Mulder, Mel, and Me by Mish mish_rose@yahoo.com Classification: MSR, oh, and lots o'smut, baby! Rating: NC-17 Spoilers: Slight one for Millennium Summary: Every smutfic cliche in the world was sorely abused in the writing of this story. Let's see... birthdays, chocolate, tequila. What else? Tipsy!Scully, Incapacitated!Mulder, Nekkid!Mel, Bogus!UFO's. Distribution: Exclusive for my Mistress! Disclaimer: The X-Files, Dana Scully and Fox Mulder are the property of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. Mel Gibson is actually mine, you see. He's my boy toy. Let's see if I can do the Marilyn thing - Hap - py birth day to youuuu... Hap - py birth day toooo youuuuu.... Hap - py *birth* day dear Ga - li - aaaaa... Hhhhapppyyy birth day tooooooo......... youuuuuu! Mulder, Mel, and Me "Hey, Scully?" Why is it that most of the conversations I have with Mulder that end up with me knee deep in mud in the woods somewhere always start out with "Hey, Scully?" I drag my nose away from my Monday morning coffee - too hot to drink yet, maybe I can inhale the caffeine fumes - and try not to look too unenthused at his perky question. "What, Mulder?" Yes, the next logical step in the dance is "What, Mulder?" Mulder swings around in that ancient chair of his, looking away from the email that has obviously piqued his interest. Oh no, not again. He has that glow in his eyes. The one that tells me that he's seeing bright lights in the sky again. "What are you doing tonight, Scully?" All innocence. He picks up his coffee with his left hand, the one not restrained by bandages and sling. Just a little leftover from our New Year's Eve zombie party. "Washing my hair," I reply, my voice as bland as unflavored oatmeal. His eyes narrow. "Looks clean to me." "Okay, then, I'm scraping the grout out of my bathtub." "You don't have grout in your bathtub." He says it like it's canon. "How do you know, Mulder?" "Because I know you, Scully. I could eat off of your bathroom floor." "Oh yeah?" Okay, so it is canon. "Yeah," he replies, leaning forward with a smirk. "What's the matter, Scully? Brain not cooperating this morning? Surely you can come up with a more plausible excuse not to enjoy my company this evening." While I ponder the possibilities, it occurs to me that it sounds suspiciously like Mulder is asking me out. On a date. Just as quickly, I dismiss that notion. Although we shared a friendly kiss the other night, it didn't rock his world. All it did was embarrass him, I could tell. Sure, for a second there, he looked pleased. But his pleasure was short-lived; it quickly faded into something that looked suspiciously like regret. Like he would have taken it back if he could. Oh, it was sweet, and I certainly enjoyed it. Not that I'd ever let him know that. Kissing Mulder was something I'd always wanted to do. Pity I went into temporary shock and didn't fully appreciate it or respond to it. The only other man I'd rather have kiss me is *maybe* Mel Gibson. Whoa, hold on. Today is January third. I must be losing it. It's been years since I celebrated it, but the third of January used to be a national holiday for me and my college friends. "Can't do it, Mulder. Today's a holiday." He looks over his shoulder at the brand spanking new calendar, then glances back at me in confusion. "Since when? Last time I looked, we had another two weeks until Martin Luther King Day." "We do," I reply, sipping at the now palatable coffee. "So tell me, then, Scully. What significance does today hold for you?" Stifling the urge to grin, I say, "It's Mel Gibson's birthday, Mulder." His jaw drops and he looks at me like I've just told him I was leaving the FBI to join the Peace Corps. Not a bad idea, considering the rut I've been in lately. "You're kidding." I shake my head. "Nope. It really is. He's forty-four years old today." Okay, so now I sound like a hormonal teenager. But I really don't care. Anything to keep from spending a damp night following Mulder through a field mined with cow patties. "Got a thing for Mel, Scully?" he murmurs, trying his best to make me blush. "Used to, yeah," I reply, teasing right back in a husky purr. "When God made Mel Gibson, Mulder, he broke the mold." When he made Mulder, he shattered it into a million pieces with dynamite. The thought makes me laugh. Mulder joins in, clueless that this laugh is rather at his expense. "Don't tell me you actually celebrate his birthday?" He's still marveling over my revelation. I can almost see the tape recorder in his brain cataloging this conversation for future reference. "Not recently, no. But in med school...." Memories of past Mel parties make me smile to myself. "We'd have cake - chocolate fudge, of course. Then we'd slo-mo through the bare-butt-in-the- camper scene of ‘Lethal Weapon' a zillion times. Every time someone would shout "Riggs" we'd down a shot of