Eat it Too

Scully is pretty.

 

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

people would probably consider it an understatement. Most people

would speak of beauty, of radiance, both of which she's got in

spades. But the thing of it is, most women are beautiful by

virtue of being women. Not many of them are pretty.

 

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

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

They're a rare species.

 

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

standards. Gaunt, stretched bodies, dangerously underfed, tall

enough to reach my lips without standing on toes, any one of

them could have graced the cover of Vogue, walked a runway in

Paris.

 

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

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

my eyes, some of those poor girls actually had my nose, but

whatever it was all of them had something. All of them looked

like, no *were* me in female form.

 

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

every woman I've fucked could have been my sister. But as usual,

he would be wrong.

 

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

wasn't, as some might think, some twisted form of narcissism.

The truth of it is, when you hate yourself, there is no better

form of punishment than sleeping with people that remind you of

yourself. I saw everything that was revolting in myself in these

women and was drawn to it like a pig is drawn to its own shit.

 

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

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

and you can see the blade before she even takes it out.

 

It was easy to keep myself together with those women. I couldn't

lose control, lose myself, in all those hard edges and dulled

senses even if I tried to. Falling too hard was never even a

real option.

 

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

 

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

damnedest to cover it up, it shines through with blinding

clarity. The harshest suit in the world cannot conceal the

softness, the sweetness of her body. A clunky, ugly gun cannot

overwhelm the delicate, precise fingers holding it. And her

face, a face to kill for, to die for, to create and destroy a

thousand civilizations for, nothing could ever shroud the

sublime, untouchable divinity of that face. Even that awful

haircut she had a few years back.

 

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

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

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

write the sonnet to end all sonnets. Pretty is something every

sensitive soul on the face of this senseless planet is

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

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

of breaking it, shattering it into a million little pieces.

 

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

 

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

 

Maybe if I was something different this would be easy. Maybe I

would be able to say what I want to say right now and it

wouldn't come out all wrong. Maybe I wouldn't be afraid.

 

Today is my birthday.

 

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

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

with that woman?

 

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

understood what there was to celebrate in another year passing,

another 12 months closer to death. I suppose that sounds pretty

morose. I guess I am a big, clumsy, morose oaf.

 

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

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

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

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

for a few hours.

 

She remembered last year. Last year when we were celebrating her

life, her continuing existence on the planet. I think she knew

that I wouldn't have made it to that birthday if the sickness

had taken her away. So we were celebrating both of our lives,

our renewed hope in the future.

 

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

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

of her disease lingered there. But we chased the ghosts away. We

talked. And we laughed. I think she flirted with me. She did

that a lot back then. It was nice.

 

I'd like to do that again.

 

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

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

over the fact that we made it through this year. I don't think

the fact that this is the year I tried to kiss her is

particularly meaningful to her.

 

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

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

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

 

That's a lie.

 

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

hers. Either way, I understand.

 

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

medical conference in Connecticut, I wish that she wasn't so

damned pretty. If she were merely beautiful I might have the

guts to stop her, to tell her that I really want to spend this

day, this night with her, that it would mean more to me than

anything in the world and that *dammit* she should have

remembered my birthday. If she were merely beautiful, it might

not hurt so much to see her go.

 

xxxxxx

 

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

 

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

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

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

of something I've done. Or haven't done as the case may be. I

shouldn't like it, but I do.

 

There is something incredibly appealing, even sexy, about a

pathetic Mulder. And there is something incredibly exhilarating

about knowing how this somewhat cruel joke I am playing is

affecting him. The sadder he is now, the happier he will be

later.

 

I hope.

 

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

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

is someone whose presence I am all too rarely graced with.

 

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

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

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

he makes *me*.

 

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

 

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

morning run are strewn across the floor and couch and a bowl

containing rapidly souring milk and the remnants of several

fruit loops is sitting on the table. Cleaning wasn't part of my

plan but this really isn't the atmosphere I was hoping for. And

I have time. I left almost four hours early.

 

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

on the way here and start tidying up. I don't know what it says

about me that I actually smell the underwear he was jogging in

this morning *on purpose* but I'd rather not think on it too

much.

 

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

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

how hard could it be?

 

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

ponder it for a minute. Water, eggs, milk, mix, cook. It can't

be that hard. If Mulder's domestically dysfunctional mother

could do this then so can I. But the thing is, I've never baked.

Ever.

 

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

baking adventures when I was very young but it didn't take long

for her to realize that mixing sticky mush with a wooden spoon

didn't hold the same  appeal for me as rolling around in the mud

and making my toy soldiers beat the crap out of each other. I

think Charlie was the only one of us she managed to get anywhere

near the kitchen.

 

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

Even when I moved into my own apartment. I lived on pretzels and

cheese sandwiches throughout most of my twenties. I've moved up

to salads recently and occasionally a baked potato. Well, not

really baked. Microwaved.

 

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

really understand the concept of flour but here I am in Mulder's

kitchen about to attempt a full blown birthday cake. And not

just any cake. Mommy's birthday cake.

