TITLE: Monday (1/2)
AUTHOR: Susanne Barringer
EMAIL: sbarringer@bigfoot.com
ARCHIVE: Anywhere okay with these headers attached.
CATEGORY: SR
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully Romance
RATING: **NC-17**
SPOILERS: Originally based on the rumored shower scene for One Son,
but my version ended up nothing like the episode, so none really. It
has nothing to do with the episode called "Monday."
SUMMARY: Sequel to my "Hot Shower" and Alanna's "Attractive."
Mulder and Scully meet to finish what they started.
DISCLAIMER: Characters borrowed from Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox.
No infringement intended.
__________
Thanks to Alanna for her delightful sequel and for saving the smut
for me (you know I wanted to). Thanks also to Suzanne Schramm for
beta-reading (over and over and over).

This is the third part in a series including "Hot Shower"
(http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dreamworld/2442) and "Attractive" by
Alanna (http://alanna.net/fanfic/attractive.txt). Best to read those
first.
___________

I watch the minute hand move time forward from 7:45 to 7:46.
Fourteen minutes, assuming he's not late. He usually is, but not by
much. He has good reason not to be late tonight.

I get off the sofa and walk to the bedroom to check myself in the
mirror one more time. I can't believe I've become so self-conscious
about the way I look. I know that's ridiculous. I've changed
clothes three times in the last thirty minutes. This is the outfit
I'm sticking with. Casual but meaningful. Jeans and the dark red
silk blouse Mulder bought me after the decontamination shower.

The decontamination shower. That's what started this whole thing.
That is what led me to this moment, waiting for Mulder to come over
so that we can make love. For real this time. Not just with our
eyes, not with our minds, but with our bodies, every eager inch of
them. At last.

An image of Mulder suddenly crosses my vision. An image from five
days ago, our dual shower. His form is still burned into my brain,
even after almost a week, and I am immediately met by the phantom
sensation of my hands running across his gorgeous body, searching out
every millimeter that I have already memorized, at least by sight.
The shower gave me plenty of time to study him, and study I did. Now
I want to touch him.

It's Monday, and we have a date for it, an appointment. As odd as
that sounds, it came about rather inevitably. We had both gone
through the same decontamination procedure, our skin scrubbed raw
with brushes and neutralizer to counteract the burns caused by the
chemicals to which we were exposed. After a night of sleep, the new
skin was sensitive and tight, like the skin under a blister after the
outer layers of dead skin are removed.

The pain was torture, but we had an investigation to complete,
witnesses to interview. That night, the case officially closed,
Mulder came to my room to give me the information about our flight
out in the morning.

We stood there for a moment, just looking at each other. Mulder's
incessant gaze was starting to make me crazy. I knew what he was
doing. He was forcing me to think about the day before. He was
forcing me to remember. I was surprised when he reached out and
placed his hands on my shoulders, so surprised that I was unable to
steel myself for the flash of pain his touch caused. I flinched
under the weight of his hands. Mulder immediately dropped them to
his side again.

"Sorry, Scully. I didn't mean to hurt you." I flashed a half smile
of forgiveness and wished for the awkwardness between us to go away.

"How many days?" he asked, his tone soft.

"How many days what?" I wasn't sure what he was asking me.

Mulder looked at me intently, carefully, as if gauging his words.
"How many days until I can touch you?" His voice was low, deep, it
rumbled over me and vibrated across my skin. I took in a breath and
held it, afraid to let go, afraid to allow that moment to continue,
wishing I could stop time.

"Four probably," I said, letting the moment unravel to its uncertain
conclusion. Mulder reached out and touched my hand. My fingers
wrapped around his as I felt his warmth spread up my arm and into my
body. "Maybe three," I amended. I started to shrug but was reminded
by a twinge how much that would hurt.

Mulder nodded slightly, a look of satisfaction playing around his
beautiful lips. "Monday. Four days," he whispered. "Just to play
it safe." He squeezed my hand gently. "Because once I start
touching you, I'm not going to be able to stop."

At that moment, I wondered if my heart was still beating. Not until
Mulder had left the room was I certain that it was.

The promise of Monday dangled before me, my mind constantly wandering
over the possibilities. I didn't talk much to Mulder over the
weekend. It just seemed too awkward, too strange.

