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From: "Narida Law" 
Date: Wed, 12 Jan 2000 20:07:33 PST
Subject: Closet Doors (1/1) by Narida Law
Source: revision

TITLE: Closet Doors
AUTHOR: Narida Law
E-MAIL: narida_law@hotmail.com
RATING: NC-17
CATEGORY: MSR, Smut
SPOILERS: None.
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully Romance, voyeurism
ARCHIVE: Anywhere.  Telling me is sweet and would be much
appreciated, but not obligatory.
DISCLAIMER: Well, Mulder and Scully have sex in this story,
so it can't be the doing of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions,
or Fox.  No infringement is intended, even if the
characters tell me that they have more fun with me than
with CC.
NOTES: This piece has no redeeming social value whatsoever.
Mom and Dad would be so proud.
ADDITIONAL NOTES: Yes, it gave me hives to call Scully
"Dana" all the time.  But alas, the narrator doesn't know
Scully.

SUMMARY: A third party finds himself observing some pretty
personal happenings between his best friend's little sister
and her partner.

Closet Doors
by Narida Law

~~~~~~~~

This is unarguably one of the most surreal moments of my
life.  I never thought the day would come when I'd be
standing in Dana Scully's bedroom watching her have sex
with another man.  And not just any other man; this is her
partner, Fucking Fox Mulder.

That's how I think of him.  I can't help it; that's how
Bill refers to him, and since Bill is about the only person
I ever hear talk about the man, that's the way I always
hear his name.

Dammit.  I certainly didn't ask to be here, and if given
the opportunity I would have turned it down, no matter how
much the thought might have excited me.  I'm not such a
sick bastard that I would deliberately choose to intrude on
an intimate moment between two people.

At least, not without their consent.

So that begs the obvious question of why I =am= here, if
I'm not just some sick fucking voyeur in search of a cheap
thrill.  All I have to say is - this is all Bill Scully's
fault.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Bill's been a good friend of mine for - let's see - hell,
it's so long ago, I don't really remember, but a good
number of years.  In fact, he's probably one of the best
friends I've ever had.  I first met the Scullys all those
years ago when Captain Scully was stationed in my hometown
for a little while, and Bill and I got to be real good
friends, real fast.  We were a lot alike.  We were always
getting into trouble, though I have to say that it was
mostly Bill's doing.  I never really paid much attention to
his sisters; at that age, I still thought of girls as
pests.

After a couple of years, they moved away.  Bill and I
stayed in touch, and when Dana, Bill's younger sister,
started attending the University of Maryland, he asked me
to look her up, make sure she was OK.  Typical big brother
stuff.

Of course, when I met up with Dana Scully again she looked
nothing like I remembered and instead looked like the stuff
dreams are made of.  I confess I had a little crush on her.
But she never really seemed to reciprocate my feelings, and
I'm not one to pursue a dead end, so we met up a couple of
times, I did my duty by Bill, and that was it for a while.

The next time I had cause to see her was after she joined
the FBI and started teaching at Quantico.  I had a steady
girlfriend at the time, but seeing Dana again aroused all
those feelings of lust that just paled what I had with
Jessica.  When I returned from lunch with Dana that day I
found myself breaking up with my girlfriend, knowing I had
to search elsewhere for the kind of feelings that Dana
Scully inspired in me.  I knew by then that she would
probably never look at me in that way, and she was dating
someone, in any case.

I lost touch with both Bill and Dana for a while.  Then I
got a job in DC, and when I was cleaning out my apartment
for the move I turned up old Bill's number.  I gave him a
call and we fell back into our old camaraderie.  He
mentioned that Dana was a field agent with the Bureau now,
based at Headquarters.  Well, of course, when I found this
out, I had to give her a call.  She seemed genuinely glad
to hear from me, and we agreed to meet for lunch at TGI
Friday's near the Naval memorial.

We did the usual chitchat, what we each had been up to in
the years since we'd seen each other last, that kind of
thing.  She was vague about her work, saying only that she
worked cases other agents couldn't solve or explain, and
that she had a partner.  She didn't really seem to want to
discuss either topic, and instead asked me about what I
did.

Being your typical guy, I was only too happy to launch into
the details of my life.  I told her that I'd just broken up
with my latest girlfriend, kind of hoping that she'd take
the hint and maybe let me know she was interested in taking
up with me, but she either didn't get the hint or she was
letting me down gently.  In any case, she got a little
distracted at that point.

I was going on and on about - hell, I don't remember, maybe
my job - when she caught sight of something over my
shoulder and visibly softened.  I halted in the middle of a
sentence, mesmerized by her liquid eyes and the way a tiny
smile played at the corner of her mouth.  By the time I
turned to see what had put that expression on her face, HE
had already shown up at the table.

"Hey Scully," he said, sliding nonchalantly into the booth
next to her, as if he made a habit of interrupting dates in
exactly such a manner.  Well, OK, so this wasn't a date,
but she was an old friend whom I hadn't seen in a long
time, and seeing her again had resurrected all those
feelings that I had for her.  They were just beneath the
surface, clamoring for release.  I was disappointed about
losing my one-on-one time with her, which might explain
some of the annoyance I felt.  I remember trying to smile,
trying not to be irritated, and losing both battles.

I was about to say something when he casually stretched his
arm across the back of the booth (and thus her - don't
think I wasn't aware of =exactly= what he was doing).  OK.
He was staking his claim.  He knew I knew what he was
doing.  I don't know if Dana read or even noticed our
silent manly conversation, but if she did, she didn't let
on.  His action opened up his trenchcoat a little, and
that's when I saw his gun and holster.

I shut my mouth.  You don't mess with a man who's packing
heat and does it for a living.  And having lunch with a
woman he obviously considers his is probably number one in
the "mess with" category.  Whether or not she really was
his didn't matter.  I was not about to make things worse
for myself.

The first thing I noticed about them was that they called
each other by their last names.  It was =supposed= to
convey professionalism, I'm sure, and distance.  The way
they said the names, however, conveyed something entirely
different: intimacy.  The second thing I noticed was that
they looked at each other like there was no one else
around, and they sure touched far more than any platonic
friends =I= knew.

He then proceeded to eat half of her lunch, and she
proceeded to let him.  The looks that she threw him were
equal parts exasperation and indulgence.  But not once did
she ask him to leave, or indicate that he was not wanted.

When they left, they left together.  To this day, I still
have no idea whether she asked him to be there, whether he
had followed her, or whether it had just been a hell of a
coincidence.  I'll probably never know.

I accounted to Bill all that had happened, just because he
happened to call that night, and when he heard me mention
Dana's partner he practically shouted, "Fucking Fox Mulder!
God, I hate that guy!  He's always sticking his nose into
other peoples' business, ruining other peoples' lives."

