Title: Daisy Time
Author:  Suzanne Schramm (sister_suze@yahoo.com)
Rating: NC-17
Classification:  MSR, slight Mulder Torture
Summary:  "And what's romance?  Usually, a nice little tale
where you have everything as you like it, where rain never wets
your jacket and gnats never bite your nose and it's always
daisy-time."  (D. H. Lawrence)  Sequel to "Persiflage"
Distribution:  Gossamer, Spookies okay.  Everyone else, please
drop me a note first.

Disclaimer:  If these characters were mine... um, anyway.  Who's
to say I wouldn't mess with your head like CC, too?  I just
didn't take eight years to resolve it.  Not that I think he can
actually resolve it in eight years.  Or nine. Or ever.
Chicken-shit creators.  And you can quote me on that in the
summons.

Thanks go out to my betas, three incredible ladies who make
sense of my nonsense.  Thanks to M, my virtual thesaurus.
Thanks to Sharon, my Mulder.  And thanks to Susanne, who
encourages me even when she ought not, but who also excels at
the hilariously worded reprimand when I've gone too far.

*****

I wake up feeling ancient.  There isn't a muscle, a bone, or a
single hair on my body that doesn't scream out in protest when I
roll over to hit the alarm clock.   The alarm defeated, I lie on
my left side, which seems to have fared better (generally), and
indulge in a bout of self-pity.  Poor me, cut down in my prime.
I'd cry, but it would expend too much energy.  God, what's
happened to me?  I used to be able to take a licking and keep on
ticking.  I need to rethink my job; maybe desk duty is a reward
and not a punishment.

I drift back to sleep, returning groggily to the surface when I
feel a cool hand on my forehead.

"Mmmmrrrggh," I mutter, not bothering to open my eyes.

"We have a 1:30 flight," Scully tells me and the weight of her
hand leaves me.

"Time?" I gingerly roll onto my back.

"Just after eleven."  Her voice is now coming from the other
side of the room.  "You have time to shower before we need to
leave for the airport."

Just thinking about sitting up makes me feel woozy.  Scully
holds up what used to be my favorite pair of pants.  They're
dark enough that the blood stains don't show, but nothing can
disguise or mend the gaping holes at the knees.  She shakes her
head and lays them to rest again on top of my suitcase.  Her
back is turned, but I still catch her expression in the mirror
over the desk.  I'd like to believe she's grimacing in sympathy.

I sit up slowly and flex my toes, watching them wiggle beneath
the blankets.  That doesn't hurt too bad, just a momentary
twinge of discomfort as the neural impulse passes along the
nerves underlying what's left of my knees.

I shift, favoring my right side again, and put my feet to the
floor.  Now I have a clear view of the brutal reminder of last
night's chase.   My knees have been scraped clean - first by
rubble and then by an emergency room doctor who preferred to
call the procedure 'debridement' rather than 'torture'.  Another
two minutes with that man and I would have confessed to
anything.

Scully turns and watches me, crossing her arms and leaning back
against the desk as I continue my pre-flight check.  I take a
deep breath and release it slowly, letting my shoulders hunch
over as I stare dismally past my knees to my whole and healthy
toes.  I wiggle them again, wincing as the movement flexes my
knees.

"Go shower," Scully instructs me.  "I'll pack for you."

"Would you consider it a come-on if I asked you to help me
shower instead?"  I dig my toes into the carpet, preparing to
stand up.

"I'll leave some clean clothes on the counter after you get in."

I stand up and stagger towards the bathroom.  I stop at the
door, bracing myself against the frame.  "Tell me something,
Scully."

"What?"

"If we hadn't ended up in the ER last night..."

"No."

"No?"  I hobble in a half-circle to face her.  She hasn't moved
from the desk.

"Not here.  Not in some anonymous hotel room."  She makes an
ambiguous gesture at the room.

"Where then?"  I genuinely want to know.  Does she expect me to
take her to dinner and make small talk to woo her?  I figured we
were past all that.

"Don't give me that look, Mulder."

