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This is not one of my "Chiaroscuro" vignettes -- it's a short story of 
an entirely different kind. <g>  For those "Chiaroscuro" readers, I 
posted part 5 earlier today, and part 6 is being edited right now.  
Unlike those stories, there's no angst here, at least not of the dark 
and sad variety.  This is <ahem> a much lighter piece that was inspired 
by an anecdote that I heard.  That, and my obsession with words.   I 
thought it was the ideal basis for a piece of fanfic, so here goes....  
Bear in mind, this story is marked =NC-17= -- I did that for a reason, 
so if that isn't your cup of tea you might want to find another story!  
<g>   If on the other hand you do read this and enjoy it, *please* let 
me know at Blueswirl@aol.com.   My mailbox hates being lonely.  ;)   
Besides, I need all the encouragement I can get!!

Note:  Scully's apartment is a mystery to me -- in "Squeeze" she has 
hardwood floors, and in "Anasazi" she has carpet.   I'm a hardwood floor 
girl myself, so....

Oh, yeah, Another Note:  This is a piece of fanfic, meaning it comes 
straight out of my imagination, where there are no problems and no 
restrictions.  By which I mean, if Chris Carter ever lets Mulder and 
Scully get crazy, I'm sure he'll be responsible and make them use a 
condom.  I wasn't nearly so careful!   Then again, this isn't reality, 
right???

Watch out -- disclaimer ahead:  the characters of Fox Mulder and Dana 
Scully belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Prods. and Fox Inc. and I'm using 
them for this story without permission.  So sue me.




PLATONIC  (1/3)  NC-17
by Blueswirl@aol.com

Classification:  MSR (Mulder/Scully Romance)
12/13/96




He was doing it again.  She'd counted at least four so far today, and as 
far as she was concerned, that was four too many.

	Oh, wait, she'd forgotten about the bit at the car.  That made five.

	Five distinctly non-partner-like touches that she'd received so far 
today.   And it wasn't yet noon.

	Dana Scully sighed with exasperation and took a small step to the side 
so that she was just outside the reach of her partner's hand.   Her 
partner, Fox Mulder, looked up at her quizzically for just a moment, but 
then turned his attention back to the crim e scene they were examining.

	That was the real kicker, she thought.  He could rest his hand on her 
in a way that sent sparks shooting down her spine one moment, and be 
totally focused on the matter at hand in the next.  

	She envied him his control.

	Five touches altogether.   Just thinking about it made her start 
to sweat.

	First had been the brush of her arm as he'd reached around her to open 
the door.   They'd been walking into the pathology lab, *her* domain, 
and he'd reached around her to open the door.  And brushed her arm while 
doing so.   She could still feel the light pressure of his fingers 
against her wool jacket.   It had given her goosebumps.

	Then there had been his grasp of her hand.   Technically Scully knew 
she was stretching the truth, just a little.   He'd actually been 
reaching for the lab report she was holding, but he'd touched her first, 
his fingers sliding over the back side of her hand like a caress on 
their way to grab the report.   It had made her blush.

	As always, he'd placed his hand gently against the small of her back as 
he guided her down the hallway in front of him.  That had been the 
third.  It happened so frequently that Scully sometimes wondered if 
Mulder considered it some kind of protocol, an odd sort of Bureau 
chivalry.   The action had seemed unconscious on his part, just another 
one of his practiced habits.   But as always, it had made her weak in 
the knees.

	The fourth one had come out of the blue, completely unexpected.  They'd 
been in the car, and Mulder had been driving, as he so often did.   
She'd been turned towards him slightly, reading to him from the case 
file, as she so often did.   He'd reached for the cup of coffee that 
he'd placed in the holder that jutted out from the dash, and his hand 
had touched her knee.   It was more than a touch, she scolded herself, 
but truth be told she wasn't sure if her memory was getting the better 
of her.  It did seem as though his hand rested there for an instant 
longer than it should have, the weight of his palm warm and heavy.   For 
that instant, she had wished that her nylons would disappear, that she 
could feel his hand against her bare skin.

	And now this.  It was more than she could stand.  

	Mulder had stroked her neck.

	Stop it, Dana, she chastised herself.  You know it was nothing 
like *that*.

	And yet it had been.  Of course, she knew that he'd meant to touch her 
shoulder, to call her attention to the latest discovery he'd made.  It 
was her own fault that she'd been standing too close to him, so that 
when he reached out with his long, strong fingers he'd caught the back 
of her neck instead, his fingers grazing across the tender skin there.  

	He hadn't even noticed the intimacy of the gesture.  

	It had made her eyes flutter shut.   It had made her heart race.

	It had to stop.

	"Scully, are you okay?"  His voice startled her out of her reverie.

	"I'm fine, Mulder," she told him.  "Let's just finish this up.  I've 
got some things I want to take care of back at the office."   Boy, do I 
ever, she thought.



Mulder yawned, scratching his head in frustration.   There was no 
reason, he thought, for paperwork to be so tedious and boring.   If he 
were in charge, things would be different.

	He shot a glance towards the desk on the other side of the room, the 
desk where Scully usually sat.   It was as neat as it always was, a 
direct contrast to his own.   And it was empty.  

	Mulder sighed and checked his watch for the zillionth time.   It wasn't 
like Scully to disappear for so long without telling him where she'd 
gone.  Then again, she hadn't been acting like herself all day.  She'd 
been unusually terse with him, refusing to engage in their normal 
banter.   And for once, Mulder was hard pressed to figure out what he'd 
done to upset her.   He hadn't ditched her in weeks, leaving her only a 
cryptic message as a clue to his whereabouts.  He had stopped spitting 
sunflower seed shells into the trash can, gathering them instead in a 
piece of scrap paper and throwing them away properly.   He hadn't even 
worn any of his more offensive ties lately.

	Women, Mulder thought with exasperation.   The simple word surprised 
him.  It wasn't so often that he thought of Scully as merely a woman, at 
least not in the traditional sense of the word.   Besides, there were so 
many other words that better described her.  Doctor.  Agent.   Partner.  
And those three words were like red flags intended to distract him from 
her other distinctly feminine attributes.

	Red flags that had the same effect on him that they did on a bull.  
They enraged him.  Infuriated him.  Aroused him.

	Yes, she was a doctor, a brilliant one.   Yes, she was an agent, an 
excellent one.   Yes, she was his partner, the only person he trusted.

	Rather than deter him, all of that only made him desire her more.

	Sometimes Mulder wondered how much more of it he could stand.  How many 
more days he could watch her walk around in those short skirts and high 
heels, those tailored silk blouses that tantalized him by what they 
hinted at but didn't reveal.    How many more times he could refrain 
from running his hands through her auburn hair, from touching her smooth 
porcelain skin.   How much longer he would have to wait before seeing 
her blue eyes gaze up at him, flooded with desire.

	The answer to that was forever.  That much Mulder knew for certain.   
The enigmatic Dr. Scully was all about business.   That much had been 
clear to him from the very beginning, and each day since had wrought no 
perceptible change in her professional demeanor.   

	Maybe it's just that she doesn't find you attractive, Mulder thought, 
emitting a loud groan as the door to the office opened.



"Paperwork that bad?"  Scully tried to keep her voice light, hoping that 
he couldn't hear the tremors beneath the words.   Just looking at him 
sitting at his desk had her heart pounding like a bass drum.  His brown 
hair was tousled, his tie loose around his neck.   He offered her a lazy 
grin by way of response.

	"It wouldn't be so bad if you were here to help," he pointed out.

	"I came back, didn't I?"  she reminded him.  "I could have left you 
here to sweat it out by your lonesome."

	"Ah," Mulder said, "but then I would have had to make you pay."

	Scully could feel herself blush at the thought of exactly how he might 
have gone about that.  She took a deep breath and forced herself back to 
the matter at hand.

	"I need to talk to you, Mulder.  About something serious, and --"

	He raised a quizzical eyebrow.  "And?"

	"And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't interrupt me until I'm 
finished."

	After a moment, he nodded.  "Sure, Scully.   Go ahead."

	Now that she had the floor, Scully didn't quite know how to begin.  She 
decided just to plunge in, hoping that he would understand.  "We've been 
partners for almost four years now, Mulder, and... and I've really 
enjoyed working with you."

	"You aren't telling me that you're quitting, are you?"  

	"No, no, nothing like that."  Scully shook her head emphatically.   She 
felt awkward standing while he was sitting, so she walked over to her 
own desk and perched on its edge.  "You promised not to interrupt."

	"I know, I'm sorry.  Go ahead."   He pushed his chair back from the 
desk and crossed his legs in front of him.  The way his trousers hugged 
his frame was almost her undoing and she struggled to continue.

	"We have a great partnership, and I meant it when I said I wouldn't 
change a thing.  Except... well, I mean... this is a business 
relationship, Mulder."   Scully could see his expression darken 
slightly, and she hastened to reassure him.  "That doesn't mean we can't 
be friends, of course.  I mean, you *are* my friend.  You know that."

	Keeping to his promise, Mulder said nothing, allowing her to finish.  
Scully could feel her face reddening further and suddenly wished he 
would say something, anything, but he was silent.

	"What I'm trying to say, Mulder, is that sometimes, well, sometimes the 
way you treat me..."  She paused, looking for words.  "Sometimes, it 
doesn't feel terribly professional.  Not like business.  Not like... not 
like it should be."



Her words were like a splash of ice water, shocking him into painful 
awareness.   Mulder felt a dull ache beginning in his stomach, sweeping 
outward with each passing second.  He couldn't speak, couldn't move, 
couldn't do anything but stare at her where she sat, across the room 
from him.  Dear God, a dim part of his mind thought, she can't even 
stand to be *near* you any more.

	Which was a pity, because Mulder thought he'd never seen her look quite 
this desirable.  Her cheeks were flushed and at the moment she was 
biting down on her lower lip, a nervous habit that he found extremely 
alluring.  Her jacket was unbuttoned and he could see the swell of her 
breasts beneath her blouse, rising and falling with each of her agitated 
breaths.

	She didn't say anything more, though Mulder waited, unwilling to 
interrupt her if she wasn't through.   When the silence continued, he 
ventured a hesitant comment.  "I didn't realize, Scully, that I'd done 
anything unprofessional.   That was... that was never my intention."   
He swallowed the lie like candy.

	"I know that," she told him, and he couldn't help but wonder if she was 
lying as well.  "But the thing of it is, Mulder... our relationship.  
It's a platonic relationship.   And it needs to be that."

	"What?"

	"Platonic."

	"It is.."

	"What?"

	"Platonic."  

	"No, it isn't!"  Her face was really red now, and Mulder could see that 
she knew it, and that it was making her angry.  "It isn't, not always.  
And that's the problem."

	"I guess that depends on how you define platonic."  Mulder knew he was 
being deliberately obtuse, but he was getting angry himself, and didn't 
really care.

	"There's only one way to define platonic."

	"And that is?"

	In answer, Scully leapt off the desk and made her way over to the 
reference books on the far wall.   Pulling the dictionary off of the 
shelf, she quickly flipped the pages, running her finger down the page 
until she found the word she needed.

	"Platonic," she read aloud.  "Of, relating to, or characteristic of 
Plato or Platonism."

	"Fine," Mulder answered. "That tells me less than nothing."

	She glared at him, then continued reading.  "Relating to or based on 
platonic love;  also, experiencing or professing platonic love."

	"If you ask me," he remarked, "we're doing just fine as far as that is 
concerned."

	Scully met his eyes again, flashing blue sparks his direction.   
Carrying the book, she crossed the room until she was standing directly 
in front of him, just out of reach.   Only then did she finish reading 
the definition.

	"Of, relating to, or being a relationship marked by the absence of 
romance or sex."

	Suddenly Mulder could feel himself start to blush.

	"Okay, Scully," he began, not sure what he was going to say next.  "I 
still don't see where we've broken that definition."   The answer came 
to him and he taunted her with it.  "Unless things have happened between 
us that I'm unaware of."

	To her credit, she held her ground.  "It says 'the absence of romance 
or sex'.   And what that means to me, Mulder, is... is no more flirting."

	"No more what?"

	"You know *exactly* what I mean.  No more sly double entendres, no more 
suggestive remarks.  And no more... no more touching."

	Mulder felt his heart slide down into his shoes.  She was wise to his 
tricks.  How the hell did she ever get wise to his tricks?

	He didn't let it show, didn't let her know she'd shaken him.  "No more 
touching?" he asked, careful to lace the words with sarcasm, repeating 
them for emphasis.  "No more touching, Scully?"

	"No more putting your hands on me, Mulder.   You do it all the time, 
and I'm sick of it.  Sick and tired of it.   It's going to stop, here 
and now."  

	God, she was beautiful when she was angry...

	"Am I making myself clear, Mulder?"

	"Crystal clear, Scully."  Mulder swallowed as he watched her through 
narrow eyes.  "I've got the message."

	"Good," she informed him, slamming the dictionary down on the desk 
beside him.  Grabbing her briefcase, she stormed towards the door, a 
red-haired whirlwind.