 

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

he is hypothermic. Strange that I remember him babbling about

this cake as we struggled our way back to that Snowcat being

that I was hypothermic myself at the time. I suppose it stood

out because of what it wasn't. Of all the things we could have

been discussing, the bizarre secrets we had uncovered, the fact

that Mulder had just been given the rapturous first hand vision

of a real life UFO, the fact that the last time I'd seen him we

were a bee sting away from a universe shattering kiss, Mulder

wanted to talk about the cake his mommy used to make for his

birthday.

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

I manage to get the ingredients into the bowl with a surprising

lack of disaster and start mixing. As the tedious process

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

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

ensemble of blue sweatpants and a worn out Georgetown T-shirt.

That's for cooking. I do plan on getting changed.

 

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

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

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

everyone dresses to impress other people to some degree, but I

have never in my life sat in front of my closet, considered

everything I own and asked myself, "what would he want to see me

in?".

 

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

 

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

purple tank top with spaghetti straps and the short little black

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

black stockings, the garters (well, you never know) all burning

a hole in my bag as I stand mixing, honestly, it makes me a tad

nervous. I think it might be too much. I think I might look

ridiculous. But unfortunately it's either that or the scum-wear.

Or something of his. That would be beyond ridiculous.

 

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

hooker.

 

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

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

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

by my apartment on a rare weekend afternoon when I hadn't

bothered to blow it dry, or do anything at all with it. It was

just hanging like a loose,  messy mop. The humidity didn't help.

But I swear to God he stood in my doorway gaping like a mental

defect for at least a full minute. "Curly" was all he said but

the smile on his face said it all. He liked it.

 

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

tonight is Mulder's birthday.

 

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

shower in Mulder's bathroom. Yet another new experience for me

today. I brought my own shampoo. His smells like shoe polish.

 

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

bucks thanks very much, I really marvel at the fact that I am

here at all. I'm not sure what's gotten into me. This gesture,

it's more than a birthday surprise for a friend. I know that.

Despite his relative oblivion, I am confident that Mulder will

know that. It's permission. It's an invitation. It's, go ahead

Mulder, finish what you started on a hot sticky June afternoon

that seems like a million years ago and simultaneously, like

yesterday. I wonder if I want him to take me up on it or not.

 

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

the way he acts tonight will tell me everything I need to know.

 

xxxxxx

 

Several hours pass in her absence. I make paper airplanes and

toss them across the room, pretending she is there to scowl as

one grazes the top of her head. I am a very pathetic individual

when she is not around.

 

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

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

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

out for a drink. Or twelve.

 

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

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

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

and almost laugh out loud at the figure standing in front of me.

She must have heard me thinking about her.

 

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

 

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

my hair, trying to offer some semblance of professionalism.

 

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

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

why she's here. I really hope not.

 

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

 

"What makes you say that?"

 

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

airplanes was my first clue."

 

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

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

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

not though, just honest. I know Diana still has feelings for me.

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

doesn't realize or understand is that the Fox Mulder she loved,

loves, thinks she loves, no longer exists. He died the day he

met Dana Scully. His soul, his heart, they are gone. They've

been replaced with the newer models, the Mulder models, and they

are owned. No vacancy.

 

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

favor for an old friend?"

 

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

many hours and keep me from having to return to my apartment at

all tonight and two that this favor will not involve any more

contact with Diana than this conversation.

 

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

need to do some cross referencing so I was wondering if you

could lend it to me."

 

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

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

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

subway to work this morning like a damned jack-ass. Forty-five

minutes of awkward attempts at conversation in hellish Beltway

traffic is a less appealing way to spend my birthday than alone

in my apartment. I was a fool to feel sorry for myself before.

 

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

asking me some kind of question and I manage to mutter several

non-committal responses. I used to cherish talking to Diana. The

way she would nod enthusiastically at every word out of my

mouth, her eyes gazing at me in adoration like I'm the fucking

oracle or something. Oh yes Fox, that's exactly right. You are

SO smart. That's JUST what I think. How comforting that was, how

safe. And now, I realize, how insufferably boring. I'm about

ready to doze off right here. If Scully were here she would be

keeping me focused. When did I become utterly unable to function

in any kind of social situation without her?

 

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

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

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

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

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

in fact a blatant bastardization of what I want. It's wrong

because I know, I just know that Scully would not be happy about

it. Or maybe I'm just telling myself that she would be upset.

Maybe she wouldn't give a rat's ass. But either way, I feel

strangely and unnervingly guilty.

 

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

drink?"

 

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

wonder how I would feel if I actually wanted to go out for

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

 

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

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

to rain. Doesn't she know? Doesn't she understand? How much more

obvious could it possibly be?

 

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

 

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

and smiles at me after that and I feel my jaw clench in panic. A

gesture she would not recognize. Scully would see it and laugh.

 

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

screaming to the heavens. Why does Diana remember my fucking

birthday? What kind of twisted bullshit fuck up of a divinity

would let her remember and Scully forget? Scully I am sorry but

at moments like this, I cannot believe in your God. Your God

doesn't have this kind of a sense of humor.

 

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

been a long week."

 

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

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

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

Maybe she'll get the hint.

 

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

 

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

passes for a response and thank the God I just debunked that we

are almost at my apartment.