Then it was Monday. This morning when I arrived at work, Mulder
immediately turned his chair to face me across my desk. "It's
Monday," he said flatly, as if it actually was just another one of
our many Mondays. The power of that statement, so regular under any
other circumstance, so totally mundane, drove a blush deep through my
body. I had to sit down to stop the trembling.

"Yes, it is," I replied eventually, not sure what else to say in
response to this strange mating dance of ours.

He leaned forward across my desk so that we were within whispering
distance. "Look, Scully, nothing's set in stone here. I mean, if
you want to wait or something, that's okay. I'm not trying to
pressure you."

For a moment, I panicked. Was he taking it back? Was he just being
nice? I stared down at the desk, insecurity washing over me. Then I
realized, I know him. I know him well enough to know. He was giving
me an out if I wanted it, but he wasn't asking for one.

"It's Monday," I finally said, my voice wavering more than I
intended. I looked up at him again. He simply nodded and smiled,
understanding, as he always does.

"We can go to dinner," he suggested with a shrug. While I
appreciated his attempt to make this more than just an appointment
for sex, to try to toss a little romance into what had become an
incredibly awkward yet achingly inevitable situation, I wasn't sure I
could handle dinner. I wasn't sure I could handle two hours of
sitting in a restaurant waiting to go home so we could make mad
passionate love like we've both been thinking about since the shower.
We've been going to dinner for the past five years. It's about time
one of us asked for the goddamned check.

I told him just to come over. If he wanted to eat I'd cook
something. We agreed on eight o'clock and I spent the rest of the
day thinking about tonight, about right now. I couldn't get my mind
off him, his body, the way it glistened like polished wood under the
falling water of the decontamination shower. I still recall it all,
every inch of it, the broad chest dashed with dark hair, the slim
hips, the elegant cock, strong legs. Every single inch of it, burned
into my memory. Permanently, I fear. Thankfully, Mulder was all
professionalism, which suited me just fine. As soon as the work was
done, however, as soon as we'd finished for the day and were getting
ready to go our separate ways before tonight, his eyes began floating
over my body again. He studied the suit he had bought for me, the
way it fit, the way it flattered my figure, which it does quite
nicely I must admit.

Now I stand before the mirror, examining my current choice of
wardrobe. I tug on the shoulder of the blouse so that it lies evenly
just below my collarbone. It's a lovely blouse, an expensive one,
and perfect under the suit that Mulder picked out for me, although it
looks good dressed down too.

Mulder bought me a complete wardrobe after the decontamination shower
and we found out we'd have to stay on the case a few more days. I
must say, I was impressed by most of his choices. A black suit, just
what I might choose for myself, and several blouses to go with it.
Although I'm well aware that Mulder has a sense of fashion--he spends
a fortune on those designer suits of his--I'm surprised that he has a
sense of women's fashion. To be honest, I find it rather touching
that he knows me well enough to pick clothing for me.

And he picked everything. Stockings, bras, underwear. Just a week
ago, I would have been mortified by the thought of Mulder buying me
panties and bras of all things. But when I opened the bags he
silently brought me and saw what he had chosen, I was far from being
mortified. It was, well, erotic. No man has ever bought me lingerie
before, at least not the kind that is meant to be worn outside the
bedroom. Mulder is the first. That figures. He never fails to
surprise me.

All that night, I imagined him standing in the store looking over the
many choices of lingerie, finding the ones that he thought most
suited me. I could imagine how he probably thought about seeing me
in them, how he probably picked the ones he wanted to take off. That
had to have taken some imagination, some visual picture of my body as
he had seen it. Mulder dressed me from top to bottom. The thought
sends a shiver through me. Tonight he undresses me. At least he'd
better.

A tapping at the door knocks me out of my memories. It is 7:58.
He's early. I move quickly to the door, wait a few seconds so I
don't look anxious, laugh at myself for such silliness, then tug open
the door quickly. It is Mulder. He is leaning against the door
frame, his body angled slightly forward. He looks at me. Really
looks at me. We stand face to face, unreserved for the first time
since whatever it was that happened between us, and I can see it all
in his eyes. Every moment of it is replayed in his gaze.

For some reason, I look away. I just feel uncomfortable with this
new thing, this new energy between us. It's always been there to a
certain extent, but that little tte--tte in the shower certainly
changes the way we look at each other. Literally. I know him now in
a way I never have, and vice-versa.

