TITLE: A CONTRASTING BLEND AUTHOR: JACQUIE LAVA RATING: NC-17 CATEGORY: MSR DISCLAIMER: The characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully have defected from FOX, 1013 Productions and Chris Carter. We have only given them refuge within the pages of our story. It was the humanitarian thing to do, and we refuse to be held accountable for our actions. Maybe if they were allowed to have sex with each other, they wouldn't always be running off in search of fan fic writers to provide them with some much-needed gratification. Think about it, Chris. Spoilers: None to speak of Summary: 'It's a balancing act...' Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Sometimes they find themselves wondering exactly what brought them together, when they are both such a contrast to each other. While it's true that opposites attract... Standing next to each other with the early-morning daylight streaming in through the window, they stare at their reflections in the full-length mirror. Both barefoot and wearing old, comfortable clothes, their height differential is marked, especially since she doesn't have the advantage of four-inch heels. She is pale-skinned and lightly freckled; flame-haired and delicate. She is a study in brights and pastels, from her ocean-blue eyes to her pale peach complexion. Without makeup her brows disappear and her lashes take on the ivory taupe of her eyelids. She has narrow shoulders, small hands, dainty feet. In contrast, his frame is rangy but large, lanky but strong. His body screams elegance but in reality he can trip over his own big feet quite easily. Tanned skin and dark hair, hazel-eyed; he is brown personified. Wide shoulders and a swimmer's waist, an athlete's ropy muscles. Large, well-shaped hands. Long arms and strong wrists. His nose makes him less than perfect and his smile makes him beautiful. His need for her makes him a willing supplicant... and he comments softly, "Sometimes I forget how tiny you are, Scully. You have such a presence..." She glances sideways at him, eyes crinkling and mouth curving into a small smile. "Presence, huh? You must be talking about some other partner of yours, maybe a foot taller and about fifty pounds heavier." She holds out one hand and he does the same, butting their palms together, both noting the size difference. He shakes his head, replies, "It has nothing to do with size. You are easily the most formidable person I know. Your determination, your drive, your bravery - those things are what make you larger than you are. That's what gives you presence." She sighs, "Well, maybe so, Mulder - but my presence is not as obvious as yours. Your professional opinion will always be taken at face value more easily than mine, won't it?" He smiles a little, shrugs a bit. If people take him more seriously at first it's because they don't understand that of the two of them she is the better person, the stronger agent. He doesn't agree with her retort, but he also knows she sees what she sees. But as with other aspects of their relationship, together they become the sum of so much more than their wholes. He murmurs those very words to her, then to prove it, he winds his fingers through hers and presses her hand, adding, "See? When we blend our fingers together, the difference in size diminishes and it looks as if it's one hand. Cool, huh?" She studies their twined fingers. He's right - when mixed together the long and the small blend nicely. It's not as obvious now, their usually-marked contrast... He nods toward the mirror again, drawing attention to the way her head barely comes three-quarters of the way to his shoulder. Pulling at their linked hands, he positions her in front of him, facing their reflections. Her head now rests mid-chest, and against the expanse of him she looks like a little girl in her baggy clothes. She sighs resignedly and he grins at her, "Yes, I know what you're about to say. The same thing you always say when you wax disparagingly about your height. You want to be that foot taller. You think it'll make a difference, make it better. You've wanted it all of your life." He bends down into her, rests his chin on her shoulder. "No doubt Bill teased you and Melissa lorded it over you, since she was taller, too. Maybe Charlie understood; he's built more like you. But the taller Scullys most likely gave you serious grief. Am I right?" She stares irritably into his amused and understanding eyes, nods as she replies, "Yes, damn you - you're right. Bill and Missy always teased the hell out of me. They teased Charlie, too. He never let it bother him, but I guess my skin wasn't as thick as his." Mulder slips a gentle hand along her collarbone, feeling the finely- shaped bones beneath the faded sweatshirt she wears. The skin that covers those tender bones is as soft as a sigh, yet he knows first- hand just how strong and supple it really is. He whispers in her ear, "You were smarter than that, smarter than to show your true feelings when they'd harass you. On the outside you never let them get to you, regardless of how it may have stung you. And that is presence, too." He presses a kiss on her temple, against her silky hair, then turns her to face him. As their eyes meet, he places his hands at her waist and lifts her until they are nose to nose. He murmurs, "Wrap your legs around me. Put your arms around my neck." She smirks at him, "Give me one good reason why I should, Mulder..." And then gasps as he tugs her up against his hard body, winding his arms about her hips, forcing her to do as he says or risk toppling over. She hastily wraps herself around him and they lock eyes. In his arms she is still very petite, but when he turns to look at their reflection she follows his gaze and again notices the difference in size has disappeared somehow. Torso to torso, eye to eye, mouth to mouth... they are on equal footing. His hands fit nicely underneath her hips and her arms are just long enough to curl comfortably around