I then got to hear the entire story of what an asshole Fox
Mulder was, and I was only all too eager to listen.  After
all, the man had just ruined the closest thing I'd had to a
date with the woman of my dreams, the woman I'd been
wanting since her days at the University of Maryland.  I
wanted to believe Bill, that this Fucking Fox Mulder was
ruining Dana's life.  I liked to imagine myself "rescuing
her."

Of course, part of me knew that Bill was a little off base,
and biased besides, being her older brother, but I ignored
that voice of reason for the time being.  I was too busy
imagining Dana's gratitude when I saved her from that evil
partner of hers.  Sure, she packed heat, too, and could
probably take care of Mulder - if he needed taking care of
- better than I could.  But that was the point – she wasn't
aware of her own peril.  He had put a spell on her; he had
warped her mind.  She was like one of those abused wives
who defend their husbands to the very last.

That night I had some pretty delicious me-saving-Dana
dreams.  But by the next week, I'd forgotten all about the
incident.

As time passed I kept in touch with Bill, though I didn't
seek out Dana's company again.  The reasonable part of me
knew that she didn't want or need my presence in her life -
not in that way - and besides, I had no doubt that her
partner was liable to kick my ass if there was a next time.
Bill would regale me with Evil Fucking Fox Mulder stories,
and I would listen with half an ear.

I started seeing a little redhead of my own, Yolanda.  We
weren't really dating, per se; we just met up once in a
while and fucked.  Neither of us pretended it was anything
more than that.

Anyway, last Sunday I was with Yolanda at a small cafe in
Georgetown when I saw her.  Or rather, she saw me.  I felt
a little tap on my shoulder, and there stood Dana Scully,
looking absolutely edible in little running shorts and a
tank top.  Her hair was pulled away from her face, little
tendrils of fire escaping here and there.  She was the most
beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

I realized I had been staring too long when she gave me a
quizzical look and said my name.  I introduced her to
Yolanda, they smiled and made nice, and Dana left soon
after.  "You can wipe that drool off your mouth now,"
Yolanda told me.  She shook her own mane of auburn hair,
and I spirited her back to her apartment and didn't make it
back out until the next morning.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A week later, I got a call from Bill.  He was in town, so
we agreed to meet at a bar near where I lived.  We rehashed
old times, talked about our current lives - he was married
now, to a woman he obviously loved - and it was just great
in general to be with my old friend again.

Of course, eventually we got around to discussing Dana. How
the subject came up was rather abrupt.  We were just
sitting there gulping beer when all of a sudden Bill turned
to me and blurted, "You've always liked Dana, right?"

Well, I knew the answer to that right away.  But you don't
go answering questions like that about a guy's little
sister unless you know exactly what it is he's asking, and
in some cases, how he wants you to answer.  So I took my
time, trying to read him.  Finally I just took the safe
out.  "Yeah, sure Bill.  She's great."  He could take that
to mean whatever he wanted it to mean.

He didn't say anything for a long time, and I had an
insatiable curiosity to know why he'd asked it.  I was
willing to let the subject drop, though, since it seemed
like he'd forgotten about it.  Six beers will do that to
you.

Actually, the amount of alcohol in my system is what I
attribute to agreeing with his highly questionable request,
and I also blame the alcohol for him making the request in
the first place.

Essentially, he told me that his sister was lonely.  Her
partner dragged her all over the country, chasing UFOs and
aliens (at least, I =think= that's what he said, but again,
I never underestimate the influence of alcohol on a
person's perceptions), and at this rate she'd never get to
settle down and lead a normal life – which was what she
really wanted.  She was a loyal person, Dana was, which was
why she was sticking with Fucking Fox Mulder even though he
was ruining her life.  Of course, I heard what I wanted to
hear.  I wanted to believe that Dana was lonely, that she
needed a man in her life.  I wanted to be that man.  But...

"Isn't she doing her partner?"  The beer made me so
tactless, I swear.  I would never have said such a thing to
her brother's face sober.  At least, not in those exact
words.

Bill turned absolutely purple with what I assumed was
disgust and rage.  "No!" he practically shouted.  He was so
loud that people turned to stare, and in a bar teeming with
other loud people, that's saying something.  Then, more
quietly, he added, "No, no they're not involved.  Thank
God."

Hope blossomed in my chest.  OK, so Dana needed a man.  I'd
be there for her.  I'd take her away from the evils of her
work, from her selfish partner who used her so ruthlessly
and wouldn't even see to her sexual needs.

"I have a plan," Bill said, downing his seventh of the
night.  "She's coming back from a case tonight.  Mom gave
me the key to her apartment and a casserole that I'm
supposed to stick in the fridge.  Instead, I'll give =you
the key and the casserole - don't forget to put it in the
fridge - and we'll get a bottle of wine and some flowers
and candles and stuff that women like, and you can decorate
the place all nice for her when she gets back from a hard
case."  Of course, he had no idea if the case she was on
was hard or not, but those were insignificant details.

Sober, it would have been a crazy idea.  Totally insane.
He would never have suggested it, and I would never have
gone along.  We both would have realized that not only
would it give Dana a complete fright to find me in her
apartment, but it'd make her mad as hell besides.  But in
my fuzzy alcohol-induced haze, I could only imagine her
weeping with gratitude at my chivalrous gesture.

So I agreed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

That's how I found myself in Dana's neat little apartment,
holding a paper bag full of stuff that Bill and I bought at
some random supermarket, as well as the casserole her
mother had made for her.  I was debating where to begin
(and that is a generous description of my thought
processes, slow and fuzzy as they were), when the decision
was taken out of my hands.

I heard the key in the door, and a stifled female laugh.
Suddenly I became aware that the situation was very wrong.
I stood there, wondering why the hell I was there, and what
the =fuck= did I think I was doing standing there in her
living room?

Then I heard the other voice.  Oh, =shit=.  He was with
her.  Fucking Fox Mulder.  Now I understood why Bill called
him that.

I panicked.  I ran, right into her bedroom.  And just in
time, because I heard the door open.  In retrospect, I
probably should have just remained where I was, scaring all
three of us for a moment, then explained about the
casserole and Bill and that I'd be on my way now, thank
you.

But I wasn't thinking clearly.  It wasn't just the beers
I'd had.  Fear shuts down my thinking processes like
nothing else.  I get paralyzed; I can't think properly.
It's amazing I even had the presence of mind to run.

I was really panicking when I heard their voices get a
little louder, as if they were coming closer.  Shit.  I
couldn't confront them now, not when I was in her bedroom,
for godsakes.  Even if I'd been in the bathroom I could
have made a believable if lame excuse.  But in her
=bedroom=?  What would I be doing here unless I was some
sick freak who was making myself comfortable in her most
intimate of rooms?  She'd shoot me.  If her partner didn't
beat her to it.  I'd come into his woman's apartment with
intent to seduce.  I'd deserve it, I told myself
fatalistically, if only for being stupid enough to listen
to Bill Scully.  Hadn't I learned =anything= from those
scrapes we got ourselves into all those years ago?