"What look?"

"I'm not asking you to romance me.  I'm just saying that I don't
want us rushing into anything."

"Who's rushing?"  I shrug.  "Am I rushing you here?"

"Besides," she hesitates, and I get the distinct impression
she's backpedaling now.  "You're injured."

"Where there's a will, there's a lay?"

"Get your shower."

****

Washington is drowning under a siege of rain when we return.
Torrential sheets of water sweep across the parking lot,
discouraging me immensely as we stand under the overhang at
long-term parking.  My knees throb just thinking of running for
the car.

"Give me your keys."  Scully holds her hand out.

I'm not about to protest - she's gonna get soaked out there.
I've never spent so much time watching her ass.  Every chance I
get I'm walking behind her, looking to see if she's still
wearing a thong.   This is why fraternization between partners
is discouraged.

Several minutes pass before she returns with the car.  She's
soaked to the bone when she jumps out to grab her suitcase.
"Just get in; get in."  She waves me away.  "I'll take care of
your bag."

She already has the heat turned up in the car.   If she's that
cold I bet her nipples are hard.  Then again, she still has her
suitcoat on, so I won't really get to see them.  I move the vent
on my side so that it's directed toward the driver's seat.
Maybe she'll get warm enough to take the jacket off.

The car rocks slightly when she shuts the trunk and I position
myself so that I can watch her as she gets in.   Her skirt
positively clings to her legs, rewarding me with the toned
outline of her thigh.

As we leave the airport, the car windows begin to fog.  I roll
down my window a couple of inches.  Rain splashes on me, but I
figure safety should come before comfort.  Scully adjusts the
heater's controls to defrost, but it doesn't help.   It must be
an X-File; my thoughts are enough to steam the windows.  I can't
tell what she's thinking, though I'm hoping the fact that she
doesn't look over at me is a good sign.  She didn't look at me
yesterday either, but her awareness of me was intoxicating.

Along with another agent, Kearns, we were watching a dilapidated
building scheduled for demolition.  Since we couldn't discuss
what had happened the night before, I could only cast furtive
glances at Scully and marvel that I had actually dry humped her
against the wall.

The radio crackled, a disembodied voice telling us that the
suspect had been spotted and was headed our way.  Seconds later
he came around the corner of the building closest to us.  When
he saw our car he turned, heading past the wrecker's equipment.
All three of us leapt from the vehicle to give chase.

With my legs pumping and my tie flapping over my shoulder, I was
poetry in motion.  Running had never felt so good, so natural.
There may even have been a little bit of male pride at work -
look at the stud you were with last night.  I was certainly
kicking Kearns' ass in track and field.  I was also too slow in
responding when the perp feigned right, then left, then went
right.  I slid into a pile of scrap metal and concrete, going
down hard even as I struggled to keep my balance.

Scully hunches over the steering wheel, straining to see through
a three-inch high clear patch along the bottom of the
windshield.  The humidity in the car continues to increase, but
she doesn't roll down her window.  After a few miles this begins
to irritate me - she's already drenched, what possible aversion
could she have to equalizing the temperature in the car?

"You can't get any wetter," I venture.

"What?"  Her gaze whips in my direction and then back to the
road.

"Just roll the window down."

"I didn't want to ruin your upholstery."

"I was planning to trade in this car anyway.  Go for it."

Her lips thin as she considers.  Finally she hits the button and
the window glides down a few inches.  After several seconds the
fog on the windshield seems to lighten.   I pull at the fabric
over my knees, trying to tent it away from the raw skin beneath.
It's so humid in the car that my clothes are starting to stick
to me even though I'm not nearly as drenched as Scully.

And yet, it seems somehow cozy in the car.  A perfect metaphor
for our partnership.  Most of the time we don't know which
direction we're going in - moving forward under intuition and
what little information we can glean from a case.  I realize
that I am, in fact, immensely happy to be sitting next to my
waterlogged partner as she cautiously hydroplanes my car home.
I settle back in my seat, loving the rain, loving the humidity,
loving Scully.

