From: "nja ***" To: Subject: [XFNC17ff] NEW: Lay Lady, Lay by nja 1/5 Date: Sunday, February 10, 2002 10:19 AM Part 1 of 5: Title: Lay Lady, Lay Author: abracadabra Rating: NC-17 Keywords: Smut, MSR, PWP Spoilers: None Disclaimer: These wonderful characters are not mine in any manner, shape or form. They belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox. No profit is to be made from this story. Summary: Savannah, Georgia, scorching heat, the Midnight Inn. Notes: Song title and lyrics borrowed without permission from Bob Dylan. Archive: Please do! Feedback: Love it: abracadabra1754@hotmail.com Websites: http://www.geocities.com/spookys_girl2000/index.html http://www.geocities.com/mesmerizememulder/ Thanks: Denise and KimÉyou two are simply the best! ~~~~~~~~~* Lay Lady, Lay by abracadabra ~~~*~~ Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed Whatever colors you have in your mind I'll show them to you and you'll see them shine She makes me want to sing sometimes. To put the words to a melody that would convey to her how I feel about her; how much I want her; how much I need her to need me. She brings out the songwriter in me sometimes. Makes me want to serenade her with the words that would lyrically express my devotion; would wrap her in the hazy cocoon of my longing. She's every fantasy I've ever had and never realized. And she drives me to distraction. Through the years, there have been times when I've wondered how it was possible that we ever got to this point. We two; different and the same; needy and needing; loving and loved, finally and always. Together now in all ways I've wanted to know her. I want to give her everything and so much more, but ours is a friendship the depths of which I've never experienced before. There is a respect, an almost blinding belief in each other that comes from many cases, endless travel time and much more questioning and challenging and debating and sharing. 'Sharing'. What does that mean to you, Scully? How do you decide what is yours, what is mine, what is ours? When did that change? Knowing her mind was probably the most difficult thing for me. But somehow, as we have danced around each other, I figured out how to show her her feelings, how to let her see them and share them. ~~~~~* ~~~*~~ Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed Stay, lady, stay, stay with your man awhile Until the break of day, let me see you make him smile His clothes are dirty but his hands are clean And you're the best thing that he's ever seen It is the heat. The type that is romanticized in novels as 'sultry'. The sultry that is shown in movies with hair falling in damp tendrils and bangs dripping with beads of sweat, with thin fabric clinging wetly to body curves and dips and angles. It is the sultry heat in Savannah that brings us to the brass bed. At the Midnight Inn in Monterey Square. Not a vacation, but a brief respite between our daily drudgery, after one waste-of-the-taxpayer's-money case and prior to the next otherworldly investigation. 'Down time' they call it in some circles. I have had enough of the back roads of Georgia to last me a lifetime, feel sullied and marked from being dragged through the street dirt by the dregs of humanity. She is waiting for me, has checked us inÉ to the only remaining suite in the city. We have air conditioning and she is sitting on the long and sweeping front steps in the noon day sun. A vision. Gleaming hair like burnished copper, upswept on one side and held in place by a small gardenia. Her face dewy, her lips stained and wet cherry, eyes the color of limpid pools. Elbows on her knees, hands on her cheeks, as she watches the street, her breasts rise and fall beneath the white gauzy blouse with the dark lace bra beneath. Her shell pink toenails in her tan leather slides peak out beneath her sand linen skirt now hiked to her knees. She stops me in my tracks when she smiles at me and our gazes lock, the space between us electrified. I am amazed as ever at the power she has over me. The way a glance, the turn of her head, the rise of an eyebrow can reduce me to pure feeling. She leans back, propped up by her forearms as they lean against the stone stair behind her, the gossamer fabric of her shirt stretched nearly taut across the rise of her chest. Tiny pearl buttons grasping at the placket creating small gaping holes and glimpses of her chocolate satin bra. Her hair falls to her shoulders as she sinks back. I stand, hands on my hips, one hip thrust to the side, and tilt my head. I picture her elsewhere and right here. The glare from the sun as it beats down on the pavement makes her squint and she lifts on hand to shield her eyes as she regards me. She says my name, a statement, and I crook my finger, beckoning her. Gathering the linen of her skirt, holding it at her thigh, she stands and moves to the bottom step, but comes no farther. I approach her slowly, feeling the current between us arc and shimmer. We meet face to face, two inches of heels and several inches of step bringing us eye to eyeÉand mouth to mouth. Without preamble, her hands are on my shoulders and her tongue drags across my lower lip with the humidity of the day. I rock back on my heels with the heat-searing kiss that follows. It is not that she has never kissed me this way; it is just that it has never happened in Monterey Square at noontime. Or it could be because even though we have joined with our lips the connection still has the ability to melt something deep inside. My hands rest on her hips, the linen limp under my hands but hot over her skin. She increases the contact, pulling