tequila. Good thing the semester wouldn't start until the following week; it usually took that long for the hangover to disappear." Mulder doesn't say a thing, just watches me gush. Actually, I do a pretty good job of it, too. Lay it on thick - sort of a belated Christmas present for Mulder. "Then we'd watch him sizzle with Sigourney Weaver in the ‘Year of Living Dangerously'. Lucky bitch," I continue, enjoying the sight of Mulder's stupefaction. "Followed by another gratuitous naked butt shot in ‘Gallipoli'.... Never knew a lily white ass could look so good." Except for maybe Mulder's ass. I should *be* so lucky. "Geez, Scully, can you tone it down a bit?" Mulder's voice breaks into my reverie. "You're about to set off the smoke alarm." Ha! Knew I'd get to him eventually. I focus on Mulder's thin-lipped roll back to his computer and clear my throat. "Sorry, Mulder. Guess I got carried away." If possible, he gets more surly at my grin. "So I guess tonight is out, huh?" he asks, maneuvering the mouse with his left hand. "Do you mind if I use your roof, anyway?" My roof? "Just what the hell do you want with my roof, Mulder?" I get up and lean over his desk, my mind totally with him now. He wants to use my roof? Something tells me he's not planning a romantic picnic dinner for two. "It's got a good view," he explains. "Perfect for UFO watching." He reaches over to the printer and pulls off the hard copy of the email he's been perusing, and hands it to me. It's from the Gunmen, naturally. Seems for the past few nights, there have been sporadic sightings of colored lights in the sky over Georgetown. Why am I not surprised? Mulder wouldn't recognize romance if it walked up and bit him in the ass. Unless it had grey skin and big black eyes, that is. "Mulder, this could be anything. Aircraft, fireworks, millennium hysteria...." "Fireworks? Scully, you know fireworks are illegal." "Mulder, you're reaching." "So are you," he huffs, rising from his chair and pulling his jacket from its back. "Look, Scully, if you don't want me to come over, just say so." I purse my lips and stand there with crossed arms. I didn't know he wanted to use my roof, dammit. Doesn't matter if he'd step right over me in his haste to catch a glimpse of a UFO. Now Dana, that was uncalled for. The man went to Antarctica to rescue your sorry ass. He's the one person in this world that gives a damn about you besides your mother. So what if he doesn't find you attractive in *that* way? Okay, how do I backtrack gracefully? "Of course you can come over, Mulder," I say quietly. "Just don't forget the cake and tequila." Might be fun, actually. Mel party with Mulder. So he's not Mel Gibson, but he's pretty damn close. He gives me a small smile before answering. "Mel Gibson's birthday, huh?" "Yep. You have to pay homage to the man before you gain access to my roof." "Chocolate cake and tequila?" He rolls the words around on his tongue, anticipating the sugar rush *and* the hangover. I nod slowly. "Think you can handle it?" Fixing him with a semi-sultry stare, I silently dare him to handle me, too. "Oh yeah, Scully," he replies, returning my dare with a hazel backhand. "Can you?" Before I can find my suddenly ‘gone Elvis' voice, he's out the door. ********** "What - no Tina Turner chain link evening gown?" Mulder asks as he saunters through my door, looking impossibly handsome in his draped leather jacket and jeans. I take the shopping bag from his hand and give him a mean grin. "Nope. I save that for the anniversary of his circumcision." "Oooo," he gasps, grimacing at the thought. "Never say that word, Scully, even in jest. I just tensed muscles I haven't used in years." Oh, I could be so mean right now.... But I let the opportunity slide by, taking pity on the injured. He walks over to the couch and shrugs off the jacket. Thank God the sling comes off in a few days. The bandages will stay on a little longer, though. His upper arm was practically torn to shreds. It pains me to see him in such discomfort, unable to move like he wants to. He struggles with the one sleeve he's able to put his arm in, and I break out of my fascination with his back to move to his side and give it a tug. "Thanks," he says, flopping onto the couch. He nods at the bag I have clutched in my other hand. "Chocolate cake and tequila, just for Mel. Hope he doesn't mind if I have some, too." "Of course he doesn't," I reply with a gulp. Cake, we need cake. I drop the bag at his feet, then wince inwardly at the clunk of the bottle. "Watch it, Scully. Fragile stuff," Mulder says, thankfully oblivious to my growing lust for him. He reaches into the bag and pulls out the goodies. As I stumble to the kitchen to regain my bearings, I call out over my shoulder. "So - what time do we have to be on the roof?" "Never happens until after midnight," he calls back. "We have a