Title:   Calendar Girl: Heart of the Matter 
Author:  Jori
E-Mail:  damienma@bellsouth.net>
Rating: NC-17
Summary: On Halloween night, Mulder and Scully investigate an unusual
occurrence in an empty house. This is set right before the events of
Biogenesis so I made it light and angst free. I'm sure we will all
get enough of that in the coming weeks.
Category: SR
Keywords: MSR
Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to CC, 1012 and FOX
Spoilers: The Ghosts Who Stole Christmas, FTF
Archive: Yes, of course!!
Author's Notes: Yes. I finally have to acknowledge that the events of
Biogenesis are going to have to be dealt with. Next holiday. By then
I will know whether this little Calendar relationship continues or
whether Scully is going to wrap the blue lights from the first story
around Mulder's neck and pull really tight. A big thank you goes out
to Mojo, the bestest story Ebert in the land. And to Paige for her
continual countdown to Halloween. I swear she must have that spooky
'Halloween' music playing behind her or something. The haunted house
story represented here was found somewhere on the web, but I
embellished it of course!

All previous Calendar Girl stories can be found at:
http://www.netroenterprises.com/stories

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

October 31, 1999
Alexandria, Virginia
9:21 p.m.

Scully raps on the fogged-over car window and she only comes into
view clearly as I roll it down. As soon as it is down, she steps back
and crosses her arms across her chest. With that look on her face, if
she added some of that cold cream of hers and a pointy hat, she'd
give Margaret Hamilton a run for her money.

"What are you doing here, Mulder?" she asks me, her eyebrow raised
into its standard position. She rocks forward once, bounces on her
toes and finally looks down at me. I called her half an hour ago and
asked her to meet me here for an important matter. I'm really
surprised she showed up at all. No I'm not. No matter how much she
protests, she always shows up.

"The question you really should be asking is what are *we* doing out
here, Scully. Come on. It is getting cold out there. Get in the car,"
I tell her and she goes around the front of the car and gets in.

"You aren't going to steal my car keys this time, are you?" she asks
as she slams the door shut. I watch as she crams her keys way down
into the pocket of her black jeans.

"I assumed by now that you would want to be with me," I say, a little
disappointed that she would suggest otherwise. I know we weren't
lovers the last time I took her out ghost hunting, but it was what?
Only about 24 hours later . . .

"Mulder, I left behind a big bowl of candy I needed to hand out and
an evening of watching Jamie Lee Curtis screaming her head off
because I would want to be here with you to do what? Stare at some
old house that in five seconds you are going to tell me is haunted?"
she says, her voice rising in pitch the longer her speech goes on.

"It *is* haunted," I say.

"I'm sorry. Did I say five seconds? I meant three. Mulder, spending a
night watching some old abandoned house is not what comes to my mind
first when I think of being with you," she says, as she tries to look
out at the house. I switch on the wipers to clear the dampness from
the windshield. It is foggy and wet and cold tonight. Perfect for
Halloween. The only thing missing is the full moon.

"That's good, because we won't be staring at it for long," I say,
pulling out a set of keys. "The realtor didn't mind if I left a
substantial deposit and took these so I could think it over for the
night. She said most people change their minds by morning."

"I'm going home," she says, and I lock all the doors from my side.
"What are you? Ted Bundy? Come on, Mulder. Let me go home. You come
home with me. We can sit and eat Snickers and watch bad movies and
later . . ."

"Nope. This is better. Come on, Scully. It will be fun," I plead. She
looks out the window, her face twisting through a variety of
expressions.

"What is the story?" she asks, looking at me.

"Story?" I ask.

"All good haunted houses have a story behind them. Give it to me,
Mulder," she says as she turns away from me and leans back into her
seat, acting like I'm about to give a performance.

"Just before midnight one October evening, the couple who just moved
here noticed a pulsating noise, like that of a heart, in what was
their den. They tried to tape the noise, but it was reproduced as
merely static. . ."

"Perhaps it was a slow leak in the pipes or an electrical surge from
an outlet that had been covered in remodeling . . ." she starts to
say, but I put up a finger to silence her.

"Always jumping in there with that rational explanation, aren't you,
Scully? As I was about to say, plumbers and electricians were brought
in to check for structural problems in the house, but none were
found. The family cat arched its back and hissed whenever it came
into the den. One would assume everybody would consider them nuts,
right?" I ask, and Scully nods her head without a moment's thought.
"But the couple confirmed that they weren't hearing things when their
friends also admitted to hearing the strange and eerie noise."