So I looked for a place to hide.  Under the bed?  No, I
couldn't do that to myself.  I'd never be able to know when
it was safe.  Then I saw her closet.  It was rather large
(it took up practically the whole side of the wall), and it
was the kind that had the little blinds on the doors, so
you could actually see out between them.  Wrap that to go;
I'll take it.

I ran in there, closing the door, clutching the paper bag
to me.  If anyone could have seen me then, it would have
been a sorry sight.  I quickly put the bag down in a way
that it couldn't give any more - the last thing I needed
was to tire from holding the bag or have it make noises and
alert them to my presence.

I really don't know how I thought I was going to get away
with it.  Did I fondly imagine that Dana wouldn't open her
closet door?  Judging from the neatness of her apartment,
she was probably the type to hang up her clothes as she
removed them.  In spite of myself, my mouth went dry at the
thought of Dana taking off her clothes.

But God was on my side.  He looked down at this pitiful,
stupid man, and He took pity on me.  Thank you, Lord.

It seemed that Dana was in =no= condition to care whether
her clothes were neatly rehung or not.  She sounded like
she was...drunk.

They entered the bedroom noisily, turning on the lights.
That about gave me another heart attack, but I realized
that the last thing they were looking for was an intruder
in the closet.  That helped to slow my heartbeat.

I could see into the room a little, my view only partially
blocked by the louvered doors. Dana came into sight first,
still dressed in a business suit, though her coat was off.
The skirt was kind of short, and I found myself admiring
Fucking Fox Mulder's fortitude at being able to work
alongside her day after day and not touch her.  Or maybe he
was gay.  He was certainly good-looking enough to be gay,
my alcohol-soaked brain offered as he stepped into my line
of sight.  I didn't remember him being this attractive the
first and only other time I'd seen him.  Of course, I'd
probably been stewing too much about his date-crashing
excursion to notice or care.

"Mulder..." Dana began.  "I don't think I should have had
that last shot."

His response was wry.  "You probably shouldn't have had
those last =three= shots, Scully."

She let out a sound that was somewhere between a giggle and
a snort.  "But they were niiiiice," she drawled out.  "We
deserved it after what those bastards put us through this
week."

He made noises of agreement.

She started to strip her clothes off left and right.  Her
partner was picking up each piece, carefully avoiding
looking at her, and placing them on a chair by the bed.

"You should get some rest," he said.  Hello, what's this?
Was it me, or was his voice a little raspy?  I guess he
wasn't immune, after all.

"I'm not tired," she countered.  "You should be nice to me.
I hurt my foot." I couldn't see the expression on her face,
but she sounded like a pouting little girl.  Of course,
when she pouted as a little girl it probably wasn't half as
effective as it was now.

He swallowed, the sound audible from even several yards
away.  "I know, Scully.  I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let
you run in those shoes..."

"Oh, shut up, Mulder!  I wanted to run.  You couldn't have
stopped me."  She sounded extremely annoyed now.  "And now
I can't take any medicine 'cause I've been drinking."

"You're right," he said, a grin in his voice.  "It's your
own fault."

I imagined she must have pouted again at that point.

She moved back where I could see her, and she was clad in
only her underwear and a bra.  One of her hands reached
back to unclasp her bra.  "It's hot, Mulder," she said
seductively.  Or at least, I thought it was seductive.  But
maybe I was wrong, too driven by my hormones, because when
I spared him a glance, he hadn't even batted an eyelash,
barely seeming affected at all.

"I've...uh...gotta use the restroom, Scully.  You get into
your pajamas and I'll be right back."  And Fucking Fox
Mulder fled.

Here was his beautiful partner stripping in front of him,
speaking to him in a seductive voice, and he runs?  OK, he
was definitely gay.  But I also grudgingly realized that
Dana was not herself, that the drugs in her system were
making her act a little unpredictably. I'm sorry to say
that I don't have first hand knowledge of this, but judging
from his reactions so far, I'd even venture to say that it
was making her act =very= unpredictably, and probably very
much unlike her usual self.  And it was the gentlemanly
thing to do to spare her a little dignity for when she woke
up in the morning.

I watched as she removed the rest of her clothing – yeah
that's right, I did, so sue me, I'm not the gentleman her
partner is (nor am I gay).  She was pretty dexterous for a
woman who was five foot three and had downed probably well
more than three shots of hard liquor.

But instead of getting into the pajamas he had set out for
her, she simply laid down on the bed and waited for him.
Naked.  She even spread her legs a little.  Jesus.  I
should have known better than to listen to Bill.  Not doing
it, my ass.  As if she would tell Bill if she were fucking
Fucking Fox Mulder.  At this point, I was enormously happy
that I would be able to pay Bill back by informing him that
his worst nightmare was true.

When Fucking Fox Mulder made his way back to her bedroom,
clearly expecting her to be in her bed under the covers (or
at least clothed) but found her otherwise, the expression
on his face was utterly priceless.  I would have burst into
laughter had I been in any position to do so.

He quickly averted his gaze.  "OK well um...I'm gonna go,
then...Scully."

Dana did not looked too pleased with this announcement.
"Don't go yet," she entreated softly.

He replied, sounding like he was trying to be firm, "I
think it'd be better if I took off now, Scully."  He was
staring off to his right, looking right at the closet door.
I felt a shiver of anxiety run down my spine, but it passed
when I realized that he wasn't really seeing anything, lost
in whatever was going on inside his head.

"Better for whom?"  Wait a minute.  She didn't sound drunk
just then.

She sounded lucid.

He finally looked straight at her; I noticed he kept his
eyes trained on her face, not looking at her body.  "For
both of us, Scully.  I know...we've...talked about this,
and agreed to...to try to...uh – "  I hoped for her sake
that it was the situation rendering him inarticulate and it
wasn't the normal state of affairs for them, because that
could get really tedious.

Dana bit her lip.  "You've changed your mind?"  Her fingers
began to fidget on the bedcovers, and I could tell she was
suddenly wishing she wasn't so naked...so vulnerable.

Mulder was spurred into action as he quickly dropped down
next to her.  "Oh God no, Scully.  You're killing me here.
I want you...I want you more than anyone has ever wanted
another human being.  I told you before that I love you...I
meant it.  I love you, Scully."  He closed his eyes and
sighed.  "What am I saying?  You won't even remember this
in the morning."  He covered his face with his hands.

Gently, Dana reached up and pulled his hands away so that
they rested on his lap.  "I remember every thing you've
ever said to me, Mulder.  Even the things you said when you
didn't know I was listening.  But I did hear them, Mulder.
I heard them here."  And taking his much larger hand in
hers, she placed it right above her breast, right where her
heart was beating.

Before he could say a word, she had moved his hand from her
chest bone to the breast itself.  Both of their breaths
caught in their throats.  "And besides...I want this."  Her
eyes closed as she had him fondle her.

"But you're not yourself, Scully.  You've been drinking.
You'll regret this in the morning, and I don't think I
could face you then."

