Sun-Kissed by Mish mish_rose@yahoo.com Distribution: Anywhere, with permission. Rating: NC-17 Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance, PWP Spoilers: None Disclaimer: Not mine. Summary: A little beach fantasy for a cold winter's day. Author's notes at end. Sun-Kissed She'd always remember this day in beautiful, vivid color. Close her eyes against the slash of sun from the small window above Mulder's desk and raise her face to it, remembering. Back in the office, a place subdued by shadows inanimate as well as all too human, she'd think of orange. Not her favorite color by any means. In the real world, too frantic, too blaring. The fast-food industry made good use of it; who wanted to linger in a booth screaming at you to eat and leave? But sun-kissed orange... that was entirely different. Her sunglasses gave the scene before her a soothing tint, the late afternoon sunlight coating it in simmering bronze. She approached on slow, measured steps, savoring the sight with a curl of her lips. Her toes dug into the sand with delicious strength, the dusky pink nails sinking and rising, sinking and rising... her calves tight, her hips swaying, a trickle of sweat following her spine in a snaking trail to disappear beneath the slice of orange nothing draped low on her hips. The bikini was her idea. She'd bet he didn't remember it hanging in the shop window when they'd arrived last week; lust, while Mulder's constant, secret companion, wasn't exactly a friend this afternoon. He was a bear with a sore paw. Totally frustrated but equally unwilling to call an end to their vacation until he was damned good and ready. But she remembered the faraway look in his eyes as he stared at the mannequin, the one that said she herself stood before him in his heated mind in nothing but scraps of orange lycra. A peck on his warm cheek, and she was gone. Treasures came easy to one in a place like this. Battered yet surf- smoothed coins washed ashore on the beach. A convertible available with a flick of plastic; when one absolutely *must* ride, it must be done in style. 'Grabber orange', the rental ticket said. Colors became part of the bounty as well. A lustful reach for freedom, for the exhilarating tang of horsepower and speed, on a beach road that did nothing but circle an island. An endless loop of decadence and isolation, made for taking chances and living for the moment. A secluded condo on an empty beach, in the perfect spot to bask in a glorious sunset each and every day. Made for coming off the high and just relaxing, for swimming without the restriction of clothes and for making love with the windows open to the sea breeze. A man, all shiny with sweat. Lying in a woozy nap while yards of mosquito netting swayed about him. The one booty that surpassed them all, she thought with an inner snicker. She hadn't replied, just smiled at his attempt to lighten his funk. Just as she did now when she saw a smidgen of toes around the edge of the netting. Nice toes. Pink toes. Her smile faded a bit; hadn't she told him to keep up with the sunscreen? Half an hour gone and he'd slipped into negligence again. So, so easy for Mulder. Then again, the tropics tempted anyone into oblivion. Dropping the opened bag on her side of the double chaise, she licked the nacho cheese from her fingers and reached for the sunscreen. As the sun dipped low in the sky, the canopy had surrendered its protective ceiling. Rays of waning sunlight tickled his legs and feet while he slept on in blissful limbo. The little plastic fingers- on-a-stick drooped from a limp hand to paw in the sand. Limbo. When would he ever learn? Aloe vera, coconut, slippery and cool - the cream, stored in the ice chest, was bound to be soothing. She noticed faint scratch marks above his knee and went for them first. It wouldn't have surprised her to see teeth marks somewhere in the vicinity. But for all his moves, Mulder wasn't *that* limber. He didn't move as she applied the balm, proof his slumber had a little help. Actually, she quite liked him this way. Supine and totally at her mercy. All golden and unshaven, his legs spread to catch the cooling sea spray, his lips parted in heavy, humid breathing. Tiny lines of dampness defined his chest and shoulders; beads of sweat dotted his upper lip. A small pool of moisture rose and fell above the waistband of his trunks. "Oh my," she breathed, watching that 'innie' tantalize, her tongue darting out unbidden and treacherous in its sudden need to taste. Not yet. Savor. Prolong. Tease, touch, tremble. What fun. On the other hand, what agony. Already, the feel of his thigh under her hand created a form of torture. So hard and hairy, so mouth-watering in its definition. She kneaded at her leisure, taking long minutes to reach his toes. She plunged her hands, warm from his skin, into the icewater before easing more sunscreen over the surely fiery little fellows. He sighed, his foot shifting. "Scully?" "Your toes are getting pink, Mulder," she murmured by way of explanation. She couldn't tell if his eyes were open behind the shades. It was doubtful, given he hadn't raised his head from the pillow of his arm. Beneath her slow massage he stretched, his low rumble of pleasure making her heart skip a beat. "Where ya been?" he mumbled through half-sleep. "Doritos." "Mmm." He no longer craved the