Title:  Ribbed: For Her Pleasure
Author:  Christina
Rating:  PG
Category:  S, MSR
Keywords:  Some angst, UST, Scully POV  
Spoilers:  None
Archive:  Anywhere, just let me know.
Summary:  Mulder hopes tonight's the night—but what does Scully 
have to say?    


Disclaimer:  The X-Files and its characters belong to Chris 
Carter, Fox, and 1013 Productions.  No infringement intended.

Feedback:  cryst98014@aol.com

Thanks to Triton for awesome beta.

Author's notes at end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ribbed:  For Her Pleasure
By Christina


Mulder's hallway
Friday night, 7:30pm

As I walk up to Mulder's apartment door, I check my watch, 
smooth the wrinkles from my jacket, and pull down on the hem of 
my skirt before knocking.  I'm brushing my hair away from my 
face when Mulder opens the door.

"Hi, Mulder," I say, trying not to stare.

"Come on in, Scully."  Mulder is leaning against the doorframe, 
shirtless, hair still wet from his shower.

"Thank you," I say, squeezing past him into the apartment.  "Am 
I early?"

"No, no.  I was just late getting into the shower.  I'll be 
right out."

I watch Mulder disappear into the bathroom.  I walk over to his 
fish tank and sprinkle some dried food for the two remaining 
fish when Mulder calls out, "Make yourself at home."

"Thanks," I return, smiling to myself.    I take in the pillow and blankets on the couch, the 
coffee table overflowing with magazines, folders, and take-out 
containers.  I'm trying to decide if I should tidy up a bit 
while I wait when the phone rings.

"Do you want me to get that, Mulder?"  I call out.

"No, I've got it."  Mulder hurries out of the bathroom to grab 
the phone.  I notice toothpaste in the corner of his mouth.

"Mulder," he intones gruffly.

I point at his mouth and then wipe away the imaginary 
toothpaste at the corner of my own mouth.  His eyebrows rise in 
a question, but then he gets it.  He winks at me and scrubs at 
the corner of his mouth with the heel of his hand.  I grin. 

"Hey, Frohike, what's up?" 

Ah, Mulder's techno-buddy.  I glance at my watch again.  I hope 
this doesn't take too long.  I'm hungry.

I go ahead and start picking up some clutter, trying not to 
listen in to his conversation.  As I'm bent over his coffee 
table, trying to make sense of the disarray, I can see him out 
of the corner of my eye.  He's still shirtless.  For some 
reason I wish he'd go put a shirt on.  He sees me looking at 
him and he's smiling.  

"Okay, what do you have for me?" Mulder says into the phone.

I pick up a plate and balance some Chinese take-out cartons on 
top.  I head for the kitchen, where I can get my bearings.  


I'm just a little nervous, I tell myself as I scrape the 
contents of the plate into the trash.  I'm not sure why Mulder 
has asked me to dinner tonight, but it seems we've been on a 
crash course towards...towards...well, I'm not sure *what* it 
is, but I'm suddenly afraid.  The tension I've been feeling 
during the week since he asked me, the strange glances I've 
been getting from him, it was all starting to feel a little 
*too* much like Prom Night all over again.

"I'm too old for this stuff," I grumble to myself.

I head into the living room to load up for a second trip to the 
trashcan.

"...really want everything to be—" Mulder sees me enter the 
room and he pauses.  "Hey, Frohike, can you hold on a minute?"

Mulder covers the mouthpiece with his hand.  "Uh, Scully, I'm 
almost finished here.  I'm going into the bedroom so I can 
dress at the same time."

I shrug my indifference but Mulder's headed toward the bedroom 
before I can say anything.  

I decide to do some dishes.  I take off my jacket, leaving only 
the silk tank beneath.  As I pass Mulder's bedroom on my way  
to the coat rack, I hear my name.  Normally, I wouldn't even 
think twice about this, but tonight isn't normal.  And besides, 
what could Mulder be saying to Frohike about me?