"Hi," he says after I have left his eyes to examine the seam where
the carpet of my apartment meets the carpet of the hallway.

"Hi," I say in a brilliantly authored response. "Uh, come in." I
swing the door open wide and walk away, not really sure what I'm
supposed to do when the man I adore has come over to make love to me
for the first time. Mulder follows me into the living room and
tosses his jacket over the back of the armchair.

When I turn around to face him, he is standing right there, close.
Close enough to take my breath away. "This looks nice on you," he
says, reaching out to run his hand along the sleeve of my blouse,
obviously recognizing it as one of the ones he bought for me. I'm
honestly not sure what to do now, how this is going to play out. It
certainly isn't any kind of seduction I've ever experienced before.
The seduction, for all intents and purposes, is already finished.
We've already shared the desire and the need with each other, yet
here we are for the first time.

"Thank you," I say. Feeling wobbly, I step away from him and take a
seat on the sofa. Mulder glances at the empty space beside me, then
sits in the armchair across from me.

After what seems like an hour of silence, he begins fiddling with the
sleeve that covers the arm of the chair, straightening it out with
flat strokes of his hand, then adjusting it slightly, then flattening
it again. When he has it perfectly centered and lined up, he
performs the same procedure on the other one. If it weren't so
pathetic, it would be entertaining. After he's finished playing with
the covers, he looks uncomfortable again, and I swear I wouldn't be
surprised if he started plumping up the pillows. Instead, he clasps
his hands together and props them on his knee. He looks at me.

"So, how are you?" he asks finally, which, I believe, qualifies as
the stupidest thing he's ever said.

"Fine," I answer. "You?" I add, bringing the stupidity to the
maximum possible level.

"Fine."

I wonder how long this will go on. I wait, optimistically thinking
that sitting here looking at each other will eventually make the
awkwardness dissipate. Mulder scrutinizes me, looking in my eyes,
then at my body, then back to my face again, as if trying to recreate
our time together during the decontamination shower. It doesn't seem
to be working; the awkwardness hums around us destroying any sense of
"mood" that would allow one of us to take the plunge.

This is truly ridiculous. Almost six years together and we have
nothing to say, nothing to ease us into what has now become
inevitable, nothing romantic or loving or anything. Then, Mulder
does something which I totally don't expect. He stands up and strips
off his shirt in one easy movement. It falls from his grip, puddling
on the floor.

Suddenly, it all comes back to me. Mulder's body, wet and slick, not
two feet from my own. The rush of images and impressions fills me
with a reminder of what I felt, of the longing and need and the
straightforward desire which I did not hide from him then, but for
some reason hesitate to show now. What am I afraid of? We are alone
now, not under the watchful eyes of a bunch of strangers. Why has
this become more embarrassing than what passed between us before?

I get up from the sofa and approach him, silently thanking him for
understanding what needed to be done, no matter how unromantic it
might seem to anyone else. I let the memory of our shower slip over
me like water on glass. I see the same memory reflected in Mulder's
eyes which echo what I feel. We have been here before. Not quite,
but so similar in need and longing.

I move toward him and stop just within arm's reach. He stands still,
looking me in the eye with the same daring and challenge that led me
to love him from afar. Tonight there is nothing to stop us, nothing
to keep me from touching him as I so longed to do in that shower.
The self-consciousness seems to have abandoned us and exited through
the door while we weren't looking. The air purrs with the change
between us, the attraction now suddenly clamoring in a way that
cannot be ignored.

I take another step forward, not meeting his eyes but instead
allowing myself to wander over his bare chest, so familiar, yet so
unknown to my tactile memory. I have not forgotten the way it
looked, scrubbed raw under falling water. Now it is healed and dry,
but still crying for my touch. My hands move on their own, hover
over the goal, then land softly on his shoulders. He breathes in
heavily at the contact, but doesn't move. He allows me to touch him
and I revel in the promise, the possibility. This is what I have
waited for, for as long as I can remember.

