TITLE: Eat it Too (1/3)

AUTHOR: Rachel Anton

E-MAIL: RaValliano@aol.com

CATEGORY: S, R, A

KEYWORDS: MSR, some angst, hopefully a little humor

RATING: NC-17

SUMMARY: Will Mulder ever get his cake? And if he

does, what will he do with it?

SPOILERS: FTF, some very small season 6 rumors

ARCHIVE: Anywhere as long as my name and e-mail are

there.

DISCLAIMER: None of these characters belong to me.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Thanks, as always, to Amy and

Laura for being true friends, wonderful people, and extremely

helpful beta readers :)

 

 

xxxxxx

 

 

Scully is pretty.

 

Okay, I know, that's not much of a statement. In fact some

people would probably consider it an understatement. Most

people would speak of beauty, of radiance, both of which

she's got in spades. But the thing of it is, most women are

beautiful by virtue of being women. Not many of them are

pretty.

 

In fact, in my entire life, I don't think I've made love to one

single pretty woman. I don't even think I've ever kissed

one. They're a rare species.

 

Most of the women I've been with have been beautiful by

anyone's standards. Gaunt, stretched bodies, dangerously

underfed, tall enough to reach my lips without standing on

toes, any one of them could have graced the cover of

Vogue, walked a runway in Paris.

 

Most of them also had faces that looked like the side of a

barn. Or worse yet, like me. Some had my hair color and

texture, some my eyes, some of those poor girls actually had

my nose, but whatever it was all of them had something. All

of them looked like, no *were* me in female form.

 

I am sure Freud would have something to say about the fact

that every woman I've fucked could have been my sister.

But as usual, he would be wrong.

 

I wasn't looking for Samantha in these women, and it

certainly wasn't, as some might think, some twisted form of

narcissism. The truth of it is, when you hate yourself, there

is no better form of punishment than sleeping with people

that remind you of yourself. I saw everything that was

revolting in myself in these women and was drawn to it like

a pig is drawn to its own shit.

 

There's also the added benefit of not having to worry about

how and when you are going to get hurt. You know all of

your tricks and you can see the blade before she even takes

it out.

 

It was easy to keep myself together with those women. I

couldn't lose control, lose myself, in all those hard edges

and dulled senses even if I tried to. Falling too hard was

never even a real option.

 

But see, the thing about Scully is, she's pretty.

 

Scully has always been pretty. Even when she's tried her

damnedest to cover it up, it shines through with blinding

clarity. The harshest suit in the world cannot conceal the

softness, the sweetness of her body. A clunky, ugly gun

cannot overwhelm the delicate, precise fingers holding it.

And her face, a face to kill for, to die for, to create and

destroy a thousand civilizations for, nothing could ever

shroud the sublime, untouchable divinity of that face. Even

that awful haircut she had a few years back.

 

She could never be a model, or a movie star. That's just not

what pretty is. Pretty is what artists used to try to capture in

luminous, textured paint. Pretty is what inspires a poet to

write the sonnet to end all sonnets. Pretty is something

every sensitive soul on the face of this senseless planet is

struggling to get even a tiny little taste of. Pretty is

something a big, clumsy oaf wouldn't even want to touch

for fear of breaking it, shattering it into a million little

pieces.

 

And the thing about me is, I am a big, clumsy oaf.

 

Whatever beauty there is in me, it is because of her.

 

Maybe if I was something different this would be easy.

Maybe I would be able to say what I want to say right now

and it wouldn't come out all wrong. Maybe I wouldn't be

afraid.

 

Today is my birthday.

 

It's the first birthday I've had since the day I almost kissed a

pretty woman. Is it really a surprise that I want to spend

today with that woman?

 

I'm not a big birthday fan generally speaking. I never really

understood what there was to celebrate in another year

passing, another 12 months closer to death. I suppose that

sounds pretty morose. I guess I am a big, clumsy, morose

oaf.

 

But this year I feel like celebrating. I feel like throwing a

party for another year spent with Scully. But I don't know

enough people that I like to throw a party. So I'd really

prefer to just be with her, just sit in her glow and stare at

her face for a few hours.

 

She remembered last year. Last year when we were

celebrating her life, her continuing existence on the planet. I

think she knew that I wouldn't have made it to that birthday

if the sickness had taken her away. So we were celebrating

both of our lives, our renewed hope in the future.

 

We went out for drinks, the same place I had taken her for

her last birthday. The bar seemed almost haunted to me.

The memories of her disease lingered there. But we chased

the ghosts away. We talked. And we laughed. I think she

flirted with me. She did that a lot back then. It was nice.

 

I'd like to do that again.

 

I don't think this birthday holds the same kind of

significance for her as the last one. I don't think she is as full

of wonder over the fact that we made it through this year. I

don't think the fact that this is the year I tried to kiss her is

particularly meaningful to her.

 

I don't blame her for that. She has had a lot on her mind

recently. It's only natural, only to be expected that she

would forget. I haven't remembered every single one of

hers.

 

That's a lie.

 

I haven't let her know that I remembered every single one

of hers. Either way, I understand.

 

But now, as I watch her walk out of this office, on her way

to a medical conference in Connecticut, I wish that she

wasn't so damned pretty. If she were merely beautiful I

might have the guts to stop her, to tell her that I really want

to spend this day, this night with her, that it would mean

more to me than anything in the world and that *dammit*

she should have remembered my birthday. If she were

merely beautiful, it might not hurt so much to see her go.

 

xxxxxx

 

I should feel guilty. Why don't I feel guilty?

 

I don't like to see him sad. I particularly don't like it when I

am the cause of that sadness. So it goes without saying that

I shouldn't like leaving him there in his office miserable

because of something I've done. Or haven't done as the

case may be. I shouldn't like it, but I do.

 

There is something incredibly appealing, even sexy, about a

pathetic Mulder. And there is something incredibly

exhilarating about knowing how this somewhat cruel joke I

am playing is affecting him. The sadder he is now, the

happier he will be later.

 

I hope.

 

I hope this makes him happy. While pathetic Mulder has his

charms, I've seen way too much of him in this life. Happy

Mulder is someone whose presence I am all too rarely

graced with.

 

Maybe I haven't done my best to bring him out. Sometimes

I think I play too easily, too readily into his diminished view

of himself. Sometimes I think that maybe he doesn't know

how happy he makes *me*.

 

I want to show him tonight. I want him to meet happy

Scully.

 

His apartment is messy when I arrive. Dirty clothes from his

morning run are strewn across the floor and couch and a

bowl containing rapidly souring milk and the remnants of

several fruit loops is sitting on the table. Cleaning wasn't

part of my plan but this really isn't the atmosphere I was

hoping for. And I have time. I left almost four hours early.

 

I drop the large bag of surprises that I picked up from my

place on the way here and start tidying up. I don't know

what it says about me that I actually smell the underwear he

was jogging in this morning *on purpose* but I'd rather not

think on it too much.

 

Once the place is presentable I head for the kitchen. This is

the most important part. I've got to get it right. But really,

how hard could it be?

 

I take the box of Sarah Lee chocolate cake mix out of my

bag and ponder it for a minute. Water, eggs, milk, mix,

cook. It can't be that hard. If Mulder's domestically

dysfunctional mother could do this then so can I. But the

thing is, I've never baked. Ever.

 

My mom used to try to enlist my help in her many and

varied baking adventures when I was very young but it

didn't take long for her to realize that mixing sticky mush

with a wooden spoon didn't hold the same  appeal for me as

rolling around in the mud and making my toy soldiers beat

the crap out of each other. I think Charlie was the only one

of us she managed to get anywhere near the kitchen.

 

My kitchen phobia didn't go away when I went away to

college. Even when I moved into my own apartment. I lived

on pretzels and cheese sandwiches throughout most of my

twenties. I've moved up to salads recently and occasionally

a baked potato. Well, not really baked. Microwaved.

