Email to Foxprose
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RATING: NC-17
WARNING: Descriptive sex. Smut warning.
CATEGORY: MSR
KEYWORDS: Slight Angst
DISCLAIMER: Enough problems with real people in my
life, let alone fictional characters. They belong to
Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox
Broadcasting.
FEEDBACK: Please! Send to foxprose2003@yahoo.com
SPOILERS: Slight references to Fire and The End.
SUMMARY: "Those two agents o' yours are wound up
tighter 'an ticks on a hound."
AUTHOR'S NOTES: As always, kudos to Donnilee for her
incredible beta, constant encouragement, and
wonderful website.
A special thank you to Carma, who spent almost as
much time on this story as I did, and whose feedback
on character development and motivation elevated this
story far beyond my original aspirations.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
FBI HEADQUARTERS
A.D. WALTER SKINNER'S OFFICE
WASHINGTON, DC
10:30 AM
Walter Skinner held the earpiece of his telephone a
few inches away from his face, but this did nothing
to mute the disembodied voice on the other end.
"Those two agents o' yours are wound up tighter 'an
ticks on a hound." The speaker was John Hathaway, the
SAC of the Dallas field office, and he was just
warming up.
"Well, thanks for the tip-off, John. I'll handle it
from here. Anything specific I should know?" Skinner
responded.
"I mean to tell you they were both jumpier 'an long-
tailed cats in a roomful o' rockers. And that one?
The one with the animal name? Wolf, Fox, Coyote,
whatever? Well, ya oughta have him checked for
rabies, 'cause he about bit off anyone's head who
came near 'im."
"That would be Agent Mulder."
"And that lil' pathologist who came with 'im wasn't
much better. We all thought she was gonna jump outta
her skin if somebody said boo."
"Well, I appreciate the feedback, John. I'll handle
it with the agents directly. Good talking to you."
Skinner hung up before Agent Hathaway could launch
another round of folksy metaphors. John Hathaway was
a decent agent and a good supervisor. However,
Skinner could only take so much from a man who had
moved to Texas and found his inner cowpoke via a Main
Line Philadelphia family and an Ivy League education.
He rubbed his temples and then picked up the
telephone to summon the agents to his office,
wondering why he had ever pursued the FBI's executive
track. Cats in a roomful of rockers, indeed.
Unfortunately, it was his job to herd them.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
FBI HEADQUARTERS
A.D. WALTER SKINNER'S OFFICE
WASHINGTON, DC
1 PM
Special Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully sat
stoically, eyes straight ahead, still reeling from
the blistering reprimand Skinner had issued. In
addition to 'lack of professional courtesy,'
'unwillingness to develop collegial relationships,'
and 'disregard for the importance of teamwork,' they
were now being charged with 'nervousness befitting
long-tailed cats in a roomful of rockers.' Skinner
could no longer keep a straight face as he repeated
Hathaway's comparison. He made a half-hearted
attempt to stifle his laughter but gave up the fight.
Mulder and Scully desperately needed some levity, and
they, too, were overcome by mirth at the description
of Hathaway's complaints against them.
They wiped their eyes, and Skinner once again became
serious. "I've checked the records. Neither of you
has taken more than a single day of vacation in more
than two years. I am not counting hospitalizations.
I wouldn't have put it quite like Agent Hathaway, but
he has a point." Skinner stopped and consulted a
yellow legal pad.
"Sir," Scully began.
He cut her off. "The two of you will be assisting
the Organized Crime Division in the Brooklyn/Queens
resident agency in a brief undercover role. Your job
there should be finished by tomorrow night, and both
of you are required to use the rest of the week to
relax and rest up. I don't want to hear or see
either of you until a week from today."
"Does the New York case have anything to do with the
X-Files?" Mulder asked pointedly.
"No, Agent Mulder. As I understand it, you and Agent
Scully will be posing as patrons of a restaurant in
Brighton Beach, Brooklyn. The field office in New
York has been working to bring down a leader in the
Russian mob. They hope to arrest him in the
restaurant tomorrow night," Skinner explained.
