TITLE: NIGHT BLOOM AUTHOR: AnubisKV5 E-MAIL: AnubisKV5@cs.com FEEDBACK: Constructive feedback always appreciated! RATING: NC-17 - no minors allowed! If you're under 18, SHOO! Go away! This isn't for you! BETA-READER: The wonderful, amazing Aerostar. All other errors are my own. CATEGORY: MSR. Mid- and Post-Ep SPOILERS: The Beginning DISCLAIMER: Not mine -- I make no claims; The X-Files characters belong to 1013 Productions, Chris Carter and Fox. No rights implied. I'm just borrowing them. (Mrs. Edgar is *all* mine, however.) Also, I am not the same Anubis archived on Gossamer, nor am I AnubisLite. I'm a totally different person, ergo, AnubisKV5. But, you can call me Anubis. ;) SUMMARY: They fought like wildcats at times, at least verbally. He was the believer and she was the skeptic. As always. Eternally. But, as best friends, they always came together and were able to put work behind them and truly *be* friends. She'd always hoped they could become more. Was that possible now? AUTHOR'S NOTES: Written for the Virtual Season of Smut Challenge - Season 6 at Fandomonium.com. DEDICATION: For Aerostar, for her constant support and friendship. For her suggestions, additions, beta-ing and everything else there is. You go, girl! -- ahite? To AJ, well, just because. ~x~X~X~X~x~ She awoke, disoriented, though she wasn't certain why. And then she heard it; something she wasn't accustomed to hearing very often: the soft, gentle snores of her partner. She smiled to herself and slowly, quietly turned over on her bed to face him. The dim light of the motel bedside lamp was enough for her to watch him sleep. He lay on his side, facing her, one arm pillowing his head and the other wrapped around his middle. She resisted the urge to run her fingers along the edges of his slack mouth, especially that plump bottom lip which had fueled so many fantasies for her during the nearly six years of their partnership. They fought like wildcats at times, at least verbally. He was the believer and she was the skeptic. As always. Eternally. But, as best friends, they always came together and were able to put work behind them and truly *be* friends. She'd always hoped they could become more. Was that possible now? Lately, the friendship had been strained and their slowly-escalating relationship had stalled, it seemed. Her mouth strained, too, into a slight frown. Diana Fowley: the two words that held the power to spoil her mood faster than anything she knew. Not even her brother Bill's haughty, holier- than-though haranguing about *his* opinion of how she should be spending her life could bring her mood down so damned quickly. *Why* did he trust *her* so completely? Believe everything *she* said as canon? Why didn't he trust her -- his partner -- the way he trusted his *ex*-partner? Even if it wasn't true, it certainly felt that way at times. Now, more often than not. The pain lodged uncomfortably low in her gut, chewing, she was sure, an ulcer into her stomach. Maybe she'd have to have it checked. The pain was real, visceral, deep. And it hurt like hell. Or did she need to have her heart checked? Truly, she wasn't sure which. "Scully?" His voice was sleep-filled, tinged with worry. "Are you okay?" He tentatively reached over to attempt to gently rub the frown from her forehead with a fingertip. "M'okay," she muttered, allowing the touch momentarily before moving back out of his reach. But she wasn't okay. Not with the specter of Fowley around. She'd lied; Dana Scully was always on edge lately. Fowley was like a bad penny; always showing up at the most inopportune times. Now, Diana Fowley and Jeffrey Spender had the X-Files and the basement office. Mulder's life work which had become *her* life work as well. She was invested; totally and completely. Every time she saw the woman, Fowley reminded her, unfairly or not, of one of those spitting cobras, one of the ones that coiled, flared its hood, swayed provocatively, hypnotizing its unsuspecting prey and then blinding it with its acrid venom before devouring the prey whole. Fox Mulder, it seemed, was Diana Fowley's prey. Scully had done everything she could to convince Mulder of Fowley's deceptions, but because of their past together -- or maybe in spite of it -- Mulder continued to insist that Diana Fowley was his friend and would not betray him or the X-Files. More than anything, Scully was certain he'd be hurt by her again. Admittedly, she knew little of their past; he was not especially forthcoming. She surmised the rest, wrong or right. Scully sat up, rubbing her eyes. She hadn't meant to fall asleep while they were talking, discussing the case and the crime scene they'd visit the next day, and neither had he. They were both dressed in casual clothing and had been sitting on the bed in her Phoenix motel cottage, a little "Mom and Pop" set-up, which was surprisingly nice, considering that Mulder had, as usual, picked the place. They'd checked in earlier in the afternoon, too late to go to the crime scene at the nuclear reactor, and met the "Mom" of the motel operation instead. Mrs. Irawanah Edgar had greeted them warmly. She was a small, elderly, round woman with glowing, apple-colored cheeks. Her hair was almost completely iron-gray and she had a happy smile on dark-reddish skin that bespoke of her Native American ancestry. She'd been impressed and pleased that *real* FBI agents had decided to stay at her and her husband's place. After they'd signed in, Mrs. Edgar had walked them through the small courtyard to their respective side-by-side white-washed stucco cottages. Mr. Edgar, it seemed, was in Tucson, on business. The courtyard had been full of all kinds of desert-blooming foliage and an impressive cactus garden, and Scully had commented on its beauty. Mrs. Edgar had smiled even wider, if it was possible, and told her about the deer, rabbits and other desert wildlife that came into her courtyard in the very early morning hours to munch on her plants for breakfast. She'd tried, she said, for years, to stop that, and then finally gave up. Instead, for the past decade, she and Mr. Edgar enjoyed watching, from the swing on their front porch with cups of steaming coffee in their hands, the animals come and go in the early dawn hours. The desert, she said, could be very cold at night, even in the hot summer, and the coffee helped warm them up. "Scully?