TITLE:   REMEMBERING THE OCCASION
AUTHOR:  JACQUIE LAVA
RATING:  NC-17
CATEGORY:  MSR
CLASSIFICATION:  HUMOR
SPOILERS:  Not anything serious.

SUMMARY: Funny how two people can recall the same momentous turning
point in their lives with such ill-matched accuracy-
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Years later, when asked what really happened that night- they would come
up with conflicting stories, and argue about it.

They would disagree about the weather that night; the cool evening air
(he said) versus the wet rainy dampness (she said)- the place they went
( hotel room versus tacky motel cabin); what she wore (a navy garter
belt and thigh-high stockings, according to him- she didn't even want to
volunteer what she remembered, although it centered around flannel);
what they did (nope, not gonna go there, either- not if he wanted to
walk upright for the rest of his life) - but mostly, they argued about
the very reason it happened in the first place. He was as determined to
credit her brother for the occasion as she was to denounce that same
brother for his nefarious and reprehensible behavior. Whatever, was the
stock reply she would hear- whatever. It didn't matter if they blamed
Bill or if they cheered him- the end result was still the same.

Because of one scheming moment in Bill Scully's oddly-functioning brain-
his sister and his arch enemy were bound together tighter than super
glue- and just as impossible to separate. Bill kicked himself on a
daily basis- his wife chuckled every time he cursed out loud, except
when he did it in front of the children. Tara had been pro-Mulder for
a very long time- and it drove Bill Scully just about off his little
onion.

But, there is a beginning to this story- and it's best told from the two
conflicting viewpoints themselves-


Story One: "I swear on a stack of medical journals that what I am about
to divulge is the complete and utter truth-"


If I have to look at that wide red-striped ass sitting on Mulder's knee
one more minute, I'm going to go over there and pull out all that blonde
frosted hair of hers and stuff it down her throat- then I'm going to
kill my brother.

From the moment Mulder walked into the room, and that bimbo made a
beeline for him- I knew Bill was behind it all. She'd been standing
next to Bill, whispering to him- one of Tara's school pals; beautiful
and stacked like no tomorrow, but dumber than a box of rocks. Tara had
several friends like her- and I had never been able to understand why.
My sister-in-law does have a little on the ball, despite the fact she
let my idiot brother talk her into marrying him. Actually, I admired
her tenacity where Bill was concerned; she hadn't murdered him yet. I
could easily do that for her, however- easily. Hell, I was almost
there.

It had all started out innocently enough, I suppose- too innocently. I
should have known - I should have been able to read the signs. There
has always been a madness to Bill Scully's method- and I'd forgotten
that annoying little quirk of his. When he called me last week and
invited me to a Thanksgiving bash at his house- I was pleasantly
surprised, and pleased. Usually Mom gets stuck with that particular
detail, and although I know she enjoys it, I also know it's been
somewhat emotionally difficult for her, since Dad's death. Having a big
party at Bill's house would be just the change we all needed- and Bill
was generously offering to do all of the work. I did get a little
suspicious when he made that announcement, knowing full well my
brother's typically male attitude where food, cleaning and other
wife-type duties were concerned-

"What do you mean, you're doing it all yourself, Bill? You mean, Tara's
going to do it, and you're taking credit, right?" I was my usual
sisterly self. His voice, on the other end of the phone, was righteously
wounded-sounding.

"Dana, come on- I wouldn't do that to Tara! I told her for once, she
can relax- I've taken care of everything; I'm having it catered. I just
want everyone to have a good time, get plenty to eat, relax and enjoy
each other's company- no work, no fuss, especially for Mom. She always
goes so all-out for us - I just figured it was my turn. This house is
plenty big enough to hold everyone." He sounded very sincere; I relaxed
a bit, and smiled into the mouthpiece.

"OK, you've convinced me of Tara's non-involvement- so yes, of course
I'll be there. Just tell me what time -" his voice interrupted me in
mid-answer.

"Oh, almost forgot, Dana- why don't you bring Mulder along with you? I
know he doesn't really like to go to his mother's over the holidays, and
it's got to be tough for him, all by himself- why don't you invite him
as well?"

DING DING DING-. The alarm bells went off, big-time. Mulder? My
partner Mulder? The man who makes that little vein in Bill's forehead
throb whenever I even mention his name- that Mulder? I apparently had
spoken the disbelieving words aloud, for Bill's indignant reply cut into
my thoughts of shock and amazement.

