From: "nja ***" To: Subject: [XFNC17ff] NEW: Cravings by nja 1/2 Date: Sunday, February 03, 2002 8:03 PM Part 1/2: Title: Cravings Author: abracadabra Rating: R/NC-17 Summary: It's Mulder's turn to share his favorite dessert. Keywords: MSR, Alternating POV, PWP Disclaimer: 1013 Productions, Fox Network, Chris Carter and various others seem to have the rights to Mulder and Scully. I just like to let them have some fun once and again. Notes: A companion piece to Hot and Cold, although you don't have to have read it to understand this, it probably works better if you do. Thanks: To Lovesfox for her suggestion...very yummy and for making sure things, uh, flow...! To Mortis for previewing and to SG for 'technical assistance' (good catch, woman!). Archive:Sure. Please let me know where. Websites: http://www.geocities.com/spookys_girl2000/index.html http://www.geocities.com/mesmerizememulder/ Feedback: I'd really love it! Please email:abracadabra1754@hotmail.com Crave: v. 1. To have an intense desire for. 2. To need urgently. Craving: n. A consuming desire. Yearning. Cravings by abracadabra *;*;*;*;* Fox Mulder's Apartment Saturday September I'm bored and I have a craving. I'd say this is unusual for me, but what's really unusual is both conditions existing simultaneously. I'm bored often enough, when we're between cases, when I have to do reports, when my partner's not around. And I have cravings, I get cravings. For some pretty strange things--to see a UFO, to have Scully *see* a UFO, to have me witness her seeing said UFO, but I'm digressing. A craving can be defined as a 'consuming desire, a yearning'. Hmmm. Breaking it down further, 'consume: engross, absorb', 'desire: wish, longing, craving...sexual appetite: passion'. Seems rather cyclical to me. It all comes back to just one intense all-purpose need. I do, of course, crave other more mundane and routine things, too. Like a good beer, a day by the water, seeing Scully smile--really smile--and banana cream pie. Maybe even having some banana cream pie and seeing Scully smile. And sharing some of my 'all engrossing wishing, longing and passion' with the object of said craving. *;*;*;*;* Dana Scully's Apartment Friday night I'm bored, but there are no reports to finish and Mulder hasn't called to invite me to trip the light fantastic with him. Heck, he doesn't usually ask me to do that, whatever *that* is. I don't think I know anymore, but I think I knew once upon a time. Back when my world wasn't routinely taken over by the quest for all things beyond explanation. Back when there was such a thing as a normal Friday night, followed by a possibly exciting Saturday night. Back when I could sleep through *any* night without the highly plausible possibility that my partner's voice would be on the other end of my phone cajoling me into grabbing my already packed carry-on so we could uncover the details of yet another set of phantom lights in the sky. I should be--I don't know what I 'should be'-- I debate grabbing that book I've yet to finish, doing laundry, doing nothing, calling Mulder. Calling Mulder. I needed my space tonight. And now that space is feeling mighty, well, 'spacious' without him. *;*;*;*;* Fox Mulder's Apartment Saturday noon She was on her own last night, something about needing her space. And that was okay with me, at least on the surface. We spend so much time together professionally and have always still managed to be connected even on off-hours. Since August, we've been spending more and more time outside of work together. I like that. I like that a lot. I know she does, too, although she was somewhat hesitant at first. So, when she says she needs her space, I can be flexible. But it's been almost 19 hours since I've seen her. When we left the office Friday at five, she said she'd 'talk to me'. She hasn't yet. And I want to talk to her. I decide I'm going to do more than just talk, I'm going to get the pie and see Scully eat it. Then we'll see if there's any 'talking' to be done. Sita's Bakery across town makes the best banana cream. The crust is flaky and golden, but that's not the best part. While I love the bite of a finely made crust, the taste of the butter melting on my tongue, it's the way Sita's renders the filling and topping that makes me salivate. The banana custard has texture, but is slips and slides in the mouth and the real banana taste with the small chunks of real fruit is wonderful. Then there's the real whipped cream topping piled high. We're not talking that confectioner's sugar and shortening goop that sticks to the roof of your mouth. This is the real McCoy. And Scully's never had it. But...it's missing a key ingredient, the banana slices on top. Guess I'll have to buy a few bananas and add the slices myself. Then I can tell Scully I helped make the pie. She'll be impressed. She won't believe one word of it. *;*;*;*;* Damnit, Mulder, where are you? I decide to call him and he's not answering. I try his cell: 'Where are you?' 'Where's 'out'?' Brief silence. Inhalation. 'Don't say it, Mulder--do *not* say it; 'not home.' Smile. Laughter. 'What're you doing?' Longer silence. Heavy exasperated sigh. 'You're being difficult, Mulder.' Playful smirk. 'Mulder...' Groan of acknowledgment. 'Because I don't know where you are.' Laughter. 'Mulder?' Dial tone. The man can be downright infuriating. *;*;*;*;* Fox Mulder's Apartment I love it when she fumes, most of the time. Well, those times when I know she's not really angry or mad, just frustrated with me because she can't figure out what's going on, because I'm not responding predictably/the way she wants me to, not playing by her orderly rules. I love breaking her rules, watching her walls chip. Like this summer. A few short weeks ago. Some ice cream, a very hot day. A somewhat angry and frustrated partner. And the rest, as they say, is blissful history. Don't get me wrong, her orderly rules and predictability have been my saving grace too many times to count. I'd be lost without them. She and I, we're yin and yang, toe-may-toe and toe-mah-toe. But there are those times when I admit to a selfish and perhaps even more base desire to watch the sheer energy of her fury transform into her arousal. Or, maybe it's *my* arousal. Her earlier frustration on the phone will just have to be channeled. I'm sure sharing my favorite dessert with her will help. Scully has a sweet tooth craving. She doesn't often show it, but if the way she all but demanded I bring her the ice cream is any indication, then I'm sure she'll understand my particular craving. I set the glossy, cream-colored bakery box with the marled string knotted on top of the coffee table. I've still got about twenty minutes before she arrives. Debating whether or not we