--" Behind her on the bed, breaking into her thoughts, Mulder sat up, too. She started to turn towards him, but whatever he was going to say was stopped by the rapid but quiet knock on her door. Scully and Mulder looked at each other, then, as one, at the clock. It was after midnight. Scully stood and retrieved her SIG from where she'd deposited it on the top of the television and went to peek out the curtains. With a sigh of relief, she hid the gun behind her and opened the door. "Miss Scully! I have something to show you!" Mrs. Edgar said excitedly, then suddenly noticed a rumpled-looking Agent Mulder sitting on Scully's bed. "Oh!... I'm sorry... I didn't mean to interrupt..." Her dark skin blushed an even deeper red. "Mrs. Edgar," Scully told her, "You didn't interrupt anything. Agent Mulder and I were working on our case files." She motioned back to the bed, where, indeed, next to her partner were a series of official-looking file folders. "What can I do for you?" "Well, I saw your light on, and as long as I'm not bothering you... it's such a rare occurrence, and you seemed to like my garden, so, I wanted to share this with you." Mrs. Edgar looked hopefully from Scully to Mulder and back again. "If you'd both like to see it..." Scully smiled warmly at the woman, noticing the flashlight in her hands, and said, "Yes, we'd love to come. Just let us get our shoes." Scully returned her SIG to its place on the television. "You might want a sweater, dear," Mrs. Edgar added, "It's actually quite cool out tonight." Scully smiled at her, inviting her in out of the cold as she and Mulder donned their footwear and jackets. ~x~X~X~X~x~ Shortly, they were following the older woman on a care-worn dirt path through the hard desert scrabble of rocks, succulents, cacti and other flora out behind the cottages. It *was* cool outside and Scully was very glad she'd taken her jacket. They walked for a few moments in silence until Mrs. Edgar stopped. "Oh, here it is, dears! Look!" Mrs. Edgar shone her flashlight on a rather tall specimen and on it were three very, very large blooms, reminding Scully of a morning glory, only much, much larger. Each bloom was about six inches across. She watched as Mrs. Edgar leaned forward and inhaled one of the blooms' fragrance. "This is my favorite," the old woman said cheerfully, telling them its technical name, which was lost on both of them. "But it *only* blooms at night, usually after midnight, and only for a few weeks of the year. I come out to check every night and, well, you must have brought some luck with you, because it's blooming for the first night this year!" She looked back at her guests. "Would you like to...?" She waved vaguely at the bloom. "Be careful of the spines, dears!" she warned. Scully smiled and moved forward, carefully lowering her face to the delicate bloom that, while pure white, looked exquisitely blue in the light of the Arizona moon. Its fragrance was heady, sweet and wonderful. She'd never before experienced anything quite like it. Scully closed her eyes and enjoyed its scent again. "Hey! Save some of that for me," Mulder whispered closely behind her. Scully smiled and stepped back, making room for her partner. He inhaled deeply, then turned, with surprise on his face, looking back at Scully and Mrs. Edgar. "This is wonderful, Mrs. Edgar!" Scully could swear she saw the woman blush under her handsome partner's gaze. "Thank you, young man. Well," Mrs. Edgar said with a smile, "I won't keep you. I know it's late and you two young people have... *other* things to do." She smiled a knowing smile and Scully was glad it was dark so that Mulder couldn't see her blush. "I just thought you might enjoy it. Thank you for indulging an old woman." She watched as the male FBI agent put his arm around the pretty female FBI agent, his eyes intent on her face. "Come along, dears!" "Oh, we'll be along," Mulder murmured and looked at Mrs. Edgar with a smile. "It's bright enough with the full moon and I memorized the path. I think we'd like to enjoy your flowers a little longer." Mulder winked at her. "Well, okay, then," the woman said, "Remember, I serve a full, home-made breakfast in the dining room from seven until nine-thirty." With one last smile, she left and they watched as the beam of her flashlight bobbed along the path. "Mulder," Scully said quietly, glancing back at the gorgeous blooms, "we should get back; it's late." "I know," he said and hugged her closer, noting her shiver. "Are you cold, Scully?" "Y-Yes," she said. It was a lie; it was his proximity, not the cold. Lately, more than ever, his proximity made her shiver, though he'd always had an incredible effect on her. "Then, let's go back and get you warm," his voice was low, honeyed, seductive. They'd been moving towards a change in their relationship for a long, long time. With his hand slipping down to its his usual place on her lower back, he gently urged her up the path towards her cottage. Along the way, he slipped his hand from her waist to her forearm and took her hand in his; then slowly entwined his fingers with hers. Scully was alternately elated and nervous at each new overture. In silence, they enjoyed