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Christmas in Space by Jennifer-Oksana
Christmas in Silver by Dasha K
Christmas in Space by Jennifer-Oksana
Date: Mon, 07 Dec 1998 19:42:06 GMT
Christmas in Space by Jennifer-Oksana
Warning/Disclaimer: 1013/CC/FOX are the rightful owners of the X-Files text, and I’m a textual poacher. I’ve appropriated Mulder, Scully, Dr. Seuss, numerous name brands, Tori Amos, and the holiday season for my own uses. However, I’m not getting paid, so don’t sue.
Category: (PG MSR VR H?) Holiday-Fic, spoilers to Dreamland II
Summary: Mulder and Scully get into the good eggnog
Look, ma, I wrote a slurpee! Yes, I’m unabashedly romantic about the holidays, so send all death threats and stunned feedback to , and have a lovely season.
Christmas in Space
I am a creature of extremes. Until I was twelve years old, I wanted to be a holy man. A rabbi, a monk, a missionary, it didn’t matter. Then I woke up one morning, changed my mind, and basically decided I was an atheist. I know the obvious explanation here is that my sister’s disappearance caused me to lose all faith in God. It could be true in this case. But Fox Mulder is famous for doing surprise 180s for no discernible reason.
Case in point: when I decided which college to attend. I got in everywhere I applied, and it was a choice between Dartmouth, Harvard, and Oxford. I decided Dartmouth. I wanted to go to Dartmouth, I was sure— pretty damn sure— and then, well— three days before D-Day, I marched up to my father and told him I was going to Oxford. Case closed. This was after we’d told our entire family and all my friends I was a Dartmouth man. Dad took it fairly well, but Grandma Mulder pitched a fit and went to my cousin Arden’s graduation instead of mine. She claimed I was wishy-washy.
I’m not wishy-washy. When I make a decision, I’m absolutely sure it’s right, and I stick to my guns. It’s just that I can change my mind when I’m absolutely sure I was wrong. When I realized I was wrong about extraterrestrials, I could see the perfection and logic of a government conspiracy in lieu of aliens. It made sense. It was right. But the truth is, EBEs exist. QED. I was wrong about being wrong. I’ve been wrong before, I’ll probably be wrong again. And I just don’t do in-between. I understand the principle of in-between; one of my roommates at Oxford was a lit major who talked incessantly about deconstruction and the instability of the text ad infinitum. But I like binaries: black/white, good/bad, man/woman. It’s how I exist. Postmodernism can go chase itself.
And so, I’ve had a conversion involving holidays. The holidays have never had a pleasant connotation in my book. Count the catastrophes: Samantha’s disappearance around the time, dealing with a drunk father and a silent mother during my teens, to say nothing of watching Scully lose her father and Emily during Christmas. Before now, I was grinchier than the Grinch. I got perfunctory gifts for my mother and Scully. Other than that, my favorite holiday traditions involved the Eight Nights of Playboy’s Finest and breaking every candy cane I came across. I still don’t like candy canes. But I’m no longer the Grinch who stole Chanukah or whatever.
I really hate to admit this, but it was one of those ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ type changes. One afternoon in early December, I was cruising the local mall (actually, I was playing the flaneur because Mick at AirTouch was fixing my cell phone) when I looked into— God help me— “Helen’s Holiday Hide-A-Way.” So I was definitely feeling masochistic, okay?
So there I am, envisioning ways to destroy the hide-a-way, nothing too grotesque: fire, earthquake, a swarm of killer bees, two really pissed off Wienerschnitzel employees— when I suddenly spot myself and Scully inside that first circle of Hell. We were appraising ornaments.
I quickly realized it couldn’t be my evil twin and my lovely partner, though. The couple inside were looking at goofy reindeer ornaments with smiles of delight. The real me would have been on the U.S.S. Enterprise ornaments like ham on eggs, and Scully would have retaliated with dainty Austrian crystal ballerinas. We’d end up completely at odds, and the tree— if we went with a tree— would have to be neatly divided in half. And we’d be thrilled about it.
