MY NOTES: "Leftovers" is what happens when I write to feed my
own M/S food fetish. I make no apologies...plus, it was SUE who
put me up to this--it's all her fault!!!! Be prepared for absolute
filth and potato salad. DO NOT READ THIS AT WORK! or within
thirty minutes of operating heavy machinery. You've been
warned. :0P

SPECIAL THANKS: to everyone who's ever dedicated a food fic to
me:
Jenna Brown, Dasha, Alanna, PD, and Perelandra...there's more
I'm sure...flame me if I forgot you!
Plus a HUGE thanks to ------->Barb<-------who made it her
personal mission to make sure everyone on God's green earth
read TIME. A special metal of honor to Deb and Michelle for
beta-ing this thing, it wasn't easy. How does one spell Jell-O?

DISCLAIMER: Okay, here we go. I don't own them,
I'm just borrowing them because the grand high
sci-fiction genius Chris Carter invented them
and I'm horribly envious. So I borrow them and
let them have a break from the six
years of UST. I think they appreciate it. All
regards to 1013, FOX, and such. I'll hose them off
and return 'em Chris, when I'm done!
And I really hope no one converts this into a
"Nanny" story. Yipes!
 

FEEDBACK: I just quit my suck-ass job, so humor me and I'll
spend more free time writing smut.
Terma99@aol.com
(My friends call me Sharon. Feedback=instant friend)
 
 

Leftovers
by Terma99
 

Halfway through an annoying dream involving Mulder and a
latte-soaked stack of lab results, Scully awoke to the bed
springs next to her jiggling and finally going still. Not willing to
wake yet, she kept her eyes closed, hoping whatever midnight
task he was about didn't need her assistance. Sleep at this point
was most preferable.

Despite her best efforts to remain adrift, she couldn't help but let
her ears follow the sound of him awkwardly clunking around in
the dark bathroom for a long dribbley piss (*Close the door,
Mulder*), a flush, some miscellaneous shuffling, later followed
by the sound of loose change falling out of a pocket.

He's getting dressed...why?

A few minutes later she heard the familiar crank of the
refrigerator door opening. Some rummaging, some foil
being turned back, and finally, a not so quiet...

"What the hell is *this* stuff?"

She sighed and opened her eyes, giving into a yawn. No dinner,
no sleep--it seemed not everything had changed in her life in the
last few months since she started sharing a weekend bed with
her partner. She groaned and rolled out of bed, tugging on her
robe.

In the kitchen, Mulder was bent over, naked to the waist,
squinting disgustedly at a greenish Jell-O mold on the middle
shelf, tentatively poking at it with a finger.

"Leftovers from my mother's birthday party."

He did his best to look startled at her appearance.

"Hey Scully. Sorry, did I wake you up?"

She lifted an exhausted eyebrow.

Still bent into the fridge, he shook his head innocently,
"Just hungry, that's all."

"It's not my fault we missed dinner," she said with a hint
of exasperation in her voice as she folded her arms across
the thin white cotton of her robe.

"It's not my fault you decided to wear the red dress," he
grumbled back at her, extracting a cylindrical Styrofoam
container. He stood and popped open the stiff plastic lid,
peering inside.

"Ah...this I recognize. Got a spoon?"

"You know where the spoons are, Mulder."

"Hmm..." he spun around and began to mime "eenie meenie mo"
at the four or so choices in front of him.

She sighed and pushed past him, pulling open the proper drawer
and selected a serving spoon, holding it out like a baton until he
took it from her, plunging it into the container and serving up
a white hill of potato salad. Again, pausing for inspection.

"You think this has eggs in it?"

"You're on your own; I'm going back to bed," she said
wearily, making for the hall.

"Scully?"

She stopped, her hand on the corner of the wall.

"Scully...talk to me."

She didn't look at him; just kept her gaze on the carpet.

"Not now Mulder, I'm tired."

"You're not pissed at me are you?" he asked, taking a generous
bite from the oversized spoon.

Was she? Yeah, sure, certainly not *fine*. She really didn't want
to get into this right now. "No, I'm not pissed at you."

"But maybe a little perturbed?"

She looked back at him finishing his bite, dragging his lower
lip under the concave dip of the spoon, disrupting the natural fall
of his mouth into a rather comical pout.

"Sure, perturbed, then."

He lowered his head so his eyes had to tilt affectionately upward
to look at her. "Share some leftovers with me?"

She gave a little. As much as she just wanted to sleep, his
rather unbearably adorable expressions were starting to get
the better of her.

All right then. She stepped back into the kitchen. Better get this
out of her system now. "Sure, what are we having?"

He smiled timidly at her. "Potato salad at 2 AM?" he asked,
dipping the spoon back in for another go, coming up with
a mammoth bite. He aimed it at her, inviting.

Blinking awkwardly, she tried to get her mouth around the edge
of the gooey hill. But it was being navigated by an overeager
pilot and a nice gloop of it fastened itself to her nose as she bit
down, before retreating and finding its way back into his mouth,
cleaning the spoon.

She rolled the cold chunky stuff over her tongue before swallowing.
"Thanks a lot," she muttered, and wiped her nose with the tip of
her finger, cleaning the digit with a swipe through her lips.

Mulder watched that particular hygienic move with great interest.
"Mmm...good?"

"Not as good as the Mandarin Almond Salad at the Bayou. Or so
I hear."

He sighed under his breath. *Here we go.*

"You can't tell me you were overcome with the idea of spending
a stimulating evening with the security division, were you?"

Her answer was cool and direct. "Yes Mulder, I was."

He set his lips. "You can't be *serious*."

She dropped her arms to either side and her mouth shot
open, exasperated. "It shouldn't surprise you that just once
in a while, I might like to socialize with someone other than you."

He let out an ironic laugh. "Even if they give you hives? Scully,
those people are a circus of bad human acts. It seemed a much
better choice to stay home, with you."

"We always stay at *my* home."

Mulder wasn't sure he liked the sound of her use of the
possessive. Maybe he should have let her sleep. It beat the
hell out of having to get dressed and drive back to Alexandria
at this point.

He set the container back on the counter with a little crunch.
No, he didn't want to fight with her right now--it was Friday.
The sudden flash he got of himself lying on his couch, pissed
and scared, staring at the ceiling of his apartment next to the
phone for two long days was not an option. Time to calm down,
work this one out.

"Sorry..."

She shook her head, her eyes going ice on him.

"No you're not. You never had any *intention* of going. You
just forgot to tell me and I, like an idiot, had to spend most of
the day worrying about which earrings to wear and whether or
not the wool coat was going to look too heavy, and...and..."

He eased himself back against the counter. Shit, it was bad if
Scully was losing her ability to formulate an argument. Even if it
was almost three AM.

"Scully, I...Okay I'll admit I wasn't exactly thrilled about going,
but it's not what you think. I just..." *Go ahead you ass, say it.*
He drew a breath. "I just didn't think I could stand playing
our charades for the better part of the evening, that's all. I don't
like having to *pretend*."

"And you think I do?"

He shook his head. "No. No, I don't."

"Can't you understand this was important to me?" She looked then
as if hot tears were not far off for her.

Okay, now he was scared.

"Yes."

"Then why couldn't you do this for me?"

He was struck temporarily mute for a minute. This was a variation
of Scully he wasn’t yet accustomed to dealing with. They were
usually otherwise engaged in more strenuous activities during
their weekend sojourns. The honeymoon, it seemed, was beginning
to wear off.

"Scully, you know there isn't *anything* I wouldn't do for you,"
he said quietly.

*Yes, but you didn't do this, did you?* He'd barely made it in
the door before tugging her clothes off and rutting like a sex-
starved ferret, effectively killing any chance they'd have of
getting out the door within a reasonable amount of time.

"But what? I have to ask for it first by name?"

But she did ask for it, didn't she? That's why she wore the dress,
she was asking for him to do this for her; put up with some crap
for a while, act civilized for a change.

"I don't know what you want me to say..."

Whatever words he could have chosen to utter right then,
evidently those were about the worst. Her lips snapped shut and
she whirled out of the kitchen and down into the hall, slamming
the bathroom door behind her.

