By ArtemisX5
artemisx5@hotmail.com

CATEGORY:  SRA

RATING: R

SUMMARY: I'm tired of telling my heart to be still;
tired of living without you.

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING. 'Theef'

KEYWORDS: Scully POV, Mulder POV, angst, humor, first
time

DISCLAIMER: Just for fun.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story was written expressly for
my dear beta and friend, sallie.  Happy birthday,
hunnie!  No one deserves fic gifts more.

Thanks and praise to Shelba, Marybeth, and sallie who
all did a magnificent job with beta and generalized
cheerleading.  Thanks ladies.  Also, thanks to
Shelba's husband for nipple lessons ;)

FEEDBACK: Framed and offered frankincense and myrrh
daily.

*************************************

I don't know when it became habit, but it is simply
part of her routine now.  Flash credentials, find
seat, stow carry-on in the overhead compartment.
Unbutton jacket, sit, stow laptop under the seat in
front of her, buckle seatbelt, sit back, close eyes
and take my hand.

Rational Dana Scully still cannot believe that a
plane might make it safely off the ground.

I pretend not to notice the sweat on her palms, and I
never, ever say a word when she lets go.  Sometimes
she falls asleep, hand going slack in my grasp.  I
always cradle it, happy to have a moment of unguarded
Scully-contact.  If she doesn't fall asleep, she will
take my hand again for the landing; never commenting,
never apologizing.

She had been quiet during the ride to the airport,
and stood close to me during check-in.  We've been at
cruising altitude for almost an hour, and she still
hasn't let go of my hand.  Her posture is intensely
casual, gaze fixed out the window.  She has been
thrumming with something unsaid, and I don't know if
she's simply forgotten to let go in her distraction,
or if she's been deliberately hanging on.

I squeeze her hand and she turns to me, startled.

"You okay?"

"Mmm?  Yeah."  She looks back out the window.

I let her remain in silent contemplation, while my
own mind mulls the possibilities.  Scully can be
reticent to an infuriating degree, but lately she'd
been a little more open; a little more extreme.  I
wonder how much our recent experiences are
challenging her sense of self.  She hasn't said
anything, but I know what it must have meant for her
to choose belief over skepticism on our last few
cases.  A few years ago, she would not have donned
battle gear and chased me into a video game so
quickly.  She wouldn't have shown me a magic trick
with such childish glee.

She would have rationalized going blind.

I decide to try a playful approach, so I dig a nickel
out of my pocket and balance it carefully on her
knee.

"What's this?" she asks.

"I figure your thoughts are worth at least five
cents."

She smirks.

"Would you like something to drink?"  The flight
attendant startles us both.

"Coffee, please.  Black," I answer automatically.

"And you, ma'am?"

"Cranberry juice."

The fresh-faced brunette serves up our drinks with a
smile so big I suspect it hurts.  She stretches
across me to set Scully's drink on the tray, her grin
widening to manic.  When she straightens up, she
props her hands on her hips and tips her head like a
sparrow.  "You two aren't honeymooners, are you?"

"No," I give her a patient smile.

"I heard a rumor we've got some honeymooners on
board, and I thought it might be you!"  She sounds
like the host of a television show for toddlers.

"Sorry, no," Scully says.

"Well, I hope you flew with us on your own honeymoon!
We know how to treat happy couples right!"

Scully smiles wanly, letting go of my hand when the
attendant is out of sight.

My hand feels cool without her, so I trace a circle
around the nickel still on her knee.  "Am I gonna get
my nickel's worth?"

She covers the nickel and my fingertips with her
hand.  "I'm having a lot of thoughts."

I nod.  "I'll give you a penny for each of them."

She smiles, looking down.

"I'm wondering if I'm going to have nightmares about
being blind now."

Oh.  I feel a familiar sorrow creep into my conscious
mind.  "We should get hazard pay for sleeping," I
suggest, trying to lighten my own mood.

She laughs, much to my relief.  "Accounting would
have a field day with that."

