Scent of a Woman (compiled) TITLE: Scent of a Woman AUTHOR: Terma99 EMAIL: terma99@aol.com DISTRIBUTION: Gossamer, Xemplary-YES! Anywhere else-YES! But be kind and let me know so I can come see. SPOILERS: Use of Dreamland bed, touch of Tithonus. RATING: NC-17 for "solo work" CLASSIFICATION: UST/MSR, H SUMMARY: Scully left something behind when she spent the night at Mulder's apartment. POST DATE: 2/28/99 MY NOTES: Been dreaming of writing this little number for a while. As soon as I finished it, I realized what a neat little trilogy it would make: a Mulder fantasy, a Scully fantasy, and then a final reality. Anyhow, it was a slow day at work. SPECIAL THANKS: to the very wonderful fics & authors that inspired this quickie--Dasha's "Light Sleepers," Sue Schramm's (retired?) "Seven Year Itch," and Susanne Barringer's very wonderful "Snooping/Sleuthing" duet which I can hardly do justice to with this little piece of filth. My apologies. Hugs to my beta darlin's: Dasha, Kelley and Sue. Without them, no one would ever believe I'm an editor in real life. Ha! DISCLAIMER: I don't own Fox Mulder, but god, I wish I did--he'd be too exhausted to chase aliens. All regards to 1013, FOX, and such for providing the fodder for my dirty little mind. FEEDBACK: Slap me silly!! Terma99@aol.com Scent of a Woman by Terma99 Keys in his mouth and a box of dusty files in his hands, Mulder kicked his apartment door closed behind him. Pushing two neat piles of magazines out of the way, he set the box on the coffee table, spitting out his keychain with a chink. It was an old box of 1971 unsolved missing persons cases with names related to prior State Department employees--prime weekend entertainment. A couple beers, a good B-ball game on the tube, and tomorrow's Saturday afternoon file reading would make the hours fly by. As anxious as he was to dig into the box and begin general reconnaissance, what he really needed now was a shower and a long-awaited nap. It was about 4:30 in the afternoon and he had cut out early-- kissed Scully good-bye, and headed home. Kissed her--yes, a sweet chaste peck on the mouth they'd begun exchanging every now and again ever since her gradual recovery from the Fellig case. An almost "old married couple" behavior he had really begun to get addicted to. It didn't mean too much, really, but it made him happy just to know they could express something of the affectionate bond they shared within certain boundaries of well-constructed denial. He was almost always certain to get one on Fridays--one brisk brush of her warm mouth and he was giddy for hours. Normally a late afternoon snooze called for a crash on the couch, but today his historically neglected but recently redecorated bedroom was the goal. He'd been thinking about getting home to it all day, because last night a certain lovely little red-head had spent the night in there. All night, in his apartment, in his bed, between his sheets. Every fantasy he'd harbored and entertained for the past six years had come true last night save one crucial point--he wasn't home. Worse yet, he wasn't even close to being home. He was 800 miles away following up on a kidnapping case which he had hoped was extraterrestrial but turned out to be janitorial. The cleaning man did it and fortunately returned the shaken, but otherwise unharmed prize-winning thoroughbred in due time. So much for his alien racetrack breeding-program theory. Scully had called him from D.C. while he was half-way up his borrowed hip-boots in manure-filled hay and mud to tell him her apartment building was being fumigated and did he mind-- seeing as he was out of town and all--if she spent the evening in cleaner air? His resounding affirmative was out of his lips before he could finish calculating just how fast he could haul his ass home, realizing a few quick phone calls later that the feat was futile given the late hour and lousy Kentucky weather. Damn. Instead, he lay awake all night in some hayseed motel room listening to the rain pummel the aluminum roof while his head filled with visions of his dream girl padding through his apartment in silky little pajamas--lying on his couch watching TV wrapped in his old blanket, sucking down a carton of Chunky Monkey; or slipping into his shower naked and wet, rubbing his soap and later his towels all over her perfect soft skin; and finally slipping sleepy clean and dry into his bed. He'd practically begged her to take the bed, making up some story about how he'd hadn't had the time to plug-up the surveillance hole in the ceiling over his couch. So now, a little blurry from a long frustrating flight and too little sleep, he was happily snooping around his own apartment checking for Scully evidence. His fastidious partner was not in the habit of leaving a mess, so finding disturbances was not terribly easy, but his well-trained investigative senses were beginning to pick up on little oddities. In the kitchen he noticed the rinsed bowl and glasses he had left sitting on the counter were relocated to the dishwasher awaiting the next run, accompanied by a small plate, fork and tumbler. In the livingroom, the magazines and journals he had pushed aside earlier were in two neat stacks, and the videos he'd left sitting on top of the TV (thank god he'd opted for the "five action hits for five bucks" rental deal) seemed to have slid back into the cabinet. Except one, Die Hard III, which was still in the VCR. Got a thing for Bruce, Scully? Suddenly, he wasn't so concerned about the odds of losing his hair before fifty. Checking the abused deadbolt on his door for reasonable security, he left the livingroom and headed to bed. At first glance, he felt a wave of disappointment hit him as it looked as if she'd never stepped into the room. But upon closer inspection, he could see the framed photos on his dresser had been peeked at, one or two rotated a centimeter or so, particularly the one of her near the Washington Monument. She'd seen that one before, right? Over on the nightstand was an old dog-eared back issue of Omni. From the look of the cover, it contained one of his M. F. Luder rantings from five years ago. Did she actually read that? How embarrassing, maybe it helped her fall asleep. He headed for the bathroom. His towels were hung neatly, more neatly than he would have left them, and the shower curtain was drawn closed to prevent molding, naturally. Some kleenex was in the trash can, and a bar of soap had gravitated to a different location near the sink. Not a lot to go on, but enough to confirm his overactive mind had been right about a few things--she had indeed been naked in at least this small room for the period of time it took to enter and exit the shower. He decided as long as he was enjoying the bathroom he might as well wash the Blue Moon of Kentucky off of him, and stripped down, turning on the shower. Waiting for the water to heat up, he eyed his puddle of clothes on the floor, and was struck with the terrifying thought he may very well have left some unmentionables in here the morning he left for the airport. If so, they weren't lying around now. Would she have tidied up the bathroom like she had in the kitchen? He didn't really want to think about that, and stepped in under the spray. Some quick work with soap and shampoo and a nice hot rinse, and he was out, anxious to have an excuse to rub a towel or two over his face and chest as if he could feel her skin against his through some kinetic terrycloth transference. Not really, but the thought was nice. Scrubbing his stubbly hair dry with a hand towel, he wandered back into the bedroom and stopped, catching his reflection in the long mirror. Goddamn mirror and towels got more action than he did nowadays, if she too had wandered past it in full-length reflective glory. Too bad mirrors didn't come with a replay. With a sigh, he tossed the small towel over the back of a chair and slipped into bed. And that's when it hit him. For all his midnight visual imaginings, he had forgotten what a warm, clean, gorgeous woman with glands and skin could do to a set of bedsheets after a good eight hours or so of close contact. To his rapturous delight, Mulder found his bed had been transformed into a haven of unmistakable Scullyness. She was everywhere, blanketing him in a delicate vanilla/almond scent that wafted around him with every stir and move of his limbs. Sweet Jesus, she'd probably sat right here on the edge of his new land-locked mattress (The original made him sea-sick, something the cheesy bed-fairies forgot.) rubbing lotion up and down her slender arms and legs. He rolled over onto his stomach and took a moment to sniff through the pillows, easily finding the one she had set her head upon the longest and buried his nose in it--the heady aroma of shampoo and woman igniting a hefty burning torch in his groin. With a little moan he was shocked to find himself already beginning to grind into the mattress. He stopped himself with a grunt. Flipping onto his back, he tried not to catch his own admonishing eyes in the mirror as his body spiraled down to focus tightly on one simple human need. Shit--he couldn't do this. That was taking advantage of his advantage, right? Not that he wasn't one to begrudge a little hand-over-fist when the mood struck--it was when that particular activity crossed over into his working relationship that he felt the twinge of guilt. He was her partner, friend, the one who she trusted with her secrets, her privacy, to respect and protect her, to let her stay in his home so she could escape a little gas--somewhere she'd feel comfortable--where she could let her hair down, down into his pillows, wiggling her little body into a good position, perhaps even hugging a pillow to her breasts......dammit, this was *his* bed, and he was tired, frustrated, and horny as hell. Fuck it, he'd argue with St. Peter at the gate, and took himself in hand. Mulder closed his eyes and let a selection of imagery work over him as he slowly worked himself. In all honesty, this wasn't the first time he'd touched himself to Scully's incorporeal presence-- it was just that the heavenly scent of her brought one more dimension to his finely tuned sense of touch and inner sight. And he was still riding on the aftereffects of a nice Friday night "see you Monday kiss." His lips still tingled slightly from the contact, as he began to replay leaning into her smile as she raised her head from the computer screen to receive her kiss. She'd had such an unassuming warmth in her eyes as she said, "Have a nice weekend," and here he was grabbing himself over it. To bring even more insult to this, it had been a few days, and if you add the elements of drowsiness and fresh-from-the-shower skin sensitivity, he was just about as close to the finish line one can be before getting much distance from the starting gate. He slowed down and let his hand wander to his balls awhile trying to clear his head--it wasn't every day he'd get access to an aphrodisiac of this magnitude. He'd better make it worth the while--he doubted he'd find the guts to do this twice. In short-- choose wisely. So the pick of his fantasies this lazy afternoon settled in on something meaningful, something that might even have been a reality if he had been a braver man and the airlines a tad more forgiving. All he'd been thinking that night in the motel was of slipping in well after midnight and quietly tip-toeing into his bedroom to find her curled in his blankets and sheets in a cute little Scullyball, most likely on his favorite left side of the bed with the moonlight illuminating her slumbering face. He'd silently strip off his clothes and crawl in behind her, cautious not to wake her, and gently slip an arm around her middle holding her to him, delighting in the warmth that radiated from her--filling his cold and empty bed. She wouldn't wake and he would just let himself enjoy the fragrance of her hair and bare shoulders, lying with her quietly until she murmured in her sleep and rolled over, sliding her arms around him, returning the embrace. He'd kiss her from her forehead to chin, light soft kisses not unlike the one he gave her today, but just more of them, touching all the most beautiful parts of her face with his lips (which was most everywhere--she really didn't have any ugly spots). She'd sigh and open her eyes and smile at him, maybe even say his name in a lazy sleep-drunk voice and he'd kiss her soundly, moving his mouth over her satin lips, really getting a feel for them. He knew they were soft and wonderful, but he'd never had a real taste of them, not a long taste and he'd make sure he ran his tongue lightly between her lips, just to feel them slowly part. With a little luck she'd probably moan and he'd roll himself more fully over her and take her head between his hands and kiss her deeply, seeking the softness of her cheeks and thrill at her tongue meeting his tentatively and then with greater force as her desire rose in her. She'd move under him, skin against skin (who wanted to fuss with undressing in this condition?) and he'd feel her breasts brushing his bare chest and her warm strong thighs grazing his engorged cock--just as the palm of his hand was doing now-- and she would cry out to him as he nipped her neck and buried his nose between her perfect round breasts, taking them in his hands and drawing the readied nipples into his thirsty mouth, suckling her in time to her whimpering moans. Her thighs would open and he would feel wetness beneath him, wetness and heat and--god, that smell of a woman when she's aroused-- and he would seek it, slither down, lamenting the loss of her mouth only as long as it took him to settle his face between her legs to start a different kind of kiss. He wondered, as his hand quickened, if she'd ever had a man who loved pleasuring a woman as much as he did--taking his time to learn her sensitivities and responses, thrilling in the task of getting to know his way around, gladly spending hours forgoing his own relief to enjoy the steady build of hers as her moisture flowed over his lips and tongue--god, how he wanted to show her that, just once, more than anything, to bring her out of herself with his mouth and fingers--to let her feel an orgasm that rises and rises and holds steady then rises again and builds... and shit, he had to stop again and pull his hand away to join the other linked behind his head. He took a few long unsteady breaths while his hips of their own volition continued to thrust languidly against the friction of the sheets. He couldn't think about her climaxing into his face and continue, and he had hoped to make this last to the very end. He wondered as he calmed himself, if she would whimper, moan or scream, when she came, if she would hold it in or let it go in a cry of complete abandonment--could he dare hope she'd even sob his name? Either would please him immensely, just to have the privilege of touching her that way. And when she calmed, he'd cover her with kisses to her face, lips and eyelids telling her how beautiful she was, how amazing and sexy and wonderful. And if the heavens would open, she'd invite him to enter her and he'd kiss her deeply and stroke her with his fingers until he was sure she was ready, and with all the care he could muster, slide slowly into her tight wet body. His re-introduced fist wasn't nearly as warm as she'd be, but his own enthusiastic lubrication was making a pretty good facsimile, and he slid his hand down the incredibly hard length of himself in time to the image in his mind, squeezing the sensitive head on the upstroke, trying to stay in control the stimulation for at least few more moments. His tongue would move against hers as his hips rose and fell, filling her mouth with his breathy moans, trying like hell to fight against the urge to thrust hard and fast and lose the tender spell of the moment. Soon he'd feel her tightening around him and her beautiful voice joining his, and he'd flip them over so she could rise above him, her lush curves and sculpted form outlined in shadow and glowing moonlight as she worked him deep within her--letting the unbearable tension build, whispering to him that she loved him and that she'd never leave him, never, losing her words in a long exulting sob tightening, gripping him... Christ! Yes, that was it...He secured the tip of his throbbing penis tightly in his fist for the last few blinding seconds to sustain the intensity of release as he arched into hand and let go with a low moan that harmonized with hers, feeling the hot rush of semen surge over his fingers. The entrance to dreamland beckoned him, and after a few decadent minutes of blissful dozing, he forced himself to rouse and clean up with the handy bed-side box of kleenex. That wasn't half bad, he thought a minute later, tossing the fluffy wad across the room--as close as he could get to the bathroom wastebasket. He closed his eyes and settled down on his stomach, pulling the covers around him and curling next to a Scully-scented pillow. In fact, that was pretty damned amazing. And the guilt level was surprisingly low, at least for now, while still in the throes of a rather high state of post- masturbatory euphoria. Just before sleep draped over him, an odd thought entered his head.....kleenex? He didn't usually keep that near the bed... He allowed himself a wide deliberate smile and slipped quietly into a dream where he was chastely kissing Scully's lips. ################################### All I can say is, I'm glad my mother doesn't read these things! This story is for a friend of mine who "hates" Mulderbation. I hope she'll find this one a bit kinder and gentler and discover the error of her ways. You know who you are, sweetie! And for Alanna who encourages my sick, one-handed fic obsession. Tell me if this gave you that warm gooey feeling at: Terma99@aol.com And stay tuned to this channel for part II. For more smut in which both agents are involved, visit: www.geocities.com/hotsprings/8334/fic.html Scent of a Woman-II The Nest TITLE: Scent of a Woman II--The Nest AUTHOR: Terma99 EMAIL: terma99@aol.com DISTRIBUTION: Gossamer, Xemplary-YES! Anywhere else-YES! But be kind and let me know!! SPOILERS: Triangle/Dreamland/Monday RATING: NC-17 for "suppressed erotic fantasies" CLASSIFICATION: UST/MSR, H SUMMARY: Scully makes herself at home in Mulder's lair. Part two of Scent of a Woman. POST DATE: 3/11/99 MY NOTES: This is part II for a four part MSR called "Scent of a Woman." Please read stories in order for maximum "effect." To find missing installments, visit: www.geocities.com/hotsprings/8334/fic.html. SPECIAL THANKS: to my fab beta babes: Sue, Dasha, Kelley and Deb (who knows a lot about guns, BTW). Without them, this whole thing would read like one run-on sentence. And to all the Scent-I readers who bribed, begged and threatened me to get on with it already! DISCLAIMER: I don't own Dana Scully, but tonight she's glad I at least control her mind. All regards to 1013, FOX, and such for providing the fodder for my dirty little mind. FEEDBACK: Slap me silly!! Terma99@aol.com Scent of a Woman-II