 

The point is, I've never touched a rolling pin and I don't

really understand the concept of flour but here I am in

Mulder's kitchen about to attempt a full blown birthday

cake. And not just any cake. Mommy's birthday cake.

 

It's really funny the things you can learn about a person

when he is hypothermic. Strange that I remember him

babbling about this cake as we struggled our way back to

that Snowcat being that I was hypothermic myself at the

time. I suppose it stood out because of what it wasn't. Of all

the things we could have been discussing, the bizarre secrets

we had uncovered, the fact that Mulder had just been given

the rapturous first hand vision of a real life UFO, the fact

that the last time I'd seen him we were a bee sting away

from a universe shattering kiss, Mulder wanted to talk about

the cake his mommy used to make for his birthday.

 

Chocolate, Sarah Lee, vanilla icing, M&M's on top, he was

insistent. And rambling. Nothing in the world like it he had

assured me. Like an orgasm in your mouth, he said. Yeah he

really said that. I'd like to have that now he said. I wasn't

sure if he was talking orgasm or cake at the time. Not

relevant.

 

I manage to get the ingredients into the bowl with a

surprising lack of disaster and start mixing. As the tedious

process unfolds I consider my wardrobe. If you're gonna go

girlie might as well go all the way. I am presently donning a

charming ensemble of blue sweatpants and a worn out

Georgetown T-shirt. That's for cooking. I do plan on

getting changed.

 

I brought only one outfit in my bag and now I am starting to

wonder if that was a wise decision. I think this is the first

time in my life that I have ever dressed for a man. I mean,

everyone dresses to impress other people to some degree,

but I have never in my life sat in front of my closet,

considered everything I own and asked myself, "what would

he want to see me in?".

 

I did that today. Because today is Mulder's birthday.

 

I hope I made the right decision. Thinking about the silky

purple tank top with spaghetti straps and the short little

black skirt, the super-duper-high-fuck-me-hard-and-slow

shoes, the black stockings, the garters (well, you never

know) all burning a hole in my bag as I stand mixing,

honestly, it makes me a tad nervous. I think it might be too

much. I think I might look ridiculous. But unfortunately it's

either that or the scum-wear. Or something of his. That

would be beyond ridiculous.

 

I guess I'm stuck. I just hope he doesn't think I look like a

hooker.

 

I thought about my hair too. I've never really thought about

Mulder's opinion of my hair. I never really thought Mulder

had an opinion of my hair. Until about three weeks ago. He

stopped by my apartment on a rare weekend afternoon

when I hadn't bothered to blow it dry, or do anything at all

with it. It was just hanging like a loose,  messy mop. The

humidity didn't help. But I swear to God he stood in my

doorway gaping like a mental defect for at least a full

minute. "Curly" was all he said but the smile on his face said

it all. He liked it.

 

And I am going to try like hell to recreate it tonight.

Because tonight is Mulder's birthday.

 

I'm going to have to take a shower while the cake is baking.

A shower in Mulder's bathroom. Yet another new

experience for me today. I brought my own shampoo. His

smells like shoe polish.

 

As I pour the brown mush into the special cake mold,

fifteen bucks thanks very much, I really marvel at the fact

that I am here at all. I'm not sure what's gotten into me.

This gesture, it's more than a birthday surprise for a friend.

I know that. Despite his relative oblivion, I am confident

that Mulder will know that. It's permission. It's an

invitation. It's, go ahead Mulder, finish what you started on

a hot sticky June afternoon that seems like a million years

ago and simultaneously, like yesterday. I wonder if I want

him to take me up on it or not.

 

All I know is I am tired of being in limbo. One way or

another, the way he acts tonight will tell me everything I

need to know.

 

xxxxxx

 

Several hours pass in her absence. I make paper airplanes

and toss them across the room, pretending she is there to

scowl as one grazes the top of her head. I am a very

pathetic individual when she is not around.

 

Despite the fact that I have absolutely nothing to do, I stay a

little late. The thought of returning to an empty and dark

apartment holds little appeal right now. Maybe I'll take

myself out for a drink. Or twelve.

 

Just as I have decided that this is the only logical course of

action, there is a knock at the partially opened door. I lift

my head from its present position, resting on the top of my

desk, and almost laugh out loud at the figure standing in

front of me. She must have heard me thinking about her.

 

"Hard at work Fox?" she asks me with a smirk.

 

"Diana...ugh...hi." I sit up straight and run my fingers

through my hair, trying to offer some semblance of

professionalism.

 

She walks in and sits at the chair across from me, still

smirking. I wonder if she remembers it's my birthday and

that's why she's here. I really hope not.

 

"You really miss the X-files don't you Fox?"

 

"What makes you say that?"

 

"The fact that you're asleep on your desk surrounded by

paper airplanes was my first clue."

 

I laugh congenially and don't correct her. I don't need to

tell her it's Scully that I miss. I'm not really interested in

hurting this woman's feelings. That might sound arrogant.

It's not though, just honest. I know Diana still has feelings

for me. I know that given the chance, she would take me

back. What she doesn't realize or understand is that the Fox

Mulder she loved, loves, thinks she loves, no longer exists.

He died the day he met Dana Scully. His soul, his heart,

they are gone. They've been replaced with the newer

models, the Mulder models, and they are owned. No

vacancy.

 

"I suppose since you're so busy you wouldn't have time to

do a favor for an old friend?"

 

"What do you need?" I ask hoping that one, this favor will

take many hours and keep me from having to return to my

apartment at all tonight and two that this favor will not

involve any more contact with Diana than this conversation.

 

"A case file. I know you still have some of your old ones

and I need to do some cross referencing so I was wondering

if you could lend it to me."

 

She tells me the details of the case and what she needs it for

and I realize that the damned thing is at my apartment. And

she needs it right away. That's how we end up in her car. I

took the subway to work this morning like a damned

jack-ass. Forty-five minutes of awkward attempts at

conversation in hellish Beltway traffic is a less appealing

way to spend my birthday than alone in my apartment. I was

a fool to feel sorry for myself before.

 

Every few minutes I realize that she is talking, that she's

asking me some kind of question and I manage to mutter

several non-committal responses. I used to cherish talking

to Diana. The way she would nod enthusiastically at every

word out of my mouth, her eyes gazing at me in adoration

like I'm the fucking oracle or something. Oh yes Fox, that's

exactly right. You are SO smart. That's JUST what I think.

How comforting that was, how safe. And now, I realize,

how insufferably boring. I'm about ready to doze off right

here. If Scully were here she would be keeping me focused.

When did I become utterly unable to function in any kind of

social situation without her?

 

And why the hell isn't she here? I might have forgotten to

mention this but it is my birthday. And then it hits me. I am

bringing a woman, not Scully, to my apartment on my

birthday. This is not right. This is very wrong. And it's not

just wrong because it's not what I want. It's not just wrong

because it is in fact a blatant bastardization of what I want.

It's wrong because I know, I just know that Scully would

not be happy about it. Or maybe I'm just telling myself that

she would be upset. Maybe she wouldn't give a rat's ass.

But either way, I feel strangely and unnervingly guilty.

 

"So Fox, maybe once we find that file I'll take you out for a

drink?"

 

Okay, I heard that question. And I am suddenly beyond

uneasy. I wonder how I would feel if I actually wanted to

go out for drinks with her. Would I feel more or less guilty?

 

I look over at her and she is staring out at the road

impassively as if she's just asked me if I thought it was

going to rain. Doesn't she know? Doesn't she understand?

How much more obvious could it possibly be?

 

"Um, thanks but I don't think so Diana."

 

"How come? You got some big plans for your birthday?"

She turns and smiles at me after that and I feel my jaw

clench in panic. A gesture she would not recognize. Scully

would see it and laugh.

 

Goddammit it's not fair. I feel like whining and whimpering

and screaming to the heavens. Why does Diana remember

my fucking birthday? What kind of twisted bullshit fuck up

of a divinity would let her remember and Scully forget?