"But the New York office has hundreds of agents ..."
Scully started to complain.
"Yes," Skinner agreed, "but keep in mind that
Russian organized crime is filled with former KGB and
military intelligence officers. These are not
garden-variety criminals. They've already identified
a number of the agents in the Brooklyn/Queens agency,
and no one knows how much information they have on
agents based in Manhattan or Newark. That's why
outside agents are being brought in."
Skinner dismissed the two agents, who began to take
their leave. As they reached the door, he called
out, "Just a minute, Agent Scully." She stopped and
he motioned for her to re-take her seat. Mulder
paused, but Skinner nodded his head toward the door.
Mulder slunk out with obvious reluctance.
Skinner directed his attention to the petite but
tough-as-nails agent seated before him. "Agent
Scully, I'm going to ask for your help." He leaned
toward her over his desk. "You and Agent Mulder are
often unorthodox in your approach to your work, but
you've frequently been successful in wrapping up
cases that others couldn't or wouldn't."
Scully nodded, unsure of what was coming.
"I realize John Hathaway can be pain in the ass with
his fake Texas accent," continued Skinner in a soft,
conciliatory tone. "But Agent Mulder *is* wound too
tight. I can't send him out like this. When this
undercover thing wraps up, please try to make sure
Mulder does whatever he needs to do to relax. I
realize you're not responsible for your partner's
behavior or personal life, but I can't have another
Dallas. Do you understand?"
Scully nodded. "Yes, Sir." She felt uneasy, as if
she were once again being used to conspire against
Mulder, but she knew their boss was right. The trip
to Dallas had been a disaster.
She kept her face expressionless as an idea flitted
through her consciousness. Maybe this was the chance
she'd been waiting for to push the envelope just a
little with Mulder. She'd worked hard to keep her
feelings for her partner under wraps, and she had
plenty of circumstantial evidence that Mulder was
working toward the same unspoken goal. Somehow,
though, the tension seemed worse lately. Every time
he touched her, every time she accidentally leaned
against him, every look he gave her ... well, no wonder
the Dallas SAC compared them to cats in a roomful of
rockers.
Skinner nodded his dismissal, and Scully edged out of
the room. He could see Mulder waiting anxiously for
her in the outer office. One down, he thought, and
one to go. He picked up the telephone, glanced
across the office make sure the door was completely
closed, and began dialing a number with a 212 area
code.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
FBI HEADQUARTERS
X-FILES OFFICE
WASHINGTON, DC
3 PM
Walter Skinner knocked lightly on the door to the
basement office occupied by Agents Mulder and Scully.
The door was ajar and he could see Mulder hunched
over his computer screen. A printer was spitting out
paper in the background.
"Agent Mulder?" he interrupted.
Mulder startled slightly at the sight of Skinner, who
rarely ventured to the basement. He jumped to his
feet as Skinner entered the office.
"Is Agent Scully here?" Skinner inquired.
"No. No, she, uh, went home a little early to grab a
bag. We're catching a 7 PM shuttle to LaGuardia."
"Good," said Skinner approvingly. "I wanted to
talk to you."
Mulder listened warily, his unblinking eyes focused
on Skinner.
"I realize John Hathaway can be pain in the ass with
that stupid accent and all," Skinner repeated, using
the same speech he'd used a few hours ago. "But
Agent Scully *is* wound too tight. She's not as
effective like this. When this undercover thing is
over, I want you to make sure she does whatever she
needs to do to relax. Off the record, I'll try to
find a way to cover any reasonable expenses that the
two of you might incur in New York. I'm not asking
you to take responsibility for Agent Scully's private
life, but I can't have another Dallas. Do you
understand?"
Mulder nodded numbly. Was he serious? Not take
responsibility for Agent Scully's private life? His
entire fantasy life was built around his desire to
'take responsibility' for Scully's private life!
