TITLE:   Wine 5 - MEAD
AUTHOR:  Dianora
RATING:  NC-17

Yeah, yeah, I know mead isn't *wine,* it's an *ale,* 
but alcohol is alcohol.  I don't feel like changing 
this to the Potent Potables Series, it would be way 
too Alex Trebek.  <g>

Rated NC17 for sexual situations.  I think you all 
know this by now. :-)  There's a turning point of 
sorts in Mulder and Scully's relationship in this piece.  
That doesn't mean I plan on making this series a 
continuing story; I just thought I'd inject something a 
little weightier this time around.  Hope it's still fun.  
Comments and suggestions for future wine selections 
and scenarios to Dianora2@aol.com.

The Renaissance Festival depicted here is based 
on the New York Renaissance Festival held in Tuxedo, 
New York every summer.  Whether they have this stuff 
at other Ren fairs I have no idea.  I hope no one 
involved with the NYRF reads this and takes offense.  
I'm writing this out of love for the Festival.

Usual rigmarole: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are not 
characters of my creation and they do not belong to me.  
They are the possessions of people who like to refer 
to characters as possessions, namely Chris Carter, 
1013 Productions, and Fox Broadcasting Company.  

This installment of "Wine" is dedicated to my cyber 
twin, Leikin Sky, who once asked me, "Are you ever 
going to have something else happen in this series, 
or are they just going to have sex every time?"  Or 
words to that effect, anyway. <g>  I'm not sure if this 
qualifies, twinnie, but hopefully you'll like it anyway. :-)
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"What can I get for ye, m'lady?" the buxom blonde 
inquired in a heavy, fake, British accent.

Scully eyed the woman's breasts, which were pushed 
up to her neck thanks to the brocade corset she was 
wearing.  "Two cups of mead, please," she answered, 
in a tone of voice that clearly said, I Am Not Impressed.

The blonde poured the amber liquid into two plastic 
cups and handed them to Scully with an all too jaunty 
flair, then took Scully's money, frowning slightly when 
Scully didn't contribute to the small wicker basket 
marked YE OLDE TIPS.  "Thankee, m'lady," she said 
grudgingly.

Scully gave the woman a tight smile and walked 
away, looking for a sign of her errant partner, who 
was off buying her a surprise gift.  At least, he 
seemed to think it was going to be a surprise.  She 
hadn't had the heart to inform him that his announcing 
he "had to take care of something" as his eyes 
twinkled gave him away completely.

She scanned the eating area for him, squinting her 
eyes against the glare of the hot midday sun, but 
gave up finally, sitting down at one of the numerous 
wooden tables and sipping cautiously at her mead.  
Hmm.  Not bad, actually.  Tangy.  With a hell of a 
kick to it.  A yellowjacket buzzed around the rim of 
the cup, and she swatted at it impatiently.

Before she could take another sip she spied out 
of the corner of her eye a colorfully-clad, ridiculously 
good-looking, over-eager juggler inching his way 
in her direction with his bright rubber balls.  She 
shot him a forbidding glare and was gratified to see 
him smile weakly before retreating in search of 
more gullible prey.  That's right, take your balls 
somewhere else, buddy, she thought with a smirk.  
She still couldn't quite believe that she had agreed 
to accompany Mulder to a Renaissance Festival.  
Not in a million years would she have thought it was 
his type of thing, but the passion with which he 
spoke of the pageantry, the jousting -- and of all 
things the pickles -- had been enough to convince 
her to go along for the ride.  It wasn't like she had 
anything better to do.  To be honest, now that she 
was here she was enjoying herself more than she 
had expected.  She had little patience for 
the fake accents, overflowing cleavage, and such 
anachronisms as falafel stands, but the mood of the 
fair was unarguably infectious.  Plus, she now 
understood just why Mulder loved it so much.  Like 
attracts like, freak attracts freak and all that.

