Title: Comes the Morning -- Absolute Beginners III
(Chapters 1-2)
Author: diehard
Rating: NC-17
Classification: S/R, Humor (hopefully), Alternate
Universe...people are actually happy here.
Spoilers: Everything through the first third of Season 7,
then we take a different turn.
No abduction, no pregnancy, but there is romance and, well...
Keywords: Romance, sex and some of the things of
an ordinary life.
Summary: Mulder and Scully have been together for about
two weeks after the events in Absolute Beginners, and it's
now the day after the events in Better With Practice.
(You don't have to read Absolute Beginners, but it helps.
Posted on Ephemeral, Gossamer, and maybe some
other places. You should read Better With Practice, though.)
They've survived another Kersh dump job, made a great escape,
and Scully is about to follow up
three little words with an inquiry.

Disclaimers: You know, they're not mine. They're Chris
Carter's. Just using them for the fun, no money involved.
Archive: Yes, anywhere. Just keep it intact.
Feedback: Yes, please. you can contact me:
alvaradomccain@earthlink.net

Folks, this is my third foray into fanfic, so help a girl out
and send feedback. I keep writing fanfic because it's one
way to get the story right.

Thanks to Judith Weugel and the folks at Fran's Fanfic
Addiction. Judith wrote me a great e-mail that got me stoked
to write more. Also, thanks  to my teachers--writers
like Bonetree, fialka, and jessemie's evil twin. What you do with
words!

Most of all, thanks to David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson
for almost a decade of complicated, passionate, subtle
portrayals of our favorite fighters against the apocalypse --
Mulder and Scully.


Chapter 1/2


He's in that half-awake state, that if you put your mind to it,
you can still summon one last dream before the daylight invades,
and Mulder decides to go for it.

He rolls onto his side, takes a deep breath and it's summer on
Assateague Island, and it's all deserted beach, and wild ponies,
and the wind whipping across a blue sky that reminds him of
someone's eyes. He's naked, lying in a bed of sea grass bleached
by the sun to ivory paleness, silky smooth like someone's hands.

He spends what seems like an eternity drinking in the feel of that
smoothness against his skin, the way it seems made to touch the back
of his thighs, his shoulder blades, the nape of his neck.  Desire
in this dreamworld is a slow burn, and he wants to let it build.
The wind starts to move, bends the grass, and the grass feels
like fingers stroking his chest, his knees, his temples...
then from a distance it seems like something moved, and the rustle
of the grass sounds more like the rustle of bedding.

Part of him tries to get up but he wants to feel the fingers of grass
caress his skin and so, back down he goes. Now it's black velvet
night,and the wind and the grass are still stroking him, and
the sky is shot with stars. He's mesmerized by the way he's being
touched, by the glow of the sky and then all of a sudden, the stars
begin to swirl and rain down on him. Each point of light finds
its way toa tender spot on his body and it's warm, like a kiss.
He can feel that warmth seeping into his skin. Some recess of his
mind stirs, knowing he can feel all of that real time, in real life,
and his dreams tarts to fade.

His daylight self is slow in coming. He knows what his waking body
wants, but he's still riddled with sleep, so he takes his time
and lets himself breathe in the scent of her, of them, of the traces
of sex on the sheets before he starts to move. The bed is still warm
with their heat, so like a blind man, eyes still closed, Mulder lets
touch and smell  lead him to her.  He's surprised when he reaches
for her and there's nothing there.  Now he's awake.

He's going to get up, find her and get her back in this bed,
but not just to make love all the live long day, although that's
certainly center stage in his mind. She's opened him to the core,
and he wants to show her all those things he's kept hidden,
including his hunger to touch and be touched.

Mulder told himself he was too complicated, too macabre
for something as basic, as necessary as that.

What he really thought was no one would ever love him.

As he hauls himself up and flings aside the covers,  he's hit
with a feeling that was no more than a distant rumor until
a couple of weeks ago.

Happiness.  This is happiness.
But he's convinced  it has to be made new each day,
and he needs her in order to do it.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He's up and moving about the room., flexing his back and rolling his
neck, popping vertebrae, blinking his eyes. He wills 'Little Mulder'
back down from fully aroused to just happy-to be-alive.
Using his finely honed investigative skills, he surveys the
immediate environment.  Nice.  Very Nice.  The bed is the first
thing you encounter when you come through the doorway, he was really
grateful about its location last night.

