TITLE: Open Air
AUTHOR: Jenna B.
DISTRIBUTION: Please ask
SPOILERS: brief mentions of Detour, The Movie, Folie A Deux, the
SUMMARY: Stopping for the night on a long drive, Scully discovers the
joys of sleeping in the great outdoors.
DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder and Dana Scully belong to Chris Carter,
Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright infringement
The lurch of the car jerks me awake, and my hands fly out to brace
myself against the dashboard. The car screeches to a stop, and we both
sit there, panting.
"Are you okay?" Mulder says. His hands are so tight on the wheel his
knuckles are white.
"I'm okay. Are you? What happened?"
"I nodded off for a second there. I'm sorry."
"We need to find a hotel and get some sleep." There's a clock in the
dashboard. Nearly two a.m., and I know he's been awake since five
yesterday morning, almost twenty-four hours. He insisted on driving, of
"Where, Scully? It's another two hundred miles to the next town."
I look at him and sigh. It's even further to go back. There's nothing
around us but fields for miles.
"Maybe we could ask one of the ranchers if we could sleep in their
guestroom . . ." My voice trails off, and Mulder decides to not point
out we have not idea how to get to a ranch house, either. There isn't a
hint of civilization out here besides barbed wire fences and the
"Camp out?" he says, and I nod wearily. Ever since the Mothmen
thing-though I do have to wonder what good they would do if we're stuck
in a forest-we've taken to packing some light camping supplies. Little
sleeping bags, lighters, rain ponchos. We haven't used them yet, but
it's nice to know we're prepared.
He pulls off the road and shuts off the car, and we both get out.
Mulder stands beside the trunk of the car, yawning and rubbing his eyes,
while I wrestle my sleeping bag out of my suitcase. His sleeping bag,
of course, is right on top, and he yawns complainingly as we walk off
the road to find a place to sleep.
I've also grabbed something more comfortable to sleep in, but changing
into it presents a problem. We have the flashlight on, of course, but
I'm not too keen on the idea of Mulder watching me change my clothes.
Or about changing in the dark, either.
Why this reluctance, you ask? The reason is so simple and stupid and
basic it's embarrassing. But here it is: Mulder, for all his "I love
you"s and "you're my one in five billion"s, won't fuck me. And I am
tired of trying.
Platonic relationships suck.
Mulder, while I stand here dithering, has unrolled his sleeping bag,
taken off his shoes, shirt, tie and jacket, and climbed in. "Good
night, Scully," he says, and I haven't even taken off my shoes.
I unroll my own bag and try to clear the area of rocks, though I'm sure
I'll miss one that's dig into my spine all night long. I stand there
for a moment more, debating about what to do, then tell myself I'm being
silly and start shedding my clothes. Why is it that Mulder, the
lightest of sleepers, can be ready for bed in two minutes and asleep in
three, while I have to change clothes entirely and I just know I'm going
to spend the entire night staring at the sky?
As soon as my suit is changed for a sweatshirt and boxer shorts, I get
into my own sleeping bag and turn off the flashlight. I turn onto my
back-no stones, imagine that-and look up at the sky.
And I feel myself relax as I look. It's been a long time since I've
looked at the sky without fear. With no lights around, the sky is dark
and vast and so crowded with stars I feel like I can see every last one
of them. I can even see the sweep of the Milky Way, which is something
it's easy to forget about when you live in the city. And the moon is
high in the sky, round as an orange, white and gray and the palest of
It's beautiful. I'd forgotten it could be beautiful.
As my eyes adjust to the darkness I can see Mulder too, vaguely. In the
starlight he looks softer somehow, younger, and I prop my head on my arm
and watch him sleep. I wonder what he was like when he was twenty, when
he was ten, when he was a little boy. I'll never know what he was like
before he met me, and so it's hard to say that I have changed him. He
thinks I have. It's that "you make me a whole person" thing.
