Title: Consequences Author: Suzanne Schramm E-mail: sister-sue@rocketmail.com Rating: NC-17. Part 1 is PG-13 so if you're underage or your taste doesn't run to shamelessly consenting adults this can end logically without reading part 2. Classification: MSR, a little H Archive: Gossamer, please. Everyone else, please ask me first so I know where it ends up. Spoilers: You mean you haven't seen the movie?! Summary: Every action has its consequences. Disclaimer: No one in this story is mine. They belong to CC, Ten-Thirteen Productions and the Fox Network. I only did this because everyone else was and I'm always giving in to peer pressure. Dedication: This is for Rachel - the most patient, supportive, creative and tactful gal you could ever have occasion to receive mail from. Thanks Rachel. You've made me what I am today (probably not the neurotic part, but the writer in me breathes anew each morning because of you). Thanks also go to Aileen for catching my mistakes and missteps (and the kindly worded reality check). Thanks, I needed that. And Alanna, thanks for the EBE. Nobody does it better (makes me feel sad for the rest ... baby, you're the best). ***** I blame the traffic. Actually, unlike elected officials, I can take responsibility for my actions without being backed into a corner. I stand by that statement. It was the traffic's fault. If we hadn't been caught in traffic we wouldn't have had that conversation. It was inevitable that someday we'd have to discuss it, but you have to smile at the irony that a traffic jam alleviated the delay. Mulder and I were stuck on the Beltway, idling along at 10 miles per hour when it happened. Mulder was playing his favorite stuck in traffic game, a kind of science experiment gone awry. He calls it "traffic fluid dynamics" and it goes something like this: Cars on the freeway are really like large water molecules with traffic in general being a flow of water. When a car stops or slows down it causes a wave behind it, backing up all the other molecules. Even when the first car finally starts moving again all the other molecules are still dammed up behind it. New molecules continue to be absorbed into the flow behind the still stopped cars. His theory is that traffic jams could be eliminated by driving at a constant slow speed, thus eliminating the stop and start traffic that clogs the freeway system. Most of the problems on the road aren't caused by accidents but by people cutting each other off, forcing everyone behind them to hit their brakes like a giant game of snap-the-whip. He spends most of rush hour compiling scientific data. To do so he drives erratically and catalogs the devastation he leaves in his wake. There are days when I think everyone in the metro D.C. area is knowingly aiding in his experiment. "See, when traffic is heavy, there's no reason for the wave to ever dissipate. Think of it as condensation occuring faster than evaporation. A little wave could grow and grow, like dropping a tiny seed crystal into a supersaturated solution. When traffic is heavy and unstable a single driver could cause traffic to turn into a gigantic ice crystal." Mulder is explaining this to me as he veers suddenly into the far left lane. It's nearly 7:00 but traffic in D.C. does not follow the usual rules of rush hour. I'm tired. It's been a long hot day, Indian summer with a vengeance, and I can't resist nudging him verbally. "Mulder, has it ever occurred to you that you're playing God with all these people's lives?" "In the grand scheme of things, Scully, this doesn't effect anyone much. You can plan your life out to the last detail but you'll still be subject to the vagaries of fate and chance." "True. But there's a difference between happenstance and planned mishap. What would you call it when your free will negates someone else's?" "You're overlooking the difference between free will and forcing your will on others. Only the latter is unethical." "No. The difference is intent. When you deliberately hit the brakes to see if you can back up traffic for miles it's free will, granted, but you're imposing it on others." "Surely, Scully, you're not telling me you've never tested the boundaries of stimulus/response in a scientific way?" "Of course I have - in controlled circumstances." "This is controlled." He taps the brakes even though we're more than a car length away from the car in front of us. He checks the rear view mirror, watching the slow down behind us and then returns to a slow crawl forward. "You should try spontaniaety." My lower back burns as it does every time I consider being even slightly reckless. "Mulder, I think you bring enough spontaniety into my life. I hardly need to seek thrills elsewhere." "Thrills? Scully, I only meant it as an academic question, not an observation on your personal life." Suddenly this conversation is headed in a new direction. Mulder has that teasing tone to his voice and my senses go on alert. I'm silent, contemplating the car next to us. "So," he draws the word out. "When you do choose to deliberately stimulate something..." "Mulder." I warn. "What