you've read "Hegira." You can find the completed story at http://www.geocities.com/kristeljohns/ I haven't written much NC-17 XF fanfic, because I always swore I wouldn't write a "Mulder and Scully get together" story until I could do so in a way consistent with the tone of the show. Been there, done that, got the web-site to prove it. Now it's time to have a little fun. DISCLAIMER: If they were mine, we wouldn't be in the middle of a *six month* hiatus. HOLLYWOOD NIGHTS Scully in a Little Black Dress. Me in a tuxedo. An IMPAC card in our hot little hands. Our boss's blessing to use it however we see fit. Life doesn't get much better than this. Scully looks beyond belief gorgeous. Personally, I'd prefer my jeans and a gray t-shirts, but Scully seems to approve of the penguin motif, so tonight we're doing the stuffed shirt thing. Skinner's gonna regret giving us that card when he has to sign off on the bill. And I mean *really* regret it. He may even lose the rest of his hair. Good. He deserves it for letting that idiot Federman make that fucking movie. That *stupid* fucking movie. The Lazarus Bowl of Crap. The movie that mocked everything that means life and death to Scully and I...Everything we mean to each other... *In love with A.D. Skinner...Bigger flashlight* Shit. Who, me? Jealous? Hell yeah. I didn't need to be sharing a bed with Scully every night to make my muscles tense every time another man gave her the once-over twice. Or to know the soft heat of her flesh or her unbelievably vast repertoire of impassioned sighs and gasps and moans and cries...shit. It's no wonder I've always been undeniably compelled to move into her space in the presence of other men. It's my patented Alpha male move, screaming "MINE!" in body language. The wonder is that I didn't start baying at the moon and pissing in the corners. We staked our claims on each other long before we ever became lovers. I can't help a smug grin, thinking about some of the moves Scully's made in her day--she can be a pretty impressive Alpha bitch herself. I don't think I'll tell her that, though. Not unless I grow very disenchanted with the prospect of breathing. So no, I didn't need to be her lover to feel territorial about her time and attentions. But now, knowing what it is to awaken with my face against her silken hair, breathing the scent of her, the sweet heat of her, the primitive way she smells makes me want to do more than howl. The mere insinuation that she might love another is enough to make me want to commit mayhem upon one follicle-challenged Assistant Director of the FBI. Not to mention that idiot Fuckerman...Freakerman...Fudderman... I pause for a moment, cataloguing all the variations of his name my Oxford-educated, eidetic-memory-enhanced, testosterone-saturated brain can come up with. Then I stop, deciding not to bother. I had nailed it on the first try. Now all I need is his head and a bottle of champagne to help him launch his new name. It's not that I'm particularly insecure, at least not in this regard. I know Scully, and I know that when she does something, she doesn't do it by half-measures. I may not quite understand precisely *how* she could possibly love me, but I have no questions that she does. So it's not her that I don't trust. It's *them*. Who's them? Men. All of 'em. Every single last hormone-driven, led-by-the-prick one. Okay, maybe not every last one. Some of them are gay and thus immune to Scully's magnificence. But as for the rest... And just where precisely did the smarmy little bastard Federman get his idea about Scully and Skinner in the first place? Who, oh who, might have planted that particularly noxious seed in his wormy little brain? At the very least, who allowed it to germinate there? Ohhh, yes. The Skinman is definitely gonna regret giving us that card. He's gonna regret that he ever met Wayne-fucking-Federman. He doesn't need to know that I made reservations for us weeks ago at one of the most expensive restaurants in Beverly Hills and that I'd planned to pay for said dining experience out of my own pocket. He doesn't need to know how much per night we *won't* be spending on our hotel room. Special Agents Mulder and Scully are going to do something they've never, in their seven year shared history, done before. We're going out on a date. A real date. A date with candlelight and dancing and food that doesn't come out of a carry-out sack and a couple bottles of wine that cost more than the gross national product of any number of small Eastern countries. And after that, we'll return to the honeymoon suite of an outrageously posh hotel and make love 'til dawn, over and over again, until neither of us can move. And it's all courtesy of Uncle Sam. Gotta send that guy a thank-you note someday. It's a good thing we booked a late flight home day after tomorrow. Not only do we get a mini-vacation, we have an entire day free to play. I'm thinking the beach...Scully lying beneath me in the sand with the water lapping around us, surrounding us in foamy brine, the waves drowning out the sound of our passion... Of course, the bill on this little holiday will no doubt remove any lingering questions in Skinner's mind as to the status of our relationship when we're not on the clock, but that's okay. We're here on our own time and I'm feeling territorial enough to make sure there *are* no such questions. At first, Scully and I decided to play the romance thing low-key, certainly not denying it, but not making a big production of it either. We decided that driving home from the mountains the day after we first made love. But in the intervening weeks, something has changed. I don't think either of us is particularly content with constantly being stared at oddly as the people we encounter wonder about us. So each day we get a little more careless about who knows what. And by the time the dust settles in the wake of this weekend's events, Associate Producer Walter Skinner will know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I've got something he never will. I've got Scully. Actually, charging the hotel room to the government card is probably overkill. I think my reaction at the movie premiere was enough to drive the final nail into *that* particular coffin. The first nail was hammered home the morning, several weeks ago, when Skinner's assistant Kimberly called Scully at seven in the morning to tell her we were wanted in Skinner's office first thing, and I answered her phone without thinking. I doubt there's much that Kimberly knows that Skinner doesn't. The matter wasn't helped much by her smug smile when we finally did appear at Skinner's office and her ostentatious show of calculating her pool winnings. So much for our plan to not make a big production of things. There's Scully, sitting beside me in the chauffeur-driven limousine we received courtesy of Federman Productions, giving me a bemused look, wondering at my expression. I'm still grinning, this time with satisfaction. Sure, Scully knows we're about to have a night out in Tinsel Town, but she doesn't know that this night has been carefully planned for weeks in advance. So I'm an opportunist. Sue me. I figured if I had to get decked out in a monkey suit and Scully would be wearing that simple, sleek black sheath that does more for my libido than a dozen yards of taffeta and sequins ever could, I might as well make the most of the situation. It's a rare and special day when we're not in either our work clothes, chasing the impossible or improbable until we're ready to drop, or jeans and