So, yeah, yeah, yeah, they say in DC that Fox Mulder’s heart grew three sizes that day. It was an accident! I wasn’t all that converted when I retrieved my precious cell phone, grabbed some Chinese at the food court, and went home. I can’t explain how I woke up the next morning brimming with Yuletide cheer. It might have been the Elvis; the clock radio was playing “Blue Christmas” when I woke up. But the magic of the season had me in its tinseled, consumerist clutches before I finished my shower.
On the way to work that day, between yodeling out White Christmas and Adam Sandler’s Chanukah song, I had two major epiphanies. One was much more important than the other. I realized suddenly how hellish manic-depressive Mulder-attention had to be on Scully. I adore her, I rely on her, but I treat her— oy. One day I’m declaring I love you, you’re my one in five billion, the next day, boom, I’m off with Diana Fowley somewhere. After five years of that, I’m surprised I’ve only been shot once.
The second epiphany was the happy marriage of my new resolution to treat Scully right and my new holiday fetish thing. Which is why it’s December 22, and I’m sitting in my living room waiting for Special Agent Scully to make her appearance.
She doesn’t knock, of course. She simply lets herself in and stares.
“Mulder?” she asks, sounding faintly horrified.
“Merry Christmas, Scully,” I offer lamely before she pins me to my spot with her Glock.
“What are you and where’s Mulder?” she asks.
“It’s me! Uhhh— your dog’s name was Queequeg, and I once kicked it across your apartment for pissing on my Bruno Maglis,” I say as she eyes the (fake) Christmas tree. I’m very proud of that little tree. It’s decked out in every Hallmark keepsake Trek and alien ornament I could find, and at least some of the lights are blinking. Plus, there are a few uber-cheesy ornaments I’ll have to explain to her later, like the “Our First Christmas” one. “We do this whole identity affirmation thing a lot. You chained the last Mulder imposter to my bed. It was a nice touch.”
She nods slowly, and eyes the tray of Christmas cookies sitting on the coffee table.
“They’re from a tin!” I protest. “Last month, remember, I was in the Bermuda Triangle. When I was in the hospital, out of my mind on opiates, I told you I loved you, and I mean it Scully, I love you.”
“Why is this place decked out like Vegas, Mulder?” she says, finally lowering the gun. “Are we having the long-promised ‘I Hate the Holidays’ fiesta?”
“No. Just the opposite as a matter of fact.”
“Mulder, you once told me that if you’d been the Grinch Who Stole Christmas, you not only would have burnt the Who’s presents, you would have beat up Cindy Lou Who for good measure,” Scully says.
“Well, I had this revelation. Two revelations, actually. Butter cookie?” I ask. “There’s eggnog in the fridge.”
“Okay. So explain these revelations,” she says, taking the tray and sitting back in my chair. “Go get me some eggnog, Mulder.”
I walk to the kitchen, over her complaints. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize it was you right off. Your apartment is still a mess, despite the glittery facade. And you’re still a lousy host. Now get me the eggnog and revelations, Mulder. The cookies aren’t that good.”
I present her with a cup of eggnog and sit directly in front of her. Her bright blue eyes meet mine, and she absently licks off a nog moustache while staring me down.
“Well, I had this sudden realization. I love the holidays. I watched A Christmas Story twice this weekend. I did this. I even seriously considered caroling.”
“This is sudden.”
“I know. It’s very me. I realized that, too. I never do anything in moderation. It’s always one extreme or the other, which often results in me not treating you very well.”
“One day, I’m all about appreciation and adoration, but a lot of the time, I ditch you, I belittle you, I make life difficult. It’s not right, Scully. I love you too much to—”
“Mulder, hush!” she snaps. “You’ve said I love you three times tonight. Mulder, I already understand your whole yo-yo personality. I’m glad it’s finally become glaringly obvious to you, too. But don’t you— don’t you dare use the phrase I love you without realizing what it means to me.”