would it be?" He finishes, throwing me a sidelong look. I shake my head. This is not the conversation I wanted to have. How is it that when I point out the folly of his ways he ends up showing me mine? "You never test your boundaries, just to see what happens?" he prompts. Why is he being so persistent? "Mulder, I learned long ago that every action has..." "An equal and opposite reaction?" "No. Consequences." Mulder begins to take up two lanes, trying to crowd his way into a middle lane. The car he's cutting off honks and Mulder gives him a friendly wave as he finishes pulling in front of him. Yeah, buddy, thanks for playing. "Really, Scully, consequences? That sounds so ecclesiastical." I remember that one of my college textbooks had a treatise on traffic patterns. "You know, Mulder, I think I have a physics book with a chapter on your traffic fluid dynamics." "What?" He's distracted, checking his blind spot to move over one more lane. "I could bring it tomorrow, if you like." Mulder darts to the right, barely making our exit. It looks like poor planning on his part to all the unlucky people now slamming on their brakes behind us, but I know he's done it on purpose. We edge up the on-ramp of the George Washington Parkway and then, unbelievably, traffic seems to have disappeared. Mulder guns the car forward. For about twenty seconds we speed along until we round a curve to a sea of tail lights. He has to throw on the brakes and we stop so quickly that I feel I have to brace my arms against the dash, the seatbelt tightening against me. "See there, Scully. We've gone from one organism to another." He drums his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. Apparently, when he's caught in traffic that is of someone else's doing, it's not as satisfying. We creep along, saying nothing and I think that maybe he's decided to let the subject drop. I should have known better. The cars ahead of us speed up and 30 mph almost feels like flying when he starts in again. "Tell you what, Scully, I'll take the Key Bridge and drop you off at home, if you tell me of one instance in which you've ignored known science in order to advance a radical theory." I laugh. Is he kidding? "How about March 1992 in an Oregon cemetery?" Mulder returns the laugh and checks his blind spot again. He taps the brakes and prepares to lunge into the next lane. "What about that night?" he asks. I'm confused. That night? God, please don't let him be referring to the time I dropped my robe in front of him. I was so caught up in his theory and so smitten with him (that's right, more about that later) that I threw caution and common sense to the wind. I've long regretted that hasty action. "Those turned out to be mosquito bites." I say. He completes his lane change and the driver who was formerly behind us turns to mouth aspursions at Mulder's parentage as he passes us. He's wrong (unless Mulder's suspicions about Cancerman pan out) but I give him points for creativity. I've thought similar things myself on occasion. "No, not that night. _That_ night. The night the bee stung you." Oh. _That_ night. "What about it?" I ask. The car in front of us has left its blinker on, and I'm nearly hypnotized watching it. "Did you want to kiss me? Test the theory that partners shouldn't be more than just friends?" Blink, blink. Blink, blink. "Mulder, kissing you wouldn't necessarily makes us more than friends." Blink, blink. "That wasn't my question." "I'm sorry?" I give him a look, the one that usually tells him he's pushing his luck. He ignores it. "I asked if you had wanted to kiss me." Blink, blink. God, why don't they just turn the damn thing off? Can't they hear it clicking at them? I clear my throat. "I don't, it... it was a weird night." An uncomfortable silence falls between us. The air in the car is thick and oppressive. I roll down the window and let my hand dangle outside the car. My exit has come up and Mulder dutifully takes it. The car ahead of us stays on the Parkway, blinking its way eastward. We drive a couple of blocks in silence. "You couldn't handle the consequences." His voice startles me. "What?" "You heard me." "What consequences?" "Us." His voice is tight and I realize that he's more than a little angry. I work up some indignation of my own. "You think I couldn't kiss you and still work with you?" I fumble for words. I'm blushing. I'm blushing and I hate him for it. He's not looking at me, he's concentrating on the road, but I know my flush is not escaping his notice. Consequences. My mind is racing with the possible consequences of that night. Long ago, before our relationship jelled, I used to wonder what it would be like to kiss Mulder. And more. But time passed and we fell into the comfortable friendship we have now. I stopped fantasizing about him. No, really. And I go along thinking that this is ok and I don't want more from him until something happens to jolt me out of complacency. Most recently, Diana Fowley. I hate that I'm jealous. I hate that I want him in that way. I hate that he always seems so calm and untouched by the chemistry between us. I