Final Thoughts by bugs & Branwell

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Final Thoughts by bugs & Branwell

From: bugs and Branwell <[email protected]> Date: Fri, 14 Apr 2000 02:45:19 GMT Subject: NEW: Final Thoughts 1 of 4 (NC-17) bugs and Branwell

TITLE: Final Thoughts (1 of 4)

AUTHOR: bugs and Branwell

EMAIL ADDRESS: [email protected] & [email protected]

URLs: http://urw.simplenet.com/bugs http://urw.simplenet.com/branwell

DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Gossamer okay, Ephemeral okay, Xemplary okay, Spookies 2000 okay, anywhere else, please ask.

SPOILER WARNING: “Never Again”

RATING: NC-17 for explicit sex and language

CLASSIFICATION: H, MSR

SUMMARY: What kind of a crisis can an e-mail slip-up precipitate?

DISCLAIMER: Chris Carter, David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson, and Ten Thirteen productions created and own the characters you recognize. Our writing is for fun, not profit.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Thanks to the incomparable “Deep Background,” created by Pellinor, now managed by Brynna and Jenna. Thanks to Tiny Dancer’s wonderful script site. And thanks to the folks at http://www.finalthoughts.com/, who boldly carried the standard for American business into the future. It’s inspirational.

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Dedicated to anyone who has regretted sending an email, whether it be public when meant to be private, saying too much, saying it the wrong way, or showing inner insanity with all too much clarity. Which would be all of us.

–––X–––

Part 1 of 4 Final Thoughts by bugs and Branwell

Saturday, 3:35 PM,
Mulder’s apartment

“FinalThoughts.com is an innovative membership- based website that combines estate planning and end-of-life issues in a unique and creative way. Through our revolutionary, FREE email service, FinalThoughts.com allows you to share your final wishes and personal feelings with your loved ones, after you have passed away. Our unique email service puts YOU in control and assures that your personal objectives are communicated to your family and friends when the time is right.”

When he’d finished reading the statement for the fourth time that afternoon, Mulder pushed himself back from the computer keyboard with a sigh of satisfaction, rubbing his tee shirt around his belly in an absent-minded gesture.

He was glad he’d found this website today. He’d planned on trusting the Gunmen to send an important letter for him, but the more he thought about it, the less he trusted them not to read it. And that wouldn’t do at all.

Instead, he’d set up an account with FinalThoughts.com, and had just sent over his ‘final thoughts’ for Scully.

He’d been working on it for years. Every now and then, he liked to pull up this special document. Someday it might be the only way left to express himself to Scully. He added to it occasionally, never changing the original passion in the words. Last weekend, he’d included a bit about her turtleneck.

But he wouldn’t send it himself. It was always carefully saved, waiting for the fateful day when it might need to be sent. Sometimes, after a particularly difficult day in her presence, looking over this document was the only thing that kept him sane.

As he pushed his chair back and rose, he paused. He had changed the addressee, right? He felt that familiar compulsion to check and make sure he hadn’t accidentally sent it to Scully.

Out loud in the empty room, he said, “Dammit, Mulder, don’t. You worry every time you send a possibly embarrassing document. Stop being such a wuss!”

Nodding to himself, reassured, he strode towards the kitchen to get a glass of water before lying down to take a nap.

***

Scully’s apartment;
3:40 PM

Scully sank down into her desk chair with a sigh. Up since 7 A.M., she’d cleaned the apartment from top to bottom; now she’d take some personal time. After Windows finished loading, she waited patiently for her email to download, turning her chair slightly to watch a robin on a branch outside her window. Thank God spring was finally here. No more damp pumps to be sponged dry when she just wanted to go to bed.

Swiveling back, she scanned the list of subject headings and sendees. Mulder. What did he want?

Last Will and Testament of Fox Mulder.

Her brow furrowed. What sort of ridiculous joke was he pulling now? She clicked it open, feeling the sickeningly familiar sense of dread when she had the least bit of worry over him.

If you’re reading this, I’m dead. I know that will be hurting you— more than anything I’ve ever done to you.

Her hands were fumbling for her phone receiver while she read and re-read those lines. Thank God for speed dial. She listened, frantic fear rising, as his phone rang, once, twice, three times…

His muffled, sleepy voice. “Mulder.”

She hung up. That son-of-a-bitch thought he could pull some joke on her! She read on—

 

First, I want you to know I would never hurt you on purpose and hate the thought I’m hurting you now. You’ve stuck by me through all these crazy years. Anyone less loyal would have gotten the hell out. So I’m afraid you may stick by me even in death.

I don’t want that. I was selfish while I was alive and held you close, but now I want you to be happy. I want to know you’re laughing and smiling. That you’re free.

I know you too well, Scully. You’re honorable. And that gave me the solution. I’ll show you how dishonorable I can be. I’m going to do something that will let you walk away from my memory without a backwards glance. I’m going to make you hate me.

I’m going to disgust and revolt you. You won’t be able to look at my picture without getting ill. I’m going to tell you a few things.

Sure, I loved you. You knew that. I would have liked to make love to you, that would have been nice, but mostly—

 

He really did love her? She pushed a tingle away. The words had slipped from his mouth on a drug-induced cloud. At the time, she’d refused to give them weight.

He wanted to make love to her? The tingle became a warm glow. His next words were below the screen. She needed to scroll. Frantically, her hand patted for the mouse, her eyes never leaving his words.

mostly I wanted to fuck you.

Oh. Fuck. He wanted to fuck her. She could see her reflection in her monitor’s screen. Her mouth was a perfect, round ‘O,’ matching the circles of her eyes.

 

I wanted to fuck you on a stakeout with our suspect fleeing in the background and knock those high heels of yours right off, shagging you in the front seat of the Taurus.

I’ve allowed my hand to linger too long on your shoulder, until the perspiration soaked through the silk and left my mark.

I’ve lingered behind you while reading a report, but really—really—I’ve been staring down into the valley of your cleavage, dreaming about my tongue tracing its own course of exploration.

 

Scully found herself pulling the edges of her sweater together up under her throat as she read on.

 

~I’ve caught you when you stumbled, and taken a moment to measure your incredible ass with my palms, marveling at the perfect fit.

I’ve inhaled the scent of your hair so many times I can tell you the chemical composition of your shampoo.

I’ve pressed my ear to our shared bathroom walls in motels and listened to your shower, visualizing your naked body under the spray, and jacked off.

 

Her skin felt flushed and warm as though she was in a hot shower, enjoying the pleasant roughness of her loofa. Mulder was on the other side of the wall, his hand gripping his cock, moaning her name. She shook her head, once, violently, and returned to the text.

If for some insane reason, you’re still reading, Scully, now I’m going to turn your stomach.

