TITLE: Resolutions AUTHOR: Jess M. EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@hotmail.com DISCLAIMER: Oh I think not. DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere, just let me know. SPOILER WARNING: Up through season six, but nothing too obvious. RATING: Oh so NC-17, it's not even funny. CONTENT WARNING: Sex, some sex, maybe a bit of felatio, sex. CLASSIFICATION: Pure hot, steamed smut rolls SUMMARY: After hearing Mr. Carter say that our beloved sexually frustrated agents would indulge in some "traditional" practice on New Years Eve, and the cynical chorus of "what, singing Auld Lang Syne?" from fans, I decided we all know what we WANT them to do. This has no plot, no redeaming social values, lots of sexy Scrabble and some other games. Enjoy. Oh and email me, I feed them to my Tiny Mulder when he starts getting uppity and demanding "naked pretzels" and things. RESOLUTIONS Scully was dreaming. It was a dream she had since childhood, returning again and again with the same clarity and experience. It began on a train. Not a steam train, or even Amtrak, but the sort of kiddy train she had ridden in amusement parks as a child. Open at the sides, with a plastic canopy and wooden bench seats. It was winter in the dream, but a magical winter of endless crystalline snow and tall pines. Reaching over the side of the moving car, she ran her fingers through the snow and it felt like sugar. She felt wonderful, delighted with the shifting color of the landscape, somewhere between day and night. Even though she knew their destination, she was not yet worried. Eventually, the train stopped. She was standing in a parking lot. Vast and concrete, as different from the winter wonderland as dream is from reality. Surrounding her, standing as still as dolls, were thousands – no, millions, once she knew enough to quantify them – millions of people. They were waiting. Turning her head, she looked for her mother, but she wasn't there. A strange man stood next to her, a short distance away. He too was waiting. There was nothing special about this man, he was Ed Jerse or Phillip Padgett, the sort of man who is only noticed when he delves into the evil in his soul. At his side, tethered to his wrist by a leather leash, was a dog. An ordinary dog, a German Shepherd. Then, the mood of the dream shifted. The people around her began to run, screaming and tearing at each other in a desperate need to get away. The man with the dog turned and suddenly he was right there, inches from her and the dog… oh God, the dog. It was changing, shifting, growing into something black and terrible, with glistening fangs and fur that cut like shards of fiberglass. That was usually when she woke up, screaming. Of course, she had discussed this dream with her therapist, back when she had bothered to confess to someone other than a priest. A transitional dream, representing the journey from innocence to knowledge, from girl to woman, from daughter to lover. How depressing, she had thought. But tonight was different. For the first time in her life, the dream was not exactly the same. She was in the train, certainly, but it was smaller, shabbier, and the worn wooden seat cut into the backs of her thighs, causing her to shift constantly. And she was not alone. Mulder sat next to her on the train, his lanky body pressed against her in order to fit into the narrow car. When she reached down and ran her hand through the snow, the colors began to shift, like phosphorescence in the south seas, trailing after her fingers. Mulder pointed to the sky and she looked up to see the aurora borealis shifting above them, coloring the woods in shades of lime and lavender. When she lifted her fingers from the snow, she realized that instead of the sugar-grains of previous dreams, what she held were galaxies, spinning and pulsing in her hand and then winking out, melting there. It was marvelous, and Mulder slid his arm across the back of the seat behind her. But by the time they reached the parking lot, he was gone. Disappearing as surely as the melting galaxies. She knew she should be looking for him, but she couldn't move. Around her, the millions of men and woman and children pressed forward, surrounding her, smothering her with their fear. The man with the dog was there, and he was no one and everyone again, as common as sand. She watched the dog with apprehension. But it was not the dog. It was the man. Without warning, he began to convulse, to scream, tearing at his stomach. The alien burst out in a shower of blood and internal organs, leaving the man to fall to the ground with a hollow thud. Scully wanted, for a moment, to run. And then she saw Mulder. Running through the crowd, pushing against them as if he were swimming upstream. His gun was drawn and he was screaming her name, telling her to go. But she couldn't, because then he would be alone. The creature stared at her, it's shining black eyes as slick as oil. It made no noise, but moved like a human, fluid and strong. Mulder was nearly there, shouting and cursing and pushing people down around him. She hesitated for only a moment, and then reached behind her for her own gun. It wasn't there. The creature seemed to sense it's impending death and turned in time to see Mulder bear down on it. In a moment, it was all over him, slashing and tearing. And he was dying; dying right in front of her. And she was screaming, over and over. His name and not his name, some other sound, primal and anguished. And then she was awake. "Dana," a voice was saying. "Dana, come on, wake up. You're ok, wake up." Margaret Scully bent over her, worried but not panicked, rubbing the hair back from Scully's eyes with a sleep-warm hand. "Honey, wake up." "I'm awake," she whispered, her heart still pounding. The vision of Mulder there alone, the creature ripping his skin as he cried out for her seemed to fill the room. She gasped and sat up. "What time is it?" she asked. "Four," her mother answered. "Don't worry, you didn't wake the boys. You know how well they sleep." Four. It had come then. December 31, 1999. New year's eve. Well, the day before the new year, anyway. She sat up in her bed and felt her sodden pajamas, clinging to her back like damp paper. "I'm sorry," she said. "I… I was dreaming about…" but she trailed off. Already the dream was fading, blurring with the thousands before it. "Fox," her mother said. "You were screaming his name." "Oh," Scully said. "Yes, I dreamed he was being attacked by… something. Something horrible. And he was dying. And I wasn't able to get to him." Her mother rose and went to stand at the window, lifting the curtain. Scully knew the view from her childhood, could fill it in like a paint-by-numbers canvas. The tree would be there, shadowed by the eaves of the old house. The yard, the fence her father had built, the neighbor's house, all illuminated by the dull yellow lights in the street. "You know, Dana, I've been thinking." Scully shook her shirt out, trying to cool off. "About what?" "This. This holiday we've got planned. It isn't what I expected when we all planned it ten years ago." "No," Scully said, slipping the top off her body and reaching beside her bed for another from her bag. "Missy isn't here. And Daddy." And Emily, her mind supplied. Emily isn't here either, and she was expected, somehow. "Exactly," Margaret said. "But it's more than that. We've changed. As a family. Look at last night." Yes, there was that. Each year, the Scully family gathered on the night before New Year's eve and played the Resolution game. They guessed, humorously, what each person would decide for the new year. Some teasing was expected, but no one would have dared to imply something negative about someone else. Until last night. They had been sitting in the living room, sprawled on the couch and overstuffed chairs and sipping hot apple cider Margaret had made herself. "I know what Dana's resolution will be," Bill had said, leaning forward and grinning at his unsuspecting sister. "What?" she said. "Eat less crap?" "No…" And he lowered his eyes for a moment, then brought them up to meet her. "Get a partner who won't ruin her whole fucking life and that of her family." Her heart had stopped, just for a moment, leaving her breathless. It wasn't just the viciousness of the assault, but the unexpected source. "Bill," her mother had said, watching as Scully's eyes began to tear and her color rose. "Go upstairs and check on your son." "No problem, Mom," he said. And that had ended it. Scully had retreated to her old bedroom, the one she had shared with her dead sister, and stared at the familiar ceiling tiles until the urge to kill had passed. "We have changed," she affirmed. "We have become bitter. And it would seem to be mostly my