DISCLAIMER: The characters in this piece of fiction belong to CC, 10-13, and FOX, who'd all probably have a conniption if they knew what these characters are about to do. Well, maybe not FOX. (After all, they air MELROSE PLACE). No infringement is intended. This is the first of yet another series I'm working on--the LOVERS series. It is a companion piece to my 12 DEGREES OF SEPARATION series in that the LOVERS stories deal with the physical aspect of Scully and Mulder's marriage. (Oops, sorry if I just ruined the end of 12 DEGREES for those of you who haven't read it). I'm rating these R for sexual situations. They're not really NC-17, but if you're overly sensitive to frank and loving depiction and discussion of married sex and sexuality, be warned. LOVERS "Early in the Morning" by Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com As Adam early in the morning, Walking forth from the bower refresh'd with sleep, Behold me where I pass, hear my voice, approach, Touch me, touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass, Be not afraid of my body. - Walt Whitman * * * * * "Mulder, I--" Dana Scully stopped short in the bedroom doorway. She felt a little blossom of heat unfold across her cheeks and throat as she quickly looked away from Fox Mulder's naked body. "I'm sorry." Fox Mulder stopped in the middle of grabbing a pillow to cover himself. He let the pillow drop back onto the bed. "Why?" He sounded a little sheepish himself. Scully looked up, chuckling self-consciously. "I don't know. I mean, I've seen you naked before...although you weren't conscious at the time." A smile curled Mulder's lips as he turned to face her. "We can do this legally now, you know. And I can even be awake for it." "Well, I hope so!" She made herself meet his teasing gaze, deeply regretting the red head's complexion that betrayed her lack of sophistication. He was right, of course. They had been married for almost 24 hours now, the greater portion of which they had spent in bed--or on the couch, or in the floor, or in the shower--getting to know each other's bodies in the most intimate way possible. Or so she'd thought until now. Looking at her husband when his body was relaxed and at rest, seeing the morning sunlight bathe him with gold and rose, turning him into a living sculpture--this was more intimate even than sex. He beckoned her with his hand, and she crossed the room to stand before him. "Do you want to touch me, Scully?" She felt like a school girl, hesitant and afraid, as she lifted her hand and pressed her palm against his breastbone. His heart thudded strongly beneath her fingers. Slowly, she smoothed her hand over the crisp hairs of his chest still damp from his shower, traced the relaxed muscles beneath his hot, satiny skin. She lightly circled his nipple, her fingers gentle and teasing, and he released a small, shuddery sigh. She felt a surge of power. Her mere touch could do this to him, make him tremble, grow taut with desire, harden with need. She lifted her other hand and stroked gently over the curving muscles of his shoulder, hesitating for a moment as her fingers found the shiny scar tissue where a bullet from her own gun had torn his flesh. Tears sprang to her eyes, unhindered by the logical part of her mind which reminded her of the necessity of her action. All that mattered was that she'd hurt him, no matter how rational the reason. She bent forward and pressed her lips against the scar. The skin beneath her mouth rippled, and she felt his muscles bunch as he lifted his hands to draw her face up to his. He kissed her, a long, slow, thorough exploration of her mouth with his. His tongue was alternately firm and gentle, probing, tasting, teasing. Her limbs grew liquid, shifting and melting until she enveloped him, his hard heat separated from her moist softness by the thin cotton of her bathrobe. He took one of her hands in his and drew it between them, pressing her fingertips against his abdomen. "Touch me, Scully," he murmured against her lips. She flattened her palm against his body, tracing the bony ridges of his ribs and the hard muscles of his abdomen. She followed the path of dark hair that bristled down his stomach to his groin, fingers brushing lightly across his flesh, seeking and receiving his soft murmurs of encouragement. She closed her hand around him, and he released a low, guttural groan. Stroking lightly, she lifted her head to look into his eyes, to watch need overtake his expression. His eyes darkened, his lips parted to release a soft, shaking sigh. She'd never had a man look at her this way, adoration mingling with hunger in his dark eyes. A little shiver darted down her spine, and her hand trembled. To her surprise, Mulder gently separated himself from her. "I'm sorry, Scully. Give me a minute." He moved a few feet away, his back to her. She stared at him, not sure whether she should feel hurt by his sudden, unexpected withdrawal. "What's wrong?" He turned back to her. "Nothing's wrong, Scully. I just--I wanted--" He made a helpless little gesture with one hand. "What did you want?" she asked. "I want you to know that you can touch me without it having to lead to sex." Her brow creased slightly. "You don't want to make love?" He chuckled. "I never said THAT." "Then what?" He pulled a pair of gray jersey boxer shorts from the top drawer of his bureau and put them on. Scully frowned, realizing that he was serious--they weren't going to make love this morning if he had a say in the matter. "Did I do something wrong, Mulder?" He jerked his head around to look at her. "Oh, no, Scully, of course not!" He held out his hand to her, drawing her toward the bed to