need the 'good' plates, a.k.a., those that did not come with the microwave dinner, I settle on the only set I have, some old Corelle from KMart. It's the thought that counts anyway. Two plates, two forks, a roll of paper towels, a good knife and a pie spatula I'm not sure I knew I owned and I'm almost ready. I remove the three bananas I grabbed at the market down the street and arrange everything on the low table. Not that I'm up on my daily dose of potassium, but I occasionally indulge my oh-so-practical partner and manage to eat at least one one-thousandth of the RDA for fruits and vegetables. I only need one for the top of the pie, but they were linked in a trio. I imagine I can find a use for the other two. Maybe I'll eat them. Maybe I'll bring them to work for Scully, although I'm sure she meets her RDA requirements. I untie the small knot and let the string slip from the box, lifting the flapped lid. Perfection. The whipped cream topping is piled high and swirled just right. The urge to poke my index finger right into the center and bring it out of the sweet whiteness is overwhelming, but I have self-control. For now. Sitting on my couch, I carefully lift the pie from the box with both hands and set it on the paper towels I've already prepared. The box is nudged farther away, landing on the floor. I manage to peel the banana and start slicing when I hear her knocking. *;*;*;*;* Eschewing the elevator in favor of the stairs, I buy more time to contemplate what Mulder's up to. He lives for surprise, for catching me off-guard and, while it has certainly been the fuel for some rather exasperating moments, for the most part, I find it rather engaging. I need some spontaneity in my rather ordered and organized life. We're often like that, yin and yang, my salad to his fries. He likes to rock the boat. He loves to rock my world. But he's also been known to rise to the occasion offered to him as well. Acquainting him with my very favorite ice cream flavor last month is a good example. Depending on who's around, I'll probably admit that I pushed him a little. Ok, more than a little. I was rather miserable in the extended heat wave and knew that only a few things would make me feel better. Mulder was one of those things, but I had to decide 'how'. He can be too much of a good thing. Way too much. I was rather clever in the end, but he'd unwittingly provided the impetus, having unfairly finished off the last of my Ben & Jerry's. Knowing he'd probably refuse me nothing, I'd made him replace it...on the hottest day of the damn summer. While I'd certainly intended to help nudge our several years of foreplay along, I can't say I orchestrated what actually happened. Call it the heat, call it my love of Ekstacy Schmekstacy, call it my love of my partner. Let's just say that I'll probably never look at a Ben & Jerry's carton quite the same way again. I'm still thinking that a nice little letter to the company president about the power that flavor has over burgeoning relationships might be a nice thing to do. I still have no idea what he has planned, but that special Mulder Mirth has a way of taking the edge off my indignation--but just an 'edge'. *;*;*;*;* "It's open, Scully." I'm setting the final banana slice in the very center of the whipped cream, the knife in one hand, the peels in the other as she opens the door. The look on her face is a cross between furrowed-brow scowl and amusement. She can't decide whether to still be ticked for not being in on my little secret or simply happy to see me. "C'mon in." I pat the couch, the peels flapping in my hand and that makes her smile. One of those rare smiles of real enjoyment. Chalk one up for goofy Mulder. Hands on the hips of her cotton drawstring checked pants; she makes her way over and sits down beside me. She kicks off her shoes and crosses one leg under her. I can hear the wheels turning inside that pony-tailed head of hers. "Mulder, your skills amaze and astound me." She's trying hard to regain her composure, but the twinkling in those blue eyes is a dead give-away. "Only the best for my best girl." "I'm not your 'girl', Mulder, and you didn't bake that pie." She sidles a little closer to me. I'd like to think it's because of just how charming and cuddly I look in my Knicks running shorts and tee, but I won't be hurt it it's really because of the possibility of having a slice of the pie. "Aww c'mon, Scully, just pretend. You know, suspend your disbelief for a few moments and allow yourself to consider extreme possibilities." I've put the knife down, but for some reason am still clutching the peels in my left hand and I nearly hit her in the face with them as I turn to her, expounding my latest theory. She swats the peels away and retreats to the corner of the couch, yanking her pullover sweater down to cover her exposed midriff. "I suspend my belief whenever I'm with you, Mulder." She tells me as she leans over and reaches for the peels. She takes them into kitchen and returns, but remains standing. Always focused, as she claims me to be, she asks me when she gets a piece of my pie. Trying not to read more into her innocent question, I pat the seat again, saying that I have a story to tell her about the pie. She rolls her eyes, shifts one hip to the side and crosses her arms in front of her. I've just been non-verbally told the equivalent of 'make it good'. "I wanna tell you why I love this pie so much, Scully. It's my all-time favorite dessert. Bet you didn't know that, did you?" She's still standing, but her arms aren't crossed anymore. "No, I didn't know that. You've been hiding anything else I need to know?" Her attempt to control her smile is unsuccessful. "Nothing else, cross my heart. I'll even let you cross it if you want." "The story, Mulder? I want some pie." "Ok, well, one year my Mom couldn't make a cake for my birthday. I think I was 8 or 9--" Before I can finish, I see her slump and the saddest look crosses her face. "Scully? When I tell a story, you smile and laugh, remember? That's how it always goes." I try to get the corners of that pretty mouth to turn upward again. "That's so sad, though." She moves back over the couch and sits next to me. Right next to me. Her Catholic nuns couldn't get a piece of paper between us if they tried; that's how close. Her hand goes to my hair and I debate basking in her warmth or finishing the story so we can cut into the banana cream. But, I decide to finish the story and she doesn't move from her spot, so I'm pretty happy. Just so she's sure I'm not sad, I turn and kiss her nose and put an arm around her. She settles back against me and we both recline against the cushions. "Well, it might have been, but Mrs. Brighton, our next door neighbor, decided to