Well, be a major part of it, anyway. He spent hours
daydreaming about ways to make a place for himself in
her private life and hours being depressed when his
little schemes failed.
Skinner exited, closing the door behind him. Mulder
stared into space as he mentally flogged himself with
unwelcome memories. He recalled Scully receiving a
steady stream of personal phone calls from family and
friends--people she did want in her private life.
Scully disrupting business in each backwater field
office they visited as every heterosexual male panted
for her attention. Scully yearning for a 'normal'
life. Scully consistently unimpressed by what he had
to offer, namely his passion for his work and
feelings for her. He felt his eyes sting slightly,
and he rubbed them with his fingers, disgusted by his
emotional wallowing. Be a part of her private life?
Yeah, right. 'In my dreams,' he thought miserably.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
JACKIE ROBINSON PARKWAY-'THE INTERBORO'
QUEENS/BROOKLYN, NY
8:30 AM
"So, you guys up here to help us get the Russians?"
asked Special Agent Leo Fine, turning briefly to face
Scully.
Agent Fine was driving the government-issue sedan
through the hairpin turns of the famed 'Interboro'
connecting Queens and Brooklyn. The posted speed
limit was 30 MPH, but traffic was moving at 60.
Mulder sat in the back seat while Scully occupied the
front passenger side. Scully's hand was white where
she gripped the handhold in the door, and she noticed
Mulder had closed his eyes. All three agents were
dressed casually, Scully in jeans and a sweater and
Mulder in chinos. They had been asked to look like a
couple dining out in a neighborhood restaurant.
"Um, yeah, I guess so," gulped Scully. "Our A.D.
at headquarters told us they wanted fresh meat, that
too many agents up here had been identified."
"Yeah, sometimes the bosses know what they're
doin'," Fine agreed in a thick Brooklyn accent.
"So, you're a doctor and you're a psychologist.
How'd you two end up with the Bureau?" he continued.
Mulder smiled in spite of himself. This guy was
straight out of central casting! Most special agents
were lawyers or accountants or both, and he wondered
if the FBI had sent Agent Fine for lessons in
sounding like a two-bit mobster or if he'd developed
the skill on his own.
Scully was answering, or rather, not really
answering. "Oh, you know how it is. You're in grad
school, not sure what you want to do. Someone talks
to you about law enforcement in general or about the
Bureau. You apply, and before you know it, you're
risking your life on the Interboro," she smiled
weakly.
"I gotcha," agreed Agent Fine, nodding, but
apparently missing the humor. "Same wit' me. I
finished law school and just couldn't see sittin'
around in a suit for 40 years writin' briefs.
'Course, my ma, she was ready to kill me. She and my
dad worked to put me through an expensive college and
law school, and all she gets is a kid who sounds like
he makes a living shakin' down fruit vendors in the
'hood."
Scully laughed in recognition. "Oh, I definitely
know that problem," she said. "Where did you go to
school, anyway?"
"Undergrad at Penn, law school at Columbia," he
answered, and a discerning listener could have heard
the Brooklyn accent recede for just a moment.
"Well, I'm glad you're on our side," Scully said
with a smile. "And I hope your mom comes around."
They exited the Interboro and wound through a maze of
residential streets and small business districts
until they reached Brooklyn's 'downtown.' Fine
pulled into a parking garage and escorted them to an
elevator that dumped them squarely in the 'bull pen'
of the Brooklyn agency of New York's field office.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
NEW YORK FIELD OFFICE
BROOKLYN/QUEENS AGENCY
QUEENS/BROOKLYN, NY
NOON
Mulder and Scully gathered their few notes and stood
up and stretched. What could you say about an
operational briefing? On one hand, you wanted to pay
attention because knowing the details could keep you
alive. On the other hand, keeping your eyes open was
almost impossible during the repetition of minutiae
that had nothing to do with you.