fault." Her mother turned. "No," she said softly, "Life is not anyone's fault. It's just… life. You didn't anticipate this, neither did Missy or Bill or Fox. None of us wish for pain, it comes because it is part of being alive." Dana lay back again, feeling the damp sheets beneath her. "I'm still sorry." "Of course you are," Margaret said. "You'd be a monster if you weren't." "I guess I just…" she sighed. Admitting it to herself, much less to her mother, was difficult. "I guess I just miss Mulder. I feel like I should be with him. You know, in case it really is the apocalypse." She tried to smile, but it didn't relieve the feeling. "Then why aren't you?" Margaret said. "Because we planned this, with Daddy…" "That's not the reason to be away from someone you love. And it's not the right reason to be here. I was thinking about this tonight, after you came up here. You need to be with him. We have a rich life, Dana. He has only you." Scully sighed and rolled over to look at her mother. Margaret smiled. "Go on. You know you want to." "I do," she whispered. "And I don't." "Darling," Margaret said, sitting back down on the side of the bed and patting Scully's arm. "I know it's been said before, but I think the only thing you are really afraid of is how frightening this is. Fox is intense, I admit. But the best ones always are. Would you love him as much if he was lighthearted in the face of evil?" "No," Scully admitted. "Do you know what I think your resolution should be this year?" "What?" "I think you should resolve to be happy." xxxxxx And so she left, at six am, before her brothers could wake up and try to talk her out of it. In her boring old Ford Taurus, with snow chains in the back. Because she knew where he was, and it would take her hours to get there. Just a month before, sitting in the office as he flipped aimlessly through files, she had turned to him. "So," she said. "What are you doing for New Year's eve?" She realized immediately that it had sounded like an invitation, when in fact she had intended it to be a way to explain her own absence. "I don't know, Scully." He was looking at her blushing face with amusement. "Did you have something in mind?" Her head sank a bit before she said: "No, I… um… it's a Scully tradition. We always get together. This one's been planned for years." "Oh," he said slowly, and then leaned back and crossed his arms. "Well, I was really just thinking of going up to the cabin for a while. You know, so when the riots begin and the electricity grid fails, I'll be ok." He was smiling, but she could hear the disappointment in his voice. "I… um…" she began, then looked back at her desk. "I was just curious." "Of course," he said, and went back to work. It killed her to think about it now. It wasn't that she had done anything wrong, but she knew him. He was sensitive, and though it was how he spent most of his life, he hated to be alone. Two days ago, as she was closing down her computer for the last time before leaving, he had poked his head around the office door and smiled at her. "I'm glad I caught you," he said. "I wanted to wish you a happy New Year now, and to give you something." She nodded, apprehensive. "Sure," she said. He crossed to where she stood, her finger hovering over the "enter" key on her keyboard, frozen. Leaning over, he whispered "Happy New Year, Scully" in her ear and then kissed her, just below her left ear lobe. It was a soft kiss, tender and unbearable. Straightening, he watched her for a moment as she made up her mind. "Happy New Year, Mulder," she said, and leaned up to kiss him, chastely, on the lips. As she drew back, he pulled her close again, wrapping her in him. His mouth brushed her temple, his lips open and dry. Oh God, she remembered thinking, oh God. And then he let her go, moving back as if nothing had happened. She felt as if the ceiling had just collapsed. "So," she said, her voice as unsteady as her fluttering stomach, "you wanted to give me something?" "Oh yeah," he said, and reached into his pocket to hand her a piece of paper. "It's a map to the cabin. Just in case they do decide to invade… or something." She nodded, examining his map. He had drawn it out himself, with silly landmarks and notes in his scrawling handwriting about where to stop for gas and where to put on snow chains and where to buy a good hamburger. "Thanks," she said. "Though I doubt I'll get away." He shrugged and stepped further away. "Don't worry about it. It's more of a precaution than anything." "Ok," she said and let him go. She was glad for his need now. The map was precise, in a Mulder-ish way, with funny little quirks drawn onto it to guide her through the ever brightening morning. By ten o'clock, she was starving. She was off the highway now, cruising at a steady twenty-five to save her snow tires. Mulder had recommended a small restaurant, but she wondered now if they would be open. "Della's Real Southern Food" was in fact open, a bright neon sign proclaiming it from the front window. She pulled the weary Taurus into the parking lot and stepped out. The air temperature had dropped, but the day was as clear as if the world had been dipped in water and frozen, intact. She pushed the door open and stepped into the warmth. "My God, a customer!" the woman behind the counter called out. "You just stay right there, sweetie, we've got the best table in the house waiting for you." Scully smiled and followed her to a table that was placed right under the heater vent. She was instantly warmer and had to agree, it was the best place in the tiny building. "Fried chicken," the lady said. "And mashed potatoes with gravy. And a slice of pie." Scully looked up at her quizzically. "It's the best thing we make. It's why someone told you to stop here." Scully thought of Mulder's map, with the small flying chicken drawn over the restaurant and nodded. "That sounds fine." An hour later, filled with crispy grease and creamy potatoes, she stepped back out into the bright air. The sun tried valiantly to warm the snow off the top of her car, but didn't quite succeed. She pulled back out onto the road and headed on toward the cabin, following Mulder's pictographs. She had been making resolutions all morning. One: she wanted to be happy. Not just in her job, or in her friends, but in her life. Completely. She felt this might be slightly unrealistic, but to hell with it. It was time. Two: she wanted to be with Mulder, since that was essential to her happiness, but not just as a friend. As a lover. As his love slut, she thought with a giggle. She wanted to make love to him tonight by the fireplace in the cabin (it must have a fireplace, didn't all cabins?), to feel him enter her, to watch him sweat when she kissed him everywhere she'd always dreamed of. Three: she wanted to be honest with him, emotionally. Forever. No more hiding and lying and obfuscating. Four: she was going to be jealous. Terribly so. Every time another woman so much as glanced at him, she was going to fully allow herself to rip said woman's head off like a harpy. She hadn't reached five yet, but she was pretty sure it would involve taking Mulder's clothes off piece by piece until he lay naked before her, and then stroking him like a puppy. She stopped just where he said she would need to, and put on the chains. It was a total pain in the ass, but she did it with the same weary resignation she used to conquer mutants. Several cars stopped to offer assistance, but quickly left when she barked at them. By the time she reached the turn-off to the cabin, it was nearly three. She had been driving very, very slowly for hours. Her back hurt, her butt hurt, her eyes blurred when she looked at the snowy road. She wasn't terribly upset when the car simply gave up, roaring like a hovercraft in the deep tire wells no doubt made by Mulder's four-wheel-drive. Ok, she thought, this is it. She left her bag in the car. They could come get it later, together, an adventure in the snow. For now, she needed nothing more than to be near him. Fuck her toothbrush. The road was totally, eerily silent. At first her boots made a pleasant crunching sound on the hard packed snow of the drive, and the occasional collapsing branch somewhere out in the trees seemed to echo her. But soon, her fingers were freezing, her nose felt like it might very well be approaching gangrene and her ears… well, she was no longer fully aware of either of them. She hadn't anticipated hiking for two miles in the icy cold. The edges of her jeans began to feel damp and surprisingly, her upper body began to sweat with the exertion of struggling through the now ankle-deep snow in the tire treads. Clearly, Mulder had not driven here last night, and snow had fallen sometime before her arrival. Where the fuck