**WARNING! NC-17 CONTENT AHEAD!** **DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE OR OFFENDED BY SEXUAL CONTENT** ***DISCLAIMER***: All "X-Files" elements and references in this story belong to Fox Broadcasting, Chris Carter, and 1013 Productions, and we am making no money from it. ARCHIVING: Link only, please! ========== Alternatives -- The Collector's Edition by shannono (shannono@iname.com) and Brandon D. Ray (publius@avalon.net) (Feedback should be sent to both shannono@iname.com and publius@avalon.net if possible, but we will forward to each other.) SPOILER WARNING: Through mid-sixth season. RATING: NC-17 CONTENT WARNING: Smut. A little angst. MSR. PDA. Coitus interruptus. General sappiness here and there. Etc. CLASSIFICATION: SRA KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully Romance DISCLAIMER: In our dreams... ========== AUTHOR'S NOTES: Shannon: Well, after weeks of buildup (intellectual foreplay?), Brandon and I decided to completely ruin what's left of our reputations and team up for a smut epic. Brandon: Reputations? We don't need no stinking reputations ... Shannon: And a good thing, because it worked, right, Brandon? Brandon: Sure did. In fact, after we posted "Alternatives 1: Frustration", Shannon and I convened some focus groups, and to our shock and dismay we discovered that there were still a handful of people scattered hither and yon about the Internet who held good opinions of us. We knew we couldn't allow that to stand, and so we set out immediately to rectify the situation. Thus, the following chapters. Shannon: Right. We never quite knew there were quite so many smut addicts out there in fanfic land. And we *certainly* never knew so many people would resort to flattery, bribery, and outright lying to get us to write more, and faster. So now you all know the whole truth about how to get us to write more smut ... tell us what wonderful, wholesome people you think we are. And do it often. ;) Brandon: BTW, I wish to state for the record that the, er, image from "Eleventh Hour" (mentioned below) was NOT my idea ... although I really, really like that scene from Rachel Anton's story. Boy do I like that scene. Mmmm. Uh, and I also wish to add that I am NOT the member of this writing partnership who has a "chair" fetish ... ("Hey, Brandon" ... "Yeah?" ... "Bite me.") ========== SPECIAL NOTES: The authors feel they should express a debt of gratitude to those who paved the way with stories about Mulder and Scully NOT having sex. Most notable among these was Imajiru's "Taming the Unicorn," proof positive that a healthy, heterosexual couple CAN have a great sex life without intercourse. The authors also owe a GREAT debt of literary thanks to Rachel Anton, as we have, er, "borrowed" an image from her wonderful story "Eleventh Hour." We'll never look at strawberries the same way again. ;) Special thanks also to Vickie Moseley, who first pointed out to Brandon what a sensual experience it can be to feed each other breakfast. ;) THANKS: To all who have written with words of encouragement -- as well as orders to hurry up and finish the next part -- during the course of this series. We live for feedback, and you're the ones who kept us going. Oh ... and no marriages or other long term relationships were harmed during the writing of this fic. ;) And now ... on with the show ... ========== Alternatives 1: Frustration In adjoining motel rooms, Scully and Mulder each seek relief following a bad day. ========== I am not the kind of person who can simply go out and have sex for the sake of sex, no matter how frustrated I become. But I'm also a woman in her "sexual prime" who hasn't had sex in so long she's having trouble remembering the feeling. I don't lack for self-control, but I've become quite proficient at using water sprays and my own fingers to find relief when absolutely necessary. Tonight is one of those nights. It takes a special combination of events to drive me to masturbation. I could, I suppose, just do it whenever I thought about it; it's easy enough for me. But like anything else, familiarity so easily breed contempt, and since I have no other options at the present time, I'd rather not tempt fate. Tonight, however, has provided me with more than enough reason for what I'm about to do. It's been a difficult day in general, between the early morning start, the unseasonable heat wave, the long drives between crime scenes, and the entirely too close for comfort proximity to Mulder. But what has pushed me over the edge, so to speak, is that I'm due to start my period in the next few days. Yes, it is a fact of nature that most women get ... well, horny, for want of a better word, during that time, because of the rush of hormones. And on top of everything else, that "rush" has left me aching for release. It's particularly unusual for me to do something like this when we're on the road. Normally, I would not consider touching myself with Mulder in the room next door, but I've run into a stroke of luck this time. Not only are we in adjoining rooms, meaning that our bed and bathrooms are on opposite walls, but my room is even on the very end of the building, so I don't have to concern myself with disturbing any neighbors. Not that I'm all that loud when I'm alone anyway. Despite my Catholic upbringing, I do tend to be quite vocal during sex, but masturbation doesn't bring that out in me at all. Just the noise of the shower running should be more than sufficient to mask any sounds I might make. And if Mulder does question anything, I'll blame it on the noisy pipes. At least this place is pretty decent. Some of the motels we've stayed in have left me afraid to even touch the bathroom walls, much less touch myself anywhere near them. Others, however, have even gone so far as to have massaging shower heads -- which I have never taken advantage of for anything other than relaxing muscles tightened by too many hours over an autopsy table. Unfortunately, this bathroom has no such amenities, so I'll be on my own tonight. First things first: Make sure that connecting door is locked. Mulder would never walk in unannounced unless he thought I was in imminent danger, and he won't even knock if he thinks I'm in the tub, unless it's an emergency. He knows long baths and showers are one of my few indulgences, and he also knows better than to interrupt me if it's not absolutely necessary. Door locked, and main entry door locked and chained, I turn on one light over near the window and start a slow walk back to the bathroom. I plan to make this last as long as I can stand, because it will probably have to hold me for quite some time. I undress slowly as well, shedding my business suit and tossing it neatly onto the end of the bed -- along with my professional persona. A soft sigh escapes me as I feel the weight of responsibility lift from my shoulders, and I roll my head from side to side to release some of the remaining stiffness. The only tension remaining is anticipation. My underwear goes next, dropped into a small pile next to the suit. I'll worry about getting it into a laundry bag later. Right now, I'm enjoying the feel of the cool air on my nipples, bringing them taut without so much as a touch. I raise my palms to feel the hardness, brushing my hands lightly against the tight points. I smother another sigh and decide I'd better get the water running before Mulder overhears. Crossing into the bathroom, I start the water but keep the light off, instead turning on the heat lamp for illumination. I push the door shut and lock it as an extra barrier against the world, then pull the curtain back and step in. ========== God. What a rotten day. What a really, really rotten day. It wasn't enough to get hauled out of bed -- well, off my couch -- by a phone call from Kersh at four o'clock in the morning, ordering us to be in Wilmington by eight. And it also wasn't enough that it just happened to be the hottest day we've had in over a month, with the temperature passing the 80 degree mark before we were even off the Beltway and ending up somewhere above 90, way too damn high for late September. It wasn't even enough that we were then expected to visit multiple crime scenes and examine some of the more gruesomely mutilated human remains it has ever been my displeasure to see. No, on top of all that, I had to be sitting next to Scully the whole time. It was torture. It doesn't usually hit me this hard. I mean, sure, she's an attractive woman, and I'll even admit that I've got some feelings for her. Strong feelings. But I've pretty much reconciled myself to the idea that it isn't going to happen, and most of the time I'm content just to spend time in her company and have her as a friend. Most of the time. But today it was different. It was a combination of things that made it different: It was partly a consequence of having been dragged out of bed so early; it was partly a consequence of the harrowing nature of the case; it was even partly a consequence of the fact that Scully got a haircut yesterday, and looks simply stunning. But the big reason is that I think she's about to start her period. Trust me on this one. When you spend as much time with a woman as I've spent with Scully these past six years, you get so that you recognize the signs. And when the woman in question is one you're already attracted to ... well, knowing that she's at the tail end of her fertile period just makes it that much more tempting to grab her and -- Stop it, Mulder. Think good thoughts. This is your partner you're thinking about. Your friend. And it's particularly insensitive since you know Scully can't HAVE children. Take a couple of cleansing breaths. Okay, that's better. Anyway, we've finally decided to knock off for the day. We've visited six crime scenes, and Scully has got three autopsies scheduled for tomorrow, starting at six a.m. She just dropped me off at our motel, muttering something about needing to pick up a few things she forgot to throw in her bag this morning, and I'm standing in front of the television in my room jangling my keys indecisively. The bed is so tempting. I'd like to just stretch out and click on the television and find some bad science fiction movie to watch until I can finally drift off to sleep. Maybe DINOSAURUS! is playing. That'd be nice; I really like that film. The problem is that I stink. Literally. I don't think I've smelled this bad since the manure warehouse exploded. So I guess what I really need to do is take a shower. That's it; a quick shower, then into bed with the remote control and try to while away the hours until exhaustion finally overtakes me. Decision made, I proceed to strip off my clothes, leaving them scattered around on the motel room floor. In a matter of seconds I'm naked, and I pad into the cramped little bathroom and pull back the shower curtain and twist the knob. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. The shower is broken. This is NOT my day. I stand here for a moment and consider my options. I could just skip the shower and find some way to deal with it in the morning. Maybe get up a little early and see if I can find a nearby Y or a public gym. The problem with that is that it really has been a fucking hot day, and I really do stink so bad that I'm not even comfortable being around myself. So that's out. Another option would be to ask Scully if I can borrow the shower in her room. I've done it before, and she's used mine from time to time when something like this has happened. But there are two problems with this plan: The first is that Scully hasn't gotten back from running her errands yet, whatever they are; and the second is that she probably wants a shower as bad as I do, and that means I'd have to let her go first. And that is NOT a good idea. Have you ever taken a shower right after a woman who's on the verge of menstruating? I have. And let me tell you, you can tell. Being exposed to intimate Scullyscent is bad enough -- and this has happened to me from time to time. But trying to take a shower in a stall which is simply drenched in her pheromones, while Scully herself is in the next room, probably stretched out on her bed wearing nightclothes ... I just can't do it. Not today. It's out of the question. Which leaves me no alternative but to take a bath. I hate baths. With a sigh of resignation, I start running water into the tub. Once I've got the temperature adjusted I climb awkwardly over the side and sit down. My knees are kind of hunched up out of the water, and my upper back is resting against the rough tile rather than the smooth side of the tub, but all in all it's not too bad, and as the tub rapidly fills with water I finally start to relax a bit. This is actually pretty nice. Relaxing. I'm still not entirely comfortable, and in the back of my mind I'm feeling slightly guilty because I know I should be studying the casefiles we borrowed from the local office. But dammit, it's been a hard day, and I'm going to enjoy this and relieve a little stress. I idly touch my cock, and think for a minute that maybe I can relieve some stress that way, too. But I know that's not going to happen tonight; I'm just too tired and too much on edge, and I'm not going to be able to get it up. Well, maybe if I thought about Scully I'd be able to manage, but I've disciplined myself not to do that. It's hard enough working next to her every day without having fantasy images of her writhing naked on top of me, or of her perfect blowjob lips sliding down over my -- And then I hear the shower come on in Scully's room, and suddenly I'm hard as a rock. ========== The water rushes across my skin, already sensitized by thoughts of my planned activities. I smile slightly as I turn under the spray, soaking myself from head to toe and enjoying the pleasant buzz building up throughout my body. God, I didn't realize just how much I needed this. Washing my hair is a sensual experience all its own. I love to get my hair cut -- which I did yesterday, but trust Mulder not to even notice, much less comment. I simply love the feel it. The cosmetologist always makes the shampooing less like washing and more like a scalp massage, and the sensation of scissors slicing through hair held taut sends shivers down my spine. I always carry two different kinds of shampoo with me when I travel and choose based on what I've been doing that day. I have a special lemon-scented one that does a great job removing formaldehyde smells and other unwelcome scents, but I also have a floral scent that matches the body spray and lotion I usually use. I could probably use the lemon scent tonight; I'm certainly sweaty enough to warrant it. But the floral is my favorite, so it wins out. I take my time with my hair, rubbing the shampoo into a thick lather and massaging my scalp with my fingertips until it tingles all over. Then I rinse and start over, working the shampoo through again and relishing the feel of my own hands running through the wet strands. I stand under the spray for a long time to rinse the last of the suds away, letting the water pound against the back of my neck, easing away the tension there. Hair finished, I pick up the tiny bar of motel soap and glide it across my stomach and thighs, ostensibly to wash but in reality simply another reason to touch myself. Lather slides into the curls between my thighs as I bring the soap up to run across my shoulders, then down my chest, where I run it lightly around my nipples, not touching, just teasing. I continue soaping myself up from neck to toes, drawing the edge of the soap across my lower abdomen, the back of my knee, the curve of my ass. I turn under the spray again to rinse, then work up a mass of bubbles between my hands and place the soap back in the dish. My feet slide apart almost of their own accord as my fingers slick the lather through my pubic hair and onto the sensitive folds of skin below. I'm already swollen and wet -- not from the shower, either -- but I'm careful to avoid directly touching my clit as I wash. I don't want this to be over too quickly. Finished washing, I turn back to the spray to rinse. I use my hands to pull myself open, spreading my legs and tilting my hips forward so the water hits at just the right angle to wash away the soap. Again, I avoid too much direct contact, though just the few seconds of water pounding so close to where I want to feel it is enough to make me groan deep in my throat. Now, this is the point where I normally rinse one last time, then turn off the water and get out, at least, when I have to be somewhere. But I don't have to be anywhere but in my own bed, and I have plans for the next fifteen minutes or so. ========== For a few minutes I am just mesmerized. Scully's shower has just come on ... and that means that Scully herself is probably at this moment stark naked and only a few feet away, right through that door and on the other side of the far wall. I know I said I've tried to discipline myself, but now I just can't help it: In my mind's eye I can see her in all her naked glory, standing there under the spray, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. It's almost as if that wall weren't even there ... my hand grips my rock-hard cock and starts to stroke ... No. I am NOT going to do this. I am NOT going to sit here and jerk off while I fantasize about my partner ... my friend ... my Scully ... No no no! Not MY Scully. Just Scully. Just Scully. That's all she is. Really. Just Scully. God. She's probably washing her hair first. That beautiful, beautiful hair. I know she has a sensitive scalp; once when we were on a case she had a blinding headache, and asked me to give her a scalp massage. I thought she was going to have an orgasm just from that, and at one point she actually moaned, and I almost came in my pants ... I imagine her hands running through her hair, working in the shampoo. I wonder whether she's using the lemon scented shampoo, or the floral? She usually saves the lemon scented for post- autopsy washings ... she probably doesn't realize that it's my favorite of the two, and I'm SURE she doesn't realize how much the scent of that shampoo turns me on. My hand begins to glide up and down my cock again, slowly, slowly, the tension gradually building ... Jesus. I am not doing this. I am not GOING to do this. Try to think of something else. Try to think of someONE else. Anyone. I can't. I can't get Scully out of my head, and I can't bring anyone else to mind. I shut my eyes in resignation ... this is going to happen, whether I want it to or not. My cock twitches eagerly as I begin to stroke it again, and I groan slightly. I imagine her hands sliding across her body, holding the soap, maybe as just a pretext to touch herself. She gives special attention to those special places ... to her breasts, to her belly. To the back of her knee. Oh, god, the back of her knee. I KNOW that's one of her hotspots. I know it because she's ticklish there, and I know that all MY ticklish spots are also erogenous zones. So she's probably soaping the back of her knee ... then finally, finally, her hands glide up her thighs towards the tangle curls between her legs ... sliding her fingers across those slippery folds ... pulling them gently apart and allowing the warm water to splash against her ... And then from the other side of the wall I hear a moan ... ========== I twist the shower head up so it hits the back wall, moving aside enough to allow the water to warm the slightly rough but, thankfully, clean tile. Then I move into the spray, which hits precisely in the small of my back, shift my feet as far apart as they will go in the confined space, and bend forward from the waist until my head nearly touches the wall. The water sluices down my back and between my legs, curving under to slide across the sensitized flesh. I bring one hand back to follow the water's path, a single finger dipping into my own wetness and spreading it farther forward. My stomach muscles flinch involuntarily as my fingertip touches my clit, just briefly, before I draw my hand away. I straighten up slowly, then lift one foot to the side of the tub, spreading my legs wider. The water still pounds against my back as I bring my hand back down between my legs, this time using two fingers. I slide just the tips inside, then use them to coat my folds, again avoiding direct contact with my clit. As my fingers keep up their teasing movements, I bring my other hand up to my chest and run my nails around each nipple in turn, flicking them against the tips, circling and teasing. That doesn't last long, though, and in moments I'm kneading my breasts and twisting the nipples between my fingers. I follow suit with my other hand, gradually increasing the pressure of my fingers on the strip of skin between my clit and vagina. I somehow doubt this little spot is a particularly universal erogenous zone, but it is for me; I've come from stimulating just this area before. But not tonight. I dip my fingers lower again, plunging them inside and thrusting slowly, then drawing them back up to lightly circle the very tip of my clit. A small moan escapes me, tiny frissions shooting along my arms and legs as my hips buck involuntarily. I can't keep the hand on my breasts any longer. I need it to keep my balance, so I plant it on the tile beside me, using the leverage to tilt my pelvis forward more. This gives me better access to my vagina, and my fingers plunge back in, thrusting deeper and harder this time. God, this feels good. I can't get the right angle to use my thumb on my clit, so I settle for alternating between penetration and stimulation. My hand works harder and faster as I approach my climax, my breath coming in short pants as I work. My weight falls more and more heavily on the hand I have braced on the wall as my legs began to tremble. My hips have taken up a counterrhythm to my hand, moving in tight little circles and thrusts. The orgasm starts somewhere at the base of my neck, blossoming out across my skin like a flash fire and converging on my clit, where my fingers are working furiously. I continue the stimulation as my body bucks and shakes, then gradually draw back to a soothing caress, tiny aftershocks still shooting along my spine. ========== She's using both hands now; I know it. Hell, I can almost FEEL it. She's using both hands, and her fingers are trailing through her hot, wet folds, dancing around her clit, not quite touching it. I wonder if she's sensitive in that little strip of flesh between her clit and her vagina? I've known a few women who were -- always the most passionate ones. There was one girl I knew at Oxford -- before that disaster with Phoebe -- who could come just from being touched there. I wonder if Scully's like that? I bet she is. The rest of the Bureau thinks she's an ice queen, but I know better. She must be fingerfucking herself by now, and I can feel my cock swelling and growing even harder just at the thought of it. How many fingers is she using? Two? Three? I just don't know. All I know is that it's probably the hottest, tightest place a man could ever hope to be, and her fingers are there instead of me. My cock throbs in agony at the very thought, and my hand increases the tempo of its strokes. Oh, god ... I almost forgot about her breasts. How could I forget about Scully's breasts? I know they're sensitive; more than once I've heard her catch her breath when I accidentally brushed against her. And it really was accidental; I don't need that kind of torture. So she's probably playing with her nipples while she fingerfucks herself. Tickling them, caressing them, maybe twisting them just a little. This is really getting out of control; I know I'm not going to last much longer, and I just don't care. Eyes still closed, I throw my head back, breathing in harsh gasps through my mouth and pumping my cock. Pumping, pumping, pumping, and imagining now that it's Scully's hand doing it. Scully's hand ... her hand ... ========== The ringing in my ears fades away and I realize at the same time that my still-ragged breathing sounds very loud in the small room -- and that the water is freezing. I turn on still-shaky legs to flip the shower off, then just stand there under the warmth of the heat lamp for a few moments before pulling back the curtain and stepping out. The rough hotel towel feels harsh against my oversensitized skin, so I dry myself off as quickly as possible, wrapping the damp cloth around me. I unlock the door and step into the cool, conditioned air of the outer room, moving over to the dresser where my suitcase sits to get out my pajamas. I pull out my favorite blue satin set and clean panties -- then pause. Something's not right. I listen intently, then step closer to the wall. Nothing. And that's the problem. Mulder is never, *never* in his room alone without the television on. Dropping the towel, I quickly slip into my clean clothes, then grab up the towel and toss it into the bathroom. I step up to the adjoining room door and pause, listening again. Is that ... water splashing? No way. Mulder is *not* taking a *bath*, is he? Mulder has never, to my knowledge, taken a bath instead of a shower. At least, not out on a case ... though I do recall him joking once about me drawing him a bath ... What in the *world* would have driven him to take a bath? I knew he'd probably want a shower after a day like today; he was getting a bit ripe after so many hours outside. But I can't imagine him taking a bath. I guess his shower must be broken. But I don't know why he didn't just wait and ask to use mine. I mean, we've certainly done that in the past. I open my side of the door slowly, just to be sure his is closed, which it is. So I lift my hand to knock -- ========== Not long now. My fist is pumping and pumping, and my hips are jerking spasmodically as I near release. Water is splashing everywhere, but I just don't care anymore; all I'm aware of is my own cock and my phantom image of Scully's hand pumping at it, pumping at it, pumping at it. God, she's so hot, she's so good at this, I can hardly believe it. Building, building, building ... I can feel the pressure growing stronger with each passing second, with each stroke of Scully's hand. My hips are bucking continuously now, and I want to scream from the pleasure of it, but somehow I manage to suppress it ... ... and then I'm coming, and god it's wonderful, it's intense, it's almost blinding in its brilliance, and it's all because of Scully, my Scully, beautiful, gorgeous, horny little Scully, and I can't keep myself from uttering a loud groan of pleasure ... ========== ... and I hear a long, guttural groan, accompanied by more splashes and a deep squeaking sound that can only be skin against porcelain. Holy shit. I'm frozen in place, my hand an inch from the surface of the door to his room, and I can't believe what I'm hearing. The only possible explanation for that specific combination of