"So, why did they stay?" she asks, looking at me again. "Even if it
isn't really all that 'eerie' it would still be living with a Chinese
water torture experiment going on constantly. And if the noises were
spectral in nature, where is the ghost story? Where is the tale of
the star-crossed lovers who hung themselves from the rafters? Where
is the legend of the young girl who's pirate lover died at sea,
leaving her to walk the ocean shore . . . "

"We aren't that close to the ocean . . ."

". . . for all eternity. Come on Mulder. Noises in the den? Didn't
your house have strange noises emanating from the den . . ."

". . . only when my father was around . . ."

". . . or from some other room in the house? It just isn't all that
scary. So, what made them move? Foreclosure?" she asks, looking at
all the other austere houses in the neighborhood.

"When the noise moved into the bedroom, they moved out of the house.
That was the last straw. I guess they couldn't enjoy any nookie when
the house was throbbing more than they were," I say, and her
expression changes from her normal 'you are crazy, Mulder' look to
'not only are you crazy, you are also an ass' expression.

She reaches over me, unlocks her door from my side and grabs the keys
out of my hand. Within a matter of seconds she is out the door and
going up the walk toward the house. I get out but don't go to follow
her just yet. I'm sure she is expecting me to call her back. Not a
chance.

"So, are you coming, or are you just going to stand there all night?"
she asks, turning around to look at me.

"Hold on. Let me get our gear," I tell her as I slam the driver's
side door.

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

"What is all that for?" Scully asks, pointing at the duffel bags I
just dragged in. I shine the flashlight at the bag and then at her.

"Some supplies for the night. The realtor said the water was still
turned on, but the electricity was turned off, which is good because
then you can't blame any noises we might hear on that. And I have the
certification that the plumbing was free of any leaks right here," I
say, pulling a sheet of paper out of one of the bags. She glances at
it before handing it back to me.

Scully walks over to the switch and turns on the lights in the room.
"I guess they were wrong about the electricity."

"I guess they were," I say, shutting off the flashlight. That
certainly kills the haunted house atmosphere. I didn't even think to
check. How many dark rooms have we walked into before and she didn't
think to run over and flip the switch?

"I will have to go home at some point. I don't have any clothes with
me and tomorrow is Monday . . ."

"All taken care of. Skinner called me earlier this evening asking
that we be in the office early. Something about a murdered African
college professor. Anyway, I packed a suit you had left at my place
plus any toiletries you had there, so you should be set," I explain,
and she continues to stare at the bags.

"A hair dryer?"

"Yep," I answer, not giving her one excuse to bolt from here.

"So, what is taking up the other one and three quarters space in
those bags?" she asks, crossing her arms against the chill and
looking around the house. Since it is up for sale, it is in much
better repair than the last haunted house we visited. Actually, it is
down right wonderful inside.

"Stuff," I say, not wanting to explain it all yet.

"Stuff?" she asks, and I still don't offer any explanations so she
leaves the main room and walks around.

"What do you think?" I ask her as she stands in front of a built in
stone fireplace, staring up at the huge mirror that occupies the
mantle.

"It's nice. I'm definitely putting foreclosure on the top of the list
of why they finally left," she says, watching me walk toward her in
the reflection. "You didn't happen to bring any logs, did you?"

"I'll keep you warm," I whisper into her ear as I wrap my arms around
her.

"That will be good for about fifteen minutes," she says, wiggling out
of my arms. "So, what are we going to do? Sit and listen for a
reverberating noise? You certainly know how to show a girl a good
time. Did you happen to bring any candy?"

Scully is looking through the arched entrance back at the bags. What
kind of host does she take me for? Of course I brought candy.

I unizip one of the bags and dig through it until I find a plastic
bag of candies. I hold it up for her to inspect and she glares at me.

"Dum Dums, Smarties and Bazooka gum does not count as candy, Mulder.
At least not if you are over the age of three. Kids don't even want
to get those for Halloween," she says, snubbing my candy as she turns
back to the room with the fireplace. Before she can make it more than
ten steps, the doorbell rings and we both jump. Instead of a normal
*bing bong* sound, it fills the room with a noise that sounds like a
pipe organ gone bad.

We both move hesitantly to the front door. She's probably hoping for
late night trick or treaters so she can dump the candy that doesn't
count on them. Instead, we open the door to find an adult couple
standing there.