"Better yet, we could get paid overtime if we slept
together for back-up."  I try to leer at her, but
it's been harder to be lascivious with her lately.

She narrows her eyes at me.  "Are you trying to win
the office pool, Mulder?"

That's why.  She keeps throwing my innuendoes back at
me.  I'm not sure how to handle this Scully.  So I
take a sip of my coffee, feigning innocence.  She
looks out the window again.

We're silent for a long time.  I watch the in-flight
movie with no headphones, trying to glean the plot.
Most movies are so heavy-handed with the imagery
these days that I can tell what's happening without
the dialogue.  This one seems to be a Western remake.
Seems like a lot of slapstick.  I don't think I'm
missing much without the benefit of the soundtrack.

"Where are we?"  I ask finally.

She leans closer to the window, looking down.  "It's
too cloudy.  I can't see the ground."

I look at my watch.  "Probably over the Rockies;
maybe into the plains already."

"Have we ever been to Colorado?" she asks.

"No."

"I can't remember anymore."  Her face is wistful.
"Every airport looks the same; every town, every
morgue.  Sometimes I think even the bad guys look the
same."

********************************************
In truth I could map the United States with memories:
Bellefleur - lost 9 minutes; New York City - shot in
stomach; Florida - delivered baby in a hurricane;
Kroner, KA - switch flicked...

"Is this the 'Get out of the car' speech again?"  He
cannot hide the concern in his voice.

"No," I assure him.  "Sometime I just can't believe
how much time has gone by."  I adjust my hand to
dovetail our fingers together, the nickel pressed
between our palms.  I am not sure why I need to keep
touching Mulder today, but I feel bereft without him.
Yesterday, when I was plunged into that infinite
darkness, I only wanted Mulder's hand.  I knew he
would take hold and never let go, and I would never
feel so helpless again.

The plane suddenly lifts and drops.  The seatbelt
light flickers to life and a faint 'bong' heralds the
captain's voice.  "Ladies and gentlemen, we're
passing through some cloud cover right now, and we
may be experiencing some turbulence.  I've put the
'fasten seatbelts' sign on, and we'd ask that you
keep your tray tables up and locked.  The flight
attendants will be coming around to collect any
leftover beverage materials you may have."

I slam my eyes shut before he is even done talking,
letting Mulder collect our empty cups, and put my
tray table up.  He does it all one-handed since I
will not let him go.  I hate the sweaty feeling of my
palm against his, because I know he can feel it, too.

His shoulder presses into mine as he leans close to
speak to me.  "Tell me about clouds, Scully."

He wants to distract me, calm me, and I love him for
it, but this 'turbulence' feels more like God's
wrath.  I shake my head, "I don't want to."

He lifts our joined hands and then I feel him press a
kiss to my fingers, one-by-one.

The plane hoists and rolls for I-don't-know-how-long;
a long time.  I try to breathe slow and evenly,
willing my adrenal glands to stop being so damn
productive.  I can tell Mulder is watching me, but I
don't mind.  He taps our clasped hands against his
lips, making the nickel jump in the space our hands
make.

Another 'bong' announces the captain.  "Ladies and
gentlemen, we're going to try to climb out of this
system.  Please stand by.  Flight attendants, please
return to your seats."

The weight of our bodies presses into the seats, as
the plane angles toward clearer skies.

"Where are we now?"  I ask, thinking only of landing
safely at home.

He doesn't answer right away; he must be checking his
watch.

"Ohio."

I can't hold back a sigh of disappointment.

"It's not much longer," he says.  I open one eye a
slit to check him for honesty.  "You still owe me
four thoughts," he reminds me, shaking the nickel.

"I think I should start taking the train," I say.

He laughs.  "Three more."

"I hate Southern California."

"You're from Southern California."

"Well, I don't like it anymore.  And I'm from
Virginia."

"I wish you had a Southern accent."

I crack my eye open again, and raise my eyebrow.  He
grins and I shut my eye.

