TITLE:   Green Velvet Christmas
AUTHOR:  MystPhile
E-MAIL:  MystPhile@aol.com
RATING:  R
Distribution: Gossamer, Spooky, Xemplary. Others, yes but
please inform.
SUMMARY: Christmas fluff. Follow-up of sorts to "Scully's
Christmases," a tale of four holidays which were pretty
miserable. This year she gets a happy one, and Mulder doesn't
fare too badly either. This ignores the "Millennium" ep.
Classification: MSR
Spoilers: None, really; vague reference to GWTTSC.

Disclaimer: Property of 1013

Dedication: To my dear friend Marie----Merry Christmas (not to
your Inner Child, but to your Secret Sap)

Feedback: Yes, please!

Webpage, courtesy of Beaker:
http://members.xoom.com/MystPhile/
Works also housed at Xemplary and at Galia's
http://galias.webprovider.com/mystphile.htm

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Green Velvet Christmas, Part I

It was a deep, rich green--the color of pine needles. It fell
in smooth, graceful folds from its princess-seamed bodice. The
sleeves reached to the wrists; the neckline scooped to show more
than a hint of cleavage. The fabric, a soft, crushed velvet,
was made to be touched, fondled, petted like a lush Angora cat.
It looked as if it might purr.

Scully, entranced, stood in front of the window in the crowded
mall. Now that Christmas was less than two weeks away, crowds
teemed, music blared, lights flashed. But she was oblivious to
the pandemonium surrounding her.

Fairy tale images floated through her mind even though she'd
never believed much in fairy tales. This dress was fit for a
princess, ensconced in her tower, waiting for the prince to come
and steal her heart. Scully had spent a total of maybe six
months of her entire life longing for a prince. By the time she
was fourteen, she could no longer envision herself as a passive
figure in a tower, waiting for a man to take the initiative.
Instead, she'd seen herself with feet firmly planted on the
ground, acting in her own right, making her own decisions.

Her feet, of their own volition, hurried through the door of the
shop, propelling her toward The Dress. A quick glance around
revealed the rack where varying sizes hung, and she glided
so smoothly toward it that she felt no contact with the carpet.
She longed to touch it. Her fingers stroked the material,
pressed into the nap. So soft, so right. What was the source
of its power?

A saleswoman broke the spell, pouring details about prices,
fabric, and sizes into her ear. She ignored most of the
annoying chatter, gleaning only that it cost $300 and it was
available in a 4P. She held the petite size up to herself,
checking its length in the mirror. It fell to about four inches
above her ankles. Perfect.

She gazed at herself in the mirror. The green was wondrous.
Her complexion glowed, her eyes sparkled, her hair color grew
richer beside that forest green. She watched her fingertips rub
the fabric. Its texture, smooth soft surface with hidden
depths, was almost . . . sexual. At least, it was very, very
sensual.

"Do you want to try it on?"

She had the impression that the annoying woman was repeating
herself. But it didn't matter; she wasn't ready to try it on.
Why take that irrevocable step, that commitment, as it were,
unless it could be hers? She felt as if she were the dress's
suitor, in some weird way. She needed. . . an occasion to wear
it. Hell, why kid around? An excuse. It was like a bridal
dress to her, that special dress that she'd wear for that
special moment, one she would want to remember forever. She
wondered briefly when she'd become such a sap, but she was too
enthralled to care.

"Maybe later," she flung in the direction of the saleswoman, who
informed her forcefully that her name was Martha. Yeah, yeah,
Scully thought. Now, go away.

Scully caressed the dress, thinking that parting really was not
a sweet sorrow, then tore herself away. It was like walking
away from her destiny. At the door she turned and sent it a
last beseeching glance. She felt like the heroine in a forties
melodrama. Where was the independent career woman who chose
clothes to enhance her professional image, or to hang around the
house in comfort after a hard day? Gone. Wiped out, after one
glance at that beguiling object. Resolutely, she turned her
back and rushed from the mall. Why prolong the parting?