	"Hey," he called after her, "where do you think you're going?  What 
about the paperwork?"

	Scully paused in the doorway and flashed him a dark, wicked little 
smile.  "I'm not in the mood, Mulder.  Sorry."   

	And with that she was gone.  



Three days had passed since she had made her proclamation, and Scully 
had to admit that the intended goal had been achieved.  She and Mulder 
had worked together, side by side, the same as always, but his 
acceptance of her words had been evident in the careful space he kept 
between them.  No flirting, not even very much banter.   And certainly 
no touching, nothing that could be construed even by the most desperate 
mind as inappropriate or unprofessional.

	She had hated every minute of it.

	Hate was a pretty strong word, she admitted.  Though Mulder had seemed 
hesitant around her for the first few hours, that had quickly dissipated 
as they had been drawn into their work, and some of their usual camaraderie 
had returned.  The problem was that Scully had expected to become 
immersed in business, finally free to concentrate on what she was doing 
instead of where her partner was standing.

	*That* was the problem.  If anything, she had found herself even *more* 
aware of Mulder, acutely conscious of what he was doing and saying. She 
had found herself missing his constant violation of her personal space, 
found herself missing those gentle taps and touches.  She had found 
herself missing him, which seemed ridiculous, since he was right by her 
side, just like always.   It didn't matter -- she had missed him nonetheless.

	You did the right thing, she reminded herself.  It had to come to a 
stop at some point, and it was better now than later.  But knowing the 
truth didn't make it any easier to swallow.

	In her gloomy state of mind, she hadn't felt much like going to her 
friend Victoria's bachelorette party, but she had already promised to 
attend, and backing out at the last minute seemed like the wrong thing 
to do.  All things considered, she'd had a pretty good time. Tory had 
been a medical school classmate and favorite lab partner, and Scully 
liked her a great deal.   The other women at the party had been much 
like Tory -- bright and pretty and outgoing and fun, and Scully had 
broken her fairly strict policy against drinking and joined them in a 
couple rounds of margaritas.   In the end, however, she'd fallen back 
into her pique of depression, wondering just what it was she was doing 
so wrong, why it was she seemed to be the only person she knew destined 
to play out her life alone.

	At this point, all she could think about was bed.  It was 
Friday night, and the weekend loomed before her, a welcome respite from 
work.   A respite from Mulder.  

	Scully entered her apartment and tossed her keys on the table by the 
door, pulling off her coat and hanging it on the rack just inside.  She 
yawned and debated whether or not to make some tea before bed but 
decided against it, walking into the living room and flipping on the 
table lamp so she could check her machine for messages.  

	The light from the lamp illuminated the room at a sharp angle, the 
table its point of focus, leaving the rest of the furniture in varying 
degrees of shadow.  She was about to hit the play button when she 
noticed one of the shadows begin to move and a startled cry escaped her 
lips.

	"You've been out late."

	The sound of the voice, his voice, filled her with relief that vanished 
an instant later in a spark of anger.  "What are you doing here, Mulder?"

	"Waiting for you."

	His voice was different, darker, than the tone she was used to 
hearing.   Scully couldn't see his face and she took a few cautious, 
curious steps in his direction.

	"Do you mind if I ask why?"

	Mulder shrugged, a murky motion obscured by shadow.  "We need to talk."

	"About what?"

	She was close enough now to see him, sitting in the floral armchair in 
the corner.  He was wearing a black turtleneck under that black leather 
jacket of his, which blended well with the darkness of the room.   His 
legs were clad in a pair of worn, faded jeans, extended in front of him 
and crossed nonchalantly at the ankle.   

	It was the expression on his face that held her attention, though.  His 
eyes were narrowed and he gazed at her with a stare so pointed she could 
feel it against her skin.    There was something about his look that was 
unnerving, and his words did nothing to ease her tension.

	"You had your turn, Scully.   It's my turn now."

	Her heart started to pound a little faster, nervous erratic thumps that 
made it hard to breathe.  Light, she thought.  We need some more lights 
on in here.   She turned away from him, moving towards the switch to the 
ceiling light, but his words stopped her in her tracks.

	"Sit down, Scully."

	"I was just --"

	"Have a seat."

	The tone of his words brooked no argument and Scully was surprised to 
find herself acceding to his request, sitting down on the edge of the 
couch.  It was an automatic reaction, dictated by shock.  This wasn't 
the Mulder she knew.  This was a different Mulder.  A darker, more 
dangerous Mulder.

	He didn't say anything further, merely kept examining her with his eyes 
in a way that made her feel incredibly vulnerable.   The silence between 
them began to infuriate her and she crossed her arms against her chest 
in defiance as she met his gaze.  

	"You came here to talk, Mulder.   Go ahead, I'm listening."  After a 
beat, she added, "And make it quick.   I haven't got all night."

	That caused his mouth to quirk in the semblance of a smile, but it 
vanished before she could be sure it had really been there.  "You were 
pretty handy with the definitions the other day," he began, launching 
abruptly into conversation.  "It made me realize I needed to catch up on 
my reading."

	For the first time, Scully noticed that there was a book lying beside 
him on the chair.  He picked it up and she realized that it was the worn 
dictionary from the office.   Mulder casually flipped it open, not 
moving his eyes away from hers, finding the marked down corner of one 
page with an agile finger.   "I did a little research of my own," he 
continued.  "And you'd be surprised what I came across."

	"Oh, really?"  She infused the two words with as much sarcasm as she 
dared.

	Mulder nodded, raising the book so it was closer to his face.   It's 
too dark to read over there, she thought, the words idly dancing across 
her consciousness.

	"I think so," he responded.  "Underneath that definition of 'platonic', 
there's another definition that I think you missed."

	"Of what?"

	" 'Platonic love'.  It's described as a love conceived by Plato as 
ascending from passion for the individual to the contemplation of the 
universal and ideal."

	"I see."  It felt awfully warm in the room, and Scully couldn't help 
wondering if she'd left the heat on earlier.   The phrase 'passion for 
the individual' was buzzing in her head and she desperately wanted it to 
stop, suddenly regretting the margaritas she'd consumed.  "Nice phrase, 
Mulder.  That and a quarter will buy you a phone call."

	"I wouldn't dismiss it so lightly, Scully."   Mulder got up from the 
chair and crossed to her in three short strides, carrying the book with 
him.  He crouched down so he was directly in front of her, and she 
involuntarily sat further back against the cushions.  "There's a lot of 
room for interpretation in that statement."

	He was closer to her now than he'd been in days.  Close enough for her 
to touch the lock of brown hair that had tumbled across his forehead, if 
she wanted to.   Close enough for her to see the dangerous spark in his 
hazel eyes.  Scully tried to say something in response, but her mouth 
merely opened and closed like that of a goldfish in search of dinner.

	If he noticed her distress, Mulder gave no sign of it.  Instead, he 
turned his gaze back to the dictionary.  "But we don't have to get into 
that just yet.   There's more to the definition."

	She managed to find her voice, but it sounded strangely weak to her 
ears.  "Glad to hear it."

	"It goes on to say that platonic love is a close relationship between 
two persons in which sexual desire is nonexistent --"

	That was what she needed to hear.  Scully grabbed onto the words with 
desperation.  "That's exactly my point, Mulder.   A relationship where 
sexual desire is *nonexistent*.   That's exactly what I said the other 
day --"

	She was babbling, and she knew it, and she knew that he knew it.  But 
it still stunned her when he cut her off by placing two fingers against 
her lips.   Scully drew in a startled breath at his touch, his hand like 
fire against her mouth.

	Not her Mulder.  A darker, more dangerous Mulder.  An initial spark of 
arousal shot its way up her spine.

	"I wasn't finished," he scolded her, increasing the pressure of his 
fingers until she acknowledged her interruption with a nod.  Satisfied, 
he moved his hand away and resumed his contemplation of the book.

	"As I was saying," he continued, "platonic love is a close relationship 
between two persons in which sexual desire is nonexistent...."   His 
voice lowered, becoming a hoarse whisper that she had to strain to 
hear.  "...or has been suppressed or sublimated."    Finished reading, 
he shut the book, the sound of the pages slamming together echoing in 
the quiet room like a gunshot.   "What does *that* mean to you, Scully?"

	Her throat was too dry to answer.   The words escaped her in a squeak.  
"Should it mean something to me, Mulder?"

	He shrugged, putting the book down beside him on the floor.  "I think 
that it's a statement that's worthy of a little discussion."



Part one ends here, more to come....



From trevizo@utep.edu Sun Dec 15 15:10:28 1996
I did not write this. Please send all comments to the author at
(Blueswirl@aol.com).
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PLATONIC  (2/3)  NC-17
by Blueswirl@aol.com

Classification:  MSR (Mulder/Scully Romance)
12/13/96



Notes and Disclaimer at the beginning.  Start there.  <g>



She hadn't thrown him out.  Hadn't ordered him to leave in that 
professional, business-like voice to which he had become accustomed.

	He took that as a good omen.

	That, and the outfit she was wearing.  She didn't look like the Scully 
he knew.  This was a different Scully.  A softer, much sexier Scully.

	It wasn't just the trim black pants she wore, pants that gently 
caressed her curves and tapered to a slim silhouette at her ankle, cut 
in a much more feminine style than her usual tailored work trousers.   
It was really the violet blue top that had his heart racing, a 
short-sleeved number that hugged her chest in a way that he envied.  A 
top that was made out of some magical fabric, a fabric that shimmered as 
she moved, that looked like velvet against her skin.    It made her eyes 
blaze with an ice-blue fire that soaked into him like a delicious poison.

	Curled up against the couch, wearing that top, she was the very 
embodiment of those old-style Hollywood dream girl pinups, an angora sex 
kitten, 100% girl from head to toe.  

	Just looking at her was almost more than he could bear.

	"A discussion, Mulder?"  Her voice was a delicate whisper that caressed 
his ears.  That urged him on to continue.

	"I think so," he told her, slipping the leather jacket from his 
shoulders and allowing it to pool on the floor beside him.  He was warm, 
warm all over, but it didn't seem the appropriate moment to shed his 
turtleneck.  "After all, we want to be precise."


	"Precise," she echoed.  "Definitely.... we want to be precise."

	Her words beckoned him onward.  Reaching out with one hand, he took her 
right foot in his grasp.  It was clad in a black heeled loafer, the 
perfect compliment to her pants.  "Let's examine the definition, shall 
we?"   At her slight nod, he continued.  "Nonexistent is one thing.  It 
basically means, there's nothing there.  Nothing to be examined, nothing 
to talk about."  

	Using just the tips of his fingers, he caressed the bare skin exposed 
above her shoe, feeling her leg shift in his grasp.  "Nonexistent is 
another word for nothing.  As opposed to the word suppressed, for 
example.  That means a whole different thing."

	"Does it?"  The words escaped her in a whisper.

	"Oh, yes," he assured her, his own voice a barely audible murmur.  "To 
suppress.... from what I remember, that word means 'to put down by 
authority or force'."   He pulled off her loafer in one rough motion, 
tossing it beside him on the floor.  "It means 'to keep from public 
knowledge, to keep secret'."   For the first time since his university 
days, he gave silent thanks to his eidetic memory.

	Mulder allowed himself a furtive glance at his prey.  Scully sat with 
her back pressed against the cushions of the couch, her blue eyes 
luminous, fixed on his own.  With gentle strokes, he began to massage 
her foot.

	"There's more," he told her, his words a tool of seduction.  "It goes 
on to say that to suppress is 'to stop or prohibit the publication or 
revelation' of something.  What do you think that means?"

	"I'm not sure," she murmured, her lips parted on a sigh.

	" 'To exclude from consciousness'," he told her.  "From my experience, 
unconscious things can be good."   Her eyes slid shut as his fingers 
continued to move against her bare skin.  "Skipping a bit, I think that 
it said something about 'restraint from a usual course or action'.   Are 
you interested in restraint, Scully?"

	Her eyes popped open again at that, looking at him with a wide-eyed 
stare that was soft with arousal.  "I don't think so," she muttered, but 
her expression told him differently.

	Emboldened by her tacit permission, he raised her foot in both of his 
hands, drawing it slowly towards his face, studying its finely drawn 
perfection.  Locking his eyes with hers, he brought her foot to his 
mouth and delicately touched it with his tongue, feeling her leg shiver 
in his grasp.   She didn't pull away, and he moved ahead, running his 
lips and tongue along the velvet softness of her skin, caressing each of 
her toes with his mouth in turn.

	Scully moaned, and the sound caused his groin to quiver.   "Not the 
usual course of action, is it, Scully?"   Mulder pressed forward, taking 
each of her toes between his lips, one by one.  Her other foot danced 
restlessly against him and he pinned it between his legs as he knelt 
before her, leaning in to better taste her sweetness.

	"Mulder...."  His name was soft on her lips.  "What are you doing...."

	"Research, Scully," he explained.  "Aren't you the one who believes in 
empirical study?  I'm just doing my homework."

	He could see her hands twitch, clutching the cushions of the couch on 
which she sat, her body slowly moving, unconscious gyrations that were a 
direct result of his efforts.  A wicked smile crossed his face.  This 
was more fun than he had imagined it would be.



