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Eat it Too



Scully is pretty.

Okay, I know, that's not much of a statement. In fact some
people would probably consider it an understatement. Most people
would speak of beauty, of radiance, both of which she's got in
spades. But the thing of it is, most women are beautiful by
virtue of being women. Not many of them are pretty.

In fact, in my entire life, I don't think I've made love to one
single pretty woman. I don't even think I've ever kissed one.
They're a rare species.

Most of the women I've been with have been beautiful by anyone's
standards. Gaunt, stretched bodies, dangerously underfed, tall
enough to reach my lips without standing on toes, any one of
them could have graced the cover of Vogue, walked a runway in
Paris.

Most of them also had faces that looked like the side of a barn.
Or worse yet, like me. Some had my hair color and texture, some
my eyes, some of those poor girls actually had my nose, but
whatever it was all of them had something. All of them looked
like, no *were* me in female form.

I am sure Freud would have something to say about the fact that
every woman I've fucked could have been my sister. But as usual,
he would be wrong.

I wasn't looking for Samantha in these women, and it certainly
wasn't, as some might think, some twisted form of narcissism.
The truth of it is, when you hate yourself, there is no better
form of punishment than sleeping with people that remind you of
yourself. I saw everything that was revolting in myself in these
women and was drawn to it like a pig is drawn to its own shit.

There's also the added benefit of not having to worry about how
and when you are going to get hurt. You know all of your tricks
and you can see the blade before she even takes it out.

It was easy to keep myself together with those women. I couldn't
lose control, lose myself, in all those hard edges and dulled
senses even if I tried to. Falling too hard was never even a
real option.

But see, the thing about Scully is, she's pretty.

Scully has always been pretty. Even when she's tried her
damnedest to cover it up, it shines through with blinding
clarity. The harshest suit in the world cannot conceal the
softness, the sweetness of her body. A clunky, ugly gun cannot
overwhelm the delicate, precise fingers holding it. And her
face, a face to kill for, to die for, to create and destroy a
thousand civilizations for, nothing could ever shroud the
sublime, untouchable divinity of that face. Even that awful
haircut she had a few years back.

She could never be a model, or a movie star. That's just not
what pretty is. Pretty is what artists used to try to capture in
luminous, textured paint. Pretty is what inspires a poet to
write the sonnet to end all sonnets. Pretty is something every
sensitive soul on the face of this senseless planet is
struggling to get even a tiny little taste of. Pretty is
something a big, clumsy oaf wouldn't even want to touch for fear
of breaking it, shattering it into a million little pieces.

And the thing about me is, I am a big, clumsy oaf.

Whatever beauty there is in me, it is because of her.

Maybe if I was something different this would be easy. Maybe I
would be able to say what I want to say right now and it
wouldn't come out all wrong. Maybe I wouldn't be afraid.

Today is my birthday.

It's the first birthday I've had since the day I almost kissed a
pretty woman. Is it really a surprise that I want to spend today
with that woman?

I'm not a big birthday fan generally speaking. I never really
understood what there was to celebrate in another year passing,
another 12 months closer to death. I suppose that sounds pretty
morose. I guess I am a big, clumsy, morose oaf.

But this year I feel like celebrating. I feel like throwing a
party for another year spent with Scully. But I don't know
enough people that I like to throw a party. So I'd really prefer
to just be with her, just sit in her glow and stare at her face
for a few hours.

She remembered last year. Last year when we were celebrating her
life, her continuing existence on the planet. I think she knew
that I wouldn't have made it to that birthday if the sickness
had taken her away. So we were celebrating both of our lives,
our renewed hope in the future.

We went out for drinks, the same place I had taken her for her
last birthday. The bar seemed almost haunted to me. The memories
of her disease lingered there. But we chased the ghosts away. We
talked. And we laughed. I think she flirted with me. She did
that a lot back then. It was nice.

I'd like to do that again.

I don't think this birthday holds the same kind of significance
for her as the last one. I don't think she is as full of wonder
over the fact that we made it through this year. I don't think
the fact that this is the year I tried to kiss her is
particularly meaningful to her.

I don't blame her for that. She has had a lot on her mind
recently. It's only natural, only to be expected that she would
forget. I haven't remembered every single one of hers.

That's a lie.

I haven't let her know that I remembered every single one of
hers. Either way, I understand.

But now, as I watch her walk out of this office, on her way to a
medical conference in Connecticut, I wish that she wasn't so
damned pretty. If she were merely beautiful I might have the
guts to stop her, to tell her that I really want to spend this
day, this night with her, that it would mean more to me than
anything in the world and that *dammit* she should have
remembered my birthday. If she were merely beautiful, it might
not hurt so much to see her go.

xxxxxx

I should feel guilty. Why don't I feel guilty?

I don't like to see him sad. I particularly don't like it when I
am the cause of that sadness. So it goes without saying that I
shouldn't like leaving him there in his office miserable because
of something I've done. Or haven't done as the case may be. I
shouldn't like it, but I do.

There is something incredibly appealing, even sexy, about a
pathetic Mulder. And there is something incredibly exhilarating
about knowing how this somewhat cruel joke I am playing is
affecting him. The sadder he is now, the happier he will be
later.

I hope.

I hope this makes him happy. While pathetic Mulder has his
charms, I've seen way too much of him in this life. Happy Mulder
is someone whose presence I am all too rarely graced with.

Maybe I haven't done my best to bring him out. Sometimes I think
I play too easily, too readily into his diminished view of
himself. Sometimes I think that maybe he doesn't know how happy
he makes *me*.

I want to show him tonight. I want him to meet happy Scully.

His apartment is messy when I arrive. Dirty clothes from his
morning run are strewn across the floor and couch and a bowl
containing rapidly souring milk and the remnants of several
fruit loops is sitting on the table. Cleaning wasn't part of my
plan but this really isn't the atmosphere I was hoping for. And
I have time. I left almost four hours early.

I drop the large bag of surprises that I picked up from my place
on the way here and start tidying up. I don't know what it says
about me that I actually smell the underwear he was jogging in
this morning *on purpose* but I'd rather not think on it too
much.

Once the place is presentable I head for the kitchen. This is
the most important part. I've got to get it right. But really,
how hard could it be?

I take the box of Sarah Lee chocolate cake mix out of my bag and
ponder it for a minute. Water, eggs, milk, mix, cook. It can't
be that hard. If Mulder's domestically dysfunctional mother
could do this then so can I. But the thing is, I've never baked.
Ever.

My mom used to try to enlist my help in her many and varied
baking adventures when I was very young but it didn't take long
for her to realize that mixing sticky mush with a wooden spoon
didn't hold the same  appeal for me as rolling around in the mud
and making my toy soldiers beat the crap out of each other. I
think Charlie was the only one of us she managed to get anywhere
near the kitchen.

My kitchen phobia didn't go away when I went away to college.
Even when I moved into my own apartment. I lived on pretzels and
cheese sandwiches throughout most of my twenties. I've moved up
to salads recently and occasionally a baked potato. Well, not
really baked. Microwaved.

The point is, I've never touched a rolling pin and I don't
really understand the concept of flour but here I am in Mulder's
kitchen about to attempt a full blown birthday cake. And not
just any cake. Mommy's birthday cake.

It's really funny the things you can learn about a person when
he is hypothermic. Strange that I remember him babbling about
this cake as we struggled our way back to that Snowcat being
that I was hypothermic myself at the time. I suppose it stood
out because of what it wasn't. Of all the things we could have
been discussing, the bizarre secrets we had uncovered, the fact
that Mulder had just been given the rapturous first hand vision
of a real life UFO, the fact that the last time I'd seen him we
were a bee sting away from a universe shattering kiss, Mulder
wanted to talk about the cake his mommy used to make for his
birthday.