"Dana, you're exaggerating- I have no serious problem with Mulder, not
anymore- I have come a long way towards accepting the fact that he's
your partner, and he really does care for you. I know a lot of what has
happened to you is not his fault. I am making a concentrated effort to
give him the benefit of the doubt from now on- I really am. So, come
on, give me a break! Just ask him, OK? I promise I'll be good-"

Famous last words, Billy-Boy- 'I promise I'll be good'. Shoulda known-
but I was so dazzled by this unknown side of my big brother- and lulled
by the security of Tara's equally enthusiastic invitation for my
partner- that I let my guard down.

I will never do that again.


"You're kidding, right? You've gotta be- wait, I know - the turkey will
be stuffed with Flukeman dressing, with a side of Tooms- very funny,
Scully. Now, how about the truth?" Mulder was understandably
untrusting of my sibling's motives. I've always said he's got stronger
intuition than I do- but for now, I was still basking in the newfound
approval of Big Bro, to worry overmuch about Mulder's caution.

"Come on, Mulder- go with me. Bill's really trying to turn over a new
leaf- he really wants you there. I don't want to go alone; and you'd be
sitting in this stupid apartment, sharing fish flakes with your aquarium
pets, if I know you - so just say yes, and let's have a turkey-cramming
contest- okay?" I batted my eyelashes at him outrageously, and was
rewarded with a chuckle and a quick hug. He smiled down at me, and
retorted, "Bet I can out-eat you in the turkey category-"

"You're on, FBI Boy-"

Which brings us to this moment: me standing near the dining room entry,
a glass of excellent wine in my hands, and a death-wish for the striped
Bimbo-Woman flowing through my resentful little mind. Pansy- I think
that's what Tara called her. Jesus, Mary and Joseph- what kind of grown
woman has a name like Pansy? With that dress she's almost wearing, she
should be called "Candy Cane" or something equally nifty- how about just
plain "hootch-mama"- she hasn't let loose of my partner since he walked
in (with me, I might add)- well, that's not quite true - Mulder had
about five whole minutes to help me off with my coat, hang it up, turn
and kiss my mother on the cheek and get me my first glass of wine,
before Bill sent the little twit his way, when he was off standing by
himself for one second.

Oh, I know Mulder is his own man, no strings or ties to anyone- nobody
knows that better than I do. I've been his best friend - in many ways,
his only friend - for so long. And he's the same level of friend to me,
as well. How could we not be each other's buddy, almost-other-half?
With the life we lead, it was inevitable. But with that level of
intimacy comes possessiveness, even though we may not ever admit it, to
each other or to anyone else. I tend to regard Mulder as mine, even
though I know it's ridiculous and unrealistic- it's not like he's given
me a reason to do so, other than his proclivity for sexual innuendo and
flirting. I've grown so used to that-

So I stand, sipping wine, watching through narrowed eyes as Pansy
wiggles her candy-striped cheeks on Mulder's elegantly wool-clad knee,
and flutters her false eyelashes at him (trust me- I can tell - false as
can be - almost as false as her silicone boobs). And, being typically
male, Mulder is enjoying the attention - hell, I'm sure it's more than
he had been expecting; certainly something he probably feels he'd never
get from me- and he's right. I'm too chicken-shit to do anything more
than respond to his innuendoes with one raised eyebrow and my standard
blue gaze deep-freeze- I believe it's the most he'd ever expect from me.

How I'd like to shock him, just once- really shock him, right out of
those butter-soft leather shoes of his. If I had the nerve- if I had
the guts, the balls (so to speak)- I'd respond to one of his
not-so-subtle sexual barbs with one hell of a physical come-back- yes,
indeed, I would. An entire bottle of this fine red wine would probably
go a long way toward making me brave-

A little later in the evening, I realize I am drunk. I am not sure when
I reached that stage, but- I am drunk. I have had half a bottle of
Merlot, and several shots of something creamy thick and slightly tart
which burned its way over my vocal chords and settled down into some
nether region between my naval and my clitoris. Oops- I just 'thought'
the word 'clitoris'- luckily I didn't say it out loud. I prop myself up
against a wall and watch Bimbo (I mean Pansy) dancing with my partner.
My Partner- My Mulder. Mine. Nobody else's- just mine. I am rapidly
feeling more and more territorial with every passing moment- Damn Bill
for turning on the CD player and popping in some romantic mood music,
just when it looked like Mulder was going to finally be able to make his
escape from the Silicone Valley Doll- I am going to kill my brother-
for not only has he sent the Silicone Queen over in Mulder's direction-
he also had the unmitigated gall to introduce one of his golfing buddies
to me, Scott Mc-something- and the man has latched onto me with a
vengeance. I can't shake him - and I'm bored out of my mind, as well as
being drunk- and I'm going to kill my brother. Slowly. With great
enjoyment. Tara will be a widow- poor thing. I feel tears fill my
eyes, at the thought of my poor sister-in-law, having to raise my future
nieces and nephews (can't remember at the moment how many I have, thanks
to the wine and the creamy stuff), all alone with just an urn filled
with ashes on the fireplace mantle, to keep her company- I should
probably stop drinking this red stuff, before I do something really
stupid, like walk over to the dancing couple in the corner and wrench
them apart, by her blonde hair/black roots-