sometimes wonder if I'm seeing more to our relationship than exists, that my feelings run deeper than his. Because, all his inneuendoes aside, he never really made a move on me. Until that night. With only a few words and almost a kiss he turned my world on its axis. Ever since I've been scrambling for familiar ground. Hoping for and dreading this talk. He's right. I don't think I could handle the consequences. I don't want anything to change. And now, oh god, he's bringing it up. He wants to talk about it and I can't. There was a certain safety in never acknowledging the attraction, in never having to speak about it. And I'm blushing because for just a millisecond I considered _it_. Mulder's lips on mine. Mulder's hands on me. We stop at a light and he turns to look at me. Even though I'm flushed and tight-lipped I know he senses that I'm being defensive, not rejecting him. My stomach flops over. "Scully..." I look straight ahead, willing the light to change. "Hey, Scully, look at me. Please?" "Light's green." "Hmmm?" "The light is green." I finally turn to look at him as I say it and I'm irritated to see how happy he is. Damn him. This is serious. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable by asking. I've just wondered how you felt about it." Almost home. "I hadn't really thought much about it." Liar. "So much has happened since then. I figured you just wanted to forget about it." We pull up in front of my building. Mulder sits, silent, and now he won't meet my eyes. I realize I've hurt him. "Mulder, what you told me that night, it meant a lot to me. I would never, will never, forget what you said." I reach over and squeeze his hand. He gives me a solemn nod, his eyes searching out mine. I look away. "Good night, Mulder." "Good night." I get out of the car and walk to my apartment without looking back. Inside I shed my suit coat and shoes while my answering machine intones "No messages". I'm tired. I'm kicking myself mentally for ever starting that conversation, although I can't quite figure out where it slipped away from me. I turn on my hall light and debate, should I take a bath or just flop down on the bed? There's a knock at the door. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Less than five minutes have passed. It could be no one else. I check the peephole anyway. It's him. I open the door and he gently pushes his way inside, closing the door behind him. For a moment neither of us speak. He starts. "I've been thinking about what we talked about." "I would've brought the book for you tomorrow." He shakes his head. "Did you want to kiss me, Scully?" His tone is deceptively light. I blink up at him. Honestly, until just now, I never much noticed our height difference. Of course, usually I'm wearing such thick heels. Without my shoes on, he's a lot taller. "Mulder, our partnership had been dissolved. We hadn't slept in over 48 hours. We..." "Did you want to kiss me?" He cuts me off. I try another tact. "It's late. We're both tired. You should just go home and we can talk about all this tomorrow. Let me get you the book and you can go." I hurry into my bedroom and find the book, willing my hands not to tremble. It's only Mulder. I stop short coming back into my hallway. It's only Mulder and he's now standing in the hall. He's blocking me in. The look on his face is amused but his eyes are serious. "Answer the question, Scully." My mouth goes dry. I swallow to try and work my voice free. Mulder's eyes track the movement of my throat and my mouth stays dry. "Here." I rasp and hold the book out for him. Mulder steps closer and takes the book from me. He gives it a cursory glance and then tosses it behind him. The thud as it hits the floor echoes in my head. Calm. Stay calm. I try to appear nonchalant when I look up at him. "Answer the question. Did you want to kiss me that night?" Ok. Panic. I drop my eyes. "Mulder, this isn't a good time." "When would be?" I swallow again. He's so close I can feel his body heat. I can smell the faintest trace of his aftershave. "It's a simple question - yes or no?" Startled, I jump as his hand brushes my shoulder. Mulder acknowledges my uneasiness and drops his hand but he does not step back. I miss the warmth of his hand on me. I remember standing in his hallway as he moved to kiss me. I can't lie to him. I wanted that kiss. He knows this. He wouldn't be standing here now if he weren't perfectly sure of the answer. But that was then. Everything that happened that night was unexpected. My resignation. His declarations. The near kiss. The bee. The difference tonight is intent. Before it was unmeditated, an impulse of the moment. I didn't have to think, it just happened. It was as exhilerating as it was unexpected. Tonight it is deliberate. I'm trying to breathe evenly but I can't get any air past my parched throat. It's making me dizzy. I'm sure I must be swaying on my feet. For once Mulder, the man of a thousand nervous tics, is still. Even his breathing is steady although I can feel the tension coming off of him, ratcheting my own expontentially. "Mulder . . ." My