She let out an unsurprised sigh when Mulder 
finally returned bearing a garland of flowers for 
her hair.  "You can't be serious," she said, looking 
up at him from her seat.  He had already outfitted 
himself earlier in the day in a long, black, hooded 
cloak: quite an extravagant purchase, but she had 
to admit she experienced a pleasant tingling in 
her nether regions at the sight of him.  She felt 
downright underdressed in her own casual garb 
of a v-neck white men's undershirt, blue jean 
shorts slung low on her hips, and black Doc Marten 
shoes.

"Come on.  This'll look great on you," he insisted.

He *had* selected a lovely color combination.  Dried 
cornflowers, babies' breath, and daisies, with midnight 
blue, powder blue, and white ribbons trailing off the back, 
which she had to admit would look great against her hair.  
Many of the women at the fair were wearing similar 
adornments in a riot of colors.  She sighed again, a 
particular sigh of resignation reserved exclusively for 
Mulder.  "Okay, give it to me."  She stood up and took 
it from him, then tentatively set it atop her head and 
fought back a smile at the way his eyes took her in 
appreciatively.  "I really think these are more for women 
with longer hair," she observed.

He shook his head.  "No they're not.  You look...
you look perfect," he said softly.  He reached out 
to run his fingers through the satin ribbons, then 
planted a kiss on her forehead.

"If anyone at the Bureau saw me right now, I'd 
never hear the end of it," she grumbled, trying to 
maintain her composure in the face of his affection.  
It was unfortunately a losing battle.

"What they don't know won't hurt them.  Is that mead?" 
he asked abruptly, picking up the untouched plastic cup.

"Yeah.  It's not bad. I assumed they'd have watered it 
down, but it tastes pretty strong," Scully said.

He sipped the drink warily, then nodded in approval.  
"Good."  He gulped down some more, nodded again.  
"Damn good!"

"Do you want to check out this 'Living Chess Game' 
or not?" she asked, whipping Ye Olde Faire Mappe 
out of her black leather shoulder bag and attempting to 
decipher the cryptic symbols.  She noticed that a crude 
drawing of an outhouse with a crescent moon on the 
door represented the restrooms.  Charming.

"Yeah, that's one of the best bits they do here," he said 
enthusiastically.  He tossed back the rest of the mead.  
"But first I want to get one for the road."

"Get me one too," she said.  She drank greedily from 
the cup, draining it.  This stuff really was great!  It was 
a wonder they managed to get anything accomplished 
back in the Middle Ages, with this stuff around.

He took just a little too long talking to that blonde 
barmaid when he placed his order, as far as Scully was 
concerned, but he made it up to her with a mock bow 
and a wink when he returned with two fresh cups.  
"More mead for m'lady," he said in an atrocious imitation 
of the wench's accent.

She rolled her eyes at him.  "Come on, let's go watch 
that Checker Game."

"Chess Game."

"Whatever."

On their way across the grounds to the Chess Board 
they had to cross a bridge, a quaint wooden span over 
a small pond, covered in multi-colored streamers, with 
a large placard above it proclaiming "Kissing Bridge" 
in exquisite calligraphy.  How wonderfully schmaltzy, 
Scully thought cynically.  She eyeballed Mulder, but 
he pretended not to notice -- although his hand 
tightened its grip on hers.  They started over, and 
when they were halfway to the other side Scully 
thought she just might escape with her dignity intact.

Fat chance.

He stopped in his tracks and pulled her to him, 
forcing his tongue into her mouth and going at it 
vigorously.  She tried to maintain some remnant 
of composure, but he was just too damn sexy for 
her to resist, so she wound up giving as good as 
she got, certain they were making a spectacle of 
themselves.  When he finally pulled away they 
were both breathless.

"You're a real cheeseball, you know that, Mulder?" 
she murmured, eyes sparkling.

"Are you complaining?"

She smiled up at him.  "Who?  Me?"

He grinned back and slung his arm over her 
shoulder.  It was so nice, he reflected, as he 
sipped contentedly at his drink, to be able to 
show affection in public, to casually drop a quick 
kiss on the top of Scully's head before the two of 
them continued on their way across the fairgrounds.  
Sure, they had taken separate cars and chosen 
a Festival two states away, but still...  "Look, 
Scully, there's another mead stand."