Scully I am sorry but at moments like this, I cannot believe

in your God. Your God doesn't have this kind of a sense of

humor.

 

"Um, no, not exactly. I'm just...I'm very tired. It's uh...it's

been a long week."

 

I realize how ridiculous this must sound in light of the state

she found me in at the office but it's the only excuse I can

think of. Anyway, it might be better if it's an obvious lie.

Maybe she'll get the hint.

 

"I see, well, maybe some other time then?"

 

Yeah, since we're having so much fun now. I nod in what I

hope passes for a response and thank the God I just

debunked that we are almost at my apartment.

 

xxxxxx

 

This is silly. Oh God, this is really fucking silly. What the

hell am I doing? Damn you for being late Mulder. Every

stupid minute that passes I feel more and more like an

imbecile. Every ten seconds for the past ten minutes I've

looked down at my ridiculous attire and flinched. I almost

ran to his bedroom and put on those revolting sweatpants at

least three times.

 

My hair wouldn't do that curly thing. Apparently it can't be

affected but rather has to occur naturally, so I ended up

pulling it back into a bun with some curly tendrils hanging

down the sides. It's different anyway. I've almost ripped it

off my head more times than I can count.

 

The cake actually looks surprisingly cake like. I haven't

tasted it yet but I've been snagging M & M's off the top for

quite some time. The 38 candles stuck around the perimeter

are starting to burn to their bases as it sits, untouched, on

Mulder's table and as I stand, in the same state, beside it.

 

I look at my watch yet again and wonder what the hell he

could be doing. There was nothing on his desk when I left. I

expected him early if anything. Not almost an hour late.

 

Then it occurs to me that I could actually be even more

idiotic than I feel. What if he's not even coming home? It is

his birthday after all. Normal people like to go out and do

things on their birthdays. How arrogant of me to assume

that because I made myself unavailable he would come

home and sit alone all night mourning my absence. He could

have gone anywhere. 

 

If he's not home in another hour I am going home. I'll leave

the cake and his present and a note apologizing for playing

such a colossally stupid joke and hope he didn't do anything

stupid himself.

 

It's freezing in here. Mulder's heat is malfunctioning again

and there are goose bumps forming up and down my

exposed arms and shoulders. Not to mention the lewd effect

the temperature has on my nipples. Good call not wearing a

bra, doc. I look like a damn slut.

 

God this is so dumb. I feel about sixteen. What am I

DOING here? He's gonna think *this* is the joke. I fucking

hate garters. What the hell was I thinking?

 

As I start to consider reducing my hour time limit to fifteen

more minutes I hear something outside. Footsteps outside

the door and then the sound of Mulder's key turning in the

lock. And voices. As in more than one. As in two people.

As in he is not alone. It's worse than I considered possible.

He is not alone.

 

 

end part one

 

TITLE: Eat it Too (2/3)

AUTHOR: Rachel Anton

E-MAIL: RaValliano@aol.com

*everything else in part one*

 

xxxxxx

 

 

"Weird, I could have sworn I locked this this more..." My

keys drop to the floor along with my jaw as I am met with

the most staggering vision of everything beautiful AND

pretty in the entire world standing in my living room. You

remembered. Oh God Scully, did you ever.

 

And for a moment I am so rapturously happy and astounded

that I forget.

 

Our eyes meet, mine filling with tears of joy, and she smiles

shyly and shrugs.

 

"Happy Birth...day."

 

She struggles on the last syllable and her eyes leave mine

and fix on a spot somewhere behind me. Her genuine smile

falls but only for a fraction of a second. It is replaced by a

phony imitation. I see her chest, oh man her chest!, rise and

fall in a short deep breath and the phony smile actually starts

to look more like a grimace. Something is wrong. No one

else would notice but something is bothering her. What

could it...

 

Oh. Oh God. No.

 

"Hello Diana."

 

"Dana."

 

No. No. No.

 

"Fox, I'm going to go freshen up." I feel something cold on

my arm. It's the hand of death.

 

Scully's eyes follow Diana out of the room but mine never

leave her face. Her face, her pretty sad face, still smiling. I

can't move. Or think. Or talk. This is a fucking nightmare. I

think my jaw is still hanging open but I can't even feel it

anymore.

 

She clears her throat and laughs nervously once. Then she

picks up a large canvas bag sitting next to the table and

smiles that same grizzly smile.

 

"I'm uh...I'm gonna go," she says between clenched teeth,

her eyes now focused on the spot behind me where Diana

just was. She walks past me towards the door while my

mind screams in anguish, DON'T GO DON'T GO DON'T

GO and my body remains planted to the ground like some

kind of zombie.

 

When I hear the doorknob I turn around violently,

realization and coherence slowly dawning.

 

"Scu...you...don't....have...to..."

 

I grab the side of the table for support. I feel like my knees

are going to give at any second.

 

She pauses only for a moment before opening the door and

mumbling "Yeah, yeah I do."

 

I remember what being in shock feels like. The dizziness,

the nausea, the racing pulse, the cold, God the cold. It's all

coming back to me because it's happening again. And that's

why it takes me a full minute to run out the door after her.

 

When I see her standing at the elevator I can actually hear

my heart pounding in my head. And a voice crying at me to

do something. Anything.

 

"Scully!"

 

She turns around and crosses her arms over her chest

defensively and smiles sickly. Somehow my legs manage to

get me to her. When I am facing her my arms tingle with the

need to reach out and grab her.

 

"Scully please. You don't...don't..."

 

While I stammer she reaches into her shoulder bag and pulls

out a small box. She takes my hand into one of hers and

with her other hand places the box in my palm. And she's

still smiling folks.

 

"Happy Birthday Mulder. I'll...I'll see you tomorrow

okay?"

 

The elevator doors open and she slips inside. No. No, it's

not okay. It's not fucking-A okay Scully! She waves as the

doors close. Why am I in slow motion while she is in

fast-forward? What could, for all I know, be moments later,

I slam my fist purposelessly against the closed elevator

door.

 

"Scully! Don't go! I need you here!"

 

Quick save Spooky.

 

Crap.

 

When I get back to my apartment Diana is sitting on my

couch. Just sitting on my fucking couch. What the fuck is

that? The sight of her and her genuine smile fill me with

such rage and animosity right now that I have to work at

suppressing violence. I have to remind myself. This isn't her

fault. This is me. All me.

 

"Everything okay Fox?"

 

I can't even answer that. Where the hell is her stupid file? I

start rifling through my desk in a frantic attempt to find it

and get this woman the hell out of here.

 

"I hope Dana isn't too upset. It looks like she went to a lot

of trouble."

 

There. Top drawer. Thank God.

 

I turn to her and look at the floor, shoving the folder in her

direction. "Here. You need to go home now."

 

She stands and takes the file but she doesn't seem to plan on

leaving. "Fox, are you sure you want to be alo...."

 

"Go Diana. You need to go."

 

I think she knows me well enough to at least recognize the

signs of an oncoming furious outburst because she does

leave then, blessedly without another word.

 

Oh Scully. Oh God. What have I done?

 

I walk aimlessly towards the fire from the candles and

standing at my table I notice the cake for the first time.

When I first came in I was so mesmerized by her, nothing

else seemed to exist. But this was here. She made this. She

fucking made this. For me. I don't even know how the fuck

she knew...

 

I feel tears burning the back of my throat as I attempt to

blow out the candles. Their festivity is making me want to

shoot myself in the head. I can't muster enough breath to

extinguish the flames so I take them one by one between my

thumb and forefinger, numb to whatever pain this act might

be inflicting.

 

I pull out a chair and sit next to the cake. I realize I am still

clutching the small box she handed to me and despite my

better judgment I choose this moment to open it.

 

It's a watch. A brown leather band and gold timepiece and

the face has a small chip of...something. There is a piece of

paper in the box, a certificate of authenticity. The chip is a

piece of moon rock. I've never seen anything like this in my

life. She must have had it made.

 

I turn it over and over in my hands unable to do anything

but stare at it in awe. Eventually I notice that there is an

inscription on the back.

