Red Letter Day
by Lydia Bower <bower@cu-online.com>
Classification: V, H, MSR
Rating: NC-17 for sexual content. Don't read this if you're 
underage. Really, I mean it. I don't want to be held responsible 
for the corruption of our younger Philes.

Distribution: None unless you receive my written permission 
first. You're more than welcome to come visit all my stories at 
my archive: http://members.aol.com/XFSparky/index.html

Spoilers: Some vague allusions to possible events in the sixth 
season. Nothing major.

Timeline: The future. And let's assume Mulder and Scully have 
been doing the nasty since the movie, okay? I just wasn't in the 
mood to do a first-time story again.

Summary: Mulder discovers the hidden benefits of Scully's 
PMS.

Author's Notes: This is plain and simple smut. I make no 
apologies for it. Sometimes you just have to say the hell with 
plot and have some fun. This one is for all the smut sluts out 
there--you know who you are. And especially for the 
enpodulated one, because she wanted it hot and nasty. I live to 
serve.

Disclaimer: I doubt very much that Chris Carter would approve 
of what I'm doing with his characters in this piece and would 
probably choose not to claim them, but they still belong to him, 
the gang at 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting. I promise 
I'll return them in good shape, though they may be a little sore. I 
certainly won't be making any money from this and I really don't 
mean to infringe on the Great Kahuna's creations, but if he won't 
let them have a little fun every once and awhile, I'm not above 
doing it myself.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Red Letter Day
by Lydia Bower


If I was anywhere near the crack genius most people seem to 
think I am, I would have taken the time to check my calendar 
before I ever opened my mouth. 

News flash: Dana Scully is hell on wheels the two or three days 
prior to the monthly visit from her "friend." 

That's how she refers to her period: as her friend. If I had a 
friend that made me psychotic on a regular basis, I'd definitely 
be looking around for a new one. And you'd think a well-
educated doctor could come up with a term a little more clinical 
than that. 

Whatever.

So there we were in our brand-spanking-new office (which I hate 
with a passion that knows no bounds) knee-deep in cardboard 
boxes filled with freshly printed copies of all the X files Scully 
and I'd had the good sense to save on disk and stash at home. 
We'd spent the better part of the previous weekend at the offices 
of The Lone Gunmen, shooting the shit while the boys' printer 
got a workout. Call me paranoid, but I have no definitive proof 
that the printers at the Bureau aren't out to get me.

Note to self: send Byers a decent bottle of scotch, the collected 
works of Korn to Langly, and a copy of Alien Probe to Frohike.

Scully was cross-legged on the floor, stuffing papers into candy-
striped file folders and consulting a list of case numbers, 
checking off each one as it was compiled. I'd made the mistake 
of volunteering to put said folders into some kind of order once 
she was done with them. And that's where we ran into trouble.

You see, Scully's idea of a filing system is way out of line with 
mine. I've always grouped files by phenomenon; Scully prefers 
to do it by case number. Consequently, our old file cabinets in 
our old office (may it rest in peace) were not exactly what one 
might call organized. That sort of thing doesn't faze me too 
much, but it makes Scully absolutely crazy. Had I bothered to 
note the date, I would have known not to cross her when she 
questioned me about it. 

Live and learn.

"You're doing those by case number, right?"

I wasn't really paying much attention to her question. I had my 
back turned to her and had gotten lost in the last file she'd 
handed me, mourning anew the untimely, bizarre death of Clyde 
Bruckman and his equally bizarre take on my own demise. I 
made a noncommittal noise in reply.

"Mulder? You're filing those by case number?"

Her question finally registered. "Uh . . . no. Should I be?"

I flinched at the stinging slap of her hand hitting the hard surface 
of the floor. "Dammit, Mulder, I thought we agreed to do it by 
case number."

My radar went active and the alarms starting going off. I had no 
idea why she'd flown off the handle so quickly, but I was pretty 
sure I was about to find out.