***

Scully finds a parking place less than half a block from my
apartment.  Another X-File - I never get a spot this close.  She
hits the buttons to roll up the windows and then turns the
engine off.  Neither of us moves, listening to the rain pounding
on the roof of the car.

"Why don't you come up and I'll call you a cab?  You can change
into something drier."  It's worth a shot.  I'm pretty sure I can 
get a good night kiss from her once she's inside my apartment.

"Do I get another shirt?"

I look over.  She's not smiling - just watching me with solemn
eyes - yet something in the tone of her voice gives me hope.

"At this rate, I won't have any left."

"You told me there was nothing you would deny me."

I swear she's flirting with me.  I told her that when she had me
pinned to the bed.   "It wasn't a blanket statement."

"It was a statement made on a blanket."

Heat slides through my veins.  "You know my apartment, Scully.
It's not exactly anonymous."  Maybe it really was the hotel room
she rejected this morning.

She doesn't even hesitate.  "I know."

The rain beats harder on the roof.  The windows are fogging up
again, making my car feel like a magical place where anything
could happen.  Scully's gaze darts back and forth between my
eyes and my mouth. She's thinking about kissing me.

"Let's go inside, Mulder."  Her voice has dropped to a rasp that
practically wraps itself around my burgeoning erection.

***

It's the longest elevator ride of my life.  We don't touch,
standing just close enough to invade each other's space.  If we
weren't shivering to keep warm, I'd no doubt feel the heat off
her body.   My heartbeat has become erratic, unable to decide
between exhilaration and hesitation.

The hallway has grown longer in my absence, stretching endlessly
in front of us when the doors slide open.  Scully starts moving
first, seeming more confident with each step forward.  We pass
the halfway mark - two years ago I nearly kissed her right here.
 Impulsively, I drop my suitcase and take hold of her arm.  I
kiss her before she has time to finish asking me what I'm doing.

She's hesitant when she kisses me back.  For a moment I think
she's changed her mind or I misread her in the car.  Then I
realize she's giving me the kiss that would have been mine if it
hadn't been for that damn bee.  The kiss between us deepens,
becoming every kiss we missed in the two years since.

We're both breathless when we part.  Scully licks her lips and
then steps decisively around me, my keychain rattling as she
searches for my front door key.  I want to kiss her again - here
in the hallway, on the couch, my bed, the kitchen table -  the
possibilities are endless.

When the door swings open neither of us moves for a couple of
long seconds.  As much as I want what lies on the other side of
my threshold, performance anxiety is creeping up on me.  We're
way past flirting here.

Scully steps inside first, her heels loud in the silence.  I
follow her in, crossing the room to turn on the desk lamp.  Call
it mood lighting maybe.  Behind me the door shuts softly,
followed by the slide of the deadbolt.  The atmosphere in my
apartment has become electric, you can almost taste the ozone of
the rising storm.

I shrug out of my jacket.  It's much more difficult to
accomplish when the fabric is so wet.  Turning around I see that
Scully is having similar problems.  I'm on my way across the
room to help when her suitcoat falls to the floor with a wet
'thwap'.  It's a damn good thing she didn't take it off in the
car or we might still be in long-term parking at National.
She's got a dark colored bra on beneath her now transparent
shirt.  Only 36 hours ago her breast fit perfectly in the palm
of my hand.  My fingers flex at the memory.

Scully plucks at her shirt, untucking it and waving the hem as
if that might actually make it dry.  A rivulet of water trickles
down her neck, over the hollow of her throat, and disappears
into her cleavage.  Her nipples stand out, more to do with the
fact that she's cold than with anything I've done, but I'm not
going to be finicky about it.

"Maybe we should get out of these wet clothes," I suggest.

Scully gives me a warm smile.  "Maybe you should kiss me again
first."

"I didn't mean it like that."  I feel flustered now.  I really
didn't mean it like that.  Not entirely.

Scully laughs softly.  "Weren't you complaining that I never
tease you?"