 

xxxxxx

 

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

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

minute that passes I feel more and more like an imbecile. Every

ten seconds for the past ten minutes I've looked down at my

ridiculous attire and flinched. I almost ran to his bedroom and

put on those revolting sweatpants at least three times.

 

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

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

pulling it back into a bun with some curly tendrils hanging down

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

head more times than I can count.

 

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

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

quite some time. The 38 candles stuck around the perimeter are

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

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

 

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

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

him early if anything. Not almost an hour late.

 

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

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

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

on their birthdays. How arrogant of me to assume that because I

made myself unavailable he would come home and sit alone all

night mourning my absence. He could have gone anywhere.

 

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

cake and his present and a note apologizing for playing such a

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

himself.

 

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

there are goose bumps forming up and down my exposed arms and

shoulders. Not to mention the lewd effect the temperature has on

my nipples. Good call not wearing a bra, doc. I look like a damn

slut.

 

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

He's gonna think *this* is the joke. I fucking hate garters.

What the hell was I thinking?

 

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

more minutes I hear something outside. Footsteps outside the

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

voices. As in more than one. As in two people. As in he is not

alone. It's worse than I considered possible. He is not alone.

 

xxxxxx

 

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

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

staggering vision of everything beautiful AND pretty in the

entire world standing in my living room. You remembered. Oh God

Scully, did you ever.

 

And for a moment I am so rapturously happy and astounded that I

forget.

 

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

shyly and shrugs.

 

"Happy Birth...day."

 

She struggles on the last syllable and her eyes leave mine and

fix on a spot somewhere behind me. Her genuine smile falls but

only for a fraction of a second. It is replaced by a phony

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

a short deep breath and the phony smile actually starts to look

more like a grimace. Something is wrong. No one else would

notice but something is bothering her. What could it...

 

Oh. Oh God. No.

 

"Hello Diana."

 

"Dana."

 

No. No. No.

 

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

arm. It's the hand of death.

 

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

her face. Her face, her pretty sad face, still smiling. I can't

move. Or think. Or talk. This is a fucking nightmare. I think my

jaw is still hanging open but I can't even feel it anymore.

 

She clears her throat and laughs nervously once. Then she picks

up a large canvas bag sitting next to the table and smiles that

same grizzly smile.

 

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

eyes now focused on the spot behind me where Diana just was. She

walks past me towards the door while my mind screams in anguish,

DON'T GO DON'T GO DON'T GO and my body remains planted to the

ground like some kind of zombie.

 

When I hear the doorknob I turn around violently, realization

and coherence slowly dawning.

 

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

 

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

are going to give at any second.

 

She pauses only for a moment before opening the door and

mumbling "Yeah, yeah I do."

 

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

something. Anything.

 

"Scully!"

 

She turns around and crosses her arms over her chest defensively

and smiles sickly. Somehow my legs manage to get me to her. When

I am facing her my arms tingle with the need to reach out and

grab her.

 

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

 

While I stammer she reaches into her shoulder bag and pulls out

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

other hand places the box in my palm. And she's still smiling

folks.

 

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

 

The elevator doors open and she slips inside. No. No, it's not

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

close. Why am I in slow motion while she is in fast-forward?

What could, for all I know, be moments later, I slam my fist

purposelessly against the closed elevator door.

 

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

 

Quick save Spooky.

 

Crap.

 

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

Just sitting on my fucking couch. What the fuck is that? The

sight of her and her genuine smile fill me with such rage and

animosity right now that I have to work at suppressing violence.

I have to remind myself. This isn't her fault. This is me. All

me.

 

"Everything okay Fox?"

 

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

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

and get this woman the hell out of here.

 

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

trouble."

 

There. Top drawer. Thank God.

 

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

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

 

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

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

 

"Go Diana. You need to go."

 

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

of an oncoming furious outburst because she does leave then,

blessedly without another word.

 

Oh Scully. Oh God. What have I done?

 

I walk aimlessly towards the fire from the candles and standing

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

came in I was so mesmerized by her, nothing else seemed to

exist. But this was here. She made this. She fucking made this.

For me. I don't even know how the fuck she knew...

 

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

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

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

the flames so I take them one by one between my thumb and

forefinger, numb to whatever pain this act might be inflicting.

 

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

still clutching the small box she handed to me and despite my

better judgment I choose this moment to open it.

 

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

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

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

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

must have had it made.

 

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

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

inscription on the back.

 

M-

I hear this is how they tell time on Reticulan.

-S

 

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

love you so much Scully.

 

xxxxxx

 

I never really considered that I might have to wear this absurd

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

sickening gaze of any man but Mulder in this outfit. But my

sweats are still in his bedroom and there is no way in HELL I'm

going back for them so I'm forced to walk into Tom's, the diner

across the street from Mulder's apartment, looking more like a

ten-dollar hooker than an FBI agent. Of course I am the only

woman in the place and several of the seedy looking male patrons

leer at me as I walk to the back of the room.

 

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

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

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

breasts as he writes coffee down on his little pad.

 

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

had something once. Maybe it made him happy. Maybe he could

still be happy. Maybe she could bring him something of the life

he wants and I should just get the hell out of his way already.