Which is exactly what I do- because man, am I drunk.

I don't know which of them is more surprised at my actions- Bimbo or my
partner. I have an empty wine glass in one hand and her hair in the
other, and I am not speaking, not saying a word- just pulling her off
Mulder, and down the hall to the nearest bathroom. She's shrieking in
pain, and I am pulling her by her hair- and life is suddenly very good.
Strange how such a little thing can make a body so happy- Ah, there's
the door; in she goes, slam it and lock it- boy, is she one hopping mad
Pansy. Luckily the music is so loud, it drowns out the screeching
behind Bathroom Door Number one. I pocket the key and move back into
the family room, where Mulder stands, over against the wall, a look of
confusion in his eyes- and unless I'm mistaken (and I could be - I am
drunk, after all), one hell of a boner pressing into his finely tailored
wool slacks- he's aroused by what I did; by the staking of my claim on
him. I walk slowly toward him, still holding the empty glass, the music
still swirling around us- toward him with my eyes holding his steadily,
until I am very close, so close I have to look almost straight up to
keep his gaze- and he reaches out for the glass and takes it from my
hand and places it safely on a low table- and waits to see what I will
do next. Mouth smiling ever so slightly- eyes focused on me with tight
intensity- no one else is in that room but us, even though the place is
jammed with family and friends. Bill must have his back to us, for I
know with utter clarity that if he knew what our eyes were doing to each
other at this very moment, he'd be throwing Mulder out on his
well-tailored ass. So I take advantage of the moment of privacy, and
put out one hand to wind through his fingers. I don't even have to
pull; he gravitates my way by magnetic force alone, closer until his
body is pressing into mine and we are both swaying to the music, the
slow romantic music which Bill so thoughtfully (albeit unknowingly) has
provided- and his arms slide around my waist to pull me up on my
tiptoes, allowing me the ease of wrapping my own arms around his neck-
face to face, nose to nose. We never break eye contact, never stop
swaying, lips almost touching- it's the hallway all over again, except
that damn bee has his back to us and can't sting- not yet. Besides,
even if he did- I've finally gotten a solid immunity built up. I have
words forming in my throat, needing to push up out of my mouth but I am
not quite drunk enough, or brave enough, yet- not quite yet - but Mulder
has no such shyness- and he's not even drunk. He leans down and
whispers in my ear, tickling it with his warm breath.

"Throwing yourself at me will get you anything you want every time,
Scully-" he's smiling down on me as he speaks; his hands are sliding
over my back and cupping my hips gently, lower body pressing his heat
into me. I can barely stand upright, for a wave of desire such as I
have never felt in my life has taken control of my motor functions and I
am moaning very low in my throat. I press a hot face into his neck,
needing to hide from him; he won't let me; he winds fingers through my
loose hair and tugs on my head until I am forced to look him in the
eyes. Thank God, they're warm and loving, no glimmer of amusement left
- just large amounts of the same arousal I am feeling.

"Don't you hide from me, Scully, not now- not when you're finally
talking to me with something more than that beautiful mouth of yours-
now that I can feel what you want, what you need- don't you look away
from me-"

I can't look away Mulder, no worries about that- I can't look away.

The music is ending, and so is our dance - but Mulder still presses
close- now he's pulling me by my hand, over to the coat closet, opening
the door and finding our coats with his free hand. He helps me on with
mine; shrugs into his and pushes me toward the front door, calling out
to my mother, "Thanks, Mrs. Scully, goodnight now-" Then to my
open-mouthed brother Bill, "Thanks for the great dinner and the gift,
Bill - Happy Thanksgiving to you, too-" My brother has time to get out
one hoarse, "What the -" before we are out the door and down the walkway
and into Mulder's car, which happens to be closer. He puts me into the
passenger side and runs around to slide in behind the wheel. I come out
of my desire-soaked fog long enough to whisper to him, "Where are you
taking me, Mulder- where are we going?" He starts the car, guides it
into the street, then glances at me unsmilingly, reaching out an index
finger to stroke down my cheek.

