Two to Tango by JHJ Armstrong piglit1975@aol.com Rating: Most definitely NC-17. Heck, probably more like NC-482. Kiddies, stay away! 13 January 2000 Content: Content: MSR. Explicit sex between two consenting adults. Slightly schmoopy, a little bent. But so am I, so we're ok, then. Summary: Mulder and Scully become partners in every sense of the word. Sequel to "Dancing Fool" and "He Wore A Fedora." Find both at Ephemeral. Distribution: Anywhere. Just keep the headers attached. Feedback: Solemnly read and graciously replied to at piglit1975@aol.com Disclaimer: Ha. As if. At least with me they get some nooky. (I was a tad disappointed in "Orison," can you tell? Not that I thought they would kiss again, but some contact, ANY contact, would have been nice.) No, they're not mine. To Becky again, for really and truly begging. The underground: You're welcome for the nooner. And Alicia K. and TBishop, Exley and Kelly, I appreciate you guys more than words can say. The rest of the notes got a bit long, find it at the end. ======================================== Hyatt Regency Washington, D.C. Room 1751 "Mulder ... you can leave your hat on ..." He chuckles and kisses me again, thoroughly and deeply, carrying me past mirrored closet doors to a king-size bed that sits on a wooden dais about a foot off the ground. A soft, white comforter covers it. I drop his glasses on the table as we pass it, then wind both my hands through his hair. He's been letting it grow, so it's just long enough to really get a grip. It's still a little stiff from the gel. "Hey, partner, your hair's all sticky-outy," I tell him as he sets me down on the bed. He gives me the alpha-male look as only Mulder can, and asks, "Is that a technical term, Scully?" I stick my tongue out at him, feeling playful, and his eyes narrow. He moves to the edge of the bed, planting himself like a panther about to pounce. "Agent Scully," he says, his voice a rumble-growl, "I think you're guilty of insubordination." Lightning-quick, he grabs a leg in each hand and pulls me toward him. The down bedspread offers no resistance, and my momentum puts me squarely against his erection, which I can feel even through his suit fabric. It also hikes up my dress, and his face goes from dominating to feral when he sees I'm not wearing any underwear. "Oh my God, Scully," he whispers, and as fast as he pulled me against him he pushes me away, falls to his knees and buries his face between my legs. I brace for a tongue attack, but he simply breathes deeply, shuddering as he inhales, which arouses me even more than if he'd started licking. "You smell just incredible, Scully. Sweet and womanly. Intoxicating." Sparks of pleasure shoot through me at his words. He turns his head and backs up, placing feather-light kisses on my right thigh near my knee as his hands curve around the outside of my calves, kneading the muscles. His tongue flicks out, giving my skin the tiniest lick, then he nips at the spot. I gasp, and my hips buck involuntarily. He licks and nips a few more times, then turns his attention to the left thigh. He slowly continues his way up, switching from left to right, sucking and licking and biting and nuzzling, until he is millimeters away from where I so badly want him to be. My skin is tingling, my thighs burning slightly from stubble friction. He takes one finger and gently traces up from ass to clit, barely making contact with me, and I want to writhe right off the bed in ecstasy. He does it again and again, a little more pressure each time, progressing to firm sweeps with the pad of his index finger with little circles around my clit at the top. I want to tell him what his touch is doing to me, how crazy he's making me, but all I manage is a guttural, drawn-out "Uuuunnnggghhh." "I take it you approve?" Gee, Mulder, I hope you can read body language, because my higher brain function just isn't working. Realizing my silence is his answer, he lowers his head and starts making long, slow strokes with the flat of his tongue. He alternates with flutter licks and sucking, then gets his fingers into play, first rubbing and then pumping them in and out, setting up an exotic, erotic rhythm that makes me arch my back and thrust my hips to meet his hand and mouth. I am panting, I am moaning, I am crying out his name, I am one gigantic nerve ending waiting for just the right touch and he gives it and I am a rock in a raging rapids, stationary while the water crashes around me, yet touched and changed by each wave. While I come back to myself a little, Mulder stands, takes off his jacket, and climbs up on the bed next to me. I smile weakly as his face appears next to mine. He licks his lips as if he's trying to get every last drop of me. It's sexy as hell. Then he kisses me. After a bit, I finally have enough strength to put my arms around his neck and touch my tongue to his lips, gently probing, asking permission though I know I'll get it. His mouth opens, our tongues touch, but the kiss stays gentle. We lay on our sides, content to explore each other's mouths for now, moving on to ears and necks and other assorted parts when the mood takes us. We kiss for what seems like hours, going from simmer to boil degree by degree. We roll around on top of the bed, hands reaching as far as possible without breaking lip contact. Some time later, Mulder lifts his head and says ... ---------------------------------------------- "Clothes. Off." My voice is steady, but I seem to only be able to speak caveman. Scully spares me from further thought by going to stand at the foot of the bed, crooking a come-hither finger at me while she unzips her dress in the back. I oblige, flopping