It's large room, and the bed takes up a third of it, flanked on its
far side by an armoire and chest of drawers. The armoire and
the chest are carved in the same wood as the bed, which Mulder
guesses is rosewood. There's an obscenely large chaise flanked
by end tables, all made of the same wood as the bed and covered
in the same material as the comforter.  Red Thai silk.  Sumptuous.
Mulder is impressed, his friends are doing very, very well.
Above this little grouping of furniture is a skylight, which last
night revealed enough of the moon and night sky to show them where
ground zero was. In the corners of the room are torchiere lamps,
which in any other circumstance would seem necessary, but he's not
planning on catching up on his reading.

Right now, the room is bathed with the soft evidence of morning,
and he supposes it's just the right glow to while away a day in bed,
eating, drinking, and exploring the subtleties of sexing each
other up. He plans on showing Scully every aspect of his morning-
light theory, knowing what a stickler she is for rigorous research.
The far side of the room completes the suite, with a wall of books,
an expensive, hi-tech entertainment center, and afully stocked
wet bar, just in case you can't be bothered to leave the room.
"Wouldn't want to get dehydrated,"  Mulder mumbles, as the corner
of his mouth's quirked into a grin.

At the farthest edge of the room are two heavy oak doors. He opens
one and having guessed right, walks into the bathroom.  Unbelievable.
It's all black granite, with a sunken tub, sauna, whirlpool, vanity,
the whole nine yards of sybaritic delight. It's stocked with
toiletries, towels,as well as everything the pleasure seeker seeks.
He relieves himself, washes his face, brushes his teeth,
runs his hands through his hair. He's still naked, but that
really doesn't seem like a problem.

He's locked, cocked, and ready to stalk the wild Scully, wherever she
may be.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Having left the bedroom through the other remaining door, he sees
that the rest of the rear annex was essentially a ground-level loft,
an open space with groupings set aside for different leisure
pursuits. This "little bar" is actually the size of a small
warehouse. The first thing he passes is a gaming area with pinball
machines, video games, and a professional-grade pool table.

Just past that is a large living area with black leather sofa,
chairs; chrome and glass tables and lamps, and yet another
entertainment complex, with a plasma screen suspended from the
ceiling, and all the audio gadgetry any performer or listener
could want.

At the far end of the space are black marble counters, cabinets,
two marble-topped work islands, and a professional-grade stove and
refrigerator. There are racks of dishes and glassware, and one
redhead with wet, tangled hair--wrapped in a sheet, with her back
to him, standing at the counter, apparently having just finished
moving things from the refrigerator. Mulder creeps up on her,
and wraps his arms around her waist, and starts nuzzling
behind her ear.

She stops what she's doing and bends her neck to the side
so he can have better access.  "Good morning, sleepyhead."

"It's good now."  He breathes her in and smells sandalwood and skin.
"But I can make it a lot better."

"I _was_doing something, Mulder."

"You can do something with me."

"I think I've done plenty with you so far, if memory serves.
I was hoping to make some breakfast. "

He bites down lightly on the spot where her neck merges into
her shoulder and she starts to giggle.  "No, no, no, Agent Scully,
no cooking."  He sees she's loaded the  counter with cheeses,
croissants,  jam, sweet butter, fruits of all kinds,  tomatoes,
basil, and eggs. Coffee's already set up in a plunger pot.
He spies an omelette pan pulled from the rack, a spatula
and oven mitts.

Mulder wonders where the asbestos gear might be.

"Uh, Scully...here's the thing...you can't cook."

She's still pressed against him, but she's put on that voice brimming
with haughty pisseur that says, 'Surely you must be mistaken,'
"Excuse me, but are you telling me I can't make a simple
omelette?"

"Yes, Agent Scully, yes I am.  I believe that is exactly the point
I'm trying to make."  He's got his groin pressed against the small
of her back, and he starts to slide back and forth, up and down.