I scowl at that reminder and lie down again. Stupid fucking bee. If
I'd only changed clothes, the course of our history would be completely
different. A kiss-and not just any kiss, a kiss of epic
proportions-which would have led to the best sex the Western World has
witnessed since Cleopatra met Marc Antony.
Or perhaps I'm overly optimistic. Sometimes I wish we'd sleep together
just so that I can stop wondering what it's like. And I almost hope
it's a disappointment, so that I won't want to again.
Well, it's academic, anyway. Mulder has ignored every attempt I've ever
made to move our relationship forward, and I've given up. If he has any
desire for my body he does a great job of hiding it, and though I
suppose I should be glad I have someone who loves me for my mind it's
cold comfort on these many lonely nights.
He's not asleep.
"What?" I still sound as crabby as I can.
"Put on some socks. Or a hat."
"Aw, Scully . . ." He caterpillars closer to me. "Body heat, Scully?"
"Because if we zip our sleeping bags together it'll be like a double
It sounds wonderful. Cozy, like he said. How wonderful it would be to
sleep beside him, to hold him.
Wonderful and terrible, because he won't let me hold him. He'll put his
cold feet on me. He'll snore. He'll hog the blankets-so to speak.
"C'mon, Scully. I'm cold."
"Whine, whine . . ." I clamber out of my sleeping bag and start to unzip
it, and Mulder makes an "oh goody!" sound and jumps out of his. He
spreads his sleeping bag out flat, and we spend not a few minutes trying
to get the zips to fit together. We get into our makeshift double bed,
both of us on our backs, both of us as far apart as we can get. The
zipper is cold, as is the tip of my nose.
"When I was in Siberia, there was one little slit in the cell wall, and
I could see the sky. I could see a little slash of the sky, and one
star. I don't know which star it was. I don't know how you'd find out,
though I'm sure there's a way. But I'd look out at that star, and I'd .
. ." I hear him swallow, hard. "I'd wish on it."
I don't know what to say to his. I prop my head on my elbow and look at
him. He is staring up at the sky, his expression wistful. "What did you
wish?" I whisper finally.
"To see you."
A dark shape flies over us. We both look up at it-it's an owl, lethal,
silent and beautiful. Neither of us says anything until it's flown out
"To see your face one more time," Mulder says quietly. "To see your
smile. You have the most beautiful smile, Scully. You don't use it
enough, you know." He hasn't looked at me since he started speaking.
"When I walked into the senate chamber and you looked at me and you
smiled . . . "
"What, Mulder?" I whisper when his voice trails off. "When you walked
into that senate chamber, what?"
"Nothing, Scully. Go to sleep." He turns onto his side, his back towards
Dismissed. Like a bothersome child. For reasons I can't fully name this
pisses me off like nothing else he's done lately, and I grab his
shoulders and turn him towards me. His eyes pop open in surprise. "What,
Mulder?" I whisper insistently, and then I say it out loud-we're not
disturbing anybody out here. "What? When you walked into that senate
chamber, what? What did you think, what did you want, what did you feel?
Did you want to kiss me? Did you want to hold me? Did you want to make
love to me, Mulder? When you walked into that senate chamber did you
want to make love to me?"
"Scully-please don't ask me that-" He tries to pull away but I throw
myself onto him, stretching my body on top of his and holding down his
"Tell me, Mulder."
"Scully, quit it!" He honestly sounds scared.
"Why, Mulder? What are you afraid of? Are you afraid that if you make
love to me I'm going to leave you?"
"That is what you're afraid of, isn't it. I've got you all figured out,
Mulder, you're not as unreadable and mysterious as you like to think you
are. You think I'd leave you. I don't know why you'd think that. If I
were going to leave you I'd have done it long ago."
"Scully." He moves his arms but doesn't try to break out of my grasp.
"It's not you leaving me. It's you being taken away."
My heart softens at this-his voice is trembling, his whole body is
trembling. I ease my grip on his arms and slip my hands up, weaving my
fingers between his. "They're not going to take me away, Mulder."