Agent Fine, who had apparently been appointed their
New York guardian, begged off escorting them to
lunch. But he jotted down a virtual U.N.'s worth of
ethnic eateries within walking distance. There would
be time for a long lunch before they were transported
via van to Brighton Beach with the other agents.
Male agents swarmed around Scully, flirting, joking,
offering to take her to lunch, or just trying to get
her attention. Mulder watched as she skillfully
dispersed the crowd without wounding any egos. This
performance by Scully was a regular feature when they
traveled, and Mulder always felt a twinge of pride
spiked with melancholy. Yeah, he was simply one more
puppy panting after her, whom she could swat away
without missing a beat.
"Hey, Scully, you want to try Ethiopian food?"
Mulder asked as he read the list. "Or what about
Bulgarian?" He knew she would want to eat light but
couldn't resist teasing her a bit.
"How about sandwiches or salad," she said firmly,
and it was not phrased as a question.
"So does that mean Mama Tessa's All-You-Can-Eat
Italian Smorgasbord is out?" he inquired with a grin.
"Yup, and you can also cross off the Irish place.
I'm not eating brisket and potatoes just before a
stakeout."
They compromised on a coffee shop that, to read the
menu, served everything in the world. Scully was
happy with a tuna sandwich while Mulder ordered a
complete breakfast platter.
"Why do you think Skinner sent us up here? I mean,
why did he really send us?" Mulder queried over his
scrambled eggs.
Scully paused. She knew that he was fishing for
information about Skinner's private chat with her.
Should she let Mulder know about her 'assignment' to
make sure he got some R&R?
"Mulder, you've got to admit, things didn't go all
that well in Dallas. Maybe Skinner's trying to help
us. After all, he kept the Dallas SAC from taking
any official action against us," she answered back.
"So what are we going to do?" Mulder questioned
sarcastically.
Good question, thought Scully. She noticed that
Mulder used 'we.' Maybe her hidden agenda would work
out more easily than she'd expected.
"Let's just wing it," she said. "Do you have any
ideas?"
"No," he answered sullenly, and immediately
regretted his tone. It wasn't Scully's fault that he
had no ideas for spending four relaxing days in New
York -- or anywhere else on earth.
Scully left the tip and Mulder went to the cashier to
pay. They returned silently to the Bureau office,
thinking more about their enforced vacation than
about the upcoming undercover job.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
TIBELISI RESTAURANT
BRIGHTON BEACH
BROOKLYN, NY
7 PM
The FBI had commandeered the family-owned restaurant
that served as a meeting place for local mob figures.
The family acquiesced happily. They were less
concerned about losing organized crime patronage than
pissing off the FBI, who in turn, might piss off the
IRS, a more formidable foe than the FBI and the mob
combined. Seventeen agents sat in place for three
hours, posing as diners.
Finally, the target arrived, Boris Para-something-or-
other. Three men, all of them known to the Brooklyn
field office, accompanied him. They were shown to a
table fitted with a microphone that was taped to the
bottom. It wasn't exactly James Bond, but it worked
and it was legal-the judge had signed the order
yesterday morning.
At a signal from the SAC, Boris and his friends were
surrounded. The arresting agents cuffed them and led
them outside. Like true professionals, the suspects
were unsurprised by this turn of events. They
remained polite if not exactly friendly. In a few
minutes, their lawyers would be rushing to their
sides.
"It's like a dance," commented Mulder dejectedly as
he and Scully retrieved their jackets and prepared to
leave with the rest of the agents. "We take two
steps forward and push them back, and then they take
three steps forward while we're sitting on our asses
in court. It just goes on forever."
"C'mon, Mulder," Scully coaxed. "RICO changed a
lot. Look at all the old-time bosses who've been
brought down."
"Right," he continued dourly. "And there are two
guys ready to step up to bat for every one we put
away."