herself toward me; her lower body connecting with mine and my lips trail from hers to her neck, sliding along the length of heat slicked skin. She tells me that our suite is ready and so is she. My mind ponders the double entendre she lets float between us. Our eyes meet once again and I detour to catch the scent of the flower in her hair. She smiles knowingly at my stalling technique, takes my hand and leads me up the curving staircase. The wrought iron rail burns beneath my hand and she fingers the trailing bougenvillea vines that wend their way along our path. Twin double globe topiaries flank the ornately carved oak door as we pass though it. The Italianate style Midnight Inn rises proudly above the quaint street in Savannah's Historic District. The entryway boasts of the same vertical majesty, the hardwood floors polished to a high gleam, leading to the grand staircase illuminated by an Austrian crystal chandelier high above us. She looks at home here, far from the dark tailored suits and meetings and orders of our usual world. She belongs here, amidst the finer qualities of life. I long to be a part of that life, her life. ~~~~~* ~~~*~~ Stay, lady, stay, stay with your man awhile Why wait any longer for the world to begin You can have your cake and eat it too Why wait any longer for the one you love When he's standing in front of you White. Airy and lightÉand white surrounds us, a calm settling in keeping the oppressive heat at bay. She's unpacked for us already and I can find no signs of anything other than comfort and content in our suite of rooms. She toes off her slides and moves to one of the many windows, pulling back the hinged white louvered and slatted shutters. The leaded glass pane is raised and the street sounds and the smell of the tropical flora rise and mingle with the lightly lavender scented sitting room. One hand palms the glass, the other lifts the hair from her neck, her fingers tangled in the strands as she twists them slightly and holds them to her head. I tell her that I can do that for her and close the distance between us in two strides. I bend to bury my nose in her tresses and I move to plant a kiss at her nape. She shivers in the heat and her hand falls to my head. She murmurs my name and I imagine her eyes closing to match the sound she makes. Hardly any words are exchanged between us, but we need so few, really. In choreographed form, my arms slip under hers, wrapping her in them as hers reach behind me, drawing me closer. We are just warming up, but cannot remain like this for long, my back bowed as it is with our height difference. But we possess each other's body long enough to communicate that the need is thereÉand it is increasing exponentially. She nearly purrs as my hands untie the shirttails, letting them come apart and my fingers touch her bare midriff. I straighten up as she backs into me and I interpret her body language. It's telling me that she wants more touch. The pearl buttons are tiny for my suddenly-clumsy hands and she chuckles, her hands moving up and behind my neck. It's a stretch but she loves a challenge. Nearly as much as I love her. When the material is unfastened, it parts, leaving the chocolate satin the only barrier between my hands and her breasts. She draws my arms around her once again and tells me to listen. I try, but the blood that has begun to pound in my ears makes it difficult. I wonder what it is that she hears, how she can focus outside this room, outside us and then I hear it, as if she has somehow channeled the sound of the splashing courtyard fountain directly to me. I am overcome with desire. No, that one word does not begin to describe it. I would have to add 'love' and 'lust' and 'burning need' to fully capture why I want her to consume me; how much I want to be consumed by her. She feels it too, I can tell by the way she moves and the little sighs and breathy almost-moans she makes. She wants everything now and she wants small temptations in an unhurried pace. She slips from my arms, meandering into the bedroom and out onto the balcony. She steps up onto the low footstool that stands against the alabaster painted rail, and leans forward to place her hands on the support. I join her and we have a better view of the enclosed courtyard, the fountain gurgling, the morning doves cooing. The last of the heat renders it muggy and heavy. Even though I am dressed from head to toe in tan from my short-sleeved hip length shirt to my lightweight trousers, I feel the humidity. The slate beneath my bare feet is singing me. Maybe that's why she's stepped onto the tapestry stool. I touch my lips to her back, asking her what she's looking at and she tells me 'nothing'. She then asks me what I'm doing as my hand slides up under her skirt along her outer thigh, the linen scrunching and wrinkling. I grab her around the waist, steadying her. She is nearly still save for the whisper of her breathing. I am scorched by her skin beneath my hand and the weight and warmth of the fabric over it. She turns her face to me, her eyes dusky, high color in her cheeks a combination of the atmosphere and her apparent arousal. My hand remains beneath her skirt, shifting to her ass, as she turns in my arms, her lips at my forehead and my eyelids and my nose. Fleeting touches barely there and tingling. I lift my chin so out mouths meet and I fumble for the satin bow clasp on her chocolate bra. All at once, the heat proves no hindrance to more movement. I hold her to me with my arm against her behind and she breaks our kiss to shrug her blouse from her shoulders, the gauze fluttering over the balcony to