 

M-

I hear this is how they tell time on Reticulan.

-S

 

Scully, oh Scully. How could I have let you down like this. I

love you so much Scully.

 

xxxxxx

 

I never really considered that I might have to wear this

absurd get-up in public. I never thought I would have to

endure the sickening gaze of any man but Mulder in this

outfit. But my sweats are still in his bedroom and there is no

way in HELL I'm going back for them so I'm forced to

walk into Tom's, the diner across the street from Mulder's

apartment, looking more like a ten-dollar hooker than an

FBI agent. Of course I am the only woman in the place and

several of the seedy looking male patrons leer at me as I

walk to the back of the room.

 

I take a booth by a window that faces the building I am

interested in and order a cup of coffee. The pimply faced

teen-aged boy masquerading as a waiter stares openly at my

breasts as he writes coffee down on his little pad.

 

I should not be doing this. If someone spied on me this way

I would be down right enraged. It's not right. But what the

hell else am I supposed to do? Sit in my apartment all night,

wondering if that...person is still at Mulder's?

 

I shouldn't care. I should say okay, fine and pack up my

toys and go home. I should let him go if he wants to be

gone. They had something once. Maybe it made him happy.

Maybe he could still be happy. Maybe she could bring him

something of the life he wants and I should just get the hell

out of his way already.

 

If I were a better person I would want him to be happy at

any cost. If I were a better person I wouldn't be spying on

him.

 

God, how in the world am I supposed to face him after

making a fool of myself like that. I've never felt so exposed,

so vulnerable, so...so fucking stupid in my entire life. I

should have known. I should have seen this coming. Hell, I

did see it coming. When I first met her I just knew, that's

the kind of woman who could really help him, relate to him,

maybe understand him in ways I couldn't, maybe not hold

him back. I wonder if his life would be the pit of misery it is

if she'd never left and I'd never come.

 

I feel a sob building in me but swallow it down with my

anger and my humiliation. I will not let her bring me to

tears. Not her.

 

My coffee comes and it is too hot but I drink it down

anyway, hoping the burn will sear away the cold inside me. I

stare at the window of his apartment. The shades are drawn

but I can see the light. I am waiting for that light to go out.

If it does and she still hasn't left I will go home.

 

An image of the two of them kissing in front of my cake

pops into my head and I feel like I might vomit.

 

Suddenly and unexpectedly, I see her. She walks out the

front door of Mulder's building and down the street

towards a car. It takes a minute for me to realize that she is

actually leaving. And another minute for me to realize that I

don't even care.

 

I am sure he sent her home out of some misplaced sense of

guilt. But that doesn't really change very much. She was

with him tonight and that's really the point. Even if he

turned to her in desperation because he thought I wasn't

going to be around, hell in a way that makes it even worse.

It just doesn't matter. I don't think anything could make this

better.

 

Worst of all, I have no idea what to do now. I could tell

through his blathering and the panic and misery on his face

that Mulder was upset by this whole episode and my

automatic instinct is to go over there and comfort him. How

pathetic is that I wonder?

 

He's depressed because he hurt me and I want to make

*him* feel better.

 

No, I will not do that. But for some reason I still can't go

home. I am not sure why I want to extend this miserable

night indefinitely but some masochistic part of me is keeping

me in this run down diner.

 

 I sit there, thinking and trying not to cry, for about twenty

agonizing minutes.

 

Twenty more.

 

I wonder what the hell I am waiting for.

 

Disgusted with myself even further I ask the waiter for my

bill. It's time to go now.

 

The sound of my cell phone breaks through the relative

silence of Tom's and I snatch it from my bag answering on

the second ring.

 

"Scully."

 

There is no response.

 

"Hello."

 

Nothing.

 

"Hello?"

 

I am about to hang up when I hear a small sniffle. A sniffle I

recognize. I lean against the back of my seat with a resigned

sigh.

 

"Mulder, what is it?"

 

"Scully..." His voice sounds broken, cracked. "Scully, I

want...I didn't...she came over here for a file Scully, that's

all..."

 

I know that he is telling the truth and I feel like a thousand

pounds have been lifted off my shoulders. I feel like crying.

 

"Mulder, it's none of my business why she was there."

 

He is completely silent again for a long time.

 

"Scully...how....how can you say that? It is. I mean I hope

that...I mean...Scully, I'm sorry. I love the watch

Scully...and the cake. Nobody's ever done anything like this

for me in my life and I..." he breaks off into a sob and I

listen to him crying openly and quite noisily for a minute or

two.

 

My heart breaks at the sound. But it gives me something to

focus on besides my own lingering embarrassment.

 

"Mulder, shhh, it's okay," I whisper soothingly. How did

we end up with this?

 

"Scully, come back. Please come back. I want to spend my

birthday with you. Please."

 

"Mulder, I don't know if..."

 

"Please Scully. Please. I need you here. I...I need you so bad

Scully...I'm so sorry."

 

He starts hiccuping and sniffling again and I shake my head

in wonder. He is weeping like a small child. Because he hurt

me. Because he needs me. I feel my own eyes start to water.

 

"Mulder, you didn't do anything wrong."

 

"I didn't...I didn't know. I should have known. God Scully,

can't you please come back? Come back and eat this cake

with me Scully."

 

Okay, call me a sucker, I cannot resist the call of the cake. I

still haven't tasted the blessed thing and I am so curious. An

orgasm in your mouth...

 

"I'll be right over."

 

xxxxxx

 

I guess I should probably put some clothes on.

 

No matter what Scully had in mind when she came here

tonight, I don't think she'd be particularly happy if I

answered the door butt naked.

 

Why, you might be wondering, have I been talking on the

phone butt naked? Because after I opened Scully's present,

I threw up in the garbage can. Some of it splattered onto my

clothes so I took them off and threw them in the garbage

can too. I was in kind of a state.

 

I'm much better now.

 

She's coming back. It's okay. It's all okay now. It's okay. I

think it's okay. Please God let it be okay. Please let it not be

too late. I wipe the moisture from my face with the back of

my hand and try to stop crying. There's no reason to be

crying anymore but for some reason I still am.

 

Instead of getting dressed I find myself idiotically bouncing

a basketball up and down in front of the cake. I think that

I'm nervous. She's gonna be here in...I look down at the

one thing I *am* wearing, that amazing watch, and note

that it's already been about two minutes since she hung up.

So that leaves about forty-three minutes, add a few for

traffic, lights, walking to and from the elevator, I give it 50

minutes at the most. She's gonna come back and she's

gonna eat this cake with me and then, then I just have no

idea what's gonna happen. No frigging idea.

 

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all. She's coming

back. That's all that matters. Thank God she's coming back.

 

Maybe I should take a shower...

 

A knock at the door shocks me out of reverie and the

basketball falls at my feet with a thud. Who the hell? If

that's fucking Diana again I don't think anything is gonna

stop me from pitching the postal fit I almost unleashed on

her before.

 

I walk to the door and look through the peephole only to

see...Scully? What the hell? Did she fly here?

 

"Mulder, are you there?"

 

Shit. She's getting her keys out of her bag. Shit. Shit!

 

I should call out and warn her that I'm not decent but that

would be kind of pointless considering that the embarrassing

thing here is not the possibility of her seeing me naked but

the fact that I am naked in the first place.

 

I look around frantically for something to throw on,

anything at all. Dammit, everything is gone. She must have

cleaned on top of everything else.

 

I run ridiculously to my bedroom/pile of garbage and grab a

pair of jeans which I manage to button at least halfway

before I hear her in the apartment.

 

"Mulder, are you okay in he...?"

 

I turn around and she's standing in the doorway of my

bedroom staring at me blankly. I stare back.

 

Remember all that stuff about pretty from before? Pretty

does not even begin to do this justice. Don't get me wrong.

I love what Scully usually wears. She always looks amazing.