t-shirts, desperately needing nothing more than to just unwind. We flew out to LAX this morning, reached the hotel just after noon, took a long nap and got up to get ready to go to the movie premiere. For us, the night is just beginning. "What's that look for?" Scully finally speaks. Jesus, that dress! And there above it, Scully with a sexy, quizzical half-smile. Apparently, we haven't been lovers long enough for her to decipher my "I want to roll up the privacy window between the driver and us and ravish you here and now" expression. This is an odd feeling for me, no doubt a remnant of my earlier anger and jealousy. I feel Neanderthal. What's driving me tonight is something much more primitive than the tenderness and protectiveness I usually feel toward Scully. If I'm being honest with myself, and there's no reason I shouldn't be, then the truth is that for the first time since we began sleeping together, I'm really not all that interested in making love to her. I want to fuck her, plain and simple. I want to use her, repeatedly, until neither of us can think straight. I want to fill her to the point where nothing and no one else exists in her life. I don't just want other men to know she belongs to me, I want her to know it as well. This feeling worries me a little, but not enough for me to stop feeling it. Only enough to make me wonder how receptive she might be to something entirely new and unexplored between us. That's what that look means. But as I am trying to put into words precisely what my desire is, Scully nods understandingly, as though she has indeed deciphered my expression. What can I say? The lady's a quick study. Her hand slides along the console at her side and a quiet hum alerts me to the privacy window going up. Before I can react, Scully's moving across the seat toward me with a gleam in her eye. Either she's much better at reading me than I thought, or I'm pouring out pheromones by the bucketful, but something of my sexually charged mood seems to reflect in her expression. Christ, I want her. Every minute of every day, the hunger just gets stronger. No matter how many times we've had sex, it's never enough. I want this very second to be buried in her hot, tight body with the musky scent of her surrounding me. "You gonna tell me what this is all about, Mulder?" She murmurs as she raises herself on her knees, leaning over me. No, Scully, not tonight. You're not taking the reins this time. "What's what all about?" I shift, rise, turn toward her, force her back until, rather than her leaning over me, I'm leaning over her. She twists to move her legs out from underneath her bottom, stretching them out on the seat. "You seemed to know exactly where you wanted the driver to take us," she commented, her voice husky. "If I didn't know any better--and I don't--I'd say you've got some secret agenda for tonight." "Ooh, 'secret agenda.' I love it when you talk conspiracy." I bear down on her, forcing her to slide back and down, until she's lying across the seat with her head and shoulders propped up against the wall behind her. I brace myself over her, one hand on the edge of the seat, the other braced on the back of it, trapping her where she is. "You're evading the question." She licks her lips, studying me thoughtfully. She looks playful, intrigued, as her fingers toy with the studs on my shirt. Did I mention I want her? Badly. To the point that it's exquisite agony just to look at her. "Mmm, 'evading.' Keep talking, Scully." She smiles and opens her mouth to respond and that's when I make my move, swooping forward to capture her lips. I could devour her tonight, overwhelmed with impulses that have very little to do with gentleness and much more to do with sheer hunger. Scully's right there with me, her hands clasped around the base of my skull, her mouth ravenous against mine. My hands cup her breasts and work them roughly through the fabric of her dress and she moans into my mouth. I have to trust her to stop me if I do something she doesn't like, because at this moment, I don't have a tender impulse in my entire body. I want to possess her, every part of her. I want to leave an indelible brand on her that no one would ever dare to question. I want to... Want to ignore the fact that the car has stopped and our driver is getting out of his seat to come open the door for us. I raise myself off her and she gives a low growl of frustration. "How about we say 'screw dinner' and go back to the hotel?" She proposes hopefully, that gleam in her eye again. I think I've come to recognize it pretty well. Our relationship during this transition has been refreshing in that we both feel perfectly at ease letting one another know of our desire. We don't hide it, don't mask it, don't deny it for the sake of decorum. We simply let it exist, even when we can't do anything about it. I ponder her suggestion. Two seconds ago I was thinking the same thing myself, but hearing her say it curiously eradicates the urge. I want her to experience the same unquenchable desire for me that I feel every day of my life in her presence. I want to make sure she knows what it's like to go nearly insane with wanting. I want her to hunger, want to whet her appetite and then fulfill it only when *I* decide it's time. We can't do this back in D.C. There's just too much going on for us back there. Too big a chance of the cell phone ringing at the wrong moment and destroying all our carefully laid plans for the evening--the inanimate harbinger of news of a situation that needs our immediate attention. I think there's a very specific reason our first sexual encounter took place when and how it did. A very strict set of prerequisites had to be met first. I had to reach a place in my life where Scully was my first priority and the only one that really mattered to me, where I wasn't blinded by the obsessions that have dominated my adulthood. She had to reach a place in her life where she had let down some of the barriers of science and rationalism and professionalism with which she shielded herself from things she didn't understand. And we had to be someplace where there were no interruptions, where nothing mattered but the moment. Despite its utter lack of elegance, that little cabin in the mountains fit the bill perfectly. Once we overcame that first obstacle, the rest was easy. We just allowed ourselves to fall into a new pattern, a process we have done many times over the years when something changed between us. Adaptability is what allowed us to get to this point. But as adaptable as we are, we can't ignore the goddamned cell phones, even when they ring at 10 o'clock on a Friday night in the middle of a restaurant. So we don't go out on dates. But the cell phones aren't here tonight. They're not even back in the hotel. The evil little bastards are back in Washington where they can wreak no havoc on our time together here. No one but the limo driver knows where we're staying. Tonight, we're free. And with that freedom comes the opportunity to do things we've never done before. I'm not ashamed of what I'm feeling--not horrified or put off by it. Whatever exists between Scully and I is founded in truth, and this desire is as honest as they come. I'm not going to hide it from her, or pretend it doesn't exist. And Scully will never censure me for being honest with her, even when that honesty is less than flowery. So we're going to play this my way tonight. I shake my head in denial of Scully's request. "I made this reservation weeks ago," I reply by way of excuse, and sighing, she pulls herself