voice sounds husky and his eyes flicker. I can think of no argument. He just wants a simple answer. I lick my lips, preparing to lie, to tell him 'no'. "Yes." It is a whisper and I want to call it back as soon as I speak it. That single word stands to irrevocably alter our partnership. I am suddenly afraid of ruining everything. His hand comes back to my shoulder and he squeezes it gently. It is no different than any other time he has touched me like this in reassurance. I realize that nothing has changed. Nothing will. We are already so close that physical intimacy is almost an afterthought. Almost? I amend that to "not even close" as his hands move to cup my face. His thumbs brush lightly along my ears and I am unexpectedly reminded of the night Penny Northern died and the way Mulder held me in the hallway outside her room. What is it about us and hallways? At least this time it's a private hall. "Scully." His voice is amused and I realize I've been staring at his mouth. I blush for the second time today. Mulder chuckles but then stops when I raise an eyebrow as a warning. "Last chance." He's so close now I can feel the words as much as hear them. "Yes." I repeat it, and this time all my hesitancy is gone. I close my eyes as he leans closer. Our lips brush, the slightest contact but I still shiver. I feel Mulder's lips curve in the barest of smiles and for a second I consider stepping back and putting a stop to all this foolishness. But only for a second. Only until his lips brush mine again, more firmly this time and I return the pressure instinctively. My hands glide up, across his chest. When his teeth scrape lightly against my bottom lip I cannot stifle the gasp. My fingers tighten on his shoulders to try and redirect him since his lips are moving back, away from mine. I open my eyes and he is looking at me. His eyes are darkly tender and my heart stutters as I realize I've waited my whole life to have someone look at me like this. Or did he all along and I just didn't notice? Mulder gives me a small nod, almost as if he can read my thoughts. Who knows? Maybe he can. Speechless, I pull his head down and kiss him. My choice now. My consequences. Our lips tease each other. Inflaming and soothing at the same time. With every exhalation I can feel his hot breath in my mouth but he makes no move to deepen the kiss. So I rasp my bottom teeth against his lower lip then soothe it with my tongue. For the space of a few racing heartbeats Mulder goes absolutely still. Then he shudders. Like an eager stadium crowd doing the wave, my body shudders in response. Our lips are still touching when he finally whispers those three little words. Words, I confess, I have dreamed of hearing from him. Especially in the ragged whisper he uses now. "Oh god, Scully." Consequences. I've made my bed and I'm just dying to lie in it. **** End 1/2 Title: Consequences Author: Suzanne Schramm E-mail: sister-sue@rocketmail.com Rating: NC-17 Summary: Every action has consequences. Disclaimer and such in part 1. Warning! Warning! Warning! Are you underage? Are you watching for your parents/spouse/boss out of the corner of your eye? If so, you shouldn't be here. There are words ahead describing any and/or all of the following: disappearing clothes (gasp!); various anatomic features employing all forms of i.d. including (but not limited to) common usage, slang and even correct medical terminology (aiee!); reckless, unprotected, gratuitous sex (you didn't! Maybe I did, but I'll deny it - "I did not write that story, Miss Lewinsky."); and a bonus for the OBSSE (who still haven't got back to me on my app. Hint, hint.), an SRE on orgasms. Am I worthy? ***** "Scully." Mulder whispers my name again and I close my eyes. I've heard my name called out in the throes of passion before but no one ever used my last name. And they never imbued two syllables with as much pent-up longing and love as Mulder does now. I move to answer him without words, knowing he'll understand me as perfectly as he always does. My lips are slightly parted as they meet his and I can't help the moan when his tongue pushes into my mouth as decisively as he himself entered my apartment less than ten minutes ago. He's just as singleminded in exploring my mouth as he was in securing my confession. For a moment I can't move, overwhelmed, and then I realize that I want to learn the rest of Mulder, the stuff I've only guessed at. He tastes faintly bitter, like coffee, and a little salty. When my tongue strokes the roof of his mouth his tongue becomes more urgent, moving restlessly for a moment before sweeping the roof of my mouth in retaliation. His hands tighten on my hair, pulling me up so that I'm standing on tiptoe, I have to lean closer to keep my balance and the ridge of his erection brushes my stomach, sending a wave of heat through my whole body. He breaks the kiss, allowing me to rock back onto my heels, bending to whisper against my ear. "You know, for a government employee, you're quite good at this." "I'm only getting started." I tell him, pulling his head back down to kiss me. I know I