Title: Guilty Pleasure
Author: B. Dipherowa
E-mail: redux_2@yahoo.com
Completed: August 1998
Distribution: Gossamer - yes. Everyone else - please ask first.
Disclaimer: The characters of Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Walter
Skinner belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting.
No money is being made here and no infringement is intended.
Classification: S, MSR
Rating: NC17
Spoilers: Redux II, non-spoiler references to Christmas Carol
Warning: This story contains strong language and sexual situations. If
you are under 17, please hit the delete key.
Summary: The give and take in pursuing one's guilty pleasure.
Thanks: To BM, LH and AC: For all you do, this smut's for you.
Notes: Two cups of character study, three cups of smut, two heaping
tablespoons of humor and a pinch of angst to taste. A good recipe? Let
me know at redux_2@yahoo.com.

//////////////

Guilty Pleasure (1/3)
by B. Dipherowa

//////////////


Friday.

Never have I been so glad to see a Friday. Not because it's the
weekend. Not because I'm up to my sizable schnoz in requisition forms
and other neglected paperwork. Not because the case we just wrapped up
was a real bitch. It's because in the back of my mind, I've had the
promise of this day tucked away. This week has been a hellish eternity
compacted into seven days.

Finally, =finally= it's Friday.

"Yesss!"

Oops. Busted. I know Scully heard me. I lift my gaze warily to find
one Scully eyebrow lifted ever so slightly and the corners of her
delicious mouth curled up into a sly smile. Just for a few seconds,
though. Now the expression is gone, disappearing as fast as it
appeared. Now her face is covered with her patented professional FBI
non-expression.

Except for her eyes. Those bright baby blues not only acknowledge my
verbal slip but show her excitement. Of what today, or rather tonight,
will bring. Today - Friday - is what Scully and I call TrystDay. At
least, this week it's a Friday. Each week is different, varying not
only by day but by time and location. Just one day. Never the same
time, never the same place, but always the same agenda.

Sex. Mind-blowing, vocabulary-stealing, spine-bending, gene-altering
sex.

I still can't believe it. Scully and I are "involved." I thought about
it happening, probably more than is considered healthy, but I didn't
think it would become a reality. Knowing her this way has opened up a
whole new genre of emotions for me. When I look at her, I get this
tingling sensation in my head, almost like a dizziness topped off with
a feeling of euphoria. Then the images start. I think about her, my
mind going through every detail about her when we're making love. The
way she tastes and smells, like salt from the sea mixed with her own
smoky Scullyness. The sounds she makes when she's in ecstasy, her
voice airy and deep. The vibrant colors of her tattoo, the snake
imperceptibly expanding and contracting as she breathes.

She is beauty and strength, neatly wrapped in a petite, seductive
package, a package that has now become my favorite item to unwrap. She
is the symbol of everything that is good in my life, which isn't much.
I don't know what I'd do without her.

However, I do know what I want to do =with= her, especially tonight.

Tonight will be Tryst Number Five. I can't think about the prior four
walks on the wild side with Scully without getting a hard-on the size
of Miami. Our first time was just two weeks after her cancer's
remission. Our physical joining was inevitable; we both realized that.
Inevitable, but so easy to keep at bay by hiding behind a wall
reinforced by doubt and fear. That wall fell at our feet, along with
our clothing and inhibitions, that day - four weeks ago.

Four weeks. Four meetings of body and soul. Well, more than four.
Somehow through the fog of total physical abandonment, I've learned to
pace myself with Scully. The first night, of course, I was completely
spent mere minutes after sinking into her. Years of celibacy, whether
voluntary or involuntary, can do that to a man. One-Fuck Mulder, I was
destined to become. I couldn't do that to Scully. She deserves better.

So I've been trying, I really have. During our time last week, I
actually stretched out my manliness, so to speak, to three times.
Scully was amazed. I was sore for two days. It was worth it, though.
I've never seen her so sated, so utterly spent. I lost count how many
times she came. Somewhere around five, I think. It was a personal best
for both of us. Neither of us wanted to stop but our bodies vehemently
disagreed.

I realized after our second meeting that once a week was not going to
be enough. I don't know what I was thinking when I said it would be. I
should have known the minute I buried myself inside her that I would
never be able to get enough of her. Once a =day= wouldn't be enough.
But we have no choice.

Each meeting has been carefully planned. Each has been in the metro DC
area. =Never= while we're on a case, though the temptation is
overwhelming. We decided we had to know the difference between the
work 'us' and the personal 'us,' so the meetings are on our time, not
the Bureau's. We meet in hotels that are off the beaten path. We take
precautions to make sure we aren't followed. We check in under assumed
names. We have a set of rules and follow them to the letter.

It's like a fucking spy movie.

I know that technically we don't need to sneak around. The Bureau
would probably frown upon partners being romantically involved but I
doubt they'd have our badges for it. The Bureau's not who I'm worried
about. It's the others, lurking in the shadows and cigarette smoke,
that have me concerned. For that reason, we decided to take the safe
route of secrecy.

I hope we can drop this cloak and dagger shit soon. I hate that we
have to sneak around to love each other. At least I know I'm not the
only one fed up with it.

"I want to meet at my place," Scully said after we'd exhausted
ourselves last week. "We'll be safe. I asked the Gunmen to do a sweep
of my apartment. They said they could do it Friday morning."

My jaw went slack and my eyebrows did that Scully thing, arching
halfway up my forehead. Dana Scully, my by-the-book partner, wanted to
blow off the rules. I put up a half-hearted argument that it would be
too dangerous. She gave me the perfect rebuttal.

"I want you in my bed, Mulder," she whispered in a husky tone that
never fails to curl my toes. "Having you in some stuffy hotel room
isn't the same. I want to smell you on my sheets, on my pillow."

If I had been in any condition to get a hard-on, I would have. How the
hell do you turn =that= down? I couldn't. When I felt I could speak
without sounding like a pre-pubescent teenager, I agreed to meet at
her apartment on Friday at seven p.m.

Which, according to my watch, is ninety short minutes away.

"Hey, Scully," I say with a surprising calm, "I'm gonna take off,
start the weekend early. This paperwork isn't going anywhere."

"Don't remind me," she mumbles, barely loud enough for me to hear. "I
think that's the best idea you've had all week." She starts
straightening the files on her desk, a sign that tells me it's time to
start the cloak and dagger shit. Cover our tracks. "Any plans this
weekend, Mulder?"

I throw in a shrug to make the scene more convincing. "Thought I might
catch a pick-up game at one of the basketball courts tonight.
Shouldn't be a problem to find some action. There's always something
going down."

Like me, on Scully.