over and landing on my stomach with my arms hanging over the edge of the bed. Just as I raise my head, she drops the dress. My jaw drops with it. Dana Scully is not wearing a single thing under her dress. Her breasts are just about at eye level, and I gaze at them hungrily, seeing a blush tint her whole body as she sees my reaction. I lift my eyes to her face, taking in the mussed-up hair, kiss-swollen lips, flushed cheeks and shining eyes. She smiles, a sudden, brilliant, loopy smile, and puts her hands on her hips. "Your turn. Get naked so I can ogle you." I actually spring off the bed to stand in front of her. She looks up, all the love in her world directed at me. I kiss her, softly and sweetly, as she proceeds to desuit me. When I am wearing nothing but the crimson g-string, she stops, puts her hands on my abs and slowly pushes me away. Looking me up and down, she nods in approval. "Very nice, Mulder. Very, very nice. Did I tell you how good you looked downstairs?" "No. You didn't." She smiles. "You looked *really* good. But you forgot to do something." Uh-oh. That tone of voice equals trouble. "What do you mean?" "You didn't come get my donation." She turns around to pick up her dress, giving me a terrific view of her toned little derriere, extracts a $20 bill from a little pocket sewn into a side seam and starts walking toward me. It's a Pavlovian response: the closer she gets, the harder I get. The three-inch burgundy heels accentuate the strong lines of her legs, and she does this little shoulder-swagger thing that makes all the right parts jiggle in the all the right places. By the time she is standing in front of me, I am at full mast and bursting out of the g-string. She runs one perfectly manicured, pale pink fingernail across my left collarbone and down the middle of my chest, her mouth immediately tracing her finger's path. She crouches instead of going to her knees, and I can smell her when she spreads her legs. It's almost enough to make me forget the direction her tongue is headed. Almost. She puts her hands on my thighs for balance as she gets lower. Curling the tip of her tongue around the skinny elastic strap, she pulls it away from my hip and holds the money against my skin. She lets the strap snap back, then sits back on her haunches, head tilted to one side, just looking. "Like what you see?" A corner of her mouth quirks up, and she nods vigorously. Her eyes never leave my cock. She runs her left hand up the outside of my right thigh; at the same time, her right hand comes up to cup my balls. She grazes them with her fingernails, and my whole body shivers involuntarily. Satisfied with my reaction to her touch, she smiles. Addressing her comments to my cock, she says, "Mulder, I assume you've had a blow job before." "Well, yes. Several." Where is she going with this? Her laughter is joyful, infectious, with a tinge of wickedness. Two small fists grab hold of the g-string's side straps. A yank rips it off me, and I stand totally exposed. A flick of the wrist sends it flying over her left shoulder. "I bet you've never had one like this." With that, she wraps hand and mouth around me. My knees buckle, my head swims. "Oh, God. GOD. Oh. OhGodohGodohGod ... " --------------------------------------------------------- Below my head, I sense the quivering of Mulder's legs. Above my head, his is thrown back and he is mumbling something about God. I'm tempted to laugh, but I concentrate on the task at hand, thinking about how much we're both going to enjoy this. As I go to work with lips, hand and tongue, I think to myself that Mulder's cock is the perfect size for a blow job. Not too thick, not too thin. Long enough to justify a helping hand, short enough that I can get most of it in my mouth with a deep, open-mouthed stroke. Not too much hair, either, just kind of a fuzz. Like I said, perfect. I've been told that a good blow job is all in the intent. Sure, a limber tongue and a hard-to-trigger gag reflex help, but when a woman likes giving head and lets it show, which I do, it really gets a guy going. And knowing the physiological and psychological components of arousal doesn't hurt. I know, too, that Mulder's turned on by my knowledge of such things. In fact, I'm willing to bet that if I stepped back and catalogued what's happening in his body right now, using my cool, detached scientist's voice, he'd come on my command. I won't, of course, but it's something to consider for the future. I can't tell you how many times I've wondered what Mulder's cock would look like, feel like, taste like. To finally have him, to know the reality, is wonderful. So my intent is to make him wild, crazy out of his mind with desire. Then we'll hop back on the bed and have mad, passionate, animalistic sex until neither one of us can move. I kneel so I can get better leverage. Getting as much of his cock into my mouth as I can, I hollow out my cheeks and suck for all I'm worth, pumping up and down slowly. I pay close attention to his reaction, so I know when to keep going and when to change pace. Once he has recovered from the initial onslaught, I speed up just a bit, lessening the suction. On each downstroke, I swirl my tongue around the bottom of his cock, flicking the underside of the head with the tip of my tongue at the end of each upstroke. Changing pace again, I stroke the bottom half with my hand, keeping time with my mouth on the upper half. I glance up at him to see how he's doing, pleased to note the sweat on his forehead and the way he's biting his lip -- whether it's to keep from crying out or coming, I'm not sure. I don't want him to come, but I do want him on the edge of