He shut his eyes tightly for a moment, then stared at the
ceiling, trying to scramble for a recovery. *Bad move, Moose.
Bad move.*

He gathered himself and approached the bathroom door
with extreme caution. On the other side he could hear her
running the water like Niagara Falls and knocking the
Kleenex box onto the floor.

Mulder felt as nervous as the neglected Jell-O mold in the fridge.

"Scully?"

No answer.

"Scully? I'm sorry...please open the door."

"Go home, Mulder," her voice was tight, but even.

He felt the edge of real panic starting to gnaw at his
stomach. Leaving was the last thing he wanted to do.
She'd have to set the place on fire to drive him out now,
and that would probably not be enough either.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Go home. I don't want to do this anymore."

Do *this*? He was certain his heart forgot a beat.

"What are you saying, Scully?"

There was a long silence and then he heard her blowing her nose.

"I thought this would be easier..."

His heart was accelerating to an uncomfortable rate, making
hearing her through the door all that more difficult. He lay his
palm gently against the wood.

"Please open the door."

The door unlocked and swung open in one clean move. She
stepped out and past him, staring at the floor, coming to sit
stiffly on the edge of the bed. He just stood there, frozen,
watching her, trying like hell to figure out how they had gotten
to this point so fast.

She spoke carefully, holding her voice steady despite its lack
of volume.

"I can't do this anymore," she said.

"What are you saying..." his voice had suddenly lost its air as well.

She looked at her hands folded in her lap.

"I want you to leave."

"No..."

"Please."

"I *can't*."

"Need some time...I need to think this over...figure this out."

Mulder felt his eyes begin to burn. *Jesus, I'm not about to
get dumped here, am I?*

"I think you need to talk to me..." he whispered. She wouldn't look
at him. He stepped closer to her and she turned away slightly as
he sat next to her on the bed. The scent of their lovemaking was
still evident in the folds of the tousled sheets. It made him
queasy now. He could have waited...he *would have* waited...

"I don't know what you want me to say," she echoed him weakly.

"Scully, come on, look at me..." He touched the side of her face
coaxing her to turn back to him. She did slowly, but kept her
eyes lowered. "I need to know what's going on here so I can fix it."

"It's not up to you to fix everything..." she said with a tired sigh,
her shoulders sagging resignedly. "We should have thought
about this...before we..." she couldn't finish, losing her voice to a
hard swallow.

A dreadful gray realization rose in him and he could swear he
could feel his chest sinking in on itself.

"You don't mean you think we shouldn't...that you regret......?"
His hand brushed her arm faintly, worry rimming his eyes.
She didn't move, sat motionless, staring at her hands, plucking
at the unraveling sleeve of her robe.

*God, Scully, say something. Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me I'm
a complete asshole, just tell me you don't regret...*

He watched the side of her face, waiting. Waiting for something
to tell him his world wasn't about to come crashing to a violent
halt.

Nothing. He lowered his face into his hands, as if in prayer,
his fingers pressing into the aching corners of his eyes, helpless
to break the stony silence that had settled so suddenly
between them.

"Shit," he said under his breath and stood. Throwing the
bedspread back, he searched bleakly for his shirt, grabbing it
with a jerk and pulling it on. Fuck the buttons, where were
his shoes?

It felt like it took hours trying to reassemble himself into at least
a legally-decent dressed human. By some miracle his keys
made themselves visible on her dresser. He had no memory of
even setting them there. She must have done it. All he could
fashion in his mind from earlier this evening were sensations of
heat and skin and silk under his greedy hands. He'd better try
and remember it, it would have to tide him over about thirty
years. He couldn't look at her; the term "pit in one's stomach"
had nothing on the sinkhole that was dropping through his entire
set of internal organs and bottoming out somewhere around
his ankles. His head was ringing. Fuck, he was going to come apart
if he didn't get the hell out of here quick.

He was out of the bedroom and half-way up the hall, losing a
battle with the inside-out sleeve on his coat before he heard her.

"Mulder?"

A half-hearted call. So sad and low, so Scully. He stopped,
wondering what the hell to do next.

"Come back..."

He closed his eyes, leaning his shoulder against the wall. Not if
he was going to be filleted by the "It's been a nice romp, but we
just can't work and sleep together at the same time--see
you Monday" speech.

"Mulder?"

He hoped that he wasn't imagining the regretful sound in her
voice as she called to him, like maybe she thought she'd made
a mistake. He took the chance his sorry ass might be right and
turned back, coming to lean heavily on the bedroom door jamb,
eyes to the far wall. Now he was the one who couldn't make
eye contact.

"I don't want you to leave," she sighed. "Not like this."

He stood perched half in half out of the bedroom, breathing
in shallow puffs. Not wanting to bear witness to this event he
knew was somehow going to happen sooner or later. He *knew*
it. Christ, what was he thinking? Too late, his mouth was off
and running...

"Scully, I'm really not in the mood for the ol' kiss-off right now.
If you want to tell me nicely that I'll be spending the rest of
my weekends back on my couch, I'd rather you left me a
letter tacked to my door. Or maybe as a gift subscription to
Celebrity Skin." God, that sounded morbid and bitter--he
couldn't help it.

"Mulder, will you cut the self-deprecation crap for a minute?
I'm trying to work something out here."

"Most couples work things out by *discussing* them, not giving
their partners the silent carpet stare. Either way, communication
seems to be the key...or maybe we lost our chance to build
these particular skills..."  a bitter choked laugh rose in his throat,
cutting off his diatribe.

"Are you finished?"

He pursed his lips and lowered his head shifting his weight from
one leg to the next.

He nodded, once.

"Come here..." she patted the bed next to her.

He didn't move from his perch near the door. He dug the heel of
his shoe into the carpet instead.

She continued. "I'm sorry...I overreacted. Come over here so we
can discuss this like reasonable adults."

He thought it over a minute, then jerked himself to a walking
position and, throwing his suitcoat over the chair, sank back
down onto the bed. With sure hands, she guided him over onto
his stomach and began to rub his back lightly with the palm of
her hand. With a grunt, he curled himself into a half-fetal position
at her touch.

Mulder could be very feline in his nature--graceful and indignant--
a big pouting pussycat easily tamed by the right touch. In a minute
or two she found she could reduce him from fuming to purring.
She was going for moderate calming right now, lifting his shirt
and caressing the smooth skin of his back in long strokes. He
didn't protest, in fact in a minute or so his eyes closed and
she thought she could hear him release a long breath.

"I just want to make you happy," he said quietly.

"You do Mulder...it's not that."

"But you regret..."

"Shh...stop saying that. I don't regret anything, really. I'm just a
little angry with you, is all."

"...sorry..."

She bent and kissed the back of his head. His soft brown hair
tickling her nose. "So am I. I'm a little on edge tonight."

Another grunt from the kitty, "I guess so."

She set in kneading the space between his shoulder blades that
he loved so much and she immediately felt him unclench the rest
of his wired nerves. She continued, waiting for him to settle
and calm. In just another quiet minute or so she thought she
might have gone too far and put him right to sleep. Until...

"Scully, what exactly are we fighting about?"

She'd been using this time to try and figure that out herself.
It wasn't really that absurd dinner, it was something more
nebulous. She tried to put it into words for him.

"What I think the problem is, we've spent so much time
worrying about maintaining our working relationship, we forgot
to consider how sleeping together was going to effect our social
life, as odd as that may sound."

He rolled over then, on his back so he could look up at her.

"What do you mean?" His eyes were soft gray, concerned.

"What I mean is, we didn't consider how hiding ourselves from
the public eye was going to effect us." She shrugged. "I guess I'm
just tired of taking separate cabs to the damn movies, or only
going out to dinner if we're out of town, staggering our vacation
days so no one gets suspicious. It's silly, Mulder...we're not
fooling anyone."

"We're not?"

"No--" she rolled her eyes a second. "In fact, I've seen a copy of
the recently retired office pool."

His eyes widened, a touch of amusement.

"Yeah? Who won?"

"Dredske, second floor clerk."