I blink at her, disbelieving she'd actually toy with what little
presence of mind I still have right now.  She steps closer to
me.

"Why don't you let me have a look at those knees?"  She tugs at
my belt and I take a surprised step back.  She looks up at me,
confused by my mixed signals.  Truthfully, so I am.  What the
hell am I thinking?  She told me I didn't have to romance her
and she certainly seems to be making good on that statement.

"I'm not trying to dissuade you here, Scully..."

"But?"  She tilts her head back, a smile beginning at the
corners of her mouth.

"Am I that cute when I limp?"

Her smile widens.  She steps close to me again and I sway on my
feet.  I feel rather odd (but in the good way) when my pants
slide to the floor.  Scully follows them down, kneeling in front
of me.  My breathing has gone harsh - God she wouldn't really?
Would she?  This soon?  I shiver when her finger traces down my
thigh, skipping over my knee to continue down my calf to my
ankle.  Her lips brush lightly above my knee and I can't help
the groan.

"Do you want to wait?"  Her breath stirs through the hair on my
leg, sending another shiver through me.

Is she kidding?  My pants are in a puddle around my ankles.  Her
mouth is only inches away from my obvious and wholehearted
approval.  I touch the top of her head and she looks up at me,
her face so full of emotion that I wish I could drop to my knees
in front of her.

"Come up here," I plead hoarsely.

Scully takes my hands and holds them as she rises.  Her eyes
never leave mine and I wish I could think of a way to tell her
what this - tonight, her, the past eight years - mean to me.  It
surprises me that I really do want to romance her.  I brought
her flowers once, just before she pulled the rug out from under
me and told me she had cancer.  I still remember the surprise in
her eyes at the gesture.  I want to please her like that again.

I squeeze her fingers, releasing them to cradle her head in my
hands.  She looks like a drowned rat.  It's actually sexy, or
maybe I'm just operating on pure need now.   Mascara is smeared
from the corner of one eye, I rub at it with my thumb and she
closes her eyes.  Her hands touch my hips as I bend my head to
kiss her.   Our lips barely make contact.  I tilt my head,
getting a better angle and kiss her again.  She wraps her arms
around me, urging me closer.

Our bodies bump against each other and our hands touch and test
as the kiss gains intensity.  My shirt is unbuttoned and spread
wide thanks to her restless fingers.  Our tongues tumble
recklessly against each other and our breathing grows more and
more ragged.  Her breast still fits in the palm of my hand.  She
trembles and makes a small sound at the back of her throat when
my thumb brushes over her nipple.   There's a rushing sensation
along the back of my neck as she pulls my tie free.

"Bedroom," she pants.

"Yes." I kiss her again.  The bedroom is an excellent idea.  I
start to shuffle us forward, but Scully stops me.

"We should, let's, wait, let's get you out of these..."  Right.
My pants.  I toe off my shoes and kick my pants across the
floor.   I'm bending over to peel off my socks when Scully pulls
her shirt impatiently over her head and tosses it away.  I'm so
distracted I almost lose my balance.  Her lack of finesse
inflames me even more than the expanse of skin she just exposed.


She starts to shimmy out of her skirt, flashing me a grin as if
she can't quite believe we're really doing this. I touch her
hip, sliding my fingers between her cool skin and the wet fabric
of her skirt and nylons.  She sways forward, holding onto my
shoulders as I tug her clothes down.  She wiggles her hips to
help, a sensual dance that increases the heavy, sweet pressure in
my balls.

I stand up, my hands rounding over the bare flesh of her
buttocks.  It's another thong, God be praised. All I can think
of is how her body fit to mine in that hotel room.  I lift her
and Scully lets out a surprised squeak.

"I can walk, you know."  She wraps her legs around my waist and
gives me an attempt at a hard look.

"I know."  I heft her a little higher and she blinks at the
contact.  "But you should really try it this way."  I start
moving unsteadily in the direction of the bedroom.  Her body
rubs against mine with every step.  If my bed were any further
away it might all be over but the apologizing before I can get
us there.