couple of hours to kill." Good. Time enough to at least get a jump start on the birthday celebrations and recoup some of my dignity. I walk back into the living room, plates, utensils and shot glasses in hand. "Tape's in the vcr," I tell Mulder as I navigate the space between his long legs and the coffee table, finally coming to rest on my side of the couch. "Hit it." "Scully, we're not gonna watch -" he whines. "Yep. ‘Lethal Weapon', Mulder. Mel at his best." I raise an eyebrow at his disgust. "Of course, you can freeze your ass on the roof right now, if you want. I'll be up later." Mulder slices off a huge hunk of cake and settles in. "Maybe I could stick around for a while. Can't bring the cake up there with me, you know." He glances meaningfully at the sling, the feel-sorry-for-me pout firmly in place. I figured as much. Mulder, for all his forays into life-threatening situations, can be such a wuss sometimes. "Okay, then, let's get started," I say, pressing ‘play' on the remote. Mulder sits quietly, stuffing his face with chocolate sex. Whoa - hold it there, girl. Lethal combination of words. Think fast. Detour that smutty mind, quickly. "What - no ‘bring it on'?" I tease, fast-forwarding through the ancient trailer for ‘The Lost Boys'. Maybe I should let it run. Nothing like an ancient video of Keifer Sutherland to cool me down, but quick. "Mmmm- mmmph," he garbles, ignoring my jibe. He swallows heartily, and clears his throat. "Milk, Scully. Need milk." "Oops, forgot you were still on the antibiotics," I apologize. What the hell was I thinking of, telling him to bring tequila? In no time, I have the quart of milk sitting in front of him. I grimace as he downs half of it, drinking directly from the carton. But I don't chastise him; I can always get another tomorrow. "Tell you what - I'll do the milk with you, okay?" "Oh, no," he purrs, shaking his head with a wicked grin. "I've always wanted to see you drunk, Scully." "I don't get drunk." Really, I don't. "I get tipsy, which is a totally different thing." "Potaytoes - potahtoes." For a man who believes almost anything you put in front of him, he sure has a hard time taking what I say as the gospel truth. "Okay, Miss Tipsy. Let's just see about that." He grabs the bottle and slams it on the coffee table with a move right out of a B-western. "Bottoms up." "Not until I hear the angels sing," I reply, tilting my chin at the television. He puts a frosting-smudged hand over what is probably his last clean shirt. "Oh, excuuuuse me, I forgot. Riggs, right?" There goes the first of many eye-rolls, I'm sure. "Yep," I state, stopping the fast-forward at just the right spot. Damn, I'm good. "I'll do the tequila, you do the milk." "I'll do what I damn well please, Scully," he growls. Oh, getting defensive, are we, Mulder? Jealousy it isn't, that's for sure. One look at his face tells me that. Of course, it's hard to see in here - did he take the lights off while I was in the kitchen? Forgoing the lights issue, I tackle his obstinance head-on. "Not while you're in my apartment, you won't." We face each other in a mock stand-off for a few seconds, the eighties glitz of the opening credits flickering in the darkened room to the sound of ‘Jingle Bell Rock'. Mulder licks the remaining chocolate frosting off of his lips, his eyes challenging me for a few seconds, reflecting the shocking blue of the neon letters of the screen. Missed a spot. That's all I can think of for a second, the newly-born beauty mark above his upper lip tantalizing in its siren song. Lick me, lick me.... Stop it. Stop it right now. The little devil in my head that's clamoring for me to touch him is squashed down by the voice of reason, but just barely. That same voice of reason speaks up, albeit husky and unrecognizable. "Mulder, please. For me?" Okay, I'm in control again. Think about his injury. "We don't need another trip to the hospital, okay?" He slumps back into the couch and sighs. "But it's Mel's birthday, Scully." As if just feeling the chocolate smudge, his hand feels around his mouth until the drop is gone. Damn. "I'm sure he'll understand this year, Mulder," I say, giving his knee a pat and settling in beside him. So I missed a golden opportunity. One of these days.... "We always have next year. I promise you can ‘do' anything you want next year." Too late, the words are already out of my mouth before I realize just how double-layered they are. Quite like chocolate cake, actually. "Oooo, Scully," he sighs, turning his head to face me. "I'm gonna remember that." "I'm sure you will," I mutter, thankful for the dim lighting. "Whoa," he says, all playfulness gone for now. He leans forward on the couch, practically salivating. Shit. This was never my favorite part of the movie. I *really* can't stand it now. Intent upon skipping this part, I reach for the remote. This gratuitous