take care of it and she baked me the biggest banana cream pie anyone had ever seen. Of course, when you're that little, almost everything looks super-sized, you know? Anyway, she told me I could have as many pieces as I wanted and I did. I think I ate 3 pieces at lunch and then another 2 for dinner." I glance down to see her smiling at me. When I smile back at her, she runs two of her fingers across my bottom lip, her eyes following the trail she creates. I think somewhere during the story she shifted gears on me. Not that I mind. I gently take her two fingers in my hand and draw them into my mouth. Her mouth forms the most perfect little 'O' and then she gasps as I suck on said fingers. Mulder, Jr. has decided that he wants to be part of the action, too. *;*;*;*;* The very picture of domesticity? I think not. Mulder's cute, but his totally ineffectual attempt to make me think he's baked this pie falls flat. Heck, the least he could have done was hide the box and string. I am quite intrigued, however, as he decorates the topping with the banana slices. I'm even more intrigued that Mulder has purchased fruit by choice. That in and of itself probably qualifies as an X-File. He beckons me to join him on the couch and I kick off my shoes as I take in the fact that he had intended to go running, but probably never did. I wonder what changed his mind, hoping it was because of my phone call. I like the fact that he did. He's explaining something to me and gesturing with his left hand, the hand holding the banana peels. Natural comedy, thy name is Fox Mulder. And it remains comedic until he nearly hits me in the forehead with his schtick. I remove it quickly, and return, but I'm not taking any chances. He's put the knife down, but he's sitting way too close to that pie, so I'm standing for now. Then he does something that is at once so adult Mulder and child Mulder that it melts my heart and I need to sit by him. He tells me the story of how banana cream pie came to be his favorite dessert. It is at times like this that I catch another glimpse into the sorry excuse for a childhood it seems that he had and wonder at how he has come through with relatively few scars. Oh, Mulder. I move closer, my need to comfort him taking over. We're touching from knee to hip and from hip to shoulder and I lean back into him. He is solid and alive and warm and I'm watching the rise and fall of his chest as he tells me about Mrs. Brighton, bless her observant and caring soul. He's telling me about all the pie he consumed that day at the tender age of 8 or 9, but I'm having a difficult time picturing anyone other than the quite grown man sitting very close beside me. And he is very attractive and very inviting. So, I do what any other red-blooded American woman might do when touching and being held by said inviting man, and I reach out to touch his bottom lip. I will admit that of all his physical features, his eyes drew me in first, followed by his ass. Call it what you will, I'm being honest. His eyes are bottomless, expressive and the literal windows to his soul. His ass, well, it's just gorgeous and watching him walk or seeing him nude makes me weak in the knees. But his mouth... His bottom lip. Mulder's mouth is enough to send shivers coursing through me at the mere memory of his kisses. But, I digress. I trace lightly over his bottom lip with my index and middle fingers, feeling the pliant warmth of him. He mesmerizes me, Mulder does. Before my brain can register what he's doing, he has my fingers inside his very invitingly wet mouth...and he's sucking on said fingers. That is about all I can think/feel at the moment. I try to move closer to him, but short of climbing into his lap, I'm about as close as I can get. Since his mouth is already full, I ask him when we get to cut into the pie, but I can only look at what his mouth is doing to me. He takes my fingers in his hand and withdraws them, lapping at each finger like the most sexually turned on puppy. Of their own accord, I find myself drawing my knees under me as I turn toward him. *;*;*;*;* Scully's hands are on either side of my face and I have to stop tonguing her fingers...they're in the way of my lips seeking hers. My hands find the skin of her bare waist as she parts my lips with her tongue. There is no prelude to this kiss; it is all at once consuming and the pie is momentarily forgotten as she nearly draws my entire supply of breathable air from my lungs. Not that I'm complaining. She's on her knees and lifts herself up from where she has been sitting on her heels. One knee wedges itself between my legs and I'd swear she's purposefully nudging me. I say that because Mulder, Jr. has taken notice and is very glad to see her. However, we want more. More of her. Much, much more. She tilts my head to one side, finding the angle that will allow her to discover just how far her tongue will extend into my throat. My hands are twining and fisting in her hair as my tongue does some exploring of its own. Since she's successfully got me pinned in place, I decide that one hand can leave her silky hair. I want to touch her and encourage her to move just a little closer. I let my fingers skim along her cheek, the backs of my knuckles brush along the line of her jaw and then to her throat. She hasn't missed a beat as she now playfully nips at my lips, giving us both a brief opportunity to breathe. When her tongue traces a path over my upper teeth and under my lip, my hand cups her breast. She moans into my mouth, having resumed her passionate lip lock. I feel more than hear her making sounds. They seem to be words, but I'm not doing a good job processing this new data, so I let my other hand join the first, holding and massaging her breast, my thumbs just grazing her already hardened nipples through her cotton sweater. I'm not sure exactly what it is that she says that finally makes me realize she's not only talking to me, but is actually attempting to halt my progress. She reaches one small, very warm hand down to my lap, the heel of that hand applying just the right amount of pressure against me through my very tented running shorts. I attempt to pull her closer, but she draws back from the kiss and then leans in to my ear... She tells me it's time to taste my pie. She's thinking about fucking pie when I'm thinking about fucking her? Not at all sure that I actually have a voice right now, I wonder if she's serious. She's still straddling my one thigh and sits back, her hand never leaving me. I'm not sure what game she's playing, but she's paying, too. Her face is wonderfully flushed and her lips are so full and plump and red. Her completely tousled hair is very erotically set off by the deep, twinkling blue of her eyes as she smiles at me. Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath and I don't miss the fact that her nipples are small points straining against her shirt. Nope, don't miss that at all. "Pie, Scully?" I pride myself on managing those two words with some semblance of coherence. She threatens to rob me of further thought or speech as her hand now wraps itself around my girth and strokes me, once, twice. "Uh, huh...pie." She murmurs. I feel my eyes roll back in my head as her thumb makes contact with the head. *;*;*;*;* I'm not quite sure exactly what part of him I intended to connect with when I turned to him, but I knew we needed to touch...more. There are times when we can be in the same room for hours on end and be comfortable moving around each other, away from each other, occasionally brushing up against each other, but otherwise not connecting. Separately together. Always aware of where the other is. Then, there are other times when all energies add up somehow and one of us, or both of us, decides we have to reach out. It is sometimes comforting, sometimes reassuring, sometimes angry or frustrating. But it is ultimately loving. Did I mention that it is also sometimes so incendiary that even asbestos wouldn't contain the flames? Had I known what I was missing so long ago, I like to think I wouldn't have waited so long. But the timing has to be right for me. And while I pushed our much more personal relationship into a neat and tidy place, keeping it at arm's length, I believe that when it finally happened, it was for all the right reasons at just the right time. I find myself wanting more and more and Mulder seems only too happy to oblige. Selfish, single-minded, intense he is, but he is also kind, witty, passionate and caring. When the man turns his attention on me, it is as if no one other than we exist. And I know just how to focus those energies... I'm aware that he's confused. He's hot and bothered and my hand now tracing his outline under the fabric of his running shorts is ratcheting up his arousal. I half smile half smirk as I watch his eyes roll back into his head. He's surprised I could think of eating at a time like this...well, eating something other than him. I ease up the pressure and just let my fingertips slide along him, my hand resting on his inner thigh. "I thought you invited me over for your favorite dessert?" He tells me that *I'm* his favorite dessert. I believe him, I really do, but I'm talking about his favorite *real* dessert. "Let me remind you, Mulder." I lean back just far enough to dip my index finger into the whipped cream, taking a nice big dollop and bringing it between us. I taste just a bit, my finger coming closer to my mouth as my tongue laps at the cream. Before I can share some with him, Mulder's tongue darts out as he leans toward me. The force of his movement sends some of the cream onto my pants and we both look down...before I nearly lose my balance, sliding farther back. He grabs me by my waist and I lean one hand back, skimming off the pie in my attempt to gain purchase. Now what to do? Mulder seems a little over eager in his need to taste the pie on my finger and I bet he's still not sated. As he gently pulls me forward, I whip my hand around, flicking the banana custard and cream from my hand...onto his face. Mulder looks yummy in banana cream pie and I get a little more comfortable. The look on his face--what I can *see* of his face, is priceless. He's licking what's on his lips and his hand comes up to swipe at the rest. And he's glaring at me in that playfully lustful way that sends shivers down my spine and to all points north, south, east and west. "You wanna play or you wanna eat, Scully?" He lifts me off his leg, half pushing me onto the coffee table next to the pie. He's lightening quick as he briefly holds up his three middle fingers in a mock scout's promise, looking me straight in the eyes. Before I can move out of the way, and with his eyes holding mine, he plows those three fingers into the pie and lets fly a nice sized portion of custard in my direction. It lands in the neckline of my tee, slowly making its way between by breasts. "Oh, so sorry, Scully. Here, let me get that for you." My helpful partner. *;*;*;*;* Anyone that says that Dana Scully can't give as good as she gets hasn't had the chance to see the truth. I guess that's the result when you put two rather strong-willed people together in a relationship. Two assertive people who aren't shy about wresting control from the other when they deem it necessary. Our partnership, first professionally and now personally has been built on many premises, trust, honesty, integrity and...a need to be independently strong. The number of times that Scully's sat back and let me do the driving, so to speak, are too numerous to count, but it hasn't been out of any weakness on her part. It's all part of the ebb and flow of leadership in our working relationship; it's part of what makes us such an effective team. And that works for us personally, as well. For instance, I invited her for pie, she decides it's time for a little teasing. I get into the teasing; she wants to eat pie. Just because I'm getting a bit confused by the shifts doesn't mean I can't let her set the pace. I end up with some of the pie on my face. I can see where this is headed, but I'll be damned if she gets the last licks... I push her off my lap, setting her next to the pie, but before she has a chance to use that scheming little mind of hers, I grab some of the custard and toss it into her cleavage. The way the silky textured dessert glistens and slides beneath the low-cut neckline of her top and down the gentle slope of her breasts is a sight to see. She just looks down slowly and then back up at me. She's smirking and she can't believe I just did that. "Truce, Mulder." "So quickly, Scully?" *;*;*;*;* "I'd like to actually eat a slice of the pie before it's totally destroyed." She grabs a couple napkins and scoops the filling from her chest. I've grabbed a few napkins myself rendering my face kiss-able once again. She moves from her perch on the table to the floor across from the couch. I guess she figures that keeping her distance from me will end the game and get her serious piece of the pie. She's temporarily correct. I cut us each a nice-sized slice and place her dish in front of her. Pushing the pie plate off to the side, I move to sit directly across from her, my legs crossed in front of me under the table. She picks up her fork, still watching me warily. "Eat, Scully." My fork is poised over the plate. "It sure looks tasty..." Her words say she wants to eat it, but she keeps glancing over at me. I touch my face wondering if I haven't cleaned it well enough, but