sit next to him. He held her close, his arm around her shoulder. "I just--when you came in here, you were embarrassed to see me naked, and I have to admit, my first instinct was to run for cover, too. I suppose that's natural--we've both led pretty solitary lives for a long time. But I don't want you to think that you have to look away. And I want you to know that if you just need to be touched and held, without it leading to anything more intense, that's all right, too." She looked up into his serious, gentle face, tears pricking her eyes. He really could be the sweetest man in the world sometimes. "I want you to trust me here in the bedroom as much as you trust me in the office and out in the field," he said. She smiled at him. "I do trust you, Mulder. You're a wonderful lover and an even better friend. When I wake up to find you there in bed next to me, I have to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming." He slipped his hand down her back and tweaked her buttocks. "Are you sure you're awake now, Scully?" She slipped her hand into his lap and gently squeezed, smiling at his soft gasp. "Yes. And so are you, apparently." She slanted her eyes at him. "You know, Mulder, we don't have to meet Mom for another hour and a half...." He arched his eyebrows. "What are you suggesting, Agent Scully?" "Mulder, there are times when a woman just wants to be held...and then there are times like these." She gave him another little squeeze. "Am I making myself clear?" When he finally found enough breath to answer, he nodded. "Perfectly." The End DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully and all within belong, not to me, but to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, and the Fox Network. Their appearance in this piece of fiction is by no means meant as any sort of copyright infringement. This is another installment of my LOVERS series, which is an offshoot of my 12 DEGREES series. As is the nature of this set of stories, this one is rated R for adult subject matter, sexual situations and language. Mulder and Scully romance ahead, to say the very least. You have been warned. LOVERS "While She Lies Sleeping" by Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com Sleep is a reconciling, A rest that peace begets, Doth not the sun rise smiling When fair at even he sets? Rest you then, rest, sad eyes, Melt not in weeping, While she lies sleeping, Softly, now softly lies Sleeping. - Anonymous * * * * * Putting down the file, Fox Mulder glanced across the room at his wife. And his heart froze. She lay still on the sofa, her face pale and mask-like, and for a second he was absolutely certain she was dead. His heart lurched into hyperdrive, adrenaline shooting through his system and launching him from the chair in front of the computer to Scully's side. Images clouded his vision, weaving and overlapping until he wasn't sure what constituted memory and what constituted reality. Pale, bloodless lips...tubes and wires...fading...dying.... Crouching by the sofa, he drew a shaky breath and willed himself to calm down. Look at her, Mulder. She's breathing. She's fine. She's just sleeping. He sat back on his heels, feeling relieved and foolish at the same time. Sometimes he recognized within himself that fear shared by veterans of war, the sense that chaos lay just beneath the calm, crouched like a tiger waiting for its prey to relax its guard. Ever since the very first time she had been taken from him and then returned, Mulder had lived in constant fear that he would turn around to find her gone again. As the adrenaline slowly receded, he saw what his panic had hidden from view. The soft bloom of color in her cheeks, the slight flutter of her eyelids as she dreamed, the tiny curve of a smile on her pink lips. He closed his eyes and lifted something that might have been a prayer--if he were inclined to such things. Then he opened his eyes and bent a little closer, his face right over hers. A little puff of breath escaped her lips to kiss his. Something at his very core spasmed in response. To say he loved her seemed inadequate. The word was bandied around so carelessly it had lost its power. People loved movies and cars and shoes--how could that compare to what this woman meant to him? Dana Scully was so much a part of him he wasn't sure where he ended and she began. Though their marriage was new--less than three months old--his bond with Scully was ancient and set in stone. The forces of the universe had conspired to separate them--and failed. His lips curved slightly. Of course, Scully would scoff at that last thought. *There's no evidence that "forces of the universe" were involved Mulder. There are human forces more than powerful and evil enough to do their own dirty work without looking for help from an extraterrestrial source....* His smile broadened. Hell, they'd been together so long, he could hold an argument with her without her even being conscious for it. She shifted in her sleep, the file lying across her stomach shifting and sliding. He caught it, rescuing the papers before they fluttered to the floor. He set the file on the coffee table behind him and looked back at his wife. They'd been working long hours, struggling to reorganize the X-Files division into two separate but interlocked sections. Scully had requested--and received with unheard-of speed--a portion of the basement set aside as an on-premise autopsy bay. She pointed out that the nature of the X-Files cases was sensitive enough to warrant a more secure area in which to conduct her post-mortem examinations, and Skinner had agreed. But setting up the lab area, dividing out the duties that they had