The Nest by Terma99 Dana Scully sighed and unharnessed her overnight bag from her shoulder, setting the soggy paper sack clutched in her left hand down on the floor in front of apartment 42 in an effort to stage a new attack against Mulder's impertinent front door. The abused block of wood was not much for helping a tired, slightly fumigated FBI woman wrangle the lock into submission. Her hands free, Scully jiggled her keys again and got a firmer grip on the one labeled "Mulder," as if she'd forget the greenish bent key was his any time soon. With some struggling, she fit it in the lock and wrenched the knob while applying a sidelong kick to the edge of the bottom panel as she had seen Mulder do on occasion. The pressboard groaned and wobbled open. Entrance was granted. Scully gathered her bags and slipped into the cold, darkened space, fumbling with her free hand for the light switch. She flicked it. Nothing. Dead bulb. Another sigh escaped her and she abandoned her baggage once again, stumbling cautiously forward --not a little concerned some Fed-eating mutant might be laying in wait just ahead--until her ankle made sharp contact with the leg of Mulder's sidetable. Painful, but at least she knew where she was. With a turn of the switch, the little green table lamp came to life, illuminating the apartment to the best of its dim 40-watt ability. Using reverse psychology on the door, she managed to succeed in closing and locking it. Picking up her warm, moist-bottomed bag, she headed for the kitchen, turning on lights as she went. Tonight's dinner, as she pulled it out onto the counter, consisted of Giovanni's best marinara primavera with fresh grated Parmesan, a duet of fluffy breadsticks, and for a special treat, a plastic tin of tiramisu. She opened the foil breadstick bag and let the garlicky steam fill her nose. Her mouth had been watering for the last half hour as she drove over from the restaurant to her makeshift lodgings for the evening. It was a dinner pick-up and drive she had made many times before, except this time she didn't have to keep an eye out for a big sneaky hand pilfering her breadsticks while she slurped down her pasta. She almost always lost half her food when she ate with Mulder. After popping the lid off her entree, she gingerly dug around for the bag's final contents--lifting out the drippy soda cup, straw, and a now permanently fused wet set of napkins. Scully wasn't one to normally order a drink to go for this very reason, but experience had taught her not to tempt fate with the sparse and often frightening contents of Mulder's fridge. She'd also taken the precaution of picking up a large bottle of Evian given the notorious tap water hazards one could expect from this building. Eating a meal at Mulder's was like traveling to a third world country. Preparing herself for the horrors that lay ahead, she jerked his refrigerator door open to find the contents surprisingly tame: two beers, an empty bottle of juice, some kind of barbecue sauce, a box of baking soda, and a single orphaned egg, lying on its side in the door rack. Nearly deserted, but at least its occupants weren't walking on their own yet. She set her dessert in to chill for later and closed the door. Scully popped a breadstick in her mouth as she dragged open Mulder's silverware drawer and selected a fork with reasonably straight tines. In the first cupboard she rescued a solo blue plastic tumbler from a ring of dinged mugs with "Eat at Eddie's" logos on their sides. So maybe as the years had passed Mulder's apartment had upgraded itself to the second world, but still, it appeared to be a country where its citizens had to resort to smuggling dinnerware from various late-night diners. It was a good thing Mulder didn't entertain much. She poured the remaining contents of her soda into the tumbler, and tearing off a few paper towels, carried her meal out to the coffee table. The low table was scattered with psychology journals, various issues of Discover, TV Guide, Sports Illustrated, Scientific American, and something with a busty wench on the cover that she quickly slipped under the more socially acceptable periodicals. Parting the paper sea, she set her dinner in the center and re-arranged the magazines into two neat stacks. She probably shouldn't be fussing with his stuff, she realized, but after all, one had to make room to eat. She bit the rest of the way through the bread and stuffed the end of it into the pasta to hold it for a moment while she reached under her for the TV remote. Seventy-two channels and nothing on. Mulder didn't hesitate to splurge for premium sports cable she noticed, twirling her pasta around the fork, as she flipped past three college basketball games, some celebrity golf tournament, pro bowling, and a muddy horserace that made her wonder if her partner had sense enough to get in from the rain tonight. A few bites later she gave up on the national networks and decided to brave the video boxes she saw lying around the TV. Hmm...action flicks...most of which she wouldn't be caught dead waiting outside a theater for, but would certainly hold her interest in a captive situation such as this. Too many years of living alone made her habitually turn on the tube for dinner companionship. Mulder's livingroom was set up in a similar manner. From the fine dust layer on its polished surface, it didn't look like his dining table ever held anything finer than file boxes, folded laundry and paperwork. Rejecting the Steven Segal and subtitled Japanese films, Scully settled for Die Hard III, hoping she couldn't go too wrong with Jeremy Irons as the handsomely-desperate villain. She popped it in the machine and with a groan and static hiss, it came to life. Settling back onto the couch, she lifted her pasta tin into her lap, careful not to spill as she ate, pausing to take a few large gulps of her barely cool beverage as 65 million dollars worth of action got underway. As glucose streamed its way into her thudding brain, Scully began to relax. It had been one hell of a Thursday. Coming home to a "We're glad we sprayed your home with toxic chemicals" note from the building management tacked to her door and the ugly smell of acid-burnt eggs, was not how she had intended to start her evening. Ten minutes after letting herself in, she was seized with a coughing fit and a pounding headache that had her reaching for her windows and her cellphone at the same time. After a brief conversation with Mulder, who was arguably having a worse time in Kentucky than she was in Georgetown, she set about removing herself from the fallout zone for at least 24 hours. A sleepover at Mulder's. This was a new thing for her certainly, she thought, sponging the last of the red sauce from the bottom of her container with the butt of the breadstick. In the brain- cell-melting noxious fumes, she hadn't given the request much debate. Was it appropriate? She could have called her mother, but Mulder was about 45 minutes closer to work and she still had Friday to get through. With her partner out of the office chasing aliens with a horse-fetish (an excursion she had passed on--she'd seen enough exsanguinated livestock to last her a lifetime) she'd been saddled with a mountain of fiscal year- end paperwork. Just the thought of it waiting for her in the basement was making her subsiding headache come back with a fresh throb. Besides, as it turned out, Mulder had recently rediscovered his bedroom. Evidently he'd been up to some redecorating the last few months. She'd caught him arguing with the deliverymen on the phone a few weeks ago. Overhearing the words "mattress" and "bedroom" in the same sentence, she was sure Mulder was talking to his mother. But she was quite wrong, and there was no hope of hiding the shock on her face when he asked her to cover for him while he went to go let them in. Mulder and a bed. Two things she was certain she'd never live to see co-habitating under the same roof. Bullets were beginning to fly across the screen accompanied by a string of profanity as she slipped off her shoes and lay back into the pillows, pulling Mulder's old Indian blanket around her to ward off the chill the ancient heating system had yet to conquer. All at once she got the sweet impression of lying back against his chest, the two of them wrapped in the blanket, his fingers lazily stroking her hair as they both laughed at this dreadful movie Mr. Irons was doing nothing to improve upon. Scully sighed as she brought the edge of the fuzzy wool to her nose and breathed in. He must still sleep on the couch from time to time because a faint hint of his aftershave remained--a wisp of fragrance not unlike the trace evidence he would sometimes leave on the lapels of her blouse or coat after a nice long hug. They should hug more, she thought, letting herself indulge in a memory of his strong arms around her, his towering form making her feel safe, surrounded by warmth and tenderness. Yes, the man knew how to hug and right now this well loved, tattered blanket he crawled under to sleep at night was providing a fine simulation. *********************************************** The next thing she knew, she woke with a start as the blank signal at the end of the tape began to whine, nagging to be rewound. Scully fought with the myriad buttons on the remote until she succeeded in silencing the player, and lay back with a yawn, rubbing her forehead. She must have been more tired than she thought. Looking up over her head she eyed the light fixture and wondered if Mulder was bullshitting her about the surveillance hole. She'd better not press her luck; the last thing she wanted that black lunged sonovabitch to have was live video of her drooling on her partner's couch. So she roused and tossed out her dinner tins and rinsed and put her and Mulder's leftover dishes in the washer; came back out and fed the fish, double checked the deadbolt, shut off the lights, and headed to the bedroom. Impressive, she thought, turning on the bedroom light and eyeing the new maple and rosewood furnishings. Very nice indeed. How odd that Mulder was strangely evasive and shy about the project. He would joke and claim it was an act of God or something, that he'd finally unearthed this room from the mounds of squirreled paranormal paraphernalia and made it habitable. He wouldn't let her have more than an accidental peek the one time she'd stopped by since the mattress call. It surprised her now that she was able to get a good look at it. It was pretty cozy, certainly not a manner in which your average professional bachelor would have settled himself. She liked it--a lot. Scully walked slowly about the room running her fingertips along the polished surfaces, awed by the size of the new Sony wide- screen television set (why the heck was the VCR still attached to the old one?) with a digital sound system and eight level duel CD racks. Quite the state of the art. New bookshelves, dressers, bedside table...and then there was the bed. It was huge. She approached it cautiously, admiring the tall dark mahogany bedposts and, oh my, reflective tiles? She peeked gingerly under the canopy again. A mirror? Well it seemed not all the bachelor had washed out in Mulder's old age, she thought with a smile. It was right in step with his billiard ball coat rack, dart board and running shoes sitting in the middle of the floor. Where'd he get the money for all this? she wondered. And why now? Was he preparing for something? Someone? She swallowed nervously, glancing about the room and was startled by a small image of herself standing framed on Mulder's new dresser. When did he get that? She stepped in for a closer look, tilting the frame toward her. Was that the...oh no...and he says he's not a Freudian. It was a picture of her holding a Nerf football near the Washington Monument at last year's ridiculous FBI On the Green barbecue. Well, she did look rather nice in it despite the looming phallus. The rest of the photographs were of family and, of course, Samantha and him as kids. He did make a pretty cute twelve-year old--all gangly limbs and too much nose. No other unrelated adult females graced his dressertop. Maybe he was feathering his nest for someone she knew a little too well. The thought made her feel both hopeful and uneasy. Picking up his running shoes before she tripped over them, Scully carried them over to the closet and slid the door open, uncovering his cultivated collection of fine, pressed suits carefully hung by hue from dark charcoals and grays to blues to that striking pin-stripe number he hadn't worn in years. She assumed it had been destroyed by one too many encounters with spectral ectoplasm or runaway RVs. She rather enjoyed him in pinstripes, she thought, running her hand up the expensive Italian wool, letting her fingers slip under the lapels as if she were able to touch him briefly over 800 miles away. She missed him of all things, she realized. Not even three days had passed in the reclaimed cavern of their office without his lumbering presence and she was already counting the hours until his return. He'd be back tomorrow, she reminded herself. And tomorrow was Friday--prime excuse for a 5PM display of affection. The kisses they had begun to share were tender and brief, like trying to sip at the rim of a cup of fresh coffee, fearful of getting burned, but dying for a good hot swallow. Maybe they should try blowing on each other first, she thought with a snort, patting his suitcoat back into place. Still, it was nice and she hadn't gotten one in a while. With a little luck, maybe he'd call her to come pick him up at the airport. She wondered what Mulder would think of that, getting planted with a big smack in such a public setting as he walked off the plane. It made her lips curve at the thought. Shutting the closet to keep out midnight visitors, she unpacked her toiletries and pajamas and headed into the shower. She cranked on the old knobs and slipped out of her clothes while the water heated, steam quickly filling the little room. Scully stepped in and stood under the hot spray, letting the water work into her stiffened shoulders and neck, flowing forward down over her breasts and hips. Mulder had a wonderful showerhead, and she reached back to help the pulsing water knead the last traces of the chemically induced ache from the base of her cranium. Scully could figure on one hand the number of times she'd had someone do this for her in the last five years. Not counting her mother, the tally included a weekend spa gift certificate she'd won at the last Bureau softball team raffle and one brief encounter with Mulder's long strong fingers, about one year, three months, and twenty seven days ago. God, she'd practically melted in his hands as they'd molded around the nape of her neck, losing all resistance and embarrassing them both with a unmistakable moan--which cut the whole thing off pretty fast--Mulder mumbling shyly about needing to go make a call or something, leaving her to ride out her blush in blessed privacy. Although they were cautious around one another physically, the truth of the matter was, abstinence only made occasional physical spontaneity all that more awkward and charged for them. Scully often found herself pining for the early days when Mulder's solicitousness was unbound and the innuendo flowed freely. It was easier then, they laughed more, he was closer in many ways, yet at the same time more distant. Their relationship, or whatever one would call it, was still evolving, but at an agonizing geological pace. Seeing as they had recently mastered the act of kissing one another without exploding into bits, maybe she could ask him for a little neck rub now and again--hoist their intimacy status up one more rung. My, but she was getting brave in her old age. Scully helped herself to some greenish soap and applied her own set of travel shampoo and conditioner to her head. Taking her time to rinse, she enjoyed the simple sensuality of Mulder's shower until the water began to cool. **************************************** Twenty minutes later found her clean, dry, lotioned, and clad in silky blue longsleeved pajamas, sitting cross-legged on top of Mulder's bedspread, nibbling at her tiramisu from the back of the fork, idly flipping through the late night talkshow selections playing across the huge TV screen. On the bed in front of her was an old issue of Omni she'd picked off of the bookshelf from between Mulder's collection of best sellers, the complete paperback works of Carl Sagan, and the largest encyclopedia of unexplained mysteries she had ever seen published. She was amused to find this issue carried a special feature penned by one M. F. Luder that she was now leisurely perusing. One eye on Jay Leno and the other on the magazine, she took another bite of her dessert, savoring the dark coffee and rum soaked cakes and sweet mascarpone cheese on her tongue like a rich deep kiss. Not that she'd had one of those lately, either. She collected a few shavings of chocolate with her damp fingertip, sucking it into her mouth as she read. "The alien abduction phenomenon is a message warning modern man to accept his status in the ancient heart of the universe." Oh brother. You've come a long way, Mulder, she thought, flipping the magazine closed and setting it on the sidetable. He had changed quite a bit she had to admit--it wasn't just the bedroom. He did seem to travel a league closer to shore each year, while she got an almost equal distance further out along the continuum of their bi-polar rationales. Maybe it was about time they met at the beach. She tapped her fork on the plate considering...no, best not go there tonight. Not while she was sleeping in his damn bed. And she picked up the rest of her chocolate and rum decadence and walked it back to the kitchen to save it for Mulder. Returning to the bed, teeth brushed and minty, Scully pulled back the fresh covers and sorted the pillows. Checking the alarm, she shut off the lights and settled down on her back while Leno introduced some leggy model with silicon for both breasts and brains. Three minutes of vacuous conversation and Scully was beginning to nod off. She hit the power button and rolled over onto her side. Distractions dismissed, and the inhibition of drowsiness upon her, she allowed herself to wonder what it would feel like if he just simply came home some time tonight and slipped in next to her, waking her with a long, delicious tiramisu kiss. *********************************** An echoing thud and the rattling of wood woke her suddenly. In the darkness, her heart was already pounding. The goddamn front door--someone was breaking in. She heard it groaning and she was on her feet, hands in her overnight bag, searching for her weapon. She pulled it from the holster and walked silently to the bedroom doorway, peering around the corner into the inky blackness of the hallway. Silence. Not a sound save the eventual thunk as the door swung lightly back against the jam. Who the hell was it? Consortium henchmen? Men in black? She could hear nothing. Taking