I nod, and take a deep breath. I can either win big or lose Scully for good right here. Surrounded by blinking lights and Burl Ives.
“I’m not, and never would, use that phrase lightly. But I want to know what it means to you and to us,” I say slowly.
“It means this is for real. It’s not something you say because you’re in love with life and the holidays all of the sudden, or because your therapist advised it to help you. When you tell me you love me, you better god-damned well mean it. And it has to be for me and not for you, Mulder. Do you understand?”
“I do. Scully, you are the most important person in my life ever. And I know sometimes I can be a real jerk, and I’m not good enough for you—”
“Mulder,” she interrupts again. “You’re plenty good enough, if you mean it. I need to know it’s you and not the eggnog.”
“I hate eggnog. I got it for you. And I mean it. I love you.”
She just sits back in her chair, stunned. She shakes her head.
“I don’t know what to say,” she whispers. “Wow. We had the talk and the world didn’t end.”
“Well, maybe it will once you see what I got you for a present,” I say. I scramble over to the tree and pull out a long, flat box, wrapped in silver foil and a red velvet bow. The determined confusion on her face is delightful as she tries to reason out what I got her. She deftly— maybe eagerly— unwraps the package with her graceful, beautiful fingers, and opens the pretty box underneath. I grin at her sudden disbelief at seeing— twelve slips of paper. She picks one up at random and reads.
“Good for ten bagels from the Bagel Factory,” she reads. “Mulder—”
“Real cream cheese included.”
“You didn’t just redo the twelve days of Christmas, did you?” she asks, waving the slips of paper at me. “Hmm— five golden rings— oh. So instead, I get one golden ring and two sets of earrings— from Tiffany’s! Mulder!”
“I know. It’s corny,” I apologize with a nasty grin. “Like for the twelfth day, a dozen long stemmed roses will be delivered to your desk on January 3rd. It’s not original. I got it from a book, but—”
“What do I get tonight?” she asks, waving away my doubts. “One dinner, cooked and presented by you.”
I jump up. “Shit!”
“I left dinner in the oven and it’s burnt,” I say, rushing into the kitchen. Yep, definitely ruined. “God, I suck. I’m the worst wannabe lover ever.”
She follows me and stands there silently. I realize eventually that she’s trying not to laugh. Her face is shaking like a bowlful of jelly.
“Mulder, you— if I didn’t already love you, this would be a major recommendation for it. Really,” she says.
“But I burnt dinner.”
“We’ll make do. That’s sort of us, isn’t it?” she asks. “I kind of have a craving now for breakfast anyway. And Mulder?”
“Yeah?” I ask, placing the burnt meal in the trash and the dishes in the sink.
“I love you,” she says. “And I mean it.”
I bite my lip. Good night, I’d better not cry. I put the last dish into the sink and turn around. Scully is waiting. I reach out and squeeze her hand.
“You want breakfast? Let’s go to House of Pies,” I say, not letting go. “Breakfast every hour.”
She squeezes back. “It could save the world.”
So we go. I order pumpkin pie, she orders Belgian waffles with whipped cream and strawberries. We talk some, we drink hot chocolate— House of Pies has great hot chocolate. I break the little candy canes our waitress gives us. We hold hands and look out the window.
Yeah. It’s official. I love the holidays.
Notes: The title is a subtitle of a Tori Amos B-Side, “Purple People.” Yeah, I slapped myself for being so cliche, too. Let’s see, what else. House of Pies really exists, but it’s in Houston. The hot chocolate really is amazing, I would have tried the pie, but the time I went, I was broke and carsick at the time, so next time, definitely. This one’s for my parents, who buy twelve-foot Christmas trees and love Disneyland. (Me, too.)
Christmas in Silver by Dasha K
From: Dasha K <>
Date: 18 Jan 1999 00:36:17 GMT
Subject: NEW: Christmas In Silver by Dasha K. (1/2)
Yes, I do know that Christmas was several weeks ago! Bear with me, okay?