Suddenly anxious, her stomach twisted obligingly into a complex, Girl-Scout-badge-earning, sailor’s knot.

Remember when I went on vacation and you went to Philadelphia? You were supposed to follow me. You were supposed to look up as I was whining and say, “Oh, Mulder, let me cash in my frequent flier miles and come with you.” I’d sensed something in you, Scully, something unsettled, growing. I thought it was sexual need. Little did we know it was something else entirely, eh? As usual, Lucky-With-Ladies Mulder read it *all* wrong.

His account had riveted her with its skewed perspective on their whole history. Now her warm skin turned instantly cold and she was furious. While she was bleeding her life away, he was bemoaning his anemic sex life. Of course at the time he hadn’t known. Still …

You were supposed to read between the lines. That call to your hotel, that was your second chance. You were supposed to jump on the plane and join me in Memphis.

She began huffing her breath like a laboring steam engine. Second chance! Fat chance.

 

I had plans, Scully. Boy, did I have plans. We would break into Graceland at night, just you and me.

And you’d be trying to talk me out of it, but you’d secretly be excited. We’d wear black. I love you in a black turtleneck, Scully.

It makes me want to slip under it like a shadow and be trapped there in the dark, just me and your breasts. Of course, I’ve never told you, but I need to take this opportunity to say, I love your breasts.

 

What incredible nerve. After the way he’d jeered at the idea someone might want to date her. She was glad she’d hooked up with Ed. Even if things hadn’t turned out quite the way she’d planned.

She should tell him all about Ed Jerse. Mulder had been curious enough at the time. Weeks passed before he gave up trying to goad a revealing reaction out of her.

He couldn’t seem to restrain his sarcasm and sulks after their encounter at the hospital.

She’d already been dressed when he got to her room. Anxiety, hurt, fury, and relief chased each other across his features as he confronted her.

If she broke down he’d comfort her, and feel sorry for her. She knew she appeared ridiculous to everyone, but people would forget. If she accepted Mulder’s pity, she’d never regain her dignity in her own eyes.

“Who was he, Scully? Why?” he blurted, scanning her face for his answer.

“Well, did an atheist find grace at Graceland?” she tried to divert him.

“More than I’d expect to find in some stranger’s bed,” he shot back.

“I’m sure you’ve read my report,” she replied with a stony stare. “I have nothing to add.” Turning her back on Mulder, she led the way out of the room. The look she fired at the volunteer with the wheelchair sent him back to the nursing station to request a less dangerous task.

Unfortunately Mulder had more persistence.

“How about a spider to keep your worm company? Wayne’s Tattoos is having a special on black widows,” he taunted her one morning as she came into the office. Then he looked back at the newspaper in mock surprise. “Oops. Not for you. They only accept sober customers.”

She’d been a wall of ice against his barrage of insinuations. Excuses and explanations were an admission of weakness. Weakness had no place in the grueling marathon she called a life.

So he feared that after his death she’d waste her life mourning him. It was true her night with Ed hadn’t gone the way she planned. If she told Mulder how it SHOULD have gone he’d know exactly what Scully saw in Ed. Then he could rest in peaceful assurance that she wouldn’t immolate herself on his funeral pyre.

She clicked on the “Reply” button.

Her words appeared among his on the screen, as though typed by someone else. Someone who would teach Mulder a thing or two about imagination.

>>>Ed was a man who lived in the shadows. He wouldn’t just fantasize about taking a chance with me. I knew as soon as I met him in that tattoo parlor. He understood that our actions define us, not our beliefs. But I was cautious at first. I told him no. Until you called that night, to nag, and second-guess me.>>>

She ran into his next words and stopped to read, her righteousness bubbling like a boiling cauldron.

I’d take you into the Jungle Room and turn the fountain on, with the water running down the wall and just the green light glowing—you look great in green light, Scully. And I’d sit in the Zebra chair with my pants unzipped, ready for you— Remember how you wanted a pony, Scully? Well, you would have come for a ride on my red pony, I know you would have ridden me long and hard. The chair was big enough for both of us, Scully.

Her fingers flew from the mouse to the keyboard to rebut him.

>>>So you were thinking about the Jungle Room. On the phone you sounded like Bill—or my father. I didn’t want a father that night. >>>

I stood in the Jungle Room and just stared at that chair, upholstered in zebra hide, with a carved wood frame for you to grab as leverage. I could see your perfect little white ass bobbing up and on me. And I’d be knocked out. Just sitting back and enjoying the show.

>>>When you sneered at me that night, Mulder, I remembered Ed’s dark eyes. Simple. Dangerous as a stallion’s. He wanted me. Yes, someone actually did. And he let it show. He didn’t expect me to read his mind and then scurry after him like an eager puppy. So I let him know I might be interested. He was thrilled. Thrilled! A nice change from someone who doesn’t notice I’m there until I’m not.

When I got to Ed’s place he answered the door with his shirt only half on. It was like he could read MY mind. I didn’t want to waste time going to some pretentious, upscale restaurant. I told him to take me to that bar.>>>

 

After that, we’d creep up the stairs to the bedrooms. No one’s allowed up there, Scully, but you’d go with me.

We go through the doors into the King’s bedroom. It’s all bed, a pond of crushed velvet. Still pink and warm, you drop and loll across that soft red spread so that I can only stand back and admire you.

I’m not going to go crazy here, Scully, and pretend I’m the man I used to be. It’ll be a while before I can be inside you again, but just staring down at you now, seeing that dirty little grin sneak across your flushed face…I want to believe my erectile function will return immediately.

 

>>>It was low down, Mulder. Just what I wanted that night. The walls, ceiling and floor all painted flat black. Everyone suspended in darkness and alcohol. It was so dark you could almost hide from yourself.

A few women, hard-eyed and listless, hovered around the single men like crows around road-kill. There were drinks to be hustled. I was a novelty. I felt alive and powerful and sexy.

When I walked past the little, mirrored stage in the corner I felt the eyes of every man in the place on me. It was impossible not to respond. I rolled my hips and pulled my shoulders back. Relaxed my neck and let my head tip back a little.

Ed saw what was going on. He put his hand on my lower back to guide me while we walked through that dark room. I knew he was really showing his ownership— marking his territory.

I told Ed how I needed to rebel sometimes against good-girl expectations. That the men in my life always end up as authority figures, like my father. Ed didn’t laugh at me. He ordered me another drink. I licked my lips plenty, and ran my tongue around the rim of the glass for him.>>>

There. Let Mulder picture that when he appropriated her image for use in his bizarre fantasies.

Panting, she leaned back in her chair to read some more. She’d always known the man was obsessed. How much more drivel could he write about the King’s see-it-all-from-the-road home?