 

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

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

 

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

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

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

have known. I should have seen this coming. Hell, I did see it

coming. When I first met her I just knew, that's the kind of

woman who could really help him, relate to him, maybe understand

him in ways I couldn't, maybe not hold him back. I wonder if his

life would be the pit of misery it is if she'd never left and

I'd never come.

 

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

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

her.

 

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

hoping the burn will sear away the cold inside me. I stare at

the window of his apartment. The shades are drawn but I can see

the light. I am waiting for that light to go out. If it does and

she still hasn't left I will go home.

 

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

into my head and I feel like I might vomit.

 

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

door of Mulder's building and down the street towards a car. It

takes a minute for me to realize that she is actually leaving.

And another minute for me to realize that I don't even care.

 

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

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

tonight and that's really the point. Even if he turned to her in

desperation because he thought I wasn't going to be around, hell

in a way that makes it even worse. It just doesn't matter. I

don't think anything could make this better.

 

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

through his blathering and the panic and misery on his face that

Mulder was upset by this whole episode and my automatic instinct

is to go over there and comfort him. How pathetic is that I

wonder?

 

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

better.

 

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

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

indefinitely but some masochistic part of me is keeping me in

this run down diner.

 

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

agonizing minutes.

 

Twenty more.

 

I wonder what the hell I am waiting for.

 

Disgusted with myself even further I ask the waiter for my bill.

It's time to go now.

 

The sound of my cell phone breaks through the relative silence

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

ring.

 

"Scully."

 

There is no response.

 

"Hello."

 

Nothing.

 

"Hello?"

 

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

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

sigh.

 

"Mulder, what is it?"

 

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

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

all..."

 

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

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

 

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

 

He is completely silent again for a long time.

 

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

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

the cake. Nobody's ever done anything like this for me in my

life and I..." he breaks off into a sob and I listen to him

crying openly and quite noisily for a minute or two.

 

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

on besides my own lingering embarrassment.

 

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

up with this?

 

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

birthday with you. Please."

 

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

 

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

Scully...I'm so sorry."

 

He starts hiccuping and sniffling again and I shake my head in

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

Scully."

 

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

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

orgasm in your mouth...

 

"I'll be right over."

 

xxxxxx

 

I guess I should probably put some clothes on.

 

No matter what Scully had in mind when she came here tonight, I

don't think she'd be particularly happy if I answered the door

butt naked.

 

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

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

in the garbage can. Some of it splattered onto my clothes so I

took them off and threw them in the garbage can too. I was in

kind of a state.

 

I'm much better now.

 

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

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

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

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

anymore but for some reason I still am.

 

Instead of getting dressed I find myself idiotically bouncing a

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

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

*am* wearing, that amazing watch, and note that it's already

been about two minutes since she hung up. So that leaves about

forty-three minutes, add a few for traffic, lights, walking to

and from the elevator, I give it 50 minutes at the most. She's

gonna come back and she's gonna eat this cake with me and then,

then I just have no idea what's gonna happen. No frigging idea.

 

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

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

 

Maybe I should take a shower...

 

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

falls at my feet with a thud. Who the hell? If that's fucking

Diana again I don't think anything is gonna stop me from

pitching the postal fit I almost unleashed on her before.

 

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

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

 

"Mulder, are you there?"

 

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

 

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

would be kind of pointless considering that the embarrassing

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

fact that I am naked in the first place.

 

I look around frantically for something to throw on, anything at

all. Dammit, everything is gone. She must have cleaned on top of

everything else.

 

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

of jeans which I manage to button at least halfway before I hear

her in the apartment.

 

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

 

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

staring at me blankly. I stare back.

 

Remember all that stuff about pretty from before? Pretty does

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

what Scully usually wears. She always looks amazing. But that's

the way she looks in reality. This is the way she looks in my

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

apartment before I didn't even really notice what she was

wearing. Or her hair. God, how could I have missed it? I feel

like sobbing again.

 

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

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

it's too strange so I laugh nervously and so does she.

 

"How did you get here so fast Scully?"

 

She bites her lip and her eyes dart around the room nervously

before returning to me.

 

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

neighborhood."

 

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

her.

 

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

 

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

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

was to watch me. I feel an inexplicable stirring in my groin at

the thought and move a few more steps towards her.

 

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

 

"Mulder I wasn't..."

 

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

arm on her bare upper back and lead her out of the room. Her

skin is so warm. God it's just her skin up there. As she walks

in front of me I find myself staring at the bare back of her

neck. There are a few whisps of hair hanging down over it,

bright red framed against the pale porcelain. I wonder if she

likes being kissed there.

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

stuff it into my mouth she looks at me with startled curiosity.

But I don't really notice it much because the cake is so damn

good. Better than mom's. It's the best thing I've ever tasted in

my life.

 

xxxxxx

 

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

woman. How could I be expected not to drool?

 

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

own relatively innocuous. The fact that Mulder is wearing

nothing but a pair of jeans with the first three buttons undone

is the first and most powerful element. The shock of seeing me

yet again seems to have rendered him unable to button his pants

all the way. The second element is the fact that he is next to

me with a plate of cake on his bare stomach, laying back against

the cushions with his feet up on the table, stuffing food into

his mouth with his goddamn hands. Of course he has to lick his

fingers. The third element is the fact that he is moaning.