Not a good time to be thinking those thoughts. These dress pants may
look loose but they can be painfully confining. I get up from the
chair and put on my suit jacket, hiding the growing evidence of my
arousal from her and anyone else.

As I walk to her desk, I can see her eyes brightening with the passion
I am getting more acquainted with each week. I have to stop myself
from reaching out to touch her face. No touching in the building. Have
to follow the fucking rules. The walls not only have ears but eyes as
well. My hands itch, burn with the urge to bury my fingers in the
silky fire of her hair, but I resist and continue with the charade.

"How about you, Scully? Any special plans?"

"Thought I might catch up on some reading, maybe rent a few movies."

"Sounds perfectly boring."

"Not boring. Relaxing. You know, sometimes staying inside has its
advantages."

I nod at this. "You're absolutely right. I love being inside." I leave
the 'you' out verbally, mouthing it to her instead. It has the desired
effect; her tongue swipes out across her full lips. I get my breathing
under control before continuing. "I'll hit the game tonight, then see
what the weekend brings. Maybe a new case, something involving mutants
or flukemen or something."

Scully looks heavenward. "Dream on, Mulder."

Oh Scully, you'd slap me into unconsciousness if you knew the dreams
I've been having this past week. You and me in your apartment, in a
dozen different positions, on a dozen different pieces of furniture.
Not to mention the countertops, kitchen tile, shower and every wall
that's not adorned with a picture frame. Whether it's logistically
possible to fuck someone against a wall, I don't know. I've never
tried it but I'm willing to give it a shot. Experimenting is half the
fun. Especially if it's with Scully.

"Well, have a good weekend," she says weakly, shattering some amazing
mental images my mind has decided to share with me. As she leaves the
office, I can see a light red flush covered her neck and creeping into
her cheeks.

Good. She's as affected by this as I am. "Yeah, you too, partner," I
reply as I close the door behind us. "See you later."

In eighty-six minutes, to be exact.


//////////////


Make that sixty-five minutes.

I couldn't help myself. I hurried home, breaking all sorts of traffic
laws and almost rear-ending three cars. My shower took all of five
minutes. I threw on a pair of old sweats, a gray t-shirt and a
sweatshirt, remembering at the last minute that I had to dress the
part of a guy on the lookout for some b-ball action. I was ready and
out of the apartment fifteen minutes from setting foot inside.

I don't want to waste a single second of tonight.

I know Scully said to only use my key for emergencies, but this =is=
an emergency. I need to see her. I need to touch her before I burst
into flames. Sounds like she's in the right place to douse a fire,
since I can hear her shower running. Now that's a thought. Scully in
the shower. Water softly pelting her beautiful face, slipping down her
elegant neck, over the curves of her breasts, crystalline droplets
falling from her erect nipples...

Man, I've got it bad. She's not even in the room and I'm hard as a
rock. God, what this woman does to me! I've always prided myself as a
man who thinks with his brain, not his dick. Tonight I can barely
remember my name. Or his.

Yes, his.

Last week, she named him Lance. Lance! I don't know what shocked me
more: the fact that Scully wanted to name my penis, or the fact that
she'd had enough coherent thought left to come up with that play on
words after I'd just finished Lancing her for the third time. I wanted
to ask her where she'd been keeping that wicked sense of humor all
these years, but Lance and I were too busy trying to figure out
exactly what I had done to sustain myself for so long.

Too bad Triple-Play Mulder won't be seen tonight. I'm too worked up
over her, over being here in her apartment, in her bedroom. Making
love to her in her bed, the smell of us on her sheets...

I need to stop thinking about this before I embarrass myself.

Oh, look. There's plates on the table. And if I'm not mistaken, that's
chicken I smell. I'll bet there's even a salad in the refrigerator.
Yep, I was right. A fresh-tossed salad. Mmmm, the chicken looks even
better than it smells.

She's cooking for me. Why am I blown away by this? Such a common
thing, something I probably wouldn't have thought twice about if it
was any other woman. I know Scully's no Becky HomeEcky; Domestic
Goddess is not one of the hats she wears. So for her to take the time
to not only plan but cook a meal for me is so different. Like we're a
bona-fide couple.

Only bona-fide couples don't need diversionary tactics and secret
meeting places to show their affection.

This is bullshit. It's times like this that I just want to say fuck
it, announce to the world I'm in love with Dana Scully and just deal
with the consequences as they come. Then I think about what the
consequences have been in the past and what I would do if it happened
again. If they gave her cancer again, if they took her from me again...

Stop it! I can't think about that shit right now. I can already feel
my blood pressure rising and I don't want to ruin tonight. Tonight is
for us.

Right now I need to head to the bathroom. She's just shut off the
shower and I can never resist a chance to watch her unnoticed. I do
that, now more than ever. I watch her at work when I know she can't
see me doing it. I watch her as she taps a pen or her finger on her
bottom lip when she's perplexed, and as her eyebrow arches when she's
read a section of a field report I wrote. On trips, sometimes I will
slip into her room at night and watch her sleep, mesmerizing myself
with the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. She's as beautiful in
rest as she is in action.

And just out of the shower. I'm glad her back is to me so I can soak
in her body. A wet Scully is a sight to behold. Her skin shimmering
with a thin layer of moisture, tiny drops flowing down her back,
disappearing between her perfect little ass cheeks, the water just
begging for me to lick it from her skin...

"Mulder!"

Shit. Busted for the second time today.

"Mulder, you're lucky I didn't have my gun in here," she warns as she
dries off her arms. "You nearly scared me to death. I thought you were
an intruder." I watch as her eyes drink me in as I had just done to
her. "What are you doing here so early?"

"Glad to see you, too, lover," I whisper as I grab the towel from her
hands and fling it to the floor. I take her face in my hands and kiss
her with an intensity I almost forgot I had. My passion has been
directed toward my work for so many years I wasn't sure I could
redirect it to my private life. The first time I kissed Scully I
realized it was an empty fear.

Kissing Dana Scully is like kissing the business end of a live wire.
In work, she's the consummate professional; a no-nonsense agent known
for her level head and calm demeanor. In play, she's raw passion.
She's enthusiastic, aggressive, unafraid to tell me what she wants
from me and what she wants to do to me. And her vocalizing goes beyond
speaking her desires.

My dreams about her were true. Scully is a screamer. And a moaner.
Which is driving me crazy right now. I wonder if she knows what she
does to me when she moans like that. She energizes me, almost as if
her moan carries with it a sexual energy that penetrates my whole body.

I have to touch her, =really= touch her. Gently breaking the kiss, I
tug on her arms and she willingly follows me to the outer part of her
bathroom area, where her vanity table is.