It looked as though Dana wasn't even listening to him; she
was too busy trying to get him to play with her nipple.  He
began to cooperate, kneading her breast and using two
fingers to hold the nipple in place while his thumb ran
over the hard nub.  She moaned, and his body jerked at the
sound.  This in turn caused his fingers to jerk what was
between them, and she moaned again.

Her breathing grew uneven.  "I know what I'm doing.  I'll
remember," she promised.  "I've wanted you for...ever."  A
sigh escaped between her lips.  "Mulder...I wanted this to
happen.  But I was a coward and couldn't do this
without...help.  So I suggested we go to a bar...to unwind,
loosen up a bit."

He seemed to let that soak in.  "So this isn't some
manifestation of all the alcohol you've taken in tonight?"
Hope was the overriding emotion in =that= statement.

"Nope.  It's always been there...Dutch courage," she
whispered.

"You don't know how much I want this, Scully, you have no
idea."  His voice sounded strangled.  "But I want this to
be perfect for you.  I should go."  He took his hand from
her breast.

She grabbed it again, holding on tight.  Her other hand she
used to run up and down her body.  "But...Mmmulder (I
swear, she said his name like that the whole time, drawing
out the "m" with a little moan - would =any= guy have been
able to resist?).  It =will= be perfect.  And right now I'm
so...horny."  Good tactic, I thought.  When all else fails,
do some dirty talking.  Of course, it's usually the guy
trying to convince the woman, but I imagine it works about
the same.

Mulder looked distinctly...shocked.  Yep, that's the
expression I saw on his face all right.  As if he'd never
in a million years expected such a word to come out of
Dana's mouth.  =Surely= he's heard worse from her.  Little
potty mouth Dana, who took being a sailor's daughter so
seriously.  She could always out-curse me and Bill and
Charlie combined.

It was aggravating as all hell to watch the woman of my
dreams in the throes of sexual arousal for someone else.
It made it ten times worse that it was with someone I'd
come to peripherally hate, that it was all for =him=.  But
maybe it wasn't all for him, I told myself reasonably.  She
was drunk, after all.  She probably didn't even know what
she was doing.

Dana was whimpering now, her body writhing on the sheets.
"=Please=," I heard her say.  She was begging.

He closed his eyes, and tried again to pull his hand away,
unsuccessfully.  She was holding on tight, and he tried one
more time to deter her.  "Scully, you don't..." he began,
but she cut him off.

"God, Mmmulder," she moaned, finally letting go of his hand
and sliding her hands across her breasts. She pinched her
nipples, and I felt it in my cock, as if there was a direct
line running between her body and mine.  "Please,
Mmmulder," she said, sounding on the verge of tears.
"Please.  Don't do this to me.  I want you..."  Jesus.  I
was on the verge as well.  On the verge of crashing right
out of this closet and jumping her myself.  If the guy's
made of flesh and bone and possesses a willing cock, how
=could= he resist?

He didn't.

"OK, Scully," he said, in a tone of voice like he was
giving in, resigning himself to the fact that he was going
to have sex with her.  Don't do her any favors, buddy.  I'm
here for her.  You can leave if you want.

And then the reality of the situation hit me, and my mind
shouted a ringing NO!  No, I was =not= about to see Fucking
Fox Mulder have sex with Dana, at her own insistence.  NO.
That's what I'd come here to do, to alleviate her sexual
needs.  I was supposed to do it.

But it was too late.  Here was the beginning of my career
as a voyeur.

"Please Mmmulder...please," she continued to moan.

OK, I have to say at this point that no man could have – or
should have to - resist a plea like that.  I resigned
myself to it.  I'm not an unreasonable man.  And besides,
from what I heard, Fucking Fox Mulder was such an asshole
that I would hardly expect =him= of all people to refuse.
Just because he's managed it all this time (supposedly)
doesn't mean he's made of stone, and here Dana was offering
herself up to him on a silver platter.  Fine, you have your
fun now, buddy.  But the next time Bill sees you, you can
kiss that pretty face goodbye.

But instead of stripping, like any sane red-blooded man
would have done at that point, he simply knelt at the foot
of her bed.  What the fuck was he doing?  If Dana had made
such a request to me - hell, if any good looking woman had
made that request to me - I would have had my pants on the
floor faster than you could say strip.

He took off his leather jacket, looking like he was getting
himself comfortable, and I thought, here it comes.  But why
the fuck was he taking so long, and why was he positioned
at the foot of the bed?  Dana's up =there=, asshole.  Was
he planning something kinky?  I felt ill at the thought.  I
might have to reveal myself if he did, because I was =not
going to watch some perverted sexual act performed on
Bill's little sister.  Good old-fashioned sex would be
difficult enough to take.

Then he grabbed her ankles and pulled her toward him.  The
light dawned.  Ohhh.  That's what he planned to do?  I felt
a certain amount of reluctant admiration for the man.  How
selfless of him.  Any man I know - including myself - would
certainly not have thought of taking that particular
solution to a naked woman's profession of horniness.  Or
maybe we would have thought about it, but it certainly
would have been tossed aside, real quick.

Finally she was right in front of his face.  He pressed a
kiss to the little thatch of auburn curls between her legs,
his hands lightly circling her ankles where they now
dangled over the bed.  He moved his hands up to her thighs,
spreading them, and Dana eagerly helped.  "Oh, Mmmulder,"
she moaned again.  It was a little hard to tell, since I
could only see his profile, but it looked like he closed
his eyes, as if in pain, and I realized that his jeans were
probably =really= uncomfortable right about now.

The whimpering and moaning of his name continued.  I
couldn't believe it when I found myself thinking, will you
shut the fuck up, Dana?  Not that I didn't love the little
noises she was making – God, I =loved= the little noises
she was making – but I was pretty sure he wouldn't want to
embarrass himself, and having her naked and in his face was
probably hard enough on him as it was.  He was going to go
down on her and not fuck her.  In my book, that made the
man a saint.  Of course, I had to quickly regain my
bearings after such disloyal thoughts.  He's Fucking Fox
Mulder.  Remember that.

His chest seemed to expand.  I realized he was breathing
her in.  His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and then he
dropped his head even lower to begin his task.

I couldn't see most of what he was doing, of course, what
with the blinds and Dana's thighs in the way, but she
seemed to be enjoying it.  She sounded like she was having
the time of her life.  That was nice to know.  Going down
on a woman is vastly different from going down on a guy.
Wait, that didn't come out right.  What I meant is, when a
guy is being given a blow job, it's hard for us not to like
it.  I mean, unless the woman REALLY doesn't know what
she's doing, or unless she's doing stuff that should never
be done to the male sex organ, we're enjoying it.