 

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

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

attempt at nonchalance.

 

"No forks Mulder?"

 

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

so good at.

 

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

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

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

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

look away but my eyes keep traveling back to it.

 

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

full. "This is soooo good Scully."

 

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

 

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

get a fork."

 

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

to the couch. His hand is sticky. He shakes his head and sits up

a little bit, turning to completely face me.

 

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

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

 

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

neutron bomb for all the specifics involved.

 

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

 

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

 

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

to my mouth. Our eyes meet and there is a challenge in his, and

a big grin.

 

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

Scully would do, ignore what he just said entirely and go get

that fork. I could do what feisty Scully would do and hit him

back with another suggestive suggestion that makes him forget

what he said in the first place. Or, I could be happy Scully.

That was the point of tonight after all. Mulder, meet happy

Scully.

 

Happy Scully smiles that happy smile and takes his wrist in her

hands, wraps her lips around the chocolate blob covered in white

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

surprising show of flavor appreciation, moaning ever so quietly,

chewing, swallowing, her tongue darts out to clean his fingers

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

 

I almost start laughing when I see the combination of

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

and take his long, slender middle finger between my lips and

suck the remaining chocolate from it. His own eyes slip shut and

he sucks in a shaky breath as I slide down the finger, taking

him into my mouth all the way, and continue to suck lightly.

 

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

actually pretty good too.

 

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

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

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

sucked Mulder's finger.

 

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

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

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

suddenly very self conscious.

 

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

obnoxious comment I know to be forthcoming. He never finishes

though, just starts eating the cake again.

 

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

 

He nods enthusiastically and chews. Then he stops moving all the

sudden and a small smile crosses his lips. He turns his face

towards me and mumbles through a mouthful of chocolate, "You're

pretty."

 

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

hinged so that I don't look like some kind of mutant who's never

received a compliment in her life but it falls to the floor

anyway. I take a deep breath and look away, unsure how to

respond to that. It's what I wanted him to think isn't it? Isn't

that why I'm dressed this way? I guess I just didn't think he'd

actually say it, that I'd actually have to say something back.

Why did he say it anyway? Is it that pathetically obvious that I

need to hear it?

 

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

table and turns to completely face me again. He looks very

serious all the sudden.

 

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

 

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

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

us, his legs spread in front of me, buttons still undone, icing

still on his torso and he's hard. I can see his erection

straining against the left side of his jeans. I bite down on my

lip and look away. "I'm sorry about that Scully. I should have

told you a long time ago."

 

"That's okay."

 

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

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

 

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

their own accord. I feel his hand under my chin lifting my face

to meet his gaze.

 

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

what we're looking for anyway?"

 

"Did you love her Mulder?"

 

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

pull back from his hand and look down again, totally mortified.

 

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

being comfortable, being safe, knowing what to expect. I thought

it was possible to love someone and keep something of yourself

separate, apart from that. But that's not what it is." He pauses

and touches my chin again. I am flooded with a strange mixture

of relief, embarrassment and excitement when he continues, "Is

it Scully?"

 

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

 

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

settling back against the cushions.

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

and rise and his tongue darts out to moisten his lips. His mouth

opens and then closes as if he was going to say something and

changed his mind. Then he changes it again.

 

"You want it Scully?"

 

xxxxxx

 

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

me would be, but nothing could ever be adequate preparation for

this. She looks at me and with a deep breath, bends at the

waist, rests her hand on the inside of my thigh and bows her

head. From up here it looks like...well nevermind what it looks

like.

 

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

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

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

touched there by a hand other than my own that I forgot what a

fucking sensitive place it is. She might as well be licking my

cock because I swear to God, it feels the same. I feel like

moaning, like throwing my head back and screaming but I just sit

there watching her without a sound as every muscle in my body

quivers like jello.

 

She does a thorough job as one would expect from a woman of

science, laving my skin clean long after the initial blob is

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

myself fall back against the cushions with a quiet sigh.

 

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

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

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

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

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

her cleavage, in the shape of a heart.

 

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

 

"Hmmm? Where?"

 

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

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

spot with the little heart freckle and deposit a sticky, white

drop over it.

 

"Right there."

 

She looks down and then up and smiles.

 

"That's a very good place Mulder."

 

Oh Scully, that is the understatement of the universe.

 

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

Scully has less interest in observation and lets herself moan

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

her mouth opens as her nails dig into my scalp.

 

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

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

situation makes me suddenly very dizzy and I moan myself.

 

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

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

hair and our heads are so close, just a few inches from kissing.

We are both breathing very heavily. I want to kiss her. I could

kiss her. I should kiss her. But even more than that, I want to

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

want this to go on forever. Once I kiss her, it will be over. We

will be rutting on the floor like animals in a matter of

moments. Not that that's a bad thing. But the more of this we

have, the better that rutting will be.

 

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

 

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

on you."

