Angel Scully Works Her Magic by Hindy Z Bradley

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Angel Scully Works Her Magic

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Subject: REVISED: Angel Scully Works Her Magic – NC17 From: H Bradley <> Date: Thu, 25 Dec 1997 23:12:54 -0500

Dec 25/97 REVISED: Angel Scully Works Her Magic – NC17

Summary: This is simply a Christmas confection. In the spirit of the week, I wish I had a slash to post, but I don’t. Yet! This was my first fanfic. Please let me know what you think. Hindy Z. Bradley

I stole these characters. but it’s Christmas, so what the heck!

I borrowed Frohike’s ornament from “Snow Under the Tree” by XF Truth. Thank you, thank you.

Thanks again to beta reader Alyssa. It really does take two, if you’re doing it right!

Angel Scully Works Her Magic
by Hindy Z. Bradley

<This day will never end.>

Scully sits at her desk, half hidden behind a stack of computer printouts. Tick. Tick. Tick. She peers around at her partner who is hunched over his desk. Suddenly, Mulder relaxes in his seat, hands at his lower back. He raises his arms, shifting, trying to get a few more moments of rigid concentration out of his body. She observes his stretch; long arms unrevealed beneath his straining cuffs. She thinks how nice it would be to run her hands along those muscled arms, rub his shoulders, relieve some of his tension. <Don’t go there, Dana. Remember where you are.>

She has been having this argument with herself for so long that the two voices inside her head spar like old lovers. His solicitous behaviour, opening doors, holding her coat; his accidental caresses, and sexual banter are wearing her down.

<Go where? He looks tired. I know he wants to get through this work. I just meant that I could help him concentrate.> <Yeah right. Share your distraction, you mean.>

<I am focussed. He’s my partner; my best friend. We do almost everything together. Why shouldn’t I be able to touch him?>

<Oh my god. Listen to yourself! You want him.>

<Not true! Although, if I had the nerve I’d go right over there and sit in his lap. Just to get a closer perspective. >

<His lap. Oh, come on. What’s in his lap, Dana?>

<Would you just shut up!> Scully slams her open palm on her desk top.

Mulder looks up.

“What is it, Scully? Found something?”

“I’ve found nothing, Mulder. That’s what it is. I can’t concentrate anymore. I think it’s time to call it a day. How about you?”

“I’m done.” He, noting a tinge of irritation in her voice, softens his own. “Did you have something in mind?”

A smile forms on her lips. “As a matter of fact, I have an errand to run. I could use your help.”

“I’m always happy to help you, Scully. Lead on.”

They grab their coats and head for his car.

He feels pleased be included in her plans. “Where are we going?”

“To get a Christmas tree for my apartment.”

“Huh? I didn’t know you put up a tree. Don’t you go to your brother’s for Christmas?”

“I do, but I still like to have a small tree.”

“A Christmas tree, Scully. I don’t know. Christmas has never been something I celebrate. I mean, I remember when Sam and I were little; when we were still a family. We would go to my grandmother’s house. She made the world’s greatest shortbread.”

His voice drifts off.

“Come on Mulder. Are you saying you believe in aliens, oiliens, and flukemen, but not Santa Claus?” Scully’s mock incredulity fills the car.

He feels her mirth and glances sideways, seeing the teasing confirmed in her eyes.

“Well, show me the evidence,” he says in a dead serious voice, his lips only curving to smile slightly.

She turns to look at him, his long fingers holding the steering wheel, and is satisfied by his good humour. Moving her hand lightly over his coat-covered arm, she gives him a slight pat.

“You don’t have to believe, Mulder. It’s only a tree. Let’s just have fun. A little celebration.”

They stop at a formerly vacant lot, now filled with trees. Scully picks out a small, fluffy pine which they put in the back of the car and they proceed to her apartment.

“Just lean it against the door, Mulder. I’ll be right back with the decorations.”

Scully returns from the bedroom in jeans and a soft green sweater with tiny gold bows woven into a pattern across the front and down one sleeve.