___________

end 1/2


Date: Sat, 27 Feb 1999 16:45:01 -0500
TITLE: Monday 2/2
AUTHOR: Susanne Barringer
EMAIL: sbarringer@bigfoot.com

__________



Mulder raises his arms and wraps them around me, pulling me close to
him. I sink my face into his chest, drinking in the essence that is
his and exploring this newfound sensation of being in his bare arms.
He shifts his body slightly so that I can feel him hard against me, a
feeling that is so new to me, yet somehow something that has always
been a part of us. My own body flares in response to his arousal. I
am not afraid of that. For once in my life, I am not afraid of
reactions and feelings that lie outside my control.

I pull away from his chest, taking one final fill of him into my
lungs, and raise my face to look at him. What I see there in his
eyes surpasses everything I have ever known about him. He loves me.
I have never been so sure. I push myself upward further on my toes,
feeling that if he doesn't kiss me right now I will curl up into a
ball of denial from which I can never recover. He places his hand on
my cheek, his thumb stroking over my skin in a way that has become
familiar, partly from our past and partly from my dreams. I'm not
certain, at this particular moment, which is which. In the end, it
doesn't matter as his lips finally meet mine.

The feeling of this moment, of his lips touching mine as lightly as
imaginable, transcends any expectation I might have had. I'm anxious
to move this forward, to press on toward the inevitable, but he
denies me by pulling away. His eyes remind me that we have all the
time in the world. This is ours to savor, and I mentally check
myself to keep from prodding him, from taking him now the way I want
him forever. He lowers his lips to mine again, and I allow the slow
exploration. I cherish the simple feel of his lips touching mine,
nothing more, just flesh on flesh in a dance of furious patience.
Eventually he pushes further, encouraging my lips to part until his
tongue gently enters. Just a flash of him, a momentary taste of him,
and then he is gone again, playing a game of cat and mouse that makes
me wonder how anything in the world can get better than this.

He looks at me carefully, seemingly weighing my desire, my fortitude.
The next time we kiss it is for real, for all the marbles. His
tongue comes full into my mouth, questioning and seeking. I answer
back with the only answer that is true, after all we have been
through, after all we have said and done and felt. An absolute yes.
His tongue strokes over mine and I press into him, press up toward
him hungering for a lifetime of this. His arm finds its way around
my waist and he pulls me against him so that I can feel the future
hard against me. Our future.

I run my hands over his bare chest, celebrating the permission that
has finally been granted to me to touch him, to move beyond gaze and
sight to the palpable need to know him fully. When the kiss ends
with a flourish of dizziness, I close my eyes and read his chest with
my hands. I still remember it from the other day. I still remember
ever curve, every muscle, burned into my brain with scorching
intensity. This body, mine now, that croons to me an aria of
infinite promise.

I remember the way the water fell over him, caressing him as I so
wanted to do. I remember that drop that hovered under his breast,
begging to be taken by me, into my mouth, and savored as just the
beginning of the feast that awaits me. I open my eyes and place my
mouth over that spot, using my tongue to capture that now-imaginary
drop of water that so stubbornly clung to him. Mulder trembles under
me, a sigh filling his chest which grows under my mouth. So I move
further, tasting him, running my tongue over the smoothness of his
chest, his newly healed skin feeling for the first time the intense
attention of a woman thirsty to taste it. Mulder's breathing
quickens. His hands run up and down my back, slowly then quickly, in
a rhythm that begins to match my own heartbeat. I take his nipple
into my mouth, quickly, then stroke around it again. Mulder jolts
with the sensation and I am pleased to discover this sensitivity. I
wind my way over to the other side, to the other nipple which hardens
as I approach. I take it into my mouth, flicking over its tip, and
my suspicion of Mulder's sensitive chest is confirmed by the jolt
that quakes through him.

Mulder tugs at my blouse, pulling it out of my jeans. Then he slides
his hands across my back, under my shirt this time. I raise my face
to meet his lips again. He leans down and practically pulls me off
my feet to get full access, to explore my mouth fully. I use my
tongue to send him away, back to himself, so that I may be the one to
have the pleasure of exploration, of knowledge. His mouth opens to
me without hesitation and I grab the opportunity to take the
initiative. Before I am aware of it, Mulder is struggling to regain
his balance under the force of my kiss, and I am momentarily
distanced from him by his step backwards. I move forward to get him
back, all of him, my mouth and tongue desperate to take as much of
him as I can. I am leaning into him, all my weight pushed toward
him. I can't get close enough. Mulder loses his balance again,
finally stepping back and pulling me with him until he is pressed
against the wall. Pleased with the resistance I now have from the
wall supporting him, I lean forward fully, urgently crushing myself
against him and working over his mouth, loving the taste and feel of
him resting on my tongue. I feel his cock growing still harder
between us and I adjust so that it lies against my groin, the
excitement glowing between my legs echoed in my probing of his mouth.