the moonlight, the sounds of the desert and each other's company. ~x~X~X~X~x~ Back in her cottage, Scully shucked her jacket and excused herself to go to the bathroom. There, she ran the tap and splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth. Scully looked in the mirror for a moment before removing her make-up. Mulder had seen her in much worse situations so she wasn't worried about that. She stripped and pulled on her midnight blue silk pajamas. When she returned to the room, she stopped in shock, staring at the bed. The files had been removed and stacked haphazardly on the little table by the window and Mulder lay in her bed, under the covers, naked to the waist, at least. She wasn't sure about the rest of him, for he was under her covers. Her eyes roamed the planes and muscles of his torso. "Scully?" He looked vaguely apprehensive. "Mulder..." "Scully," he interrupted her, "It doesn't have to be anything you don't want it to be. You were cold. I want to help warm you up." At that, Scully snickered. "Oh, I'm *sure,*" she said with a snort. Mulder smiled back at her. "Come on, we can cuddle." He patted the space in the bed next to him. "Warm each other up." "You have your *own* cottage, Mulder. Complete with a thermostat," she replied. "Yeah," he agreed, "but I don't know of a thermostat that can warm me up as fast as a little red-headed FBI pathologist who can kick my ass." His eyes were openly appraising the dips and curves of her body under the midnight blue silk. She crossed to the bed and sat on it looking at him, a small smile on her face, "And you'd better not forget about the 'kicking your ass' part, Agent Mulder." "I'm not *that* stupid, Agent Scully," Mulder replied, his grin widening. "Mulder," she tried one more time, "we have an early morning, you know." "Yep," Mulder replied, "and we can have a late night, too. Not to mention a full, home-made breakfast served from seven until nine-thirty to refuel. The longer it takes for you to get in here, the longer it's going to take for both of us to get warm." Tentatively, Scully climbed into her own bed, relaxed against the pillow, turned her back to him and pulled the covers up to her shoulders. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths, trying hard to ignore the scent of Mulder next to her. His unique scent was just as heady and overwhelming as the night-blooming desert plant they'd just experienced. More so, in fact. She saw the dim light of the bedside table go out from behind her eyelids and felt Mulder snuggle down into the bed behind her. They'd done this before after a particularly hard case or for no reason at all. They'd shared a bed for comfort and nothing else. That's all this was, too, right? Scully's eyes blinked open in surprise when a strong arm reached around her middle and pulled her back slowly against his chest. "C'mere, Scully." "Mulder..." "Just covering my partner's back," he said, a smile in his voice. Scully started to pull away, but went limp when his soft, warm, wet lips connected with the back of her neck, on the delicate scar that they both believed contained a secretive chip that kept her alive. "Oh..." she sighed and squirmed back against him, her body betraying her conscious mind. Behind her, Mulder had moved his arm, reached up and pulled back the neck of her pajamas, to lay sweet kisses down the top of her spine, as far as he could touch his lips to her uncovered skin. She closed her eyes again and reveled in his intimate touch. All thoughts of Diana Fowley fled, and Scully lost herself in the moment, in Mulder's heat. His hand crept around her again and his fingers worked under her top, drawing light, tender patterns on her stomach. It took her a moment to realize he'd been spelling out her name with his forefinger: Dana Katherine Scully. Then his fingers moved slowly higher. "Mulder!" her voice came out in an explosive whisper as his fingers carefully brushed the undersides of her sensitive breasts, then moved higher to tweak a nipple. It was not enough and it was too much. "Scully," his deep voice was rough with need next to her ear, "we need to lose this top." His fingers were now toying with the buttons of her pajama top, but he really wasn't doing anything. He was anxiously waiting for her assent. She knew he'd stop if she said the word. But, did she want to say the word? Her answer came in the form of a silent nod that he couldn't help but feel with his stubble- roughened cheek next to hers. He acknowledged it with a nod of his own, and a happy sigh. Scully could almost feel him smile. She could also feel something else, long, hard, throbbing, hot and delicious against her back, realizing he was naked under the sheets and blankets. She couldn't help the deep, heavy feeling of longing spread down between her legs. "You're awfully sure of yourself, G-Man," Scully breathed, covering his hand with hers, helping him to slip the buttons from their buttonholes. "What would you have done if I'd kicked your naked ass out of my cottage?" "I'd have frozen my naked balls off running back to *my* very cold and empty cottage, Scully," he said, nibbling the soft skin behind her ear, making her shiver again, "But I had faith in you: I trusted you to do the right thing." She couldn't help it, tears sprang into her eyes at his confession of his trust in her. She turned in his arms, hugging him tight. "Scully?" he had her face in his hands, looking deeply into her ocean-deep blue eyes, wiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. "Shut up, Mulder," she said, snaked her hand behind his head and pulled him to her for their first kiss as lovers. It was sweet, it was deep, it was wet and it was hot. Their tongues tangled as they engaged in each other's tastes while their fingers both moved down to finish working off the buttons. Scully cursed under her breath as she twisted in the sheets to remove the shirt and Mulder laughed and helped her. "Oh, Scully," he breathed, stopping all movement to stare at her breasts in the moonlight filtering through the gauzy curtains. Suddenly unsure, she stared at him, forcing herself *not* to cover herself under his appraisal. She wasn't brunette, tall and leggy with giant, artificial boobs and she'd always known she wasn't really Mulder's type. Mulder glanced up at her, then back down, slowly licking his lips at the feast presented in front of him. "Oh my God, Scully. You are *perfect.