"We did?" I was being careful; buying myself some time to try to 
figure out what was going on. I turned and gave her my most 
guileless face as I got busy trying to recall what I might have 
done recently to piss her off. Hard as it may be to believe, I 
came up empty.

She gave me a long, icy look and gritted through her teeth, 
"Yes, we did. The last time you were at my apartment, as a 
matter of fact. Don't you remember?" 

Okay, that was an easy one. I knew the right (read: best) answer 
and spit it out gratefully. "I'm sorry, Scully. My head must have 
been somewhere else."

So far so good. My excuse was legit. Especially if you take into 
account the fact that the last time I'd been at her place, sex had 
been the only thing on our minds. And I've discovered that 
Scully gets very talkative afterwards, while I tend to zone out 
during my usual post-coital return to all my favorite places on 
her body. I'd much rather nuzzle the underside of her breasts or 
the curve of her ass than discuss the best way to organize our 
file cabinets. So I just let her ramble on and she lets me poke 
and nibble. It's generally an equitable trade and, to be perfectly 
honest, I'd always figured she was paying as little attention to 
what I was doing as I was to what she was saying.

But like I said, live and learn. Because my smartass mouth then 
overrode my common sense. "Now that I think about it," I 
elaborated before I could stop myself, "I'm pretty sure it was 
between your legs." 

"Jesus Christ, Mulder, is that all you think about? We have work 
to do here."

"I'm working. See?" I waved a hand at the open file cabinets and 
the rows of folders tucked inside.

"No, you're not. You're thinking about your head being between 
my legs. No wonder you can't file anything properly."

I fought to tamp down my sudden flash of anger. What the hell 
was her problem? "Just because I'm not doing it the way you 
want me to, Scully, doesn't mean it's not being done properly."

"Whatever," she shot back. "Just do it however the hell you want 
to. You always do anyway."

Bitch.

While part of me was slowly realizing there might've been 
something more to her outburst than just my ill-timed comment, 
the rest of me couldn't have cared less. I found myself glaring at 
her. She glared right back. 

"Fine," I snapped, swinging back around and yanking all the 
neatly filed folders out of the cabinets and slapping them down 
on top. "I'll do it your way."

That seemed to do the trick, because she got very quiet after 
that. At least she didn't gloat over her small victory. I kept up a 
steady stream of silent curses as I worked to re-file everything 
by case number. I was almost through the first pile when she 
began muttering under her breath. 

Without turning around I asked, "Is there something you'd like to 
share with the class?"

"I knew this was gonna happen," she announced.

That's all it took to suck me right back into the game. "Knew 
what was gonna happen?" I turned just as she was getting to her 
feet. 

"This," she said. "This problem you seem to have staying on 
task. I knew as soon as we starting sleeping together you'd have 
trouble separating our private lives from the work. Honestly, 
Mulder. I'm trying to get some work done and all you can think 
about is going down on me."

All this blurted out with her arms folded defensively across her 
chest and that holier-than-thou tone of voice. I opened my 
mouth to let loose with some retort and snapped it shut again as 
soon as I got a really good look at her face. Her flushed face. 
The high color and the sparkling eyes that spoke not just of 
anger, but of what I'd come to recognize as arousal.

It dawned on me in that moment that Scully was as horny as she 
was angry. Maybe even more so.

It took all my considerable self-control to keep the smile off my 
face. I took a step toward her and said, "I hate to point out the 
obvious, but you're the one who keeps bringing it up. I was just 
making a joke. You're the one who can't stop talking about it."

"And just what are you implying?" Her eyes danced fire as she 
glared up at me.

I've found that sometimes my silence can say more than words 
ever could. This was one of those moments. I watched her face 
change as she realized that I had more than a clue what was 
going on.

"Oh, I don't fucking believe this," she raged, turning away and 
grabbing her trench coat from the chair she'd draped it over. "I'm 
going home. I'm not going to stand around here and watch your 
head explode from your over-inflated ego." She stomped to the 
door and flung it open, struggling comically to get her arms in 
the sleeves of her coat. "Good-bye, Mulder. I will see you in the 
morning." 

