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"Girl 77" by MoJo 1/2

Category: MSR, RST
Rating: NC-17 for Part Two.
Archive: Sure, just slap the MoJo on it.
Disclaimer:  These characters are not mine at all.  Property of the good folks
at 1013, FOX and CC.  It's waiting until Season Seven that drove me to this.
Spoilers: War of the Coprophages, Syzygy, Never Again, Small Potatoes, FTF,
Triangle, One Son, Alpha, Milagros.  I think that's all of them.
Summary: Resolving sexual tension...summer smut....you get the idea.
Author's Note:  I am a graphic designer and the lovely folks at www.chank.com
have a font that I downloaded called Girl 77.  The name intrigued me.  Special
thanks to Jori for proofreading and making sure I get the little details
correct.  Thanks, Ebert.

***

Zodiac Lounge
Alexandria, Virginia
9:25 p.m.

"You can have my isolation, you can have the hate that it brings," sang a male
voice in the background, music loud and pulsing.  Like it always does.

On any other Wednesday night, I might be found sitting in booth five.  In the
dark privacy it allowed.  But this was the first time I'd been on the other
side of the glass.  Standing on the tiny stage amid the dim lights.

"You can have my absence of faith, you can have my everything. Help me, tear
down my reason. Help me, it's your sex I can smell. Help me, you make me
perfect. Help me become somebody else."

Scully has not said one word since we arrived. But she keeps staring at me
accusingly.  As if she didn't know I came to places like this.  In fact, I've
called her many times from the phone booth on the corner.  Sometimes to answer
her page, but normally just to hear her voice.

"Can someone turn that goddamn music off?" yelled Det. John Barrows.  "I can't
hear myself think."

"I want to feel you from the inside.  I want to fuck you like an animal; my
whole existence is flawed. You get me closer to God," the song continued before
being cut off. Its blatant lyrics were making Scully frown in disapproval. I
was used to it.  The Zodiac Lounge just doesn't play Celine Dion.

The lights come up as well, illuminating the scene before us in harsh
fluorescent. Because we were here for a reason.  She'd been murdered.  My girl.
 Girl 77.

Girl 77 was draped across the chair where she normally performed on demand.
Her legs splayed apart as if still dancing.  But her body was twisted morbidly
and unnaturally.  Strangled, the stocking was still wrapped around her throat.
Bruised and swollen.  Her face had frozen at the moment of death.  Screaming
out.  Her red hair had fallen forward in the struggle, clinging to her
lipsticked lips of cherry red.

"In her G-string, was your number. Care to explain why?" Det. Barrows asked,
handing a folded piece of paper to me.  I took it in my latex-gloved hand.  I
had no idea how she'd gotten it.

He looked past me to stare at Scully.  The implication was so fucking apparent;
he had to see it.  They looked so much alike.  It startled even me, to see them
together finally.  Reality vs. illusion.

"Let's just say," I whispered, reaching for his arm.  I leaned in, not wanting
the others to hear.  "I've been here for the floor show."

"Can you verify your whereabouts for the last twelve hours?" he asked, shaking
me off.

Jesus Christ, now I'm a suspect?  It was bad enough I got called out in the
first place, since I was unable to come without Scully.  I stared him down,
giving him full advantage of my height.

"He was with me," Scully piped in, finally finding her voice.  It was dry like
a shot of Scotch, and she cleared her throat before continuing. "On
assignment."

"We thought you should be notified," Barrows said, peering at me from behind
his thick glasses.  "We weren't sure why she'd have your phone number.  We were
thinking perhaps she was involved with drug dealers or something."

He asked me more questions, but I tuned them out.  Answering in simple "yes"
and "no" as I focused my attention on Scully.  She was examining the body for
herself, studying the wound.  A thoughtful expression across her face as she
brushed the hair off the lips.  Sweeping it back into place.  Her eyes traveled
down the woman's body, clad only in a black bodice and the other garter
stocking.  She lifted the woman's arm up and over, checking for entry points.

"She appears clean," Scully said, perfectly professional.  "No evidence of IV
drug use.  But I'll run a toxicology just to make sure."

"Are you going to handle the autopsy?" the guy from the ME asked, looking over
at her.

Scully was quiet again, but her eyes glared up at me.  Meeting my gaze
directly.  I pursed my lips up, unable to speak.  It was her call.  Although, I
figured she wasn't going to let this go.