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Mulder noticed the faraway look in his partner's eyes. "Earth
to Scully." He perched on the side of her desk and bent down to
study her face. "You look as if you've seen God."

A trace of a smile touched her lips, but her eyes were still
distant. "Better," she said. "I think I'm in love."

Mulder, newly secure in their relationship, didn't turn a hair.
"You saw Brad Pitt on your lunch hour. Or maybe you go for the
classics, like Harrison Ford."

She sighed. "It was a dress."

Mulder studied her some more. He cleared his throat. "What
kind?"

"Long green velvet, scoop neck, long sleeves." She paused. "A
princess dress."

"I didn't know you were that interested in clothes."

"I didn't either."

Mulder groped for firm ground. This was a new side of Scully.
"Are . . . you going to buy it?"

"I need an occasion. A worthy occasion."

He jumped off the desk and pulled up a chair beside hers. "Your
mother's going to San Diego this year, right? And you're not."

She nodded.

"So we can do something on Christmas Eve. Something fit for a
green velvet dress."

She turned her head and focused on him at last. "This wouldn't
include staking out a haunted house," she warned. "Blood isn't
good on velvet. Makes it all stiff."

"I'll book someplace really nice," he promised.

"And you'll dress up? I know you really like to wear your jeans
and gray tee-shirt, but it doesn't quite go with the dress."

"I'll do you proud."

She looked into his eyes and saw promise there. "I'll buy the
dress after work." Her smile broke out like sunshine.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

At seven o'clock on Christmas Eve, Scully stood in front of her
mirror. The shoes were right, black patent with four-inch
heels, just in case they danced. Mulder had been maddeningly
mysterious about where they were going. Her evening bag--jewel
encrusted to resemble a medieval treasure chest, suspended from
a long brass chain, and large enough to hold her gift for
Mulder--was perfect. Her hair had grown enough to be gathered
into a small knot, allowing bewitching tendrils to escape and
frame her face, made up to glowing perfection.

Hell, with this dress, who needed makeup anyway? Yes, the
dress. It was all she'd expected--and more. It made her feel like
a princess, a bride, a beautiful woman. It enhanced her
coloring, gave her a regal air, draped gracefully over her body,
awakening every nerve ending and making her feel like the most
desirable woman in the world. And the feel of it--so lush. She
could scarcely keep her hands off it. No wonder they called it
crushed velvet.

The only thing standing between her and perfection was the lack
of a suitable necklace. She was not going to dangle a cross
between her boobs, which looked spectacular in the deeply
scooped neck. That was just not the right message. All her
other necklaces looked too . . .unworthy, given the regal nature
of the dress. Her earrings were dangling, antiqued gold.
Finally, she decided to go with no necklace rather than the
wrong one. The neckline was so graceful and her skin was so
glowing that she looked fine already. She was . . . done. And
amazingly happy. When, she wondered, had she ever been so
influenced by what she was wearing? Put such stock in her
appearance? The dress was an X-File, she thought. It had cast
a spell, and she had been enchanted. Willingly.

The doorbell rang. No gray tee-shirt, she prayed, throwing the
locks. She needn't have worried. He looked spectacular. Black
suit, green tie that matched her dress, bright eyes, all
accompanied by a bouquet of velvety red roses.

"They're wonderful," she said, taking them and reaching up to
kiss Mulder's cheek. She fingered a petal. "They feel like my
dress."

"Let's see." His finger reached inside the fabric over her
upper chest, nearer the shoulder than the breast, while his
thumb took a leisurely tour. "It's a beautiful dress," he said,
in the most direct statement of that kind he'd ever made to her.
"I can see why you wanted it. It looks like the. . . the
essence of you." He leaned down to plant a long, moist kiss on
her forehead.