Jacket still in my arms, I migrate to Mulder's bedroom door.  
It's only closed halfway; I can see him inside, pacing.  His 
nervousness is evident and I can't help but overhear what he's 
saying.

"This is really important to me, Frohike."  He runs his hand 
through his now almost-dry hair.  "I think this could be the 
night."

  I inch closer, holding my breath, hugging my jacket to 
my chest.

"I know, I know.  But I've been thinking about it a lot now."  
Mulder disappears from my line of sight, the creaking of 
bedsprings tells me his location.  I continue to listen.

"I've put a lot of time and effort into this."  A loud sigh.  
"I'm hoping Scully feels the same way."

  I backpedal from the door, feeling the blush creep up 
my body.  Does Mulder mean what I think he means?  

Heart jack-hammering in my chest, I am afraid to hear more but 
I cannot resist. Gulping, I creep near the door again.

"It's been so long...Yeah, I got the large...Yeah, like I would 
normally get, but ribbed."

My eyes widen in surprise.

"You think Scully likes ribbed?  Mm-hmm.  I was trying to guess 
which color she'd like best, like that really matters, right?"



"Yeah, I know...whatever happens, happens.  But the waiting is 
killing me."

I run from the doorway, in a total panic.  I'm back in the 
living room, struggling into my jacket when Mulder emerges from 
the bedroom, dressed in a black turtleneck sweater and blue 
jeans.

I freeze, like the proverbial deer in the headlights.  Mulder 
frowns in concern.

"You okay, Scully?"

I stare at him like an idiot, one arm in the jacket, the other 
arm curled in front of me protectively.  

Mulder strides toward me purposefully.  "Here, let me help you 
with that."  Still mute, I barely contain the involuntary jerk 
his touch invokes as he helps me into my jacket.  I clear my 
throat nervously.

"Thank you, um, Mulder."  I'm tugging on my skirt, looking at 
the ground.

"I'm sorry I took so long, Scully.  I didn't mean to keep you 
waiting."  Mulder moves to his desk, scooping up his wallet and 
keys.  I let out a loud breath, thankful to have him out of my 
personal space.

"We'd better get going or else we'll lose our 8:30 
reservations.  You hungry, Scully?  I'm starved, didn't eat 
much lunch..."

I let him guide me to the door.  Mulder is still rambling about 
dinner and food, but I hardly hear him.  I walk ahead of him, 
anxiety seeping into my body, wondering how to deal with this 
situation.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Mulder's apartment
10:45pm

I don't know why I've allowed Mulder to lead me up to his 
apartment.  I could've said I didn't feel well, or that I was 
tired, or that I had to meet my mother early in the morning.  I 
should've just gotten into my car and left.

But no.  I never seem to take the easy way out.

Dinner was a blur.  My angel hair pasta sat like a rock in the 
pit of my stomach.  I drank three glasses of red wine for 
fortitude.

Mulder was unnaturally quiet during the meal.  Even in my state 
of anxiety, I was still able to notice this.  We didn't talk 
much.  We both toyed with our food and shifted nervously in our 
seats.  By the time the waiter finally brought us the dessert 
tray we were both ready to leave.

The drive to his apartment was even worse.  Mulder kept 
coughing and clearing his throat to the point of annoyance.  I 
wished I had drunk more wine.  By the time we pulled into his 
parking garage my stomach was in knots and my knees weak.

We're now back in his apartment and Mulder is asking me if I'd 
like something to drink.  I sink into his couch, nodding my 
approval.  As I hear glasses clinking in the kitchen, my mind 
is working overtime.

It was only a matter of time before we came to this juncture, I 
tell myself.  But I never thought it would be something Mulder 
would plan out.  I always figured the right moment would come 
along, we'd be in the right place at the right time, and it 
would happen naturally.  I don't know if I should feel 
flattered or manipulated.  Did Mulder really think it would 
happen just because he decided it would?

Mulder returns with two wineglasses and another bottle of wine.

"Do you have anything stronger?" I mumble.

"Huh?"

"Never mind," I say.  "Thank you."  