"Send the body in the morning," she instructed, standing up.

Scully pulled off her gloves, discarding them roughly on the ground.  She
surveyed the scene one last time before turning to go.  All eyes in the room
watched her leave, then traveled back to me.  Registering the tension between
us.  Forming opinions.

"Show's over, boys," I said, smiling through clenched teeth.  I crumpled the
paper in my hand, not caring if I was destroying evidence or not.  It had done
enough damage already.

***

I followed Scully back to my car.  She climbed into the passenger side,
slamming the door hard behind her.  I slid into the driver's seat.  She
silently looked out the window, arms folded tightly to her chest.  I turned to
stare at her, probably making her uncomfortable.  But it couldn't be any worse
than the way I was feeling now.  I'd been busted.   Spread-eagled, wide open.


I'd been coming here for years, off and on.  An extension of those magazines I
read or the videos I watch.  And eventually, it lost its thrill as well.
Pornography does that, dulls your senses.  A diversion, that was all it was.

Until Girl 77 showed up.

"Scully," I started, wanting her to say something.  Anything.  I'd even settle
for a "fuck off, Mulder" right now.

"I will do the autopsy. Just to make sure you aren't implicated," Scully
answered, just above a whisper.  She turned to face me, narrowing her eyes.
Her tongue darted out slightly to wet her lips.

"Always looking out for my reputation," I said, voice steady and firm.  But I
was not the one in control.  She was.  And she never lost her control,
especially around me.  Just with men like Jerse, VanBlundht or Padgett.

"Who is she, Mulder?" she asked finally.  Her hand reached up, brushing her
silky red hair behind her ear.  Obviously, she knew the significance of her
hair.

"She's just...Girl 77," I answered. "They all have numbers assigned to them so
I never knew her name.  And I never screwed her, if that's what you want to
know."

She exhaled slightly, perhaps in relief.  But she should have known that.

"What did you do?" she asked, cool and measured.  As if interrogating a
suspect.  Maybe that was what I was to her, too.  A suspect.  And I was guilty
of something.

"She danced for me," I said, leaning my head back on the seat.  I closed my
eyes, watching the colors swirl around as my head started to pound.  "You don't
really want details..."

Scully sat up more, shifting slightly.  "I'd like details, since..."

_Since she looks so much like me, Mulder_ was what she wanted to say.  But her
voice died off, not needing to finish the sentence.

"I liked her looks," I started, breathing slowly.  How much should I really
tell her?  I inserted the keys in the ignition, letting them sit there.  Idle.

"How does it work in there?" she continued, glancing back at the club.  The
neon sign flickered in the darkness; the triple XXX must have had a short in
the wiring.  This wasn't a good area of town and I wanted to get going.  Get
her out of this place.  I never wanted to see it again.  I hated the isolation
it stood for.

"Mulder?" she pressed, expecting an answer.

"You pay by the minute," I replied, fingers playing with the keys.  They
rattled like a tiny wind chime.

"For what?" she asked, like a psychiatrist.  Trying to analyze me.  My motives.


"Anything I wanted.  She would dance on occasion.  But sometimes, I'd pay her
just to sit there.  And stare back at me.  Or press her body against the glass,
just out of my reach.  The glass always separated us," I said, as random images
flashed in my mind.  But not of Girl 77.  Of her.  The near kiss in my hallway.
 Telling her I loved her in the hospital.  Finding her next door with Padgett.
Always, just out of my reach.

Analyze that, Dr. Scully.

"Start the car, Mulder," she ordered, but I don't.  We sit there for a few
moments.  Keys still in the ignition ready to go.

She grew impatient and reached forward to the keys.  Her hand brushed my knee,
jolting my senses.  Any little touch from Scully can do that.  On the rare
occasions she touched me.  After six years, she still had that power over me.
She turned the ignition over, and the engine hummed to life.  Scully fell back
against the seat, as far away from me as possible.  Her small body scrunched up
against the door.

Silent as I drove into the night.

***

J. Edgar Hoover Building
2:30 p.m.

I opened the door to the pathology lab slowly, trying not to disturb the quiet
reverence.  Scully treated it like a church.  Sacred, pristine and immaculate.
And I was invited here, perhaps to pay my last respects to the girl who meant
nothing to me.