"Hi! I'm Maddie and this is Dick. We're the Ushers. We thought we'd
drop by and see our new prospective neighbors," this short, rotund
woman says happily as she tries to peer around the two of us. Her
husband is extremely tall and lanky and looks quite disinterested.
"And you are the . . .?"

"Mulders."

"Scullys."

Maddie Usher looks at us in an odd manner as we both offer a
different name at the same time.

"We are the Mulder-Scullys," I say.

"Or the Scully-Mulders," Scully says, and I'm not sure why we are
offering this woman any explanation or even trying to lead them to
believe we are married at all. "It doesn't matter. I'm Dana and this
is Fox."

"How sweet! Are you newlyweds?" she asks, looking down at Scully's
hand. Of course there is no fancy diamond ring there and Scully
quickly tucks her hands into her pockets.

"Us? Oh no. We've been together for how long now, pumpkin lover?" I
ask Scully as I pull her close to me.

"Too long, pookie face," she says. Mr. Usher still says nothing.

"Well, we really hope you consider staying here in our lovely
neighborhood. And if you heard anything about this house . . ." she
starts to say, but I cut her off.

"Heard what?" I ask, curious as to whether these were the neighbors
who also heard the sound.

"Nothing. Heard nothing. It is a great house. A young couple like you
would be perfect for it. Lots of room to grow, if you know what I
mean," Mrs. Usher says, giving me a wink. "Don't you think so, Dick?"

"Yep. Perfect," Mr. Usher mutters for the first time.

"Thank you so much for dropping by. We love it so far," Scully says,
graciously trying to get rid of them. She keeps inching the door a
little more closed with each second.

"Oh, Dick! Don't forget to give them their Halloween candy," Mrs.
Usher says, and her husband hands Scully a box wrapped in gold foil
and tied with a ribbon.

"Thank you very much . . ." she starts to say.

"Now remember, if you need anything . . . anything at all, we are
right up the street," Mrs. Usher says as Scully nods and shuts the
door.

She turns and heads back to the room with the fireplace, the box of
candy in her hands.

"Well, they were certainly . . ."

"Godiva!" Scully exclaims as she gets the wrapping off the package.
Damn show-off neighbors. "And don't you even think about touching
these. You just eat your Sweet Tarts."

"I plan to. But the neighbors were certainly strange. A little over
eager for us to move in here," I say, as I watch her pop a chocolate
confection into her mouth. Her face twists through several visages of
sugar laden rapture as she enjoys what appears to be some kind of
truffle.

"Mmmm," she says, looking down into the box at the remaining lumps of
chocolate.

"You know, that is what you look like when you come," I say, and the
look she gives me makes me realize a that I am a dead man.

"Well, it has got to be better than what you look like when you
come," she says back to me. She now has one hand on her hip while the
other one holds on tight to the box of candy.

"And what do I look like?" I ask her. But before she can answer, it
starts.

*Thump-thump* *Thump-thump* *Thump-thump*

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

I shine the flashlight around the dusty attic looking for an
immediate answer to what is causing that noise.

"You think they would have wired the attic for electricity," Scully
mutters as she trips over something on the floor. "Look at all this
room."

The attic is large and I'm surprised that in all these years, some
teen aged kid didn't turn it into their own 'pad.' Of course, maybe
that thumping has been going on for years, and no one wanted to live
up here.

"I think this is right over the den," I say, casting the beam of
light down. That shows nothing but the wooden planks making up the
floor. And upon looking up, there is nothing but rafters.

"Are there any vents that could be flapping in the breeze? Perhaps an
attic fan?" Scully asks, and I shine the light around.

"No. None that I can see," I say, as I shine the light all around and
then stop on her face. "You scared?"

"No. Are you?" she asks, still looking around for a nice, simple
rational explanation.

And as quickly as it started, the *thump-thump* stops.

"How about now? You scared now?" I ask and she just rolls her eyes at
me.

"I'm not spending the night here to prove that this noise is being
created by bats in someone's belfry -- most likely yours . . ."

"Are you saying I'm crazy, because you heard it too and you know it,"
I say as I follow her to the narrow stairway and we descend back into
the main house. I shut the door leading to the attic and lock it.

"I'm just saying there's an explanation for this. There always is,"
she says, pulling her car keys out of her pocket. "Mulder, I'm going
home."