It's different with a woman.  If you don't do it right,
she's liable to either fake it or yank on your hair and
tell you to get to the main show.  In my experience, and
this comes from both personal and second-hand accounts, for
a woman to really enjoy a man's tongue and lips on her
pussy, he's gotta know what he's doing.  And I'm the first
to confess that I'm no good at it.  I'm terrible.  I have
no technique whatsoever.  It doesn't really do anything for
me, and it's hard to get into something you don't really
like, you know?  Most guys I know do it because they're
asked or expected to, not because they want to.

Obviously, from what I'd already seen, Mulder wanted to.
He could have given in to Dana's pleas by giving her what
she was really asking for - and I don't kid myself about
this point - sex.  As in, full on intercourse.  But not
only did he actually =want= to go down on her (and I'm
thinking if I could enjoy it with any woman, it'd be Dana,
who I've had more wet dreams about than any other woman in
my life), from what I was hearing, the bastard was good at
it, too.  Really, really good.

His hands were now at her waist, and her hands were
gripping his head, holding him to her.  I could hear the
sounds that were coming from between her legs, general
sucking, biting, and licking sounds.  I thought maybe I
should pay attention, just concentrate on the technique,
forget that it was =Dana= he was doing these things to, and
try to learn something.  I could surprise and thrill
Yolanda with some fancy tongue-work.  I like pleasing my
sexual partners, and I figure that anything that could
bring as much pleasure to her as Dana seemed to be
experiencing was worth my time and concentration.

Then Mulder lifted his head, and I thought, what, the
show's over already?  Had Dana come?  She couldn't have; I
remember the hotheaded little sister of Bill's and I'm
pretty sure she would scream like a banshee, especially in
the state that she was in.  Was he tired?  I felt some
sympathy for him.  Women do take forever to come.

But it wasn't a break, or even a reprieve.  Immediately
after he lifted his head, presumably to see Dana's face and
be sure she was enjoying what he had been doing (Hello!
Are you deaf?), he brought one of his hands to the place
where his mouth had been.  And even if I couldn't see
exactly what he was doing, from the sound of Dana's groan
and from the movement of his palm sliding toward her, I
knew he'd just slipped a finger into her.  Another groan –
another finger.  Pretty soon he was just fucking her with
his fingers, eyes half-hooded but still watching her face,
never letting up for a second.

Without breaking the rhythm he had generated, his head
lowered again and the suckling sounds started anew.  From
the sound of things, Dana was going to come pretty soon,
and hard.  Fingers =and= mouth, I mused.  That was good to
know.  I couldn't have come up with it on my own.

After a little bit, he lifted his head and asked in a voice
I barely recognized as his, "You want to come, Scully?"
His fingers were merciless against her, thrusting hard and
fast.

"Yesssss..." she hissed.

"I don't know if I'm convinced, Scully," he said in that
voice again.  "Why don't you tell me how much you want it?"
I realized that his voice was coated with lust, and that's
why it sounded so strange.  Hmm.  Fingers, tongue, and some
dirty talk.  I could do that.  Yolanda was going to be
=pleased= with me soon.

"Mmmulder, I...I want to come."  Each word was paced by a
slight hitch in breath as his fingers worked her.  "You're
making me...crazy...I want to come."  She moaned again, and
this time, her hands found his head and tried to draw him
down to her.  "IwantocomeIwanttocomeIwanttocome," she
chanted.

He was finally appeased, and his head lowered to where she
wanted it.  He was there for just a second when a keening
cry came from Dana's throat.  What did he do?  I wondered
in panic.  I needed to know the finale if I was to repeat
this performance on someone else.  I watched him, hoping
for a clue.  The gods were on my side.  After a while,
Dana's convulsions subsided and I saw him slip her clit out
of his mouth.  Oh.  Yeah - I would have guessed that.  He
didn't take his fingers out, though, simply sliding them
gently in and out, letting her ride the wave as long as
possible.

Finally, Dana stopped moving altogether, and it looked like
she was passed out from the combination of the alcohol in
her system and post-coital lethargy.  Mulder slid his
fingers out and sucked on them, never taking his gaze away
from Dana's sleeping face.  Since she was no longer aware
of him or what he was doing, this was obviously for his own
personal pleasure.

He got up with some difficulty, and I didn't blame him,
considering his position for the last - jeez, how much time
=had= passed?  It seemed like forever and no time at all.

He stretched a bit, still gazing down at Dana, then reached
down and picked her gently up in his arms, replacing her
higher up on the bed, her head resting on her pillow.
Finally he reached for his jacket lying in a heap on the
floor.  He was heading for the door, his hand brushing the
front of his pants.  Poor guy, I thought in sympathy,
seeing how they were bulging in the front.  He was in no
condition to be wearing jeans.  Or any pants at all, for
that matter.  No doubt he was headed for the bathroom to
relieve his own sexual tension.  I was struck again by the
fact that he hadn't taken the easy way out and just taken
what she had offered.

"Mulder."  Her voice stopped him.  When had she come to?
"Don't leave.  I..." she licked her lips.  He couldn't see
her face, but I could, and it looked like she was screwing
up her courage.  "I want to feel you inside me," she
whispered.  Oh God.  He was a dead man.

From the way he swallowed convulsively and closed his eyes
with this look of utter torture on his face, I knew he
thought the same thing.  =No man= could have left that
room, though I give him points for trying.  He had barely
taken one step when Dana practically vaulted off the bed
and went over to him, reaching up to touch his shoulder.
It was as if she controlled him.  You could tell that he
didn't want to give in, practically =saw= the resistance
surrounding him, but it was as though her gentle fingers
had more power over him than he could ever hope to possess.
And I knew with a certainty that astounded me that he
wasn't reluctant to make love to her, that he wanted to do
so with every fiber of his being, but that the reluctance
was for =her=, in case she should regret it in the morning.

"Please don't make me beg," she said quietly, and he simply
crumbled right there, in that instant.  Luckily the bed was
there to catch him when his knees gave out.

Dana settled him onto the bed, and pretty soon he was lying
on his back, all his clothes still on, and he was looking
at her with this expression of trepidation, guilty relief,
and some other emotion I couldn't place.  She removed his
shoes and socks, and together they got rid of his shirt and
his jeans.  He still hadn't said anything, as if he were
afraid that if he did, it would all turn out to be a dream.
He might have been relieved to know that there was a third
party witness there, someone to reassure him that this was
no dream.  But then again, maybe not.

All he had on now was his boxers, this white cotton pair
with Snoopy playing Joe Cool all over them.  I wanted to
laugh.  I could tell Dana felt the same, the way her lips
kept trying to tug into a smile.  But she probably didn't
want to hurt his feelings, in case he took it the wrong
way.

"You like my boxers, Scully?" he asked finally, a sheepish
grin coming over his face, telling her to indulge in the
laughter he could see was on the verge of bubbling out.

She giggled - and I realized that I hadn't heard Dana
Scully giggle since the last time I'd seen her in pigtails,
which was =quite= some time ago.  Since then, she always
seemed to wear this defensive armor around herself, as if
she was afraid of giving away too much.  Her job probably
didn't help matters, being such a boys club and all, but
now the armor wasn't there.  I'm sure she wears armor
around her partner, too, but I bet he gets to see her take
it off a lot more than other people do.