–X–

Part 2 of 4 Final Thoughts by bugs and Branwell

 

But we can do other things, Scully. I have so many things I want to do and we only have so many hours before the tours begin again.

“Scully, did you know that Elvis’ favorite food was banana and peanut butter sandwiches?” I ask, breathless. You quirk that eyebrow at me.

“No, Mulder, I didn’t,” you say as you flop over on your belly, blatantly exposing that fantastic ass to me again.

“I’ve always wanted to try one,” I whisper as I crawl onto the bed beside you.

Tossing your head and rolling onto your side, your nose wrinkles in mock disgust. “Ewww.”

I can’t resist. I gently grasp a nipple in my teeth and give it a tug until you gasp. I mumble, “Don’t worry, I’ll be the one doing the eating.”

The King kept a refrigerator stocked next to the bed. How handy. Peanut butter and fresh bananas, nice and firm.

“Mulder,” you warn. I love it when you go all schoolteacher on me. It sends me back to many a teenage woodie under my desk.

As I scoot down towards your hips, I say, “I think it will be delicious.”

“Uh—” is all you can get out before I start nibbling on your soft, peach-skin belly.

I decide things will be easier on the floor. Sliding down onto my knees, sinking into the dark shag carpet, I split open the banana peel.

You begin to sound almost frightened. “Mulder?”

“Don’t worry, honey. I know what I’m doing,” I coo.

You gasp in surprise when my fingers begin to gently probe at your opening. You’re still soft and moist from our encounter in the Jungle Room. But I want more, I want you dripping.

I spend some time licking and biting at your white, white thighs, all the while, stroking your inner walls, encouraging the flow. Your fingers run around and around my scalp, until my hair looks like it’s been through a blender. The entire time, I get to hear my name said a way I’ve never heard before. Low. Throbbing. Needy. “Mulder, Mulder, Mulder…”

Glancing up above the bed, I can see you’ve been watching our activities in a bank of darkened televisions set into the ceiling. Your eyes are half-closed with anticipation and your tongue frantically licks at your lips. I have to look away before the sight pushes me over the edge too soon.

When I decide you’re ready, I pull my two fingers out and slowly push the banana part way in. The surprise again, a gurgle this time. “Mulder?”

“Hmmm?” I’ve started to lick around the banana, warming your lips with my saliva.

“Nothing. Uh…just…be careful,” you moan.

“Always,” I murmur against your clit, feeling it swell under my tongue.

I’m opening the jar of peanut butter, scooping some on my fingers. I warn you, “It’s still cold from the ‘fridge.’”

“Huh?” and then, “OH!” as I begin to spread the cream over your lips, sliding through the folds and your slit, rubbing it all over your clit.

“I’ll warm it up,” I say just before I sink back down to my task.

Like all my bright ideas, this one sounded better on paper. The banana is bobbing frantically from the jerking of your hips and contracting muscles. I’m forced to take bites, then a lick of peanut butter.

Ahhh…this was what I had in mind. Delicious. Fine dining accompanied by mood music, your moans from above my head.

The peanut butter gives just enough friction to make my tongue stick and then drag at your flesh and you seem to really enjoy that. I mash some of the banana into the mix and get quite a yummy flavor going. Sweet, salt and you.

“Wanna taste?” I ask.

You’ve changed your mind on Elvis’ dining choices. “Sure,” you gasp out.

I collect some of the mixture on my fingers and hold them up to your mouth, pausing a moment to take in the show. You suck my fingers clean and I can begin to feel blood pooling in my cock again.

I have to get back to work. The peanut butter has melted in your heat and your plump folds are glistening with the oil. The banana, a stub still captured in your opening, is soft and dark with your flow. I have to be careful…

I settle back down on my knees and gently grasp your slippery clit in my fingers, beginning to squeeze it. I put my lips around the banana and suck.

Your legs, draped over my shoulders, go tense, and your feet beat at my back. Your moans are now shouts. “Mulder!”

The banana is coming, soft and sweet with your taste. I happily munch, taking liberal swipes with my tongue and lips on your folds, never forgetting to continue to rub your clit.

Just in time, I get all of the fruit and slip my fingers in to stroke furiously at your G-spot as your walls contract around them.

Every part of your body but your vagina has gone limp. It is as strong as a heart, pulsing around my fingers as you moan and moan. Delicious.

Your hand is still rubbing my head, but now the wrist is loose and you’re humming like a well- tuned engine.

Your legs slide off my shoulders and I have to lay my head on the bed to quiet my raging breathing. My hard-on has returned, full and insistent. I have to find something to occupy my time while you come down.

I stagger into the bathroom and get a washcloth wet with warm water. Returning, I bend to my new task, cleaning you up.

“Thank you, Mulder,” you mumble.

“Anytime.” I’m not lying. If I could have spent every day touching this place on you, this place you’ve always kept hidden from me, my life would have been complete.

 

Scully swallowed and shifted uneasily in her chair. She needed to stop reading. Now. And reply. Yes, she was replying. Showing him. Yep.

How was she going to compete with a brain warped by thousands of hours of porno movies? Her fingers remained still over the keyboard while she tried to remember what she enjoyed about that night with Ed. She wore a tiny smile when she started typing again. This wasn’t a report. The facts didn’t have to ruin a good story.

>>>There was a big bearded guy in leather and chains sitting across the bar. He watched me when I took off my jacket and undid the top buttons on my blouse. The cooler air made my nipples stand out like two little marbles. Leather-and-Chains smiled and I smiled back.

You would have looked pained and said something sarcastic to me. Ed turned around and smiled his own message at the guy. After that Leather-and- Chains didn’t look up from the logo on his beer can. He stared at it and rubbed it with his thumbs until he left.

They had stuffy heat pouring into that bar. Ed took his jacket off too. His shirt was white with long sleeves. He rolled the sleeves up almost to his elbows.

Do you know how sexy that is? Those long muscles hard against the bone. There was just enough silky hair to look masculine. How would they feel, I wondered, weighing down the mattress on each side of me? I’d anchor myself on them to brace my body against his thrusts. I rested my hand casually on his bare skin. It was as smooth and firm as I imagined it. He pretended not to notice. I saw how he kept looking at me from the corners of his eyes.

I tried to take charge, ordering him around as Dr. Scully, pushing him to show me his tattoo. He grabbed me and held me still. It made me realize how big his hands were, how long and strong his fingers were around my wrists. I’d already noticed the size of his feet. Do you know what women say about men with big feet, Mulder? Be patient and keep reading. I’ll tell you if it was true about Ed.

