Summary: Mulder and Scully have a fight to end all fights, then discover
that making up makes it all worthwhile.

"Sal From 4C"
by MD1016 and Dianora  *NC-17* 

Rated NC-17 for sexual situations and language.  If you are one of those
people who believes Mulder and Scully shouldn't get together, what do you
have against sex, huh?  Read this anyway, maybe you'll learn something.
;-)

We hope this is as hilarious as we thought it was while we were writing it. 

Comments to Dianora2@aol.com and/or MD1016@aol.com.

Mulder and Scully don't belong to us, they belong to Chris Carter and all
those official types at Fox.  We know you're all shocked.  No copyright
infringement is intended.  If we wanted to profit off of our writing we'd be
writing about our own characters, okay?

Thanks to Paula Graves and Nicole Perry for being appropriately pissed at
us when we sent them this story minus the ending, thereby giving us a hint
that maybe this story is pretty good after all.  :-)

This is dedicated to all sexually frustrated Philes.  We hope this story gives
you a thrill, but that doesn't mean we want to know about it.  What you do
in the privacy of your own home is your business.



"Sal From 4C"
by MD1016 and Dianora  *NC-17*


Scully was fuming, and the intense heat of a D.C. July did nothing to help
control her emotions or to find a rational resolution to the argument she'd
just had with her partner.  Argument?  Who was she kidding?  It had been a
knock-down screaming match, complete with name-calling and personal
insults.  She didn't want resolution - she wanted castration.

Speeding along the highway with her window rolled down, the heat of the
evening gusts rolled over her bare arms.  Driving fast gave her a sense of
empowerment after a day of constant struggling with the truly insane. 
How could she possibly win against his unsubstantiated theories? 
She couldn't *prove* that aliens hadn't been responsible for that woman's
death, any more than she could *prove* that Elvis was dead.  But then, he
hadn't been able to prove that they *were* responsible, either.  She had to
allow herself a small smile of triumph at that.

"Well, then, who do you think performed the experiments on her, Scully?"
His attempt to appear open to her theories had been so transparent she had
just rolled her eyes and switched off the recorder. There was no way in hell
she was going to let his ludicrous ideas cloud her autopsy report.  

Scully pressed the power button on the panel beside her and the radio
clicked to life.  A slow song filled the air around her.

"What do I have to say?
Why won't you believe?
I don't do this to hurt you, you know.
But there's more here than you can conceive."

Rolling her eyes, she switched the radio off again.  The fates were all
against her, she decided.  The fates, and Mulder . . ..  God, he was such a
jerk.  Using that "Who are you trying to impress?" line.  Impress?  He
knew her better than that.  Didn't he?  She didn't fill out her reports
to impress her superiors, she simply imparted the truth as she understood
it.  Asshole.  

And just who the hell did he think he was, pulling that 'rank' shit?  Yeah,
maybe *technically* he was head of the division.  He had his own office. 
His name on the door.  But they were partners.  Equals.  "And he damn
well better know it!" she screamed.  The wind sucked up her voice, but
the release felt wonderful.  "Son of a bitch!"  The car slid into third. 

She was home before she knew it.  The ride had been cleansing in a way;
necessary.  She climbed the steps to her apartment and slipped the key into
the lock.  The bolt shifted and the door swung open to blackness.

                                                     *****

That goddamn bitch.  That goddamn motherfucking bitch on wheels.  Can't
get off of her high horse for one fucking second to admit there could be the
slightest possibility she might be wrong about something.

He exhaled loudly as his feet pounded the pavement.  Breathe in the good,
breathe out the bad.  The sweat ran in rivulets down his back, dripped
down his face, pooled in the waistband of his sweatpants.  With each
impact of his sneakers hitting the sidewalk the word echoed in his brain.

Bitch.  Bitch.  Bitch.

He couldn't remember the last time he was so angry with Scully.  Perfect
Dana Scully, everyone's little princess.

"What I'm saying, Mulder, is that there is absolutely no evidence of
anything other than a run-of-the-mill heroin overdose," she had said
matter-of-factly, blinking up at him with those big blue eyes and pursing
those pouty red lips that had never told a lie.

Yeah.  Heroin overdose.  In a girl with not one needle mark on her arm. 
Right.

He walked the last few blocks back to his apartment, letting the night air
cool down his body even as his thoughts continued to flame.  He pulled the
Georgetown baseball cap off of his head and wiped some of the sweat off
his brow, wincing as a drop fell into his eye, burning.

"You've got one hell of a frozen cunt, you know that, Scully?"

"Better a frozen cunt than a limp dick."

"How would you know?  Some guy actually manage to get it up in your
presence?"

"Fuck you."

"I wouldn't fuck you if you were the last woman on earth."

He shook his head violently, trying to erase the memories, but it was no
use.  And he had to face this woman on Monday?  Jesus.

Jesus H. Christ on a pony.

Maybe if she had just considered his theory for once, instead of rejecting it
out of hand the way she had...they were supposed to be partners, for
Chrissake.  Why couldn't she ever treat him like an equal, instead of the
resident loony who had to be coddled and controlled?

It had been a cheap shot to pull rank on her, he knew, but he had been so
hurt by her behavior, by the way she had flinched when he raised his
arm...oh, well.  Already done.  And there was no way he was going to be
the one to apologize.  He'd see her in hell first.

                                                      *****

"He's a loony!" she screamed, catching a scratch in her voice.  She scraped
another curl from her pint of Haagen-Dazs Midnight Cookies and Cream
and smeared it over her tongue.  The cold instantly sent a stinging pain to
the bridge of her nose.  She pinched at it to ebb the burn back down and
then curled another spoonful.  

"Frozen cunt.  That bastard!"  That was a personal attack.  An
*unprovoked* personal attack, as far as she was concerned.  She'd sat and
listened to his idiotic explanation -- or at least most of it.  But when he got
around to the 'alien abduction' rigmarole, she'd had to stop him.  The idea
of sitting through another of his lectures, especially one she'd already heard
a hundred thousand times, was too much for her.  

"Mulder, stop."  She'd tried not to sound too dismissive of his idea, but the
listen-to-how-silly-you-sound sigh had worked its way into her tone.  "This
isn't an alien abduction.  The only similarity between this woman's death
and your abduction profile is that neither are easily explained."

But he had insisted on pushing her.  "How can you say that, Scully?  She
has the same scar on her neck as you do!"

Scully threw the spoon across the living room and slammed the pint of ice
cream down on the coffee table.  That was what had really bothered her. 
His expectation that she would fall in line behind him and buy into his
theories simply because the girl in question seemed to have had, at one
time, an implant similar to the one removed from her own neck.  

It had taken her a few seconds to respond.  "We both know that I wasn't
abducted by aliens, Mulder.  It was the shadow men in the government -"

"No!"  At that point he'd hit the autopsy table so hard the corpse jumped. 
"They're in league, Scully.  They're working together-"

"This woman's death has nothing to do with me!"  

Scully's stomach contracted around the memory.  That son of a bitch.  That
fantasy-chasing, heartless, insane son of a bitch.  And she couldn't even get
away from him in her own home.  He followed her around in her head,
always pushing her and taunting her to believe in his realm of fantasy. 

Leaping off of the couch, she stormed into her bedroom, threw open her
closet door, and pulled out the skimpiest, sexiest, little white dress she had. 
The one a clueless friend had given her as a birthday gift, the one she never
wore because the back was too low to wear a bra, and the material was so
thin as to be practically transparent.