She saw him smiling and a flush of shame overwhelmed her, causing her to 
pull her foot out of his grasp.  It was warm and damp, as warm and damp 
as she was starting to feel in places she was loath to acknowledge.  She 
moved her leg away from him and tucked it beneath her body, safely away 
from his grasp.

	"Mulder... I think you should go."

	"But Scully," he chided her.  "We're only just beginning."

	The inherent promise in that statement made her tremble.

	"Still," she told him, "I think you should leave."

	 "Not yet," he boldly replied.  "Not until I'm finished."

	No more, she thought.   She knew she couldn't take much more of his 
ardent seduction.  If she couldn't get him to leave, at least she could 
turn the tables on him.  If this was what he wanted, two could play at 
this game.

	"Fine," she answered, kicking off her other shoe as she slid off the 
couch in one fluid motion, settling herself in his lap.  His eyes 
widened in surprise and she fought off the urge to chuckle.  "What more 
did you have to say?"

	If he was startled by her response, he overcame it quickly, raising his 
arms to run his hands down the length of her back, his caresses sparking 
electric currents in each place his fingers touched.  "We haven't talked 
about what it means to 'sublimate'," he reminded her.

	"Right," she whispered, bringing her lips close to his ear, allowing 
her breath to caress his skin.  "Why don't you tell me about that."

	He fell silent again and a rush of power consumed her.  She let her 
tongue to escape her mouth and dance along the curve of his ear, feeling 
him shift beneath her.  He tasted so good, like sweat and heat and 
genuine Mulder and the sensation flooded her with need.

	"Sublimate," he moaned.  "That's another very good word...."

	"What does it mean?"  she breathed, unwilling to stop her seduction of 
this obviously sensitive part of his anatomy.  "I seem to have forgotten."

	"Ummmmm......" Another moan escaped him, and she caressed his neck with 
her hand, feeling his throat work as he fought for speech.  "To 
sublimate...I think it said something on the order of 'improving or 
refining as if by subliming'." 

	"That doesn't make any sense," she teased him, twining her fingers in 
his hair, drawing him closer to her, but not close enough for her liking.

	"There's more," he said, the words faint despite his nearness. "It 
means 'to divert the expression of an instinctual desire or impulse from 
its primitive form...."

	Scully smiled, enjoying herself beyond all reason, brushing her hand 
across his finely stubbled cheek.  "Instinctual desire... I like the 
sound of that."



	She was driving him crazy.  Absolutely mad.  And that wasn't the point, 
not at all.  Mulder knew that he had to regain control of the situation, 
had to regain it now.   Pulling back from her, he grasped the hem of her 
top in both hands and gave it a firm yank.  "You need to concentrate on 
the primitive part, Scully," he hissed, pulling her shirt upward with a 
force that raised her arms.  He tugged the shirt over her shoulders and 
head, tossing it away and revealing more of her to his hungry eyes.

	She was wearing a lace trimmed brassiere in a color that matched the 
shirt, a shimmering violet satin that made his heart pound faster.  A 
dim part of his mind reminded him how long it had been since he'd seen 
his partner like this, how long since he'd seen the curves of her body 
revealed to him in this way.  Not since their very first case.  Mulder 
was too aroused to care, consumed only by the desire to touch her naked 
skin with his hands.  He indulged himself, savoring the breathy gasps 
that filtered past her lips as he did so.  "There's a lot to be said for 
primitive," he announced, lowering his lips to the swell of her breast.

	Scully shifted in his grasp, crying out as he caressed her with his 
mouth, the sound spurring him on.  He traced her curves with his lips, 
nipping at the tender skin with his teeth, unable to stop himself from 
tasting her essence.

	"Mulder...."  She moaned, his name echoing in his head with a richness 
that thrilled him.

	"That's what it says, Scully," he explained, unsure how he was still 
able to form words, his mind having seemingly taken leave of its normal 
abilities.  " 'The expression of an instinctual desire....from its 
primitive form to one that is considered more socially or culturally 
acceptable'."

	"I've forgotten the question...."  Her voice trailed off in a gasp as 
he grasped her nipple through the satiny violet fabric, twisting it 
firmly in his fingers.

	With a growl, he answered her.  "I haven't.... I haven't forgotten at 
all."   Moving his hands to her shoulders he pushed her back, away from 
him, following her with his body as he forced her to the floor.   He 
restrained her there with his left hand as he brought his right to his 
waist, fumbling with the buckle to his belt.  With a quick flick of his 
wrist, he tugged the belt loose from its moorings, taking the length of 
it in his hands.   She struggled beneath him but he trapped her with his 
legs, holding her captive.  In a deft motion that surprised even him, he 
looped the belt around her wrists, pulling it tight, watching as the 
black leather puckered her pale skin, locking her hands together in a 
noose of his own creation.  She cried out at the sensation, her eyes 
pinning him in accusation, but he ignored her as he twisted the loop 
firmly closed.  Yanking her bound hands up above her head, he threaded 
the remainder of the leather around the leg of the couch and knotted it 
fast.  

	She lay there beneath him, helpless now against the hardwood floor, her 
chest rising and falling with each of her deepening breaths.  "What the 
hell do you think you're *doing*?" she asked him, her eyes wide with a 
mixture of curiosity and fear.

	"Acting primitive," he answered, surprising himself.  "Ignoring those 
things that are 'socially or culturally acceptable.' "



Suddenly, it wasn't a game anymore.  She wanted it to stop, afraid of 
his actions.  Afraid of her own reactions.  "Mulder.... don't....."

	"Don't *what*, Scully?"  he teased her.  "I'm just looking for the 
truth.  Isn't that my job?"

	He was staring at her, his hazel eyes almost black now, filled with a 
hunger she had never seen before.   She writhed against her bonds, 
frightened by her own helplessness.  "Mulder, let me go, dammit!   Stop 
playing around."

	He grinned, and it was as predatory as it was arousing.  "I would, 
Scully, if I believed that was what you wanted."

	She was chilled by the cold wood beneath her bare skin and arched her 
back in an instinctive attempt to alleviate the sensation, angered by 
the excitement that blazed in his eyes as he watched her body undulate 
before his gaze.

	"Cold, Scully?  Uncomfortable?"

	Reaching behind him, he grabbed his jacket and bunched it up in his 
hand, roughly pushing it beneath her head.   It felt soft and good 
against her neck, enveloping her in the deep sweet smell of leather 
mixed with Mulder's aftershave.  Scully pulled again at the bindings 
that held her so securely, uttering a silent prayer for release, but 
none was forthcoming.   

	Scully bit her bottom lip in frustration, welcoming the pain, surprised 
by the arousal that drenched Mulder's features.  She twisted her head in 
a vain attempt to escape his gaze, a lock of hair stubbornly catching 
just below her left eye.

	He reached out with a trembling hand and brushed the wayward strands 
aside.  "Have I ever told you that I think you're beautiful, Scully?"

	The naked honesty in his voice scared her and she averted her eyes.  
"No," she told him,  "And you have no reason to."

 	"Oh yes I do," he responded, the rough words scraping against her heart.  

	He stood up then, moving away from her, though his eyes remained locked 
on her face.  "Where are you going?"  she asked, the beginnings of panic 
setting in.

	"Empirical experiment, remember?"  he taunted her.  "I have to test my 
theories."   With that, he moved away, leaving her to lie where she was 
and await his return.  

	It seemed as though he was gone forever, though her rational mind told 
her that barely a minute had passed before he came back.  In one hand 
Mulder carried a tumbler, though from the angle where she lay she was 
unable to ascertain its contents.

	Scully glared at him, unable to do much else.  "I wish I'd never given 
you the keys to my apartment."

	He threw her a devilish smirk.  "It's a little late to be having second 
thoughts about that."

	"Mulder, don't try anything you'll regret," she scolded him, trying 
desperately to sound fierce.  "You don't want to make me angry."

	"Oh, but Scully, you already made *me* angry," he reminded her.  "You 
left me alone to finish all of that paperwork.   And I *did* promise to 
make you pay."

	Fear made her shiver, and she despised her weakness, searching for a 
way to turn the odds in her favor.  "Fine," she acknowledged.  "Maybe I 
did leave you with my share of the work.  But we're here now, and the 
game is different."   Astonished by her own boldness, she continued.  
"And I'm not going to play unless it's skin against skin."



Mulder looked at her lying there, the swell of her breasts enough to 
tempt him into devouring her whole, and had to smile at her bravado.  
"Fine,"  he replied.  "I can take anything you can dish out."

	"We'll see," she declared, and he found her brio arousing.   Without 
moving his eyes from hers, he crossed his arms in front of him and 
pulled the bottom edge of his turtleneck from his jeans, tugging it 
quickly over his head and throwing it aside.   He met her gaze again and 
saw her eyes glittering with anticipation at this glimpse of his naked 
torso.  The approval he saw there made him flush with pleasure, and he 
cursed the power she wielded over him.  No more, he vowed, no more.

	With her eyes still on him, he grabbed the tumbler that he had placed 
nearby and straddled her with his body, lowering his elbows to the floor 
on either side of her breasts.  "Okay, Scully, you won that battle," he 
conceded.  "But I think I'll be the one to win the war."

	He reached into the tumbler with a shaking hand and extracted a piece 
of ice, holding it between two fingers as though it were molten lava.  
He could see the tremors race through her body as he lowered the frozen 
liquid to the hollow of her neck, heard her gasp as its cold surface 
made contact with her skin.

	"You see,"  he instructed, tracing a lazy pattern with the ice along 
her shoulderblades, "this is but a test.  By which I mean, if your 
desire for me is nonexistent, this game will have little effect."

	"Not true, Mulder," she whimpered, the words laced with anguish as he 
trailed the ice along the curves of her body.  "The sensation alone 
is.... enough to cause an effect."

	"That may be true," he acknowledged.  "But I still think I can tell the 
difference between nonexistent desire and that which has been suppressed 
or sublimated."  With that, he leaned forward, his chest meeting the 
bare skin of her torso, a lightning shock setting his body on fire.   He 
rested the lower part of his body against her own, covering her 
completely, a sigh escaping his lips as he found the place he fit 
against her best.



He was slowly driving her mad, and Scully silently cursed her traitorous 
body for succumbing to his efforts.  The ice was desperately cold 
against her heated skin, cold enough to burn, and he followed its wet 
path with his lips, lapping up the liquid residue with an ardor that 
astonished her.    A small idle part of her mind wondered exactly who 
was seducing who.

	Mulder moved the ice further down her body, tracing it along the lines 
of her brassiere, and Scully moaned with reluctant pleasure at the 
sensation.   "Ummmm, Scully, that didn't sound terribly nonexistent to 
me."   Though his hand was surprisingly steady in its motion, she could 
hear the tremors beneath his words.   "I think there's something that 
you've been suppressing."

	"You're not making any sense," she chided him, amazed that she still 
had the strength to do so.  He shifted positions against her, sliding 
down a bit to run the ice across her stomach, and she jumped in 
reaction, the leather belt chafing her wrists.  "This is a.... 
ridiculous....test...."

	Mulder didn't bother to respond.  Instead, he lifted the piece of ice 
he held in his hand and examined it closely.  "I think this one's just 
about run out of steam," he announced, bringing it close to her face.  
His eyes danced with a secret anticipation as he took the sliver of ice 
and slowly ran it across her lips.   

	It tasted cold and good and Scully tilted her head back, her hair 
tickling her bare arms, allowing him better access to her mouth.  He 
maneuvered the piece of ice between her lips with two careful fingers 
and she licked it with her tongue, drawing it into her mouth.  Before he 
could move his fingers away she caught them as well and sucked on them, 
hard, reveling in his startled gasp.   Mulder tried to pull his hand 
back but she fought him, suckling on his fingers with the strength of a 
hungry newborn until his eyes closed in defeat.  Satisfied, she released 
her grasp of him, a smile creeping over her face.

	"Thanks, Mulder.   That was good," she cooed, knowing that she'd just 
scored another point.

	He opened his eyes and glared at her but she saw no malice in his 
gaze.  Only desire.  His desire for her.

	He reached into the tumbler and pulled out another large piece of ice 
and she shook her head as he brought it towards her.  "I think you've 
proved your point," she told him, a sudden dizziness threatening to 
overtake her.

	"Not yet," he disagreed.  "We're only just getting started."

	Mulder began to play with the ice again and Scully did her best to lie 
still, but her body kept betraying her, much to her chagrin.  The 
alternating hot and cold of the ice and his lips were slowly making her 
crazy, and she undulated her hips beneath him, unable to stop moving.

	A slight frown crossed Mulder's face and he brought his free hand up to 
touch her brassiere.  "I've had just about enough of this," he 
announced.  He slid his hand beneath her back as though to fumble for 
the clasp, but he stopped before unfastening it.

	Watching him, Scully suddenly realized the source of his consternation 
and couldn't stifle a laugh.  "You're not getting it off of me, Mulder, 
unless you untie me.  I guess that's the end of that," she finished smugly.