snack, not with those cool fingers massaging places almost baked by the sun. All thought of a more mundane hunger dissipated under her touch. It felt so good. Almost detached, as if his mind lagged a second or two behind his nerve endings. Lassitude spread, whisking away any notion of total awakening. He didn't want to open his eyes, content to just feel. Scully was always better than junk food. Head lolling, he listened to the feather light scratch of her nails on his body. Before long the intimate, slow rasp overpowered the pounding surf. He shifted, feeling her knee insinuate itself between his legs. A hint of something bold wafted over him. If he allowed it, he might bring to mind more trivial things. Baby aspirin. Tang. He grimaced slightly, remembering the smell of furniture polish and cantaloupe. Very few orange things were actually pleasant, he decided in an instant. In the next, he realized orange wasn't so bad. Soft hands spread a fragrant balm over his chest. A little sigh communicated his contentment, much better than any words. It was enough. Those fingers caressed his arms, stretching the tired muscles until his wrists lay captured above his head. "Scully?" He tried to pick his head up in a sudden awareness of how trapped he was by her hands. But the slow slide of open lips across the pulse in his neck stilled him. A tickle of damp hair caressed the hollow of his shoulder, and he shivered despite the heat of the day. With a smile he arched his neck, asking for more. She complied, taking a nip at his ear lobe before trailing kisses along his jaw. Lips parted, he waited. Above him, she moved like a cat, with little brushes of teeth and claws over his skin. Pulling and digging into him. A ginger tabby claiming possession, her mouth seeking, searching... The nip of spicy cheese licked at his lips; he let it take over, let her kiss him with her tongue - a willing mouse caught in her trap. Moments passed with a heat building where their mouths clung; he groaned when she left him, wanting to prolong the taste. Her hands skimmed down his arms, her voice husky but demanding. "Leave 'em there, Mulder." His mouth dry with anticipation, his hands fisted through the mesh straps above his head. This was too good to miss. Forcing his eyes open, he at first saw nothing but sun-bleached muslin. Above and all around him, snapping then rippling in the breeze. His head felt as one with the billowing canopy, light and carefree. Nothing else registered but the slide of skin against skin. A flash of color caught his eye; he dipped his chin, lips lax at the sight. Scully knelt between his thighs, two scraps of tangerine temptation stretched taut across her breasts and hips, held there by limp, girlish bows. Barely there, they offered little in the way of concealment - but untold riches in the body beneath. He raised a hand to touch, licking his lips. All it would take is one pull at the bow - She stopped his hand with one of her own. His arm relaxed at her low hiss of dissent. Unruly auburn waves swirled about her face as she pressed his hand back down. He gave a dissatisfied grunt of his own, but it was short-lived, as she stretched up above him. He watched, mesmerized. The siren she'd become smiled and swayed to the music of the surf. For a brief moment, her sinuous form left his vision. It seemed she moved in slow motion, reaching to the side - he heard the tinkle of ice, felt her come back, saw her suck the crystal clear medallion between red lips. Her grin was that of a tigress, her eyebrows rising behind her shades. Then the vision in orange was gone from sight. Sweat beaded on him in a rush, his hips rising to meet the soft brush of her body. It was torture, worse than anything he'd felt in the past day. Pain of a different kind tightened his lower limbs and he dug in his heels in an effort to relieve the mounting pressure in his groin. A little laugh blew over his stomach, a rough tongue dipped into his navel, a pair of light hands pulled at his trunks. Then... oh, God, she was there. A well of blessed coolness wrapped around him. Gentle hands traced the angles of his pelvis before slipping under to caress his ass. It took no effort on her part to make him arch up; his body reacted to the pull of her mouth in an instant, his neck straining as he let out a long, slow growl of pleasure. He tried to watch, slowly blinking once, then twice. The scene before him was a blend of white sand and blue sky, her face now a blur of peachy sunset dipping low. The colors bled together in his mounting sexual haze, his sunglasses no protection against the burst of gold and fire. His lashes squeezed together, sweat and salt stinging his eyes. Warmth gathered low, his hips now picking up her rhythm. Completion hovered near, and it was with a groan he felt her mouth leave him. A protest slid past his lips, his head shaking at the bereft sense of loss. Placating murmurs reached his ears, then even softer sounds of movement... the pull of fabric - was it the bikini top or bottom? Curiosity willed him to test his vision, but another, more urgent sound reached him. The rush of ice cubes sliding against one another, the drip of watery pellets hitting the sand. He jerked at the icy shower that hit his chest, sucking in a raw breath. Then another, as he felt her hand slowly guide his length into her