was that cabin? How far could it be, really? It wasn't like Mr. Mulder to be Pa Ingalls and build his little house way out in the damn woods. And then she saw it. Above the trees, the faint gray-on-gray puff of a wood stove. The air began to take on the comforting scent of a fire and she quickened her pace. He was just ahead. It was all she could think, in between bouts of imagining making Mulder unbutton her clothes because her fingers had actually dropped off. The cabin, squat and brown, perched just a few feet from the gray lake. She stomped on the steps as she mounted them, attempting to shake the crust of snow from her ankles. It didn't work. It did, however, summon Mulder. xxxxxx He opened the door quite suddenly and she burst out laughing, despite the fact that he was pointing a shot gun at her face. Because there he was, half-naked. His lower body was covered only in a ridiculous bright red pair of waffle-weave long johns that left little to her already over-active imagination. On his feet were the only other item of clothing he had bothered with: a pair of sheepskin mukluks that looked more like tan casts than shoes. She couldn't stop her reaction, gawfawing as he slowly lowered the gun and stared at her like some sort of cross between Eddie Bauer and the Clampets. "Oh hi, Scully," he said coolly, crossing his arms and glaring at her. "Thanks for calling ahead." She was hysterical with mirth, giggling uncontrollably from stress and cold and relief all in one bubbling emotion. "Oh Mulder," she gasped, "I've missed you." He smiled then, chuckling with her. "For heaven's sake, woman, where the hell is your car?" She calmed, feeling the delicious need to laugh drain from her like water. "About two miles down the road, stuck in the snow." "Jesus," he said. "You must be freezing. Get in here." "I would," she noted, "but you've been threatening to blow my head off." Sheepishly, he set the gun beside him, propped against the wall, and stepped aside to let her pass. He was so warm as she passed, she wondered that he wasn't actually steaming. "Hey," she said, feeling stupid. "Hey back," he replied. "What are you doing here?" "Freezing," she said and stepped further into the warmth. It hit her like a wall, causing her to sway dizzily. He was there instantly, holding her from behind. "You ok?" She nodded, leaning back against him. "No offense, Scully, but if you don't get your frozen ass off me, I'm going to have trouble fathering children." Giggling, she moved away and felt him come to stand in front of her. She was in awe of his body, so big and warm and hairy. It was like being confronted with pure masculinity and in her weakened, sex-starved state, she was overloaded and left speechless. "Let me unbutton you," he said softly, fulfilling her earlier fantasies without the gangrenous aspect even coming into play. She nodded and he loosened the buttons on her wool coat and slid it off her shoulders, tossing it onto the couch behind him. "Sit down," he ordered, and she did. He knelt before her, dark head down, and gently worked off her shoes and frozen socks. She was fascinated by the way his stomach seemed to fold as he crouched there. It happened to everyone when they bent over, she knew, but somehow seeing Mulder's stomach do it made her mouth water. For once, she let it. "Your jeans are going to be soaked. Where's your bag?" "In my car," she told him. "I wasn't about to hike two miles in the snow with a suitcase." "Smart girl." He was rubbing her ankles, warming them with his palms. "You'll just have to be naked, then." Startled, she pulled her ankle away before she could remind herself of any of her resolutions. He grinned and took it back. "Kidding. Christ, your brain must have frozen too. Let me go get you a pair of sweats or something, ok?" She nodded and rubbed her hands together as she watched him stand and walk into a hallway. It was terrifying and gratifying at the same time to realize that only a thin red layer stood between her and his warm skin. Shivering, she wondered how long it would take, tonight. Of course, she was still terrified. That hadn't changed in the last few hours. Because there was every possibility that he would not want it. It wasn't, much as she trusted him, a given. After all, hadn't he nearly forsaken her for Diana, just a few months before? Hadn't he? She wasn't sure, but the thought made her shiver uncontrollably. She was shaking when he entered, carrying a t-shirt and a pair of sweat shorts and thick white socks. "Scully?" he said, stepping up to her and picking her up by the shoulders. "Get over here by the fire." His hands rubbed up and down her arms, causing a sweet friction between skin and shirt. She looked up at him and found him staring at her as if she were something not quite corporeal, about to vanish. As if the only thing holding her there were the gentle passes of the palms of his hands. "Why'd you come?" he whispered and she knew the answer was desperately important to him. And yet there he was, still dressed only in the long-johns, radiating heat that seared her as surely as the wood stove now warmed her back. What could she say? She wanted, without really examining why, to prolong this a bit more. Perhaps it was the impending celebration, the nature of the date, of tonight. "Well…" she said softly and stopped herself from shuddering. "I thought if this really was the Rapture, there's no one I'd rather go to my fiery death with than you." He smiled and backed off a bit. Right tone, right answer. For now. "Somehow, Scully, I don't think you and I would be going to the same place." She giggled. "What, Mulder, you think Saint Peter'd hold back the savior of the universe because he occasionally bad-mouthed the big guy?" Mulder sat back in one of the Seventies corduroy-covered chairs and cocked his head at her. "I'm hardly the savior of the universe," he said quietly. "I haven't, as far as I know, saved a damn thing." "You've saved me," she said fiercely. "More times than I can count." She wanted to touch him so badly, it made her hands itch. Mulder was staring at her. "I've also harmed you, Scully. You see, it was only fair." The conversation was taking a turn she didn't like. "Too serious, Mulder," she told him. "Besides, look at it this way… I'm not going anywhere without you, even heaven." "Hmmm," he said, humming deep in his throat. "I'm absolutely sure if I get to heaven, Scully, it'll be with you." For a moment they simply looked at each other, daring, challenging. She broke first. "I'm going to go change," she whispered. "Right," he said. "If you need help with any of your buttons… maybe your fly…" He was back to the old Mulder. She sighed. "If my fingers start dropping off, I'll let you know." In the bathroom of the cabin, she slipped off her frozen shirt, now crispy in the back from the wood stove. She pondered her bra for a moment, then unfastened it and let it go. What the hell, she thought. She knew exactly how sexy bare breasts against a man's t-shirt would be. Ah, his t-shirt. She pulled it on and snuggled into it, wrapping it around her body and snuffling the fabric like a dog. He smelled so good to her in that moment. Like a promise, like Christmas or her birthday. After she had wrestled off her soaked jeans, she found the t-shirt reached mid-way down her thighs. Any other night, she would have taken the shorts, but now… she left them by the sink and slipped her cold feet into his warm socks. Ready. A glance at her watch… it was nearly five now. Outside, she could hear the wind rising, sense the change from day to night. Mulder waited on the couch, reading a book (or at least pretending to read). When she entered, he looked up and caught her eye immediately, then let his dark gaze drift down her body, taking in her nipples taught against the gray of the t-shirt, her bare legs. "Better get over by the fire, Scully," he said. "You're half-naked." She thought she could hear something smoky in his voice, but couldn't be sure. "So are you," she countered. He nodded, still watching her walk, chewing on one fingernail. "If I'm making you uncomfortable," he said, "I could put on a shirt." He had taken off the stupid mukluks in the heat of the room and was now lounging there in nothing but those damn long underwear. His narrow bare feet seemed unimaginably erotic to her, as if she were an old Japanese man, viewing the sacred flower of a geisha's white foot beneath her robes. "No," she said, feeling daring. "Then I'd have to put on a pair of pants." "And we can't have that," he answered, stretching slightly. She thought she saw the muscles in his stomach twitch. "No," she said. "Not tonight." His face was unreadable, intense but carefully controlled. This was her game, he was simply following