	Mulder paused, and then that devilish expression returned to his face.  
"Don't forget, I was a Boy Scout, Scully.  I'm prepared for any emergency."

	He dropped the piece of ice back into the tumbler and raised himself 
off of her, crouching above her, his legs bent on either side of hers.   
He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a shiny red Swiss 
Army knife, and Scully's eyes widened as she realized his intent.

	"Mulder, you wouldn't dare...."

	"I'm a very determined guy."

	"You're insane."

	"Insane.... hmmmm."   Mulder rolled the word around on his tongue as he 
flipped open the knife, exposing one of the blades.  "Now *that* word 
has possibilities.  You know, Scully, if you are declared insane, you 
can't be held legally responsible for criminal or civil misdeeds."  
Clenching the knife in his hand, he leaned back over her.  "I'd hold 
still, Scully, if I were you."

	She was too petrified to do much else.  For some strange reason the 
phrase "trust no one" kept repeating in her brain.  Trust no one, she 
thought, especially not your crazy knife wielding partner.  

	Mulder lifted up the left strap to her brassiere with one hand and slid 
the blade beneath it with the other, the dull side of its steel surface 
pressing into her skin.  Scully didn't dare even draw a breath, equal 
parts horrified and aroused by his actions.   With one smooth stroke he 
sliced the satin strap in two, allowing the fabric to fall gently 
downward.   He didn't say anything as he moved to the other side and 
repeated the motion, but she could see little beads of sweat gathering 
along his brow.

	That task accomplished, Mulder tucked the closed knife back into the 
pocket of his jeans, then reached beneath her to finish what he'd 
started, unfastening the clasp to her brassiere and then tossing the 
ruined satin mess aside.

	"That wasn't so hard," he informed her, his words laced with 
satisfaction.  

	Scully barely heard his words, focused only on the fact that her upper 
body now lay bare before him, her last claim to modesty having been 
stripped away.  

	And he was staring at her.  Staring at her as though he'd stumbled 
across an ocean in the middle of the desert.

	This isn't happening, she told herself.  This is just some crazy dream, 
and any minute now you'll wake up and get ready for work.

	But it wasn't a dream -- that became brutally clear when Mulder brought 
a piece of ice to rest against her naked breast.  She cried out when the 
frozen water touched her nipple, dancing gently against its surface 
before rotating in a lazy arc around the edge of her aureole.  In 
keeping with the previous pattern, Mulder's lips followed a moment 
later, nipping and biting the sensitive skin before easing off into a 
more gentle caress.

	Scully didn't know how much more of this she could take.  She writhed 
beneath him, tugging at the restraints that held her so securely to the 
couch, desperate to get away.   Her bare feet thrashed against the cold 
wood floor but she couldn't get any leverage, his lower body caging hers 
completely.

	Mulder was relentless at his pursuit of her torso, alternating from 
side to side, fondling each breast with his hands, teasing them with the 
ice and with his lips.  A meaningless stream of words issued from her 
lips, pleas mixed with murmured protests, none of which had any effect 
on his actions.   She shifted beneath him again, acutely conscious of 
his heavy weight against her thighs, his erection pressed hard against 
that most sensitive portion of her anatomy.

	"Enough, Mulder.... enough," she cried, but it wasn't enough for him.  
She couldn't help but wonder if it would ever be enough for him, or if 
she would be caught forever in this endless limbo, writhing helplessly 
in his grasp, an unwilling victim to his torture.

	But she wasn't really unwilling, which was the crux of her problem.  
The motions of his hands and lips stirred her to a place that she had 
heretofore only imagined, carrying her inexorably towards a site of 
forbidden pleasure.  

	Scully felt him take her nipple between his teeth, tugging and teasing, 
his breath warm and heavy against her skin, and she groaned, her body 
propelled by his actions closer and closer to the edge.  Insane, she 
thought.  Insane, this is insane.... the words hammering in her head 
with a force that stunned her.  And yet she was powerless to resist, 
forced to succumb to temptation, sliding ever closer to that great abyss....



Part two ends here, more to come....




From trevizo@utep.edu Sun Dec 15 15:29:40 1996
I did not write this. Please send all comments to the author at
(Blueswirl@aol.com).
           __________
          / __    __ \
         ( (__)  (__) )
--------[[[---------]]]-------------------------------------------------

PLATONIC  (3/3)  NC-17
by Blueswirl@aol.com

Classification:  MSR (Mulder/Scully Romance)
12/13/96



Notes and Disclaimer at the beginning.  Start there.  <g>



Mulder redoubled his efforts, watching her closely, savoring the flush 
that bloomed across her features.  Her eyes were closed now, her fine 
lashes gracing the edge of her cheeks, her breath coming in little 
tortured pants that were driving him insane.  

	The erotic picture before him had adrenalin coursing through his system 
like rocket fuel.   Her fair skin, its creamy perfection accentuated by 
the black that surrounded her.  Those tight black pants wrapped around 
her curves from her waist to her ankles.  His black leather jacket, 
cushioning the fragile bend of her neck.  His black leather belt, twined 
sinuously around her tiny wrists.  And the colors, God, the colors.  
That flaming auburn hair, those rosy lips, those pink nipples...

	"Scully, oh Scully, oh Scully...." He chanted her name like a mantra, 
willing her closer, drawing her nearer to him with every passing 
second.   He could feel her pulsing beneath him and it made him crazy, 
made him want her in a way that he had never wanted anything, made him 
need her like he needed air and water and life itself, made him 
desperate to please her, to make her happy, to make her cry, to push her 
over the edge.

	His prayers were finally answered as she screamed his name, her body 
shuddering below him with astonishing force.  He clung to her tightly, 
relishing every tremor, a rush of satisfaction tumbling through him, 
making him want to shout with the sheer pleasure of pleasing her.

	All too soon it was over, and she lay still beneath him, save her still 
labored breaths.  Mulder brushed his lips across her forehead, smoothing 
away the tangled strands of auburn hair with a shaky hand.  Reaching 
above her, he untied the knot that held her fast to the couch, loosening 
her hands from the confines of the belt.

	She didn't say anything, her eyes still closed, and he waited until her 
breathing steadied, until her trembling subsided.  "Scully.... " he 
finally asked.  "Scully, are you okay?"

	She opened her eyes then and she stared at him with a look that he 
couldn't identify.  He'd never seen her like this before, it was all so 
different, so new, so strange.   She rolled out from underneath him, 
pulling her legs nearly up to her chest, and Mulder could see that she 
was shaking.  He was suddenly concerned for her, afraid that he'd pushed 
her too far, too fast.

	"Scully?"

	After a moment, she sat up, alternately rubbing each wrist in an 
attempt to ease the irritation the belt had caused.  

	"I'm fine, Mulder," she told him, but said nothing more, and the 
silence almost killed him.

	"Are you sure?  Did I --"

	"Take them off."  She bit out the words.

	"What?"  The request confused him.

	"Your pants.  Take them off," she demanded, shifting so that her back 
rested against the couch.

	Mulder didn't hesitate.  There was something in her tone that dictated 
he obey.  Rising to his feet, he kicked off his shoes and then 
unbuttoned the fastenings to his jeans.  Pulling them off, he carelessly 
tossed them to the floor.

	"Now lie down," she instructed.  "On your stomach."

	He glanced at her, but she didn't look up at him.  It was almost as 
though the order was automatic, and he hastened to comply.   Dressed now 
only in his boxer shorts, he realized for the first time just how truly 
cold and hard the wood floor was.  He tucked his arms beneath his face 
as a cushion and lay as still as he possibly could, waiting.

	A few moments passed, and then his patience was rewarded.  Mulder heard 
Scully moving behind him, but didn't dare raise his head to look.   He 
groaned as he felt her straddle him, the rough fabric of her pants 
rubbing against the bare skin of his legs.  


	"You've been enjoying yourself, Mulder," she observed.  "Do you need me 
to define that for you?  The word 'enjoy'?"

	"No," he answered, keeping his words soft.  "I think I know what it 
means."

	"Good," she told him..  Mulder heard the sound of something scraping 
against the floor and his heart began to thump in his chest as he 
realized that it was the sound of the buckle on his belt.  "Now it's my 
turn," she announced.

	Scully shifted against him and then Mulder heard a loud snapping sound 
that echoed in his ears.  "You hear that, Mulder?"   He had indeed heard 
it and acknowledged her question with a nod.

	"That's the sound of your belt, Mulder," she informed him.  "Right now 
I'm wondering just what I should do with it."

	"Be nice?"  He offered the hopeful suggestion, only to hear her laugh, 
a hoarse low chuckle that tantalized him.

	"Nice?"  she questioned.  "I thought we were being primitive."

	With that, she drew the edge of the belt down the length of his bare 
back, tracing a crude path with the metal buckle.   Mulder moaned and 
bucked beneath her, fighting the temptation to flip over and pin her 
beneath him once more.  

	"Is that what you want, Scully?" he asked her, daring to cross the 
line.  "Is that what you like?"

	"No, Mulder.  The question is, is that what *you* like?"

	Before he could answer, Mulder felt her hand against the elastic of his 
boxers, tugging the thin fabric down in a single quick motion.   He felt 
cool air against the bare skin of his buttocks and groaned, anticipating 
her next move.

	He wasn't wrong in his guess, for merely a second later came the slap 
of the leather strap against his bare skin, causing him to cry out, a 
strangled mix of ecstasy and pain.  

	"Do you like that, Mulder?" she asked him again.  "Does that feel good?"

	Mulder could feel his erection growing, pressing against the floor 
through the cloth that still covered it, and he shifted his body 
slightly to ease the tension.  

	"I didn't say that you could move," she taunted him, bringing the belt 
down to bear against his skin once more, a groan escaping his lips as 
she did so.

	"Scully...."  He had intended to say more, but the words escaped him as 
she hit him again.  

	And again.  And again.  Each slap sharp and hard and quick.  

	Five strokes and his ass was throbbing with a delicious pain.    He 
cried out as she shifted against him.   She slid forward and he felt her 
bare breasts caress his back.  

	"What, Mulder?"  She lay fully across him now, her lips level with his 
ear.  "Did you want to say something to me?"   She slid her hands 
beneath him, wrapping her arms securely around his neck, molding her 
body to his.  "Is there something wrong?"

	"No.... nothing wrong.... nothing....Scully, I...."   He had completely 
lost the power of speech.

	Mulder felt her lips against his back, soft and cool, and he squirmed, 
silently suffering under her tender touch.  She slowly worked her way 
down his back until she gave him what he craved -- the feel of her sweet 
lips on his raw, tender ass.

	She continued to lave him with kisses, soothing away the hurt, as he 
moaned with pleasure.  "Scully, oh Scully... that feels... so good....."

	Still clinging tightly to him, Scully rolled onto her side, bringing 
him along for the ride.  He felt her teeth against his ear, nibbling at 
the lobe with little tiny bites that drove him wild.  He squirmed out of 
her grasp and turned so that he was facing her, eye to eye, nose to 
nose, chin to chin.  Her breath caressed his face and he drank it in 
hungrily.   "Scully, please, I...."

	"Why don't you stop talking and shut up and kiss me, Mulder."   She 
smiled, one of those rare, breathtaking, all-encompassing Scully smiles 
that she so rarely bestowed upon him.  "That's what all this is about, 
isn't it?   Go ahead and kiss me."

	Her lips lay before him, full and ripe and red, and Mulder felt like an 
idiot for not having taken advantage of the opportunity earlier.  He 
leaned in towards her slowly, wanting to commit everything to memory.  
The way she looked, her blue eyes sparkling wickedly.  The way she 
smelled, like sweat and soap and a faint hint of perfume.  The way she 
felt, her bare skin so soft against his own.  Leaning in, he captured 
her lower lip between his teeth and pulled her towards him, tantalized 
by this first glorious taste.   She met him head on, parting her mouth 
beneath his, her tongue colliding with his in this new warm sweet space 
between them and Mulder rued the fact that he had allowed so many days 
to pass without tasting the honeyed sensuality of her lips.
  

	It seemed as though the kiss lasted forever, their dueling tongues 
battling for control, each breath endlessly shared between them.  He 
couldn't get enough of her, couldn't draw her far enough inside himself 
to satisfy him.   He ran his tongue along the smooth lines of her teeth, 
he nibbled at her lips, he kissed and suckled and bit and moaned until 
he thought that he would die from the mere bliss of knowing her in this 
intimate and wonderful way.  



He was kissing her now, and that made it real, that made everything okay 
in a way that she hadn't realized that she'd needed it to be before she 
felt the touch of his lips against her own.  She was drowning in his 
kisses, his sweet sweet real kisses, tasting him, feeling him in a way 
that she had only imagined in dreams.  

	He was holding her now, caressing her breasts, making her moan, and she 
knew without a doubt that this was happening between them.  That there 
was no turning back, no more pretending.  This was real, and it was 
happening, and there could be no more hiding from the truth.

	She loved him.  God, she loved him.

	Not that she would tell him.   At least, not yet.

	But that didn't mean she couldn't show him.