But that's the way she looks in reality. This is the way she

looks in my fucking dreams. I was so flabbergasted to find

her in my apartment before I didn't even really notice what

she was wearing. Or her hair. God, how could I have missed

it? I feel like sobbing again.

 

After a couple of minutes I realize that I am gaping at her

like a fucking freak and that she is doing the same thing to

me and it's too strange so I laugh nervously and so does

she.

 

"How did you get here so fast Scully?"

 

She bites her lip and her eyes dart around the room

nervously before returning to me.

 

"I um...when you called me I was um...still in the

neighborhood."

 

"Doing what?" I ask her gently and walk a few steps closer

to her.

 

"I was having coffee. At um, at Tom's."

 

I can't imagine Scully walking into that dive of her own

accord. Why would she go there? Unless it was to stay

close. Unless it was to watch me. I feel an inexplicable

stirring in my groin at the thought and move a few more

steps towards her.

 

"Tom's huh? I always knew you were a little spy Scully."

 

"Mulder I wasn't..."

 

"Shh, it doesn't matter. Let's have some cake Scully." I put

my arm on her bare upper back and lead her out of the

room. Her skin is so warm. God it's just her skin up there.

As she walks in front of me I find myself staring at the bare

back of her neck. There are a few whisps of hair hanging

down over it, bright red framed against the pale porcelain. I

wonder if she likes being kissed there.

 

"Thanks for coming back Scully," I whisper and she smiles.

 

When we get back to the living room I direct her towards

the couch and bring the cake over, placing it directly in front

of us on the table. I grab a couple of plates and a knife from

the kitchen and cut a slice for each of us. She sits with her

plate on her lap without moving and when I pick up a chunk

of cake and stuff it into my mouth she looks at me with

startled curiosity. But I don't really notice it much because

the cake is so damn good. Better than mom's. It's the best

thing I've ever tasted in my life.

 

xxxxxx

 

God, please don't let me be drooling. I'm only human, just a

woman. How could I be expected not to drool?

 

There are a few elements at play here, any one of them on

its own relatively innocuous. The fact that Mulder is

wearing nothing but a pair of jeans with the first three

buttons undone is the first and most powerful element. The

shock of seeing me yet again seems to have rendered him

unable to button his pants all the way. The second element

is the fact that he is next to me with a plate of cake on his

bare stomach, laying back against the cushions with his feet

up on the table, stuffing food into his mouth with his

goddamn hands. Of course he has to lick his fingers. The

third element is the fact that he is moaning.

 

I cross my legs and rub the tops of my thighs together,

desperate for some kind of...something and turn to him with

an attempt at nonchalance.

 

"No forks Mulder?"

 

He shakes his head and gives me that "you're retarded"

look he's so good at.

 

A glob of icing falls from his plate onto the naked skin just

below his belly button and I think that is the last element I

can take. It looks amazingly like a wad of cum and the place

it happened to fall does nothing to alleviate the effect. I try

to look away but my eyes keep traveling back to it.

 

"Why aren't you eating?" he asks me with his mouth

partially full. "This is soooo good Scully."

 

"I don't like eating cake with my hands Mulder. Too

sticky."

 

I put my plate on the table and start to stand up. "I'm gonna

get a fork."

 

He grabs my wrist in a strangely desperate way and pulls me

back to the couch. His hand is sticky. He shakes his head

and sits up a little bit, turning to completely face me.

 

"You've gotta eat it with your hands Scully. It doesn't taste

good on a fork. The metal ruins the flavor."

 

Man, you'd think eating this cake was building a freaking

neutron bomb for all the specifics involved.

 

"Mulder I told you, I don't enjoy eating that way. My

hands..."

 

"Too sticky. I know. Well, how about this then?"

 

He takes another chunk in his hands and holds it up, very

close to my mouth. Our eyes meet and there is a challenge

in his, and a big grin.

 

I suppose I have a couple choices here. I could do what

normal Scully would do, ignore what he just said entirely

and go get that fork. I could do what feisty Scully would do

and hit him back with another suggestive suggestion that

makes him forget what he said in the first place. Or, I could

be happy Scully. That was the point of tonight after all.

Mulder, meet happy Scully.

 

Happy Scully smiles that happy smile and takes his wrist in

her hands, wraps her lips around the chocolate blob covered

in white mush and sucks it into her mouth, her eyes closing

in a surprising show of flavor appreciation, moaning ever so

quietly, chewing, swallowing, her tongue darts out to clean

his fingers and as she starts to lick him her eyes open again.

 

I almost start laughing when I see the combination of

astonishment and hunger on his face. I decide to go even

further and take his long, slender middle finger between my

lips and suck the remaining chocolate from it. His own eyes

slip shut and he sucks in a shaky breath as I slide down the

finger, taking him into my mouth all the way, and continue

to suck lightly.

 

Oh yeah, this is an orgasm in your mouth all right. The cake

is actually pretty good too.

 

 When I pull back his finger is moist with saliva and we are

just staring at each other again. He is blushing, actually

blushing, and I think I must be too. I can't believe I just

sucked Mulder's finger.

 

I don't think he can believe it either because for once he is

at a total loss for words. He looks back and forth between

his finger and my face a couple of times and I look down at

my lap, suddenly very self conscious.

 

"So..." he stops and clears his throat and I wait for the

obnoxious comment I know to be forthcoming. He never

finishes though, just starts eating the cake again.

 

"You were right Mulder. It's good cake."

 

He nods enthusiastically and chews. Then he stops moving

all the sudden and a small smile crosses his lips. He turns his

face towards me and mumbles through a mouthful of

chocolate, "You're pretty."

 

I think maybe now we are equally shocked. I try to keep my

jaw hinged so that I don't look like some kind of mutant

who's never received a compliment in her life but it falls to

the floor anyway. I take a deep breath and look away,

unsure how to respond to that. It's what I wanted him to

think isn't it? Isn't that why I'm dressed this way? I guess I

just didn't think he'd actually say it, that I'd actually have to

say something back. Why did he say it anyway? Is it that

pathetically obvious that I need to hear it?

 

"Scully? Why do you look so surprised?" He puts his plate

on the table and turns to completely face me again. He

looks very serious all the sudden.

 

"I'm just...not used to hearing that from you."

 

"Oh." He rests his arm on the back of the couch behind us

and lifts his leg so that his knee is resting on the couch

between us, his legs spread in front of me, buttons still

undone, icing still on his torso and he's hard. I can see his

erection straining against the left side of his jeans. I bite

down on my lip and look away. "I'm sorry about that

Scully. I should have told you a long time ago."

 

"That's okay."

 

And it is. It's not like I've gone out of my way to tell him

that he's the most beautiful man I've ever laid eyes on.

 

"Thanks Mulder." My eyes drift back towards his lower

region of their own accord. I feel his hand under my chin

lifting my face to meet his gaze.

 

"You don't have to thank me Scully. It's the truth. Isn't that

what we're looking for anyway?"

 

"Did you love her Mulder?"

 

Oh God. Why did I say that? What the hell is wrong with

me? I pull back from his hand and look down again, totally

mortified.

 

"I didn't know what that meant back then. I thought it

meant being comfortable, being safe, knowing what to

expect. I thought it was possible to love someone and keep

something of yourself separate, apart from that. But that's

not what it is." He pauses and touches my chin again. I am

flooded with a strange mixture of relief, embarrassment and

excitement when he continues, "Is it Scully?"

 

"No," I whisper, shaking my head. "No it's not."

 

"Good. I thought maybe I was just crazy," he says with

humor, settling back against the cushions.

 

"That's another issue for another day Mulder."

 

He smirks and I look at the stupid icing again. I can't

fucking stand it anymore. If he doesn't get rid of it I'm

gonna snap.

 

"Mulder, you've got a big blob of icing on your stomach."

 

He looks at me curiously and I point towards it. His eyes

lower and rise and his tongue darts out to moisten his lips.

His mouth opens and then closes as if he was going to say

something and changed his mind. Then he changes it again.