Mulder has taken off his jacket and tie and rolled up his sleeves. He stares at her green and glinting bodice.

“You didn’t tell me I had to dress for the occasion.”

“Actually, you do. Better roll down your sleeves, Mulder. Put these on.” She tosses him a thick pair of gardening gloves.

“You even have protective clothing at home, Scully? This opens up some interesting possibilities for a Christmas present.”

She scowls.

“Mulder, you pick up the tree and I’ll anchor it to the stand.”

He plunges his arm in.

“Ouch! It bit me.”

“I told you to wear the gloves.”

He leans in and grabs the tree trunk. The smell of pine — citric, balmy— drifts towards him. Instinctively, he shakes the tree to release a stronger scent.


A squeal comes from beneath the tree as pine needles rain. Scully emerges shaking the needles from her hair.

“Scully, you look like you’ve been rolling in the woods.” His eyes crinkle. She is treated to a throaty chuckle that stills her for a moment. He takes the opportunity to pick a pine needle from her hair. His hand lingers there.

She tosses him a look of scorn.

“In your dreams, Mulder. Now help me string up the lights.”

He carelessly winds the strand around the top of the tree, then retreats. Standing way back, he observes. The twinkling begins. Red. Yellow. Green. Blue. Pink. A cascading play of light warms the room.

Scully opens the box of ornaments. Mulder peers inside. Multicoloured layers of tissue paper are revealed, ravelling multicoloured glass baubles. Each one is carefully held. A spectrum of colour infuses his senses. He looks up and into the vivid, shining tree. Scully shimmers before him in emerald and burnished gold. He is transported as his pupils open to accept this ritual of colour and light. He gulps air, inhaling deeply the spicy, moist perfume.

“Come on, Mulder, hang something.”

He steps forward, picks up a candy cane from a bowl on the table and hangs it over the end of a branch. It falls to the floor and smashes.

“I told you I wasn’t going to be any good at this.” He stands there benumbed by the sparkle and the sweetness building in the room. He reaches into the box.

“What’s this?”

Mulder holds a stuffed cotton teddy bear in his palm.

“It’s an ornament. It was given to me by Jamie Finch in Grade 8. He had it bad for me. I let him carry my books six blocks out of his way everyday.”

“He was a lucky boy.”

“Why Mulder, what do you mean?”

“The simplicity of it. Carrying your books. It must have seemed like all the pleasure the world could hold.” His voice is muted, suggesting words unspoken.

He hands over the bear, and she catches his eyes as they dissolve into dark pools. She is surprised and pleased that he is enjoying this moment.

<Ah, I knew a little bit of Christmas would do him good. He’s finally relaxing in my home. Now we can finally talk.>

<Talk? Dana, don’t you see the desire in those eyes? You know what he wants for Christmas. Now let him unwrap it.>

He sees her shake her head, take a deep breath and draw her tongue over her upper lip as she does when she’s mentally gathering herself in. “So,” he says, gesturing towards the box, “are these all the remains of hearts you’ve broken?”

“No, Mulder. This one’s from Melissa.” She holds up a wine-coloured glass French horn.

He takes it from her, his hand momentarily cupping hers, and places it high in the tree, where it spins in the twinkling light. He turns to read her face, but all he sees is the soft line of shoulders straightening as she digs in the ornament box.

“I got this one yesterday. Guess who it’s from.”

Teasing, she dangles a red condom encased in a glass bauble. The facets catch the rainbow light, refracting it across her smirking mouth.

“Frohike, who else.”

<Christ, even Frohike knows what would please her. Why is it so hard for me to read what’s behind those eyes?>

Out loud he says, “It’s a mystery to me how everything got so complicated.”

“What are you talking about Mulder?”

“Your grade school friend. Being devoted to you. Happy, simply carrying your books.”

“It was an leap of faith, Mulder. He was trying to stake a claim on the future. You and I, we unravel the past. The truth is there; somewhere. The real mystery is the future. I like that mystery. I think you do, too.”