*" Scully shivered again; maybe she was wrong about not being his type, after all. Scully shuddered as he lowered his lips and slowly flicked his tongue over each nipple, causing her to gasp and arch, until he gently nudged her completely onto her back. Mulder didn't hesitate at all as he devoured first one and then the other breast. His lips, teeth and tongue were rasping, tugging and urging her nipples into tingling tight, hard, aching peaks. While his mouth was busy distracting her with that task, Scully could only breathe heavily, trying without success to keep her eyes open and watch him. She wound her fingers tightly into his hair during his ministrations and then her eyes popped open again when she realized, belatedly, that one of his hands had disappeared under the elastic band of her pajama bottoms. "Oh God! Mulder!" she cried quietly into the near dark. Her hands jerked down to his shoulders and her nails dug in, nearly drawing blood. Mulder groaned, then raised his head and watched the play of emotions on her face as his hand slid well-past her belly button and into the thatch of curls below. "Good?" he asked. Scully bit her bottom lip as his talented fingers explored, gasped in surprise and arched against his hand as his fingers found their goal. She was already slick, ready and heavy with arousal. Her excitement, she noted absently, was obviously feeding his as his erection grew harder and more insistent against her thigh. Mulder was stroking her, increasing the pressure on her clitoris little by little, until Scully thought she would fly apart like a supernova. His lips were back at her ear, his stubble rasping her cheek again. "These have to go, too, Scully." His hand had retreated somewhat, to her extreme disappointment, and had pulled the elastic waistband up a little, only to let it pop back against her waist. Scully jumped in surprise at the tiny bit of pain and looked into his eyes. They were hooded and his gorgeous hazel irises were reduced to thin rings around the pupils. She hoped it was arousal for her, his proximity to her body and not just the dark causing that look. Mulder had busied himself by inserting the thumbs of both hands under the elastic on either side of her pajama bottoms and was attempting to pull them down her legs. "Scully, up, please." "Mulder," she put a hand on one of his shoulders. "Maybe we shouldn't... we're here on a case, you know." Mulder stopped and looked at her for a long moment, then lay back down next to her and cupped her face with both hands. "Scully, I've wanted to make love with you for so long... yes, we're here on business, but right now we're 'off the clock!'" Scully only stared at him uncertainly, despite reacting with a shudder at his words. He watched her for another long moment, then slowly slid his fingers from her cheeks and pulled his hands back. "Okay, Scully. I understand. You're not ready..." "Mulder," Scully whispered so lightly he almost didn't hear her, "I've been ready for you for years." She reached for him and scraped her nails across his nipples, allowing one hand to continue to scratch all the way down his abdomen, feeling his muscles twitch involuntarily, and taking his cock in her firm, warm grip. Scully watched in delight as Mulder shuddered, closing his eyes. "Oh, God, Scully! Don't do that if you don't mean to follow through... if you're not sure! I'm an 'all-or-nothing' guy. And with you, well, it has to be 'all,'" Mulder said, trying to get his breathing under control. Scully smiled at him. This was as close to a true declaration as he'd ever given her, and that was okay, because she knew how he felt. Besides, she also had a difficult time putting her feelings into words. She squeezed him slightly and wrenched a gasp out of him. "Scuh--uhh!" Then she released him, pleased to discover that she could reduce him to a quivering lump of blazing testosterone. Scully leaned close, nibbling on the small cleft in his chin, then soothing it with her tongue and whispered to him. "Hold that thought, G-Man." With that, she threw off the covers, lifted her hips and shimmied out of her pajama bottoms, all under Mulder's appreciative gaze. An evil little grin crossed his face. "Why Agent Scully! I *do* believe you're out of uniform! I didn't see any panties!" "I don't wear panties when I sleep," she replied huskily, then surprised him by tackling him, knocking him flat on his back, his arms to his sides, and she straddled his middle. "D-Do..." Mulder gulped audibly and had to clear his throat at the vision sitting on top of him, "Do you wear panties to work, Scully? Have you ever gone to work 'au naturel'?" "THAT, Mister Mulder," Scully leaned over, crossed her arms over his chest and pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his lips, "is something *you* will never know because of the 'no fraternization rules.'" She allowed her fingernails under her to scratch through his chest hair, making his muscles quiver. "Oh. My. God," Mulder exclaimed quietly. "I think I'm gonna die." "Not yet," Scully stated matter-of-factly. "You die on me here and I'll have to shoot you