Chocolate, Sarah Lee, vanilla icing, M&M's on top, he was
insistent. And rambling. Nothing in the world like it he had
assured me. Like an orgasm in your mouth, he said. Yeah he
really said that. I'd like to have that now he said. I wasn't
sure if he was talking orgasm or cake at the time. Not relevant.

I manage to get the ingredients into the bowl with a surprising
lack of disaster and start mixing. As the tedious process
unfolds I consider my wardrobe. If you're gonna go girlie might
as well go all the way. I am presently donning a charming
ensemble of blue sweatpants and a worn out Georgetown T-shirt.
That's for cooking. I do plan on getting changed.

I brought only one outfit in my bag and now I am starting to
wonder if that was a wise decision. I think this is the first
time in my life that I have ever dressed for a man. I mean,
everyone dresses to impress other people to some degree, but I
have never in my life sat in front of my closet, considered
everything I own and asked myself, "what would he want to see me
in?".

I did that today. Because today is Mulder's birthday.

I hope I made the right decision. Thinking about the silky
purple tank top with spaghetti straps and the short little black
skirt, the super-duper-high-fuck-me-hard-and-slow shoes, the
black stockings, the garters (well, you never know) all burning
a hole in my bag as I stand mixing, honestly, it makes me a tad
nervous. I think it might be too much. I think I might look
ridiculous. But unfortunately it's either that or the scum-wear.
Or something of his. That would be beyond ridiculous.

I guess I'm stuck. I just hope he doesn't think I look like a
hooker.

I thought about my hair too. I've never really thought about
Mulder's opinion of my hair. I never really thought Mulder had
an opinion of my hair. Until about three weeks ago. He stopped
by my apartment on a rare weekend afternoon when I hadn't
bothered to blow it dry, or do anything at all with it. It was
just hanging like a loose,  messy mop. The humidity didn't help.
But I swear to God he stood in my doorway gaping like a mental
defect for at least a full minute. "Curly" was all he said but
the smile on his face said it all. He liked it.

And I am going to try like hell to recreate it tonight. Because
tonight is Mulder's birthday.

I'm going to have to take a shower while the cake is baking. A
shower in Mulder's bathroom. Yet another new experience for me
today. I brought my own shampoo. His smells like shoe polish.

As I pour the brown mush into the special cake mold,  fifteen
bucks thanks very much, I really marvel at the fact that I am
here at all. I'm not sure what's gotten into me. This gesture,
it's more than a birthday surprise for a friend. I know that.
Despite his relative oblivion, I am confident that Mulder will
know that. It's permission. It's an invitation. It's, go ahead
Mulder, finish what you started on a hot sticky June afternoon
that seems like a million years ago and simultaneously, like
yesterday. I wonder if I want him to take me up on it or not.

All I know is I am tired of being in limbo. One way or another,
the way he acts tonight will tell me everything I need to know.

xxxxxx

Several hours pass in her absence. I make paper airplanes and
toss them across the room, pretending she is there to scowl as
one grazes the top of her head. I am a very pathetic individual
when she is not around.

Despite the fact that I have absolutely nothing to do, I stay a
little late. The thought of returning to an empty and dark
apartment holds little appeal right now. Maybe I'll take myself
out for a drink. Or twelve.

Just as I have decided that this is the only logical course of
action, there is a knock at the partially opened door. I lift my
head from its present position, resting on the top of my desk,
and almost laugh out loud at the figure standing in front of me.
She must have heard me thinking about her.

"Hard at work Fox?" she asks me with a smirk.

"Diana...ugh...hi." I sit up straight and run my fingers through
my hair, trying to offer some semblance of professionalism.

She walks in and sits at the chair across from me, still
smirking. I wonder if she remembers it's my birthday and that's
why she's here. I really hope not.

"You really miss the X-files don't you Fox?"

"What makes you say that?"

"The fact that you're asleep on your desk surrounded by paper
airplanes was my first clue."

I laugh congenially and don't correct her. I don't need to tell
her it's Scully that I miss. I'm not really interested in
hurting this woman's feelings. That might sound arrogant. It's
not though, just honest. I know Diana still has feelings for me.
I know that given the chance, she would take me back. What she
doesn't realize or understand is that the Fox Mulder she loved,
loves, thinks she loves, no longer exists. He died the day he
met Dana Scully. His soul, his heart, they are gone. They've
been replaced with the newer models, the Mulder models, and they
are owned. No vacancy.

"I suppose since you're so busy you wouldn't have time to do a
favor for an old friend?"

"What do you need?" I ask hoping that one, this favor will take
many hours and keep me from having to return to my apartment at
all tonight and two that this favor will not involve any more
contact with Diana than this conversation.

"A case file. I know you still have some of your old ones and I
need to do some cross referencing so I was wondering if you
could lend it to me."

She tells me the details of the case and what she needs it for
and I realize that the damned thing is at my apartment. And she
needs it right away. That's how we end up in her car. I took the
subway to work this morning like a damned jack-ass. Forty-five
minutes of awkward attempts at conversation in hellish Beltway
traffic is a less appealing way to spend my birthday than alone
in my apartment. I was a fool to feel sorry for myself before.

Every few minutes I realize that she is talking, that she's
asking me some kind of question and I manage to mutter several
non-committal responses. I used to cherish talking to Diana. The
way she would nod enthusiastically at every word out of my
mouth, her eyes gazing at me in adoration like I'm the fucking
oracle or something. Oh yes Fox, that's exactly right. You are
SO smart. That's JUST what I think. How comforting that was, how
safe. And now, I realize, how insufferably boring. I'm about
ready to doze off right here. If Scully were here she would be
keeping me focused. When did I become utterly unable to function
in any kind of social situation without her?

And why the hell isn't she here? I might have forgotten to
mention this but it is my birthday. And then it hits me. I am
bringing a woman, not Scully, to my apartment on my birthday.
This is not right. This is very wrong. And it's not just wrong
because it's not what I want. It's not just wrong because it is
in fact a blatant bastardization of what I want. It's wrong
because I know, I just know that Scully would not be happy about
it. Or maybe I'm just telling myself that she would be upset.
Maybe she wouldn't give a rat's ass. But either way, I feel
strangely and unnervingly guilty.

"So Fox, maybe once we find that file I'll take you out for a
drink?"

Okay, I heard that question. And I am suddenly beyond uneasy. I
wonder how I would feel if I actually wanted to go out for
drinks with her. Would I feel more or less guilty?

I look over at her and she is staring out at the road
impassively as if she's just asked me if I thought it was going
to rain. Doesn't she know? Doesn't she understand? How much more
obvious could it possibly be?

"Um, thanks but I don't think so Diana."

"How come? You got some big plans for your birthday?" She turns
and smiles at me after that and I feel my jaw clench in panic. A
gesture she would not recognize. Scully would see it and laugh.

Goddammit it's not fair. I feel like whining and whimpering and
screaming to the heavens. Why does Diana remember my fucking
birthday? What kind of twisted bullshit fuck up of a divinity
would let her remember and Scully forget? Scully I am sorry but
at moments like this, I cannot believe in your God. Your God
doesn't have this kind of a sense of humor.

"Um, no, not exactly. I'm just...I'm very tired. It's uh...it's
been a long week."

I realize how ridiculous this must sound in light of the state
she found me in at the office but it's the only excuse I can
think of. Anyway, it might be better if it's an obvious lie.
Maybe she'll get the hint.