should stop this now. I should send him home. We've kissed. Nothing seems to have changed between us - yet. Tomorrow I may feel differently about all this. Don't think about it. For once, throw logic to the wind in favor of the abstract. This is bliss. This is intoxicating. This is Mulder's hands moving across me. His thumb brushes the side of my breast and I start. Unlike earlier he doesn't drop his hand away. He slowly inches his way across my breast, his thumb stroking in widening circles. It's been so long for me that intimacy had taken on a dreamy half-remembered quality. I'm surprised (and increasingly aroused) by how _physical_ this is. I'd forgotten the sensation of being held this closely, being touched in this way. Mulder's hands are gentle but firm, the confidence in his touch igniting me. I don't want to know where he learned to do that. Or that. Just like that. Oh, yes. I moan as his mouth moves to the spot his fingers just left. I can feel the wet heat of his mouth even through two layers of cloth. I chastise myself for choosing such utilitarian underwear this morning. How could I have known that today would be THE DAY? At least my legs are shaved. I realize now that there is no way in hell I'd let him walk out of here tonight. He wants consequences, he's about to get them. I slide my hands to his lapels, grasping the cloth and pushing it back. He drops his hands and shrugs and his suit coat falls to the floor. Mulder kicks it over in the direction of my discarded book. I loosen his tie until it hangs, unknotted, from his collar. My world narrows to only him as I begin to unbutton his shirt, pressing kisses against his chest as it is revealed to me. On the final button I slide my tongue around the outline of his belly button as I pull the shirt tails from his pants. Mulder lets out a moan that vibrates against my chin, lips and nose. I give him a small nipping kiss on the line of hair running southward from his navel. Mulder shifts, leaning back against the wall for support. Then his hands are everywhere. Pulling my shirt from my waistband, tugging it over my head. His fingers trace lightly over the edge of my bra. My already hard nipples tighten even more, it's exquisite, and I arch closer to encourage him. He takes the hint and his whole hand cups my breast. His other hand slides down my waist, spanning my hip and grounding me to him. When his head bends down to begin following the same path his fingers took I lace my fingers into his hair, holding him to me. He moves to unfasten the front of my bra and then pauses. I press his head closer. Yes. Oh, yes. He unsnaps my bra, pushing the cloth and lace to the side. I'm unwilling to let go of him even long enough for my bra to slide off. His fingers tighten on my hip as his mouth seeks out my nipple. Oh. Oh, god. He suckles it gently, then gives the other breast the same attention. I'm practically clenching his hair, I want more. I press against him, pulling him closer and he responds, drawing me deeper into his mouth, intensifying the pressure until I'm sure this will leave undeniable proof that Mulder was here. I begin to tremble, small guttural sounds coming from my throat and Mulder pulls away. We're both breathless and for a moment we stand with our foreheads pressed together, just catching our breath. I want equal rights. I want his shirt off, too. It joins the growing pile on the floor and I trace his chest lightly. His skin smells warm and masculine. Once my hands have trailed down to his waist I falter for a moment. I look up at him and his eyes are solemn and wide. Waiting. But I have already decided there's no going back and I don't think Mulder's going to argue the point. Unbutton, a slide of zipper and his pants are around his ankles. His hands move to my lower back. He finds the zipper and there is a whisper of sound as my skirt drops. His eyes have never left mine, we are holding a wordless conversation. Is this what you really want? It is. Our hips have taken up an unconscious rhythm, slowly gyrating against each other. Mulder begins to slowly ease me back, towards the bedroom. Our legs tangle and we fall to the floor in an undignified heap. We both snicker and I find it hard to believe that this is happening. That we're here, like this. "Smooth, Mulder. Have you been practicing this move?" "Does it show? I was hoping it would come off naturally." "I almost bought it but that smug look on your face gave you away." I move so that I'm sitting across his groin. Mulder's eyes go even wider. His lips move but no sounds comes out. I know just what he means. I reach back, putting my hand on his upraised left knee. It is knobby, perfectly Mulder, and I squeeze it affectionately. "Patella." I whisper. Mulder draws in a deep breath, the rise and fall of it lifting me slightly before settling me back down against him. My hand glides mid-way up his thigh. "Femur. Should I keep going?" "I always liked women with a certain scientific detachment." I squeeze again, rounding my hand over the tensed muscles in his upper leg. "Rectus femoris, vastus lateralis, vastus