"Well, I guess we should be thankful we're not
assigned to Organized Crime," she concluded. "It
might be even more discouraging than the government
conspiracy beat." She grinned at Mulder, forcing him
to smile in return.
The other agents were all in high spirits on the ride
back to the office. Their role was finished,
completed without any casualties, property damage, or
legal problems. High-fives were exchanged and
details of the operation were retold again and again.
"Hey, guys!" Leo Fine turned around to address
Mulder and Scully, who occupied the very rear of the
passenger van. "I heard you're spending a couple a'
days here in the Big Apple?"
"Um, right. I guess," answered Mulder, looking at
Scully for help. "We've been putting in a lot of
hours lately and our A.D. told us we could play
tourist 'til the end of the week."
"Well, I gotta deal for you! Why don't you check out
of that Marriott place you're at and use the Bureau's
apartment in the city? I checked with the boss, and
no one's gonna be there until Saturday night. It's
got two bedrooms and it's in a great building. It's
got a doorman and everything. We usually use it for
undercover stuff or visiting bigwigs or whatever, but
it's yours for three days if you want it. Kind of a
'thank you' from the field office to HQ."
"That sounds perfect!" exclaimed Scully. Her
shining eyes reflected her inner delight. She
couldn't have orchestrated such a perfect opportunity
if she'd tried.
Mulder's neck snapped around in surprise. He put his
arm around her in the darkness of the van and leaned
in to whisper in her ear. "Scully, are you sure?"
She didn't say anything, but she nodded and smiled.
Mulder took a risk and left his arm around her. He
felt her snuggle into him slightly, as if to keep
warm. He looked at her again in the dark of the car.
She usually jumped when he touched her. Was this his
Scully or an alien imposter?
"Great! You'll have a fantastic time," Agent Fine
responded and turned back to the conversation.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
THE UPPER WEST SIDE
MANHATTAN
11 PM
The apartment more than lived up to Agent Fine's
promises. It was on the fifteenth floor of a modern
high-rise. Unlike many Manhattan doormen, whose
performance of their duties tends to be cursory until
the few weeks preceding Christmas bonuses, this
doorman checked their names and credentials against a
computerized photo database before admitting them to
the elevators.
"Thank you, Mr. Mulder, Dr. Scully," he said in a
theatrically-trained voice. "Mr. Fine asked me to
tell you that dinner will be delivered shortly.
Courtesy of the office."
"Uh, thanks," responded Mulder as his eyes met
Scully's. Since when did the New York field office
take lessons from Martha Stewart?
"That was strange," Scully whispered when the
elevator doors closed. "He seemed to have a lot of
details about us."
"Except that we're with the Bureau. The employees of
the building probably don't know who the real tenant
is. They probably just think it's some kind of
corporate apartment."
The elevator stopped, and they found the apartment
without difficulty.
Both inhaled audibly as the entered. Expertly
decorated, the apartment looked neither masculine nor
feminine, neither young nor old. The apartment was
unmarred by the possessions that characterize real
life. There was no hodge-podge of mismatched
furniture and knick-knacks, no goofy cards from
relatives, no tacky refrigerator magnets from local
businesses, and no corners stacked with odds and ends
that seemed like a good idea at Wal-Mart.
"Can you believe this place?" Scully asked as she
placed her bag on the floor and twirled around before
plopping down on a leather couch.
"Now you know where the money for your desk went,"
answered Mulder, smiling.
"Yeah, really," she concurred.
Mulder was still trying to process Scully's
enthusiastic acceptance of offer to stay in New York.
He was thrilled, of course, but he was nervous, too.
What did she expect? Had she simply grabbed the
opportunity for an innocent shopping trip or did she
have something else in mind? He had to get it right,
and the pressure was mounting.
"So what's the game plan, Scully?" he asked, trying
to sound casual. "Are we hanging out together or do
you have plans of your own?" He remembered sourly
the bullpen in the Brooklyn office. Had one of the
agents finagled a date with her while his back was
turned?