"Some guy actually manage to get it up in your presence?" she mimicked,
pulling off her skirt and hose and panties.  "I'll show you, Mr. Limp-Dick." 
She tossed her blouse on the floor and stripped off her favorite blue lace
bra.  Then she slid the skin-tight silk dress over her head and pulled it down
and into place.  "*You* may not find me attractive, but then you get turned
on by dirty, hairy beast women and bug-girls named Bambi."  She rolled
her eyes at herself in the mirror and swept her still-perfect hair behind her
ear.  "And stupid detectives from small towns."  Asshole.

She pulled on a pair of strappy white high-heeled sandals, and then,
following a touch-up of her lipstick and a thicker coat of eye makeup, she
grabbed her keys and purse and slammed the door behind her.  Where was
the nearest bar?  There was Hooligan's down the road.  Too trendy.  She
wanted someplace dark and sleazy where she could pick up a handsome
hunk of meat without an IQ.  She smiled as the engine turned over.  "The
Snake Pit, it is."

                                                     *****


Mulder stumbled into his apartment, wearily kicking off his running shoes
and hurtling ungracefully onto the couch.  He knew he needed to shower,
but for now he was too tired, for now he was content to just sit and stew in
his sweat and stink.  Without moving his ass from the couch, he grabbed
the remote and turned on the TV, then started up the porn flick waiting in
his VCR.  As he watched the mind-blowing sex on screen, however, he
found himself, as he had all too often of late, imagining himself and Scully
in a similar situation, legs intertwined, flesh against flesh, her flushed face
as she gasped beneath him...

Goddamn, Mulder! he admonished himself.  You are still pissed off at this
woman, remember?  He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

Lately, he either wanted to kill Dana Scully or fuck her brains out.  The
latter would arguably be more pleasurable, but he had a feeling it would
also have more repercussions.

He scratched his head as the dried sweat began to itch.

I really, really, need to get laid, he thought.

The limp dick comment hadn't even bothered him all that much -- after all,
*he* knew it wasn't true, even if Scully wasn't privy to that particular jewel
of knowledge.

"This woman's death has nothing to do with me!"

The statement echoed in his brain suddenly.  Now, that *had* bothered
him.  Why was she so obstinate about that subject?  With the evidence right
in front of her, why couldn't she admit that that young girl lying on a slab in
the morgue could have had the same abduction experience as Scully
herself?  Was she that dense?

Or that afraid?

He pushed the thought aside, simply because he didn't feel like letting
anything diminish his anger toward his partner.  Instead he headed for the
shower, and once he was standing beneath the hot rain from the Massage
Master showerhead he was able to relax a little.  He worked up a healthy
lather with the soap, rubbing the suds over his lean, muscled body, trying
to wash away the day's events as if they were a thin layer of dirt.  Gonna
wash that bitch right outta my hair...

"Open your eyes, dammit!"

"They are open, Mulder, and looking straight at evidence that you
conveniently ignore because it isn't consistent with your paranoid
delusions."

Shit!  Get out of my head! he mentally screamed at his partner.  This is the
*last* thing I want to be thinking about while I'm naked.

He toweled himself off and stepped out of the shower, then walked naked
into the bedroom, enjoying the cool feel of air conditioning playing softly
against his bare skin.  He carelessly threw on a pair of denim shorts, a black
t-shirt, and his black Converse high-tops, and then he was out the door,
eager to just drive into the summer night, to get out of his apartment, to
escape persistent dark thoughts about a certain maddening redhead.

  
                                                     *****


The Snake Pit was aptly named, Scully decided.  Loud, grinding music
seeped out from the dark, smoke-hazed windows and iron-barred front
door.  Twin muscle-bound bouncers stood guarding the entrance.  With a
sigh, Scully twisted the rearview mirror down to her face.  From behind a
thick layer of eyeliner and black lashes she looked at herself.  What was she
doing?  She didn't really want to go in there, did she?  She didn't really
want to get hopelessly drunk on bad scotch and pick up a tattooed jock
who couldn't even get his high school equivalency . . . she just wanted
Mulder to think she had.

This acknowledgment disturbed her even more.  Why did she *care* what
he thought?  After all, this was the man who believed she'd been abducted
by little green men.  Grey men.  Whatever.

Without a second thought, she shifted the car out of park, cranked up her
Harry Connick, Jr. tape, and slammed on the gas.  She decided to stick to
something she felt more comfortable with.  Something that may not
impress Mulder, but fuck Mulder -- he wasn't there.  "I wouldn't fuck you if
you were the last woman on earth."   Bastard.  He should be so lucky.

When the car stopped again she was in the Blockbuster Video parking lot. 
"This is so pathetic.  I have driven underwear-less to a video store," she
whined, and slumped her head forward on the steering wheel.  "God, I
should be shot.  What the hell is the matter with me?"  Nothing.  Nothing
was the matter with her.  It was Mulder.  He'd finally driven her crazy.  She
was so wound up from their fight that day that she'd abandoned all sensible
reason and was giving it up emotionally to the stress.  She sat up in the seat
and forced herself to take in a deep breath. 

The thing that bothered her the most about the fight was the way it had
ended.  She had really thought he was going to hit her.  So much so that
she had raised her left hand above her face in defense while her right went
to her lower back where she normally kept her weapon.  Luckily, her gun
was locked up in her desk while she was doing the autopsy, otherwise she
would have pulled it on him, in reflex.  (I would have pulled my gun on
MULDER!)  Of course, he probably wasn't even going to touch her (in
hindsight it was more likely that he was going for his cellular that he'd left
on the small cabinet above her head), but at the time she'd felt the
instinctive necessity to defend herself.  (Defend myself against MULDER? 
He's my PARTNER for Chrissake!)  God, if she had. . ..

It was bad enough that she had *reacted* like he was going to hurt her. 
The look in his eyes had gone from anger to shock to something like hurt
and grief.  Then he had backed away from her slowly and left the room. 
But not before hissing, "I'm pulling you off this case as of this moment. 
Clean up and go home."

She had been stunned by that response.  "You . . . you can't do that!"

"As department head, I can.  I did.  You're off it."

"You're pulling rank?"

"That's what it looks like."

"Asshole."

"Bitch."

She yanked the seat belt out of its clasp and threw the car door open.  As
long as she was at the video store, she might as well pick up a few movies
for the weekend.  After all, it wasn't like she had anything else to do.

Scully strutted right past the children's videos, past the westerns, refusing
to even look at the sci-fi selection, and found herself in the middle of the
thriller section.  Her eyes slipped from one title to the next, not really
making any mental notes of the words she saw there; waiting for something
to jump out at her.

"Excuse me.  Is there something I can help you with?"  The guy couldn't
have been more than twenty, sporting a neatly combed haircut and a blue
Blockbuster Oxford.  "I could recommend a few titles to you, if you like?"

Scully noticed his brown eyes trying to work their way up from her chest
only to drop back down again.  "Okay."  She couldn't really blame him
much.  She was probably the best show he'd seen all week . . . unless, of
course, there were many women who walked into video stores in
skin-tight, white, see-through silk dresses.  Without any undergarments to
speak of.  God, she was really starting to become self-conscious.

"If you like thrillers, I suggest *Silence of the Lambs*."  His gaze never
made it above her clavicles.

"Oh?  Is that any good?"  She'd seen it twice and lived it on a daily basis.

"Oh, yeah.  That Jodie Foster, she looks a lot like . . . you."  He had to
swallow through that last syllable.

"You like redheads?"  What was she doing?  Flirting with a kid?  Was she
out of her mind?  It wasn't even a challenge, really.  He was practically
inside her dress already.  

"Beautiful redheads.  Like you."  God, he was transparent.  After clearing
his throat, he attempted to continue.  "Also there's *A Few Good Men* -
some people say I look like Tom Cruise."  

Scully smiled demurely.  "Really."  Not even close.