"You'd be like Jodie Foster in 'Silence of the
Lambs.'"

"Bite me, Mulder."  It's the only response I can come
up with.

"Two more thoughts."

"I don't wanna play anymore."

"Come on, Scully.  Indulge me."

"I'm wondering who feeds your fish when we go on
these trips."

"Byers.  One more."

"I know what you're trying to do."

"Is it working?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Have I opened my eyes?"

"Where do you think we are now, Scully?"

"I don't know."

"Why don't you check?"

"Nice try.  I'm not falling for it."

"Scully, need I remind you that as a scientist and
former physicist, you - of all people - should know
that a plane is very unlikely to crash mid-flight?"

"Mulder, shut up."

"Then may I at least appeal to your adult sense of
reason?"

"No."

The plane levels and the ride is immediately
smoother.  I open my eyes in surprise.

"I thought I'd never see them again."  He pulls my
hand with his own to rub a knuckle along my
cheekbone.  I lower lashes at him, even as blood
thrills through my face.  His touches have been so
much more intimate lately.  One of these times I'm
not going to have it in me to resist anymore.

"One more thought," he says in a low voice.

I consider honesty, but an image of Mulder throwing
me over his shoulder, and carrying me into the
bathroom to have his way with me, keeps me in the
shallow end of the pool.  "Where are we now?"

"You're awfully impatient today, Scully."  He checks
his watch again.  "Maybe Pennsylvania."

I look out the window, but the cloud cover is still
too thick.

"One more thought," he prompts.

I meet his eyes, staring into them with curiosity and
hesitation.  "I'm wondering how many pennies I can
earn this way."

He looks amused, possibly pleased, as he checks his
pocket again.  He pulls out two dimes, three pennies
and a quarter.  "Forty-eight thoughts."

I roll my eyes.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're about to begin out
descent into Dulles, Washington D.C.  We'd like to
thank you for flying with us, and on behalf of the
entire crew and myself, I hope we'll see you on a
future flight."

"I hate that," Mulder sighs.

"What?"

"'On behalf of the entire crew and myself.'  You
can't be on behalf of yourself."

I smirk.  "Nobody likes a grammar geek, Mulder."

"That's math geeks you're thinking of."

"Mmm."  I add this exchange to my mental list of
obtuse references to our New Year's Eve kiss.  He
mentions it about once a week.

As the plane passes through the cloud cover, the
turbulence returns with a vengeance.  I wrap my free
hand around the armrest, eyes squeezed shut again.

*****************************************

White spots are slowly appearing on Scully's
knuckles.  I know we're done talking until we touch
down now, so I sit back.  She hates the landings more
than anything.  I close my eyes in sympathy,
memorizing the feel of her warm fingers woven through
mine.  It really was a waste to give her the window
seat, I realize, looking past her to the rapidly
approaching horizon.

On the ground I have the unparalleled pleasure of
watching Scully scowl her way to the head of the line
of passengers deplaning.  She never has to say a
word, and so far, she's never flashed her gun, but
somehow we're always off the plane just behind the
first class passengers.  We've learned from years of
experience not to check any luggage, so within
minutes we're headed toward the short-term parking
structure.

I take unnatural pleasure in billing the Bureau for
the higher rates in short-term parking.  We're rarely
gone more than three days, so the Bureau can't really
complain, but I suspect that more than one accountant
has an ulcer with my name on it.

She drove this time since the flight was out of
Dulles.  I always want to laugh when she gets in the
car, and has to tug the lever below to move the seat
closer to the steering wheel.  When she drives my
car, she has to sit so close that she can't get out
again without moving the seat back.  I love reminders
of her tiny stature.

On the road to Alexandria, she asks, "Where do you
want to eat?"

What?  Her tone implies that this question is an
everyday occurrence.  Expected.  I look at her,
waiting for the punch line.
When none comes, I have to ask, "What?"

"Aren't you hungry?  It's nearly seven."