That's my Scully. She follows me almost anywhere. I don't know what I
did to deserve a woman who so deeply trusts me. She deserves better, I
know that. It doesn't take a rocket scientist, or a bullying older
brother, to tell me Scully deserves a man who can give her everything
I can't: stability, normalcy and a sense of security. I know all of
this but I'm a selfish man. I'm not giving her up. Not for anything.
Or anyone.

"Mulder..."

I shake my head and place a finger on her lips. No words, Scully. Just
let me love you.

There's a clear space on the vanity table just big enough to
accommodate her. Perfect. As I lift her to sit on the smooth surface,
she gives me a look of confusion mixed with desire. I want to answer
her, but my voice is gone. All that's left is my need to consume her.
I think tonight I'll start with her neck.

Ah, there's that moan again. I swear Lance must has ears because the
minute she lets loose with a moan, he snaps to attention. I think
that's what did me in so quickly our first time. Seeing the wanton
vixen concealed under those conservative Donna Karan suits, listening
to her voicing her pleasure, a pleasure that I was bringing her, went
from my ears straight to my cock.

I love listening to her when I make love to her. My chest swells with
a silly male pride as I think about how well I can pleasure her. That
first night, after Lance had packed it in for the evening, I
concentrated on learning her body. I sought out each pleasure point
and memorized it, building a map in my mind of her body and placing a
mental pushpin at each spot. Yellow pushpins are the gaspers, spots
like the nape of her neck, the arch of her foot, the inside of her
wrist and her earlobe. I can kiss or nip those and get the most
amazing multi-pitched gasps from her. Red pushpins mark the moan
zones, which include her nipples, and naturally, the swollen folds of
skin between her legs.

Which is where I'm heading, and she knows it. Her legs part on their
own, before I have a chance to move my hands there. So my hands will
just have to settle for her breasts. She calls her breasts too small;
I call them a perfect handful. They fill my hands with their warm,
heavy weight, two soft mounds of Scully flesh. One flick of my finger
over her nipple and she rewards me with a moan. My mouth and tongue
forge a trail from her neck to one breast. I forego my usual lapping
and suckling to bite down on the puckered nipple, tugging just hard
enough to make it sting. I get what I want: my name twisted in a long
moan.

As much as I'd like to linger, I need to taste her. I don't know why
the urge is so strong tonight. I don't know why the urge is so strong
at any time. Going down on a woman is not one of my favorite acts,
never has been. It was always something I endured, and usually found a
way out of if I could. Until Scully. There's just something about
being with her that heightens every act, brings it to a new level for
me.

The first time I went down on her, she was hesitant, her body stiff
with reluctance and guilt. Good little Catholic girls don't allow boys
to put their mouths =there=. I know now it was more a control issue
than a religious one. Oral sex is an intimate act, more intimate than
intercourse, and I think Scully saw it as the ultimate relinquishment
of control. Subconsciously I think I knew that all along, and finally
realized it that night. Call it a chauvinistic moment, but I wanted
her so far gone she would have no choice but to lose complete control.

I had it in my mind that by the end of that night, I would make Dana
Scully scream. I made my way down her body and before I knew it, there
she was: open and swollen and wet. So wet. I couldn't resist, despite
her weak pleadings for me to stop. I lapped at her and heard her gasp
and sputter. She called to me and tried to bring her legs together but
I clamped my hands down on her thighs, roughly pulling them apart. She
fought me only until I started tonguing her in earnest, softly,
tenderly making love to her with my mouth. After that, the
transformation was incredible. The stiffness left her body and within
seconds, she became a writhing mass beneath my tongue. Primal sounds
flew from her lips and with her climax came my name, screamed an
octave above her normal speaking voice. It was the most erotic,
spiritual moment of my life.

Maybe that's why I enjoy it, because what I'm tasting isn't just her
desire but her control, something she shields from others with the
tenacity of a guard dog. She's trusting me with what she considers one
of her most prized possessions, and that in itself is the ultimate
turn-on. That night, Dana Scully opened herself fully to me for the
first time, allowing me to cause and witness her total release. And
since then, she encourages me to give her that release.

Like she is now.

Her fingers mingle in my hair and her fingernails start to push into
my scalp. A quick nip on her stomach elicits another gasp. I dip my
fingers between her legs and find her more than ready, and her low
moan confirms it. She's wired tonight. Almost as wired as I am. Her
hand grasps a fistful of my hair and I wait for her to coax my head
lower but instead she pulls up. I look at her, panic hitting me like a
sucker punch to my gut.

"Mulder...wait..."

Huh? Is she =kidding=?

"Chicken...the oven...almost done..."

Yes! The last shot goes up, the buzzer sounds and it's GOOOOOOD!!
She's so far gone she can't form a complete sentence. Man, I love her
like this. When she's mine - mind, body and soul.

"The chicken is fine," I say to appease her domestic side. "I checked
it before I came in and it looked like it had a few minutes. I won't
be long. I just want to nibble on an appetizer first."

She laughs, a heavy, breathy sound that tells me she's relieved I'm
not going to stop. You and me both, Scully.

She squirms on the table while her hands to force my head to move
faster to its destination. I want to tease her, to hear her beg me to
make her come, but I can't wait any longer. I kneel before her and
inhale deeply while pushing a finger inside, watching as it
disappears. She arches her back while her fingernails dig deep into my
scalp.

"God! Mulder...oh..."

Heat. Warm, moist heat. Scully heat. I wish there was a way I could
surround myself in her heat, not just my cock but my entire being. She
warms me to my bones, a warmth I crave like air or food. I want to
crawl inside her and never leave.

Her squirming is frantic now as she pushes herself against my hand. I
add another finger and put my mouth against her clit, moving my tongue
heavily against the swollen nub. Just like she likes it. She makes a
sound somewhere between a gasp and a squeak. I have to look at her.

Big mistake. Really big mistake. Her eyes are closed, her lips wet and
parted, her face and neck covered in a thin film of sweat. She looks
like sheer ecstasy encased in peaches-and-cream skin. I'm gonna lose
it if I'm not careful. Concentrate. Concentrate on her, what makes her
happy. I want her to be happy. Happy and bucking like a wild bronco.

"Mulder...Muldermuldermuldermuldermulder..."

She's starting the Mulder Chant. She's almost there. Shit, *I'm*
almost there. I'm so hard I think I could break diamonds with my cock.
Gotta get control, want tonight to be perfect, perfect for us, perfect
for Scully...need her, love her, love her so much...

"MULDER! OH GOD! MUHHL--DER!!"

That's my girl. That's it. Gimme all you got, baby. I can take it. I
want it. I want it all, Scully. Everything you want to give me, I want
it. Keep it coming, baby. I'll be here to take it all. I'll always be
here. Right here.

