NOWHERE SPECIAL
by Blackwood
entreamis@yahoo.com

RATING: NC17
CATEGORY: MSR, UST/RST, Vignette, Post-ep/Sequel to 'all things'
SPOILERS: Tooms, 3, Fight the Future, The Unnatural, Signs and
Wonders, En Ami, all things
ARCHIVE:  By all means.  Just let me know.
SUMMARY: A back seat rendezvous that immediately follows the events
of Lydia Bower's story, "Intercourse."  It sets the mood well. You'll
find it at http://members.aol.com/XFSparky/index.html 
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. That's it.

Lydia, this is for you.

~*~*~*~

<<"Hey, Scully, will you answer one more question for me?"

The smile was still there as she turned to him. "Sure. What is it?"

"When are we gonna do it again?"

She gave an inquisitive tilt of her head. "It?"

"Yeah, you know ... it."

The smile spread into a grin, and she flashed him her teeth.  Then
with the smallest movement of her head, she threw an appraising look
over her shoulder and into the back seat. Her eyes, when they
reconnected with his, held an unmistakable invitation.

"Seriously?" he asked, figuring it was too good to be true. Scully
didn't respond to his question. She didn't have to. The way she
methodically began removing their clothes was answer enough.>>

                        ~~from Lydia Bower's "Intercourse"


She'd already unslipped the knot of his tie and unbuttoned the top
three buttons of his shirt before he regained enough composure to
move, pulse shifting into overdrive at her assertiveness.  Before she
could continue, Mulder pulled her against him and captured her lips
under his.  This time, Scully was ready, matching his ardor with an
urgency of her own.  Her hands held his face as he pressed her
against the car seat.

She was slight in his arms, a wisp of a woman whose small stature
contradicted her iron will and towering character.  His hand moved to
the front of her blouse, cupping her breast over her shirt.  Her
mouth parted against his in a soft gasp and one of her hands slid
downwards until it covered his, reassuring him that yes, she wanted
it there.

Scully's kisses were still new, yet so like her.  Give and take. 
Send and return.  The gentle probing of his tongue was met by an
equal response from her, and more, as her desires surfaced.  Her
willful possession of his mouth was a potent aphrodisiac, and the
longer they sustained contact, the more Mulder unraveled.  

She was coffee bitter and cinnamon sweet, and his appetite was
voracious.  He would devour her whole, if he could.  He simply could
not get enough of her.  Could not...  Hands pushed at him and he
backed off, shakier than before.

"That'll-- do," she exhaled, breathless; her words contrary to her
need, his effect on her disarming.

"I aim to please," he whispered back.

"You please me."

"Do I?"

Scully's face was angled below his and she looked up into searching
eyes.  "Fishing for compliments?"  Mulder gave her a 'who me?' look
and she chuffed at him, a half-smile on her lips.  "You know I admire
you.  I couldn't-" and she stopped short, flustered.

"Couldn't what?"

She ignored his question and repeated, "I just admire you.  You're
intuitive, brilliant, thorough."

He squinted and gave a nod at her, "Thanks for the professional
review.  Where are we going with this, Scully?"

"Mulder-"

"I'm also crazy.  Don't forget that, too."

"Like a fox."

"That's my name.  Don't wear it out."

"As if," she scoffed, fighting a grin. Her pointed remark conjured a
shared memory of a long-ago stakeout and a missive that she never use
his given name.  "Fox?" she said, sampling the word on her tongue
like exotic fruit.

"Dana?" he replied.  A thoughtful look passed between them.  She
smiled.  He shook his head.  

"No," they chimed in unison and laughed softly.  Scully raised her
face to his once more.  A slow blink of her lashes and her expression
turned sultry.  "Please me again, *Mulder,*" she murmured.

Her mouth reached up to toy with his and her hands caressed his back.
Yes, he decided, he could lose himself here.  In Scully's honeyed
mouth, her lips caressing, her velvet tongue stroking his own.  He'd
always found kissing addictive.  Skin flicks and magazines held
allure, aroused passions relieved and rued in solitude.  But, a kiss?
That was different.  That always required two.

His arms kept her close, unwilling to let her distance herself from
him.  He remembered her mouth and her hands from their first
encounter, after England.  Scully's confessions about Daniel
Waterston had left him startled; her veiled musings about their own
future together, hopeful.  He hadn't expected what followed.