"Yeah," he let out a chuckle, "but then some people see Elvis' face in
potatoes, so who's to say?"

"Yeah." She turned away from him.  "You'd be surprised."

                                                     *****


Stone Temple Pilots blared from the speakers as Mulder cruised aimlessly
through the night. He slouched in the car seat, which had been pushed back
as far as it would go, and tapped the steering wheel absentmindedly, his
thoughts on anything other than the road stretching out before him.  "When
the dogs begin to smell her..." he sang under his breath, then paused as the
line conjured up some truly bizarre images of Scully.   Scowling as he
thought once again of that afternoon, he turned the music up louder, as if
that could somehow drown out the lingering echoes of their argument.

Nowhere to go, he thought sourly.  Nowhere to run, nowhere to
hide...story of my life.  He pictured Scully curled up on her couch, reading
a good book or watching an old movie on television, giving him no thought
whatsoever as she enjoyed an evening of solitude.  *She* wasn't driving
like a maniac on a hot summer night to escape the demons that pursued
her.

He let out a frustrated sigh.  That was probably unfair of him.  More than
likely, their fight was affecting Scully just as much as it was affecting him at
the moment.  If only they could talk things out...but he couldn't face her
right now, couldn't look at that self-satisfied face and mouth the words I'm
sorry.  Not yet.

"I am so sick of this shit!" he had yelled.  "For once, Scully, for once --" he
broke off, holding her eyes with his, demanding that she meet his gaze.  His
voice dropped, and to his utter embarrassment, almost cracked.  "For once,
could you admit that my theory might be possible?"  She opened her mouth
to reply, but he cut her off.  "I know you're scared, but --"

"Scared?  *Scared*?"  she had shrieked.  "You son of a bitch!  You have
no idea how I feel!"

"Maybe that's because you don't seem to have any feelings anymore.  Not
lately," he snarled.

But how much of that was his fault?  If it hadn't been for him, she never
would have been abducted, never would have lost Melissa...  Damn.  It was
the same old guilt rearing its ugly head.  Again.  He was so, so tired of it.

And that was when he had reached for his cell phone on the cabinet above
her head, determined to get the hell out of there as soon as possible.

And that was when she had flinched.  As if he meant to hurt her.  As if he
could *ever* strike her, lay a hand on her in anger.  That had been the last
straw.

He cursed a blue streak and put the pedal to the metal, driving for about an
hour without stopping.  Then, he was abruptly buying a six-pack of Foster's
oilcans at a Seven-Eleven and hopping back into the car, his purchase
nestled in the seat beside him.

But where to drink?  Should he head back home, drink himself into
oblivion in front of the TV?  Wake up sprawled on the couch with a killer
headache and a peculiarly foul taste in his mouth? Somehow the idea was
not very appealing.

He kept driving, trying to figure out what to do, and almost laughed aloud
when he found himself in front of Scully's building.  He hadn't even been
paying attention to where he was driving; it was as if some unseen force
had led him straight to his partner's place.  Great.  Goddamn it...

Well, no point in fighting it, right?  If some powerful and invisible force
wanted him to sit in his car across the street from Scully's apartment and
get wasted, then he certainly should, shouldn't he?  Wouldn't want to
offend the Powers That Be or anything.

The windows of her apartment were dark.  Where the hell was she?  What
the hell could Dana Scully possibly be doing out on a Friday night?  

He didn't want to think about what Dana Scully could possibly be doing
out on a Friday night.

He pulled over on the opposite side of the street from her building and
settled in for the duration, shutting off the ignition, unbuckling his seatbelt,and popping open a Foster's with relish.  I should wait here so I can make
certain she gets home safe, he rationalized.  I may be angry with her, but I
still owe it to her to make sure she gets home in one piece, after all.  Don't
I?

Yeah, that's it.  I'm just doing my civic duty.

Five beers passed.  Still no sign of her.  His brain was doing some
impressive somersaults, and at some point he had ceased to feel any
sensation in his lips.  It wasn't bad enough that she had
pissed him off, but now she was making him worry about her too?  When
she got home, he was going to give her a piece of his mind.  And she
would damn well listen to him, this time.

He was finishing off his last oilcan and trying to remember the last time he
had been so shit-faced when she finally arrived home.  His eyes bugged out
of his head as he took in the skimpy white dress she was wearing; but they
almost fell right out when he noticed the young, skinny, pimply guy with
her.  He looked on in shock, mouth agape, as they went inside her building. 
Together.  Minutes later, the lights in her apartment flickered on.

Holy shit.  Holy fucking shit mother of Jesus help me.  If she thought for
one minute that he would just sit by while she got it on with some...kid, she
was out of her fucking mind.  He got out of the car and stumbled toward
her building, only tripping twice on the way. 



                     *******


Scully flipped on the light in the kitchen and stared ominously at the
opened cabinet.  The wine glasses were already on the counter top.  It was
just a question of opening a bottle of wine and getting the party rolling. 
She closed her eyes and moaned softly, "What am I doing?"

"Everything okay?"  The kid was looking around, astonished by the sheer
attempt at color coordination in her decor.  

"Yeah, I was just going to get us some wine. "  She pulled the large, dark
bottle from the shelf and it hit the Formica with a dull thud.  It was the
bottle Mulder had given her to celebrate her last birthday, but they'd been
whisked away on a typically bizarre case before they'd had a chance to
open it. She'd been so hopeful then.  Wine was an aphrodisiac.  It said
something more than just a simple Happy Birthday.  God, so much had
happened since then.

"Wine?"  The awkward silence that followed his question was filled with a
nervous laugh.  "Don't you have something stronger?"

"Stronger?"  She watched him shrug and try to pull some suave response
from his over-anxious mind.  "Like what?"

"I don't know."  His eyes wandered from the dark circles of her breasts to
the flat spans of her tummy.  "You got any beer?"

"Beer?"  Yeah.  That's stronger.  "Maybe."  She opened the door of the
fridge and saw three green bottles staring up at her from the bottom shelf. 
That wouldn't be enough to get them both drunk, she reasoned, and she
knew she was going to need some help to go through with this liaison.  She
sighed and turned back to the kid, but his eyes were glued to her all too
tightly skirted rear.  Well, at least *he* was going to have the night of his
life.  She inhaled sharply to summon  her strength and then she bent over -
way over, far more than necessary - and retrieved two bottles of Heinekin=2E 
When she turned and handed him the beer, his eyes were bulging almost
as much as the front of his pants.

"By the way," she asked as she pulled a bottle opener from the drawer
behind her, "what's your name?"

"My n-name?"  He couldn't keep his voice from cracking.

"Yeah."  Scully slipped the lip of the opener under the ridged edge of the
cap and gave him a knowing smile, and in her best seductive voice, she
lulled: "I want to know what name to scream."  The lid flipped off with a
pop, and his body jerked involuntarily.  Scully knew she had him.  Hell,
she'd had him in the video store.  There was no conquest, no reward.  She
doubted he'd even be able to make her come.

The next second was filled with an eruption of knocking and yelling.  The
words might have been muffled, but the voice was unmistakable.

"Scully!  Open up!  I saw you go in there, so I know you're home!  Open
up!  Scu-u-u-ully!!!"

She peeped out the peep hole and watched a small Mulder with an
enormous nose trying to hold himself upright while every muscle in his
body wanted to give up the ghost.  "Mulder?  Are you drunk?"

"Damn it, Scully!  Open the door!"

The kid came up behind her and stammered nervously, "Is that your
h-h-husband?"  He seemed about to cry; his wet, wide-eyed look of panic
pleaded for a negative answer.

"Mulder, go home, I'm entertaining a guest."