upright and quickly smoothes her hair just as the driver opens the door. * * * * * "So are you ever going to tell me what that look is about?" Scully asks, taking a sip of her desert wine. There's nothing like a five star dining experience to make you realize just how humble your day to day existence really is. It's been far too many years since I've done this, but the old habits don't die easily. I knew growing up on Martha's Vineyard had to serve *some* good. At least I know how to wine and dine a lady. It's a tease, a seduction at its finest. I don't plan to give her a moment to get comfortable with things...I want to keep her on edge, maybe even a little unsettled. By the time we leave this place, I want her panting for me. Charm is one way of accomplishing the goal, and I'm pouring it on for all its worth. "What look?" I ask again, leaning toward her. Our chairs are not across the table from each other, but side by side. Forget the wine, which is phenomenal; the bouquet of Scully is enough to make me drunk. She's the one who should have grown up on Martha's Vineyard. There isn't an inch of her that's not rife with understated elegance. In the glow of the candle on the table, her soft white skin is lustrous, and in the dim ambient lighting, her eyes look darker than their normal translucent blue. They glitter like the finest of sapphires. The elegance is yet another turn-on. To know what lies under all that calm and composure, to know what she's like in the throes of a mind- blowing orgasm, moaning and shuddering and sweating. There's not a man in this place who isn't at one point look at her and wonder at her beauty and poise. But I'm the only one who's going to end the evening between her thighs. "The one you gave me in the car," her voice is pitched low, barely loud enough to be called a murmur. "I'd say you looked like you wanted to eat me alive, but I've seen *that* particular expression before, and this one wasn't it." Scully, love, you have no idea... Her tongue darts out to lick her lips, and I stare, entranced, imagining what she must taste like now with the wine on her lips and tongue. I've been in a state of full-blown arousal since my mental tantrum in the car. That the raw, wild feeling I experienced in the car still hasn't gone away. It's still there, urging me to a recklessness I've never really felt toward her before. "I was thinking that for a civilized person, I'm feeling particularly uncivilized tonight," I answer finally, watching her expression carefully. If she had any reservations about this wild impulse that's driving me, it's best to know now so I can change my plans. "Really?" Her eyes widen. "And here I was thinking I'm seeing you at your civilized best right now. I have to admit, Mulder, that this is not an environment I've ever had a chance to observe you in. You're very debonair when you want to be." "Scully," I lean closer, my lips practically next to her ear. "You of all people ought to know to beware when I'm on my best behavior." I lean back and pick up her free hand, kissing her fingers gallantly even as my thumb traces slow, suggestive circles in her palm. Still holding her hand, I run a finger of my other hand down the underside of her bare arm, raising goose-flesh on her skin. I've managed to surprise her. She struggles with a reply for a moment, staring at me. I find myself surprised as well. I've thrown her off- balance just a little, which is always a satisfying experience. What surprises me is that I find the fact that I've managed to do so very arousing. I like seeing her this way, a little unsure, a little confused. So rather than allowing her the opportunity to formulate a response, I rise, still holding her hand. "Would you care to dance?" Ahh, 007 never managed the line more suavely. I'm not trying to be pretentious, just making a point. I'm on my best behavior. Scully, beware. Dancing with Scully may be the most exquisite form of torture known to mankind. I have learned from intimate experience in the last several weeks just how well our bodies fit together. But swaying with her, her body occasionally brushing against an erection that needs no urging to begin with, is enough to make me think twice about my plan to drag out this seduction as long as humanly possible. "So why, precisely, are you feeling uncivilized tonight, Mulder?" Scully asks, looking up at me. Her fingers toy idly with the hairs at the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. She knows. I know she knows. There's a look of expectancy in her eyes, but she's waiting for me to say it. If I don't say it, she'll assume it's because I don't want to talk about it, don't want to admit to it, and she'll let it go. That's not us, though. Not anymore. We don't let unspoken words fester between us. Besides, I don't have any problems with discussing this. She needs to know exactly where I stand. Especially tonight, when I'm on the verge of going someplace I've never gone with her before. She needs to know why I feel the needs I'm feeling right now. "Jealousy," I confess frankly, unapologetic. Three...two...one...take-off. The eyebrow launches. "Because of that stupid movie?" "Because all it takes is another man looking at you sidewise to make me want to put him through a wall," I reply, pitching my voice low, speaking next to her ear. "Because you're mine and I want everyone to know it. And because I know exactly what kind of conversations about you are going to be floating around the bullpen at work when that movie hits the theatres." "Well, I can always start a rumor among that female agents that I have absolutely *no* problems with your flashlight," she offers with a sly smile. Ohh, I like that look; that sexy, suggestive smile that says Scully wants to play. We've always flirted, from practically the first day we met, but since we became lovers, we've elevated innuendo to high art. I don't think anyone realizes just how much foreplay we do on the job, with those small, inside jokes that go over everyone's head, but go straight to mine. One of them, at least. These days, I have to get a little more outrageous, a little bawdier to out-do her in the double-entendre department. "The D-cell market gonna miss you, Scully?" I pull her a little closer to my body, brushing deliberately against her, and murmur into her ear. "After all, my flashlight doesn't need batteries." The bulge of my cock nestles intimately against her lower belly, her flesh yielding to mine as it always does. Jesus, she is so unbelievably soft. My hand around her waist rests perhaps a bit lower than what might be considered proper, right on the upper curve of her ass, but I figure it doesn't matter. This is California. I doubt anything we could do would shock anyone in this restaurant. As if I care, anyway. Another woman would blush at my words. But another woman is not Dana Scully. "With very good reason, Mulder." Her voice pitches a little lower, gets a little breathier, "I think we both know what power source you plug into." I'm feeling a little breathless myself. My cock gives a little twitch at the idea of plugging into that particular outlet. Thank God for dignity-preserving tuxedo jackets. Not that the jacket is hiding much from Scully. With every contact, every clench of my jaw, she gives me a knowing look, and rubs against my burgeoning erection like a cat. "Care to tell me why it is we're not on our way back to the hotel yet?" She purrs as our third dance ends. My cock gives another little hop at the idea, but, by god, Stanley the Power Drill can buzz all