Christmas in Silver by Dasha K.
Please archive at Gossamer. If you’d like to archive this anywhere else, please ask permission first. I’ll say yes, most likely.
Summary: Silver is a good color on Mulder. A wholesome tale that follows Jennifer-Oksana’s “Christmas in Space.”
Rating: NC-17, children begone!
Spoilers: Dreamland II
Disclaimer: Angels we have heard on high, that I do not own Mulder and Scully.
Stay tuned to the end for a bonus recipe.
Santa will put you on his “nice” list for next year if you send feedback to
This mind-cookie is my sadly belated present to the delightful and precocious J Stoy, who asked Santa for this. You have been a very, very good girl this year, J.
This is a follow-up (written with permission) of J’s story “Christmas In Space,” which you can find at her site at http://members.tripod.com/~j_stoy/writing.html. You don’t have to read her story to understand this one, but you should read it anyhow. It’s a goodie.
Christmas in Silver (1/2)
The silence in the car was thick and sweet as they returned from the House of Pies. Mulder tried his damnedest not to sneak glances at Scully, who sat in the passenger seat with a box of French Silk pie in her lap, a present for her mother.
After parking near Mulder’s building, they awkwardly stood by her car. He wondered, with a fair amount of frantic energy, if it was now permissible to kiss her. As if reading his mind, Scully grinned. “Mind if I come up?”
He found himself repeatedly nodding like an imbecile.
Upstairs, Mulder switched on the lights of his garish little tree. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked, his own mouth dry as sawdust.
Scully shrugged out of her wool coat and lay it on the chair. “Do you have any wine?”
He grinned. For once he was prepared. “Better than that, Scully, I have a bottle of champagne in the fridge.”
Merriment flashed in her blue eyes. “Why don’t you bring it to me in the bedroom …” He felt his knees turn to the precise consistency of lime Jell-O on a warm summer afternoon.
In the kitchen it seemed to take an eternity to get the bottle of Cristal out of the refrigerator, to fill the ice bucket (another mysterious new acquisition of his) and find two flutes in the cupboard. Sure, the glasses said “Mazel Tov Larry and Janice,” a souvenir of his cousin’s wedding, but they’d have to do the trick in a pinch.
On the way to the bedroom he fought an irresistible urge to sing “Let’s Get It On,” deciding Scully probably wouldn’t appreciate him channeling Barry White for her benefit.
As he crossed the threshold of his new seraglio, which had been decorated by forces unseen (but forces that believed just a bit too firmly in the Playboy Lifestyle), he nearly
dropped the tray on the floor.
Scully, his steadfast partner, she of the severe suits, was lounging on her side on the godawful waterbed. Better than that, she was lounging in a dark green lace bra, matching bikini panties and black thigh-high stockings. Stockings with black seams running up the back.
Mulder was sure he’d faint, since all of the blood meant for his brain had decided to take a trip south. “Sc-Scully …” he stammered, managing to set the tray down on the dresser with a loud clank of glasses.
Her voice was low. “Are you going to gawk all night or are you planning on opening the champagne?”
He shook his head, attempting to clear it of the cobwebs that had formed and with shaking fingers unwrapped the foil and twisted out the plastic cork without shooting it off
into a dark corner of the room. I should be so lucky, he thought, all too aware of the growing bulge in his pants. He didn’t even want to think about how long it had been since he’d last gotten laid.
The champagne was poured into the glasses and he only spilled a little bit on the round tray. He crossed the room to her with trepidation, certain that at any minute Scully would morph into a bounty hunter.
Instead, Scully took the glass from him and made a purring noise after she took a wallow of her champagne. “Classy,” she said, licking her lips. “You got Cristal.”