Scully clutched the roses, needing something to cling to in a
world gone atilt. "You see me like. . . like this?"

"Definitely," he assured her, stroking her flushed cheek. "Want
to put those in water before we go?"

She went off in search of a vase, thinking that maybe she could
use a cold shower before leaving. She was more in need of water
than the roses.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<


Green Velvet Christmas, part 2

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

The Italian restaurant, Joe's, was charming, intimate in a way
that crowded, noisy, happy places can be. The traditional
Christmas Eve Feast of the Seven Fishes was a raucous affair.
There were musicians, dancers, small, intimate parties as well
as large tables filled with families ranging from infants to
great-grandfathers, servers swooping everywhere with cheerful
abandon. Wine flowed; food circulated. The air was filled with
sound, titillating scents, stampeding patrons. The warmth and
movement permeated Scully's being, making her glow even more.

Between the delicious courses of fish and shellfish, she swayed
in Mulder's arms on the dance floor, crowded with young couples,
grandparents, and odd mixtures of old men dancing with young
children perched on their shoetops. The noise and heat levels
kept rising, and she burrowed into Mulder's neck, inhaling his
aftershave. "This is perfect," she told him.

He smiled and nuzzled her forehead. "Surely not better than
last year," he said. "I don't see any ghosts here."

"Our lives are full of ghosts, Mulder."

He pulled her even closer, if that was possible. "I'm sorry.
But they're who we are, by now. That's what I've finally
accepted. I don't know if you have, yet. But I'm at peace with
what we've done and where we've been. The regrets---they don't
really get us anywhere at this point. I'm ready to accept the
losses and. . . look to the gains. Principally, you." He
lifted her chin and kissed her lips lightly.

"I do accept," she whispered. "I'm ready to let it go, a lot of
it. . . as much as I can. The past is . . . past. I won't
forget. But I'm trying not to dwell on it. I want to go on."

His hand caressed her back, along the waist line and lower,
pressing her body to his. "A miracle, at the appropriate time
of year," he murmured in her ear. "Both of us on the same page
at the same time."

She laughed softly. Emanating from a woman in green velvet, the
laugh was low and sensual. He continued to rub the soft fur on
her back. She felt smug as a Siamese.

When the music ended, they broke reluctantly. He leaned down
for a longer kiss, a very tender one. When he drew back, he
smiled, an open, warm smile that threatened to melt her heart.

"Will you treat me like this when I'm not in green velvet?" she
asked.

"I'll treat you like this any time you'll let me," he told her,
guiding her back to their table. "I'd like to give you your
gift now."

"I have a little something for you, too."

"Me first." The box was beautifully wrapped and minuscule
enough not to have made a bulge in his jacket pocket. She
carefully disassembled the wrapping, thinking what large strides
they'd made--at last--since last year. A jeweler's box was
revealed. She glanced up at him before opening it. His eyes
were eager.

It was a necklace. An amethyst, her birthstone, on a delicate
golden chain. The jewel was set in a simple gold cradle, and
she loved it. "It's lovely," she told him. "Just perfect."

"It comes with a condition." She looked up from the clasp
she was unfastening. "Or more like a request." He
retreated further. "A plea, maybe it's a plea."

"For God's sake, what is it?" she asked, as walked behind her
chair to fasten the necklace around her neck. His lips touched
the nape of her neck, right over the chip, warming the spot.
Then they moved to her ear as his hands pulled the necklace ends
together. "Later," he murmured, "I'd like to unfasten the clasp
with my teeth."

"Deal," she breathed, as his lips brushed her neck. God, it was
hot in here. A lobster was set in front of her, and Mulder
returned to his seat.

"Where's mine?" he asked, ignoring a fairly ostentatious
lobster.

She pulled the tiny package from her evening bag. "Voila. Merry
Christmas, Mulder." She rose and carefully leaned across two large
lobsters to kiss him, holding her precious dress way above the
danger zone.