"Well, yeah."

"So, what do you want to eat?"  She's not looking at
me, I notice.

"What if I said I wanted sushi?"

"I'd eat California rolls, and pray you don't get
worms."  She is more paranoid of sushi than of
crashing in a plane.  I love exploring her few
irrationalities.

"I don't want sushi."

"Okay."  She twists, checking her blind spot, but
still manages avoid my eyes.

"I feel like a meatball sub."

"You don't look like one."  She maintains a bored
expression, but I sense a hint of the Scully who
played baseball with me last year.

I decide to ignore her comment.  Suddenly, she
chooses an exit, rocking me into the passenger
window.  I watch the familiar streets of Alexandria
blur by the window as she guides the car to an
unknown destination.

She pulls up in front of a local restaurant, and
gives me a bright smile.  "Ready?"

I nod; hoping suspicion isn't evident on my face.

She deliberates over a sandwich for a length of time
I would have thought sufficient to choose a new car,
finally settling on seafood salad.  I elect not to
point out her strange love of seafood while
simultaneously loathing sushi.

We sit at a tall cafe table, eating in comfortable
silence.  I watch in fascination as her little pink
tongue emerges time after time to catch mayo from the
corners of her mouth.  She smiles at me with a straw
between her lips and my mouth goes dry.

She seems content.  It's making me nervous.

"Why are you so perky?" I finally ask, hoping to rile
her to normalcy with my word choice.

She sighs with no trace of her usual exasperation,
and takes her time balling up the wrapper from her
sandwich.  I feel a slight kick in the shin and I
realize she's swinging her feet under the table like
a child.

"I think I'm ready."

My mind sorts through a short list of possible
contexts for this statement, but I come up dry.  "For
what?"

She rolls her eyes, smiling.  I must have an utterly
blank expression, because she elaborates, "I think
*we're* ready, Mulder."

One context comes to mind, but it's impossible.  I
try to fit my face into an expression of casual
curiosity.

"Done?" she asks, gesturing to my balled up trash and
empty cup.

I can only nod.

"Let's go."  She sweeps all the wrappings onto the
tray; and carries it to the garbage while I stare in
wonder.

Just what does she mean?

In the car again, she scans the radio stations.  I
fight the urge to knock her hand away and demand
answers.  Thankfully, my apartment is only five
minutes away.

She is out of the car before I even have my door open
and I find her at the trunk engaged in a mighty
struggle with my suitcase.  I shove her bag to one
side, freeing mine.  It slides out suddenly and
easily, nearly knocking Scully to the ground.  She
recovers, setting it heavily on the street.

I lead the way into Hegel Place, using every ounce of
self-control to stop myself from checking her for
evidence of alien replacement.

She moves easily in my apartment, lifting the lid on
the fish tank and tapping in a few flakes of food.  I
drag my carry-on into the bedroom, wondering if
she'll still be in the living room when I get back.
She is.

She's curled up on the couch, flipping through Omni.
Her shoes are on the floor, and she doesn't even look
up when I sit near her.  I wait for her to speak, but
she seems happy reading.

"What's up?"  I ask, hoping to sound breezy.

She looks up, closing the magazine.  A little smile
curves her mouth.  "How do you feel about me,
Mulder?"

This is too direct.  This is not my Scully.  I hear
my voice sputtering for words.

"Never mind," she says, leaning on one hand to be
close to me.  "Has anything changed the way you feel
about me in the last few years?"

I consider this time, recalling anger and laughter,
love and lust, joy and sorrow.  Slowly, I shake my
head.  "I just feel it more."

She blushes.  I want to touch the colored apples of
her cheeks.  "How will you feel tomorrow?  Is there
anything I could do to change how you feel?"

"Are you going to shoot me again?"

She flashes a naughty grin.  "I wasn't planning on
it."

"Then no."

"That's what I thought."

"So?"  I prompt when she falls into silence again.