a defensive stance, Scully inched along the hallway to the light switch and flicked it quickly. Nothing. Dead bulb. Fuck. Her Quantico training took over: "Federal agent! I'm armed. Raise your hands and step back toward the front door." More silence. She moved forward until she could see the rim of light around the edges of the jarred door--she hadn't imagined it-- it was open just a crack. All at once she was hit from the side. Hands grabbed her firing arm and in one clean move disarmed her and knocked her to the floor. Falling backwards, Scully's ankle made contact with the sidetable. Painful. But not enough to keep her from delivering a swift kick to her shadowy assailant's side. The effort was futile for in another second she felt the cold muzzle of her Sig against the side of her head. The intruder was breathing heavily over her as he fumbled with the switch on the small green table lamp. "Scully?" "Mulder!" And she was awake, sitting up in the darkness of his bedroom scrambling to turn on the bed-side lamp, her breath racing from her chest, fingers flying to her temple where she swore she could still feel the cold press of her own weapon against her skin. She was shaking badly and flushed, shifting uncomfortably as damp hot flesh met the silk of her crotch--she was extremely, undeniably aroused. With a whimper, she fell back against the pillows and dug an impatient hand into the bottom of her pajamas, cupping the swollen lips in her hand. She was hot and wet and her traitorous little clitoris was screaming for attention. She was in no state to reason with it and ran the length of her middle finger along it, moaning at the touch. She always did manage to wake up before the good part. She closed her eyes as her fingers began to fondle her needy flesh and let the images of her dream reconnect and continue in a lucid state of half- consciousness. The first to go was the gun, safety locked and spun across the floor. Then she reached for him and his beautiful stricken face and turned their mutual shock into desire with a long, hard kiss. Mouths open and hungry, they kissed without restraint, pressing hard and sliding lips over tongues--tasting, touching, searching. Mulder slid forward over her, letting his weight press her into the hard floor as he held her face, whispering her name over and over in a mixture of contrition and love as he set his mouth to her chin and neck accentuated by rough little nips. Good, that would be so good, she thought, as her hand, slick with her arousal, parted her inner lips and slid with just enough pressure against the hooded edge of her clit, sending a thunderbolt of sensation down her spine. She wanted him to come unhinged, lose that cool exterior, get a little rough with her in a desperate need to crawl inside her for once and forever. She wanted to feel him lifting her up with strong arms and moving her where he wanted her, bringing her up onto her knees in front of him, her back against his chest--held fast by his long strong arm, while his free hand began to knead her breasts against the silk of her top, bringing her nipples to hard little points that she could feel in her own palm while her other hand remained below, sliding over her swollen tissues with nimble practiced fingers. Kneeling on the floor between his thighs she could imagine herself pinned against him, one hand over her bared belly, the other tangled in her hair as he tipped her head back and traced the curve of her ear with his tongue. "Tell me, Scully," he'd whisper low and rough. "Tell me what you want." She'd want what she could feel pressing urgently through the denim of his crotch, impatiently nudging into the small of her back. She'd try to find her voice through the heaving of her breath. "I want..." she'd begin, as his hand moved from her stomach to the curve of her tilted throat, his teeth closing on her tender earlobe. "What?" he'd sneer, running his tongue behind her lobe. "I want you to take what I've denied you for so long." He'd groan, and rising to his feet, pull her up, dragging the silk from her shoulders so that she'd stand half naked before him-- the predatory look in his eyes bringing her over into complete recklessness. In a second, they'd clash into a battle of furious mouths and hands, stumbling backwards toward the bedroom. They'd make it in the doorway and fall into a tumble of greedy limbs and half shed clothing, rolling and crawling across the floor like a couple of dogs, collapsing into the rug. Lips and teeth would seek nipples, breasts and tender skin, sucking licking, and biting in a feeding frenzy of pleasure and pain. She have his fly down and the hot tip of his cock between her lips before he'd unfastened her pajamas as he would struggle to do with frustrated fingers, while fighting with his hips to wriggle out of his jeans. She'd free him and he'd fall onto his side where head to hip, she'd lick and kiss and suck his hardness for everything she was worth. Somewhere below or above he'd unslip the satin buttons denying him access to her sex and in one fluid tug leave her suddenly naked, moist and shivering in the darkness, until the warmth of his lips closed over her labia and the rough drag of his tongue sought and conquered her swollen clit. Fastened to one another they'd reel in pure sensation adjusting and flowing easily into synchronization, matching need to intensity in fits and starts and jointly falling into plateaus of sustained pleasure--caught in a maelstrom of unhinged lust. She'd tighten and quiver and he'd swell and pulse under each other's hungry mouths and together they'd muffle the cries of release in each other's sex as six long years of denial came to fruition in a sudden violent exchange of sweat, wetness and come. With a noisy gasp, Scully lay back and slid her cramping fingers from between her slickened thighs, waiting for the pounding in her heart and the contractions in her core to subside. A strange, wild-eyed woman was watching her from above, as she caught her breath and waited for her head to clear. What the hell was that all about? In her rush to fuck Mulder, she'd forgotten to fuck Mulder. And the gun and the crawling and biting? What ever happened to sweet and tender lovemaking? Even in her dreams she couldn't wait ten minutes to dig into his pants. Maybe this is what happens to the psyche when it's left unattended for so long--sexual tension gone rabid. God, she was drenched. She really didn't want to leave any trace evidence in the bed, so she forced herself to struggle to her weakened legs and limp into the bathroom. Under the soothing run of warm water, she cleaned herself with dampened toilet tissue, gingerly wiping around her overtaxed nerves. And in an unexpected rush of haywire emotions, found herself emitting a few stray, confused tears as she flushed the toilet. Not wanting to face the shattered mess of herself in the mirror, she blew her nose and wiped her eyes with a wad of kleenex, tossing it in the trash. Grabbing the box, she flipped off the light and turned on the perfectly operational hallway light. Trudging down the hall, Scully re-inspected the deadbolt, and pausing to yank his blanket from off the couch, headed back to bed where she wrapped it tightly around her and huddled back under the covers. Nestled once again in his scent, with the light from the hallway expelling the voids, she felt herself calm and take comfort in his surrogate closeness. Closing her eyes, she could already hear her therapist's calm, detached voice delivering her logical analysis. "Let's see, you've experienced intense, vivid sexual fantasies while bringing yourself to climax in your partner's bed. Dana, this is perfectly normal for a woman at her sexual peak who hasn't experienced relations with a man (or anyone else for that matter) in how many years?" Sure, perfectly normal people adopt celibacy in exchange for secret government conspiracies and extraterrestrial intrigue every day. Did she really need to pay someone $90 an hour to be told she needed to get laid? No. That wasn't so hard to figure out. She was not denying the need, she was denying the vehicle-- Mulder. So what was the problem? He was trustworthy, sincere, kind, loving--certainly to her--not hard on the eyes, and, if memory served, furnished with a fine set of equipment for the job. And if she could allow herself to believe it, in love with her too. He'd even told her as much, and only now, lying in his bed blowing her nose through his kleenex box, cuddling his blanket like a newborn, did she finally let it into her head. "I love you," he'd said, clear as day. And what did she do? Rolled her eyes and walked out of the room. God, she hoped he was too drugged to remember. For heaven's sake, what was she waiting for? She had the scientific proof her goddamn strict rationalism required. This wasn't an X-File--this was a mystery as old as the evolution of mankind. To hell with the Darwin approach, it was about time they dragged their six year love affair out of the Paleozoic. It would be fun, invigorating, good for the cardiovascular system; they wouldn't need to visit the gym for months. Mulder had better stop chasing aliens and hurry up and get his ass home, or he'd be in for a heck of a lot more than just a kiss stepping of that plane. That decided, Dana Scully sighed for the final time that evening and rolled over, letting mental exhaustion take her into an unsuppressed and dreamless sleep. ************************************************* END Begging for the next installment in the continuing "Scent" saga is most graciously received at: Terma99@aol.com. Don't worry, there's action ahead..... Scent of a Woman III-Dinner TITLE: Scent of a Woman III--Dinner (1/3) AUTHOR: Terma99 EMAIL: terma99@aol.com DISTRIBUTION: Gossamer, Xemplary-YES! Clinique's Chaos, XFFFA-YES! Anywhere else-YES! But be kind and let me know about it. SPOILERS FOR THIS SERIES: Triangle/Dreamland/Monday RATING: PG-13 (Smut's in Part Four--to come) CLASSIFICATION: UST/MSR, H SUMMARY: Scully decides to put her plan to seduce her partner into action. POST DATE: 7/18/99 MY NOTES: This is part III of a four part MSR titled "Scent of a Woman." Please read stories in order for maximum "effect." Scent of a Woman I Scent of a Woman II-The Nest To find missing installments, visit: www.geocities.com/hotsprings/8334/fic.html. Scent is under the MSR/RST section. SPECIAL THANKS: to my fab beta babes: Sue, Michelle, and Deb without whom, you'd all see what a truly lousy editor I am. And to all the Scent readers who have begged, threatened and screamed for me to finish this. Sorry it took so long. And extra thanks to Bugs for the free lunch and "interesting horse fact." And Missy for the descriptions of Old Town Alexandria. DISCLAIMER: I don't own Moose and Squirrel, but tonight I'm taking them to dinner. All regards to 1013, FOX, and such for providing the fodder for my dirty little mind. FEEDBACK: Slap me silly!! Terma99@aol.com Scent of a Woman III--Dinner by Terma99 Scully held the DIXON Trimline No. 2 pencil between her forefinger and thumb, rolling it back and forth admiring its freshly honed point. In a breath she applied a snap of the fingers and a flick of the wrist, letting the missile fly through the stale basement air in perfect form, tip forward, ready to embed itself into the...shit! fluorescent light fixture. The pencil tip snapped as it collided, rattling the rectangular plastic cover and slipping it from its rails. Defying gravity in an almost equally dexterous feat, Scully leapt up on Mulder's desk from where she had been half reclined in his chair and caught the cover before it shattered to the ground. She balanced the plastic sheet with her fingertips and gingerly slid it back into place, expelling the dust that invaded her lungs with a cough. She sighed, brushing desiccated bug parts from the front of her blouse. He made it look so easy. During their tour of duty under Kersh, Scully had watched the deft fingers of her partner effortlessly toss dozens of carbon-tipped projectiles into the sound absorbent tiles until the bullpen ceiling resembled the back of a porcupine. A talent the janitor enjoyed maintaining almost as much as his careless seed munching habit. Seeds. She was standing on a mini assortment of them that had hidden under the blotter. She moved her heel to examine the crunchy mess, sucked clean of their contents. Lucky little bastards to get that much attention from a mouth she had only recently begun to sample. Somehow everything today had been about Mulder. Waking in Mulder's bed tangled in his blanket, dressing in Mulder's bedroom...imagining Mulder dressing in Mulder's bedroom...Mulder eating seeds...Mulder molesting a straw, a pen cap, the inside if her thighs... What time was it anyway? Her head-to-head view of the wall clock revealed the endless Friday afternoon was just approaching 2:30. Still an hour too early to leave for the airport. She had checked the battery in her cellphone twice now, but no call. So to cover her tracks she planned a visit to the nearby Hall of Records on an old case to help explain her "just passing by the airport" when she knocked the wind out of him with a big hug and a tidy smack on those salty lips. Her plotting was interrupted by the basement door suddenly opening. Her partner entered with a shove of his shoulder, his arms carrying a large file-stuffed archive box. He stopped and stared up at her, perplexed. "We have mice, Scully?" "I..." she could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. *What the hell was he doing here?* "Cute, Mulder, help me down." He set his box down on the table and offered her his assistance. "I was adjusting the lighting panel," she explained, easing herself down, holding his wrists for balance. "Funny, I've never had trouble with it before," he said, looking up. "That's because I've been keeping my eye on it." She slipped off the desk and onto her feet, looking up at him. "You're back early," she said, a little flustered. He squeezed her hands and released them with a quick smile. So much for a passionate deplaning. She was too startled for a proper hello now and it was far too soon for good-bye. No wonder Mulder didn't date, he was too infuriatingly unpredictable. "I requested an earlier flight," he explained, resetting the fall of her suit collar with a fingertip. "We wrapped up early yesterday and I was getting sick of the smell of wet horse hair. Unfortunately, four hours was the best they could do for me." She thought she caught a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. He let whatever it was pass and turned, gesturing to his box. "Look what I have." She stepped closer, wrinkling her nose. "Smells old. What is it?" "Missing persons cases dating back to the early '70s. Kathleen, the new archives intern, has been doing a little project for me. She surprised me with it this afternoon on my way in. I think she's a little sweet on me," he added with a wink. "I think she's seventeen, Mulder." He shrugged, unfazed. "I had her cross-check the database for names of former State Department employees. Came up with quite a few." "And?" "Well, my weekend is *set.*" Scully rolled her tongue and sighed. "I guess it is." He moved past her over to his desk, sat down and started clicking at his computer keyboard. Scully stood there a moment, hands on her hips. Watching Mulder assume his familiar detached innuendo-self made last night's fantasy seem like a grandiose delusion. The airport was her plan of attack; without a plan she was completely disarmed. Now there was a very official Fox Mulder-plaqued desk between the two of them. Not knowing what else to do, she picked up a stack of manila folders and started filing. How pathetic. "Soo..." he dragged out, leaning back in his chair to open a drawer. "What were you working on?" "Hmm...?" "You were occupying yourself with something here Scully, the chair's still warm." Scully glanced nervously at the ceiling. *Come on Dana, pull it together. You're acting like you've been working for the consortium.* "I was...back-checking those race form dates." He looked up from the keyboard, puzzled. "I thought...didn't I tell you we got the mare back when you called yesterday?" She looked at him, a file half stuffed in the drawer. Blue to hazel, guilt met confusion in a awkward beat of silence. "I just wanted to be thorough," she mumbled. He chuckled a bit at her oddness. "I think I'm beginning to have an adverse effect on you. You didn't used to be so...obliging." She slid the last file in and shut the drawer firmly. Retreating to relative safety of her "area," she pretended to look busy while trying to rein in her head. Organizing her paper clips was what she needed to do right now--a mindless task to occupy her while she hit "restart" on her cognitive functions. Blues in the first slot, silver in the middle... "So...did everything go okay?" He asked after a few minutes of blissful silence. She had a reasonable answer this time. "Yes. The Louisville office called in the..." "No, I meant last night." Dammit. She had just managed to shut that part of her memory off. Scully looked up from her folding table-cum-desk. He was staring at his flickering screen scrolling through something, giving her only half his attention. "Uh, yeah." "Wasn't too cold?" "No." "Upstairs neighbors keep you up?" "No." "Packed in your own drinking water?" "Yes." "Door give you any trouble?" "A little." "Bed comfortable?" His voice turned up just a bit like he was trying to sneak that one in. Why was the bed so important? "Uh, yes. It was fine." Fine--Scullyism for "Drop it, Mulder." He did, seeming satisfied with his line of questioning, and shut down his computer. "Well, I'm out of here." He stood, grabbing his keys off the desk. "It's only three." Ugh, that came out in a whine, didn't it? "I know, but I had a rotten night in bluegrass country and need to catch up with the backs of my eyelids," he said, taking up his precious box of dusty entertainment. Scully made to stand, but kept her rear in place. Waiting. He took a few heavy shuffles toward the door and stopped. He turned his head back to her as if his haste to exit was suddenly interrupted by a thought. Bless him, he remembered it was Friday. He hobbled shyly over to her, box in arms and setting the edge of it on her table, bent close to her mouth. "See you Monday, Scully," he said softly; and she smiled, arching up to meet his kiss. "Have a nice weekend." **************************************** Scully woke Saturday morning in the familiar trappings of her too neat apartment. She'd spent most of the remainder of Friday night cleaning--a domestic attempt to redirect the nervous tension she had been harboring the better part of two days. Somehow her plans had gone awry. If memory served, she was supposed to be waking sore and sticky, tangled in upset bedding next to an old friend. Instead, you could eat off the top of her refrigerator right now. Okay, so maybe yesterday afternoon didn't go exactly as planned. Somehow her resolute decision to seduce her partner was derailed into a basic