Mulder simply stood there, glass in hand, gaping at her lush cleavage in the lace bra and the few auburn curls peeking over the edge of her panties. This was better than the Playmate of the Year, ever more fun than his well-worn tape of “Lesbos A Go-Go.” For this was 3-D—he could hear her soft breathing, smell the sweet spice of her perfume and watch her slightly rounded belly expand and contract with her breaths.
Gingerly, he sat on the edge of the bed and took a swallow of his wine. A soft hand touched his shoulder. “I’m not going to bite,” she chuckled. “At least, not yet.”
His mouth fell open and his dick surged against his pants.
Scully sat up and clinked her flute against his. “To Christmas,” she said.
“To Christmas,” he replied thickly.
Turning to see her face, he noticed the sly expression. “Do you know what would really be fun?” she husked.
He had to fight like a madman to keep his tongue from hanging out like a Golden Retriever.
Scully sinuously stretched toward the head of the bed and reached for something underneath one of the pillows. His breath caught in his throat. Were there hallucinogens in his water supply?
Between her slender fingers dangled a pair of handcuffs. Scully’s FBI-issue cuffs. Mulder had to fortify himself with a slug of champagne.
“Scully?” he managed to croak.
“Yes?” She leaned closer.
“What was the first thing you ever heard me say?”
One cinnamon eyebrow arched. “Something about the FBI’s Most Unwanted, Mulder.”
Relief flooded through his veins. She wasn’t a mandroid or a shapeshifter after all. “Just checking to make sure you’re you,” he said.
“Seems to be the motif tonight.” With a fey tilt of her head, Scully fixed one cuff around his right wrist.
“You got all those lovely gifts for me,” she breathed into his ear, sending undignified chills up his spine. “Now consider this my present to you. That and the cashmere sweater I have for you back at my place.” Scully pushed him in the chest and the bed started jiggling like mad. God, he hated waterbeds. In fact, he was worried he might get seasick when the action started. Swiftly, Scully affixed the other cuff to the handle of the bedside table.
While unbuttoning his shirt, Scully said, “Now I’ve got you where I want you, Mulder. I’m in charge now.” She ran her pink tongue across her bottom row of teeth. “You’d better be a good boy.”
Oh yeah, he’d be the best boy she’d ever seen if she just didn’t stop removing his clothes. He lay in his unbuttoned shirt, the cuffed arm still wearing cotton and shut his eyes as she unzipped his pants and drew them off his legs.
“Nice,” she murmured as she ran a fingertip along the length of his erection through the fabric of his boxers. “I think I’ll have to take a closer inspection.”
Trying to be helpful, Mulder lifted his hips so she could slip his shorts off. He looked up at her, suddenly apprehensive. What if she didn’t like what she saw? He wasn’t one to do much comparison-shopping in the locker room, but he was fairly sure he had a decent-sized penis.
Scully bit her lip and then smiled down at him, her cheeks pink. “This is what you’ve been keeping from me all this time? Naughty man, you should have spoken up sooner.”
He could have sworn it grew another inch, right then and there with her words.
She straddled him, just above his erection, and pushed the silky green straps of her bra down to her shoulders. Mulder wondered if it was possible for his eyes to permanently pop out of his head as she undid the front clasp and her breasts sprang free.
“So, this is what you’ve been hiding under those suits all this time?” he said, deeply proud he had managed to get a whole sentence out. Her breasts were bigger than he’d expected, round and full with deep rose nipples. Much, much better than the pair he’d conjured up from time to time in the shower.
She leaned over him and smiled, but he caught a moment of hesitation in her eyes. Oh, don’t chicken out, Scully, he thought, not after all this time and after you’ve gotten me naked and chained to my bed. And for one nauseating second he imagined it all was a horrible practical joke on her part.
A thoughtful look passed on Scully’s face. “Hmm,” she said, wrinkling her brow. “Now that I’ve got you where I want you, what shall I do with you?”
A thousand options flipped through Mulder’s mind, most of them involving the use of her mouth. He shrugged helplessly. “You could kiss me,” he suggested.