I spent the next few minutes smothering my laughter and then 
dug out my pocket calendar, settling into a chair as I confirmed 
my suspicions.

It was probably four years ago when I started keeping track of 
Scully's menstrual cycles. At first, I'd just been marking down 
the days when she seemed to possess a shorter fuse than 
normal. After about three months, a definite pattern had 
emerged. I'd been able to pinpoint the days that marked the 
actual start of her period because she'd invariably complain of 
lower back pain and be popping Advil throughout the day. Once 
those events occurred, I knew I was safe for another month or 
so. It was the two or three days prior to that when I had to be 
careful. 

Those were the days when Scully would act as though she'd just 
as soon shoot me as look at me. Or speak to me. Or have 
anything to do with me. Those were the days when we both 
would find any excuse to avoid being in close contact. Scully 
would take off for a long weekend or a symposium at Quantico 
or, if neither of those were possible, I would grudgingly offer my 
temporary services to BSU. If we happened to be in the field or 
out of town on a case, we'd come up with ways to work 
separately. Since there was almost always a corpse or two that 
needed slicing and dicing, it was never much of a problem.

All this time I'd been thinking that Scully just had less patience 
with me those few days than at other times--a result of 
hormones gone mad. It never once occurred to me that she 
might've been avoiding me for an entirely different reason. I was 
stunned by the idea that she might've wanted nothing more than 
to throw me down and screw me blind, hence her pissy manner 
that insured I'd stay away and not become an irresistible treat. 
Considering we hadn't been lovers until just a few months ago, 
that would certainly explain why she'd felt a need to be as far 
away from me as possible.

Can't exactly go around jumping your partner on impulse, now 
can you? So you take pains to avoid them instead. Out of sight, 
out of mind, Scully?

My grin just got bigger as I checked the previous two months on 
my calendar. Sure enough: those particular red letter days were 
times when we'd been apart for one reason or another. So even 
though we were engaging in hot monkey love by then, Scully 
had habitually avoided me the few days before her period. 
Wouldn't want to actually admit she might be extraordinarily 
horny and indulge herself in our new favorite pastime.

Well. 

Wasn't that interesting?

So then I did what any red-blooded man would do: I formulated 
a plan to use her raging hormones to my advantage.

Now before you start lecturing me about what a pig I am, ask 
yourself: wouldn't you do the same thing?

I thought so.

I gave the unfiled files a cursory glance and decided they 
weren't going anywhere. I locked up the office and headed 
home. After grabbing a quick shower, I threw on jeans and a t-
shirt and hightailed it over to Scully's.

Apparently I'd interrupted a rare session of Scully self-
indulgence. I took a quick look over her shoulder as she threw 
open the door, spotting the pint of Wavy Gravy on the coffee 
table. William Hurt and Kathleen Turner were raising body 
temperatures on the TV.

"What do you want?" she asked. The pissy tone was still there, 
but she couldn't stop her eyes from raking me over head to toe 
in a rather predatory way.

Bingo.

"Hello to you, too, Scully. Whatcha doin'?"

"Nothing," she growled. 

"Good." I stepped right past her, ignoring the indignant look she 
aimed at me.

I heard her huff dramatically as she closed the door. "What do 
you want, Mulder?"

"Who says I want anything?" I pulled off my leather jacket and 
tossed it onto the chair. Flopped down on the couch and 
grabbed the ice cream. I had the first spoonful in my mouth as 
she came around the end of the couch and planted herself in 
front of me, hands on hips.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Eating your ice cream."

"I can see that."

I leisurely licked the spoon clean, my eyes pinning hers.

"Why are you here, Mulder? Surely it's not just to eat my food."

I jammed the spoon back into the container and set it on the 
table. "You're right. That's not why I'm here." 

One eyebrow crept up her face and her hands lifted in question.

"I think," I told her, "that the real question is what do you want, 
Scully?"