again." She leaned over and pressed a kiss to the scar on his left shoulder, then smiled coquettishly at him. Mulder looked at her for a moment then burst out laughing, which created the interesting effect of raising and lowering his lower abdomen against the damp auburn curls at her center and causing his cock to tap out an erotic tattoo on her ass. He'd started this seduction, but, clearly, she'd run over him with her own, like a freight train at full throttle; he was enjoying *every* second of it. "So," Mulder said, raising his hands to caress her shoulders and letting them slide behind and down to map out her back, spine and her very firm butt, "What's next?" He looked so innocent. Or tried to. Scully gave Mulder what he secretly referred to as "The Patented Scully Eyebrow," and then she frowned. "Well, I guess 'those videos that aren't yours' aren't doing you any good at all if you can't figure out what's next. Maybe you need to just give them to Frohike. I'm *sure* he could learn something from them." Mulder smiled. "Oh, I think I just remembered something I learned from 'Big Lotta Love.'" With that, she shrieked as he flipped her over and settled himself between her thighs. His hands slid up and down her sides as he buried his tongue in her mouth. Scully groaned and squirmed under the assault. Mulder couldn't help it and found himself thrusting against her, his cock grazing into her curls, bumping against her clit. Scully jumped as if she'd been shocked and, with a moan, pressed herself up against him. Slowly, ever so slowly, Mulder dragged his lips away from hers, leaving her bottom lip with a tender tug and covered her face in kisses. Scully reeled from the overload of sensation, her toes curling involuntarily. It had been *far* too long and she'd waited for Mulder for what felt like ten lifetimes. Before she knew it, he was christening her with kisses, from her neck to her breasts, to her belly button, where he spent some time poking it with his tongue, making her writhe. When Mulder slid his tongue from her navel further down, Scully's eyes opened and she grabbed his hair. "Mulder, you don't have to--" In the near dark, his eyes were luminous as he looked back up at her. "I *know* I don't have to, Scully. I *want* to." Their eyes locked as he lowered his head between her legs. Mulder opened her with his thumbs and dropped his eyes to look. Scully fought the urge to close her thighs. This was Mulder and she trusted him with her life, her soul and her heart. Now she was trusting him with her body. The touch of his hot tongue was electric and she could not help her reaction. Her back arched and she threw her head deeper into the pillow, exposing the porcelain column of her throat, her eyes closed tight. Without thought of causing him pain, she twisted her fingers into his hair, somehow needing him closer. Scully growled her pleasure. Vaguely, she thought about his oral fixation with sunflower seeds and pencils and almost laughed at the incongruity of it as Mulder continued his hot, erotic explorations of her with his tongue, teeth and mouth. "Georgia O'Keefe," he commented suddenly and she realized he'd stopped. With an effort, she raised her head to look down at him again. There he was, his head between her thighs, staring at her center, arousal written clearly on his face. "Wh-what?" Scully asked. At that, Mulder looked up at her, but still held her open with his thumbs, moving to hold her open with one hand while he began to explore her with the fingers of his other. "Do you know who Georgia O'Keefe was, Scully?" he asked. Scully only blinked at him, trying to concentrate on what he was saying, but it was difficult with one of his fingers beginning a slow imitation of what she'd hoped they'd be doing by now. "She was a painter, Scully. An American southwestern painter," Mulder returned his attention to where his fingers played her, "A lot of people were offended by her paintings of flowers. They accused her paintings to be that of a woman's labia, vagina and clit instead of flowers, you know." No, she hadn't known. All Scully could do was lay there and gasp at the picture his words were painting in her mind and his fingers were painting on and in her body. Mulder smiled, then looked back up at her. "I think I can really appreciate Georgia O'Keefe now, Scully." Without warning, he lowered his head and worked her to a fevered pitch. Scully fisted her hands tightly into the bedding. She actually screamed his name when his teeth and lips tugged on her clit and then shattered into a million points of starlight when his tongue began licking her roughly. When she came back to herself, sweaty and breathing hard, heart beating like a trip-hammer, she heard a chuckle. Scully looked down to see Mulder with his arms folded over her hipbones and lower abdomen, his head resting on his forearms, his eyes alight with green fire at what he'd done to and for her. After he knew he had her complete attention again, Mulder slowly, intentionally licked his lips, she noted, with that evil tongue that had been alternately torturing and pleasuring her beyond all reason and she moaned his name again. "Mulderrrr..." "Yes, my little Night Bloom?" The corners of his eyes crinkled. "Mulderrrr," she warned, reaching out both hands to capture his ears and tug. "Get up here, Mulder," she ordered breathlessly. "Your wish is my command, Sweet Petunia." With that, he crawled up over her, gently lowering his pelvis to rest on hers. Their skin came together with a hiss of pleasure from both of them, his erection nudging her already over-stimulated sex. But Scully couldn't close her eyes, despite the overwhelming feelings washing through her. She had to watch him. He propped his upper body on his elbows to keep his heavier