Ed said “Get a tattoo of your own!” It was a dare and I can never resist a dare. You know that. When we walked out, a woman in an overstuffed, spangled bikini was humping the pole on that miserable little stage. The men watched me.

Why did I choose the Ouroborus tattoo? A pentagram would have been more daring. Maybe the self-sufficiency of the dragon devouring its own tail appealed to the liberated woman in me. Or maybe I was just feeling oral.

I think tattoos could be addictive. It hurts like a long, ferocious love bite. You’re not sure if you want it to stop. While that cold needle bit into my skin I looked into Ed’s black, dangerous eyes. The sharpness raced through my nerves, putting me on edge, making me think of a fast, hard, fuck.

During the walk back to Ed’s we stumbled against each other, skidding along the snowy sidewalks. I sneaked a handful of snow from the top of a car and pretended to reach up and straighten his coat collar. When I shoved the snow down his back I thought he was going to hit me. Then he laughed and pinned me against the car with his legs while he scooped up snow with both hands and dumped it down over me.

“Do you want me to brush you off?” he asked. There was a snow-filled gap between our upper bodies. Below it I could feel Ed’s thighs pressing hard against my hips through all the layers of clothes. I smiled at him just like the man in the bar. Ed took his time brushing the snow off my shoulders, breasts and waist. When he was done he looked pleased at what he felt under my coat.

I should have been shivering in my soggy clothes and wet shoes. Instead my skin burned against the chill.

That night the laws of the universe were suspended. The cold made me hot. I was off-duty. I’d lost control. And I liked it.>>>

There. That would give Mulder something to ponder. He was still going on about Elvis’ bedroom.

Mulder’s style was so … carnal. Scully remembered how Sister Marie Martin used to drop her voice to a whisper and pop her eyes when she warned the class that rock and roll music could lead to “carnal sins.” It had been twenty years since the King had gyrated his pelvis just out of camera range on the “Ed Sullivan Show.” Sister hadn’t gotten over it yet.

Scully was beginning to think her old teacher had the right idea about Elvis. No wonder he fascinated her lecherous partner. Now “Ain’t Nothing But a Hound Dog” would always make her feel hot. And flustered. Not to mention the fact that she could never eat a banana for lunch at the office again.

If she read further there was no telling what other innocent elements of everyday life might light an erotic fuse in her brain.

 

Finished cleaning you up, I turn my attention to the rest of the room. It’s more than a huge bed and Naugahyde walls. There are TVs. Lots of TVs. Four on the ceiling alone.

And closed-circuit cameras. I flip them on. The TVs come alive.

Sleepy, your voice drifts to me. “Mulder? Found a new toy?”

“Oh, yeah,” I say.

“Mulder—”

I turn, expecting you to be giving me that stern, forget it, bud, expression.

You’re up on your knees, legs spread slightly. Your hands run through your mussed hair, pushing the red waves into a mass of curls. Your breasts are swollen, the areolas huge, round and red-hot. Your skin’s flushed, but it’s the dark, wet, tangle of hair between your legs that keeps drawing my eyes. My own Anne Margaret sex kitten.

“Huh?” is all I can gurgle out.

“Get over here,” you purr.

I stumble to the bed, and begin to crawl towards you on my hands and knees like a dying man in the desert approaching an oasis.

Just as I get to you, you get down on your hands and knees too.

“Lie down,” you order. Like a good dog, I do.

I can see everything in the screens above. That ass twitching as you scoot towards me. That soft bramble of hair brushing against my thighs, approaching my trembling cock. I reach for it…your hands grab mine, pinning them down as you slip your mouth over the purple head.

A nice side angle to see your cheeks hollow as you carefully suckle all of my length you can take in. Watch your hand snake between my thighs and stroke at my hard balls.

You let my cock drop out of your mouth and command, “Knees up.”

A little too Doctor Scully and not enough Nurse Nancy for me, but I comply.

OH! OH! That’s what you wanted to do! Fingers, gentle but persistent, find all sorts of places to probe and stroke.

“Scully!” I wail. “Stop!”

You do, instantly. The room screeches to a halt from the wild, spinning, carnival ride it had been.

Now it’s my turn to order you around. My voice, thick and rusty sounding, orders, “Get up on your knees again.”

Somehow, I get up on my own shaking limbs. My fingers, tuned like a radar device, find your wet opening, spreading your folds for my cock.

I shove in, perhaps a bit too rough. You don’t seem to mind and grind back on me. Our eyes meet on the bank of screens in front of us.

I can watch your breasts sway with our thrusts and counter-thrusts. Your mouth goes slack and your eyes moisten. Your neck arches, followed by your spine, pressing down on my swollen cock.

It’s all happening too fast. I want this to last forever. This is our one night.

I rock back onto my heels, pulling you with me. You straddle my thighs, using your own strong thighs and calves to lift and drop your weight up and down on my cock.

Your torso is long and lean as you lift your hair from your hot neck. “Mulder,” you moan.

“Yeah,” I have to agree.

I capture your breasts, stopping their motion, compressing their size with my palms, watching the white flesh burst out around my dark fingers.

“Scully,” I mumble.

You pull your lower lip into your mouth, suckling at it madly. Your hand creeps down to find your clit, riding above our joining.

“Yeah,” you reply.

Fascinated, I watch your fingers work your swollen clit. You know your body.

My nose dives into your hair and I think I’ve found the most perfect odor in the world: its clean aroma, mixed with our musky scent.

I settle my mouth on the nape of your neck and try to catch the rhythm of your strokes with my bites. Your walls tighten around my cock and I think I’ve found it.

I’m so close. My head begins to rock in frustration, my grip on your flesh tightening.

“Oh, God,” you groan, and I can sense your frustration too.

Roughly, I push your hand aside and start my own assault on your clit, my fingers a blur on the grainy screen. Your eyes, wide and all pupil, watch with amazement.

You’re gasping and clutching at my arms, scratching them ‘til they bleed with your frenzy. “Mulder!”

I can’t take it anymore. I shove us back over on our knees, and start pounding into you. At last! I can get a deep thrust and keep working at your clit.

You howl, Scully, you actually howl, and I have to answer your call. Your walls are pulling at my cock so hard I’m afraid I’m going to be sucked inside of you by the vacuum. It pulls everything out of me. All my sweat, all my blood, all my semen. I give it all to you in one huge flood.

 

Scully made a conscious effort to slow her breathing. Mulder’s imagination didn’t fail him when it came to erotic inspiration. She wondered if his practice approached his theory…

Shaking her head to clear her buzzing mind, she reminded herself that he intended to repulse and disgust her with his narrative. Scully grimaced and went back to typing. She had to make that presumptuous jerk understand that she’d always have Philadelphia.