"Mulder, you're not even finished with what you 
have," she said, sounding a little too much like 
his mother for comfort.  Against his will he 
flashbacked to bargaining sessions for dessert 
with his parents.

"But I will finish it by the time we get to the 
Chess Board."

Can't argue with that logic, Scully decided.  
"All right.  Get me another one, too."

"You lush."

"Be quiet."  She watched him unabashedly as 
he loped over to yet another blonde barmaid 
(do they breed them special? she wondered) and 
asked for a refill.  The pleasant sensation in her 
nether regions was quickly turning into an 
insistent throbbing.  Now is not the time, she 
reprimanded herself.  The aroused organs in 
question didn't listen.  She gnawed on her lower 
lip and tried to think about something safe, like 
nucleotides.  Nope.  No luck.

Mulder looked at her questioningly when he 
came back with the mead refills.  "Something the 
matter?"

"No," she said quickly, too quickly.  "Give me that."  
She grabbed the cup from him and took big gulps, 
concentrating on the burn that spread through her 
body as she drank.  Time to practice a little self-
control, as Sister Ernestine used to say, she told 
herself firmly.  Still, she couldn't suppress a slight 
shudder as he absently ran his fingers up and 
down her back.  Did he have any idea what he 
did to her?  Probably not, the dense bastard.

When they arrived at their destination, Scully 
discovered that the Living Chess Game took place 
on a large "board," consisting of squares spray-
painted onto the grass.  The teams were made up 
of live combatants assigned to each position, one 
team representing Robin Hood and his Merry Band,
 the other, the Sheriff of Nottingham and his lackeys.  
The captain, or king, of each team called out the 
moves and their teammates complied.  To determine 
which piece was to be "captured," the two opposing 
team members engaged in armed or hand-to-hand 
combat.  The entire event was naturally 
accompanied by a steady stream of bawdy humor 
from the participants.

Mulder and Scully managed to claim a small 
section of grass for themselves, and as soon as 
they sat down Mulder pulled Scully to him so that 
she was sitting in front of him, his legs framing 
hers, his arms wrapped around her.  Their half-
empty cups teetered precariously on the ground 
beside them.

Mulder could hardly believe that the simple act 
of embracing Scully could stir up such complex 
and seductive sensations.  He pressed his face 
against her hair, the smell of her shampoo mixing 
pleasantly with the fragrance from the dried 
flowers in her garland, and tried to enjoy the 
spectacle of the Chess Game, but instead 
found himself distracted by the feel of his 
partner's body against his, the way her back 
fit neatly against his chest, the way her hand 
rested lightly on his knee.  He drank the rest 
of his mead, which predictably only heightened 
his erotic feelings.  Idiot, he berated himself.  If 
Scully only knew what he was thinking about her 
right now...actually, she'd probably make him act 
on it.  The thought made him grin wolfishly.

It's amazing that we can be together like this, 
Scully thought, after all we've been through, 
after all the detours along the way.  She had 
little interest in the Chess Game, so she was 
all too attuned to the feel of Mulder's arms 
encircling her, to the warm breeze that was his 
breath in her hair.  The mead was doing its job 
a little too well, and she was feeling increasingly...
aroused.  There was no more delicate way to 
put it.  She wanted Mulder at that instant, wanted 
him inside of her, wanted to feel his hands claiming 
her breasts...she shivered, and Mulder tightened 
his embrace in response.

"Are you cold?" he whispered into her ear.

"No," she managed to answer through dry lips.  
Experiencing a tiny thrill at her own audacity, she 
began to methodically massage his thigh, tracing 
heavy circles on his black jeans.

His breath caught in his throat.  What the hell was 
she doing?  Didn't she realize he was more than 
willing to fight fire with fire?  Or was she counting 
on it?  He brushed her hair away from the nape of 
her neck, exposing the ivory skin, and began 
placing soft kisses there, right where he knew it 
drove her absolutely nuts.