"They've done it before. They'll do it again, if they think they have
to. I don't want them to use you to control me."
"Oh, Mulder . . ." I want to kiss his foolish mouth. "What can they do
to me that they haven't already done?"
"They can kill you."
"They won't kill me."
"They'll come as close as they can and keep you alive to torture me."
I push myself up to a half-sitting position, straddling him. My hips
rest against his, and my eyes widen as I realize what's throbbing
against my belly. He's hard. Hard. The heat of his erection sends a
thrill through my body, and a rush of wetness between my thighs. "So
you think that's our fate?" I whisper, pressing my hips against his
firmly. "To be used and thrown aside?"
"If that's what it takes." His fingers tighten on mine.
"Then why not live, Mulder?" I lower my head so that our mouths
almost-but-not-quite touch. "Why not live, while we wait to die? Tell me
that, Mulder. Tell me why we deny ourselves . . ." I brush my lips over
the bridge of his nose, " . . . what we both want so much."
"Scully, stop it. Please." His voice is rough.
"You want me, Mulder. I know you want me. And I want you." The words
spill out of me, eager, urgent. "I want to kiss you all over, Mulder. I
want to comfort and soothe you. I want to taste you. I want to feel you
inside me. I want you to fill me. I want you to fuck me, Mulder, I want
you to fuck me and hold nothing back, I want all of you, I want you to
come inside me, I want you, Mulder, I want you-"
He groans and rips his hands from mine. His arms clutch around me, and
he rolls us over so that I'm beneath him. His teeth sink into my
shoulder and his hips thrust against mine desperately. I cry out and
wrap my arms and legs around him, trying to position us so that his
erection hits my clit through our clothes.
"Mulder-oh, God-please-" I haven't been dry-humped like this since . . .
ever. Not with this kind of hunger. As if he thinks he could fuck me
without fucking me-which, I think as even jolts of pleasure shoot
through me, is not going to do at all.
"Mulder!" I grab his head and pull it up so he has to look at me. He
breathes in gasps, his face sweaty and pale. "Mulder." I stroke his
cheek and he closes his eyes. "Slower."
He gives an uncertain smile. "Sorry. Sorry. I-sorry."
"It's okay. It's okay, baby." He smiles again at the endearment,
sweetly, his gasps slowing into normal breaths. I stroke his hair and
his face and his neck, and he holds me and starts stroking me as well,
hesitantly at first and then with growing confidence. He weighs my
breasts, measures my waist, explores my thighs.
"It's strange to hear you call me baby," he whispers.
"Would you rather I didn't?"
"No. I like it. Nobody's called me baby before." He looks at me through
his eyelashes, and I smile and tug gently on his ears. He has good ears,
slightly pointed, not too big, not sticking out too far.
Mulder smiles and spreads his hand over my cheek, smoothing his fingers
into my hair. His thumb sweeps over my lower lip. He lowers his head
and breathes for a moment against my mouth, and chuckles when I answer
with a dart of my tongue over his lips.
"Have you ever made love in open air, Scully?" he whispers.
"No." The most exotic place I've ever had sex was the back seat of a
car. I'll tell him that someday, maybe.
He rolls us again so that I'm on top, and pushes my shoulders gently so
that I sit up. His hands move under the hem of my sweatshirt and his
fingertips pass over my stomach. "You skin is beautiful in the
moonlight," he says as he lifts my sweatshirt over my head. I toss my
head to settle my hair and shiver as the cool night air caresses my
skin. "Your breasts are perfect." He cups them and rubs my nipples with
his thumbs. I moan and place my hands over his. "Your body, Scully,
your body is . . ."
"Tell me," I breathe, my still-clothed hips undulating against his.
"Tell me everything you've wanted to do to me. Tell me that you want my
"Scully," he groans, "I've always wanted your body." He sits up and
wraps his arms around my waist, and buries his face between my breasts.