A slow smile bloomed on her face. “Ah yes, it is rather strange that I have you handcuffed and naked but we haven’t so much as kissed yet.”
Mulder nodded. She leaned down and he could smell the champagne on her breath. His throat constricted as she pressed the silk of her lips to his own in a chaste little kiss. She sat back up. “Like that?” she asked.
He gulped. “I was hoping for more.”
“Impatient man,” she laughed and moved her face to his again. This time her mouth opened and her tongue slipped in his mouth, sending an electric current straight to his groin as their tongues slid against each other. Mulder wondered where she had learned to kiss with such sensual casualness as his free hand moved up to her soft neck to press her in deeper to his mouth.
So this is what he’d been waiting for all. It seemed to be worth the wait.
Scully pulled away from his lips and he found himself whimpering with the loss of sensation. “Very nice,” she said. “That in itself was good enough for a Christmas present.”
Her words made him grin like a fool.
With a small sigh, Scully slid off his body and stood up. “Where are you going?” he whined.
“I’m still hungry,” she said and stretched. He stared at her in befuddlement. After all the years of waiting, when things were just looking up for them, Scully wanted something to eat?
“I’m going to the kitchen,” she said and headed out the door.
If she takes off and leaves me here, cuffed to the bed, I’m going to kill her, Mulder thought. But somehow, he knew she wasn’t that cruel, not after his earnest confession of love earlier in the evening. She wouldn’t do that to him, would she?
Christmas In Silver (2/2)
It seemed an eternity and a half before Scully returned to the bedroom. Alone in the room, Mulder fought the urge to reach down with his hand to touch himself, to relieve the horrible ache in his groin. Finally, Scully padded back in the room, with a plate in hand.
“I forgot about the pie. I need a chocolate fix,” she said and sat on the edge of the waterbed.
“You’re torturing me, I hope you know.” He struggled to sit up and touch her, but found, like Tantalus’ grapes, she was maddeningly out of reach.
Slowly, she licked French Silk off the tines of a fork and grinned at him. “I know. Isn’t it great?”
He threw back his head and groaned in frustration.
“God,” she said in a moan, “they really know how to bake at the House of Pies. Which makes sense, given the name.”
His voice a threat, Mulder said, “Scully, did you really come up here tonight to eat pie?”
Her finger dipped down into the whipped cream on top of her pie and she licked the filling off her index finger in deliberate slowness. “I can’t help it, I love pie. I love you too, but I need pie right now.”
He bit his lip, wanting to strangle her and ravish her at the same time.
A tiny smile curled Scully’s lips. “Do you want a bite of my pie?”
Pie isn’t what I want to taste right now, he thought, but he nodded.
Again, her finger went into the chocolate filling and she brought it to his mouth. Like a greedy child, he sucked the sweet goo off her finger. He had to admit it, it was damn fine pie.
“Do you like that?”
He again nodded, finding speech suddenly out of his grasp.
“Do you want some more?”
Another nod. My, he certainly was the master of conversation.
Scully fed him another bite of pie off her finger and this time he held it in his mouth, sucking desperately at her, enjoying the sweet-salt combination of chocolate and flesh. After he had had his fill, he said, “I like the pie, Scully, but I think you taste better.”
Her eyes opened wider. “Do you want to taste more of me?”
She put the half-finished plate of pie on the bedside stand and moved on top of him again, surrounding his body with the softness of her thighs. His uncuffed hand, of its own blind accord, moved up to stroke her breasts, cupping and circling them each in turn. Scully threw her head back and let out a soft sigh. Her nipples hardened under his fingers and he longed to taste them, to feel their hard points under his twitching tongue. As if reading his mind, she moved in closer and he caught her left nipple between his lips and she cried out at the sensation. This is heaven, he thought, this is where I could spend the evening, making Scully moan with just my mouth. He moved his lips to her right nipple and found it just as delicious as the left.
“So good,” she crooned. “Do you know how wet I’m getting?”