jumble of standardized noun/verb agreements. "Yes, Mulder. No, Mulder. I don't know, Mulder." Why did every sentence always end with "Mulder?" What was she supposed to say? "Hello Mulder; how was Kentucky? By the way, I explored an erotic fantasy about you last night while fingering myself in your bed. I hope you don't mind if we leave a little early tonight so we can go rut like mini-lops until we collapse from muscle trauma. Did you remember to save your rental receipts?" That might have engendered more direct results. Still, his kiss was nice, if not a bit unbalanced by the load he was carrying, the file box that is-- a parboiled appetizer that made her salivate for the next course. Food. Dinner. Maybe that was a good idea. They could handle that perhaps. A dinner date in a real establishment specifically designed for couples to simply enjoy a meal together--not just a big surrogate kitchen for carrying away springrolls and chow mien to accompany autopsy photos and mucus samples. A little food, a little conversation, she could unload a few thoughts, weigh his reaction, fight over the check; kiss like mosquitoes in the entryway, followed by a hungry groping across the front seat of her car. It could work. What time was it? She didn't suppose dinner started at 8:30 in the morning. She'd have to iron her socks until at least 5:00. With a call at say, 3:00 to give him plenty of warning. She wasn't going to let him escape this time. ******************************************* Mulder was halfway through the "O's" when his cellphone began to ring. A spread-out file under one hand and a creamy glob of mystery dessert in the other, it took some creative juggling and finger licking to reach it before his voice mail service took over. "Mulder." He announced, annoyed. "Mulder?" Her tentative voice resonated pleasantly in his ear. His mood immediately brightened. "Oh, hey, Scully. What's up?" "Did I catch you at a bad time?" "No. No. I just had my hands full. You rang my cell, I was expecting work." "I just wanted to be sure I reached you." "Something wrong?" "No nothing's wrong. Just thought I'd call, see what you were up to." "Basketball, Scully. NCAA finals." "Oh," she said, sounding a little disheartened. "That's okay though. Something come up after I left last night?" "No. Not really." She still sounded a bit odd, like yesterday afternoon. Maybe she was coming down with something. He'd better take a vitamin. "I thought maybe you were calling about my frivolous trip expenses. I really needed those hip boots. Why the unsolicited call?" "I don't need a major traumatic event to call my partner on a Saturday, do I?" That was her defensive tone. She had a point; lord knows he called her often enough to go track down slimy swamp monsters and other unofficial weekend business. Despite her formula griping, he always found her at the door wagging to go. How often had they used work as an excuse to not spend the weekend alone? "I left something in the fridge for you. I thought I'd better mention it in case you never looked there." "No. I found it." It was just one of the little surprises he'd found waiting for him yesterday. "I have my fingers in it right now. Delicious. What is it?" A beat of silence on the other end. "Uh, tiramisu. It's Italian." "Hmm...well, it's my first." "You need to get out more." He laughed. "Yes, I probably do." "How about tonight then?" Tonight? He glanced at his watch. 4:30, only halfway through the second period in the last game of the Final Four...crap... "Mulder?" "Mmm, sorry. Yeah, when?" "I could try to get us reservations at the Blue Nile for 5:30." Let's see, college basketball, final game, Scully... "It's that new Ethiopian restaurant everyone's talking about near you in Old Town." "Ethiopian?" "Yes, crepe-like bread, steamed lamb, embroidered pillows. You know, sit on the floor and eat with your fingers--sounds like you've had some practice with that already today." Georgetown down by ten, 45 minutes until he'd have to leave, *sniff,* shower optional, Scully kneeling next to him licking her fingers... "Sure Scully, you want me to pick you up?" *Wait a minute, can the gentlemanly stuff before you have to leave in the middle of the third period.* "I think it's about midway between us. I'll meet you there." Yes! Fourth quarter saved with driving time and the car radio. "I'll see you at 5:30." *************************************** A half hour later (the box of files and licked-clean tiramisu tin long forgotten) the pie graph that represented Mulder's attention allocation was quickly shifting from Lorenzo's 3-point shot in favor of "Date with Scully." This was a date, wasn't it? Granted, he'd been distracted at the time of the call; but if memory served, Scully had made no mention of reports, aliens, Skinner or bog sludge. Just dinner. The simplicity of the concept made him nervous enough to decide a shower was worth missing the beginning of the fourth period. A blow-dry and a shave later, Mulder found himself in a fresh pair of boxers and cotton tee pacing in front of the closet, with televisions on in both rooms, volume up. Should he go casual or half-dress? He knew which suits she liked, a formal dining establishment would have made the decision easier--Charcoal suit, burgundy tie. But "you sit on the floor and eat with your fingers" was suggesting something a bit more user-friendly. Were any of his jeans clean? He checked the dwindling folded selection on his living room table. Last pair, no holes. Thank god for small miracles. Johnson missed the penalty shot...shit. The game was getting closer. Okay, bottom half covered, top half to go. He riffled through a few of the hanging long-sleeved selections trying to decide if gray blue or camel tan went better with denim. Nah, too obvious. He didn't want to *look* like he'd dressed for this. To play it safe he'd have to wear something she'd seen on him before. To the dresser... It was cool out, a breeze was blowing off the river that was likely to get brisk by nightfall. Long-sleeved forest green knit. He pulled it on over his head. Done. Time? Ten minutes until the drive. *************************************** Scully knew she was a little late as she hastened her pace along the wooden sidewalks of Alexandria's historical Old Town. Parking had been a challenge, so despite her nine hour lead time, she was still battling the clock. Just as well, she didn't want to "look" like she'd been waiting around all day for this. She came to a pause outside the grass mat-covered windows of the newest addition to Virginian eclectic cuisine and opened the door. Mulder was already there, standing in the dim, crowded entry, ducking his tall head between strings of shells and beads hanging from the low ceiling. She pushed up close to him past a clan of paired-off young lovers who were snuggling to keep one another warm as the door opened and closed. It looked like fun. Mulder must have been thinking the same thing by the look he gave her as she scooted closer and the way his arm found its way around her waist. She couldn't help herself but stretch up for a little taste of that pleasant humor playing across his lips. "Hey, you," she smiled, drawing back from the brief kiss. He looked wonderful and smelled positively delicious. His hand rubbed her back briefly. "Thanks for taking me out, Scully. I was beginning to mold." "That's probably more information than I needed, but you're welcome." More people were still squeezing into the overstuffed entrance, the constricting space led her to step just in front of him. Mulder didn't seem to mind the imposed closeness and let his hands rest protectively on her shoulders. He nodded toward the matre'd. "I gave them our name, but it'll still be a twenty minute wait. That was about ten minutes ago." He almost sounded disappointed by that. She had pegged Mulder as a snuggler years ago; she just never thought she would get the opportunity to be his designated snugg-e. Scully looked up behind her at him; he was wearing a funny little smile that looked as if it deserved another kiss. Well, they did have some time to kill... Their second taste of "hello" was slower and lingering, yet still modest enough to be ruled innocent in a court of law. He looked positively taken by that one, his head still bent toward hers. When did his eyes get so green? "Bureau, party of two?" "Mulder, you didn't pull the badge, did you?" He shrugged and led her by the elbow to follow the hostess. **************************************** Jesus, she was wearing something he'd *never* seen her in before. A nice low, but still respectably cut, short sleeved sweater with a long flowing print skirt that swirled around her ankles and hugged her hips as she walked ahead of him. He'd give anything about now to rub that silky material over the curves of her... "Cushions or couch?" His lips caught in confusion. Scully was asking him a question about the seating arrangements. The hostess had pulled open the silk tapestry that hung over the little dining nook they were about to duck into. It looked like an exotic African bedroom. "Cushions," he quickly decided. They looked the more awkward. Holy crap, there was a *couch* in there. Scully slithered into the couch-like seat while Mulder built himself a seating nest out of gold and red rounded pillows on the opposite side of a circular brass table. The hostess passed them a duet of scribed faux skin menus and shut the curtain, enclosing them in a private purse-like hovel of draped cloth and beads. "This is...different," he said, eyeing the native setting. Not to mention just a fair bit on the erotic side, complete with hypnotic drum and flute music permeating the dimly lit atmosphere. "They just opened. Considering the crowd it must be pretty good," she noted, reading over the selections. "I don't think this menu's in English," he informed her, flipping his menu over and back trying to spot a string of familiar terms. "Work with it, Mulder. There's more to the culinary palette than egg rolls and cheese steaks, you know." He squinted at the print. It *looked* like English but the letters didn't form anything he'd read about before. "Come on, Scully, help me out. You know how I am with languages." "Well, basically, you have a choice of lamb or beef or greens and everything comes with an array of spicy vegetables and wat." "What?" "W-A-T. Wat, its a lentil stew." "And you're supposed to eat that without a spoon?" "Don't panic yet, we'll be served a stack of steaming enjera to soak up the runny stuff." She peeked at him from over the top of the menu to see if he was still following. He flashed her a playful glance. "I think I just got very turned on." He was following all right. ********************************************* Scully unraveled her nerves and settled back into the cushions sipping a fruity beverage while Mulder entertained her with an animated account of his adventures at the horse barn. It seemed he had his share of country living. The handlers made him work for his information, putting a pitchfork in his hands and directing him to shovel fresh hay around the stalls--in a suit and tie and hip boots no less. That alone might have been worth the price of admission had she opted to go. A beautiful dark-skinned Ethiopian waitress parted the curtains and kneeled beside the table, serving them their selected dishes. Scully had gone for the lamb while Mulder opted for the mustard greens. He explained all that hay bailing had put him in a "herbivorous kind of mood." "Did you know a horse can only sleep for brief periods lying down?" he asked. Following her lead he tore off a spongy strip of enjera and used it like an edible paper towel to wipe up a bite of soft spicy vegetables. "If they spend too much time down, they'll suffocate from the weight on their lungs." "My medical curriculum must have excluded Horse Anatomy," she answered wryly, hoping that was the only amazing equine fact Mulder would decide to share with their meal. "See, I learn something every day," he said, waggling a cooked baby carrot at her, then sucking it into his mouth with a slurping sound. Scully just smiled mildly at him, sipping contentedly from the rim of her rum banana mango smoothie. He met her gaze with a puzzled squint. "So tell me Scully, what's the special occasion?" She looked down and attempted to enclose a few teaspoons of wat in an enjera balloon without it dribbling all over her hands. "There's no occasion, Mulder. Just thought I'd take you to dinner." He smiled, cleaning the fingers of his right hand one by one through his lips. "Nice try, but I know you. You don't do anything without there being a well documented reason." He stopped as if something just struck him. He leaned forward speaking low. "It's not your birthday, is it?" She shook her head, giving in and letting the wat win as she stuffed the loaded bread in her mouth losing some over the edge of her lower lip. Mouth too full to respond just yet, she let him stew on it a bit. "Not that I object to a little spontaneity from my otherwise controlled and calculated partner, just wondered if I missed something." Scully sat up straighter and began to wipe her hands on her lap towel. Maybe it was time to let him in on a few things. They were relaxed, happy, snuggly enclosed in their little dining pocket; the waitress had just finished delivering a stack of enjera high enough to dry off a Turkish bathhouse, no interruptions likely...here goes. "Mulder, we've been partners for..." "Six years." "Yeah, I know that...don't interrupt." "Sorry." "And here we are working together, year after year, up to our ankles in rubber gray aliens, government conspiracies and blurry UFO photos... do you ever wonder if we could be searching for something more?" "Something more than gray aliens? Yeah, I think they come in blue, too." She looked pensive. "That's not what I'm getting at. I'm talking about life." Mulder nodded his head trying to catch her meaning. Okay, life. Sure, there's more things in heaven and earth than multi-colored aliens. Basketball for one, the game had gone into overtime and he missed the final score, maybe they had a radio in the kitchen...Why? "I don't mean more to the paranormal, I mean more to us." "Us?" He sat up straighter. "You know...you, me, this restaurant, your apartment, us." Was this a word association game? "I didn't quite get how my apartment works into all this." "I stayed in it the other night, Mulder." She smirked at him like he was supposed to "get" something. He knew it, he *did* leave his shorts in the bathroom... "I slept there. In your bed." He nodded his head slowly, yes she most certainly did. "And...?" Why did he get the eerie feeling he was about to get into some kind of trouble? "Have you given any thought as to what I might have been thinking that night?" Well, yes he had given it quite a bit of thought--especially as to what she had been *doing.* Either way, he certainly wasn't expecting to be sharing this information any time soon. Time to dip into the dry wit... "You weren't worried I was going to come home early that night were you?" he smirked, trying to keep this imagination under tight surveillance. "No, but I certainly discovered how much I wished you had." Mulder froze, a wad of mustard greens dripping from his enjera'd palm. He let it drop to his plate. Something wasn't right, she was staring right at him. *Don't tell me after six years of throwing innuendo curve balls at Scully, she's finally decided to swing. What's my line here?* Mulder took some time to get his tongue and vocal cords to work as a team. "Can you repeat that last part?" "I realized Mulder, that I wanted to sleep with you. Badly." There had to be a hidden camera, Mulder began to look nervously around for it. "Mulder?" "Hmm?" "Look at me." Okay, he could do that. He looked. "This is making you uncomfortable, isn't it?" "This? No. No, I'm okay. You just caught me a little...unprepared." "Did you catch the point of my conversation?" "Yeah...um, you want to sleep with me. Was that it?" That would sure as hell explain dinner. "Well, I'd hope for more than just sleeping, although that would probably be rather nice." Mulder didn't know if the proper physiological response at this point was to feel aroused or terrified, so his sympathetic system went for both. The duality of emotion was a little dizzying. He resorted to numbly blinking back at her no-nonsense expression. *Shit, shit, shit. Get your head out of your ass, fast. This is *it.** He was appalled at himself for not having the slightest clue how to respond. Where did he think those little kisses were going to get them? And all that cavalier "Sure Scully, take the bed" crap. Dammit, this was not good. Time was passing by seconds or minutes. He had to say something fast. He opened his mouth and refocused his eyes in time to see his delay of game had fallen into the penalty zone. Scully was all but devouring the last of her food, keeping her eyes on the plate, her face a deep flush of embarrassment, obviously in a rush to get through this as fast as possible. "Scully?" she looked up, startled. "Hey, slow down, honey, what's wrong?" "What?" "...sorry?" She looked annoyed. "You just called me honey." "I did?" He did? "Yes, you did." "I..." he caught himself with a puzzled frown, and shook his head to clear it. What the hell was going on here? Honey? This is a date, not a reception. He could remember how to do this. It was just like conducting an investigation. Take control of the scene, look for clues, profile the woman, determine motive, then take her home and undress her. Simple. Shit. Nothing was simple about *this.