 

"You want it Scully?"

 

end part two

 

TITLE: Eat it Too (3/3)

AUTHOR: Rachel Anton

E-MAIL: RaValliano@aol.com

*everything else in part one*

 

xxxxxx

 

 

I must be fucking insane. She's gonna do it. I just know she

is. The way she's acting tonight, she's gonna fucking do it. I

can see the conflict in her features. She's afraid, a little

surprised, but mostly...mostly she just wants it.

 

I try to prepare myself mentally for the sensation, to imagine

what it's going to feel like and what the proper response

from me would be, but nothing could ever be adequate

preparation for this. She looks at me and with a deep breath,

bends at the waist, rests her hand on the inside of my thigh

and bows her head. From up here it looks like...well

nevermind what it looks like.

 

And then suddenly I feel it, the heat of her tongue against

that spot, the last stop on my torso before the serious nether

regions begin, and it's been so damned long since I've even

been touched there by a hand other than my own that I

forgot what a  fucking sensitive place it is. She might as well

be licking my cock because I swear to God, it feels the

same. I feel like moaning, like throwing my head back and

screaming but I just sit there watching her without a sound

as every muscle in my body quivers like jello.

 

She does a thorough job as one would expect from a

woman of science, laving my skin clean long after the initial

blob is gone and when she finally stops, raises her head, I do

let myself fall back against the cushions with a quiet sigh.

 

"I think it's gone," she whispers and I notice that her voice

is scratchy and raw. Her skin is bright red. Even the skin on

her shoulders, her chest, her neck, all of which is exposed to

me right now. God why did I never notice all the freckles on

her chest? There's one right in the middle, right above the

dip in her cleavage, in the shape of a heart.

 

"Scully, I think you've got a little bit on you there."

 

"Hmmm? Where?"

 

I reach over to the table and dip my finger in the icing on

my cake. Slowly, shaking the entire time, I bring my finger

to that spot with the little heart freckle and deposit a sticky,

white drop over it.

 

"Right there."

 

She looks down and then up and smiles.

 

"That's a very good place Mulder."

 

Oh Scully, that is the understatement of the universe.

 

I lean in towards her and run my tongue over the sweetness.

Scully has less interest in observation and lets herself moan

and grab the back of my head right away. Her eyes slip shut

and her mouth opens as her nails dig into my scalp.

 

This is so fucking cool. I can't even believe this shit. I'm

eating vanilla icing off Scully's chest. The reality of my

situation makes me suddenly very dizzy and I moan myself.

 

When the icing is gone and I've licked her clean and then

some I lift my head and look at her face. Her hands are still

in my hair and our heads are so close, just a few inches from

kissing. We are both breathing very heavily. I want to kiss

her. I could kiss her. I should kiss her. But even more than

that, I want to play more. I want her to tease me more. I

want to tease her. I want this to go on forever. Once I kiss

her, it will be over. We will be rutting on the floor like

animals in a matter of moments. Not that that's a bad thing.

But the more of this we have, the better that rutting will be.

 

She pulls back first and I'm glad. She wants it like this too.

 

"Gosh Mulder, we really did make a mess. Look, there's

some more on you."

 

She chooses the spot where the top of my shoulder meets

my neck, another damn fine choice. I'm so glad I didn't

have time to put a shirt on before. This time, when she rises

to her knees and nips at my skin I let myself relax and enjoy

it. I let myself groan contentedly.

 

My next choice is the inside of her left elbow. I think this

pleases her. I lift her arm to my mouth like a drumstick and

suckle that place for an eternity.

 

We don't even bother talking anymore. We just sit here,

going back and forth, putting icing on each other and licking

it off. It's like a surreal, beautiful dream.

 

After sucking on my nipple for a few glorious minutes and

almost causing me to abandon the whole tease plan, well

honestly, almost causing me to come in my pants right here

on the couch, she pulls back and smiles mischievously.

 

"Mulder, I think I've got some more on me that you

missed."

 

She crosses her legs toward me and takes some icing in one

hand and with the other slowly starts sliding her skirt up

over her thigh. Oh my God. This is it. She's gonna take off

her panty hose and her underwear and put it...oh God. Oh

my God. I start to sweat noticeably and that shaking thing

comes back. Maybe I'm not ready for this after all.

 

But then, the skirt slides up a little more and it's just skin

under there. Just Scully's thigh. And a little black...oh crap.

She's wearing fucking garters. Fucking crap.

 

She smears the icing on her upper, inner thigh. Oh well, we

were gonna run out of icing pretty soon anyway.

 

xxxxxx

 

Oops. I think I might have overdone it just a little. Mulder

looks like he just caught a bad case of malaria. But he's

licking my thigh. God almighty he's licking my thigh. I think

this little game is gonna be over real soon. When he's gotten

rid of every last trace of icing he stays in position, pulling

my skin into his mouth and sucking, moaning. I feel the

breath coming from his nose in little pants, brushing my leg,

his hands digging into the couch, into me. His whole body is

shaking.

 

I want to uncross my legs, to take his head between them

and make him taste me. He wants that too. He is pushing at

my calf, trying to get me to open for him, to let him inside. I

want it but not yet. Not just yet. Because after all, it is

*Mulder's* birthday. 

 

Exhibiting an extraordinary bit of will power I push him

back.

 

"Sorry...I...sorry..." he breathes out, wiping a bit of sweat

from his brow and I smile.

 

"Sorry?"

 

"I guess I got a little carried away."

 

"No Mulder, it's okay. I like it. I just didn't want to miss the

last bit of icing you've got on you there."

 

His eyes widen and he collapses against the back of the

couch. I can see the little mouse running through the little

maze in his big old brain, trying to find the cheese.

 

"Not my feet Scully."

 

Yeah right. I've got a lot of interest in that. I shake my head

and stand up, gathering a huge collection of icing in my

hand and pushing the table away from the couch. I move to

stand in front of him and he looks up at me and swallows

fearfully.

 

When I kneel between his conveniently open legs he sits up

and his eyes practically pop out of his head like in the

cartoons.

 

"Scu..hu..lee..."

 

"Shh," I order, and move my empty hand towards the first

buttoned button on his fly. I can't express in words how

satisfying it is to pop that button open. The next, even more

so. He continues to gape, open mouthed as I finish the task

at hand and as I reach over to the side and pull out his cock

the gape turns to a grimace and then to a gasp.

 

"What a messy birthday boy you are," I whisper, feeling

only slightly silly but certainly not silly enough to stop, as I

slather the white, sticky stuff up and down his shaft. "You

got it everywhere."

 

He makes a pathetic squeaking, wheezing sound and

collapses against the cushions again.

 

Oh Mulder, you are a beautiful beautiful man. I would be

kidding myself to say this was just a birthday present for

you. I'll consider this my Halloween gift.

 

I run my tongue slowly upwards, starting at the base and

moving all the way to the tip in one long stroke. Then I

stop, move to the bottom and do it again. The icing was

slightly cool when I put it on him but it's starting to almost

melt from the heat of his flesh.

 

He's breathing as fast as he might after a ten mile run and

his hands are clenched into fists on his thighs. I look up at

his face and he is looking right back at me, studying me,

ever the investigator.

 

I take some more vanilla with my tongue, my eyes never

leaving his. His cock twitches under my mouth and I can tell

he is almost suffering from the slow, torturous way I am

doing this. It's probably taking everything in him not to grab

my head and slam it down.

 

I swirl my tongue around the engorged, throbbing head,

lifting the last of the icing and his hand does reach for my

head. Not to guide though. He squeezes the bun that is still

holding my hair together with his fist and works his fingers

inside of it.

 

He breathes out something that sounds like "homanuughh"

which may or may not be an actual word.

 

In one swift movement I take him completely inside, every

last inch and his whole body jerks violently towards me with

a grunt. I almost gag reflexively when he presses deep into

my throat but I manage to suppress it and relax the muscles.