wet dream is about to be history. "Forgot about this, didn't you, Scully?" he chuckles, his gaze fastened upon the scantily clad bimbo lounging on the red divan. "No," I reply tersely. "This is just unnecessary to the plot, that's all." Even *I* know it's essential to the movie, but I'm not about to admit that. "Unnecessary?" he snorts. "Scully, you're a hypocrite." My hand freezes over the remote. "What?" Mulder leans back into the cushions. "You don't mind ogling Mel Gibson's skinny ass, but when it comes to the one naked woman in the movie, you puff up like Gloria Steinem." No, I don't mind ogling your chocolate covered upper lip, but that's beside the point. "Because it's sexist, that's why." Eye roll number two comes at my idiotic sputtering. "Mulder, is it really essential to the plot that we see this girl -" "Too late," he interrupts me, nodding at the screen. "She just made her exit." Ah, but does he remember the videotape Murtaugh watches later? "We can discuss this later, Scully. I'm sure you'll have quite a lot to say about the videotape." Shit. No such luck he's gonna let me zip through *that* part. Mulder grabs the remote from my hand. "I'll just hold this for safe keeping," he says, tucking it in between his ass and the seat cushion. All right then. Let's see how he fares under the onslaught of Mel. Oh, tequila time! Albeit from the mouth of an extra, but it counts. "Bottoms up, Mulder," I say, pouring a shot and raising it to his milk carton. Tossing it back like a pro, I grin at his bemused expression. "Go easy on that, Scully. I can't pick you up off the floor later, you know." "Then just put a pillow under my head and leave me there," I say, preparing my next shot. What the hell, I fill up both glasses. Gotta be ready. Gotta get that lip off my mind for good. "I'd rather -" Mulder begins, but I forestall his reply with an excited gasp. "Oh, oh!" I exclaim, catching the dingy camper out of the corner of my eye. I see Mulder's hand twitch, inching toward his left thigh. "Don't you *dare*, Mulder! You touch that remote, you're a dead man!" Fidgeting, he sighs and adjusts his injured arm with a groan. "Scully -" "Shut up, Mulder," I growl, as Mel's naked form squirms in the bed sheets. No way is Mulder going to make me miss this. "He's short," I hear from over my shoulder. "And scrawny." "Who cares?" I ask, totally engrossed in drooling over that smooth, white ass. Alas, it's over all too quickly. Leaning back into the couch, my heads lolls in bliss. "That calls for a piece of cake. Want some more?" "Nah. I don't think I could keep anything down after that puny display." I give him a beaming smile and reach for my empty plate. Damn, I must have wolfed that first piece down. Wait a minute - I didn't even have a piece of cake, yet. Not even the... don't, Dana. You won't think of that any more. But I *will* think of making a pig of myself, won't I? What the hell. Eschewing the knife, I dig into the cake with my fork, making a gooey chocolate mess all over my fingers and furniture. Shit. Now I have to clean this up or I'll regret not doing it in the morning. "Be right back." I wash my hands in the kitchen sink, and dig through the drawers for a clean dishtowel. Damn sticking drawers. We don't need no sticking drawers. Wow, I made a funny. Cool. Tipsy is cool. Tipsy is not helping you find those towels, I admonish myself. Where the hell did I put those things? Suddenly, I realize they are all still in my laundry basket, clean but not put away. By the time I get back to the living room, Riggs and Murtaugh are arguing over the cigarette smoke in the car. "Hey - did you skip over some of this?" Quickly, I clean up my mess and toss the towel back into the kitchen. It misses the table by a mile; I debate whether or not to pick it up, then give up, unwilling to leave Mulder alone with the remote again. He answers without taking his eyes off of the screen. "Not much. Just the suicide attempts." Stupid, stupid, stupid, I chastise myself. I know Mulder has contemplated the unthinkable in the past. Hell, he as much as admitted to me that he had seriously considered it when I was dying of cancer. Boy, I let him have it with both barrels when he let that slip. Told him there was no way in hell I'd continue his work if he ever took such a chicken-shit way out. I believe with all my heart that he wouldn't do that to me now. But I also know that it pains him still to relive those horrible days when he thought he couldn't go on without me, hence the hasty editing of the movie. That's okay. A crying Mel I can definitely do without; all that scene ever did for me was make me bawl my eyes out. "Missed any more ‘Riggs'?" I ask, carefully diverting the conversation back to a lighter tone. Eyeing the cake disdainfully, I shove it away and settle in next to him again. Suddenly, I have no more appetite