Her arm has snaked its way backward to hold him by the waist,
"Now see here, I"m a grown woman perfectly capable of feeding myself,
and you too for that matter."  She knows that he's most definitely
thefar better cook, having first sampled his cuisine during her
convalescenceafter Fellig.  He's pulled impromptu meals together
from time to time inthe past, although she knows he has his favorite
take-out menusmemorized by heart.

"Nuking Lean Cuisine, and tearing open a bag of salad don't qualify
as actual culinary skills."  He nibbles on her earlobe and they both
give a little shudder.

"Mulder, you're not trying to piss me off, are you?"
She wants to sound put out, but it comes out sounding turned
on instead.

"Let me ask you something, partner.  At your clan holiday gatherings,
why do you think the family always has you bring the pie?
The_store_bought_brand they tell you they love?

She's able to dredge up her best sanctimonious Scully, and lights
into him.  "I'm going to ignore what you're trying to imply.
'Granny's Best Pumpkin Pie' is a Scully family favorite,
I'll have you know. As to my qualifications...after seven years
of everything you've dished out,  I think I have enough skills
to handle the complexities of meal preparation, thank you very
much. Now unhand me and prepare to be amazed."  She wiggles
her rump against his crotch to emphasize her point.

Time for the heavy artillery, he tells himself, time to play
the trump card.  "Scully, you've forced me to do this,
but it's for your own good.  Think back.   1998.   Late Winter.
Your kitchen.  The 'Exploding Grilled Cheese Incident.'
Do I have to go any further?"  He's getting harder
by the second, and her hips and her ass feel fantastic,
but he's going to stay on point.

Now she's laughing that deep, rich laugh from somewhere in her belly.
Hearing it makes him think that he's found the philosopher's stone,
and in a way he has.

She's let go of his waist and turned around to face him, most of her
face is a mask of seriousness, but her eyes sparkle with sly mirth,
"You promised never to speak of that again."

"Desperate situations require desperate measures."  He remembers
lying on her sofa on one of their first movie watching, date-non
dates when she got up to make them something to eat. About fifteen
minutes later, he ran into the kitchen, smoke alarm blaring,
to find her hurling a lethal strand of expletives into the
surrounding air space. The wall behind the stove was splattered
with cheese, the slices of whole wheatbread, no more than cinders
in the frying pan. When she saw he was on the scene, she tossed
him a sponge and announced,  'Spontaneous combustion, could be
an X-File."  They both bit back a chortle.  I guess it's Thai
food tonight. You call, I'll pay....once this is scraped up.'

He blinks and shifts back to the matter at hand, waving his finger
in front of her as negatory,  "Icks-nay on the Ooking-kay, Scully.
Innocent people could get hurt."   He squinted at her to show
he meant business.

"I'm going  to have to step back from this one, right?"
He's playing with her damp hair, and she doesn't really
feel like toiling over a hot stove.

"Scully, make one move for that spatula  and I won't be responsible
for my actions."

She makes a lunge for the counter as if she was trying to snatch the
aforementioned cooking utensil. He's on her like wet on water and
before she knows it, he's hefted her up and slung her over his
shoulder, depositing her on one of the islands. He's roaring with
laughter, she's almost crying, she's laughing so hard, and it seems
a little crazy when he starts kissing her senseless.

She wonders how ridiculous they look, naked in someone else's
kitchen, fumbling and fondling--smothered laughter and sloppy
kisses and realizes she doesn't care. This goes on for a while,
and the laughing winds down and they're both out of breath.
Scully pulls away and Mulder clutches a hand to his chest--
a set-piece of his melodramatic repertoire. In a delivery worthy
of an Oscar contender, he rasps in a labored, heaving breath,
"God, _you're _evil...."  They take each other in for a minute,
a pause between rounds.

After a miraculous recovery, she posits this wily question,
"So_that's why you've practically pushed me out of the way any time
I've tried to cook lately?" The bell must must have rung and it must
beher move, because she takes his index finger and wraps her lips
around it, swirling her tongue over the tip. He groans in response
and she feels a  hot, wet, jolt between her legs and her eyes shut
at the sensation.

His eyes drift shut, too.  "Self preservation is a powerful
motivator, a basic human instinct."

"Hmmmm...any other instinct you'd like to act on?"