−X−

Part 3 of 4 Final Thoughts by bugs and Branwell

>>> Ed took my hand and almost pulled me along. We walked much faster, anxious to get to his apartment now that everything was settled.>>>

At least she’d thought it was settled. When they arrived Ed had lost the dangerous edge that fed her own excitement. “Hey, I’m not up to anything. I just want you to be safe. I’ll take the couch,” he said. Why did he have to start talking about it? Words built barriers, defined boundaries, set actions in concrete. She felt her own wildness dwindle further while they discussed her tattoo.

This time Ed co-operated like a good patient when she offered to check on the renewed bleeding from his tattoo. Then, before she could remove the bandage, he reacted unexpectedly.

He grabbed her hands and brought his face close to hers. Her body responded instantly, her lips opening to allow a kiss before they made contact. His tongue invaded her mouth without hesitation. At first the hot, wet kisses worked just as she’d hoped. Melting into receptiveness in his grip, she didn’t resist his movement toward the bedroom.

There she took the initiative and reached for his zipper. Everything came to a halt. He dropped her hands and rubbed at his bandaged arm with his knuckles. “This isn’t what I promised you,” he said lightly. “It’s not fair to go ahead with this when you’ve been drinking. We’ll see how you feel in the morning.” He cupped the bandage protectively as he backed out of the room.

She’d been stunned. Now he was going to be a gentleman?

Melissa had instructed her cynically on this topic before her senior prom. “It’s like a hazing ritual. They’ll say anything, do anything, to score tonight. Don’t be a fool.”

“Marcus is always a perfect gentleman,” she replied with a repressive look.

“A gentleman is a man without a hard-on, Dana. There are no nineteen-year-old gentlemen,” Melissa responded with a shake of her head.

Scully wished she’d had the nerve to grab Ed’s crotch in a simple experiment designed to test Melissa’s hypothesis. Instead she’d closed the bedroom door and removed her damp clothes. The least Ed owed her was something dry to sleep in. She helped herself to a shirt from his closet. When she crawled under the covers her head already pounded with the beginning of a miserable hangover.

The next morning her descent into the hell of public humiliation accelerated.

This story needed a positive spin.

>>>When we got to Ed’s apartment he hung our wet coats in the kitchen. Then he showed me to the bathroom.

“It’s out-dated, but the towels are clean,” he joked. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get us drinks.”

“I don’t need any more drinks. Do you?” I asked him. I looked him in the eye and stuck my tongue out at him. He watched my mouth and reached into his pocket. But when he took his hand out there was nothing in it.

By the time I came back to the living room he had his shoes and socks off, and his shirt unbuttoned. Ed knew what I needed.

He lay down on the couch and pulled me on top of him. I tried to prop myself up, but my hands slipped on the dark leather underneath. When I flopped down I felt him buck up against me as though he had no control at all. He stared right at me and rubbed himself against my crotch. I forgot why I was here and who was supposed to be outraged because it felt so good.

“You’re damp and chilly, Dana. Let’s get those clothes off,” he told me.

The room shivered out of focus. I felt nothing but Ed’s body and clever fingers. I used his shoulders to brace myself, arching my back like a cat intoxicated with petting. He unbuttoned my blouse and we slipped it off, one arm at a time. My bra was off seconds later, and his eyes went wide at the sight.

“Do you know how much I’ve wanted you since I first saw you?” he asked. He made a circle with each palm from the top of my breasts to the bottom, until he lifted one in each hand. Then he blew out a breath of air, as though he’d reached sanctuary after a narrow escape.

“I hate to let go of you, but these trousers are uncomfortable,” he grinned at me. “If you let me up I can take care of that.”

I stood up and took off my skirt and pantyhose while he took off the rest of his clothes. We folded our things and laid them on a chair.

“Shall we go to the bedroom?” he asked, pulling me close, our cool, naked bodies warming to each other. His erection pushed hot against my stomach, making me warm and liquid inside.

“No. No, I’ve always wanted to make love on this couch,” I told him.

This time he moved a pillow to the end and gestured for me to lie down first. You came down on top of me like a curtain of darkness. It was the world before there was light. I was submerged in warmth and pressure.

At first I thought I didn’t need anything more. It was enough to be under you, hearing your suddenly ragged breathing, feeling your response to me in every inch of my skin sliding against yours.

I’d often wondered how that brushy hair would feel against my bare skin. It was like soft feathers, and smelled familiar, but different too. I buried my face in it and absorbed the fragrance of your body while you nuzzled my breasts.

I felt cold and exposed when you rolled off me to reach for the light on the end table.

“Most men would be turning the light down about now.” I laughed a little to show I wasn’t nervous.

“I want to see you here on my couch so I’ll know it’s real. So I can think about us later. So I can picture the next time we’ll be together,” you said.

I held up my arms, expecting to reclaim your body as my shelter. Instead you knelt beside me and started touching me everywhere. You stroked my hair and molded your hands to my skull, as though you were cradling something fragile. Your fingers smoothed my features with the gentlest of touches. Your glance and touch moved lower. I was anxious. Women younger and less scarred than I cringe from critical eyes on their naked imperfections.

I know where I fall short. Shortness-the world judges that flaw everyday. Under my clothes I hide more. Breasts too small, hips too big, freckles that wax and wane with the seasons, stretch marks with no baby to show for them. Scar tissue on my stomach that still shows pink and puckered. White streaks of old healing scattered across my shins, knees, arms, and back.

What did you see?

Something that lit your face with happiness. Your eyes darkened, the pupils dilated hugely. Your hands loved me with caresses that started like ripples in a pond and ended like the surging tide.

I forgot to be self-conscious.

I admit I’d imagined it in the past—your hands running the length of my body. Long, slow sweeps up and down my torso, ending in the delicate tracing of my nipples.

It was shocking, the sudden reality of those past fantasies. I’d made do for so long with so little. A careful hug. Your palm against my cheek or a quick clasping of hands. A flash of animal awareness in your eyes. How you’d laugh, I once thought, if you knew the fiery effect of those touches. Now I’m overloaded with the sensations, scared at feeling so much.

When your hands lowered to my shoulders they began squeezing and pressing. I tensed and relaxed with your movements. I couldn’t help giving little groans as you moved down my arms. The anticipation was almost more than I could bear. You finally touched my breasts with the lightest of grazes.

“See how they like me!” you said with a silly grin, brushing your palms back and forth across the flushed peaks.

I arched up against you to ask without words for more. Your mouth came down willingly on my right breast and my insides tightened until it almost hurt.

Before you’d been slow and deliberate. Now you seemed to lose your detachment. Your mouth opened wide and your tongue came out to bathe my whole breast in long, frantic strokes.