She immediately stiffened in his embrace.  It was 
so unfair that he knew exactly what to do to make 
her crazy.  She reached back with one hand to 
caress the back of his head as the other 
continued to knead his thigh.  When one of 
Mulder's hands brushed her breast ever so 
slightly, she bit her lip and wondered what 
would happen if she were to climax in front of 
all these people.  It'd probably be a better show 
than the Living Chess Game, she thought acidly, 
then looked up to see a tow-headed boy, about 
ten years old, sitting on the grass a few feet away 
and watching her and Mulder with wide brown 
eyes.  His green felt dragon hand puppet lay 
on the ground beside him, forgotten.

My sin for the day, she thought ruefully.  
Corrupting a little boy, how lovely.  Mulder, 
oblivious to their pre-adolescent audience, 
continued to tongue the back of her neck and 
began to slide his hand down toward her crotch.

Deciding to take some action toward a mutually 
satisfying conclusion that wouldn't get them 
arrested for contributing to the delinquency of a 
minor, Scully clamped her hand down on 
Mulder's to halt his exploratory expedition, then 
twisted around so that her lips were just not 
quite touching his.

He was already breathing raggedly, and his 
hazel eyes glistened with raw need.  "I want you," 
he whispered hoarsely.

"Prove it," she said, and the next thing he knew 
she was taking off for the forest at a run, trusting 
him to follow.

Which of course he did, knowing he could 
overtake her whenever he wanted, knowing 
that she knew he could overtake her whenever 
he wanted.  But he didn't want to catch up to 
her too soon.  He wanted to make sure they 
were deep enough into the woods first.  Deep 
enough that no one would be able to hear them 
scream.

When he allowed himself to catch her he grabbed 
her arm and spun her around, pushing her up 
against the nearest gnarled tree and pressing 
the length of his body against hers.  A deep 
moan escaped from his throat as they kissed, 
hard, bruising their mouths, clutching urgently 
at each other, pulling at clothes, clawing at belts.  
There was no romance here, no soft light and 
candles, just pure, unadulterated desire.  Within 
moments Mulder's cloak fell to the ground with 
a flutter, creating a dark pool on the forest floor.  
Scully's shorts and underwear and Mulder's 
jeans and boxers soon followed.

He reached up under her shirt to cup her breasts, 
rubbing his fingers over the nipples through the 
lace bra, fighting the urge to rip the garment off 
of her completely.  Scully gasped and with frantic 
hands took hold of his cock, stroking it purposefully, 
guiding it toward her, nearly overpowering him 
with the force of her wanting.  And then suddenly 
his world shifted and he was inside of her, 
thrusting madly, pushing her up against the tree 
trunk as she dug her nails into his back and 
held on for dear life, their moans and panting 
unnaturally loud in the quiet of the woods, far 
away from the activity of the Festival fairgrounds.  
He had no rational thought beyond the need 
to pump into her, no sensations outside of 
the pleasure of being sheathed in her hot, 
soft flesh.

"So good," he whispered.  "Jesus, Scully..."

"No, Mulder," she hissed.  "Don't talk.  
Just ...just fuck me."

Mulder took hold of Scully's arms and held 
them above her head, kissing her thoroughly 
as he thrusted into her more violently, sharing 
her need to have it rough, to have it rough 
enough to block out the rest of the world, to 
give expression to the raw animal need flowing 
through both of them.  Her thighs gripped his 
and she tried to match his movements despite 
her awkward position, trying to pull him deeper 
into her, wanting him to fill her completely. 
When he tore his mouth away from hers she 
opened her eyes and looked at him, loving 
the pleasure she was inflicting upon him.  
This was true power, but power with no 
motive other than pleasure and the need for 
release.  She leaned her head forward to 
bite at his shoulder, and he groaned, nipping 
at her neck in response.  When he lifted her 
shirt and pushed aside one cup of the bra to 
tease and suck at her nipple, she lost it.  She 
clung to him as she convulsed against him, 
around him, coming quietly, emitting soft 
sighs and short, sharp exclamations of pleasure.