All day, we had said very little to each other.  Except what was necessary in
the ordinary course of business.  I'd gotten used to it.  Scully could distance
herself from me quite easily.  Shielding herself in a shroud of denial.

"Scully, you wanted me?" I asked, shutting the door behind me.  She stood by
the autopsy table.  A white sheet covered the body, the female form visible in
pale outlines.

"Yes, I did," she answered, terse and professional.  Scully's hair was pulled
back from her face, goggles shielding her eyes.  Her hands were covered with
gloves.  The lab coat was a size too big for her.  Even like that, she was
beautiful to me.  It equaled the sum of her education and experience.  But the
bloodstains on her scrubs shattered the illusion.  Reminding me of why I was
called here.

Scully drew back the sheet, exposing her down to the clavicles so the neck was
visible.

"She died of asphyxiation, strangled by the stocking found on the scene.  There
was no sign of sexual assault.  There was DNA evidence under the fingernails.
She scratched at her attacker.  I hope to have that back ASAP," she recited,
with clinical precision.

My eyes were fixed on the hair, which was splayed perfectly out on either side
of her face.  Same shade of copper fire cut chin-length and squared off.

"She has a name after all.  Charlene Prost," I said, eyes traveling away from
her. Maintaining my professional interest. "Police now think it was her husband
who did it.  There was a history of domestic disputes.  They're trying to track
him down."

Scully exhaled sharply, her lips twisted in a strange smile.  She reached out,
covering her back up with the white sheet.  Then, she stopped.   Laying her
hands on the edge of the table, gripping it for support.

"How long, Mulder?" she asked carefully.  "How long were you her...customer?"

"Six months," I replied.  Taking note of her growing curiosity.  Six months I
paid to see this girl.  Who was willing to do anything and everything I asked
because the woman standing in front of me would not.  But in reality, Girl 77
only served as a painful reminder of what could never be mine.

"Why?" she asked, lifting her eyes to meet mine.  She removed her goggles,
revealing two blue pools as clear as rainwater.  "Help me understand this."

"I want what I can't have," I said, fixing her with a long stare.  Now I wanted
to get past the doctor facade and speak to the woman inside.  The one I knew
existed just below the surface, hidden from me all these years.  "Do you know
what that is like, Scully?"

She started to speak, but pressed her lips closed.  Afraid to say "yes."  But,
I was certain, "no" would be a lie.

"It was easier to pretend," I started, moving slowly around the table.  Edging
ever closer.  Closing the gap between us.

"Is that what this was?" she asked, her voice a hushed whisper.  She looked
down, indicating Girl 77.  "A substitute for reality? Did you imagine..."

"She was you?" I said, completing her sentence.  Scully waited for me to
continue, the silence protecting her.  I had nothing to lose anymore.  She
might as well know.  She had all the evidence, all the facts and data.  And if
she couldn't admit it to herself, then I would.

"Yes," I answered, with a half-smile.  Amused by the irony.  "But all the
while, I wanted it to be you.  Does that make sense?"

"I think so," she breathed, gathering her things slowly.  Her voice shifted.
"I think it makes a lot of sense, Mulder.  This was all some sick game to you,
wasn't it?"

"No," I replied, as she moved away from me.  She walked briskly across the room
to the cooler, unlatching the door angrily.

"She did all the things I wouldn't do, was that it?  You could say anything to
her.  Have her act any way you wanted," she continued, pushing the table back
inside.  "And I was never going to find out."

"It wasn't like that," I said, defending myself. "Why does it bother you,
Scully?"

"Because you had no right," she said, visibly shaken.  Struggling to regain
composure.

I paced slowly, measuring each step.  Now, it was my turn to analyze her.  "No
right to what?"

"To cheapen our...relationship," she finished, closing the door.  She turned,
leaning back against the cold metal.

"Scully, we don't *have* a relationship," I corrected, coming towards her.  The
words hung in the air, and I hated saying them out loud.  But it was the truth,
no matter how much I wanted it to be more.

She pursed her lips and folded her arms.  "Yes, but you work with me."

"And this was outside of work," I countered, stopping in front of her.  I
placed my hand on the cooler door behind her, leaning in.  So close that I
could feel the tension rising off her body.  Watch her skin flushing over at my
proximity.  What the hell was I seeing?  Jealousy? Anger? Pride?