"Gaah, I hate that guy...my supply memos always come back
with funny stains on them."

Scully dipped her head and laughed silently. He touched her
chin, raising her eyes to his gentle and somewhat sheepish
smile. His voice was warm when he continued...

"Scully, I thought we were doing this because you wanted
privacy. You didn't want the world horning in on our personal
lives. People will talk, Skinner will give us an "official" lecture--
I'm sure, your mother will start knitting toaster cozies with our
first names on it. You *hate* that."

"I know. But I've realized what I hate even more is hiding the
fact that I love being with you, and being seen with you. I want
you to hold my hand at The Mall, I want to walk through
Franklin Park under your arm. I don't want to wait until Friday
night anymore to kiss you good morning."

He chuckled a little, feeling the previous clenching in his
chest smoothed over by a warm fuzzy goodness. Maybe Scully
was going to be harder to shake than he thought.

"I'd probably be a bit better behaved if I didn't have to wait all
week to touch you," he admitted.

She gave a snort-like laugh. "You don't have to save it for me,
Mulder."

"I'm aware of this...but you do understand there are certain
distinct differences between the two acts...and I've grown
quite fond of the team sport just recently."

"I noticed."

He reached his hand up behind her head and drew her lips close
into a gentle, reverent kiss. She kissed him back and then gave
a peck to his nose. Lying down next to him, she snuggled into
his chest, letting him wrap his arms around her.

"So be honest with me, Mulder. What do you need to make
this work?"

He wiggled next to her, settling in closer, and kissed the top of
her head.

"Scully, all I want, really, is the same thing--a little leeway. With
the rules we've agreed to I have trouble remembering where I
am half the time, and if it's okay to smile at you or touch
your shoulder. You know, stuff I didn't really think about all
that much until...well, *afterwards.*"

I want to come home with you, talk to you, make you dinner. I
want to fall asleep with you on the couch at 8:30 on a Tuesday
night watching gallbladder surgery on the Learning Channel. I
want to stop living like I've been for the past ten years. I want
to belong somewhere."

Her answer was almost inaudible.

"I want that, too."

"So we ax the rule book?"

"Yes. No more rules."

He sighed his relief, hugging her close. "Then why were we so
hell bent on creating an owner's manual in the first place?"

She shook her head. "Because we were afraid of how it would be;
that we couldn't make it work."

"We were afraid of how we would be at a lot of things if I
remember correctly...and we've discovered were pretty damn
good at at least a handful of them. I think all those years of
denial should have taught us something."

"Evidently we're very slow learners."

"We'd take the small bus to the FBI, if they had one."

She laughed, vibrating pleasantly against him. He returned the
mirth with a nuzzle to her hair.

"So what have we decided here, Mulder? Are we going to
be roommates now?"

His eyes widened. Wow. Where'd she get that from? He hadn't
quite meant to ask for that much just yet. The idea thrilled
him. Suppressing an enormous urge to hell "yaaahoooo!"  He
tried to sound like he hadn't been half-packing his apartment
over the last two months.

"Mmm...I like the sound of that...roommates..."

"I suppose I'll have to give up a closet..."

"And a shelf or two..."

"Oh god, you're not hauling all that paranormal paranoia crap in
here are you?"

He gave a low chuckle. "*No*, I'll take that over to the boys'
lair. They'll keep it safe for me. God, I'm going to miss my
hairy landlord...an odoriferous man....this building have a laundry?"

"Yep."

"Rat droppings?"

"Nope."

"Stagnant pools of soapy death in half the washers?"

"Sorry."

"I'm feeling homesick already."

"You realize, you won't be bouncing that damn basketball around
in here."

"No 'one on one'?"

"You get 'one on one' every time you come over..."

He growled pleasantly, clutching her full-body, giving her shoulder
a nip. Yes, and it seemed he'd be "over" quite a bit more from
here on out.

"Does this mean we can neck now in public?"

"A little, if you've been good."

Oh, he'd be good all right. He was glad she couldn't see his face
right now--he was sure he was grinning like an idiot. Showing
the world this amazing, gorgeous, brilliant, hell-cat of a woman
was *his* was something he'd been fantasizing about for the
better part of six years. And yes, he had always thought of her
as *his* in the most loving and intimate of ways.

"You know Mulder, little disagreements like this are healthy
and normal in any relationship."

"I know, they just scare the hell out of me, that's all."

"Why?"

Despite his effusive good humor, Mulder felt himself casting
into stark seriousness.

"Because, this is the end of the line for me, Scully. If I can't make
this work...."

"What?" Her voice was soothing.

"I'll officially remove myself from the mating pool. It's you or no
one; that I'm sure of."

She smiled, he was rather wonderful when he wasn't being
obtuse. "I'm sure of something, too, Mulder."

"Yeah, what?"

"There's room-temperature potato salad in the kitchen and
I'm *famished*."

He took her face firmly between his hands and kissed her
soundly on the mouth.

"Well let's get at it, woman."

******************************

Soon after, they were back in the kitchen, Mulder digging through
the buried foil-wrapped treasures in the refrigerator.

"Oh God, wait a minute...yesss! I'm in heaven." He stepped back unveiling
a plate of mesquite-smoked barbecue beef ribs.

"Oooh, Scully, you've been holdin' out on me."

She reached for the plate. "Here, I'll heat those..."

"Whoa! Wait! Microwave? I don't think so..." he pulled the plate
back, protecting the fleshy bones with his forearm. "Hands off,
sweetheart, these are goin' down cold."

She wrinkled her nose. "Ungh."

"Scully, I think you're missing the whole point here. These are
*leftovers*, they're supposed to be eaten cold."

Scully raised her palms in resignation and stepped back, "They're all
yours, Tarzan."

He winked at her, setting the plate on the counter, seemingly very
pleased with the moniker, and began to pick through the rib
selection, gleefully uttering little ape-like noises.

Scully left him to his task and went back to the fridge; there was some
pasta salad in here somewhere. Why didn't she think to label these?
She started to open each container one by one, setting them out on
the counter. Salad dressing, no. Kalamata olives, no. Cheesy dip, no.
Behind her, her alpha male was making happy feeding grunts, punctuated
by a sudden mooing-like noise--evidently a call intended to summon
the female.

"You, woman, fetch more sauce," he managed between tears and bites
of flesh.

She sighed deep in her throat, feeling around for the plastic cup
she remembered having a reddish ooze pattern just under the lid...
there it was. She grabbed it and repressing the urge to hurl it at him,
patiently set it down at the counter with an admonishing glance.

He shrugged at her apologetically. "There's just something very
primal about eating flesh from the bone."

"Really? How come I never feel the need to regress while at the
table?"

"You? Well of course not, Scully--come on, you're a *girl.*"

"And girls, it would seem, don't feel the need to slurp beer and
rub barbecue sauce all over their chests in a victory dance, is
that it?"

He paused a chew to peer down, examining his bare but gratefully
still unscathed, chest.

"What? Am I turning you on?" he asked.

She looked up at him. His lower lip was stained a deep molasses red as
he unceremoniously plunged the end of his rib-in-progress into the
pint of sauce.

"Hardly..." She reached up and wiped his lips with a towel. He gave
her toweled hand a kiss, and picked up a fresh rib.

"Come on Scully. Try one for me..." He bobbed a freshly dipped rib at
her seductively. The motion made the coating of barbecue sauce
condense into a large droplet that broke loose and made a brisk trip
to the floor with a splat. Mulder jumped back just in time to prevent
it from becoming a permanent addition to his dress pants.

"Oops," he muttered, looking guilty.

She grimaced and gingerly took the rib from him, setting it back on
the plate, and stopping him before he could reach for her last clean
towel with his messy fingers, got the sponge and cleared the blob
from the floor.

"Like feeding my nephew..." she mumbled.

"Sorry Scully..." He was smiling like her nephew--all bubbly and trying
hard to behave, but lacking the ability to completely control himself,
despite wanting to please her so very badly.

*Yeah, except your nephew's eyes don't do that incredible sexy crinkling
at the edges. Whoa there, calm down--you need to set an example here,
show some restraint--we're eating now.*

 Sex had got them in enough trouble already this evening.