the greenery of our private balcony below. Her actions release her breasts from their confinement and she is bared to my gaze. Despite the extreme temperature, her nipples pebble and pucker almost immediately, the hard points straining toward me. I cannot resist and pushing the nearly weightless linen up hastily, I pull her legs around my waist, hoisting her up high enough. High enough to allow me to bend toward her and nip at her. Her breathing comes in tight pants, quickly, and she runs both hands into my hair and then to the sides of my face, guiding my lips to her mauve nubs. I can tell by the pressure she applies that my teasing kisses and the way my tongue flicks over one and then the other, is not enough. She wants more. Ever the practical one, she must realize that it is entirely possible she will go the way of her blouse over the rail or I will stumble backwards, both of us falling to the hot tiles. She seeks my lips with her tongue and then unwraps her legs from my waist, sliding down my body. As she remains pressed to me, her skirt is bunched between us and my hands move over her ass inside her satin panties, trying to remove them as she divests me of my shirt. She wins, we both win. I am frozen in the heat of her mouth over the peak of my nipple arching quickly as she suckles me. ~~~~~* I hear her sharp intake of breath as her mouth on my chest causes me to twist her panties and tug them into the cleft of her cheeks. She bites at me before pressing both palms to my pecs and playfully shoving me back. Her voice barely audible, she explains that she would have worn her thong had she wanted one today and I let up on the unintentional tension. ~~~*~~ Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed Stay, lady, stay, stay while the night is still ahead I long to see you in the morning light I long to reach for you in the night Stay, lady, stay, stay while the night is still ahead Bare chested, we move back inside, the large catty-corner place brass bed calling. The eggshell voile fabric sheers on the floor to ceiling window barely move in the heavy air. But she is moving, her hands unbuttoning and unzipping and pulling and tugging. I smile down at this Scully Flurry, moving faster than anyone ought to. But she is determined and her determination is but one aspect of what has always drawn me to her. I must be allowing my mind to wander because she pauses to look up at me under her questioning brows and her lips quirk into the tiniest and rather delightful little smile. The look is blazing in its understated intensity. And I imagine what her thoughts must be as she catches my eye as her hand slips into my boxers, grasping me. The intensity of her touch surprises me nearly senseless. If it is possible, my body temperature rises even more, causing me to harden and lengthen and throb with anticipation. I know that look. It's the one that tells me she is proud of herself. Proud and extremely turned on. And I have to finish what I attempted on the balcony. I push her hands away now and drop to my knees reaching up under her very fashionably wrinkled skirt grabbing at the swatch of satin that barely covers her. I smell the heady scent of her arousal and feel the wetness on the fabric and I swell more--almost unbearably. She grasps my shoulders as she always does when she is thrown off-balance, and lifts her feet one at a time. Now it is my turn to seek her eyes and I feel the zing and zap of our connection as I slide one finger up between her folds and then inside. Her nails dig into my skin and she gasps my name. God, how I love that particular pronunciationÉ She does her best to keep her eyes open, but as I insert another finger and curve them just slightly upwards, the way she seems to like, she bites her lower lip and her lashes flutter against her damp cheeks. One hand clutches my hair when I stroke her long and deep. Again and again. Neither of us will last long. ~~~~~* I barely touch my thumb to her swollen clit and slowly withdraw my fingers. The tropical southern lushness has nothing on her. I rise and her head tilts back, her nearly wet hair falling back as I bring my fingers to her mouth. Her lips touch them the tips of my fingers slick with her inner heat and she draws them into her mouth, suckling and licking. With what small amount of rational thinking I still possess, I paw at the button at her hip as she tries to push my pants downward. Realizing that we cannot possibly accomplish everything simultaneously, I finish removing her skirt as she laps at my digits. She tells me, 'hurry, Mulder', and I think she's referring to removing my pants. Leaving her skirt and my pants exactly where we've stepped out of them, she backs me to the bed. Set in the corner between tall windows, it really is very artfully arranged. And I make quick work of removing the quilted covering and fancy top sheet; the bare wood floor now completely cluttered with bedclothes and our clothes. As I turn back to her, she places on hand at my waist, her look commanding me to stop, to breathe, and I do. Until her fingers brush the tip of my erection and I thrust forward, my little remaining control losing ground. She likes my reaction, so she touches me again and smears the liquid she finds over the head. I cry out. Before she has a chance to touch me further, I enfold her in my arms, our bodies already slippery against each other. She tries to back me into the bed as I hump against her like a randy teenager. She isn't oblivious to my needs as she unabashedly digs her fingers into the flesh of my hip then trails them to knead my ass. My cock is tightly