After shredding the wrapping paper, Mulder was very pleased with
his new watch, a fine gold with many gadgets and doodads of the
James Bond variety, to replace the one he'd dropped his gun on
last week. "Does this mean I can make time with you?" he asked
with a grin.

She smiled and nodded.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

Back at Scully's apartment, the roses on the coffee table glowed
in the light from the Christmas tree. Turning from locking the
door, she found Mulder still standing close enough to warm her
velvet. He backed her into the door, leaning down to touch her
lips. Her senses became as active as the flickering lights on
the tree as his lips darted to different areas of her skin, as
brief as fireflies alighting. His warm lips brushed her cheek, the
bridge of her nose, the side of her neck, her temple, her ear,
her eyelid, her chin, her collar bone. Goosebumps followed in
their wake.

His hands were undemanding, resting loosely at her waist as his
head moved to various unpredictable locales. Her own hands
hung at her side. She'd gotten caught, a princess in the tower,
a passive observer of her own seduction. Time to remedy that,
time to participate. She placed her hands under his jacket, ran
them sensuously up his sides, slid them around his back, pulled
him closer, caressing the long muscles in his back, moving down
to clasp his buttocks. Oh my, she thought. He felt.....better than
green velvet.

Between the pleasurable signals her hands were sending her--
urgent bulletins from his hard and aroused body--and her nerve
endings awakened by the fiery touches of his lips, her breath
was coming in gasps. His head moved from her collar bone down
past the necklace, his nose brushing it aside. She closed her
eyes as his lips traveled to her cleavage, gasped as his tongue
emerged and lapped between her breasts. "My God," she breathed.

Her words brought him upright, his eyes searching hers.
"Scully?"

She understood the question. She'd been right about the dress;
it *was* a bridal dress, one meant for a momentous, life-
altering occasion. Implicit in that one word was his request
for a commitment. He was asking if she would be his, if he
could be hers, if they could belong to each other in yet another
way in addition to the many ways they were already intertwined.

Understanding the question, she knew her answer.

"Yes," she said simply, pulling his head down to hers and
burying her tongue in his mouth, giving herself to him, taking
him into her. The past was there. It would always be there.
It was time to move on, to get on with whatever awaited them in
their next chapter together. Always together. Always. But
right now, it was the present that mattered. They needed to
live in the moment. To love in the moment. To come out of
their respective towers, two aloof loners, and plant their feet on the
ground.

They sank to their knees without thinking, intent on the
explorations within their mouths, within their hearts. Their
hands stroked and caressed all over, as they settled to the
floor with Scully stretched out on top of Mulder's prone body,
writhing across him, feeling every mountain and valley, his
hands drawing her closer, pulling pins from her hair so his
fingers could burrow to her scalp, his demanding lips clamping
onto hers, their tongues and teeth colliding. She reached down
to grasp his aroused penis, stroking him gently. Luckily, the
dress had a wide skirt so she could straddle him and pull
herself to an upright position. Then, she sat back.

"What are you doing?" Mulder's voice was hoarse as he took her
hand and lifted it to his face, tucking it against his cheek.

"Coming to my senses," she said, watching his face strive to
maintain a stoic expression. She smiled. "By which I mean that
making love on the floor under a Christmas tree may sound like a
romantic idea and be a really memorable first time. But we're
not 21. I'd like to move to a comfortable place where we won't
get back pains, preferably my bed. And I'd like to take off
this dress. I am no Monica Lewinski."

He smiled. "Gotcha. And by God, I hope that's true in the next
hour. Having you, I mean."

She leaned down to kiss him. Tongues tangled again. They
parted reluctantly, with gentle kisses and not-so-gentle kisses
pullling them back for yet another "one more time." Scully finally
managed to speak. "No worries on that account. When I
say yes, I mean yes," she assured him. "I'm . . . ready."