	Fueled by desire, Scully pulled her mouth away from his, breaking off 
their kiss.  She applied her lips to his neck, licking and tasting the 
hollow of his throat.   He moaned her name and reached for her with his 
hands, but he could not deter her from her task.

	Slowly, running her lips over each inch of his body, she worked her way 
down his torso, toying with the tiny sprinkles of hair in the middle of 
his chest.  She could almost taste his muscles, his strength, and the 
feel of him against her mouth was incredibly wild.  More, she wanted 
more, and she knew how to get it.

	Scully could feel Mulder twisting against her and it brought a smile to 
her face as she reached her destination.  She pulled his boxers down the 
rest of the way, and he helped her by kicking them off when she reached 
the bottom.   He was sighing now, air escaping from between his teeth in 
frantic whistles as she reached out and cupped his balls with one 
trembling hand, caressing them gently before allowing their weight to 
rest comfortably in her palm.   She moved her mouth in position and 
delicately ran her tongue along the length of his shaft as though 
measuring its rigid hardness.  

	"Scully, no..."  It sounded as though he was pleading with her, but she 
couldn't have cared less.  At this point, nothing less than an act of 
God was going to make her stop.

	Parting her lips just enough, she guided him into her mouth, relaxing 
her throat to swallow him whole.  Mulder shivered and groaned and she 
felt a flood of wetness stain the crotch of her pants.  Reaching behind 
him, she grasped his ass in both of her hands and squeezed.

	"Scully..."

	She loved the sound of her name on his lips.  

	Relishing her control, she toyed with him, guiding him in and out of 
her mouth, nibbling and biting and tasting and teasing his erection, 
sucking gently to milk a few salty drops from its tip.

	"You have to... stop... Scully... please...."

	She didn't listen.  Couldn't listen.  Wouldn't listen.  Scully focused 
all of her energy on him, matching the motions of her lips to the 
unconscious thrusts of his hips, holding his ass tight in her grip.  She 
felt his hands twine their way into the length of her hair, holding her 
close. 

	His cry reached her ears just as his hips thrust against her face, 
hard, and Scully braced herself for his release, opening her throat and 
swallowing his essence as it emptied into her mouth.  When he was 
finished, she licked him clean, sucking him off before slowly moving her 
mouth away.




He was dreaming.  That was the only possible explanation.  It couldn't 
be possible that his practical, skeptical partner had just sucked him 
off in a way that he had only imagined in his wildest fantasies.  It 
couldn't be possible that she was sliding her lithe body back up to meet 
his lips with her own, kissing him so that he could taste himself in her 
mouth.  It couldn't be possible.

	And yet, it was.

	"Scully, my God..."  For the first time in a long time, Mulder was at a 
loss for words.

	"Still having fun, Mulder?"   Little teasing moans slipped in between 
her kisses.

	"You bet," he answered, devouring her with his tongue.

	"Good," she replied.  "Because I'm not finished."

	Before he was ready, she broke off the kiss and moved away from him, 
rising to her feet on unsteady legs.  She reached out a hand to him and 
he took it, allowing her to pull him to his feet.  "Come on," she told 
him, and he followed obligingly.  As though he had any choice in the matter.

	Scully led him into her bedroom and Mulder hesitated for a moment in 
the doorway.  In the four years of their partnership, he could count the 
times he'd been inside this inner sanctum on the fingers of one hand.  
Even after all that had happened so far between them, he was strangely 
shy about proceeding any further.  

	As though she could read his mind, Scully turned and smiled at him, 
another one of those beauty queen smiles that twisted his heart into 
knots.  "Get on the bed, Mulder," she ordered, and he hastened to 
comply.   He climbed onto the bed and sat with his back against the 
pillows piled along the headboard, watching her.

	As though she knew what he wanted, she allowed her smile to blossom 
further, illuminating her face with its wicked radiance.  She moved 
forward so that she was standing closer to the bed and then brought her 
hand to the waistband of her pants, finding the side zipper and pulling 
it down.  The pants were tight and fit her body snugly, and Mulder 
thought he might die just watching her gently shake her hips from side 
to side as she wriggled them off.  The panties she was wearing matched 
the bra that he'd destroyed and she pinched the fabric between two 
fingers, a rueful expression crossing her face.

	"Guess I won't be needing these anymore," Scully remarked, pulling them 
off and tossing them aside.  

	She stood there naked before him then, unashamed.  Naked and proud and 
beautiful, and Mulder felt another erection coming on, just watching her.

	Scully tilted her head at him, a questioning sort of glance, and Mulder 
smiled at her, throwing the full weight of his approval into the twist 
of his lips.  It seemed to satisfy her, and she climbed up onto the bed, 
kneeling with her parted legs on eithe r side of his own.  

	"I've got another definition for you," she informed him.

	"Oh?"  He was surprised that he could still speak.  "And what would 
that be?"

	"Technique," she answered.

	"Technique?" he echoed, unable to say more.

	"Uh-huh," she nodded, raising one wicked auburn eyebrow.  "It's 
crucial, at times like these, to understand the concept of technique."

	"Why don't you show me," he replied, wanting nothing more.

	The wicked arched eyebrow now had a matching grin.  "I thought you'd 
never ask, Mulder."   Scully ran her tongue along her lips, moistening 
them in preparation for her explanation, and Mulder's breath caught in 
his throat.

	" 'Technique'," she slowly explained, "is defined as 'the ability to 
treat technical details or... to use basic physical movements'.    At 
least, that's what I've been told."  With one small hand, she began to 
fondle her breasts, running her fingers from one side to the other with 
slow, gentle strokes.  "Some people have it, and others don't."

	"I see," Mulder murmured, watching transfixed as her hand moved past 
her breasts and caressed her torso, roaming along the smooth rounded 
curve of her belly. 



Watching him watching her, Scully suddenly felt powerful, indomitable, 
unstoppable.  She felt like she could do anything, like she held the 
secret to life in the palm of her hand.   Rich with this forbidden 
knowledge, she brought her hand down and ran it across the thatch of 
auburn hair between her legs, enjoying the touch as she never had before.

	"It's important to do these things the right way," she continued, 
knowing she was rambling but past the point of caring, intoxicated by 
the look on his face.

	"I understand," he answered, his chest rising and falling with his 
rapid breaths.

	Scully slipped two of her own fingers between her folds, her head 
falling back at the sensation, luxuriating in it.  "I hope you do," she 
murmured, stroking herself slowly.

	Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mulder rising to his own knees, 
noticed that his erection had bloomed again.  He moved towards her, 
snaking one hand around her naked back.  "Oh, I do, Scully," he told 
her.  "I do."

	Mulder pulled her hand away from its task and took her damp wet fingers 
into his mouth, suckling hard, forcing a cry from her lips.   He smiled 
at her and said, "Maybe it's time to test my technique."

	"Maybe," she nodded, giving him approval to continue.

	As though he was copying her motions, Mulder ran one hand along the 
curves of her body, still holding her close to him with the other.  His 
free hand fondled each breast in turn and then made its way down her 
torso, tickling gently.   "How am I doing so far?"  he asked.

	"So far, so good," she murmured, leaning forward and placing a kiss on 
his neck.

	"Good," he replied, moving his hand lower still until he was touching 
the damp hair at her entrance.  He slipped one finger inside her, then a 
second, followed by his thumb, penetrating her with a force that rocked 
her.  She leaned back in his grasp but he held her steady, a small 
chuckle escaping him as he stroked her, pinched her, squeezed her. 

	"I hope you don't mind if I make some revisions to the standard 
technique," he declared, just before he captured her lips with his own, 
plunging his tongue deep inside her mouth so that she was unable to 
answer.  

	He held her there, his tongue filling her mouth and his fingers filling 
her womb, probing and exploring her at both ends, trapping her body 
against his with one strong arm.  She couldn't have moved away, couldn't 
have protested his actions even if she'd wanted to, and she certainly 
didn't want to.  She wanted to stay like this, suspended forever, a 
prisoner of his tender caresses. 

	Mulder pulled his lips away long enough to bring his mouth to her ear.  
Whispering gently, he said, "There's another part to the definition of 
'technique', just so you know.  It's also 'a method of accomplishing a 
desired aim'."

	"Ummmm....."  She couldn't form words to answer.

	"That's what I've got, Scully," he told her, kissing her cheek gently.  
"A desired aim, a goal.  I want to make you scream again, Scully.  I 
want to make you come, and I want to hear you shout my name when you do." 

	She didn't respond.  She didn't have to -- he could read her like a 
book, and she loved it.  Loved the fact that he knew exactly what she 
wanted.  Loved the fact that he wanted it too.

	Scully felt him pressing against her, rocking her back and pressing her 
towards the bed, and she didn't resist, allowing him to lower her to the 
cool sheets that covered its surface.  Her head hit the foot of the bed 
and she felt her hair dangle over the  edge.  His mouth never stopped 
devouring her own, and she moaned as she chased his tongue with hers.  

	His hand was busy down below, stimulating her with quick erotic touches 
and long smooth strokes.  She pressed herself against his hand, seeking 
deeper, further contact, the sensations absolutely wonderful and yet not 
quite enough.  Not what she needed, not yet what she craved with a 
fearsome desire.  

	In between kisses, he whispered to her, soft aching words full of 
need.  "You know, Scully, I lied to you the other day.  I told you that 
I never touch you on purpose.  But I do -- I can't get enough of 
touching you."  He took her bottom lip between his teeth and bit her 
gently and then ran his tongue across the tender surface.  "I'll never 
get enough of touching you.  Not now, not ever."

	Mulder pulled his lips away from hers for good at the same time that he 
moved his hand, causing her to groan with the pain of his absence.  His 
low chuckle scratched against her ears as he shifted his position, 
grabbing her legs with both hands and draping them over his shoulders, 
allowing her feet to touch his back.  "Don't worry, Scully, I'm not 
going anywhere," he assured her.  

	Her legs were spread open, making her completely vulnerable to him 
now.  Scully shivered with anticipation as she waited, holding her 
breath until she felt his mouth against her most private place, his 
tongue parting her and caressing her intimately.  "Oh, Mulder...."  The 
words escaped her on a sigh and she twisted against him with pleasure.  
She felt his hands reaching for her own and she embraced him, twining 
her fingers in his, holding on tight for the ride that awaited her.

	She wasn't disappointed.  As with everything he did, Mulder was 
extremely thorough, licking and biting and tasting every inch of her, 
working her over with the prowess of a master.  She squirmed and writhed 
and moaned and bucked and still he held her, trapping her with his 
mouth, controlling her actions, her every thought, her every breath.  
She squeezed his hands as tightly as she dared, fearing that she might 
break his fingers and yet not really caring, wanting him to know how 
much he was making her suffer.  Wanting him to share it with her, this 
agonizing bliss, this harrowing ecstasy.   

	Just when she feared that she might lose consciousness, carried away on 
a tide of pure sensation, the orgasm engulfed her, drowning her 
completely, sending her skyward without a parachute.  She floated 
forever, catapulted beyond herself, the blood rushing through her veins 
a thundering accompaniment to her complete weightlessness.  

	At long last, Scully felt herself drifting back, became conscious once 
more of his hands twined in her own, of the weight of his body against 
hers, of his throbbing erection hot against her leg.  She felt his lips 
on her mouth and responded to his kiss with dizzy, lazy motions.  "Stay 
with me, Scully," he pleaded, kissing her gently, and she called upon 
the depleted reserves of her strength and opened her eyes.



Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him, her expression soft with 
need.  At last, he was seeing it.  He was seeing her blue eyes gaze up 
at him, flooded with desire.  He had thought he'd have to wait forever.  

	Forever had just arrived.

	Unable to wait any longer, Mulder shifted so that the tip of his 
erection rested against her entrance, pressing against her soft curls.  
Kissing her once more, he slid into her slowly, inch by inch, relishing 
the hot tight wet feel of her body parting to accommodate his own.  Her 
eyes widened and the spaces between her breaths became shorter and then 
slipped away entirely as he filled her, her hands moving up to encircle 
his back, pulling him close.  

	Heaven.  This had to be heaven.

	Mulder rocked against her gently, encouraging her to raise her legs and 
wrap them around his waist, allowing him to sink further inside her.  
The sensation was almost too much and more than anything he wanted to 
let go but he held himself back, knowing that he had within him the 
power to push her beyond herself once more.  Just once more....

	He slipped his arms beneath her and pulled her tightly against him, 
then he rose once again to his knees, carrying her with him.  She slid 
further down his shaft and he groaned with the sheer pleasure of it, 
pumping his hips to deepen the penetration. She was closer to him now 
than she'd ever been, every inch of her naked skin pressed tightly 
against his own.  He could feel her every breath, could hear every sound 
she made as though it came from inside him.  He didn't think he had ever 
been so complete ly content in the whole of his life.