I finally come up for air, although I do not allow Mulder to lean
forward from the wall against which I have him plastered. "Jesus,
Scully," he whispers, his voice hoarse, which only serves to stoke my
arousal even more. I am surprised that my aggressiveness bewilders
him. I thought there were no more secrets, no more unaware desire.
We said everything we had to in that shower, although we never shared
a word.

I allow myself to calm a bit, my racing heart falling into a more
regular rhythm. Mulder's hands run over the skin of my back, under
my shirt. His fingers trace circles across the small of my back,
then higher, then my shoulder blades. He finally comes around to the
front to rest on the clasp of my bra, catching my eye before
releasing the hook. I simply look at him, knowing that he will
understand exactly what I want from him, what I have always wanted.
His warm hands work their way around my body, first across my ribs,
then my belly, his thumbs constantly moving in counter-rhythm to the
direction of the movement of his hands. I close my eyes with the
longing for them to move just a little further, to grasp my breasts
and caress them the way he now touches my sides. When I open my
eyes, I see a smile cavorting across his lips. He is teasing me,
playing me like an instrument, exploring every possibility and every
reaction. He is memorizing me the way I memorized him, using his
hands this time instead of his eyes. I lean up once again to kiss
him, gently, curiously, and his hands reach my breasts at the same
time.

The feeling of Mulder's hands on my breasts, running over them,
squeezing them, recreates an image that I have seen only in dreams.
His kiss intensifies, his tongue working over me in the same rhythm
as his hands. As his fingers pinch my nipples, I feel a ripple of
desire roll over me and I press into him again. I remove my hands
from his chest to take off my blouse, the blouse he bought for me.
Mulder stops kissing me and watches, his hands never ceasing their
delicious torment. I watch his eyes as I pull my shirt over my head
to reveal his hands on me. He slides my bra off my shoulders, then
tosses it to the floor. His touch immediately returns to my breasts
and his gaze meets mine. I see this picture of us, of him touching
me, mirrored in his eyes which flash in awe and incredulity. He
drops his arms to his side and just looks at me, emotions crossing
his face in a squall of amazement. His eyes scan over me, as they
did before, taking me into him, learning me. The loss of his touch
is quickly replaced by the heat of his gaze, and we are there, all
over again, loving with our eyes and nothing else.

Then, in a flash, he is on me, his hands wandering everywhere and his
lips hot against my neck, my chest, my breasts. There is a flurry of
heat, touch, tongue, hands, covering me as I could never have
imagined. I am dimly aware of reaching for him, of finally touching
him, my hand stroking his hard cock through his jeans, recalling to
me every inch of it as I have seen it. Mulder moans against the
sensitive skin of my breast, the vibrations rising through me and
heating my blood, the sounds of him chiming chords in me that have
never been heard.

Before I know it, his hand is finding its way into the waistband of
my pants, skimming down the front of me, stopping short of anywhere I
would want it to be. His other hand undoes the button on my jeans,
the zipper falling prey next. Mulder works my pants off over my hips
and I lean down to complete the job. Upon coming back up again, I
find myself kissing his belly, just above the top of his jeans, and
he grabs my hair suddenly, wrapping his fingers in it as I tease my
way across his waist. The taste of him, of that beautiful soft skin,
fills my mouth and my soul with exhilaration.

I am surprised when Mulder drags me up toward his lips once more,
meeting me with a barrage of desperate kisses. He pushes off from
the wall, grabbing my hands in his and pulling me toward the sofa. I
fall onto the couch next to him, and he quickly shifts around so that
he is facing me. Not really sure what he wants, but very sure what I
want, I lean back and pull him over me so that he lies on top of me,
settled between my legs. He pauses and looks at me in that new way,
that way that speaks to me of ancient passion. This vision, of him
gazing down at me, his arms tight with supporting himself, his weight
settled across my groin and belly is, perhaps, the most beautiful
thing I've ever seen. There is something about being under him, of
having him full on me, that makes me feel protected, sheltered. His
erection, straining against his jeans, digs into my thigh, oddly
reassuring in the same way as his weight on me.