"This is your best suit, Mulder. Let's get you out of these..." He stared at
her a second, confused, then nodded--wiggling his slimy fingers helplessly.
They weren't going to be of much use so she assumed the task herself.

###

So she had noticed the suit, Mulder thought triumphantly; he *knew* it
was her favorite. He'd caught her giving him a good visual investigation
on more than one occasion whenever he wore it to the office.

*It wasn't just the dress now, was it Scully?* He wanted to snicker, but
a plain and simple fact was her pale lithe fingers were working the
catch just above his crotch stopping any and all thoughts of
wardrobe justice.

In all honesty, he was really only thinking about food up until a few
seconds ago. Brilliant and multi-tasking as his brain could be some-
times, simple things like a plate of ribs could easily regress a man like
Fox Mulder to his ancient tribal ancestry.

Mmm...seared flesh. Me. Eat. Now.

But he realized as she eased his zipper down, that the moment his
lover's hands were within inches of his distinctly masculine
characteristics, he was completely at the mercy of a whole different
set of primal instincts, ones which he would gladly abandon the kill
for. It would seem Mulder had gone from 0 to 60 in the draw of a
zipper. And Scully had born front row witness to the event.

"Mulder..."

Was that disgust or desire in her voice?

A release of air--what could that imply?

His mating instincts were already assessing and evaluating her relevant
signs and sounds, estimating the likelihood of coupling within the next
few minutes.

A lighter sigh and she was kneeling before him. *Okay we're lookin'
good, Houston.* But before a full celebration could be launched,
reason interjected with the notion that her behaviors might still
simply be associated with the removal of his pants for...oh yeah,
preservation purposes.

*Sorry buddy, no luck yet.*

"Step out..." He obeyed and she stood, folding his pants over her arm
and walked away from his forlorn expression back up the hall.

*Female has stepped out of range....*

But the ribs weren't leaving any time soon.

Nor, it seemed, was his erection, fussing in its gray cotton-blend prison.
Oh well, it would have to wait. Besides, he'd have to wash his fingers
for that.

###

Midway through his next rib, she made a reappearance, looking, he
thought, a bit cranky.

"Come here Scully. Show me how a lady eats a rib. And I promise to
learn something."

She took the offered bone and holding it precisely between two fingers
and their companion thumbs, curled her lips back and proceeded to
nibble the flesh off with a dainty tearing motion, flicking the fleshy bits
into her mouth with precision teeth and tongue coordination, cleaning
the rib without so much as a smear to her lip or any unparticipating
fingers. She raised her brow to the tune of "that's how we do that" and
set the scavenged bone back on the plate with a click.

Mulder was staring at her with a level of concentration he usually
reserved for the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition, a half-chewed bite
of cow held in limbo between his lips momentarily, before he sucked
the strip in and swallowed heavily at her finale. She held up her fingers
for inspection. A forensics team couldn't have found traces of molasses
and spice on any of them. Amazing. He offered her another.

Scully found the flavor of cold ribs to not be as altogether unpleasant as
she had thought. Maybe Mulder was right, cold food did have a certain
charm--and apparently a hidden sexual appeal, at least for him. So far
she was making a valiant effort to not stare at the protrusion between
his thighs while she set in with a fork to the cup of salvaged white bean
pasta salad.

She gave it her best effort to set a precedent for decorum, however,
unfortunately for Dana Scully, she had recently been overcome by an
acute case of penis infatuation. Her initial shyness long forgotten, she
had now taken to studying the remarkable appendage of her lover in
great detail. Especially when he wasn't looking, or so she hoped. Her
latest failing involved slipping her head under the covers just after sun-
up to observe the morning erectile phenomena--admiring the sculpted
curve and ridges and ruddy-caramel skin tones, the bluish ripples of
vitality pumping just below the surface, the prominent flare of the tip,
the tiny dewy opening shaped not unlike her own.

Fascinating.

Not that male anatomy was foreign to her, it just didn't do to stare too
long at a stiff's crotch. Plus the interest here involved a decent dose of
reactionary effects as well. In short, it got her rather anxious. Mulder
often woke to find her suckered onto him like a lamprey. Not that
he'd complained.

She had to admit, as she swallowed her cold noodles, that for as much
as the awkward male reproductive organs could offer in attractiveness,
Mulder had a rather handsome set of plumbing. Worse yet, he knew it.

"See something you like?" He gave it a bob for her benefit. She flinched
out of her reverie. Shit, caught staring again. God help her, she felt
the mother of all blushes coming on and retreated back to the fridge.
He grinned at her over his shoulder. "Scully, what do we have to drink?"

The cold blast of air was welcoming on her face. "Well it looks like
random bottles of soda, some fruity sparkling wine beverage, apple
juice, water..."

"I'll take the sparkling thing, unless it's imitation tropical flavored."

She inspected the chilled orphan bottle. "Pina Colada. Sorry, I doubt
the coconut was cut and freshly squeezed in...Seattle."

"Yuck..." He came over next to her, nudging his way in, his bare
shoulder brushing her cheek. He pointed to a brown one near the
back, "What's that?"

"Don't-touch-anything, I'll get it." She swiveled it around. "Cream Soda."

"Oooo, mine," he crooned, taking it from her and in one brisk tap
knocked the lid off on the edge of the fridge door. Gulping loudly he
easily finished off two-thirds of its contents in one go, pausing to stifle
a burp with the back of his arm.

"Which side of your family hailed from the trailer park, Mulder?"

He suppressed a grin, tipping the bottle back again to finish off the
rest, expertly tossing it across the kitchen and into the trash can with
a clink. "Neither. Are you questioning my parentage, Scully? Second
thought, don't answer that." He made for her pasta cup and fork,
digging in. She huffed regretfully as he polished off its meager remains
in two large bites.

"Mulder..."

The knit that had tightened across her pale little forehead told him she
just wasn't getting into the groove here. Maybe it was time he taught
her how to appreciate the true appeal of gastronomic indulgence.

"I think you need a quick demonstration," he said, holding up one
barbecue anointed finger. "Hold on."

She watched him hesitantly as he quickly cleaned his hands and face at
the sink, with some soap, no less. A quick dry, and he was shoving
the arrangement of half opened containers to the far edge of the
counter, making a space.

"Come here," he said and bent, grabbing her under her ass and lifting her
up onto the counter.

"Mulder?"

"Scully, listen. I love you, but you're being a damp rag here. Food and
eating should be an experience synonymous with seduction and sex."

Her eyebrows levitated an inch or so. "Really?"

He nodded slowly, letting his theory sink in, watching her with an
especially evil shade of hazel as he gently loosened the tie of her robe.

Something told her she was in for a mess.

Robe loosened but left folded across her body, Mulder held her gently
by her arm as he reached next to him for the cup of olives. He selected
one and held it up for her inspection.

"This simple olive, for example. Harmless enough lying around with a
bunch of equally unremarkable shrively olives, but taken in hand and
held just so, it can become a weapon of seduction."

"An olive," she echoed incredulously, watching him roll the tiny
fruit between his finger and thumb just in front of her nose.

"You like olives, Scully?"

"Not especially."

"Well you're going to like this one," he asserted, and ran the edge of
its bumpy skin against her lower lip, oiling it. She licked the salty trail it
left behind as he pulled it away, popping it in his mouth and chewing it
with relish, spitting out the pit and smacking the residue from his
fingers. "Good?"

Her eyes narrowed warily. "It was all right, but I didn't get much of it."

"Uh huh, you see? Seduction. Wanting something you can't have more
than a taste of. Should I try another?"

She licked her upper lip absently. "Sure, let's try another." She told
herself it was the chill of the kitchen tiles under her and not his
throaty taunting that was making her nipples rise.

The second olive was somehow sweeter and looked plumper, more
edible than the first as he drew its essence across her upper and lower
lips slowly like lip gloss. She lapped at the juice timidly, following
his movements until he slipped it gently into her mouth, letting it rest
on her tongue a moment. Her throat retracted unconsciously as
she imagined what it would be like to chew on it, savor its taste, and
draw it into her belly. And then it was gone. She opened her eyes, which
she didn't recall closing, in time to see Mulder shoot another pit at the
rib plate.