His tongue, pebbly and hot, passes over my nipples and licks the
undersides of my breasts, and his big slender hands support my back to
keep me from arching away from him. I thrust one hand into his hair and
use the other to reach between us, to play with his nipples and comb
through the hair on his chest. His tongue pulls my nipple between his
teeth, and I moan as he sucks, hard and firm.
"Mulder-fuck-please, Mulder, kiss me, kiss my lips, Mulder, kiss my
He lets go of my breast and looks into my eyes, his chest heaving again.
"Scully," he says, warning in his tone, "if I kiss you-if we kiss-I
don't know if I'll be able to stop, Scully."
"Then kiss me."
"I love your mouth, Scully," he whispers roughly, and kisses me.
His tongue is not intrusive but is demanding, and his teeth worry my
lips gently. I try to return his kiss with equal vigor but I feel as if
he'd devour me if he could, he'd eat me up alive and I wouldn't mind a
bit. I suck on his tongue and breathe in his breath, and he rumbles in
his chest and thrusts his hands into the waistband of my shorts. His
hands grab the cheeks of my ass and squeeze, and I giggle and groan at
the same time.
His mouth leaves mine and feeds on my neck, and he murmurs, "Such a
perfect little body, Scully, just the way you should be, your little
feet, your dimpled knees, your waist, your neck, your hair," as he bites
and licks and kisses me. I rock against him, the weight in my abdomen
demanding and hot.
"I want you." I look up at the mild sky, smiling at the stars. "I want
every part of you." I kiss his shoulders and his chest, and finally feel
brave enough to put my hands on the waistband of his trousers. I undo
the fly and slip my hand inside his boxers.
He buries his face in my neck and groans, as I gently stroke his balls
and his penis. "Scully."
"You're so beautiful, Mulder. Let me see your body too."
I move off his lap and we both wriggle out of the rest of our clothes,
and turn to each other in the moonlight, naked. I turn down the sleeping
bag to look at him, to run my hands over him, to kiss him. He watches me
through lowered eyelids, his face deceptively sleepy. He gasps when my
hand closes around his erection.
"Too rough?" I whisper, letting go at once.
"Perfect." He puts his hand on top of mine and guides it back, and we
both moan as he shows me how to stroke him. I lean over to kiss him, and
he holds onto my head and kisses my face. He lets go of my hand and
moves his hand between my thighs. His fingers open me gently, and I gasp
as he sinks a finger into my wetness.
We smile at each other, and he removes my hand from his erection and
pulls me onto him. "Is this okay?"
"This is perfect." This is what I want, exactly, I want to set the pace,
I want to watch his face, I want to watch his muscles play and his skin
stretch. Some other time he can be in control.
At this thought I smile. Yes. There will be more.
His hands clasp my hips and I lift myself up and pause for a moment,
sensing the head of his penis at my entrance. I inhale, and exhale
slowly as I lower myself onto him.
I can't even describe the sound Mulder makes as I envelop him the first
time. Not a breath, not a groan, not a gasp. It's a soundless sound, a
wordless word, a silent moan that I feel all the way up my spine.
I want to hear it again.
I brace my hands on his shoulders and raise my hips, and bend down to
kiss him as I lower myself again. He groans into my mouth and pulls me
down as he thrusts his hips upwards, deep into me. "Fuck," I whisper,
resting my forehead against his, and he chuckles weakly.
"I'm trying to," he murmurs, kissing my chin, and starts thrusting
lazily, his legs bent for leverage. I moan with his thrusts softly,
shaking from the base of my spine. Damn this feels good. The simple act
of his penis sliding in and out of my vagina, it feels good. Of course,
his kisses and his caresses don't hurt much, either. I don't think my
body has felt this cherished, this beloved, this worshipped, ever. Ever.
But I want the control back. I push myself upright, holding my body
straight, and grasp his hands. He groans as I start to push down on him,
and I feel tight and gushing and powerful. "Scully," he moans again and
again, and his head tosses against the damp grass and his hands clasp
and reclasp mine insistently.
"Yes," I whisper to him. "Come for me, Mulder. I want you to come. Let
it go. Let go, Mulder."