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that you're not being honest with me, and I don't 
think I like it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." 

That's the moment I realized Scully was capable of looking me 
straight in the eye without actually looking at me. Avoidance by 
confrontation.

Amazing.

"You're a lousy liar, Scully. You always have been." I was a little 
surprised at how raw my voice sounded to my own ears. Hoarse, 
aroused. I was even getting a hard-on, and I'd yet to lay a finger 
on her. It was shaping up to be an interesting afternoon.

"Excuse me?" she blustered. "If you've come here to insult me, 
Mulder, then I think you'd better leave."

"I didn't come here to insult you." I slumped back against the 
cushions, my feet purposefully planted wide. "I have something 
much more pleasant in mind."

She did a quick check of my crotch before lifting her eyes to 
mine. She tried to look innocent, like she hadn't just been caught 
eyeing the goods, but she couldn't pull it off.

I had her fair and square. 

"Look, Mulder, I don't know what kind of game you're playing, 
but--"

"Just couldn't stop thinking about it, could you?"

"What?"

"My head between your legs." I made each word slow and 
precise. "The thought of me going down on you. It turns you on, 
doesn't it, Scully?"

She began to stammer, no doubt trying to get out some kind of 
excuse. I didn't give her the time. "In fact, I'd lay odds you're 
getting wet right now, just from me saying the words."

"Mulder--"

"It's okay, Scully. It turns me on, too. See?" I glanced at the 
rapidly growing bulge in my jeans. She obediently looked. When 
she raised her eyes, they'd gone dark and heavy-lidded. "The 
only thing I'm not sure about is just what turns you on the most. 
Is it the thought of my mouth against you, licking you? Or my 
tongue dipping into you?" I deliberately looked back down at my 
crotch. "Or maybe it's this you're thinking about."

I knew I was. I didn't have a whole lot of choice. My cock was 
straining uncomfortably against the rough denim of my jeans, 
demanding attention. I heard her sharp intake of air as my hips 
lifted slightly in invitation. 

"It's okay," I told her again. "You don't have to hide from me 
anymore, Scully. You don't have to pretend. Whatever you want, 
whatever I can do for you, all you have to do is tell me and I'll do 
it."

I lifted my hands from where they rested on my thighs and 
draped my arms along the back of the couch, settling deeper 
into the overstuffed cushions. "Now why don't you just slip out of 
those clothes and come over here and tell me exactly what you 
want."

It was harder than hell to sound cool and confident when my 
heart was pounding like a jackhammer in my chest. My throat 
had gone so tight I don't think I could have swallowed had my 
life depended on it. Not that there was any saliva remaining in 
the arid desert my mouth had become.

To be perfectly honest, it wasn't just white-hot lust that caused 
my symptoms. I was terrified of Scully's response. Despite the 
way her hooded eyes lazily meandered over my body, despite 
her ragged breathing and the soft, inviting curve of her mouth, I 
had absolutely no idea what was going on in her head. For all I 
knew I was seconds away from having my ass booted out of her 
apartment and being told in no uncertain terms that I was no 
longer welcome there.

I'd never done anything like that with her before. While we'd 
indulged in the typical flirting lovers are wont to do over the last 
couple of months, I hadn't ever been that blatant in approaching 
her. We'd always entered into lovemaking the same way we did 
everything else in our relationship: slowly, cautiously, with few 
gestures and even fewer words.

All I could do at that moment was sit quietly and wait for her 
to decide. Though it might have appeared to anyone else that I 
was in charge of the situation, the complete opposite was true. It 
was Scully's call. She was in control, and I knew that was just 
the way she liked it.

It wasn't until her fingers lifted to the buttons of her blouse that I 
released the breath I hadn't even been aware of holding. She 
pinned my eyes and wouldn't let go until she was forced to bend 
over to pull off her pants. And then she straightened and faced 
me, clad in nothing but a lacy bra and panties.

"All of it," I managed to croak.

And then she cocked an eyebrow and gave me tiny, wicked 
smile. A ragged chuckle escaped me and I finally took a deep 
breath. 