"I'm taking you someplace where you can assert your ownership, Scully-
in private, undisturbed and away from the little machinations of Big
Brother-"

"You knew what Bill was scheming?"

"Well, of course, Scully - God, I wasn't born yesterday! Why else would
Bill Scully want me at a party of his, unless it was for throwing some
chick my way in hopes I'd take the bait, piss you off and crumble our
partnership- and relationship as well?" I stare at him with admiring
eyes; Mulder'd had it all figured out, long before me- I'm impressed.
He knows my brother quite well- he'd really been paying attention all
this time. I voice my thoughts aloud, and he just smiles and replies,
"It was easy, Partner - I just profiled him-"

Mulder's hotel- for once, a nice place, instead of the usual dives we
get stuck with when on a case. The room is tastefully decorated and the
bed is large and inviting. And I am suddenly shy- and quite sober. I
take one shaky step into the room, looking everywhere except at Mulder,
as he locks the door behind us and tosses his coat and suit jacket on
the nearest chair. I can feel him behind me, his hands pulling the coat
from my shoulders, tossing it on top of his. I can't turn and face him;
I'm afraid to turn and face him; afraid of what I'll see in his eyes,
the longing in mine so out there for all to see, especially him- and
this moment will change everything between us, forever; this night will
set the course for the rest of our lives- Jesus. What made me think I
was ready for this! I mean, I started this whole progression with one
flaming reaction of jealousy to my partner holding another woman-
combined with a bottle of red wine, it was lethal. It has nothing to do
with how many years I have wanted him- and it has everything to do with
just that. My hands are cold, my body trembling; I am almost
lightheaded with nerves and the fear of the unknown- suddenly my
self-esteem takes a nosedive as I again picture in my mind that woman
Pansy- her tall leggy body and ample plastic breasts- so much more
Mulder's style, I am thinking- again, must have voiced it out loud,
because Mulder steps very close and winds his arms around me and presses
hard into my back, whispering into my hair, "No way, Scully- no fucking
way. I know what I like and I'm holding it right now- why would you
ever think I could be attracted to someone so artificial- when you're
right here; always been right here, in my mind and so deep inside me
it's like you have permanent dibs on my soul-"

And those words are enough to calm my fears and worries; enough to make
me turn in his arms, enough to give me the confidence I need to reach up
into his embrace and touch his mouth with mine, making that first,
all-important contact myself- to touch lips and then tongue to his,
never imagining that anything could taste so good, feel so right- and
he's letting me take the first lead, accepting my overture without force
of his own- letting me overwhelm him, in this first moment together.
For once, I am not questioning our relationship, not analyzing it or
trying to dissect it - I am taking what I want, what I have wanted from
the first moment I let myself be vulnerable to Mulder- and he protected
me and kept me safe.

I am taking Mulder, every inch of him- pushing him back on the wide bed
and stripping him of his clothes, peeling off layers of wool and cotton
and silk boxer shorts- sliding off leather shoes and then just sitting
back on my heels with a mouth gone dry with need- staring. He is
beautiful beyond imagining; I have never seen anyone look so good. I
touch scars here and there, remembering each corresponding event which
placed these marks upon his otherwise perfect skin- here a bullet wound,
there a knife slash- battle scars, and every one precious because they
lay on his body and make him the person he is. I run trembling fingers
over each one, following the path with my lips and tongue; healing
kisses all over his chest and down his muscled abdomen, hearing as from
a roaring distance the sound of his whispered endearments, his low moans
and sighs. I'm making Mulder moan- quite a heady feeling. He's moaning
as a direct result of what I am doing to him - and I wonder just what it
will take to make him shout. I wonder how his body will react to the
things I want to do to him, things I've dreamt about for years now, and
finally get to try out- talk about making your dreams come true!

I am about to find out what it takes to make Fox Mulder shout- for I am
moving lower with each kiss and lick of my tongue- I am moving lower and
lower, until I reach his beautiful hardness, all that hard, hot flesh
just waiting for me, only me- not some bimbo silicone-laced boob farm-
just me. Me, Dana Scully, the thin, small one- the intense one nobody
wanted to waste their time dating in high school- the picky one in
college who couldn't find a guy who would take her seriously- the girl
who maintained too many platonic relationships because of a fear of
disappointing a potential bed-partner- me. I am holding him there, my
hand wrapping around all that silky, swollen skin- and my mouth is
sliding along his length, his warmth.. he feels so good, smells so good-
and it's been so long since I have wanted to touch a man this way- so
long. I am holding him, and kissing him- and opening my mouth to take
him inside- and my tongue runs along him as he slips into my throat-

And Mulder is- shouting.