He groans wordlessly, his entire body tensing, and he grabs my hips
again and grinds us together. I touch his face and kiss him, tightening
my inner muscles around him rhythmically. He becomes frenzied, frantic,
thrusting up into me as if he wants to split me in half.
"Scully-Scully-Scuh-llleee!" he shouts and he arches and he comes, he
empties himself into me and collapses into a weak and boneless pile
I let myself fall onto him and lie on his chest, panting. I'm pretty
sure I came. I feel loose all over, which is always a good sign. My
orgasm is never a big production number. I'm not a shouter or a thrasher
or a screamer.
Mulder's hands start to move again, gently grazing my back and my sides
and my hair. I smile-yes, Mulder, cuddling is good. Glad I didn't have
"Did you-are you-do you feel okay?"
"I feel great, Mulder."
"There's nothing more I can do for you?"
I smile again. It's sweet, really, this concern of his. "I feel fine,
Mulder. I don't need anything more."
""Cause I'd hate to leave you . . . you know . . . unfinished."
"I finished. No fanfare."
"Ah." He lifts my hips and his penis slides out of me, and I murmur a
complaint and curl up atop him again. My least favorite part of sex,
when we're no longer joined. The after is great, but no matter how long
my partner stays inside me he always leaves too soon. Mulder senses this
complaint, though, and continues touching me gently, creating a mild
buzz through my body again. "It was good, though, wasn't it," he
"Good enough to do again sometime."
"Yeah. Not right away, though."
"Oh, no, no. Twenty years ago I could've, probably . . ."
"We need to sleep a little tonight."
"Yeah." He sounds like he's asleep already. His arms loosen their hold
around me a bit, but not so much that I can roll off him.
He has the right idea, though. I pace my breathing to his and feel my
eyelids grow heavy, and am soon asleep.
I wake up slowly, wondering why it's so bright in my room. Any why my
body is so sore and why my sheets feel so different and what's this
weight across my chest . . .
Oh. Oh, boy.
Mulder and I had sex last night.
And it was pretty damn amazing. Fucking amazing. It was passionate and
sweet and gentle. I become wet just thinking about it.
I open my eyes and look at the sky, which is that crystalline blue of
summer dawn. I feel dewy from sleeping outdoors and sticky from our
lovemaking, and the weight of Mulder's arm across my chest is reassuring
and comforting. His head is on my shoulder and one leg is nestled
between both of mine.
I run my hand up and down his arm slowly, and wonder what's the best way
to wake him up. The gentlest way, I've read, to wake someone up is to
pull their toes or their earlobes. His toes are out of the question, so
I start fondling his earlobe and pull on it gently.
"Mulder. Wake up. We need to get on the road again."
He hums complainingly and pulls me closer to him, and I smile. All
right, we'll stay here a while.
I move his arm from my chest and sit up, trying to not disturb him. I
hold the sleeping bag to cover my breasts and look around. We're on a
slight rise from the highway, and I can easily see our car. In fact I
can easily see for miles. The country is rocky and dry, with only sage
and mesquite bushes and desert grass for vegetation. It's so empty and
still I could almost believe we're the only two people on earth.
And wouldn't that solve all our problems, if it were just the two of us?
I sigh, unable to hold back the wave of sadness that follows this
thought. I want our future, I want to spend the rest of my life with
him, I want to grow old with him. But we may have so little time.
Well. That's why we've got to make every second count, now, isn't it.
I stroke Mulder's hair and let the sleeping bag fall away. There's no
one here to see anyway. And quite frankly, I want Mulder to look at my
breasts when he wakes up. I want to know that he thinks I'm beautiful in
the daylight as well as in the dark.
It's warm but not so hot it's uncomfortable, and a breeze ruffles my
hair. I lean back on my elbows and close my eyes. I've never sunbathed
nude. I've never gone skinny-dipping. I even wear a towel in my own
apartment when I go from the shower to my bedroom. Even my swimsuits are
Yet the sun and the breeze feel so good on my breasts and on my stomach.