"Then you should have shown a little respect for me," she said, looking up.
Her mouth was now inches from mine.  The tiny mole above her lip visible.  A
beauty mark, one she keeps covered.  As if it would denounce her professional
credibility.

"I respect you, Scully.  More than you'll ever know," I whispered.  "And I
understand what you're feeling right now."

"What am I feeling, Mulder?  How could you possibly understand what I'm
feeling?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at me.  Maybe it was a trick of the
light, but they appeared almost shiny.

"Because," I said, bringing my face closer to hers.  Forcing her to meet my
gaze.  "I feel it too.  Every time I find out you were with another man.  Like
Jerse.  Or reading about it, like Padgett."

"That was fiction," she replied, nearly spitting out the words.  Her hand
slammed back against the door, pounding the metal.  "THIS was reality, Mulder."

"You imagine they're me, don't you?" I pressed, reaching for her hand.  She
jerked it away from me, holding it protectively against her body.

"What are you talking about?" she retorted, shaking her head.

"When you're with another man, you imagine they are me," I said, withdrawing a
little.

"They are *nothing* like you," she said, defensively.  "And as I've said
before, my personal life is none of your business."

"But you make mine your business," I concluded.  And she did.  She couldn't
stand the thought of me with another woman.  Bambi, Det. White, Karin.  Now
Girl 77.

"And we are both guilty of it," I added, emphasizing each word.

"Guilty of what?" she asked, pushing past me.

I grabbed her arm, forcing her to face me.  She gasped at my touch.

"Substitution," I finished, shaking her roughly before letting go.

Scully stared at me, saying nothing more.  Then, resumed her work.  I turned to
leave, closing the door slowly.  I walked down the hallway, heading for the
sanctuary of my office.  Wondering how bad I'd really fucked up this time.

And tomorrow, things would go back to the way they were.  Like they always did
anytime we came close to the truth.  Whatever tension would be gone, resuming
our roles as dutiful partners.  Not looking back, only forward to a future too
complicated to face alone.

And we dance around the obvious. Each and every day.  For years now.  I'd made
my intentions clear.  Not even telling her I loved her made a difference.  But
I couldn't tear down her reason, or whatever it was that kept her out of reach.

Keys forever in the ignition.  Idle.

***

Concluded in Part Two.

Feedback to MoJoBer@aol.com

Get MoJo'ed at http://members.aol.com/mojober/index.html

"Girl 77" by MoJo 2/2

Disclaimer in Part One.

***

Mulder's Apartment
2:20 a.m.

There was a knock on my door.  Three raps, then silence.  They repeated a
second time as I fumbled for my jeans in the dark.  Pulling them over my
boxers.  I padded over to the door, peering out the tiny porthole.

Scully was standing in my hall.  Her face looked up at the opening, knowing I
was there.

"Please open the door," she said, her body tenses as her arms folded about her.

I withdrew, unfastening the deadbolt and locks.  The light from the hallway
blinded me temporarily; I squinted against it as my eyes adjusted.

"Scully, it's late," I started.  But she pushed past me into the darkness of my
apartment, her eyes surveying everything.

"Are you alone?" she asked, glancing back at the bedroom.

"Yeah," I answered, closing the door.  "I'm always alone."

I couldn't tell in the dim light what her expression was exactly. I figured I
was the last person she'd want to see right now. Yet something drew her here at
this late hour.

"It was her husband," she said, breaking the silence.  "They caught him this
evening.  Confessed to everything."

"And you came over just to tell me?" I asked, smiling ironically.  Her eyes
glanced at my naked chest, then turned away.  No, that wasn't it.  That was
just her excuse.

"I thought you wanted to know," she said, shaking her head.  "Sorry to bother
you."

"I'm glad you did," I replied, my voice still raspy from sleep.

She paced around the coffee table.  She was still wearing her dress slacks, but
only had on a sleeveless blouse.  Exposing parts of her slender body I didn't
normally get to see.  Her toned arms, the nape of her neck, her shoulders.

"I don't like it," she said, almost to herself.

"Don't like what?" I asked, edging closer to her.

"I don't like how you used her," she continued, sounding edgy.  I wondered if
she'd been drinking.

"Maybe I did," I said, standing opposite her.  She smelled like cigarettes.
Maybe she was out smoking, like the night she'd caught me with Det. White.