"I see, well, maybe some other time then?"

Yeah, since we're having so much fun now. I nod in what I hope
passes for a response and thank the God I just debunked that we
are almost at my apartment.

xxxxxx

This is silly. Oh God, this is really fucking silly. What the
hell am I doing? Damn you for being late Mulder. Every stupid
minute that passes I feel more and more like an imbecile. Every
ten seconds for the past ten minutes I've looked down at my
ridiculous attire and flinched. I almost ran to his bedroom and
put on those revolting sweatpants at least three times.

My hair wouldn't do that curly thing. Apparently it can't be
affected but rather has to occur naturally, so I ended up
pulling it back into a bun with some curly tendrils hanging down
the sides. It's different anyway. I've almost ripped it off my
head more times than I can count.

The cake actually looks surprisingly cake like. I haven't
tasted it yet but I've been snagging M & M's off the top for
quite some time. The 38 candles stuck around the perimeter are
starting to burn to their bases as it sits, untouched, on
Mulder's table and as I stand, in the same state, beside it.

I look at my watch yet again and wonder what the hell he could
be doing. There was nothing on his desk when I left. I expected
him early if anything. Not almost an hour late.

Then it occurs to me that I could actually be even more idiotic
than I feel. What if he's not even coming home? It is his
birthday after all. Normal people like to go out and do things
on their birthdays. How arrogant of me to assume that because I
made myself unavailable he would come home and sit alone all
night mourning my absence. He could have gone anywhere.

If he's not home in another hour I am going home. I'll leave the
cake and his present and a note apologizing for playing such a
colossally stupid joke and hope he didn't do anything stupid
himself.

It's freezing in here. Mulder's heat is malfunctioning again and
there are goose bumps forming up and down my exposed arms and
shoulders. Not to mention the lewd effect the temperature has on
my nipples. Good call not wearing a bra, doc. I look like a damn
slut.

God this is so dumb. I feel about sixteen. What am I DOING here?
He's gonna think *this* is the joke. I fucking hate garters.
What the hell was I thinking?

As I start to consider reducing my hour time limit to fifteen
more minutes I hear something outside. Footsteps outside the
door and then the sound of Mulder's key turning in the lock. And
voices. As in more than one. As in two people. As in he is not
alone. It's worse than I considered possible. He is not alone.

xxxxxx

"Weird, I could have sworn I locked this this more..." My keys
drop to the floor along with my jaw as I am met with the most
staggering vision of everything beautiful AND pretty in the
entire world standing in my living room. You remembered. Oh God
Scully, did you ever.

And for a moment I am so rapturously happy and astounded that I
forget.

Our eyes meet, mine filling with tears of joy, and she smiles
shyly and shrugs.

"Happy Birth...day."

She struggles on the last syllable and her eyes leave mine and
fix on a spot somewhere behind me. Her genuine smile falls but
only for a fraction of a second. It is replaced by a phony
imitation. I see her chest, oh man her chest!, rise and fall in
a short deep breath and the phony smile actually starts to look
more like a grimace. Something is wrong. No one else would
notice but something is bothering her. What could it...

Oh. Oh God. No.

"Hello Diana."

"Dana."

No. No. No.

"Fox, I'm going to go freshen up." I feel something cold on my
arm. It's the hand of death.

Scully's eyes follow Diana out of the room but mine never leave
her face. Her face, her pretty sad face, still smiling. I can't
move. Or think. Or talk. This is a fucking nightmare. I think my
jaw is still hanging open but I can't even feel it anymore.

She clears her throat and laughs nervously once. Then she picks
up a large canvas bag sitting next to the table and smiles that
same grizzly smile.

"I'm uh...I'm gonna go," she says between clenched teeth, her
eyes now focused on the spot behind me where Diana just was. She
walks past me towards the door while my mind screams in anguish,
DON'T GO DON'T GO DON'T GO and my body remains planted to the
ground like some kind of zombie.

When I hear the doorknob I turn around violently, realization
and coherence slowly dawning.

"Scu...you...don't....have...to..."

I grab the side of the table for support. I feel like my knees
are going to give at any second.

She pauses only for a moment before opening the door and
mumbling "Yeah, yeah I do."

I remember what being in shock feels like. The dizziness, the
nausea, the racing pulse, the cold, God the cold. It's all
coming back to me because it's happening again. And that's why
it takes me a full minute to run out the door after her.

When I see her standing at the elevator I can actually hear my
heart pounding in my head. And a voice crying at me to do
something. Anything.

"Scully!"

She turns around and crosses her arms over her chest defensively
and smiles sickly. Somehow my legs manage to get me to her. When
I am facing her my arms tingle with the need to reach out and
grab her.

"Scully please. You don't...don't..."

While I stammer she reaches into her shoulder bag and pulls out
a small box. She takes my hand into one of hers and with her
other hand places the box in my palm. And she's still smiling
folks.

"Happy Birthday Mulder. I'll...I'll see you tomorrow okay?"

The elevator doors open and she slips inside. No. No, it's not
okay. It's not fucking-A okay Scully! She waves as the doors
close. Why am I in slow motion while she is in fast-forward?
What could, for all I know, be moments later, I slam my fist
purposelessly against the closed elevator door.

"Scully! Don't go! I need you here!"

Quick save Spooky.

Crap.

When I get back to my apartment Diana is sitting on my couch.
Just sitting on my fucking couch. What the fuck is that? The
sight of her and her genuine smile fill me with such rage and
animosity right now that I have to work at suppressing violence.
I have to remind myself. This isn't her fault. This is me. All
me.

"Everything okay Fox?"

I can't even answer that. Where the hell is her stupid file? I
start rifling through my desk in a frantic attempt to find it
and get this woman the hell out of here.

"I hope Dana isn't too upset. It looks like she went to a lot of
trouble."

There. Top drawer. Thank God.

I turn to her and look at the floor, shoving the folder in her
direction. "Here. You need to go home now."

She stands and takes the file but she doesn't seem to plan on
leaving. "Fox, are you sure you want to be alo...."

"Go Diana. You need to go."

I think she knows me well enough to at least recognize the signs
of an oncoming furious outburst because she does leave then,
blessedly without another word.

Oh Scully. Oh God. What have I done?

I walk aimlessly towards the fire from the candles and standing
at my table I notice the cake for the first time. When I first
came in I was so mesmerized by her, nothing else seemed to
exist. But this was here. She made this. She fucking made this.
For me. I don't even know how the fuck she knew...

I feel tears burning the back of my throat as I attempt to blow
out the candles. Their festivity is making me want to shoot
myself in the head. I can't muster enough breath to extinguish
the flames so I take them one by one between my thumb and
forefinger, numb to whatever pain this act might be inflicting.

I pull out a chair and sit next to the cake. I realize I am
still clutching the small box she handed to me and despite my
better judgment I choose this moment to open it.

It's a watch. A brown leather band and gold timepiece and the
face has a small chip of...something. There is a piece of paper
in the box, a certificate of authenticity. The chip is a piece
of moon rock. I've never seen anything like this in my life. She
must have had it made.

I turn it over and over in my hands unable to do anything but
stare at it in awe. Eventually I notice that there is an
inscription on the back.

M-
I hear this is how they tell time on Reticulan.
-S

Scully, oh Scully. How could I have let you down like this. I
love you so much Scully.

xxxxxx

I never really considered that I might have to wear this absurd
get-up in public. I never thought I would have to endure the
sickening gaze of any man but Mulder in this outfit. But my
sweats are still in his bedroom and there is no way in HELL I'm
going back for them so I'm forced to walk into Tom's, the diner
across the street from Mulder's apartment, looking more like a
ten-dollar hooker than an FBI agent. Of course I am the only
woman in the place and several of the seedy looking male patrons
leer at me as I walk to the back of the room.