"Muh...gahh...I...uhh...Muhl..."

Still no coherent speech. Must have been a killer. She always feels
them strongly. I never have to worry about Scully faking her orgasms.
No one could fake the intensity of the tremors that rip through her
body. I could feel every contraction, every ebb and flow against my
lips when she came just now. This one seemed to go on longer than
most. Good.

Perfect.

"Muhhlder," she says with great difficulty, "damn you're gooood."

I slide up her body and bring her into my arms before kissing her
hard. I let her taste herself, let her sample what I've been feasting
on and can never get enough of. She accepts it, savors it as her
tongue sweeps mine clean.

"I'm just warming up," I reply after separating our lips. "Wait until
I really start cooking."

She smiles and hums her approval. I smile and place a soft kiss on her
forehead. Next thing I know she's pulling away from me and running
into her bedroom. I run after her and find her grabbing her robe.

Shit, what did I do now?

"Scully?"

"The chicken!" she shouts as runs from the bedroom, her body a blur of
auburn hair, peach skin and dark blue silk. I follow her to the
kitchen and watch as she slips her hand into an oven mitt and pulls
the pan from the oven. The top of the chicken is charcoal black, tiny
streams of smoke billowing from the darkened skin, winding toward the
ceiling.

"Damnit," she murmurs through pouty lips. "This oven cooks too fast. I
should have known to put it on a lower temperature. It's ruined."

"It's fine, just a little well-done. I'll eat it. I'll eat anything,
remember?"

Good one, genius. How about eating your foot, since it's now
conveniently located in your mouth?

"I didn't mean it that way," I say quickly, trying to wipe the angry,
wounded look from her face. "I meant that I'm sure I will enjoy it
because you made it. For me."

Her face softens but that Scully skepticism still lingers in her eyes.
She lets me pull her into my arms and I smooth the anxiety away with
my hands, stroking her back until she relaxes and wraps her arms
around me.

"You don't have to eat it, Mulder."

I pull back and frame her face with my hands. "What? You invite me
over to have your way with me and now you're not going to feed me? I
don't give it away for nothing, you know."

That gets me a smile, though I can tell she tried to fight it. My
favorite thing next to making her come is making her smile. Scully has
a smile that could light up DC for a week.

"Mulder, you're a dog."

"Woof." I nuzzle her neck with my nose and lick her chin. "Wanna pet
me now?"

She slaps me solidly on the chest, pushing me away before she heads to
the oven. "I thought you wanted to eat. Make up your mind."

I want to say forget the food but I realize I'm starving. Did I eat
lunch today? "Let's eat first. It smells great and I'm hungry. I need
to keep my energy level up."

She flashes me another killer smile. "Yes, you do. I have big plans
for you tonight."

Her voice is dripping with sweet promise. She picks up the pan of
chicken and walks by me on her way to the dining room table, her eyes
lingering around the area below my waist. I look down and see what she
finds so interesting. My sweatpants have a slight problem. Why does
the phrase 'Look who's coming to dinner' spring to mind?

Knock it off, Lance. Not now. I'll feed you later. Right now I have a
date with some charred chicken and the gorgeous ball of fire who
cooked it.


///////////////////////

* Continued in part 2 *


Guilty Pleasure (2/3) *NC17*
by B. Dipherowa


Disclaimers and notes in part one.

//////////////


I don't even remember dinner.

The chicken must have been good because I devoured it, burnt skin and
all. The conversation must have been humorous because I vaguely
remember hearing Scully laugh. Don't ask me what either of us said. I
don't have a clue. I spent the entire time at dinner staring at her
chest.

God, I am such a pig.

She cooked me this wonderful meal, made pleasant conversation, but I
couldn't take my eyes off her left breast. It was peeking out from
behind the silk robe, almost like a child playing peek-a-boo. She
would move and it would hide behind the robe. She would move again and
it would reveal itself to me. Most of the time it was uncovered all
the way to the areola. I stared and stared, like a teenage boy who'd
seen a woman's breasts for the first time. I don't think Scully
realized she was being an exhibitionist.

Or maybe she did. That would explain the sly grin on her face.

I resisted the urge to rip the robe from her, throw her on the table
and have her for dinner instead of the chicken. I behaved myself when
I helped her clear the table. I even agreed to some after-dinner
coffee. I would have agreed to her pulling out all of my body hair
with a pair of tweezers if it meant being able to watch her be this
relaxed and happy.

So now I sit across from her, sipping on some fru-fru-flavored coffee,
my eyes glued to her chest. She still hasn't tightened the belt on her
robe, and her breast is making a repeat appearance. Tease. She has to
know I'm staring. She moves to the left a little more and reveals more
of her breast, then shifts in her seat. Her robe pulls to the side and
her breast becomes fully visible.

"Find something you like, Agent Mulder?"

I raise my gaze to her face and find the most smug expression I've
ever seen her wear.

I can't help but grin. "You're teasing me."

She flashes that killer smile and puts her coffee mug on the table.
"Am I?"

"Yes, you are."

She rises from her chair and plants her hands on either side of her
plate, causing her robe to gape in all the right places. "Really?
Well, the way I understand it, if I am =teasing= you, that would mean
I wouldn't let you touch me."

Like you could stop me, Scully.

"True," I reply calmly, "but you're so far away, being on the other
side of the table and all, that it's impossible for me to touch you.
So, in essence, you =are= teasing."

She nods. "I see your point. So for me to =not= be teasing you, I
would need to..." - she pauses as she takes two steps toward me -
"...move closer?"

I swallow a growl as her robe falls open and reveals her entire body
to me. "I believe that would remedy the situation."

She laughs and closes the distance between us. "I'm glad. I'd hate to
be falsely accused of being a tease."

I smile and reach for her, bringing her to stand between my legs. It
amazes me how comfortable we are with this, with the sexual side of
the relationship. It shouldn't surprise me, given how comfortably we
slip into any situation thrown our way, but I thought this would be
different. Awkward. It hasn't and I'm beyond relieved. The sexual
banter comes as naturally as the theoretical bickering.

"Is this better?" she purrs as she moves her fingers through my hair.

"Almost." My hands move on their own, traveling up her body to her
shoulders to push the robe aside. It flutters to the carpet at our
feet. I look up at her and give her my most devilish grin.

"Now it's better." I pull her forward and I latch my mouth onto her
nipple, sucking so hard my cheeks hollow with the effort. She gasps
and grabs my head, forcing it closer. It's an exquisite pain, one she
desires but is afraid to ask. She doesn't want to admit she loves
pleasure that borders on pain. But I know, and I'm more than willing
to indulge her.