it feels fine. I can't figure out what she's waiting for. If she's wondering what I'm up to, she should recall who started it. I wonder if maybe she thinks I have something other than dessert eating planned. Oh, Scully, you know me too well...but not well enough... I dig in, making sure to lick my lips before I bring the piece to my mouth. I watch her eyes watching my mouth, smiling inwardly. I do know what turns her on. I very slowly draw the custard and cream mixture into my mouth, letting my lips linger on the tines of the fork as I just as slowly slide them back out. I have some cream on the corner of my mouth and she's on her knees in a flash, leaning in toward me, telling me, 'let me get that for you, Mulder'. And I do. I'd be a fool not to let her smudge the cream away with her thumb as her own tongue touches her bottom lip, followed by her teeth worrying it gently. She tries to draw her thumb back, but I take her wrist and looking her straight in the eye, I tongue the cream from her thumb. 'Oh', she says. 'Oh', indeed, Scully. "Good, huh, Scully?" She sits back down without flourish. We both think this pie eating is slow going. She nods and finally samples the confection for herself. When she's occupied, I excuse myself, telling her I have to get something from the kitchen. She barely glances in my direction and continues to enjoy our treat. I return with a saltshaker and she's clearly puzzled, but doesn't say anything at first. Her double arched brows and nod toward the shaker tell me she's curious. I say nothing, but hold up one finger as I bring the shaker to my plate. Now I've got her full attention. I set the shaker down as I cut myself another slice, a very big wedge. Scully's finished hers, too, and I ask if she'd like more. I smile grandly when she does that little nod thing that's almost as if her head hasn't taken the time to decide whether to say 'yes' or 'no', but her heart has decided for her. It's almost as if she doesn't even realize she's said yes. . I place an almost identically sized portion in front of her...and reach for the saltshaker again. "What are you doing, Mulder?" Point number one goes to me. I have her attention, but that could change depending on my next move. "Oh, sorry, I hadn't told you. I had another motive in getting the pie today. I needed to test something out I'd heard on NPR awhile back." I shake a bit of salt onto the whipped cream. She puts her fork down and leans on her elbows, her upper body now much closer to my dish. Point number two. More interest and a bit of curiosity. I place my hand over the cream and then draw it back quickly, barely mouthing 'hey' and then 'ow'. Nothing exaggerated, trying to look surprised. I glance up and find her staring at my hand and then looking at me skeptically. I know I'm at a critical game point here. "What're you up to, Mulder?" She's pulled back from the table. Up on one knee, the other bent with her foot on the floor, her hands are on her hips and she's risen up to the fullest possible height given that she's not standing. But more than the body posture is the eyebrow raised so high it almost disappears into her hairline. I know that brow well. I've got my work cut out for me. "Nothing, Scully. Like I said, just something I heard. I wanted to test it out, so I admit that part of the reason I bought the pie was to do the test." I repeat the salting, hand over the topping, pull it away. This time I add a little hand shaking and mutter, 'wow'. "What exactly did you hear? You said this was on NPR?" I reel her in just a bit more. NPR adds the slight touch of credibility she needs to ask me to continue. I really have to work for it, attempting this with a doctor, a trained FBI Agent and a woman packing heat. "Well, I didn't lend much credence to it, it sounded kind of preposterous, even to me." I laugh at myself, her brow lowers slightly, but she's holding her position. I continue. "It was something about a chemical reaction, the salt, something about the molecular structure of the whipped cream--but it had to be real whipped cream, not the fake stuff." 5-4-3-2-1 "Mulder, someone's pulled the wool over your eyes. There is nothing in sodium chloride that would cause any significant chemical reaction on the molecular level with some heavy cream, sugar and maybe some vanilla flavoring. You and I both know that." That's my Scully, always ready to refute the facts...even if they are made up 'facts'. "I know, Scully, I know." I sound convincing. She knows I can be easily led into a new theory, but she also knows that I need evidence. Just not the kind of evidence she always needs. "You know me, though, I just had to see for myself." "Alright, tell me about it, from the top." Point number three. "Here, you can check it out for yourself." I pull her plate just a bit closer to the middle of the table and slide to my left so I'm directly in front of where she'll sit. I'm banking on her moving toward the table and she doesn't disappoint me. "I'm going to lightly salt the cream and then you can place your own hand over the pie and see if you feel the same heat I did. It wasn't much, really, but it was noticeable to me. Are you ready?" I try very hard to maintain my nonchalance and she seems to be buying it--almost. The only giveaway to her lack of total belief is the fact that that eyebrow is still barely arched. Others might not notice, but I do. Especially when she glances over at me, checking out my sincerity. I'm sincere. I'm sincere in wanting to play with her just a bit, enjoy the pie and then enjoy what I hope happens next. I ask her if she wants to do the salting herself, but she shakes her head 'no' and waves her hand at me as she tells me to just do it. Your wish is my command, lover. I place my hand over her pie first and quickly pull it away, repeating the nice little shaking touch I used before. I tell her to try it next before the reaction dies. She picks her hand up off her lap and holds it high above the fluffiness. I explain that she's not going to feel it way up there. I wonder if she's on to me. And am quite surprised to find that she's not. She grabs the shaker, sprinkles a few crystals on top and sets it back down. The concentration on her face is priceless. And so is her combined look of sheer surprise, shock and outrage as I dart my much larger hand out and slam her very petite one right into the pie. She recovers quickly enough to yell my name and try to yank her hand out from underneath mine. I'm laughing so hard that I almost topple what's left of the banana cream onto the floor. I'm not quite ready to let her hand go because I know what's coming next... *;*;*;*;* "Mulder, you are so dead!" I push away from the table, pulling my hand out from under