"I sense another one kicking into drive...Oh yeah, there it is."
His eyes open and his hands have found their way to where she's
tucked the sheet to hold it in place. He bends his head and kisses
the round swell of her breast that peeks over the soft fabric.
Then he yanks the sheet away, taking in  her creamy skin, the way
her breasts sit high on her chest, the flex of her strong thighs,
the tangle of auburn hair that spans her mons.  Her head lolls
forward just slightly, but her eyes are open now, too---
clouded, languid, the pupils dilated.

He licks his lower lip,  "Mmmmmm.   I feel hungry now."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He's grabbed the sheet from where it fell on the floor and spread it
behind her on the island.  Cradling her head between his hands, he
kisses her deeply, and she drinks in his tongue, breathes in his warm
breath. She's vaguely aware of slowly being lowered her until she's
lying flat. His hips are even with the edge of the island.
She wraps her legs around his back, sliding toward him and pulling
him down, down. His cock is taut and hard against her inner thigh.

He's her whole field of vision, he's everywhere, everything.
His hands slide to rest on the hard marble on either side of her
head. He stops kissing her and raises up long enough to confess,
"I have to taste you, Scully...can't get enough."  He feels the
blood rushing through him, he could easily slide into her and ride
her to the hilt,  but he's not lying about how much he wants his
mouth on her clit, her slick folds. He wants to wet his lips
with her, drink her, savor her. And so he moves south to Mecca.

Now he's teasing his way down her jawline, nuzzling the tender
underside until he finds a spot near a tendon running the length
of her supple throat. He feels the moan working its way free,
and he bites down when  he once again reaches the place where
her throat and neck meet. She shudders again, long and hard,
and she feels a molten pulse low in her belly, feels her body
flush, knows he feels it too.

His hands have moved to her arms at her side and he grips her
forearms. She shifts it around so that she's helping to hold
him up, her strong hands gripping tightly. He's biting her
shoulder, then tonguing the length ofher ribcage, then stroking
upward until he finds her breasts. He sweeps  his open mouth
across one nipple--then the other, back and forth,
back and forth.  He feels crazed as they harden,
almost giddy as he pulls on them lightly with his teeth.

"So good...Scully...so good."  His breath is coming in short
bursts,and it vaguely registers in his mind that her breath
is as labored as his.

"Mulder...you have to....please....I want you to..."
She's a loop turning in on itself, white hot and the words
are swirling in her head.  His head between her legs
is all she wants, all she can think of.  Language is fading
fast.

But he understands this half-spoken message, it's also what he
desperately wants. To prove it, he begin the long drag down,
rubbing his face against her his open mouth licking and kissing
the flat of her stomach, her navel, the soft rise covered with
springy, crisp hair.  His stubble sends shards of sparks all
through the lower half of her body. He pulls his arms away,
and her legs slide to loosely rest on his hips. Now his hands
stroke each thigh, until he can see her open all the way for him.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, "beautiful."

Her folds are silvery wet, rosy, and her clit is a tight bud.
She feels a sharp, exquisite slice of pleasure, of pain,
right there in her ready flesh.

Bending at the waist, he lowers himself to the feast, his hands
now kneading her thighs. She can hear him moan in the second
it takes for his mouth to find her. He takes the flat of his
tongue and strokes long and slow, then and swirls and swirls
with the very tip, and it gets all starry in her head.

She can't make a sound; all her energy, all her
essence is being pulled to one spot, waiting to be released.
He suckles her, pulling her clit slowly between his teeth,

With greedy satisfaction he pushes her body to feel more.
He loves it, loves how she moves with it, loves how she
tastes--smoky, honeyed, like sea, like sky. He loves her smell,
too--musk heavy, sharp.   Real.   And he loves that he can do
this to her, give this to her, and he wants only one thing
right now, to make her come, to bury his mouth in her
when she does.