his neck. He leans into her an inch, and she likewise meets him, an inch - their lips touch, slide sweetly, cling moistly. His voice is a low rumble on her mouth, "You see? When we blend, we're perfect. My bony self and your smaller frame become one normal being. We are the same, when we blend. Can you feel it?" He adjusts her against him and she clutches at him tighter, lets him support her fully, relaxes completely, nods and smiles in delight, at him. It feels so good... he always feels so good. Their love may not be new but the intimacy is. They are learning, growing together, a true study in contrasts and the way even such diverse opposites can somehow mesh successfully. They have only been intimate a handful of times. She gets shy around him, for he can be intense. He gets tongue-tied around her, and she thinks it's so sweet... It's a balancing act, their partnership and their love. It is worth it, they know. He somehow overwhelms her but she adores being overwhelmed. She humbles him anew each time they touch but he celebrates being made humble, by her. And the love is stronger every day, and they need that strength right now. Their professional lives are often the stuff nightmares are made of. Individually their jobs could wear them down, render them helpless... but together they are powerful and effective, the best thing the FBI has ever had going. Together they make the contrasts blend into one sanity... their sanity. "Mulder? Now that you've got me in this position... might I inquire as to what you intend to do with me?" Her voice lilts enticingly in his ear, playful in a way that alone and by herself she would never have played. He loves it. Lifting her a little higher, Mulder kisses at her neck, nibbles on her flesh, drinks in her shiver. He sighs into her skin, lets his hips push into her - lets her feel the hardness she has encouraged. He could stand here all day and hold her like this, would love nothing better than to hold her for the rest of his life... for the treasured novelty of having her in his arms and in his bed far outweighs everything else, including the knowledge that in about an hour they'll have to stop goofing around, get dressed and begin their day. Together. He loves that, too. He kisses her neck again, nibbles again, his answer a hot breath in her shoulder, "I think the question should very well be... what am I NOT going to do with you, Scully? Maybe you should re-word your query." She shakes her head slowly, runs her tongue over his cheek and across to his mouth, tickles the corner of it temptingly, catches the bottom lip and nips at it briefly before taking all, his mouth and his tongue, his saliva. The kiss is endless and deep, hard and soft and demanding and supplicating, the perfect blend of them both. She won't re-word it, for she wants it all. Wants to be surprised by his ingenuity, overwhelmed by his passion. They have an hour. A lot can happen in an hour... ``````````````` A lot can happen in an hour... and usually does. They should be sleeping. It's very early in the morning and they have a long day ahead of them. Neither of them got very much sleep the night before. Not because they kept themselves awake with the physical - more that they let the mental act as stimuli. It's hard to shut the brain completely down when too many thoughts stack up in the queue. New case. New domicile. New aspect of standard relationship... most of all, there's that. And with it comes the additional responsibility of adding love to the constant worry and usual watching-the-partner's- back. It gives new meaning to the phrase, in fact. And never do the contrasts between them seem so obvious than when their newfound love increases the paranoia already set in concrete. Suddenly, he realizes just how petite she is. Not five minutes ago he stood with her in front of a full-length mirror and they compared head-to-chest level. Her head, his chest. She is very strong. Has the heart of a lion. However, that strength is deceptive - for she is nevertheless petite. He worries about her, an added layer to the sometimes anxiety-laden chore of making sure his partner doesn't 'get dead' in the line of duty. She worries, too. It was the main reason they took as long as they did to consummate, for want of a better word. They've loved each other for years. Been in love with one another, almost as long. Deigned to do something about it, one thickly hot night when they turned to each other in an absolute daze, not knowing who caved first, reached out first - kissed first. It didn't matter at the time and it doesn't matter now. They are together. And so he worries. He's good at it, he thinks... He knows that outwardly nothing can change. He knows first and foremost they remain FBI agents - professional, tough. Their love cannot figure into their jobs, not one bit. Mulder can't protect her in the field or in any other situation as more than the partner she is. He cannot show favoritism because she is his lover, can't even shield her for any other reason than knowing she would return the favor, as his partner and equal. Not because her silky head only comes up as high as his heart and her small hands should never have been meant to hold anything more lethal than the pounding life force in that very chest she leans against. Not because she may possibly weigh a hundred or so pounds dripping wet and not because some future maniac that hates women could snap her in two if he decided to. Not any of that. It's frustrating. He can't even issue verbal caution beyond the standard they have always assumed with each other. God, he wants to. In his arms she is smaller, more delicate, so precious. He is rapidly losing his perspective where she is concerned. The agent becomes the man when she twines her arms around his neck and nibbles on his ear. Held high in his arms, her legs curled around his hips, hands locked about his neck and eye to eye with him, smiling and teasing into his face... Scully is a miracle