he wants, he is not in charge here tonight. I have a goal, and so I escort Scully back to the table, sparing no expense in the gallantry department. Pull out the chair, scoot it back in, pour us some more wine. Whatever my nefarious motives may be, this evening truly is a once in a blue moon opportunity for us, and I'm enjoying it for all its worth. Best to take advantage of it while I can. "I don't think I want to leave yet," I reply, proud of how smooth and calm I sound. Scully gives me a narrow look and I wonder if maybe instead of smooth, I sound smug about her obvious frustration. She knows goddamn good and well what I'm doing, knows I'm teasing her. I think someday soon she'll exact dire recompense, but for now she's playing the game. I had just better hope I don't sound too smug. After all, there is retribution, and then, there is Retribution. Her forbearance, however, is not without the occasional warning "this better be good, Mulder" glance as we sit at the table, drinking our wine. My hand dallies on her thigh beneath the tablecloth. Don't worry, Scully. It will be. "I like seeing you like this," I murmur, stroking her knee. I've never been a huge fan of pantyhose, but whatever brand she's chosen are soft as silk beneath my fingers. "I like the opportunity to treat you this way." "What way is that?" She's a little flushed with wine and desire. It's an incredible look on her. "Like the woman I'm going to take to bed tonight," I reply hoarsely, speaking so low that there's no chance I'll be overheard. Never underestimate the power of some well-timed dirty talk. We both twitch slightly as the arousal heightens another notch. We're both vibrating with it. "Like the woman I'm going to strip that dress from and fuck until dawn." Her nostrils flare, her eyes darken. "Then take me back to the hotel and do it, Mulder," she says bluntly, licking her lips again. Her respiration just increased, and I can see the tiniest hint of her nipples standing erect beneath her dress. I shake my head, smiling softly. "Not yet." The look she gives me is filled with exasperation and longing. It falls just short of pleading. When it actually gets to the pleading stage, then I'll take her back to the hotel. And not a minute before. She tries to give back a little of what she's getting, placing her hand in my lap. At that point I sweep her out to the dance-floor again, where she instead makes a point of brushing against me as hard and as often as possible without drawing scandalized stares from the other diners. I'm not going to let her pull me off course here, though. I'm a man on a mission. The way our lives go, it will be another seven years before we have a chance to dance together again. Better enjoy it while it lasts. And whatever demands my libido might be making, it doesn't change the fact that moving to the music with her small, nifty little body pressed against me is superlatively nice. She looks ready to break into the Hallelujah Chorus when I finally, hours later, announce I'm ready to leave. Before the driver even finishes closing the door behind us, I'm rolling up the privacy window while Scully watches me from her side of the rear seat. By the time the driver is behind the wheel and we're in motion once more, I'm already stalking her. The first part of me to reach her is my hands, which slide up her thighs and under her skirt. As the rest of my body catches up, I take hold of her hips and pull her forward, causing her to slide down in the seat until her sweet, shapely ass is on the very edge and she is slouched down. "Jesus, Mulder!" She gasps, surprised by the abrupt action. Her pupils are dilated, the pulse in her fine, elegant throat plainly visible. She's breathing through her open mouth. I move in over her, parting her thighs and kneeling between them on the floorboard, moving in closer until the only thing keep her perched on the seat is the pressure of my pelvis against her thighs. I lean forward, suspended above her, and this time we gasp together as the pressure of my erection--which has reached crisis proportions over the last hours--settles into the soft nest of her sex. The heat of her scalds me through my clothes and now, with her skirt pushed up around her hips and her thighs parted, the scent of her arousal is rich and heady. Her eyes don't leave mine for an instant. I know she must wonder about this different mood I'm in--hell, *I* wonder about it--but there are no questions about what's gotten in to me, no probing comments about how different this is or wondering what brought it on. Only an adventurous sense of acceptance fills her gaze, coupled with a hint of challenge. You began this Mulder, she seems to be saying with her eyes. Where do you plan to take it? I need to kiss her more than I need my next breath. So I do. With a passion bordering on violence, I take possession of her lips, starved for the taste of her. I plunder her mouth, demanding and receiving more with each thrust of my tongue, my hands buried to the wrists in her hair, cupping the back of her skull, turning her head to one side or the other to better suit my own demands. I pull her head to the side with one hand and begin working my way down her neck with my mouth, to the sensitive point where her pulse throbs brutally. I listen appreciatively to the small, rapturous sounds she makes as my free hand lays claim to her breast again, pinching her nipple through the fabric of her dress. I thrust my hips forcefully against her, and my own moan of pleasure comes hard on the heels of hers. I badly want to unzip the back of her dress and slide it off her, to let my eyes feast on the sight of her porcelain perfect skin accented by her black satin and lace bra, but I don't. When I strip that dress off her, there will be no need for hasty repairs to our appearance before we leave the car to return to our room. Once that dress is gone tonight, it's gone for good. Instead, I slip the hand that had been kneading her breast between her legs, stroking her moist heat through two thin layers of material; one of satin, one of nylon. She shudders and gasps, thrusting against my hand, causing the knuckles of my fingers to rub up against my own straining erection. I pull my hips back, away from her, unwilling to allow myself to be pushed beyond the realm of control just yet. I focus my attention on firm, even strokes of my fingers against her center, damning the barriers which refuse to allow me entrance. "My God, Mulder," Scully pants in my ear as I continue to nibble and suck on her neck, "if you don't quit soon...I'm going to come right...here in the car." "So do it." "I'd..." breathy gasp "...kinda like you to be in on...that particular party." "Party's a long way from being over, Scully," I mumble against her neck. Drawing back for a second, I pull her nylons off her hips and slide them down her legs. I make a deliberate show of stuffing them in her handbag and tossing it negligently aside, my eyes never leaving hers. The point is made and taken without a word being spoken between us. Nothing short of an actual "no" will stop me tonight from taking what I want. And what I want is to see her at the mercy of her desire, helpless beneath its ravages, even at this very moment here in the car. There's something immensely satisfying about the idea of making her lose control regardless of our surroundings. Control. That's what this is all about, I realize. Too few things in our lives lately have been within our control. They happen to us, and we make our way through them, but we don't control