* None of his embarrassingly limited dating experiences could have prepared him. Couldn't she have sent out an APB first? "Sorry, Scully. I just really didn't know what to say." "You could tell me if I'm completely out of line." He shook his head vigorously. "No. You're not. I'm out of line. I didn't think we'd ever be having this conversation... But I'm not sorry we are." That was better, she was taking a slow breath, wiping her lips on her towel, thinking. "Okay then. I think I've said enough. Your turn." "My turn," he pointed at himself. He was supposed to talk now. The irony of it was he'd love to finally open up that six year damming of his emotions in one big spillway event, but he was terrified he'd wash her right out of her seat. She decided to take pity on him and give him a nudge. "Mulder, tell me honestly if you've never considered the possibility." He smiled sheepishly at her. "That's a one-sided question to ask a man, you realize. Of course I have." Good, that sounded more like himself. Something in her manner relaxed and she looked at him with an offering of sympathetic forgiveness. "I guess I did know the answer," she said softly. "Still, I'd like to hear your take on it." "My take on it?" He tapped his finger on the edge of the table, while his brain did an advanced search for the right words. "This isn't a trick question, Mulder. Just answer me honestly. We're both adults." His lower lip found its nervous way through his teeth before he replied. "Yeah, Scully. I've thought about taking you to bed. On many occasions. You're a very desirable woman." Her chin lifted a bit, but she was still maintaining a poker face--not quite ready to let go of her hand. "Have you, thought about...me? Other than the other night, I mean." "Certainly, Mulder. I've always found you rather...interesting." She was beginning to come around again. "Interesting?" "And bizarre and definitely unique." "Unique." He nodded his head. He liked that word. "I'll vote for desirable, too, in a sexy, unusual way." "Unusually sexy," he clarified. "Yes. I'd even say surprisingly attractive." "You're flattering me." "You know, that is a good word for you, surprising. Just the minute I think I have you figured out, you do something completely unexpected and often stupid. Especially if it involves sneaking away to pull it off." "You're not going to start with me on that Queen Anne thing again are you?" "No not tonight, but I'd like to point out that you always get in over your head when you slip past me." He nodded in agreement. "Like leaving my conscience behind." Scully felt the tension between them beginning to bend. She hoped the turbulence they'd encountered on this takeoff was only temporary. Mulder was calming down, taking a gulp of fruit beverage. It looked like he might survive this after all. "We spend nearly every waking minute together. We trust each other," she analyzed. "Strangers look at us like we're together, Mulder. We *are* together. The only people who don't see us as lovers are ourselves. How much sense does that make?" "Scully," he laughed, almost swallowing his banana blend down the wrong tube. "You're preaching to the choir here." She smiled. "I guess I am. Which brings me to my second point. What the hell are we waiting for?" He looked at her, taking a deep breath. His words punctuated carefully. "I don't have a clue." He chuckled shaking his head in amazement glancing up at the silk tapestries hanging over their heads. "We're in a public place? There's some rule about having sex within one-half hour of eating?" "I don't know either, Mulder, and I can't even quite grasp that we're discussing this over mushy carrots, but let's just set a date and get it over with already." His voice squirreled up into a gravely punch. "Get *it* over with? Just expunge the problem; drain the pool; let the dog out? Scully, I thought we were talking about *making love*?" The tender way he said those words which are so often misused to represent just plain old sex, sent a warm flush through her chest. He shook his head. "And I just can't take it that lightly." He reached for her hand and brought her open palm to his lips, holding it there and rubbing his cheek against her. "You're worth a hell of a lot more to me than that." She fought against her blush, but lost. Glancing aside, she spoke low, "I know. So are you." God, this was difficult for her. There was no way to just brush over the topic and get on with dinner, was there? But he was worth it no matter if it tore her apart to put it to words. "Sorry Mulder, I'm just out on a wire with this. Let me try that again. What I'm saying is, I think I'm going to come apart if we don't go home together tonight." "Tonight?" "Well, if you don't have plans, I mean, we could maybe reschedule..." "Scully, I'd cancel a coronation to spend the night with you. You thought I'd rather do my laundry?" "Well...I don't want to pressure you." That was it, he couldn't stand it anymore, and started laughing outright. She didn't want to embarrass herself any more than she had already, but seeing his face light up into the biggest most beautiful grin she'd ever seen, made her slip into a ridiculous smile herself. "Jesus, Scully. You ask me out to dinner--which just about made my whole damn year--then you start on me with these little kisses in the doorway in front of a bunch of strangers, practically sending me into orbit; and then to my utmost relief, ask me to take you home and consummate six years of unrequited lust which you very well know I've had for you all along, and you're apologizing for coming on to me? Scully, if this table wasn't full of food I'd be tossing it to the side and taking you right here on the brocade pillows in this goddamn harem of a restaurant you've dragged us to." "I think you'd have to tip the waitress for that." Her deadpan and the look the two of them exchanged in the wake of his confession could only have one conclusion. "Move over," he growled. She jumped, bouncing to her left on the seat as he rose and tugged the curtain closed over their little nook. Circling the table, he slid his arm around her, pushing her back into the couch cushions and clutching a palmful of her hair, dove in for a nice fat kiss. His hand was already caressing the rise of her breast through her sweater as her fingers found their way up the back of his shirt. His mouth was full and heavy on hers, sliding her lips apart with his tongue. Moaning low in this throat, he got a thorough taste of her smooth soft lips, moving freely into her mouth, meeting and stroking her warm tongue. She was pressed back into the cushion, which was slowly giving under the added weight as they grasped and sank onto one another, kissing like bandits. In another moment they would be tumbling to the floor, most likely tearing down a few tapestries with them. Wouldn't *that* be fun? Mulder fortunately had presence of mind to swing a leg out and steady them while he took his time finishing their encounter. His hand slid from her breast to the soft fall of her skirt, caressing her hip and thigh. He nibbled her bottom lip a moment, kissed her nose and cheek, and then sat back on the floor on his knees, regarding her with no small satisfaction. "Now that's a hell of a lot better," he remarked with a nod of his head. His stunned and flushed partner took longer to rebound, nervously straightening her hitched-up sweater. She mimicked his nod. "That was pretty good." Pretty good? That was fucking unbelievable; her whole lower body was throbbing. The side of her breast tingled where he had laid his palm. She couldn't even begin to think about what other parts of his body could do to her. "More, Scully?" he asked encouragingly. "Yeah, I think so...but we'd better take it outside." She didn't need a sixth sense to tell her she was in for one hell of a good lay tonight. She grit her teeth to keep from wrestling him to the floor. Where was the goddamned check? "Good plan," he agreed, and popped his head through the slit in the overhang, looking all too much like Yenta calling for their waitress. ************************* Mulder stood at the register tapping his VISA impatiently as the 90 year old cashier squinted under her frames, typing in the total. Any second now Scully would reappear from the ladies room and god help him if she started kissing him again in the entry to pass the time. "Sign here please." Mulder practically rent the flimsy paper in half signing it in frantic penmanship a physician could appreciate. The old women looked at him with annoyance. *You don't get it grandma, but odds are you've had twice as much sex as I've had in the last five years. And I intend to catch up on at least half of the deficit as soon as I haul my date home tonight.* Just his luck the cashier appeared to be telepathic, her smeary old eyes widening in geriatric disgust. He sent her another particularly graphic image just for kicks. Scully was heading his way through the dangling shells. She looked like some misplaced European nymph walking out of the jungle. Time to get his over-active imagination out of here, quick. Scully captured his hand and they headed outside into the wind and down the walk. They didn't speak at first as the wooden planks resonated each nervous step. Some amazing wat-inspired transformation had taken them from competitive colleagues to romantic interests in one meal. Well, maybe it took more than just one meal. Scully was the first to speak. "I want you to promise me something," she said quietly. "Absolutely." "I don't want you to feel you have to wait for me. I'm not always that... forthcoming the first time around." His ego brightened. Only a lady with a track record of lousy lovers would even consider that kind of request a favor to a man. She was going to be in for one hell of a treat. He smiled softly and ran his hand down her arm to link her gloved fingers in his. "I don't know what you're used to dealing with, Scully, but I'm old fashioned when it comes to these matters. I don't intend to go anywhere without you for the next 16 hours. Longer if need be. I think you can trust me on that." "You ain't kidding, are you?" She quirked, giving him a dubious look. "Makes a girl wonder what's been keeping the chorus line at bay." Was that a challenge? Six long years--Mt. St. Helens was less volatile. Sure he was a little rusty, but you know what they say about bicycles. "Takes a certain kind of woman to bring out the Casanova in me." "You mean someone who won't lock you up every time you see interplanetary visitors?" "No. Someone who only pretends not to laugh at my jokes." "I don't laugh, Mulder." "I know. And that makes all the difference." She made a happy sound, and leaned closer to him as they slowly walked along. Maybe he was going to pull this off after all. Suddenly she stopped. What did he do now? "Where are we going?" "My car." "I'm parked on Gurnet." "You can't leave it?" "No, I'm in a four hour zone." Shit, why did they drive two cars here? "So am I." She raised her eyes to him apologetically. "So we meet at home?" He nodded. "Wait! Whose home?" God forbid they wind up at different apartments. She smiled. "I think we better finish this where it started." "My/Your bedroom." They said in unison, meaning his place. Mulder walked with her to her car at a somewhat quicker pace, his mind racing. From the corner of his vision he caught her taking one or two calming breaths. Just the thought of this final journey into intimacy was knocking down years of comfortable familiarity. There were so many new things to learn about one another. He was feeling it too, and communicated it with a gentle squeeze of her hand as they crossed the street to her car. A moment later they were standing near the driver's door looking awkwardly at one another. "See you soon?" She asked. "Yeah...come here first." Not wanting to take any chances the nature of the universe would rear up and spirit her away from him, Mulder couldn't let her go without holding her a minute. She stepped into his arms and he hugged her to him lowering his face to her shoulder. After a little bit he tilted her chin up and kissed her lightly. Her cheeks were blown rosy by the chilly wind. A China doll, he thought, and touched the rise of her cheekbone with a back of his index finger. Precious, priceless. "God, Scully, you have any idea how badly I want you right now?" "Mmm, I think I might." "No, I don't think you do," he swallowed and his voice dropped to a half-whisper as he continued to stroke her cheek. "Ever since you asked to stay in my bed, I've imagined coming home and finding you there warm and sleepy, waiting for me. And all I've been able to think about is sliding in next to you and touching your bare skin and loving you until you cry out my name." She answered him with a shy smile. "We'll see what we can do about that." And she kissed him briefly just letting her lips press against his. His eyes remained closed a few seconds as she stepped away, holding the sensation. She unlocked the car and slipped in. "Soon," he promised and waited as she started the ignition, watching over her until she pulled away. *Soon.* ****************************************** I'm know I'm asking for it by stopping here. But there is a full Part Four of smut to come. Promise! And I'll try not to take so darn long with it. Thanks for hanging in there. Come kick my slow ass at: Terma99@aol.com Scent of a Woman-IV--Tiramisu TITLE: Scent of a Woman IV--Tiramisu (1/4) AUTHOR: Terma99 EMAIL: terma99@aol.com DISTRIBUTION: Gossamer-YES! Clinique's Chaos, XFFFA-YES! Anywhere else-YES! But be kind and let me know about it. SPOILERS FOR THIS SERIES: Triangle/Dreamland/Monday RATING: NC-17 (it's about time already!) CLASSIFICATION: MSR SUMMARY: Our beloved agents bring those flights of fantasy to life. POST DATE: 9/25/99 MY NOTES: This is the final part IV of a four part MSR titled "Scent of a Woman." Please read stories in order for maximum "effect." Scent of a Woman I Scent of a Woman II-The Nest Scent of a Woman III-Dinner Scent of a Woman IV-Tiramisu and coming in a few days... Atoll--a sort of sequel. To find missing installments, visit: www.geocities.com/hotsprings/8334/fic.html Scent is under the MSR/RST section. SPECIAL THANKS: to my suck 'o meter monitors: Sue (my alpha beta who was kind enough to give this fic a squidge factor of 15), Susanne (for all her ROTFL comments), Lydia (for dubbing me " oral queen"), Kel (for the ::thuds::), Robbie (for entertaining the Flying Elvi and getting the dessert on the right fingers), and Deb (for doing a panic beta on a Sunday afternoon). This fic would not have been possible without them. Give 'em a hand! DEDICATED: To all the rabid Scent readers who have begged, threatened and screamed for me to finish this over the entire seven month process. Sorry it took so long. I tried to make it worth the wait. DISCLAIMER: I don't own Moose and Squirrel, but tonight I'm letting them make that naked pretzel. All regards to 1013, FOX, and such for providing the fodder for my dirty little mind. FEEDBACK: Send me a Mulder clone! Terma99@aol.com PS: This fic was brought to you by the makers of Julia Has Two Lovers. Now I've been at this for quite some time now, and thought I had been inspired by every last second of film that has ever been graced by Mr. Duchovny's succulent bod. Somehow I MISSED this one. I don't know how--I don't know why. But don't ask how many times I watched David bounce up those stairs in nothin' but a pair of tight little gray briefs last night. Holy mother of...anyway, on with the smut! Scent of a Woman IV--Tiramisu by Terma99 "I'm so attracted to the primitive way a woman smells. It's the ultimate aphrodisiac, something each woman has that nobody else does." --David Duchovny, Glamour Magazine If Fox Mulder was ever uncertain as to the degree of distraction a woman could drive him to, he was fully aware of it now. It felt like an obscene amount of time had passed since he bid his partner farewell at the curb, and time was something he dearly wanted to conserve. Tonight was everything he'd dreamed about for the better part of six years: Dana Scully was going to be in his apartment, in his bed, with him, all night. His lips missed hers. He couldn't wait to spend at least a full uninterrupted sixty minutes just kissing... HONK! Oops. Who'd he cut off now? A rearview mirror check afforded him the silhouette of the middle finger of the driver behind him. Mulder's blind spot had nearly doubled in size, probably a byproduct of arousal. He needed to focus if he was going to have any luck making it home in one piece, or even finding his home, which was growing more elusive by the minute. He'd missed his exit daydreaming about lapping at the hollow of her throat, and was now backtracking through a maze of one-way side streets. At least he'd *found* the car, he congratulated himself. Don't even ask where his head had been while trying to remember which street he'd parked on before dinner. Why the hell didn't he take the $150 towing fee and just ride home with her? Because that most certainly *would* have resulted in a moving violation. Also, it didn't help that he seemed to have forgotten every Eastern mind and circulatory soothing technique he'd ever mastered. A nice anxious lump had taken up residence in his throat while an accompanying permanent throb had settled deep in his groin. Was it possible to perish from anticipation? If he missed the next light he was certain to find out. ************************* Keys. They were in his hand when he left the car, weren't they? The elevator was grinding its way toward the fourth floor at a sloth's climb, while Mulder patted himself down for a familiar jingle. All he needed right now was to lock himself out of both his apartment and his car. The coat pocket clinked--bingo. The elevator door binged and opened. Mulder glanced nervously into the hall. Empty. His insecurity accelerated as he moved into it. She'd probably let herself in, but a part of him feared she'd given this whole event second thoughts and had sped off in the opposite direction toward Georgetown. He reached his door and tried the knob. Secured. He opened his hand and looked at the ring of keys he held in his palm. This was it, the moment of truth. Either she was in there or she wasn't. His fear of rejection kept him from unlocking the door just yet. He touched the cold varnished surface--it was quiet beyond the frame. He glanced behind him at the dusty floor of the hall. It didn't take much to remember holding her as she slumped to the tile gasping for breath not so many months ago. Run, Scully, I'm the poisoned apple, he thought. But if she ever did, there was no doubt in his mind he'd run right after her. There was no escaping this; it had been a long time coming and there had been plenty of opportunity for both of them to stop the ride and get off. Somehow they just kept getting back in line. For better or for worse, he unlocked the door and with a practiced shove, it opened. On the floor directly at his feet was a thin scrap of black lace, casting a deep shadow into his apartment. It confused him a second and he bent and looped his finger through it, lifting it for a closer inspection. Glancing up, he saw the dim green table lamp was turned on, shaded by a matching black brassiere. The lump in his throat tightened as it dawned on him that this was more than a trail of breadcrumbs. Her slip was tossed over the arm of the couch and her sweater was folded neatly next to her shoes and skirt on the coffee table. The heater was blaring. It could only mean one thing. Somewhere in this apartment, his partner was waiting for him. Naked. ************************************* The bed she had occupied just a few nights ago was now seasoned with a light musky touch of Mulder. Nude between his sheets, she impatiently rolled about, the soft cotton slipping over her shoulders and thighs, like she dreamed his lips would soon be doing. She rolled onto her back and saw herself reflected in the canopy mirror. She hadn't anticipated sleeping here alone again. What on earth was taking him so long? This *was* the apartment they'd agreed upon. Scully shifted her legs--she was still wet and soft from his kisses. God, that kiss in the restaurant had nearly melted her spine. Under the smooth caress of the sheets, she ached to touch what was stirring between her thighs. Her hand brushed impatiently over her hip and down to cup over her curls. She wasn't sure she could keep herself from starting without him. His hand had been on her breast about