She sets Omni on the coffee table and looks me in the
eyes.  "For a long time now, I've resisted..." she
hesitates.  "...just resisted because I thought there
would be no forgetting if I gave in.  There would be
no romantic stories to be told about my scars, no
escape from the memories, no lying about my
nightmares."

I cock my head, trying to follow her reasoning.

She leans closer still.  "You know everything about
me.  We have no secrets.  I can't hide anything from
you."

I beg to differ, but I decide not to call her
'Houdini' right now.

"But then it occurred to me that I like my life.  I
like my stories.  And, Mulder, I think you're the
only person who'd believe me at this point."

I know that feeling.  "What are you saying?"

"I thought I should want someone else, because I
thought I needed an escape from this life of ours.
But there is no escape, and I don't want one anymore.
I'm starting to believe in extreme possibilities."

"Scully..."

She shakes her head.  "Mulder...it's time."

My heart has climbed into my throat, and I'm not sure
I'll be able to talk around it.  It is a rare moment
that finds me at a loss for words, and Scully has
managed to create two of those moments within the
last two minutes.

I am overwhelmed.  Joy and shock are battling for
dominance within me.  Finally, I choke out, "You
settling for me?"

She laughs. "I don't consider it 'settling,' Mulder.
Don't you understand?  I've been looking so hard for
something different, separate, that I missed what was
here all along.  It's time to trust my feelings.  You
are my perfect soul-mate, and I'm tired of telling my
heart to be still; tired of living without you."

I never thought she'd crack first.  I slide closer on
the couch, almost touching her.  If she wants to talk
about being honest, I have to tell her one thing:
"If we start this, I can't stop."

She nods.  "Neither can I."

"A long time ago, I accepted that my life is wrapped
up in you.  I can't work without you.  I can't sleep
without you.  If we do this, I won't be able to live
without you."

She covers my hands with hers.  "I'm afraid you're
stuck with me."

"Why now?  Why today?"  That's right Mulder, pick at
the scab.

"You said I keep you guessing, and I realized I've
been doing the same thing to myself.  All this time
I've worked so hard at staying in control, that I
controlled myself out of happiness."

I can't help smiling.  "If I'd known what it took, I
would have said that years ago."

She laughs.  "Oh,really?"

"I'd do anything for you."

"I know you would."  She squeezes my hands.  "No one
else has ever gone to Antarctica for me."

I smile, looking down at our hands, joined again
while we're safe on the ground.  "I'm dangerously in
love with you."

Her eyes widen.  "So we're going to do this?"

"If you'll have me."  I rest my forehead against
hers.  "Are you aware that the warranty on me expired
in the late '70s?"

She laughs again.  "I'll take you 'as is.'"  Her
palms cup my cheeks and she meets my gaze with wet
eyes.

"So do I get to kiss you now?"  I ask.

She nods, but doesn't wait for me to do the honors.
Her lips are soft and a little dry.  I slip a hand to
the nape of her neck, tugging her close.  She tips
her head, parting her lips beneath mine.

I trace the opening with the tip of my tongue and she
opens further to meet me with her own tongue.  The
velvet feel of her in my mouth, makes me want to weep
with joy.  She gropes for my shoulders, easing
closer.  The leather squeaks beneath us.

I pull away, pressing kisses to her cheeks, neck and
jaw.  She sighs contentedly, returning kisses
wherever she can reach.  She catches my earlobe with
her teeth and I shiver.

"I love you," she murmurs with a smile.

My heart clenches, falling out of my throat in a dead
faint.  Dana Scully loves me.  "I have to stop," I
gasp.

"Why?" she ignores me, trailing wet lips down my
neck.

"My point of no return is a lot closer than it used
to be.  Unnnnh-" She interrupts me with a bite on a
cord of muscle near my shoulder.  "I'm gonna want
everything if we go any further."

She sits back, reaching for the first button on her
blouse.  "What's wrong with everything?"

I stare, mouth hanging open at the smooth curves of
skin she reveals.  "You don't want to take this
slowly?"