sounds ... My entire body jerks back from the door, and it's all I can do to keep from slamming my side shut. I take several deep breaths to slow down the pounding of my heart, then carefully push the door closed. I didn't hear that ... I didn't ... Shit. I did. I shouldn't have, but I did. I feel almost as if I just walked in on him -- guilty, embarrassed ... ... and unbelievably turned on. No. No, I am not going to think about this. That was an accident. His time is private, and I'm not going to let myself consider the fact that while I was in my own shower touching myself, he was doing the same thing in the next room ... Oh, God. What if he heard me? Shit shit shit. Don't think about it, don't think about it ... I realize I'm pacing from one end of the room to the other, my bare feet pounding against the carpet, and I force myself to stop. Almost against my will, I find myself holding my breath, listening intently again for sounds from Mulder's room. I can hear water running now, probably the tub draining. And then footsteps. He's out of the bathroom ... naked, as I was when I came out? Suddenly I'm pacing again. Oh God, I can't think about this ... I can't ... I can't help it. My steps gradually slow, and I come to a stop in front of the connecting room door. My hands twitch from my longing to knock, to turn the handle ... to see if he'll open his side of the door ... if he'll even bother to dress first ... ========== After a few minutes of just lying there in the tub like a dead animal I finally mange to get my breathing back under control and open my eyes, and I see to my relief that the ceiling is still there -- I did NOT blow the roof off with that one, no matter how intense it may have seemed at the time. I suddenly realize that Scully's shower has stopped. Oh god. What if she heard me? I can't even remember what I may have said while I was under the influence. I know I managed to stop that one scream ... but did I let anything else out? Was there ANOTHER scream I don't remember? Were the groans and splashing about loud enough that she heard me? Jesus ... did I call out her name at any point? I don't THINK so ... but I just can't remember. THIS is why I swore I'd never fantasize about my partner. I hastily lean forward and pull out the plug, and as the water drains I stand up. My legs are still a little wobbly, and the bottom of the tub is wet and slick, but somehow I manage to climb out without killing myself. I grab a towel from the rack, and for an instant I consider wrapping it around my waist, but to hell with it -- there's no one here but me. More's the shame. I pad on out into the main room, my towel draped over my shoulder. I'm still dripping wet, but what the hell -- I'm sure this motel carpet has had worse things drizzled on it. I'm walking by the connecting door to Scully's room when suddenly I freeze in place. She's there. I don't know how I know, but I know. She's there, standing on the other side of the door. And if I'm right -- if this isn't just some demented fantasy of mine -- then she did hear me, and she knows exactly what I've just been doing. I wonder how she feels about that? Is she amused? Disgusted? Angry? Aroused? My cock twitches again, and I feel my heartbeat speed up a little. She's standing there on the other side of the door. I'm sure of it. All I have to do is reach out and open my side and knock.... A moment passes. Then another. Then a third. And then she isn't there anymore. She's moved away. And I let out the breath that I hadn't realized I was holding, and I turn away from the door and sprawl out on my bed. Not tonight, I guess. ========== Slowly, haltingly, I back away, my eyes never leaving the painted surface. I stop only when my back hits the wall, and I brace my palms beside me, the only thing that keeps me from sliding down into a heap on the floor. I can't let this happen. I can't. But somehow, I know it will. ============================================================= ============================================================= ========== Alternatives 2: Obstacles Moose and Squirrel get the X-Files back. Things can't get any better than that. Or can they? ========== What a wonderful day. What a really, really wonderful day. It didn't start out all that wonderful. For openers, I slept through my alarm. Again. That's been happening kind of a lot, lately. It's hard to get motivated to get up and go to work when all you've got to look forward to is the shit detail. Literally. Then when I DID finally roll off my couch, I found that the hot water was out in my building, and I wound up taking not just a cold shower but a FREEZING cold shower -- and I didn't even have the dubious pleasure of sexual frustration to go with it. Well, not any more so than normal, anyway. So I took my shower, got dressed and went outside ... and during the night it had snowed and the city had thoughtfully plowed the streets, leaving my car half-buried in a snowdrift. Another 20 minutes were lost while I shoveled it out. I finally arrived at work just before ten. On the way in it had occurred to me to call Scully and let her know I was running a little late, but that I'd be there soon, but she didn't answer her desk phone or her cell phone. And I didn't even consider calling Kersh. There's no way I can stand talking to that man before I've had my first cup of coffee and at least a donut or a bagel. So I finally arrived on the third floor, where Scully and I have two desks jammed in with the rest of the great unwashed masses. I stepped off the elevator and rounded the corner ... and she wasn't there. I stopped for a moment and frowned. Not that it was THAT big a deal -- she'd probably just gone for coffee or to the bathroom or something. But I'd been having a pretty rotten day thus far, and only the anticipation of seeing Scully as soon as I got to work had been sustaining me. Still frowning, I walked over to her desk and looked down at it. A set of file folders was stacked neatly on the corner of her desk, and a half-drunk cup of coffee sat next to them. Scully's cell phone sat next to the coffee, which explained why I hadn't been able to reach her that way, and a memo pad with notes in her clean, methodical handwriting was next to the cell phone. It looked very much as if she'd been called away from her desk in the middle of doing something, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. The last time that had happened she'd almost been killed by her own "partner," during that fiasco in New York City -- "Hey, Spooky! Lookin' for the missus?" My shoulders tensed at the sound of Colton's voice, but I managed to keep enough control so that I was able to turn slowly to face him rather than whipping around on him. He was leaning against a pillar about ten feet away, an annoying smirk on his face. "Actually, I was looking for Agent Scully," I said. "Do you know where she is?" His smirk broadened, making me want to rip his lungs out. "She got called into Kersh's office about half an hour ago. Maybe she's finally come to her senses." For once in my life I actually did the sensible thing: I just said, "Thanks," and turned and walked away, trying not to look like I was in a hurry. Kersh. Shit. My worst nightmare seemed to be coming true. I'd thought that the two days she was in New York investigating an X-File without me had been the worst of my life -- up until she was shot, at which point I realized that no matter how bad things are, they can always get worse. And if that son of a bitch was planning to send her away again ... well, something was going to have to be done. I didn't have a clue as to what that something might be, but something was going to have to be done. I got on the elevator and punched the button for Kersh's floor. Luckily I had the car to myself, so there were no intervening stops, and in a matter of seconds I'd arrived. The doors slid open ... and there was Scully, the biggest smile on her face that I have ever seen, and as she realized I was standing in front of her the smile got even bigger, and she yelled, "Mulder!" And the next thing I knew she had THROWN herself at me. I am not making this up -- staid, sensible Special Agent Dana Scully threw herself across three feet of intervening space, almost knocking me down as she wrapped her arms around my neck. I staggered backwards and banged up against the wall, and it was only through a miracle that I managed to avoid falling to the floor and taking her with me. And she was talking a mile a minute, and what she was saying was music to my ears: "Mulder! Oh, God, Mulder! I just got through with Kersh and Skinner, and oh, Mulder, we got the X-Files back! We got them back! Spender and Fowley are out, and we're in! Oh, Mulder!" And then she kissed me. And there was nothing partnerly about that kiss, let me tell you. I had never before had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of a Dana Scully I'm-about-to-drag-you-down-on- the-floor kiss, but there was no mistaking it; that's definitely what it was, and it seemed to go on forever. Her tongue was deep in my mouth, and she was grinding her teeth against mine and making soft whimpering noises which were going straight to my groin, and I was helpless to stop her. Hell, I didn't WANT to stop her. The earth was moving, and it wasn't just because the elevator had started up again. That kiss was the stuff dreams are made of, and I never wanted to wake up. Finally she broke the liplock and took a couple of steps back. She was still wearing that big, shiteating grin, and there was a light in her eyes that I hadn't seen there in ages. Then the elevator came to a halt again and the doors slid open. She shook her head slightly, and before I could utter a word she grabbed my hand and dragged me off the elevator and towards the cafeteria. "Come on, partner," she said. "We've got some planning to do." The rest of the day is a blur to me. Scully and I spent the entire time hashing and rehashing, arguing good-naturedly about which case to look into first, speculating on how long it would take Skinner to push the paperwork, dreaming up ways to get Spender and Fowley out of OUR office NOW. It has got to go down on record as one of the happiest days of my life -- not that that's saying very much, but still.... Finally the work day came to an end. Scully and I walked together to the parking garage, not quite holding hands. I felt like a teenager walking his best girl home after school, and I just couldn't keep the grin off of my face. We were getting the X-Files back. We were actually getting the X-Files back. Of course, the X-Files weren't the ONLY thing on my mind; I'd also been thinking quite hard about that kiss she'd given me. She'd seemed to be completely unambiguous in her intentions in those few seconds, but once we'd stepped apart from each other and headed for the cafeteria she'd dropped back into her Special Agent persona and hadn't said a word about it. I wondered if she was regretting it, or maybe was embarrassed by it. Maybe it had just been an impulse brought on by the excitement of getting our work back. Yeah, that was probably it, I remember thinking wistfully. She just got carried away by the moment, and now she probably was sorry she'd done it. Oh, well. It had been fun while it lasted. And then we got to her car and she climbed in and with a little wave and a happy smile she drove away. So why am I driving over to her place at eight o'clock at night? Or, to be more accurate, why am I sitting here in my car looking up at her apartment window at eight o'clock at night? There wasn't really an invitation in that kiss, was there? She didn't really mean what she seemed to mean, did she? She's my partner and my friend, right? If she wanted anything more out of this relationship she would have long since told me, wouldn't she? Wouldn't she? One way to find out. I get out of my car and head for her building. ========== I knew he'd come over tonight. I'm standing next to my living room window, looking out at him sitting in his car. He's been down there a half-hour, at least, probably trying to come up with some plausible excuse for why he's here. When will he ever understand that he doesn't have to make up a reason to come see me? I still can't quite believe what I did today. Launching myself at him like that, practically throwing him to the ground in my excitement. And then sealing my mouth to his as if we'd been doing it every day for the past six years. God, it certainly felt like we had. His tongue instinctively went for the most sensitive spots, like he had some kind of radar. That one kiss felt like everything good in the world all wrapped up in one package, and the hardest thing I've ever done was pull away when the elevator stopped. I still can't quite believe I did that. I mean, it's not like I have a long history of kissing men in elevators, although I do seem to have been making something of a habit of it recently. At any rate, I managed to pull myself together after that and get through the rest of the day without any more unpartnerly displays. I think Mulder had a little more difficulty; he fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat for a good twenty minutes after we got to the cafeteria, and it was another hour before he'd look me in the eye again. Nice to know I can have that kind of effect on him, because that kiss certainly affected me. Problem is, I don't really know what comes next. Eventually, he's going to get up his nerve and come up here, and I'm going to have to decide by then how to play this. Do I blame it on the emotion of the moment? Or do I tell him the truth and let things follow naturally? Only one problem. If things "follow naturally" tonight, we won't get too far ... Oh God. He's knocking on the door already. I didn't even see him get out of the car, but I can see now that it's empty. Time's up, Dana. All you can do is take a deep breath, then go over and let him in. So I do. ========== I think I'm going to surprise Scully tonight. Which is only fair, because she sure surprised the hell out of me this morning. I can count on the fingers of one hand the times I've been over to her apartment when it wasn't work related. Well, that's not quite true -- there have been a number of occasions, usually on a weekend, when I just couldn't bear to go without seeing her, and so I'd stop by the office and pick up a file, sometimes almost at random, and head over to her place to "discuss" it. I'm pretty sure she knows it's all a charade, but it's become a game we play, and we're both pretty comfortable with it. And now I'm going to break one of the cardinal rules. I'm going to show up without any excuse at all, just because I want to see her. And I'm going to tell her that. To her face. If I don't lose my nerve. Now I'm standing in front of her door, and I still haven't figured out what I'm going to say. I guess I'll just have to wing it. I raise my hand and rap on the door. For just a moment I think maybe she didn't hear me. I know she's home; her car's parked out front. But she could be in the bathroom or something. Maybe she's taking a bath ... Not gonna think about that. Not yet, anyway. Maybe later, if I'm more lucky than any human being deserves to be. But not yet. The door opens, and there she is. And oh sweet Jesus have I made the right decision. She's standing there in front of me, barefoot, wearing a pair of sweatpants and, if I'm not mistaken, one of MY FBI Academy sweatshirts. I'd been wondering where it had gotten to, and I guess now I know -- and my cock twitches slightly and starts to harden at the vision of Dana Scully wearing my clothes. "Hey, Scully," I say, putting what I hope is an affectionate smile on my face. Her eyes widen slightly, and I think maybe her pupils are dilating, just a little. "Mulder?" she says. "Is something wrong?" I shake my head, still smiling. "No. Nothing's wrong. I just missed you. Mind if I come in?" Her eyes widen further, making her look like a deer caught in the headlights, but she just shakes her head and steps back out of the way. "Sure." And the small beginnings of a smile appears on her face. I cross over to the sofa and sit down, and turn back to look at her. She's standing at the door staring at me, seemingly transfixed. I raise my eyebrows at her, and that seems to startle her, because she jumps slightly before finally shutting and locking the door. Then she walks over to stand awkwardly in front of me. "Can I ... can I get you something? To drink?" Now THERE'S an interesting question, Agent Scully. I allow my smile to broaden slightly. I don't know where I'm getting this sudden rush of courage from, but it's either going to get me killed or it's going to get me my heart's desire. Jesus. Did I just think that? Is Dana Scully really my heart's desire? I guess maybe she is. And I shake my head slightly, and say, "No, Scully. No, I don't want anything." And I pause and smile even more widely. "To drink." ========== To say I'm surprised would be an understatement. To say I'm nervous, well, that would be, too. To say I'm aroused ... oh, boy. Oh yeah. That smile ... I'm either going to melt into a puddle right here, or ... Or I'm gonna have to turn the tables on him. Pretty quickly. So I give a Mona Lisa smile of my own, raising an eyebrow. "Was there anything in particular you *did* want, Mulder?" I ask, keeping my voice low and husky. His hands twitch, but admirably, that's the only visible reaction. Well, that and the bulge between his legs, but he had that when he came in. Yes, I notice these things. I imagine I've known about it every single time he's gotten a hard-on in my presence, whether or not I had anything to do with it. And right now, I'm pretty damn sure I've got *everything* to do with it. When he finally speaks again, his voice is all syrup and sweetness. "Oh, I had a thing or two in mind ..." he drawls out, his eyelids lowering to half-mast. Okay, something's got to give here. It's been a good day, to say the least, and I'm feeling playful. So I lean forward and poke him in the side with one finger. THAT gets a reaction. His body automatically jerks away from my hand, and before he can do anything else, I plant the fingers of both hands into his stomach and start tickling. Now THIS is something he didn't expect. I'm laughing out loud now as he squirms around, his arms flailing futilely as he tries to grab mine, then dives forward to get in a tickle or two of his own. I'm practically dancing around in front of him, trying to keep him from getting a good grip, and we're both laughing like maniacs. Finally, his long arms win out. He gets hold of one of my wrists, then wraps his other arm around my waist and yanks me off my feet, pulling me down on top of him as he falls back onto the sofa. All we can do is lie there for a few minutes, trying to catch our breath through our laughter. I feel giddy as a teenager, proud of myself for pulling a good one over on him. This is fun. And then he shifts beneath me, and I feel his erection pressing against my lower abdomen. I raise my eyes to meet his gaze, still tinged with laughter but darkened by his arousal. And before I can say a word, he wraps a hand around the back of my neck and pulls my mouth to his. ========== Take me now, Lord. I have now kissed Dana Scully twice in the past twelve hours -- and, in fact, I'm still kissing her. And even more amazingly, she's kissing me back. I do not fucking believe this, and nothing else in the future is ever going to compare to the intensity of this moment. So just take me now. No, wait. I take that back. Don't take me quite yet, Lord, because it's just gotten better. Her soft, warm little hands are sliding up my neck and caressing my cheeks and ears, and now her fingers are tangling themselves in my hair, and she's moaning into my mouth as she squirms around on top of me, trying to get -- well, "comfortable" is probably the wrong word for this. I pull her more tightly against me, and I instinctively thrust my hips upward, rubbing my hard-on against her belly. And she moans. Again. Suddenly she breaks the kiss, and for an instant I'm afraid. Maybe this was too much. Maybe she just got carried away and now she's sorry, or angry, or both. But then I look up into her eyes and I know better. I look into her eyes, and suddenly I'm even more short of breath than I was, because I don't think I've ever in my life seen anything more erotic than the expression on Scully's face. Not ever. She's predatory. Wanton. And she's directing all of that energy right at me. And then her mouth descends on me again. ========== God, this is even better than I remembered. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that we're not standing upright in a moving elevator inside the Hoover Building. No, this time, we're stretched out on my sofa, our bodies rubbing together like we're trying to sink right through each other's skin. My tongue is taking inventory of his fillings at the moment, and then I move on to sweep it along his gums and the roof of his mouth. His own tongue twists around mine as it wanders inside my mouth, and his groan reverberates through my head and down my spine. My legs are moving seemingly of their own volition, my bare feet stroking along his calves as far as I can reach. My hands are sliding through his close-cropped hair, my fingertips massaging his scalp, while his hands simply hold me to him, one still at the nape of my neck and the other in the small of my back. The hand at my waist shifts, moving down to cup my ass through my sweatpants for a moment before sliding up under my shirt. *His* shirt, actually, one he probably forgot I borrowed on a case a couple of months ago and never gave back. I figured he'd never notice it. His mouth pulls back from mine just enough for him to speak. "Nice shirt, Scully," he says, his breath as warm on my lips as his hand is on my back. "Wherever did you find it?" The teasing tone in his voice, already roughened by arousal, sends new frissons of pleasure across my skin. I smile slowly, my tongue darting out to wet my lips ... "accidentally" brushing his in the process, of course ... and I breathe out: "Want it back?" His deep chuckle resonates through my body, and his other hand dives down to join the first under the shirt. He drags his fingertips in lazy circles along my back and sides as he replies, "No ... but I'd like to take it off." A little voice in my head screams //YES!// at his words ... but then I remember the reason for my earlier reticence, and I pause for a moment. Mulder apparently interprets my reaction the wrong way -- which doesn't surprise me -- and immediately withdraws his hands, moving them back to rest lightly at my waist, on top of the shirt. I see the apology coming before he starts it, and I cut him off. "No apologies, Mulder," I say sharply. "You haven't done anything to apologize for." His brow furrows in puzzlement, and I sigh, pushing myself, reluctantly, off his chest to sit on the edge of the sofa. I put one hand on the back of the cushions and lean over him, not touching him, but looking him in the eye as I speak. "I want this, Mulder, just as much as you do," I say firmly. "I've wanted this for a long time, and I don't want you to ever doubt that." I falter then, and my eyes fall away from him. "But tonight ... well ..." My voice trails off, and I take a deep breath, then spit it out: "Mulder, I'm on my period." Dead silence reigns for a good thirty seconds, and I finally muster up the courage to meet Mulder's gaze again -- only to find him grinning like an idiot. This only annoys me, and I snap, "What the hell's so funny?" His smile widens, and he shakes his head. "Oh, Scully," he says gently, one hand coming up to brush back a loose strand of hair at the side of my head. "I was so sure you were about to fire off a whole list of reasons why we can't do this, and then you say *that*." His hand cups my cheek. "I'm just relieved, that's all." My eyebrows lift. "Relieved?" I say, my voice dripping sarcastic disbelief. "I just told you we can't do *this* tonight, and you're *relieved*?" At this, the confusion returns to Mulder's expression. "Why can't we?" he asks. I sigh. "I just told you, Mulder," I say. "I'm on my period." Mulder shakes his head. "That doesn't bother me," he says, still not comprehending. I just look at him, and finally he gets it. "Oh," he says, deflated. "It *does* bother you." I nod slowly. "I'm sorry, Mulder, but I just can't," I say. "I've never been able to get past that. And besides, I wouldn't ... I don't ..." I stop, confused about how to say what I want to say, but Mulder finishes my thought for me. "You want the first time to be perfect," he says softly. I look back up at him, taking in the softness and love in his eyes, and I can't help but smile. "Yes," I whisper. "I think, after everything we've been through, we deserve it." He returns my smile, nodding slowly, before looking away and pushing himself up on the sofa. "Well, then," he says, "I'd better be going while I still can." Hold on, buster. You're not going *anywhere*. I reach out for his arm before he can go any further. "And just what makes you think I'm through with you, Agent Mulder?" I ask archly. His eyes widen at my tone. "But you said ..." "I know what I said," I interrupt, my hand starting a slow caress of his forearm. "But there are always alternatives, you know." Oh, I wish I had camera. I want to capture the look on his face. Now THAT is a panic face if ever I saw one. ========== Jesus. If that necking session was intense and world rocking, what Scully just said is positively mindblowing. I mean, this is Special Agent Dana "I'm Fine" Scully, and she just looked me square in the eye and told me that she wants me. No barriers, no circumlocutions, no deflections. Just, "I want this Mulder, just as much as you do." Straight Scullyfeelings, plain and unadorned and laid out on the table for my inspection. I don't think she's ever done that before. Not once. Even when she was dying of cancer she always held a little bit back. But tonight she's hiding nothing. She's not even trying. Suddenly my body starts to tremble. This is a thousand times more important that I realized. A hundred thousand times. And if I screw this up I don't think I'll ever be able to forgive myself. It'll just be the final verse in the long miserable litany of my existence. The seconds are racing by, and any minute now the door is going to slam shut again. I've got to say something. Now. I've got to match her baring of herself. And I take a deep breath and look deeply into her eyes, and I say, "Scully, I..." Not right. Start over. She's watching me intently now, like a hawk, and I realize that the next words out of my mouth are going to change my life -- OUR lives -- forever, for better or for worse. And then it hits me. It's utterly simple. So plain and obvious that I don't know why it took me even this long to