Before I could process the significance of this
realization, and what it meant regarding the things that
Bill had told me about Mulder and about Dana's relationship
with him, a groan distracted me.  Dana had stopped amusing
herself with Mulder's boxers and had gone on to amuse
herself with what was straining to get out of them.

I'm a pretty decent person.  Decent enough to know that at
that point I should have closed my eyes, looked away, done
=anything= but watch them.  But I couldn't help myself.  I
had seen too much already; there was no going back.  It was
like some sick sight that you couldn't avoid looking at.
Like gawkers of an accident on the freeway.  You know it's
awful; you know that it's terrible and you shouldn't look,
but something in you, some sick sense of curiosity, makes
you do it anyway.  And it wasn't even =that= bad, nobody
was hurt or dying – it was just two people having sex.

So I watched.  I am a red-blooded male and this was like a
live skin flick.  Can anyone truly blame me?  Besides, she
wasn't =my= sister.  What did I have to lose, anyway?  I
was already witness to Fox Mulder, Cunnilingus Practitioner
Extraordinaire.

His erection was tenting his boxers to the point where I
couldn't help but notice that he was pretty well endowed.
Look, I've never been one to feel bad or good about my size
- nobody's ever complained - but when Dana finally slipped
those boxers off, I was cowed.  I felt like half a man.
And I found a new reason to hate Fox Mulder.  I found
myself thinking that Bill would be happy to know I'd found
another reason to despise his sister's partner, though I
wasn't sure I'd be bonding with him about this one.

"Ooh!  Mulder," Dana exclaimed, stroking his cock like it
was a Christmas gift she had just unwrapped, paying no heed
to his groan and the fact that he'd obviously been on the
edge of coming since he first knelt down between her legs.

She peeled the boxers all the way off his legs and tossed
them over her shoulder.  He whimpered.  Then she straddled
him.

She was looking at him with such admiration, as if he had
had any personal involvement regarding the size of his
dick, as if it wasn't all a matter of genetic luck.  She
was a =doctor= for crying out loud.  Did she =have= to pet
him as if he had accomplished some difficult feat?  As if
guys who had small dicks =chose= to be that way, or that
they hadn't earned the right to be bigger.  I shook my head
in disgust, and railed at the injustice of it in my head.
Women.

They were looking at each other, staring into one another's
eyes.  I doubt they would have noticed if a bomb dropped in
the middle of the room.  It occurred to me that I could
actually leave now, and they might not even notice.  But no
power on earth could have forced me from the bedroom at
that point.

"In me," was all she said.  I couldn't tell if it was a
question, a request, or a plea.

He nodded, looking at her with that emotion I couldn't
place earlier.  She rose up, inching her way toward her
destination, and his engorged penis eagerly tried to find
her, too.  Finally, she was there, he was in position, and
she slowly lowered herself onto him.

I could see his fingers twitching where they lay by his
hips, but he didn't do anything with them; he let her have
control.  I knew that likely, he just wanted to grab her
hips and shove into her, and again, I had to admire his
restraint.

She was about halfway down when she stopped.  I could tell
they'd both been holding their breaths when simultaneously
they both let out great gulps of air and started to breathe
erratically.  Why had she stopped?  I took one look on her
face and I knew.

Sweat was beading her face, and she was biting her lip.  It
was hurting her.  I felt my hackles rise.  Every other
consequence aside, I was not about to let this woman get
hurt.  But Mulder beat me to those sentiments.

"Scully?" his voice was panicked.  "Scully, get off me."

She didn't answer, still had her eyes closed, breathing
hard.

"Scully, this is hurting you."  He sounded like he was
about to cry.  His hands went to her hips, and I could tell
he was about to lift her up and off of him.

She finally spoke.  "Stop it, Mulder.  I told you, I know
what I'm doing."  He snatched his hands away as if he'd
been burned.  Whipped.  That's what he was.

She opened her eyes, and brought a hand up to his cheek,
stroking it lovingly.  "It's been a while, and you're so
big, okay?  I just need to get used to it, that's all.  I
want you.  Now be quiet."  Translation: shut up and let me
fuck you.  If that had been me under there, I could have
come from those words alone.  Control, thy name is Fox
Mulder.

And then her words penetrated and it sounded like the two
of them really hadn't ever done the deed before.  This was
their first time =ever=?  The knowledge made me feel even
more like a shit, if that was possible.

He whimpered again but did not otherwise move or make a
sound.  I could only imagine what torture it was, to be
halfway inside a woman and have to lie still while she got
"used to it."  Especially considering the fact that he was
at the point where even a well-placed hand could have
probably set him off.

Meanwhile, I was thinking that this is exactly why horses
don't have sex with cats.  The parts just don't match.  He
was huge, and she was so incredibly small.  It was pretty
obvious to me that when it came to sex, human beings
constituted the stupidest species of all.

The next thing I realized, Dana had taken in all of him – I
imagined that he must be halfway up her throat - and was
riding him at a leisurely pace.

I couldn't believe that he wasn't dead yet.  He was so
whipped it wasn't even funny.  He was on the verge of
blowing his package, had been since he'd been eating her
out, yet he was letting Dana ride him like they had all the
time in the world.  He kept staring at her, watching her
face with rapt attention.  It was like he couldn't even
feel what his cock was doing.  I knew that fanciful thought
wasn't exactly true when her little ride got a little more
frantic and choked noises started issuing from his throat.

Up and down, up and down, she buried him in her again and
again.  His hands had gone to her waist, but he wasn't
controlling her movements in any way.  He wasn't forcing
her to a faster rhythm; he wasn't shoving her down on him
like I knew he must have wanted to do.  He looked like all
he wanted to do was watch her, that that was enough for
him.

Then it got to the point where she was riding him like a
crazed woman.  My own jeans were uncomfortable, and I was
afraid I was going to blow my wad right there.  I shut my
eyes, both because I was feeling guilty and because I was
hoping to control my own helpless reaction to the visual
stimuli.  Plus, my eyeballs hurt from straining through the
little closet blinds.

It didn't work.  Mostly because I couldn't stop myself from
=hearing= them, and the noises they were making were just
as erotic as watching the sex take place, if not more so.
Every squeak of the bedsprings, every grunt from a human
being, every wet slap of an ass against someone's thighs.
God, it was torture, and I gave up the battle, threw in the
towel, waved the little white flag.

I reopened my eyes to see what is probably going to feature
in my imagination every time I close my eyes for the next
fifty years or so: the vision of Dana Scully riding a man.
It didn't even matter that the man wasn't me.  The only
thing that could have possibly improved upon what was
happening right before my eyes was if you threw Yolanda
into the mix.  Aw, damn.  Two little redheads, maybe
kissing each other as one of them was being fucked...shit,
what was I doing?  I was a sick, sick bastard.  As if I
wasn't already between a rock and a very, very hard place.