control, so I switch to fast and furious with mouth only, wrapping my arms around his legs and pressing my breasts into his thighs. He moans, a long, drawn-out nonsense syllable, and grabs my shoulders, barely restraining himself from driving into me. I touch his balls again, feeling the way they have tightened, and when he shouts "Scully!" I know it's time to move on. Abruptly, I break free, waiting until he looks down at me, chest heaving and hazel eyes blazing. Never breaking eye contact, I lick from the base of his cock to the tip, swirling my tongue around the head. I stand, letting my nipples graze his body all the way up. "Meet you at the bed." I move toward it ... ----------------------------------------------- ... and I scoop her up, throw her on the bed, climb up, latch my mouth onto her left breast and drive into her as deep and as hard as I can go. She is wet and warm, smooth and tight. Her back arches, the walls of her vagina squeeze and ripple around me. She cries out, calling my name, one thrust, then another, both of us bucking like prize bulls at a rodeo. I keep grinding into her, leaning up on one elbow and reaching between us to rub her clit while she uses both hands to play with her nipples and breasts. Her head tosses, mouth open; she seems ready to explode at any moment. One particularly deep and hard stroke, and she comes noisily, completely, shaking and sweating all at once. I lean forward on my elbows, kiss her shoulder and idly stroke her hair until she has quieted a little. A few quick thrusts, just to hear her gasp again, and I rest for a moment myself. Her fingers comb through my hair, and she giggles. "It's still all sticky-outy. But I like it." "I'll show you sticky-outy." I start to stroke in and out again, gradually increasing the pace, changing the angle of my thrusts, watching her face. Beautiful. She grabs my ass, and smiles. "What?" Her smile broadens. "Oh, nothing ... I was just picturing you doing this while you were dancing downstairs. The reality is much better." "Same here." I slow again, kissing her mouth. She directs me to her breasts, and I run my tongue around each nipple in turn, nibbling on one while pinching the other, then kneading with my hands. She is soon writhing and squirming beneath me. I have slipped out of her in the meantime, so I choose this moment to slip right back in. We both moan at the re-establishment of contact. Her right hand flops up to lay next to her ear, and I grab it with my left, intertwining our fingers and using them to provide leverage for a little extra "oomph" at the end of each thrust. We move at a steady, moderate tempo, and it seems to be just what I needed because I am suddenly on the edge, virtually unable to hold back. "Scully ..." I manage to say. She opens her eyes and looks at me, blue pools of passion. "Yes, Mulder. I want to feel you come inside me." With her permission I let go, and squeezing her hand tightly, I switch to autopilot, letting my orgasm overpower me, thrusting deeply until I am spent, shuddering and sated. I collapse, and her arms go around my shoulders. We stay like that for a minute or two. Then, my innate smart-ass comes to life, and I have to ask. "So, did you come?" She tells me with a look the answer to that, and I grin the grin of a well-loved, happy man. Hey, I may ordinarily be a melancholy SOB, but even we melancholy SOBs know when to live in the moment. This moment is all about Scully, and I'm thankful she seems to feel the same way about me. ------------------------------------------------ He pulls me back against the pillows with him, tucking my head against his shoulder. I breathe in sex-scented Mulder, sigh and snuggle in contentedly. "Scully, I was wondering ..." "Yes?" "You're not gonna start calling me Fox now, are you?" "Of course not, Mulder." I wrap an arm around his middle. "Let's get some sleep." "Mm-kay." A few minutes pass, then, "Um, Scully?" I wake just enough to say, "This better be good." He swallows. "I love you, Scully. With all my heart. Forever." I look up at his face, melting at the honest, naked emotion I see there. Nodding, I tell him, "Forever. And a day." ------------------------------------------ feedback to piglit1975@aol.com thanks for playing Random eructations: The long-awaited, much-anticipated sequel to "Dancing Fool" and "He Wore a Fedora!" Okay, so five of you wrote to say you'd never read another word of mine if I didn't come through with the smut. Here 'tis. Sorry for the sappiness at the end. It just wouldn't finish any other way. :P No all-star cast this time, just our two intrepid agents. And a bed. As for the whole multiorgasmic thing, I truly believe any woman is capable of it. A partner such as Mulder would certainly not be a hindrance, I'm thinking. Yes, I know the title's a cliche, but that's kind of the way this whole universe turned out, no? Don't know if I'll go camping again anytime soon, but I think this trip was a success. Believe it or not, "Fedora" was originally intended as nothing but a standalone. Then somebody wondered how Mulder would prepare, I had this vision of Paul Mercurio in "Strictly Ballroom," and the thing just squirted out of control. In my pile of "To Be Worked On When I Have A Minute Or Six" is a Scully vignette, a literary essay on the television show, my Web site and a creepy casefile. Have I piqued your interest? Well, click that little reply button and fire away. And if anybody is in the Miami area on Jan. 22, I'll be playing at the Orange Bowl as part of the Women's Professional Football League's first-ever All-Star game. We're also in Atlanta Jan. 29 as part of the Super Bowl festivities. Rah! Rah!