She gives him her sweetest parted-lip smile.

Mulder stands mute in the radiance of Scully. A determination is set within him to find his way through to that future. Scully unwraps a glass ball and hangs it, neatly filling a gap in the branches. And another. While he watches, she circles the tree methodically hanging ornaments, lost in sights, smells, memories.

The tree fills. Scully holds a glass ball in her hand. Mulder has stepped closer, unconsciously echoing her movements around the tree with this own. She has lost track of him. She steps back. They make contact, the rising curve of her behind pressing into the zipper of his suit pants. A match ignites to flame against her spine. She drops the ornament and hears it shatter. His hands embrace the air around her shoulders, as she lingers a noticeable moment before moving.

“My clumsiness must be catching.” His voice has caught in his throat; the shattering of glass drowning in his ears beneath the pumping of his pulse. He, too, steps away, his foot smashing the remains of the broken bauble.

“It’s ok, Mulder. If we didn’t break any, there’d be no reason for us to get new ones.”

<Now why did I say that?>

But the other voice doesn’t speak. She is basking in the unbidden heat spilling from her centre.

“There’s just one final thing.”

Scully unwraps the angel for the top of the tree. It, too, is glass. Colours of gold and white are blown through it in ribbons down the dress and along the wings.

“Give it here. I knew there was something I could do.” “No Mulder, this is my favourite part.”

She yanks the edge of the coffee table closer to the tree. She steps up; the angel in her right hand. She stands on tiptoes and leans over, her arm stretched to its length. Her left foot leaves the table. His hands hover at her waist. She tries to stretch the final inches.

She floats before his eyes. Emboldened, his hands encircle her waist. He lifts her and she places the angel home.

She is so light in his arms. He replaces her on the table. His hands feel strangely empty though they are still around her. She turns within them and faces him. Her hair is a twinkling areole of light. She is slightly above him. He reaches up to place his lips gently on hers.

“My angel, Scully.”

The words half lost as he presses closer. His hands still around her waist. He is aware of the lack of tension in his arms. With his heart pounding, his muscles demand movement. He lifts her again.

<That’s so much better.>

Her weight in his arms grounding him. He pulls her close and eases her body down against his.

Eyes to eyes, lips to lips; their soft kisses draw sparks before the tree. He puts her down and instantly feels separated again. He lifts her, this time hooking his arms around her legs, cradling her. He looks towards the bedroom. It seems like a distant land. He moves to the couch and sits.

He sees her blazing eyes as his lips press forward again. Her lids half close as she feels his mouth on hers. Barely kissing, she reaches out her tongue to taste him. His mouth begins to open in a smile. Her tongue draws across his teeth and beyond to mingle with his own.

Her assent pressing deeply in his mouth stokes his response. He runs one hand from the base of her spine up through her hair, pinning her with his kiss. His other hand covers her hand in her lap.

She is close to him now, so close, and can feel his heat. She turns, straddling his lap and sitting back on his knees. Her hands come up to his face. She trails her fingers over his brow, cheeks, jaw. She luxuriates in the contact. Her head feels what her body already knows; that it is time. The perfect time.

“Scully, are you alright? Is this okay? Dana?”

“It’s good, Mulder, very good.”

The glimmering tree light catches in the shattered glass depths of his eyes. He is waiting.

Before she can think, she tugs the hem of her sweater up and over and off. The air sends shivers upon her skin. Mulder has stopped breathing. She takes his hand in hers, both slightly trembling, and places it high over her left breast. Her heart beats to the twinkling of the lights.

“I’m giving you this heart, Mulder.”


His hands move up to caress her face. She leans into them, stroking against them. He draws them down along her neck, which arches at his touch. His thumbs jostle as her pulse courses beneath them. The soft skin of her shoulders; the planes of her collarbone; places to explore with mouth and fingers.

“Why now?” His eyes search her face.

“Because I’m not scared now. Not scared or anxious or wretched or agonizing or desolate or suffering blood loss or grieving.”

He watches her face transform; a dusky nebula in his heart’s sky.