body. Hot and cold, tropical sun and wintergreen... the slide of chilled lycra over his belly and the grip of steaming walls around his cock. The opposites untangled his fingers at last, opened his eyes wide, and tensed his shoulders as he struggled to breathe. The bottom. Definitely the bottom. She moved upon him, her hands gripping the scrap of orange just above the mingling of light hair and dark. Pressing with each downward thrust, her mouth slack, her knees gripping his body. Lost in concentration, she didn't make a sound when he stole the glasses from her face. Glazed blue eyes looked at him from beneath lowered lashes, and he knew she was no longer in control. But he was, at last. He schooled his arousal to a slow burn and gently pried the bikini bottom from her fingers. The open ice chest beckoned, and he wasted no time wetting it anew, eyeing the skimpy top that still covered her breasts. Puckered nipples begged for his touch... he grinned, curling one hand around her ass as he lifted the other, dripping with water-soaked payback. "Mulder!" The cascade of cold hit her chest and she faltered for only a second in her ride. Her hand came up to cover his, to guide the makeshift sponge over her heated skin. Below her, he grinned, and she knew she'd asked for it. Somehow, she'd wanted it - and despite the shock, the conflict of sensation served to build her desire to aching proportions. She felt the need to touch him blossom within and wordlessly, she pulled him to a sitting position. His smile faded as their upper bodies met, the cold cloth pinched between their straining bellies. She felt it bleed water still, over her thighs and his, tiny rivulets of gooseflesh trailing in its wake. His mouth closed over hers, his hands gripped her backside, his knee came up to hold her in place. She kept moving, faster now, escaping his devouring kiss in order to drag air into her lungs, her back straight and long as she climbed to orgasm. His mouth, denied her kiss, closed over one cloth-covered nipple. The nip of teeth over the tight bud made her cry out... and she shattered, her face falling into the slope of his neck, her own teeth and lips marking his shoulder. A gasp expanded his chest and his head left her as his own orgasm rushed through him. His breath hissed over her skin as his hands gripped her hips in a bruising clasp, grinding her down to meet his pulsing release. Sated, she allowed him to pull her down with him. They laid for long minutes, the dwindling sun giving way to a cooler embrace of evening breeze. A last trickle of sweat on her back made her shiver and she felt him move. The scrape of little plastic fingers brought her back to awareness, the scratcher reminding her their exercise was not without repercussions. "How's the leg?" she murmured into his neck, squirming slightly against the tickle on her back. Mulder chuckled, dropping the scratcher in the sand. "Doesn't itch anymore. Doesn't hurt, either. Matter of fact, it feels pretty good." It should. Mind-blowing sex on top of painkillers, a Caribbean sunset on an isolated beach? Guaranteed to make the most powerful of hurts disappear. "Did you notice... I got Doritos," she said. "And a new bikini. Nice. Thank you." Despite the way she'd awakened him, she knew he was still a bit woozy. Scully dipped her chin to eye the cast that reached from foot to knee. "Limbo?" she remarked dryly. "Limbo." His hand caressed her hip. "Admit it - for a while there, I was transcending the limits of the bamboo pole. Rising on the other side in a spiritual expression of triumph over repression. Like a brilliant sunrise after a stormy night. Joe said so." She almost pointed out that 'Jamaica Joe', their ebullient host, was no more Jamaican than they were. Even the eyepatch seemed to mysteriously move from one side of his face to another as the days passed. But she said nothing, content to just let Mulder drift in his ignorance. Limbo. Chaise lounge limbo. "Scully?" "Mmm?" "I could sure use something wet right about now. My mouth feels like I swallowed a wad of cotton." With a wicked grin, she reached into the ice chest. Sticky, cold, thirst-quenching. Big bold letters proclaiming the sweetness within kissed by the sun. She squeaked when she found herself flat on her back, Mulder looming over her, the plaster on his lower leg no hindrance to mobility. He drained half the bottle in several gulps before smiling. His shades were gone, his eyes sharp and narrowed with mischief. So much for woozy. "Sunkist, Scully." He held the bottle above her stomach. Cold pooled in her navel and she gasped, her eyes drifting shut. Impossible that she could ever forget. So very... "Orange," she sighed. "Definitely my new favorite flavor." END Many thanks to the ladies of Musea for the beta and excited encouragement. I think I may have shocked Forte to her toes when I asked for beta; never saw a subject line like that, hon. :) Speaking of, this was really her idea, as she'd challenged me long ago to write a story using these elements: Muldertoes a back scratcher a convertible a bag of Doritos mosquito netting Seems I'm not quite through with XF fic after all. Feedback is much appreciated, though I'm very bad at replying. Limited access to my mail and all that. But my thanks for reading! This one's for Sybil. A whole year late, but Happy Birthday, sweetie!