Mulder scoffed, and the jerky movement nearly knocked him off balance. 
"What's the matter, Scully?  Couldn't find any adults to play with?"

In a fury, she threw open the door and pushed him backwards against the
opposite wall.  "What I do or don't do is none of your business!"  Her
anger subsided only a fraction as the surprised expression he wore turned
into an opened-jaw ogle.  In the well-lit hallway, it was plain to see just
what her skimpy dress didn't hide.  He froze.  And refused to blink.

His t-shirt was a mass of wrinkles, his hair was growing every which way,
and the rims of his sagging eyes were swollen and red.  Not a look that
Scully was normally accustomed to.  Not that she was complaining.  "You
look like shit, Mulder."  Okay, maybe she was complaining a little. 
But that was just for him.  Just so that he wouldn't catch on to how much
his stubbled chin was making her insides flip.  "And you're drunk."

"So?"

"So what are you doing in my hallway?"

Mulder's brow furrowed as he tried desperately to find a clearing in his
head that was big enough for a coherent thought.  "I was . . ."  In truth, he
was staring at her tightly clothed breasts. But in philosophy, he was
rescuing her from a big mistake.  Yeah.  That was good, now just tell her.
"Slut."

Scully's eyes widened and her jaw jutted way across the hall.  "What the
hell did you just call me?"

"Uh . . ."  Mulder tried to remember, but his knees began to shake under
the surprisingly heavy dead weight of his body.  

"Asshole!"  She thought about smacking him for good measure, so that
he'd remember never to cross that line again.  The line that defined their
partnership.  But at that moment, Scully couldn't even remember the last
time she'd thought of him as a real partner, and she simply turned from him
and slammed the door.  Only half hoping that he'd break it down and keep
her from having to sleep with Junior; who, incidentally, had been cowering
for the entire time behind the closet next to her front door.  Scully rolled
her eyes and muttered a biting, "My hero."

                                                     *****

Mulder slumped to the floor in the hallway.  He sat there for a while, trying
to remember why he was sitting there, when it occurred to him that his
upright position was entirely too physically and mentally taxing.  He let the
top half of his body fall slowly to the floor and stayed there in an
L-position, effectively blocking the hallway.

Slut, he thought sourly.

This carpet is the color of puke, he thought next.

Then he stopped thinking for a while.

When he woke up, it took a few minutes for him to remember where he
was, what he was doing, and why his back hurt.  Not moving from his
prone position, he managed to lift his wrist just enough to check his watch. 
As near as he could estimate, only an hour had passed since Scully
had slammed the door in his face.  Hopefully nothing...significant had
happened inside yet.

She has some nerve, he reflected through his alcohol-induced haze.  First
she's a total bitch at work, then she makes me worry about her, then she
wants to fuck some kid, and then she gets *mad* at me for trying to save
her from making a huge mistake.  He paused and concentrated, making
sure that he had the sequence of events correct.

Shit, if only he didn't want her so goddamn bad.

"Scully," he murmured.  "Scully.  Scully!"  His voice grew louder with each
repetition of her name until he was doing his best Stanley Kowalski
impression.  "Scul-ly!  SCUUUULLLLL-LLLLLAAAAAYYYY!"

He heard a door open in the hallway and made an effort to lift his head
slightly so that he could see Scully's beautiful face smiling down at him. 
Instead, he found himself fighting down a surge of vomit as a greasy, obese
man with a bulbous red nose and wearing a ratty tank top studied him
as if he were some rare insect.  

"Hey, pal, get the fuck outta here or I'm calling the cops," he rumbled,
twisting a finger vigorously in his ear.

Mulder nodded and attempted an acquiescent smile, but such subtleties
were beyond him in his condition.

The man shook his head in disgust and returned to his apartment. 
"Goddamn vagrants."

Mulder closed his eyes and tried to work up the strength and the will to
pick himself up off the floor.  Nope.  Not gonna happen.

He opened his eyes to see Scully staring down at him disapprovingly.

"Are you quite pleased with yourself?" she asked, crossing her arms and
raising an eyebrow.

God he hated that look.  He was vaguely aware that the kid had emerged
from Scully's apartment and was now slinking down the hallway toward the
stairs.

"Yeah, you *better* run, punk!" he yelled after the kid, full of bravado.

"Mulder, you amaze me," Scully said.  "Just when I think you can't possibly
get more pathetic, you reach a new low."

"Aww, Scully, stop your flattery," he slurred, drooling onto the carpet.

"Are you going to get up off the floor or do I have to get Sal from 4C to
do it?"

Mulder shuddered.  "I'll get up.  Just give me a minute."  It took well over
a minute, but he was eventually able to lift himself into sitting position. 
That was progress at least.  He chanced a glance at Scully, who was still
watching him with her arms folded across her chest.  It was nearly
impossible to not stare at her; not even when she had stood before him in
her underwear on their very first case had her body been so blatantly
revealed.  How did she get into that thing? he wondered dimly.  And where
did she buy it?  Bimbos R Us?  "Scully, that dress really makes you
look...tall," he cracked, grinning at his own astounding wit.

She rolled her eyes at him, clearly not amused.  "Get up off your ass and
inside so I can attempt to sober you up before you embarrass me and
yourself even more than you already have tonight," she snapped.

He blinked, trying to absorb the long sentence she had thrown at him. 
"Hey!" he said indignantly once the information had processed its way
through his barely functioning brain.  "I think I'm offensive by that."

She wrinkled her nose.  "You certainly are."  She spun around and headed
back into her apartment, leaving the door open for his eventual arrival.

"Wait for me, Scully..." he called after her.  "Wait..."  He somehow
managed to get up, but instantly regretted it as he fell against the wall from
dizziness.  "Whoa...stop the merry-go-round, I'm gonna throw up," he
muttered.  Scully's apartment, he reminded himself.  Get yourself into
Scully's apartment, and then who knows how the evening will progress?

Yeah, you've made such a great impression so far, he retorted.

Oh God, not only am I talking to myself, I'm answering, he thought,
panicking.  With new resolve he stumbled toward Scully's apartment and to
his great delight actually made it, although he had to lean against the
doorjamb for a minute or two to collect his strength.  "Couch," he
mumbled happily.  He threw himself onto it before he realized Scully was
nowhere to be seen.  "Scully?  Hey Scully, I'm home!" he yelled, grinning
like a dope.

She came back into the living room and he was disappointed to see that she
had wrapped herself in an oversized terry cloth robe.  "Here," she said
curtly, handing him a cup of something hot.

Instant coffee.  His stomach rebelled at the smell, but he forced himself to
take a sip just to make her happy.

"I know coffee doesn't really sober you up, that it just makes you a
wide-awake drunk," she said, sitting in the chair across from him, "but I
really think it does have some sort of placebo effect.  Besides, I want you
to be wide-awake when I ream you out for being such an unbelievable
asshole."

Uh oh.  This was going to be bad.

                                                     *****

Running a hand over her tired eyes, Scully sighed and leaned her head back
against the easy chair.  It was late, much later than it really was, and she
was exhausted.  And frustrated as hell.  And miserable.  And watching a
drunken man writhing on the couch like a roasted pig on  a spit.  If that
image were at all appetizing.  Which it wasn't.  "Oh, god," she muttered,"
I'm losing it."

Mulder was, of course, completely oblivious to her distress.  "Scully?"  His
voice was pathetically weak.  "Scully?  Do you really think I'm an asshole?"

Her eyes rolled to the back of her head.  "So we've finally gone back to
grade school, Mulder?  I didn't think it mattered *what* I thought."