He'd left her sleeping on his couch while he set their mugs into the
sink.  He'd gone into the bedroom, then, and unloaded his duffel onto
the floor beside the bed, pawing through toiletries, computer disks
and assorted clothing until he found a pair of drawstring bottoms. 
He'd stripped naked and grabbed a shower, eyes closing under the
steamy water.  Once, he'd heard Scully at the open door.  He'd
waited, not breathing, until he heard her receding footfalls. 
Toweling off, he re-entered his bedroom, switched off the lights and,
still unclothed, crawled under the covers, too tired to don the
pajamas he'd located.

It was shortly thereafter that he heard her enter his room.  It
didn't surprise him that Scully wanted to share a bed to sleep, just
that it was *his* bed in *his* apartment.  Necessity had them sharing
quarters in the field often enough for familiarity to minimize
expectations.  Still, his state of undress gave pause.

Scully said nothing and he listened to the hushed rustling of her
clothing dropping to the floor.  He'd kept himself turned away from
her, as was their wont, aware that she did not replace her garments. 
His mattress creaked as she slid under the sheets beside him, raising
his temperature and quickening his pulse.  His brain spun, working
the possibilities presented.  They'd lain in silence for at least
half an hour, still locked in the stasis that kept them at a literal
arm's length from one another.  At last, he gave in to the tide of
fatigue that overwhelmed him and slept.

Mulder tossed in slumber, dreams filled with Scully-effused images
and the feel of feathery kisses on his face, his chest and lower,
softest hands bringing him erect.  He rose through layered sleep and
opened his eyes to what he thought must be a waking dream.  In the
luminescence of a moonlit night, he made out the naked figure of a
siren prone beside him, her upper torso reversed to his lower one as
they lay on their sides.  Fantasy punched a hole into reality as he
looked down and saw Scully's auburn head moving over his loins.  The
line never-to-be-crossed was forever ravaged as she seduced him with
the caress of her lips and tongue on his hard, erect cock.

He didn't have the energy or the inclination to question her motives
or her actions.  Not when her breasts were teasing his abdomen as she
moved, her mouth and hands doing things he never imagined she would
do if he asked, let alone do unprompted.  So, he'd sighed her name,
urging her with tender words.

Somehow, his thought processes stayed intact long enough to remind
him that this particular position allowed him to play out another
long-standing fantasy.  Mulder's hand moved with lust-induced
sluggishness to nudge Scully's legs apart, revealing red-brown curls
and riches beyond that begged to be plundered.

The first touch of his lips on her, there, caused her to stop and
gasp at the contact.  His tongue snaked out and sought her clit where
it lay nestled within her folds.  She cried out as he circled the
sensitive, erect bud.  Her response was immediate and he felt her
trembling, muffled moans of pleasure as she peaked, her cheek resting
on the hard turn of his hip.  No matter that she'd been distracted
from her task; the sound of Scully losing control by way of his touch
proved Mulder's undoing.  He'd turned onto his stomach, groaning into
the pillows as orgasm claimed him, semen spilling onto the bed
between them.

He'd loved her a long time without knowing this aspect of her,
although he'd imagined how she would feel, would taste, would respond
to his hands on her.  Discovery remained his weakness and uncovering
the sexual nature of Dana Scully promised to be a wondrous journey. 
It wasn't intercourse, but it was sex, no matter what the President
said.  Mulder *was* a patriot, but he still favored Ken Starr's
definition of things.
 
After, he'd shoved the sheets under them and pulled her upwards to
see her face, to reassure himself that is was, indeed, Scully.  Her
tousled head lay on the pillow beside him, her eyes soft with emotion
he dared not name.  Morning had a nasty way of altering Evening's
perception and he feared that even more than the coming alien
invasion.  Wrapping Scully in his arms under the quilt, he'd pressed
his lips to hers and kissed her with tenderness, once.  The exchange
was chaste compared to what had preceded, but her lingering warmth
told him what he needed to know.  They'd drifted to asleep entwined,
not a word spoken.  She was gone in the morning, and they hadn't
spoken of that night since.

Until tonight.

And now, now his mouth hovered just above hers, breath mingling as
they kissed... so sweet... and kissed... need more... and kissed for
an impossible length of time.  Mulder pulled away at last, senses
both dulled and honed by her touch, her scent, her unassuming beauty.
Desire and fatigue were in her eyes after a long day of keeping pace
with his relentless schedule.  She stifled a yawn.

"I'm sorry," he teased.  "Am I keeping you awake?"
 
She threw him a sly look and made an immediate grab for the door
handle behind her.  He watched for a second, then snatched the keys
from the ignition with his right hand and the door handle with his
left.  Things were looking up.