them. We couldn't control the way that moron Federman portrayed us and our relationship, but here, now, I have the ability to seize control. Not just over myself and our surroundings, but over Scully as well. It's an intoxicating feeling, this ability to control, and not one I feel the need for terribly often, but here, tonight, it's the most vital thing on earth to me. My hands return to her, sliding up her bare thighs to her provocative black panties. She sucks in her breath suddenly at the first contact, a shiver running through her as goose flesh ripples her skin, and I realize that she is already aroused to the point where every touch becomes an electric shock. I run my fingers along the bottom edge of the delicate bikini underwear, along the ridge of her hips and the sensitive skin of her groin. Then I slip a finger beneath and begin caressing the hot, wet folds of her flesh, sliding slowly into her body, intoxicated by the scent and sound of her as she gasps and moves beneath me. The car is slowing down as we exit the highway when my efforts pay off. Five minutes away from our hotel, Scully sinks her teeth into the padded jacket over my shoulder to muffle her sounds as she shudders around me, her body tensing, pressing hard against me. I ease my fingers away from her core as her spasms subside and allow myself to enjoy the moment afterward that she slips from my arms, a sublime expression of pleasure on her face. She seems to melt, sagging back against the velvet upholstery, and I slide up into the seat, ignoring the protest of my knees from having knelt so long on the floor, and pull her close, enraptured, as always, by the passionate abandon with which she gives herself to me. Unwittingly, however, she has raised the bar for me tonight, and I set my sights on a new goal. Before this night is over, I want to hear her scream, without any effort to muffle the sound. I want to add a few new noises to her repertoire. Yep, definitely got some Neanderthal impulses happening here... She smiles up at me, her face flushed, her eyes slightly glazed, licking lips gone dry from too much breathless gasping. "This is no fair," she murmurs. It's the closest sound to a purr I think I've ever heard from a human being. "You haven't even broken a sweat, Mulder." I give an incredulous chuckle and hold out my hand to allow her to witness its shaking. I've wanted Scully thousands of times over our years together, and made love to her dozens of times since that blissful afternoon in the mountains weeks ago, and still the ache of wanting takes me by surprise. Being with her only serves to make me want her more, crave her like a narcotic. But tonight's yearning is about more than fulfilling the needs of my body. I could come here and now and I still wouldn't be satisfied until I had achieved from her the responses I desire. Tonight is about more than making love to her, more than finding a release for the throbbing of my cock in her body. Tonight, I want to own her, and I want us both to know it as fact. She interlaces her fingers with those of my outstretched hand and brings them to her mouth, kissing the back of my hand softly. Stunning, the dichotomy of my emotions at this moment. Underpinning the greedy, wanton lust, the part of me that wants to use her until we collapse into a single boneless, intertwined unit, is the fact that I love her more than life, need her more than air. If anyone else proposed to do the things that I want to do to her, I'd kill him with my bare hands. But its all right for me to want to use her this way because I know she will always be safe with me. My loving her prevents this act of selfish desire from cheapening what we share. "We'll have to do something about this," Scully says, holding my hand to her face and resting her cheek upon it. Only the fact that she is holding it prevents it from trembling still. Her face is slowly regaining its composure, the flush fading from her cheeks, lucidity returning to her eyes. Only Dana Katherine Scully could manage to look composed with her skirt hitched up around her hips and the interior of the car saturated with the scent of sex. But I'm not sure I want her composed. Not yet. Maybe not all night. It's time to upset her equilibrium a little. I glance out the window and see our hotel only a block ahead, as our car sits stopped at a traffic light. I quickly slide to the floor again and begin tugging at her panties, sliding them down her hips and off her legs. I tuck them in the inside pocket of my jacket and slip her high-heeled shoes on her feet as she watches me in surprise. "Do something about what?" I ask as the car begins to move once more. With brisk, business-like aplomb, I pull her skirt down to cover her hips and thighs once more, placing one nipping kiss on her thigh before it disappears from sight. "About this," she very gingerly runs the toe of one shod foot over my groin. The contact is electric; it's all I can do not to react. Not yet. I don't want to give her that yet. "Maybe later," I reply, non-committal. The car turns into the rounded drive in front of our hotel and I reclaim my place on the seat, reaching over to pick up her handbag and set it in her lap. Scully quickly brushes her hair with her fingers as she realizes were pulling to a stop before our hotel and double-checks to see if her clothes are suitably straightened. Then she faces me. "Maybe later?" Hmm, lethal Scully-brow flying at three o'clock. "Yeah," I reply, trying to control a smile. "When I'm ready." "I dunno, Mulder, you look pretty damned ready to me," she comments with a pointed glance at my crotch. "If you were any readier, you'd lose your deposit on that tuxedo." "Scully," I lean toward her, close enough that my lips brush her ear as I whisper her name. "Yes, Mulder?" There's a catch in her voice, the tiniest shiver ripples across her skin. "I'll let you know when I'm ready." Her eyes widen slightly and she turns her head to stare at me. There it is then, the actual declaration. I'm running the show tonight. If she has any objections to the proposal, this is the moment to make them. I can't blame her for her surprise; usually I wait for her to set the tone, because I don't ever want her to feel compelled or obligated in any way. It's vitally important to me that she be happy with everything that happens between us, that her wants and needs are fulfilled first and foremost. I'm treading on dangerous ground here, on her sense of control, and that might be going a bit far. If she wants anything other than what I'm proposing right now, I'll be more than happy to oblige. All she needs to do is say the word... She doesn't. She blinks a couple times, studying me. Her lips purse slightly, and then she gives just the tiniest nod of assent. The curious smile is back, the one that says if she had half a chance, she'd stick me under a microscope and study me until she had me figured out. Then the door is opening and I slide out of the car. Reaching back in, I offer my hand to help her out, tip the driver generously, and escort her into the hotel lobby. Scully and I are both subdued as we wait for the elevator. We have it to ourselves as I push the button that will deliver us to the twenty- second floor and the doors slide shut. The car is barely in motion before I have her pinned to one of the many mirrors that surround us. She gasps into my mouth as I kiss her savagely, ravishing her lips, demanding everything she has to give in that kiss. My hands cup the bottom curves of her ass, and I bend my knees, grinding my pelvis