I reached out awkwardly and got one arm around you, trying to bring you even closer. Leaning so far over me put you off balance. You had to brace yourself with one arm on the back of the couch. Your bare body should have been glowing with the heat it radiated.

When I brought my hand back, and took your stiff penis into my fist, you grunted. Your cock felt so good. I remembered summer walks by a river where I picked up stones polished to silky smoothness by water and warmed by the sun. Your thighs jerked against the side of the couch beside me. I squeezed the shaft a few times until there was a little liquid on the head. I spread it gently over the glans with my thumb until you pulled back and gasped out a plea.

“You’ve got to stop. It’s too much. I want to wait for you,” you panted.

You must have decided I needed to catch up. You started by tracing the line of my thighs, slowly easing your hand between my legs. When I startled a little you kissed me again. They were warm, deep kisses that distracted me from my anxiety over what we were doing. I forgot to worry about how we’d work together tomorrow.

Your hands teased me, fondling the curls on my mons, grazing my clitoris with the length of one finger. It slid a little farther each time, pulling slightly at the labia. My vaginal muscles tightened and tightened, eager to close on something. The tantalizing friction just beyond my opening continued.

Did you expect me to catch up so quickly? I didn’t want to seem impatient. I gripped the arm of the couch behind my head, trying hard to keep my hands still. My legs stayed straight and quiet, but I managed to suck your lower lip into my mouth along with your tongue. From the way you jumped I must have sucked too hard.

Your hand plunged between my legs more forcefully, perhaps to divert me from your poor, swollen lip. I gave in and spread my legs further to encourage you. You took the hint, and began to finger my clit directly, pinching it gently. My hips moved up and down in a slow, irresistible rhythm.

You closed your eyes and smiled as you slid your fingers into my opening. My pelvis lifted high off the couch and my muscles grabbed you triumphantly. All the wetness pleased you. Small scissoring motions stretched me and sent little shocks to the core of sensation building inside. My eyes closed too, shutting out everything but the sensations in my middle, as hot and dense as though a young star formed there.

I took your head between my hands and guided your mouth to my breasts again. This time you used your teeth on the nipples, and hummed a low groan against them every time I lifted my pelvis.

When I added my own moans and the pitch began to rise, you suddenly took your hand and mouth away. I sighed with the knowledge of the pleasure that was coming and opened my legs as widely as the couch allowed.

You didn’t disappoint me. Once again you covered me, but this time your penis pushed deliberately against my crotch. I reached down and guided you inside, my fingers briefly trapped between our two triangles of crisp hair.

We couldn’t get any closer now. You were inside of me, and I enfolded you. Your elbows pressed down into the couch on each side of me. I grabbed your forearms and returned each hard, slow thrust you made into me. Your pelvic arch ground against my clit. My vaginal walls pulsed to your cock’s deep stroking.

I needed to see you again. I opened my eyes to find you already watching me. In the low light your eyes had the golden color of autumn beech leaves. But soft. So soft, like I was looking through somebody’s tears.

Our lips met in a heated, frantic kiss that sent us both over the edge. You lifted your head, straining with the exertion of faster movement. I cried out helplessly as the delicious waves rippled through me, washing through my nerves to the tips of my fingers and toes. Your controlled rhythm broke down into a series of short, irregular jerks. Finally you stopped moving and rested your head in the crook of my neck.

The light in the fish tank made ripples on the ceiling. We’d changed ourselves, but I wasn’t sure how. What’s done cannot be undone. I was almost scared until you lifted your head and looked at me. I knew you were thinking the same thing I was. . I’d wanted to fuck, but mostly— mostly I wanted to make love.>>>

Reading her last bit over, she realized she had to tell him that explicitly. That she loved him. Although speaking looks were very romantic, she owed it to Mulder to be clear and honest.

Mulder?

What was she writing about? This was her taunting rejoinder to Mulder’s joke— the story of her zipless fuck with Ed Jerse. When had Mulder usurped the leading role?

Had she been possessed? What was this “Last Will” document anyway? Was she sure it was a joke? Should she even have read it?

 

If you’ve read this far Scully, I want you to know what would happen next.

I would somehow summon the strength to go wet that washcloth again and wipe you clean of all our sweat, blood, and fluids, until you were as rosy and pink as a baby.

Then, somehow, I’d have enough energy to carry you to Vernon and Gladys’ bedroom down the hall. It’s very pretty, all in whites and purple. I’d pull back the heavy comforter and slide you in. I’d crawl in beside you and snap off the light, tour guides be damned. We’re federal agents after all, I’m sure I can come up with some excuse. I’d pull you back against me, finding the perfect alignment of our limbs until you’re fit into me like a soft- winged moth to her cocoon. But I wouldn’t let you sleep.

“Scully?”

“Hmmmph?”

“I love you, Scully.”

 

Scully sat with her hands poised over the keyboard. Her mind wrestled with several puzzles. Finding Mulder’s couch at the end of her journey from SVO’s Tattoo Shop. Getting caught up in a visceral response to a pornographic joke. The riddle of Mulder’s real feelings. The current location of the fucking mouse.

After a hot, flustered minute or two under the desk she found it. Very carefully she positioned it in the center of the pad. She moved it to place the pointer on the delete button with the delicacy and precision required to defuse a bomb.

There was a sudden commotion at the window, a fluster of angry wings and agitated chirps. Scully jumped in surprise and looked out to see the robin defending his branch from another of his kind.

When she looked back at the computer screen, the window that held her reply to Mulder was gone.

She scanned the taskbar, willing it to show an icon for her message-included return to “Last Will and Testament.” There was nothing. The screen showed the original text of Mulder’s message in all its mind-melting glory. The cursor blinked at her stupidly until she forced herself to click on the “Sent Items” file where she saw what she feared. The worst thing in the world had happened. She had actually sent that reply straight from her id to Mulder.

Was he still at home? She didn’t even want to think about the cat and mouse game he’d play with her if she asked him not to read the reply. Her only hope lay in his absence. She could let herself into his place to search for a fictional case file on his computer. That damning message could be deleted before he ever saw it.

Speed dial proved its worth again. Scully’s near hysteria subsided into controlled panic when the answering machine clicked on. Her voice shook at first, and sounded a little squeaky to her own ears. Luckily Mulder wouldn’t notice.

“Mulder. Mulder? It’s me. Remember that file from the Pittsfield case? The results of round- the-clock testing of Max Harden’s hormone levels? You didn’t send it to me like you promised. I’ve got that paper I’m writing for the Journal of Bone and Mineral Research.”

She stopped herself with her own hand over her mouth. Too much detail. Keep it simple.

“I’m coming over to copy it. Or send it to myself. Never mind the e-mail I sent. I decided I can’t wait.”