medialis, vastus intermedius." "Oooh, Scully, talk dirty to me." His voice is a low rumble, seducing me all over again. "Your femur fits into the acetabulum here." I stroke along the crease of his leg and pelvis. "Is that where the word 'ass' comes from?" I smile and shake my head. "You should probably know I've been wanting to examine your gluteus maximus, medius and minimus." I tell him as I move my hand along his hip. "Ilium. Psoas major." I trace his iliac crest. "Hey, doc, you're not going to ask me to turn and cough in a minute, are you?" "You know how thorough I like to be." We're both trying to stay poker-faced but I'm finding it more and more difficult as the evidence of his arousal presses against me. I move my hands to his shoulders, bracing myself as I lean down to kiss him again. "Just relax, mister, this will be over in a minute." "Oh, I hope not." Our lips meet again. This time when Mulder smiles against my mouth I return the grin. All the gentle affection of our earlier kisses is fast replaced by hunger. I can't get enough of the taste of him. The feel of him. The insistent stroking of his tongue against mine increases the ache inside me. The subtle tantalizing lift of his hips against my humid center is going to be the death of me. Only Mulder could reduce me to this. There is no more thought, only sensation. It's a necessary evil to slide off of him long enough to be rid of my panties and nylons. His hands scrabble to get his boxers down. His erection is free, rising up from his body and I grasp it lightly, testing the weight and heft of it. I stroke the length of him, delighting in the way he twitches, expanding in my hand. "Oh god, Scully." he gasps. Those words again. I can't wait any longer. I straddle him, shifting into position. Mulder's hands rest on my hips, guiding me as I begin to press down on him. Again, I am profoundly affected by how physical this is. I decide it's best to do this quickly, like a jumping into a cold swimming pool. My body briefly protests the invasion but I am beyond caring. "Mulder." It is all I can say as he slides home. My hands are against his chest for support. I can feel the rapid drumming of his heart beneath my right hand. This is real. This is Mulder. I lift myself halfway, then slide back, testing my boundaries. Just like he asked. Mulder groans and pushes back. I give him an answering groan as he moves deeper than before. Deeper than anyone has ever been. And I don't necessarily mean physically. "So good." he murmurs and I nod at him. Yes, it is. We begin a slow, steady rhythm. I rise up, give a small tuck of my pelvis, and slide down. Up, tuck, down. Up, tuck, down. Mulder pushes up with each downstroke, increasing the pressure on my clit. For several minutes the only sounds in the apartment are our sighs and the distant faint ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall. I speed up a little and my legs protest. Yes, I'm in shape, but I'm using muscles here that don't get called on very often. I begin to shake. It's too much, the feeling of Mulder inside me, against me, beneath me while his eyes mirror my sheer wonder that this is even happening. "Ah. Scuhlee." His face contorts as if in pain and he stops moving, biting his lip. The sight of him wracked with pleasure causes me to pause, clenching down around him. I feel myself sliding right up to the edge of control. "Go. Don't stop." he pants and bucks up beneath me. I let out a small cry as my knees leave the floor briefly. This is it. I move on him faster, discarding finesse in favor of tempo. My nerve endings become overstimulated and start sending mixed messages. Hot, cold, hot, cold. And then I'm burning. My legs forget they're tired, my eyes slide shut and every muscle in my body tenses. White hot. Like one of those old-fashioned cameras with the huge powdered flash, my world goes "poof". I'm temporarily blinded and completely dazed. I lay atop him, spent and quivering. Half my my mind is gone, sayanara, see ya - but the other half can't believe Mulder didn't take the trip with me. I can feel him inside me, still achingly hard. Is is me? Was I doing something wrong? I manage to raise up enough to look at him. Mulder brushes my hair back and smiles at me. "Hi." "Mulder, I..." "No." He presses a finger to my lips and shakes his head. "I wanted to... see you." We both blush. My heart lurches with my vaginal muscles not far behind. Mulder gives an involuntary little thrust. "Give me a minute." I tell him, still winded. Mulder pulls me back down to his chest. He rubs my back lightly before rolling us over onto our sides. "Nope. My turn." He pauses, considering. "How about if we finish this in the bedroom? I don't think my knees could take your hall floor." Bedroom? I have a bedroom? "Your knees. What about mine? I have knees, too." "Scully, I think we just satisfied your knees." He pulls away from me, out of me, and I actually feel empty. Betty Friedan would have a fit. Mulder attempts to get up but he stumbles and I think 'Ha! Me. I did that.' Then again, his pants are around his ankles. He stoops to