"All I want right now is a bath and something to
eat," she answered with a smile. "So what do think
it'll be? Pizza or Chinese?"
"The odds are on pizza. Go ahead and take a bath,
and I'll listen for dinner."
"Thanks, Mulder," she answered in such a sweet,
sincere way that it made his heart melt. She took
her bag from the floor and disappeared into the
smaller bedroom.
The possibility of romance was replaced by more
straightforward lust a few minutes later as he
watched her emerge from her bedroom and enter the
bathroom wearing only a satiny robe. Scully would
soon be naked and wet and just a few feet away.
The door buzzer sounded. Mulder shook himself out of
his daydreams and answered. It was not pizza, nor
was it Chinese food. The man confirmed Mulder's
identity, though less rigorously than the doorman,
and beckoned to two young men bearing sturdy boxes.
The three men went straight to the kitchen, where
they began unpacking.
As far as Mulder could tell, he and Scully were going
to be eating aluminum foil for dinner. Pan after
pan, each swathed in foil, was unpacked and
ceremoniously placed on the countertops. Bakery
boxes emerged from one of the crates along with
mineral water and ... champagne? Clearly there had
been a mix-up.
Mulder laid out a tip to the supervisor and ushered
the crew out of the apartment before they had a
change of heart. He walked quietly into the kitchen
and began peeling foil covers back: Shrimp and
lobster salad, filet mignon, double-baked potatoes,
fresh green beans in some kind of sauce. He was
getting ready to check out the bakery boxes when he
heard Scully emerge from the bathroom.
Her robe clung to her damp body. Mulder, like a deer
caught in the headlights, was transfixed by the image
of Scully in the thin wraparound robe. His eyes
sought out spots where her breasts and hips were
explicitly outlined by the damp fabric, and he could
smell the citrus fragrance from her freshly washed
hair.
"Mulder?" she asked pointedly to bring his attention
back up to her face. Scully couldn't suppress a
smile at his discomfiture. Oh, this was too perfect!
His defenses were crumbling by the minute!
"Uh, what?" he answered after a brief pause, during
which he did, indeed, drag his eyes to meet hers.
"Dinner's here already? That was fast."
"Yeah, but Scully, get a load of this stuff! What do
you think is going here?" Mulder, afraid he'd been
caught ogling her, was happy to steer conversation
toward the food. He pulled back the foil covers to
show her the full range of their bounty.
"Beats me. Is that champagne?" she asked with
interest.
"Two bottles. It's the good stuff, too," he
replied. The champagne was cold, and Mulder found a
dishtowel to hold over the neck as he loosened the
cork, using the trick he'd learned watching PBS.
Scully opened cabinets until she found the glasses,
including champagne flutes.
They postponed dinner for a bit and drank champagne
while checking out the view from the living room
windows. The champagne was so good they delayed
dinner just a few more minutes. Second glasses were
consumed curled up on the couch, chatting about the
day's work and the characters in the Brooklyn/Queens
agency office. They had returned to the kitchen for
thirds when Scully opened the bakery boxes.
"Oh look, Mulder, eclairs!" she cried. These were
not overblown, mass-marketed pastries, but tiny,
individually crafted works of art. She selected one
and held it up for him to taste.
Mulder opened his mouth and allowed her to feed him.
He bit down softly, and some of the custard filling
escaped onto Scully's finger. She kept her finger
aloft, and he finished the tiny pastry in another
bite, this time using his tongue to clean up the
stray custard off her finger. They stood frozen for a
moment by the erotic charge, his mouth still
cushioning her finger. Neither moved. Mulder waited
for Scully to retreat behind her special agent
persona while Scully waited for Mulder to make a
risque joke.
A thought ran through Scully's mind. 'Oh yes, much
easier than I expected.'
Instead of backing away from him, Scully moved closer
and smiled.
Was she was giving permission, he wondered hazily.