 

She chooses the spot where the top of my shoulder meets my neck,

another damn fine choice. I'm so glad I didn't have time to put

a shirt on before. This time, when she rises to her knees and

nips at my skin I let myself relax and enjoy it. I let myself

groan contentedly.

 

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

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

suckle that place for an eternity.

 

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

back and forth, putting icing on each other and licking it off.

It's like a surreal, beautiful dream.

 

After sucking on my nipple for a few glorious minutes and almost

causing me to abandon the whole tease plan, well honestly,

almost causing me to come in my pants right here on the couch,

she pulls back and smiles mischievously.

 

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

 

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

and with the other slowly starts sliding her skirt up over her

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

hose and her underwear and put it...oh God. Oh my God. I start

to sweat noticeably and that shaking thing comes back. Maybe I'm

not ready for this after all.

 

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

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

She's wearing fucking garters. Fucking crap.

 

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

gonna run out of icing pretty soon anyway.

 

xxxxxx

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

digging into the couch, into me. His whole body is shaking.

 

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

make him taste me. He wants that too. He is pushing at my calf,

trying to get me to open for him, to let him inside. I want it

but not yet. Not just yet. Because after all, it is *Mulder's*

birthday.

 

Exhibiting an extraordinary bit of will power I push him back.

 

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

from his brow and I smile.

 

"Sorry?"

 

"I guess I got a little carried away."

 

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

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

 

His eyes widen and he collapses against the back of the couch. I

can see the little mouse running through the little maze in his

big old brain, trying to find the cheese.

 

"Not my feet Scully."

 

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

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

and pushing the table away from the couch. I move to stand in

front of him and he looks up at me and swallows fearfully.

 

When I kneel between his conveniently open legs he sits up and

his eyes practically pop out of his head like in the cartoons.

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

gape turns to a grimace and then to a gasp.

 

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

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

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

it everywhere."

 

He makes a pathetic squeaking, wheezing sound and collapses

against the cushions again.

 

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

myself to say this was just a birthday present for you. I'll

consider this my Halloween gift.

 

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

all the way to the tip in one long stroke. Then I stop, move to

the bottom and do it again. The icing was slightly cool when I

put it on him but it's starting to almost melt from the heat of

his flesh.

 

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

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

face and he is looking right back at me, studying me, ever the

investigator.

 

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

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

almost suffering from the slow, torturous way I am doing this.

It's probably taking everything in him not to grab my head and

slam it down.

 

I swirl my tongue around the engorged, throbbing head, lifting

the last of the icing and his hand does reach for my head. Not

to guide though. He squeezes the bun that is still holding my

hair together with his fist and works his fingers inside of it.

 

He breathes out something that sounds like "homanuughh" which

may or may not be an actual word.

 

In one swift movement I take him completely inside, every last

inch and his whole body jerks violently towards me with a grunt.

I almost gag reflexively when he presses deep into my throat but

I manage to suppress it and relax the muscles.

 

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

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

Good. It sounds so good.

 

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

 

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

stroking them lightly as I increase the speed of my movements. I

place my other hand on his thigh, over his hand. He clutches at

my fingers so tight it hurts. My knees are starting to hurt a

little too. Oh God. I'm actually on my knees. I don't think I've

ever done this on my knees. It always seemed degrading somehow.

Not this time. I have so much control over this situation right

now it's laughable. Besides, it IS his birthday.

 

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

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

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

Man and his cronies listening to a tape consisting of nothing

but strange slurping noises and Mulder shouting incoherently.

They might think one of those blood suckers got him.

 

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

 

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

down on the floor with me sliding his legs between my own,

slipping under me and grabbing hold of me. I am straddling his

lap, my skirt now bunched all the way up to my crotch and he is

sitting with his back against the back of the couch.

 

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

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

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

his nose in my neck. I feel hot tears burning my skin. We just

sit there like that for a few minutes, rocking slowly, holding

each other.

 

Soon enough though I feel his hands under my flimsy tank top,

running over my bare back and he starts kissing my neck, licking

behind my ear. I run my own tongue along his salty sweet skin

and swirl it around the inside of his ear which causes him to

moan appreciatively and squeeze me tighter. I push myself down,

grinding against him and make my own appreciative sound. All

that remains between us is my underwear and he feels so good

against me.

 

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

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

him in a hopefully encouraging gesture. His hands come around

from behind me and slip under the front of my shirt, over my

stomach and slowly edging up. Soon his fingers have found my

breasts under the shirt and he quirks an eyebrow at me

questioningly. Gimme a break.  Like I'm gonna refuse this. I

just smile and press myself  further into his hands.

 

There's something incredibly exciting about seeing his huge

hands roaming around inside my little skimpy tank top. He seems

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

concentration as he strokes and molds me in his palms causing me

to whimper.

 

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

 

"Can I take it off now?"

 

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

material flutters to the floor.

 

xxxxxx

 

I used to think I was kind of good in bed. Decent, ya know, not

a love god or anything but good enough. I mean I never really

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

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

this, that it will be as natural as breathing but see, when I

get excited I breathe kinda fast. And seeing Scully practically

naked on my lap is pretty damned exciting to say the very least.