"Ungghh...Muhhlder..." She sways and I snake my arms around her,
settling my hands on her ass. Her hands grip my shoulders and she
arches her back, thrusting her chest closer to my face.

Suddenly she's pulling away, her nipple leaving my mouth with a moist
pop. I look up at her, trying to read her expression. Her eyelids are
half closed, her face is flushed and her bottom lip is red and
swollen, probably from her biting it. She does that to keep from
screaming. I need to work on breaking her of that habit.

"Enough," she breathes. "I want you inside me. Right now."

Oh yeah. I love this. She's as worked up about this as I am, and when
Scully's horny, she's demanding. Very demanding. Not that I'm
complaining.

"But we're at the dinner table. Don't you think we should move this..."

"No. Right here, Mulder. Take me right here."

Fuck. She wants me to take her. Right here. On a chair. In the dining
room. Right out of my dreams, we're furniture-hopping. We've
christened the vanity table and now her dining room furniture. Listen,
Lance, I'll make you a deal. You hold out for a while longer and I'll
make sure we hit the bed, the couch and the shower. And if you're a
good boy, maybe even the wall.

Before I'm able to do it myself, she's ripped the sweatshirt over my
head. The t-shirt quickly follows. She moves to the side of the chair
and I make short order of the sweats and boxers.

"Are you sure this chair is going to hold us?"

"We'll find out soon enough." Her hand reaches for my cock as she
stands over me, her legs on either side of my hips. My hands grip her
waist just as she impales herself on me. Hard.

"Shit! Scully...." She is so hot. Not just warm but hot. Burning. I'm
gonna have third-degree burns on my cock. I have to keep it together
or this is going to be the fastest fuck in history. My hands roam over
her, tracing every curve and finally settling on her waist. I try to
keep her in place but she insists on moving, rotating her hips,
grinding herself into me.

Need a diversion. Maybe if I can get her talking, I'll have a chance
to regroup and get control. Say something that conveys all of the
incredible feelings rushing through my body as she writhes on my lap.

"God, Scully, you feel...fucking amazing."

That wasn't quite what I had in mind but it'll have to do. Her only
response is a moan so low I can feel her entire body resonating with
it. I put my hands under her knees and lift her legs. She takes the
hint and wraps them around the back of the chair. The move pushes me
further into her, as deep as I can go. She moans and leans back
against the table, resting her elbows behind her on the table top. I
look down and see us joined, a tuft of brownish-red mixed with dark
brown. Curly, wiry hairs tangling where my body meets hers. I push my
hips toward the chair back and slip out of her barely an inch, but
enough for me to see my cock, moist with her juices, nestled between
her legs.

I don't know why the sight of our bodies joined hits me so hard. I've
seen it before, though never from this angle. I've always been above
her or below her, never head-on. Never with a view like this. This is
us, Scully and I. Our bodies fused, just as our minds have been for so
long.

Scully and I have been joined since the first day we met.
Intellectually, even spiritually, we've been a part of one another,
two puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly. It's a damn shame it
took her almost dying for us to realize the physical and emotional
joining was not only inevitable but something we both wanted and
needed. Why does it take the threat of death for people to grasp life?
Seeing us like this, our bodies as one, makes me realize how much I'd
almost lost.

I look up and find her staring at me with moist eyes. No words are
needed. We both know what the other is thinking.

I thrust against her, and she pushes down, joining us fully again. My
hand moves down her body and I force a finger through the thick thatch
of hair between us and find her clit. She moans and writhes,
developing a counter-rhythm to my finger. Neither of us has much
leverage to move but I do my best to fit in a few thrusts of my hips.

My goal right now is not my orgasm. My goal is to make her come as
many times as I can. I want her to look back on this evening and
shiver in pleasure. I want her to have this to use as a point of
comparison. I want her to think about how no one will ever be able to
please her as well as I can. I want every man she has ever been with,
or will ever be with, to pale in comparison.

I was right. I =am= a pig.

"Muh...I'm gonna...I can't..." She says the words in between moans.

"Then don't." I take her clit between my thumb and index finger and
rub it roughly. "Come on. I wanna feel you, Scully. I wanna feel you
come."

"God!"

A few more seconds, and she's flying. Her elbows are still anchored on
the table, and with a sharp gasp, she arches her back. The move nearly
makes me pull out of her but I force her hips back down. I want to
feel every convulsion. It's almost like getting a cock massage, her
muscles contracting and releasing in sharp waves around me.

Hold on, Lance. Come on, buddy, don't blow it. Literally.

I feel Scully go limp and she slumps against me, as if she had
fainted. Wispy sighs and the nuzzling of her nose into my neck tells
me she's awake. I stroke her back as she slowly comes down, her inner
muscles continuing to twitch around me. I could die a happy man right
here.

"I guess the chair held us," she says in a molasses-thick voice.

"That means the table will hold us, too."

She gives me a weak-fisted hit to the shoulder. "This table is an
antique. No sex on the antiques."

Damn. I guess I can scratch the armoire and the coffee table off my
list.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you earlier," she says, her strength returning
to her muscles and her voice. "I have dessert."

"I thought that's what we were having here." The grin on my face has
to be pretty damn goofy but I don't care. I've got a naked Scully on
my lap, riding me like a wild stallion, and we're still at the dinner
table. Life is good.

"No, I meant something sweet, Mulder. You know, something decadent."

"That would be you." I lap at the underside of her ear.

"I meant a mud pie."

"Mud pie?"

"You know, coffee ice cream, chocolate syrup, chocolate cookie
piecrust."

"Mmmm, I'll bet that would taste great smeared all over your body."

Her skin covered in thick chocolate syrup, ice cream dripping from
every inch of her body, cookie crumbs in her navel. My very own Dana
Scully Sundae.

She chuckles. "Mulder, food is for eating, not for wearing."

"Depends on who's wearing it."

And who's licking it off.

"It's one of my favorites," she says, ignoring my remark. "I don't
have it often because it's so sinful. Must be a thousand calories a
bite. It's one of those guilty pleasures that I allow myself every
once in a while."

"Guilty pleasure?"

"Yes, guilty pleasure. You know, something you crave but you don't let
people know you love. Something you keep to yourself for just you to
enjoy. Surely you must have a few."

I nod. "You're right. I do."

"Like what?"

"You."

She smiles and nudges her hips forward, knowing that will get my
attention better than any punch to the arm. "I just wanted to tell you
about dessert. Maybe we can have it later."

"Maybe."

Or maybe we'll just spend the rest of the night devouring each other.
A steady diet of Scully - breakfast, lunch and dinner. Yeah, I could
do that. In the meantime, I have something more pressing to attend to.
Namely, Lance.

"Hey, Scully?"

"Mmmm?"

"Hang on."