Did she want this! He withdrew her finger from his
mouth slowly, not wanting to break the mood. It was
now or never, he realized. He screwed up his courage
and bent his head to her. He'd always dreamed of
making their first real kiss gentle, but he abandoned
that idea immediately. The tension was too high,
their desperation too great. Their tongues met and
dueled to explore each other's mouths and Scully
pressed against his body, molding her form to his.
She began to move her hands, running them first over
his shoulders and chest, then reaching down to stroke
his thighs, and finally outlining the curves of his
ass as she pulled him even closer. Mulder's heart
soared. She could certainly feel his arousal; in
fact, she was pulling him toward her, setting a
thrusting rhythm to their contact. Yes! She really
did want this! He wouldn't have to use any of the
apologies he'd mentally prepared.
The belt on Scully's satin robe had given up its
fight, and the robe hung open. Emboldened, Mulder
ran his hands first along her back and the curve of
her waist and followed the trail to her breasts. So
many fantasies over the years. He traced the
contours of each breast, memorizing the feel. Her
nipples were hardened and he finally broke their kiss
to take a single nipple into his mouth.
"Yes," she hissed, and her hands cradled his head as
she stroked his hair back from his forehead. "Yes,
please!"
He used his teeth gently and experimentally on her
breasts and was rewarded with a whimper and the arch
of her back.
"Scully?" He pulled away and held both her hands in
his, "Make love to me. Please make love to me?"
She raised her eyes, which had been downcast, and
smiled. "I'd like that, Mulder," she answered
simply.
She took the lead, pulling him toward the larger
bedroom. Her robe had fallen back from her shoulders
and trailed behind her as she held lightly onto
Mulder's hand. It took only the slightest push to
drop him on the bed, but instead of joining him
immediately, she crossed the room to turn on a lamp.
"I want to see you," she said softly.
Mulder, lying fully clothed on his back, was
speechless. The trailing robe accentuated her nudity
and the play of shadows on her body. Though he'd
fantasized about the two of them in every possible
location and position, Mulder had never planned what
he would do with such an opportunity in real life.
He started to remove his shirt, but Scully crossed
the room quickly, climbed astride him, and swatted
away his hands from the buttons.
"Unh uh. Let me."
The robe was now an annoyance, and she cast it off on
the floor. She centered herself, on purpose or by
accident, Mulder couldn't say, directly on top of his
erection and allowed him to feel her heat through his
jeans. With more finesse than he could have managed,
she slowly unbuttoned his shirt and slid her hands
beneath his undershirt.
He had never thought much about his nipples when he
was younger, but they had become his most important
erogenous zone -- okay, second most important
erogenous zone -- when he reached his mid-thirties.
Even routine friction could give him an erection, and
his hips began to buck involuntarily when Scully
raked her nails across both nipples simultaneously.
"Whoa, slow down, cowboy," she teased as she slid
back a bit to rest on his thighs.
She unbuckled his belt and carefully unzipped his
jeans. She slid back until she was standing at the
foot of the bed between his legs and pulled his pants
and boxers into a pile on the floor. She giggled
slightly as she pulled off his socks, but her face
became grave when she spread his legs and crawled
into the V-shaped space.
"No regrets, Mulder. And no going back," she said
seriously, meeting his eyes. "I love you too much.
And I think you love me, too."
He was flooded with relief, giddy happiness, and
gratitude. Lots of gratitude! Could he have said
the words first? Well, maybe, in a life-threatening
situation or under the influence of enough narcotics,
but he was profoundly thankful to follow Scully's
lead.
"I ... I love you, Scully," he stammered, searching
for his voice. "I need you so much. God, Do you
know how much I need you? You're all that matters in
my life." He realized he was starting to babble in
response to releasing such tightly corked emotions.
"Shh," she cooed as she stretched to stroke his
lips. His arm cushioned her head as she lay parallel
to him. The urgency to mate abated slightly, and he
allowed himself to be drawn into the languid rhythm
with which she stroked his body. It seemed she
staked out every inch of his body, except for one
place, the place now throbbing in anticipation of her
touch.