He stepped out into the fresh air of Nowhere.  At least, that's what
the green and white road sign ten yards ahead told him:  "Nowhere,
Nebraska. Pop. 96."  Freshly turned fields of black earth flanking
the isolated, country byway. On the opposite side of the road,
telephone poles pierced the ground at distant intervals, wires slung
like licorice whips.  The car's high beams skewered the dark, two
channels of yellow light illuminating the grassy shoulder parallel to
the road.  A clutch of blue wildflowers sprouted beside the asphalt,
inches from death by tire tread.

Hearing the thud of a car door, he turned to look at Scully over the
roof of the sedan.  He watched as she pushed wind-blown strands from
her face with both hands.  Nebraska in springtime was cold, but dry,
turning their breath to thin mist in the unseasonable chill of a
heartland night.  The air smelled of soil and fertilizer, reminding
him of another time and another place when they'd been chased by
phantom helicopters.  They'd come so close, then.  Close, but not far
enough.  Not towards finding their answers, nor in bridging the gap
of their personal affections.  Much had happened since.

They stood motionless, words superfluous in the vastness of their
emotions, the land and the twinkling night sky.  Dropping his head
back onto his shoulders, Mulder breathed in the night, savoring the
breeze that cooled his fevered cheeks and ruffled the open collar at
his neck, tendrils of air seeping inside his white dress shirt.  He
spied a sliver of moon and a mare's tail of cloud streaking the icy
stratosphere.  Stars dappled a black sky and the Milky Way, never
observable in DC, glowed with celestial brilliance.

He again heard the creak and thud of a car door, and turned back to
Scully.  She was gone, already waiting for him in the sheltering dark
of the car.  The thought was nothing short of amazing.  Waiting for
him.  Waiting to make love with him on the shoulder of a two-lane
highway, thirty miles west of Omaha (yeah, he knew where they were),
their flight tickets inside his jacket pocket.  It was, for lack of a
better word, fitting.  Like the land spreading around them, their
relationship was only a fertile promise until conditions for growth
were right.  So.  What the hell was he waiting for?

He reached back into the front of the car, slapping the lights off
before throwing the door closed with more force than intended.  His
feet scraped the gravel as he took two steps back, hesitating for a
moment as he pulled at the rear door handle.  He didn't have
protection with him.  He knew pregnancy wasn't possible, but there
were other things to consider.  Scully had been with Daniel just a
little over ten years ago.  He'd been with Diana at about the same
time.  But, there was Willis and... He sighed.  God only knew how
many men Kristin Kilar had bedded, or worse.  Scully and he had
engaged in risky behavior once.  Still, that didn't mean they should
compound their error.

He opened the door and slid into the darkness of the backseat. 
Pulling the door closed, he locked it, prepared to slow things down. 
In the weak light cast by the sickle moon, he could discern Scully as
she waited, her left leg tucked beneath her skirted figure, the other
outstretched towards him.  Her head leaned against the napped fabric
of the backseat, her hands quiet in her lap.

He noted that her blouse was halfway unbuttoned and that there
appeared to be nothing beneath the dark blue weave but the small,
gold cross at her neck.  A closer look, however, revealed a bra of a
neutral color and smooth fabric that hugged her curves like a glove.

"You're staring, Mulder.  See something you like?" she said in the
most natural voice in the world.  Which, for some reason, made him
harder than granite.  The idea of a postponement began to fade.

"More and more," he replied, shrugging off his suit jacket and
tossing it, without ceremony, into the front seat.  Her head tilted
and her eyes followed the trajectory before slanting back to him.

"Dry cleaners, for sure."

"Let's live dangerously," he quipped in a deadpan voice he knew she
would interpret as a challenge.  He pulled his weapon from its
holster and laid it on the rear windshield shelf with care before he
slid the leather harness off and dropped it into the front seat. 
Scully considered him for ten long seconds, her mouth parting as she
took in a silent breath and released it.  Then she set her course.

Reaching under her jacket, she pulled out her own weapon and set it
beside his.  Then her hands returned to the lapels of her jacket. 
Without taking her eyes from his, she eased it off both shoulders
with exaggerated slowness, allowing it to drop to the seat behind
her.  The challenge was now returned.  If he looked away, she won. 
Shit.  His peripheral vision told him she was removing her own
holster before undoing the rest of the buttons of her blouse, one by
pearly one.  He found it difficult to breathe with any semblance of
normalcy.  Still, he shook his head at the gleam in her eyes,
refusing to shift his gaze in spite of a sudden, overwhelming urge to
cede victory.  Instead, he undid his own shirt buttons, tugging the
shirttail from his trousers.