his and he falls forward just enough to land his other arm in the remaining dessert. I'm standing now, laughing and about to head into the kitchen to wash off the mess. I should've seen it coming, knew the very idea was outrageous, knew that I would have probably read about this wonderful discovery in one of the trade journals had there been any fact to it. But no, I let myself be sucked in by him. To think that I had no idea what he was up to. Chalk it up to my defenses being down. I thought he just invited me over to share something nice with him. I should've known... Very little is that easy with the man I love. The pie plate is now on the floor next to the coffee table and the gooey mess is everywhere Before I can make it to the kitchen, he's on his feet and rounding the table, nearly slipping as the heel of his sneaker digs into the fallen treat. His forearm and other hand are completely covered in goop and I know I'm not going to make it to the sink. The man is out for blood as he wraps me in a bear hug from behind. His custardy hand lands squarely on my hip and his equally covered arm is wound around my waist, the substance slightly chilly against my bare skin. We're both laughing and squirming and sticky. Well, all except Mulder, Jr. who's quite awake and hard and pressing insistently against me...again. I attempt to wriggle free of his arms, but he has other ideas as his hand leaves my hip, moving up the front of my shirt...leaving a gloppy trail in its wake. "Mulder, ewww, get that off me!" "No way, Scully. You play, you pay." His mouth is so close to my ear I can hear his panting. His arm still holding me firmly in place, his hand reaches my face. I repeat; the man is dead when I get my chance. He smears the bananas and cream mixture across my lips and then holds his hand over my mouth. I figure I never really did get to actually eat most of my serving, so I part my lips and lick some banana from his palm. It tastes slightly sweet and pie-like and slightly salty and Mulder-like. And heaven help me, but the feeling of his palm over my mouth and his other hand under my shirt is turning me on. And he moans into my ear. Although his palm is free of custard, I continue to lap at him and he pulls me back against his groin as he thrusts his hips into my rear. His arm leaves my waist, but only so his hand can make its way underneath my top. I'm going to need a good bath... I remember his earlier comment about me 'playing and paying' and methinks that the man is doing more than his fair share of playing and should therefore be paying a bit himself. "You know, Mulder, I wasn't the one with that very unscientific little show of testosterone laden prank." It's a little difficult to get all that out with his hand still covering my mouth, but I quickly remedy that by grabbing at his hand with mine. As I pull it away from my face, I'm moving, quickly turning out of his grasp. He recovers fast from his brief surprise, but before he can say a word, I stand on my toes and kiss his lips, an overwhelming urge to taste more of him taking over. As his hands try to recapture me to him, I pull back just slightly and as I'm explaining to him about playing and paying, my gooey hand is under his tee, creating a wonderful design on the canvass of his abs and chest. He gasps and I pull his head down to mine, the strain in my calves about to give out, and kiss him deeply. He's bent over me like a bow, but doesn't seem to mind. The slipperiness of the whipped topping allows my fingers to twist and twirl his nipples as he groans into my mouth. It's getting hot enough in here to turn the pie filling to liquid state... We can't stay in this position much longer. And I'm pulling away. "Where do you think you're going, Scully?" He's decided that he likes the way his favorite dessert works as a lubricant, so he uses what's left on his hand to find my nipples and I sink from my toes onto my heels as his arm supports me. "You're sticky Scully." His tongue journeys along my face...forehead, nose, cheeks, lips and then he nips at my lips, his fingers never leaving my breast. I've got news for him; I'm not only 'sticky', I'm also quite wet. I back him toward his desk chair and we nearly lose our footing as he steps, once again, into the fallen pie. Luckily the chair is up against the desk so when he starts to slip...and takes me with him, he falls into the secured seat. We're both breathing pretty heavily and look rather interesting semi-covered in dessert. Mulder's favorite dessert I mentally amend. He looks good enough to eat. But then again, he usually does. *;*;*;*;* This is like a rather X-rated version of the Three Stooges, and I do mean the *real* Stooges as opposed to those also known as my friends. I've nearly slipped and fallen on my ass twice in the last hour and managed to intersperse the near misses with some rather original uses for banana cream pie. It mixes rather nicely with Scully's body parts and she seems to think the same about mine. She pushes me away from her as my teeth are nibbling at her lip and my fingers are teasing her nipples to hard points. I'm surprised at first, but realize that neither of us will last in the standing position much longer. In her bare feet, our height difference is much more pronounced and neither of us is young enough not to notice the strain on our backs. As I very gracefully avoid hitting the floor, she manages to guide me to the chair. If I'm going down, she's coming with me. I spin her around until she's sitting on my lap, her back against my chest. She's kicking, ineffectually I might add, her heels hitting my shins, and she's trying to release my arms from around her chest and waist. "Mulder..." She starts to stammer and laugh, but her writhing is far from funny. At least not in the conventional sense of the word. She's got bits of banana in her hair and whatever was on our skin and clothes has dried. That much is pretty funny. But the fact that every time she moves her cute little backside, and rubs up against my once again very hard cock is much more stimulating than humorous. My hips respond to her writhing with some special movements of their own. As I've always predicted, and now know, our hips are made to fit quite nicely together. "Yes, Scully?" I hold her to me and lap at her skin where her cotton sweater has slid off her shoulder. "You know what, you taste good." I sample some more skin and she leans her head to the side, taking a breather and allowing me to latch onto her and suckle her neck. She's gasping and moaning and kicking once again. Then, she unexpectedly stills. Well, her kicking stops, but her breathing is anything but still. She turns her face toward mine and kisses my cheek. "You taste good, too." She