for chocolate. It's been replaced by a craving for my best friend's company. I lay my head on Mulder's good shoulder, feeling the jerk of muscle under my cheek. "Just a couple," Mulder says, his arm sliding behind my head to draw me nearer. "Didn't want you to feel left out, so...." "We'll get the next one," I assure him. Immediately, we're bombarded by ‘Riggs' right and left, as Murtaugh introduces Mel to the wife and kids. "Thank God he has a first name," I mutter, downing the two shots I have ready, and pouring a third. I'm stretching for the coffee table, unwilling to move too far away from Mulder. "Scully, are you sure this is a good idea?" he asks, his hand rubbing my back through the thin sweater. "Sure it is," I reply, licking my lips to get the last drop. "What's the matter, Mulder? Can't hold your milk?" I settle in once again, craning my neck to catch his face inches from my own. "Oh, I can hold my milk, Scully. The question is - can you hold your tequila?" "Whaddya mean?" The tequila has let loose in my blood, making me warm all over. But I am *not* drunk; not yet, anyway. Just tipsy. "Are you sure you won't get carried away? I mean, Mel Gibson and tequila, Scully. How do I know you won't suddenly decide to have your wicked way with me?" His soft question rumbles through me. Once again, I should *be* so lucky. "Come on, Mulder," I snort. "Don't be ridiculous. I can certainly tell the difference between you and Mel Gibson." Yes, indeed. For one thing, I don't think Mel would ever look at me like Mulder is looking at me right now. After all, a person has to really know you before they look at you like they're about to kiss you. Kiss me? Where the hell did that come from? Go away, go away, I tell that notion. Mulder is *not* about to kiss me. I rationalize at his disbelieving look. "For starters, Mel has blue eyes, Mulder, and yours are hazel.... Sort of green, with little grey and brown flecks that show up when you wear that charcoal suit...." My voice dwindles like a deflating balloon. "Go on, Scully," he whispers, taking the bottle of tequila from my hand and placing it on the floor. "So I'm not Mel Gibson. Or am I?" Now his eyes are laughing at me, the asshole. I squirm away from him, indignation bringing hot warmth to my cheeks. "No way," I declare. "Too tall. You're way too tall. I have to strain my neck to look at you sometimes. Especially when I wear flat shoes. Damned inconvenient." I slap my hand on my thigh for emphasis. Ouch, that really felt... numb. "But we're sitting now, Scully." My eyes try to focus on his mouth. "Couldn't you mistake a sitting Mulder for a standing Mel?" Yeah, that makes sense in a weird sort of way. Sitting Mulder, standing Mel. Sitting Mulder. Sitting *on* Mulder. While I contemplate the logistics of that fantasy, Mulder continues. "Same color hair. Same nose." Hah! Got him there! I open my mouth to disprove that theory, but find Mulder looming over me. I've scooted back as far as I can; the arm of the sofa pressing into my back tells me this is the end of the line. "Same mouth," he murmurs, his lips hovering over my own. "Oh, wait, almost forgot. You've never actually kissed Mel Gibson, have you, Scully? But you *have* kissed me. So I guess that blows my little deception right out of the water, huh?" "Damn right it does." My hands move of their own volition to his neck, drawing him closer. The scent of chocolate and alcohol is heavy between us, filling my head with the most erotic thoughts. His mouth touches mine briefly, all too briefly. I groan at the contact, lifting my head to get more, more. He pulls away slightly, his eyes liquid and semi-sweet, like Hershey's dark. "Ever made love to Mel Gibson, Scully?" "Nope, not even in my dreams." It's the truth. Mulder has that fantasy spot filled nicely. Mulder teases my lips again, murmuring through the short kisses. "Ever made love to me?" I look into his eyes, running my fingertips over his brow, his cheek, his jaw. "In my dreams?" He nods and swallows, his chest heaving against my own. "All the time," I whisper, my words escaping to caress his chin. "But I've never had that pleasure in real life, Mulder. Although I hope to someday...." "Shut up, Scully," he mutters, finally putting an end to our misery by capturing my mouth fully with his. Lord, but this is amazing. I wrap my arms around his back and let him taste me for a few seconds, enjoying his domination for once. The tongue that duels with my own tastes of chocolate fudge, sweet and wicked. Full of dark, sugary calories and heavenly delights yet to come. "I'm going to make love to you, Scully," he says as he traverses the arch of my neck with his lips. "I know." What else can I say? No? Like Mel is fond of saying, I'm not crazy. "Scully, you are sober, aren't you?" Mulder asks, his hand unfastening the buttons of my sweater, his lips