"Come on, Scully. I didn't even show you your costume yet," I say and
that stops her in her tracks.

"Costume? You have got to be kidding," but before I can answer, the
doorbell grinds out another call to us.

This time when we open the door, we find two couples standing there,
looking overly eager to welcome us. I haven't seen such a friendly
bunch since our little stay on top of the garbage dump.

"Hi! I'm Marissa Dupin and this is my husband, Charlie. And this is
Bill and Ellen Legrand," an attractive but all too suburban woman
says, pointing the people out as she goes. She is dressed in chambray
and khaki and her hair is that perfect shade of blond that can only
be achieved by visiting someone other than Miss Clairol. "We just
wanted to see how your stay was going and if you needed anything.
This is a great neighborhood! I'm sure you will love it here."

Bill and Ellen stand back a little behind the Dupins, not looking
like they care too much to be part of the welcome wagon.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Dupin . . ." Scully starts to say before the
effervescent bubble standing outside the door pops.

"Call me Marissa, please! And I didn't catch your names . . ."

"I'm Mulder. This is Scully," I say, leaving a puzzled look on
Marissa's face. "But you can call her Dana."

Scully elbows me in the ribs ever so slightly while maintaining a
perfect smile for all the neighbors to see.

"Anything going on?" Bill Legrand asks, trying to look past us into
the house.

"Anything like what, Bill?" I ask, and I watch as his wife elbows him
in the ribs.

"Oh, nothing," he mumbles as he rubs the spot his wife just jabbed
him in.

"What Bill means is sometimes the neighborhood kids get a little
rowdy on Halloween. We hope nobody has bothered you yet this
evening," Ellen Legrand explains, as she looks around. There isn't a
single kid on the street. Not one late trick or treater to be found.
I'm sure this neighborhood finished with their Halloween festivities
last night at eight o'clock.

"Plus we wanted to stop by and welcome you to the neighborhood,"
Charlie Dupin says, as he puts his hands on his petite wife's
shoulders.

"We didn't buy it yet," Scully says, looking up at me. I'm not going
to explain to these people that we are never going to buy this house.
That I'm just here because of a story I had heard.

"So, what do you all do?" Marissa asks, probably checking out whether
we can afford to live in their neighborhood.

"She's a doctor," I say as I avoid adding FBI agent.

"And he's an astronomer," Scully says, trying to conceal a little
smile.

"Oh! You are one of those people who do those charts . . . star
charts of sorts," Marissa says and I see her neighbors roll their
eyes slightly.

"Yeah. Something like that. Well, it has been nice meeting you all
and I hope we get to meet again soon," I say, trying to use Scully's
subtle maneuvers of closing the door on someone's face. It doesn't
work. Marissa just holds the door open.

"We have to give you your gift! Bill, did you bring it?" Marissa
asks, and Bill Legrand hands Scully our second gold foil package for
the night. Before she can make a comment, it starts again.

*Thump-thump* *Thump-thump* *Thump-thump*

The neighbors all stand there motionless, waiting for our response.
We don't give them one, but they certainly give us one. All of their
eyes are as wide as saucers, and Marissa's mouth is hanging open but
nothing is coming out for a change.

"Thank you so much for the nice gift," Scully says, as if that
pulsating noise isn't moving through the house and out the door. She
looks at them with a smile, ignoring the noise with ease. They aren't
as good at ignoring it.

"Well . . . yes. Um, we hope . . . you enjoy the house. It *is*
really a nice . . . house," Marissa mumbles as she backs away from
the door.

"Beautiful house," Ellen and Bill say at the same time.

"Isn't it? I fall in love with it more with every beat of my heart,"
I say, leaving the welcoming committee stunned. "Thank you for
stopping by."

With that, I finally shut the door.

"What in the hell is that?" Scully and I say at the same time as we
turn to look at each other. I go to one of the duffel bags and pull
out some recording equipment the boys lent me. It is supposed to pick
up anything, they assured me. We'll just see if they are right.

I stick the microphone to where I think the sound is coming from and
hold it there for several minutes. And once again, as easily as the
sound started, it stops again. But this time I have it on tape.

Or at least I think I do. Upon hitting playback, there is nothing
there. Not a damn thing.

"Equipment failure?" Scully asks, as she pops another chocolate in
her mouth.

"It worked a few hours ago," I say, as I attempt to take apart the
recorder to see what is wrong.

"Come on, Mulder. Even if you can record it, what is that going to
prove? You won't know what is causing it," Scully says.