"Isn't six years enough foreplay?" she asks, letting
the gap in her blouse show off a pale pink bra of
shiny satin.

"Are you sure?"  I have to keep checking.  This is
too valuable to mess up.  An open-mouth kiss is her
only reply.  "Then you're mine."  I run one fingertip
down her breastbone.  She bites her lower lip, eyes
fluttering shut.  I stand, holding out my hands for
her.  She rises to stand before me.  I can't help
laughing when she toes off her shoes, and sinks a
good three inches below my chin in her stocking feet.

She steps into my arms, entreating me to embrace her
and I can't deny her.  She feels like an angel come
to earth; all light, passion, and warmth.

She leans back to start on my tie, but I want to make
everything perfect for her. "Wait."  I still her
hands and press kisses to her knuckles.  "Just a
second."  I hurry down the hall to my bedroom, and I
can hear her trailing behind me.

Just as I suspected, I have once again only put on
one pillowcase.  I go back into the hall to retrieve
another and Scully stands behind me, staring at the
contents of my linen closet.

"What are you doing?"

"I thought you might want a pillowcase."

Her laughter is wind chimes in the quiet hall, and I
can't help smiling.  "I'm honored," she says,
following me to the bedroom.  She watches me shake
the spare pillow into a white case.  Then she watches
me shuck my shoes and loosen my tie.  She's starting
to look nervous, but I want her too badly at this
point.  I crook a finger at her, beckoning.

She comes, slowly and stands before me with a blush
spreading over her exposed decolletage.  I trail
reverent hands down her arms.

"My God, look at you," I whisper.  "You are so
lovely."  I kiss her again, already addicted to the
feeling.  She tilts her face up, offering better
access; more of herself.  I follow her jawline with
my fingertips, trace her throat and fan my fingers
out along her collar bone.  She strains forward,
trying to meet my palms with her breasts, but I move
again, tracing her bra straps down to the place where
they disappear under her shirt.
I bring my fingers together in the middle to slip the
remaining buttons free of their holes.  Her hands
flutter up to stop me for
a second, but then she runs her palms along my
forearms, grasping tightly for support.  Our kisses
continue, languid, perfect like an expensive
chocolate.

When her shirt is hanging loose around her frame, I
let my hands roam over her ribs and try to span her
waist.  She gasps at the pressure, but her kisses
grow more desperate.  I abandon her mouth to leave
kisses like breadcrumbs, as I explore her throat and
shoulders.

Her hands move stealthily down my body, gripping my
hips and dancing over my back.  I reach back for one
of her hands, and tug
it to her side, so I can slip her shirt off that
shoulder, and get her arm free.  She presses her
bared arm across her torso as if cold, and I wonder
if she is embarrassed.  I guide her shirt off
completely, and stroke flat palms over her exposed
back.  Her skin is smooth and soft.  It breaks my
heart to think I've never touched it all before.

I wrap my arms around her, gathering her small frame
against my chest, and absorbing the feel of this
moment.  Behind me, her hands have started working my
shirt free of my waistband, so I quickly unbutton the
cuffs.  She pulls away to untuck the rest of my
shirt.  She gets the first three buttons loose before
I grow impatient, and tug the shirt over my head,
along with the white T-shirt underneath.

"Mulder," she murmurs, pressing kisses to the scar
her bullet left in my shoulder.  It is a strange
sensation, the small scar is still numb, but I can
feel her moist lips all around that center of
dullness.  I find the ragged exit scar left by Peyton
Ritter on her back.  There is no need for stories.
We both know what happened.

Her skin against mine is the finest sensation I've
ever known.  I hug her to me, kissing her lips once
more.

I run my hands over her hips, and set to work on the
slide-hook button combo that holds her skirt closed.
When the zipper is down, she lets the garment pool at
her feet.  I step back to look at her, but she
follows, keeping herself out of view.

"I want to look at you," I whisper, kissing her ear.

"No," she protests, "not yet."