along. "Why, Scully? What's so special about tonight?" "It's the beginning of the new millennium, Mulder." "Oh, how stupid of me," he grinned, but his eyes remained calm. "So in the new millennium, no one wears clothes?" "That's right," she said, enjoying the power. Her back side was warm now, toasty. Turning, she warmed her front. She could feel him looking at her more freely now, examining the curve of her thigh above her knee. "We won't need them." "Oh yeah?" Not looking at him, she could hear the uncertainty in his voice. God help her, it made her wet just to know she could still frighten him: Mulder, the sexual animal, the porn king, the man of innuendoes and advances. "Why's that?" "Well, once you're alien fodder, Mulder, clothes don't really make much difference." He snorted and ran one hand along the back of the chair, sensuously stroking the fabric. "You would know," he said, and grinned so she wouldn't be offended. She wasn't. "So, Scully, what now?" "Dinner, to start with," she said. "I hope you've got provisions in this place, Mulder?" "I do," he answered. "I seem to recall two or three very thick New York steaks in the freezer." "Fine, let's start with those." Oh God, she thought, he was getting up. She turned and stared at him. He was standing just a few feet from her, tall and dusky and, if she wasn't mistaken (it had been a long time, after all, and she was terribly desperate), half-erect. He definitely wasn't wearing anything under those undies, she thought, watching the dark space where the fly bulged slightly open. "Fine," he said. "I'll go start them defrosting. You want wine?" He turned and walked into the kitchen and she realized she could now let out the breath she had been holding for what seemed like hours. When did Mulder start making her so nervous? I suppose, she reasoned, when I started openly wanting him. "Sure, that'd be fine." I may need it, she wanted to add, but didn't. He began making domestic noises in the kitchen and for the first time, she looked around the cabin. Bill and Teena Mulder had always had much more money than her family, and the cabin reflected that. Not that anything was new or modern or shiny, in fact, just the opposite. Nothing had been changed in years, from the expensive rugs on the wood floor, to the well-stuffed furniture from the late Sixties. It was oddly like stepping back in time. In the small kitchen, Mulder popped two large frozen steaks into the microwave and then reached up to an overhead cupboard for the wine. As he moved, his underwear slipped a bit, exposing the delicious triangle of skin in his lower back to her. She sighed. He had always been beautiful, she had realized it on the first case. But in the last few years, as they had grown closer, he had become something more than beautiful. He seemed to shimmer to her, to have his own aura of glorious virility. I need to get laid more, she thought, watching him hurt himself on the corkscrew and dance around the kitchen cursing under his breath. Her body was warmed now, thoroughly. She stepped in to help him, taking the corkscrew from his hand and inserting it into the cork easily. "Gee Scully…" He was right behind her, one hand just a few inches from her hip, bracing on the counter. "… Must be the surgeon's hands…" She nodded, twisted the corkscrew into the soft pulpy cork and pulled it out with one swift motion. "That, and the fact that I was a barmaid in college." "You were a what?" He was delighted, turning her to face him. He was so close she had to lean back to avoid touching him with her chest. "I can't picture you dealing kindly with rowdy drunks." "Dealing kindly, Mulder, is not a prerequisite to bartending. I just poured 'em, I didn't hand out sympathy." He nodded. "Not you, Scully." And then he leaned forward, causing her to practically bend over backwards to keep their faces a few inches apart. When she was no longer able to move, he kept going, stopping at her ear. "You're as hard as nails." His hips were pressed against her own and she pondered saying something like "so are you," but decided against it. "I don't know," she whispered in his ear, not quite touching him with her lips, "I always thought of myself as soft, Mulder." He shifted against her, and for the first time she became aware of the quickness of his breath. "Very soft, actually." "I'm sure you are," he breathed. "In parts." It made her giggle, though she tried to stop herself. "Mulder," she whispered, "the wine." "The wine, Scully? What about it?" He was not letting up, she realized, as his hands suddenly seemed to appear from nowhere and land on her hips. "It's breathing too much," she said, and it sounded all wrong. "So am I," he said and slid his hands up to her waist. "God, you're so small," he moaned and she nearly lost her ability to stand. And then her stomach, always greedy, interrupted them both by gurgling loudly. "You're starving," he said. "Well…" She remembered how good it felt to let things build. "Yes," she admitted. "This can wait," he said, lying through his flushed cheeks and bright eyes. His erection poked at her leg and she grinned as he pulled away. "What can?" she asked. "The wine?" She was trying to provoke him, to drive the heat in the room a bit higher. He looked down at his own obvious discomfort and cocked an eyebrow at her. "No, but whatever it is, it's definitely whining right about now." That was it. She was laughing, really laughing and she knew she wouldn't be able to stop. He was there in front of her, bending to try and look into her eyes as she doubled over. "What, Scully? Did that amuse you? Because it sure as hell isn't funny from my end." "Oh Mulder," she gasped, grabbing his shoulder for support. It felt so good to laugh with him, to be easy with him, to openly flirt with him, especially as their last year had held its full share of misery. She wanted to tell him all of this, and searched for the right words. They spilled out of her mouth like the laughter. "I've missed you so much." He stared at her, puzzled, as she regained control. "That's twice you've said that to me today, Scully. Where the hell have I been? You saw me two days ago, as I recall." He had grown serious, and she realized he was vaguely offended, though neither of them could have explained why. She struggled to say the right thing, the real thing. "I guess I don't miss you, so much Mulder, as I've missed us." "Us?" he said, taking the steaks from the microwave and plopping them onto the indoor grill. They sizzled pleasantly. "Where have we been, then?" "I don't know," she said honestly. "But we haven't been together for a lot of it." He nodded, poking the steaks with a long fork. "I see. You mean, in some way or another, that you got ditched." Staring, she didn't know what to say. He seemed to be missing the point, and she was blowing it. "No," she told him. "Not at all. I think… I think we both wandered off for a while." "And now we're back?" he asked, flipping the steaks, not looking at her. "How do you like yours, by the way?" She was confused for a moment and then answered "Medium well, of course." "Right," he said. "I should have known. Kill all the yummy little bacteria, right Scully?" There was an edge to his voice she didn't like. "Mulder…" she said, stepping up and touching his bare side. His skin was hot there, she half expected to sizzle like the steaks if she remained there. "I'm sorry, Scully. I just don't feel like I'm the only one who was missing. I mean, how many times have you shut me out? How many? And did I guilt-trip you about it for a year afterward? I mean, get over it, Scully. It's been months since Diana…" and then he stopped and they both stared at each other. "Since Diana what?" Scully asked, hearing the coolness in her voice. "Left," he said. "Ah…" she nodded. "So this was all about my jealousy, is that it, Mulder?" "I don't know," he said, leaning against the counter, and she heard the resignation in his voice. "I don't know what the hell any of this is about. When did we decide to hurt each other? I don't know. I don't remember making a conscious decision to let you go. I only remember asking you to stay." "And I have," she said gently, "even when you were the one running." They were both silent for a moment and then he reached out and pulled her toward him. Embracing him, she heard the soft beating of his heart. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "But I couldn't help feeling jealous, even if I had no right." He tightened his arms around her. "You had a right, Scully," he told her hair. "And we both knew it all along." His broad back was cooling to her touch and she felt Goosebumps rising on her arms. "How much longer on those steaks?" she asked and listened to him laugh through his ribcage. "One track mind, Scully. That means you get to make the salad." xxxxxx There was nothing wrong with a distraction. She ripped lettuce and sliced tomatoes, wondering where all the wonderful fresh produce had come from in this cold, isolated place. It was as if, instead of being a few miles from town, she had hiked deep into the Yukon and found carrots. Mulder pressed the steaks into the grill with a fork and then stood watching her. "You know, Scully," he said, dangling the fork temptingly, "I never would have thought I'd say this, but you look really comfortable in a kitchen." Surprised, she stared at him. "I'm not sure if I should be insulted because I look good in a domestic capacity or because you've never seen me that way before." "Well, when have I had the opportunity?" he asked. "It's not like you invite me over all the time to eat your fine home cooking and play Scrabble." She was flabbergasted. "Is that what you want?" she said. "Sometimes," he admitted, crossing his arms over his bare chest and grinning at her. The muscles in his pecs drew up and together a bit, making him look like a Playgirl centerfold: "Fox Mulder, December's treat, doesn't mind frying up a little fun for his best gal pal in his cabin by the lake". She smiled. "All you ever had to do was ask," she told him. "And why is that, Scully? Why was it always up to me? Why couldn't you have gotten a hankering for someone to… cook for?" "You're the man" seemed like a lame answer, so she said nothing. "You know, you're a tough one to read sometimes," he said, and went back to pressing on the steaks. She snorted. "What?" he asked, without turning around. "You think you're an open book?" "No," she said. "I think I'm just as difficult to understand as you are." "Oh come on, Scully…" He flipped the steak over and pressed again. She heard the grease hit the hot metal below. "What's so hard about me? I'm a two-note song. There's the almost-all-consuming search for Samantha, and then there's you. That about sums me up." "I would like to think you are the sum of many things, Mulder, not two other people." He nodded and turned to look her in the eye. "But there are only two things in this universe that matter to me. Not Diana, not the possible discovery of extraterrestrial life, not Skinner and the bureau and the whole slimy business of government conspiracies. Some of that used to matter to me, Scully, but that was so long ago I can't even summon the energy to remember why I thought any of it was important." "It's all important," she chided him, tossing the greens and feeling tossed herself, as if she would stop and find her arms and legs in strange places, like a game of Twister. "Nope, it's really not. And in the end, even my sister isn't that important. You said it yourself, Scully. If this really is the end of the world, there's only one person I'd want to be destroyed with." She lowered her eyes, feeling something very much like tears in the back. Before she could answer him, he said: "Steaks are done. Grab a plate, Agent, and scoop me some salad." xxxxxx They sat in front of the wood stove, since moving too far away invited cold breezes to creep around their toes. Balancing the plate of drippingly wonderful steak and greens on her knees, Scully watched as Mulder sliced into the center of his steak and brought a piece up to his lips. At the last moment, he caught her looking and without lowering his gaze, brought his tongue out to snag the meat. She swallowed and tried to concentrate on her own food. It was very good. Tender and juicy and done to perfection, with the smallest possible strip of pink in the very center. "I stopped at that little restaurant you recommended," she told him. "The soul food place." "Mmm," he said, and she wasn't sure whether he was referring to the steak or the restaurant. "I like that little spot. Their fried chicken practically melts in your mouth." "It did," she admitted. "And the potatoes were good too. You know your soul food, Mulder." "One step closer to knowing my own soul," he noted, and crunched into a carrot. "So Scully, what say we play a little game after this?" Her mind froze. "A game?" she said. "Yeah… I think we've got Scrabble or Monopoly or something in the cupboard." Letting her heart beat again, she nodded. "As long as it's Scrabble. I hate Monopoly. I always lose." "It's a stupid game," he agreed. "There's no strategy. It's just where you happen to end up. And we, as you know, are fond of strategy." "We are," she said, and took another bite. "We could play strip Scrabble," he noted, but didn't sound serious. "I think I would beat you then, Mulder." "Why?" he asked. "I'm wearing socks and underwear." "True. But who says if I lost, I'd lose?" "Nice try," she said, and knew she no longer sounded serious, either. "Fine, normal Scrabble then. I have all sorts of little games, Agent Scully. Scrabble is just the most… easy to learn." Her heart had begun to pound again. If he continued to hit her with adrenaline rushes, she reasoned, she'd end up sick. "I don't think I want to play that type of little game, Mulder. Especially if you learned it from one of those videos you don't own." He shook his head and set his empty plate on the floor at his feet. Meeting her glare, he even toed it further away from the kitchen. "I've made them all up, Scully, in my head. I've been practicing there, for the day when I would be able to play them." "I doubt it was your head you were practicing with," she said. He grinned. "Touche, Scully. I like this side of you, can I see more?" She sighed and stood, stepping forward to retrieve his plate. As she bent over to get it, she considered kneeling instead. Years of miniskirts had taught her the correct way to pick up something from the floor, but in the end… in the end, it was more fun to just bend over, her ass a few feet from Mulder's face, and let him get an ever-increasing view of the backs of her thighs. She heard him suck in his breath when the edge of the t-shirt touched the edge of her underwear. Ah ha, she thought, bending just a little more and snagging the plate. Little games indeed. Leaving the plates in a warm bubble bath in the sink, she returned to find Mulder laying out the board and pieces for their first game. She sat opposite him and selected her tiles. "You go first," she told him. "All right," he said quickly. A bit too quickly, and she wondered what he had. He laid the tiles out in the middle. "There," he said and grinned at her gaping mouth. "You cheated," she said. "There is no way you just drew that." "I swear, Scully," he cried. "Honest to God." In the middle of the board, screaming out at her, was the word "breast". "Mulder," she said. "You are a complete bastard." "Just playin' the game, Scully. Just playin' the game." "Fine," she said, and looked again at her tiles. She had thought of using "couch", but now saw another possibility. She laid the tiles out on the board and smiled at him. "Scully," he said, his face unreadable. "Are you trying to send me a message?" "Not at all," she said. "Just trying to gain points." "Boy," he whispered. "You're getting 'em." At the end of his word, she had laid out the letters o-u-c-h, "touch". She selected her replacement tiles as he looked at his own. "Are we keeping track of points?" he asked suddenly. "No," she said. "We're just playing till we get bored." "Right…" he said, sounding unconvinced. "Ok…" He paused for a moment, and then smiled. "Are there words that are off-limits?" She hesitated. "The usual," she said. "Proper names, you know." "Ok," he said and laid out the tiles, using the "u" in "touch." "Mulder," she said sternly. "That's not a word." "Nonsense," he said. "I've even heard you use it." "You can't use expletives," she argued. "So I can't use damn? Or God? Or Mother?" She was had. "Of course you can use those words. All right. You can leave it there." He laughed. "Never try to beat an Oxford man, Scully. We play dirty." She looked at her own tiles and practically hiccuped her laughter. "Oh, Mulder, you forget, I'm a Navy girl," she said and laid out "stroke" along the "k" in "fuck". His eyes were round and innocent when she was able to look up. "I'm afraid I can't do much…" he said and she knew he was up to something. From the "o" in stroke, he laid down one letter. "Do". "That's fairly pathetic," she agreed, but pleasantly in keeping with the theme, she noted to herself. "Oh yeah?" he said, defensive, "well… I've got all the 'q's and now I've used the 'u'." "You're not supposed to tell me that," she said and set out her next word: "taste" from the "t" in "stroke." "Oh Scully," he sounded genuinely impressed. "I should have suggested this long ago." "Like I said, all you had to do was ask." "Remind me again in an hour or so," he said