His hands are still firmly planted on her thighs when he starts
to feelthe muscles tense and he knows it won't be long.
A subtle tremor, getting stronger beneath his hands
and a millisecond later he feels her transform into a riptide,
her body liquid---legs, arms, belly, all her muscles contracting,
releasing, and he's lost in the pull of her undertow. His mouth
stays with her, tonguing her clit all the way through it.
She feels as wild as the sea on his lips, rushing into
his mouth. Her moan's a siren's call, he can't resist her,
he'll never resist her. She'll beckon him the rest of his life--
her body, her brilliant mind,  the ocean's depth of her soul.
And he'll gladly let the waters fill him, cover him,
carry him away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He raises up slowly, licking his lips, sampling and tasting,
and it takes minute for him to reach his full height.
She still manages to clasp him around the waist with her legs,
although she's shaky. He bows her arms gently above her head,
strokes her shoulder. Her eyes are closed and she's breathing
shallow, rapid breaths. She can feel the pads of his fingers
drag across her cheek and him smoothing away a strand of hair
from the corner of her mouth. He thinks he'll see if she's
returned to the world of the living.  "Scully," his voice
soft and low. "Hi."

Her mouth parts slightly and she chews her bottom lip and
draws in a breath to speak.  The rest of her body's completely
stilled now.  Movement and speech are coming on-line slowly.
First, there's a sultry smile of the recently undone,
then one eye lolls open,  "Who's...Scully?"
She hears the rumble of his laughter and decides he's earned it.
She also decides to open both eyes.

"Feeling spent...or fantastic?"  He's waggling his head back
and forth, looking pleased as all get out, proud as hell.

She's fairly proud of him herself.  "Uh...huh..."  He's earned
the singular honor of being the only man on earth to tongue
the retort right out of her.

"Monosyllabic responses, eh? Something must have adversely
affected your language center..."

"Not.  Adversely.  Happy now?"

"Ah, she comes back to herself."  He's bent himself over her,
leaninginto her face. "Couldn't have had a better breakfast...
I suppose I should help you up." His arms find their way
underneath her and she responds by slipping hers around his
neck. She adjusts her legs to a snugger fit, instead of letting
them fall away. He scoots her to the edge of their little
'workbench,' and tries to scoop her up when he feels her
dead weight settling back down.

"Uh uh." She shakes her head and purses her lips.

"Uh huh?"   He looks her dead in the eye, and feels his heart
drumming a little faster.  "As in 'no,' we're not going
anywhere?"  He wanted to get her back in bed and spear her
to the mattress, but maybe she really wanted to actually
have a meal. He thought he could reel himself in,
but he was geode hard, 'god-I-want-to-fuck-you-so-bad,
fuck-you-'til-the-cows-come-home' hard.  He sighed, and her arms
tightened around his neck,and she began to nudged him closer
with her heels at the small of his back.

"I mean 'no,' as in this..." She gives him a party-girl smile,
one she must've buried away in some unknown recess until now.
He gets what 'no' means. 'No' in this case means another of his
lonely bachelor fantasies is about to be fulfilled.
Even though she's still perched on the marble edge,
she leans back and as she does, one of her hand reaches
for his cock, tugging him gently to her. In one move, she's on
her back again, and her hand is making him very happy,
sliding the tip of his cock inside her. He balances himself
with his hands again on either side of her head.
With one swift, strong, slick thrust, he's in her up to
his balls, his thighs feeling the chill as he presses against
cold stone, but every other part that matters is hot, hot, hot.

It's time for her to work her witchy ways, and she clenches
and releases him, tightens around him, and slowly, slowly
lets him go.  "Mulder," she breathes, talk to me."

His eyes rove her face, her body, coming to rest where they
are joined together. His gaze is liquid, voluptuous.
"Ohhhhhhhhhh," he groans through gritted teeth,  "Evil."

She wonders if he knows one of _her fantasies just came true,
"Look_ who _can't talk now."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It's hours later and they're ensconced in that big boat
of a chaise back in the bedroom. Scully made him lug two trayloads
of food back there, although not much haranguing was required,
and they've just spent the better part of the morning brunching.

They're sitting side by side withthe much-used sheet now both
covering them up and serving as the world's largest napkin.
Their new level of cardiovascular training requires them
to take in additional sustenance, to say the least.
Mulder shifts so that he's on his hip, leaning toward her.
He regards her thoughtfully, munching on the strawberry she's
smeared with brie for him.  He starts cajoling her
to finish her second croissant, which he's slathered with
blackberry jam and butter. He's glad she opted to shelve
sensible and well-balanced for some other time.