I take the proffered glass and sip the cool wine.  Mulder sits 
down next to me.  We sit in silence, drinking our wine.  On 
impulse, I turn to Mulder, startling him in my suddenness.

"Mulder?"

"Scully."  Mulder's attentiveness is unnerving.

"I know what you're doing."

Mulder's Adam's apple is bobbing convulsively.  "Scully, what—
wait..."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I can go through with it.  I'm 
just not ready for us to move this fast."  I take a huge gulp 
of my wine, trying to steady my shaking hand.

Mulder is trying to swallow, his throat making dry clicking 
sounds.  "But—"

"I'm flattered, really I am, Mulder.  But I never pegged you as 
the type to plan ahead like this.  Why did you have to involve 
Frohike?"  I practically jump from the couch, pacing nervously 
in front of him.

"What?"  Mulder is blushing furiously, looking around as if 
hoping to find somewhere to hide.  I continue my rant.

"I mean, is this some adolescent, frat boy thing?  I'm trying 
to remain calm here, Mulder, but I can't help feeling 
manipulated.  I really thought there was something more between 
us.  Do you really think buying a woman dinner and plying her 
with wine is the way to get into her bed?"  I'm done pacing and 
now I'm standing over him, hands on my hips, glowering.

Mulder recovers and now he looks both confused and angry at the 
same time.  "Wait a minute, Scully.  Just what are you implying 
here?"  He too stands and now he looms over me.  My nervousness 
returns.

"Oh, Mulder.  Don't play dumb with me," I retort.

"I'm not playing, Scully."  His eyes are burning into mine in 
total seriousness.  I stifle a harsh laugh at this last 
comment.

"What was with dinner tonight then?  The wine?  The strange 
behavior you've been exhibiting all week?  The phone call from 
Frohike?"

Mulder's eyes narrow at the last mention.  "What about the 
phone call?" he asks tersely.

It's my turn to falter; I can feel the heat blooming in my 
cheeks.  "Your door was open—I was hanging my coat up—"

"You were listening in on my phone call, Scully?  My *private* 
phone call?!"  Mulder turns away from me and stands looking at 
the fish tank, shoulders slumped.  "What did you hear?" he asks 
quietly.

"Not much, really."  I pause in awkwardness. "Okay, too much, I 
guess."

Mulder turns back to me, eyes sad.  "I wanted this to be 
special, Scully.  What's wrong with that?"

I fold my arms across me, protectively.  "I understand that, 
Mulder.  But I thought you knew me better than this.  You 
really thought you could wine and dine me?"

Confusion crosses over Mulder's face again.  "You didn't answer 
me before, Scully.  Just what did you think I had in mind for 
tonight?"

"Oh Mulder..." I sigh.  "I *heard* you on the phone with 
Frohike.  I heard you say something about tonight being the 
night.  You said you hoped I felt the same way..." I pause 
here, not sure how to word this next part.  "You mentioned 
*condoms*, Mulder.  It's not that hard to figure out where you 
were going..."

Mulder looks shocked and then he starts to laugh.  Loud belly 
laughs.  I stare at him in irritation.

"What the hell is so funny?"

"Scu—" He's gasping, wiping tears from his eyes. "Scully, I 
*never* said anything to Frohike about condoms, I swear!"

"Mulder, I heard you!"

Laughing fit subsiding, Mulder strides over to me, placing his 
hands on my shoulders.  He looks me in the eyes.  "What exactly 
did I say about these condoms?"

I sputter and stammer, not used to discussing condoms with 
Mulder in such close proximity.  "Um, well, you mentioned 
'ribbed'...and um, you were going on about...colors."  I'm 
blushing furiously, my ears burning.

Mulder begins roaring in laughter.  "No, Scully...I wasn't 
talking about condoms...No wonder..."  He trails off, hands 
still on my shoulders, leaning down into me, laughing into my 
hair.

I push him away from me, my anger and humiliation mounting.  
"What were you talking about then, Mulder?"