Mulder looks at me for a long moment. I read in his eyes everything
I need to know. We have waited a long time, denied ourselves
forever, but now I understand it all. He leans down and kisses me,
just like the first time, gentle and with barely a touch. It is like
we are starting all over again from just a few minutes ago. He is
slowing things down, making us wait. We go back to gentle kissing,
exploring, as he frolics with my tongue and lips, taking them between
his own and setting up a rhythm of sucking and stroking that makes me
dizzy. We spend time just enjoying this new experience with each
other, this exploration of uncharted, yet perfectly memorized,
territory.

I feel Mulder's hips begin to move in time with his kisses, small
thrusts that press against me enticingly. I hear myself moan from
deep within, from some part of me that I don't think has even been
touched. Mulder pulls back a bit to look at me, and his look is one
of wonder and amazement, like he cannot believe that he is doing this
to me, that my body is responding to him. I don't know what he
expected.

Mulder's hand moves down between us, resting between my legs so that
with each small thrust of his hips, his fingers rub over my clitoris.
The sensation of my satin panties pressed against me makes me move
my hips in response. He picks up the rhythm, using his hand to get
the most out of every movement of his cock against me as he continues
to trickle kisses over my neck and breasts. I have to calm myself
again, my anxiousness to move faster crowding my brain.

I can feel the pressure building, amazed that he can do this to me
with little else but the slightest movement of his hand and body.
Suddenly, he rolls off me, off to the side, his hand sliding away and
coming to rest on my thigh. For a moment I am disappointed, and my
hips continue to rock in the rhythm he had set up. Then I understand
his plan as he reaches for the waistband of my panties. He
hesitates, running his finger over the fabric, and I realize he
recognizes them as one of the pairs he bought for me. A smile graces
his face and he gives a slight nod of approval just before he tugs
them down. I pull up my legs so that he can slide the panties over
my feet, then I return to my stretched out position.

Mulder releases a shivering sigh, his eyes running across this newly
revealed area. My mind is begging him to get back to the task at
hand, but he waits. He runs his fingers up the inside of my thighs,
slowly and with a circular motion, stopping short of where he has
just been. My body, of its own accord, shifts to try to get his hand
where it should be, but he pulls back. He looks at me with a teasing
grin that tells me I shouldn't be so impatient. Then he begins
again, stroking the inside of my thighs, then up and around to just
below my belly, then through the curls of hair. The rising arousal I
felt before begins to diffuse as I concentrate on these gentle
motions, caresses that worship my body as his eyes did just a few
short days ago. The urgency draws away, leaving me feeling contented
in this moment, willing to wait a little bit longer.

Then, without warning, his hand is on me again, his fingers circling
around my clit and I buck wildly with the unanticipated change and
the sudden touch. Mulder rolls onto me once more so he can feel my
thrusts against him, while his hand continues to come close, but not
close enough. The friction of his jeans across my legs and thighs
only increases my need--too many sensations, too much to process, and
I feel my sense of control slipping away fast.

Mulder picks up the pace, taking a nipple into his mouth at the same
time, his teeth scratching across me to send flutters through my
body. Then his hand finally hits the perfect spot with a hard caress
that sends me rocketing up against him. He moans with the sensation
and I follow, feeling like I will fracture into endless sharp edges
if he moves away from me again. He rests his groin against his hand
as it works me, finally slipping a finger inside me as his thumb
grinds against my clitoris with a pressure that is beginning to take
away all sense of cognizance. I hear a sound coming from deep within
me, a sound I am not familiar with, that I have never heard. It
rises in volume, aching in my throat as Mulder presses down on me
hard at the same time his finger reaches deep inside. The scream I
release vibrates through my whole body and I lunge so hard Mulder is
thrown to the side. The waves pass over and through me, every muscle
roaring loudly, all of me tight and coiled as time stands still. The
release comes with the force of angels, and I melt into the sofa
feeling flattened and limp.