against her. Her arms twine around my neck and I tear my lips away from hers, pressing rough kisses and love-bites along her neck. "Do you know--" I breathe against her satiny skin, "--how many times I've dreamed of fucking you in an elevator?" "Let me guess--" she pants as I nibble the tendon joining her neck to her shoulder, "--the one in the J. Edgar Hoover Building, am I right?" "Mm hmm." I thrust against her again, the movement ungentle. Her low moan is gratifying. "I think I've had that fantasy once or twice," she replies breathlessly. I pull away abruptly as the elevator dings, heralding our arrival at the proper floor. I take her hand and pull her along behind me to room 2212, releasing it only to fish my wallet out of my pocket and retrieve the card key that will allow us entrance. With my blood pounding in my veins, I open the door and stand aside to let her precede me into the room. The instant she steps past me and into the doorway, however, I follow her, grabbing her roughly with an arm over her shoulder and across her chest. My lips seek out her throat again as I propel her into the room and allow the door to swing closed behind us. One hand smacks the wall and hits the light switch. I fall back against the door, dragging her with me, never breaking the contact between my mouth and the side of her neck as my free hand pulls roughly at my bow tie and the button at the collar of my shirt. I shrug out of my jacket, alternating the arm with which I hold her captive against my chest, and let it drop carelessly to the floor. I reach over her shoulders and my hands cup her breasts, kneading them, molding them, tweaking the nipples. I release her suddenly and grasp the collar of the black jacket she's wearing over her dress, pulling the garment off her shoulders, still kissing her neck. Scully makes a low, growling sound as I toss the jacket aside and take her by the shoulders, tugging her back against me. I grasp her hair and turn her head to run kisses over her delicate jaw. After a moment, my fingers find the zipper running up the back of her dress and pull it down. The dress parts and begins to sag away from her body. Insistently, I push it downward until it pools around her feet in the same instant that she kicks off her high-heeled shoes. Suddenly, I have to bend over a little further to keep kissing her neck. Then she's standing, with her beautiful, curvy little ass nestled just below my groin, leaning back against me clad only in her lacy black demi-cup bra. I unhook the front clasp of the bra and it hangs open, spilling her breasts out. I take her soft flesh into my hands, manipulating it as the cups of her bra swing loosely against the backs of my hands. A pinch a little harder than normal brings a sharp gasp from her and I stroke the offended nipple to soothe away the sensation, before repeating the process with the other breast. I rub my hips against her bottom as I play with her breasts and her head lolls back against my shoulder, her eyes fluttering shut. I bend my knees a little, wrapping an arm around her waist to support her. My other hand slides down her belly and into the forest of auburn curls at the juncture of her thighs. My fingers comb through her curls, seeking out the tight, engorged knot of nerves hidden within. At the first touch she jerks violently, crying out. Her straight white teeth pull on her bottom lip and her knees begin to sag beneath her. I slide my thigh between hers from behind, helping her to remain upright while at the same time spreading her legs to give myself better access. I nibble on her shoulder while my fingers spread her own moisture over her tender, sensitized flesh, stroking lightly. Her hips buck against my hand, her cries increasing in frequency and volume as I move my fingers back and forth across the center of her pleasure. I'm the one who moans when I slip two fingers into her, feeling her pulsating tightness, looking forward to the moment when it's not my fingers that invade her body. I move them slowly in and out, rubbing past her clit with each stroke. Her weight is wholly supported by my arm now, the sounds coming from her throat breathless and hoarse. After a moment I pull my hand out from between her legs, not wanting to over-stimulate her to the point of discomfort. Scully is trembling as she leans weakly against me, her moan as I withdraw my hand dwells somewhere between regret and relief. I become tender, kissing her gently across her shoulders, giving my own ragged breathing a chance to even out and my heart a chance to slow before I give lie to my claims of not being ready. I'm in an agony of wanting, wishing for nothing more right now than to spread her out on that bed in the other room of our suite, that bed that's larger than some small towns, and bury myself inside her. At the same time, I want to prolong this exquisite torment. I can't take her until I've won that scream I promised myself. Seeing her like this, trembling and weak and entirely at my mercy brings out every protective instinct I possess--and there are a great many of those where Scully is concerned. I cradle her to me, supporting her limp weight with my body, nuzzling my face in her neck. The scent of her--soap, lotion and sex, is nearly enough to drive me over the edge on its own merit. After a long moment, I straighten, bringing her upright with me. She slowly gets her feet beneath her, standing on her own power. She turns to face me and I kiss her gently, sliding the straps of her bra down and off her arms. I trace a finger lightly over her collarbone and she sighs. "You're going to drive me crazy, Mulder," she murmurs, pressing her forehead to my breastbone. "You know that, don't you?" "You've been telling me I'm crazy for years, Scully. I'm just trying to share the insanity." "So you're saying it's unfulfilled sexual tension that's rendered you nuts?" "Seven years worth of it." "Well, hell, if I'd known that I would have fucked you seven years ago." OhdearGoddon'tletmecomeyet...There's nothing like Scully when she talks dirty... "Welcome to my insanity, Scully." That gets a laugh from her and she tilts her head up at me, her eyes glowing as she gives me a disbelieving smile. I take her hand and lead her into the bedroom, stopping only to snag a bottle of water out of the mini-bar and to kick off my own shoes. I hand the water to Scully and she perches on the bed and takes a long drink while I remove my shirt. Whatever her claims in the car might have been, I am, in truth, sweating bullets. The climate in the suite is nice and controlled, but my condition has nothing to do with room temperature. The bed is high, reaching to the tops of my thighs. It even has one of those little steps to climb up into it. Scully watches me as I approach her slowly, her eyes moving over my body in frank appraisal. That's one of the little beauties that comprise the whole of Scully-- she never leaves me not knowing when she wants me, doesn't know the meaning of playing coy. Once we became lovers, she began allowing me to see things in her eyes and on her face that she hadn't before, and I see the expression of desire on her face often enough to feel that I am a fortunate man indeed. I take the bottle of water from her and drink. If I'm this parched, I can only imagine how Scully must feel from all the panting she's been doing. I run the bottle over her nipples teasingly, causing her to gasp and giggle as the peaks stand instantly at attention. Then I set the water aside. We'll need it...I plan for this to be a long night. "Come