I was dying to touch myself, but I was more afraid that if
I did I'm come right then and there and wouldn't be able to
hold the sounds of ecstasy in.

Mulder was holding onto Dana's waist for dear life, and I'm
not sure, but I think he was finally letting himself pound
her.  And then Dana came, crying out his name like a
mantra.  Oh yeah.  She's a screamer.

When that happened, it was like something snapped inside
Mulder.

Before the strongest tremors had even ceased running
through her body, he was sitting up on the bed, with Dana
still twitching on him, still coming.  He lifted her up and
off of his still-erect cock, and flipped her over onto her
hands and knees.

He rose to his knees, gripping her hips in both hands, and
in a microsecond had slammed back into her.  She gave a
little cry that went straight to my dick, which was
suffering enough as it was.  It took all the control =I
had not to cream my jeans right there.

This time her body gave absolutely no resistance.  I was
struck once more by the difference in their sizes.  It
looked like he was gutting her.  Rearranging some organs,
possibly.  It was an arousing sight.  But I felt for poor
Dana.  She hadn't done this in a while?  Damn, was she
going to be sore come morning.

He pulled almost all the way out of her, so that he could
see his cock, all glistening from having been in her,
before he thrust it back in.  She was so slick and wet from
her previous two orgasms that what was happening between
her legs now was giving off its own symphony of sound.  It
sounded like her juices were gushing out of her.  Her ass
slapped wetly against him as he fucked her like there was
no tomorrow.  There wasn't any other way to put it.  Yeah,
yeah, it gets used all the time - "he ate like there was no
tomorrow"  "she danced like there was no tomorrow" - but
those are just figures of speech, exaggerations.  The man I
saw fucked the woman beneath him like there was =no
tomorrow coming.

At this point I would have given my right arm for Yolanda
to have been stuck in this closet with me.  There is no way
you can watch the kind of raw and dirty sex that was
happening right in front of me and still remain unaffected.
It ain't possible.  It ain't human.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

So now here I stand, in Dana's closet, watching her partner
fuck her brains out.  And I am not one to use that
expression lightly.  I've been trying to distract myself,
ruminating about how I got here in the first place, trying
=not= to do the thing that Fox Mulder is at this moment
trying to accomplish.

I think of what I'm going to tell Bill.  That seems to do
the trick, at least for now.  I can feel my hard-on subside
a little.  Do I tell him that he used to be right and Dana
and Mulder weren't doing it, but that's no longer accurate?
Even despising him as I do at this moment for putting me in
this situation (all right, all right, I know I'm not
entirely blameless), I feel guilt at the pain this
revelation would cause him.

Do I not say anything at all?  That would surely kill me.
How can I possibly not share with another soul what I
witnessed here tonight?  Yet if I'm going to share it with
any other person, I have to tell Bill, in case it gets back
to him somehow, and then I'd be in deep shit.

OK, so I have to tell Bill.  But that would make me even
more of a scumbag than I am already.  This is an intimate,
private moment between two people that I have no right
witness, much less share with other people...with Dana's
big brother, for God's sake.  But doesn't he have a right
to know?  It's his little sister, part of my mind argues.
And then I realize: no.  He has no rights here.  The only
people who have rights here are Dana and Mulder, and I've
already violated them.

Besides, do I really want to cause a rift between Bill and
Dana?  From the sound of things, their relationship is
rocky enough as it is.  She wouldn't want him to find out
this way, and I doubt he'd want to find out in this manner,
either.  And I'd hate to fall victim to the "kill the
messenger" mentality.  Not to mention the fact that one day
Dana might learn that I was here in her closet when she
made love with Mulder for the first time.  OK, that
scenario is absolutely unacceptable.  That's right; it all
comes down to what's in =my= best interest, dammit.

That problem resolved, I turn my attention back to the
events at hand.  Mulder's still giving it to her, nice and
hard, and I think the man has got to be made of fucking
steel.  Let it go, I want to tell him.  You deserve it!

And then I see him take his hands from her hips and instead
drapes himself over her body.  His hands rest right next to
hers on the bedcovers.  Suddenly I find out why he still
hasn't given in, why he's still torturing himself, no
matter how pleasurable the torture is.  Because =Dana comes
again=.  Yes, you heard me right.  For the third time.  I
know she's not faking it; why should she?  She's already
come twice - it's rightly his turn.  But Fox Mulder is a
more generous man than I'll ever be.

Boy, I have to admire Bill's little sister.  What a taker.
If I had a woman like that, who could come three times in a
sitting so easily, I'd feel like the biggest stud that ever
walked the earth.  And of course I have to admire Mulder,
who is my new hero.

At last he breaks the rhythm he had going and just shoves
into her fast and rough, and he climaxes =finally= with a
guttural cry of his own.

You know, I never thought the day would come when I would
hear the sound of a man calling out my best friend's name
when he's in a fit of sexual release, but here I am.  It
should probably disturb me, but it doesn't.  I think it's
the way Mulder says "Scully" like no one else.  There's no
mistaking when he says that word that he's talking about
Dana.  It doesn't even sound the same as when other people
say it, like it's not even the same word.  So it doesn't
even faze me that Mulder's yelling "Scully!" as he's
letting loose all the little Mulders into her.  That should
probably bother me too, considering how much I had wanted
her for myself, but for some reason it doesn't.

It suddenly occurs to me that they didn't use protection.
Either they really trust each other or else they're really
stupid.  I know they're both intellectual giants, but you
know what they say: the smartest people often have no
common sense whatsoever.  I grin sadistically at the
passing thought of breaking the news to Bill that not only
are they really fucking like little bunnies, but also that
he's going to be an uncle soon.  Of course, I won't - but
the thought is fun.

When Mulder's recovered somewhat, he rolls to one side and
says huskily, "Scully?"  She doesn't respond, and I can see
the panic crossing his features.  He thinks he's killed
her.  But then he apparently realizes that she's still
breathing (you aren't =that= good, buddy), and he exhales a
long breath, then eases completely off of her body with
reluctance and some difficulty.

He straightens the covers as best he can, and rearranges
their bodies so that no one will wake up with cramps in the
morning.  He just lies there until his breathing evens out,
and then the grin comes.  I've never seen anyone look that
happy.

To my surprise, he gets up soon after and starts putting on
his clothes.  He grabs his jacket from where it's been
forgotten on the floor.  He doesn't put it on, for I
imagine he's still a bit hot and flushed, but sits down on
the edge of the bed and just looks at Dana for a moment.
He brushes a wayward strand of hair away from her face,
which has no doubt gotten stuck there from her tossing her
head about and the sweat that clings to her skin.

"Don't regret this, please, Scully," he whispers.  "Ask me
to stay...ask me to stay."  Her breathing remains even; she
is unresponsive.