"Eat, Scully, eat..."  He's had four, plus an assortment
of cheeses, apint of strawberries, a pear, a banana,
and coffee. She starts to shakes her head, but he breaks off
a piece and waves it close to her mouth.

"Luscious, fat-laden food...sapid, unctuous, rich...
You know you want it...Whoa, there!"

She grabs his wrists with both hands, lunges at the proffered
treat, getting all of it in one bite, and gives his fingers
a nip in the process.

There's a speck of jam on her upper lip.  "Mmmm... Mulder."
She's chewing away, mouth full, so that's at least that's
what he thinks she saying. A gigantic swallow later,  "Yummy."
She licks the jam away, reaches for her coffee from the tray
and drains the last of it. She's up for a second, just enough
time to deposit the remains of their little buffet on the
farthest table. Before he can say anything she's back under
the sheet and in his arms.

He draws her close so that she can curl into him and settles
her head on his chest and drapes his arms around her, holding
her loosely in place. Resting his head on the crown of her head,
all is right in the world. Granted, it's a limited world with
a short life-span, but it's good enough for him, and he's fairly
sure it's good enough for her, too. The long, sweet pull of
her breathing tells him so. It's a simple confirmation of what
he's been given and he's categorized it as miracle, despite
his official atheist standing.

On the surface, this trip was just a lucky escape from boredom
and the bullpen. He knows that there's another life out there--
that sooner or later their world will darken--that it'll be
time to run the razor's edge. But today is not that time.
Blood and tears shed years ago paid for this impermanent
paradise and he's not about to let anything rob him of a
single second. The fact that Scully is now softly humming
in her horrible off-key way must mean that she concurs
with his summation.

Time is golden right now and there's no hurry to do anything
but be.

She has no idea how long she's been next to him, partially
because she's so sated, and partially because she's slowly
been trying to screw her courage to the sticking place.
There's something she's wanted to ask him since she got up,
thinking she could bring him some breakfast and
ask then, but his ambush very nicely delayed her request.
I'm going to do this, I am, she tells herself.

"Mulder?"

From directly over her head, "That would be me."

"I was thinking of changing some things at home. You know,
maybe getting some different furniture, maybe getting rid
of the dining room set."  Subtle approach, working my
way to it, is her inner chant.

"That's...good...I guess."  She's thinking about decorating?
He wonders how in the hell she's hidden her inner Martha
Stewartfor so long.   Is it a Scully family trait?
Whatever.  He was definitely going to break her of that one.
He starts trailing a single digit down her spine.
Time to move on before she starts going over the grocery list.

She knows his fingers are talented, but she's not going to
get sidetracked here.  "You know, I'm getting the distinct
impression you're trying to change the subject."

"Well, let's see...I 'm here_with_you, and we've managed
to do a host of things that frankly I thought I'd only have
a chance to watch on 16 millimeter film. On top of which,
I'm stuffed, feeling generally lazy and...oh, hell Scully,
let's just kick back. No work, mental or otherwise...
how 'bout it?"

Scully hasn't budged from her curled up position, convinced
that if she moves and tries to look at him, she'll cave in.
Given her history, what's happened in the the last couple of weeks
has morphed her into somebody she almost doesn't recognize.
She's now an emotional base jumper. Stepping onto the ledge,
she readies herself for a big plunge, hoping she doesn't slam
into the side of the building.

Alll she needs to do is say it, say it, say it.

She's been quiet for a while since he made his plea for a
boycott on busy. He's not convinced that the kicking back
has actually kicked in, however.

"I can hear the gears turning in that beautiful head..."

"Move in with me."  It's almost inaudible.  Despite that,
she must be freefalling, judging by the fact that she just
heard him gasp.

He swallows hard. "What?"  He wants to be sure this is
happening.

"You _heard_me."   Now her voice is clearer. And from some
secret reserve of ballsiness, she pulls back, looks him in
the eye, a faint smile on her lips.

"Let me put it another way,  'Come live with me ...' "

He jumps in,  " '...and be my love, and we will all the
pleasures prove."  He takes one of her hands, and kisses the
knuckles, turns it over and kisses her wrist.  "Yes."
His lips move up the inside of her arm, sprinkling dozens
of kisses in a lazy trail,  "Yes, Scully, yes."