"You had no right to put me in that position," she said, tossing her keys on
the coffee table.  They slammed the wood with a metallic clink.  "Do you have
any idea what this looks like?"

"I know what it looks like," I replied, watching the steady rise and fall of
her chest.  Once again, she was flustered by my proximity and I took a step
closer.

"Then, what were you going to do?" she questioned, gazing up at me.  "What was
the next step?  Find someone else who resembled me?  So you could do other
things besides just look?"

"No," I answered, leaning in a bit.  "There could never be anyone else.  It's
always been you, Scully."

Scully stood perfectly still, transfixed by my words.  But she was on my stage
now.  Center stage, commanding attention as she always did.

And something was wrong.

"Why her?" she whispered.

"Because you won't let me in," I replied.  She winced slightly.  "You hardly
let me touch you, Scully."

"I can't," she breathed, protesting. But her composure was gone.  Whatever
barrier Scully had around her all the time just wasn't there tonight.

"Just let me touch you," I implored, not caring what repercussions there would
be for this violation.  She closed her eyes, her shallow breathing the only
sound.  Waiting.

I reached up, running my hand through her hair.  Letting the strands fall from
my fingers.  My hand ventured lower, lightly tracing the outline of her body
until reaching her left breast.  I touched it gently, rewarded as she leaned
into my hand.  Moaning softly.

"They don't let you touch them," I whispered, my lips against her forehead.
"In case you were wondering.  I never wanted to touch her, Scully.  I wanted
that for you."

She sighed, opening her eyes again.  Searching mine.

"This is wrong, Mulder," she breathed.  "This is so wrong..."

"No, it's not," I affirmed.  Goddamn it.  She was not going to do this to me
again.  I wasn't going to let her run away this time.  "What's wrong is
searching everywhere else for what we already have with each other, Scully."

"We don't *have* a relationship," she replied, echoing my words from earlier.
"That's what you said."

"Not this kind," I said. I knew I was sick of living the lie.  How long was
this supposed to continue anyway?  I knew I could never find another woman who
could ever compare to her.  There was nothing else in my fucked-up existence
that mattered more than she did.

"I was attracted to Jerse specifically because he wasn't you," she started,
sitting down on the coffee table.  I crouched in front of her, in the space
between her knees.  "And Padgett, because I thought he saw something in me you
didn't.  You see me everyday, Mulder.  You know everything about me."

"I don't know everything about you," I said, touching her leg gently.  "And I
certainly don't know the woman inside you.  Is that what they tapped into,
Scully?"

"Maybe," she said, looking down at where I was touching her.  "And maybe I
wished it really was you."

Then why wasn't it me? I wondered. Was the comfort of a stranger's arms safer
than mine?  But they didn't care about her the way I did.  How could they?

"You know I love you, Scully," I breathed, running my hand up the length of her
calf.  "You know that, don't you?"

"Mulder..." she replied, voice aching with longing.

"Six years of wanting you, Scully.  Maybe that's made me a little crazy.  But
you were always just out of my reach," I said, touching her higher.  Her inner
thigh.  She wasn't stopping me either.

"I'm not now," she whispered, body tensing as my hand neared the apex.  I
stroked her gently through the fabric.  Feeling the electrical charge run
through us both. It was better than anything I could ever imagine.

Her hand reached out, making contact with my bare skin.  She ran her fingers
down my shoulder, tracing my clavicle and then my nipple.  So rare Scully
touched me.  Normally, I had to be injured or unconscious.  But this wasn't the
touch of my doctor this time.  It was that of a woman.  Arousing me.

"Does this feel good?" I asked her, pressing up into her soft center.  Wishing
all these damn clothes weren't in the way.

"Hmmm-hmmmm," she whispered, titling her head to the side.  Her hair spilled
over her cheek, leaving trails of copper fire.

I continued working my hand against her, gauging her reactions carefully.  I
was going to learn how to fine-tune this for her.  Find just the right spot.

Her hands slid back up my chest, across my neck and her fingers clutched at my
hair.  I wondered who the last man was she allowed to touch her like this.  To
share something this intimate.  I was relieved that this time, she had finally
chosen me.

I slowly pulled her shirt from her slacks, so my hands could wander beneath the
thin, pale fabric.  I could feel the scar underneath her left breast; a
reminder how I'd almost lost her.  Likewise, she traced mine.  From where she'd
shot me.