 

I start to bob slowly up and down on him and his hand

tightens on my head. He's moaning non stop now with

increasing volume. Good. It sounds so good.

 

"Scuh...huh...oh...gotta...ugh..."

 

I slide one hand underneath him, taking hold of his balls and

stroking them lightly as I increase the speed of my

movements. I place my other hand on his thigh, over his

hand. He clutches at my fingers so tight it hurts. My knees

are starting to hurt a little too. Oh God. I'm actually on my

knees. I don't think I've ever done this on my knees. It

always seemed degrading somehow. Not this time. I have so

much control over this situation right now it's laughable.

Besides, it IS his birthday.

 

I feel him expand and throb heavily in my mouth and move a

little bit faster. Randomly I wonder if Mulder's apartment is

bugged right now. I get a twisted and bizarre picture of

Cancer Man and his cronies listening to a tape consisting of

nothing but strange slurping noises and Mulder shouting

incoherently. They might think one of those blood suckers

got him.

 

"Scully...Scu-lee...yeahyeahyeah....oh no...no..." I feel him

pulling at my hair, trying to move backwards, away from

me. "Sto-hughp, gotta st...stop."

 

I don't want to stop. I want to finish. I want him to come in

my mouth. I don't even care about the throbbing between

my own legs. But when he calls out, "Scully stop it!" and he

sounds like he's about to cry I don't really have much of a

choice.

 

I pull away reluctantly and before I know what's happening

he is down on the floor with me sliding his legs between my

own, slipping under me and grabbing hold of me. I am

straddling his lap, my skirt now bunched all the way up to

my crotch and he is sitting with his back against the back of

the couch.

 

I expect him to kiss me, or to pull my panties off and plop

me down on his dick but he does neither. He wraps his arms

around my waist and pulls me against him, hugging me tight

and burying his nose in my neck. I feel hot tears burning my

skin. We just sit there like that for a few minutes, rocking

slowly, holding each other.

 

Soon enough though I feel his hands under my flimsy tank

top, running over my bare back and he starts kissing my

neck, licking behind my ear. I run my own tongue along his

salty sweet skin and swirl it around the inside of his ear

which causes him to moan appreciatively and squeeze me

tighter. I push myself down, grinding against him and make

my own appreciative sound. All that remains between us is

my underwear and he feels so good against me. 

 

He starts trailing kisses down my neck and over the part of

my chest that's exposed. I lean backwards and arch my

chest towards him in a hopefully encouraging gesture. His

hands come around from behind me and slip under the front

of my shirt, over my stomach and slowly edging up. Soon

his fingers have found my breasts under the shirt and he

quirks an eyebrow at me questioningly. Gimme a break.

Like I'm gonna refuse this. I just smile and press myself

further into his hands.

 

There's something incredibly exciting about seeing his huge

hands roaming around inside my little skimpy tank top. He

seems to think so too. He's staring at my chest with

unwavering concentration as he strokes and molds me in his

palms causing me to whimper.

 

"I like this shirt," he mumbles and I am finally glad I wore

it. "How come you don't wear it more often?"

 

Well Mulder, it's not exactly bureau policy to cross examine

a witness in a silk camisole top with no bra, I think but can't

seem to say because I am lost in his fingers squeezing and

pulling at my nipples. All I can do is laugh and moan some

more.

 

"Can I take it off now?"

 

I don't know who said that but we work together and the

scrap of material flutters to the floor.

 

xxxxxx

 

I used to think I was kind of good in bed. Decent, ya know,

not a love god or anything but good enough. I mean I never

really worried about it. I'm a little worried right now. I

know I shouldn't be. I know that our feelings will guide us

through this, that it will be as natural as breathing but see,

when I get excited I breathe kinda fast. And seeing Scully

practically naked on my lap is pretty damned exciting to say

the very least.

 

I wanna make this good for her. Not good, amazing,

unforgettable, earth-shattering, AWE-inspiring. I want her

to get glassy eyed and over stimulated just thinking about

this night. This isn't just for my ego's sake. Honestly. I want

to do for her what she's already done for me tonight

because she deserves the very best that I am capable of

giving. Which isn't gonna be a hell of a lot if she doesn't get

off my lap right now.

 

I move my hands from her extraordinary chest and down to

cup her amazingly round little bottom. She's so damned

curvy and soft, perfect hourglass figure in miniature. I try to

pry her up a little bit to alleviate some of the dangerously

pleasant friction between our crotches but she takes this as

an invitation to squirm against me making matters a hundred

times worse. Then she starts running her hands over my

shoulders and kissing my neck again and I have to say

something before it's too late.

 

Scully slow down. Nope, couldn't quite manage that one.

Let's try something else.

 

"M...mmove uhhp."

 

"Hmm? Wha?"

 

I pull her ass up a little more and she finally gets the picture.

Thank you Jesus. I might make it after all.

 

She rises up to her knees and I kiss and lick my way down

to her breasts, taking them into my mouth one at a time as I

knead her ass in my fingers. She presses herself against my

chest which is a much more tenable situation for me. I suck

on her voraciously and she clutches my hair, pulling on it

and moaning. God she moans a lot. And every time she does

it sends a pool of warmth through my entire body.

 

I suck in a breath of air through my nose, my mouth being

otherwise happily occupied, and notice for the first time that

I can actually smell her. Not just her usual Scully scent but

*her*. Her arousal, her desire, her goddamn cunt. I sniff the

air again, avidly seeking out the aroma this time and reach

one tentative finger around from behind, down the center of

her ass and between her legs. She makes a sound I've never

heard from her, or any woman really. Something like a

growl. I can feel the heat of her wetness through her panties

and I bring a couple more fingers down to join the party. I

rub the whole area with my hand in a gentle circle and she

presses down into me demandingly. Gotta love a woman

who knows what she wants.

 

I take my hand away and with both hands slip under the

material of her underwear. I'm astounded at how soft her

butt actually is. It's like a baby's bottom. But she's not a

baby thank God. She's a woman. My woman. Thank you,

thank you, thank you.

 

I continue massaging her backside with one hand as I use

the other one to slide over her folds and tease her clit. I

 honestly cannot believe how wet she is. I'm completely

bowled over. I push her further upwards and run my tongue

down over her solid abs, to the side where her waist curves

in delicately. She shakes and giggles when I lick here there.

 

"Ticklish?"

 

"Hmmm...mmhmm...." She stops giggling and goes back to

those other amazing noises when I lift her a little higher and

stop tickling her. When I flick my tongue into her belly

button she gasps and arches towards me. She's practically

standing now and her body is starting to tremble.

 

"Mul-deeerr," she purrs as I continue to lick at her belly and

play with her clit. Yeah that's right. Purrs. I made Dana

Scully *purr* my fucking name. Happy fucking birthday.

Jesus.

 

No more fucking around. I wanna make her *scream* my

name now. I push her up a little more and kiss my way

down that spot just below her belly button. I think I'll refer

to that as the magic spot from now on. Then I slide down a

little bit on the floor and there I am, my face between her

legs. Halleluhia, praise the Lord. I press my entire face

against her, breathing in nothing but that gorgeous smell for

a moment. Then I try to pull her panties down from the

inside and realize that we have a tiny little problem here.

Those garters are sexy as hell but they're also pretty

damned irritating to remove. So I've heard anyway.

Personally, I've never had the pleasure. Honestly I don't

really know how to get them off. But I'm gonna have to

learn real fast if I want to get her panties off. Unless...

 

Okay, here it is, my big attempt at manliness. Born of

desperation and impatience but manliness nonetheless. I

hope she doesn't kill me. Praying for the preservation of my

life I reach up under the garter belt and the scrap of a skirt

that is now more like another belt than anything else and

with both hands, pull towards myself really really hard. And

nothing happens. Well not nothing.

 

"Ow! Mulder what are you..." she looks down at me and

snorts upon realizing what I am *trying* to do. "Smooth

move Don Juan."