"That wasn't nice," she said with a touch of irritation.

"Like olives now, do we?"

Fine. She made a grab for the container and got an olive in her
mouth before Mulder could stop her. She bit down with a victory
smile until she realized it wasn't a particularly good one. Yuck, bitter.
She spit it into her hand with a shudder to her seducer's utmost delight.

"Very funny, Mulder. Thanks. I'll never eat olives again."

"I've got a better idea," he said, making for the bottom shelf of the
fridge and extracting a large deep bowl. "You like fruit, right?"

"Not the slimy old banana chunks."

"We'll avoid those," he said assuredly, poking around the tumbled
multi-colored dices with a finger. "Here we go." He selected a
smallish citrus wedge. "Mandarin orange, anyone?"

"You'd better let me have this one if you know what's good for
you, Mulder." She was trying to get that perturbedness back into
her manner, but he knew her too well to miss the flicker of mirth
that was beginning to flutter behind those big blue eyes. He slipped
the wiggly wedge between his lips and setting his hands on the
counter, leaned in toward her mouth.

She accepted his gift with a flick of her tongue and a nip of her white
teeth, ripping the wedge asunder, leaving half for her, half for him--
a reasonable bargain. Mulder looked satisfied as he sucked in the
wedge, crushing the tiny cells between his teeth, releasing the sweet
fluid. He brought another little orange to his mouth and fed her again,
this time letting her keep the whole thing in return for a brisk kiss,
followed by a swipe under her lip with his tongue to catch a droplet.

"You're making me hungry Mulder," she admitted, watching him
through half closed lids as he slipped a trio of cubed melons between
her lips. She squished them with her tongue and slid them down her
throat with hardly a bite, eager to suck the liquid from his fingertips.
She couldn't mistake the groan of approval from him as she sucked a
bit deeper and harder on his digits than absolutely necessary for
basic cleaning. The food/sex connection was beginning to register with
her, nice and warm and low. To hell with making a point, she reached
into the bowl herself and fed the beast, letting her own fingers enjoy
the warm slipperiness of his mouth as he drew them through his lips.
He caught her hand slowly licking the tart residues, planting kisses up
her arm to her bared shoulder where the robe had begun to slip open.

"This is what it's like for me, Scully," he said low and husky, his lips
opening to brush over her nose and cheek as he spoke. "Every day I sit
there in our office with this big bursting bowl of the freshest, most
delicious selection of fruit across the room from me with a big "Hands
Off" sign on it. So I go all week trying not to stare at it, trying not to
imagine what it would taste like to wrap my lips around the rich soft
skin and sink my teeth in for a sweet juicy bite." He related, and
punctuated his statement with a slow nip to her lobe.

"A fruit bowl?" She tried to keep her voice even and logical as his
wandering hands traced the curves of her hips in rising circles.

"Yes--round, full, healthy, delicious fruit, begging to be eaten
slowly, savored." His left hand moved up her side and shimmered
across the cloth of her robe to her breast. "I could spend hours
just making the perfect selection, examining each curve, careful
not to bruise the fragile skin." He demonstrated with a mild squeeze,
brushing her nipple with his thumb gingerly. "Holding it in my hand,
testing its weight." His nose caressed the curve of her neck, breathing
in. "Investigating its scent, learning its aroma, finding the perfect spot
to begin my meal." His lips and teeth closed on her neck for a good
suck while his hand continued to knead and weigh her breast through
the fabric.

She couldn't help but moan a little and reached for his face, pulling it
to hers for a kiss; his fruity lips gracing hers like slick banana flesh.
She shifted her legs, feeling a moistness collecting there rapidly. *How
the hell does he do that? Fruit? I'm a big bowl of fruit?* As their
tongues joined each other in a communion of fruity flavors, she
reached down and examined the ready length of him with her fingertips.

"I hope that's not where you keep your rations and you're just happy to
see me," she whispered between sips of his mouth.

He looked at her with deep olive eyes. "You want a taste of me, Scully?"

She eyed him, considering. "Maybe a bit later, after you feed me
some cake."

Immediately, her one-year-old nephew made a reappearance. "Cake?
Really? What kind?"

"Vanilla-Raspberry. It's good, I made it." He was already kneeling,
plundering the remnants of the fridge. "Bottom shelf, big green
cake pan. Oh, and the small blue container has some extra
raspberry sauce."

"Got 'em."

He set the cake pan on the counter next to her and peeled the foil
back slowly, unwrapping it like the ties on her robe earlier, letting go
a breathy "ooo."

He looked at her amazed. "You can bake, huh?"

"Yes I can. Quite well in fact, when I think of it. When there's
someone around to eat it."

He licked his lips and admired the half sectioned away whipped
topped white cake with deep burgundy filling. "Oh Scully, I'll eat your
cake any day." He stopped at the unintentional innuendo. She was
smiling shaking her head. "No I mean it in the purest of ways--I love
fresh baked foods. It's been years, really, since I had the good stuff..."
Her snort cut him off again. He rolled his eyes. "I give up, a man tries
to be serious and look what he gets..."

"You put me in this mood, Mulder."

"I know, I know. Here, hush..." Forgoing flatware, Mulder carved off a
hunk of raspberry-filled moistness with his fingers, lifting it to her
mouth. She opened wide and greedily dove into his offering with
newly found abandon, getting the tip of her chin and nose white-
capped with whipped cream. She pulled back smugly, slugging the
spongy goodness across her tongue and down her throat. Yum.

He looked pleased with her enthusiasm. "That's better, I like a girl who
isn't afraid to take a big bite." And with equal finesse, he pawed the
remainder of the fistful into his own mouth, licking his hand with relish
as he chewed his share, humming with taste-bud arousal.

"There's just nothing like a big piece of cold empty calories to get you in
the mood," he sighed, wiping his hand on the forbidden towel. "Here, let
me help you with that." He leaned in to where the tip of her pink
tongue was trying to get the majority of the whipped cream spill off
her face. He assisted her in the removal of the cool creaminess
with enthusiastic licks and slurps, culminating in a long deep sugary
kiss.

The meeting of his mouth to hers took her back several hours to their
first kiss that evening. His kisses could halt an avalanche, she dimly
realized as his tongue deliberately spun sugar around hers. The man
had one hell of a secret weapon...
 
 

"Just one kiss," he had murmured, bending close to her face from where
he stood behind her bedroom chair, his eyes lost in her reflection as
she traced her lips with color in the mirror.

One kiss and his lips were touched with red, one brush of her fingers
to wipe it away and he was gone, she not far behind. She rushed up into
his arms--their bodies overwrought with waiting, desperate to collide
in nourishment. Dimly she had reasoned, as her mouth indulged in his
and their hands sought and owned the flesh between them, that they
could quickly satisfy their week-long fast and get on with the evening.
But either she underestimated their cravings, or she simply forgot in
the swell of pheromones that nothing about loving Mulder was ever
simple or hurried. How could she blame him for that?
 

His current kiss slowed and she pulled from him gently, lowering her
eyes, suddenly shy. "I'm sorry," she said.

He was still enraptured in a whipped wonder, his fingers caressed her
cheek with concern. "Why?"

"For blaming you for tonight," she breathed a faint sigh. "For hurting
you." She couldn't look at him, light tears were beginning to settle in
her lashes, but not for sadness.

He bent lower, holding her arms so he could catch her eyes.

"Scully..."

She was very quiet when she spoke, but he could still hear her clearly.
"It's just...I don't know, I don't understand what's happening to me
sometimes. I'm not used to being irresponsible, I'm not used to being
so caught up that I..."

"Forget the rules?" he finished for her softly with a half smile.

"Yes. Your rules don't apply here. Or something like that." She closed
her eyes and let out a deep sigh, a pearl drop of dew fell to her cheek.

"I think the solution here is finding that happy medium between
responsibility and complete lawlessness," he said softly, brushing
the tear aside.