It takes every muscle in my legs and back, but I manage to stand up,
our lower bodies still joined. She gasps and throws her arms around my
neck while locking her legs around my waist.

"Mulder, I can't believe you just did that."

Neither can I. I even impressed myself with the show of dexterity. Now
whether I can get us to the bedroom without causing injury to one or
both of us is a different matter. One step forward. Shaky but doable.
Next step, one foot in front of the other. There's only, what? Ten,
fifteen steps to the bed?

Ah! I just heard something pop. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea
after all.

"You just make sure you hang on tight," I say on the fourth step.

"You're going to be so sorry in the morning," she quips back.

She's right, but seeing the look on her face right now, a mixture of
amusement, amazement and desire, makes it worth a few sore muscles.

She nuzzles my neck as we near the bed. "I'm impressed, Mulder. Very
impressed."

You think this is impressive, Scully, just wait until you see what we
do up against the wall later.

Three steps from the bed. I'll almost be sorry to make it there. The
feeling is amazing, like nothing I've ever experienced. Almost her
entire weight is resting on my groin. I can feel the tip of my cock
pushing against her cervix. I may end up rearranging a few of her
internal organs before we're through.

The bed. Just in time. My legs almost give out as I kneel on the
mattress. She falls back and I go with her, not wanting to break the
contact. It almost does me in. I'm too close. I'm way too close. My
hips want to move but I can't let them.

"Mulder, are you OK?"

"Mmmm" is all I can muster.

"Are you hurt?"

I shake my head against her neck. "No. Trying not to do a repeat
performance of our opening night."

She chuffs softly. "There was nothing wrong with our opening night."

"Not wrong, just too quick."

Gotta breathe. Breathe and calm down. I wish she'd stop squirming like
that. Breathe. Long breaths. That's better.

I feel something soft and wet come in contact with my ear. Her tongue.
Hot puffs of breath bathe the side of my neck in moist air.

"Mulder, come for me."

Ah, Scully. Did you have to say that? I was just getting to the point
where I could move and not explode on contact.

"Don't hold back," she whispers in my ear. "Let go. You've earned it."

Hey. I have, haven't I? My hips start pumping in time to the rhythm of
the blood rushing in ears. Is that her moaning or me? Who the hell
cares? Oh, Scully. Scully. This is...this is...this is heaven on
earth. My utopia. You are my utopia. You are...you are my...

"SCUH-LEE!"

My body shakes like a man caught in an earthquake, and then my bones
turn to mush. Strained muscles, all of them, collapse onto her. Is my
head still attached? Doesn't feel like it. Feels like my orgasm
exploded through the top of my cranium.

God, she is amazing.

How do you tell someone that making love to them is like an
affirmation of life? How can I tell Scully that burying myself inside
her is like being able to touch not only her soul, but mine as well?
How can I tell her that making love to her is so intense, it moves me
to tears? What words can I use to describe the experience?

"Wow."

Once again, that vast vocabulary of mine comes up with a winner.

"That was pretty wow, wasn't it?" she answers sleepily.

I nod into her neck. I'm probably crushing her with my weight. Hope
the brain is still connected to the nerve endings because it's time to
roll over. Surprisingly, my body obeys. I flop onto my back and feel
her snuggle against me, draping her leg over my thigh and settling her
head on my chest.

Sleep sounds like a good idea. Hate that. Hate falling asleep right
afterwards. Women hate that, don't they? Don't think Scully'll hold it
against me, though. I think I exhausted her. I =know= I exhausted me.

I wonder which one of us will fall sleep first. Probably her.

Or not....


///////////////////////

* Continued in part 3 *


Guilty Pleasure (3/3) *NC17*
by B. Dipherowa


Disclaimers and notes in part one.

//////////////


The room, my living room, is splashed with moonlight and shadows. I
can feel a presence but my eyes can find no one. A light scent lingers
in the air, tickling my nose, teasing it. I breathe deeply and with a
start, I realize exactly what it is I smell.

Scully, very near and very aroused.

I close my eyes and take another deep breath. When my eyes snap open,
she is there, a paper-thin mist of fog surrounding her. She is on my
couch, naked, her legs spread invitingly. A coy smile curls her lips.

"Right here, Mulder. Take me right here."

I look down and see my equally naked body ready and willing to do as
she asks. I move to her, drinking in every inch of her skin, the thin
sheen of sweat on her face, the moisture between her legs. I kneel
between those beautiful legs and reach out to capture a drop of her
desire clinging desperately to a cluster of red curls. As my finger
reaches the drop, I hear a ringing in my ears. It must be love, it
must be my desire sending blood rushing to my ears, it must be...

...a telephone?

I shoot a deadly glare to the offending device but refuse to move from
my sentry between Scully's legs. I turn back to her and reach out for
her again, but she is gone. I look around but she is nowhere. Her
scent still lingers but she is gone. The phone is getting louder, the
ringing more insistent, so loud, so loud...

Huh?

Oh. I was dreaming. Everything but the phone, that is.

Why does the phone =always= pick the exact wrong moment to ring? Are
there little sensors in the phone that hone in on my brain waves and
trigger it when they get a reading of "Wet Dream In Progress?"

I blindly feel for something resembling the shape of a telephone and
bring it to my ear.

"Yeah. H'lo?"

"Dana?"

Full consciousness hits me like a pile-driver delivered by Hulk Hogan.
Oh shit. I'm at Scully's. In her bed. My eyes snap open and I shoot a
quick glance to the alarm clock. One-fifteen in the morning. I just
answered Scully's phone in a voice that screams to the caller that I
was fast asleep.

Shitshitshitshit.

"Hello? Is this Dana Scully's residence?" The voice is insistent,
coarse. Bristling, like a cat whose fur was rubbed the wrong way. I
recognize that voice. It's so familiar. I know I've heard it
recently...

Ah, fuck me.

It's her brother.

"Mmmm, whazgoin'on?" Scully's voice is thick and sleepy. I don't think
she realizes I just answered her phone at one o'clock in the fucking
morning.

"Hello?" Bill Scully's voice is still there, still demanding, still
annoying.

"Um, yeah, this is Dana Scully's residence."

I look over at Scully. Her eyes are as wide as quarters. She knows
what I did. She mouths to me, "Who is it?"

Instead of telling her, I say into the phone, "Um, hang on. She's
right here."

"Wait!" her brother bellows. "Who is this?"

I want to tell him I'm nobody. Just a regular guy, normal job, normal
life, lots of time and money to spend on his beautiful sister. I want
to tell him I'm the guy Scully deserves.

But the evil side of me wants to fuck with Bill Scully's head.

"Who is this?" he demands again.