Mulder practically hangs off the sofa where I threw him in my spasms,
although his hand doesn't move from me. As I rejoin my body and my
breathing slows, he pulls himself back up and moves closer to me,
taking me in his arms and pulling me against him. He doesn't speak,
nor do I, this wordless loving seeming to have become our modus
operandi. I feel like I should thank him, thank him for giving me a
sense of complete and total release that I haven't felt in years, if
ever, but I see in his eyes that I don't have to. My gratefulness is
returned to me tenfold through the wonder in his eyes.

I think I doze off, although I'm not sure since I never fully lose
the awareness of Mulder next to me, his skin against mine, his hand
stroking my hair, then my face. I am sure that he never takes his
eyes off me, that he watches me come down from my completion, my
heart settle down, my breathing fall into a sleepy rhythm. He
watches it all cross my face and my body, wanting to know all that I
experience, even after the fact.

When I come to, it is with a need greater than before. The need to
share. I open my eyes to find Mulder looking at me, so contentedly,
so beautifully, that my body reacts immediately to the gaze which
reaches deep enough that my soul can feel it. I work my finger
through one of the belt loops on his jeans, pulling him closer to me
so I can feel him fully. He is hard already, or still. It doesn't
really matter. I sit up then and lean over him, planting a kiss
lightly on his lips, just barely touching him, recreating our earlier
waltz. He accepts me, waits, though I feel his impatience pressed
against me. I tease him, as he did me, kissing him softly, gently,
letting my hair fall down across his face, then his neck, then his
chest.

I plant kisses along that same path, using the opportunity to taste
him, to stroke my tongue along his skin, warm and sweet, like heaven.
He breathes slowly, deeply, allowing me my time to know him the way
he has come to know me. My body stirs with each flavor of him,
suddenly so necessary to my existence, to my need.

Mulder waits to see what I will do although his hips rock against me
every now and then as if to remind me of his desire. I am not
unaware, for that same urgency echoes through me with a force that
dazes me. I reach for his zipper, then give in to an image that
comes to me from out of some deep part of me that I do not recognize.
I lean down and use my teeth instead, inching the zipper down toward
the bottom. I think he might laugh at me, but instead he lets out a
wavering breath that falls across the top of my head and I feel the
shudder that passes through him underneath my hand, my lips. This is
new to me, this assertiveness, yet it feels right. Having
accomplished the feat, I tug gently with my hands to pull his jeans
down over his hips and Mulder shifts to help me. I slide the pants
down, then toss them to the floor. His erection stretches against
his boxers, and although I am aware that I should slow down, that I
should take him as slowly as he took me, I feel I cannot wait any
longer to reveal that image that I saw in the shower, that I have
seen every night since in my dreams. It was just a few short days
ago, yet so real, so current, that I can imagine it long before his
boxers are stripped and his solid cock rises to me, begging as I have
dreamed.

I look at Mulder's face to find his eyes watching me. They are dim
with desire, with the same need that beats between my legs in time
with my racing heart. I must remind myself to be patient, to wait,
to squelch the desperation to take him inside of me where he belongs.
Instead, I return to his lips, kissing and sucking. Our naked
bodies lie against each other, for the first time fully relinquished,
fully whole. The feeling of his skin against mine, his hardness
against my belly, all of him under me and open to me causes the
rising tide to peak, and I capture his mouth with mine in sheer
desperation. The sounds coming from him, entering into me, fill me
and heat me and send waves of some unknown origin racing through my
veins. This need, so strong, so unbelievably unquenchable, that
drives me to act and think by some force outside of any experience I
have ever known.

Mulder's skin is warm beneath my lips as I move down his neck to his
chest which I have learned to be one of his most sensitive areas.
His nipples rise under my tongue and the sounds he makes fill his
chest, the vibrations singing across my lips. I trail my tongue down
along his torso to his belly, that part of him that looked so soft
under the falling water of the shower. It is, as I discover, a
truth. I make my way over his hip, then down, stopping to taste the
hard muscles of his upper thighs. I watch his cock rise higher under
my ministrations, hard and solid like I knew it would be. I tease my
way over to it, coming close, but not quite. Mulder's hips rise
suddenly, trying to meet my lips, trying to find me.