I take a booth by a window that faces the building I am
interested in and order a cup of coffee. The pimply faced
teen-aged boy masquerading as a waiter stares openly at my
breasts as he writes coffee down on his little pad.

I should not be doing this. If someone spied on me this way I
would be down right enraged. It's not right. But what the hell
else am I supposed to do? Sit in my apartment all night,
wondering if that...person is still at Mulder's?

I shouldn't care. I should say okay, fine and pack up my toys
and go home. I should let him go if he wants to be gone. They
had something once. Maybe it made him happy. Maybe he could
still be happy. Maybe she could bring him something of the life
he wants and I should just get the hell out of his way already.

If I were a better person I would want him to be happy at any
cost. If I were a better person I wouldn't be spying on him.

God, how in the world am I supposed to face him after making a
fool of myself like that. I've never felt so exposed, so
vulnerable, so...so fucking stupid in my entire life. I should
have known. I should have seen this coming. Hell, I did see it
coming. When I first met her I just knew, that's the kind of
woman who could really help him, relate to him, maybe understand
him in ways I couldn't, maybe not hold him back. I wonder if his
life would be the pit of misery it is if she'd never left and
I'd never come.

I feel a sob building in me but swallow it down with my anger
and my humiliation. I will not let her bring me to tears. Not
her.

My coffee comes and it is too hot but I drink it down anyway,
hoping the burn will sear away the cold inside me. I stare at
the window of his apartment. The shades are drawn but I can see
the light. I am waiting for that light to go out. If it does and
she still hasn't left I will go home.

An image of the two of them kissing in front of my cake pops
into my head and I feel like I might vomit.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, I see her. She walks out the front
door of Mulder's building and down the street towards a car. It
takes a minute for me to realize that she is actually leaving.
And another minute for me to realize that I don't even care.

I am sure he sent her home out of some misplaced sense of guilt.
But that doesn't really change very much. She was with him
tonight and that's really the point. Even if he turned to her in
desperation because he thought I wasn't going to be around, hell
in a way that makes it even worse. It just doesn't matter. I
don't think anything could make this better.

Worst of all, I have no idea what to do now. I could tell
through his blathering and the panic and misery on his face that
Mulder was upset by this whole episode and my automatic instinct
is to go over there and comfort him. How pathetic is that I
wonder?

He's depressed because he hurt me and I want to make *him* feel
better.

No, I will not do that. But for some reason I still can't go
home. I am not sure why I want to extend this miserable night
indefinitely but some masochistic part of me is keeping me in
this run down diner.

I sit there, thinking and trying not to cry, for about twenty
agonizing minutes.

Twenty more.

I wonder what the hell I am waiting for.

Disgusted with myself even further I ask the waiter for my bill.
It's time to go now.

The sound of my cell phone breaks through the relative silence
of Tom's and I snatch it from my bag answering on the second
ring.

"Scully."

There is no response.

"Hello."

Nothing.

"Hello?"

I am about to hang up when I hear a small sniffle. A sniffle I
recognize. I lean against the back of my seat with a resigned
sigh.

"Mulder, what is it?"

"Scully..." His voice sounds broken, cracked. "Scully, I
want...I didn't...she came over here for a file Scully, that's
all..."

I know that he is telling the truth and I feel like a thousand
pounds have been lifted off my shoulders. I feel like crying.

"Mulder, it's none of my business why she was there."

He is completely silent again for a long time.

"Scully...how....how can you say that? It is. I mean I hope
that...I mean...Scully, I'm sorry. I love the watch Scully...and
the cake. Nobody's ever done anything like this for me in my
life and I..." he breaks off into a sob and I listen to him
crying openly and quite noisily for a minute or two.

My heart breaks at the sound. But it gives me something to focus
on besides my own lingering embarrassment.

"Mulder, shhh, it's okay," I whisper soothingly. How did we end
up with this?

"Scully, come back. Please come back. I want to spend my
birthday with you. Please."

"Mulder, I don't know if..."

"Please Scully. Please. I need you here. I...I need you so bad
Scully...I'm so sorry."

He starts hiccuping and sniffling again and I shake my head in
wonder. He is weeping like a small child. Because he hurt me.
Because he needs me. I feel my own eyes start to water.

"Mulder, you didn't do anything wrong."

"I didn't...I didn't know. I should have known. God Scully,
can't you please come back? Come back and eat this cake with me
Scully."

Okay, call me a sucker, I cannot resist the call of the cake. I
still haven't tasted the blessed thing and I am so curious. An
orgasm in your mouth...

"I'll be right over."

xxxxxx

I guess I should probably put some clothes on.

No matter what Scully had in mind when she came here tonight, I
don't think she'd be particularly happy if I answered the door
butt naked.

Why, you might be wondering, have I been talking on the phone
butt naked? Because after I opened Scully's present, I threw up
in the garbage can. Some of it splattered onto my clothes so I
took them off and threw them in the garbage can too. I was in
kind of a state.

I'm much better now.

She's coming back. It's okay. It's all okay now. It's okay. I
think it's okay. Please God let it be okay. Please let it not be
too late. I wipe the moisture from my face with the back of my
hand and try to stop crying. There's no reason to be crying
anymore but for some reason I still am.

Instead of getting dressed I find myself idiotically bouncing a
basketball up and down in front of the cake. I think that I'm
nervous. She's gonna be here in...I look down at the one thing I
*am* wearing, that amazing watch, and note that it's already
been about two minutes since she hung up. So that leaves about
forty-three minutes, add a few for traffic, lights, walking to
and from the elevator, I give it 50 minutes at the most. She's
gonna come back and she's gonna eat this cake with me and then,
then I just have no idea what's gonna happen. No frigging idea.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter at all. She's coming back.
That's all that matters. Thank God she's coming back.

Maybe I should take a shower...

A knock at the door shocks me out of reverie and the basketball
falls at my feet with a thud. Who the hell? If that's fucking
Diana again I don't think anything is gonna stop me from
pitching the postal fit I almost unleashed on her before.

I walk to the door and look through the peephole only to
see...Scully? What the hell? Did she fly here?

"Mulder, are you there?"

Shit. She's getting her keys out of her bag. Shit. Shit!

I should call out and warn her that I'm not decent but that
would be kind of pointless considering that the embarrassing
thing here is not the possibility of her seeing me naked but the
fact that I am naked in the first place.

I look around frantically for something to throw on, anything at
all. Dammit, everything is gone. She must have cleaned on top of
everything else.

I run ridiculously to my bedroom/pile of garbage and grab a pair
of jeans which I manage to button at least halfway before I hear
her in the apartment.

"Mulder, are you okay in he...?"

I turn around and she's standing in the doorway of my bedroom
staring at me blankly. I stare back.

Remember all that stuff about pretty from before? Pretty does
not even begin to do this justice. Don't get me wrong. I love
what Scully usually wears. She always looks amazing. But that's
the way she looks in reality. This is the way she looks in my
fucking dreams. I was so flabbergasted to find her in my
apartment before I didn't even really notice what she was
wearing. Or her hair. God, how could I have missed it? I feel
like sobbing again.

After a couple of minutes I realize that I am gaping at her like
a fucking freak and that she is doing the same thing to me and
it's too strange so I laugh nervously and so does she.

"How did you get here so fast Scully?"