like this... She heard his distinctive shuffle in the hall and froze. Silence. Her heart instantly kicked into overdrive, making listening for him difficult. There was nothing for several long seconds. Then she heard the rattle of keys and the angry complaint of the door as it was shoved open. She heard him take a step in and stop. She smiled. He must have found her gifts. She heard a muffled sound next, a sigh, or was it a series of deep breaths? She imagined him bringing the lace of her garments to his nose. She swallowed the moan in her throat and rolled onto her stomach. Don't move, she reminded herself. Don't move. The lamp was turned off with a click and the only sound was his slow step as he walked the length of his living room. She wet her lips, waiting as he turned about, and soon she was aware he had entered the bedroom, pausing for a moment in the doorway. Her eyes closed, and she pressed her cheek against the pillow, trying to still the trembling in her hands. "I want you a hundred different ways." His words, low and rough, paralyzed her. Terrified her and thrilled her. Yes, she thought, yes, god, yes. But she lay still and listened to him pull his shirt up over his head and toss it to the floor, followed by the fall of his shoes and then the unmistakable sound of his zipper being drawn. Was he hard? She wanted to know. Was he as desperate for this as she was? Could she look now? Could she move? She flinched as the covers were thrown back and in one graceful move he lay down next to her, skin to skin. Very naked, very warm, and yes indeed, very aroused. The touch of the hairs on his chest tickled her backbone as he gathered her to him, pressing his groin against her bottom, the hot length of him settling against her. His lips were soft against her neck as he held her, his arms tightening around her, his knees coming up under hers in a fetal hold. His embrace held a combination of lust and reverence unlike anything she had ever felt from him. Once pressed together, neither of them moved and she could feel his heart thudding against her. A tremor rippled through him and he inhaled brokenly, like he was trying to gain dominance over something deep within him. She pressed herself tighter to him, sighing her acceptance, and his breathing slowed. He began to relax. "I want to take this slowly, Scully," he whispered. "I want to make love to you completely." She rolled her head against the pillow. The spell was breaking. She could speak again. "How long, Mulder?" "Hours..." "I'll explode before then." "Then explode--you'll be beautiful when you come apart." She loosened his hold and made to turn over, but he stopped her with a gentle press of his hand on the small of her back. "Lie still," he whispered. "Don't turn over yet. I want to touch you." **************************************** She's found her way into my mind, he thought, as he touched the petal soft skin of her back with long strokes of his hand. This was a perfect reenactment of his most recent and vivid dream cycle--all about her sleeping naked next to him--just holding each other without words. The reality of feeling her against him, and how warm she had made his bed, had nearly brought him to tears. He loved her too much, he knew that, and he'd need to get a grip on those feelings if he was going to show her half the lover he knew he could be. Tonight was about sharing pleasure--the humbling gratitudes could come later. Her skin was so pale, so warm. He touched her, brushing his fingertips, his palm, the back of his hand, over the subtle terrain of shoulder blade, hip and spine. She was lying still and compliant, breathing in little puffs through parted lips, her hand tucked under her chin like a child. He was desperate for her mouth, but for now he was introducing her to his touch. He leaned up on his elbow and reached down to touch the arch of her foot, dragging his fingers up the firm but feminine skin and muscle of her calf and the back of her thigh. He spread his hand and smoothed it over the gorgeous roundness of her ass, squeezing gently. She sighed a moan, and although she was obviously trying very hard to lie still, quivered under him. Keeping his touch on her back slow and even, he rested his body along hers, letting his nose fall into her hair, finally giving into the indulgence of arousing himself with her scent. She'd always smelled like this--a complexity of female musk and skin-seasoned perfume--it followed her everywhere in a faint heavenly cloud. He loved those mornings when she arrived at work ahead of him, fresh and clean, filling their small office with the light smell of shampoo, perfume and coffee. Lying side by side, he slipped his other arm under her and with both hands, began to gently explore her front. He couldn't see her face in this position, so he just let his hands wander over her, closing his eyes, breathing in her skin. He traced the line of her jaw, and with the back of his curved fingers, he stroked her chin and neck. He ran his thumb across her lips and groaned when her hot tongue slipped out to taste him. His hands moved lower to the rise of her breasts and with care, he explored the soft pliable contours. Lifting her breasts gently, he slid his fingers under them, raising and lowering them. He allowed himself the rush of squeezing and teasing the tight little peaks, his hips returning her subtle sway against him. His palms felt the slope of her belly and moved lower until his fingertips met the soft tuft below her bellybutton. He gave it only a moment's consideration before he slipped one long index finger between her lips. God, there was wetness, heat, liquid--his cock resounded with the stimulation and he pulled back. That was an area he would visit later. For now he was satisfied to know she was ready for him. But right now he was going to lose his mind if he didn't kiss her. Unable to restrain himself any longer, he kissed his way around her chin, rolling her under him until he found her mouth and kissed it softly like he had every Monday and Friday for the past two blissful months. With that same light touch, he kissed her all over her face. Faster than he wanted, his mouth sought her nose, her cheek, her eyelids. Her impatient fingers laced into his hair and tugged at him until his lips fell heavily over her mouth, opening to him. ******************************** Finally, he was kissing her--deeply, ravenously. Their whole sensory universe was reduced to lips and tongues and soft moans. His sweet touches all around her naked body had been as frustrating as they were arousing--all she wanted was to kiss him. Kissing Mulder meant telling him intimately how much she needed him, valued him, desired him, all without words. Their mouths fused eagerly together, communicating long years of restraint and denied phrases in a lick, a nibble, a feint, a pleasingly sloppy smooch. His fingers held her face as he lifted her chin to kiss and suck her neck, but she gripped his hair and pulled him off. She wasn't finished with his mouth yet, as he moved back and she pushed herself up to get back at it. They were sitting up now--a long arm wrapped around her, his hand curved under her ass--the other holding her head, as they continued their oral expressions. Her nails traced over his shoulders. He moaned and tilted her head back, diving deeply into her mouth, kissing her from one angle and then the other, rubbing his nose against hers. His lips were full and warm and wet, and at some point in his life Mulder had learned how to use his quick-witted tongue to its full advantage, licking her lips and sucking them like they were candy. It felt so damn good she started to feel a giggle rising in her. Her laugh broke him off and he grinned at her, lips slick and out of breath. "What?" "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted you to kiss me like this?" "You're worth the wait," he said, dragging his thumb over her lower lip, testing its pliancy. "We've got a good fifty years to go. I might get my fill of you by then." Pulling her onto his lap, he started to make good on that promise. There was no more talking for a long while until Mulder pressed her back into the mattress beneath them, not unlocking her lips from his until her legs found their way around his hips and they were beginning to rock against each other, both panting for air. "How we doing on time?" he asked, catching a breath while kissing her throat and taking that long-awaited lap at its pale hollow base. "Time?" She could see him in the mirror, his sleek muscled back moving over her, his hand sliding up to touch her breast. "I promised myself at least an hour or more of your mouth before moving along to the next course." "I see. Sorry, forgot the stopwatch." "God, I'm beginning to sweat already. What the heck did you do to the thermostat?" Hot air was still blowing up from the floor, stirring the curtains. It felt like summer in March. She hugged him, pressing his cheek to her chest, running her hands up and down his dewy back while he took a minute to fondle and kiss her breasts. "I like you sweaty; you smell good, just like after a run." He looked up at her, a nipple popping out of his mouth. "You've... sniffed me?" "Every chance I got." He grinned. "Well, I'd rather not lose the majority of my bodily fluids through my skin tonight. I'll be right back." He kissed her soundly on the mouth, and got up off the bed, erection bobbing steadily in the moonlight as he walked out into the next room. Scully sat up, keeping her eyes on him until he moved out of view. He was amazing. She couldn't wait to get her mouth on that thing. She decided she wasn't going to let him back in the bed until she did. The curtains soon stilled and Scully could hear him opening a cupboard in the kitchen and filling a glass with water. She could hear him gulping it down and refilling the glass before he padded back to the bedroom. ************************************* "Water?" Mulder held the glass out to the bare vision kneeling on his bed and she took a few swallows, passing it back to him. He finished the rest and leaned to set the empty glass aside. When he stood up he found her arms wrapped firmly around his hips, her eyes gazing intently at his groin. "I had this incredible dream when I slept here the other night, Mulder." Her fingers moved over the muscles of his ass and he bit his lip to keep standing still. "Want to hear about it?" She slid her hands around and began to touch him, lightly drawing her fingers through his pelvic hair. He swallowed hard, his fingers threading into her hair. "Sure." "I dreamed you came home; I surprised you. You pulled a gun on me." She paused to kiss his belly. He struggled to find her meaning. Freud came to mind and he quickly shushed him. "A gun..?" "That wasn't nice. It made me anxious, excited..." Her kisses continued lower, across his abdomen, her chin brushing the tip of his cock. He shivered as her nails dragged lightly up his thigh and under his balls. "I woke up, hot, wet, wanting you. I was in your bed, this bed, and I needed to touch you, kiss you..." She took him in a loose fist and began to kiss him, soft touches on his rigid flesh. He couldn't remember the last time a woman put her mouth on him--and he was pretty damn sure no one had ever kissed his penis before, not like she was. He swallowed, closing his eyes. There was no way in hell he could watch this. Her voice was almost too much. "I wanted you to take me, hard. Just throw me to the floor, but I couldn't even wait for that, I had to take you in my mouth..." Her lips kissed his tip and then parted, taking him in. She sucked him in deep, once, twice, thrice and released him before he could grow too fond of the sensation. Her hands squeezed his ass again and she looked up at him. "I want to have you like I did in my dream. Will you let me do that?" He opened his eyes and saw the intent and desire radiating from her, hypnotic. "Okay, but just a little while and then I'll have to ask you to stop. You'll promise me you'll stop, right?" "I promise." "Then he's all yours, but be gentle if you want it to last." Mulder now understood why so many abduction scenarios involved sexual imagery. He was certain he'd be missing time for the next several minutes. He could feel her tongue, her lips, the faint scrape of her teeth surrounding him, loving him. It was good, so good, so good, his mind lying to him the whole time, telling him--it's okay, just a little bit more, just one more pull, one more suck, it's okay, it's okay... He took a step back, touching her cheek. "Feels too good standing. I'll need to lie down." She scooted up the bed and he kneeled next to her, kissing her roughly until she pressed him to lie down and get comfortable. She went back to kissing him, and giving his length little flicks with her tongue, traveling lower until she was at his base, working the loose skin of his balls. He whimpered and rolled halfway over when she slipped a testicle into her mouth. She sucked him delicately, nudging his legs open, letting the furry oval fall wet and slick from her mouth with a gentle tug before taking care of the other half of the pair --as if his glands needed the extra encouragement. She licked all around and underneath his sac, soothing him until he needed to touch her chin again, urge her to give his cock some of that same TLC. She fed him a daring glance as her tongue teased his flushed tip, lapping up the eyedrop of anxious fluid. He moved his hips under her, trying to aim himself back into her mouth. She smiled and stroked his scrotum slowly as he whimpered and wriggled, unable to hold still under her hand. "Please..." he begged. "I will, but you have to tell me about something first." "Anything." Her eyes never leaving his penis, she opened her pretty red mouth and said. "I want you to tell me about what you do when you go home at night to your couch and your videos." His head flopped back and he chuckled. "You want a confession?" She bent and licked his cock from base to tip. "Yes." He hissed before answering. "Alright. You've got it. Now stop teasing, and take care of me, woman." She went back about her business, maintaining a good hold on him, but keeping the sensations mild as he tried to find something fairly decent to share with the class. He could see her in the overhead mirror, a mussed red shock of hair bobbing over him, making him crazy. He took a deep breath and began in a low voice. "Some nights, Scully, I couldn't help myself. I'd come home from work filled with thoughts of you--from working so close to you I could still smell you on me. I'd be so aroused, I'd lay back on the couch and touch myself thinking of you--of your lips--kissing them--kissing your breasts--tasting the wetness between your thighs... ...ah, that's really nice, do that again... ...Fantasizing about going down always gets me off. Always. I can't even think about licking you right now while you're doing this or it'll make me come--just like that." She slipped him out of her mouth long enough to ask another question. "What are you thinking about right now?" He smiled with gritted teeth, "Getting punched by Jimmy Nelson in third grade. Whether or not I bought toilet paper. A rerun of Three's Company. Everything tonight depends on my ability to distract myself. And it's getting to be more difficult by the minute--I want to be in you, Scully--but not yet--not just yet-- oh--god--" His eyes squeezed shut. "...I'm sorry, baby, I have to ask you to stop." She pulled up. He stared up at the mirror, blinking. He could still feel her breath on him. His voice was soft. "Don't...don't touch anything." He reached down slowly with his right hand and gripped the head of his penis tightly for a few seconds. Then he released it and jiggled his balls, blowing out a lungful of air. "Mulder, it's perfectly okay for you to come, we can just..." He sat up on his elbows and pointed at her. "No it's not perfectly okay. We only get one shot at this. And I don't know about you, but I've got all night. And by the way you can get on your hands and knees now." "Why?" "Because I'm about to return the favor." "My hands and knees?" She tried to keep her voice even and logical, but the flash her mental lust-filled mind sent her of Mulder licking her like a newborn calf nearly made her faint. He kept a dark predatory look on her as she moved into position and he slipped off the end of the bed. He motioned her to back up toward him where he had settled, kneeling on the floor. He kissed her bottom and ran his hands over her thighs as he eased them apart. She blushed, being put in this position, exposing herself like this. But the embarrassment only made her hotter for it. It wasn't like she didn't know him. ***************************** Like a handbell-trained mutt, Mulder was salivating. Finally, after all these years, he was going to taste this hidden place where Scully's flesh reached its melting point. The aroma alone had been turning his brain to oatmeal and his dick to granite since he first slipped in bed with her. He spread her pretty auburn-trimmed labia. In the center, her pink folds were fat and polished with arousal. He eased the secluded flesh apart with his thumbs and took a good long look at heaven before breaking the sanctity of this holiest of places with a kiss. He licked the liquid from his lips--delicious. He had to have more. She was so wet, it took several full swipes of his tongue before he could create any real friction against her. Her back arched and she gave a long soft moan and backed into his face. **************************** One small touch of his lips and she was pushing herself into him like a filly in heat. He held her still and began to kiss her as passionately as he had her mouth. Gradually he began to improvise, adding more instruments one by one like a Bolero orchestration. He used everything--his lips, fingers, tongue, nose. My god, she hadn't even considered the nose. Was there nothing this man couldn't put to good use? Her sex felt heavy, thick and hot. She moaned whenever his tongue slid into her body, slippery and soft, soothing her vaginal opening, tense from years of neglect. He was preparing her, getting her ready for that incredible member of his. How long was he going to make her wait? "Put your head down," he murmured, and she did, obediently, sighing into a pillow. The position rotated her hips so he could lick all around her clit, and suckle it briefly, teasingly, between rich warm lips. No man had ever done this to her--not like this--made her open herself quite like this. His were no awkward, furtive lappings and pauses, or "is this right?" There was nothing timid, polite, or conservative about his campaign. He was all over her--every inch of her sex was being tasted, kissed, sucked, and swallowed with abandon. She cried out when his tongue ran deliberately over her anus. *********************************** His cock throbbed each time her core contracted, issuing a new surge of wetness. He licked her as deep as he could go, dipping in and out, starved for that feeling, that taste. He couldn't