Mulder stops laughing so quickly I can almost hear his mouth 
snap shut.  He grabs his wineglass off the table and sits back 
down on the couch.

"Mulder..." I warn.

Perched on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, swirling 
the wine around in his glass, I hear Mulder mumble, "Sweater."

"Excuse me?"  I lower myself down next to him.

Refusing to look up, he says softly, "My sweater, Scully.  I 
was telling Frohike about my sweater."

My eyes dart to the mock turtleneck sweater Mulder has worn 
tonight.  Black.  Like any other sweater someone might wear on 
a mild night.  

My hasty apology is tumbling forth.  "Oh...I feel so *stupid*, 
Mulder.  I'm so sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me, why I 
got that idea!"  I'm so embarrassed, now it's my turn to talk 
into my lap.

But something is still nagging at me.  I turn to him and place 
my hand gently on his arm.

"Mulder?"

"Hmm?"  He still hasn't looked at me.

"What does your sweater have to do with us?" I ask softly, 
hesitantly.

Mulder downs his wine in one gulp.  He sets the glass down hard 
on the table and I hear the deep breath he takes.  I draw in my 
own breath and hold it.  He faces me, the liquid depths of his 
eyes holding me captive.

"Scully," he starts slowly, "It's true.  I *did* plan tonight.  
I *did* have a lot invested for us tonight.  But not for the 
reason you obviously thought."

I'm drawn to his mouth, the way his lips move to form the 
words.  I bite nervously on my lower lip, waiting for him to 
continue.

He stares at my own mouth and now something else is stirring in 
my belly.  I tremble slightly, hoping he can't see how he's 
affecting me.

"Scully..." His voice has grown gruff. "I wanted tonight to be 
just right, perfect..."  

I think I can feel him trembling now, too, and his voice has 
dropped to nearly a whisper.

"I'm tired of playing games.  I'm tired of hiding.  From you, 
from me."  He licks his lips and continues.  "I finally decided 
that tonight...tonight..."

He trails off, his eyes locked with mine and I'm lost within 
them, so many unspoken thoughts and feelings swirling around me 
but suddenly so clear. 

"Mulder," I whisper.  "You don't have to do this—"

Mulder shushes me with a finger to my lips.  We're mere inches 
from each other now; I can feel his breath coming in soft puffs 
against my cheek.

"Scully..."

"Mulder..."

"Scully, I need you to know how important you are to me.  I 
need you to know what you mean to me.  I need you to know that 
I...that I..."

He stops again and now he is tracing the outline of my lips 
with his fingertip.  I'm lost, my control crumbling under his 
touch, and I lean in even closer to him, mesmerized.

Mulder leans in to meet me.  Our mouths are so close; I can 
hear his breath in short pants, I can smell the sweet wine 
flavoring it.  

Time has stopped momentarily for us.  Somehow his hands have 
found their way into my hair and I hold onto his upper arms to 
steady myself.  We're both trembling now and I can hear Mulder 
whispering my name...

Before he crushes my lips under his, I hear the words, "Scully, 
I love you."

His mouth is on mine and it feels like fire, searing my lips.
  
After what feels like an eternity, we pull away and let our 
eyes meet.  He smiles at me, and I see an influx of emotions in 
that smile.

I smile back.  "Ribbed, huh?" 

I reach out and stroke the soft fabric of the knit, running my 
fingernails along the vertical ruts.  I chuckle as Mulder grabs 
me and pulls me close.  He plants gentle kisses along the part 
of my hair, and I lay my head against his chest so I can feel 
his heart beating quickly in my ear.  I rub my cheek up and 
down against the fleecy surface beneath it.  I snuggle in 
closer, wrapping my arms around him.

I close my eyes and smile to myself. "For her pleasure!" I 
whisper happily.


End


Author's notes: A big thanks goes out to Triton for giving me 
this writing challenge: to write a story with the title 
"Ribbed: For Her Pleasure" but it could *not* be about condoms!  
So here it is.  Hope you like it, Triton!
  

   



 








    

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