She watched him struggle with her comment before he was able to offer up
a meager, "It matters."  He tried helplessly to sit up, but lost his balance
somewhere between the pushing his weight up with one arm, and the actual
seated position.  His arms flailed wildly, looking for some kind of support
and stability, but couldn't seem to find any.  He rolled onto the floor with a
resounding thump.

Shaking her head, Scully hauled herself out of the chair and peered down at
him, trying to decide if his situation warranted her aid.  "You're a mess,
Mulder."  

"Yeah,"  he gazed up at her from his prone position, one hand finding her
ankle and smooth calf.  "And you're a goddess."

"Mulder, get off the floor."  The last thing she needed was this incredibly
drunk (and easily taken advantage of) man to be hitting on her.  Man?  She
meant to say partner.  Dana, he's your partner.

"Why don't you come down here, Scully?"  His hand slipped up to her
knee.  "Does this bother you?"

Are you kidding?  This is turning my insides to Tofu!  "Yeah, Mulder, it
bothers me."  She had to lie.  She couldn't let him know the truth.  Could
she?  The truth that she wanted him naked and covered in vegetable oil? 
The truth that at that moment she was fantasizing that he'd hike her
dress up and lick her dry?  Dammit, Dana!!!  STOP IT!!!!

With a frown he let his hand slip back down her leg.

Without stepping away from his touch, Scully watched him on the floor,
the only movement the gentle caress from his hand -- and his rounded eyes
looking up her robe.  Let him look, Scully thought, it's not like he's ever
gonna get any.  Then his other hand grabbed her leg and she wobbled a bit
off balance.  "Mulder?  What are you doing?"

"Enjoying the view."

It must have been the look in his eye, or the half smile spread across his
lips, or possibly even the gentle rhythmic tickle of his fingers behind her
knee -- whatever it was, something shot a hot ache right through the center
of her body, releasing butterflies and fireworks in the pit of her stomach. 
She jerked her leg away from him, an involuntary response to the
excitement of the moment.  

He grabbed for her again, just as she was taking a step away from him, and
all at once, with her feet cradled in his arms, she lost her footing and came
crashing down.  "MULDER!"  

More than a few moments passed before Mulder was able to respond.  But
when he looked up, Scully was lying on the floor above him, her head
perched up on an elbow watching him as he dragged his heavy body up
hers.  Half laying on top of her, half using her form for support.  His
hands worked their way up her legs, over her hips, to her waist, to finally
come to rest on her lower back; his head next to hers.  

"Hello, there."  There was no smile in his voice.  Just a foggy desire from a
very tired body.  "I think I'm going to kiss you now."

Scully saw the seriousness in his eyes, and tried to tell herself that it wasn'tthe alcohol that was talking.  But then she felt his hand slowly slide from
her lower back to . . . well, lower, and she couldn't stifle the giggle.  Not
that she ever giggled.  But the silliness of the situation hit her and she had
to laugh.  Until his lips actually made contact with hers.  Then the humor of
the situation was completely lost on her.  

Without realizing she was doing it, Scully arched her body in to him, her
hands finding his head and holding it still while her tongue slid along his. 
She kissed him hard and fierce, like she'd tried to do with Junior half an
hour earlier.  But Mulder didn't panic the way the kid did, he didn't try to
crawl away as she forced him back and climbed over him.  He didn't choke
when she pulled his hands from her thighs and positioned them over her
breasts.  No, Mulder -- drunk as he was -- knew what he was in for.  She
was something he'd been dreaming about for a long time.

Without releasing her mouth from his, he slipped his hands under the thick
robe and worked it down her shoulders and arms.  She gave up for only a
second to toss it free, before she ripped his t-shirt up from his stomach and
forced it off over his head.  Her hungry tongue found his again, and her
fingers danced over every inch of his bare torso, desperate to know his
flesh on hers.

                                                     *****

Mulder could not believe this was happening.  As it was, everything was
blurry, vague, perceived through a fog of drunkenness that he now wanted
to cast off the way he wanted to cast off the rest of Scully's clothing.

Not that there was much left to cast off where Scully was concerned.  Once
the bulky robe was discarded, only a teal satin nightshirt remained, and as
much as he loved the feel of the satin against his skin, he wanted to feel her
naked flesh even more.

At least Scully was on top; he needed her to be doing most of the work
since he was incapable of anything elaborate at the moment.  Then all
thought escaped him as Scully flickered her tongue in his ear purposefully.  

"God help me, but I want you, you drunken slob," she whispered, her hot
breath making him squirm beneath her.

He didn't even attempt to tax his addled brain with a response, just tangled
his fingers in her hair and brought her lips down to his, breathing her in,
tasting her, devouring her.  He moved his hands to her thighs, sliding
underneath her nightshirt to caress the soft skin he found there.  Reaching
back even further, he squeezed her behind and was delighted to discover it
was as firm as he'd always dreamed it would be.  Almost frantic now, he
began pushing up the nightshirt, the need to see and feel her breasts
overwhelming suddenly.  She complied with his wish, pulling the satin up
over her head and tossing it aside.  He let out a contented sigh and cupped
her breasts reverently, experiencing some difficulty at first since he was
seeing four of them, thanks to his condition.  He blinked hard a few times,
and the image thankfully came more into focus.

He rubbed his fingers over her hardened nipples, squeezing them, caressing
them until she began moaning softly, her eyes closed as she gave herself up
to the sensation.  Then she leaned over, bending over him so that one
breast hovered directly above his lips, tempting him.  He took the nipple
into his mouth eagerly, sucking hard, dimly wishing it would dispense
coffee to sober him up further.  Scully let out a ragged breath and grabbed
the sides of his head, urging him on, grinding herself against him again with
a fervor he never realized she was capable of expressing.  Jesus Christ he
had to have her, had to be inside her, had to taste every last inch of her --

Summoning every reserve of strength and coordination, he sat up, then
pushed Scully gently onto the ground so that he now hovered above her. 
They both stopped momentarily, impressed that Mulder had managed such
a feat without breaking something or throwing up.  Then they went back to
kissing, kissing so hard he knew he'd be sore in the morning, in addition to
the massive headache already lying in wait.  But he really didn't want to
think about that right now, didn't want to ponder anything other than the
beautiful naked woman beneath him.

He sucked at the skin of her neck, drawing the skin in between his teeth
and pulling hard, determined to give her hickeys for all she had put him
through that day.  When her soft cries began to drift from pleasure into
pain he stopped and turned his attention to her pale, smooth body.

His mouth traveled down her chest to dwell for long moments on each
swollen breast, flickering his tongue over the nipples, nibbling gently at
them until she was once more gasping with pleasure.  He looked up, and
was utterly aroused by the look of pure ecstasy on her face.  Her eyes were
closed and her cheeks flushed, and she kept licking her lips in a way that
made him desperately long to feel her full, wet mouth on his cock.

But not yet.  He wasn't finished with her yet.

He placed soft kisses on her belly, tongued her navel, then traced a wet line
across the top of her sex before moving lower to press quiet kisses in the
soft curls there.

She was writhing beneath him now, impatient, wanting his tongue on her,
and he took great delight in causing such exquisite torture.  He moved his
mouth lower and breathed on her, his hot breath taunting her, until she let
loose a soft curse.  Biting back laughter, he gave in, sliding his tongue
slowly into her, then out again.  Her blissful sigh spurred him on, and he
placed his mouth full on her, sucking at her, lapping at her with his tongue,
drinking in the smoky taste of her.  He found her swollen nub and flickered
his tongue over it, teasing, sucking on it gently, then releasing it and
turning back to that honeyed opening that beckoned him, fucking her with
his tongue as he grasped her behind and pulled her closer to him.  Her hips
began to rise and fall as she gyrated against him, urging him into a steady
rhythm.  He opened his eyes and watched her, her head tossing from side
to side, her glorious hair spilling across the floor, framing her head like a
halo, and her hands squeezing her own breasts, twisting the nipples.