"Okay. Well, what do you think it is?" I ask her, waiting for her
strictly rational answer.

"Perhaps bats, like I said earlier. Or maybe there is a bird's nest
in the eaves. Or perhaps it is even hamsters. Maybe someone's pet
hamsters got out years ago and they are breeding in the floorboard,"
she says. I almost drop the recorder with that last suggestion and
she catches it. "It's just a thought."

"How come you will accept the fact that there might be a colony of
hamsters breeding in the walls before you might accept the fact that
something truly supernatural is going on here? After all you've seen?
After all we've been through? Why is it so hard for you to believe?"
I ask her and she doesn't respond right away. "We have been through
this before so many times. Just once I wish there was something you
believed in."

"I will believe when it is the right thing to believe in," she
answers me, her tone serious yet not upset. "Noises in an attic just
aren't the right thing."

"So it has to be what? Something big? Something life changing? Is
that it?" I ask "When something happens to change our lives, then you
will believe?"

Her expression changes a myriad of times before settling back to
serious. Her brow is furrowed and her lips pursed.

"Yes," is all she answers.

"Well, I hope it isn't too late by then," I say to her as she leaves
the room.

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

I find her standing in the kitchen, looking out the back window. This
room is as large as any of the others in the house and the appliances
stand there shining in their stainless steel glory. It is incredibly
modern compared to the design of the house. Modern and overly
functional. A very rational kitchen. Perhaps that is why Scully is
standing in here, hiding from me.

"Hey," I say, as I stand behind her. The backyard is pleasant, with a
few trees and a deck that extends for a few yards from the door. Or
at least as far as the lightbulb sends its glow.

"Hey," she says back, as she leans into me. I wrap my arms around her
and look out the window, trying to figure out what she might be
watching.

"Do you like this house?" I ask her. We've never discussed the future
in any definite way. It has come up several times when the issue of
children, or the lack there of, has entered our lives, but we have
never really discussed just moving in together somewhere.

"It's nice . . . well, except for that raging hamster problem," she
says and we both laugh. "The neighbors seem eager to get it off the
market. I'm sure it is bringing their property value down."

"It could be ours. . . if you would like . . . if this is what you
want," I try to say, but just can't get the words out. She turns
around in my arms and looks up at me.

"And how would we manage that on our G-salaries?" she asks. Even I
know that we wouldn't be capable of that.

"I have some money. My father's money. I put it away just in case
something ever happened. So far, nothing that serious has ever
happened. Well, not since I paid for that trip to the bottom of the
world. But we can do whatever we would like with it. If this is what
you would like," I say, brushing a strand of hair off her face and
tucking it behind her ear.

"If what happens?" she asks, skipping over the house issue entirely.

"If something happens, and you need it, you will know," I say,
pulling her closer to me. "I have it arranged so you can get to it if
you need it. Just talk to Byers."

She doesn't need to ask anymore about it. We both know what could
happen to us. If she needs to get away, it is there for her.

"Mulder, someday we will have all of this. But that isn't what is
most important right now. There are other things we need to do
first," she says, wrapping her arms around me.

"Yes. Like get you into your costume."

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

"You have got to be kidding!" Scully exclaims as I hold up the pieces
of the costume I chose for her. The layers of fabric shimmer in the
dim light as I play with it, and I can tell from her body posture
that it will be a cold day in hell before she ever puts this on.

"Okay. You don't have to wear this if you share your candy with me,"
I say, and she has to seriously consider her options. "Come on,
Scully. You don't really want to give up any chocolate, do you?"

"I don't want to wear that, either. Mulder, costumes like that are
indicative of one thing . . . female subordination. I know you often
think you are the big macho man out to protect me and the rest of the
world, but I have always considered us equals. As such, I can't
believe you would even suggest I wear that," she says, pointing at
the costume that is starting to slink out of my arms and cascade to
the floor.

"Come on, Scully. Join me at the Casbah," I say with a wink. She
doesn't blink or smile or even move.

"How would you feel if I wanted you to dress in a subservient
fashion?" she asks me, her eyes narrowed and her arms crossed.

"Like what? A cabana boy? If I got to spread oil on you and serve you
strawberry margaritas, I wouldn't care if you had me dress up as a
Hooter's girl," I say, but she still doesn't budge from her position.
"Scully, you know I've never viewed you as subservient to me . . ."