"Scully, I could sculpt you from memory.  I remember
every moment; every inch of you that I have been
privileged to see.  I was there when you were naked
in the green slime in Antarctica.  Don't be afraid."

"You're going to laugh," she mumbles, face pressed
into my shoulder.

"Scully.  Why would I laugh?"

She doesn't answer at first, clinging to my waist so
I can't back up for a look.

"It's my underwear."

I want to laugh right then.  "I won't laugh.  I
promise."

She looks up at me suspiciously, but I reassure her
with warm kisses.

I step back then, but the top of her hosiery is too
opaque to see through.  I look up at her and find she
is blushing furiously.  Reluctantly, she eases the
pantyhose over her hips, revealing pink satin panties
that match her bra.  Near her left hip in black
thread is embroidered "Dana."  I don't laugh.  I do
smile, though.

"Is this so you don't get them mixed up with the
other girls' at slumber parties?"  I ask.

She covers her face with one hand, and the embroidery
with the other.  "Tara got it done as a gag gift for
Christmas.  She wanted to see Bill's face when he
watched me open up panties."

I drop to my knees, and pry her fingers away from the
writing.  She looks down at me as I lean forward to
kiss her name.  I steer her hips toward the bed,
easing her to sit on the edge.  I guide her pantyhose
off, finding her legs beneath to be infinitely
smoother than her hosiery.  She wiggles her toes when
they are free, a dainty little gesture I could get
used to.  I stand then and tug my belt open.  She
reaches forward and undoes my pants.  They drop
cleanly to the floor as well-tailored pants should,
and she grins at my boxers; navy blue with stars and
planets.  She reaches for me then, but I lower myself
to the floor.

I lift one small foot and press a kiss to the arch,
then work my way around her delicate ankle bones, and
start a path of kisses up her calf.  She giggles when
I hit a certain spot near her knee, and I catalogue
that fact for future reference.  When I start up her
inner thigh, I can smell her arousal.  My own has
been evident for some time, but the scent of her
ratchets me up a notch.  I look up at my angel,
leaning back on her elbows, watching me with a
mixture of fascination and anxiety, and I want to
give her pleasure like she has never known before.

I spread a flattened palm over her soft belly and
stroke softly at the undersides of her breasts
through her bra.  Her pupils dilate, and I can see
her chest start to rise and fall more quickly.  I
continue on my kissing quest, touching the tip of my
tongue to the hollow where her thigh meets her
pelvis.  She startles, gasping.  I make a path across
her panties, leaving a wet mark just below her name.
Back on her heated flesh I trace a heart with my
tongue.

"Mulder," she hisses.

"Hmm?"  I'm busy, nipping at the edge of her panties,
focusing on what lies beneath, and don't want to be
distracted.

"Please.  Come," she pauses on a sharp breath when I
stretch forward and slip my tongue into her navel.
"Up.  Here."

I take my time complying, kissing a path up her belly
and between her breasts.  The scent there is like a
drug, and my eyes roll back a little.  Poised above
her, I dip my head for another kiss that turns my
brain to soup.

Her small, confident hands roam my body, warming my
shoulders, and electrifying my abdomen.  Then
suddenly one slips south and she grasps my erection.
I can barely see and my elbows buckle, nearly
toppling me onto her lithe form.

"I want--" she breathes, closing her lips against
what she wants.

I know what I want, so I bring one hand to the clasp
of her bra.  I make a mental note to thank her for
wearing a front-closure.  Later. The cups part and
slide away, revealing every decadent inch of her
lily-colored breasts. Her rosy nipples harden under
my gaze, and I know I have to taste one.  She makes
the most incredible sound when I suck one nipple into
my mouth.  It is a quiet, wordless sound that I want
to hear again and again.

She draws one foot onto the bed and tilts her pelvis
up to me, pleading for contact.  An insistent squeeze
from her hand convinces
me to drop my hips into the waiting cradle of her
spread thighs.  The contact takes the breath from
both of us, and I know I won't survive much more
foreplay.  There will be time for tasting and teasing
later; the second time.