bulk off of her. Scully wrapped her arms around his ribs and drew her nails down the back of his sides. Mulder's eyes closed and he threw his head back, gasping in surprise. She kept up her assault until he thrust against her involuntarily. It was *her* turn to gasp. Mulder forced his eyes open and looked back down at her, affection and so many other emotions flitting across his face so quickly she could never have catalogued them all. He smiled at her tenderly, his eyes wandering over her features, stopping to stare deep into her eyes, and then lowering his swollen lips to hers. Scully parted them slightly to take a deep breath and he immediately took advantage, thrusting his tongue home. A bolt of lightning coursed through her when she tasted herself on his lips and tongue, and suddenly she wanted to taste him, too. As he continued with his assault on her soft mouth, slanting his lips this way and that for the best advantage, Scully slid one hand down between them and circled his hard, silken flesh with her fingers. Mulder's eyes popped open like saucers and he pulled back slightly. "No, Scully!" he protested feebly as she stroked him. "Why not, my little ... Bachelor Button?" she was overcome with the feel, the heft of him in her small hand. Her other hand had slid further down and was squeezing his cheek rhythmically. "Or maybe *not* so little." "Oh God, Scully!" Mulder closed his eyes momentarily, then opened them again. "Please ... stop. Please stop, Scully!" She hesitated, halting her movements, frowning, misunderstanding, but didn't remove her hand. "It's not that, Scully," he realized from her expression what she'd been thinking and kissed her languidly again. "It's been so long, Scully. So long ... and if you keep doing that, I'll embarrass myself." Mulder smiled as she smiled shyly back at him, finally realizing exactly what he'd meant. "I want to be inside you, Scully. I want to make love to you." Scully couldn't help the tears that flooded her eyes and glanced away from him with a shaky smile. "I never thought I'd hear you say that, Mulder." "I've wanted to say it for years, Scully. Years." With that, he leaned down and kissed her with even more passion than before. "Oh God! Mulderrr!" she cried softly, parting her thighs further and increasing their contact. "Mulder, please!" He'd lowered his head, his face hidden in her neck, inhaling Scully's totally unique fragrances, and then nodded. "I want to apologize," he mumbled into her hair. "What about?" Scully asked, puzzled. "Because ... because I may embarrass myself anyway." He leaned up and looked deeply into her eyes again. "It's been a long time for me, Scully. I've waited a long, long time ... for *you,* Scully. I didn't exactly plan for it to be 'wham, bam, thank you, ma'am.' And I'm getting a little long in the tooth to 'lock and load' very quickly twice in a row, y'know?" Scully couldn't help it, but she actually giggled at that. Mulder smiled back at her, his humor self-deprecating. "Well, in spite of your obvious ... oral talents ... which you've honed over the years with those damned sunflower seeds, it's been a long time for me, too, Mulder," she squeezed him gently one more time and he groaned her name softly. "So, how about we get this show on the road, G-Man ... or should that be ... Geranium-Man?" "Oh, anything you say, my Little Passion Flower!" Mulder smiled and as Scully opened her mouth to comment on his most recent pet name for her, her voice caught in a garbled, unintelligible syllable as he thrust purposely towards home. He couldn't get far, however, with her hand still wrapped around him, almost vise-like. Mulder kissed her mouth that seemed to be frozen into a surprised "O," and told her, "Let go, Sweet Pea, or the show really *will* be over, and not in a way you'll like, though, admittedly, it would be *really* good for me," he smirked, his voice hoarse. Scully managed to come to her senses enough to pull her hand away, but not before dragging her fingernails lightly across his own swollen skin. "Scully!" he cried and dropped his head to her neck again. "You're trying to kill me. I know it now. You've just wanted me for my basement office all these years." Scully giggled again and pulled his head down for another intense kiss. "I may want what's *in* your basement, Mulder, but I don't want your office." She ran her hands along his sides and down to his ass, hitched her legs up and crossed her ankles behind his thighs, then, with all her might, as she growled, "MINE!!" she pulled him in. "OH. MY. GOD!!! Scuh-leee!!!" he cried, his head falling back, and his eyes snapping closed, totally taken by surprise at her actions as he found himself lodged to the hilt in Scully's heat. She thrust against him. "Wait a minute, Scully!" "What's wrong, my Little Morning Glory?" Scully giggled. "You can dish it out, but you can't take it ... Pansy-Man?" Panting harshly, Mulder cracked his eyes open to glare at her. "'Pansy-Man?' Scully, you wound me! I haven't even begun to 'dish it out,' Rosebud!" That said, Mulder took her breath away again, beginning with slow, even strokes in and almost completely out of her body, only to stroke slowly in again. It was passion. It was love. It was Mulder. And it was completely right. Everything wrong with their world faded away in his arms and all she could do was feel and enjoy, skin against skin. Scully now knew without a doubt that he loved her. She knew she was in love with him. Their mouths clashed and their tongues fought for dominance, but neither won. They were both even, and yet both out-matched. They were each other's halves and they had now come together to make a whole. They completed each other. Scully moved in counterpoint to Mulder's increasingly feverish thrusts, the