He sighs deeply then, almost as if he can't help himself,
and takes one of her hands, the one closest to him, and he
kisses it.  He presses it to his cheek.  He kisses her
palm.  Reluctantly, he places her hand back onto the bed,
and tries to draw a sheet over her.  Since they are all
tangled and Dana is lying on top of half of them, he's not
able to get much over her.  Oh well.  It isn't cold,
anyway, and certainly not to Dana.  It's the thought that
counts.

I've never been much of a romantic. But it's obvious Mulder
is; there's no way he could have handled tonight the way he
did otherwise.  With sudden clarity I know why he's
leaving: it's so that when she wakes up in the morning she
can get her bearings without the added pressure of having
to face him.  He's letting her have control.  And as he
gets up to leave, I get a good look at the expression on
his face, and I realize it's of love.  It's of love, I tell
myself, feeling an indefinable weight lifting from my
shoulders and relief washes over me.  It's of love.

Again, Dana surprises us both by speaking.  I thought she
was out of commission for a while.  "Mulder?" she says
softly, tremulously.  "Stay with me?"  She asks it like a
question, as if she doesn't know that he's doing a little
dance of joy inside that she asked.

And then I realize – she =doesn't= know.  And I am struck
by how two such brilliant people can be so stupid.  Like I
said before, when it comes to sex, humans are dumb.  And
that thing about smart people and common sense.  Excuse me
if I can't recall all the deep philosophical =stuff= that I
said earlier.  I'm still half-soused and hard as a rock
with little hope of getting it relieved any time soon.  If
they would just go to sleep...

He strips down to his boxers, turns off the lights, and
rejoins her on the bed.  It looks from here like he's
shaking slightly, as if he can't believe what's happening.

I hear Dana say drowsily, "Mulder, I'm sleeping on the wet
spot.  Can you move me away?  I can't seem to move my
body."  He laughs softly and spoons her up against him.
Well, sort of.  She's lying on her back, but he's on his
side pressed up against her.  It's a quasi-spoon.  Listen
to me, I'm getting poetic.

I hear some sounds, kind of wet and sounding like
suckling...oh.  They're kissing.  It shocks me to realize
that it's the first time they've kissed since they walked
into the room.  Then Dana shocks me some more.  "Do you
realize that was our first kiss, Mulder?" she murmurs.

I don't hear what he says, but I can hear what sounds like
sniffling, and I'm pretty sure it's coming from him.  I
can't blame the guy for losing his cool.  Hell, my =own
eyes feel a little damp.  Though I'm not sure whether it's
from the emotion these two have roused or the strain I've
put on my eyes from watching their activities through some
pretty damn small closet blinds.

There is silence, then Mulder's voice.  "So this was
premeditated, huh Scully?"

She doesn't answer for a while, and I think she's fallen
asleep, but then her voice answers in the darkness.
"Didn't you notice I shaved my legs especially well,
Mulder?"

There are a few contented sighs, then pretty soon they are
both sleeping the sleep of the well-and-truly-fucked-but-
good, in post-coital bliss.

I make my way out of Dana's apartment without incident,
paper bag and all, stifling the urge to whistle until I'm
safely out of the building.  I think of Yolanda and a
predatory grin overtakes my face.  I've got some brand-new
sexual techniques under my belt now that will blow her away
and make me feel like the stud I know I can be.  Not that I
wasn't a stud before, but anything that helps my cause
along is good.

Suddenly I realize that I'm sober.  I wonder when that
happened?

When I get to a major street, I hail a taxi and give
Yolanda's street address.  I almost slap myself on the
forehead when I realize that I forgot to put the damn
casserole in the fridge.  Oh well, I don't think Dana's
going to miss it all that much.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The next day I come home from Yolanda's and find a frantic
message on my machine from old Bill.  Seems he thinks he's
the scummiest big brother that ever lived.  I think about
torturing him for a few more hours, for putting both of us
through that ordeal, but in a way he did me a favor.

For some reason, seeing Dana and her partner together kind
of gave me hope that there is someone out there for me,
someone perfect =just= for me, like they are for each
other.  I think this whole thing has affected me in a
really positive way.  When I got to Yolanda's, I found
myself wondering if she had always been that beautiful.  I
marveled at the fact that she put up with me, that she
opened her door for me at such an ungodly hour.

I think my new attitude presented itself well to her, and
she seemed to blossom as a result.  Of course, that could
have just been my highly appreciated new techniques...but I
like to think that maybe it was something a little more.

So I go ahead and call.  Bill answers on the first ring,
and the first thing I say is that nothing happened; Dana
didn't know I'd been anywhere near her apartment.  I tell
him the casserole never made it, but won't elaborate
further than that.  I do tell him that Mulder was there.
When he hears this he's less than thrilled.  "At that hour?
Fucking Fox Mulder was there?" he spits out incredulously.

I'm so tempted to tell him that the designation he uses for
his sister's partner is a lot more apropos than he
realizes, but if things go the way they should (and as I'm
positive they will), I'm sure he'll eventually find that
out on his own.  I know he's dying of curiosity to know how
I know all these details and yet his sister doesn't know I
was at her place, but our pact keeps his questions silent.
I make him swear that he won't ever tell her that I was
there, and he makes me swear that I won't ever tell her
what he asked of me.  We then both swear never to mention
it again.

While he's taking a huge breath to start in on another
Fucking Fox Mulder tirade, I insert, "He loves her.  I
think they're perfect together."

The last thing I hear before I put the phone down is Bill
shouting, "Wha-at?!  Has the whole fucking world gone
=crazy=?"

I've gotta get cleaned up.  I've got a hot date with a
lovely little redhead tonight, for the second night in a
row.  She's sweet and funny, she's got a hell of a body on
her, and she hasn't realized yet that she's too good for
me.  If I'm smart I'll grab my chance and hang on for dear
life.

Maybe I should wear =my= Snoopy boxers.  Snoopy got at
least one guy I know the woman of his dreams.  Maybe Joe
Cool can work some magic for me.

I muse a little on the fact that Dana and Mulder's
unknowing sacrifice wasn't an entire waste, that seeing
them together made a significant impact on another person's
life.  I'm glad I can at least give that back to them, even
though hopefully they'll never know about it.

Well.  I guess I have a romantic side after all.  Who knew?

=End

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
For the full text go to:
http://www.angelfire.com/ms/naridalaw
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

HUGS AND BESOS TO: Brandon, Paulette, and Shannon for the
polish and shine.  Your collective talent and generosity
continue to inspire me.  I can't do you guys justice.

Brandon, your understanding of the characters is second to
none and I love that you call me on it when they start
getting unrecognizable.

Paulette, what an eye!  Your knowledge of the impossibilities
of certain sexual situations is much appreciated.

Shannon, any part in this that's any good is all you.

And finally, though she has no wish to be associated with this
trashy fic whatsoever, to Louise Marin, who unwittingly goaded
me into writing this when she forced me to think of smut and
then proceeded to leave a scene filled with UST.  "Any Other
Name" continues to obsess me.