always shared before, trying to choose a couple of agents they felt they could trust enough to bring them into the X-Files, a domain that had been solely theirs for so long--the task was difficult and punishing, leaving them with so little time to be Fox and Dana Mulder, newlyweds. In a lot of ways, they'd been married for years, their lives as intertwined and interdependent as long-time spouses. The little things that so many married couples had to work through in the beginning--habits and values and preferences--he and Scully had been working out for years as partners and friends. Finances and children had been the only things they'd never really discussed, and that had been no problem. Scully was frugal without being miserly, and he himself far from a spendthrift. As for children...right now, he knew, she was ambivalent about children. Their job was rigorous and dangerous. And there was the ever-present question about Scully's missing months. Fears about what might have been done to her, what effects the mysterious tests run on her might have on her offspring. Doubts about her ability to even conceive, much less carry to term. But he'd seen Scully with children on the cases they'd worked. She was good with them; they liked her. And he liked the thought of creating life with her. Once, he'd watched her cuddling a friend's infant, and his entire body had yearned to give her a baby of her own. And that was BEFORE they'd done so much as share a kiss. He'd never thought of himself as a father--but he'd never thought of himself as a husband, either, and he'd taken to that role with far more enthusiasm than he'd ever expected. Of course, people had started calling Scully "Mrs. Spooky" not long after they had been put together as partners, so in a way, he'd been her husband for over seven years. According to all the experts, I should be experiencing a seven year itch by now, he thought, looking down at the sleeping face of his wife. He smiled at the ludicrous thought. He and Scully could be together for another SEVENTY-seven years and he'd never tire of her. Of the lovers he'd known, the women who'd caught his eye and caught his imagination, Scully was the only one he could honestly say he'd truly liked. He liked her courage and her loyalty. He liked the way she stood her ground against the fools who dared to question her intelligence or skill based on the fact that she was a pretty woman. He liked the way she argued with him, her intellect pouring like an inexhaustible fountain from within her. He liked the fact that she liked him, too. She was his best friend. His confidante and guardian angel. And now she was his lover. His wife. He stared down at her, torn between waking her with a kiss and watching her sleep. She was tired and needed her rest--but even in sleep, she provided a temptation he wasn't sure he had the strength to forego. Her body was a source of endless pleasure--and she seemed to take equal delight in his body, a fact which was an aphrodisiac in itself. Not that he was slouch, but he wasn't going to win any hard body contests. Yet Scully looked at him as if he were Adonis. Which was just fine with him, because he thought of her as his own personal Aphrodite. She made a soft mewling sound in her sleep, her forehead crinkling. A bad dream? he wondered, his fingers lightly tracing the worry lines. She made another soft murmuring noise and the lines on her forehead smoothed out. A tiny half-smile curved her lips, and Mulder lost any willpower left to him. He bent and touched his mouth to hers. Her lips were warm and soft, parting at the lightest pressure of his own lips. She released a sigh, her warm breath filling his mouth, and the intimacy of that shared respiration rippled through him like an electric shock. He traced her soft bottom lip with his tongue, and she uttered a low groan that he'd come to recognize as pleasure. He felt her shift, her arms snaking around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him down to her. He rose from his crouch and moved over her, his hips pressing flat against hers. She parted her thighs to cradle him more securely. "Are you awake, Scully?" he murmured against her lips. "If I'm not, please don't wake me until this is over. I don't think I could stand the disappointment." His answering chuckle was swallowed by her deep, languid kiss. She busied herself with the task of unfastening his trousers, her doctor's hands moving with quick efficiency. He realized she wasn't going to bother with complete nudity--only the bare essentials. The display of wanton eagerness from his usually reserved Scully had a potent effect on his body, but he didn't want to hurry. With Scully, he believed in forever, and that belief freed him to take time to savor every sweet moment of life. He caught her hands and gently drew them up his body, sharing his own sense of peace with her. "Let's make this last," he whispered against her lips. She curled her fingers in his hair as he lowered his mouth to the hollow of her throat. Her skin was warm and soft; he flicked his tongue against her collarbone, tasting the salty-sweetness that belonged to her alone. She made another low growling noise, a wordless plea. More...now...yes...there.... He unbuttoned her silk blouse, revealing a lacy ivory bra with--ah! A convenient front clasp. She caught his eye and smiled, reading his mind with the ease of a long-time lover. They hadn't become physically intimate until just a few months ago, but they'd been emotionally intimate for years. Nobody knew him better than Scully. Nobody knew her better than he did. And he knew without a doubt that nobody in the world could love her