cryptically. She smiled as he put down "silver" from the "s" in "taste." "I was saving it for 'quiver'," he said, "but I didn't have a 'u'." "Indeed," she said. "It works though, don't ask me why." But she knew why. It was the exact color of his eyes in the firelight, like mercury. "Oh Mulder, you are so about to get your 'u'. I have really outdone myself." "Really?" He waited, tapping one bare foot on the wooden floor by her hand. She had an irrational urge to reach out and grab it. "Do your worst, Miss Special Agent Woman." She laid out the tiles slowly, watching the word build for him. "Oh, that is nice," he said, admiring it. "Good one." She nodded. "Languid," just how she felt. "Now you better use that damn 'u', after all this complaining." "I fully plan to," he said. She laughed, feeling giddy. "Now aren't you glad you didn't settle for 'quiver'?" she asked him between giggles. "Very much so," he agreed. Next to her own word, Mulder had spelled out "quickie." "All those 'i's," she noted. "It must be a relief to get that out of the way." "Not as much as you might think," he said. "I liked having it there, waiting for the right moment. Now I got nothing, nothing… So go for it." It was too tempting. She had been holding back, for fear of being too obvious, but now she could no longer stand it. From the "f" in "fuck," she laid out his demise. Mulder's cheeks were a lovely rosy color when she looked up, as if he'd had a great deal more wine than he had. "I thought we weren't using proper names," he said. "I never implied it was your name," she said demurely. "It's also a furry little animal, if I recall correctly." "Fine," he said, and then he set about getting her right back. "There." She read the sequence of words in her head. Fuck. Fox. Sex. It was almost too much, and she knew it. A surreptitious glance at her wrist told her it was nearly ten o'clock. Two more hours. She had to slow this down. "Very nice, Mulder. If we were keeping track of points, I'm sure you'd be way ahead." "It's not too late to play strip Scrabble, Scully." "Yes it is, because I'm about to kick your ass three ways from Sunday." "Oh yeah?" he said. "Yeah," she affirmed. "This has definitely been my night." She set out the word. Mulder's eyes got very wide and he nodded. "And it's not even that late," he said. She sat back and admired her handiwork: "lascivious". "That may be the finest Scrabble moment I've ever seen," Mulder said. "I want to thank you for allowing me to be here to witness history in the making, Scully." "I do my best," she said, keeping her eyes well shaded by her lashes. This was working out very, very well. She replaced nearly all her tiles. "I hate to even try to follow that up," he said, "so I'll just go with something easy." And he laid out "bare" from the "b" in "breast". "You devil," she said and stared at her own tiles. "It seems my moment in the sun has passed. I can only do this…" "Oh, Scully," he said. "Let me see… 'bare', 'rear'… You're definitely trying to tell me something. Has my union suit slipped?" "Nope," she said, smirking. "Go on, Mulder. Knock me out." So he did. From the "a" in "rear", he spelled out "adore." "There," he said. "That knock you out enough, Dana?" And suddenly, the room had gotten very warm. "Dana?" she said, hearing her own voice squeak. "Did someone just die?" He shrugged, head down and she took some pity on him. "Ok, I've used your name tonight, I suppose that's only fair. Now, let me see what I can do with that." Her tiles were woefully pathetic. She could have spelled out "sieve", or "grief", or "fib", or "lie". She wanted a miracle of letters, something like "love" or "cuddle", but her luck had run out, tile-wise at least. She sat there staring at the stupid little ivory squares in the flickering light from the stove. How could they give her "lascivious" and then come up with nothing now? "Scully?" he said softly, and she was filled with anger at the game. "I don't have anything," she said, though she had several choices. "I mean, nothing good." "It's just a game," he noted, his voice like honey. "Tell you what, I've got a blank tile. You want it? Just give me one of yours and you can have it." Wordlessly, she handed him the "g" and took the blank tile. And suddenly, it was there in front of her, spelled out so clearly. Using the "e" in "adore", she spelled it out for him. "Believe?" he asked, seeing the blank tile in the spot for the "v". "Believe," she confirmed. They were both very quiet and still, as if the clock had slowed, and she were now aware of time in nanoseconds. "I'm tired of this game," he said, and his voice was husky. "I think it's time to play another." "Got something in mind?" she asked, nervous as hell. "No," he admitted, "but if you come sit next to me on the couch, I'm sure we can come up with something." He was tossing tiles into the box as if they were hot coals. She helped, dumping their letters and folding the board. His sudden urge to be tidy touched her. Then he was shoving the box out of the way and coming toward her on his knees. "The couch," she began, but got no further. He was inches from her, panting like an animal, his hands trapping her against the back of the chair she had been leaning on. "Fuck the couch," he growled and the thought that she could nearly have spelled that out at some point struck her as funny. "I've thought of a new game." "Oh yeah?" she whispered. "What does it entail?" "Stay here," he said and she nodded. As if she would ever move again. He disappeared for a few moments, leaving her gasping in front of the chair. Mulder could be so fucking intense sometimes… it was like trying to talk to a rocket. He returned almost immediately, holding something balled up in his hands. He knelt in front of her. "I'm taking a huge gamble here," he said, and his voice was as scratchy as his stubble. She gasped without meaning to. "I think you know that." She nodded. What was in his hands? "Close your eyes," he said and she did, instantly. Until she felt cold fabric brushing across her eyelids. He was blindfolding her. "What are you doing?" she asked and shivered. "What I've wanted to do for years," he said and she began to sweat. "Mulder…" she whispered. "Do you trust me?" he asked, tying what ever it was behind her head. "Yes," she said. "But you still have the capacity to scare me." "I know," he whispered. "That's why it's erotic." And it was. She was barely able to suck in enough air to breathe. "You're so controlled, Scully. I want you to relax and let me take the driver's seat." She couldn't fathom what was going to happen. He hadn't even kissed her, for heaven's sake, and now he was talking about taking control? "Stand up," he said, and his voice was in her ear. "Where are we going?" she asked. "The bedroom," he said and then laughed as she stiffened. "Trust me," he said again. So she did. What choice did she have, after so long? The floor was cold on her feet as they moved through the cabin. He led her into the bedroom and she could instantly feel a change in temperature. Her leg bumped into the soft covering of the bed and she sighed. "Get on the bed," he said, and though he was standing right next to her, his voice was low. She scrambled up and lay on her back, listening to the blood move through her own heart. She felt him climb up beside her and settle… over her. God, he was straddling her. She squirmed slightly and then felt something… cool and soft touch her cheek. xxxxxx "What is that?" she whispered as he dragged it gently along her jawbone. It was so sensual she could hardly move. It slipped across her lips, hesitating there, then dipped and brushed her ear, her eyebrows, her nose. She twitched and it moved across her mouth again, slowly. "Put your arms above your head," he said and she did, aware he wasn't going to answer her question. He slid whatever it was… a tie? A scarf? Hell, a feather duster? down her neck and slowly over her left breast. He seemed to know where she would feel it most intensely, and the pressure increased to compensate for her t-shirt. Goosebumps rose on her skin as he dragged it slowly up the inside of her left arm to her hand. It lingered there for a moment, then slid down her other arm and across her breasts. She shivered. "Cold?" he whispered. "No," she said and shuddered as something touched her left breast just as the cloth passed over her hand. The cloth disappeared and she was concentrating on the thing touching her nipple like a breeze. What could it be? It vanished just as she figured it out. He was touching her then, dragging the very tip of his index finger along the curve of her right armpit. He wanted her to think it was still the cloth, but this was warm and solid and Mulder. Her whole body seemed to be alive, suddenly, and