I hope his hotel neighbors weren't planning on getting to sleep any time
soon-


At this point, the conflict usually arises, from the other half of the
viewpoint- so, it's only fair to let the second story unfold-

Story Two: " I swear on an "I Want to Believe" poster, that what I am
about to divulge is the `real' complete and utter truth-"


If I didn't think it would cause a panicked stir throughout the Scully
clan- I'd grab Bill Scully and kiss him, right on the lips. He doesn't
know it yet, but he has just made my lifetime- and he did it quite
willingly. In fact, it was all his idea. And from the first, when I
initially had figured out what he was planning- I knew without a shadow
of a doubt, just how this evening would end. Well- maybe not exactly;
maybe not each little sequence of events. I mean, I like surprises as
much as the next person. Especially nice ones- but I knew the evening
would end in my
favor - and man, if it didn't do just that.

It all started with me walking in on the tail end of what seemed to be
an amazing phone call; if the look of wonderment on my partner's face
was anything to go on, she'd just been knocked sideways and
ass-backwards, by whatever had been said in her little pink ear, by
whomever was on the talkin' end of that phone. As I closed the office
door behind me, and perched myself on the edge of the desk, her widened
eyes met mine- and her cheeks actually flushed a most becoming shade of
what I'm sure was red of some sort- it's times like these when I truly
wish I wasn't color-blind. I sat patiently, and fiddled with the edges
of a thick file scattered across the desk - and waited. She'd tell me,
sooner or later- especially since I knew that somewhere in that
conversation, my name had been mentioned several times. Finally, with a
murmured "See you", she hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and
blurted out, "Thanksgiving- at Bill and Tara's- can you come with me?"
The surprise must have shown largely upon my slack-jawed face, because
she gave a half snort, half chuckle, and added, "Yes, I'm serious - you
have been invited. How about it, Mulder? A holiday with me and my
family, instead of sitting here alone, with no one to feed except your
fish-"

"You're kidding, right? What's the turkey going to be stuffed with,
pot? Or was Billy high already when he called you?" Yessir, skeptical
Mulder has entered the building and replaced trusting Mulder. Hey, this
is Bill Scully we're talking about- not a Pope of some kind. The man
sharpens his butcher knives while chanting my name (backwards, of course
- rather like "Revolution Number Nine"- and we all know what Lennon was
thinking about when he and McCartney wrote that little ditty)- I was
under no illusions where Brother Scully's hate for me was concerned.
But Dana Scully, my tiny, sweet and oh-so-kissable partner (if she'd
ever let me in close enough to find out just how kissable) had faith in
her large sibling- and her next words were aimed to ply upon my weakness
for her.

"Mulder, please- come with me? I hate going to family stuff by myself -
everyone in the place, from my mother right down to Bill's best friend,
the chiropractor, tries to fix me up with someone they always assure me
is "just perfect"- and I end up blind-dating some gnome with
gastro-intestinal problems and sweaty palms-" Scully was begging. A
fantasy of mine, coming true right in front of my eyes- Dana Scully
begging for my company- what else could I do but give her a hug and a
promise I'd go with her?

But I was going to be on my most cautious guard around that brother of
hers- I'd learned my lesson well.


We've been here, at Bill's house, for exactly six minutes- and already
I've got a groupie hanging on my every word. Ordinarily this kind of
instant action would thrill me to no end, especially when I get my first
eyeful of Poppy (What kind of parents name their kid Poppy?) - tall,
blonde and busty, green-eyed and legs that reach all the way to her ass-
yes, these are a few of my favorite things. Well- they were a few of my
favorite things, until I met Dana Scully. Now she's superceded every
past fave thing, every fantasy I've ever had and every reality I've
met. Well-

Where was I? Oh, yeah, Poppy. She's wearing the shortest, tightest
striped dress I have ever seen, so tight it appears to be cutting off
nourishing blood from the more private places of her body. She
alternately giggles, squeals and pouts - makes me dizzy just watching
the show. But I haven't really heard one full, complete sentence come
out of her mouth yet - and my leg is beginning to fall asleep, from her
full weight pressing down upon what must be one of the major arteries in
my thigh. Where the hell is Scully, anyhow? The least she could do (as
my 'unofficial date') is come to my rescue and get this woman off my
lap-

Ah, there she is- standing in the doorway with a full glass of what
appears to be red wine in her hands- laughing with some guy. I wondered
where she'd got-----

Wait just a damn shit-fit minute. Laughing. With some guy. Some guy
I've never seen before. Some guy wearing a dark suit, a white toothy
smile on his stupidly grinning face- and unless I'm not mistaken- also
sporting some kind of a woody, there in his dark little pants (hey, I'm
a guy - I notice these things, okay? Same as women when they notice the
size of another woman's breasts)- A woody, pointed in the general
direction of one Dana Scully. My Scully. My partner. Mine. Nobody
else's, damn it, never anyone else's but mine.