I wait a moment, teasing him, then finally give in, first running my
tongue along the length of him, getting a feel for him, for the power
of him. Mulder writhes under me. He says my name in a voice that is
a mixture of a whisper and a shout, an amazing sound, one I want to
hear again and again. His noises are sounds, not words, the only
thing recognizable being my name, carried on that shuddering voice.
I finally take him fully into my mouth, loving the feeling of him
this way, loving the pounding energy resting on my tongue and filling
me. I stroke only a few times before I feel Mulder tugging at my
hair, warning me. He does not need to speak. I will not take him
like this, not this time. I need him inside me, for real, fully,
finally.

I rise up to kiss him so he can taste himself in my mouth, then
manage to pull him on top of me. I want it this way, with him
covering me all over, as much of him touching me as possible. Mulder
pulls up and looks at me, more fiercely than ever. I love to see him
like this, at the point where love and lust and passion and a fate
that is written in the stars merge into some kind of hunger that
exceeds comprehension. It is natural, necessary, and, so inevitable.
This moment. Now.

Mulder shifts so that his cock is poised just along me. His eyes
tell me what is coming. He keeps his gaze fixed on me as he enters
me in one smooth, amazingly slow stroke that seems to last a year.
His breath exhales with it, his lungs emptying as his cock fills me.
Nothing is better than the moment of entry, of convergence. I
breathe in deeply, taking in the air that he has released, taking him
in, welcoming him in, loving him. He still doesn't break my gaze as
he begins stroking in and out in a rhythm that reminds me of before,
of when my body acted on its own and met his beat for beat. Each
stroke is matched by a flash of his eyes, by a look that reminds me
of so many hours and days and months of him and me, just us,
together, against the world.

He picks up the speed of his thrusts and my body meets them, although
I fight not to hurry him. This is for him. This is me loving him,
and I wouldn't care if it lasted forever. Mulder leans to kiss me
lightly, gently, then resumes his gaze. He makes love to me with his
eyes again, just as his body now does, all of him working together.
All of us.

My orgasm sneaks up on me, a surprise, an unexpected thrust from
Mulder sending me flying fast and intense. Not like before, not
quite as strong, but in a way that means more because he is inside of
me and we are completed. I recover quickly to help him along, my
hips meeting his as the rhythm picks up, his thrusts becoming deeper,
more furious. He finally lets go, that whisper-shout "Scully" that I
have come to love so much in such a short period of time exploding
from him as he bursts inside of me. I hold on tightly as he rides it
out, the convulsions knocking against me in a way that feels so
right. This is right.

Mulder stays inside me, on top of me. I feel his body relaxing, the
heaving of his chest slow. He plants kisses along my neck, my
collarbone, kissing his way down from his climax, and mine. When he
finally rolls off of me, an exquisite smile adorns his face. He
looks at me and just shakes his head in amazement. I watch him for a
while, his hand tracing lazy circles across my belly as he sighs
heavily in contentment about every twenty seconds. He finally dozes,
so I do too, slipping into a dream that reprises this reality. When
I awaken he is looking at me again.

"I need a shower," he says after some time, his voice sounding
unfamiliar and unexpected after so much wordlessness. "Join me?" He
won't quite meet my eyes, like he's shy, or afraid to ask.

"That's how we got into this mess in the first place," I reply,
wondering how much better a shower together will be now that we can
actually touch each other and there's no acid eating into our skin.
The thought boggles the mind.

"I know," he says. I see the leer playing about his mouth, so I kiss
it. Mulder responds fast, swinging himself on top of me and pinning
my wrists to the arm of the sofa. "It won't hurt this time," he
promises, his tongue tracing circles around my nipples which are
already tingling under his care. "The shower, I mean." He grins. I
squirm around to sit up and he lets go of my wrists, then stands and
pulls me to my feet. A shower sounds perfect.

"I've got that shampoo you bought for me," I suggest. It came with
the clothes. Shampoo and massage oil, in fact. Mulder obviously
plans ahead.

"I didn't buy it for just you," he teases. He rakes his fingers
through my hair, wrapping a strand around his finger and then sinking
his nose into the top of my head, breathing in the scent of the
shampoo he chose for me.

He releases me suddenly, then pulls me toward the bathroom. I note
the time flickering at me from the clock on the VCR. 12:02. It's
Tuesday.


END 2/2

______________


This is my first real smut, so feedback of any kind would be
appreciated: sbarringer@bigfoot.com

All my fanfic available at
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dreamworld/2442