she couldn't help but give one quick jerk of her hips as sensations reached her. "Oh my," he said. "You like this, Scully? Not knowing what it is or when it'll hit next?" "A veritable x-file, Mulder," she said and tried to concentrate on his form, to figure out where he was going. It was no use. The touches began again, this time on her belly. He slid the t-shirt up and the warm tips of two fingers brushed the soft downy hair she barely knew she had on her skin. Every inch of her body was covered in gooseflesh, but that only made it better. His finger lingered around her belly button, skirting it, sliding back up her sternum until he was pushing up her shirt. She sighed and the finger stopped pushing and began a slow traverse of the side of her body, running down to her hip, across her stomach and back to the other side. She was intensely aware of lying there in her underwear and wondered suddenly if she should have shaved her bikini-line. As if reading her mind, the fingers disappeared and suddenly touched the edge of her pubic hair where her underwear didn't quite cover it. The two fingers began to slide under the elastic. She gasped out loud and sat up, feeling panicked. "Shhh," he said. "Don't worry." But she couldn't help it. She crossed her arms over her breasts and let him slowly lower her back down, teeth chattering. "Shhh, shhh," he whispered. "I'm sorry. Too much, right? Shhh. I just wanted…" he sighed and she felt his hands on the knot behind her head as he lifted her again. Suddenly the cloth was gone and she could open her sticky eyes. Mulder swam in front of her for a moment, his face close to hers. "You just wanted?" she said, hearing the panic in her voice subside now that she could see him. "I just wanted to touch you," he told her. "And you never let me. I thought this might help." Her body was still hyper aware of his. She reached up and touched his cheek. He was burning up, she thought, and then realized her own fingers were cold. "Mulder," she said softly. "You just needed to ask. And I certainly don't want to be blindfolded the first time you do… that." He grinned at her, still inches away. "So you'd like it if I did… that?" "I assume you knew that already, or I wouldn't be lying here on your bed half-dressed and trembling." "You are trembling, aren't you?" he noticed. "Come on, it's freezing in here. Let's get back into the warmth of the living room." He stood her up and led her out into the main room. She was instantly warmer. They had had so many false starts and stops that night, it was beginning to unnerve her. She felt too sensitive, raw. Stoking the fire, he let more heat into the room and she stopped shaking all together. His back was to her, warm and strong and rippling in the flickering light. Oh Mulder, she thought, I have missed you, over and over. She looked down at her wrist and started. "Mulder," she said. "It's 11:15!" "Really?" he looked back up at her, and his face seemed older suddenly, as if the last few minutes had aged him. All along she had thought that his life was dragging her down, but she realized she had been self indulgent. There were things in her own make-up that were equally damaging to him. She had been waiting. Just a little longer, she had thought. As if the time made any difference. Why kiss him at midnight, or at any other time? Why wait until the last second? "I'll turn on the TV," he said and flipped on a small set in the corner. "New Year's Rockin' Eve" was already in progress, with Dick Clark smarming about something to some blond girl while people screamed in the background. "Look at that," he mused, watching the announcer. "Dick Clark is a living x-file." She smiled. "Mulder," she said, and he turned to look at her. "Scully?" he said, confused by her silence. "What's wrong?" He was there in front of her then, moving quickly. He was always running to be with her, she thought. Taking his hand in hers she pulled him closer, until their bodies touched. She was aware of every glorious inch of him and glad to be able to see his eyes. That was what had been wrong on the bed. They were so ordinary if they were unable to see one another. "I had a dream last night," she whispered, "where I held glowing galaxies in my hand." He stared at her for a moment, caressing the hand he was holding. Then he lifted it between them. Kissing the palm of her hand, he let her go and simply gazed at her. "I love you," he said. It was so necessary to him to say it, and she knew she would be hearing it over and over for the rest of her life. "I know," she whispered to him. "I'm madly in love with you too." "Ah," he said. Then the prerequisite tender moment had been gotten out of the way, and lust took over. He grabbed her, not touched her, not stroked her, but grabbed her. His large hands were on her cheeks and his lips were pressing on hers and she was opening her mouth and thinking "this was definitely resolution number five, definitely" as he pushed his warm tongue against hers and his warm crotch into her body. Kissing him had seemed like something worth waiting for, but now she knew that waiting for it had been stupidity. It was as essential as breathing, she would never be able to go a single day without it again. He sucked on her lower lip and the tips of their tongues met, sending a shower of sparks down her backbone and around her thighs to her groin like electricity. "Mmm," he said, or rather, groaned and she ran her shaking hands over his shoulders, almost startled by their solid form. He made his way down her neck. Dirty thoughts seemed to flood her brain and she decided to give voice to them. It seemed so unfair not to, after her lonely mind had been so patient. "I'm going to fuck you until your eyes water," she said and waited to see what he would do. She had only a moment's pause before he pressed his pelvis into hers and suckled her neck like it was made of spun sugar. "I'm going to brand my body on your skin like a sunburn," she told him. He lifted her up slightly and then lowered her into the couch so that he could hover over her, picking and choosing his areas of attack. He was already frantic, kissing the space above her cleavage through her shirt, gripping her breasts and thrusting into her thigh like a man about to come. "I'm going to fuck you so thoroughly that when you walk into a room, every woman in it will smell me all over you, like cologne. I'm going to make you come so hard you'll need to keep Gatorade by the bed to avoid passing out." He was laughing and at the same time sucking on her breasts through the layer of fabric, sending wild aching sensations straight to her groin. "I'm going to suck you so hard you'll be able to come weeks later just thinking about me." With a groan, Mulder simply ripped his t-shirt over her head. He licked her breast, running his flat tongue up over her nipple as if she were as sweet as a giant lollipop. Taking one nipple between his lips, he rolled it and squeezed it and tickled it with the very tip of his tongue until she stuck her own tongue out in response, wanting to lick anything he had to offer. He gave her his mouth, raising up to meet her and plunging into her with his tongue. It felt so good to have him above her, his body pressed on hers, his erection ramming into her leg, that she nearly passed out with pleasure. No one should wait six years, she thought. It just makes you crazy. It was so obvious now. When she opened her eyes, he was still above her, his large dark eyes running over her face. "My God," he said. She agreed thoroughly as he thrust against her. "Remember what you were going to do, back there in the bedroom?" she asked. "Yep," he said. "Hasn't left my mind for even a second." "Do it," she said. "Do it now." He buried his head in her neck and slid one hand down to her underwear. For a moment he hesitated, stroking the soft skin of her stomach, then he pushed under her panties and slipped into her body in one fluid motion, bypassing any awkward fumbling. She raised her hips to meet him and moaned into his forehead. "Oh God," he said again, and then followed it with. "I can't believe I'm actually inside your body." "Deeper," she demanded and whimpered as he withdrew, only to slam two fingers into her with a force that made her toes curl. "Yes," she said. "Like that. Hard like that." He giggled then, actually giggled, his breath hot against her neck. "Boy Scully, you sure know what to say to a guy." "Oh yeah?" she said. "Say just the right thing to me." He seemed to think about this for a moment and then raised up a bit, his fingers still pumping in and out of her body as he looked at her. He added a little twist then, sliding his thumb along her clit and making her suck in his breath as he lowered to just above her