"This is one sorry son-of-a-bitch."

I quickly hand the phone to Scully before trying to make my escape. I
figure the kitchen is a safe enough distance. This conversation
between siblings is going to be bad, downright ugly, and I don't want
to be within shouting distance. Not to mention the butt-chewing I'm
going to get for aggravating her brother.

Damn! She caught my wrist, her fingernails digging into my skin. She's
got a mean grip for someone so small. She lets go after I sit back on
the bed.

"Hello?"

She pulls the phone away from her ear, then covers her eyes with her
free hand. I can hear bits and pieces of his tirade, the words
"bastard" and "crazy" being the most frequently and enthusiastically
used. She puts the phone back to her ear and takes a deep breath.

"Bill...Bill...listen...Bill, you...listen...I don't care
what...Bill...BILL!"

She's pissed. Really pissed. I almost feel sorry for you, Billy Boy.
Almost, but not quite.

"Bill, I do appreciate your concern; however, this is my life. How I
choose to live it and who I choose to live it with is none of your
business. I never have and never will explain my actions to you.
Whatever you know or think you know is not your concern. Now why are
you calling me at one in the morning."

I wonder if she would think it inappropriate if I high-fived her right
now. Considering her face is scrunched up like a Shar-Pei, which I now
know is not a good look for her, I think I'll save it for later.

"No, there's three hours difference between DC and California,
remember?"

Idiot.

"No, that's OK...I'm not sure what I'm doing for
Christmas...Oh...Yeah, I can try...Will Charlie be there...Oh...I'm
sure Mom will love it whether I'm there or not...OK, I'll let you
know...Bill, I'm not discussing that with you now, or
ever...Bill...I'll call you Monday night...Good night."

She hands me the phone without looking at me. I place it on the
receiver and wait for her to speak. I'm debating whether to make a run
for the bathroom or stay here and take my punishment.

"Did you have to taunt him like that?" she finally says in a defeated
tone.

I shrug and slap on a weak smile. "Sorry, couldn't resist."

She shakes her head, then finally reaches for me. I turn on my side
and she does the same, so we are facing each other. A quick smile
stretches her lips and I don't think she knows I caught it. I think
she enjoyed yanking her brother's chain almost as much as I did, but
she won't admit it. She doesn't have to.

"Why did he call?" I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

"He wanted to invite me out to San Diego for Christmas. He just found
out his shore leave was extended to the twenty-ninth, so Tara thought
it would be a good idea to have Christmas at their place. Mom's going
to be there."

I almost forgot. With everything that's happened the past few months,
I didn't even realize Christmas was so close.

"Are you going to go?"

Her shoulders shrug and she has her mask of neutrality on her face.
"Maybe. Depends on if we have a case or not. I'll think about it."

"I think you should go."

Liar, liar, pants on fire. If I had any pants on, anyway. I don't want
her to go. I don't want her to leave me, not even for a few days. I
don't want her out of my sight.

"I'll think about it."

She closes her eyes and rolls onto her back. Never able to resist
staring at her, I watch the rise and fall of her chest as she takes in
slow, deep breaths and releases them with equal leisure. She looks so
tranquil, so beautiful, like a marble statue of an angel. Though her
body is at peace, I know her mind is working with the precision of a
Swiss watch, methodically trying to do the same thing I am: figure out
how the hell we're going to handle this.

Because of my colossal fuck-up, Bill Scully now suspects that his
sister and I are doing the deed. We've been so careful, covering our
tracks and keeping everything under wraps, and I blow the whole
operation in two seconds. And of all people to find out.

I can't take this silence any longer. "So, what are we going to do
about this?"

"About what?"

"Bill."

"What about Bill?"

"He knows."

"So?"

Scully, may I have this dance? Oh, sorry. We already seem to be
dancing - around the point. It's something we do so well.

"He knows, Scully," I answer curtly. "He knows and your mom will
probably know first thing in the morning. The rest of the world won't
be far behind. What are we going to do?"

She rolls onto her side again, propping herself up on an elbow. "Well,
first I think I'd like to dig into that mud pie. Then, maybe dig into
you."

The smile on her face is a cross between the Cheshire Cat and a sex
kitten. I'm trying to resist the urge to say, "Here, kitty kitty."
Maybe if I'm lucky, she start kneading my chest. If I wasn't so
surprised by her complete indifference to the situation, I might
initiate the clawing myself.

How can she be so lackadaisical about this? There's a long list of
people who would love to see me fall off the face of the earth
tomorrow, and Bill Scully is at the top of said list. It was bad
enough when he just thought I was ruining her life. I can just see the
next time he and I meet up. I should invest in a pair of boxing gloves.

"Mulder."

"What, Scully?"

"We'll deal with it."

I snort. "How?"

"The best way we know how: together."

How does she always know exactly the right thing to say? Her words
have the ability to pull me out of the darkness, no matter how deep
the hole is I dig for myself. I never realized how much light Dana
Scully has brought into my life. Every shining moment in the past five
years of my life has had Scully as the main spotlight.

I pull her into my arms and roll over onto my back. She settles her
head on my chest and molds her body to my side.

"How do you think your mom will take it?"

"I'm not sure."

"What do you mean, you're not sure?"

She shrugs, her shoulder pushing into my ribs. "I'm not sure. She
knows how loyal you are to me, how much you care, but she also wants
me to have a normal, safe life. She wants stability for me, something
she's aware I can never have with you."

Her honesty cuts deep. She's so right.

"But Mom also knows," she continues quickly, "that I have changed so
much, especially since my cancer went into remission. Not everyone
gets a second chance on life, and I'm not going to waste it." She
looks up and meets my gaze, her eyes the color of blue fire. "I want
to live. And I am living right now, with you. You make me feel alive,
Mulder. I haven't felt this alive in years. I love the way you make me
feel."

I don't know whether to cry or kiss her. To avoid the former, I do the
latter. Her lips are warm and soft, and open immediately at my
tongue's insistence. She tastes of rosemary chicken, Italian salad
dressing and us. I already know every inch of her delicious mouth, but
every time I kiss her I feel like I'm exploring new territory. I've
always loved a good adventure.

Reluctantly I break the kiss, licking her lower lip before I pull
back. Her lips are swollen and ripe, like a juicy peach, one that's
begging me to bite into it. I resist, barely.

"I think you should go to your brother's for Christmas."

"Why?"

"Because I think it will be good for you to be with family. I think it
would mean a lot to your mom, and to you."

Even though her brother is an asshole, I suppose he means well. All
older brothers are programmed to protect their younger sisters. It's
in their genes. I should know.

"I'll go if we don't have a case," she says into my chest.