sandwiched between us and the pressure is exquisite and tormenting at the same time. My thighs finally make contact with the bed and I sit with all the finesse and grace of a lumberjack. Stepping into the V of my legs her lips bruise mine roughly, her tongue demanding entrance, her hands in my hair, on my back, scratching my chest. It is not enough and it is way too much. We have never known 'everything in moderation'. It has been nothing or everything. Tease or obliterate. For nearly seven very long years, we held ourselves in perfect partnerly decorous restraint. And, if I were pressed, I would still not be able to say with certainty which one of us released those restraints. All that could be said that we would both claim for the truth was that we pushed the envelope far beyond all expectations. She is temporarily at a loss. While wonderful for sleeping and for display, the bed is much higher than the standard and with me in front of her, she can't seem to find her way up. I lean forward to help solve her problem but she has found the antique bedstairs and is now on all fours behind me. Scooting backward, I lay on my back and she winks at me as I whisper, 'climb aboard'. Instead, she straddles my abdomen and returns to the passion of our kiss, leaving me happily breathless. I twine my fingers in her hair as our tongues twirl around each other. She is poised mere inches above me and my shaft seeks her heated center unerringly. I move my hands from her hair to her hips, but she has other ideas. Have I mentioned how much I love her wanton and willfully wicked side? As she lowers herself, I can feel the steam of her as her folds part around my length. She toys with me, grinding into me, then lifting herself off until I am moaning her name, imploring her to ride me. And then she leans forward, her knees at my side, and flips us o ver. If asked, she would state that she was solely responsible, but given our body positions and sizes, I would have to refute her assertion and make her admit that I helped us. No matter. It is me who rides her as I slip and sink into the southern sultry lush humidity of her as I watch her arch toward me. Heavy. The heat as it settles over me, around me, rises from under me. Yet I continue to stroke into her and pull out, stroke in deeper still as our bodies slap against each other. She clutches me with her hands, her arms, but I slip from her grasp, only to feel her try yet again. She blinks quickly when the droplets of sweat fall from my bangs and the tip of my nose and my chin, but it is hard to distinguish sweat from sweat. Seeking more of me, she lifts and spreads her legs, trying to gain purchase around my waist, but her heels slide from my ass. She tells me to wait, her voice low and sexy, and nudges me. My lust-fogged brain somehow understands that she wants me to pull out, but my cock is quite happy just where it is and isn't helping matters. She pushes me gently to her side and rolls over, her back to my front. Improvisation, thy name is Scully. I move behind her, my right arm sliding underneath her neck and my left holding her hip, bringing her back into me. She draws her left knee to her chest and I drive home once more. Although I can no longer see her face, her movements and the steady stream of 'oh, Mulders' that I can feel as we're lined up chest to back, groin to ass, tells me she is close. We're close. My hips plunge steadily at first, returning to my long and deep thrusts. I cup her breasts alternatingly with my left hand, but it is not enough. Hugging her to me, I roll backward slightly, freeing the arm underneath her and repositioning it across her between her shoulders and breasts. Showing me exactly what she wants, she straightens her left leg and moves it back over mine, opening herself to me, to my thumb and index finger. I let my hand drift to her curls, my hand insinuated between her legs, holding her where we are joined. My touch seems to ratchet her arousal up a couple levels as she turns her head toward her shoulder and calls my name. I move closer still and kiss her lips as my fingers find her tiny bundle of nerves. She breaks the kiss, gasping for air and tells me 'more' and 'faster' and 'harder'. Not sure whether she is referring to my fingers circling and rubbing over her or my shaft erratically stroking her, I do both and bite her earlobe. I find that spot directly below her ear and I swipe it with my tongue before covering it with my lips. She angles her head to give me better access as she wriggles back into me and I feel my balls tighten and rise. I have to take my mouth from her as her name erupts from somewhere deep inside me as I thrust and stroke wildly. Her hand covers mine as she comes and, still calling her name, my orgasm hits on the heels of hers. She reaches back to touch my face as I hold her to me. ~~~*~~ Lay, lady, lay, lay across my big brass bed Stay, lady, stay, stay while the night is still ahead I long to see you in the morning light I long to reach for you in the night Stay, lady, stay, stay while the night is still ahead She murmurs, 'mmm, Mulder', and then, 'love you'. I have slipped from her, but am still with her as she turns in my arms and nestles into me. The thought of a tepid bath or shower is inviting, but that would mean we have to leave the shelter of each other's arms. Besides, she is nearly asleep and I am so close. The air is redolent of us and the lush scent of southern flowers and trees and I hear the faint tinkling of the wind chimes as the faint breeze of early evening stirs them. Stay, lady, stay, stay while the night is still ahead ~~~*~~ Finis