The pupils of Scully's eyes were dilated with surrounding narrow rims
of blue.  His own hazel eyes narrowed and he cursed to himself,
desperate to watch the layers fall from her.  He dismissed the
sudden, bizarre image of an angel perched on his right shoulder
saying, "wait a minute" and a devil on his left insisting, "take
her."

As if reading his mind, Scully said in a low tone, "Distracted much?"

His breathing was steady, but shallow, as he reached for her, his
left hand moving beneath the supple fabric that brushed the top of
his hand.  "You win," he said, spying a glimmer of triumph in her
eyes before they closed.  His gaze dropped to take in her lush curves
as long fingers traced the soft skin of her neck and down the curve
of her breast before skimming her waist to pull her to him.  His
other arm slipped behind her shoulders to hold her closer.

If his lead was unwelcome, she gave no sign of it.  Her inside arm
was tucked around him, the other resting on his shoulder, fingering
the silky, brown hairs that tickled the back of his shirt collar. 
She dropped her head to her left, onto his arm, and he bent to kiss
the warm hollow of her neck, pushing aside her shirt and pausing
behind her ear, tasting her there.  Her body radiated her want of him
and he inhaled the sensual, aroused scent of her.

"Mulder?" she murmured.  His response was a growl against her skin. 
His hand at her back, meanwhile, unloosed the button at the top of
her skirt.  He heard the hitch of her breath, but her voice was calm
as she asked, "Where are we, anyway?" 

He placed his mouth beside her ear and murmured, "Nowhere."  The buzz
of a zipper coming undone echoed in the dark.

"I can see that."

"No, I mean we're in Nowhere, Nebraska."

"You're kidding."  He shook his head, hands still on her.  "Our
flight leaves at 11:45.  It's already eleven."  

"Minor obstacle," he reassured her, his hand touching bare skin at
the small of her back.  She sighed under the tracing of his fingers
and a part of his brain began to assess the odds of getting Scully to
agree to an extra night at the airport's Embassy Suites.

"As opposed to major ones like the laws of time, space, and traffic
patterns around the airports of major cities?" she went on and he
pulled away, miffed.  He would never understand her.  She was
vacillating.  He stared into her eyes.

"I thought you wanted this."

"Just thinking about possibilities." 

"I think we've explored enough possibilities--extreme or
otherwise--for more than one lifetime, don't you?"

She dropped her eyes.  "More than two lifetimes," she replied.

Secure and confident in her professional life, Scully was plagued by
insecurities and misgivings when it came to the personal.  He
considered his choices.  Training told him to evaluate his options
with cool logic.  His rapid heartbeat and erect cock said otherwise.

"The world will continue for a day without us to save it from ruin."

"Mulder?" she warned.

"I know. I'm being flippant. And I haven't forgotten my--" His eyes
closed for a second.  "Our responsibilities.  I just want..." and he
paused.  Her eyes lifted then, her unspoken 'tell me' plainly
visible.  Love and need exceeded pride as he responded, "You.  Here. 
Now."  He felt vulnerable and exposed, and doubt rose in a
split-second, threatening their fine balance.  Her hands pressed
against his bare chest, sliding to his shoulders.  An involuntary
shudder rattled him.

"Jesus, Mulder.  You're all knots."

"Just thinking about possibilities," he parroted with as much
impudence as he could manage.

She considered him from under her brows for several moments and then,
in silence, pressed him backward against the car seat.  Pinning him
with her eyes, she settled herself astride his legs.  His sudden
intake of breath and subsequent, slow smile confirmed his approval. 
He could feel the yielding softness of her body centered against his
hardness.  This was a new sensation.  New, but one he could get used
to with ease.

They watched his hands inch upward from her knees, along the tops of
her thighs, edging beneath the soft wool of her skirt until he felt
the swirled contours of lace and elastic at the tops of her
stockings. Another inch and he fondled bare skin.  His brows knit
together as his fingers searched for garters that weren't there. 
Another inch or so and his surprise was unmistakable.  Oh brother.  A
fiery arrow of arousal shot straight from the pads of his fingers to
his groin as Mulder realized that, aside from a pair of thigh-hi
stockings, his sober partner of seven years wasn't wearing a stitch
beneath her Donna Karan.

He tilted his head and his disbelieving face met hers.  "Wh- When--?"
he managed to sputter.

She hesitated for only a moment and then replied with cool
confidence, "During dinner."  That set him back, speechless against
the upholstery.  He scanned photographic memories of early evening. 
Their mealtime conversation hadn't *felt* provocative and she'd
seemed intent on making their flight.  And where the hell had she
stashed the damned panties, anyway?