She bites her lip and her eyes dart around the room nervously
before returning to me.

"I um...when you called me I was um...still in the
neighborhood."

"Doing what?" I ask her gently and walk a few steps closer to
her.

"I was having coffee. At um, at Tom's."

I can't imagine Scully walking into that dive of her own accord.
Why would she go there? Unless it was to stay close. Unless it
was to watch me. I feel an inexplicable stirring in my groin at
the thought and move a few more steps towards her.

"Tom's huh? I always knew you were a little spy Scully."

"Mulder I wasn't..."

"Shh, it doesn't matter. Let's have some cake Scully." I put my
arm on her bare upper back and lead her out of the room. Her
skin is so warm. God it's just her skin up there. As she walks
in front of me I find myself staring at the bare back of her
neck. There are a few whisps of hair hanging down over it,
bright red framed against the pale porcelain. I wonder if she
likes being kissed there.

"Thanks for coming back Scully," I whisper and she smiles.

When we get back to the living room I direct her towards the
couch and bring the cake over, placing it directly in front of
us on the table. I grab a couple of plates and a knife from the
kitchen and cut a slice for each of us. She sits with her plate
on her lap without moving and when I pick up a chunk of cake and
stuff it into my mouth she looks at me with startled curiosity.
But I don't really notice it much because the cake is so damn
good. Better than mom's. It's the best thing I've ever tasted in
my life.

xxxxxx

God, please don't let me be drooling. I'm only human, just a
woman. How could I be expected not to drool?

There are a few elements at play here, any one of them on its
own relatively innocuous. The fact that Mulder is wearing
nothing but a pair of jeans with the first three buttons undone
is the first and most powerful element. The shock of seeing me
yet again seems to have rendered him unable to button his pants
all the way. The second element is the fact that he is next to
me with a plate of cake on his bare stomach, laying back against
the cushions with his feet up on the table, stuffing food into
his mouth with his goddamn hands. Of course he has to lick his
fingers. The third element is the fact that he is moaning.

I cross my legs and rub the tops of my thighs together,
desperate for some kind of...something and turn to him with an
attempt at nonchalance.

"No forks Mulder?"

He shakes his head and gives me that "you're retarded" look he's
so good at.

A glob of icing falls from his plate onto the naked skin just
below his belly button and I think that is the last element I
can take. It looks amazingly like a wad of cum and the place it
happened to fall does nothing to alleviate the effect. I try to
look away but my eyes keep traveling back to it.

"Why aren't you eating?" he asks me with his mouth partially
full. "This is soooo good Scully."

"I don't like eating cake with my hands Mulder. Too sticky."

I put my plate on the table and start to stand up. "I'm gonna
get a fork."

He grabs my wrist in a strangely desperate way and pulls me back
to the couch. His hand is sticky. He shakes his head and sits up
a little bit, turning to completely face me.

"You've gotta eat it with your hands Scully. It doesn't taste
good on a fork. The metal ruins the flavor."

Man, you'd think eating this cake was building a freaking
neutron bomb for all the specifics involved.

"Mulder I told you, I don't enjoy eating that way. My hands..."

"Too sticky. I know. Well, how about this then?"

He takes another chunk in his hands and holds it up, very close
to my mouth. Our eyes meet and there is a challenge in his, and
a big grin.

I suppose I have a couple choices here. I could do what normal
Scully would do, ignore what he just said entirely and go get
that fork. I could do what feisty Scully would do and hit him
back with another suggestive suggestion that makes him forget
what he said in the first place. Or, I could be happy Scully.
That was the point of tonight after all. Mulder, meet happy
Scully.

Happy Scully smiles that happy smile and takes his wrist in her
hands, wraps her lips around the chocolate blob covered in white
mush and sucks it into her mouth, her eyes closing in a
surprising show of flavor appreciation, moaning ever so quietly,
chewing, swallowing, her tongue darts out to clean his fingers
and as she starts to lick him her eyes open again.

I almost start laughing when I see the combination of
astonishment and hunger on his face. I decide to go even further
and take his long, slender middle finger between my lips and
suck the remaining chocolate from it. His own eyes slip shut and
he sucks in a shaky breath as I slide down the finger, taking
him into my mouth all the way, and continue to suck lightly.

Oh yeah, this is an orgasm in your mouth all right. The cake is
actually pretty good too.

When I pull back his finger is moist with saliva and we are
just staring at each other again. He is blushing, actually
blushing, and I think I must be too. I can't believe I just
sucked Mulder's finger.

I don't think he can believe it either because for once he is at
a total loss for words. He looks back and forth between his
finger and my face a couple of times and I look down at my lap,
suddenly very self conscious.

"So..." he stops and clears his throat and I wait for the
obnoxious comment I know to be forthcoming. He never finishes
though, just starts eating the cake again.

"You were right Mulder. It's good cake."

He nods enthusiastically and chews. Then he stops moving all the
sudden and a small smile crosses his lips. He turns his face
towards me and mumbles through a mouthful of chocolate, "You're
pretty."

I think maybe now we are equally shocked. I try to keep my jaw
hinged so that I don't look like some kind of mutant who's never
received a compliment in her life but it falls to the floor
anyway. I take a deep breath and look away, unsure how to
respond to that. It's what I wanted him to think isn't it? Isn't
that why I'm dressed this way? I guess I just didn't think he'd
actually say it, that I'd actually have to say something back.
Why did he say it anyway? Is it that pathetically obvious that I
need to hear it?

"Scully? Why do you look so surprised?" He puts his plate on the
table and turns to completely face me again. He looks very
serious all the sudden.

"I'm just...not used to hearing that from you."

"Oh." He rests his arm on the back of the couch behind us and
lifts his leg so that his knee is resting on the couch between
us, his legs spread in front of me, buttons still undone, icing
still on his torso and he's hard. I can see his erection
straining against the left side of his jeans. I bite down on my
lip and look away. "I'm sorry about that Scully. I should have
told you a long time ago."

"That's okay."

And it is. It's not like I've gone out of my way to tell him
that he's the most beautiful man I've ever laid eyes on.

"Thanks Mulder." My eyes drift back towards his lower region of
their own accord. I feel his hand under my chin lifting my face
to meet his gaze.

"You don't have to thank me Scully. It's the truth. Isn't that
what we're looking for anyway?"

"Did you love her Mulder?"

Oh God. Why did I say that? What the hell is wrong with me? I
pull back from his hand and look down again, totally mortified.

"I didn't know what that meant back then. I thought it meant
being comfortable, being safe, knowing what to expect. I thought
it was possible to love someone and keep something of yourself
separate, apart from that. But that's not what it is." He pauses
and touches my chin again. I am flooded with a strange mixture
of relief, embarrassment and excitement when he continues, "Is
it Scully?"

"No," I whisper, shaking my head. "No it's not."

"Good. I thought maybe I was just crazy," he says with humor,
settling back against the cushions.

"That's another issue for another day Mulder."

He smirks and I look at the stupid icing again. I can't fucking
stand it anymore. If he doesn't get rid of it I'm gonna snap.

"Mulder, you've got a big blob of icing on your stomach."

He looks at me curiously and I point towards it. His eyes lower
and rise and his tongue darts out to moisten his lips. His mouth
opens and then closes as if he was going to say something and
changed his mind. Then he changes it again.

"You want it Scully?"

xxxxxx

I must be fucking insane. She's gonna do it. I just know she is.
The way she's acting tonight, she's gonna fucking do it. I can
see the conflict in her features. She's afraid, a little
surprised, but mostly...mostly she just wants it.