get enough of her. He'd missed this experience so much, it frightened him. He was moaning and murmuring his appreciation. Hot and musky, her animal smell was all over his mouth and chin and hands. He wanted to rub himself in it like a wolf devouring a fawn. His cock was growing extremely impatient and he ground it into the end of the mattress to keep it pacified. It would have to wait its turn. When he'd cleaned her of her essence, he brought his focus back to her plump, eager clit--relaxing his tongue over it, letting it fold and mold and fill the dips and dimples of her sex. He couldn't hold her still anymore; she was getting too excited. He slowed to a leisurely lick, then a kiss, and finally tore himself away. ************************** Scully raised her head, flushed and hot, turning to him as he crawled back up next to her on the bed, wiping his chin on his forearm. "Why did you stop?" she whined, collapsing on her stomach, frustrated by the abandoned throb between her legs. "I thought you were going to finish me." He smiled modestly, stretching out next to her, touching her nose. "Not yet." She made a grumbly noise. "So what do you want to do now?" He shrugged nonchalantly. "Dunno, lay around, talk, kiss. Are you ticklish?" She gave him a shrewd smile. "No. I'm not. And I'd rather you made good on your promise to fuck me." "Patience, Scully, is a virtue." "I'm not interested in virtue. I've had six years of virtue. Tonight I want Old Testament hell-fire and damnation sin." "You want to wrestle?" "No," she said indignantly with a snort. "Can I tell you how you taste, then? I'd love to share that with you." "Sure, fine..." He rolled over onto his back and stretched out like a cat, resting a hand behind his head. "You taste just like that rich Italian thing you left in my fridge." "Al Capone?" "No...the dessert. That rum thing...oh never mind, mood's ruined. Al Capone, right." "Tiramisu, Mulder." "Bless you." "It's not a sneeze, it's a delicacy. And I would have left some in your apartment years ago if I knew you were going to compare me to mascarpone and lady fingers." "Well, it's what you taste like. I have it all over my fingers." He paused to pass a hand over his nose. "I love that. I'd wear you on me everyday if I could." "That would get people talking." He rolled over on his side, propping his head up with an arm. He looked quite content and relaxed for a man with a rather impressive hard-on. He looked almost normal, like they were about to discuss some autopsy results. Never mind all Scully could think of was getting those lush complacent lips back between her legs. His finger traced a pattern across his upturned bedspread. "I missed you in Louisville, you know. I realize it was only for a few days, but I felt disconnected, just floating around. You always ground me like fine rubber tubing." She nodded, trying to appreciate the sincerity of that remark. "I thought I was going to enjoy the break from your lunacy, myself. But I'll admit I soon discovered how unbearably dull a solo afternoon in the basement can be. I guess we're good at keeping each other entertained." "Hmm..." Mulder's talk session seemed to be detained by her left thigh. He was running his hand along it. "Love your hips..." "Thank you. You're not too bad yourself." He smiled and winked at her. Letting his fingers run the length of her from curls to breast bone. "I love this part of you. Right here. This furrow that goes from your breasts to your..." "My linea alba?" "Yeah, that. Scully, you make it sound so sexy," he said dryly, and leaned in and traced the surface anatomy in question with his tongue. "We should play doctor sometime, I'd like that," he teased, and began kissing each nipple one by one, flicking his tongue over them, evening their perkiness, pausing between nibbles to check his work. She combed her fingers through his rumpled hair and fought off an amused blush. "I'd prefer if we scheduled your deepest perversions for a later date." "Mmgm." Mulder had trouble speaking with his mouth full of breast. "Although, I'll admit I have a few of my own." "Such as..?" He was testing the softness of the skin under her arm now, lifting it toward him, over his shoulder, stroking her lightly, almost ticklish. She tightened her lips to hide her sensitivity as he took her hand and began kissing her palm, licking between her fingers. "I wouldn't mind dressing up for you, in something tastefully sexy from Victoria's Secret, and perhaps unveiling the item to you at an undisclosed date and location." He made a bear-like sound and sucked her middle finger into his mouth hungrily. "I take it you'd appreciate that kind of thing." "Yessss. That ranks pretty high on my wish list." He dropped her hand back onto the bed and started to caress her kneecap instead. "Really? What's number one?" He looked her dead on, his tongue coming out to lick his upper lip. "I just had it a few minutes ago." *It'll make me come, Scully--just like that.* She was suddenly gripped with an overpowering urge to do just that, make him come. They could play secret touching games later. She could still taste the salty rigid skin of his cock on her tongue and she wanted him back inside her, at her mercy. Now. She jumped on top of him and started kissing him, hard. He responded with an amused sound and ran his hands all down her back and ass. Scully spread herself over him and began to rub her wetness over his shaft, basting him in her juices. He kissed her solidly, deeply, drawing her tongue in and out between his teeth. She writhed, trying to work his cock into position under her, but he was bigger and stronger, and kept jousting it out of the way. She growled in frustration and pushed off of him. She sat up on her knees, hands to her naked hips, blowing a lock of hair back from her face. "Fuck me Mulder, or I'm going home." He was lying next to her looking up at her, smiling devilishly, nibbling his lower lip. His features were softened, beautified by arousal. He was positively the most gorgeous thing she'd ever laid eyes on, damn him. "Did I tell you your breasts look great? Ow!" She smacked his wrist as he tried to grab one. "I want to fuck you, Scully. I've told you that. I just want to enjoy it, the process. I'm not half done playing with you--although your beautiful, delicious pussy almost made me reconsider." She swung one leg over the bed. "I'll be in the other room... when you need me..." He swooped her up before she could get away, and tangled together with a sheet or two, they both tumbled to the floor in a heap. She squealed and tried to get out of his arms as he rolled her under him and started sucking her neck. She pushed with all her might against him, but batting him off was difficult while giggling incessantly. His mouth was tickling her neck and shoulder and she slipped one leg around him and tried to slide to the left. Somehow she wriggled away and managed to crawl a few feet across the floor before he pounced on her and pulled her into his lap like a bundle of twigs. "Where do you think you're going at this late hour? All naked and flushed?" "Someplace where a man will treat me right," she said, teasing. "I treat you just fine." She whapped playfully at his chest. "No you don't. You ditch me. You leave out key bits of information to trick me into taking long drives into the middle of nowhere with you. You use me all the time." He flinched slightly. Oh hell, he took that wrong. He pressed his lips together and looked at the floor. "Mulder...I didn't mean that seriously." He sighed and looked at her with a half-smile. "Yeah, I know, but it's true. I do use you." She touched his cheek and kissed him sweetly on the forehead. He took her hand. "Scully, listen to me. You're right, I'm not the next best thing since sliced cheese. I do take you for granted sometimes. I put other things first. But I want you to understand that all ends tonight. I swear to you from here on out you will always come first. Always, no exceptions. You can leave me if I ever forget it. Just walk away--no questions asked." "Mulder, I don't need that kind of promise from you. I *know* you. I know what to expect. If I didn't like what I saw in you, I could have left years ago." That seemed to ease his concern somewhat and he turned her until they were sitting at the foot of the bed facing the floor length mirror together. He held her snugly between his legs, her head resting back against his chest. They looked wonderful together. A good fit. "Look how beautiful you are," he said, stroking her belly. "Just look. This is how I see you. Everyday. Lovely, strong, compassionate, patient. I don't have the slightest idea why you're with me. You could have done so much better." She raised a brow. "I think you usually see me in more clothes than this, but I'll buy that analysis for now." He hugged her close and kissed her hair, looking at her with a little smile in the mirror. "I remember when we first met. I thought you were this fresh-faced academy brat. Cute as hell, but a little 'do good' spy nevertheless. I was determined to drive you out shrieking after the first week. And I stuck to that plan for all of the first two days until I realized that you weren't about to take any crap from me. You had my number, and it turned out I was the one who was in for it. You impressed the hell out of me that first year." Her reflection smiled approvingly back at him, and she settled against him for a good story. "Go on..." His fingers randomly stroked her arms and legs while he spoke. "And then that one great year turned into two and somehow you were still with me, standing by me at great risk to yourself, and I was dumbfounded that any woman as gorgeous and brilliant as you could even tolerate me. Don't laugh, but I began to develop this hard crush on that little academy brat." "A crush?" she laughed. "Isn't that something you get in grade school?" "Yeah, and it was as pure as that. I enjoyed it, cultivated it, hid it away inside while keeping you at an arm's length. I could do that back then, hide how I felt. But then somewhere in the middle of our third year something happened." "What?" He shook his head. "It's like I woke up one morning, walked to work and was hit over the head with something heavy. Irreparable blunt force trauma. Somehow when I wasn't looking you had become this devastatingly beautiful woman. You blossomed, excuse the melodrama, but it's true. I'd never seen you as a woman before and I was instantly, hopelessly crazy for you. That's when the sexual fantasies began for me-- raw and real into my dreams, into my head at the most inconvenient times. I wanted you so badly, it hurt sometimes. I knew I couldn't have you, that you didn't want that. We had something different, that was perhaps better, so to not mess up that perfect untouchable thing, I backed away." "I noticed you giving me some space," she recalled. "You didn't joke quite so much with me. I wondered about that. I think I felt you had finally learned to respect me as an equal." "I did. And that's why I wanted you in the most carnal of ways. You had bested me at my own game and were continuing to challenge me. I can't think of a more potent aphrodisiac," he confessed, and began to rub her softened nipple with his thumb. She stretched under his touch, but kept her lips tight over the sounds she wanted to make, determined to keep his story unfolding whether or not his warm breath was stirring the fine hairs behind her ear. "What about year four?" "Our fourth year?" He looked grim. "Our fourth year was terrible. I learned there was something far more painful than being denied your body." He sounded like that was all he wanted to say, but she took his hand and squeezed it, urging him to go on. "I almost lost you two ways. The first way was entirely my fault. I had established a pattern of ruling the roost, of controlling every day of our lives, making all your plans, and you finally had enough when I sent you to Philadelphia. Nothing had ever scared me more than calling your hotel that Monday morning and finding out you hadn't returned the previous night. I hung up the phone determined to dial the warehouse and have them send up the biggest, most ostentatious desk they could find, with scrollwork, and a leather blotter like the one Michael Corleone had. But I knew that wasn't what you really wanted. Thank god you came back..." His voice trailed off and he looked at her toes. "...I can't talk about the other way I almost lost you. Not tonight." "That's okay," she whispered, rubbing her cheek against his chest in comfort. "Tell me about last year." He smiled, squeezing her until she squeaked. "Last year was like winning the lottery. I had you back, strong, willing. I have no idea how I managed that, but I was so grateful, I was determined to end my evil selfish ways. I began to change-- completely from the inside out. I felt something beyond crushes, or lust, or despair--I felt like I was married. Don't look at me like that, I'm serious. I'd introduce you as my partner, and in my head think that was just a formal term for 'wife.'" "I carried on happily in that manner throughout the end of the year and into the next until the most amazing thing started to happen just a few months ago." He looked down at her, with a glint in his eye. "We started kissing. Those little 'hello' kisses. They were so sweet. I'd have dreams about them for days afterwards. I loved that so much. It was private, special-- something I could share with you. I didn't even dream I could be having more." "I loved that too. It made me feel closer to you in a way I hadn't been before," she confessed, and kissed him lightly. "God, Scully," he sighed, brushing the hair from her forehead. "I try everyday to be a better partner, a better person for you. It's hard sometimes to see that. I know, I'm a stubborn sonovabitch, but it's there. I know because the change is in here." He touched his chest. "I feel it. I've felt it for a long time. It's love--real honest-to-god love that doesn't fade or hurt, it's just there. You put it there. I love you, Scully. I can't say that enough...you'll probably get sick of hearing me say it. But I've needed to tell you for a very, very long time." "You did tell me Mulder, I just wasn't ready to listen." "But you remembered it." She shook her head with a shrug. "I couldn't get it out of my head." "What made you finally listen?" "I don't know. Once I knew I wanted you, becoming lovers just seemed like the simplest thing in the world to do. Although I'm beginning to have doubts again as to whether or not that's ever going to happen," she complained, giving him a jab in the ribs. "I'll give you everything you want, Scully, anything," he said, holding her in a deep regard. His hand slid lower between her legs, beginning to stroke her dampness. She hissed and rolled her cheek to his chest. She gasped as one long finger entered her, gently thrusting. His mouth was against her ear. "Tell me what you want, baby, tell me how you want me to love you." She couldn't respond, all she could think about was the second finger sliding in next to the first, her walls stretching to accommodate. She tilted back to kiss him. "Inside me," was all she could say. "Yes, I'll be inside you, hard and deep," he said between kisses. "As long as you need, I won't stop until you ask me to." A third finger made a trio and she arched her pelvis so they could slip in further, the middle one just grazing her sweet spot-- it ached and begged for more. "Mmm...now Mulder, please. I need you." He kissed her nose and her lips. "I want you, Scully. I want you to come out of yourself for me." She climbed up onto his lap, guiding his other palm to her breast. His warm thick cock slid across her thigh as he continued his finger manipulations. "I trust you," she whispered, and his mouth closed over hers. ***************** He lifted her back onto the bed and she reached up on her knees, grabbing a bedpost, exposing her toes and back to him. "Like this," she sighed, and he slipped up behind her, running his hands up her arms to grip her fingers in his, his cock nudging between her legs as he kissed her shoulder. She turned her head, "Sit back." He sat back on his thighs and she straddled him, lowering herself down the bedpost. His hands guided her ass lower and lower until she felt him make contact, begin to spread her damp lips apart and then slip forward and out of range. Oops. If this had been an Apollo docking procedure, they would have lost the moon. She hoisted herself back up and tried it again with similar results. She grunted impatiently-- she was determined to get him stuffed in there one way or another. It didn't help that he was beginning to laugh, making the thing jiggle all over the place. "Mulder, hold still." "Come 'ere." He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back to fall on top of him. She struggled out of his grip and flipped over, slapping him on the chest. "Don't make me handcuff you," she pouted. He bit his lip, his eyes dancing mirthfully. "I might have to take you up on that," he said, as he spread her legs and rolled her under him, and began to thrust along her folds, getting himself good and slick. The stimulation against her clit made her grimace and grind against him. "Funny," she spoke between pants of air. "I didn't have you pegged as a missionary man," she said, challenging him. With one last perfect stroke, he sneered and flipped her over onto her stomach, bending her right knee up. "I'm not." And taking himself in hand, began to guide the head of his cock snugly into her. "Oh!" Good lord, she felt that. He stopped just after the first inch and pulled out. There was a pleasant burning feeling there now. He reached around her hip to massage it and spread her lips and thrust firmly again. Her face hit the pillow and she moaned. Another crawling inch and then a full retreat, a massage, and another widening, delving inch. Another certain push and he was nearly there, but he stilled, rubbing his nose over the dip of her bare shoulders mumbling something under his breath before making another full retreat. "You feel wonderful," she said into the softness of the pillow. "Don't worry about me, I'll adjust." "Worried about you?" he quipped. "I'm worried about *me*." Scully batted the pillow out of the way and sat up on her hands and knees, spreading herself to him, begging to receive his mouth, fingers, cock, *something*. She felt him scoot up behind her and using his knees, spread her legs farther apart. His fingers stroked her gently, fondling the opening, tracing the rim with his thumb. And then once again she felt the blunt nudge of his cock against her, wet and permeable. He worked it just inside her in a circular stroke, easing himself in. She felt her legs begin to shake and tried to still herself, but she couldn't stand the waiting anymore, and raising her head, thrust herself onto him in a sudden motion that drove him home. **************************** Inside inside inside. Mulder knew the moment his first finger entered the snug hollow of her body that he was in for it. How