	Scully's head arched back as a loud cry escaped her lips, shaking 
Mulder with its raw intensity.  She looped her arms around his neck and 
rode him hard, the new position having awakened a raw need inside her 
that had to be quenched.   He collapsed under the force of her strength, 
falling on his back, his head cushioned by the pillows at the head of 
the bed.  She dominated him now, and Mulder did his best to keep up with 
her, straining with everything he possessed to hang on, to maintain 
control.   Looking at her made it desperately hard, yet he couldn't tear 
his eyes away from her slender form, draped across his own, her breasts 
quivering above him, her thighs gripping him tight.   Her face was 
vivid, rapturous, her cheeks ripe and flushed.   He knew that if he 
lived to be a hundred years old, he would never forget how bewitching 
she was at this moment. 



He possessed her totally, his hands dancing across her shoulderblades as 
his arms steadied her waist.  Unbelievably, Scully felt her body 
readying once again to take that incredible journey, and she fought the 
sensation, afraid that to tempt fate one last time would be a fatal 
mistake.  Sensation overruled her and she undulated her hips against 
him, rising off of him only to slide back down, repeating the motion 
faster and faster, shaking with the joy of it.  His kisses robbed her of 
her sanity, turning her insides to jelly.  She was conscious of nothing 
else but him, of his touch and his kiss and the feel of him inside her.

	Dear God, she thought.  Not again, not again, please....

	There was nothing she could do.   He had pushed her to the edge once 
again and she could do nothing but tumble over and pray that he would 
follow.  So she did, allowing her body to shatter into a million tiny 
pieces, her mind to splinter into endless fragments of consciousness.  
It was too much, too much, and yet finally just enough.  A scream 
wrenched from her lips, his name, the two-syllable word stretched to its 
absolute limits.

	With the dim part of her mind that remained to her, Scully felt Mulder 
twist under her, flipping her over onto her back so that he totally 
covered her once more.   The sheets were cool beneath her and he was hot 
and heavy above her and she groaned, unable to do more, her womb on 
fire, throbbing with each of his frantic plunges.  

	Scully fought the dizziness and forced her eyes open, watching at him 
as he hovered above her, grinding his lower body into hers with the 
strength of a madman.  He met her gaze and they shared a look that 
transcended time, that transcended space, and at that moment all that 
mattered, all that existed, was the two of them.  Forever. 

	She heard him shout her name and then felt him shaking against her as 
he emptied himself inside her, collapsing against her, his body 
shuddering violently with the force of his release.  



Exhausted now, completely spent, Mulder lay atop her for a long moment, 
unable to move, barely able to breathe.  Several minutes passed before 
he was able to muster the strength to pull out of her, the moan that 
escaped her lips as he did almost enough for him to reconsider his actions.

	Instead, he turned on his side, taking her with him so that they were 
still pressed close, cheek to cheek, his arms around her, holding her 
tightly against him.

	For a time, words were more than he could bear and he remained silent, 
content to listen to her breathe against him, to feel her body against 
his own.  Finally, he found the courage to ask, "You okay?"

	"Fine," she answered, a little giggle the punctuation.  "More than 
fine, I think."

	"Good," he told her, stroking her hair gently with his fingers.

	She spoke next.  "I guess we need to redefine our relationship."

	"Oh?"  A simple word, yet his very soul rode upon it.

	"I think so," Scully answered.  "I don't think 'platonic' particularly 
applies anymore."

	"No," he concurred, "I guess not."  He took a breath then asked, "Any 
suggestions?"

	A small smile crept across her features.  "I think that 'passionate' 
might work," she said.

	Mulder nodded.  " 'Passionate' works.  I think that 'sexual' is good 
too -- and may be more descriptive."

	"Ummmmmm," she replied, nuzzling her face against his own.  "Yes," she 
admitted, "that's right.   I might also classify this relationship as 
'dangerous'."

	"Really?"  Suddenly he was afraid.

	"Definitely," she assured him, her smile suddenly a tad more wicked.  
"But that's okay.  I'm not afraid of danger."  She hesitated, then 
added, "Especially not when you're with me."



Mulder smiled at that and Scully felt better, glad that she hadn't 
scared him off.  He leaned in towards her and pressed his lips to hers 
in a slow, sensuous kiss, and it brought another word to mind.

	"I think we could also use the word 'tender'," she told him.  

	"I like the sound of that," he replied, kissing her again. 

	She felt so warm and safe laying there in his arms, completely 
satisfied in a way that she had previously only imagined.  So happy, 
truly happy, perhaps for the first time ever.  

	Now, Scully thought.  This is the time to tell him.  

	" 'Loving'," she said quietly.  "We could say that too."

	He pulled back from her slightly and Scully felt a twinge of anxiety 
rush through her.  Perhaps she'd been wrong -- perhaps this wasn't what 
she thought it was.  Perhaps it was nothing more than a game, an 
amplified version of their constant teasing banter.  

	Taking a closer look at him, she saw tears in his hazel eyes, her own 
eyes growing moist at the sight.

	"Oh, Scully," he murmured, "it always has been.  Always."

	His words sang inside her and she twined her arms around his neck, 
pulling him close, caressing his lips with her own, answering him with a 
deep and gentle kiss.

	"Always," she echoed, secure in the knowledge that their bond had been 
defined at last.




Well, I think that's just about the end of that!!  Time for me to take 
my dictionary and go home.... by the way, I feel compelled to thank all 
of the excellent erotica writers on the newsgroup who inspired me to try 
my hand at this.  And I should also give a salute to the Martini Man, 
whose habit of wandering the halls with his Webster's in hand muttering, 
"There are a lot of good words in here," makes me laugh and makes me think.

One more definition before I go --  feedback is 'the transmission of 
evaluative or corrective information to the original or controlling 
source'.   In other words, comments are *always* welcome at 
Blueswirl@aol.com.  ;)  


= The Blueswirl Stories =

Revolving Satellites
Platonic
Chiaroscuro
Chiaroscuro 2:  Interlude
Chiaroscuro 3:  Covenant
Chiaroscuro 4:  Inversion
Chiaroscuro 5:  Courage

What do you do when part 7 of your WIP is frustrating the hell out of you, and
you're just not in a post-apocalyptic mood?  [Apologies to Meredith... I
*know* it's my turn to write.  ;)  ]  You drag out some unfinished smut and,
well, finish it.  This is a sequel to "Platonic" mainly because it takes place
in that universe.  [As in, Mulder & Scully still work on the X-Files, and
Skinner's still the boss.]   Besides, calling it a sequel makes me feel better
about neglecting my other chores.  ;)

This one's for Lydia, who probably doesn't remember encouraging me to finish
it, and for Sharon, who never let me forget that I hadn't.   


Title:     PLATONIC 2:  STOLEN MOMENTS
Author:     Blueswirl
Classification:     MSR  [mindless smut, really]
Rating:     NC-17
Keyword:     Mulder/Scully
Spoilers:     None

Summary:     The dictionary may be back up on the shelf where it belongs, but
Mulder and Scully are still, um, testing the boundaries of their new
relationship.  

Distribution:     Exclusive submission to XAPEN.  Do not archive at Gossamer.
Anywhere else, please ask for permission first -- and please keep my name
attached!

Watch out -- Disclaimer ahead:  the characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully
belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Prods. and Fox Inc. and I'm using them for
this story without permission.  So sue me.

Feedback:   If the mood hits -- I'd love it at Blueswirl@aol.com.




PLATONIC 2:  STOLEN MOMENTS    (1/2)  NC-17
by Blueswirl@aol.com
1/31/99




The ringing of the phone startles me.

It is a shrill blaring noise that jars me back to the firm ground of
consciousness.  Which isn't to say that I was sleeping;  on the contrary, I
was rifling through the pile of bills and letters that had collected on my
rarely used dining room table over the past several days.  My actions were
automatic, dividing the pay-nows from the pay-laters, separating the write-
backs from the throw-aways.  

It is a habit of mine after finishing a case to make my way through the
detritus of normal everyday life and restore order to the chaos.  Though my
hands were busy, my mind was a thousand miles away, occupied with its own
process of sorting and evaluating: truth from lies, action from reaction,
motive from consequence, wisdom from folly.  My brain was whirling in a
confused jumble and this is why I am so shocked by the plain, ordinary,
everyday sound of the phone.

I pick up the receiver on the second ring and bring it to my ear, speaking
into the mouthpiece by rote.  

"Scully."  

I can't remember a time when I answered the phone merely by saying "Hello".
In my life, that simple greeting no longer applies.

There is silence at the other end, a deep fathomless silence that compresses
eternity into the space of a single second.  And then a voice, his voice,
harsh bass notes that rocket across the wires.

"Take off your clothes," he says.  "I'm coming over."

The line clicks, leaving me listening to a whole lot of nothing.  Though a
part of me is dimly aware that this call had been preordained, I find myself
standing still, paralyzed by the flush that sweeps up from deep inside to
stain my fair skin a deep, violent red.

Somehow I manage to fumble the phone back into its cradle and toss the bill
that I'd been holding onto the table.  It is quiet enough in my apartment for
me to hear the beating of my heart, each pounding thud signifying the passing
of yet another second.  

I know how fast he drives.

I want to be ready.

I pick up the shoes I had kicked off upon walking in the door and the jacket
to my suit that I had tossed upon a chair.  True to my nature, inside my
bedroom I align the shoes neatly amongst the other pairs on the floor of my
closet and then hang the jacket on its hanger.  There is a mirror on the
inside of my closet door and I watch myself undo the buttons on the silk
blouse I am wearing, amazed at the change that seven short words has wrought
in my usually composed demeanor.  My fingers brush across the bare skin that
the open blouse reveals and I almost jump at the sensation.  My hands are cool
and damp with sweat, my body quivering with nervous anticipation.

I hate the fact that he can do this to me.

I revel in the fact that he can do this to me.

I toss the blouse into the laundry basket and then reach behind me to unfasten
the button to my skirt and pull the zipper down.  It slides easily over my
hips and pools on the floor at my feet.  Stepping out of it, I pick it up,
pluck a piece of lint from the navy wool, and then hang it in the closet
beside the jacket.  Though my hands are trembling, it only takes me a minute
to rid myself of my pantyhose, leaving my feet bare against the carpet.

I take another look at myself in the mirror, admiring the sheer lace bra and
panty set that I donned this morning in hopeful expectation.  We never speak
about the decision we made to redefine our relationship, we have never
formally drawn up any rules of conduct or behavior.  Like everything else
between us our actions are instinctive;  it is as though intuitively we know
exactly where the boundaries lie.  The office, the field, the X-Files -- that
is the neutral zone and we speak of nothing there but aliens and
investigations and government conspiracies.  Sometimes for days, sometimes for
weeks.

The nights are harder than the days.

Eventually, as with the investigation we just completed, our work finishes
with a closed file and a report delivered to AD Skinner.  X-Files don't
usually end with a lot of clarity, but there's still a point at which it's
okay to declare that the case is over, at least for the moment.  Which is what
we did this morning, delivering our analysis of the events that had occurred
in our usual style, his rambling hypothetical conjecture counterbalanced by my
succinct scientific rationalization.

Riding in the elevator back down to our basement office, it would have
appeared to a casual observer that he and I are merely two colleagues,
partners in only the most platonic sense of the word.  But I know better, and
I caught the look in his eyes as he glanced down at me.  For just an instant
his hazel eyes flashed molten fire, an unmistakable signal that the waiting
was once again about to come to an end.  His gaze unwavering, intensifying
with each blink of his lashes.  

Desire.

Want.

Need.

At that moment, I was foolishly glad that I had chosen to wear his favorite
underwear.

I smile ruefully at the woman in the mirror, both frustrated and pleased that
my planning has come to naught.  I reach behind and unhook my bra, allowing
the straps to slide down off my shoulders.  I pull it off and then grasp the
waistband of my panties and tug them off as well.  Though I have been nude
within the confines of my apartment a million times, somehow I suddenly feel
more naked than I ever have before.

A nervous chuckle escapes my lips and I shut the closet door, glancing over at
my neatly made bed with approval.  A bit of secret vanity leads me into the
bathroom where I run a brush through my auburn hair, teasing it just a little
with my fingers.  I think for a moment about putting on some lipstick, but
decide against it.  My face is flushed enough to make any additional color
unnecessary.  

Suddenly there is a knock on the door.  Not just a knock, but three raps in
quick succession.  I wonder idly why he hasn't just used his key and then
realize that it is all a part of a game.

His game.

A game that I have chosen to play.

Taking a deep breath, I head out of the bedroom and down the hall.  My bedroom
is the only room in the house that's carpeted;  there's tile in the bathroom
and kitchen, and there are hardwood floors everywhere else.  The wood is cold
against my bare feet as I move through the dining room and into the entry
hall.  The knocks sound again, another series of three, and I pause in front
of the door, waiting.  Though it might be my ears playing tricks on me, I
swear I hear him breathing.

Then he speaks, and I know I heard him for sure.  "Open the door," he demands.
"I know you're there."

My hand is shaking as I draw back the deadbolt and then twist the knob,
pulling open the door.  I hold it open wide, revealing myself to him
completely, not caring that at any moment one of my neighbors might pass by.  

"Mulder," I say, the word escaping as a hushed whisper.