He exploded soon after, emptying himself 
into her and gasping her name.  He leaned 
against her and wrapped his fingers in her 
hair as Scully waited for her body to stop 
shuddering.

"Love you," he whispered.

Scully froze. "Excuse me?" she croaked.

He lifted his head up and their eyes met.  "I --"

"Oh God Mulder," she said wearily.

"I didn't just say that," he babbled.  "I didn't."  
He let go of her and began to pick his clothes 
up from the ground, stepping hastily into his 
boxers.  "Forget it."

"How can I?  Mulder, I thought...I thought we 
both understood that we can't let things get 
too complicated..."  She tried to catch his eye 
as she reached down for her own clothes, 
but he refused to look at her.

"It's a little late for that, don't you think?" he 
bit out, pulling on his jeans.

"I didn't think it was," she said carefully, 
taking some tissues out of her bag and 
wiping off her thighs.  They had so studiously 
avoided the word "love," the same way 
they had avoided "commitment," and "relationship."  
Their world was too tenuous for that, too 
unstable to allow something as abstract 
as love to cloud matters, to twist them so 
that they were even more complicated than 
they already were.  When she finished dressing 
she studied him intently, trying to decipher what 
was going through that brilliant and complicated 
mind.  He was busy futzing with his cloak.  
"Mulder, look at me.  Please."

His head snapped up and he stepped closer 
to her, until she actually took a stumbling step 
backwards.  "No Scully.  You look at me.  You 
look straight at me and tell me that what you 
feel for me, what we have, isn't love.  Go ahead."

She met those hazel eyes bravely, determined 
that at least one of them should try to be sensible 
about this whole thing, should insist on keeping 
things simple...

"I can't, Mulder.  I can't say that," she admitted 
softly.

"I know."  He reached out as if to touch her, but 
then pulled his hand back and ran it through his 
hair instead.  "Scully, we can't shut off our 
feelings, can't deny them.  It's not right."

"It's not the truth, is that it?" she asked bitterly.  
"Your obsession with the truth has to extend 
to every single part of your life?"

"In this part, always," he said.  He reached out 
for her again, and this time he did touch her, 
enveloping her in a tender hug and smoothing 
her hair gently with his hand.

She tried to stay angry.  But what could she 
be angry about, really?  Angry that he loved her?  
"You're a pain in the ass, you know that, Mulder?" 
she said resentfully, his shirt muffling her voice.

"Would you have me any other way?" he asked 
the top of her head.

She pulled back slightly so that she could look 
up at him, and unexpectedly broke into a 
disarming, toothy smile.  His body sagged in 
relief.  The tension had passed.  "I'll have you 
any way you'd like, Agent Mulder."

"Can I make a list?"

"Sure.  Leave it in my in box at the office.  I'm sure 
I'll get to it eventually, along with all the other grunt 
work."  She turned her back on him and started 
to walk back toward the fairgrounds.

He hurried after her, still shaking his head at her 
horrendous pun, still amazed that their confrontation 
had resolved itself so quickly.  "Where are you 
going?"

"I think I'm going to buy that black leather corset 
I was looking at earlier.  Just to keep you on your 
toes."

His mouth went bone dry and other parts of his 
anatomy responded in kind.  "That's...great, Scully.  
But now you've fixed it so that I'll have to carry this 
cloak around in front of my crotch for the rest of the day."

She raised an eyebrow mockingly.  "You think *that* 
will be noticeable?  Don't flatter yourself," she said, 
grinning.

"You think you're funny, dontcha?  You're real funny, 
Scully, real --"  He grabbed her arm and tried to pull 
her to him once more, but in a patented FBI training 
maneuver she swept her leg under his, knocking him 
off balance.  He fell to the ground, but not without 
managing to pull her down with him, whereupon he 
proceeded to demonstrate exactly how *noticeable* 
his arousal was.

Maybe this will be okay, she thought, as she wrapped 
her arms around him and held him tight.  Maybe we'll 
make it through.  After all, there are worse things 
than being in love.  Maybe.