figure it out. And I smile up at her, and I say, "Yes." And Scully smiles. ========== I could do this all night ... just sit here, half on top of him, and look at that smile. Does he have any idea what that smile does to me? Guess there's one way be sure. I'll just have to show him. I can feel my smile turning feral as I lean in toward him again, and in another second we're in the middle of another searing-hot kiss. I'm not holding anything back, and it doesn't feel like he is, either. This is ten times more intense than the last kiss. If they keep getting better at this rate, it'll only take another two or three before my heart gives out. I manage to focus my thoughts enough to reach for his shirt and start sliding the buttons open. At the same moment, his hands go back under the back of my shirt, and we smile against each other's lips. In sync, as usual. His hands on my waist help me brace myself high enough up to finish opening his shirt and slide it open. As I lower my body back onto his, my hands immediately move onto the warm skin of his chest, my fingers going straight for his nipples and circling them slowly. I feel his moan from head to toe, and I finally break our marathon kiss, moving my lips to the underside of his jaw. His head tilts back, and I nip and kiss my way down the curve of his neck and onto his shoulder, spending a little longer on the spots that get the most reaction -- a squirm, a shiver, another moan. He has his hands back in motion now, caressing my sides under the shirt, his thumbs brushing the sides of my breasts with each pass. "Scully ..." My name is a groan on his lips, and I offer an answering moan against the skin of his chest as my mouth approaches its goal. And when my lips land on his right nipple, his body jerks like it's touched a live wire. Oh, I could get used to this ... My tongue comes out to sample the salty taste of his skin, then meanders across his chest to lave his other nipple. He sighs shakily, bringing one hand up to cup the back of my head. Not holding me down; just holding me. Time to move this forward, I think. My mouth never stops its movements, but I snake one hand down to pop open the button of his jeans. He jerks again, his hips bucking up slightly, and I push my lower body away from him enough to get my hand on the zipper tab. I start to move it down ... And then he's moving my hands away again, pushing me up off him, and it's my turn to be confused. ========== I must be a masochist. I just about have to be. It really would explain so many things about my life -- including why I'm pushing Scully away from me right as she was about to pull down my zipper and finally, at long, long last, wrap her dainty little surgeon's fingers around the most massive hard-on I have ever had in my life. It's not that I don't want her to do this. God no. I'm sure there must have been something in my life, somewhere, sometime, somehow, that I wanted as much as I want to have Dana Scully's fist holding onto my cock, although at the moment I can't think of what it would be. But still I'm pushing her away, and I just can't help myself. I look up into her eyes again, and the lust I saw before is still there, but now it's tempered with confusion, and more than a little anxiety. I smile nervously up at her. This isn't going to be a bonebreaker, it really isn't that big of a deal, but it is kind of embarrassing and I'm not sure how to tell her about it. "Mulder?" Her voice is soft and tentative, and just hearing her say my name sends a lightning bolt racing down my spine and out to the tip of my hard-on. And I close my eyes for just a moment and I swallow, and then I take a deep breath and open my eyes, and I say, "God, Scully ... I want this so much ..." And I pause for just a fraction of a second, and then I add, "But not here." "Not here?" Her brow furrows as she apparently tries to parse the meaning of my words. "Why not? I don't understand. You mean you don't want to do this in my apartment?" I shake my head, feeling that I'm on a little bit firmer ground now that she's asked a concrete question. "It's not your apartment," I say. "Not that at all. I love your apartment; I feel safe here. It's more of a home to me than any other place in the world." She smiles at that, and I hurry on. "It's ... it's ... aw, hell, Scully. It's the sofa." "The sofa? What's wrong with the sofa?" "There's nothing wrong with the sofa. It's a beautiful sofa, and I will never forget the fact that we had our first real kiss on this sofa." Despite myself I sigh in exasperation. "It's not really the sofa, either -- it's me." I hesitate, and then finally I just say it all at once. "I feel just a little too much like I'm taking advantage of a girl in her parents' living room." Give Scully credit: She only whoops once before she gets control of herself. Hell, give me some credit, too: I actually manage to squelch the feelings of hurt and self-abnegation that threaten to surface as she laughs at me. And then she's leaning down with a happy affectionate smile on her face, and she gives me a soft, gentle kiss before saying, "Well, then, Agent Mulder, why don't we move this party to someplace more comfortable?" And she grabs my hand and rises to her feet, pulling me after her, and she leads me down the hall to her bedroom. Her bedroom. Scully's bedroom. I've only been in this room twice before: Once right after she shot me, and the other time when I was officially dead and needed a place to hide while she covered for me. Both times were moments of extreme stress, and I guess when you stop and think about it this is a moment of stress, too, albeit a different kind of stress. There's something almost surreal about walking into Scully's bedroom holding her hand. I mean, we've just been making out on her sofa like a couple of horny teenagers, but this ... this is different. This is her ultimate sanctuary, and I suddenly realize that admitting me to these sacred precincts is an act of intimacy far beyond anything else we've already done, or anything we're likely to do, at least tonight. Scully doesn't give me any time to contemplate this epiphany, however; she just drags me over to the bed and pushes me down onto it, and then she dives after me and starts pulling off my clothes. ========== You know, when Mulder's right, he's right. This is a hell of a lot better than the sofa. His shoes and socks are gone almost before he knows what I'm doing, I think, and then I'm back to that zipper again. He lifts one hand, as if he's going to either stop me or urge me on, I'm not sure, but just at that moment my own hand finds his cock through his boxers, and his arm flops back down on the mattress like so much dead weight. He's panting already, his hips shifting reflexively, and I realize I'd better be careful if I don't want this to be over too soon. It's beginning to hit me just how long it's been since I had sex, and I imagine it's been at least as long for him, or at least close to it. Masturbation is one thing, but there's just no substitute for the feel of someone else's hands on your body. So, reluctantly, I pull my hand away from his erection and instead turn my attention to getting his jeans down his legs and off. It's a little awkward, but he manages to pull himself together enough to offer some help, and they're gone soon enough. Automatically, I shake the jeans out and fold them in half, tossing them neatly onto the chair under the window. I turn back to Mulder to find him sporting a huge grin, and I pull the eyebrow-arch on him again. "What's so funny?" I ask. "You," he says, a few chuckles escaping. "Only you would rip a man's pants off, then take the time to fold them up so neatly." Oh, he's gonna pay for that one. Slowly, carefully, I crawl on my hands and knees up the bed until I'm hovering over him, my face inches from his but my body not touching him anywhere. I lower my mouth toward his, he stretches up to reach me ... and I dodge to the side, instead bringing my lips to his ear. "Do you have a problem with my methods, Agent Mulder?" I murmur. I still don't touch him, but I do blow gently into his ear, which elicits a violent shiver from him. "Uh ..." he manages, his hands moving up, a little shakily, toward my body. Immediately I go up on my knees, grabbing his wrists and pushing them toward the top of the bed, where I wrap his hands around the spindles of the headboard. My mouth returns to his ear. "Now," I say softly, teasingly. "You just keep your hands right there, and nobody'll get hurt." He chuffs softly. "Speak for yourself," he says, then half-yelps in surprise as I thrust my tongue into his ear. The yelp falls off into a groan as I finally lower my body atop his, rubbing gently against his skin. I draw my hands down his arms from wrists to shoulders, then brace myself up to sit on his stomach. "Is it just me," I drawl out, my fingers moving in abstract patterns across his chest, "or is it a little warm in here?" I see his eyes widen momentarily as I grab for the bottom of my -- his -- sweatshirt and yank it over my head. I come free of the soft cotton, shaking my tangled hair back into place, and look down at him, smirking. Yeah, that got a reaction. His eyes are saucers, trained on my breasts as if he's never seen any before in his life. They like the attention; I can feel them swell under his gaze, the already hard tips throbbing in time with my heartbeat. Or maybe his, I'm not entirely sure. I toss the sweatshirt in the direction of the chair, resisting the urge to fold it, too, and lay my hands back on his chest. "Now," I say, my voice husky with arousal, "where was I?" My mouth moves back to that spot just under the tip of his chin as if drawn by a magnet. I don't know if that's just a particularly tasty part of him, or if it's the low moan he lets out when I suck on the skin there, but I really, really like this little spot. Wonder if the shadow of his beard would be enough to hide a hickey there? Mmmm, maybe another time. Other parts of him are calling to me -- some more insistently than others -- so I move on, kissing and sucking and licking my way around his face and neck. He's really behaving himself, keeping his hands in place even as his body bucks and shivers under me, and I decide to reward his perseverance. I pull my mouth from the juncture of his neck and shoulder with an audible *pop*, then bring my face back up to his. His skin is flushed, his eyes are squeezed shut, his breathing is irregular and rough ... and he looks absolutely gorgeous. "Hey, Mulder," I whisper, my mouth just bumping his. "Look at me." His eyes pop open to meet mine, and the depth of arousal I see there sends a bolt of pleasure straight to my core. Still looking into his eyes, I part my lips just slightly and brush them against his once, then again. His moan undoes me, and I press my mouth to his once again. ========== Scully is kissing me again. That's such a simple statement, and it's getting just a little redundant at this point, but I can't help thinking it: Scully is kissing me again. God is she kissing me. The kiss in the elevator was one thing: Spontaneous, surprising and certainly arousing, but over in a matter of seconds and leaving me unsure what, if anything, she meant by it. The kisses on her couch were more definite: Deliberate, erotic and more than a little frantic, and leaving no doubt whatsoever as to her intentions. But this kiss ... there just aren't words to describe this kiss. What words can possibly do justice to the fact that Dana Scully's half-naked body is writhing on top of mine, while her tongue plunges deeply into my mouth and her hands aggressively explore every patch of my bare skin that she can reach? There just aren't any words for this. I realize that my own hands are still tightly gripping the spindles of the headboard, and in the back of my mind I'm absently amazed at my own willpower and self-restraint. I'm not the most obedient person in the world -- hell, let's just say it, I'm a malcontent and a troublemaker. But Scully put my hands there and told me to leave them there, and so I'm doing it. I'm just doing it. Despite the fact that every muscle in my body is quivering at high alert, just aching from the desire to wrap my entire self around her and touch every square centimeter of her skin simultaneously. I wonder if she realizes just how significant it is that I'm still holding on to these fucking spindles? More important, I wonder how much longer it's going to be before she releases me from this, and allows my hands the liberty to touch her again? She finally breaks our latest kiss, leaving me gasping for breath as her tongue traces the outline of my jaw and moves on down to my neck. The room is filled with moans and whimpers and other soft, erotic noises, and I'm quite sure that I'm making my fair share of them, but I'm already past the point where I'm able to sort out which sounds are mine and which ones are hers. Now she's nibbling on my right shoulder, kissing, nipping and licking over and over and over. Every hair on my body is standing on end, and I shudder repeatedly as her teeth scrape against my skin again and again and again. Now she moves down to my chest, and once again her mouth captures my right nipple, and my hips buck uncontrollably as she sucks it into her mouth and gently bites down on it. My nipples have always been incredibly sensitive. Somehow none of my previous lovers ever managed to discover that, but Scully seems to know it instinctively. God, I want to hold her. I want to let go of these spindles and wrap my arms around her and crush her to me so hard that neither one of us can breathe. I want to own her and possess her. There's nothing left of the sensitive '90s guy I try to project to the rest of the world; this is sheer, animal lust we're talking about here, raw and naked and powerful. But somehow I manage to hold back. Scully releases my nipple after several minutes of sweet, sweet torture, and her mouth continues its downward track, browsing possessively over my chest and then down onto my abdomen. Her warm, soft tongue flicks in and out of my navel, sending another series of shudders racing through my body, and then she moves lower still. And then, finally, her hands grip the waistband of my boxers, and she looks up at me again and smiles. ========== I will never, not in a million years, forget this moment. Mulder is spread-eagled on my bed, his skin flushed, his chest heaving as he tries, desperately, to rein in his breathing. His hands are still obediently attached to the headboard, and I consider for a moment telling him he can let go. God knows I want him to touch me as much as I'm sure he wants to. But not yet. Instead, I turn back to the task at hand -- that is, getting rid of these pesky boxers. They're just making it harder for me to do what I really want to, which is touch every square millimeter of skin on Mulder's body, until he's so far gone he can't even get out a coherent moan, much less a word. I slide my hands between the cloth and his hot skin, curling my fingers just enough so my nails scrape against his ass as I push the elastic band down in back. He automatically lifts his hips a fraction to give me room to work, and I take advantage, giving his cheeks one good, firm squeeze before pushing the material down to the top of his thighs. I lean back, then bite off a giggle at the sight. The *front* of the waistband, unfortunately for Mulder, isn't going anywhere without help, caught firmly against the base of his erection. He's shifting against the elastic, trying to work it free with just his hips and legs, but he's not making any headway. I take pity on him and gently ease the waistband down, my eyes immediately drawn to his cock. My, my. Impressive. My core throbs in anticipation at the sight, and my hands practically itch to touch him. But not yet. I slowly push the boxers down his long legs and off, letting them drop to the floor. Then I roll off the bed for just a moment, long enough to get rid of my sweatpants. I turn to look at Mulder and the look on his face is so nakedly hungry that for just a moment I want to say to hell with it and pull off my panties, too. But I can't. I just can't ... Instead, I climb back onto the bed and settle myself between his legs, my back to him. I can feel his eyes on me as I lean forward and pick up one of his long, graceful feet, wrapping both my hands around it and beginning a deep, slow massage. I place my thumbs against his instep and rub firmly in small circles, my fingers applying counter pressure on the top of his foot. After a few moments, I move one hand up toward his toes, kneading the balls of his feet gently with my fingertips. He's really, really enjoying this. I don't even think he realizes that his moans are almost continual now, and his other foot is squirming constantly against the sheet. My hands move higher up on his foot, one pressing into the heel while the other wraps around his ankle. I give it another few seconds, then switch feet, and if anything, his moans and movement increase when I start on the other foot. I keep my hands busy where they are and carefully turn on the mattress until I'm sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed, facing him. His eyes are closed again, but I want him to see what I'm about to do, so I say, "Mulder, look at me." His eyes open slowly this time, and just as they wander over to meet mine, I lift his foot to my face and suck his big toe into my mouth. ========== Oh god. How did she know about my feet? They've always been intensely ticklish, which of course means they're also an erogenous zone, but not everybody makes that connection. I should have realized that Scully would be among the elect. The way that she's rubbing and massaging my feet is just incredible, sending jolt after jolt of electricity slamming up my spine and into my cock, which throbs harder and harder with each stroke she makes. My head is thrown back, and I'm breathing in harsh, ragged gasps, and someone in this room is moaning almost constantly. She commands me to look, and somehow I find the strength to obey. My eyes flutter open and I drop my gaze to hers, and she flashes an intensely erotic smile and sucks my right big toe all the way into her mouth. ========== Yeah, I think it's safe to say he likes this. Because the second he realizes what I'm doing, his head falls back onto the bed, and he lets out the longest, loudest groan so far. A groan that rockets from my ears right through my nervous system and to my clit. God. This is supposed to be all for him, but I'm getting nearly as turned on watching him as he is from what I'm doing to him. I turn my attention back to his toe, concentrating on giving it the same treatment I have planned for his cock. I pull my lips up until they're just covering the nail, then swirl my tongue around the tip several times. He must figure out what I'm doing immediately, because his whole body jerks and shakes, and his repertoire of moans continues to increase. My mouth slides back down until his toe is completely inside, and I rub the flat of my tongue against the bottom several times. Then I tilt my head forward, my hair falling around my face, and begin to suck in earnest. His toes are curling reflexively by now, making it hard to keep up my "toe-job" for long, so I give it just another few seconds before I release him and turn my attention back to the rest of his body. I place my hands on his legs and slowly draw my fingertips up toward his knees, pausing several times to bend down and swirl little patterns on his skin with my tongue in random spots. I move forward gradually, inching closer to him as I gently push his legs farther apart. He's moving constantly now, squirming against the sheets and my hands as I finally -- finally! -- reach my goal. Well, our goal; I'm sure he wants me there as badly as I want to be there. I slip my hands, palms up, under his thighs and lift slightly, tilting his pelvis up to give me easier access. I flick my eyes to his face and say his name again to get his attention, and as soon as his eyes focus on mine, I lower my head and take him in my mouth. ========== Oooohhh....jeee.....zzuuuusss.... ========== Mmmmm, he tastes just like I imagined ... salty and a little tangy ... almost bitter, but good ... like dark chocolate, maybe. I don't try to take him very deep at all immediately. It's been a while since I've done this, but I do know I always have to work up to that, or I'll end up gagging and coughing. And THAT would certainly ruin the moment. So instead I pull back until just the tip is in my mouth and swirl my tongue around the head, applying just a little pressure. He moans. I slide my mouth off and rain tiny, wet kisses up and down the entire length, then drag the flat of my tongue along the underside from the bottom to the top. He groans. This is fun. I go on, cataloguing his reactions to different touches for future reference. Wrapping my hand around the base and flicking my tongue against the ridge where the head meets the shaft garners a spasmodic jerk of his hips. Sucking lightly on the very tip while my fingertips graze up and down the shaft gets a lovely pelvic roll-and-thrust maneuver I think I'd like to see again. So I do it again. It works. Smiling, I get back down to it, this time bringing both hands into the action. I wrap one around his cock and begin to stroke, slowly but firmly, from root to tip, noting with some satisfaction that his hips almost immediately settle into the same rhythm with a series of tiny thrusts. My other hands goes lower, cupping and stroking his balls carefully in the same rhythm as the movements of my other hand. His breathing sounds unnaturally harsh in the otherwise quiet room, but I'm not sure if it's really that loud or if it's simply my own heightened senses. My hands keep up their steady pattern on his cock and balls, and I find myself talking to him, saying things I've never said during sex, not in the 15 years since I lost my virginity. But I'm saying them, and apparently it's doing the trick, because everything I say just seems to make him writhe and moan more. "Mulder ... God ... I love seeing you like this ... touching you like this ...love feeling your cock in my hand ... God, you're so hard ... mmmm ... I can hardly wait until I get to feel you inside me..." ========== Sweet suffering Jesus. I don't believe this is happening. I simply do not fucking believe it. Not an hour ago I was sitting in my car looking up at Scully's window, trying to figure out whether she might just possibly like to be more than partners and friends. Now I'm lying in her bed, stark naked, holding on to these goddamned spindles for dear life, while Scully herself is curled up at the foot of the bed and running her tongue and fingers up and down the length of my cock, over and over and over. Oh god. Now she's taken the head into her mouth again, swirling her tongue around the tip, and she's extended the middle finger of the hand that's been playing with my balls and is gently tickling my perineum. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. I'm not going to be able to take much more of this. I really, desperately want to touch her, to run my fingers through her hair, to stroke and lick and bite her. Of course, what I REALLY want to do is roll her onto her back and pound my cock into her until she forgets how to say her own name. That's not going to happen tonight, and I honestly do understand, but one day very soon I AM going to get even with her for what she's doing to me tonight. Payback's a bitch, Agent Scully. And then suddenly, without any warning at all, she plunges my cock all the way into her mouth. ========== I hum in the back of my throat as I tilt my head and carefully draw my mouth all the way down to the base of his cock. The tip bumps against the back of my throat, but I manage to stay relaxed enough to hold off the gag reflex. I rest there for a moment, then take a deep breath through my nose and pull up, applying gentle suction as I move. I quickly settle into a rhythm, my head moving steadily up and down, my hands running continually across his thighs, groin, and lower abdomen. Then I feel a touch on the top of my head, and without stopping what I'm doing I glance up at Mulder. His eyes are screwed shut and he's breathing through clenched teeth, and he apparently lost control of his hands, because they finally let go of the headboard. One is at this moment tangling itself in my hair -- not pushing or directing me, thank God -- while the other is gripping the rumpled sheet next to him in an apparent attempt to pull it right off the bed. I chuckle lightly against his skin, enjoying the sound of his gasping breath and broken moans. I wanted him incoherent; well, looks like I'm getting my wish. Time to give him his. I slide my hands back to the inside edges of his thighs and raise myself over him, my lips moving up until they're just barely covering the tip. I slowly cover his cock with my mouth completely again, take his balls back in my hand, and set to work in earnest, feeling my cheeks hollowing from the suction as I bob my head up and down. I slip my free hand under the other and go back to rubbing lightly across his perineum with the first two fingers. His hips are pumping now, not deeply but in short, jerky thrusts. I know he'd been holding himself back from this before, trying not to move enough to choke me or cause me any problems, and it gives me a little extra rush to know he can't even control that now. Little bursts of sound are emitting from his mouth, mostly moans and grunts but sometimes nearly forming a word -- "Uh" and "God" and the occasional "Sc..." I don't even think he knows he's saying anything at all; I imagine I'm just getting a little overflow from what's going on inside his head. And then his hips jerk up and freeze in place, his back arches, and his fingers dig into my scalp. He stays like that for one long moment ... and then he bellows out my name in one long scream and jerks and shudders spasmodically as his orgasm hits him full-force. ========== Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. No. No. Not god. Not god. Scully. God Scully. Jesus Scully. Please Scully. Don't stop Scully. PLEASE don't stop Scully. Please don't stop. Please don't stop. Please please please please ... Scully ... Scully ... Scully ... Scully ... please ... SCULLLLLEEEEEE........!!!!!! ========== He shoots into my mouth at an amazing rate, and I suck in as much as I can before pulling back slightly and allowing what I can't swallow to spill out. My tongue gently soothes him as he gradually comes down from the stratosphere, his hands falling limp against the mattress. I carefully let him slip from my mouth and slowly lap up the rest of his semen from his still oversensitive skin. When I finish, I place one final, soft kiss on the tip of his cock before moving gingerly up his body and settling myself against his right side. As if by instinct, he brings that arm up to pull me tighter against him, though he's still gasping for air and can't manage a word. I spread my hand out flat across his chest and place a warm, open-mouthed kiss over his heart, then another at the base of his neck. A low rumble emits from his throat at this, and his other arm moves shakily from the bed to cup my shoulder. He gives one long, shuddering breath, then murmurs my name, and I feel his lips brush the top of my head. ========== Very, very gradually, the universe starts to come back into focus. I become distantly aware of something soft, warm and alive cuddled up against my right side, and I turn my head and yes, this is real, it's really happening. Dana Scully is curled up in my arms, her head resting on my shoulder, her eyes closed, a soft little smile that is not at all enigmatic tugging at the corners of her mouth. And then I suddenly feel very awkward, lying here in Scully's bed holding her against my side. I know she wants me to be here; she's made that abundantly clear in the course of the last hour or two. Christ, I don't even know what time it is, and I'll be damned if I'm going to stop looking at her face long enough to glance at the bedside clock. But I also think maybe it's time for me to be going. This is her space, after all, this is her life, and I need to respect that and allow her to have it for herself. A slight shudder runs through my body, a shudder that is not at all like the wonderfully pleasant aftershocks that I've been feeling, as I remember what's happened -- and what's ALMOST happened -- when I've failed to respect her personal space in the past. Philadelphia comes to mind ... The problem is that I really don't want to go. I don't want to climb out of her bed, put on my clothes, and drive home alone to my cold, empty apartment. I want to stay here with her where it's warm and safe -- and on top of that, if I get out of her bed and leave now it will make all of this seem just a little bit too much like a one night stand, and that is NOT what I want this to be. I want this to be the first night of the rest of our lives, and I pray to whatever god may be willing to hear me that she feels the same way. And I think just maybe there's something to this prayer business after all, because before I've even finished thinking those words Scully cuddles a little closer to me, and in a low, sleepy voice she whispers, "Don't go. Stay." A wave of relief floods through me as I hear these words, and I capture them and take them into my memory and cherish them. Scully doesn't want me to go. She wants me to stay. She wants ME to stay. Me. Maybe I really am going to get my heart's desire. This is simply too amazing for words. I know I should let her go to sleep now. I mean, Scully has just given me more than I could ever reasonably have hoped for when I decided to drive over here tonight, and the least I can do now is allow her to get some sleep. But there's still one more thing I want to know. There's still one more question left unanswered, and try as I might I can't get it out of my mind. What's just happened is totally and completely incredible, but still I want more. She's promised we'll have more, but I want it for us, and I want it soon. I know it's some pathetic mix of selfishness and insecurity that's driving this feeling, but I just can't help myself. I want to know. I wonder if she's asleep yet. I draw her a little bit closer, and I bend down and once again brush my lips against the top of her head. Very softly and tentatively I whisper, "Scully?" And her voice drifts back to me, thick with sleep but still aware, and the unmistakable warmth and affection in her voice belies her choice of words. "Next Friday. Now shut up and go to sleep." Next Friday. Cool. I can wait that long. Next Friday. Next Friday. ============================================================= ============================================================= ========== Alternatives 3: Payback Paybacks aren't always hell ... ========== This has got to be the worst airline experience I've had in my *life*. God. Just when I think it can't get any worse ... First, we end up on the red-eye back from Nevada, thanks to getting bumped from an overbooked flight. Nearly an hour in line and several badge-flashes later, we managed to snag these two seats -- at the very back of the cabin, of course, with the least legroom of all. Then THAT flight is delayed nearly a half- hour on the runway, and we're stuck in our seats the entire time. And, to make matters worst of all ... I'm as horny as hell. It's been nine days now since that night in my apartment when Mulder and I threw aside the rules and our inhibitions and took the first step toward consummating this relationship of ours. Unfortunately for us, when all the other timing was just perfect ... I was on my period. Big downer. I just couldn't do it. However, I didn't want us to put off intimacy another moment -- so I took another route. From his reactions, it was a good decision. We even made plans for the follow-through. "Next Friday," I told him, just before we both fell asleep. An interminable wait, partly to make sure I'd be OFF my period by then, and partly because I'd already made plans for a trip to the beach with my mom that weekend, taking advantage of the unseasonably warm weather. For the next three days, including the aforementioned weekend, we made do with a nice little string of e-mail exchanges. Well, "nice" isn't quite the word for it ... let's just say we didn't dare use our work accounts, and I certainly didn't read ANY of them with my mother in the same room. So we passed time with that, and with planning our rendezvous. A night in a nice little cabin a few hours away, complete with hot tub, fireplace, and complimentary champagne. Reservations were made, brand-new lingerie purchased ... for me to wear, not him ... And then we stumbled into the case from hell. Six deaths in four days, all of them as brutal and nasty as any we've encountered in all our years as partners. I'm not going to think about it enough to get into much detail, but suffice it to say that, for the first time in my career, I had to stop not once, but twice, in the middle of an autopsy to puke my guts out. God. Needless to say, the case stretched on long enough that we had to put off our plans. The reservations were cancelled -- thankfully, in time to avoid any fees -- and the lingerie stayed in the Victoria's Secret bag in my closet, entirely-too- expensive price tags still attached. Once again, we had to let our personal lives take a back seat to our work. But it's over, thank God, another madman off the streets and, this time, an actual closed case. It's some ungodly hour in the middle of Friday night, we're on a nearly full plane somewhere over Iowa, I believe, and all I can think about is that we're supposed to be in bed right now. Preferably naked, preferably not sleeping, and preferably with me on top. After all ... he owes me one. I smile slightly at the memory. Mulder, sprawled across my bed, the covers thrown recklessly to the floor, while I touched and licked pretty much every square inch of skin on his body. Paying closer attention to some spots than others, of course. By the time I was finished with him, he looked like every bone in his body had been liquefied. Yeah, I *definitely* think I made a good decision with that one. We spent the rest of that night spooned together under the replaced covers, and when he woke up early the next morning to head home for a shower and clean suit, he left me with a parting shot promising payback as soon as I was up to it, punctuating the offer with a suck on my earlobe. I nearly decided to jump him right then, messiness and all ... But I didn't. We went with the weekend-away idea ... and now we may have missed our chance. To tell the truth, I don't know if we'd have been able to relax enough to enjoy it this week anyway. I don't think either of us fully realized how all-encompassing the X-files would be after we got them back. We've been stuck on scut detail so long that we forgot how *intense* things can be. I *also* should have taken into consideration what kind of bounceback effect I'd encounter when we got the files back. Mulder's like a man who's suddenly regained his sight and is busy spending every second scrutinizing the big, bright world around him. He's been up to his knees and elbows in reconstructed files and recovered evidence from the moment we stepped back into the basement late Friday afternoon, and I'm surprised we lasted until late Tuesday before heading out on the road. Now, finally, we're on the way home, and I've already argued Mulder against the wall about getting at least one full day off when we get back. I've got to get re-acclimated to this crazy schedule that used to be my way of life, and I'm determined to get one personal day before he's dragging me off again. I understand his enthusiasm, believe me. I feel the same way, for the most part. I don't begrudge him a moment of the past week, including the half-dozen arguments and that nasty autopsy with the maggots two days ago. Ugh, I promised myself I wasn't going to get into that ... Anyway. The X-files are his passion, and they're important to me, too. I, however, need a break now and then, something I don't think he's ever fully comprehended. He believes everyone else should be able to run on an average of four hours' sleep a night, supplemented by gallons of coffee, long runs, and junk food. But I just can't do that, especially after so much time away from that kind of schedule. Only a week back on the X-files, and I need a vacation. No, I just need a couple of days off. No ... what I *really* need is a decent meal, one good night's sleep ... and then an early morning rendezvous with the man sitting next to me. Something involving a soft bed, scented candles, and multiple orgasms would be nice ... "Scully? You okay?" Yeah, I just should have worn a panty liner ... "I'm fine, Mulder. Is something wrong?" "No, nothing. ..." Mulder sighs beside me, and I chance a sidelong glance at him. I haven't dared look at him since we finally made it into the air, afraid I'd start taking out my frustration on him -- undeservedly, despite the past week. Either that, or I'd drag his ass into the bathroom and join the Mile High Club. My little glance quickly gets out of hand, my eyes starting to wander up and down his long body. He's still wearing his "official G-man" suit of the day, minus jacket and tie, which are tossed over the back of his seat. His jawline is darkened with close to 20 hours' worth of stubble, his eyes are half- closed, and his lips are slightly parted. My gaze drifts down, taking in the vee of skin left bare by the three open buttons on his shirt, then goes on further, coming to rest at last on his lap. My, my, Mulder. You carrying your gun in your pocket these days? I pull my eyes away and stare out the tiny window next to me, a tiny smile twisting my mouth. A thought is forming in the back of my mind, and I take a furtive look around the darkened cabin. Looks to me like most of the other passengers are sleeping. Perfect. I start to turn back to Mulder, intending to feign a chill and ask him to get a blanket from the overhead compartment. But he's already half-standing before I can say a word and opening the door above us. Okay, unspoken communication is one thing. Telepathy, however ... Blanket in hand, Mulder clicks the compartment shut, then shakes the cloth open and sits back down. He turns toward me, then gives a lopsided grin and holds the blanket up. "I figured you'd probably be asking for it," he says, answering my question before I can ask it. "You usually do on the late flights." I feel a smile gradually spread across my face. "I was about to ask," I admit, reaching for the edge and pulling it halfway onto my lap, leaving the rest draped across Mulder. ========== Perfect. Absolutely perfect. I stand in the darkened cabin for just a moment and glance around at the other passengers, and they're all asleep, at least the ones closest to us. I take an especially careful look at the two businessmen in the row across from us, but they're both dead to the world, which is just as well -- one of them had been eying Scully when we first got on the plane, and is alive and breathing at this moment because I packed my Sig Sauer in my checked luggage for the flight home. I turn my attention back to Scully and see that she's looking up at me, an amused expression on her face. I give a rueful smile and hold up the blanket. "I figured you'd probably be asking for it," I say. "You usually do on the late flights." The slow smile I get in return would melt my heart, if she hadn't already done that nine days ago on her living room sofa. "I was about to ask," she murmurs, and as I settle back down next to her she spreads the blanket out over us and snuggles down against my shoulder. Absolutely perfect. I told Scully last week that I was going to get her back, and I've decided that now is the time. It's been a long, harrowing week, we've both been pumping adrenalin 24/7, and speaking for myself I feel more totally alive than I have in years. Scully's responsible for most of that, and now she's curled up half- asleep in her seat, her head resting on my shoulder, just as she has countless times in the past -- only this time I'm allowed to fully enjoy it. "Sir? Did you need something?" I'm pulled from my reverie by a woman's voice, and I turn to see one of the flight attendants bending over me, an apologetic smile on her face. "I'm sorry," she goes on. "I didn't mean to disturb you, but I saw you standing up a minute ago, and I wanted to make sure you have everything you need." I glance at her name badge, and then up to her face. "Thanks, Noelle, but I think we're fine," I say. I allow her a smile, which is not something I'm accustomed to doing, but somehow the last week or so it's been coming more naturally. "We're both just tired. It's been a long week." She smiles knowingly. "Newlyweds?" she asks. For just an instant I'm startled, and I can feel Scully stirring against me, ready to issue the rote denial that both of us have gotten so good at these past six years, but I beat her to the punch. "I guess you could say that," I reply with an embarrassed, affectionate chuckle. I can almost FEEL Scully's eyes widening as I go on, "You know how it is." Noelle nods, still smiling, and says, "I thought so. I can always tell. Well, if you're both doing all right Mr. ..." "Mulder," I supply. "Mr. Mulder, I'll just leave the two of you alone." And she winks and starts to turn away. And it occurs to me that maybe she CAN do something for me -- and for Scully. "Noelle?" She turns back and raises an eyebrow. I go on, "There is one thing. Do you think you might be able to track down some hand lotion?" She cocks her head questioningly at me, and I explain, "My Dana's a surgeon, and the soaps they have to use are a little hard on her skin. So I thought maybe ..." I let my voice trail off. Noelle's smile broadens at my apparent thoughtfulness. "Of course," she says. "I'm sure I can find something. I'll be right back." And she turns and walks away. Payback's a bitch, Agent Scully. ========== Stunned is simply not the word for it. Newlyweds? What the hell was that all about? "Mulder, what the hell was *that* all about?" He just grins at me. "All what?" he asks, trying -- and failing -- to affect an innocent tone. I raise an eyebrow. "Newlyweds, Mulder? A surgeon? Shall I go on?" His smile only widens. "It all depends on the perspective, Scully," he says mildly. And he slips his hand over mine, under the blanket. Why do I get the feeling we've got vastly different goals in mind for the rest of the night? Hmmmm. Now that's is an interesting thought. He did promise payback, after all ... I relax back against the seat and tilt my head until it rests on his shoulder. Softly, I whisper, "*Your* Dana?" He stiffens just slightly, and then his hand slides from mine and his arm lifts to encircle my shoulders, pulling me closer to his side. His lips touch my temple. "I missed Valentine's Day, Scully," he murmurs against my skin. "Be mine?" God. How can this man send me from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other without batting an eye? I blink back the sudden burn of tears and nestle myself into his side. I can't even answer, but luckily, I'm rescued by the reappearance of Noelle. "Mr. Mulder, I found some hand cream," she says softly, holding out a small tube with a smile. Keeping his arm in place around my shoulders, Mulder reaches for the lotion and smiles. "Thanks so much, Noelle," he says in his most charming tone. "Dana and I both really appreciate it." Noelle glances at me, and I manage a swift smile and nod, still not quite trusting my voice. When she's gone, Mulder drops the lotion in his lap, then finally extracts his arm from around me, reaching under the blanket to pull my hands out and laying them in my lap. He picks the lotion back up, opens it, and squirts a blob into his hand before recapping it and dropping it back into his lap. I frown in confusion. "Mulder, what ..." Before I can finish, he's picked up my right hand and is spreading the warm cream across my skin. His fingers press lightly as they move, working the lotion in thoroughly, massaging gently. God, this feels wonderful ... I guess that's the idea. Well. I have two options. Make some sort of effort to turn this back to my original plan ... or just sit back and enjoy myself. I'll take option two, I do believe ... ========== I think she's on to me. Not that it matters. Scully is cuddled up against my side, breathing softly as I work the hand lotion into her skin. Her hands are so small and delicate -- they were among the first things I noticed about her all those years ago when she first walked into my office, and I've always admired them. I softly and gently stroke the back of her hand, thoroughly exploring every square centimeter. I can feel the tendons, and the long, long finger bones that reach almost down to her wrist. Her hand twitches slightly as I touch the back of her wrist, but then I let my fingers move away, back up towards her knuckles. I massage each of her fingers in turn, not forgetting to pay special attention to the sensitive spaces between each pair of fingers, and also to the webbing between her thumb and forefinger. Scully shivers slightly as I touch her there, and so I spend just a little extra time and effort on that spot, stroking and rubbing all around the base of her thumb. I find myself becoming surprisingly turned on by all of this. I mean, I've been in a low state of arousal all week, but this ... this is really getting to me, and I've barely even begun. Scully seems to be liking it pretty well, too, judging by the way she's pressing up against me and breathing against my neck, and of course that just makes it better for me, too. I want her aroused, I want her so turned on she can't even see straight -- and I want to know that it was me that did it to her. I turn her hand over and start to work on her palm, grazing my fingers lightly across her skin in a slow, slow, circular motion. Part of what I said to Noelle actually is true; I really do worry about Scully's skin, considering all of the harsh soaps, disinfectants and other chemicals she has to use in her daily work. Just about the only upside to our period of exile with Kersh was that she wasn't exposed to such things, but I know she wasn't happy. She's too much like me; she's never happy unless she's got her proper work. Her hands are simply amazing. Just the right amount of fleshiness overlying muscle and bone. I lightly trace the path of her lifeline, first out towards her fingers, and then back down again to her wrist. Her hands are so strong and sure, so knowledgeable and decisive -- it suddenly strikes me that Scully's hands are almost like a metaphor for her entire self. Everything that she is, everything that makes her Scully, is exemplified in her hands. I trail my fingertips one more time up and down her lifeline before I finally abandon her hand, and now I gently tease and caress the inside of her wrist. Scully sighs slightly and snuggles a little closer, and I can't resist the urge to chuckle. "Getting more relaxed, Agent Scully?" I ask. She doesn't say anything, but simply shakes her head as it rests against my shoulder, and I continue to stroke and tickle the sensitive patch of skin that I've found. And finally I lift her hand to my lips and kiss her palm before lightly running my tongue along the inside of her wrist. Scully moans. ========== I bite the moan off almost as soon as it starts, realizing suddenly just exactly where we are. The last thing I want to do is draw unwanted attention to us, because then we'd be compelled to stop. Mulder chuckles lightly, lifting his head from my arm and leaning across to bring his lips close to my ear and whisper: "Now, now, Agent Scully, do you want me to have to keep you quiet?" My mind quickly turns over the possibilities, and I manage to keep the next moan low in my throat as his lips travel down the curve of my neck and settle in the hollow of my throat. My hands move of their own accord, one gripping his left knee and the other settling at the back of his head. His right hand, I quickly realize, is skimming lightly over my upper thighs, brushing along the soft wool of my pants. For a moment I wish desperately that I'd worn a skirt today -- a short one -- but then his fingers deftly work my belt buckle, pulling the thin leather strap apart, and I realize it really doesn't matter. At this point, I doubt even a chastity belt would stop him. Not that I want him to stop. Oh, no. He can keep this up for the rest of our lives. His hand has shifted up, tugging the hem of my blouse from my waistband to allow him access to the skin of my stomach. I swallow another groan as he brings his other hand into play, sliding it down from my shoulder to skim along the edge of my breast. He keeps up this sweet torture for what seems like hours, one hand caressing the curve of my breast but never reaching the nipple, while the other traces soft patterns around my navel. I'm shivering already, and he's barely even touching me. And then he raises the hand under my blouse to cover my right breast, and my head drops back against the seat. ========== I think Scully's really starting to get into this. I know *I* am. I pause for just a moment in my ministrations to her neck and draw my head back to admire my handiwork. And Scully's beautiful; she's simply beautiful: Head thrown back, face flushed, eyes squinched tightly shut. Her lips are slightly parted, and she's breathing in short, irregular gasps. My right hand is still underneath her blouse, lightly cupping one breast through the thin material of her bra, and every time my thumb brushes against her nipple she shudders. But there are a couple of problems here. The first is that her blouse is just too damned confining, while the second -- well, we'll deal with that in a minute. One thing at a time. First the blouse. While continuing to lightly tease and caress her breast with my right hand, I send my left down to gather up the blanket and draw it up until she's completely covered from the neck down, gently but firmly tucking the corners in around her shoulders. Then that same hand dives back beneath the blanket and goes to work on the buttons of her blouse. Ah. Much better. I flex the fingers of my right hand, the one holding her breast, and then I lightly trail them across her skin, tracing the outline of her bra until I come to what is unmistakably a clasp in the valley between those two heavenly mounds. Scully's eyes are open now, and I can see just the slightest flicker of unease at things having moved this far this quickly. She opens her mouth as if to speak, perhaps to tell me it's time to stop, or at least slow down, but before she can get out even a single word I pop the clasp, and then my hand brushes her bra aside and my fingers close upon a bare nipple and give it a firm, delicate squeeze. Oh boy. Oh Jesus. Oh wow. That was better than I'd hoped. Pinching Scully's nipple seems to have set off a complex chain of physiological reactions, almost as if she'd stuck her finger in an electric outlet. One of her hands is now tightly clutching the back of my head while the other is digging mercilessly into my left thigh. The very tip of her tongue is sticking out between her lips, and she's biting down on it in an obvious attempt to keep from making any noise, and I swear to heaven her eyes are crossed. God. If only I had a camera. I move a little closer to her, and as I did earlier I slip my left arm around her shoulders, while my right hand continues to browse across her breasts. I realize now that I didn't give Scully's breasts nearly enough attention during our one previous encounter, and I'm determined to make up for lost time. And now for problem number two. Actually, it's a two part problem, part A being the inevitable one of height differential -- but that's just something we're going to have to learn to work around if we want this relationship to last. Part B, however, is more situational, and revolves around the self-evident fact that the engineers at Boeing did not have sex in mind when they designed the passenger seats in the 727. Necessity, however, is the mother of invention, and Scully is about as off-guard as she's going to get, and so without any preamble or warning I slide my right hand away from her breasts and down to her hip, and finally slip that arm under her thighs and scoop her up and into my lap. ========== Oh my God. I can't quite believe I'm doing this. I've never in my *life* had sex in a public place, and while we're not quite having sex, it's near enough. But it's been a miserable week, it's late ... and this just feels too damned good to stop. Mulder just pulled me into his lap, and it took every ounce of willpower in my body not to gasp out loud in surprise. That would have drawn entirely too much attention. He's shifting me around now, turning a little sideways in the seat so his legs stretch out toward the window instead of the aisle. I'm sitting on his left thigh, leaning against the seat, with my legs dangling between his legs and the back of the row in front of us. It takes me a minute to figure out that he's popped open the button on my slacks and is easing the zipper down. One corner of my protective blanket has slipped from my shoulder, and I lift a shaky hand to draw it back up ... just as his hand slips down to cup me through my panties. I bite back another moan and thrust my hips against his fingers, silently begging for his touch, but he responds by pulling his hand away. For a second I consider throttling him -- justifiable homicide, I'd say -- but then he redeems