Well, isn't this just fucking great? I'm sitting here in a corner of
Bill Scully's house on Thanksgiving Day, full of turkey, with Poppy the
Striped Wonder on my lap, squealing and giggling at God-only-knows what,
cutting off the circulation in a leg that I may need later on - and
Scully's laughing with some pencil-dick, right in front of me. No
kidding, I'd bet the bastard is probably hung like a stud field mouse-
maybe I should sneak into the bathroom when he goes in to take a leak
(which shouldn't be long now, considering how many beers he's had) and
check out the competition's equipment-

OhmiGod- did I say that aloud? Poppy or Peppy or whatever the hell her
name is just looked at me as if I had snapdragons growing out of my ears
or something. I manage to smile inanely at her and make some dumb
comment about the last tractor pull I attended- did she buy it? Yeah,
guess so, if that vacuous smile on her face is anything to go by.
Jesus, somebody save me before I have to gnaw off my own leg to escape-

Suddenly, I hear music- someone has loaded up on some really sappy
instrumental crap which seems to make Poopy (sorry, Poppy) go all mushy
against me as she whispers to me how she'd just looooove to dance.
Honestly, that's just the way she breathes it into my ear- "Fox, how I'd
loooooove to dance-" How many "o"s was that? Five or six? Doesn't
matter- I see a light at the end of the tunnel; a reprieve from the
frozen numbness overtaking the left side of my body- for her striped
cheeks have finally, finally removed themselves from my poor leg and now
I am on my feet and dancing with her (well, it feels like dancing - I
can't really tell since one side of me is paralyzed from the waist
down). Whoever was thoughtful enough to pop in some tunes- I owe you my
life, Buddy- who? Who saved me from a life of gangrenous anguish?

Bill Scully. My Man! Saved my ass in more ways than one- got Pippy off
my lap and got Scully just pissed enough to start drinking heavily. So
what if she's hanging out with some geek in a suit? With that sorry
excuse for an erection dangling between his skinny hips- I got no
worries tonight.

It's only a matter of time, before she gets pissed enough to come over
here and do some damage to my poor striped dance-partner- only a matter
of time.

Uh-oh- here she comes. Maybe that last pelvic-pump I performed into
Pappy's sausage-like contained hip area really got her dander up- I
don't think I like that look in her eyes- not one little bit.


Damn- I wish I had a camera. It seems as though I never have a way to
preserve these special moments for posterity, when they occur- and make
no mistake, this is a Polaroid moment, if ever there was one.

Dana Scully, my tiny, perfect partner, 5'2" in her bare feet and maybe
100 pounds naked and dripping wet (now there's a visual I could fall in
love with), has Puppy (Pippy? Poopy? Well, whatever) by the hair and is
dragging her down the hallway- all 5'10" or so of her. I am hearing
much squawking and cursing in a high-pitched squeal, emanating from the
throat of my striped dance-partner, as Scully pulls her along. Boy,
those have to be some kind of muscles in her little arms- I'll have to
check them out later- For now, I am being entertained big-time by
what's happening in Bill Scully's hallway- oh, wait - Scully just tossed
her into a vacant bathroom and slammed the door. Looks like she locked
it, too- and now she's on her way back- this way. And the look in those
blue eyes- Oh hell. I am transfixed by that stare, so intense,
unsmiling- urgent. I stand against a far wall and can't turn my gaze
from my partner's as she approaches me. The music is still playing- and
she's got hold of my hand. One tiny little tug, and I'm moving with
her, all my limbs come to blazing life around her, as I wrap her in my
arms and yank on her until her nose brushes mine (not as hard as it
sounds, considering the size of my honker), and the tips of her breasts
are tickling me. We sway slowly, tightly, to the music, and I am
rapidly losing all focus except for Scully, in my arms, pressed against
me with her soft upper lip almost touching my bottom lip- our breaths
mingle and hers tastes like coconut and sage dressing (don't ask)- All
I have to do is just lean forward about one-quarter of an inch, and I'll
be kissing her- right in her brother's family room. Ah, he'll never
know- he's got his back to us, busy yakking it up with Dickless the
wonder hunk; the studley weasel Scully was laughing with, a seemingly
very long time ago. Had to be a long time ago, because she's been
dancing with me through generations, eons of time; eternity itself, even
though it's only been maybe three minutes. Now she's sliding her hands
down over my back, fingers sliding into the waistband of my slacks-so
brazen, Ms. Scully, especially since you've got your face buried in my
neck and won't look me in the eyes- I have to see her eyes; I wind
fingers into her hair and pull at her until she meets my fascinated
gaze- and the smoldering coals which have replaced her eyes are burning
me alive- and I have suddenly had enough dancing, I think. Time for a
little non-verbal conversation- privately. I whisper to her never to
hide her self from me, ever again- and then I am pulling her over to the
front door, ignoring everyone's protests that it's just too early to
break up the party- Wrong-o, people- keep us here one more minute and
you're gonna see some adult entertainment performed, right here on the
family room floor, which will give new meaning to "Live and Un-cut-"