here, Mulder," Scully murmurs invitingly, reaching for me. I brace my hands on either side of her hips, and capture her lips in a kiss. Her small tongue darts into my mouth, caresses my lips and she opens her mouth for a return gesture, which I proceed to make. I press her backwards until she is lying on the bed and I am lying on her, the bottom half of her body hanging off the side of the bed, while I'm standing on the floor, bent at the waist. I dwell for a blissful moment in the sweetness of the kiss and her mouth, then slide slowly down her body--my hands grasping her hips as I press fervent, open- mouthed kisses down her neck and across her shoulders. "Mulder, I want you inside me..." There's a mewling tone to her voice that I'm not sure she's even aware of. It's music to my ears. "Not yet, Scully." She groans with frustration. "I'm gonna get you for this, Mulder," she gasps. "Promises, promises." I linger at her breasts, nibbling, suckling, drawing her pebble-hard nipples between my lips and laving them with my tongue. I fasten my lips on the upper swell of her right breast and apply brutal suction, marring her perfect white skin. Leaving a brand on her body that only she and I will ever see, when we're alone together and naked. I think she knows what I am doing, and why I am doing it. Soft little moans of pleasure rise from her throat, encouraging me, telling me yes. They are interspersed with the sighing exhalation of my name, tumbling like a mantra from her lips. My attentions to her breasts become more insistent and accordingly, the sounds she makes grow louder and less restrained. Her hands cup the back of my head, pulling me to her, and I leave off kneading her thighs to grasp her wrists and pull them away from me, holding them at her sides. The message is clear--this is my game, we play it at my pace, at my leisure. Scully shifts her body beneath me, giving a small murmur of protest, and then a long sigh of acceptance. I continue my ministrations, lacing my fingers with hers to hold her hands immobile, and I continue my course down her body, trailing my lips over the cool, soft skin of her belly, running my tongue over the ultra-tender flesh where her hip meets her thigh. She nearly bolts upright off the bed with a surprised yelp as my lips close over the hood of flesh covering her clitoris and my tongue delves within to find the center of her pleasure. I grip her thin, elegant hands, the feel of them deceptively delicate as her bones move beneath her skin. She lifts her head and shoulders off the bed and then lets them fall, her back arching, her hips thrusting against my mouth. I leisurely stoke my tongue over that hypersensitive nubbin of nerves; hard strokes, soft strokes, long lingering strokes, quick darting strokes. The taste of her is ambrosia on my tongue and I am drunk on the essence of her. I have tasted her dozens of times, in dozens of different ways since we became lovers, and every time I am amazed by how wonderful the sensation is. Salty, sometimes bitter, sometimes a little sweet, with something indefinable mixed in. I could do this for hours, for days, listening to her moans and cries like blessings being bestowed upon me. I tighten my grip on her hands again, preparing in advance for the moment I slide my tongue inside her moist, narrow sheath. Her response is as I thought it would be, her body tensing and thrusting and arching off the bed, her impassioned exclamations the sweetest of arias in my ears. I close my lips over her clitoris, sucking lightly, massaging, pinching it lightly between my lips. Her cries grow louder and more rapturous and I think I might hear that scream after all. I take her hands and place them over her breasts, caressing and kneading her flesh with her own fingers as I penetrate her with my tongue once more. For a moment we play with her breasts together, then I release her hands, leaving her to do with them as she will. I am satisfied to see she continues to stroke her breasts after I have let go, pulling and tweaking the nipples as she writhes against my mouth. Without taking my mouth from her center, I unfasten my pants and push them down my hips as far as I can. The task accomplished, I grip her hips, not necessarily gently, holding her steady as I continue lavishing strokes of my tongue upon her taut bundle of nerves. After a long moment, I bring one of my hands between her legs and slowly insert a finger into her hot, tight center. Her cries are growing feral, desperate, and I slide another finger into her, wiggling them to find the pressure point on the roof of her cavern, which causes a whole new flurry of writhing and jerking movements. Her body arches, not in discomfort, but in an excess of sensation. Simultaneously, I increase the pressure of my tongue on her nerve center and my fingertips on her g-spot. One of her hands flies to her mouth and she bites down on it to muffle her cries as they begin to crescendo. Roughly, I reach up with my free arm and pull her hand away from her mouth, holding it firmly in my grasp. Within seconds, I receive my heart's desire. Scully's impassioned shriek echoes through my head and her body goes tense, the muscles of her sheath clenching in ferocious spasms around my fingers. It's everything I can do not to spill myself that very second, and frantically, I kick my pants and underwear away and brace my feet on the floor, gripping her hips tightly. I bury my face between her breasts to listen to the pounding of her heart even as I bury my shaft in her still-pulsating body. Beyond my wildest dreams, this earns me a second scream, this one right next to my ear. Christ! I don't want to come yet! The feeling of her quivering around me, still shuddering, and the sound of her exclamations in my ears are nearly my undoing. This time it is I who bites my hand, relying on pain to keep me from tumbling over the edge too soon. I want this feeling just a while longer and I pray for just a little more control. Scully too, has grown still, gasping for air. Her fists are clenched tightly in the bedspread beneath her, strands of her fiery hair trailing over her face from the thrashing of her head. I slide my hands slowly up her arms as we lie there, the pounding of her heart against my ear beating in counterpoint to my own. "You okay?" I murmur, using my instinctive concern for her as yet another buffer against the physical sensations threatening to overwhelm me. I press a tender kiss to the perspiration dampened skin over her heart. "Mm hmm," her reply is low, hoarse, and she licks her lips to moisten them. Coherency returns by slow measures. "More'n okay." "Want me to stop?" "Jesus, no!" She becomes instantly reanimated. "Don't you dare!" I can't help but laugh at her adamant refusal, and Scully smiles, still looking dazed. I shift slightly and we gasp in unison. Slowly, I raise my weight off her, bracing my arms on either side of her. I begin to pull back slowly, withdrawing from her before thrusting forward again, sliding a little more deeply within her. She hooks her ankles around my waist, so that our lower bodies are at ninety-degree angles, her lying, me standing. We groan together in a mutual pleasure so intense it's nearly unbearable. I start to move in slow, steady strokes, my breathing growing ragged, watching her eyes as the pace quickens. I am christened by her low, soft murmurs of pleasure, which begin to grow louder as my thrusts grow more forceful. "Oh, God! Oh, Jesus! Oh, Mulder!" Ah, there it is. That's what I've been waiting for. An opening to make