She looked up at him again, finding a shy smile of her own. "I take it
you represent the lawlessness?" He nodded affirmative. "Sometimes I
like being lawless. I like it a great deal," she admitted, lowering her
eyes again but for a completely different, very focused reason and was
not about to blush about it.

He leaned forward into her ear, "Trust me, tonight is a night for
lawlessness." And opening a drawer to her left, he pulled out a long
tapered plastic tube.

She immediately felt a fit of giggles rising in her throat as she watched
him struggling to get the rubber stopper onto the larger end.

"Do I even want to ask why you have trouble finding spoons, but know
the exact location of my turkey baster?"

With a pop it was assembled, and he shot a few puffs of air at her
cheek, drying her little tear. "I have a selective photographic memory."

"You've got that right."

"And a command of essential kitchen equipment," he said, opening
the container of raspberry filling. Squeezing the baster he suctioned up
a few inches of thick berriness. "Close your eyes."

Her eyes were at about their widest he'd ever seen, but braving herself,
she managed to get her lids over them.

"Tip your head back," he asked and she did, allowing him the full sweep
of her supine neck, pale chest, and with a flip of his hand to the hem of
fabric, her positively rich and creamy strawberry-tipped breasts. He set
the instrument to his canvas, and squeezing carefully, drew a large jelly-
like raspberry-flavored heart outline across her skin. She shivered and
opened her eyes, glancing down.

"Cute. Nice form. Ooo..."

He had put the baster aside and retraced the path of his art, collecting t
he thick filling on his tongue. Humming with enjoyment. "Mmm,
pretty good filling--fresh berries?" he asked, swallowing the last of the
red line.

"They weren't smashed in Seattle."

"I bet," he replied, taking up his "pen" again and drawing a ticklish set
of circles around each rosy aureole. He grinned with silly pride. "I'm
not bad. Looks like you have eyes."

She didn't need to know that, but his mouth closing over and suckling
the thick syrup from one peaked nipple and then the next made her
forget all about appearances. Clutching his hair and holding him to
her breasts like the Madonna, she delivered a chorus of soft moans.
He took his time flicking the nipples, teasing them, turning them into
hard little points. Her breath was harsh in her throat. She'd had enough
of playing with their food; she wanted to feast. And knew exactly where
her first course lay hidden, having made several reconnaissance
missions there in the weeks prior. She opened her eyes and with
complete lack of restraint, pushed him off of her. Slipping down off
the counter, she made a grab for his shorts.

"Whoa--hold on," he yelped in surprise, stepping back. "You're
jumping courses on me."

"Yes, I know," she said directly, dragging his boxers to the floor. "My turn."

He held the baster just out of reach as she stood and tried to jump up for
it. "Wait a minute," he said laughing, fending her off like a defensive
back. "I'm not sure I can trust you with this, after all, it might leave
a mess..."

"Oh, really?"
 

******************************
What happened next would be cause for debate for years to come.
Scully always insisting she could not have possibly dug her right fist
into the cake, securing a handful, and smashed it squarely onto his
chest, leaving most of it to fall onto the kitchen floor. Not *her*
kitchen floor. And he insisted that it was merely an act of self-defense
that he felt the need to grab and pour the remaining contents of the
small blue Tupperware container down over her breasts. Needless to
say, madness ensued. Half eaten containers of what was once a
perfectly civil middle-aged woman's birthday party found themselves
being wielded carelessly as objects of war or love depending on who's
side you were on. Epicurus reared his ugly head as olives, potato salad,
nutritionally deficient white cake, barbecue sauce and "never had a
prayer of being cheese" cheesy dip went airborne in a miniature
reenactment of the Battle of Hastings.

Eventually Scully found herself captured by her physically more
ominous opponent who crushed her to his caked chest burying her lips
in sloppy wet kisses between his gasps of air and her squeals of laughter,
his melted cheddar fingers tangling in her battle-stained hair. She
surrendered, pressing and slipping against him, her robe torn from
her shoulders in the heat of the fight, tangled around her ankles. Her
nails kneaded into his ass as her mouth greedily sucked his tongue in
between her teeth.

In an effort to grind her hips into his she lost her footing and he caught
her, slipping precariously forward fumbling, in a rubble of limbs onto
her wasted bathrobe.

"Ow!"

She struggled under him where he had landed half across her.
"You okay?"

He was fighting off a grimace. "Yeah, just hit my elbow," he said, shaking
the uneasy sensation out of his left arm. "It's probably a good thing we
stay prone for a while, floor's kind of slippery."

"My floor is destroyed. I hope you plan on buying me a new mop after
this." Now stabilized, she could see some of the damage within her
general line of floor sight. "Shit! Mulder, you got raspberry on
my cupboards."

"What's this *it's my fault* crap? You were firing the baster at one point--
it has better range."

"Let me up, I need to get that before is leaves a stain."

"Oh no, not tonight. No rules, remember?"

"What? Mulder come on, game's over, I need to..." he silenced her with
a thick rough kiss, keeping her mouth occupied long enough to get
his knees stable on the slicked floor. It wasn't long before the
squirming little thing gave up in the trap between his arms and
legs, surrounding her like a cage.

"This game's just beginning," he said, stopping for air, his eyes
dancing wickedly over her colorful body. He caught her legs and
bent her up like a frog on its back, holding her thighs open by the
backs of her knees. "Let's see what we've got here..."

Ohh, she was flushed tonight, all shiny and rosy. He dipped his head for
a close assessment. "Now this I definitely recognize. One of my favorites,
but I think...I think it could use a little fruit topping."

"Mulder...?"

He was reaching for the bottom shelf of the fridge, grabbing the first
item his fingers encountered, and popped off the lid. He dipped all
four fingers into the container scooping up what appeared to be a glup
of bluish berry Dannon's.

"Yogurt--it's good for women, right?"

She screwed her eyes shut preparing for the...

"Shit!" she tried to jerk away with a kick as he smeared the chilled
dairy product over her hot parted lips, dipping his fingers into her,
mixing blueberry and pure feminine flavor. He held her in place by her
open thighs as she tried to scramble away.

"What, you still don't believe I can clean up after myself?" he
grinned, bending low, and sampled her slit with a broad swipe of
his tongue.

"Mmmm...tastes better than bee pollen, Scully...you should try..."

"Shut-up Mulder, you're making a goddamn mess."

"No, I'm making you happy," he said, settling in for a good
thorough cleansing. She couldn't help but relax into his warm plush
tongue as it continued to make wet, wide, tracks around and between
her cold-stunned labia, reheating the surface of her skin. She swelled at
his janitorial invasion, wiggling with delight as his tongue sought her
entrance and plunged into her body, enjoying her unique blend of
flavor, growing less and less fruity and more and more Scully by the
moment. When he had fed to his content, he moved his attentions to
her inner thighs, purring low in his throat lapping sweet residues from
her soft ticklish skin like a lioness cleaning a cub. He kissed her downy
red wisps--running his tongue across her fur, sucking her outer lips
between his, catching the last of the spill.

Leaving her curls moist and clean, he returned to more reactive
ground, drawing circles with the flat of his tongue, navigating the warm
wet folds above and around her clit in rough shallow circles, his hands
sweeping up to cup her breasts and squeeze and rub her turgid nipples.
He was devastating in this, could read her arousal like a crime scene,
coaxing her tentative orgasm from where it lay hidden deep in her
abdomen. She could feel it there, dark and pulsing, growing and stirring
at his finessed behavior. She brought one of his palms to her mouth in
appreciation, sucking blueberry and raspberry from his fingers, letting
her heels rest against his shoulders as he ate.

She cried aloud when his lips sought and closed on her most needy
target, deeply suckling the swollen tiny organ between his lips, nudging
the underside with his tongue. She felt her climax beginning to crown,
expanding and flooding her womb with hot waves of pleasure until she
was sure she would burst with just one more suck or nibble. Another
suck, yes, just once more, harder. He trapped her nerve bundle between
his lips, rolling it gently. She cried out pleading, her hand gripping his
hair, pulling him closer--*please, just once more.* He tugged her
quivering cluster side to side increasing the wet pressure--*oh god,
yes, more.* But instead of giving in to her demands, he backed off,
releasing her from his nips and suction with a parting tickle, peering
up with a self-gratified smirk. He was teasing her, the bastard.