I manage to maneuver her somewhat gracefully onto the mattress,
but I lose points when my knees hit the bed and I swear.  I take
a step back, wondering how the hell I'm going to get horizontal
without pain.

"Poor baby," she laughs, standing up so she can continue working
on my removing my shirt.

"You gonna start calling me 'baby'?"   Better yet, I could call
her baby.  Would she find that romantic?  The word bounces
inside my head while I struggle with my shirt's cuffs.  Baby,
baby, baby.

"Now that might be rushing things."  She pulls on my sleeve,
yanking my shirt off with alacrity.  I'm wondering if I should
leave my boxers on for the moment when her fingers hook the
waistband.  I lose them in a hurry, unable to look away from the
glimpse of wiry hair at the juncture of her thighs.

"Sit down."  Scully nudges me in the direction of the bed.  I
scuttle backwards, the cotton of my comforter skating beneath
the sensitive skin of my balls as I move up to the headboard.
My arm flails around, looking for the lamp while her hands make
much quicker work of her bra and thong than I ever could.

My whole body throbs with anticipation as she slowly crawls
alongside my legs.  I never realized Scully was capable of
undisguised lust.  She stops, kneeling next to me and letting
her hand rest on my thigh.  Her eyes shift to my erection and
her eyebrow twitches appreciatively.  At least, I'm hoping
that's appreciation and not something else.

"Be gentle.  Remember, I'm injured," I tease.

"I'll try to bear that in mind."  Scully's palm slides over the
head of my penis and then down to grasp the shaft.  Her hand
feels curiously cool against my sensitive flesh.  Her fingers
trail softly up and down my cock and I jerk instinctively into
her fist.

I reach for her, finding her skin still damp and a little
chilled beneath my fingers.  I trace over the ridge of her
collarbone and then down.  I gather her breast in my hand,
lifting it so that it swells upward.  I roll her nipple between
my thumb and index finger and Scully gasps.   Her fingers
tighten around me, her caresses becoming more firm.

I bring one hand to the back of her head, and she moves closer
for another kiss.  She sighs against my mouth and then her
tongue delicately taps against mine.  I squeeze her breast
lightly and she lets go of my cock so that she can straddle me.
Her arms encircle my neck, bringing her mouth down harder on
mine.  Her teeth nip playfully at my tongue.

I trace the ridge of her spine and she rises, breaking the kiss.
I kiss the hollow of her throat, dropping kisses as I work my
way to the valley between her breasts.  My hands flatten across
her shoulder blades, supporting her as my mouth closes over a
pliant pink nipple.

"Ah," she arches her back and I draw more of her breast into my
mouth.  Her fingers tangle in my hair, urging me on.  God, I
could do this all night.  My tongue laps a circle around her
nipple.  Her skin is so soft, setting off some kind of primal
chain reaction in me.  I have to possess her, all of her, a fact
made more urgent when she wriggles sinuously against me.

She takes hold of my penis again, guiding me to her sex.  I
groan when she starts to press down.  I'd forgotten what this
felt like, having someone this close, this slick, this
immediate.  She hesitates and shifts, and I put my hands on her
hips to steady her.  She dips again, this time closing tightly
over me.

My body lurches of its own accord, straining up against her.
She gasps at my movement, her legs trembling and I moan her
name.

"Do it," she pants in my ear.  "God, Mulder, please."

I thrust up, pushing into her tight body in a sweet eager rush.
Scully leans forward and groans into my neck.  I inhale the
scent of her rain-soaked skin mixed with the rising tang of sex.
She lifts her body a couple of inches and then settles slowly
against mine again.  I rock my hips, just a little, between her
and the mattress.  Please move, Scully.  Please, please, please.

She rises again, beginning an unhurried rhythm with me.  I'm
half-delirious already, just from the sharp tilt of her body.
I've fucked women whose pussies seemed to go straight up, but
Scully has an angle to her - one that makes all the difference.