"Don't stop, Mulder," she panted, not opening her eyes.  "God that feels so
good...oh God..."

He speeded up his movements, taking that nub and sucking hard, working
it with his tongue to the rhythm she was setting for him with her hips.

And then he stopped.  He set her legs down gently and stood up.

"Why did you stop?" she demanded, indignant and breathless.

He grinned down at her devilishly.  "Because I want to finish this right." 
He unzipped his shorts, took off his socks and sneakers, and slipped out of
his boxers.  Unfortunately, the whole process took close to five minutes in
his advanced state of inebriation.  He never imagined the simple act of
removing clothing could require so much concentrated effort.

Finally, finally, he covered her body with his again.  He smiled at her,
drowning in those blue eyes that glittered back up at him with unmasked
desire.  Then he pushed the thought out of his head because the idea of
drowning was making him seasick.  "I've waited a long time for this,
Scully," he whispered hoarsely.

"Me too," she said simply.

He kissed her hard, then lifted himself up, grasped her hips, and --

Uh oh.  Oh, no.  Oh shit God no.  It wasn't possible.

He lifted himself off of her and sat down on the floor next to her
despondently.  

"Mulder," she said impatiently, "what's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, Scully," he whispered.

"Mulder, what's the matter?" she asked, concern coloring her voice as she
craned her neck up to look at him.

How was he going to explain this?  Justify this?  "It's, um....it's Mr. Bilbo."

Silence.  "*What* did you just say?"

"He's, uh, unresponsive."

More silence.  "I don't believe this," she muttered.  She sat up and knelt
before him, and he put on his best hangdog look in an attempt to garner as
much sympathy as possible.  "Come here."  And before his mind was able
to register what she was planning she took his cock into her mouth.

His eyes rolled back into his head and he leaned back on his hands,
gripping the carpet.  Oh mother of God.  Unbelievable.  Holy shit her
mouth was so warm and wet and she was doing it just right, firm but with
no teeth, running her mouth up and down him oh god...

And then she stopped to study her handiwork.  Still no response from Mr.
Bilbo.

She stroked it, she coaxed it, she talked to it.

Nothing.  Mr. Bilbo slumbered on.

He looked at her sheepishly, drunkenness now tempered with humiliation,
and steeled himself against the frustration and disappointment in her
glinting eyes.


                                                     ****

"Just what were you drinking, Mulder?  Muscle relaxants?"  She looked
down at the handful of flesh and sighed.  It wasn't bad looking . . . as
penises went.  But it just laid there.  And that wasn't going to do her any
good.  "God, Mulder.  It's just never right for us, is it?"

"Come 'ere, Scully."  He grabbed for her shoulders, probably with the
ridiculous notion of pulling her lovingly into his arms and cradling her. 
Telling her in words what he wasn't able to prove physically.  But she was
just too far away, and his eye-hand coordination wasn't at its best, and he
ended up face down in the thick tan carpet, fuzz up his nose.

"Forget it, Mulder."  She pulled her robe from the crumpled mass on the
floor and laced her arms through the sleeves.  "I'm getting used to sexual
disappointment."

"Scully!"  

"No," she said, as she tightly tied the cloth belt against her trim stomach, "itdoesn't really matter.  You're drunk and I'm taking advantage of you.  I
think it's better this way, anyway.  Technically we didn't have sex . . . no
penetration . . . so we didn't cross any forbidden lines.  I mean, the kissing
and...the other stuff was a line, but we can just chalk that up to mutual
comfort, right?"

"Comfort?"

"Yeah, it didn't mean anything."

"What?  Scully, listen to me.  This means something-"

"No, Mulder.  Just forget it."


                                                     *****

Mulder's head whirled.  Forget it?  Was she INSANE?  They had just been
lying naked on the floor, in the throes of passion, risking their friendship,
their jobs - not to mention a serious case of rug burn -  and now she
wanted to play forgive and forget?  Not a chance!  He wasn't going to lose
her this easily!  Where was the Scully that had stuck next to him through
the bad and the ugly?  Where was the strong, incredible woman, who not
two minutes before had had his dick in her mouth?  Her perfect, wet, hot
mouth?  She was in the kitchen pouring herself a glass of water.  Great.

"Uh, Scully?"  He watched her from his low perspective, his legs sprawled
in the awkward position they'd landed in, with no regard for his nakedness. 
"Scully, please.  Let me finish this."

A bitter, "Yeah, right," slammed him from the other room.  "And for your
information, Mulder, YES, most guys *do* manage to get it up in my
presence!"  She nearly threw the glass into the sink and stormed into the
living room, pausing only a moment to rip the Afghan from the sofa and
hardball it to Mulder.  "Mr. Limpdick!"

The world around Mulder went dark.  She'd been a good shot with the
blanket, and he was too ungainly to remove it.  He heard the door to her
bedroom shut tightly and several drawers in the room beyond open and
shut with resounding aggression.  She was pissed.  His thoughts floated
by like refuse in the Hudson.  That limp dick comment had hurt, and he
couldn't quite remember what the other comment was in reference to, but
he guessed that it was part of the fight they'd started earlier.  God, he could
kick himself.  Well, he couldn't.  But he really wanted to.

Scully.  Scully, please.  Don't shut off from me.  Not this time.  Not when
there's no going back.  Please, Scully come back in here.  Don't leave
things like this.  Too much has happened.  We can't walk away like nothing
has happened.  This isn't like before.  I've tasted you now.  I've felt your
beautiful body.  I've heard your sweet moans beneath me.  I can't ignore
that.  I can't deny it.  Us.  You.

The last thing Mulder consciously heard that night was the faint clicking of
her bedside lamp shutting off.


                   **********


Pain.  Oh God shit fuck pain.  Piercing pain drilling a hole in his head
methodically, persistently, uncaring of the agony it inflicted.  Mulder tried
to open his eyes, but they felt as if they were glued shut with the same
goddamn glue that kept that stupid construction worker affixed to that
stupid metal beam in that stupid commercial.  You've opened your eyes
every morning of your pathetic life, he told himself encouragingly.  It's not
that difficult.  One, two, three...

Big mistake.  Blinding light streamed in through the window, each sunbeam
lancing into his brain like a red hot poker shoved up the ass of a heretic
during the Inquisition.  And then there was the noise.  Clanging, banging
god awful noise so loud he was surprised his ears weren't bleeding. 
What had he done to deserve this?

The sound of Scully's voice keeping up a steady stream of obscenities in
the kitchen reminded him.  Oh yeah.  That.  It slowly dawned on him that
the racket was caused by his furious partner banging pots and pans around,
no doubt for the sole purpose of causing him as much torment as possible.

How was he ever going to be able to face her this morning?  Maybe he
could just go back to sleep and put off the inevitable a while longer.  He
closed his eyes again and tried to let blissful slumber overtake him once
more...

And a great crash and a scream startled him back awake, jarring him so
much he rolled off the couch in surprise.  "What the hell?" he whispered to
the carpet.  He could now hear, all too clearly, Scully yelling at herself in
the kitchen.

"Dammit!  Goddamn it!"  A muffled sob worried him.  Had she hurt herself?  

 He somehow managed to get up, holding onto the coffee table for support
and easing himself slowly to his feet.  He staggered into the kitchen,
holding his head to keep it from exploding, and leaned against the doorway
so he would be able to face her without the fear of his knees giving out. 
Scully was running her hand under the faucet, shaking her head and
muttering to herself.  "Scully?" he croaked, his voice thick with sleep and
filled with cotton.  "You okay?"