mouth. "You are the single most necessary thing in my life," he said and she nearly burst into tears. She was so close then, so naked, all her emotions rushing over the surface of her nerves like wind. "That's pretty good," she whispered. "That'll do." He laughed and stroked her again, watching her face as the pleasure built. "Come on, Scully, come on." She nodded, feeling something in her stomach like a pin prick of light. The Big Bang, right there in her own body, suddenly expanding and shooting out through her skin, sending cosmic dust in every direction. In her ear he was moaning: "Come for me, come for me, come for me." Her own little sexual cheerleader. She sighed, drifting down like a feather on a still, warm summer day. He was grinning like a fool, practically drooling. "You look like the cat who got the cream," she said, aware of the double entendre. "Oh baby," was all he replied, licking his lips. Jeez, those lips, she thought. How could she have resisted them for so long? She kissed him then, writhing in his arms and twisting around until he lay beneath her. She rose above him like a conqueror, about to pillage. "These things are so damn ugly," she said, tugging at his long underwear. "And they're getting in the way. How am I supposed to rub myself on you if you're wearing waffle weave?" He wasn't really capable of answering as she slowly slid the fabric down his thighs and off his feet. She pulled her own underwear off too, just because she was dripping and felt he might need moisture. It was all so illogical, passing through her head in seconds. Waffle weave, wetness, need… she was a jumble of thoughts, of sensations. So she decided to concentrate on one thing. Fox Mulder, naked beneath her. And by God, he was lovely. His head was back, his eyes deep swimming silver beneath lashes that really ought to have been on a girl, then that long neck and rippling chest… she sighed with pleasure when she reached his stomach. No longer washboard, exactly, but strong and sensual. There was just something about a naked belly that made her want to rub her hair on him like a cat, scenting him… and then the soft curls of his pubic hair and the thick heat of his penis, erect and pulsing against his groin. She could have stopped there, but the lower half was so nice. Long, strong thighs covered in a soft brush of hair, the insides looking particularly bitable. His knees were a bit knobby, like a boy's, and his calves were muscular and well-defined. And the feet, well, she had already marveled at those. He was so naked there, one arm behind his head, the other stroking her thigh just above the knee, that she was completely aware of her own still-pulsing sex. But she had work to do, first. Things to attend to. Lowering her head, she gripped him and slid him into her mouth. His reaction was priceless. "Oh fuck!" he yelled, grabbing the side of the couch like a man about to slide off into a pool of boiling water. "Been a while, sailor?" she asked, feeling playful, nibbling at his balls as if they were fruit. "Oh…" he murmured, "oh…" and she realized that was going to be it from him for a while. Fox Mulder had found nirvana and it consisted of her tongue licking the entire underside of his sex from balls to penis tip. She took him into her mouth then, unable to completely consume him, but compensating with her hand around the base and a copious amount of saliva as lubricant. As she sucked him, she watched him. He moved his head from side to side, squinting as if the sun were burning above him, and perhaps it was. Licking his lips like a man dying of thirst, moaning… he was wasting away beneath her, turning and twisting and groaning. No wonder men sold their souls for this. "Oh, Scully, stop…" he whispered, his voice parched. "Stop now." She did, not really wanting to spend the night snuggling without feeling him deep inside her first. He pulled her up till she was lying on top of him, her head tucked beneath his chin. "What time is it?" he whispered. "11:45," she said, checking the only article of clothing she still wore, besides the gold cross around her neck, but she wasn't thinking about that now. "I want to be inside you when the moment comes," he said. "I certainly want to have you inside me when you come," she countered and he smiled. He was absentmindedly rubbing his own penis and it made her entire lower body clench to watch him. "11:46," she whispered and he turned his head to kiss her hair. She wondered if it were possible to be jealous of your own hair and then slid up him, lips burning, to let him kiss her more deeply. They kissed, luxuriously, for what seemed like hours. Mulder's lips were so full and sweet, she wanted to bite them, pull at them, worry them like a dog with a new toy, but contented herself with running the tip of her tongue over them as he lay looking at her, eyes wide. He was so easy to please, it was almost ridiculous. Clearly, he needed to get laid more often, she thought. She kissed her way down his body, concentrating on his stomach, below his belly button, where the muscles twitched when she brushed his cock. She nuzzled his pubic hair and blew on him, making him jump. And the whole time, he was circling one finger around her nipple, maddeningly able to stay with it even as she moved, teasing and tempting and… oh, now it was sliding down her body and he was pushing it inside her. "God, you're so wet," he groaned. "How can you be so wet?" It was a rhetorical question, she knew. "Time?" he gasped, thrusting his hips in time to his hand. "11:57," she said and was surprised when he rolled her over and settled his body between her thighs. "Time," he said, and slid into her in one impossibly slick moment. He was huge. She thought she might not be able to take it, the pain was quite palpable and burned down to her anus, but then he began to move. Once the lubrication of her own body had covered him, they were fine. They, not her, no longer just her. They. "Oh my God," he groaned, and she smiled at the thought that Fox Mulder had possibly found religion at last. He was above her, supported by shaking arms, grinning wildly and staring at his own body moving in and out of hers. "Isn't it beautiful?" he whispered. "Yes," she said, moved. "Yes." He was holding back, thrusting slowly, languidly, she thought, running the word over her mental tongue with a sensuous glee. Languidly. "11: 59," he said, staring briefly at the screen. "Almost the new millennium." "Ah," she moaned as he changed position a bit, raising her legs to fold near his armpits. "Ah." He kissed her, lowering himself and ravaging her mouth before popping up again and squinting at the TV. In the background she heard it begin. "Ten!" the people in Time Square shouted. Mulder looked down at her and his eyes were wet. She felt her own face crumple in a sweet way and brought her hands to his cheeks. "Nine!" She pulled his head down and kissed him. "Eight!" they screamed and he whispered "I love you" over "Seven!" from the TV. "Six!" She said it back, drowning out "Five!" as well. It didn't matter. He was moving more quickly now, pushing into her, dripping with sweat near the hot fire. "Four!" they cried and she moaned as he found another, deeper spot to touch. "Three!" She knew they were still holding back. "Two!" He kissed her again. "One!" There was a tremendous cheer and "Happy New Year!" from the TV as Mulder began to move in earnest. He had not been waiting for the exact moment, but for the new millennium, for the future itself. "I'm coming," he told her, as if she couldn't tell from his shaking body and frantic movements. She felt him quiver inside her and then the familiar warmth of being filled. God, men had no idea, she thought briefly as he swelled and shivered in her grasp, what it meant to be filled by another person. Really, truly filled, and her body reacted to the thought, pulsing around him pleasantly. At least, she amended as her mind stopped racing, most men. Mulder collapsed onto her chest, hot and greasy and wonderful. "Happy New Year, Scully," he said into her ear, intimate and loving. "Happy New Year, Mulder," she replied. For a moment they simply lay there, listening to the cheering crowd, to the complete absence of apocalyptic screaming. People were happy. Drunk and alive. "So Scully," he murmured, pulling them onto their sides on the couch, never leaving her. "Did you make any resolutions?" She smiled at him and stroked the hair back from his face. He was so beautiful, it nearly broke her heart, if such a thing was possible now. "One or two," she said softly. "Want to hear them?" end part 4 of 4 Email me, and I'll go into a full literary deconstructionist examination of the multiple interpretations of "resolution", or maybe I'll just say Thanks!