sweat between them making their skins slick. She *wanted* to tell him she was impressed, despite the fact he claimed he might not last, but it was obvious he wanted to enjoy her pleasure again because he was working so very hard for it. "Muh-Mulderrr..." Scully cried softly as he stroked her deeply, passionately, her nails scratching patterns on his back. He was thrusting desperately now, yet still holding back, until he reached for and hitched her right leg higher, slightly changing the angle of his penetration. It was more than enough. "Ohgodohgod! Mulderrr!!" Scully shrieked, contracting and convulsing around him like a tight, hot, wet fist. "Scuh-leee!!" he cried back to her, hesitating momentarily as he felt her shatter around him. Then he looked into her eyes once more and thrust hard several more times. Mulder's mouth captured hers in their most heated, passionate kiss yet and his shout was muffled by her lips as he came within her. Aftershocks flowed through both of them. Mulder could no longer hold his weight and collapsed on her, breathing hard. He could feel Scully's hands begin to trace patterns on his back again and she hummed an odd little song in her throat. "I'm crushing you, Scully," he said and tried to raise himself up, but she still held him in a four-limbed embrace. "No you aren't, Mulder. This little Night Bloom doesn't crush that easily," she whispered into his ear and then bit his earlobe. Mulder shuddered again, dug his arms underneath her and then rolled over, with Scully lying limply on top of him. They groaned together as he slipped out of her. "My own Georgia O'Keefe," he muttered happily, his hands sweeping gently from her shoulders to her thighs and back again. Scully raised her head to look at him. "Georgia O'Keefe. Really?" Mulder waggled his eyebrows at her, nodded and kissed her. "Only *you* would know something like that ... *Violet,*" Scully accused. "Actually, I learned it in an art appreciation class in college ... my *Little Peony,*" he admitted. The skeptic was back and The Eyebrow rose at him. "Art appreciation? You, Mulder? Are you sure it wasn't an art appreciation course about those videos that aren't yours?" Mulder laughed and then yawned unexpectedly. "No, I swear. I had to take some sort of art course in my undergrad studies at Oxford. It was either Art Appreciation, Music Appreciation or Theatre. At least with art, I could legitimately look at nudes ... *Sweet Little Hyacinth.*" Scully giggled. "I should've known. But I'd give a lot to see your fine ass in tights doing Shakespeare, *Tulip.*" Mulder frowned. "My 'fine ass' would *never* 'do' Shakespeare, *Daffodil.* He's a *guy*; he's not my type of flower." "But Georgia O'Keefe is?" "Well ... maybe not Georgia herself. She's kinda dead, Scully," Mulder used a finger to push a lock of errant damp, red hair behind her ear. "You will only ever be my own personal Night Bloom, my Little Begonia." Scully smiled and kissed him sweetly, then lowered her head onto his chest, listening to his heart slow to a more normal cadence. "I think we need a shower, *Tiger Lily,*" Scully said, also yawning. When he didn't answer, she raised her head to find him asleep, with a sweet, sated smile on his face. Their shower could wait, she decided, and promptly fell asleep on top of her friend, partner ... and now lover. ~x~X~X~X~x~ A few hours later, they'd showered together, unfortunately, due to time constraints, having to forego anything more exciting than soaping up each other, which was exciting enough in and of itself. Scully remembered him promising her another night of "gardening" together, once they were off-duty again that evening. She had smiled and laughed along with him. But, that night had never happened. Diana Fowley, unfortunately, had. ~x~X~X~X~x~ What had he done? He'd ditched Scully and Gibson Praise. He hadn't watched her back. *Or* Gibson's. He'd gone off with Diana Fowley on that woman's word and left them unprotected. Gibson had been taken again, leaving Scully alone at the hospital and frantic for the boy's safety. Mulder had last seen the young boy behind a locked door in Room Number Four at the Rolling Hills Nuclear Power Plant, an hour east of Phoenix. He'd seen him with that alien monster which had, in front of his eyes, thick glass and a door between them, violently tear apart the thug who'd taken Gibson. Mulder had stared through the blood-covered window, banging wildly on the door, calling out Gibson's name to no avail. Diana Fowley had disappeared with the excuse of looking for another way into the room. Then she reappeared behind him, her gun in her hands, aimed at him, as the place had swarmed with police. He'd been taken into custody and dragged away under Fowley's watchful eye. Mulder lay alone on his sofa in his darkened apartment, unable to sleep for the sixth night in a row, awaiting daylight, when he would have to again face his partner. His very angry and now distrustful partner. He closed his eyes and remembered their conversation a few days earlier. She'd been upset, understandably, but Mulder had not been understanding. "You know, Agent Fowley's report to OPR painted the facts in an interesting way," Scully had said. "I hope you haven't been betrayed." Mulder squeezed his eyes tighter, hoping against hope that Scully's hope was correct. He hadn't been able to look at her when he'd answered. He'd been busy piecing together the burnt fragments of the X-Files, despite his orders from the OPR to the contrary. "Agent Fowley's report was a means to an end. Trying to protect the work. Protect the X-Files," he'd said. He'd wanted to believe in Diana Fowley. He'd wanted to believe she was truly protecting him, protecting the work. He truly wasn't sure anymore. But he hadn't been able