My head falls back to hit the wall with a dull thud.  God, she
feels so good.  I watch her through half-closed eyes.  Her face
is creased in concentration, she bites her lower lip as her body
clenches around mine.

She smiles at me and we share a couple of inaccurate kisses, our
mouths aiming for each other, but catching chins and noses
instead.

Then she straightens up, the angle of her body turning meaner
until I think my eyes must be floating somewhere around the back
of my brain.  Her hands grip my shoulders, holding me against
the wall as she starts to ride me with intent.  I brace my feet
against the bed, not caring about the twinge from my knees.  I'm
nearly frantic, wanting to participate, but not wanting to
change a single thing her body is doing to mine.

Scully begins to shudder and a low groan comes from her throat.
Her body tightens and ripples around mine and I pull her hips
down roughly against me.  Her mouth goes slack and she makes an
ineffective attempt at rising.  Frustration and heat rise in my
groin, I can't take it anymore.

I surge up, rolling us onto our sides. Scully cries out, her
body shaking.  She arches against me, her inner muscles rippling
and clenching.  I grab the back of her knee, holding her leg
over my hip and push into her.  It feels amazing to be the one
driving.  My other arm snakes around her waist, sealing her body
to mine.  I pound into her like a blacksmith trying to correct
her curve.

I struggle towards ecstasy, feeling her body begin to relax
around mine.  I lose all rhythm, stroking fiercely closer and
closer.  Heat and light whorl through my body until I finally
disappear into the sensation.  My first non-self-assisted orgasm
in years nearly kills me.  I am dimly aware that I shout
something, but I don't think it was actually a word.

Afterwards, the first thing I'm aware of is Scully.  This must
be real, because my fantasies never include the aftermath.  Her
breath is humid against my chest.  Every now and then she
blinks, her eyelashes tickling my shoulder.  Outside, the rain
is still tapping at the window.  I think I've lost all motor
function, my whole body feels heavy and unresponsive.  Scully's
leg is still thrown over my hip, I wiggle my fingers to stroke
the back of her knee.  It's the best I can do.

I'm almost asleep when Scully whispers to me that she's cold. I
feebly help her shift us.  She pulls the covers up but I turn so
that my legs aren't under them.  My knees are screaming their
indignation now.  Scully pats my arm, understanding why I chose
this position, and reaches over me to turn out the light.  Then
she snuggles up behind me, her breasts soft against my back, her
arm warm across my chest.

"You know, Scully," I finally manage.  "If you want to get one
of my shirts out of the drawer, this could qualify as your
wish."

"Let's just say this satisfied a different wish."

"I have one, maybe we could work on it next."  My words are
slurred with sleep and pleasure, but I can't resist flirting
with her one last time tonight.

"I'm afraid to ask."  Her voice is soft, she sounds like she's
having a hard time keeping her eyes open too.

"You should be.  It involves the Gunmen's office and handcuffs."

There's a pause while she tries to decide whether or not I'm
serious.  (For the record, I am).

"Good night, Mulder."

"Scully?"

"What?"

I want to ask her many things - if it was good for her, if she
has any idea how much I love her, if she'd ever consider
breaking in while the Gunmen are away.  Instead I end up victim
to my sex-addled brain.

"I love the rain."   There's actually a confession in there
somewhere - I wonder if she can hear it.

I feel her answering smile against my skin.  "I do, too, Mulder.
I do, too."

***

End

Author's Notes:  What color is Scully's thong?  In my mind, it
matched her dark-colored bra (Victoria's Secret 'Body by
Victoria' in Java).  Feel free to supply your own color.  I
mean, how many of us are really compulsive enough to
consistently wear matching underwear?  So, M, they very well
could have been red.  :)

Further Notes:  I live a semi-sheltered life.  I've never heard
"The Thong Song", though I now know of it's existence (several
people have asked if that's where the idea came from).  The
inspiration for Scully's thong came after I stood in line behind
a woman who would really have benefited from wearing either
looser pants or a thong.  But that's another story...

Come share your views on undergarments here:
sister_suze@yahoo.com