Who cared?

The glow in her eyes and the small smile she gave him signaled her
satisfaction in surprising him.  She was blushing, he was certain of
that; and the understanding that her brazenness wasn't altogether in
character charmed him all the more.

A sudden awkwardness overtook them.  She met his eyes and, with a shy
smile, lowered them as she grasped the wider end of his tie and began
to pull at it.  The rustle of silk sliding under his collar echoed
inside his head, along with the sound of their breath and the soft
whistle of blood rushing through him.  Hand over hand, she reeled in
the fabric.  And him.

Begging patience of whichever god might be watching over them, Mulder
promised he'd do right by her.

END
NOWHERE SPECIAL (1/2)
By Blackwood

TITLE: NOWHERE SPECIAL
AUTHOR: Blackwood
E-MAIL: entreamis@yahoo.com
DISCLAIMER:  See Part 1

NOWHERE SPECIAL (2/2)
By Blackwood

Mulder's tie was gone and Scully slipped her fingers beneath his
collar to start a gentle kneading of the muscles of his neck and
shoulders, her eyes watching her hands as they moved on him.  Her
face was level with his and for a moment, he allowed himself to just
watch her.

She'd changed over the years.  Hell, so had he.  Tiny lines were
forming at the corners of her eyes and she'd lost the fullness of
youth.  Even so, she was in better shape than he'd ever seen her:
trim without being gaunt, like she was during her cancer.  Her body
had been tempered by age, illness and inflicted damage.  She'd become
skillful at defending herself, both physically and emotionally. 
Their practice karate sessions left him sore from being taken down
with regularity.

Her beauty remained constant; but her eyes, always extraordinary, now
flared with an intensity that sometimes unnerved him.  Perhaps it was
her encounter with Spender that had expunged the last vestiges of
innocence and denial in her.  That fateful encounter had corrected
her vision, allowing her to see the world, at last, as Mulder saw it.
 Or, maybe, just as it was.  In any event, Scully had taken on a
maturity that still eluded him in many ways.  She was, in fact,
reverse alchemy: molten gold turned to steel.

Her face was just inches from his and he knew he would never tire of
watching the small furrow of her brow as she concentrated.  Her touch
was light as they assuaged and caressed, playing along his shoulders,
his neck and down his chest.  Muscles relaxed and his scattered
thoughts refocused under her ministrations. He imagined those hands
reaching lower and...no, wait.

"Scully," he said and her eyes lifted to his, darker than he'd ever
seen them, though it might have been a trick of the light.  Her hands
stopped, coming to rest on his chest.  

"Nervous?" she asked, and he gave her the barest of nods.

He swallowed, gathered his courage and said, "I'm just wondering
about other people we've been with."

Her tongue darted out to touch her lip at that and she paused,
pulling away from him a bit.  "Mulder, Daniel was a long time ago. 
So was Jack."

He pursed his lips and nodded.  Funny how much and yet, how little
they knew about one another's personal history.  Mulder had any
number of questions about Scully's past, but decided to pursue only
one.  With mild trepidation, he fingered a circle where he remembered
her tattoo being.  "And your personal art?"

The arch of her brow and the ensuing stony silence told him he'd
overstepped his bounds.  Damn.  She stared him down, saying, "Believe
what you will.  I took *every* precaution."  It would have to do. 
Besides, it was time for *him* to face the music.

"There's something you should know about me," Mulder began,
disquieted by the way she stiffened.  "There have been other women in
my life.  Not many, but enough."  He paused and looked away.  "There
was a woman, when you were taken that first time.  I was angry. 
Lonely.  I missed you and I thought?"  He shook his head.  "I thought
it would take away the ache I felt inside.  It didn't."  He looked
back and found Scully gazing beyond him through the semi-fogged glass
at the empty fields, ripe with promise.

She hid her surprise well, but Mulder could see it in the way her
lashes fluttered against her cheeks.  "That was five years ago," she
stated.

"It was only once," he added and waited.

Her eyes were clear and she was calm when she looked him in the eye
and said, "As best I can tell, we're clean.  I personally ran several
screens on the blood drawn from you earlier this year, after the
snakebites."

"What--" he began and stopped, thoughts churning, unable to speak for
the second time in short space.

Instead, he focused on her voice, her self-recrimination evident,
"...things were changing between us.  After our case with Black, it
wasn't so much a question of 'if' as 'when.'"  She drew in a breath
and released it.  "I meant to tell you sooner, but things were
happening so quickly.  Your mother.  Your sister..." her voice
trailed off, the pain in her eyes reflecting his own.  "I'm sorry."