trailing down to cover the now bare skin between my breasts. Well, a little while ago I was tipsy. I guess I still am; but tipsy or not, no way I'm going to stop him now. "Yes, Mulder. Don't you dare stop now." His smile feels like sunshine on my skin. "Just wanted you to know it was me. If you call me Mel when you come, I'll never make love to you again." Two thoughts immediately penetrate my giddy brain. Number one: God, he's gonna make me come. Who cares about Mel? Mulder is gonna make love to me and make me come. Number two: He's planning on making me come again and again. Planning on making love to me again and again. I gasp when his mouth covers my nipple through the lace of my bra. "I promise I won't call you Mel if you promise to make me come, Mulder." Mulder's head raises from his exploration of my body. "Really? Sounds like a challenge, Scully." Running my fingers over his lips, I reply huskily, "Not a challenge, Mulder. A promise. I'll always know it's you, just as I suspect you'll always make me come. What else is there?" So it's not the most poetic of declarations, but it's the truth. His eyes sheen over, becoming glassy and unfocused. Guess my ungraceful words hit home. No, that won't do. It's Mel's birthday; we're here to celebrate, not get all sentimental. Shoving him back into a sitting position, I straddle his hips and get to work on the buttons of his chambray shirt. Thank God he's forsaken the t-shirts for a few days; this is much easier to remove. "Mulder?" "Yeah?" He lowers his head so that I can unfasten the velcro of the sling. He hisses when I pull the shirt off of him and lower my mouth to his chest. "Happy Mel Gibson's birthday, Mulder." I nuzzle my face into the fading scratches on his chest, my tongue brushing over them in search of his nipple. Ah, there it is. "I love you, Mulder." The hand that was inching into the back waistband of my jeans stills. "Same to you, Scully," he says quietly, drawing in a hitching breath. I don't have to hear him say he loves me, I can hear it every day from now on, every time he looks at me. Hell, I've been hearing it for years now. He groans at the loss of contact when I stand and slowly divest myself of the remainder of my clothes. I kneel before him and his shoes and socks are history. Feeling his eyes upon me, I look up from my task and run my hands up under his jeans, the firm calves twitching under my fingers. "Scully?" "Hmm?" His hand reaches to brush over my hair, his touch light but sure. "You're beautiful, Scully. I don't think I've ever told you that. Can I tell you that every day from now on?" Spreading his legs, I move between them to meet his mouth halfway. After another silver kiss, I say, "Oh, you say that now. Wait ‘til you see me in the morning." Mulder says nothing, but his expression says it all. I nod slowly, communicating my definite intention that we'll wake up together. "That reminds me, Mulder - what would you like for breakfast?" My hands drift to the waistband of his jeans. I already know what I want for breakfast. His head drops as he follows the path my hands have taken. "Oh, not much... bacon, eggs, pancakes... the usual." Amused eyes meet my affronted stare. Just for that, I take my time with his zipper, licking my lips in time with the slow separation of the brass teeth. "All I have is chocolate cake. Too bad." "I'm flexible," he replies, with a laugh that turns to a groan at the dip of my hand into the opening of his boxers. "Flexible?" I give his length a measuring stroke. "Rigid is more like it, Mulder." "Oh, yeaaahhh...." His reply dissolves into nothing as his eyes melt shut. Wow. Finally, I've found the means to shut him up. I could have been doing this for years, if I'd only known. I play for a while, content to watch the sexual arousal creep up over Mulder. His mouth goes slack and tiny beads of sweat dot his brow. The flush begins on his chest and moves up to flame his cheeks; I can't resist following it with my lips, the skin hot under my tongue. When his hips start rising to meet my slow strokes, I realize he's going too far, too fast. Without me. "Lift your ass, Mulder," I murmur, releasing him to his slight moan of displeasure. "This won't take long. I promise." He presses his lips to mine swiftly before pulling away. "Better not." In one move, I strip him completely, allowing his erection to give me a standing salute. Impressive. I'm about to tell him so when the television behind me comes to life. The remote falls to the floor with his jeans, and the sound of machine gun fire fills the room. Mulder looks behind me sheepishly. "Sorry, Scully. Didn't realize my ass was on the fast forward button." Resuming my former position on his lap, I take him in hand and lower my mouth to his. "That's okay," I tell him between kisses. "We just skipped ahead to the good part." "Oh, yeah," he