himself by dipping his head under the blanket and latching that wonderful mouth onto my left nipple. Oooohhhhhh ... mmmmmm .... Jesus, he's gooood at this ... His hand is in motion again, stroking my abdomen just above the elastic of my panties, dipping just under the edge of the cloth to tease the top fringe of the curls there. His mouth has traveled to my other breast, his tongue trailing slowly around the nipple without touching it directly. And then my stomach lurches, and I hit freefall for about a second before landing, hard, right back in Mulder's lap. ========== Scully's breasts. God -- I'm licking Dana Scully's breasts. And I'm not just licking them -- I'm kissing and sucking and very, VERY gently nibbling on them. And she appreciates the attention. Boy does she appreciate the attention. I can tell from the way she's softly squirming on my lap, rubbing her soft round bottom against my erection and wrapping both arms around my head to hold it tightly in place as I suckle on her. I'm sure under normal circumstances she'd be expressing her appreciation vocally as well, but my Scully is nothing if not self-disciplined. Abruptly the plane dips and surges as it hits an air pocket, and I figure out what's about to happen just in time to pull my mouth -- and teeth -- away from her nipple. Scully is briefly airborne, then comes slamming back down onto my lap, and I guess maybe there is a god after all because by sheerest chance her center lands directly on my hard-on. Before I can even begin to consciously process what's happening my own hips are bucking reflexively and thrusting back up against her. I can feel her body quivering and shuddering in response, but still no sound escapes her lips, and somehow I manage to keep quiet, too. I pull my head back out from under the blanket to take another look at what must surely qualify as the eighth wonder of the world: Scully's face contorted in passion. She's continuing to grind her ass against my erection, her eyes once again squinched tightly shut while she chews on her lower lip, which apparently is her current strategy for staying quiet. I think it's time to finish this. My right hand, which has been resting quietly on her lower abdomen for the last several minutes, now starts sliding downwards. My fingers slip easily beneath the elastic of her panties, and in another moment my hand is gently cupping the center of her arousal. If suckling on Dana Scully's breasts was a profound experience, having my hand pressing up against her crotch while my fingers tangle in her curls is simply awe-inspiring. Scully seems to like it, too, judging from the way she's tossing her head from side to side and breathing in short, ragged gasps. My index finger gently nudges apart her outer lips, and God is she wet. Sweet Jesus. As my finger lightly explores her intimate folds her body shudders repeatedly and she tightens her arms around my neck. And then I finally reach my ultimate goal and she presses her face against my shoulder and growls. ========== Oh God. Oh God. How the *hell* am I supposed to keep quiet during *this*?? Jeeee-sus ... I don't have any idea how people can ever have sex in public places without getting arrested. Oh God ... Mulder's mouth has abandoned my breasts in favor of a return trip to my neck, but I barely notice the loss, considering what he's doing with his hand. Those long fingers are just perfect for this, gracefully dipping into my wetness and then running in tight little circles around my clit. He pushes his middle finger slowly into me as far as it will go, then withdraws it just as slowly and goes back in with two, thrusting gently in and out. Meanwhile, his mouth is drifting up to my ear, then across my cheek to my lips, which part instinctively to allow him inside, his tongue quickly falling into rhythm with his fingers. I can't stop moving, grinding myself against his hand and mouth -- not mention his erection. I allow myself to moan into the kiss, the sound waves reverberating through our bodies but not escaping into the air. Still kissing me thoroughly, he slides his fingers out and begins to stroke the skin just above my vagina, and I feel an intense rush of fire throughout my body. Oh God ... right there ... yeah ... oh ... how did ... how did he know? No one's ever ... He presses harder, rubbing firmly in short strokes from clit to vagina without touching either. My hips are moving mindlessly now, and I've abandoned the idea of kissing him back, although his tongue is still exploring my mouth. I can already feel the climax building from my toes. A few more strokes, and his fingers are back inside, thrusting firmly and twisting just slightly from side to side with each plunge. My hips fall into his rhythm only momentarily before getting out of control again. And then he pulls out, and two soaking-wet fingertips fall onto my clit, rubbing firmly and without mercy. And my entire body convulses against his. ========== And her entire body convulses against mine. This is amazing. Just simply amazing. I've never seen anything like it in my life. If she gets like this just from having my hand on her, I can't wait to see the consequences of some of the other activities I have planned for the near future. Gradually she starts to come down a little, and as her body relaxes she sags towards me until she's just curled up in my arms like a rag doll. My hand continues lightly stroking her oversensitive center, helping her finish off as the aftershocks go shuddering through her, until finally she squeezes my hand with her thighs and I take that as the signal to stop. Her head is resting against my shoulder again, and her breath is warm and moist against my neck. I feel a slight tickle against my skin, and after a moment I realize that it's her lips brushing my throat. And then I hear her voice, just barely audible, and she's simply murmuring my name over and over and over. This is by any measure one of the most profoundly intimate moments of my life, just sitting here in this airline seat cuddling Scully in my arms as she winds down from her orgasm. Last week, after our first time together, I did have some vague guilt feelings over not having given her the pleasure she'd given me, but if that night was anything like as good for her as the last half hour has been good for me, I guess I don't have anything to feel bad about after all. This is incredible. Unfortunately it's not going to last much longer, because I catch some movement out of the corner of my eye, and glancing up I see our old friend Noelle gradually working her way down the aisle in our direction. We must be getting ready to land, because she's stopping to speak to some of the passengers, and I can see people on the aisle stretching and reaching for their seatbelts. I turn back to Scully and press my lips against her forehead before saying, "Hey, love ..." And my throat suddenly constricts and I feel a tremor pass from my body to hers and then back again as I realize that this is the first time either of us has used that particular word in this particular context. I clear my throat and try again. "Company's coming, love." There, I said it again. Scully's head lifts from my shoulder and she looks up at me a little blearily. "I think we're about to land," I add, and she smiles sleepily and nods, and I just can't resist giving her one more kiss, even as my hand slips out of her pants and starts re-buttoning her blouse. ========== It takes until Mulder's refastened two buttons for me to realize exactly what's going on. I'm half-undressed, still sitting in his lap, and the flight attendant -- Noelle -- is slowly but steadily making her way toward us. Comprehension spurs me to action, and I gently move Mulder's hands away and finish refastening my clothes, not bothering to tuck my blouse back in. The wet crotch of my panties is quickly growing cold and uncomfortable, but it's a feeling I think I can live with for a while. Bracing a hand on the edge of the seat, I slide off of Mulder and back into my own place, shrugging the blanket off in the process. Mulder has a small smile on his face as he loosely refolds the cloth and rises -- a bit uncomfortably, I notice -- to stuff it back into the overhead compartment ... and if I didn't know better I'd say those were tears I saw in his eyes. Come to think of it ... maybe they were ... //...love...// I smooth my hands over my clothes and hair, taking several deep breaths to slow my still-pounding heart, then reach for my seat belt. I fumble with the clasp, my hands still a little shaky ... ... and then Mulder's hands cover mine, sliding the belt into place. He lingers there, his hands wrapped around mine, and I lift my face to look at him. His eyes are still soft, but I spy the mischievious twinkle deep inside just before he speaks: "So ... does that qualify us for the Mile High Club?" he asks, in a mildly teasing tone. Despite my better judgement, I feel the grin breaking across my face. "I don't know, Mulder," I reply lightly. "I mean, if there's no penetration, it probably doesn't qualify." He shrugs. "Only one way to find out," he says, then turns toward Noelle, who's at the row in front of us. "Noelle?" he says. "We have a question ..." It's all I can do to keep from clapping one hand over his mouth to shut him up. Instead, I hiss out, "Mulder!" Noelle's smiling as she turns in our direction. "What can I help you with, Mr. Mulder?" she asks. "Actually," I jump in quickly, in my sweetest tone of voice, "we were just wondering how long we had before we land. *My Fox* was just about to use the restroom ..." I can practically feel Mulder's chagrin, although I'm not sure if it's from what I said, or the fact that I used his first name. I don't dare look at him, but I'm concentrating so hard not to that I barely register Noelle's reply that it'll be just a few minutes and he should wait until we're on the ground. Finally, Noelle turns to speak to the men across the aisle, and I chance a quick look at Mulder. He's staring at me, his face is a mixture of shock and embarrassment, and he says, "Care to explain *that*, Agent Scully? I give a slow, lazy grin, lean back against my seat and close my eyes, and murmur, "Payback's a bitch, isn't it, Agent Mulder?" ============================================================= ============================================================= ========== Alternatives 4: Escape It's inevitable, but ... things don't always go smoothly, now, do they? "God Himself could not sink this ship" -- Edward J. Smith, Captain of the RMS Titanic, just before her maiden voyage. Can you say "hubris," boys and girls? I knew you could ... ========== I've always hated waking up in the morning. Even when I was a kid, even before Sam was taken, I hated it. And after she was gone ... well, it just never seemed like it was worth it. This morning is different, though. This morning, for the second time in my long, miserable life, I woke up in a nice warm bed with Dana Scully curled up in my arms, still sound asleep. And the fact that this time it's Saturday morning rather than a work day, and so I get to lie here and look at her for as long as I want ... well, that's just the icing on the cake. We got back to Washington National late last night, after spending four horrifying days shuttling back and forth between Las Vegas, Nevada, and St. George, Utah. We had no time for anything personal during those four days, and no energy, either -- which is probably just as well, since Scully and I have yet to sit down and work out just what the ground rules are going to be for this new relationship we've embarked on. Although I did manage a certain amount of payback on the flight home ... I was really, really tired by the time we'd claimed our luggage and trudged out to long-term parking to retrieve Scully's car. Hell, we were BOTH tired, but I was so completely out of it that I didn't even notice where she was taking us until the car came to a stop and I opened my eyes to find that we were parked outside her apartment building. I turned to look at her, raising my eyebrows in question, and she arched an eyebrow of her own right back at me -- my Scully is nothing if not assertive -- and said, "Agent Mulder, we've just had the week from hell, and at this very moment we are supposed to be making love in front of a roaring fire in a cabin in the Alleghenies. The fact that this did not happen is not your fault, it was just one of those things, and tonight we're both way too tired to really enjoy ourselves." And here she grabbed my necktie and yanked on it until my face was about three inches from her own. "But we are going to do this, Mulder. Tomorrow. First thing. And I am not letting you out of my sight until we do. Got it?" What could I say to something like that? I put my best leer on my face and replied, "Are you coming on to me, Agent Scully?" She arched her eyebrow at me again, but I could see a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You're a trained investigator," she said. "You figure it out." And then she let go of my tie and we got out of the car and went upstairs and stripped off our clothes and went to bed. And so here I am on a cheery Saturday morning in late February, lying in Dana Scully's bed, with the lady of the house curled up in my arms and wearing one of my t-shirts as a nightgown. Wow. I suppose eventually I'll get used to this, but the truth of the matter is that I don't really want to. Get used to it, I mean. God knows I want to make love to her, and one of my more amazing feats of forebearance has been to lie here with Scully in my arms for the past thirty minutes waiting for her to wake up. And it seems that my patience is about to be rewarded, because Scully is stirring slightly in my arms. Her eyes flicker open, and she gives me a slow, sweet smile that's simply breathtaking in its innocent eroticism. "Good morning, Sunshine," I say, returning her smile with interest. She shakes her head sleepily, never taking her eyes from mine. "Is it still morning?" "Damned if I know," I reply with a light chuckle. "But if it is, it's not by much." Scully laughs softly and cuddles just a little closer, and rubs her body against mine. "Mmmm. I could definitely get used to this." For a few minutes we just lie there together, cuddling and touching and feeling each other's bodies. This is nice. This is really, really nice. It sure took us a long time to get to this point -- six years of pain and heartache and hardship. But now we're finally here, and this is going to be for us. No more frustration, no more obstacles, not even any payback bullshit. Just me and Scully, just as soon as we're ready. I think I'm ready. I let my right hand slide lightly down her back and across her hip, until finally it finds the hem of the t-shirt she's wearing. My t-shirt. I don't know why it's so intimate and arousing for her to wear my clothes, but it is. MY t-shirt. MY Scully. Me Tarzan; you Jane. Real caveman stuff, and I guess I should be embarrassed by these feelings, but this morning I can't seem to make myself feel anything other than profoundly happy. I pause for just a moment and look into her eyes, drinking in the love and desire that I find there, and then my hand slips under her shirt and starts traveling upward again, finally coming to rest on her left buttock. Scully shifts her hips slightly in appreciation, rubbing her softness against my hardness, and we both moan softly. Then she gives a very creditable imitation of my best leer, and says, "Are you coming on to me, Agent Mulder?" I can't help but laugh at that, and I give her ass a firm but delicate squeeze as I reply, "You're a trained investigator; you figure it out." And I lean forward and capture her earlobe between my teeth. And the phone rings. ========== Story of my life ... I'm warm and comfortable in my own bed, wrapped up in Mulder's arms, with nothing but panties, boxers, and one of his t-shirts between us ... ... and the phone rings. Any other time, I'd probably let the machine get it. But I know who it's going to be: Mom. She calls every Saturday morning without fail, unless she knows I'm out of town, and I never got a chance to call her before we left this week. So if I don't answer, she'll get worried, and she'll probably either call the landlord to check on me or come over here herself. Neither of which sounds like a good idea right now. So, reluctantly, I untangle myself from Mulder, stifling a giggle at his mock-pouting expression, and reach for the phone on the bedside table. "Hello?" I answer. "Good morning, Dana," Mom says, her voice scratchy. "Mom? You okay?" Oh, God. The one time I leave town without telling her, and she gets sick ... She pauses to clear her throat before replying. "I'm fine, honey," she says. "Just had a little cold this week, and my voice isn't quite back to normal yet." I'm not convinced. Mothers are notorious for downplaying their own illness, and mine is no exception. "Are you sure, Mom?" I say. "Did you go to the doctor?" She gives a light laugh. "No, honey. I really didn't feel bad at all. I just coughed and sneezed for a couple of days. I drank a lot of juice and water and took some zinc and cold medicine, and really, I'm fine." I relax a little at this. It usually takes a little effort to get her to admit to being sick, but when she comes clean, she doesn't stretch the truth. So I believe her. "So how are you, Dana?" she asks -- and that's when I realize Mulder's hands have stolen back around my waist and are slowly creeping upwards. That man ... he was probably as concerned about Mom as I was and waited for me to relax before making his move. If Mom HAD been sick, I have no doubts that he'd be doing his best to convince me to go take care of her. But if I think she's okay, he trusts my judgment ... and can turn his attention back to other things. Distracted by Mulder's fingers, I'm slow in answering, and now it's Mom's turn to get worried. "Dana? Is everything okay?" I quickly give myself a mental shake. "Everything's fine, Mom," I answer. "I just had a late night. I didn't get a chance to call before we left, but Mulder and I just got back from a case, and our flight didn't get in until almost three." "Oh, honey, I didn't wake you, did I?" Mom's voice is equal parts chagrined and apologetic, and I rush to reassure her. "No, w -- I was already awake," I reply, wincing at my near slip-up. Mulder's hand tightens on my hip for just a second, and I know he caught it, too. "Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to go to lunch, but I know you want to take it easy today," Mom says. "We can get together tomorrow instead, if you like." "That sounds good, Mom," I say. "I *am* still a little tired today, and there's a few things I need to get done around here." I smile to myself at the unintentional dual meaning in my statement. "All right, dear," she says. "I'll let you go. You get some rest, and give me a call later to talk about tomorrow." "Okay, Mom. Bye." Her goodbye echoes in my ear as I click the phone off and place it back on the table. From over my shoulder, Mulder murmurs, "So ... your schedule's still clear for today?" I smile slowly, my hands coming up to wrap over his. "I think I can squeeze you in," I reply, leaning back against his chest. And then I frown. "But I think maybe I need a shower and breakfast first," I say thoughtfully. ========== Breakfast? Breakfast? "Breakfast, Scully?" I ask. "Breakfast? Don't you think that could wait a little while?" I reclaim her earlobe and nibble on it lightly, and she shivers, and for just a moment I think maybe she's changed her mind again. But then she gently pushes me away, rolls out of bed and onto her feet and stretches sensuously. "Breakfast, Mulder," she says. "Breakfast AND a shower. I, at least, am hungry enough to eat a horse, and we both need to clean up after the trip last night. I want us both nice and clean so that we can work up a good sweat together, and I DON'T want to be thinking about food while we're doing it." It's hard to argue with logic like that, but I give it my best shot. Climbing off the bed and wrapping my arms around her waist again, I say, "I bet I can take your mind off of food, Agent Scully." "I dunno, Mulder," she murmurs as she snuggles into my embrace. "English muffins or sex. Tough call." She looks up at me and arches her eyebrow. "Besides -- are you saying you don't want to take a shower with me?" She lifts her hand and traces a path across my chest with her finger, finally circling -- but not quite touching -- my right nipple. "I'll let you wash my hair." Shit. Ten days into this relationship, and she already knows exactly which buttons to push. I sigh in mock resignation, and release her from the embrace and follow her out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom. # # # Mmmmm, I could *definitely* get used to this ... I can't help quick grin as I step into the bathroom and head for the shower stall. Mulder may be a complicated man, but some things are certainly cut-and-dried -- getting him into the shower with me among them. I don't have EVERY little detail figured out -- and probably never will -- but I do know a few ways to get him to do what I want. I start the water running and am pulling a big bath sheet and a couple of smaller towels out of the linen closet when Mulder finally meanders in, yawning. I just look at him for a minute, standing there a little uncertainly, his morning erection tenting his boxers and his eyelids drooping a little. I smile and drop the towels over the bar on the shower door, then slip my hands under the long t-shirt and hook my fingers into my panties, pushing them quickly down and off. I hear Mulder take a sharp breath, and when I look back up at him, his eyes are wide open and his lips are parted. Jeez. You'd think he'd never seen a nearly-naked woman ... ... but then, come to think of it, he hasn't seen *me*. Well, except for that Antarctic escapade, which I don't think really counts, since I was pretty much out of it and coverded with goo. Smiling again, softly, I hold out my hand to him, and the fire that jumps into his eyes makes me suck in a steadying breath of my own. When I can speak again a few seconds later, I say, "C'mon, let's get cleaned up." He seems to relax then and walks towards me, taking my hand as he moves. I turn back toward the shower to test the water temperature, then drop his hand and reach for the hem of my -- his -- t-shirt. But he stops me. "No," he says, a teasing tone -- and maybe a little bit of a challenge -- entering his voice. "Leave it on." My right eyebrow takes an involuntary climb toward my hairline, and I lower my hands to my hips, a grin twitching along my mouth. "Wet t-shirt fantasies, Agent Mulder?" I ask dryly. He grins, then lets the expression degenerate into an outright leer. "You've seen my videos," he says, his bland tone a stark contrast to the look on his face. It feels good to laugh after this hellacious week, the combined sounds echoing off the tiles. And we're still grinning as I step into the stall, holding the door open for him to follow. ========== Jesus. This morning just keeps getting better and better. Scully is standing under the shower in her t-shirt -- MY t-shirt -- with her face turned up into the spray, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. The water is rapidly soaking the t-shirt and plastering it against her skin, and she's running her hands up and down her flanks from her breasts to her hips. Her erect nipples and her mound of intimate curls are clearly visible through the t-shirt, and why the FUCK am I just standing here watching this? In an instant I've dropped my boxers to the floor, and in another instant I've stepped into the stall and wrapped my arms around her, and she turns into my embrace. Her arms slip around my waist and for a moment we just stand there together under the warm shower, our bodies pressed up against each other. It's now official. More new ground has been broken. I am taking a shower with Dana Scully. Scully turns slightly in my arms and reaches around behind herself to grab the soap, then turns back towards me again. And she begins to wash me. Jesus, this is intense. She begins by working up a good thick lather on my chest. The bar of soap glides across my skin, leaving a soapy trail wherever it passes, up and down, side to side. Once she's got a good thick lather built up she puts the soap back in its holder and starts using her hands to spread it around. Down to my abdomen, up and down my flanks, up to my shoulders and neck. She spends just a little extra time "cleaning" my nipples, and my cock pulses with pleasure each time she touches them. "God, Scully," I say. "God, this feels so good." I close my eyes and rest my head on top of hers as she continues to wash and caress my upper body. She lifts my arms so that she can work the lather into my armpits, and then gently and lovingly smooths the soap along my upper arms, then down my forearms and finally onto my hands. "Turn around," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the spray, and I don't want to lose the contact with her that I've got, but I can't disobey her, not now, and so I do as I'm told. There's a brief pause, and then I feel the bar of soap skimming across my upper back as she gently scrubs my shoulder blades. Then the soap bar is gone again, and it's just her hands, Scully's hands, gliding and touching and caressing my back, working their way steadily down my spine. Finally she reaches my ass, and sweet Jesus this is good. Scully has one hand on each cheek, and she's really not washing at all, she's just lightly grazing her fingertips across my skin. I feel as if every hair on my body must be standing on end, and my cock is now throbbing desperately for her touch. Then abruptly her hands are gone, and I hold my breath, waiting to see what's going to happen next. And Scully's hands descend on my ass once again and she squeezes firmly, and I rise up on my toes and groan. ========== I just couldn't resist that. God, I've been watching that ass move under his pants for so long, and I just had to touch it. And he apparently liked the idea, from the groan he let out. I give another squeeze, and his knees buckle slightly, his arms shooting out to brace against the wall in front of him. I relax my hands and smooth my palms over the skin, wrapping my fingers around to cup his hips, and push in opposite directions, silently telling him to turn around. His erection brushes my hands as he turns, and a violent shudder goes through him at the brief contact. He's been hard since I woke up, and I don't know how long he was lying there awake before that. Somehow I don't think he's going to make it through breakfast in this condition. And now that I think of it, I wouldn't really want him to. He'll have time to recover ... Smiling, I reach for the shampoo, diverting my hand from my first choice -- the floral scented, which I don't think he'd appreciate -- to the lemon scented. Still maybe not the best choice, but those are the only two I have at the moment. I bring the bottle down and flip open the cap -- and Mulder's hand closes over mine. I look up at him, puzzled, and he draws the open bottle toward his face, closes his eyes, and inhales the scent deeply. And moans. Holy shit. He's turned on by the *shampoo*? Testing my theory, I waft the bottle gently under his nose and drop my gaze to his erection. He moans again, and his cock jerks, just slightly. Hmmmm. Interesting reaction. I smile and look back up at him. He's leaning sideways against the wall, his eyes still closed and his breathing ragged. "So you like the shampoo?" I ask, my voice husky from a combination of steam and arousal. He opens one eye to look at me and grins ruefully. "You could say that," he says, his voice shaky. I tip the bottle up and pour a small amount into the palm of my hand, then slip the bottle back into the shower rack and motion with my free hand. "Bend forward," I say. Amazingly, he doesn't question me, just leans far enough down for me to reach his hair. I reach up and start working the shampoo in, the scent of lemons quickly filling the shower stall as the lather builds. I press my fingertips firmly against his scalp, rubbing in small circles, just the way I like my own scalp massaged. I don't know if he loves this as much as I do, but I don't think it's possible for this to be a *bad* thing ... And then he lets out another groan, and I decide he's enjoying it, all right. ========== God. She's trying to kill me. That's the only explanation for this. This is far from the first time I've taken a shower with a woman, but it has never been like this before. In the past it always just seemed like a means to an end, but Scully ... Scully is turning it into an end in its own right. God ... She's working her fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp and building up the lather at the same time. The stall is filled with the scent of lemons -- that wonderful smell that always goes straight to my groin. It's always been my favorite of her two shampoos, and encountering that smell now, in this setting ... it's very nearly overpowering. I suddenly remember that I'm allowed to touch her now, and as her hands work their way down past my ears I bring my own hands down to stroke her hips -- only to encounter wet cotton instead of Scullyskin. Shit. The t-shirt. I'd forgotten about the t-shirt. It seemed cute and sexy and very, very arousing when we started this, but now it's just a barrier, and so I reach down and find the hem and pull it off over her head and toss it in a corner of the stall. Scully chuckles and raises her arms briefly to cooperate, then returns to working on my hair, and I reach for her hips again and pull her close until our bodies are in full contact, and for a moment the stall is filled with the sound of our groans. As she continues to work on my scalp we rub our wet, soapy bodies together. The feeling of her skin moving against mine ... Jesus. It's just incredible. It's indescribable. I don't see how she can expect me to wait for breakfast after this. Maybe she'll settle for a slice of toast and a cup of orange juice. How long can that take? "Okay, lover, let's get you rinsed off." Her voice is low and rough, like raw silk, and she moves out of my arms and maneuvers me around until I'm standing directly under the spray, and her lovely, delicate hands are grazing over my flesh to help rinse off the soap. She's standing behind me again, and thank God she's got her body pressed up against mine and is continuing the mutual body massage even as her hands work to sluice the soap off of me. I'm bracing my hands against the wall again, and even so it's all I can do to keep from sliding down on the floor. God this is good. This is so very, very good. I can't believe I let six years go by before discovering this side of Dana Scully. Jesus ... so much wasted time ... And then without any warning at all she wraps her fingers around my cock. ========== I'll take the gasp to mean he didn't expect *that*. "Sc ..." An attempt at my name comes next, along with an involuntary thrust. My hands are wet and a little soapy as I slide them slowly up and down his cock, not roughly but with a definite sense of purpose. Gentle enough not to be painful, but firm enough to take him within seconds past the point of even token resistance. He's basically panting now, and he's slid one forearm flat against the wall, lowering his forehead to rest against it. His hips are moving in tiny little thrusts, a little jerkily but in rhythm with my strokes, and when I brush the fingers of one hand across his sac, he lets out another long moan. I answer the moan, pressing my body more firmly against him, and speed up my hands a little. I glance up at his profile to see his eyes squeezed shut, water cascading down the back of his head, and his mouth moving in the shape of words. I catch what looks like an attempt at my name, and it brings a smile to my face. I hold him off long enough to make his climax enjoyable rather than painful, and then increase the pressure and speed gradually until his legs and back stiffen against me. And then he's coming, his body thrusting and shaking, little pants and gasps escaping his mouth. As he starts to wind down, I give his cock one last squeeze and slide my hands back to his hips, giving him a little more support to stay upright while he recovers. The water quickly washes away the "evidence," and after a few minutes Mulder pushes himself away from the wall, turns under the spray, and wraps his arms around me, bringing his mouth down hard on mine. Our kiss is both sweetly intimate and intensely erotic, tongues moving slowly but firmly inside each other's mouths. Mulder's hands move in opposite directions, one going up to tangle in my wet hair, and the other gliding down to cup my ass and pull my lower body flush with his. We both groan into our kiss, the sound mingling with those of rushing water and lips and tongues moving against each other. Mulder starts carefully turning around until I'm standing directly in the spray, water hitting right on my shoulders. He pulls away from the kiss gently, then starts dropping smaller kisses over my face as he reaches up behind me. I quickly figure out he's going for the shampoo, and an anticipatory smile breaks out on my face. Sure enough, he pours out a little in the palm of his hand, then put the bottle back and works up a little lather between his hands before lifting them to my head. My eyes fall shut as he begins to work the suds into my hair, his fingers mimicking the movements mine made along his scalp a few minutes earlier. Oh, God. I thought I enjoyed this ordinarily. Add Mulder, a shower, and an expanse of wet skin to the equation, and I'm about to dissolve completely. His hands are nothing short of magic. The pads of his fingers rub small circles over every square inch of my scalp, from the crown of my head to the nape of my neck, increasing the pressure along the sides and back. After a few minutes, he tilts my head back gently, into the spray, and starts combing his fingers carefully through the wet strands to rinse away the lather. Mmmmm ... I think this shampoo is quickly becoming my favorite, too ... Finished rinsing, Mulder lifts my head back upright and reaches for the rack again, coming back with my conditioner this time and pouring a liberal amount into his hand. He works it through just as thoroughly, paying closer attention to the ends this time, and I feel a small laugh bubbling up. "Something funny?" he growls out, never pausing in his movements, and I laugh a little more. "Just wondering when you got to be an expert on hair care," I reply saucily I jump and let out an involuntary yelp when I feel an unexpected pinch on the left side of my ass. "Mulder!" I exclaim, as I hear laughter rumbling in his chest. He dips my head back to rinse again, taking a little longer this time, and when he pulls my head back up, he wraps one hand around the back of my neck and pulls me into another sensual kiss. We're a little messier with this one, tongues and teeth and lips colliding with less grace than passion. Our hands are grasping and kneading at just about any expanse of skin we can reach, and low groans and half-words escape our mouths in small spurts. Unfortunately, right in the middle of that amazing kiss ... the hot water runs out, and we're doused with a sudden spray of freezing-cold water. ========== "JEEEE--ZZUSSSSS!!!!" The sudden shift in water temperature catches us both completely by surprise; an instant later we're both out of the stall and standing there dripping wet in the middle of Scully's bathroom. Scully gives a little laugh and shakes her head, then reaches back into the stall and turns the water off. "S-sorry," she says, still laughing. I chuckle lightly. "S'okay. I think we were rapidly approaching the point where something softer and more horizontal was called for, anyway." And I wrap my arms around her and draw her into another soul-searing kiss. God ... this woman can kiss. I mean, she is really, really good at this. Already I'm starting to get hard again, which I wouldn't have thought was possible at my age. It must be Scully; it's the only explanation. She's really putting her whole body into this kiss, from the soft moans of pleasure, to her hands gently stroking my back, to her hips shifting rhythmically against me. Jesus ... Finally we have to break for air. After a couple of deep breaths, I murmur, "So ... someplace softer and more horizontal?" She chuckles and shakes her head. "Breakfast, Mulder. And not just toast and OJ, either; a real breakfast." "Scully..." I bend down and start planting kisses on her neck, and she sighs and leans closer against me for moment as I work my way up towards her ear. Finally, though, she pushes me gently away. "Breakfast, Mulder," she repeats. "Now." And she grabs the towels she'd set aside earlier and hands one to me, wraps another one around herself and grabs a third for her hair, I suppose, and we head back for the bedroom. ========== I manage to get Mulder into clean boxers without too much fuss and send him into the kitchen with instructions to start coffee and dig around to see what's still fresh in my fridge. All this traveling is tough on my food supplies; if I ever dare stock up on fresh fruits and vegetables, it's a sure bet that we'll be called off across the country within days, and I'll be left with a refrigerator full of spoilage. I dry myself off quickly and slip into my favorite terrycloth robe, then towel my hair until it's just damp before grabbing a comb. I step back into the bathroom to hang our towels up to dry, then start combing my hair as I pad back down the hall and into the living room. As I pass the phone, I realize I haven't checked my messages since I got home. I already heard from mom, but the light is giving a double blink, so I pause to see who the other call was from. *beeeeep* "Hi Dana, this is Mom, I guess you're still at work. It's about 6:30 on Friday night, so give me a call if it's not too late when you get in." *beeeeep* "Dana, this is Ralph. I lucked out and got tickets to the Hoyas basketball game tomorrow afternoon, and I thought this would be a good chance for us to get to know each other better. Call me if you're busy; otherwise I'll stop by at noon to pick you up." Oh, shit. My eyes fly to the clock on my desk ... 11:58 a.m. And there's a knock at the door. "Scully?" Mulder's voice drifts in from the kitchen. "Are you talking to someone?" Shit shit shit. What the hell am I supposed to do now? The knock comes again, louder this time, and I sign in resignation. Well, at least maybe this little scenario will get old Ralpheo there off my back ... I cross to the door and peer out. Yep, it's him all right, all five foot eight inches of him, combover and gold chains firmly in place. I swear, some people never moved past 1976 ... Trying to keep my face from falling into a grimace, I release the locks and open the door just a few inches, hiding my body behind it. "Hi, Ralph," I say. "I just got your message a few minutes ago, and I'm sorry, but I really can't make it." His face falls. "But ... I got the tickets ..." he stutters out. I manage to keep my voice apologetic. "I know, and I'm really sorry," I say. "But I just got back into town last night, and I really have a lot of things I have to ..." "Scully?" Oh shit. I glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, there's Mulder in the kitchen doorway, wearing nothing but boxers and an oven mitt, staring intently at poor Ralph. I look back at the man outside, and his eyes are like saucers, his jaw hanging open ... and he just looks so devastated that I really do feel sorry for him. "Ralph ..." I start, but he cuts me off. "No ... n ... no ... it's all right ... I'll ... I'll go," he stumbles, backing away from the doorway. "I can ... can see you're busy ..." His stricken voice trails off, and he turns his back and practically runs back down the hall toward his own apartment. I heave out a sigh and push the door shut, leaning against it for a second before turning to face Mulder. He's frowning, his eyes still on the closed door, and his teeth are practically clenched together as he says, "Who was that?" Oh God. Don't tell me Mulder's jealous ... I stifle a giggle and cross the floor to Mulder, sliding my arms around his waist and leaning against him. "Hey, thanks, Mulder," I say in a low voice. "You just saved me the strain of explaining to my neighbor for the twelfth time why I don't want to go out with him." He looks down at me for a moment, obviously puzzled. "I did?" he finally asks. If you look in the dictionary under "clueless" ... I just nod once. "All the hints weren't working, but after seeing you, I don't think I have to worry about that one again." I smile. "And that's good, because I think I'm going to have my hands full with you." At that, he relaxes and grins, his arm coming up to encircle my waist and his face lowering to mine. "Been there, done that," he murmurs against my mouth. ========== For just a moment I start to stress over the geek at Scully's door, but then she presses her lips against mine and her tongue sweeps into my mouth and DAMN I could get used to this. She's up on her toes with her arms around my neck, and now she's sucking my tongue into her mouth and gently nipping and chewing at my lower lip and my hands are sliding down her back, looking for the hem of her robe and she's grinding her crotch against my hard-on and then the kitchen timer goes off. Fuck. I break the kiss and give her what I hope is a rueful smile and say, "Breakfast." For a moment she continues to lean against me, looking up at me and running her tongue slowly along her bottom lip. Then she smiles and steps out of my embrace, moving over to the sofa and stretching out on it like Cleopatra on her barge. I follow and stand looking down at her and she looks up and gives me a sultry look and says, "Feed me." I bend over and give her a quick kiss, then go out to the kitchen. A moment later I'm back, juggling a plate of blueberry muffins, another plate loaded with scrambled eggs, and a pitcher of grapefruit juice and a couple of glasses. I spread out this feast on the coffee table and sit cross-legged on the floor next to the sofa and begin to feed her. God ... this is fun. I never realized how much fun it can be to feed another person, but I'm really getting into this. I bring a forkful of eggs up to her mouth and she reaches out and captures them with her lips and tongue, never taking her eyes off of mine. Watching as she chews and swallows and then licks the residue off of her lips is one of the more sensual sights I've ever seen in my life, and then she arches her eyebrow at me, and I realize she's waiting for more and so I scoop up another offering and bring it to her lips. This goes on for several minutes until the eggs are gone, with me grabbing a forkful or two for myself and with occasional breaks for juice along the way. Then I put down the fork and break open a muffin, still steaming hot from the oven. I slather butter on one of the pieces and offer it up to her and she takes it into her mouth and chews and swallows, and her soft little tongue flicks out to lick the melted butter off her lips and my fingertips. Jesus. And then before I know it we're down to the last piece of muffin, and Scully takes it between her teeth and lies back on the sofa and raises both her eyebrows at me as she slowly unties the knot on the belt of her robe. Mrs. Mulder didn't raise any stupid children. I bend down and close my mouth over Scully's. ========== The tastes of blueberries and butter and Mulder blend together in my mouth to create an erotic haze of sensation as he lowers his body atop mine, pushing my robe open so that our skin meets from shoulder to thigh along my right side. I instinctively arch my back as the kiss deepens, pushing my breasts against him, suddenly desperate for his touch. He seems to read my mind, again, and slips his left hand up from the outside of my thigh to cup my breast, squeezing gently. He rocks his hips against me as he brushes a fingertip over my nipple, drawing a moan from my throat and into his. He breaks the kiss but doesn't stop moving, his mouth traveling down my neck and unerringly targeting the same spot his finger is still teasing. I close my eyes as I'm hit with the memory of his mouth on me last night, and I feel myself tensing with anticipation. And just as his lips reach their goal ... an engine revvs loudly outside the living room window, and at the same instant someone pounds loudly on the door. "Maintenance!" comes a call from the hallway. Mulder freezes, his mouth hovering a half-inch from my straining nipple, and then sags against me, his face burrowing into the hollow between my breasts. He's shaking, and it takes my aroused brain a couple of seconds to realize he's laughing. My face curves into an involuntary smile. "I'm glad YOU find this so amusing, Agent Mulder," I say, which only makes him laugh harder. He finally lifts his head enough to look at me, a crooked grin still on his face. "Did you ever have the feeling the entire world was out to get you?" he asks sardonically. I snort delicately, pushing myself up and reaching for the open edges of my robe. "With you, Mulder? Constantly," I reply, tying the sash and running a hand through my hair. He looks at me with a pout. "Can't we just ignore it?" he half- whines, just as the engine revvs again. It's a lawn mower, I realize as I shake my head in reply to his question. "You heard them -- maintenance," I say. "They have a master key. And I don't think we want them walking in, now, do we?" Mulder sighs and nods, then fixes me with a stare. "Make you a deal," he says. "You see what they want, then get dressed and throw a few things in a bag. I'll call and get us a hotel reservation." I raise my eyebrows. "A hotel?" I ask. He nods. "We're obviously not going to get any peace and quiet here. I say we head someplace where we can put out the 'do not disturb' sign." A slow smile creases my face, and I bend to drop a kiss on his mouth. "I like the way you think, Agent Mulder," I say against his lips. The knock comes again, louder this time, and I roll my eyes and go to answer it as Mulder heads for the bedroom. "Ms. Scully?" says the man outside when I open the door -- leaving the chain on, half for safety and half to hide my state of undress. "We're here for your annual maintenance." I frown slightly. "Don't you usually send out a notice first?" I ask warily. He looks confused. "We did, earlier this week," he says. "Didn't you get it?" I glance over my shoulder at the unopened pile of mail, sitting on the table where I dropped it on my way in last night, then turn back to the door. "Sorry, I've been out of town," I say. "Can you give me about fifteen minutes or so? I'm ... not quite finished getting ready ..." He nods grudgingly. "We can wait a few minutes," he says, not looking too happy about it. I give a quick smile. "Thanks," I say, re-closing and locking the door. Just as I turn around, Mulder leans out of the bedroom door, still working the buttons on his jeans. "The Beaumont Inn," he says suggestively as he catches my eye. "They have a room ready for whenever we get there." Then he leers. "And it's in a separate wing, so we don't have to worry about disturbing the neighbors," he adds. I smile, slowly and wickedly. "So what are we waiting for?" I say, as I start toward him, undoing the bathrobe as I move. His eyes widen as the robe falls open, and then they flutter shut for a brief instant. "Keep that up, Scully, and we'll never make it," he murmurs, reaching out a hand to draw me against him and lowering his head to kiss me again. I break away, reluctantly, a minute later and head for the closet. "Finish dressing, Mulder," I say. "I'll be ready in ten minutes. ========== In fact, Scully was ready in eight minutes, a byproduct of having spent the last six years of our lives ready to hit the road at a moment's notice. Two minutes after that we were in her car and heading for The Beaumont Inn. Scully and I have stayed in a lot of fleabags over the years, but The Beaumont is a nice place. Really, really nice, and I chose it on purpose, because Scully deserves the best. WE deserve the best. It was built around the turn of the century, one of those elegant old brownstones with thick shag carpeting, tapestries on the walls, and an air of hushed refinement such that you almost expect to bump into J.J. Astor or one of the Rockefellers. Not that we spent a lot of time studying the decor; we went straight to the check in desk and I slapped my Amex down on the counter in front of the surprised clerk. "Mulder," I said shortly. "I called a few minutes ago. Is our room ready?" He nodded and smiled, gracious despite my impatience, and somehow we got the registration card completed and the charge slip signed, and now we're on our way to our room. Actually, it's a suite, complete with a lounge with a wet bar, a king-sized four-poster bed and a private whirlpool. Like I said, Scully deserves the best. I've barely got the door closed before she's all over me, and oh, Jesus ... her hands are everywhere, and so are her lips, and I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one moaning and groaning with pleasure. Somehow we make it to the bed without falling to the floor, and then we're sprawled out together in a tangle of limbs. I've already got her t-shirt bunched up around her armpits, and my mouth zeroes in on her right breast to take care of some unfinished business. "Mulder!" Scully gasps my name as my lips close on her nipple and she wraps her arms around my head, holding it tightly in place. Right. Like you could get me to stop doing this. God, she tastes good; so very, very good. I lick and suckle at her nipple, and very gently scrape my teeth across it, and yes, as I guessed on the plane last night, given the opportunity Scully is very, very vocal, moaning and gasping and crying out my name. God, this is fun. Time to switch sides. I pull my mouth away from her right breast, and she barely has time to begin a protest before I've descended on the left one, and this time she actually squeaks as my lips browse across the hard nubbin. Oh, Jesus ... I could do this all day. I withdraw my mouth a little and lightly flick my tongue across the tip several times, and each time her body shudders slightly. Her fingers are tangled in my hair, and suddenly she thrusts her chest forward, forcing her breast into my mouth. ========== Oh God. Oh my God. Shit. I ... holy ... ooohhhh God ... Mulder is SO good at this. His mouth is everywhere at once, licking and sucking and nipping and ... ohhhhh God ... He slows down a little bit then, backing off to lighter kisses around and around my nipple, and his hands start working my shirt up and over my head. I obligingly cross my arms and grab the hem, tugging the shirt up and away, and then dive toward his and start pulling. Mulder has to give up his contact with my breast for a brief second, and I can't help a whimper as his warm mouth leaves my skin. I'd keep it there 24 hours a day if I could ... well, unless it was somewhere *else* on my body ... Mulder dives right back into the task he's set for himself, cupping my breasts in his hands and pushing them together, then flicking the tip of his tongue across first one and then the other. His thigh is pushing its way between my legs, which part to allow him entrance, and he presses his leg against me, the the seam of my jeans rubbing against my core. I'm moaning and whimpering every few seconds now, calling out his name and God's and various other words I'm not too clear on at the moment. If either of us had any patience at this point, I think I could come from just this, but I'm not willing to give him a chance to try it. Instead, I shove him off me far enough to get to his jeans and start working the buttons. I curse under my breath as I fumble, and he chuckles shakily as he goes for my pants. He has an easier time with the single button and zipper, and before I've made enough room to get my hand inside his pants, his is already sliding over the crotch of my panties and going to work, pressing and rubbing the cloth against my core. I pause to groan and buck into his hand before managing to refocus long enough to get the last two buttons undone and slip my own hand over his cock through his boxers. We simply stroke and squeeze for a few minutes, our bodies shuddering and shaking with the force of our desire. Finally, Mulder grabs for my wrist with his free hand and tugs my hand out of his pants, then pulls his own out of mine and starts sliding my jeans and panties down together. I lift my hips to help him, but when I reach for his, he stops me. "No," he says hoarsely. "I have to taste you first." His words shoot like a rocket straight to both my heart and my clit, and I fall back against the mattress as he cups my legs and pulls them apart. His lips come back down between my breasts and gradually work their way down, his tongue swirling and darting across my skin as he approaches his goal. When he finally reaches my core, he pulls his face back a few inches, then brings both hands up and uses his thumbs to pull me open. I'm panting now, dying for him to just go ahead and do it already, and he's just lying there, his legs hanging off the bed, seemingly mesmerized by the sight of my ... well, my pussy. I manage to leverage myself up on one elbow and look down at him. His mouth is about two inches away from my skin, his warm breath carressing me with every exhale, and he's just staring. I shift slightly, starting to feel a little embarrassed at his intense scrutiny, and I finally croak out, "Mulder?" He doesn't move a muscle, but his eyes flick up to meet mine. They are molten lava, wild and untamed, and without breaking our gaze, he lowers his head and runs the flat of his tongue across my core from top to bottom, giving a little swirl over my clit at the apex. "Oh God ..." I moan out, as my head drops back onto the pillows. ========== I've given up trying to catalogue all of the new ground we're breaking today. I've just given up on it. This is all too new and overwhelming, and if I pay too much attention to that aspect of it I'm just going to go into overload. But what a way to go. I pass my tongue back and forth across her center, varying the contact with each pass: Here I lightly tickle with the very tip of my tongue; there I firmly stroke with the flat; in a third spot I lovingly caress. And with each touch Scully's body vibrates and squirms in a slightly different way. God. This is so cool. The flavor and scent of her arousal are intoxicating; mindblowing. So dark and sensual and pungent, and somehow I knew even before our first kiss that she would taste like this. It's just Scully; that's the only word for this flavor and aroma. Scully. I slide my hands up under her ass and I lift her hips slightly to get a better angle. Her cheeks are so warm and smooth, and the muscles ripple under my fingers as I hold them. I move my tongue down through her folds, swirling around her clit, while my fingers continue to work her ass. Scully is moaning and crying out constantly, and her hips are jerking and shuddering under me. I brush across her clit and she bucks so frantically that for a moment I lose contact ... but only for an instant, and then I'm back at work. Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus. This is so ... so ... I can't even find the words for it. I guess I'm gonna go into overload anyway -- I just can't get enough of this. My nose is buried in her pubic hair, my tongue is laving back and forth and up and down, Scully's hips are moving in sharp, erratic jolts, and my cock -- my god, my cock is just pulsing with energy. The motions of her hips and her pleasure noises spur me on, and I find myself growling against her as I continue my feast, and the air is thick with her scent. I angle her hips up a little further, and now I'm thrusting my tongue into her opening, I'm fucking her with my tongue, and Scully is sobbing my name and her pelvis is bucking in time with the thrusts of my tongue. Her legs are wrapped around my head and her hands are pressing on the back of my head in an apparent effort to draw me deeper. I slide one of my hands down from her butt and slip first one and then two fingers into her, and my tongue moves upward and strokes her clit once, twice, three times, and then Scully's entire body convulses and she's screaming my name, over and over and over ... ========== Oh God. Oh Jesus. Oh ... Mul ... Muldah ... Oh oh oh ... Godddddd ... unnnhhhh ... auh ... M ... Go ... Mul ... Ahhhhhhhhh ... MULLLLDERRRRR! OHHHH GGGGGODDDD! MMMMULLDERRRRR! ========== I have my faults, but being slow on the uptake is not among them. As Scully's body bucks and heaves I continue my licking, gradually gentling my touch as the orgasm quakes through her system, and as her muscles finally start to relax I simply lay the flat of my tongue over her center like a blanket. For a few seconds we simply lie there, Scully's thighs cradling my head and her fingers tangling in my hair, and every few seconds her body shudders with an aftershock. Finally she speaks my name, in a soft, distant voice, and her fingers yank gently on my hair, and in an instant I'm up on the bed and taking her in my arms. She clings to me and continues murmuring my name for a pair of minutes, and her lips brush at random across my chest, neck and shoulders while her hands run up and down my back. At last she draws her head back and little and looks up at me, and I'm shocked to see tears in her eyes. My innate guilt complex immediately starts building scenarios to explain this but then she smiles and says my name again and cranes her neck to press her lips against mine. Her tongue is in my mouth, softly and gently probing, so unlike the aggressive assault of only a few minutes ago. This kiss is so tender and gentle; it's quite possibly the sweetest kiss I have ever had in my life, and the fact that I'm receiving it from Scully surely has something to do with that. She rolls onto her back and pulls me over on top of her as we continue the kiss. I'd like to get my pants off, but that would mean letting go of her, and at the moment I'm just not willing to do that. The kiss gradually gains energy, and now Scully is sucking my tongue into her mouth and one of her hands is sliding down my abdomen and into my jeans and under the waistband of my boxers. Her fingers find my cock at last, and they brush against it and now it's my hips that are bucking. Scully chuckles against my mouth, and then she breaks the kiss long enough to whisper, "Mulder, I think you're overdressed for this party." Then she renews the kiss and her hands wraps around my cock and I moan into her mouth. ========== Oh GOD that was gooooood ... but I'm nowhere near sated, and I'm determined to get this man *out* of these jeans and *into* me as soon as humanly possible. As my tongue continues to squirm and probe inside his mouth, and one hand keeps up its pressure on his erection, I run my free hand around to his hip and start shoving at his jeans. The denim isn't all that agreeable, but in this state, I'm a force to be reckoned with, and it only takes a few minutes for me to get both jeans and boxers down to his thighs. I pause to enjoy the expanse of bare flesh I've uncovered, still stroking his cock while my other hand kneads and squeezes his ass. He's groaning and bucking above me, each little thrust of his hips brushing his thigh against my still sensitized center, and his mouth is still dancing over mine. He finally gets a clue and pulls away long enough to snatch off those last barriers, and then he lowers the entire length of his body atop me. I don't even have to think about my actions, as my legs part automatically, my heels coming up to hook behind his knees. He's buried his face in the crook of my neck, sucking and nipping at that little spot of flesh until I know I'll have the hickey to end all hickeys. Thank God the weather's a little colder so I won't raise eyebrows in a turtleneck. I've found a tasty spot of my own, of course, right behind his ear, and I'm running my tongue across it over and over again. The nails of my right hand are scraping up and down his spine, and my left hand is still on his ass, trying mightily to get him IN me, already. And finally, FINALLY he's shifting his hips until the tip of his erection is pressing into that wonderful little spot just above my vagina. He stays there for an eternity, just rubbing against me while his mouth keeps up its assault on my neck. Okay, that's enough. I pull my legs up higher, crossing my ankles under his ass, and use the shift in angle to my advantage, pulling with my hand and my legs. And he's sliding in, gradually, stretching long-out-of-use muscles in the best way possible. My head drops back again, and I let out a long, loud moan. ========== I think....I think maybe the world has just ended. At the very least time has just stopped, and that's perfectly fine because I never want to move again. I'm lying here on top of Scully, and I'm finally, at long, long last, buried deep inside her, and she seems to be as stunned by the reality of it as I am. I manage to focus my eyes and I look down at her, and her head is thrown back in the pillows, eyes closed, mouth forming a small "o". Her arms are wrapped tightly around my shoulders and her legs are hooked behind my ass, and she's so hot and tight and wet I can barely stand it. I need to see her, and I need her to see me. I bend my head down and brush my lips against her cheek, and I whisper, "Scully." No response. "Scully," I repeat. "Scully, look at me." Slowly, almost as if she were waking from a sound sleep, her eyelids open. Her eyes are dreamy and unfocused, but after a moment her gaze locks on mine, and her eyes widen slightly and she murmurs, "Mulder ..." I feel my throat constricting, but somehow I manage to choke out, "Yeah. Yeah, I know." And I brush my lips against hers, very lightly. "Don't move," she whispers. "Not yet. I ... I need a minute. To get used to this." "No, Scully," I reply. "Not yet. Not until we're both ready." And I kiss her again and run my fingers through her hair. "God." Her eyes go shut again and she buries her face against my shoulder. "God. I don't believe this is finally happening." She takes a deep shuddering breath, then she looks up at me again and smiles. "Okay," she says. "Okay, I'm ready." And she stretches up to kiss me, and as her tongue enters my mouth our hips begin to move together in perfect unison. ========== Oh GOD this feels good ... I really *had* almost forgotten, but this is bringing it all back to me -- multiplied by about a thousand, because this is Mulder. This is *Mulder*. Mulder, cradled between my legs, wrapped up in my arms, pressing into my body, stroking me inside and out, opening me wider and wider to him and building up a fire of inferno proportions deep within my belly until I want to scream with the pleasure of it. So I do the next best thing. I start talking to him, like I did last week. I liked it then, and I know HE did, so ... "Oh God, Mulder," I gasp out. "You feel so good. So ... God ... this is so goooood ..." I pause for breath, dipping my head to rub my forehead against his shoulder. "Mmmmm ... right ... oh ... there ... God ..." Whether it's my words or just my voice that does it, I don't know, but Mulder lets out a long groan, and his hips speed up their movements. I follow his lead, bucking up under him to meet his thrusts, grinding against his pelvic bone at just the right angle to send sparks of sensation out across every inch of my skin. This is just what I wanted. What I needed. I'd had fantasies -- yes, I said fantasies -- of Mulder making slow, sweet love to me, or of hovering over him and lowering myself to sheath his hard cock. But this is just ... us. It's fast and it's frenzied and it is absolutely perfect in every possible way. I can feel my body reaching for another climax, and I pull my legs up even further to deepen his penetration. It's not a foolproof thing, but I am one of the lucky women who can actually reach orgasm this way, if the positioning and the pace are just right. It *has* been a while, but I know how to make it happen. Some things you just don't forget. Mulder seems to sense what's going on, which doesn't surprise me at all at this point. He reaches for my hips, tilting me up toward him so that each of his strokes brushes the bottom edge of my clit. It wouldn't be enough to bring me to climax by itself, but the added stimulation on top of everything else is just exactly what I need. He's moving even faster and harder now, urged on by my hand on his ass and my by-now meaningless sounds of encouragement. I keep my eyes open and trained on him as long as I can, needing to memorize this vision of him before I'm driven completely out of control. And then the control disappears entirely, and my eyes fall shut as we reach the point where finesse slips away, pounding and slamming against each other in an almost-desperate grasp for climax. I can feel it building at the base of my spine, shooting in icy-hot spears along my nerve endings with increasing speed. And then I'm there, and my head falls back as my body tightens, then unravels completely, and I hear a keening sound fill the room and realize that it's coming from my throat ... ========== Oh god. Oh Jesus. Oh god. This is so good. So good. I'm so close, so very close, but Scully's close, too, I can tell -- it's almost like an electric current passing between us. I can FEEL her orgasm building, right alongside of my own, until it's really just OUR orgasm. Not mine; not hers: Ours. Oh Jesus. Please, please, please ... and then her arms and legs are tightening around me and her head is thrown back in the pillows, and the sounds she's making are just simply amazing. And I feel her vaginal muscles contracting around me, over and over and over, and that's the final straw. Two more hard, deep strokes and then I'm coming and she's coming and we're coming and it's Scully it's Scully only Scully MY Scully beautiful Scully oh god oh god oh god oh god ... ========== When I finally manage to pry my eyes open, I have absolutely no idea if it's been five minutes or five hours since that simply incredible orgasm. My body is still throbbing with pleasure, so I guess it's closer to the five minutes, but it takes another few before hearing and other senses come into focus. Mulder is collapsed on top of me, his head buried in the crook of my shoulder, our bodies still tangled up together from top to bottom. His breathing is still ragged but gradually improving, and his skin is slick with sweat as I run my fingertips up and down his back. Slowly, he lifts his head, until his face is hovering an inch above mine. His eyes are soft and wet, every emotion he's ever had mingling in the green-gold-grey colors swirling through his irises. I slide my hands around to cup his cheeks and bring my mouth up to brush his gently. And I say what I've been dying to say for months now: "I love you, Mulder." His eyes widen as my words sink in, and I smile against his lips as I kiss him again. ========== Dana Scully loves me. Wow. Now just how in the hell am I going to catalogue THAT particular piece of news? I mean, it isn't exactly a surprise to hear -- but it's still a little breathtaking to have her actually say the words. Then suddenly out of nowhere the entire situation strikes me as funny. I mean, here we are, lying in bed together stark naked, our limbs entertwined and my cock still resting partway inside her, and Scully picks this particular moment to tell me that she loves me. I know this is supposed to be a profoundly emotional moment, and it is -- it really is. But somehow I just can't keep a grin from spreading across my face as I continue to gaze down at her. Scully's face takes on a wary look, and she says, "What's so funny?" I shake my head, still grinning. "You. Me. Us." I lean down and kiss her briefly. "The whole situation." I try to think of the words to explain it to her, but even as I do I see a smile spread across her face and I realize that she gets it, too. Then she starts to giggle, and that makes me laugh, too, and within seconds we're both howling, our bodies shaking as our laughter echoes through the room. Finally we both wind down, and Scully cranes her neck to rub her nose against mine. "I really do love you, you know," she says, still smiling. "You can't get out of it by trying to make a joke out of it." "Yeah, I know, Scully," I say, still chuckling slightly. "And I love you, too -- and this time it didn't take a shot of morphine to get me to admit it." And as suddenly as it came the laughter is gone. The words hang between us for a long minute as we look into each other's eyes, and now we've come to the profound emotional stuff I'd been expecting a little while ago. This is real, this is happening, and nothing is ever going to be able to undo it or take it away from us. I want to say that to Scully, I want to make sure she understands, but as I peer a little deeper into her eyes I see that she already knows. And I close my eyes and let my head fall back onto her shoulder again, and for a timeless interval I just lie there listening to her breathe and listening to the beat of her heart. And after awhile we start to make love again. I could get used to this. ========== ========== ========== Alternatives 5: Afterglow Mulder and Scully enjoy the rest of their afternoon and evening at the hotel ... ========== I open my eyes to an expanse of bare skin, scattered with a light dusting of hair. The skin rises and falls evenly, in time with the sounds of Mulder's breathing. I'm so very tempted to let the gentle rhythm and the warmth of his nearness lull me back into sleep. But there are two things that stop me. The first is that sleeping isn't what I want to be doing when I'm curled up in bed with him. And the second is that I'm hungry. It's only natural, I suppose. We did work off quite a few calories about ... I twist my head far enough to glance at the clock on the bedside table ... nearly an hour ago. And sex has always made me hungry anyway. I nestle back into Mulder's chest with a soft sigh. This does feel so, so good, just to lie here with him, our bodies sated and soft, the real world closed away and forgotten for at least a while. We need this. We've needed this for years, and we've both been too stubborn and too scared to make it happen until now. I've never been much of a believer in fate, but I'm willing to believe that we've always been destined for each other. Nothing this perfect could be the result of sheer coincidence. But, perfect or no, nature remains nature, and I'm going to have to break our embrace. Because now I have GOT to go to the bathroom. Moving carefully, I slide away from Mulder and off the side of the bed. He shifts and turns toward the spot where I was, his arm sweeping across the mattress as if searching for something. I smile as I step in the direction of the door, looking for the overnight bags I know we brought in with us. Just as I find mine and pull open the zipper, I hear him speak. "Scully?" he says, his voice husky and deep with sleep. I glance over my shoulder as I rummage in the bag, searching for the robe I know I grabbed from my closet. "I'm here, Mulder," I say, turning my attention back to my search and finally getting my hand on the slick satin. I pull the robe from the bag and shake it out as I stand, then slip my arms into it and wrap it around me. The air has a slight chill to it, something I didn't feel or at least notice when I had Mulder's body heat for warmth. Mulder speaks again. "What're you doing?" he asks, sounding so much like a little boy that I can't help a grin. I turn back toward the bed to meet his half-lidded gaze and feel a rush of warmth skim over me. "I'm just going to the bathroom, Mulder," I say softly. "I'll be right back." He nods, then drops his head back to the pillow, letting a sigh escape. I smile again and head for the bathroom. ========== I think I must be having a dream. I'm lying here in a huge four-poster bed, drowsily half awake, feeling totally content. Completely and totally content. There's a warm spot in the bed next to me, and Scully's scent clings to the pillow. A dream. It has to be a dream. I don't think I want to wake up. I burrow a little further into the bedclothes and pull the other pillow to my face, inhaling deeply. Yes. Yes, it's Scully. Scully and lemons and sex, a combination of smells I've only been able to imagine in the past, but now here it is. Maybe this isn't a dream after all. Maybe. Just maybe. "Mulder?" Her voice. No, it's not a dream. It's real. She's real. I feel my pulse increase and I take the pillow from my face and say, "Yeah, Scully?" "Mulder, will you order us something to eat? I'm starving." I smile at that. So Scully gets hungry after sex. Another intimate little detail to file away -- along with the sound she makes when I kiss her neck, the salty flavor of her skin under my lips, the pungent scent of her arousal ... so many things I didn't know. So many things I still have to learn. And god willing I'll get to spend a lifetime learning them. "Mulder?" But right now my Scully needs to be fed. I smile and call out to reassure her, even as my hand is reaching for the phone. ========== I can hear Mulder talking in a low voice as I wash my hands, my eyes focused on my own reflection. My skin is still rosy with afterglow, my hair a little mussed, my lips plump and slightly purpled from our kisses, the royal blue of the robe enlivening the color of my eyes. I give an enigmatic smile as I flip the water off, and my eyes begin to wander across the reflection of the huge bathroom as I dry my hands. I can't remember the last time I stayed in a place this nice, and I have every intention of taking advantage of every single amenity it offers. Including that wonderful whirlpool tub, so obviously built for two. I'm smiling again when I walk out of the bathroom, just in time for Mulder to hang up the phone and glance in my direction. His eyes light up when he spies me, then darken as they take in my appearance. I give him the once-over myself. His hair is still too short to be all that tousled, but his skin is just as flushed as mine -- and there's plenty of it for me to take in, as he's covered only by his own arm. At this point, it occurs to me that we never even made it under the covers earlier, and the thought sends a rush of laughter bubbling up inside me. Mulder shoots me a quizzical look, and it takes me a few seconds to fight off the giggles enough to tell him what's so funny. He gets it immediately, and lets out a few chuckles himself. Still smiling, he slides off the mattress and wrestles the covers loose, folding them back neatly. Then he slides back onto the white sheet and holds out his hand to me. I don't hesitate, but I do take my time, sauntering toward the bed with my right eyebrow arched high and a tiny smile playing deliberately along my lips. I can see his breathing speed up as I move, my hands moving to my waist to tug at the belt of the robe. The satin parts and slides across my body, uncovering an expanse of bare skin just as I reach the bed and stop with my legs brushing the edge of the mattress. Mulder moves toward me, his legs coming down on either side of mine, his hands slipping under the satin and cupping my waist. I place my hands on his thighs, kneading gently, and we simply stay that way for a few long moments, looking into each other's eyes, memorizing everything we see there. I inhale deeply as Mulder's hands begin to move, inching upward along my ribcage to cup my breasts, still covered by the robe. His face moves toward mine, and he brushes his nose against mine, once, twice, then again. My mouth opens on a sigh, and he takes full advantage, bringing our lips together and slipping his tongue into my mouth, just as his thumbs come up to brush across my nipples. I moan into the kiss, moving my hands higher along his legs, still squeezing and rubbing gently. I feel Mulder's hand move away from my right breast, creeping down my side and around to my back, then pulling me fully against him, his rapidly-growing erection pressing against my belly. His hand is on my ass now, rubbing my body against his, and I return the favor gladly, my hand gliding around to cup and caress his left buttock. He groans loudly as I give a particularly firm squeeze, and I file that little tidbit of knowledge away for later use. Our mouths are in constant motion against each other, tongues stroking and thrusting, and our hands continue to touch and stroke. Mulder gets his other hand wrapped around my neck and begins falling slowly back toward the mattress, pulling me on top of him. His penis is caught between us, and he bucks involuntarily against me as I rub my body over him. I lift myself up on my knees just a few inches, bracing myself with one arm, giving me just enough room to work the other hand in and grip him, stroking slowly. His hands aren't idle, one returning to my breast as the other, still under the robe, moves over my ass and down between my spread legs, dipping into the wetness he's created there. His long, now slick, fingers continue further up, landing on my clit and circling lightly. We move together for what seems like an eternity, our passion building, with my core hovering no more than two inches above his cock. And I'm about three seconds from covering the distance ... when, of course, a knock comes at the door. "Room service!" a voice calls from outside, and Mulder and I pull back and simply stare at each other for a good five seconds before we crack up entirely. ========== I said The Beaumont was a classy place, and this is just more proof of it: I've just answered the door wearing nothing but a hastily-retrieved pair of blue jeans and no doubt smelling strongly of sex, but the room service waiter -- dressed to the nines in dark suit, snow-white dress shirt and conservative dark tie -- doesn't even bat an eye. He simply pushes the cart into the sitting room and positions it next to the tea table, presents the check for my signature, thanks me gravely for the tip I give him, and leaves. No smirk, no comment, not even the slightest hint of anything amiss or anything out of the ordinary. Like I said: This is a classy place. As soon as the door is closed again I shuck off my jeans and step over to the table to survey the feast: Coldcuts, a large tray of assorted fruits and cheeses and a steaming pot of melted chocolate. And yes, under that cover is the piece de resistance: a chocolate-covered cheesecake with cherry sauce. As I replace the cover over the cheesecake I hear a small noise behind me and I turn to see Scully standing in the doorway to the bedroom. She's once again wearing that wonderful blue satin robe, and she has a slight smirk on her face. For just a moment I'm puzzled, but then I notice that her eyes are focused on my semi- erect cock, and that simple realization is enough to make it begin to harden further. I glance down at myself briefly and then back up at her, and I gesture at the room service cart and smile and say, "Madame, luncheon is served." I step over next to her and add, "Allow me to take your wrap; the dress code here is very strict." And Scully giggles, but she allows me to take her robe from her, which leaves us both completely nude, and then I place my hand on the small of her back and usher her over to the table. ========== This is a little surreal. Mulder and I are in our normal positions as we walk, him a half-step behind and with his hand in its customary spot on my back. Only this time, we're missing some of the customary accouterments. Namely, our clothes. Mulder does seat me, just as graciously as if we were fully dressed and in an upscale restaurant. He pulls the other chair over until the edges are touching, and then we start in on the food. If I thought having Mulder feed me breakfast was fun -- not mention sensual -- then this is pure decadence. We take turns with the food, ignoring the neatly wrapped silverware and napkins in favor of fingers for feeding and tongues for any needed cleanup. Rolled slices of turkey and ham and roast beef are offered up for bites, followed by cubes of cheese, with chilled wine to wash it all down. Pieces of fruit are added to the mix, some dipped in melted chocolate, with a few "accidental" drops allowed to fall on strategic patches of skin. Mulder finishes licking