Well.  That explained her comfort with their "activities" last week
and now.  Seven years of partnership and nearly twice as many years
profiling and he still didn't have her quite figured out, except for
one important factor.  "I guess it comes down to a matter of trust,
doesn't it?" he said.

"Always has," she replied.  She was quiet for five seconds, then
added, "Or destiny."

Mulder pondered her words along with her actions, filing them
alongside the other changes he'd observed in her over the years.  All
of it leading here, at least if he believed Scully's newfound version
of Instant Karma.  He wasn't certain how fatalistic he truly was, or
if the changes wrought were positive ones.  He hadn't noticed as well
as he might, but under his influence, she'd come to embrace the
extreme.  Her skepticism had evolved from systematic doubt to a form
of suspended judgment.  Typical of converts, she was likely to become
a zealot.  The thought left him with a vague uneasiness.

They sat in silence, neither of them was quite certain about how to
proceed, their unspoken feelings left exposed between them.  When
they broke the silence, it was in tandem:

"This shouldn't?"
"I'm not very good--"

"be that difficult--"
"at this."

They smiled in joint chagrin.  Then, Scully sighed,  "Like I said
before -- I don't know how to be your lover."

His eyes bored into hers and in a silken undertone, he murmured, "Let
me remind you." 

He grasped her hips, pulling her suddenly closer.  Her gasp revealed
his effect.  Their eyes held as she rocked back, then pushed forward
a second time, the resultant friction generating a warm ripple of
pleasure through him.  "Do that again," he rasped, eyelids falling
closed with a soft groan as she as did so.

He reopened his eyes and watched from half-lidded eyes as she undid
the front clasp of her bra, the clingy fabric dropping away from
breasts of Scully perfection.  Grasping the firm roundness of her
bottom, he nudged her upwards until his mouth could take in one
rose-peaked nipple, his tongue teasing her feminine flesh, drawing
from her a prolonged sigh.  She burrowed her flushed cheek into his
hair and held him to her.

Mulder relished the small sounds that escaped her, filling him with
masculine pride.  He suckled her, hands sliding upward on the smooth
flesh of her back under her open shirt, molding themselves to the
concave curve of her waist.  He remembered a thousand random touches
and as many fantasies.  His sighs intermingled with hers as his mouth
took in her other breast.  A small whimper of pleasure escaped her at
his tongue's rough swipe, and he made note of her preference.

Awareness of their surroundings and the adolescent circumstance of
their lovemaking faded in the face of mutual need.  Scully settled
back into his lap, separating him from the objects of his worshipful
attentions.  She reached between them, then, unbuckling his belt with
hasty fingers.  Together, they pushed the remaining barriers of
trousers and boxers from his narrow hips.  Mulder's erection bobbed
free and she took him in hand, the underside of his cock sliding in
her palm from base to tip and back.

He groaned, eyes closed, hands tightening on her waist.  She did it
again and when he opened his eyes, he found hers on him, satisfied
with his response to her.

"Is this what you like?" she whispered.

"I like--everything--you do, Scully," he panted.

"Liar," she retorted and he chuffed softly.

"Okay...yeah.  I like this, but I can think of something I like
better."

"So can I."

Her hand left him to join its mate as they framed his face, holding
his countenance within her gaze.  She rose as before, angling his
face towards her.  Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and his
followed suit.  Then she lowered her open mouth to his and all
thoughts, save those of her, fled him.  He fought the heavy pull of
his eyelids, but gave up as her tongue invaded his mouth and all of
his senses.

Scully reached down with one hand and gently clasped it around his
length.  She lowered herself around him with infinite patience until
he was surrounded by her heat, her breath, her heartbeat.  The
intimate feel of their bodies connecting crashed over him and as they
broke their kiss, he wrapped his arms around her.  She pressed her
forehead to his and they sat unmoving, breath soft and mingled; a
feeling of union filling them.

Then she stirred.

"Don't move," he remanded.

"Why not?"

"Not yet."

"Mulder?"

"Wait," he said and she stilled.  Their breathing was heavy, ragged
and uneven.  An endless minute passed in silence and as the seconds
ticked by, their breathing became meshed and in sync.  Peacefulness
rose between them.  Scully's hands were cool as she placed them over
his pounding heart.  He slipped his thumb adjacent to the hot, tight
space where they joined, savoring the undisguised hunger that flared
in her eyes.  "Now," he said, "Slowly."