Thank you, Scully, for not kicking me out. Thank you for not 
laughing in my face. Thank you for wanting me as much as I 
wanted you.

She made short work of the bra and panties and just stood there 
waiting, giving me back a little of the control, letting me take a 
leisurely look at what she was offering. She was five feet three 
inches of walking, talking perfection. I sat up and extended a 
hand to her and she stepped forward and silently took it. I 
tugged until she was standing right in front me, only inches 
away, trapped between my knees. I closed my eyes and 
breathed her in.

You know what it smells like just after it's rained on a perfect 
early spring day? When you catch a whiff of new grass and 
leaves and sunshine, and just a hint of flowers still forming 
blossoms? That's what Scully smells like.   

I let go of her fingers and moved my hands to her hips, holding 
her firmly in place. And then I leaned forward and kissed the soft 
slope of her belly, just below her navel. Her fingers slipped 
through my hair as I turned my cheek and rested it against her.

So there I was just seconds after telling her to strip naked and 
talk dirty to me, struggling with a hard-on that could cut glass, 
when all of the sudden the back of my throat started to ache and 
my eyes to sting. All signs of impending tears. My face was 
buried in the softness of her belly, inches away from the source 
of her intense fragrance, and all I could do was get teary-eyed 
because I thought I must be the luckiest sonofabitch on the face 
of the earth.

Now you have to understand something: I never thought Scully 
and I would get to the place we've reached. It's not that we 
weren't aware of our feelings for each other and the attraction 
between us, or curious about what it might be like to give in to 
that attraction. It's just that when you cut to the chase, both of us 
tend to be chickenshit when it comes to matters of the heart. 
Especially when you factor in all we had to lose if it'd turned 
out that sex between us was something better left to the 
imagination.

But we were lucky, Scully and I. We came together and 
discovered it could be even better than we had any right to 
expect. And sometimes that gets to me. It did that day, and in all 
honesty, it still happens with alarming regularity.

Scully, bless her horny little heart, pulled me right out my 
sentimental brooding. "You were right, Mulder," she murmured 
as I turned my face and kissed her again. "About everything you 
said. You made that joke in the office and I couldn't stop thinking 
about it. It just made me so . . . so . . ."

"Horny?" I supplied.

I felt the vibration of her silent chuckle as I continued to taste 
her belly. "Yeah, I guess you could say that. And I just had to get 
out of there. I'm not used to being able to admit my feelings to 
myself, let alone to you and . . . oh, don't stop doing that, Mulder 
. . . and so I ran away."  
    
I moved my hands around and took a hold of her perfect little 
ass, gently kneading the flesh. I dipped my head and began to 
kiss along the crease where thigh met torso. "Old habits die 
hard, huh, Scully?"

"Oh, God. Yes, they do." Her fingers had taken a firmer grip on 
my head, directing my mouth where she wanted it. Which just 
happened to be where I wanted it, too. I nuzzled the crisp copper 
curls at the apex of her thighs. "Mulder, please."

"What do you want?"

"You know what I want."

"No," I reminded her, "I want you to tell me."

She got quiet and I pulled away a little, looking up at her. She 
was gnawing on her bottom lip. Her expression was one of 
shyness struggling with need, and it was just about the sexiest 
thing I'd ever seen. I considered letting her off the hook. For a 
second or two. But it was too good to let go. My cock twitched in 
anticipation.

She closed her eyes in a slow blink and whispered, "I want your 
mouth on me."    

Good girl.

"Where, Scully? Show me."

She gave me a look that told me I was going to pay big-time for 
being so insistent. I was smart enough not to let her know how 
much I was looking forward to that. Sometimes you just have to 
keep things to yourself. 

I thought she might take the less risky option and beat around 
the bush (no pun intended), but she apparently didn't want to 
waste any more time. One hand left my hair and came to rest on 
her stomach. There was only a moment's hesitation before she 
slid it down and cupped herself.