I try to prepare myself mentally for the sensation, to imagine
what it's going to feel like and what the proper response from
me would be, but nothing could ever be adequate preparation for
this. She looks at me and with a deep breath, bends at the
waist, rests her hand on the inside of my thigh and bows her
head. From up here it looks like...well nevermind what it looks
like.

And then suddenly I feel it, the heat of her tongue against that
spot, the last stop on my torso before the serious nether
regions begin, and it's been so damned long since I've even been
touched there by a hand other than my own that I forgot what a
fucking sensitive place it is. She might as well be licking my
cock because I swear to God, it feels the same. I feel like
moaning, like throwing my head back and screaming but I just sit
there watching her without a sound as every muscle in my body
quivers like jello.

She does a thorough job as one would expect from a woman of
science, laving my skin clean long after the initial blob is
gone and when she finally stops, raises her head, I do let
myself fall back against the cushions with a quiet sigh.

"I think it's gone," she whispers and I notice that her voice is
scratchy and raw. Her skin is bright red. Even the skin on her
shoulders, her chest, her neck, all of which is exposed to me
right now. God why did I never notice all the freckles on her
chest? There's one right in the middle, right above the dip in
her cleavage, in the shape of a heart.

"Scully, I think you've got a little bit on you there."

"Hmmm? Where?"

I reach over to the table and dip my finger in the icing on my
cake. Slowly, shaking the entire time, I bring my finger to that
spot with the little heart freckle and deposit a sticky, white
drop over it.

"Right there."

She looks down and then up and smiles.

"That's a very good place Mulder."

Oh Scully, that is the understatement of the universe.

I lean in towards her and run my tongue over the sweetness.
Scully has less interest in observation and lets herself moan
and grab the back of my head right away. Her eyes slip shut and
her mouth opens as her nails dig into my scalp.

This is so fucking cool. I can't even believe this shit. I'm
eating vanilla icing off Scully's chest. The reality of my
situation makes me suddenly very dizzy and I moan myself.

When the icing is gone and I've licked her clean and then some I
lift my head and look at her face. Her hands are still in my
hair and our heads are so close, just a few inches from kissing.
We are both breathing very heavily. I want to kiss her. I could
kiss her. I should kiss her. But even more than that, I want to
play more. I want her to tease me more. I want to tease her. I
want this to go on forever. Once I kiss her, it will be over. We
will be rutting on the floor like animals in a matter of
moments. Not that that's a bad thing. But the more of this we
have, the better that rutting will be.

She pulls back first and I'm glad. She wants it like this too.

"Gosh Mulder, we really did make a mess. Look, there's some more
on you."

She chooses the spot where the top of my shoulder meets my neck,
another damn fine choice. I'm so glad I didn't have time to put
a shirt on before. This time, when she rises to her knees and
nips at my skin I let myself relax and enjoy it. I let myself
groan contentedly.

My next choice is the inside of her left elbow. I think this
pleases her. I lift her arm to my mouth like a drumstick and
suckle that place for an eternity.

We don't even bother talking anymore. We just sit here, going
back and forth, putting icing on each other and licking it off.
It's like a surreal, beautiful dream.

After sucking on my nipple for a few glorious minutes and almost
causing me to abandon the whole tease plan, well honestly,
almost causing me to come in my pants right here on the couch,
she pulls back and smiles mischievously.

"Mulder, I think I've got some more on me that you missed."

She crosses her legs toward me and takes some icing in one hand
and with the other slowly starts sliding her skirt up over her
thigh. Oh my God. This is it. She's gonna take off her panty
hose and her underwear and put it...oh God. Oh my God. I start
to sweat noticeably and that shaking thing comes back. Maybe I'm
not ready for this after all.

But then, the skirt slides up a little more and it's just skin
under there. Just Scully's thigh. And a little black...oh crap.
She's wearing fucking garters. Fucking crap.

She smears the icing on her upper, inner thigh. Oh well, we were
gonna run out of icing pretty soon anyway.

xxxxxx

Oops. I think I might have overdone it just a little. Mulder
looks like he just caught a bad case of malaria. But he's
licking my thigh. God almighty he's licking my thigh. I think
this little game is gonna be over real soon. When he's gotten
rid of every last trace of icing he stays in position, pulling
my skin into his mouth and sucking, moaning. I feel the breath
coming from his nose in little pants, brushing my leg, his hands
digging into the couch, into me. His whole body is shaking.

I want to uncross my legs, to take his head between them and
make him taste me. He wants that too. He is pushing at my calf,
trying to get me to open for him, to let him inside. I want it
but not yet. Not just yet. Because after all, it is *Mulder's*
birthday.

Exhibiting an extraordinary bit of will power I push him back.

"Sorry...I...sorry..." he breathes out, wiping a bit of sweat
from his brow and I smile.

"Sorry?"

"I guess I got a little carried away."

"No Mulder, it's okay. I like it. I just didn't want to miss the
last bit of icing you've got on you there."

His eyes widen and he collapses against the back of the couch. I
can see the little mouse running through the little maze in his
big old brain, trying to find the cheese.

"Not my feet Scully."

Yeah right. I've got a lot of interest in that. I shake my head
and stand up, gathering a huge collection of icing in my hand
and pushing the table away from the couch. I move to stand in
front of him and he looks up at me and swallows fearfully.

When I kneel between his conveniently open legs he sits up and
his eyes practically pop out of his head like in the cartoons.

"Scu..hu..lee..."

"Shh," I order, and move my empty hand towards the first
buttoned button on his fly. I can't express in words how
satisfying it is to pop that button open. The next, even more
so. He continues to gape, open mouthed as I finish the task at
hand and as I reach over to the side and pull out his cock the
gape turns to a grimace and then to a gasp.

"What a messy birthday boy you are," I whisper, feeling only
slightly silly but certainly not silly enough to stop, as I
slather the white, sticky stuff up and down his shaft. "You got
it everywhere."

He makes a pathetic squeaking, wheezing sound and collapses
against the cushions again.

Oh Mulder, you are a beautiful beautiful man. I would be kidding
myself to say this was just a birthday present for you. I'll
consider this my Halloween gift.

I run my tongue slowly upwards, starting at the base and moving
all the way to the tip in one long stroke. Then I stop, move to
the bottom and do it again. The icing was slightly cool when I
put it on him but it's starting to almost melt from the heat of
his flesh.

He's breathing as fast as he might after a ten mile run and his
hands are clenched into fists on his thighs. I look up at his
face and he is looking right back at me, studying me, ever the
investigator.

I take some more vanilla with my tongue, my eyes never leaving
his. His cock twitches under my mouth and I can tell he is
almost suffering from the slow, torturous way I am doing this.
It's probably taking everything in him not to grab my head and
slam it down.

I swirl my tongue around the engorged, throbbing head, lifting
the last of the icing and his hand does reach for my head. Not
to guide though. He squeezes the bun that is still holding my
hair together with his fist and works his fingers inside of it.

He breathes out something that sounds like "homanuughh" which
may or may not be an actual word.

In one swift movement I take him completely inside, every last
inch and his whole body jerks violently towards me with a grunt.
I almost gag reflexively when he presses deep into my throat but
I manage to suppress it and relax the muscles.

I start to bob slowly up and down on him and his hand tightens
on my head. He's moaning non stop now with increasing volume.
Good. It sounds so good.

"Scuh...huh...oh...gotta...ugh..."