"You're not armed, are you?" I mused, and she smiled slightly.

"No," she answered.  "I'm not concealing anything either."

"Mind if I check?" I asked, rising up on my knees so we were face to face.  Her
lips so close to mine.  She shook her head.  "Can you take this off?"

She reached down to the edge of her shirt, crossing her arms as she lifted it
up and over her head.  Letting it fall away to the floor.

Jesus.  She was so beautiful.

"Is that how you asked her, Mulder?" she asked softly.  "Is that what she did
for you?"

"She did nothing for me," I stated firmly.  Wanting her to know how empty it
really was.  She nodded, hopefully understanding.  She drew my hands up, laying
them on her skin.  An open invitation.

My hands explored the smoothness of her stomach, the curve of her spine, the
hollow at the base of her throat. Her skin was warm and pulsed with life and
energy beneath my fingertips.  Alive.  She was holding her breath, as if afraid
to breath.

"Relax," I coaxed, as she finally exhaled.

She wasn't running away.  Scully was voluntarily undressing in front of me,
allowing me access to her body.  I wondered if I was dreaming.  If any second
I'd wake up on the couch drenched in sweat and other things.  But then, she
drew her mouth to mine.  Covering it lightly.

"Did you ask her to kiss you?" she whispered.  "Through the glass?"

Her lips brushed mine and I responded fully, opening beneath them.  Allowing
her to control this kiss.  Our first kiss.  She tasted slightly of cigarettes
and vodka, confirming my suspicions.  But I wasn't about to fault her for that.
 Wasn't the first time I'd probably driven her to such indulgences.

Then she broke away.  Stopping to catch her breath.

"What else did you want her--me to do?" she inquired, licking her lip.
Challenging me.

"Scully," I countered.  She had nothing to prove to me. "No substitutions or
imitations this time.  You tell me what you want, Scully.  You."

"I want you to touch me, Mulder," she answered, voice thick with suggestion.

I pulled her off the table and into my arms, pressing her tightly against me. I
rotated her gently to the floor, kissing her hard.  Rewarded by her
responsiveness as she shifted beneath me.  Her fingernails scraped along my
back, mimicking that night I'd found her on this same floor.

Her bra fastened in the front and it took no time to unsnap it and push the
silky fabric away.  Exposing her breasts.  Small, firm and perfect.  She moaned
as my hand surrounded one.  Savoring its weight and feel.  I lowered my mouth
to it, swirling my tongue around her erect nipple.  She arched her back.

Her hair was splayed out on the floor; all around her head like a halo as she
smiled.  Her body shifting up and down, rocking against me.

She was still wearing her slacks and I focused on that next.  Unbuckling her
belt between kisses to her stomach.  The zipper slid down smoothly, revealing
matching underwear to her bra, which was still tangled around her arms.  I
shifted the fabric away, leaving her exposed. Bathed in the moonlight that
spilled from the window above.

I'd seen her naked before.  The day I rescued her from the alien ship.  The
shower we'd almost shared being decontaminated. But I'd never seen her like
this.  Sensual and aroused, tensed and waiting.  For me.

My hand returned to the spot between her legs, this time with no barriers.  She
was wet, and I spread it across her folds as I stroked her.  Enjoying the look
of contentment it caused across her face.  I increased the friction slightly,
and her wordless sounds urged me on.  I lowered my face, finding the bundle of
nerves again.  This time with my tongue.

Scully writhed beneath me, resting one leg over my shoulder.  Her hands reached
for my hair, running fingers through it.  Encouraging me to continue.  The
smell of sex heavy around us.  And the taste of her was arousing me more and
more each second.

She grinded harder against me, and I looked up.  Her eyes were closed tightly,
biting her lower lip.  Holding back.  She was holding back on me.

"Scully," I whispered, withdrawing for a moment. "What's wrong?"

She lifted her head; face flushed over as she propped herself up on her elbow.
"Nothing.  Except..."

"Except what?" I asked, as she shifted along the floor, working herself beneath
me again.  Was she uncomfortable? "We could move to the bedroom if the floor is
too hard."

"No," she replied, shaking her head.  Her lips sought mine, licking her
moisture away. She clutched my shoulders. "Because I'm not the one who's going
to have their back on it."