"Here," she breathed.

Never let it be said that I give up easily; especially not when 
things are getting really interesting.

"I'm sorry, I can't see; your hand's in the way. Where?"

She slowly made a return trip up, this time with the first two 
fingers of her hand spread apart. This, of course, opened her up 
and left the small bud of her clit peeking out. She was wet, her 
folds plump and glistening, shaded a deep pinkish-red.

Beautiful. My little hothouse flower.

I licked my lips in anticipation and she sighed quietly as she 
spotted the tip of my tongue.

"There?" I asked.

"Yes." She growled impatiently, "Jesus, Mulder, just do it."

So I leaned in and flicked my tongue once against her clit, 
sliding off the couch until I was on my knees. And then I went in 
for the kill. It was a good things my hands were still on her ass, 
because her knees buckled almost immediately. She groaned 
low in her throat and dug her nails into my scalp.

I've never understood men who don't enjoy being on the giving 
end of oral sex. It's always been right up there on my list of 
favorite things to do. I could spend hours at it, and have. 
Consider it a benefit of my obvious oral fixation. Scully certainly 
does.

I ran my tongue along her soft folds and then pulled them into 
my mouth, gently sucking the flesh before letting my tongue slip 
inside her. She clenched tight around me, beginning to thrust 
and grind against my mouth as I dipped in and tasted her smoky 
sweetness. I drew my tongue back and then ran it up her cleft, 
landing on her clit and mirroring the small circles her hips had 
begun to make.

Scully was moaning and whispering nonsense words, her legs 
grower weaker as the minutes ticked by. I wasn't sure how much 
longer I'd be able to hold her up and my neck was beginning to 
complain about my awkward position anyway. So I pulled away 
and shoved the coffee table out a few feet, lying down on my 
back on the floor. I ended up with Scully standing above me, her 
feet planted on either side of my waist.

She gave a little grunt of disappointment and then squatted and 
reached down, going for the buttons on my jeans. I grabbed her 
wrists to stop her. She looked down at me with unfocused eyes, 
her tongue snaking out to wet her lips.

"Uh-uh." I let go and grabbed her hips, pulling her up toward me. 
"C'mere, I'm not finished yet." She crawled up until her knees 
were next to my ears and settled right down on my face.

Oh yeah. It was heaven. It was as good as it got.  

Somewhere along the line, I reached down and undid my fly. My 
cock had gotten progressively larger and harder and I was afraid 
the little bugger might suffocate if I didn't give him some air. It 
eased the pressure but not my discomfort. My cock was aching 
to do what my fingers and tongue were busy doing. 

But that's just part of the fun: holding off until you can't stand it 
anymore. God knows Scully and I had made it an art form, 
waiting over five years before we finally gave in the first time. 
Now that I knew she wasn't going anywhere, it was nothing to 
hold off until I'd made good on my word to give her what she 
wanted.

Just a few minutes later Scully went stiff, her back snapping 
straight, and noisily came. She ground against me a little longer, 
riding it out, and then folded bonelessly at the waist. She braced 
her hands on the floor above my head and I wiggled out from 
beneath her and got on my knees. I quickly hauled off my t-shirt 
and then shoved my jeans and boxers down my hips. Wrapping  
an arm around her waist, I lifted her ass in the air. And then, not 
giving her time to catch her breath, I buried my cock inside her 
in one savage thrust.  

She squeaked and I grunted and then she arched her spine and 
shoved back against me, matching me stroke for stroke. I knew I 
wasn't going to last long. I could already feel the heat coiling low 
in my belly, gathering strength and moving even lower, into my 
balls and all along the length of my cock. But I wanted to make 
Scully come one more time. Just once more. Her two for my 
one. It sounded fair to me. 

I spread my knees as wide as my jeans would allow and draped 
myself over her. Reaching up and grabbing a breast, I pinched 
the nipple between my fingers and then slid my hand down her 
belly and found her clit.

"Oh, God . . . Mulder." 