 

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

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

get glassy eyed and over stimulated just thinking about this

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

for her what she's already done for me tonight because she

deserves the very best that I am capable of giving. Which isn't

gonna be a hell of a lot if she doesn't get off my lap right

now.

 

I move my hands from her extraordinary chest and down to cup her

amazingly round little bottom. She's so damned curvy and soft,

perfect hourglass figure in miniature. I try to pry her up a

little bit to alleviate some of the dangerously pleasant

friction between our crotches but she takes this as an

invitation to squirm against me making matters a hundred times

worse. Then she starts running her hands over my shoulders and

kissing my neck again and I have to say something before it's

too late.

 

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

try something else.

 

"M...mmove uhhp."

 

"Hmm? Wha?"

 

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

picture. Thank you Jesus. I might make it after all.

 

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

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

ass in my fingers. She presses herself against my chest which is

a much more tenable situation for me. I suck on her voraciously

and she clutches my hair, pulling on it and moaning. God she

moans a lot. And every time she does it sends a pool of warmth

through my entire body.

 

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

otherwise happily occupied, and notice for the first time that I

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

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

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

tentative finger around from behind, down the center of her ass

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

her, or any woman really. Something like a growl. I can feel the

heat of her wetness through her panties and I bring a couple

more fingers down to join the party. I rub the whole area with

my hand in a gentle circle and she presses down into me

demandingly. Gotta love a woman who knows what she wants.

 

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

of her underwear. I'm astounded at how soft her butt actually

is. It's like a baby's bottom. But she's not a baby thank God.

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

 

I continue massaging her backside with one hand as I use the

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

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

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

her solid abs, to the side where her waist curves  in

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

 

"Ticklish?"

 

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

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

tickling her. When I flick my tongue into her belly button she

gasps and arches towards me. She's practically standing now and

her body is starting to tremble.

 

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

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

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

 

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

push her up a little more and kiss my way down that spot just

below her belly button. I think I'll refer to that as the magic

spot from now on. Then I slide down a little bit on the floor

and there I am, my face between her legs. Halleluhia, praise the

Lord. I press my entire face against her, breathing in nothing

but that gorgeous smell for a moment. Then I try to pull her

panties down from the inside and realize that we have a tiny

little problem here. Those garters are sexy as hell but they're

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

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

know how to get them off. But I'm gonna have to learn real fast

if I want to get her panties off. Unless...

 

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

desperation and impatience but manliness nonetheless. I hope she

doesn't kill me. Praying for the preservation of my life I reach

up under the garter belt and the scrap of a skirt that is now

more like another belt than anything else and with both hands,

pull towards myself really really hard. And nothing happens.

Well not nothing.

 

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

upon realizing what I am *trying* to do. "Smooth move Don Juan."

 

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

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

starts some elaborate process which eventually somehow causes

the garters to separate from the garter belt and fall down over

her thighs. The stockings manage to stay up which makes me

pretty happy and best of all, when I pull at her panties they

slide down over her legs and she steps out of them and kicks

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

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

couch to reach her.

 

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

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

think of anything right now except tasting her.

 

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

and one errant finger manages to sneak inside her, joyfully

plunging in and out as I lick her, hopefully, senseless. I was

right about this being perfectly natural. I don't even have to

think about what I am doing, how it is making her feel. I just

know. And not just because she is gyrating wildly in my face,

pulling hunks of my hair out, and humming like my noisy, old

refrigerator. It's more than that. I just know what to do. I

know her body instinctually. I know when to press hard, when to

flick lightly, when to move in slow, wide circles and when to

concentrate on one small spot and work it like crazy.

 

I guess I would have been more in keeping with the evening's

theme if I had spread icing all over her before I started this

but I'm really kind of glad I forgot. I would hate to have the

taste of her disrupted in any way.

 

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

bouncing on her heels. Practically jumping up and down. I'm

making her jump up and down!

 

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

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

the urge though because I know how little it would take. In fact

if I make her come like this that might be enough in itself. Now

that really would be something. No contact orgasm. Didn't think

that was possible except maybe in my sleep. But it's starting to

feel like a very real possibility.

 

Suddenly she pulls back away from my mouth and grabs my

shoulders.

 

"Scully? You okay?"

 

"I...yeah, yeah. I'm...I'm gonna come Mulder."

 

"Is that...a problem?"

 

"I wanna come with you inside me."

 

Before I can even respond to that wet dream of a statement she

kneels down and impales herself on my twitching cock. And then

she screams. Yes! I feel her around me, pulling and pulsating

and the combination of this and the sight of her body wracked by

orgasm and her face in the throes of rapture are enough for me.

But miraculously I hold back. I want to be able to watch this. I

want to give her orgasm my undivided attention.

 

xxxxxx

 

Wow. Oh God. Wow.

 

I wonder if I will ever recover from this. I wonder what day it

is, what planet I am on. All I know is that Mulder is

everywhere. His arms are tight around me, his shoulder is under

my mouth catching my ragged breath, his chest is in front of me

and his knees are raised behind me, cradling me, his mouth is

against my ear, whispering words that I don't understand, and

his cock is inside me, everywhere.

