From: < Wylfcynne@aol.com> To: Subject: [XFNC17ff] Magic Shell #5: Caroling Date: Wednesday, September 04, 2002 10:11 PM TITLE: Magic Shell #5: Caroling AUTHOR: Wylfcynne EMAIL: Wylfcynne@aol.com DISTRIBUTION: All-XFiles, Crystalship, Ephemeral, Gossamer, IWTB, Spooky Awards, Whispers of X, MSR-Smut anyone else, please ask; that way I'll know where it all goes, so I can visit. SPOILER WARNING: Fight the Future, Detour RATING: NC-17. Really. Not joking. CLASSIFICATION: MSR, PWP Missing Scene FTF KEYWORDS: Smut, M/S Sex LuridFic SUMMARY: it would be longer than the story DISCLAIMER: They certainly aren't mine; if they were, they'd be having more fun, and I wouldn't have to save up for a new car! Mulder, Scully and the X-Files belong to FOX Networks and 1013; I'm just borrowing them for a little fun and games...I promise I'll bring them back on time and unharmed... and they won't remember a thing... And I'll still be saving up for that new car... Tremendous thanks to Ravenwald for actually doing the posting. Why I can post all kinds of smartass remarks to lists, but can't get a story posted to save my life is, well, dammit, it's an X File! Oh, Mulder! Mulder...! FEEDBACK: Yes, please. Wylf howls at the moon for feedback! Mulder moaned. "C'mon, Mulder." "I can't. I'm whipped." "You aren't going to leave me like this!" "I can't, Scully." "You will. You can die afterward." He choked back a sob, bit at the air with his teeth, trying to catch his breath. "Move, Mulder, or I'll kill you myself!" He was too far gone to hear the illogic in that. He found the last ounce of energy he had, and pushed upward. Her small, strong hands caught him by his collar and pulled. He tumbled into the snow cat and collapsed on top of her, unconscious. Scully just wrapped her arms around him, not caring that his weight was almost enough to crush her. (*He came for me...he came for me...he wouldn't let them keep me... They came and took me, and he hunted them down... he found me... (*He saved me.*) He was limp in her arms. After a moment's panic, she rolled him so she could get a better look at him. He was breathing, but shallowly. He was very pale. (*Now I have to save him.*) She was not feeling wonderful, herself, but since she was conscious and mobile, it was her responsibility. The walk across the snowfield had taken every erg of energy that Mulder had been able to scrape up; she had been amazed that he had kept going, and she was impressed at his accomplishment. But now she had to get him warm and dry. They were both wet and cold and exhausted, and here, on an ice field, that was dangerous; doubly so for Mulder, because he had suffered from hypothermia before. She looked around, and found the starter, got the snowcat's motor running. Then she cranked the heater. Hunting around the cabin, she found a duffle bag that he had packed. Inside were two complete changes of clothes, one in his sizes, one in hers, two towels and a decently stocked medical kit. "Good planning, Mulder," she commented with a grin. "I taught you all you know about survival, and this time you actually remembered some of it!" She stripped off what she had on and dried herself hurriedly. Then, shivering, she dove into dry clothes. The sensation of warmth was almost enervating. The warmth of the snow-cat's heater began to melt the ice on his clothing, and chunks began to fall off like Magic Shell coming off ice cream on a hot day. But the sight of her partner, pale and shivering, soaked to the skin, spurred her into action. Moving quickly, confidently, she stripped Mulder of his wet clothing and began to dry him with the other towel. She rubbed firmly but carefully, intending the textured massage to encourage circulation. As she moved up his legs her concentration faltered. (*God, I'm a sick woman,*) she sighed. (*Even hypothermic, he is hung like the proverbial horse. And I know he loves me, or he wouldn't be here...*) She shivered, though she was no longer cold at all. She watched, fascinated, as one of her own hands, apparently of its own volition, reached out and touched. Some long-forgotten teenage frustration suddenly surfaced, and she could almost hear her best friend Gillian's half-hysterical giggle as she slammed shut their shoplifted copy of Playgirl. (*Now THAT's what I call forbidden fruit!