Scully could see the wicked glint in his eyes. Another evil little flutter
from the tip of his tongue across her heavy, swollen sex and he sat up on
his knees. He knew he had her. And he wanted to see how long he
could make her just lay there as he caressed her calves with his fingers,
watching her fighting to regain enough motor-coordination to swat him.
But she was too sunk in arousal to fight effectively, leaving her to squirm
and whimper on the most uncomfortable of locations--cold slimy
linoleum. Ohh...he was gonna get it.

###

*Note to self: to get Scully horny as shit, mess up her kitchen.*

He had brought her into full bloom--hot and juicy. He was hungry for
her; the inside of her body was more delicious than any late night snack,
a meal fit for kings. She was ready for him all right. He rose up to his
knees, preparing to go in for the kill. Taking himself in hand, he glided
the tip of his readied cock across her opening, slickening it. He laughed
as she clasped her thighs around him, jerking her hips not so kindly to
try and grind him against her. Shit...she was a voracious little thing. He
slid back from her grasp and aimed for homebase.

Her entrance was so swollen he had to be patient, coaxing the muscles
to relax and open, allowing him to press and slip in with a mild pop. He
guided himself around in a circle just inside, gentle thrusts with just the
tip of him, massaging the restricting tissue. She writhed with rousing
pleasure in a puddle of slimy lactobacillus as he eased himself back out
then in again slowly from the tip, sinking deep with a gurgle. Hopefully
yogurt was good for men, too.

Goddamn, she was wired tight tonight; he'd have to watch himself. The
price of a new mop refill was worth this, he thought, pulling back to
begin another delicious glide. He tore his eyes away from their joining
long enough to delight in her somewhat furious and desperately
aroused expression, all flushed cheeks and icy blue stare. He'd get her
to melt soon enough, and bottomed himself out with a strong thrust.
She closed her eyes and her mouth fell open in silent exclamation. He
paused to let her enjoy the fullness for a moment and then, much like
his olive offering earlier, he withdrew.

Her sex was completely exposed to him in the harsh kitchen light--her
hot little mouth drooling for him. He knew he couldn't wait much longer
to feed it, but some base, id-like psyche in him needed to hear her say it.

"You want this, Scully?"

She nodded faintly, head back, eyes closed.

"How bad?" he teased, slithering the tip of him at her rim again,
threatening another dive. She squirmed, trying to lift her ass off the
floor toward him. No luck there, it just made her backend skid in the
goo like a car on a icy hill.

Mulder caught her bent legs up under his arms and held them, leaning
in, looming over her, the determined head of his cock bobbing against
her angry little clit. She struggled against him, but he held her tight.

"Tell me..."

"Bad..." He lip-read it he was sure; but her voice was still somewhere
in there. He pushed in, just beginning to part her dimpled inner lips.
He stopped, inviting her conversation.

"Bad...I need..."

"You need me to what?"

"Need...need you to fuck me." Her voice was struggling to leave her
air-choked throat.

"How do you want it, Scully? You want me to go slow and sweet, or hard
like a pneumatic drill?"

She just panted a moment and made one last struggle to get free of
him, moaning in divine defeat. She looked up at the ceiling, exasperated.

"Drill me, before I hit you with a frying pan and fuck your
unconscious cock."

He guessed that meant the latter, and just let it go.

They weren't 20 seconds into his barrage before they had slipped and
slid like an adult adaptation of Twister, traveling sloppily across the
linoleum until her head began to thud into the bottom cupboards.
She reached back with her arms to push back into his fast, hard thrusts.
She was dry-sobbing it felt so good. Her thighs up and bent allowed
for good deep penetration--hitting nearly every known erogenous zone
in her body--yet still she wanted more, she wanted him thrusting into
her damn spleen.

"Hold me up..." she ordered through clenched teeth, and moved her legs
up straight against his chest and he grabbed her, holding her knees
together across his chest, raising her ass just off the floor so he could
aim downward into her at a steeper angle.

"Oh!" she cried, her eyes rolling back as he scrambled to stay in rhythm
on the perilously slippery floor, feeling herself tighten around him,
building, building...

###

Christ, he loved making this woman come. He could barely remember
he had a cock at this point, other than it was very busy now, engaged in
the single most important purpose on earth; making Dana Scully howl
for him. His mind was full-focus on all her familiar little pleasure
signals...and indications were good they were all about ready to blow.
With one arm he hitched her up a few more inches and ground his
free thumb into her pulsing, cherry-fat clit.

Her eyes flew open wide and she gasped, scrambling to brace herself
for what was overcoming her. That frustrating crawling darkness he had l
eft her wallowing in was finally brightening and blooming into pure
grade-A ecstasy. Her whole lower body was gripped with it as she felt
it begin and begin and begin and then...shiiiit...

Her back arched and she hitched in her breath a moment, froze,
and snapping her eyes shut, let lose a wail that ravaged her throat as
her back collapsed and her thighs convulsed. He thrust a few more
times for extra measure against her violent contractions until her
eyes opened and her hand stilled his with a sudden grip.

"You got me, you got me..." she stammered, out of breath.

"You sure?" he panted, eyes wild with amazement.

"Yes, I'm sure. Something wrong with your hearing? Let me up, my
elbows are screaming."

He reluctantly pulled out and sat back on his thighs, staring
stupidly expectant at her as she stood up on uneven legs, examining
herself for slime patches.

"Ungh...this is so disgusting," she mumbled, dampening a towel under
the sink spray and began to spot clean her breasts and neck.

Mulder sat back impatiently, his ass sticking to the floor. He reached
for her leg tapping the back of her thigh--one of the last clean spots.

"Uh, excuse me?"

She jumped at his touch, turning from her impromptu sink bath. He
looked like a muddy Labrador sitting at his master's feet waiting for a
scrap of food. Well, he'd had plenty of that tonight--it was all over
him. Mulder was a crawling pot luck. God, she forgot the mess having
a man around could be. Was she sure she was ready for this full-time?

She'd have time enough to figure out the proper co-habital
behavioral restrictions. Right now it was time to get even...

"Oh yeah, you again. What?"

He didn't look amused and, grabbing himself at the base, wagged
his petulant erection at her.

"You wanna take care of this?"

She shut off the water and swirled to look down at him, grimacing at
the sticky sight. She gave a visible shudder of revulsion, and inspected
her partially cleansed torso. She wasn't sure she wanted to get any
filthier. And what the hell was that on her left breast? Teeth marks?
She pulled her breast to the side to get a better look at the reddish nips.

"Jesus Mulder, see what happens when I let you behave like this? You
turn into an animal, make a huge mess of my home, not to mention
my body. I look like I've been mauled. Where else did you get me?"
she asked, trying to get a look at her ass. Red as hell, welcome to
kitchen floor burn. "For your sake I hope no place visible."

"I am very much in control of my primitive urges, thank you. You
certainly weren't complaining, and I do *not* maul."

"You nibble, you bite, you growl--it's ridiculous."

"Are you going to *debate* me, Scully? Or are you going to get down
here and suck me off?"

She steeled herself to look at him again.

"I don't think I like where that thing's been."

"Really?"

"You know...I do know what would make this situation better..." She
opened a cupboard near the oven and selected a large amber jar. Lifting
her elbow, she attempted to unscrew the top. It wouldn't budge.

He leaned forward, trying to get a look at it. "You need a man to help
you out there?" he gibed.

She shot him a look of daggers. "I've got it." And began knocking about
the lid with the end of a bread knife. She grappled with it again and the
lid slid free, skittering across the counter.

"Here we go--hold still."

###

Honey. A large jar of honey was hovering directly over his head and it
began to tip--a lazy wave of golden goo rising to cascade over the lip
and down onto his...

"Um...Scully wait...isn't there a...you need a honey dipping thing...
a dripper....a...oh, god..."

His eyes fixated on the long golden strip of divine stickiness as it broke
free of the mason jar and dove, slapping dab bullseye on his exposed
genitals, coating him in a nice thick sticky blanket.