 

More detailed impressions slowly creep through. The feel of the

buttons on his jeans scraping my thighs, the stubble on his

cheek scraping my neck, the smell of his skin, the sweat, the

sex. Oh God, we're having sex.

 

Well we're supposed to be anyway. I'm supposed to be fucking him

but I'm just lying here like a dead animal. I can feel his heart

racing under mine and his words are starting to make sense.

Something about how pretty I am again. And beautiful and

stunning and gorgeous and...well, and so on. And then something

that sounds a lot like I love you but I can't be completely

sure. Doesn't matter. I know that much already.

 

I make an attempt at raising my head and surprisingly I can do

it without passing out. I look at him and he is grinning back at

me looking goofy as hell.

 

"Mulder..."

 

"Scully."

 

"Mmm...cake..." I lean languidly against his legs and reach

behind us. I pick up a small piece of the orgasm cake and bring

it to his lips as I start to move slowly but surely on his lap.

He takes a small bite out of my hand and moans as he chews. God

that man is sexy when he eats. The fact that I'm riding his cock

only enhances the effect.

 

He takes another bite, a huge one this time, taking the whole

piece into his mouth and his hands clutch tightly on my waist. I

trace his lips with my fingers as he chews.

 

"Mulder you feel so good. I can't even believe how good..." I

break off into a groan when he sucks my fingers into his mouth.

There's still some icing on them. I pull them out before he can

get rid of it all and smear it over his lips. Then I wrap my

arms around his neck and lean in to lick it off.

 

When it's gone he sucks my tongue into his mouth and so begins

our very first kiss. And what a kiss it is. Of all the ways I

imagined it, I never ever thought it would be like this. First

of all I always thought we would kiss *before* we started

fucking but hey, Mulder and I aren't the most conventional

couple to hit the sheets. Well, the floor. I also never thought

it would be so insanely passionate and so simultaneously gentle

and sweet. I kind of figured one or the other. Somehow we manage

both.

 

I keep my eyes open. Watching him kiss me like this is just

completely mind blowing. He is so very beautiful. The sounds he

is making into my mouth are vibrating through my entire body,

spreading their heat.

 

His hands tighten even more around my waist and he starts moving

under me, jerking up towards me. I meet his rhythm and we start

moving faster, harder.

 

I can't breath. I pull back from his mouth and lean against his

legs again, letting him take the lead completely, letting him

lift me up and slam me back down onto him over and over. And I

get to watch. The muscles in his arms bulge with the effort and

his face contorts into the most erotic masque of pleasure and

physical exertion I've ever seen. His head rolls back and forth

against the back of the couch and his eyes roll back into their

sockets.

 

He is chanting. Chanting my name with every movement. I run my

hands possessively over his chest and, as a wave of ecstasy

starts building in me, claw at him with my nails, marking him.

This belongs to me. Property of Dana Scully. Beware of rabid

dog. Will attack if provoked.

 

"Come for me Mulder, lemme see you come," I whisper to him. God

how I want that. I want to see it, to hear it, to feel it, smell

it. I wanted to taste it but I guess that'll have to wait.

 

"Mmmooohh...Scuh...ugh...ugh..." Soon, all he seems capable of

enunciating is ugh over and over and he is making me fuck him so

hard that it's starting to hurt a little but I don't care

because it's making him feel so good. I run my fingers over his

lips again and he takes them into his mouth, sucking and biting.

I feel his legs shaking behind me and his hands are digging into

my skin.

 

I feel him pounding inside me and the heat of his explosion

fills every crevice of my body. When he comes he calls,

"Scuuualloouu". Well, that's what it sounds like anyway because

my fingers are still in his mouth. But I think I know what he

meant.

 

xxxxxx

 

I finally took my jeans off. Big move I know. After a few

recovery moments Scully and I managed to crawl back onto the

couch and lay down. After a few more minutes we decided we'd be

a hell of a lot more comfortable completely naked. She showed me

how to get a whole garter belt off and I showed her that I

actually have legs under there. Her shoes are in good condition

but those stockings have runs the size of Monatana. We'll have

to buy her some new ones.

 

All the cake is gone and we are snuggled up under my blanket. I

am trying to figure out how to debun her hair and she is talking

about what we should eat next. She seems to be leaning towards

ordering a pizza. I have to say I've never enjoyed eating so

much in my life. This cake certainly wasn't as much fun when mom

made it.

 

"So what are you gonna make for Thanksgiving Scully?" I ask,

hoping this ritual becomes a holiday tradition.

 

"Mulder I've got a confession to make," she says into my chest.

"I hate cooking."

 

"Really?"

 

She nods and I hug her and bury my nose in my hair. She hates

cooking. But she did it for me. Because it's my birthday.

 

You know what? Pretty just doesn't cut it anymore. I've gotta

think of a new adjective. I'm not even sure where to start at

the moment. I think I might have to invent a word. Or maybe

there is one already. Scully. That's the only descriptor I need.

It means everything that there is. That sunset is really Scully.

That painting sure is Scully. Wow, that orgasm was totally

Scully. Yeah I think that will do.

 

THE END :)

 

Lemme know if this made any of y'all feel better about the fowl

one!



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