A low thrill ran through Mulder’s body and he came as close as humanly possible to coming in a most undignified manner. Don’t even think about it, he told his penis, I didn’t wait six years to come all over her stomach like I did with Angie Daley in the tenth grade. I’ll never live it down if I do that, so just calm yourself down and settle in for the evening. Luckily, his penis seemed to listen to him for once.
Scully shifted up a bit to kiss him, her mouth warm and chocolately. He seized the opportunity to push her panties down with his hand and brush against the dark red curls of her mound. She was no liar, his hand slipped between the folds of her vulva to find her slick as oil. “Touch me,” she said into his neck, her tongue finding the sensitive spot just underneath his earlobe, making him jerk as if electrocuted. His fingers found her clitoris swollen and hard and he slowly pushed it back and forth, her hips urging him on, along with the little noises she continued to make while sucking on his neck like a little Bela Lugosi.
Even though he knew Scully wanted to be in charge of things, he couldn’t help saying, “Scully, I want to eat you.” God, that sounds so crass, he thought, but his mouth needed to feel her, to taste her, to finally have that knowledge.
She looked down at him, face rosy and eyes glittering. “I can’t refuse an offer like that,” she said with a judicious nod of her head. Lifting herself off his body, she eased her panties all the way off and moved up. His heart was beating madly as she straddled his face, her hands reaching to brace on the headboard and her nylon-covered thighs brushing along his neck.
Finally, finally, he thought, as his tongue traced the outline of her wet cunt. Better than chocolate, much, much better. In fact, she was the ultimate treat, savory and syrupy, like French toast with bacon and even better, because breakfast normally didn’t make Scully buck her hips into his face and make strangled sounds in the back of her throat. And breakfast never involved her juices running down his chin like butter and his fingers moving in and out of her hot passage. Nope, Scully was far tastier and better than any French toast and he vowed to have her for breakfast every morning, starting the following morning. Scully was just the thing to start his day.
Now he understood what his mother meant when she said, “It is far better to give than to receive.” Then again, what kind of pervert thought about his mother while going down on Dana Scully? Mulder re-applied himself to the task at hand, stifling a grin.
Mulder heard her breathing quicken and under his tongue her clitoris seemed suddenly bigger, fatter. “Don’t you dare stop,” she threatened between pants and he took her warning seriously, since he was the one in restraints. Stealing a glance upward, he saw her head tilted back, her eyes squeezed shut, a look of either pain or ecstasy on her face. He decided the smart money was on ecstasy and felt proud of himself. He remembered past lovers who looked as if they’d rather be filing their nails while he went down on them. Perhaps he had finally learned how to do it right. Thank God for the “Joy of Sex”, Dr. Ruth Westheimer and Dan Savage, he thought. All those hours of research were paying off.
With a sharp inhale of her breath, Scully came, contracting around his fingers, her back stiffening, her legs quaking around his head. It all came out in a sighing sound, “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhgoddddddddddddddd … ” and he had never been so happy to hear those words in his life. A smile broke across his face as she slid down his body. Mulder barely noticed his arm was starting to ache. A little pain when he had made Scully come? Ache-schmake, a little aspirin later and he’d be good as new.
Scully slid her damp and silky body across his, making him shiver. “That was incredible,” she said, her eyes mischievous. “Definitely worth the wait.”
Their mouths crashed together, their tongues, now good friends, twining.
This makes it all worthwhile, he thought, mind suddenly gone serious. The pain, the loss, now we’re together and for now, the world is as it should be.
Scully shifted her weight, and suddenly her pubic hair was brushing against his patient cock. “Now?” he asked, his voice coming out higher than he had wanted it to sound.
After swirling her tongue around his nipple, she lifted her head and looked down at him. “Now.”
With a quick shift of her bottom, he was suddenly in her, buried to the hilt. Their eyes locked in astonishment.
Mulder was ashamed to find tears springing to his eyes. “I never thought-” he gasped.