I don't feel quite brave enough-even if we are the only people in the
world-to push the sleeping bag completely off me and lie naked here in
the sunshine. But topless in the sunshine is a start, isn't it?
"Scully," Mulder breathes, and I open my eyes to look at him. His eyes
are wide and dark, and I'm not at all surprised to see his erection
tenting the heavy sleeping bag.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," I say softly, and turn my face to the sun
again, closing my eyes. I did the seducing last night. If he wants me
again he can show me. "Do you know what time it is?"
"About six, I think, if I remember the sunrise time right." I sense his
hand approach me, but he pulls it back.
"Scully," he says again, softly. "I'd hate for you to get sunburned out
here. Especially on your tender parts."
I refrain from snickering and just smile. Tender parts. You are too cute
for words, Fox Mulder. "Do you have any ideas for a sunscreen?" I say
innocently, and laugh with delight when he throws himself onto me. My
hands go into his hair and I open his eyes in time to watch him kiss me.
His kiss is firm and juicy and delicious as a peach.
"You taste like sunshine," he whispers, and he starts kiss in my face. I
open my legs so he can lie between them, and inhale sharply when his
penis brushes my labia. He doesn't push or thrust yet, though, and
continues kissing me and fondling me as gently and sweetly as if it's my
first time. The weight of his body feels wonderful. He's not crushing me
He slides his hand down my back and moves my hips a little, tilting my
pelvis upwards. "You're so pretty, Scully," he whispers, and his hand
glides up my belly and starts toying with my breasts again.
"Oh, yeah." His mouth moves wetly down my neck. "Like a rose. A rosebud.
So soft . . . so sweet . . ." I moan as his mouth closes on my nipple.
"This is sweet," I whisper, combing my hands through his hair. "This is
sweet. This is perfect."
He hums in agreement and licks his way to my other breast, which he
sucks with the same tenderness. I arch my back, my arms around his neck,
and look once more at the sky. I like this sleeping outdoors. Making
love under the sun. I like this a lot.
He throws back the sleeping bag, exposing us both to the open air, and
starts kissing over my body. His mouth is as hot as the sunbeams on my
thighs. For a moment I don't know what he's planning, and then nearly
shout with surprise when his mouth closes over my clit.
"Mulder! I-" I haul myself away from him and he looks up at me.
"Don't you want that?"
"I-no." I whisper, somewhat embarrassed, "I've never done that before."
"Never?" He sounds like he can hardly believe it, and he places a warm
protective hand over my mound. "You mean nobody's ever looked at this
wet delicious pussy and wanted to eat you until you scream?"
My cheeks flush and I say quietly, "I don't scream, Mulder."
"Now I know why. I wonder if you've ever had a really good orgasm,
"I've had orgasms."
"I mean a good one. Or more than one."
"Not every woman is has six screaming orgasms in a night, Mulder," I say
tartly, and start to pull away from him. But his hand is still cupping
me and one fingertip is flicking against my clit. The wetness that has
been pooling inside me since I woke up is starting to drip down my
"I know that." He sounds amused now. "But there's so much more to sex
than just fucking."
"I know that." The stuff of porn videos, I think, and frown.
Mulder sighs and moves up so that we're eye to eye. "Scully. It's not
dirty, it's not perverted, it's not going to send you straight to hell.
And I would love to be the one to show you how good it can be."
All this while his finger is still working inside me, moving my wetness
from my vagina to my clit, massaging my clit, as gentle as you could ask
for and so arousing I think I might come despite how upset I am at our
"I suppose," I say, trying to keep my voice steady, "that you mean
leather and whips and handcuffs and-and things like that." I'm sure
there's more but I just can't think of anything.
He smiles and says, "Well, I'm not a fan of whips but if you want to try
it-handcuffs, on the other hand, have some advantages. Blindfolds, too."
He pushes a finger into me and I moan, letting my eyes close.