"Can I taste you?" she asked softly.
Mulder was mute. A ragged moan escaped and he nodded
slightly.
A single shuddering breath and she was between his
legs again, licking and nipping around and under his
balls before taking him into her mouth. Her hands
worked in concert with her mouth, and his breathing
became frantic and shallow and punctuated by
incoherent moans.
He was close, very close, when it permeated his brain
that there would be only one 'first time' with
Scully. "No," he said hoarsely, and with a little
regret allowed himself to slide out of her mouth. He
stood up shakily and pulled off his shirt and
undershirt.
Scully watched him with a bemused expression.
"Tell me you love me, Scully. I don't even care if
it's not really true. Just tell me again." She'd
said she loved him, but a part of him feared that
Scully would treat this experience more casually than
he did. He rationalized that even if she did, he
would have her words to replay in his memory.
"I fell in love with you in Oregon," she said
quietly. "Then I grew to love you. Truly love
you." Her voice was unusually hesitant and so
genuine that he gave in to his desire to believe her.
"Really, Scully? You've thought about us before?
Why didn't you ever tell me?"
She didn't respond at once.
He kneeled on the bed and then stretched out,
partially covering her body with his as he explored
her with his hands and tongue.
"Scared, I guess," she finally answered. "Didn't
think you were interested. Thought you still wanted
Phoebe or ... someone like her." She did not speak the
name of the rival she feared most.
Remorse flooded him. She had seen him with Phoebe.
The Gunmen had tipped her off to Diana. It was his
own stupid fault that she had never given him any
signals. He took a deep breath. The next words had
to be perfect.
"Scully, I'm so sorry you thought that. I was stupid
not to tell you how I felt or give you some kind of
clue or even just ask you out. I'm sorry I caused us
to waste so much time."
She was silent, and he hoped this meant he was
forgiven. She wrapped her legs around his, working
them to his waist. Entering her was inevitable now.
She reached between them to provide the slightest
direction as he allowed her muscles to pull him in
deeper than he had ever dreamed. The motion was
inevitable, too, and she met his rhythm. They clung
to each other, uttering half-formed words that
confirmed each other's need.
She guided his fingers to the perfect spot between
their bodies and he could feel each of her muscles
react when he located the tiny fold. Again he
circled her flesh with his thumb, and again. Her
nipples were now tiny peaks and a shiver went through
her. One more time, roughly this time, and her body
stiffened. She emitted a low-pitched mew as her head
snapped back with each spasm.
Mulder needed no further invitation. In fact, he was
relieved he'd lasted this long! Her internal muscles
were gripping him in waves, coaxing his own orgasm.
He slammed into her harder now until he felt his own
wet warmth mingling with hers.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
THE UPPER WEST SIDE
MANHATTAN
12:30 AM
The man in the darkened 17th floor apartment lowered
the telescope that had been trained on the unit
across the street. The couple he had been observing
continued drinking champagne and breaking for long
kisses as they strained for a view of Central Park,
oblivious to this unseen witness.
He retreated to a bedroom where he extracted a cell
phone from his pocket and dialed a Washington number.
"I think you'll find the problem is solved, Sir," he
reported in a deferential tone. His Brooklyn accent
made him sound like a gangster movie capo reporting
to the big boss.
There was a pause as he listened to the response.
"No, Sir. I wouldn't describe them as jumpy or
tense. At least, not anymore." He paused again.
"Rocking chairs, Sir? There were no rocking chairs
in my surveillance."
A shorter pause this time. "Thank you, Sir. It was
no trouble at all. The New York field office is
happy to do whatever we can to help out the bosses in
Washington. Feel free to call me personally if
there's anything else you need." He paused
significantly so the listener would understand that a
favor would be asked in return someday.
Finally he ended the call and pocketed his cell
phone, locking the apartment door as he left.
THE END.