"I *really* hope you're going to get that," he grimaced, as the honey
oozed down over his balls and into every nook and cranny he didn't
quite realize he had down there. Ick.

She tipped the jar back up, discontinuing the squiggly run-off, and eyed
his amber-encased erection.

"You look surprisingly good in a honey glaze, Mulder," she said with a
lick to her lips. "I might have to give you a try."

He bobbed his head, "Please do."

Scully sank to her knees and with a nymph-like smile, teased her
fingers down and under his sticky testicles, rolling them around in
her hand, giving them a nice light gooey massage. Whatever initial
discomfort he felt from having been dipped in liquid sweetness
quickly paled as pleasure overtook his senses. Closing his eyes, he
sank backwards onto the messy floor with a whimpery moan,
further opening his legs to her.

"You like that?" she taunted softly, adding her thumb to the picture,
tugging the sagging skin carefully, raising and lowering its contents.

"Nmgmm..."

Was that a yes?

With testicles in motion, she took her other palm to his coated
shaft, enclosing the base in a nice firm grip. The honey squished
out between her fingers as she let them rise up the length of him to
just under the tip and back down a few times, getting into the inertial
glide. His hips followed her stroke, entreating for more, but she
was determined to take her time. Forming a circle of resistance, she let
her sticky palm squeeze up and slip over his head suddenly, his own
fluids releasing to mix with the viscous concoction. She massaged
his flushed tip with her fingers between each slow full-length stroke,
wandering over the hot engorged skin, teasing.

His eyes opened, blindly regarding the ceiling. "Scully..." he spoke in
a stripped voice.

"Yes?" She waited, absently thumbing the pleasure-sensitive underidge.

"Mm, your mouth...give me your mouth."

"I don't know...I didn't hear you say you were sorry..." she smiled.

"What?" He was beginning to let a squeak sneak into his voice,
squirming under her torturous touch.

"Sorry? Sure sorry. Please. Forgive me. I-have-sinned. Whatever...I'll clean
up the mess, I'll clean your whole damn apartment...just *finish* me
for chrissake."

Those terrorists had it all wrong; it wasn't hard to get Mulder to talk,
you just had to know which digit to tease.

"You're forgiven," she said, and dragging her tongue once up the
underside of his shaft, looped him into her mouth.

A long guttural moan and a twist of his hips, and his hand was
already guiding the back of her head into his thrusts. Funny how men
throw the book on blow job etiquette out the window after the first
month of sex. Mulder could be quite greedy when the need arose, which
was fine with her--gluttony seemed to be the theme of the evening. He
knew her limits and she knew his. He wanted it bad right now; hard,
fast, and merciless.

She took him full-force, sucking hard, swirling his head with her
tongue, letting him slide back deep and fill her throat. Her fist followed
her mouth as she ascended and descended, covering his base with a swirl
of her gripping fingers. She moaned over him, tasting his maleness
through the honey base. Delicious. If she was a fruit bowl, going down
on Mulder was like sucking the cream out of a dark chocolate
eclair--something even a good Catholic girl could develop a
desperate craving for over the span of a week. She was going to
rather enjoy having a regular day to day supply on hand.

She let her curious slickened fingers wander, slipping past his balls.
Feeling her way down between his legs, she massaged the thick muscle
there in time to her lips and tongue, like a buried extension of his
erection. Slipping lower, she traced her honey-coated fingertip around
the puckered mouth of his anus.

He let out a sharp gasp and his cock jerked, throbbing between her
lips. Ooo...so G-man's got a G-spot, huh? She'd keep that in mind.
Giving him a few more swirls, she shyly moved back to his sac,
squeezing and rolling the contents a bit more vigorously.

She loved this, putting him entirely at her mercy. His surrendering
dull-minded response made up for all the hours of aggravation
and ludicrousness he'd dragged her into over their long amazing
years together. Who's theory is more reasonable now, Agent Mulder?
Want to pause a moment and discuss it?

He was slipping over the edge and beginning to tell her all about it in
some pleasure-soaked, partially unintelligible language...

...that'sitthat'sitshitdon'tmoveahhjesuswherethefuckdidyoulearn...?

...or something to that effect

A final groaning set of hard thrusts into the tight grip of her mouth
and then a very clear

"oh...oh fuck...yes..."

Before the rush of fluids could clear the end of his cock she slid him out
of her mouth and squeezed the upper end of his penis in tight quick
strokes watching with curious satisfaction as he came quite exuberantly
all over his stomach. Semen and honey mixed into an interesting
splatter pattern against his bronzed skin, like spin-art.

###

When the tornado of sensations that had abducted him from a
seriously fucked-up kitchen in Georgetown decided to deposit him
back on ground level, Mulder opened his eyes and met his dazed
doubled reflection in the wicked self-satisfied gleam of his lover's
luminous big blue eyes.

Scully was kneeling over him, giggling like a teenager, as he tried to sit
up on his elbows. Blinking the sting of sweat from his eyes, he was
suddenly mortified by the condition of his genitals. He was getting
too old for this. What the hell had she done to him?  *Thanks a lot,
babe, if I wanted to come all over myself, I could have stayed home.*
But that wouldn't have been nearly as fun or exhausting. Sitting up
was a major undertaking.

"God, Mulder....you're a mess."

"That's just lovely, Scully, really. You want to get me a towel or something?"

"I think the hose is called for here," she snorted, tossing the paper
towel roll in his general direction. He ripped a wad off and made a
few tentative dabs, succeeding only in papiermacheing himself like
some lewd craft project.

"This is not going well. You'll have to cover for me while I retreat from
the FBI until the next spring rain."

"Come here, silly..." she said, reaching her hand to him and assisting him
to his feet. "If you promise not to drip, I'll let you streak down the hall
to the shower."

"Only if you'll be joining me. I think you missed a few spots the--what is
that scary shower thing?--the loofah, is sure to scrub off."

"Can I trust you with liquid soap?"

"Hey, it's the *shower.* I can't do much damage in there."

Before following her up the hall, Mulder turned to take final analysis of
the rather colorful array of foodstuffs clinging to the floor, cabinets
and--oh shit--ceiling? Not bad for their first work of full body art. He
wished he had a camera on him; it might be worth something someday.
He called after her, tip-toeing over her rug, trying not to leave a trail.

"I think we should fight more often; this make-up sex thing is pretty
fucking amazing."

"Not a good idea," she answered, as he limped into the bathroom.
"We'd lay waste to my apartment before too long and have to abandon
the wreckage."

"I can live with that."

###

Stepping into the warm shower, Mulder took generous pleasure in
running his bare hands, dripping with soap, over every washable inch of
her body. He gave extra attention to her shoulders, bottom, and any
other area that looked slightly damaged--it was his way of atoning for
the carnage. She must have enjoyed it, since he had to carry her to bed
like a sleepy child. She had nodded off against the sink while he
attempted to dry her hair with a big soft brush and a blower set on
low, letting it go wild with static and tangles.

Suitably stuffed and baby powder fresh, he snuggled in behind her
under the covers, exhausted and content, his arm wrapped
possessively around her small middle, his nose nestled against the
back of her neck. Just before dozing, Mulder thought of one more
deed worthy of her forgiveness.

"How about tomorrow we get up at the crack of noon and head out
to Annapolis. They have this amazing restaurant there on The Bay
which I hear serves up a mean Mandarin Almond Salad."

"I don't think so..." she mumbled sleepily.

"Hmm?"

"Not until my new roommate cleans up the mess he left in the kitchen."

Oh yeah, that too.
 
 

*********************************
Okay, okay, before you say:
"Remember when Sharon used to be a "good" writer. Yeah, like when
she wrote hard-core casefiles instead of all this fluff-smut?"
Never fear! A new casefile is in progress--they just take forever to write
and I need a diversion and a feedback hit every now and again. Can
you blame me?
For that matter, smut takes time to write, too. I started this last
December.

Hit me where it counts at: Terma99@aol.com
For more smuttiness, and one finished decent casefile, visit:
www.oocities.org/hotsprings/8334/fic.html.