*) Her hand flinched away, as if expecting to be caught. But he was unconscious. She touched again, sliding fingers ever-so-lightly along the significant length, her thumb and forefinger testing the exciting circumference, delighted to appreciate the silkiness of his skin, the easy slide of that skin over warming flesh. Her other hand was ever-so-gently rolling his testicles, testing their weight, their symmetry, and her most careful fingertip reached for and stroked the downy softness of his perineum. She watched, fascinated, as her hands moved without her conscious will, awakened his flesh and stirred his blood. She gasped- --and his eyes opened. Scully froze, paralyzed, trapped; she had no idea what to do or say. So she did nothing. He blinked languorously. "Don't stop now." His voice was low, rough. She flinched back violently, mortified. "I'm sorry. I don't... I'm sorry." She kept her eyes away from his; she could not face him now. "Look at me." She could not resist that deepened voice. When their eyes met she saw the flame of arousal making his hazel eyes glow. It took all the willpower she had left to keep from throwing herself into that fire. "If you were trying to warm me up, you succeeded," he spoke slowly, his voice a full register lower than normal. "Is it my turn?" A thrill went through her; she could not tell if it was terror or arousal. "I..." She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Yes," she consented, her voice gone, the single syllable a voiceless whisper. "You're overdressed." He still had not moved. "Strip off." Trembling, she obeyed. When she was naked again, he held out one hand to her, inviting her to join him. She realized that he was leaving all the decisions up to her, and laughed softly. He studied her intensely. "Amused?" She shook her head violently, letting her hair whip back and forth. "Happy. Hang on a second." He stretched slowly, intentionally flexing his entire body so sensually that her breath went short as she watched him. "I'm goin' nowhere at the moment," he rumbled. She shuddered, a ripple going down her body, and turned away to rummage around behind the seats where she had found the dry clothing. She found what she was looking for, and turned back to face him, her arms full of fabric that she tossed at him. "It's raining sleeping bags, Mulder." He chuckled, remembering, and together they built themselves a nest with sleeping bags and dry clothes. It was cramped, especially for him, but they would be relatively comfortable and they could keep warm. When she dropped to her knees beside him, well within his reach, his smile faded to an expression of focused intensity, and he began to sing very softly, his voice still low, still roughened with his excitement. "Jeremiah was a bullfrog/Was a good friend of mine,/ I never understood a single word he said,/ But I helped him drink his wine..." He leaned across and kissed her, while his hands moved to her breasts, his thumbs flicking against her nipples. When she came up for air she whispered, "Chorus." "Joy to the world, all the boys and girls/ Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea/ Joy to you and me..." While he sang, her lips wandered from his mouth along his jaw, down his throat, where she kissed the skin that vibrated to his voice. His hands were stroking her body gently, moving low to cup her buttocks and pull her nearer. Her knees fell away from one another, and his hard-muscled thigh slid between them, pressing with delicious firmness up against her. "Second verse." She continued her perambulations down and around his face and throat, eventually moving on to his collarbones. "If I was the King of the World/ I'll tell you what I'd do,/ I'd throw away the cars and the bars and the wars..." His thigh was wet with her readiness; he rolled her just a little more underneath him, and kissed her hard, feeling her body rocking against his leg, feeling her whimpering, feeling her breathing accelerating. He shifted very slightly, changing the angle, and she came, arching violently back with a wild cry. "... and make sweet love to you..." She collapsed into his arms, gasping, her eyes closed, her body still vibrating. He laid her on her back, rose above her, waited for her to open her eyes. "Chorus..." she whispered, smiling, but not opening her eyes. He chuckled, then nudged her knees just a little farther apart. As she lifted her thighs and spread them, he came to her very slowly. As he settled himself against her, sheathed to the hilt in her body, he managed a few more syllables. "Joy to the world..." "...all the boys and girls..." "Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea..." "Joy to you and me..." All things considered it was a good thing it was hours before they were rescued.