of beauty and sensuality. And she ceases to be his agent/partner, and simply becomes his partner. His lover. His life. They have an hour. Mulder knows he is wasting time worrying. He knows that what will be, will be. Their course was set between them when they first shook hands in a musty basement office, years ago. Regardless of how they proceed from this moment on, nothing will ever change the fact that Mulder would lay down his life for Scully, would do anything to protect her - as he knows she would do for him. But for now, right now... an hour awaits, early in the morning when most people are still asleep. He carries her away from the mirror and to the bed, lays her down. Against white sheets her bright green sweatshirt is a hindrance he wants to be rid of, so he reaches for the hem and tugs it over her head, leaving her covered in pale cool skin the color of peaches and a pair of simple pink cotton panties. Tiny goosebumps follow in the wake of the fingers he trails over her ribcage, up and down her arms. Her legs shift restlessly beneath the hot stare of his eyes, as he concentrates on the way she feels under his palms. Soft - warm - silk and satin - her blood beating close to the surface and staining her skin rose when he leans in and lets his lips trace the bluish veins that live behind the tender fullness of her breasts. She moans quietly. Scully is a quiet lover - well, so far. Mulder would like to see what happens when she becomes noisy. Another study in contrasts, he thinks - the dainty female whose shouts and screams of fulfillment can shake the glass from windows. Oh, yes - he wants that. Kneeling beside her on the bed, Mulder shucks off his t-shirt, shimmies out of the old sweatpants. She raises an appreciative eyebrow when it becomes apparent that he never bothered with underwear. She murmurs wickedly, "Going commando on me, Mulder?" His grin stretches wide. "Better believe it, baby... you should try it sometime." "Maybe I will... and when I do, would you like to be apprised of the situation?" Another wide grin. "Oh hell, yeah..." After that there are no more words. Her hand has reached out to clasp him, hard and thick and pulsing with need. Her fingers stroke him with whispery gentleness, and it's not enough and yet just right. They are still learning each other but he has discovered her tender touches make him a little crazed, and that he loves the feeling. He slides his body alongside hers and lets her have whatever part of him she wants. The buildup of sensation, layer upon layer - much like the layers between them, when they began with liking and trust and have now added the love. She keeps a hand warmly moving between his legs, alternately cupping his tight balls and palming him from base to tip. Her other hand caresses and rubs along his chest, his sensitive sides, down the curve of his back and between his cheeks. Her feet arch against his shins, her eyes smile into his - her lips kiss him senseless. For Mulder it's a never-ceasing amazement to him, that such a tiny package of woman can retain so much passion within her and still manage to look as cool as can be. On her side facing him, Scully holds all six-foot plus of him completely captive, in two small and capable hands. She leans in and touches her lips to his again, drinks in his groan, laps up his tongue, sighs into his mouth when the kiss becomes hard and needy. Her hands release him and then return to tug him against her body, delicate curves aligning perfectly to his larger frame. When he sweeps her beneath him and presses down, her strong legs clamp around him and equally-strong arms coil up between his shoulder blades, fingers gripping him. Love, encompassing him... always, the love. Now, more than ever the contrasts between them serve to combine them in such a way as to intensify the feeling they share. If he looked into a mirror right now - a full-length mirror - he'd see such an even blending of them that it would appear as if they were one person. Which is as it should always be - and they have a goodly portion of an hour, to prove it to themselves... `````````````````````````````````` She decides that loving in the morning is especially sweet. There's something about the warm smell of a man, early in the morning. It's sleepy skin and cotton, leftover traces of after-shave and spiky bed-hair. It's relaxed musculature and beard stubble, sneaking back into bed after a fast session with a toothbrush, languid kisses in mind. It's sharing the same pillow that has dark brown hairs on it - and not minding when one of them curls into your mouth. It's all good, all delicious. This morning they woke up within a few minutes of each other, wearing clothes from the night before. They'd tumbled themselves into bed with romance on their minds; had both fallen asleep before more than a handful of kisses could be exchanged. And yet their sleep was restless; they slept fitfully, their minds no doubt on overload. Awakened early - and spent a few tender moments in front of a mirror, comparing the contrast between them in the sweetest way. He makes her feel tiny, petite. He doesn't make her feel small. There's a world of difference between those descriptions... Standing in front of him in the mirror she saw the difference in their size, saw their contrast blend and merge the moment Mulder turned her into his body and lifted her until she was level with him - eye to eye. With Mulder, she has found that even when she rests her face on his chest, tucks her head under his chin... they are still on the level. She never had this before, not with any of her past relationships. Unequal, every one of them, making her think she always had something to prove. Had to make herself more than what she was, just to keep them. It never took her long to discover that once she'd molded herself into a semblance of their ideal image, she no longer wanted them, couldn't bear to subjugate herself that way. But with Mulder she would willingly and