"Scully," I whispered, surprised.  Then suddenly, I was on my back.  And she
was above me.  Working on the fly of my jeans.  Now I could die.  And I didn't
care how many alien conspiracies went unsolved in my absence.  Because it was
all worth it for this moment.

My head hit the floor as she reached for me, her hand snaking beneath my
boxers.  Seeking me out.  I was already painfully hard, and the uncomfortable,
restricted feeling passed as she removed my jeans.  Taking the boxers with
them.  They stayed wrapped around my ankles.  Apparently, she just wanted was
them out of the way.

"This is better, Mulder," she said, sliding over me, thighs hugging mine.  She
let the bra fall down her arms. "Better than imagination, isn't it?"

"Yes," I groaned, seeing her smile.  She rubbed herself against my penis,
creating a delicious friction.

Then I realized.  This wasn't just my fantasy we were acting out.

It was hers.

Carefully, she lowered herself on me.  Sheathing me inside her heat.  She
moaned her satisfaction.  I echoed the sentiment.  Finally, we were here.  No
longer in idle.  I held her hips in place, pushing further inside her.  Just
feeling her wrap around me was enough to make me come, but I tried to hold on.
This was for her.

Her hands laced with mine, bracing for leverage as she began to rock.  Sliding
up and down my length.  Jesus.  She was so good at this.  Like I'd always
imagined.  Strong, independent, powerful and sexual.  All at once.  Every
quality I admired in her took on a whole new meaning here.

"How's your back?" she asked, before sinking into me again. Increasing the pace
even more.

"How are your knees?" I breathed, between short pants.  This damn floor could
not be comfortable for her.  But I wasn't about to get up now.

"Fine," she breathed, grinding harder.  Faster. Deeper. So I was filling her
completely.  Completing her, as she has completed me.  Every nerve of my being
focused on what she was doing.

"Mulder," she started, between rocking.  "We have a relationship, don't we?"

Now I regretted saying that.  Obviously, I had hurt her.  I reached up,
brushing my fingers against her lips.

"Scully," I whispered, tracing them gently.  "We do.  I just think we'd gotten
good at avoiding it."

"I guess we can't do that now," she answered, clutching me tighter.

"No," I confirmed.  Determined she was not going to deny this ever happened.  I
met her thrusts, wanting her to feel this inside. In her heart. This wasn't
some casual fuck to me.  I loved her.  And I knew the significance of this
moment.  Forever burned in the recesses of my mind.

Her eyes fluttered closed, her teeth clenched as she shattered around me.  Her
breath coming out in short pants, riding out the pleasure coursing through her.
 She cried out in release.  She threw her head back, as she thrust down one
final time.  My hands steadied her hips.

"Mulder," she breathed, falling back against me.  Our bodies covered in a thin
sheen of sweat.  I held her close, feeling my own body growing harder within
her as she pulsed around me.

"My turn," I said, rolling her gently on her side.  Thrusting up and into her
again. We were face to face and I tried to support her in my arms.  She slid
her legs around my waist, relaxing into me as I pumped harder.  Her moisture
only making it easier.

I couldn't contain it anymore, and I slammed into her one final time.
Exploding inside her as I made incoherent sounds, signaling my release.  Seeing
perception shatter around me.  Because nothing would ever be the same after
this.

"Dear God," I said, my eyes struggling to focus.  She was smiling, curling her
body around me tighter.

"You don't believe in God," she whispered, as if I'd committed an act of
heresy.

"I do now," I panted, pulling out of her slightly.  It was the closest thing to
a religious experience I'd ever have.  I kicked my jeans off finally,
discarding them so Scully could entwine her legs with mine.  I thought about
handcuffing her to the sofa, just to make sure she wouldn't escape off into the
night.

When her breathing resumed to normal, I kissed her again.  Her mouth opened up
beneath mine, tongues exploring.  We shared a breath and smile as well.
Nothing compared to this.  I closed my eyes, feeling tired and euphoric all at
once.

"Mulder," she said, and I opened my eyes again to find her staring at me.  No
glass separated us now. "Promise me something."

"Anything," I replied, as she laced our hands together.

"No more substitutions," she said quietly.

"Never," I answered, hearing her sigh heavily.  She closed her eyes, resting
back against my shoulder.  I could almost hear her thoughts, telling her to get
up and go.  To run from this before it went any further.  But she didn't.
Scully was falling asleep.

And tomorrow, things weren't going back to the way they were.

The End

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