tells me as she licks, then kisses, my cheek again. I like this change and ease my death grip on her. And that allows her to slide forward just a bit. It also allows two other things to happen. First of all, we have better access to each other's mouths and our kiss deepens. Second of all, she has better access to what's left of the pie on the floor and her toes wriggle in it, probably testing its distance from the chair. I piece this information together from evidence after the fact. After the fact that while I'm busy kissing her, rather nicely, I think, she's turning toward me. And my hold on her is a little too slack. She briefly breaks the kiss and pulls away from me. Just long enough to bend over and grab a nice handful of the pie. I figure this all out as she attempts to glob some of it into my hair and onto my face. She manages to leave a bit on my bangs and forehead, but I've got her arms and pin them in front of her. "Scully? Haven't you had enough?" I laugh into her hair and then blow into her ear. She shivers and so do I. "Let go of me, Mulder." She's laughing too and her request sounds half-hearted, at least the way I'm hearing it. So, I take her gooey hand and place it under her sweater and then, with my hand over hers, move it all the way up to her bare chest. That smooth move brings a startled gasp and places her hips squarely against me. Mulder, Jr. is throbbing against her ass and lower back. He's happy, but he wants much more. I then move her hand down over her abs, her navel and under the drawstring that seems to have somehow come undone. "Oh." This is not the glib, yet intelligent Agent Scully speaking. "Do you know what I'm going to do, Scully?" I can just barely make out the look in her eyes as they widen and grow darker azure. "Don't do it, Mulder." I think her mouth is saying no, but her movements are saying, 'go for it', as she rocks against our hands now moving under the elastic of her panties. Everything feels just a bit more than squishy as she hooks her feet around my calves giving us more access to her center. I pause, her hand underneath mine, cupping her mound and her head falls back onto my shoulder. Biting at her earlobe, I move my other hand to her hip, sliding the cotton checked pants down just a bit to give me more access. "Don't do *what*?" Her hips a rhythm of their own as she allows me to lower her pants a bit more. I move our hands lower still until her fingers are parting her outer lips and she and I both moan. It really is rather hot despite the rain outside. *;*;*;*;* Mulder knows how to use his willingness to accept all sorts of theories for other creative purposes. This shouldn't surprise me given what we both managed to do with the ice cream, but I don't think I would have guessed I'd find myself in this position. Or as turned on as I am. It's sweet torture. Almost like finding oneself between a rock and a very hot, hard place. Mulder's hand over mine moving relentlessly back and forth over my opening, the joint of his thumb caressing my already over-excited bundle of nerves, his hand pushing my finger inside me and the feel of his rather sizeable erection as I thrust back into him. The slick, thick banana filling that's all over his hand and mine, and by association...now inside of me, is creating an interesting sensation. I wrap my feet around his calves to try to gain some leverage and that also makes it just that much easier for him to touch me where I'm craving his touch. I've forgotten his question, something about what he's going to do that I've told him not to do? I can't seem to think about what I might not want him to do. I think he's done it or doing it or... For some strange reason, I do a body check and I feel a lot of things right now. My toes covered in banana custard slipping and sliding against the tensing muscles in his calf. My thighs on top of his, the weight under me delicious and steady. My finger in a steady rhythm he's setting with his hand and...oh...oh...his thumb insistent against my very swollen center, my nerves firing sparks through me as I rock back into him over and over again. His other hand pushes my sweater up until he finds my breast again and he's doing this incredible thing I can only describe as twirling and pulling. My nipple is now zinging even more sparks through me. "Schulleee..." His voice in my ear accompanied by his warm breath as he whispers sends me sailing into a blissfully high state never before produced while eating dessert. He continues to push my finger inside me in short bursts and his thumb is moving just off to the side of my clit, glancing it so lightly that the result belays the fleetingness of the touch. I think I'm screaming or the rain's hitting the window awfully hard. I do know that that's the best goddamn banana cream pie I've ever had...or that's ever had me. But I don't think Mulder's had as much fun as I have... *;*;*;*;* I can feel her body tensing against me and see her chest heaving and she looks so damn sexy I'm about to burst. Her skin is hot and feverish under my hands and the constant motion of her hips is becoming quick and erratic. I love watching her and feeling her in wanton abandonment focused on nothing but losing total control over herself. It's intoxicating. As my hand continues to pump her finger into her canal, my thumb toys with her swollen button, sliding to one side the way I know will bring her down just a bit and then I drag my thumb back across it feather light once or twice and she's singing and sailing. The feeling of her quaking body in my arms is bringing me close to the edge, as well. She draws her own hand away, but I hold her, reveling in the subsiding tremors from her still warm and pulsing center, my other hand over her heart. She turns to kiss me and my tongue lazily parts her lips, neither of us having the energy to do more than taste and touch. Her lips beneath mine are lazy and languid as she starts to turn toward me. I withdraw my hand from her pants and help her turn sideways in my lap, her body softening and relaxing against me. Her hand on my face feels... sticky and I chuckle into her mouth. "Do my kisses amuse you, Mulder?" She draws back a few inches and I gaze into her impossibly blue eyes. My hands almost twine into her hair, but first I have to tongue her forehead where someone seems to have left some cream topping. "Nope, but you do taste very good, Scully." I try to divert her attention by tasting her kisses again and again. She diverts me when her hand lands in my lap squarely on Mulder, Jr. who desperately wants some action. ScullyAction... She purrs into my mouth, 'how does *that* feel?', and I attempt to answer her, but it comes out sounding like a cross between her name and a low