I pack her into my car and we're off; I'm headed to my hotel as fast as
I dare to drive; Scully hasn't said much, beyond asking me where we're
going. She's nervous now; I have a feeling the drinking she did is
finally processing through her body and she's sobered up quite a bit -
and perhaps wondering what the hell she's gotten herself into. I'm not
letting her off the hook - I got to see Kick-Ass Dana in action just a
short while ago, and I want to see more. I want to experience the
thrill of having her apply those kind of tactics to me, in a
semi-non-violent aspect, of course-

I want to hear Dana Scully scream.

We are silent as we enter my hotel room, and I glance around in a
flurry, relieved to see I hadn't left anything like dirty underwear or
smelly socks lying around. I take off my coat and remove Scully's as
well; she jumps about a foot and I can actually hear the shudder pass
through her body. I walk up to her from behind, just as she mumbles
something about not understanding why I would want to be here with her
like this when Peepy the dancin' queen could be here with me- now, I'm
not going to let that little tidbit of insecurity pass unchallenged -
so I press into her rounded backside, and comb my fingers through her
silky hair before I wind both arms around her waist and murmur into her
ear, "Scully- I know what I like and I'm holding it right now- why
would you ever think I could be attracted to someone with bleached hair
and vinyl tits and -" Her amused voice interrupted my impassioned
avowal with a breathless, "Mulder- silicone, not vinyl-"

"Oh, hell, Scully- potato, potahto- still fake. Anyhow, I wasn't
finished reassuring you - d'ya mind? Where was I? Oh yeah- why should
I want any other woman in this world, when you're right here; always
been right here, in my mind and so deep inside me it's like you have
permanent dibs on my soul-" That gets me a meltdown of impressive
proportions- a meltdown of all her fears, all her worries; she turns in
my arms and gazes up at me with such a hot look it about sears my
eyeballs and I can't wait any longer- I lift her, hard against me, high
into my arms, and I cover her mouth with one deep, starving kiss. Our
first one- and the feel of her lips on mine, the silky little tongue
gliding against my teeth, almost sends me to the edge before I can clamp
down on the endless lust pumping through my veins, and make an effort to
control six years of almost painful need and wanting. Not breaking the
kiss, couldn't bear to stop kissing her, not even long enough to get her
over to the bed, which was really too bad, since that was one damn
comfortable bed - but I have no strength, no willpower left- and it's of
paramount importance to get everything perfect, this very first time -
even if it means doing it on the blasted floor.

My hands are busy slipping off her clothes, as I continue to kiss her
mouth; I am running out of oxygen but I could suffocate a happy man,
right here, right now - her mouth is wondrously mobile, and her teeth
and tongue alternately lick, bite and nip at mine until I think I'll go
out of my frigging mind with the want of her. On top of that, what I am
uncovering with my hands as we kiss - there must be a God, because I
suddenly refuse to believe for one moment that something this insanely
gorgeous could have been fashioned after apes. I am unwrapping my
future Christmas, birthday, Hanukkah, Fourth of July and Election Day
gifts, for the rest of my life, as I unwrap Dana Scully. Skin like pale
silk, perfect rounded breasts tipped in baby pink; delicate bones
underneath it all - she takes my breath away. She stands there with her
eyes boring into me, unmoving, letting me undress her, inch by inch -
and I keep finding all this new, neat stuff, as I systematically work my
way down her body. She has a dimple on her hip - not a scar, not a fold
of skin, but a real honest-to-goodness dimple. I touch it with a gentle
finger, and she sighs; the first sound she's made since we began this
little voyage of discovery. I replace my finger with my tongue, and she
grips my shoulders with tense hands and the sigh becomes a shuddery
gasp. I lift my eyes to hers as I probe that cute little spot, needing
to see her response; and her flushed cheeks and slitted gaze of heat
just about undo me. I need to find the rest of her tender places, all
her best places- I slide the skirt from her hips, to find, underneath
the velvet fabric -