“I can’t protect you from everything.”

“I know. I just want you to be with me when I come home.”

“I will be. I promise.”

“How do I know?”

“It’s a leap of faith.”

Her own words back at her. She smiles.

Mulder hugs her to him, her breasts pressing against his shirt. He buries his face in her hair, inhaling traces of spicy pine. He lifts the strands of hair, revealing the curve of her neck. His lips and tongue trace a line to her mouth. That mouth. Dark, swollen lips opening for him, murmuring her arousal.

<Dana, you have no idea what you do to me. I watch your tongue carelessly moisten those lips a dozen times a day. I burn with jealousy, wanting to kiss away all traces of your own taste. I want to be the taste on your lips. Let me show you.>

His desire is like a controlled brush fire, burning neither too fast nor too close to the perimeter. His kisses scorch her, marking his path.

His hands round the dark satin of her bra, startling at her hard nipples. He leans over to feel her beating heart under his lips. He reaches around and unclasps the bra. It falls away.

She has grown so used to her own touch. Small hands barely containing the abundant flesh. But his hands are on her now and they are large and dark. She wants to throw her head back and scream, but cannot tear her eyes away.

In his hands, her breasts are like glass baubles; opalescent, fragile, warmly glowing. His mouth spreads fire over them. He rolls her nipples in his finger tips, softly, then harder as she presses towards him.

“Mulder.” Their eyes connect in their own unspoken language.

She reaches out and begins to undo his shirt. After three buttons, she can feel the wiry hair and sense his nipples nearby. She slides her hands under the material, taking in the taut skin, hard muscles beneath. The heat and the pounding of his heart leaves her breathless. She tears through the rest of the buttons, exposing him.

She needs to feel his skin against her breasts, now. Deepening the v of her straddling legs, she slides into the hot centre of his lap.

“Ohhh.” They both feast on this first intimate contact.

He moves to undo her jeans.

She stands and extends her hand to him. He takes it and she leads him to her bedroom.

Standing in the lengthening tree light, she undresses him. She begins to run her tongue, face, fingers over him, wanting to know every plane and muscle; every scent and taste.

He stops her then and strips off her clothes. He leads her to the bed andpulls her down.

Lying on their sides, face to face, they kiss. His tongue presses into her mouth, probing, possessing. She runs her hands through his hair, drawing him impossibly closer, trying to hold on through the rising heat in her body.

He glides his mouth along her throat, each sucking kiss drawing her into a firestorm of passion. His hands cup her breasts as he raises one to his lips and takes in the hard pink bud, laving and nipping. He teases and lightly pulls the other with his finger tips.

He stops to look at her, his Dana. His mouth leaves her skin and she arches to follow, as though a vital piece of her is being torn away. Her head is thrown back, hair a corona against the pillow. Her eyes are dark, unfocused pools; a low moan comes from her throat.

His tongue begins to trace a very light line down one breast, flicking gently at her nipple as he passes it. Past the deep curve of her belly, he showers her skin with light kisses.

His hands are on her thighs parting them wide. More feather kisses on the silky flesh from her knee to her red curls. He moves to her other thigh, his lips pressing harder, teeth nipping at that sensitive skin. She arches up, moving towards his mouth. He brushes his lips across her, his tongue dipping in to taste the sweet essence of her.

His tongue snakes towards her centre, swirling —again— again — again.

“Ahhh.” He brings her to a startling climax. Her body shakes; she cries out. He feels her quaking beneath his lips. He holds her hips and presses her closer to him. His face rocks with her passion. She calls out his name and he moves with her until she stills.

He moves up to meet her gaze, offering his wet lips. She puts her arms around him and kisses, licks, nips that smile, tasting her own sweetness there.

He looks into her eyes. “Oh, Mulder.” Her face is flush.

<Is she blushing, now?>

“It doesn’t usually happen that fast for me.”

“Dana, you are so beautiful.” His eyes glisten. He wraps her in his arms softly kissing her brow, eyes, nose.