Her hands edged upwards to brace against his shoulders and he felt
the tension of her legs pressed at his hips as she slid upwards in a
smooth, fluid motion and back down to take him deep within her.  He
kept his hand on her, circling the swollen bud nestled within her
folds and heard a soft moan.  He wasn't sure if it came from Scully
or himself.  No matter.

His other hand supported the slow, steady rise and fall of her hips. 
Her eyes were closed, her lips parted.  She was, quite literally,
breathtaking.  He viewed her as if admiring a well-loved statue,
noting her artful curves and angles, the way the light played on her
skin, pale and luminous.

Sensation overwhelmed him in its warmth, each piston thrust of her
hips rocketing a thousand points of healing joy through him.  If he
had nothing else, he had *her* and there was nothing he wouldn't do
to keep her with him.  He opened his eyes and found himself watching
the space between them, enthralled by the sight of his cock emerging
and sinking into her.

He heard a sigh and a breathy moan just above his ear, followed by a
second, quicker one.  "Dammit," Scully breathed as she rode him, hips
undulating in quicker and quicker arcs that felt like heaven.  All at
once, she stilled and he heard a shuddered breath.  Her tempo shifted
from quick and hurried to slow and deliberate as her back arched and
her rapture overtook her. 

He'd kept his own need at bay longer than he'd thought he could. 
But, as her internal muscles clenched around him, her voice sighing
"oh" and his name twice into the Nebraska night, he could wait no
longer.  He drove upwards into her with short, powerful thrusts; the
first, sharp crest of climax rocking his body.  He cried aloud, his
seed propelled to her as he succumbed to the sweet surrender of
ecstasy.

Their swift race to the pinnacle was followed by a slow return trip
to reality.  Slow-fading waves of pleasure continued to ripple
through him, leaving him spent and drowsy.  He felt a chill as his
dampened shirt cooled on his skin.  Scully was limp against him and
he buried his nose in the warm, moist recesses of her neck.  There,
he took in the dark and musky scent of a woman satisfied.  The sting
of tears pricked his eyes and he was pleased that he was the one to
bring her to this state of utter relaxation and tender trust.

The mechanics of sex never change, he mused, and gratification was
simple enough.  It was the emotional impact he felt with this woman
lying close against him that defined their relationship as different
from all others, marking him forever as hers.  Still, with the
temporary insanity of passion past, he found himself wondering about
the expletive Scully had pronounced with such vehemence just before
her climax.

He tipped his head up to her ear and queried, "Dammit, Scully?  Is
that what you think when we make love?" He heard the wry smile in her
answer.

"I was annoyed."

"Annoyed..."

"It was...transcendent; but, I was hoping things would last longer."

"Give us a chance to get used to this, would ya?  I promise, things
will improve."  She looked down into his face and smiled before
bestowing a kiss beside his mouth.  Then she shivered and shifted off
his lap.

They re-buttoned, re-zipped and rearranged themselves.  Mulder
watched her precise movements as she pulled on her jacket, pausing to
dust off a stray bit of lint.  She looked up and he cocked his head,
murmuring, "C'mere."  She sidled back, pressing herself against him,
her chest to his, her cheek against his shoulder, her legs stretched
out on the backseat, knees angled towards him.  Their arms slid round
one another and his throat tightened at the comfort it brought him. 

"We missed the plane," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Of course, we missed the plane."

"Do you mind?"

"No.  Just don't look at me when we're sitting in front of Skinner
and I'm explaining the extra expense of accommodations and new flight
tickets, not to mention an extra day's pay spent travelling."

"You mean I can't tell him about our, uh, rendezvous?" he mumbled.

"Not if you want to live," she admonished. "And don't you dare let on
to the boys."

"The Gunmen?"

Her eyes roll ever so slightly.  "I can just imagine?"

"Ahh, Scully.  I'd never kiss and tell.  But, it would be a juicy
story: Feds make hay beside a wheat field."  He felt her quiet
laughter. "Wasn't there a movie about a wheat field and baseball?"

"Field of Dreams."

"That's it.  The one with what's-his-name..."

"Kevin Costner."

"Right, Kevin Costner, before he got too full of himself.  Hey, you
know Opening Day is coming up.  I could take you out to the ballgame.
 I love baseball."

"I think I remember that.  Like I remember a night last year, hitting
a few into left field with a nice piece of ash."

"Standing behind you or in your hands?"  She pinched him.  "Ow. Okay,
okay.  I know.  I'm fishing again."  He was quiet for a bit, then
said, "So, this movie.  I never saw it, actually.  This guy lives in
Nebraska, right?  And he builds a baseball diamond in a wheat field?"

"It's Iowa, not Nebraska.  And it's corn, not wheat."