She glanced back at him, and he could *see* her stifle a cutting remark.  "I
burnt myself on the teapot and dropped it," she said stiffly.  Sure enough,
the glass teapot had shattered all over the floor, the hot water oozing over
the linoleum.  "I'll be fine."  She shut off the water and headed for the
bathroom, returning a few moments later with gauze wrapped around her
hand, to find Mulder still taking up space in the doorway.  She looked him
up and down coolly before pulling a broom from behind the refrigerator
and beginning to sweep up the shards of the teapot.  "Mulder, why don't
you just go home?" she said neutrally.  "You can call a cab if you'd
like."

"Scully, I...I think we need to talk.  I don't want to leave things like this." 
He remembered the night before a little too well, and for once he wished
for a nice, run-of-the-mill drunken blackout.  But he remembered with
surprising clarity pounding on her door, finding her with that kid, and then
her inviting him inside, and then he remembered kissing her, holding her,
touching her along every inch of that tantalizing body...

And he remembered disappointing her.  He remembered all too vividly the
disappointment in her crystal blue eyes.  The same eyes that were now
looking at him with disdain and pity.  "Don't look at me like that," he bit
out.  

"Like what?"

"Like I'm some pathetic mangy mutt you picked up on the street corner."  

She sighed wearily.  Why couldn't he just leave her alone?  She was not in
the mood for this.  "Mulder, I just don't think either of us is up to this
discussion right now.  I know I'm not, and you look like you're about to
either pass out or throw up.  Neither of which I want you doing in my
kitchen.  So why don't you go home, shower, spend the day in bed, and
then maybe we'll feel like talking."

"I wanna talk now," he pouted.  At least, his brain wanted to.  His stomach
at the moment was desperately urging him to find the nearest receptacle
and empty its contents into it.  "I won't leave.  Not yet."  He wasn't even
sure what he wanted to say; he just knew he couldn't leave until he said it.

"Fine Mulder."  She swept up the remains of the teapot and deposited them
into the trash before whirling on him.  "You want to talk?  Let's talk.  Let's
talk about you barging into my apartment, drunk, butting your sizable nose
in where it doesn't belong, ruining my evening, and then getting me all
excited and leaving me hanging.  Is that what you wanted to talk about,
Mulder?"

He winced.  "Scully, I --"

"Or do you want to go back farther than that?" she asked.  She advanced
on him like a lioness on the prowl, and he found himself stumbling
backwards, his arms reaching behind him and flailing wildly when they
found no anchor.  

He did the only thing he could do under the circumstances.  He fell on his
ass.

Scully allowed herself a satisfied smirk before continuing her verbal assault. 
"What do you say, Mulder?  You're the one who wanted to talk.  Should
we talk about our little fight yesterday?  Frozen cunt!  Bitch!  Subordinate! 
Those words ring any bells???"

Oh boy.  This had been a mistake.  He regretted his earlier eagerness for
reconciliation, and now wanted nothing more than to bury his head under
the ratty pillow he kept on his couch in his comforting, private, smelly
apartment.  But damn, if she didn't look gorgeous, standing over him, her
hands on her hips, eyes blazing.  Sweet Jesus.  "That sounds a little
familiar," he admitted.

"Oh?  So you acknowledge that you were an asshole to me yesterday?" she
asked with a hard edge to her voice that brought to mind prison matrons.

"Only if you admit you were a bitch to me," he managed to spit out
through cottony lips.

Her eyes softened then.  "Maybe."  She turned from him and sighed loudly
at the kitchen.  "But you . . . "

"I what?"

"You bring out the worst in me sometimes, Mulder."  She pulled a few dish
towels from the drawer, tossed them into the center of the cooling pool of
water that was once her linoleum floor, and pushed the cloths around with
her toes.  "You get under my skin sometimes . . . "

Her words trailed off, and to Mulder's surprise, he found himself wanting
to hear more.  "Is that necessarily a bad thing, Scully?"   He added with a
cock-eyed grin, "You've been under my skin for years."

"You know what I mean, Mulder."  After a second of contemplating the
soggy towels, she turned back to her partner, her hands on her hips.  "You
want to talk?  Tell me why you really took me off the case?"  The pull of
her eyes locked with his kept him from saying anything except the honest
truth.  And this kept him silent for a long moment.  He tried desperately to
come up with some witty rebuttal, some whimsical quip that would lessen
the tension that was beginning to press on his chest and head.  

When his mouth opened, he had to concentrate to get his tongue to
respond.  "I . . . I . . . Scully, I thought you were too personally involved tomake objective . . .."  He shook his head and closed his eyes.  He didn't
want to see her beautiful face when he told her the truth.  "No, Scully. 
That's not the real reason.  I didn't want to fight anymore.  That was the
only way . . . I just wanted it all to go away.  I wanted things to go back to
the way they were between us.  Before things got . . ."

"Crazy.  I know.  Before Melissa."

"And my father."  Mulder nodded.  "Before they took you."

Scully's shoulders dropped and she sank against the cabinet.  Why did it
always come back to that?  Why was she never allowed to just forget that
three months had ever happened?  It wasn't like she could remember them,
anyway.  They should have been easy to forget.  But Mulder refused to
allow her that luxury.  What else could she expect from a man who was
obsessed with finding "the truth?"  She ran a hand through her hair and bit
her lip.  "So much has happened, Mulder, that I don't think we can ever go
back."

"And maybe you don't want to."  Mulder's eyes went wide.  Had he just
said that out loud?  Shit. 
Well, he reasoned, it was out there.  Now what the hell was he going to
do?  Scully offered no help in that department.  She just looked at him
expectantly.  "Maybe last night was a kind of warning that we shouldn't try
and pretend any more."

"Pretend?"  Scully crossed her arms tightly in front of her chest.  She had a
very good idea as to where the conversation was going, and the ache in her
belly told her she didn't want to go any further - rather, that she did, but
they shouldn't.  They were getting into dangerous territory - like they had
last night.  On the floor together.  Naked together.  Touching, kissing,
sucking . . ..  "Mulder, please.  We don't want to get into this.  Just go
home."

"I won't leave until we talk this through, Scully.  We have to be able to
work together, and we can't do that with things the way they are now."

His reasoning made some sense, Scully thought.  "Okay.  Fine.  Just put on
some pants, okay?  I can't talk to you when you're sitting naked on my
floor."

Mulder looked down and his heart jumped into his throat.  It was like one
of those nightmares where you show up to school, having forgotten to put
on your clothes.  Except this time, he really had.  If his body didn't hurt so
much, he probably would have slammed his head against the nearest wall
for being so stupid.  But as it was, he was in enough pain.  So he looked
helplessly around for any articles of clothing that might cover his newfound
modesty, but found only the Afghan that Scully had thrown at him  the
previous night.  He grabbed it with surprising speed and demanded,
"Where the hell are my clothes?"

"Oh, yeah."  Scully ran a hand over her eyes, "I forgot.  They smelled awful
this morning.  I ran them under the tap and washed them out in the sink in
the bathroom.  They're drying."  She tossed a sympathetic glance at the
man fighting to stand upright with a blanket clutched at his abdomen. 
"Sorry."

"Somehow, I think I should be the one saying that."  Mulder crossed to
her, and placed an apologetic hand on her shoulder.  She shivered beneath
his touch and he pulled his hand away from her self-consciously.  "I should
never have come here last night.  But I'm glad I did."

"Glad?"  Scully half laughed in surprise, and half choked in . . . what was
it?  Relief?

"How else would I have known how out of control things had gotten?"

Scully nodded in understanding.  "I didn't know you drank so much."

"That kid was much too young for you."

"How long had you been waiting outside my apartment?"

"And that dress!"