one of those little spills off my left breast and raises his eyes to my face with a little grin playing along his lips. I know that smile. He's got something up his sleeve. Well, he would, if he was wearing anything ... "You know, Scully," he says, almost casually, as he reaches back toward the fruit tray. "I've always just *loved* strawberries." He picks up a nice-sized one and turns back toward me, rolling the fruit gently between his fingers. "And you know they're even better with sauce." I expect him to dip the strawberry into the rapidly-diminshing bowl of chocolate, but he just keeps rolling the berry and grinning. I raise my eyebrows expectantly, and before I even realize what he's doing, his free hand dips between my legs, fingers probing into the wetness there. I gasp and jerk at the sudden stimulation, but he pulls away and brings his fingers back up, his eyes never leaving mine. He wraps those fingers around the berry, spreading my juices over it, and then pops the fruit into his mouth. He closes his eyes and gives a low moan as his tongue and teeth work on the berry, and I can't help an answering moan. He swallows, and his eyes open lazily, taking in my reaction. I know what he sees: My skin is flushed, my eyes wide and dark, my breathing ragged. He knew *exactly* what that little display would do to me, and now he's enjoying the results. His voice is deep and sensual when he speaks. "I think that's my new favorite snack," he murmurs. My restraint gives way, and I grab for his face with both hands, pulling that mouth to mine. My tongue darts inside, sampling the sweet, dark aftertaste of strawberry and me, mixed with Mulder's own essence. When the kiss ends some time later, Mulder has pulled me sideways into his lap, the tip of his renewed erection brushing along the bottom edge of my ribs. His mouth travels down my neck to the hollow at the base of my throat, and my hands wrap into his hair to hold him there. Shakily, I ask, "Do I even want to ask where that idea came from?" He chuckles against my skin. "Something I read once," he admits. "Although that version took a more ... direct approach ..." His voice trails off, and I'm flooded with the image of Mulder's face between my legs, eating both me and a strawberry at the same time. Oh, God ... I pull up on Mulder's head, drawing his lips to mine again, and dive back in. We're both letting out moans and half-grunts and other little noises around the kiss, and I'm just about to move around to straddle him when he pulls back. ========== I think I got to her with the strawberry. I know I got to ME. I don't actually remember where I read about that -- I think it was on the net somewhere, maybe in alt.sex.stories, but I really don't recall. In any case, I've been intrigued by the idea for a long time, but I had no idea just how arousing it would turn out to be to eat a strawberry coated in Scullyjuices, while the lady herself was sitting next to me, stark naked and obviously aroused herself. I also had some plans for that cheesecake, but I think maybe they're gonna have to wait, because Scully is now sitting on my lap and covering my face with kisses and running her hands up and down my chest and shoulders. I do think we have time for another strawberry, though, and so I reach around her and grab one off the tray and submit it to the same treatment as the first one, never taking my eyes from Scully's as I do so. Then I bring the strawberry to my mouth and capture it between my teeth and then I simply sit there, waiting. I don't have to wait for long. An intensely erotic smile spreads across Scully's face as she leans forward and wraps her lips around the other half of the strawberry. I bite down on it, and the juices -- both the berry's and Scully's -- squirt into both our mouths. God this tastes good, and the flavor is going directly down my spine to my cock. Scully seems to like it too, and her tongue darts into my mouth to scoop up her share of the pulp, and for a moment we trade that poor abused bit of fruit back and forth until finally it's gone. We deepen the kiss, and this time when Scully squirms around on my lap to straddle me I allow it to happen. My cock is trapped between my abdomen and her crotch, which all in all is not a hopelessly bad place for it to be. I shift my hips slightly and rub it against her and we both moan, and then Scully rotates HER pelvis and returns the favor. Her hands are tangling in my hair, her tongue plunging deep into my mouth, and the taste of strawberry and Scully mingling together, combined with the renewed scent of our mutual arousal, is almost enough to send me over the edge all by itself. Then Scully rises up on her knees just a little and she reaches down with one hand and grabs my cock and suddenly I'm deep inside her. I'm actually more than a little amazed -- not to mention gratified -- at my own stamina and recuperative power, but it's got to be because of Scully. It's the only explanation. And then she begins to move her hips ... ========== If I had any extra brain power to worry about it, I'd be amazed at this point that I'm doing this. I have never, *never* been this uninhibited during sex. I've done a little experimentation, but nothing I've done before has ever had the same kind of effect as the things Mulder and I have done. I guess I'll have to chalk it up to the man in question. His cock is hard and slick inside me as I shift my hips, rotating gently around him. Our mouths come back together, dipping and tasting in little nips and sucks, and our hands are roving aimlessly over all the sweat-dampened skin we can reach. I can feel myself building toward another climax, amazingly, but some little part of my mind manages to break forth from its haze of desire and throw up some statistics. At which point I realize that if we finish this off here, chances are it'll be QUITE some time before Mulder's up for another round. Although I CERTAINLY know better than to couch it in just those terms ... I stop moving against him, drawing moans from both of us, and pull back to focus on his face. He's panting lightly and staring at me, confusion written in his expression. I smile softly and lean forward to drop a tiny kiss on his mouth. My lips still touching his, I murmur, "I think I'd rather do this back on the bed ... but first, I think a nice, long soak in that whirlpool tub would be in order ..." He still looks a little confused, and distracted -- which is understandable, given that I'm still impaled on him. So I carefully lift myself off his cock and settle back on his knees, then dip my head forward for another quick kiss. I stand up, a little shakily, and hold out my hand, which he takes without hesitation. I smile slowly and say, sweetly: "Would you like me to draw you a bath?" ========== For just a moment my insecurities want to persuade me that she was pulling back, but really I know better. And now ... would I like to take a bath with Dana Scully? Why yes, thank you, I would. In a matter of moments Scully has filled the whirlpool, and now the two of us are stepping into it. And god was this a good idea. The hot, bubbling water feels so good as I lower myself into it, and in another moment it feels even better as Scully settles down onto my lap. Yeah. This is good. This is happy. This is content. When I woke up in that big four-poster bed a little while ago I thought THAT was content, but I obviously hadn't done enough research. THIS is content. Content is sitting in a big tub of hot water while Dana Scully cuddles on your lap and rests her head on your shoulder. Content is knowing that you've made love to Dana Scully twice this afternoon, and that you're going to do it a third time just as soon as both of you feel like it. THAT is content. I look down at Scully's face, and I see that her eyes are closed and she's breathing slowly and evenly. For a moment I think maybe she's fallen asleep, but then her eyelids flutter open and she sees me looking at her and she gives me the warmest, sweetest smile I have ever seen on her face. I mean, until ten days ago I didn't even know that Scully DID sweet. But I guess that's just a side of herself she saves for intimate and private moments with people she loves. Moments like this one. I bend down and press my lips against hers, and for just a moment we share a soft, chaste kiss. But then her lips open slightly, and she runs the tip of her tongue lightly along my bottom lip, and of course I cannot deny her admittance. And so the kiss deepens, and Scully turns slightly in my arms seeking better access to my mouth. Okay, maybe I was wrong again. Maybe the gentle cuddling of a moment ago WASN'T content. Maybe content is when Dana Scully is exploring my mouth with her tongue, while one of her hands tightly grips the back of my neck and the other caresses my chest. Having one of MY hands stroking her bare right hip while the fingertips of the other hand lightly trace the outline of her spine is probably also part of the formula. Finally our lips break apart, and Scully pulls her head back just a little ways to look up at me -- and suddenly I'm simply overcome by emotion and by the enormity of it all. Dana Scully loves me. She really, really loves me. It's written all over her face and in her eyes, and I just can't get enough of looking at her look at me. And I wonder how in the hell I managed to miss noticing this look for all those years. How could ANYONE not notice that Dana Scully was harboring those sorts of feelings? I guess I'll just have to do my damnedest to make up for all those wasted years. And I think I'll start by kissing her again. ========== I've always loved baths. I have that wonderful old clawfoot tub in my apartment, and I make every effort to take advantage of it a couple of times a week, whenever possible. I keep a whole array of bath salts and foam and oils, picking and choosing what I want when the time comes. But I've just realized all those baths have been missing the most important ingredient. Mulder. I make a quick vow NEVER to take another bath that doesn't include him -- one I know I won't keep, but hey, it's the thought that counts -- as he leans over to kiss me again. My hand starts scooping up water and pouring it down over his skin in an effort to give the bath some purpose. Other than foreplay, that is. His hands are skimming over my skin now, one still wandering over my back while the other comes around to cup my left breast. His tongue is soft and warm in my mouth, slow and tender rather than hard and frantic, and I find I like it just as much as the frenzy of earlier. I guess now that we've gotten the official "consummation" out of the way, we're a little more open to taking things slow this time around. And so I match his pace, moving my hands and tongue at a snail's pace so that our arousal builds just as gradually. I want this to last a long, long time ... ========== You know, someone should have told me about this a long time ago. I don't mean someone should have told me about Scully -- it was my job to figure her out, and I even had all the pieces right there and front of me and managed to miss it for years and years. Some trained investigator *I* am. No, I mean someone should have told me about this ... this ... I don't even know the word for it. It never even occurred to me that it was possible, so I guess it's understandable that I wouldn't know a word for it. But I'm sitting here in this hot tub with Dana Scully on my lap, and we're quietly kissing and touching and cuddling. Not necessarily taking it anywhere in particular, and certainly not in any hurry to get there. Just kissing and touching and cuddling. It's so intense and intimate it almost makes me want to cry. It's never been like this for me. Never. None of the other women I've known have ever been able to offer me anything like this, nor even anything close to it. Not Diana, and certainly not Phoebe. Just Scully. Only Scully. Her hand continues to glide across my chest, touching and caressing, stopping to playing with my sparse chest hair or brush across a nipple, never quite coming to rest. The fingers of her other hand are tangled in my hair, holding my head in place as her mouth browses across my face and neck. I'm just completely passive for the moment, accepting her gift, with one hand still gently cupping her breast and the other wrapped loosely around her upper torso. Her soft, round bottom is resting on my lap, and my erection is cradled comfortably between us. Her teeth capture my earlobe and she nips lightly, causing a shudder to race through my body. Scully gives a low, throaty chuckle and murmurs, "You like that, Agent Mulder?" And then she does it again, and again my body reacts, and this time Scully shivers slightly, too, and cuddles a little closer on my lap. Scully continues to lick and nibble at my ear and neck and shoulder, and now my thumb is lightly stroking her nipple. Her beautiful, beautiful nipple. I'm suddenly fascinated by the contrast between the hard nubbin of her nipple and the softness of the rest of her breast, and so I run my thumb repeatedly across the boundary between the two, reveling in the feel of it and causing her to shiver repeatedly even as her lips and tongue continue to explore my neck. In every other relationship I've ever been in, this would be the point where we would adjourn to the bedroom and proceed to fuck each other's brains out. But not with Scully. I'm so totally and completely comfortable with this woman that I feel no pressure at all to perform -- and more important, I don't feel the usual apprehension at being this close and intimate with her. And that's such a profound thing: To be with a woman and not be afraid of her. It's such an epiphany, and I have to share it with her, I have to let her know just how special this moment has become. And so I lift my hand from her breast and gently cup her chin and tilt her face up towards mine. I want her to see this in my eyes, not just hear it from my lips. And she looks up at me questioningly for a moment, and I realize there are unshed tears in my eyes, and I shake my head and smile, and I whisper, "I'm not afraid of you." ========== I'm puzzled for only a moment at his words, and then his meaning hits me full-force, and I'm struck with the most intense wave of love and adoration I've ever felt in my life. This is it. Those words have ripped aside the last walls between us, leaving nothing but the warm, all-encompassing reality that this is *real*. I know exactly what his words mean, exactly how he intended him. All his life, all he's known of love is its end. All he's learned from his relationships with women -- Diana and Phoebe, at least, and I'm sure there were others -- is that, eventually, they'll leave him, most likely in the cruelest way possible. I'm sure he had the same fear about me for a long time. God knows I would in his position. But now, he believes. He's broken through his own doubt and insecurity and accepted that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. Ever. I see the wetness in his eyes, and I can feel my own eyes filling as I lean forward, pressing my forehead against his. "You have nothing to be afraid of," I whisper intensely. "I would never leave you, not in a million years. I couldn't if I tried. I need you just as much as you need me." He pulls back just far enough to lock our gazes, his hands coming up to cradle my face. "I know," he whispers back, his voice choked with emotion. "I've always wanted to believe it ... and now I *know*." I let my tears fall freely down my face. I have no reason left to hide them from him. He slides his thumbs up to brush the droplets from my cheeks, then dips his head to catch the last few with his mouth. My eyes flutter shut as he continues to rain tiny kisses over my face, brushing across my cheeks, my eyelids, my forehead, all so lightly I can barely feel them. He backs away, and says, "Scully." So gentle, so tender, as if my name were the most precious glass. I raise my eyelids to meet his gaze, reading there his every emotion. And he says, just as tenderly, "I want to make love to you." And there is only one answer I could ever give him. "Yes ..." ========== "Yes ..." She said yes. At this point that really isn't a big surprise, but ... She said yes. For a moment longer we cuddle together in the hot tub; then Scully rises to her feet and turns to face me, holding out her hand. I take her hand and I stand up, too, and once I'm on my feet and facing her she smiles and reaches out with her free hand and lightly caresses my cock for just a moment, sending a shiver of anticipation up and down my spine. And then we both climb out of the tub, and hand in hand, still dripping wet, we walk together to the bedroom. No words now. We've never needed many words in our partnership, and now we seem to need none at all. Without ever letting go of my hand, Scully pulls back the covers and slips into bed, and I slide right in after her, pulling the blankets back up over us. And then we lie on our sides facing one another, still holding hands, and Scully scoots over until our bodies are barely touching, and we lean together and share a soft, erotic kiss. Our lips separate after only a few seconds, only to meet again, and this time the kiss is deeper, and our tongues meet and slide across each other with slow deliberation. This is not like our first time, earlier this afternoon; there is no frenzied desperation, no frantic neediness. This time there is only gentle devotion as we prepare to worship each other's bodies. At last I free my hand from hers and reach out and trail my fingers across her hip. Her skin is warm and soft, and still damp from the bath, and I can feel goosebumps forming as I lightly touch and caress her. And then I slide my arm around her waist and gently draw her to me, until there is no space between our bodies at all, and Scully sighs and buries her face against my shoulder and inhales deeply. ========== Oh God ... I can smell him. And I mean *him* -- pure, unfiltered, undiluted Mulderscent, straight from his freshly cleaned skin and into my lungs. No soaps, no deodorants, no colognes; just *him*. I want to breathe this scent every day for the rest of my life. And I want to taste him. My tongue comes out to run gently over his clavicle, tracing the bone from the top of his arm to the curve of his neck. I catch a few remaining droplets of water as I move, and I swallow them eagerly, as if drinking in his very essence. His sigh ruffles my wet hair against my forehead, and his hands continue their gentle movements, caressing my back and hips and upper thighs. My mouth continues on its slow trek, bridging the hollow of his throat with a kiss and then continuing along to the other shoulder. My hands have joined my exploration, my fingertips drifting in tiny whorls across his chest, giving equal attention to every square inch. He shivers when I brush his nipples, but I don't linger there. I want to feel all of him. His hands are roving farther now, stroking up lightly to my shoulders, then down to the curve of my ass. One diverges on an upstroke to dance down the back of my arm, while the other follows the curve of my hip around to my abdomen, pressing there gently. "Scully ..." My name is a breath on his lips, and I murmur his in response, my mouth wet against his left bicep. We keep up our infinitely slow exploration for what seems like hours, as if determined to memorize every detail of each other's body. Hands and mouths run across arms and legs and backs and faces until our arousal can no longer be ignored. Our skin is flushed and our breathing ragged when I rise above him, and he slips inside me as if he's always been there. And it feels as if he has. ========== Oh god. I'm inside Scully again. I'm inside Scully. She's straddling my hips, a dreamy, other worldly expression on her face, and now she's leaning down over me and lightly brushing her lips across mine, and it's like an electric circuit has been completed, causing my hips to jerk up against her, and we both moan. Scully apparently takes that as a signal to begin moving, because she starts rotating her hips, slowly and sensuously, and oh GOD does it feel good. My hands move to her hips, not trying to control her motions, but simply because I have to touch her, I have to hold her. She's trailing her fingers across my abdomen as she continues to work, her gaze is locked onto mine, and the expression on her face -- Jesus. I almost feel as if I could come just from looking at the expression on her face. I begin to move my own hips in unison with hers -- not thrusting, not trying to increase the pace, but simply joining in with her rhythm, reinforcing and feeding it back to her. And I must be doing something right, because her lips separate slightly and her eyes slide shut for a moment -- but just for a moment, and then she seems to force them open again, apparently needing the continuing eye contact as much as I do. God, I love this woman. The scent of our mutual arousal is everywhere, and our pleasure noises fill the room, and all I can see is Scully and the beautiful, carnal expression on her face. And her eyes ... I could just lose myself in her eyes. They're so intense, and so very, very blue. A deeper blue than I've ever seen them, like deep, still water. I feel an almost physical connection to her eyes, and that just feeds back on my longing and desire for her. God, she's beautiful. So very, very beautiful. Scully begins to quicken the pace, and I go along with her, and the wonder of it all is that we're still just enjoying this, still just enjoying each other. There's no sense of urgency, no demand for orgasm; just the simple pleasure of being coupled together in this most intimate of ways. Scully leans down to capture my lips again, and I slide my hands up her flanks and around to her back, holding her to me. Our hips continue to move together as we kiss, varying the tempo in silent rapport, almost as if we were a single organism. I feel as if we could go on like this indefinitely, eternally hovering on the brink, and never need or want to have anything else ... ========== I wish -- almost -- that we could stay like this all the time, in this wonderful, pleasurable haze of love and comfort and arousal. I feel fully cocooned in Mulder from head to toe, and I don't want to give it up. Not now; not ever. But our bodies have other ideas, and although we've been incredibly slow and gentle to this point, we are gradually escalating our movements and intensity. Our hip movements come faster and harder in tiny increments, our kiss deepening at the same slow pace. Finally, after what seems like years, we pass the point of full control. I draw my lips away from Mulder's and lean back, propping one hand on his thigh to allow me better leverage as his thrusts deepen. This angle opens me further to him, and I can feel the tip of his cock bumping my cervix with every pump of his hips. His hands are running up and down my sides, squeezing and kneading the flesh along my hips. I bring my free hand down to grasp his, intertwining our fingers, and he begins to squeeze my hand in rhythm with our movements. I let out a moan before I even realize it, and Mulder answers it immediately, almost as if he was waiting for me to go first. I grin swiftly at the thought, my eyes darting back to meet his, and he returns my smile automatically, without even knowing the reason for it. I think I've mentioned before what his smile does to me, and this is just so much ... *more*. I'm close, so close to the edge, and that wide, sexy smile of his is almost enough to take me right into oblivion. Almost, but not quite. And he knows it, because his free hand is already sliding across my lower abdomen, honing in on its target. I'm still smiling, but when his thumb flicks across my clit, the smile dissolves as my eyes close involuntarily, and I moan again. His hips are practically bouncing on the mattress now as he drives into me, lifting my knees from the bed with each thrust. I would have lost my balance by now, if it weren't for the firm grip he still has on my hand, holding me steady. "Scully ..." his voice calls. "Look at me." I pry my eyelids up to reveal a somewhat fuzzy but still beautiful sight. Mulder's skin is flushed and dotted with beads of sweat, but his eyes are focused on my face, reading my reactions and waiting for that moment when I reach my peak. He doesn't have long to wait. A low, guttural sound escapes me as my orgasm builds, as slow and intense as our lovemaking has been. My hand automatically clenches his tight, and I can hear him offering soft words of love and desire through the fog. And before the contractions have faded, he's pulled me down tight against his chest with both hands and is thrusting raggedly against me. It only takes a few moments before his hips jerk and shudder, and then he groans loudly. I feel his release nearly as strongly as I did my own, so attuned to him that his pleasure has become mine. Our recovery is nearly as long as our lovemaking, and we simply lie there together, breathing hard, his now-limp cock still inside me. Neither of us moves for a long time, my hands lying motionless on his chest, his still spread across my back. When I finally move, I feel lethargic, as if my limbs have been weighted. I manage to lift my head a few inches, enough to press a single soft, lingering kiss on the underside of Mulder's chin. He makes a tiny, contented sound and pulls me even tighter against him, and I smile. This is where we belong. ========== FINITO, baby! ========== MORE AUTHORS' NOTES (yeah, we just can't shut up ...): And now, we regret to inform our loyal readers that we will be taking a hiatus from the "Alternatives" universe. Yes, we know; this will be a great loss to the fanfiction community and the world as a whole. But a combination of real-life commitments and the desire (heh) to work on some other projects means we've decided to take a short break. By "short" we mean probably at least a week and a half, and probably more like a few weeks ... so just think of this as the season-ending cliffhanger ... only we're MUCH nicer than CC, and are only going to make you wait a few weeks ... ;) Just so you know, the main reason for the break is that Shannon is about to go out of town on a business trip for a week and will be completely computer-less for that time. So please excuse her if she doesn't respond to feedback and such during that time ... and try not to blame Brandon for it. And no, we don't have laptops, although as we discussed on IM: BrandonXF: you should buy a laptop.... BrandonXF: *I* should buy a laptop.... snoconnor: I could BE a laptop ... no, I didn't say that ... ;) And as always, we thank you for your support. ========== Visit our fanfic; it always needs another friend ... Shannon's: http://fly.to/LeftField Brandon's: http://www.avalon.net/~publius/MyStories.html