It was first intelligible thing she'd said in several minutes, and it 
came out in a low keen. I wanted to say something. I wanted to 
tell her how fucking good she felt--tight, hot, wet, squeezing 
around me--but I was beyond words, beyond any thought but 
relieving the ache in my balls and the screaming in my head. I 
settled for turning my face into her neck and taking her earlobe 
between my teeth. I bit down just as she came and she bucked 
violently against me.

Two, three, four more thrusts and I followed her down, throwing 
my head back and growling like a goddamn animal. I kept 
pounding into her long after my cock stop spasming and she'd 
milked me dry, not wanting to stop what had felt so 
unbelievably good. But my knees gave out in the end, forcing 
me to lift myself off her back and collapse on the floor next to 
her.

Scully's face was buried in the carpet, her fiery hair a tousled 
mess, her legs and arms akimbo. Her back was rising and falling 
rapidly as she desperately sucked in air. I fought to control my 
own breathing and reached over to run a hand down her sweat-
covered back, coming to rest on the swell of her ass and giving 
it a friendly squeeze.

She lifted her head a few minutes later and turned her face 
toward me, squinting at me through the hair that fell over her 
eyes. 

"Hi," I murmured.

She groaned in reply and opened her eyes all the way, looking 
me over. A slow smile spread across her face.

"What?" I asked.

She snickered. "Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look, 
Mulder?" 

I looked down at myself and then back at her, grinning like a 
goof. My jeans and boxers were bunched around my knees, my 
feet still encased in boots, my erection rapidly deflating and 
lying wet and limp against my thigh. All in all, not exactly the 
model of suave sophistication. "I didn't hear you complaining 
earlier, Scully. Besides, you're not exactly cover girl material 
yourself at the moment."

"Depends on what magazine I'd be posing for." She made a 
'gotcha face,' obviously pleased with herself.

I chuckled and pulled her closer, "Baby, you can pose for me 
anytime you want."

"I figured as much. And don't call me baby." She levered up on 
an elbow and brushed the hair from her face. I watched, with 
much appreciation, the sway of her breasts. "Mulder, kiss me."

"With pleasure." I wrapped a hand around the nape of her neck 
and guided her mouth down to mine. The first touch of her lips 
was electric, like a high-voltage current shooting through my 
body.

Scully and I are stingy with our kisses. I guess part of the reason 
is that neither one of us wants to get used to them. They're 
incredible, you see, and it would be far too easy to become 
addicted to them, to want to indulge without any thought as to 
where we are or what we should be doing instead. Too easy to 
be in the office or out in the field and be overwhelmed by an 
intense desire to turn to each other and grab a big, fat, wet kiss. 
So we dole them out carefully.

But that's not the only reason. It goes deeper than that. I think 
maybe it's because getting to that first kiss took so much longer 
than anything else. There's something even more special about 
kissing her than making love to her. I know it may sound strange 
to you, but then Scully and I have never exactly been poster 
children for normal behavior.

Eons later we broke apart and I licked the taste of her from my 
lips. She peered at me drowsily and declared, "You know, this is 
completely unfair of you."

"What is?"

"Taking advantage of me the way you just did. Pulling your 
profiling wonder boy act and figuring out just what my problem 
was."

I smiled in victory. "Does this mean I can pencil you in for a 
repeat performance in about, oh, twenty-six days from now?"

"I have to wait that long?"

I threw back my head and laughed as I gathered her into my 
arms. "You don't have to wait at all, Scully. Like I told you: all 
you have to do is tell me and I'm there. Whatever you want, 
whenever you want it. Your secret is safe with me."

"At the rate we're going, I won't have any secrets left."

I drew back a little and looked down at her. "Would that be such 
a bad thing?"

"My mother always said a woman should have one or two 
secrets, just to maintain an air of mystery."

"And what do you say, Scully?"

"I say," she stretched up and kissed me, "that some secrets are 
too good to keep to yourself."

I couldn't have agreed more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The End

Thanks for stopping by! I'll be around. :-)