Tenderly, her hands brushed his hair. Scully nodded. “I know, Mulder.”
And then she began to move up and down on him, first with tormenting slowness and caution, and then with a decisive thrusting movement that made him bite his lip with the sheer sensation of it. Then there was the sight, Scully, his Scully now, moving up and down on his cock, her chest flushed and her nipples a deeper red now, her hand moving between her legs to touch herself, her head lolling from side to side.
So this is why partners weren’t supposed to have sex, he thought, he was never going to be able to get any work done with her, knowing what she looked like at such a moment. He didn’t even dare glance up at the ugly-ass mirror on the ceiling, for fear of coming right there. The mirror would have to be saved for another occasion.
And again, Scully came with that delicious shuddering motion of hers and he felt his own pressure begin to reach unbearable levels. Think of Julia Child naked, he thought, think of Frohike’s mother. But it was too late, he’d been keeping himself in control for far too long. Mulder’s eyes shut and he felt the pulsating waves rushing through his body, pleasure deeper than he could have imagined possible. He might have shouted her name, too, but he wasn’t entirely sure, since all he could hear was a roaring in his ears like the surf on the Cape.
And then he came back to a sort of reality, where he and Scully were now lying together, sticky and sweaty and smelling wonderfully of sex. She lightly kissed him. “I love you,” she said, her eyes serious.
He smiled. “I love you too,” he said. “But if you really loved me, you’d do something for me.”
Again, the famous eyebrow. “What’s that?”
“Unlock me, my arm hurts.”
Scully’s mouth opened. “Oh shit!” She sat up and smacked herself on the forehead.
Mulder’s mouth opened. “Oh shit, what?”
She shook her head rapidly from side to side. “You’re going to kill me, Mulder,” she moaned, her face now beet red. “I left the keys in the office.”
He shouted in dismay and-
The room twisted and twirled and became the inside of Scully’s Corolla. She was in the driver’s seat and they were parked outside his building. “What the hell?” he said, his heart pounding away, sweat suddenly beading his forehead.
Scully ruffled his hair with her fingers. “Mulder, you fell asleep almost the minute we left the House of Pies. You were having a dream, and a mighty good one, if I do say so.” She pointedly looked in the direction of his crotch and he noticed just how visible his erection was under the glare of the street light.
“Oh God,” he said, face turning red.
“It’s okay,” she said and smiled.
They got out and awkwardly stood by her car. He wondered if she’d mind if he kissed her.
Scully smiled and looked downward, a shy look on her face. “Mind if I come up?”
He nodded, and a grin spread across his face. “Of course not,” he said. “But why don’t you bring the pie up with you?”
My thanks and appreciation to Sharon and PD for beta services rendered and being picky in all the right ways. And also, to the Houston Gang (Alanna, Gwen and Kirsten) for buying me a wonderful French Silk pie for my birthday from, you guessed it, the House of Pies.
And Miss Stoy, where is my Christmas present? 😉
Tastier Than Scully French Toast
- 8 slices of stale French bread
- 4 eggs
- 1 cup of milk
- 2 T of Grand Marnier
- 2 T sugar
- tsp. Vanilla
- tsp. Salt
- 2 T butter
Confectioner’s sugar, sliced strawberries and oranges for garnish
The night before, place the slices of bread in a baking pan. Mix the rest of the ingredients except the butter and garnishes together and pour over the bread. Cover and refrigerate overnight. Go off to bed with the partner of your choice and have a very nice time, indeed.
In the morning, wake your lover up in that special way. Roll out of bed for a nice shower and brush your teeth until they sparkle. Head off for the kitchen where your lover has thoughtfully made coffee and have a cup while frying the bread in hot butter until crisp and brown on both sides. Serve hot, sprinkled with the sugar and garnished with the fruit. Go back to bed with your lover and spend a lazy morning with the newspaper.
Serves four, but you aren’t that kinky. Are you? <g>
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