He stands there dressed in the sharp gray wool suit that he wore to the office
and a white shirt that still looks surprisingly crisp.  His tie, in a pattern
that for him is fairly discreet, just brushes the buckle of his belt.  Though
his hair is slightly mussed, one stubborn strand having fallen across his
forehead, he looks every inch the consummate government agent.

Except for his eyes.

His eyes glitter with a dangerous combination of hungry lust and passionate
intensity.  The look is tangible enough to touch me, palpable enough to
frighten me.  

With casual insouciance, he braces his hands against the doorframe, his jacket
opening to reveal the gun in its holster at his side.  Leaning in towards me,
he allows his eyes to rake over every single inch of my body, branding me with
the voracious ardor of his gaze.  

"Scully," he breathes, turning the syllables of my name into a whispered
promise.

I let him look at me for as long as I can stand it, conscious of the hardness
of my nipples and the dampness between my legs, until I know that I will
surely die if I don't feel his hands on me.  And soon.

"Come inside," I tell him.   

He doesn't move, though his lips quirk in a hint of a smile, which irritates
me as much as it arouses me.

"I told you to come inside."  Taking his tie firmly in my grasp I tug on it,
lightly at first and then harder, coaxing him over the threshold.   I back
into the room and he follows me obediently, kicking the door shut behind him,
his eyes never leaving my own.

"It's been a long time," he says, still keeping his distance.

I shrug, not releasing my grasp of his tie.  It stretches between us like an
exotic silk leash.  "It was a long case," I remind him.

"Things change over time," he remarks, his hands clenched loosely at his
sides.  "Are you sure you're still interested?"

Even though I know the question is mainly rhetorical, there is an underpinning
of truth to it.  I have no doubt of Mulder's love for me;  I knew it existed
long before he ever proved it to me with specific words or deeds.  Yet despite
my constant reassurances that my obsession for him is equally great, he is
still afraid that I will leave him.  That I don't want him, that he doesn't
deserve me.  Though I'm not the psychologist in this partnership, I know
enough about how life experiences can shape a person's psyche, and I know that
Mulder's has been twisted in ways that are too horrible for me to imagine.  

I do love him.  I do want him, and need him, and I will never leave him.  

And if he needs me to prove that to him every once in awhile, that's fine by
me.

A smile spreads across my face as I assure him, "I am most definitely still
interested."  

I use his tie to pull his head down towards me, rising up on my toes to meet
him halfway.  Our lips brush hesitantly just once and then he brings his mouth
down to claim mine, his tongue slipping into my mouth with practiced ease.  He
tastes so good, so familiar, the feel of his lips against mine the most
welcome sort of homecoming I could ever imagine.

When he has kissed me so thoroughly that I think I might faint, he moves his
mouth away, trailing his lips along my cheek and jaw before nibbling at my
neck.  A moan escapes me as he suckles the sensitive patch of skin just below
my ear and I release my grasp of his tie as my knees start to buckle.  His
arms snakes around my back, holding me up and pulling me close.   I bring my
arms up and wrap them over his shoulders, my fingers just brushing the soft
strands of his hair.  He tightens his grasp of me then, crushing my breasts
against the starched cotton of his shirt.  I feel the buckle of his belt
pressing into my stomach and his erection rubbing against me through the
scratchy wool of his pants.   

"Love you," he murmurs, one of his hands coming up to cup my head, twining his
fingers in my hair as he nibbles at my ear.  "I love you..."

"I love you," I answer as my eyes flutter shut.  "I missed you..."

He shifts against me in response, nudging his leg against my thigh, sliding
his knee between my legs as though staking a claim.  I groan at the wildly
erotic sensation of being held by him like this, his clothes rough and cool
against my bare skin.  

He brings his lips back to mine as his other hand makes its way down my back,
tracing the curve of my spine and coming to rest against my ass.  He clenches
and squeezes my ass in an impromptu rhythm that matches the dance of his
tongue in my mouth and all I can do is whimper with pleasure.

I pull back from him to catch my breath and notice the dazed expression on his
face with no small satisfaction.  There is nothing in the world quite like
knowing that the person that you want most in the world wants you just as
badly.

I slip my hand beneath his jacket and pull his gun from its holster, and he
gives me a gentle nod of approval as I set it carefully down on the coffee
table.  Buoyed with confidence, I use my hands to slide his jacket off of his
shoulders and down his arms, watching him watch me.  When the jacket hits the
floor, I reach up to loosen his tie only to be stunned when quick as lightning
he seizes my wrists in his hands, trapping them at the level of my shoulders.
The action is swift enough and his grip rough enough to make me gasp in
surprise.  

"Not so fast," he warns me, that quixotic smile again dancing across his lips.
"Not yet."

It's hard to sound authoritative when you're naked as a jaybird but I give it
my best shot.  "Mind if I ask why not?"

"Because I said so," he declares, keeping hold of my wrists as he leans in to
kiss me again.  I twist in his grip a little, more to revel in the strength of
his hands than out of any desire to get free.  I know he would release me in
an instant if I asked him to.  I also know that he knows how much I like to be
teased.

When he breaks off the kiss I mutter, "Have it your way."

"Oh," he assures me, "I will."

He loosens his hold on me then, but keeps his hands on my wrists.  He pulls my
arms behind me and places my hands so that I am basically cupping my own ass.
My elbows are bent and my back slightly arched, a position that lifts my
breasts and pushes them directly towards him.  He taps my thigh gently and I
obey the unspoken command, altering my stance so that my legs are spread
apart.  

"Hold still," he tells me, keeping his eyes on mine until I respond with a
tiny nod.  

I feel slightly ridiculous, as though I am posing for a sculptor eager to
capture my shape in marble, or a painter anxious to preserve my visage on
canvas.  If Mulder's the artist, then tonight I am his muse.  A smile crosses
my face at the thought, and he catches the glimmer of amusement.

"What's so funny?" he asks.

"I feel silly," I reply.

"You look beautiful," he says, softly, and the hungry look in his eyes
silences me.

He steps back just a bit as though to get a better view and his tongue darts
out to moisten his heavy bottom lip, making me want to kiss him again.  But I
fight the temptation to reach out and grab him, and instead stand still as
I've been bidden, knowing that the reward for my obedience will be well worth
it.

Taking his time, he runs both of his hands along the side of my face, kissing
me gently before drawing his hands down my neck and along my shoulderblades.
Using just the tips of his fingers, he traces the swell of my breasts, then
trails his thumb down the hollow between them, pressing hard enough to make me
moan.  He meets my eyes again briefly and then turns his attention back to my
chest, cupping my breasts in his hands, clenching and squeezing them with the
same firm pressure he has so recently applied to my ass.

"Mulder..."

He is too consumed by his task to pay any attention to me.  As he strokes my
breasts he moves his thumbs across my nipples, gently at first, and then
harder, taking them between his fingers and squeezing.  Ripples of pleasurable
pain spiral through me and I can't wait a moment longer.

"Mulder, please..."

"Please what, Scully?"  His voice is low and dark.  Dangerous.  "What do you
want?"

"You know what I want."  It is nearly a growl.

"Yes," he admits.  "I guess I do."  His eyes meet mine and I see the playful
glint in their hazel depths.  "But remember, the best things come to those who
wait."

Lowering his head, he leans forward to place a single kiss between my breasts,
his hands coming to rest on either side of my waist.  I watch, transfixed, as
he bends his knees and draws me closer.  The pressure of the kiss intensifies
as his lips slide down my chest and belly, his hands gliding down over my hips
and thighs.  He moves achingly slowly, his touch reverent as he traces the
contours of my body.  

My heart pounds as blood thunders through me like a runaway train.  My skin
flushes red with a heady mix of desire and embarrassment as he continues to
lavish me with caresses.  He's driving me crazy and I love him for it.  

He continues until he is kneeling on the wood floor in front of me, the
creases in his wool trousers nearly brushing my toes.  His hands grip my
thighs as his mouth stops just above the damp hair between my legs.  Only then
do his lips break contact with my skin as he raises his head to meet my eyes
once more.  The awe on his face tells me everything I need to know, rendering
the words he speaks unnecessary.  

"It kills me, Scully," he confesses.  "Being without you.  Not being able to
touch you like this, every day.  It kills me."

I feel unwanted tears gathering in the corners of my eyes.  "It kills me too.
I love you."

His head bobs slowly in the semblance of a nod as he takes in my statement, as
though filing it away for future reference.  Then without warning he presses
his mouth to my throbbing, aching flesh, his tongue slipping out to lick my
swollen clit.

"God!"  My knees buckle and I sway, my arms swinging instinctively forward in
an attempt to keep my balance.  My hands come to rest on his head and I tangle
my fingers in his hair, my head rocking back as a delicious shudder races up
my spine.  

His grip on my thighs tightens as he works me with his mouth, licking and
sucking and nibbling and I shamelessly keep him there, close to me, where he
belongs.  It feels so good and gets better and better and better until I am
weak with how unbelievably wonderful it is to have him love me like this.  I
abandon myself to the gleeful, giddy rush of pleasure and allow myself to spin
off into that sacred place where there is nothing and no one but us.

My body shakes and quivers as I come, and it isn't until the last of the
tremors has passed that I realize the tears I thought I banished have instead
spilled down my cheeks.   Mulder rises to his feet and cradles me in his arms
and uses his fingers to gently brush them away.   He kisses me, a deep,
scorching kiss that tastes of salt and sweat and sex and I feel the tide begin
to rise again.

"Mulder," I murmur as I break off the kiss, "if you don't take off those
clothes right now I'm going to rip them off."

"Be my guest," he grins, his lips still dangerously close to mine.

"On second thought, maybe you'd better just take them off."  I squirm out of
his embrace, wearing a teasing smile of my own.  "Because I really like that
suit."  

"Where are you going?" he asks as I move away from him.

"To bed."  I glance over my shoulder at him and raise an eyebrow in
invitation.  "You're welcome to join me if you'd like."


End Part 1 of 2


PLATONIC 2:  STOLEN MOMENTS    (2/2)  NC-17
by Blueswirl@aol.com
1/31/99




I've never taken off my clothes faster in my life.  

You would think by now, as many nights that we have shared, as many rules as
we have broken, that I would be inured to the process.  That the idea of being
naked with Dana Scully would lose at least some of its allure.  And yet every
single moment that I'm with her in this kind of startlingly intimate and
provocative way remains exactly as spanking brand-new as the very first time.

Which is why I'm fairly positive that I've never taken off my clothes faster
in my life.

By the time I'm halfway down the hall that connects her living room to her
bedroom, I've already shed my tie and my shirt and my belt.  My trousers hang
low at my waist and my fingers are fumbling for the button and the zipper that
hold them closed by the time I reach the threshold of her room.

And there I stop, transfixed.  

I can't get enough of looking at her.  That's just a plain fact.  

I.  Can't.  Get.  Enough.  Of.  Looking.  At.  Her.  

She's leaning over the nightstand closest to the bed, lighting a candle that
rests in a silver holder.  The flare of the match burns bright, nearly searing
my corneas, but not bright enough to hide the subtle glow of her ivory skin as
she bends over the flame.  Her body is so perfectly soft, so rounded, so
supple, all lean sinewy muscles and taut firm flesh.  

I.  Can't.  Get.  Enough.  Of.  Looking.  At.  Her.  

She finishes lighting the candle and turns to catch me surveying her so
boldly.  A small smile blooms on her face and she puts the matchbook down next
to the candle.  She's been busy;  in the mere minute or so since she left my
side she's managed to light three of them.  One on each of the nightstands,
and one on the dresser on the far side.  The candles are white and smell like
gardenias, and the scent permeates the room.  

The shutters are down, but the blinds aren't fully closed, and little snippets
of moonlight slide through the exposed holes between the slats.  The moonlight
illuminates her, makes her skin shine like the finest silk, and just looking
at her makes me ache to touch her again, to hold her in my arms and chase away
the darkness of the past several weeks.

I wasn't kidding when I told her that it kills me to be unable to take her in
my arms every single night.  Usually I lie in bed for hours, thinking of how
it feels to touch her, taste her, own her.   Sometimes it's all that keeps me
going -- my memories of our nights together, brief as they may be.  I don't
dare imagine that the same is true for her;  if I thought that she pined for
me merely half as badly, there would be nothing stopping my driving crosstown
and saying X-Files be damned.  

Unfortunately, I know better.  I know that if They knew what it was we were up
to They would find a way to put a stop to it, and I'm certain that it wouldn't
be pleasant for either of us.  So I pay my respects to Their unspoken demand
and live with her in secret, during these stolen moments that I wish could
last forever.

"I thought I told you to get undressed."

She's looking at me now with a small, capricious smile, and my only response
is to shrug.

"I'm stripping as fast as I can."

"Well," she muses, "it seems like you need a little more practice then."

A grin slides over my face and I drop my trousers and boxers at once,
painfully aware that my erection is standing at full attention.  I can only
hope that my eagerness pleases her because there's absolutely nothing I can do
to hide it at this point.