breathes, his good hand settling on the small of my back, urging me on. "Now, Scully. I want the good part now." In answer, I lift my hips and take his cock into me slowly, capturing his lower lip in my teeth at the slight discomfort. It has been a long time, after all. Mulder actually whimpers at the feel of my walls stretching to accommodate him, and I can sense the restraint he's exercising. He wants to move badly, but I have him at my mercy, so to speak. "Easy, Scully, easy," he whispers. "Don't want to hurt you." "You won't," I answer, finally coming to rest on his hips fully, the tip of his cock bumping against my cervix. He moans at his inability to take control of the situation, his bandaged arm fluttering against my stomach. "Don't move, Mulder," I say, stilling his fingers by taking them in my own. "Be still or you'll hurt yourself." And I don't want a relapse, that's for sure. I have big plans for that arm when it's healed. "Trying... not to... Scully," he says brokenly, the sweat from his non- exertion making the skin of his shoulder slick under my hand. "But you... please, Scully... move." I've been enjoying the feel of him in me so much, I neglected to think of what my inactivity has been doing to him. Gotta rectify that immediately. And I do, lifting and lowering my hips in the beginnings of a rhythm. Before long, Mulder's head is thrashing about, his bandaged arm rising and falling in time with his ragged breathing. "Yes, yes," he says. "Just like that, Scully." God, I want to see him come so badly, I don't care if I reach orgasm or not. I grasp the couch behind him with white-knuckled fingers, picking up speed. Mulder slips his hand between my shoulder blades and pulls me closer to his face. A jolt of electricity travels down my spine when I feel his mouth close around my breast. "I'm close, Scully," he murmurs against my flesh. "Can you - God! - can you come this way?" His hips thrust upward awkwardly every time my groin slams down upon his now; I feel his whole body tense with impending release. "Doesn't matter," I answer. "Doesn't. Matter." He raises his head and I feel him tug from behind on my hair, forcing me to look him in the eye. God, how could I have ever thought Mel's eyes were lovelier than Mulder's? They shine like emeralds, reflecting the climactic explosions from the television screen behind me. "Yes, it does," he insists, his lips taking mine again, driving his point home with the sharp insistence of his tongue between my teeth. As my eyes drift shut, I feel his injured arm pull away from my hand and lower between us, snaking between our bodies. I pull my mouth away from his. Dammit, I should have known better.... "Mulder, no!" My movements still and I reach down to grab his wandering hand. "You have tendon damage, you *must* keep -" Your elbow bent, I'm about to say, until his fingers curl into my folds, robbing me of speech. "Oh!" is all I can manage to squeak out. My eyes widen at the intimate intrusion, then lower to where our bodies are joined. Mulder sits up straighter, enabling his arm to stay relatively in place while his fingers work their magic. "This okay?" he asks, watching my hips begin the rocking motion once again. My hands curl around his neck, and I smile with satisfaction. "Oh yeah," I gasp, the friction of his cock and fingers making it difficult to speak. "Better than... okay.... Wonderfullll...." "Fuck me, Scully," he growls into the hollow of my neck. "Come on, you can do it." In the instant he finishes his demand, I feel my walls tighten around Mulder's cock. My hips freeze momentarily with the first clenching spasm, then release with a few jerky thrusts up and down as the waves of pleasure overtake me. "Mulderrrr...." "That's it, baby," Mulder urges, his voice blowing small puffs of air into my ear. "Come for me, Scully." I have no idea how much time has passed when I feel the last tremor fade. All I know is - Mulder is still hard within me. He's sitting perfectly still, looking up at me with such awe and love, I feel my chest tighten with tears. They dangle on my eyelashes, and I raise a trembling hand to brush them away. Mulder beats me to it, his hand warm and shaky as well. "Well, at least you didn't call me Mel." How can he be so rational? I have to wait a few seconds for the speech center of my brain to become functional again before I reply, "Told you I wouldn't. Just like I knew you'd make me come." He smiles the most maddening, infuriatingly smug grin. Which quickly fades when I tense the muscles *I* haven't used in years. In a flash, he's used his arm to turn us both, laying me on the couch. Our bodies separate with a small groan from me, but not for long. Mulder settles between my legs and thrusts back into me. I can't help the gasp at this new sensation; he's surrounding me, both in and out. I'm almost overwhelmed. "Okay?" I open