"Really?" she says, her eyebrow up.

"Okay, maybe once. But that was a long time ago and before . . .
well, never mind. I picked this out because I thought it would look
good on you. I almost went with a French maid, but thought you would
look better as a harem girl," I say, holding it out to her one more
time. The expression on her face can't get anymore serious and then
she does something quite shocking.

She tugs her sweater up and over her head and then shakes her hair
out. Within a matter of seconds, she has her shoes kicked off and is
sliding her jeans down over her hips, writhing in a provocative
fashion.

"I always assumed you believed I looked the best in this," she says,
her voice crisp with desire.

Scully stands before me wearing nothing but thong underwear --- dark
as midnight --- with fluttery sides. And a matching bra that is
almost not even there. It shoves everything in the right direction
--- up --- but that is about all the scant material does. Besides
push my cock in the right direction. Also up.

"Yeah. You look pretty good in that also," I say, dropping everything
in my arms. The fine tulle and satin material spread out across the
hardwood floor creating a puddle of expensive costume at me feet. But
who cares. Scully takes exactly three steps and is standing before
me.

She untucks my shirt from my jeans and I help her pull it over my
head, sending it in the direction of everything else that has hit the
floor in the last minute. One of her hands goes flat against my chest
and the other moves to unzip my fly all while she is pushing me
backwards toward the wall. I hit the plaster with a thud and the
sound echoes around the empty room. The shadowy light cast from the
chandelier hanging in the middle of the room begins to flicker,
casting an eerie intermittent glow across the room. But all I can do
is pay attention to Scully.

I slide down the wall and she follows all in time to her hand pulling
down my zipper. My zipper, Scully and I reach our final destinations
at the same time. She slips her hand into my jeans and works her way
into the fly of my boxers, grasping my cock in her hand and stroking
me.

"Here. Let me . . ." I mumble, moving her hand aside while I kick off
my running shoes and wiggle my jeans off. I toss them toward the
growing pile of clothes in the middle of the floor and hope we get no
more neighborly visits for the next hour or so. Scully smiles at my
choice of boxers before she starts to pull them down. With those
kicked aside, she goes back to caressing my cock. Her hand goes
around it and she makes teasing circles around the top with her
thumb.

I fail with the back clasp on her bra yet she never lets up on the
rhythmic movements of the hand job she is giving me. But I want more
than this. I want to feel her body wrap around me, encasing me in
that warm pleasure for which I will give up ever seeing her in that
costume.

Scully releases me and I moan an agonizing response to her action. My
back is still up against the wall and I am now so sensitive to
everything around me that I swear I can feel every nuance in the
plaster and paint.

"What are you doing?" I ask her as she stands up.

Instead of answering me, she unhooks her bra and drops it to the
floor. Slowly, she slinks out of her panties and tosses them my way.
I catch the scrap of fabric and all of a sudden wish I were a teenage
boy again so I could keep these hidden away so I'd have something of
her for when certain urges arise. Fuck. I've put people away who have
been known to say weird shit like that. Of course, they all killed
the original owner of the panties in question.

Scully lowers herself on to me, and I feel her body loosen up around
me, taking me in as she sinks lower on to my cock. She settles on my
lap with me inside of her and doesn't move. Doesn't rock. Doesn't
thrust against me. Instead, we just look at each other in the dim
lighting. Then suddenly and with the fury of a firestorm from hell,
she kisses me. Her tongue sweeps into my mouth, searching for mine.
My hands move up to her breasts, and I feel her nipples grow even
harder under my touch. I want her to move again, to ride me like a
damn pogo stick, but she doesn't.

Every nerve in my body that is not focusing on my crotch is trying to
assimilate the kiss we are engaged in. Although her general nature is
often considered cool and collected by those who don't know her as
well as I do, when it comes to kissing, she burns each one into my
soul.

She breaks the kiss and places a hand up against the wall on each
side of my head, trapping me inside of her and under her. Only then
does she begin to move, her back arching like that of a hissing cat
as she sinks down impossibly low on my cock. I thrust up into her,
matching her stroke for stroke. I move one hand to a hip to help
guide her while I search for her clit with the other one. When I make
contact, she not only moves up and down on me, but swivels, too. It
reminds me of something we learned from the Kama Sutra. Only better.

Her hands come off the wall and she leans back, bracing herself as
well as she can. This gives me better access to her sex and my
fingers rub her clit harder until she moans. Her eyes never leave
mine and they are wild now.