remove them as I rise, my legs shaky (and knees popping). His clothes gone, Mulder stands up straight and I get my first good look at him. His erection is huge, slick from being inside me and I can't help but wonder how it ever fit there. Ohmigosh, I'm gonna be sore tomorrow. Still, it's for a good cause. I realize Mulder's looking at me too. I want to raise my eyes to his face but I suddenly feel awkward. What do you say to your partner of over six years when you're both naked, panting, and about to go into your bedroom and try it again? Mulder's hand reaches forward and touches my breast, tentatively holding my heart. His thumb traces the underside of my nipple and I step closer to him. He slides his hand, moving it to the small of my back, gently guiding me to turn and begin walking into my room. The awkwardness leaves me. This is so surreal. His touch is familiar but the circumstances are not. I know he'll never touch me there again that I don't remember this moment. We're at the bed. I grasp the coverlet and sheets and pull them down. I sit, slide over and look up at Mulder. The light from the hall is behind him, casting his face in shadows. I can't read his eyes but I can guess his thoughts. "C'mere." I beckon to him, sliding further over. He kneels on the bed and then begins a slow crawl towards me. He may be moving slow but it certainly increases my pulse rate. Mulder snuggles next to me, his arms reaching around my waist and back to pull me close. He lets loose a few soft snorts and I realize he's laughing but trying to hide it. "What?" I ask. "I was just wondering how best to proposition you. What do you think of 'ready or not, here I come'?" I give him my own amused puff of air. "Mulder, is nothing sacred?" "This." He hugs me tighter. "This is sacred to me." I tilt my face up and kiss the underside of his chin. "Then come worship at the altar." I see the flash of his teeth just before his mouth descends on mine. As we kiss he rolls me onto my back. I pull at his hips, my hands rounding over his buttocks, urging him forward. Mulder complies, insinuating himself between my still-weakened legs. And then he is back. My whole body arches in recognition as he returns to inside me. "This is sacred to me." I whisper to him. "Yes." His tone is reverent. I move my shaking legs to encircle him and he begins slow, measured thrusts. He braces his hands on either side of my face and exhales softly with each stroke. At first I am able to keep pace with him but after a few minutes he accelerates, shifting his hips and searching for the right angle. I relax my legs, pulling my knees up to allow him deeper access. "Scully, I can't . . ." His eyes are feverish, his forehead creased in concentration. "It's ok. I want to see you." That earns me another grin. His hair is flapping against his forehead so I move my hand to brush it back. He turns and kisses my wrist just before he begins pounding into me so hard and deep that the breath is knocked loose from my lungs. Much has been written about the unlikelihood of a woman climaxing in this position. But none of those studies take into account the fact that the brain is our largest erogenous zone. Right now my mind and senses are working overtime, taking all this in. Mulder grinds his hips against mine one last time. He gasps "scuh", which could very well be my name in sexual shorthand. His features grimace, his mouth opening in a wordless cry before his head drops to my shoulder and his teeth graze my skin. His whole body shudders against me and I almost laugh with delight. Once again Mulder has ignored known science and advanced a radical theory. I am coming right behind him. It may not be as intense as his own, or the one I had earlier, but it would certainly be something to write home about. Assuming I were to tell my mother such things. I am completely spent and only half-awake when Mulder finally returns to his sense and shifts off of me. He gathers me to him, my back fitted to his front, his arms holding me securely and I begin to drift away. Outside there is a screech of tires on the street and then the sound of twisting metal and shattering glass. "I have this new theory," Mulder murmurs, "About traffic . . ." We're both asleep before he finishes speaking. ***** End 2/2 Author's Notes: I sorta played pick and choose with my facts in this story. I go with the original date of the pilot which had them start working together in March 1992. In the movie Mulder says they've only been together five years (So does it take place in the past? Yet the telegram at the end is dated Sept. 1998. Did they wait a year to reopen the files?). Despite that lapse of judgment, CC did do right by Scully by having her live near work (in the movie she lives in Georgetown and that's what I'm assuming for this story). I couldn't believe she'd actually drive from Annapolis (as I have heard rumored) every day. Talk about traffic! I must apologize to William Beaty, whose web site I willfully plagarized for the traffic fluid dynamics theory. It's a really cool site, write me (feedback) and I'll send you the URL.