a joke. Why? One, because Scully has a gorgeous laugh, and I've made it my mission to evoke it as often as possible. Judging by her obvious gaiety these last weeks, I've been fairly successful. Two, because we always share a laugh during sex, preferably several. It's just one of our things. It keeps us from becoming too overwhelmed with the power of the emotion that exists between us. Three, because...well, there are very few sensations more intense that having a woman laugh--I mean *really* laugh--when you're buried inside her. The only thing I can think of that is more intense would be to have her sneeze, and I think any attempt to evoke *that* would earn me a well- deserved black eye. "So which is it, Scully?" I gasp into her ear, thrusting hard. That does it. She starts to giggle even as I chuckle with her. The sensation is exquisite, and the emotion that accompanies sweet and heady. "Shit, Mulder," she moans. "All three of 'em!" Laughter recedes as I continue to thrust into her, faster, harder, deafened to any noises she might be making by the pounding of my blood in my ears. There's no delicacy here, just brutal animal passion. How anyone can experience rapture this intense and survive I don't really know. I put everything I have into those movements, into explicit words of encouragement that I groan. I want nothing more than to stay inside her forever as the pleasure mounts exponentially. Scully echoes the sentiment. "Jesus...Mulder...more!" I increase my thrusts, pounding into her harder. It took me a few times to get comfortable with the idea that I could cut loose without fear of harming Scully. There's no more control left here, now, just mindless, violent thrusting and grunting, our skins slick with sweat. This is it, the final inning, the home stretch. It's going to be over all too soon, and as pleasurable as our current position is, I want desperately to stare into her eyes as I spill myself within her. Her head is turned to the side, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as loud whimpers of ecstasy fall from her lips. Abruptly, I withdraw from her, earning a dismayed cry. "Look at me, Scully," I demand gruffly. "I want to see your eyes." She complies with the demand and I nudge her backward, further onto the bed and I crawl up onto the mattress, between her silken white thighs. I brace myself above her with one arm and with the other, guide myself back into her welcoming warmth. Her eyes flutter closed for a moment and I kiss passionately. When my lips release hers, she obeys my directive and meets my gaze. I nudge my hips forward and her thighs spread just a little bit wider. Her body accepts my intrusion as the natural course of things, adjusting to me, molding around me. She hooks one leg around my waist, her other leg bent and spread out to the side, as I begin to move again, the rhythm increasing rapidly after the initial couple thrusts. "Do you know," I confess in a breathless growl, "how perfect you are to me?" She nods solemnly, little moans of pleasure escaping her throat. "Do you know, Scully, what I was thinking tonight as I watched you in the car?" "No, Mulder," she gasps, whimpering as our movements accelerate and she begins to instinctively rise to my thrusts. Her arms wrap around me, her fingers digging into my back, her nails gouging painfully. "What were you thinking?" "I was thinking I wanted to own you, own you so completely no one could ever question it. I wanted to fuck you tonight so well, and so hard, and so thoroughly that you would never, ever doubt who you belong to." Her eyes are wide and rapt at my admission. "I wanted to possess you body and soul." I punctuate the statement with another forceful thrust, this one hard enough to rattle our teeth. "You do, Mulder," she replies with a soft sob, biting her lip for a moment as I butt up against her womb. She stares into me, her eyes glassy with unshed tears, though of emotion or pleasure I cannot tell. "Every day of my life." I love her madly, with a terrifying intensity, for giving herself over so completely, so selflessly to me. Out in the world, Dana Scully belongs to no one but herself, but in our bed, in her head, in her body, she is mine entirely. My gaze falls on the dark mark I left on her breast, and as though a floodgate has burst, I lose the ability to moderate my motions any longer. With frantic hunger I seek out her lips as I move harder and faster within her, each second approaching the mindless euphoria of release. "I think it's you who owns me," I rasp against her lips, "every day of *my* life." I brace my elbows above her shoulders, letting my weight rest upon her, and bury my fingers in her hair, trapping her head, my thumbs gripping her temples, forcing her to meet my gaze as I move in and out of her body. She shudders, yielding to a third climax, though at this point she is becoming tired and her orgasm lacks the intensity of the previous two. She gives a weak, keening moan, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye, down her temple and into her hair. With a loud cry of exultation, I sink my face into her shoulder and allow the pleasure to carry my beyond the edge, my universe narrowing to the point where it holds only her and the wonder she brings. * * * * * "Oops," I murmur sometime after dawn, hours later, stroking Scully's neck as I lay behind her, my face pressed into her fragrant hair. Her back is nestled against my chest, her ass pressed up against a cock that doesn't quite seem to realize the rest of me is exhausted. "What's oops?" She turns her head, not quite managing to look back at me, but at least making the effort. "Oh, nothing..." "Mulder..." "Well, I may have been a little--over-exuberant--in my attentions to your neck." "You didn't..." "Hope you have a couple good turtlenecks, Scully." She flips onto her back, scowling at me. "You do realize it's been sixteen years since I've been required to wear a scarf around my neck, don't you?" "Got one or two stashed in your closet still?" I hadn't intended to mark her neck...the only intentional mark I left upon her was the one on her breast. If that one fades within a week, I'll be greatly surprised. But I can't bring myself to bear terribly distraught that I did so. With her talent for looking right into me, Scully gives me a small smile, shaking her head affectionately. "You do know what everyone will say when I show up looking like a teenager the night after a hot date?" "Yeah, I imagine so." "Feel better, do you?" "'Bout what?" Now I'm getting sleepy, the exertions of the night have drained my body as well as my lust. "Marking your territory." Hearing it spoken aloud after my possessive outrage has faded makes me feel a little sheepish. But not too badly so. "Sorry," I mutter half- heartedly. "No, you're not," Scully replies with a soft chuckle. "But you will be." "Why's that?" "Because all those old silk scarves are in the closet of my old room in my mother's house. And *you* get to explain why I need them when we go see her tomorrow when we get back to D.C." With that, she flips back over, turning away from me. "'Night," she says cheerily, wiggling her fanny against me once more for good measure. Ouch. I should always remember the lady gets her payback, one way or the other. Sure, she'll play my game, but not without exacting a toll... Hey, Scully, how about a rematch? THE END SPECIAL DISCLAIMER: The "Stanley the Power Drill" line is ALL SHELBA'S FAULT! I was bound and determined I WOULD NOT name Mulder's penis. SHE MADE ME DO IT! Honest. She did. Really.