"More . . . I want more . . ." she utters breathlessly, and I watch
as she continues to match me thrust for thrust. She brushes my one
hand away from her clit and maneuvers her own hand in to that spot.
With her other hand, she begins to fondle her nipples, moaning as she
goes from one to the other.

Oh, this is better than any Halloween costume fantasy. There are just
times when I love to watch Scully get herself off. I love to know
that she has such deep trust in me to do that in front of me. That I
give her that sense of freedom. I also know she does it because I
like to watch her do it.

"Fuck me harder," she says, and I'm briefly taken aback. No matter
how rough and tumble the sex might have been in the past, she's been
a little more than just reserved since we have gotten back together.
This might just be 'fucking' on the surface, but underneath it is so
much more.

Scully makes a throaty growl with each and every stroke that hits
bottom. As I thrust, she pushes back down on me, letting me sink into
the nether regions I never want to live without again.

A noise begins rushing through my ears suddenly, but she and I don't
stop.

"Mulder, is that the noise we've been hearing?" She asks, her voice
still laden with sweet desire.

"No. I think what you hear right now is the beating of my heart," I
answer, each stroke I make matching the time of the *Thump-thump*
*Thump-thump* *Thump-thump.*

The sound fills the room and grows louder as we get closer to climax.
Like a train flying down the tracks, the throb quickens and the room
begins to vibrate with its energy, driving us faster and faster as we
struggle to keep up. Soon the noise is deafening and the only thing I
can hear over it is Scully moan one last time before her body begins
to pulsate and tremble around me. She stops moving and her head falls
forward as she tries to catch her breath. But the noise keeps going.

She looks up at me and smiles before she starts moving again, sensing
my urgency. It doesn't take much more and I'm spilling over into her,
her warmth absorbing mine. I now swear that my heartbeat is louder
than the throb of the house and I struggle to catch my breath.

Our bodies are slicked with sweat and Scully snuggles in against my
neck. The noise begins to dissipate around us, matching our ever
slowing heartbeats.

"Equals?" Scully mutters against my skin.

"Always," I say, and the throbbing fades away.

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

"Scully?" I whisper, trying to wake her up gently. We are wrapped up
in blankets on the floor of what is the master bedroom. I shake her a
little. Still naked, her skin is cool to the touch and she lets out a
faint sigh as she rolls toward me.

"What?" she asks, not opening her eyes. It is 2 a.m. and the house as
been silent ever since we finished making love on the floor of the
formal living room. Her breathing has been steady for several hours
now as I've been lying here next to her trying to figure the house
out.

"What if this house responds to the emotions of the people that live
in it?" I ask and I can see her brow furrow in her sleep. "No, don't
say anything yet. Maybe it senses when people are happy. The first
time it started making that noise was when you were eating chocolate
. . ."

"I don't like chocolate *that* much, Mulder," she says, finally
opening her eyes and looking up at me.

"But you were happy. Then it started again when someone else handed
you more chocolate," I say.

"Mulder . . ."

"It is well known that certain chemicals in chocolate make people
feel loved. Both times that you were handed chocolate, the house
started throbbing. It certainly didn't start making that noise when I
tried to hand you a bag of lollipops. And then when we were making
love, it started again. I think it recognizes . . . love. It isn't
our own conscious making us hear the noise. It is the house's
consciousness recognizing what we are feeling right now, Whether that
stems from some paranormal source . . ." I start to say to her.

"Mulder?" she asks with a sleepy yawn.

"Yes?" I ask back, expecting to hear the hamster rationalization
again.

"Is this just another way for you to tell me you love me?" she asks
and I smile.

"Should we prove my theory?" I ask, kissing her lightly.

"This isn't very scientific," she says, pulling away from me just a
little, her eyes open wide now, burning with the same fervent energy
as before.

"Do you really care how scientific it is?" I ask, kissing her again
and pulling her into my arms.

"No."

*Thump-thump* *Thump-thump* *Thump-thump*

The End

*********

Edgar Allen Poe is great, isn't he? All sorts of inspiration. Thank
you, Paige, for letting me do this so soon after your incredible Tell
Tale Heart story. You are awesome.

Mojo --- what color panties are up next? Are they going to do it on
the floor or the wall or a bed? Just checking!

Feedback is awesome. Send me some and I guarantee it will have a nice
Halloween. E-mail me at Damienma@bellsouth.net