growl. Translated, it means, 'ohmygod, that feels incredible you unbelievable woman'. She's gotten very good at interpreting my ramblings and mutterings over the years. She knows that my response means that I want more, so she slips her hand inside my shorts and just barely touches the tip of my straining erection. I nearly buck her off my lap. Her fingers just grazing and teasing, she turns our slow, languid kiss into a soul penetrating, hoover experience and now I'm about to either melt or explode. Just as I'm about to lose all ability to breathe, she pulls away and her hand grasps me once before she takes it away. Her finger trailing over me, she slides bonelessly to the floor between my legs. "You've been very patient, Mulder." She tells me as her hands caress my calves and her palms massage my knees. I sit up and take more notice when they slip underneath the legs of my running shorts. Her forearms are resting on my thighs as her fingers creep higher and higher. My legs spread of their own volition as I slide forward in the chair. I think Mulder, Jr. wants me to help her get closer; he's standing at attention, pointing the way, trying to guide her. But I think Scully knows just where she's going without any additional help. "I'm always patient, Scully." My voice rises on her name as she reaches the apex of my thighs, lightly cupping my sac. I'm now gripping the chair seat so tightly that I'm sure my knuckles are white. "Not so...not so." She's negating something, but I forget what it is as she tap dances the fingers of her other hand along my inner thigh. "Sometimes, you're very, very impatient, skipping ahead to the end before taking time along the way, Mulder." If she takes anymore time along the way, she's going to find herself on her back, clothes ripped from her body being fucked within an inch of her life. "Ahhhh..." I hope that I've told her just how good what she's doing feels and how much more I want her to do. Now. She seems to know because her hands leave my shorts and she kneels a lot closer to my body, her hands on my abdomen and her mouth on my navel. She's alternately sucking and tonguing it as I thrust against her chest. *;*;*;*;* In a voice I recognize as Mulder's 'now, Scully' voice, he implores me. He doesn't have to be specific; I can recognize the signs. His breathing sounds more like panting and his skin is flushes. His gorgeous hazel eyes are the color of dark chocolate velvet as he tries to keep them open and his erection is hard as molten steel. Oh, and I almost forgot his hands in my hair, massaging my scalp, trying hard not to pull my face to his groin. The hands in the hair is a little tricky today, though. He has to pick and choose where his fingers go since he seems to have forgotten about the banana cream pie he put there not so long ago... "Lift your hips, G-Man." He opens his eyes to smile down at me and asks me if I'll say that to him at work some time. I lift my brow and he has his answer. Nonetheless, he accommodates me and I slide his basketball running shorts down...and find nothing underneath them except lots of hot, erect Mulder Skin. Mmmm. "Like what you see, G-Woman?" His smile is smoldering and sends warm shivers down my spine and right into my core. I tell him, 'I like, a lot', and his smile turns lustful. "You know, Mulder, I could say that this," I grasp him at the base, "is my favorite dessert." He sighs. As I push his thighs farther apart, I place one hand on his abdomen and watch as his muscles tighten under me. "It has all the components." I tease the tip with my thumb and forefinger and lean in quickly to flick the drop of pre-cum with the tip of my tongue. "Bittersweet." My hand starts to slide up and down his shaft and his head rolls back, his body shuddering. "Easy to eat." I lean forward and run my tongue just under the ridge, stopping at the sensitive underside to flutter my tongue. "Very satisfying." I tongue the entire length of the underside. "And best of all. Mulder? Are you listening to me?" I look up at him, my question a bare whisper. I think he's nodding, but it could be an involuntary reaction to my other hand which hasn't stopped moving. I decide not to press the issue. Instead, I press my palm against his hip and take him into my mouth. He groans. I'm sure he's agreeing that he's my favorite dessert, but to make sure he a true believer, I take as much of him into my mouth as I can, running my tongue around and around. He slides back into the chair and reaches for my hair. 'Good luck' I think. But luck seems to have nothing to do with it. My hand moves from his hip so I can gently hold and squeeze his sac as my index finger probes his perineum. I hear him say, 'gack' and inhale sharply. It's a good thing he replaced his old wood desk chair with one of those upholstered models or else he'd have slid off on his beautiful ass long ago. He's thrusting into my face as his hands hold me gently to him. He's trying to keep the pace slow, but I can tell he wants more. I'm so wet, again, and I'm throbbing along with his bucking hips. I reach one hand to grip his hip as I suck him, hard. And that's when I find that he's pushed my head back and pulled his glistening wet cock from my mouth. He draws me to him, his hands framing my face, and pins me with his mouth. His kiss is bruising and demanding and matches my frantic need perfectly. It often amazes me just how in tune with each other we are. Any further thoughtful insights are banished in favor of pure sensory overload. In a blinding fury, my sweater is over my head and he bends forward to take my nipple in his mouth. His long, flexible limbs maneuver us quickly and efficiently, narrowly missing what's left of the pie, and I find my self on my back beneath him. We both grapple at my pants. He wins this round, but I'm not keeping score. I like it when he wins this kind of game. He takes all of about ten seconds to position himself and I lift my hips to meet him. Did I say just how beautiful he is when he's horny and randy and lustfully needy? I reach for him, but he's already pushing himself into me in one, long, slow glide. I grab and paw at his ass and dig my heels into his hips, drawing him in as deeply as I can. I think that there can't possibly be any better feeling than to be joined body, mind and soul, to the man I love and then he goes and makes a liar out of me. There is something better. His hands on either side of my face, his eyes seeking mine as he glides and grinds and thrusts into me over and over until there's nothing but us and the exquisite feeling sending bright white lights behind my eyes. Until we follow each other over the top, flying off into space. Why do I wonder who's going to clean up the pie... *;*;*;*;* Finis