I slide one hand underneath him, taking hold of his balls and
stroking them lightly as I increase the speed of my movements. I
place my other hand on his thigh, over his hand. He clutches at
my fingers so tight it hurts. My knees are starting to hurt a
little too. Oh God. I'm actually on my knees. I don't think I've
ever done this on my knees. It always seemed degrading somehow.
Not this time. I have so much control over this situation right
now it's laughable. Besides, it IS his birthday.

I feel him expand and throb heavily in my mouth and move a
little bit faster. Randomly I wonder if Mulder's apartment is
bugged right now. I get a twisted and bizarre picture of Cancer
Man and his cronies listening to a tape consisting of nothing
but strange slurping noises and Mulder shouting incoherently.
They might think one of those blood suckers got him.

"Scully...Scu-lee...yeahyeahyeah....oh no...no..." I feel him
pulling at my hair, trying to move backwards, away from me.
"Sto-hughp, gotta st...stop."

I don't want to stop. I want to finish. I want him to come in my
mouth. I don't even care about the throbbing between my own
legs. But when he calls out, "Scully stop it!" and he sounds
like he's about to cry I don't really have much of a choice.

I pull away reluctantly and before I know what's happening he is
down on the floor with me sliding his legs between my own,
slipping under me and grabbing hold of me. I am straddling his
lap, my skirt now bunched all the way up to my crotch and he is
sitting with his back against the back of the couch.

I expect him to kiss me, or to pull my panties off and plop me
down on his dick but he does neither. He wraps his arms around
my waist and pulls me against him, hugging me tight and burying
his nose in my neck. I feel hot tears burning my skin. We just
sit there like that for a few minutes, rocking slowly, holding
each other.

Soon enough though I feel his hands under my flimsy tank top,
running over my bare back and he starts kissing my neck, licking
behind my ear. I run my own tongue along his salty sweet skin
and swirl it around the inside of his ear which causes him to
moan appreciatively and squeeze me tighter. I push myself down,
grinding against him and make my own appreciative sound. All
that remains between us is my underwear and he feels so good
against me.

He starts trailing kisses down my neck and over the part of my
chest that's exposed. I lean backwards and arch my chest towards
him in a hopefully encouraging gesture. His hands come around
from behind me and slip under the front of my shirt, over my
stomach and slowly edging up. Soon his fingers have found my
breasts under the shirt and he quirks an eyebrow at me
questioningly. Gimme a break.  Like I'm gonna refuse this. I
just smile and press myself  further into his hands.

There's something incredibly exciting about seeing his huge
hands roaming around inside my little skimpy tank top. He seems
to think so too. He's staring at my chest with unwavering
concentration as he strokes and molds me in his palms causing me
to whimper.

"I like this shirt," he mumbles and I am finally glad I wore it.
"How come you don't wear it more often?"

Well Mulder, it's not exactly bureau policy to cross examine a
witness in a silk camisole top with no bra, I think but can't
seem to say because I am lost in his fingers squeezing and
pulling at my nipples. All I can do is laugh and moan some more.

"Can I take it off now?"

I don't know who said that but we work together and the scrap of
material flutters to the floor.

xxxxxx

I used to think I was kind of good in bed. Decent, ya know, not
a love god or anything but good enough. I mean I never really
worried about it. I'm a little worried right now. I know I
shouldn't be. I know that our feelings will guide us through
this, that it will be as natural as breathing but see, when I
get excited I breathe kinda fast. And seeing Scully practically
naked on my lap is pretty damned exciting to say the very least.

I wanna make this good for her. Not good, amazing,
unforgettable, earth-shattering, AWE-inspiring. I want her to
get glassy eyed and over stimulated just thinking about this
night. This isn't just for my ego's sake. Honestly. I want to do
for her what she's already done for me tonight because she
deserves the very best that I am capable of giving. Which isn't
gonna be a hell of a lot if she doesn't get off my lap right
now.

I move my hands from her extraordinary chest and down to cup her
amazingly round little bottom. She's so damned curvy and soft,
perfect hourglass figure in miniature. I try to pry her up a
little bit to alleviate some of the dangerously pleasant
friction between our crotches but she takes this as an
invitation to squirm against me making matters a hundred times
worse. Then she starts running her hands over my shoulders and
kissing my neck again and I have to say something before it's
too late.

Scully slow down. Nope, couldn't quite manage that one. Let's
try something else.

"M...mmove uhhp."

"Hmm? Wha?"

I pull her ass up a little more and she finally gets the
picture. Thank you Jesus. I might make it after all.

She rises up to her knees and I kiss and lick my way down to her
breasts, taking them into my mouth one at a time as I knead her
ass in my fingers. She presses herself against my chest which is
a much more tenable situation for me. I suck on her voraciously
and she clutches my hair, pulling on it and moaning. God she
moans a lot. And every time she does it sends a pool of warmth
through my entire body.

I suck in a breath of air through my nose, my mouth being
otherwise happily occupied, and notice for the first time that I
can actually smell her. Not just her usual Scully scent but
*her*. Her arousal, her desire, her goddamn cunt. I sniff the
air again, avidly seeking out the aroma this time and reach one
tentative finger around from behind, down the center of her ass
and between her legs. She makes a sound I've never heard from
her, or any woman really. Something like a growl. I can feel the
heat of her wetness through her panties and I bring a couple
more fingers down to join the party. I rub the whole area with
my hand in a gentle circle and she presses down into me
demandingly. Gotta love a woman who knows what she wants.

I take my hand away and with both hands slip under the material
of her underwear. I'm astounded at how soft her butt actually
is. It's like a baby's bottom. But she's not a baby thank God.
She's a woman. My woman. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

I continue massaging her backside with one hand as I use the
other one to slide over her folds and tease her clit. I
honestly cannot believe how wet she is. I'm completely  bowled
over. I push her further upwards and run my tongue  down over
her solid abs, to the side where her waist curves  in
delicately. She shakes and giggles when I lick here there.

"Ticklish?"

"Hmmm...mmhmm...." She stops giggling and goes back to those
other amazing noises when I lift her a little higher and stop
tickling her. When I flick my tongue into her belly button she
gasps and arches towards me. She's practically standing now and
her body is starting to tremble.

"Mul-deeerr," she purrs as I continue to lick at her belly and
play with her clit. Yeah that's right. Purrs. I made Dana Scully
*purr* my fucking name. Happy fucking birthday. Jesus.

No more fucking around. I wanna make her *scream* my name now. I
push her up a little more and kiss my way down that spot just
below her belly button. I think I'll refer to that as the magic
spot from now on. Then I slide down a little bit on the floor
and there I am, my face between her legs. Halleluhia, praise the
Lord. I press my entire face against her, breathing in nothing
but that gorgeous smell for a moment. Then I try to pull her
panties down from the inside and realize that we have a tiny
little problem here. Those garters are sexy as hell but they're
also pretty damned irritating to remove. So I've heard anyway.
Personally, I've never had the pleasure. Honestly I don't really
know how to get them off. But I'm gonna have to learn real fast
if I want to get her panties off. Unless...

Okay, here it is, my big attempt at manliness. Born of
desperation and impatience but manliness nonetheless. I hope she
doesn't kill me. Praying for the preservation of my life I reach
up under the garter belt and the scrap of a skirt that is now
more like another belt than anything else and with both hands,
pull towards myself really really hard. And nothing happens.
Well not nothing.

"Ow! Mulder what are you..." she looks down at me and snorts
upon realizing what I am *trying* to do. "Smooth move Don Juan."

I smile and shrug with my best attempt at boyish charm,  hoping
it will cause her to give me a hand. She smiles  back and
starts some elaborate process which eventually somehow causes
the garters to separate from the garter belt and fall down over
her thighs. The stockings manage to stay up which makes me
pretty happy and best of all, when I pull at her panties they
slide down over her legs and she steps out of them and kicks
them to the side. She's still got those fucking amazing shoes
on. Good thing too. If she didn't I might have to sit on the
couch to reach her.