to admit that to Scully. "Mulder," Scully had sounded in equal parts disgusted and concerned, "Agent Fowley's report states that the man you saw attacked was bludgeoned by an unknown subject. She makes no mention of a little boy who, as it happens, is nowhere to be found. It would seem that her report protects everything but you." he reflected to himself. But Mulder being Mulder, hadn't let it go. "Agent Fowley took me to that plant at great risk to herself where I saw something that *you* refuse to believe in." He could feel her tense with his jab. "Saw it again, Scully. And though it may not say it in her report, Diana saw it, too. And no matter what you think, she's certainly not going to go around saying that just because science can't prove it isn't true." "I don't doubt what you saw, Mulder." Her next words, despite what he had just said to her, nearly dropped him. "I don't doubt *you.*" Even though he had just doubted her, at her expense, comparing her, however unfairly, to Fowley. Even though *he* had ditched *her.* God. What had he done? She'd continued, "I'm willing to believe, but not in a lie, and not in the opposite of what I can prove. It comes down to a matter of trust." At that point, Mulder had looked up at her and saw the deep hurt on her face. "I guess it always has." He hadn't wanted to ask it, but his mouth had seemed to shift into first gear before his brain had engaged. "Are you asking me to make a choice?" She had stared at him for a moment, then said quietly, "I'm asking you to trust my judgment. To trust *me.*" She held out a folder to him. Mulder had looked down at it, refused to take it. "I can't accept that," he had said. "Not if it refutes what I know to be true." Scully sighed tiredly, still holding out the folder. "Mulder, these are test results. DNA from the claw nail we found, matching exactly the DNA from the virus you believe is extraterrestrial." Mulder had taken the folder at that point and had opened it to read. But he wouldn't look at her. "That's the connection," he rasped. "Which matches *exactly* the DNA that was found in Gibson Praise," Scully had quickly added. Mulder looked her in the eye at that point, in complete and total surprise, apprehension, and, yes, excitement. "Wait a minute. I don't understand. You're saying that Gibson Praise is infected with the virus?" "No," Scully explained to him. "It's a part of his DNA. In fact, it's a part of all of our DNA. It's called a genetic remnant. It's inactive junk DNA. Except in Gibson, it's turned on." Mulder had blinked at her. "So if that were true, that would mean that Gibson is, in some part, extraterrestrial." Then Scully had dropped the bombshell of all bombshells. "It would mean that *all* of us are," she said quietly, then turned and left him alone in the room, closing the door behind her. Mulder opened his eyes and the moonlight filtering through his Venetian blinds reminded him, ironically, of the moonlight in Scully's cottage in Phoenix that momentous night they'd finally become lovers. He so clearly remembered their late night traversing of the desert terrain with Mrs. Edgar to the beautiful, fragrant night-blooming cactus. He remembered the wonderful, exciting, unbelievable aftermath in Scully's bed, his intense uncertainty that he was reading her incorrectly, only to find out she'd wanted him at least as much as he'd always wanted her. Then, everything went to hell in the proverbial hand-basket the next day and he'd made his choice to go with and believe Diana Fowley rather than to stay with Scully. Beautiful Scully. His own personal exotic night- bloomer with her own exotic, overwhelming fragrances, tastes and textures. The way she felt in his arms, under him, moving with him. How her sighs, gasps and moans of their shared passion had excited him to greater and greater heights. Mrs. Edgar had said that the plant only bloomed a few weeks out of the year. Mulder was never good with plants, and now Scully was barely speaking to him. And he'd only had one night with her, not weeks. The X-Files had been taken away and he and Scully were now under the immediate supervision of one Alvin Kersh. He almost laughed -- almost -- when he thought that Walter Skinner had been a hard- ass. But he couldn't laugh. Not now. Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes as he felt the devastating certainty he'd never see Scully open up and bloom for him again. He'd lost everything. ~x~X~X~X~x~ END ~x~X~X~X~x~ NOTE: The night-blooming cactus *does* exist, though I can't remember its exact name. I saw it at the little "Mom and Pop" motel where I stayed in Tucson a couple of decades ago. The elderly little lady, who was of Native American descent (Chiricahua Apache) came to my door with a flashlight after midnight and lead me down the desert path behind the place to her wonderful, fragrant night-blooming cactus. It was gorgeous and it really did only bloom in the middle of the night, and only a few weeks during the year. The motel is (or was) as I described it (with stucco, white-washed cottages and a courtyard visited by marauding deer, rabbits and other wildlife), though I don't remember the real names of the owners or the name of the motel. It had very nice accommodations and was a great place to stay during my vacation. The place was on Highway 10, in southern Tucson, which I believe is called the Benson Highway, more or less in the Sonora Desert. I just moved it a little north to Phoenix to facilitate its use in this story. Mrs. Edgar's first name, "Irawanah," is a family name, also of Native American descent, though not Chiricahua. I claim "poetic license." It was a great pleasure to write this story. I hope you enjoyed it and I'd love to hear from you at AnubisKV5@cs.com. Thank you. ~ Anubis.