"Corn?wheat.  What's the difference?"

"None, except for genus, phylum, germination--, "

"I love it when you talk dirty, Scully."  She giggled into his chest
and he loved the fact that he could make her laugh.  He'd already
given her far too many reasons to cry.  "Since when did you become an
agricultural expert?"

"I am a fairly well-educated person.  Besides, I like to keep you
guessing."  She pulled away from him at that point and cast him a
mischievous grin.

"What?" he asked with a tilt of his head, eyes squinting.

He was curious when she inserted her hand into her jacket's left
exterior pocket, then his eyes widened and he broke into a
full-bodied laugh as he identified the satiny black fabric bunched in
her hand as Scully's wayward panties.  She clutched them in front of
her, a grin on her face.  "Just in case you were wondering," she
explained.

"I was--actually," he chuckled, then reached down to run his hand
over the smooth curve of fabric covering her hip.  "Leave 'em off,"
he instructed, his voice dropping in timbre as a pale twin of his
earlier desire resurfaced, settling in his groin.

"You're incorrigible," she chided with a shake of her head.

"Now you're getting it," he replied, feeling reckless and content.

She shook her head at him and re-pocketed the garment before
resettling herself against him. "Brilliant, intuitive and thorough,"
she murmured, her voice wafting upward to him.

He turned his head until his lips were burrowed into her hair.  "You
also started to say something else," he reminded her.

"Oh. That."  All at once, she sounded uneasy.

"Yeah, that."

She paused, then replied, "I was going to say that I couldn't have--
stayed--with you if I didn't respect you."

Her answer was true, but it wasn't honest.  He let it slide,
unwilling to force anything from her before she was ready, although
he hoped with all his heart that one day he might hear the words
'love' and his name in close proximity.  For now, he was grateful
beyond reckoning that they had embraced the extreme possibility of
physical intimacy.  His lifted his face, resting his chin on the top
of her head.  He decided to test the limits of their reincarnated
relationship.  "That's why you argue with me, isn't it?  You respect
me."

"From a certain perspective, yes."

"From a certain perspective."

"Um-hmm."

"Know what I think?"

"No, but I'm sure you'll tell me."

A wry smile twitched his mouth at her dig and he said, "I think it's
become a reflex."  She really pulled away from him that time and he
could see the lightning flash in her eyes.  Uh-oh.

Her voice was low, but insistent.  "That's neither fair nor accurate,
Mulder, and you know it.  You've as much as admitted you depend on me
to challenge your theories.  To keep you grounded.  I can't do that
if I agree with you all the time."

He heard her irritation and rued his off-the-cuff remark.  Sex hadn't
changed their basic dynamic.  Just as well.  He liked her feisty. 
Always did.  Always would.  The fact that he could silence her with a
kiss was a heady prospect, but he didn't.  Right now, what he needed
to do was recant, a little.  His tone was thoughtful when he said,
"That's true.  But, I could stand to hear the words 'Yes, Mulder. 
You're absolutely right' a *little* more often."

Her eyes narrowed and she considered him for a moment.  Then he saw
her expression soften.  "Is that all you want?"

"That's what I want."

"Well then, you simply have to make correct statements."

"Ahh. So, if I say 'I love you, Scully,' you'll say--"

Her voice was playful as she recited, "Yes, Mulder. You're absolutely
right."  He tugged at his lower lip with his teeth, formulating his
next question.

"And if I say 'We will definitely do this again and soon?'"

She leaned in, gave the underside of his jaw a tender nip, hissing,
"Yesss, Mulder.  You're absolutely right."

He liked that.  He knew he should leave things alone, but intimacy
and the feel of her lips on his throat made him bold.  Before he
could stop himself, he said, "And if I say 'you love me,' you'll
say--"

Silence may be golden, but the tacit half-minute that passed between
them felt leaden.  He longed to look into her eyes to discern, if he
could, the feeling she found so difficult to express.  Instead, he
observed the gentle rise and fall of her chest, saw the cross at her
neck move as she lifted her head.  He concentrated on that small,
gold talisman; listened to her long intake of breath, the way she
held it for one... two... three... seconds before releasing it in a
slow exhale.

Then he felt it.  Scully's voice at his ear.  "Yes, Mulder," she said
in a whisper, barely heard, each word punctuated by a silent breath
between.  "You're... *absolutely*... right."

It was more than he had dared to hope for and he wouldn't jinx his
good fortune by saying anything else.  Instead, he just held her
close.

All at once, Nowhere, Nebraska was somewhere special, after all.

END
May 2000