Holy shit with a side of fries-

She's wearing navy silk - a midnight navy garter belt, lacy and frilly
with ribbons and tiny rosettes; and stockings are attached to it, thigh
high stockings with matching lace tops. The contrast between her pale,
perfect legs and that navy color is just enough to send me over the
edge, I swear- I have to think of horrible things, nasty imagery, to
keep myself focused enough not to come right there on the spot. I reach
up to slide down the tiny panties which match the garter belt; a small
scrap of navy lace barely covering anything. I press my face to the
soft hair I have just revealed, and growl into her, "You wore this on
purpose, didn't you? To drive me nuts- to push me right into orbit-
didn't you?" Her moaning affirmation is almost inaudible- but I hear
it. With an answering groan of my own, I tug at her body until she's on
the floor in front of me, opened to me- and I very slowly run the length
of my tongue along her fluttering center- and my lips kiss these sweet
little lips of hers, deeply- and her body is arching off the floor,
every muscle tense with need- she's gonna ache all over in the morning-
I guarantee it. I can wait for it, better believe it - I can wait for
what I want to hear from Dana Scully, as I probe her and lick at her and
nip at her tiny clit- I want to hear her scream, won't be happy until I
do -
she's shuddering so hard now, every inch of her trembling with the blood
and the adrenaline rushing through her; and as I begin to flick hard at
that little knot of nerves, with the tip of my tongue- I become a very
happy man.

Dana Scully is screaming- gasping and screaming, deep and raw in her
throat. And I won't stop, never gonna stop loving her this way; I'm
addicted to the sound of her, gotta hear more, need more, more-

Man, I hope the hotel manager doesn't call the cops on us-


"Mulder- I was not wearing a navy silk garter belt- I've never even
owned anything like that!"

"Scully- I kept it as a memento, after we- well, after. I have it
locked away in my strongbox, up in the attic." He's smirking at her in
glee; she's scowling at him, cheeks hotly pink.

"You are such a liar! And what was up with that little monologue about
how you did me first, Mulder? I pinned you to the bed and took your
clothes off- I had you every which way but hanging from the ceiling, way
before you ever got your hands on me! You need to take a dose of
memory, buddy-"

"Lies, lies, lies, Scully- lemme see that little nose of yours; it's
gotta be as long as a yardstick by now - I had you, first - I had you
big-time, Dana Katherine - right on the damn hotel floor. We didn't
make it to the bed until about an hour later, when you came for maybe
the fourth time-"

"Call me a liar one more time and I'll really have to hurt you, Mulder-
and another thing - where did you ever come up with that touching little
scene about how grateful you were to my moron brother for his major
interference in our lives! He could have turned us against each other,
so easily- I wouldn't speak to him for months after he pulled his crap
on us- while you went on and on about how great he was. He introduced
that weird friend of his, that Scott-person, to me- the man was more
boring than time standing still! And you- pinned down by Pansy the
Inflatable Breast-God, you're gullible-!"

"Poppy, Scully- her name was Poppy- or was it Pippy-?"

"Who the hell cares, Mulder- I would have tossed her in the john no
matter what her name had been-and you think my brother was doing you a
favor, huh? With that dipshit broad sitting in your lap, soaking up
your tripod..." He throws his head back in a laugh; grabs at her and
squeezes the breath from her in glee.

"My 'tripod', as you so charmingly call it, was never in any danger of
being provoked by that dizzy bitch, Scully- now you, on the other hand-
you know just where to prod to get me in a state of no return-" He rubs
himself against her, grinning evilly down into her pink face. She opens
her mouth to say more, and he pounces on her, very effectively shutting
her up. The protests rumbling in her throat turn into one wild groan,
uttered straight into his soul- and he presses her tightly against him
and kisses her senseless. He wants to strip the clothes from her, right
there on the sofa.. strip her bare and bury himself in her so deep he'd
probably come out the back of her- but one little detail makes him
screech to a halt, as he begins to tug on her sweater-

"Daddy? Why are you laying on top of Mommy-?"

End