many hours had he promised her? Good thing he had delayed this event for a few minutes of conversation. In retrospect, that might make it seem like he had exhibited some form of control. He was completely stunned by the feel of her as he started to move in her slowly, his body flooding with sensation. It had been almost half a decade since he'd felt the hot naked wetness of a woman. Sure, there'd been a handful of brief encounters throughout the years, but he eventually abandoned that practice as he found his soul tended to wait outside the back door until his dick was finished. The guilt soon outweighed the physical relief. Truth was, it had been a solo act for some time now. His spiritual awareness was learning how to work with his body again, taking stern control of it. He loved this woman desperately, he desired her more than anything he'd ever quested for in his life. He needed even more to show her that. Tonight, the penis had to wait outside. He withdrew. "Why are you stopping?" "Desensitizing," he answered, trying to sound scientific for her benefit. "It's like stepping into a hot tub. It feels really good once you're in, but it's always a bit too much at first." "Ah, I see. I'll just be here when you're ready..." He tried to find the humor in her snide statement and gave himself a three-second pep talk while he prepared himself for another go. He knew he'd be fine if he could just get through the first few minutes. Just two minutes until his dick could settle down enough for him to get some kind of grip on this situation. Maybe he should have lit the Elvis prayer candle tonight in preparation. ****************************** After a few false starts, Mulder seemed to regain a measure of confidence in himself as he filled her with his sex. The tightness she had felt at first was quickly subsiding and being replaced by a deeper, richer feeling. Face to the sheets, she turned her head, moaning in appreciation, and slid two fingers back against her folds just to feel the reality of him surging past her lips and into the depths of her opening. She touched the root of him, feeling its thick heat and with wet fingers reached underneath to stroke his balls. He hummed pleasantly at the touch as he continued his slow, but even progress, his hands on her ass, holding her steady. "Do you feel alright?" "Yes." Oh my god, yes. She had forgotten this feeling, how it felt to have a man sunk into her. She could hardly remember the words that went with these sensations: hardness, fullness, depth, tension, need. She had nearly forgotten how all- encompassing this act was--how the strife and stress she had endured these past years at his side faded into pale forgetfulness at the simple stroke of his physical being merging into hers. "Then tell me how you like this." He began to take it faster, quicker, with more force. He was kneeling upright, letting his balls and pelvis connect in a firm resonating pound. He was so deep, it felt like the end of his cock was going to burst something deep in her skull. She didn't have words to tell him how fucking incredible he felt so she let her mouth open and speak to him in a wordless language of soft naked sounds. He paused to shift his knees, and adjusted his angle until he was stroking along a sensory zone she'd never discovered before. She cried out and let him know that was definitely the right spot. It was unbelievable. She couldn't believe just a few hours ago she'd been warning him not to expect much. There was not a single doubt in her mind that he could please her, easily. "You feel so good, Scully," he rasped, running his hands down her back. "I want to take you away to some deserted island for a week where I can throw you down on the beach and make love to you twenty-four hours a day." "We'd starve," she whispered, letting her fingers trace over the muscles working in his thigh. "I'll feed you bananas...and have the natives leave jugs of fresh water near our private lagoon. We'll sleep on blankets in the sand and bathe in the ocean. Can you hear the seabirds?" She could, just above the gentle roll of the ocean, bright and clear. She could lose herself there, so easily, falling into the warm sand. Her legs turned to putty and she let them collapse. Mulder held back and let her sink down onto her stomach. She curled herself, making herself smaller, drawing her legs up to her chest, her arms under her breasts in an effort to weather the sensations sweeping over her, awakening lost emotional responses deep in her psyche, calling to her in velvet echoes. He reentered her, his weight falling over her, covering her, his long cock moving steadily in and out of her as they sank slowly onto the bed. She whimpered, feeling moisture spring to her eyes. All she could feel was how deep he was, how complete she felt having him there, like he was designed for her, solid, the smell of his sweat and his groin mixed with hers, his lips gathering the tears that slid down her cheek. God, he was right. She didn't want this to end, ever. A week might not be long enough. This is what it's like to be fucked by a man who really loves you, she told herself, who really knows you. ************************************* She was under him, curled into the tiniest of packages, and he was overcome with a powerful need to protect her. He covered her with his body, kissing her hair and cheek, thrusting her against the firm mattress beneath them. He felt masterful, powerful, like there was nothing in the world more important in the creation of man than to be in bed with this woman, loving her. He had planned to take a break, let her adjust, let him adjust, but it was too much, she was too good, warm and wet, the need too great to do anything but thrust and thrust and thrust. He felt her shift and tremble under him, her beautiful voice crying out as she began to stroke herself deep between her legs. Dimly he remembered this was the kind of sound a woman made when she'd reached the point of full arousal. She was so small under him. He wanted to unfold her, touch her, kiss her, take her the rest of the way. It was time to take control over the maddening rush of pleasure in his groin and bring her to him, face to face. After a few more indulgent thrusts, he pulled out. She was still tight within herself, curled around her own limbs like a newborn. Her eyes closed tight against escaping tears. "No..." she whimpered, still touching herself. "Not now, please I need...I can't..." He leaned over her, brushing her hair with concern. "Hey, Scully, where are you?" "Hmm...?" She stilled and her arms went limp at her sides. She lifted her head and began to unwind herself. Wiping the tears from her own face in surprise. "I'm sorry, I don't know...I forgot this..." "Come here, lie down with me," he said, and took her in his arms, throwing a blanket over her hip. He kissed the top of her head and soothed her with gentle words. His hand rubbed her back, calming her. "You were disappearing on me. I want you with me. I want you to see me." Her eyes were open now, hiding nothing. She looked almost a little embarrassed. "I'm sorry..." "Shh, don't apologize." He kissed her forehead and pulled the blanket around the both of them, his fingertips working their way down her spine. She rested her cheek against his chest and let his strong fingers knead away her tension. "It's been so long," she explained, snuggled against him. "I'm not used to sharing it." He smiled tenderly at her and touched her chin. "It's strange for me too, but in a wonderful way." She lowered her eyes, drawing her tongue coyly over her upper lip. "I suppose I need to learn a little patience." His silent chuckle rumbled under her as she lay against him, warming her chilled limbs. "You've been in a rush all night, since dinner." Their meal seemed like it had taken place days ago. She smiled, "I guess I have." He brought her lips to his and kissed them softly. "That's okay, there'll be plenty of occasions when rushing will be a necessity: lunch breaks, on the road, in elevators, the review board waiting room..." She could see those heated fantasy moments playing so acutely in her mind. Mulder was turning out to be quite the storyteller--they'd have to take an evening just to let him tell her about a few of those "hundred ways." She smiled against his lips and kissed him slowly, letting her tongue slip against his, taking her time to get to know his feel and taste. He'd had his turn to play with her, now it was hers. Mulder lay still while she kissed his nose and chin, nibbled his neck, and draping herself over him, lowered her warm tongue to his nipples. From the sounds he was making, he seemed to appreciate this type of foreplay. She continued the light touches all the way down his chest and stomach to his cock, where she licked him briefly, tasting herself on his slick solid skin. ****************************** Mulder inched himself away from her seductive tongue to the head of the bed. He shoved a few pillows behind him, and motioned her to climb up on top of him. She came easily, willingly into his arms and they kissed slowly, eyes closed. He could feel her wetness on his cock and balls cooling in the air. He'd never known a woman to respond to him like this, to be so aroused. It made him want to try all that much more to please her. He wondered if she enjoyed the arousing flavor he tasted on her lips--of man and woman fused in sex. He broke their kiss to see how she was regarding him with a low burning hunger that made his head feel light. He wanted to make it so good for her, to watch her as he brought her to the brink. "Let me taste you again," he roughly urged and she slithered up his chest until her thighs were spread over his face. Her fingertips eased her lips apart and his tongue was in her folds, licking her savagely, his lips closing over her clit, sucking until he heard her gasp. The smell of her was everywhere and he hadn't realized he had begun to become desensitized to it. He squeezed the lushness of her ass as he took his final wet tastes, trying to placate the impulse to devour her for a few more minutes longer. She was quivering over him, so close to bursting. As much as he ached to make her come this way, so intimate he could see it blooming, he knew he needed to be in her when she came apart. So with a heart of lead, he let her go. She slipped back from his lips and settled herself down to the head of his cock. She closed her eyes, relaxed herself, and descended to the base. She sighed pleasantly at the new way he filled her, and ground herself onto him as he took his thumbs and spread her swollen folds. ************************* "Look in the mirror." Scully looked up as she moved languidly over him, gratifyingly filled with him, catching the arched reflection of herself, her breasts jutting and her nipples taut. His thumb just brushed over her clit in a light even stroke and she closed her eyes. She felt an incredible dark gnawing pull in her abdomen that was flaring into something remarkable. His thumbs took turns teasing her clit, first with deliberation, and then a moment later with the barest of contact. His bereft touch left her pounding with need and turning her attention to the gathering sensations deep inside her pelvis. She had never come from just the feel of a man inside her, but she could tell his method was going to take her there very soon-- as long as they kept the movement nice and slow, under her guidance. "Can you feel me? Can you feel what you do to me? I'm right here," he said, laying a warm hand across her abdomen. "Inside you right here." Her movements became slower and she felt an overwhelming urge to arch further back and let his cock work against the far wall of her core. He responded by flexing his length so he nudged against her inner trembling flesh just right. "You should feel it here," he said, drawing a light circle around her abdomen with his fingertips. "And here..." She gasped as his middle finger trailed down her spine to her tailbone. She leaned back again, watching their reflections move against each other in the mirror. She could see his forced concentration and her serene expression as her climax began flashing through her in gentle waves, an orgasm that wasn't centered fast and narrow in her clitoris, but ran freely the length of her body. He wasn't touching her sex at all, his thumbs had moved to her nipples. He was just barely moving his hips, lengthening the duration of those light light waves. The seabirds were coming in to land, their wings fluttering. She was falling apart, and it was perfect, so easy, so right. Her mouth opened and she began to sigh his name softly over and over as the warm tenderness of climax enveloped her and began to flood her in a sustained ravishment that didn't seem to end. ************************* Mulder knew it was all going to end soon and he almost couldn't bear that. Not even if he could have her again and again every night for the rest of his life. This was everything-- these floating seconds of realization that he had brought her to this. That his hands and mouth and cock had brought this sophisticated and reserved woman to this state of shameless abandonment. Watching her move over him, watching her face painted in ecstasy as she came--instead of bringing him over, it made him want to cry, brokenly at length until he had purged himself of every minute of loneliness he had endured in his life. And she was calling to him, crying out to him sotto voce, and the words she said all meant him, him, him. He waited for her to come back to herself. She flopped unsteadily forward, touching her hand to her lips in surprise. She yipped in hyper sensation as he gathered her up into his arms, still joined. He held her close, sitting up, as she sighed and shuddered and wrapped her legs around his hips. She hadn't nearly recovered yet, but he couldn't stop himself from the need to be in her. His mouth descended over hers, penetrating those lips that had said all those pretty things. She was touching his face as they kissed, drawing her fingers tenderly through his hair. His arms held her hips to his groin as he bucked up into her over and over, pressing her soft rounded breasts to him, needing even more of her. The feeling was killing him with sweetness; he couldn't stand it anymore. It almost hurt like all those years ago when he first learned how desperately he wanted her and thought he could never have her, not like this. His cock was throbbing, insistent; he couldn't get enough. Maybe he'd waited too long. He groaned in frustration and pitched them back against the bed. On top again, he filled her--thrusting without finesse or accuracy--need outweighing grace as he struggled to release the powerful tension gripping him. "You feel so good," she whispered, her fingers touching the damp hair at his temple. "Don't rush for me." "I can't," he mumbled. "Sometimes I..." "Shhh, look at me--" He opened his eyes, and beyond the veil of his own exertion, saw her smiling serenely up at him. So pleased with him, happy. For the first time, since the first day they met, she seemed completely happy with him. "Scully..." He slowed and touched her cheek. He needed to hear her say it, to tell him just once. Just this one time and then he'd never ask her again about what she showed him a hundred times a day in so many subtle ways. Her eyes closed and opened soft and blue. She nodded her head, kissing his cheek. "I do, Mulder. So much. So much." The shackles that had been holding his climax in a vice melted and fell away and he took her hard and fast, watching her eyes go wide with his sudden velocity. Her legs wrapped tightly around him, her hands pressing against his ass, whimpering, begging for more. He gave her more, feeling that incredible rush in his balls rise and fill, flooding through him to spill over the end of his cock, buried hot and deep in her, kissing her, drowning the wordless sounds of his pleasure and relief in her, as his body convulsed, opening the spillway to her, filling her with warmth and acceptance. ************************************* Mulder couldn't move. An amazingly pleasant sensation of heat and tingles and mind-numbing hormones had arrested his consciousness. He felt unfuckingbelieveably wonderful-- desired, loved, and completely, utterly sated. Even breathing felt unbearably pleasurable. He could barely hold his eyes open. Euphoria--that was the name of this feeling. It had been so long since he had achieved this light state. And there was another word that went with it, he surmised as his thumb brushed the soft skin over her navel--happiness. A very real and simple thing. Something not hard to define, but nearly impossible to achieve. There was truth in this. "Mulder?" He was lying on his back, holding her against his side, the sheets and blankets tangled around them, while she traced his ribs with a fingertip. "...hmm?" "Why don't you wear the pinstripes anymore?" "Pinstripes?" "The suit. I was fond of that one." His fingers found her spine and began to slowly stroke along it as she inhaled and exhaled against him. "Wow, I haven't pulled that one out since...my first informant. I thought stripes were an '80s thing." "They're a damn sharp G-Man thing. I think you should reconsider." "What made you think of...? Hold on. A certain recent house guest of mine wasn't nosing through my drawers and closets, was she?" "Not necessarily. I was just...cleaning." "Remind me to have you spend the night more often." "I will. Preferably when you're home." A wave of sleepy reflection kept them contentedly quiet for the next minute. Mulder continued to stroke her back, wondering fuzzily if enough minutes of proper "cuddling" had passed for him to stop fighting off the overpowering urge to snooze. He looked down at her. Her eyes were closed, her cheek pressed to his chest rising and falling with his breath. It was probably okay, he reasoned, and let the disjointed hypnogogic images take him over. "Are you falling asleep?" He snapped conscious. She was looking up at him. "Yeah...sorry, I've unfortunately trained myself to do that. See why I wanted to hold off?" "You're cute when you're sleepy. Go ahead, I'll watch you." He closed his eyes and sleep waited only seconds to take him again. He was dreaming about licking a creamy glob of tiramisu from her fingers when he felt something faintly caress his eyelashes. A tiny sweet breeze. He opened an eye. She was leaning over him, smiling, her lips just forming an "O." "Scully..." he mumbled. She smiled like an elf. "You're blowing on me." "I know. It's okay, Mulder. Go to sleep." ****************************** Holy shit! I'm DONE! I finished it. Whoooooooooooo! There's a nice romantic follow up to this coming along in a few days....Atoll.... Oy! Do I ever have a crick in my neck. Send a masseuse, preferably a Swedish-trained Mulder-clone, to: Terma99@aol.com. Feedback keeps me writing and well-fed! New readers! Get over that shyness and email me already. I always answer, even if it takes a while sometimes. Visit my den o' love at: www.geocities.com/hotsprings/8334/fic.html