Blindfolds. What is he thinking about? What am I getting myself into?
"All that guilt," he whispers into my ear. "All those years of being
told it was dirty. That it was wrong. I want to free you from that,
Scully. No guilt. Just fun. Just good. Let me make you feel good,
He is making me feel good. He's found a place inside me that he's
stroking slowly, that's sending tremors through me, making me toss my
head from side to side. It's inside and up a little, towards the front
of my body. "Relax, sweetheart," he whispers, kissing me. "Let it go.
Like you said last night. Let go. Just feel. Enjoy it, Scully. Let
yourself enjoy it."
Enjoy it. Yes. I'm trying. I am.
"Relax," he whispers again, "relax." His erection prods against my
thigh, his hand pumps inside me. He kisses my lips and my eyes. "You can
do it, Scully. Just come. Don't fight it. Just come."
And I do.
There's no guessing about this, no mistaking it. What I've thought was
an orgasm was a pale copy compared to this, the academic example, the
shadow on the cave wall. Even when his hand stops moving I'm still
quaking and moaning and quivering and trying to figure out how the hell
he did that.
He's kissing me still, gently. His hand cups me again. "All these
years," he whispers, "you've just been sleeping with the wrong guys."
"Selfish," I whisper, and laugh weakly. A chuckle rumbles through him as
well, and he pulls me to him, spooning me to his front as we lie on our
sides. His penis twitches against my ass, and I smile despite my weak
limbs. Yes. I want that, too.
I reach back to him and run my hand up and down his thigh. "Mulder."
"Hm." He nuzzles my neck.
"All that-the other things-it can wait. Just fuck me, Mulder."
"Demanding little thing," he says and bites my ear gently. He eases his
leg between mine and opens them. "Is this okay?"
My eyes open wide-you can do it like this?-and whisper, trembling, "Yes.
Mulder grasps my knee to open my legs further, backs himself up and
slowly enters me from behind. He holds me with one arm across my
shoulders, and kisses my face and my hair. "I wish we had a mirror," he
whispers. "I want you to see yourself. I want you to watch us. Will you
do that for me someday, Scully? Watch us make love?"
"Nothing that will scare you. Nothing that will hurt. Things I know
you'll like. There's so much that you'll
like, I promise."
"Do you trust me?"
"Yes. Always." I put my hand down to where we're joined, and feel his
penis moving in and out of me. Slick and hot and throbbing. He groans
into my hair and lets go of my leg to put his hand on top of mine. Our
fingers tangle up together, feeling me, feeling him, and I cry out his
name in surprise once more.
I'm coming. Shit. Twice.
Is it even necessary to point out now that this has never happened for
me? That I've been asked "Did you come?" more times than I care to
repeat? That I've never really understood the big deal about sex? I
mean, I know why it's a big deal. Reproduction. Emotional attachment
expressed through physical intimacy. Physical pleasure, release of
tension. Good for the skin. Very textbook answers.
Melissa used to tease me I may as well still be a virgin. She gave me
books and a vibrator, told me to get acquainted with my body, to
celebrate my womanhood, to not be afraid of my own desires. I never took
her seriously. I wasn't dating, I didn't care, I thought I would go
happily for a long time without sex. You don't miss what's not important
I should have jumped Mulder back in Bellefleur.
Somewhere in the throes of my own ecstasy I comprehend that Mulder is
close to the edge. His chest is heaving, his strokes are deep and
rough, his fingers dig into my thighs. His face is slick with sweat, and
he licks my own sweat from my hairline.
His arm tightens around me and he shouts, and his whole body trembles
violently. I don't think it's possible I do feel a mild tremor through
my own body, an answering orgasm to his, I suppose. It's wonderful to
feel him this way. Sweet.
When Mulder lies still I'm faced with a dilemma. I want to lie here and
be cuddled but I also want to see him, kiss him, touch his face.
"Can you turn me over?"