my eyes to see concern shadowing his face. "Yes, better than okay." I run my tongue over his chin and he groans, then reaches for the sofa pillows our sexual gymnastics have scattered to the floor. "Remember when you asked me to put a pillow under your head, Scully?" My mind wanders back to the beginning of the movie. "Yeah, why?" My head is cushioned well enough by the few that remain behind me. "Lift your ass just a bit," he commands, and when I do, I feel a puffy lump settle under it. "*This* is where I wanted the pillow." Oh, God, he sinks deeper. I didn't think it was possible, but I think I can feel him in the back of my throat. Amazing. Enough talk. My nails scratch down his back, causing him to shiver. "Get moving, Mulder." I look at the television; Mel is beating the shit out of Gary Busey. "Movie's almost finished." His gaze follows mine, then he turns back to me with a loopy grin. "Shit, I can't let Mel get the best of me, Scully." Then he starts to move, propping himself up with his good arm anchored between me and the back of the sofa. His face contorts into a look of almost pain; he was close before, so I'm not surprised when, in a matter of minutes, he's pounding into me. I know I'm not going to reach orgasm again, but I want to make this as pleasurable for Mulder as possible. "Yes, Mulder," I whisper, echoing his earlier words to me. "Fuck me, Mulder." His eyes widen, then narrow into slits as he strains toward the inevitable. "Love you... Scully... love you." My breath bottles up in my lungs at his admission; seconds later, I let it escape me at the feel of his release. His body jerks once and his eyes slide shut as his warmth spreads within me. I soothe my hands over his face, wiping away the sweat and tears of his completion. "Love you too, Mulder," I whisper, cradling his head upon my breast. I hear Mel choke out above the slow calming down of our combined breathing. I feel Mulder's face crinkle into a smile; his free hand strokes me from waist to hip. "Oh, no, Mel," he laughs, "I win." My laughter joins his, and together we shake the couch until we nearly pass out from lack of oxygen. Mulder twists and turns until he's back to back with the couch, me spooned in front of him. "Mulder, I don't know if you should be moving around quite so much -" "Kind of late to be thinking about that now, Scully, wouldn't you say?" He's got a point, though I can't help making the token protest as his personal physician. His bandaged arm drapes across my middle, elbow still bent. "See?" he says proudly. "Still in one piece." "You're gonna be sore in the morning," I predict, watching my number two main man - Mel - saunter up the Murtaugh's sidewalk. "I don't think I'll be the only one that's sore, Scully," he says, his tongue tracing the shell of my ear. "Maybe we can soak in a hot tub together." "Oooo, Mulder - sounds like a plan to me." A plan. The words echo in my mind a second longer than necessary. I twist just a bit, trying to catch his gaze. "Mulder - did you plan this?" He tenses just a hair. "The chocolate cake, the tequila, the UFO's?" He won't stop with the kisses, though, the arm under my head curling my face to his. "Hey - the cake and tequila were your idea, remember?" At my narrowed gaze, he relents. "Okay, so the UFO's may be bogus. You knew it, and you fell for it anyway. You know you wanted me." "Actually, all you had to do was ask, Mulder," I say against his mouth. "You can be such a weeny sometimes." "Ah, but you love my weeny, Scully, admit it." That I do. "Better than chocolate cake, Mulder." I return his smile and settle back against the cushions. Funny, I never noticed this before, but at the end of ‘Lethal Weapon', Mel is sporting a sling. Same arm, too. "Know what, Mulder?" "What?" His lips form the word into the hair at my temple. "You look much better in a sling than Mel does." "Damn right I do," he agrees, without missing a beat. "How many men do you know, Scully, that can make love to a beautiful woman with one hand tied behind their back, so to speak? Betcha Mel can't do that." Beautiful, he called me beautiful. Think I'll let him do that a lot. "Nope, bet he can't," I reply, bringing my mouth to his. "Only one guy I know of that can do that." He pulls away, all innocence. "Who?" "Kiss me, Mulder, and call me beautiful again," I say, but before I can pull his head down, the clock strikes midnight. We listen to the strains of Elvis singing ‘I'll Be Home for Christmas' while the closing credits slide by. "It's after midnight, Mulder. No longer Mel's birthday." "But somewhere, Scully, it's somebody's birthday," he says. "Good enough reason to celebrate some more, don't you think?" "I've got ‘Forever Young' in the cabinet, Mulder...." "Shut up, beautiful," he growls, banishing forever all thoughts of Mel and tequila and chocolate cake with his searing kiss. END