Shut up Dana! she scolded herself. It was a tactical error to tell Mulder “never mind.” It would attract him like a “Trespassing Prohibited” sign at the rumored site of paranormal events.

Never mind. He wasn’t home. She had to move fast. Grabbing her coat and keys she headed for the door. Beltway traffic would be light on a weekend. She prayed.

−X−

Part 4 of 4 Final Thoughts by bugs and Branwell

As Scully made her way through Mulder’s doorway from the hall to the living room, she could already make out the glow of the computer monitor screen.

Her heart sank and her legs shook so hard she had trouble walking. She tried to convince herself that he’d merely left the computer up while he went out.

No, it wasn’t a screensaver, it was her letter. Still approaching, she couldn’t read the words but she saw it was his e-mail program and the dull beige of a letter.

Her ears pricked, trying to make out any sound in the dark apartment. Nothing.

She stifled a wild chuckle in the echoing space. He’d probably read her reply, jumped in his car and was tearing out to Arlington right now. They’d probably passed each other on I-95.

She had a hysterical urge to lock his door so he couldn’t get back in. Her feet kept drawing her towards the screen.

He’d added something to the bottom after her last words.

>>> I’d wanted to fuck, but mostly— mostly I wanted to make love. >>>

Me too.

Her brow furrowed. ‘Me too what?’ She’d spoken out loud and jumped slightly at the sound of her own voice.

And jumped again at the reply coming from the shadow-shrouded coach.

“I want to, too.”

She turned slowly, her fear and embarrassment overcome by sudden fury. The bastard had sneaked up on her and seen her most intimate thoughts.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, keeping her face blank but unable to control her pounding heart. She took a few steps towards the door in a stiff-shouldered gait.

He beat her to the doorway, his long arm closing off her exit.

“Stop it,” he commanded. And then his voice was sad. “Just fucking stop it.”

His last half-hour had been spent in an emotional fun-house. Scully’s reply had jerked him through scenes of fear, despair, jealousy, lust and hopeless longing. Finally, at the end, he’d emerged on shaky legs to a glimmer of hope and a promisingly awkward phone message. But what now?

Frustrated—sexually, intellectually, practically— Mulder was frozen. He couldn’t think of another thing to say or do. All he knew was, there was no way in hell he was letting her out of this apartment.

Her eyes were glistening up at him in the darkness and he remembered her writings. She wanted to be grabbed.

His arm shot out, snatching her pliant form to pull it close. His face lunged down and he got a great deal of pleasure from seeing her lunge back up at him.

Pain exploded from his nose to radiate through his skull. Their noses had collided. Both cried out, “OW!” and then tried again.

This time, mouths managed to make contact, but the noses kept getting in the way. Frustrated, Mulder bent his neck almost completely at a ninety-degree angle. She was too damn short and he’d never noticed how large her nose was.

She was whimpering against his lips and clutching at him. Her heavy coat was tangling her movements, but he vaguely thought she was trying to climb him like a tree.

He shoved her against the wall and bent over like Quasimodo. Ah! He could finally plunge his tongue into her mouth!

Scully sighed in relief as his mouth moved over hers. Count on Mulder, who couldn’t ever open a can of soda without spilling it, to fumble at finding her mouth, she grumbled to herself as she kept trying to dive inside him from her mouth to his.

It was so hot in there, in his mouth, in this apartment…in this damned coat!

She was trying to squirm out of it, but he wouldn’t loosen his grip enough to let her!

She couldn’t touch him at all since he was practically bent at the waist in a bizarre move that put him on the lower level of the kiss. Was this some perverse desire he had as a tall man, that he wanted to be on the bottom?

She’d let him be on the bottom all right. She gasped, overwhelmed with the sudden image. With a great grunt, she pushed him off and managed to trip him at the same time, sending him flying like a rugby player thrown from the scrim.

Mulder squealed as his elbow hit the coffee table. Well, that was manly. He righted himself and tried to see what the hell she was doing in the dark. Was she leaving? She was thrashing around in the doorway, panting with exertion. Was she starting without him?

Her coat. She was trying to get out of that fucking coat. Something told him not to give her even a second to reconsider. He had been altruistic in his will, but that was in the event of his death. He was going to interpret that tongue down the throat as an admission of desire and move from there.

She’d read every word he’d written and hadn’t come over with her scalpel to castrate him—In fact, she’d written back, in her own delicious breath- stopping fashion. He would take that as a green light, at least until she said the word, NO.

He grabbed her leg and pulled just hard enough to topple her over on him. She’d gotten one arm out of the coat, but the sleeve was now trapped inside out and had captured her hand.

He didn’t care. He had to touch her tits now— right, fucking, now.

Scully could hear herself, whining over and over, “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” as she wrestled with the coat. How sexy, she thought desperately. She was sure Mulder enjoyed some dirty talk, but this probably wasn’t what he had in mind.

His hands. Those huge hands were under her sweater. In her fury, she’d almost forgotten why they were on this floor. They were on the floor to fuck, weren’t they? she wondered suddenly.

The hands grabbed two handfuls of breasts over her bra and began to squeeze them roughly. Okay, they did seem to be on the right page.

Her hips had found his erection. Jesus Holy Christ! She let herself hump against the bulge and she pressed her chest down on his hands.

His voice, in a tone she’d NEVER heard, groaned, “Fuck yeah!” in her ear.

She managed to get one hand wedged between their writhing bodies. He was not letting go of her breasts, as though they were a flotation device and he was drowning, but she was a woman with a mission. She had to touch him and now.

Thank God for sweatpants, no fly to contend with! There it was, there it was—

Scully grabbed his straining cock with a bit too much enthusiasm and Mulder heard himself squeal again. He really needed to stop doing that.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, but she didn’t seem particularly sorry as she shifted her hips off his pelvis to give herself a better angle for roughly stroking his soft skin.

It hurt, the tissue was too dry and tender but there was no way in hell he wanted her to stop. He also wanted to taste her tits.

He rolled them over on their sides to try to get on top of her, and she went under the coffee table.

“Dammit,” he bellowed in frustration as her breasts slipped out of his hands. She just cackled. Her arm, sticking out from under the table, was still pulling at his cock.

Determined, he wiggled around, somehow ending up turned upside down and regretted/was thankful immediately. Her mouth came down on the head of his cock like a magnet to iron. But he could get to her jeans’ fly, he realized thankfully.

He banged his head against the floor to divert his attention. “Don’t come, don’t come, don’t come,” he chanted as he fumbled with her pants.

This only made her laugh, the vibration traveling up his cock to shake his balls.

He had the pants undone, obviously with the intervention of some deity, but they were too tight to get down any further than her thighs. They were peel-off tight, something he usually appreciated, but hated with all his heart at this moment.