 

I smile and shrug with my best attempt at boyish charm,

 hoping it will cause her to give me a hand. She smiles

back and  starts some elaborate process

which eventually somehow causes the garters to separate

from the garter belt and fall down over her thighs. The

stockings manage to stay up which makes me pretty happy

and best of all, when I pull at her panties they slide down

over her legs and she steps out of them and kicks them to

the side. She's still got those fucking amazing shoes on.

Good thing too. If she didn't I might have to sit on the

couch to reach her.

 

Man she has got one beautiful...thing. Real mature word for

it I know. I just can't think of adequate nouns right now. I

can't think of anything right now except tasting her.

 

Which I do. Finally. My hands keep up their work on her

behind and one errant finger manages to sneak inside her,

joyfully plunging in and out as I lick her, hopefully,

senseless. I was right about this being perfectly natural. I

don't even have to think about what I am doing, how it is

making her feel. I just know. And not just because she is

gyrating wildly in my face, pulling hunks of my hair out, and

humming like my noisy, old refrigerator. It's more than that.

I just know what to do. I know her body instinctually. I

know when to press hard, when to flick lightly, when to

move in slow, wide circles and when to concentrate on one

small spot and work it like crazy.

 

I guess I would have been more in keeping with the

evening's theme if I had spread icing all over her before I

started this but I'm really kind of glad I forgot. I would hate

to have the taste of her disrupted in any way.

 

"Mmm...Mulderrrrr," she purrs again and I notice that she's

bouncing on her heels. Practically jumping up and down.

I'm making her jump up and down!

 

I have to say I feel like jumping up and down myself. I'm

also starting to feel an awfully lot like touching myself. I

suppress the urge though because I know how little it would

take. In fact if I make her come like this that might be

enough in itself. Now that really would be something. No

contact orgasm. Didn't think that was possible except

maybe in my sleep. But it's starting to feel like a very real

possibility.

 

Suddenly she pulls back away from my mouth and grabs my

shoulders.

 

"Scully? You okay?"

 

"I...yeah, yeah. I'm...I'm gonna come Mulder."

 

"Is that...a problem?"

 

"I wanna come with you inside me."

 

Before I can even respond to that wet dream of a statement

she kneels down and impales herself on my twitching cock.

And then she screams. Yes! I feel her around me, pulling

and pulsating and the combination of this and the sight of

her body wracked by orgasm and her face in the throes of

rapture are enough for me. But miraculously I hold back. I

want to be able to watch this. I want to give her orgasm my

undivided attention.

 

xxxxxx

 

Wow. Oh God. Wow.

 

I wonder if I will ever recover from this. I wonder what day

it is, what planet I am on. All I know is that Mulder is

everywhere. His arms are tight around me, his shoulder is

under my mouth catching my ragged breath, his chest is in

front of me and his knees are raised behind me, cradling me,

his mouth is against my ear, whispering words that I don't

understand, and his cock is inside me, everywhere. 

 

More detailed impressions slowly creep through. The feel of

the buttons on his jeans scraping my thighs, the stubble on

his cheek scraping my neck, the smell of his skin, the sweat,

the sex. Oh God, we're having sex.

 

Well we're supposed to be anyway. I'm supposed to be

fucking him but I'm just lying here like a dead animal. I can

feel his heart racing under mine and his words are starting to

make sense. Something about how pretty I am again. And

beautiful and stunning and gorgeous and...well, and so on.

And then something that sounds a lot like I love you but I

can't be completely sure. Doesn't matter. I know that much

already.

 

I make an attempt at raising my head and surprisingly I can

do it without passing out. I look at him and he is grinning

back at me looking goofy as hell.

 

"Mulder..."

 

"Scully."

 

"Mmm...cake..." I lean languidly against his legs and reach

behind us. I pick up a small piece of the orgasm cake and

bring it to his lips as I start to move slowly but surely on his

lap. He takes a small bite out of my hand and moans as he

chews. God that man is sexy when he eats. The fact that I'm

riding his cock only enhances the effect.

 

He takes another bite, a huge one this time, taking the

whole piece into his mouth and his hands clutch tightly on

my waist. I trace his lips with my fingers as he chews.

 

"Mulder you feel so good. I can't even believe how good..."

I break off into a groan when he sucks my fingers into his

mouth. There's still some icing on them. I pull them out

before he can get rid of it all and smear it over his lips. Then

I wrap my arms around his neck and lean in to lick it off.

 

When it's gone he sucks my tongue into his mouth and so

begins our very first kiss. And what a kiss it is. Of all the

ways I imagined it, I never ever thought it would be like

this. First of all I always thought we would kiss *before* we

started fucking but hey, Mulder and I aren't the most

conventional couple to hit the sheets. Well, the floor. I also

never thought it would be so insanely passionate and so

simultaneously gentle and sweet. I kind of figured one or

the other. Somehow we manage both.

 

I keep my eyes open. Watching him kiss me like this is just

completely mind blowing. He is so very beautiful. The

sounds he is making into my mouth are vibrating through

my entire body, spreading their heat.

 

His hands tighten even more around my waist and he starts

moving under me, jerking up towards me. I meet his rhythm

and we start moving faster, harder.

 

I can't breath. I pull back from his mouth and lean against

his legs again, letting him take the lead completely, letting

him lift me up and slam me back down onto him over and

over. And I get to watch. The muscles in his arms bulge

with the effort and his face contorts into the most erotic

masque of pleasure and physical exertion I've ever seen. His

head rolls back and forth against the back of the couch and

his eyes roll back into their sockets.

 

He is chanting. Chanting my name with every movement. I

run my hands possessively over his chest and, as a wave of

ecstasy starts building in me, claw at him with my nails,

marking him. This belongs to me. Property of Dana Scully.

Beware of rabid dog. Will attack if provoked.

 

"Come for me Mulder, lemme see you come," I whisper to

him. God how I want that. I want to see it, to hear it, to feel

it, smell it. I wanted to taste it but I guess that'll have to

wait.

 

"Mmmooohh...Scuh...ugh...ugh..." Soon, all he seems

capable of enunciating is ugh over and over and he is

making me fuck him so hard that it's starting to hurt a little

but I don't care because it's making him feel so good. I run

my fingers over his lips again and he takes them into his

mouth, sucking and biting. I feel his legs shaking behind me

and his hands are digging into my skin.

 

I feel him pounding inside me and the heat of his explosion

fills every crevice of my body. When he comes he calls,

"Scuuualloouu". Well, that's what it sounds like anyway

because my fingers are still in his mouth. But I think I know

what he meant.

 

xxxxxx

 

I finally took my jeans off. Big move I know. After a few

recovery moments Scully and I managed to crawl back onto

the couch and lay down. After a few more minutes we

decided we'd be a hell of a lot more comfortable completely

naked. She showed me how to get a whole garter belt off

and I showed her that I actually have legs under there. Her

shoes are in good condition but those stockings have runs

the size of Monatana. We'll have to buy her some new ones.

 

All the cake is gone and we are snuggled up under my

blanket. I am trying to figure out how to debun her hair and

she is talking about what we should eat next. She seems to

be leaning towards ordering a pizza. I have to say I've never

enjoyed eating so much in my life. This cake certainly

wasn't as much fun when mom made it.

 

"So what are you gonna make for Thanksgiving Scully?" I

ask, hoping this ritual becomes a holiday tradition.

 

"Mulder I've got a confession to make," she says into my

chest. "I hate cooking."

 

"Really?"

 

She nods and I hug her and bury my nose in my hair. She

hates cooking. But she did it for me. Because it's my

birthday.

 

You know what? Pretty just doesn't cut it anymore. I've

gotta think of a new adjective. I'm not even sure where to

start at the moment. I think I might have to invent a word.

Or maybe there is one already. Scully. That's the only

descriptor I need. It means everything that there is. That

sunset is really Scully. That painting sure is Scully. Wow,

that orgasm was totally Scully. Yeah I think that will do.

 

 

THE END :)

 

Lemme know if this made any of y'all feel better about the

fowl one!