He chuckles. "I don't think either of us are quite that limber." He
pulls out of me and I sigh and turn towards him and rest my head on his
chest. His eyes are sleepy and he has a quiet smile. He pushes some hair
out of my face. We don't say anything, just smile at each other, and the
sunshine is golden and soft on our skins.
When I wake up again I'm sprawled face-down over Mulder's chest-which,
I think drowsily, is not a bad way to be. The top sleeping bag is pushed
down to our waists, and my back is starting to feel sunkissed. Not
sunburned yet, but it will be soon if I don't get under some shade.
I also become quickly aware that we are not alone.
My eyes fly open and I look up, trying to keep my chest down. I really
don't want to flash a total stranger-especially this young cowboy on a
horse, who, nonetheless, looks damn amused to find us sleeping on his
property. He leans on the horn of his saddle and pushes back his hat.
"Good morning, ma'am."
"Good morning," I say, and Mulder opens his eyes, shades them with his
hand, and sees our new arrival.
"Hello," he says casually to the cowboy.
"You folks all right? Did your car break down?"
"Yes," I say.
"No," Mulder says. He glances at me and says, "It was late. We decided
not to try to get to a hotel."
"I understand," the cowboy says, and when I look away from him,
embarrassed, he adds hastily, "I mean, it's a long way to Blackfoot.
You're in some remote country. Ma'am, if you need to freshen up before
you get on the road the big house is only fifteen more miles up the
highway, and only about ten more up the main drive. You just tell them
Ed sent you."
"Thank you, but we need to be on our way."
"All right, ma'am." He tips his hat. I have never seen a man do that in
real life before. "You folks have a safe drive. Bye." He pulls the reins
and his horse turns, and they amble away.
"Well," Mulder says.
"That could have been worse."
"He wouldn't have been so friendly if he knew we're Feds. They don't
like us in these parts," he drawls. I just smile and shake my head at
him, and start collecting my clothes.
"Still, can you imagine going up to the big house and asking for a bath
and some breakfast?" I pull my sweatshirt over my head, and decide
against putting on my panties. They're decidedly musky this morning. The
sleeping bags are going to need dry-cleaning when we get back, too. I
stand up to put on my shorts and Mulder wolf-whistles.
"Shake that moneymaker, babe," he says, and I prod his side with my
"Behave yourself. Come on, get up. It's a long way to Blackfoot."
"You can have your bath and breakfast there," Mulder says, with an
unfamiliar tenderness to his voice. I can just imagine what's going
through his mind now: Mulder Providing For His Woman. I'm not sure how
I feel about that. Part of me wants nothing to change between us. Part
of me longs for everything to change.
I'm also afraid that everything is going to get weird between us,
especially with his promise of showing me a new world of sex that I am,
frankly, more than a little worried about. I just want to make love with
my partner. I don't know about introducing other things into it.
But I trust him. And I love him-which, I realize, as I think this, I
haven't told him yet.
I look at him again, watching him dress. He is beautiful. From his dark
hair to his broad shoulders to his slim hips to his long feet. I do love
his body. I love his sweet funny face. I love his mind, incomprehensible
place that it can be sometimes.
He notices me watching him and smiles uncertainly. "Did I get all the
"You look fine. You look great. Mulder. You know I love you, don't you?"
This time is smile is not uncertain at all, and he kneels down to look
me in the eye. "Now I do," he says quietly, and kisses me. "I love you
too," he whispers, and pushes hair back from my face again. "It's not
going to get weird. Stop worrying."
"Have you? Stopped worrying?"
"Then don't ask me to. What I am going to do, though-or try to do-is
enjoy what we have."
"No regrets," he says seriously.
"Life's too short for regrets. Now come on. And this time," I add,
reaching into his pocket for the car keys, "I'm driving."
OBSSE, Poet Laureate of the Ship, Board Certified to Take Over the World
66 Exeter Street http://exeter.simplenet.com
"You have to watch out for yourself, because nobody else is going to."
"Especially during dodgeball."
--The Upright Citizens Brigade
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