Man she has got one beautiful...thing. Real mature word for it I
know. I just can't think of adequate nouns right now. I can't
think of anything right now except tasting her.

Which I do. Finally. My hands keep up their work on her behind
and one errant finger manages to sneak inside her, joyfully
plunging in and out as I lick her, hopefully, senseless. I was
right about this being perfectly natural. I don't even have to
think about what I am doing, how it is making her feel. I just
know. And not just because she is gyrating wildly in my face,
pulling hunks of my hair out, and humming like my noisy, old
refrigerator. It's more than that. I just know what to do. I
know her body instinctually. I know when to press hard, when to
flick lightly, when to move in slow, wide circles and when to
concentrate on one small spot and work it like crazy.

I guess I would have been more in keeping with the evening's
theme if I had spread icing all over her before I started this
but I'm really kind of glad I forgot. I would hate to have the
taste of her disrupted in any way.

"Mmm...Mulderrrrr," she purrs again and I notice that she's
bouncing on her heels. Practically jumping up and down. I'm
making her jump up and down!

I have to say I feel like jumping up and down myself. I'm also
starting to feel an awfully lot like touching myself. I suppress
the urge though because I know how little it would take. In fact
if I make her come like this that might be enough in itself. Now
that really would be something. No contact orgasm. Didn't think
that was possible except maybe in my sleep. But it's starting to
feel like a very real possibility.

Suddenly she pulls back away from my mouth and grabs my
shoulders.

"Scully? You okay?"

"I...yeah, yeah. I'm...I'm gonna come Mulder."

"Is that...a problem?"

"I wanna come with you inside me."

Before I can even respond to that wet dream of a statement she
kneels down and impales herself on my twitching cock. And then
she screams. Yes! I feel her around me, pulling and pulsating
and the combination of this and the sight of her body wracked by
orgasm and her face in the throes of rapture are enough for me.
But miraculously I hold back. I want to be able to watch this. I
want to give her orgasm my undivided attention.

xxxxxx

Wow. Oh God. Wow.

I wonder if I will ever recover from this. I wonder what day it
is, what planet I am on. All I know is that Mulder is
everywhere. His arms are tight around me, his shoulder is under
my mouth catching my ragged breath, his chest is in front of me
and his knees are raised behind me, cradling me, his mouth is
against my ear, whispering words that I don't understand, and
his cock is inside me, everywhere.

More detailed impressions slowly creep through. The feel of the
buttons on his jeans scraping my thighs, the stubble on his
cheek scraping my neck, the smell of his skin, the sweat, the
sex. Oh God, we're having sex.

Well we're supposed to be anyway. I'm supposed to be fucking him
but I'm just lying here like a dead animal. I can feel his heart
racing under mine and his words are starting to make sense.
Something about how pretty I am again. And beautiful and
stunning and gorgeous and...well, and so on. And then something
that sounds a lot like I love you but I can't be completely
sure. Doesn't matter. I know that much already.

I make an attempt at raising my head and surprisingly I can do
it without passing out. I look at him and he is grinning back at
me looking goofy as hell.

"Mulder..."

"Scully."

"Mmm...cake..." I lean languidly against his legs and reach
behind us. I pick up a small piece of the orgasm cake and bring
it to his lips as I start to move slowly but surely on his lap.
He takes a small bite out of my hand and moans as he chews. God
that man is sexy when he eats. The fact that I'm riding his cock
only enhances the effect.

He takes another bite, a huge one this time, taking the whole
piece into his mouth and his hands clutch tightly on my waist. I
trace his lips with my fingers as he chews.

"Mulder you feel so good. I can't even believe how good..." I
break off into a groan when he sucks my fingers into his mouth.
There's still some icing on them. I pull them out before he can
get rid of it all and smear it over his lips. Then I wrap my
arms around his neck and lean in to lick it off.

When it's gone he sucks my tongue into his mouth and so begins
our very first kiss. And what a kiss it is. Of all the ways I
imagined it, I never ever thought it would be like this. First
of all I always thought we would kiss *before* we started
fucking but hey, Mulder and I aren't the most conventional
couple to hit the sheets. Well, the floor. I also never thought
it would be so insanely passionate and so simultaneously gentle
and sweet. I kind of figured one or the other. Somehow we manage
both.

I keep my eyes open. Watching him kiss me like this is just
completely mind blowing. He is so very beautiful. The sounds he
is making into my mouth are vibrating through my entire body,
spreading their heat.

His hands tighten even more around my waist and he starts moving
under me, jerking up towards me. I meet his rhythm and we start
moving faster, harder.

I can't breath. I pull back from his mouth and lean against his
legs again, letting him take the lead completely, letting him
lift me up and slam me back down onto him over and over. And I
get to watch. The muscles in his arms bulge with the effort and
his face contorts into the most erotic masque of pleasure and
physical exertion I've ever seen. His head rolls back and forth
against the back of the couch and his eyes roll back into their
sockets.

He is chanting. Chanting my name with every movement. I run my
hands possessively over his chest and, as a wave of ecstasy
starts building in me, claw at him with my nails, marking him.
This belongs to me. Property of Dana Scully. Beware of rabid
dog. Will attack if provoked.

"Come for me Mulder, lemme see you come," I whisper to him. God
how I want that. I want to see it, to hear it, to feel it, smell
it. I wanted to taste it but I guess that'll have to wait.

"Mmmooohh...Scuh...ugh...ugh..." Soon, all he seems capable of
enunciating is ugh over and over and he is making me fuck him so
hard that it's starting to hurt a little but I don't care
because it's making him feel so good. I run my fingers over his
lips again and he takes them into his mouth, sucking and biting.
I feel his legs shaking behind me and his hands are digging into
my skin.

I feel him pounding inside me and the heat of his explosion
fills every crevice of my body. When he comes he calls,
"Scuuualloouu". Well, that's what it sounds like anyway because
my fingers are still in his mouth. But I think I know what he
meant.

xxxxxx

I finally took my jeans off. Big move I know. After a few
recovery moments Scully and I managed to crawl back onto the
couch and lay down. After a few more minutes we decided we'd be
a hell of a lot more comfortable completely naked. She showed me
how to get a whole garter belt off and I showed her that I
actually have legs under there. Her shoes are in good condition
but those stockings have runs the size of Monatana. We'll have
to buy her some new ones.

All the cake is gone and we are snuggled up under my blanket. I
am trying to figure out how to debun her hair and she is talking
about what we should eat next. She seems to be leaning towards
ordering a pizza. I have to say I've never enjoyed eating so
much in my life. This cake certainly wasn't as much fun when mom
made it.

"So what are you gonna make for Thanksgiving Scully?" I ask,
hoping this ritual becomes a holiday tradition.

"Mulder I've got a confession to make," she says into my chest.
"I hate cooking."

"Really?"

She nods and I hug her and bury my nose in my hair. She hates
cooking. But she did it for me. Because it's my birthday.

You know what? Pretty just doesn't cut it anymore. I've gotta
think of a new adjective. I'm not even sure where to start at
the moment. I think I might have to invent a word. Or maybe
there is one already. Scully. That's the only descriptor I need.
It means everything that there is. That sunset is really Scully.
That painting sure is Scully. Wow, that orgasm was totally
Scully. Yeah I think that will do.

THE END :)

Lemme know if this made any of y'all feel better about the fowl
one!

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