He feels her body relax against him and the fullness of her sighs.
He keeps working his way up her arm, until he stops abruptly
and starts speaking into her shoulder,  "What about 'plausible
deniability,' 'keeping a low-profile?' "

She ruffles his hair,  "Screw it. "  It's taken her the better
part of her charmed and cursed life to come this far and
she's not about to back down.  "We're not getting any younger.
Besides, it's not like we have sterling reputations to protect
anymore."

"Speak for yourself, sister.  I have a mystique to maintain."
This earns him a playful smack upside his head, and he hears
her snort.

"Ouch.  OK, then.  Back to what I was doing."   He resumes
the kissing until he's at the hollow of her throat, he hears
the low hum of satisfaction there. Again, another stop
and another question spoken into her skin, "So, think I could
talk you into leaving today?"

"Tired of this already, eh?"

"Tired of Hegal Place and paying rent in the world's largest
closet. Tired of anything that isn't about building a life
with you."  That last one came out a mix of longing, regret
and anticipation.

She gets up, and holds out her hand,  "C'mon."
She leads him back tothe bed and crawls in, bekoning him
with a nod of her head.

He leans toward her, still standing,  "We're not leaving,
then?"

"In a little while. Get in bed."

"What about sorting, packing, throwing things away?
Unless I'm mistaken, that usually constitutes moving
preparations. Getting horizontal would seem to be
counterproductive."

"Mulder, when does Kersh expect us back?"  She's smoothing
the sheets, and the bed is starting to look more tempting
by the minute. The fact that she's naked in it doesn't
hurt either.

"Um...he said take a couple of days if we needed to."
He started out standing about a foot from the bed, but he's
slowly inching his way toward her.

"Let's see... today's Thursday...I'm sure there's something
you'll tell Kersh we needed to investigate that required us
to stay until Friday...So, let's say we leave later today,
that gives us better than three days to start readying for
the big exodus. Happy?"

"Ecstatic."  He's sitting on the edge of the bed, marveling
at how he'sending up with Scully cajoling_him into bed.

"Then. Get. In. Here."

In a flash, he's under the sheets and generally fumbling
to get a grip on her--she's sort of wrestling with him and
he's going along with it. They're creating general chaos,
sheets twisting, pillows punched down and shoved around.
Choking back their laughter, they're a fraction away
from losing it when she stops.

"Glad I could get you to see my point."  She's let him
capture her now, and she's lying on top of him.

"Well, now that I'm here...what exactly were you thinking
of doing?"  He's beaming at her, and can't wait to hear
her answer.

"Shhhh..."  She pulls herself up so that she's sititng on
his thighs.  "Shhhh."  And she leans forward, begins lightly
touching his forehead, brow, and temples. She moves slowly
to the bridge of his nose, dawdling around the edge of his
mouth. Her touch is feather light, the tips of her fingers
dappling his skin. She gives his jaw, the beautiful arch of his
throat the same treatment, her movements, slow, hypnotic.
There is nothing hurried or frantic about this.  It just is.

His eyes can't help closing against the sensation. He feels
the brush of her touch over his Adam's apple, along the cord
of muscle that runs the length of his neck. That touch, rippling,
waving, like grass in the wind. He sees the beach at Assategue
again in his mind's eye, but he's not dreaming. He goes to reach
for her, but as he does, she stops him with a hand to the chest
and gently pushes him back down.  "Scully, "  he murmurs.

"Shhh."  Her fingers trail along his ribcage, his chest, and
she circles around and around his stomach. Following the outer
crest of his hip, she comes to his thighs, dragging the very
tips of her thumbs up and down the sides. It is intensely
sensual, but she makes no move to arouse him in a more active way.
She never stops making contact with him, never stops the gentle
stroking. She looks down at him, and he's a wonder to her,
her own. One arm rests across his stomach and she reaches
for his hand, lacing her fingers in his,  "Love you."

He wants to tell her about this morning, about Assatague,
what it means.  "Scully, I had this dream..."

"I know,"  she says,  "I know."

End