She feels his hard, silken length pressing against her hip. She reaches to caress him, running her hand up and down, squeezing him gently. She pulls him towards her.

He moves over her, insinuating his knees between her thighs. He rubs himself against her nether lips, parting them. He slowly enters and then withdraws. He doesn’t take his eyes from her face, gaging her reaction.

Her lips tremble. A gasp catches in her throat. Pleasure is inscribed on the inky depths of her eyes.

He pushes forward again.

She feels him stretching her and she relaxes to take him in. Her heat surrounds him and he thrusts in. She holds him so tightly, with her strong thighs wrapped around his, that he can hardly withdraw. He puts his hands under her behind, and drives deeper. He presses his lips to hers and matches each thrust with his tongue. Then he slows and stops.

Rising on his forearms, he looks at her, his hand sweeping the damp hair from her forehead. His voice is a throaty whisper. “I want to make love to you all night.”

“Mmm. Do you have a plan?” she murmurs, surprised that she is still able to speak.

“Yes. Patience.”

He sits back on his knees, her legs wrapped around him. “Look. What a picture we are. What beautiful love we make.”

She raises herself up on her elbows to see. His dark wiry curls make a nest with her sparse red ones. Their love between. Her heart is pounding madly. She puts her hand down to feel him sliding into her. Her fingers grasp him. He moans and pulls out.

“Turn around. Sit up on your knees.”

He enters her from behind. His measured strokes are pressing deep within her. His long arms encircle her. His hands explore her skin, cup her breasts, tease her nipples. She throws her head back. He showers hot kisses up and down her neck. One hand moves lower to her inflamed centre. He strums her and she moves against him. Back and forth. Back and forth.

His mouth is on her neck, travelling up and down and along her shoulder. She cranes her neck around and they lock in a deep kiss. She feels the fire inside her going quickly out of control. She covers his fingers, vibrating against her sensitive nub, with her own and presses. She comes hard, her body straining against his arms until she is heavy and still.

“Mulder are you trying to kill me?”

“Maybe just weaken you a bit.”

“Weaken?” She hears the teasing challenge in his voice. “We’ll see who’s weak.”

She turns and roughly throws him down on the bed. Her hands move over him. She teases his nipples; smooths the tight concavity of his stomach. She caresses his thighs massaging, rubbing, spreading them. Her hands move down over the length of his cock, caressing his sac and behind it to the very base of him. She kisses his hip bone and moves her head lower licking and sucking at the tense muscles of his inner thighs. Her mouth trails up along the length of him. Her lips open to the tip of him.

Taking him in her mouth, she relaxes her throat and takes him in all the way. It is a long way. Her lips hug the base of him. She slides up and down, fingertips echoing lips.

He moans and shakes. His cock is a playground for a tug of war between her devouring lips and her strong fingers. She sends him rolling between abandon and control. He lets her bring his fire to the perimeter and then he drags it back. He tries to roll away to get out of her before he comes, but she is holding his hips and, really, he isn’t struggling very hard.

She feels his tension, the pressure is building in him. She stops.

<Thank God.>

She moves back up the bed and presents him with a look of wanton glee. His passion-ravaged face meets hers.

“Bad girl. I’ll get you for that.” He moves towards her.

“Promises.” She smiles and sinks down onto the bed, opening her legs for him.

Swiftly, he enters her and presses his length in. Her inner walls grip him tightly. He buries his head in her hair, and lets the fire take him over. She raises her hips to meet each thrust.

“Harder. Harder.”

Her arms around his back are slick with sweat. She feels herself coming to the edge again. He senses it and consigns himself to the fire. Together, their bodies liquify. Pulsing screams turn to soft laughter as they hold each other. Eyes bright and shining, their passion is momentarily complete. They hold each other tightly. Their legs entwine.

“Dana that was… Dana you… Dana.” He rests his forehead against hers.

She plants a soft kiss on his lips.

It is late and quiet and dark in the room, except where the lovers are bathed in the twinkling lights of the tree shining through their open bedroom door.

The End


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