He had to get his mouth on her right now. He must find a way to immobilize her and that seemed the easiest way.

Futilely, he managed to wedge two fingers in between her thighs and whimpered at the wetness. So close! So damn close!

Twisting his wrist, he could get the fingers in her opening but then, nothing.

That was it!

Scully was in a dream. It was dark and hot under the table, like some stifling, summer night- induced erotic fantasy. The air was filled with the smell of desire, her mouth was full of baby soft-skinned cock, and she’d just gotten some fingers to clamp her vaginal muscles down on.

Suddenly, her world was turned upside down. He’d pulled himself out of her mouth, dragged her from under the table, and yanked her hips up in the air.

“Ah-hah!” he cried out in triumph as he plunged his fingers into her vagina from under her ass.

She allowed herself to grind back against his hand helplessly. She could hear him suckling on something but couldn’t feel his mouth anywhere. Turned her head and forcing herself to focus, she saw him reared back on his bent knees, red cock extended, his free hand collecting her juices from around his engaged fingers. He was licking them clean with obvious pleasure.

She almost fainted from the erotic image. That was it. She freed herself, crawling up onto the sofa, ignoring his howls of protest.

“Fuck, Mulder!” she yelled at him as she twisted around and tried to get her athletic shoes off with her one free hand.

“Yeah!” He was wild-eyed and almost incoherent. He’d grabbed onto his cock like a horny little boy and was pumping at himself.

“Help me get these clothes off, don’t just keep messing with me,” she ordered as she tossed one shoe aside.

Shuffling over to her on his knees, he pulled off her other shoe, and yanked at her jeans and panties, his fast, hot breath burning at her thighs.

“Now this damned coat,” she said a moment too late. He was on top of her, pressing her down into the couch. Her protest died before she could even get it out. The head of his cock was probing frantically between her thighs. She realized that in their rush to get her undressed, his sweatpants were still on, roping his legs together. She simply spread her legs wide to give him all the space he needed, flailing around with her one free hand until she found his tight ass and guided it to tune in on her need.

Mulder was getting desperate. His belly was burning and his nuts felt like they’d turned to stone. He had to get inside her and was terrified in the same moment. He knew the second she clamped down on him, he would come. It was all a moot point since he couldn’t find her opening— this damned coat of hers was everywhere!

She was trying to help him and he forced himself to take a deep breath and focus. His throbbing head slipped around in her lips, lower, lower…there…

He slid in surprisingly easily and allowed himself a moment to revel in the accomplishment—to take a sense of pride in the way she gasped out, amazed, “Mulder!”

Then, of course, all hell broke loose. He decided to blame it on the coat. If she hadn’t been trapped in the coat… she wouldn’t have done that thing that made him do that other thing— all he knew was; now it was the leather of the couch squealing in protest, her legs were like a vise grip around his waist, he finally got a hand under her sweater again to get at her breasts, she bit his lip so hard he was sure it was going to be twice it’s normal fatness tomorrow—and that’s why he came like a freight train going off a cliff in about ten thrusts. Although he really wasn’t paying enough attention to count.

Scully was really glad her brain-cleaving orgasm had rendered her nerves dead, or it probably would have hurt when they were launched off of the couch and ended up back under the coffee table.

It was that damned coat’s fault. She couldn’t move with his thrusts and she’d been left completely at the mercy of his assault. Fullness, stroking her inside. His pelvis, rubbing, hard, across her clit. His elbow pinning her hair to the cushion so she couldn’t get a deep breath. Auto-erotic asphyxiation, indeed.

Woozy, she heard him murmur, “…Love you, Scully. I love you,” as his fingers tenderly ran around her head, checking for a lump.

“Mulder. Mulder.” She still clutched his shoulders in a death grip. “I love you. Watch it!” she warned. She hung on harder than ever to stop him from raising up and banging his own head on the underside of the coffee table.

She should have said it first. What was he going to think of her, so desperate for sex that she couldn’t even wait for the ritual exchange of sentiments before falling to the floor in a frenzy of lust?

Maybe he didn’t even believe she loved him. He hadn’t put those words in her mouth in his fantasy. She hadn’t said it in her e-mail either, she suddenly remembered. Was there a graceful way to explain that she’d just been going to add it when … that thing happened?

Her churning brain refused to suggest a single graceful, appropriate action of any kind. Perhaps she’d just have to lie there until one of them died.

Now the room was quiet, returned to the deafening, tension-filled silence that greeted her when she entered it, when was that, ten minutes ago?

Oh shit. What had she—they done?

Mulder pulled off of her, wiggled out from under the table, and propped himself up against the couch, staring straight ahead. His hands delicately tucked his dick back under his waistband, just as he tucked his tie inside his shirt when he ate lunch.

She carefully righted herself as well. Her coat slipped off easily as a tangerine peel. She bit down hard to keep a curse from being released. She felt she’d given him enough of a display of her powers of profanity for the evening.

Well…

Should she get up and walk out?

Mocking, the computer screen glowed at them in the dark room..

She rolled her head back on the sofa cushion, saw the play of the ripples of light and water from his fish tank dancing on the ceiling and forced back a sob.

Mulder heard the little gurgle of Scully holding in tears.

Oh fuck. Ohfuckohfuckohfuck…

He desperately needed to say something. The perfect words that would make everything better.

“Umm…” He mumbled.

She had regained control, he realized with a coward’s relief. “So…” she said conversationally.

He could be polite too. “Uh, would you like to clean up? I…I put out some fresh towels when…I…figured you would show up…” Misery coated his words like turpentine. “And then…if you want…You probably want to go home…”

Scully was suddenly overwhelmed by irrational relief. The same relief that let her know he wasn’t going to die when medical charts told her otherwise. They weren’t going to die right now. “Mulder?”

He didn’t seem to share her instincts. “Yeah?” he asked tentatively.

“Do you have any bananas?”

−X−

That’s all the smut you’re getting, folks!

−X−

Authors’ Final Thoughts:

bugs, covering eyes in horror: I’m so ashamed! This was supposed to be a sweet little He said/She said, I swear! I need to apologize to your readers, Branwell, for dragging you into the pig slop with me.

Branwell, cool and collected as ever, sipping tea: Truthfully, I think I did have the idea about Elvis, which accounts for a lot of the occasions for sin.

*grasping frantically at straws* bugs: Yes! Branwell suggested Elvis and it was all over! She made me do it! I was a smut-writing slave! Don’t blame me!

Branwell, draining her cup and looking around for the whiskey bottle: Exactly. It’s all my fault. Bosnia. The volcano in Japan. Harsh Realm…Final Thoughts.

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