Scully stopped her train of thought and pulled the lapels of her robe closed. 
"What was wrong with my dress?"  Her voice rang out with indignity, but a
secret side of her was thrilled that he'd remembered.

"Nothing."  Mulder closed in the foot of space between them with his
body.  "But you were wearing it for the wrong person, Scully."

She saw his face coming dangerously close to her own, but she remained
still and defiant.  "The right person being?"

"Me, Scully.  Only me."  He kissed her lips gently with a brush of his own. 
"We have to stop pretending that a professional relationship is enough for
us."

"Do you think we're still pretending?"  She was breathless from that one
simple contact.  She wanted more.  She needed more.  "I think we've
crossed over the line defining professional relationship, Mulder."

"No we haven't.  Not yet."  He slipped his bottom lip over her cheek and
finding her left ear lobe, he suckled gently on it.

"Mulder, this isn't exactly professional behavior."

He interjected, "No, but it's not anything we can't walk away from, either."

Scully's hands found the crumpled Afghan between their bodies, and pulled
it away from them, allowing it to puddle on the floor.  "We can still walk
away from this?"  Her voice was tight with the desire that was coursing 
through her veins. He pressed his pelvis against her and his left knee worked 
its way between hers, prying her legs apart.

"Most certainly."  He gasped as he found her mouth again and pressed his
hot lips against it.  "You just say the word, Scully."

"Need I remind you,"  she mumbled as her hands kneaded his firm bottom
like stiff clay, "that last night you had your mouth between my legs?"

"No need, Scully, but I'm glad you did."  He lifted his head to allow her to
kiss down his neck.  The intense sensation of her hands on his bare ass,
pulling and squeezing, became his primary focus.  "I could also remind you
of the same thing, you know."

"Oh god."  Scully breathed in sharply at the memory, and the smell of him
filled her nostrils and her mind. She swallowed hard.  Mulder wasn't having
the same problem that he had had last night.  She could feel quite clearly
his rigidness pressing and rubbing against the terry cloth on her stomach. 
With one movement she pulled him more firmly against her, then she
released his bottom and fumbled for the belt at her waist.  The robe fell
from her shoulders in a pile on the counter top.  

Mulder gasped at the sight before him.  Not a beautiful teal satin nighty this
time.  Not a dainty piece of negligee.  No,  this was Scully in her basic
form.  Her perfect breasts, tips already tense in anticipation, lay bare to
him.  Her flat, white stomach stretched before him.  Scully leaned farther
back against the counter top, waiting for Mulder to recover and touch her. 
But his hands didn't seem to know what to touch first and his mouth hung
open in amazement.  

"Mulder?"  His eyes lifted from her body to meet her gaze.  "I have to
know.  Are you sure you want to do this?"

His face marbleized at the question.  "What . . .?  You take off your clothes
and ask me a question like that?!"

"Because I know what I want.  But I need to be sure that you won't have
any regrets later.  After all, you were drunk off your ass last night when we
started this.  I wasn't.  I just want you to be sure."

Mulder kissed her in way of an answer.  And to his complete delight, she
kissed him back.  His hands found their place on her hips and he lifted her
up onto the low counter, her legs falling to either side of his thighs.  "I'm
sure, Scully.  Let's cross that line."

"Already there, Mulder," she whispered.  

He leaned in and kissed her, gently, leisurely, contrasting the frantic desire
of the night before.  She returned the kiss fully, arching her neck up to
press her lips firmly against his, her tongue slipping inside his mouth to
caress him.

Mulder found that his head was clearing now, now that he had something
so important to focus on.  The nausea was receding and the pounding in his
head was now supplanted by the pounding in his veins, in his heart, in his
cock.  His entire world had narrowed down to the woman beneath him, the
woman who was now reaching behind him to clutch at his ass again,
squeezing it firmly.  He chuckled in the back of his throat and pulled his
mouth away from hers, so that he could take one of those tempting rosy
nipples between his teeth and pull on it gently.

She hissed, a sharp intake of breath, and dug her nails into the soft flesh of
his buttocks.  He jerked involuntarily, his cock brushing against her inner
thigh as he did so.  Oh boy.  That did it.  So much for foreplay.

"Mulder," she said entreatingly, understanding, "just do it.  Now."  

Thank God she was as anxious as he was.  He pulled her a little closer to
him, still allowing the bulk of her weight to rest on the counter top.  She
impatiently reached down and grasped him firmly, then guided him inside
of her.

Oh shit.  Oh Jesus fucking God oh damn oh God she was so hot and wet
and tight and oh man he was going to lose it...  He forced himself to resist
the urge to spend himself immediately and began to move inside of her,
slowly at first, easing them both into it, and then speeding up the rhythm
until Scully's ass was ramming against the edge of the counter with each
thrust, and he knew it had to be hurting her, but she didn't complain.  Far
from it.

"Oh God...oh Mulder," she panted, her face flushed, just as he had always
imagined it would be, her eyes closed with pleasure.  "Harder, harder,
harder..."  Her voice faded with each repetition, until he could barely hear
her.  He complied, gripping her hips firmly and stepping up the tempo.  She
tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his head down to hers, then kissed
him, hard, sucking and biting on his tongue until he almost groaned with
pain.  He slipped one hand up to her breast, finding the nipple and pinching
it, rolling it between his fingers as he continued to pump into her.

Suddenly Scully let go of his hair and reached back to grasp the bottom of
the kitchen cabinet behind her.  She slipped forward a little, taking him in
even deeper, as she allowed gravity to do some of the work, and clung to
the underside of the cabinets for dear life.  He dimly wondered in the back
of his mind just how they were managing to make this position work.  Shit,
who cared?  He leaned in to kiss her chest, to suck on the nipples, to slide
his tongue up and down her torso.  "Scull...Dana...oh god..."  He didn't
know what the hell to call her.  "You're driving me crazy."

Her response was to open her eyes and look straight at him.  "Faster,
Mulder," she whispered hoarsely.

And then he was thrusting into her, harder, faster, harder, faster, until he
felt the familiar pressure building inside of him.  He began to stroke Scully
purposefully above the hot spot where they were joined, hoping to speed
her release so that he wouldn't finish too soon for her.  

It worked.  She let out a cry and released her grip on the cabinet, falling
forward and almost knocking him over.  He held onto her behind and
thrusted a few more times until he finished himself off, groaning deeply.

Silence.  Mulder pulled out of Scully and eased her onto her feet, and they
stood there for a long moment, just looking at each other, each searching
for possible signs of regret or disappointment, and finding none.  Mulder
felt uncomfortable suddenly, standing naked in Scully's kitchen, his dick
wet, his head throbbing, and his gorgeous partner still shuddering slightly
from the pleasure he had inflicted upon her.

How the hell did we get ourselves into this? he wondered.  But it didn't
matter how.  There was no way he was ever going to go back.  Sensing
that Scully was sharing his unexpected and not all together unpleasant
feelings, he held his arms open and she stepped into them, wrapping her
arms around his waist.  He returned the embrace and buried his face in her
hair.  "Maybe we should fight more often," he mumbled happily.

She trailed her hands up and down his back.  He could feel her smile
against his bare chest.  "Yeah, but next time, we mess up *your* kitchen."

"You really want to do this in *my* kitchen?" he asked meaningfully.  Talk
about health hazards.

She met his eyes and wrinkled her nose.  "Point taken.  How about we just
settle for my bed, right now?" she asked throatily, pinching one of his
nipples for punctuation.

Bed.  Oh man, was she going to be disappointed when he passed out again
as soon as his head hit the pillow.  But then again, miracles had been
known to happen when Dana Scully was around...he lifted her up into his
arms and carried her into the bedroom.


End.


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