Scully's hands scuffle with her panties, trying to
urge me up high enough to rid herself of them.  I
rock onto one hip beside her, tugging my boxers down
clumsily.  Free now, she reaches for me, pulling at
my hip.  I have just enough sense to slide my arm
beneath her, and haul us both fully onto the
mattress.  I don't want her feet on the floor the
first time.  I want her to know the feeling of
flying.

She reaches for me again, and I let her guide me back
to her waiting body.  Our hands tangle between us as
we both try to position my erection at her entrance.
Partners, even in this.

I pause to look up into her eyes.  The blue is merely
a ring around black wells, which hold one million
secrets.  She looks more beautiful than I have ever
seen her, flushed and open, her expression soft.  I
press into her.

***************************************

"Muh--" The one silly syllable leaves my lips and I
can't speak anymore.  Stars are being born and dying
within me.

"Scully," Mulder sighs into my neck.

Tears flood my eyes as the rest of my body becomes
aware of the universe inside.  My hands are shaking
when I wrap my arms around
my lover, electrified by nerves I had long forgotten.
He starts to move, but I still him, hooking my heels
behind his thighs.  I cannot comprehend all of this
sensation, how can I possible live if he moves?

He raises his head to look at me, and I see my tears
mirrored in his eyes.  He cups my face, his thumb
passing through the damp trails on my cheeks.

"Okay?" he whispers.

"Yes."  My inner muscles contract around him,
adjusting to the welcome invasion.

He shudders.  "So good."

"Yes."  Slowly, my body relaxes and I let my legs
drop wide around his.  He begins a slow pattern of
thrusting, each of us drawing shaky breaths.

My body is alive, thrumming with sensation and
rhythm.  Mulder finds his way back to my lips, and we
share kisses that imitate our
joined bodies.

The heat of his body, the texture of his skin.  I am
lost.  This is nirvana.  This is truth.  We cling to
each other pouring our souls into this act too long
delayed.  I never knew I wasn't whole until Mulder
completed me.

The ecstasy is unbearable, building an intricate web
in my belly.  My breathing is wild, and I grope for a
tighter hold on Mulder's shoulders.  Our kisses cease
in a confusion of passion, when I cannot seem to pull
him tight enough to my body, tilt my hips up far
enough, or draw him deep enough inside me.  The
delicate web shatters, and I am falling.

"Mulder!" I gasp while my body is ravaged by the
pleasure he has wrought.  He strains above me once
more, hips pressed tight to mine.  "Scully!" he calls
out when his body reaches critical mass, then
collapses into my arms, breathing raggedly and
shuddering.

We drift for a while in a haze of release.
Eventually, Mulder rolls to one side, situating me in
his arms.  I fight to keep my eyes open for a while,
but it's too much and I close them, breathing in
everything that is Mulder.

After a while, he seems to recover and leaves a few
kisses along my hairline.  "You okay?"

"Mmm, yeah."  I kiss his collarbone, conveniently
located in front of my mouth.

"You do keep me guessing, Scully."

"Why do you say that?"

"I always thought you'd taste like mocha."

"And?"

"You taste like vanilla."

"Are you disappointed?"

"Not at all," he purrs.

I turn in his embrace, spooning up with him.  I could
really get used to sleeping like this.  The digital
clock on the nightstand tells me it's a little after
nine.

"It's early, Mulder.  I shouldn't be so sleepy."

"Rest."  He kisses the top of my head.  "You're gonna
need it."

"Oh really?"  I can't help smiling.

"Mmm hmm.  You might want to start carbo-loading,
too."

I giggle, and the feel of it in my throat is rusty,
but welcome.  "Why is that?"

"Because I'm addicted now."  He nuzzles through my
hair to kiss my neck wetly.  "And you know what I can
be like when I really want something."

"That I do."  Thank God.

********************************************

fin.