happily subjugate herself... and she also knows she never has to. They curl themselves around each other in the warm cotton sheets that retain the fragrance of her perfume mingled with his masculine scent. She loves it, loves the way even their essences blend, to result in something better, finer. Side by side, sharing the same pillow, hands now gentle, now demanding... She finger-kisses down his arms, across his shoulders, circling his sensitive nipples. His sigh ruffles the hair at her temples and she smiles into his mouth when his lips feather over her face and he returns the favor of her kiss. He never makes her feel small... She adores the length of his legs, the lanky muscles, the strong thighs and well-defined calves. She shivers when he snares her between them, his leg hair soft and yet causing delicious friction along skin already tingling. He's so much taller than she is but in bed they are equal; in bed they are the same height. If she wishes, she could even be a little taller - when she moves up on the pillow and invites his mouth to find her breasts, and coils her arms around his head when he eagerly complies. She rests her cheek on his hair and moans low in her throat, as his tongue moves on her skin and his teeth nip her with slow, hot kisses. Slow... hot... maddening. She loves it all. She remembers a time when more often than not she never came, never felt more than a pleasant twinge now and then. She remembers faking it, faking a climax just to have it over and done with. She'd make herself relax in the arms of her then-lover, make herself slow her breaths, make herself fall asleep. Tell herself the cuddling was as important as anything. Tell herself a lot of things, except the one truth: that she wanted and deserved more. She'd go looking for it - and she'd never find it. Until she found Mulder... until they found each other. She opens her legs when his kisses leave her breasts and trail down her ribs, over her navel, press into her moist curls. He's always so generous with his love, taking the time to get her where she needs to be; whipping her into a frenzy of want. It's not that he has this magic penis that can do amazing tricks. It's not that he's so incredibly knowledgeable about the female anatomy that he can instantly know just where and when to press, when to thrust hard and when to go softly, tenderly. He's not psychic, not some Casanova or Valentino. But he's a man who's in love with her - and he knows what she needs - and is learning what she wants. As she is learning about him. Their lovemaking is not always a success. That's just about impossible, for any couple. Sometimes she has a hard time - daily stress or plain fatigue conspires to rob her of her pleasure. Sometimes he can't wait for her. It happens. And it doesn't matter. In the past, it mattered. The sex was all there was, most of the time. With her past relationships there was nothing else that could balance the obvious imbalance present in those liaisons. But with Mulder... she can fall asleep in his arms knowing that here is a man who will do everything in his power to make her happy, give her love, his life if she asked for it - his very soul if she thought she needed it. And all she needs is him. Maybe he wouldn't find release, once in a while - maybe she'd be too slow to climax, now and then. But they twine themselves around each other and they fall asleep with smiles on their faces, side by side on the same pillow - and they hold hands, in the middle of the night. He never makes her feel small. In the last few minutes they have before starting their busy day, he loves her to absolute distraction, taking his time - his body hard and warm and giving, wanting her to take the lead, wanting her on top because he has learned that it lets her set the pace she seems to need. He presses slick fingers against her clit as she moves over his body, as she takes him deeper and deeper. Her hair falls in her eyes and she lets it slip over her face when she leans down to kiss him. Her nails bite into his shoulders and her moans become gasps that escalate into a cry that becomes a strangled scream... when his fingers pluck at her and his hips buck up, hard into hers. This morning it's perfect, it's exactly right. This morning they are relaxed and reasonably stress-free and sleepy yet sufficiently horny - and their bed smells so good. All of that surely combines into all the ingredients for wonderfully successful sex... This morning she screams when she comes... and his voice rasps over her in a thick groan as his body tightens and he pulses and shatters within her, "That's it, that's the one, Jesus, love you Scully, love you, baby..." She sinks down onto his chest, pushes her cheek into his neck, licks at his salty skin - breathes him in as her body stops trembling and her heart calms itself. Listens to the loving rumble of words he presents to her, like a gift - telling her he loves her, adores her, she was wonderful, it was wonderful. It always is. Even when she's too short to see over his shoulder unless he's sitting down, even when she takes two and a half strides to one of his, even when one of them doesn't come - because he never makes her feel small. What he does make her feel, is that she can do anything, that she is vital to his happiness and as necessary to him as the air he breathes. He gives her that - he blends, folds, stirs himself into her and she is the better agent for it, the better woman - the better lover. Their hour is up. Time to face the day - and it's going to be busy and hot and frustrating and they'll barely have time to catch a meal, or a moment to themselves. But they'll remember this morning, off and on throughout their day - they'll remember standing in front of that mirror - and the way their contrasts blend so well. They'll remember and they'll smile at each other - and look forward to the evening and the comfort they always find with one another. And the love - always, the love. end