If the expression on her face is any indication, she's more than pleased.  I
kick off my shoes and socks and drop the remainder of my clothing to the
floor, caring not at all about any wrinkles that may ensue.  Three steps and
I'm beside her, near the bed, drinking her in with every molecule in my body.
I want to commit her to memory, to treasure this stolen moment in the hopes
that it will get me through the long nights to come.

"Hold me," she murmurs, and I make haste to do just that, drawing her into my
arms and cradling her there, gently.  She's a petite woman but that's never
quite as clear to me as it is when I'm holding her against me.  She's nearly a
foot shorter than I am and considerably more slender, which is something I
rarely notice when we're working.  The force of her strong personality is
somehow muted when we're making love.  Muted may be the wrong word -- she's
equally as strong and forceful and decisive, yet at the same time she's
somehow more fragile and vulnerable which can't help but make her seem
smaller, as though she's someone I need to protect and watch over.

If I could, I'd arrange it so that my life involved nothing more than just
watching over her.  I'd orchestrate things so that the priority of my day
would be running my lips over her satiny smooth skin, kissing her lips and
toying with her nipples and slipping my hands between her legs.
Unfortunately, I've never been given the opportunity to make that choice on a
permanent basis, so I do my best to content myself with the here and now.

Right now we're pressed as closely together as we can possibly manage.  Her
breasts are smashed against my chest, her hips are rocking against mine, and
my erection is claiming space against the taut flat expanse of her stomach.
It's almost more than I can take, so I guide her gently towards the bed.

"Hey," she whispers.  "This is my room, remember?"

"That may be true," I answer softly.  "But right now, I'm in charge."

She doesn't protest, which I take as a good sign.  I lower her easily to the
bed, laying her atop the comforter that has not yet been pulled back.  The
sole part of my mind that isn't consumed with her softness and warmth wonders
idly if she cares about her bed linens becoming mussed.  Because if I have
anything to say about it, they'll be at the drycleaners for the next week.

She whimpers softly as I tear my mouth away from the sweetness of her lips and
kiss her neck and shoulders.  

I.  Can't.  Get.  Enough.  

I'm nuzzling her in every way I can think of, nipping and kissing and suckling
and licking, and each little moan and groan I elicit in response is like manna
from heaven.  I know it's cliched to think about making love to her in such
mundane terms, but touching my Scully is akin to flying and there's no other
way to put it into words.

She has words for me, however.  "Roll over," she says, giving me a little
push.

I obey, turning so that I'm laying with my head on the pillows, the comforter
soft and cool beneath my back.  She takes quick advantage, burying her head
beneath my chin for the briefest of moments before sliding down to caress my
chest.  Her lips find my nipples and kiss the flat buttons tenderly before her
tongue slides down my chest.  I know what she's doing, and I'm powerless to
stop her.  

"Oh, Scully..."

The moan that escapes me is almost embarrassing.  My need fills each of the
three syllables and draws them out to their fullest length.  But it feels so
good and I can't help but express that in words, even if they are nothing more
than a sigh and her name.

"You like that, do you?"  I can hear the smile, even though I can't quite see
her face.

"Yes..."

I can't help it.  I reach for her, grasp her hair, her cheeks.  I try to draw
her up towards me.  She acquiesces, but only for a moment, pulling away and
out of my grasp.

"You're not so good at following orders, are you?"

"What orders?"  I murmur.  I've slipped into a haze where words no longer
carry the meaning they should.

"It's my turn now," she declares.  "And it's time you understood that."

Before I know what's happening, she's risen from the bed and is moving away
from me.  I raise myself up, propping my body on trembling arms, but she
shakes her head.   

"Don't even think about moving," she tells me, and so I sink back down onto
the bed.  If she wants to be the boss, I'm not about to try and stop her.  

She slips out of the room like a wraith, her steps silent on the carpet.
She's gone for no more than a moment or two but it feels like hours as I try
to remember how to breathe.

When she returns, she's grasping something in her hands.  I squint to see by
the flickering candlelight but it's not until she speaks that I realize she's
clutching my tie.

"Men have such useful clothing," she says, a tricky little smile on her lips.
"Belts, and ties.  Handy stuff."

I have often found certain items of women's clothing to be equally practical,
scarves and stockings being high up on my favorites list, but I decide to file
that information away for the moment.  There will be time for that later.  And
right now I'm too captivated, watching her, to think about delivering lectures
on fashion.  

"Don't you agree?"  She's practically purring now, as she climbs back up on
the bed and straddles my body, her legs on either side of my chest.  She leans
forward and grasps my hands and I let her do it, let her twist the length of
my silk tie around my wrists.  She knots them together securely and then winds
the remaining portion of the tie around the headboard of the bed.  She has to
lean further forward to do it, her body stretching to reach her goal, bringing
her crotch dangerously close to my face.

I try to hold back, but I can't resist.  I raise my head from the pillows and
allow my tongue to slide between my lips, aiming for the promised land.   I
fall just short of my goal but my actions do not escape her notice.

"See something you like?"

"Oh, yeah," I groan.  "Definitely."

"Hmmm."  She doesn't say more, but she shifts position slightly, lowering
herself down on my face.  The honey-sweet smell of her envelops me and I
extend my tongue again, running it lightly over her swollen folds.  

She hisses a quick breath, drawn in over her teeth, and from my awkward
vantage point I see the muscles tense in her arms as her hands clutch the
headboard.  I lick her again, harder, and angle my tongue so that it brushes
her clit.  

"Oh, Mulder..."  The words blow forth on a sigh.  "I've really missed you."

"I've missed you too," I whisper, and then I lick her harder.  Her body tenses
again and then she moves away, sliding her ass down my chest and bringing her
lips to mine.  She kisses me, deeply, and I kiss her back with equal fervor.
This is all I want.  This is all I will ever want. 

I am aching to touch her now, to pull her closer, and I tell her so when we
stop to catch our breath.  "Untie me," I say.  "Game's over."

"Oh, no," she contradicts me.  "Game's just beginning."

I groan, my hands tugging at the silk that binds me, as she moves her mouth
away from mine and resumes her slow journey down my chest.  Her lips caress my
nipples again, briefly, and then follow her hands over my stomach and down to
my groin.  She cups my balls in one hand and gives them a little squeeze, and
I squirm with pleasure at the touch.  

"Good?" she asks, and I nod in answer, the power of speech suddenly beyond my
reach.  

The nod apparently suffices, for she continues her sweet torture, allowing one
hand to toy with my balls as the other slides its way along my shaft from root
to tip and then back again.  

"I love this," she tells me as she rubs me gently.  "I love touching you like
this.  I love knowing that you're mine.  All mine."

"All yours," I echo.  I feel deliciously helpless, utterly vulnerable, and I
can't remember the last time I felt so goddamn good.  

She smiles at me again, a mysteriously beckoning smile, and then lowers her
head and takes me in her mouth.

God!  This takes feeling good to a whole new dimension.  If I was hard before
she took me in her mouth, now I'm positively rock solid.  Her lips close over
my shaft and she takes me in, all the way, her tongue caressing me gently,
slowly.  Then she begins to suck, and all is lost.  

"God!"

I have never been with a woman who had the capacity to strip me of rational
thought the way that Scully can.  When I'm with her, there's nothing else
except the place where the ocean meets the sea and the tide inside me is
rising, rising, rising...

"Scully..."

I'm moaning now, and I don't even care, don't care about the fact that she's
reducing me to nothing more than a pile of nerves all focused on a single,
solitary goal.  I want to come, oh boy do I ever want to come, but I don't
want to come like this.  I need more, I need her, I need all of her, and
goddamn it, I'm going to have her.  I've got to.

"Scully, please..."

She stops her movements and pulls her mouth away, replacing its warm softness
with the gentle grip of her fingers.  "What, Mulder.  What do you want?"

"You," I plead, and by some miracle she understands.  I'm glad she does,
because I've totally run out of words.  

She releases her grasp of me entirely and moves so that she's hovering
directly above me, poised to plummet down exactly where I want her most.  Her
knees press into the bed on either side of my thighs, her hands come to rest
on my shoulders which have already begun to ache from the awkward position of
my arms.

"Are you ready?" she asks, but she doesn't need to.  I know that she can read
the answer in my eyes.  

Her lips part as she lowers herself down onto me, and as I slide inside her
hot, tight hole I hear her gasp with pleasure.  I want to hear her make that
noise again and so I raise my hips before she's fully settled, pushing into
her with all the strength that remains to me.  

She sighs, which isn't the same sound at all, but one that's even better, and
rocks against me, allowing me to fill her as deeply as I ever have.  "So
good," she murmurs, and I groan in response.  So good. 

Then we are moving, together.  She rises and falls, led by a secret, inner
rhythm, and allows me to share in her dance.  I pump and thrust against her,
yanking at the bonds that tether me, frustrated by my inability to service her
the way I so desperately want to.  I take solace in the grip of her hands on
my arms, the pressure of her fingers as they clutch my skin.  Her back arches
and her head falls back and she rides me with full and total abandon.   Her
eyes fall shut but mine remain open, taking in each and every frame of the
erotic movie we create together.

A slow journey, this.  A slow journey to a place beyond paradise.  Our
journey, together, and I want to travel this road with her to the bitter end.

Gradually her movements become more frantic, and I know that she's nearing the
edge.  I thrust into her harder, and then one of her hands pulls away from my
body and moves towards the spot where we are joined.  Her fingers brush
against her clit and I feel her body tremble in response.  Her hand moves and
I move in time with it and I watch as her skin blooms like a rose.  

"Mulder!"

It is my name on her lips when she finally succumbs, and I feel her internal
muscles clutch me even tighter as she rides out the wave of her pleasure.
That's enough to send me over the brink and before I know what's happened I've
come too, a rush of warmth inside of warmth that is the sweetest of luxuries. 

When we're both sated, having sailed past the point of ecstasy to the peaceful
bliss that follows, she collapses against me, her head coming to rest between
my neck and shoulder, her cheek smooth and soft against mine.  She cradles
herself against me in precisely the way that I would cradle her if I could.  

"Scully," I whisper.  "I want to hold you."

She stirs at my words, her hair brushing my skin as she sits up once more.  "I
know," she tells me.  "You will."

She raises herself up off of me, but it's not in order to grant my unspoken
request.  Instead, she gets up from the bed on shaky legs and backs away.
"Where are you going?"  I ask, feeling suddenly panicky.

"Shhhh," she says.  "Just wait a minute."

She walks out of the room and I watch her go, a hollow emptiness swelling up
in my chest.  Her absence, however brief, has already made me ache.

She's gone for the longest minute of my life but the mischievous expression on
her face when she returns is enough to erase the agony of waiting.  Her hands
are clasped behind her back and I can tell that she's holding something, but
my mind's too far gone to imagine what it might be. 

"Scully?"  My voice is thick.  "What's going on?"

"Nothing," she teases.  "A little celebration, that's all."

From behind her back she produces a bottle.  Dark green glass, with a label
that I can't quite read.  She shakes it once and then again, and then her
fingers come up to fumble with the seal.  She removes a piece of metal with a
twist and then brings her thumbs to the bottle's neck, and suddenly it all
becomes clear.  

"Don't you dare --"

The words aren't even out of my mouth when the cork flies from the bottle and
clear bubbly liquid spews from its open, gaping mouth.  I gasp as the cold
champagne cascades across my overheated skin and she laughs, a pure, bright,
unfettered Dana Scully laugh.

"Oh!"  I wriggle against the bed, spilling more of the champagne off of my
chest and onto the comforter.  "You wicked, wicked woman."

"Just a little celebration," she repeats, her blue eyes dancing  "You're not
the only one who was waiting for tonight."

I want to scold her, but any angry thoughts I might have had vanish as she
crawls atop me again.  Her tongue slips from between her lips to lap up the
rivulets of liquid that are dripping across my torso.   Her mouth continues
its busy work as her hands raise up to blindly untie the knots that bind me to
her bed.

Once my hands are free, I waste no time.  I grab her tight and twist and roll
our bodies until she's laying beneath me, pinned between my legs.  "A
celebration, huh?"  I grab for the champagne bottle, abandoned by the side of
the bed, and pour a generous amount over her shoulders and breasts.  I put the
bottle back on the floor and lower my head to do some tasting of my own.  

"Good idea," I tell her, as I drink from the hollow between her breasts.
"Very good idea."

"I... thought so..." she murmurs, and pulls my head towards hers.  Our lips
collide, drenched in salty sweat and the sticky sweetness of Moet & Chandon's
finest.  A fleeting thought rushes through my head, a moment's regret about
the drycleaning bill that will no doubt ensue from this reckless treatment of
Scully's beautiful bed linens, but it vanishes almost immediately.  Right now
nothing else matters but the warm soft feeling of her body beneath mine.
Drycleaners be damned.  

Besides, we've still got nearly half a bottle of champagne left.


THE END  (2/2)


Thanks to Sharon for beta above and beyond the call.  :)

I guess I should get back to tackling my responsibilities now.  I hope this
little work break was as fun for you as it was for me!  ;)    If that's the
case, please let me know at Blueswirl@aol.com.    


Blueswirl
http://blueswirlscrashpad.simplenet.com