She rose and reached out a hand to help him to his feet. Already,
his back was stiff from lying flat on a wooden floor with a hundred
pound woman on top of him. They moved toward her room in
harmony, hands clasped.

"Ready in every way?" he asked.

She nodded. "You?"

"Absolutely. You're the only one. You've gotta know that by
now." He unzipped the dress, which fell and formed a green,
flowing puddle. "There . . . can't be anyone else." His eyes
darkened as they took in her underwear, dark green Victoria's
Secret lace that made her skin gleam like snow. Snow that would
shortly melt.

She turned to help him undress. "It's not just the dress, is
it?" she worried. "It kind of took me over. It's an
enchanter."

His clothes joined the dress on the floor. "No, I'm enchanted
with the woman inside the dress. Maybe it was just the wake-up
call." His shirt floated floorward as her hands caressed his
chest. "I won't even consider it unromantic if you want to hang
up the dress instead of leaving it in a heap on the floor."

"It'll be okay," she said, licking his chest. She may have
loved the dress, but she knew her priorities.

"Turn around," he said. "Here's where I break a tooth on the
necklace clasp and we have to go to the emergency room. You
then realize I'm a hopeless dolt and thank your lucky stars that
you didn't actually wind up sleeping with me."

She obligingly turned and laughed. "Don't you dare." His hands
came around her waist and moved in opposite directions, one
north to clasp a breast and one south to bury itself between her
legs. His lips touched her neck, licked, nibbled, brushed back
and forth. The hand on her breast tightened and squeezed her
nipple through the thin lace. She moaned. The hand between her
legs traced curlicues on the inside of her thighs, moving so
delicately it was sweet torture. When the hand moved up to her
mons, she thrust into it, seeking more pressure.

"Forget the necklace," she breathed, reaching both hands behind
her to grasp his buttocks and pull him against her. She rubbed
against his erection.

"I could do that," he gasped, reaching for the top of her
underpants to ease them down. She broke from his arms,
swiveled, yanked his shorts down, and tossed them all the way
to the corner of the room. She whisked off her bra and sent it
sailing after his shorts, while simultaneously stepping out of
her underpants. They stood nude, gazing, not touching.

It wasn^^t just a physical nudity, she realized. They were
letting down the barriers on all levels. This was a new era.
Green velvet was just a catalyst. The truth stood right here.
Two people, baring their bodies and souls to each other, ready
to come together in a multitude of ways. Their bodies would
intertwine as surely as their fates. They would lend each other
strength on all levels.

Mulder, despite sporting an erection the size of California, was
still capable of entertaining higher thought. He smiled at
Scully, leaned over to kiss her lips softly. "Let not to the
marriage of true minds/ Impediments admit," he intoned. "I love
both your mind and your body." He paused. "I'm looking forward
to getting to know and love your body the way I do your mind."

She stepped into his arms, wrapping herself around him. "Yes,"
she said. "This is a real Christmas gift. To give ourselves to
each other. Without reservation."

His breath caressed her ear. "I have no reservations. I
believe in you."

She stepped back, sat on the bed, pulled her legs up and lay
down, fingering the amethyst. "You're my touchstone," she told
him, eyes wide and serious. "Always."

"And you are mine." He lowered his body to hers, taking
his weight on his elbows, and joined his mouth to hers. As
their tongues met and their hands explored, they settled down
for a long winter's night, intent on the joys of giving and receiving.

END

Note 1: Owing to the rush of blood away from his brain, Mulder
misquoted Shakespeare's Sonnet 116, which begins: "Let me not
to the marriage of true minds/ Admit impediments. Love is not
love/ Which alters when it alteration finds,/ Or bends with the
remover to remove;/ O no! it is an ever fixed mark.............."

Note 2: The Dress is in Coldwater Creek, Holiday 1999, catalog,
page 8. You know it's a symptom of something bad when you look
at a dress and think, "That'd look great on Scully," instead of on
yourself!! The evening bag is on the same page.