"I'll make sure we don't have a case, or if we do, I can handle it
alone for a few days. Go to California. All you would do here is
freeze your ass off, and I'm quite fond of that ass of yours."

She chuckles, then snuggles closer, draping her arm over my waist.
"You're not invited, you know."

"Gee, there's a shocker."

I look down at her just as she raises up on an elbow. I can see the
apology on her face before she even speaks.

"Mulder, I'm..."

I press a finger to her lips. "No. Don't apologize. He's family and he
loves you. He's only looking out for you. I can't fault him for that."

"I know."

"I only hope he doesn't convince you that he's right."

"Won't happen, because he's wrong."

She says it with such confidence, I almost believe her.

"It won't, Mulder," she adds, as if reading my thoughts. Which knowing
Scully, she probably did. "I am happy, truly happy, for the first time
in years. No one is going to take that away from me. Not without a
fight."

And I pity the poor fool who would stand in her way. Hearing her say
this sends a ripple of serenity through me, like the tiny waves caused
by a raindrop falling into a pond. Never in my wildest dreams did I
ever think I could make Dana Scully happy. Makes graduating from
Oxford and being first in my class at Quantico seem like blue ribbons
from a county fair.

"Speaking of happy, Mulder, something you said earlier bothers me and
I want to clear it up."

Something I said bothers her? What did I say? When did I say it? Come
on, Scully, you have to give me more to go on. I nod my assent for her
to continue.

"Well, not really bother, but it made me think." She takes my hand and
places it on her stomach, then covers my hand with hers. "I don't want
to be your guilty pleasure any more."

"What? Why?"

Did that sound as panicked as I think it did? If it didn't, I'm sure
the look of sheer horror on my face will get the point across.

"I don't want you to feel guilty for loving me."

"I don't feel guilty."

I don't. Usually.

"I think you do feel guilty sometimes," she continues, moving her hand
away from mine. "Mulder, what we have is so rare. We shouldn't feel
guilty about it. I know that's a difficult point for us to get,
especially you, but we deserve this. We deserve some happiness in our
lives."

I start to stroke her stomach. "What about people finding out?"

She shrugs. "So what if they do? I'm tired of hiding and sneaking
around. We'll figure something out. We always do."

Can't argue with sound logic like that. She's right; we always manage
to find a solution to even the toughest of problems. I'm not sure if
it's smarts or luck that gets us through everything alive. Maybe it's
neither. Maybe it's both.

"Mulder, I can hear you thinking. Stop it."

It's not fair that she knows me so well. I'm supposed to be the dark,
brooding loner. Brooders are mysterious, not readable like a
large-print book.

"And what do you propose I do instead?" She can't see my leer but she
knows it's there.

"Feed me."

My leer intensified but I can read her as well as she reads me: She's
always hungry after sex. Always. Never fails.

"Let me guess. Mud pie?"

"Mud pie."

I sigh, resigned to the fact that she's going to make me eat ice cream
before I get to have more of the dessert I really want.

"OK, Scully. You get the mud pie, I'll get the spoons."

She shoots a wicked grin in my direction before getting out of bed.
"Who said anything about spoons? I think I like your earlier idea.
Tongues are so much more efficient than eating utensils."

Is it any wonder why I love this woman so much?

Instead of following her, I sit on the edge of the bed, a goofy-shit
grin on my face, watching as she leaves the room. She moves like a
panther, the lithe muscles on her back side moving in perfect rhythm,
like ropes swaying gently in the wind. She is the epitome of poetry in
motion.

I am so lucky to have her in my life, in any capacity. To have her as
my lover, though, is more than I could have ever hoped for. I want to
have her optimism. I want to believe everything will be smooth sailing
from hereon out, but I know better. We're in for some rough seas,
probably the roughest we've ever seen. I can feel it. Like an
arthritis, it sends pain shooting through my joints, a warning to heed
the future. This isn't going to be easy, but it's worth it. Scully is
worth it. There's no one else I would want as my partner, in work and
in life.

"Mulder," I hear her calling from the living room. "Are you coming?"

Scully, you know better than to ask me a loaded question like that. I
guess I should join her in the kitchen and see what the big deal is
about this mud pie thing. I've never had much of a sweet tooth but if
Scully likes it, it must be good. I see my clothes on the floor next
to the table. Her robe is gone so she must have put it on already.

As I slip on my boxers, I look around her apartment with new eyes.
This has always been Scully's place, somewhere that I've been before
but not really felt comfortable. Not because of anything she's done,
but because I've always thought of her apartment as the place she goes
to get away from me. For the most part, we've respected our need for
space and time away from each other, and our apartments have served
that very purpose. But now it feels different being here in Scully's
apartment, not because she forgot to sign off on a report or because I
need her to look at an autopsy file, but because she invited me here.
She made dinner for me. She invited me into her home and into her
life. Not to mention, into her body.

On the far wall I see something that is either new or I've somehow
missed before. Hanging between the window and her desk is a cloth wall
hanging. It's about two feet long and maybe a foot wide, and is the
only thing on that wall. The canvas is the color of oatmeal, and woven
into the fabric is a simple yet beautiful seascape scene. Muted blues,
reds and yellows make up the scene of the sea at sunrise. Cool waves
splash against a pier of boulders, and a rose-yellow sun observes the
tumultuous meeting of water and rocks. As I approach the hanging, I
see that the embroidery is exquisite but not perfect. It looks like it
could be home-made, not manufactured by a machine.

I wonder if this is what Scully dreams about, a life this peaceful and
understated. A home-made life. I wonder if when she looks at this, she
thinks about what her life could have been had she chosen differently.
I don't know why she stays.

Why do I do this to myself? For once, I should follow Scully's advice
and not search the shadows until the darkness there swallows me whole.
I have a source of light, one that is bright and steady, and one that
will chase away the shadows.

Scully loves me. She wants to be with me. I make her happy. God help
me, I make her happy. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

"Mulder?"

I feel arms slip around my waist, and the soft pillow of lips brush
the skin between my shoulder blades. I keep my body completely still,
lost in the sensation of her lips kissing their way down my spine.

"I was just admiring the hanging," I say, my voice low. "I've never
noticed it before."

She moves to stand beside me, her arms still securely locked around my
waist. "I've only had it a few months. My mom found it at a crafts
fair."

I slip an arm around her shoulder as I place a soft kiss on her
temple. "It looks home-made."

"It is, by a woman in Oregon. I think it looks nice, next to the
window. Mom said she had this wall in mind when she bought it. It was
so bare here before but this fills the space quite nicely."

Speaking of filling space on a wall....

"Hey, Scully?"

"Yeah?"

My lips stretch into a mischievous grin. "How sturdy do you think this
wall hanging is?"


//////////////

FINIS