more. He unclasped the bra and moved his lips over her bared skin, taking delight in the little shudders of arousal that rippled through her warm flesh at his touch. Endlessly amazed that he was the source of her pleasure, Mulder found that making love to Scully was the most self-affirming act he'd ever known. She made him grateful to be a man, to be her man, the man whom she'd chosen, out of a whole wide world of men, to be her lover and her best friend. Piece by piece, she helped him remove the rest of their clothing, her hands shaking with need. When they finally lay flesh against flesh, no more barriers between them, he drew back slightly, looking down into her flushed face, into eyes dark and wide with desire. "Mulder...." His name on her lips was the most incredibly intimate sound he'd ever known. Answering her wordless plea, he settled into the cradle of her thighs. He watched her closely, tried to memorize the way her lips trembled apart and her eyelids fluttered shut when he buried himself within her welcoming flesh. He longed to sheath his soul within her as well. She was his fortress, his quiet place, his sanity. He worshipped her with his body, offering her everything he had and everything he was with the fervent reverence of a supplicant. Her soft sighs of fulfillment showered him like blessings, rendering his own release almost an afterthought, a whispered benediction. When he could think again, he rolled onto his back on the sofa, drawing her atop him. Her limbs tangled with his, and she lifted her head, eyes drowsy with satisfaction. "Mmm, Mulder...you sure know how to wake a girl." He chuckled, nuzzling her little pointed chin. "I should have let you sleep. I'm sorry." "I'm not." She caught his lower lip between her teeth and nibbled, then sucked lightly. He thought he was going to faint from the sensation. When she stopped, he thought he was going to die from deprivation. She tucked her head into the curve of his neck. When she spoke, her words were slurred with sleep. "Are we going to sleep here on the couch?" "Fine with me," he answered, stroking her hair. So what if he woke in the morning unable to move a single muscle? Soon, her breathing slowed and became even with sleep. He closed his eyes as well, lulled to slumber by their lovemaking and the security of holding her in his arms. Intertwined in body and soul, they slept. The End DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully and all within belong, not to me, but to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, and the Fox Network. Their appearance in this piece of fiction is by no means meant as any sort of copyright infringement. This is another installment of my LOVERS series, which is an offshoot of my 12 DEGREES series. As is the nature of this set of stories, this one is rated R for adult subject matter, sexual situations and language. Mulder and Scully romance ahead, to say the very least. You have been warned. This one's for Barbara Joan Hewick, who loves Mulder's glasses almost as much as I do. LOVERS "Petal by Petal" by Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose - e.e. cummings Fox Mulder looked up from the open file folders, rubbing the back of his neck to loosen the tense muscles there. Across from him, Dana Scully sat in the overstuffed armchair that she called the Captain's chair because it had been her father's customary seat whenever he visited her. She wore her little round-lensed reading glasses, her blue eyes intent on the pages of the magazine she was reading. The latest issue of THE LONE GUNMAN, he noted with a smile. Her legs were tucked up under her, but Mulder still saw plenty of white skin and shapely muscles. She wore the Patriots jersey she'd long ago commandeered from him and made her own and his black silk boxers, which had always looked better on her, anyway. His smile widened as she looked up from the magazine and met his gaze, her lips curving just enough to make him wonder what she was thinking. Of, course, he didn't really have to wonder. She was wearing her "Scully wants some lovin'" clothes, without a doubt aware that even after six months of marriage, he was powerless to resist the sight of her wearing his clothes--or reading his subversive choice in literature. He doubted he'd ever be able to. She put down the magazine. "Taking a break?" He sighed, looking down at the stacks of paperwork he'd been trying to wade through all evening. He hadn't realized how much of the detail work Scully had performed while they were partners. Now that she had her own department to run, he was drowning in minutiae. "I really shouldn't. Skinner wants this expense report on his desk first thing in the morning." "I could help you finish it later." "Later?" He glanced up at her, not missing the hint of promise in her low voice. Her smile didn't change, but her eyes darkened and softened a bit. "Well, I can hardly offer my professional services without some promise of compensation. What kind of businesswoman would that make me?" He took off his glasses and tucked them into the breast pocket of his shirt, feigning nonchalance even as his heart rate doubled from mere anticipation of the inevitable. "So, Agent Scully, what kind of price do you plan to exact in return for helping me with my report?" "Well, Agent Mulder, I thought I'd be generous and let you set your own price." One eyebrow cocked slightly. "Within reason, of course." "Of course." All thoughts of paperwork fleeing, he unfolded his lanky body and crossed to where she sat. She lifted her chin and looked up at him. In the lamplight, her skin glowed like a pearl. Small freckles flecked the whiteness like gold dust sprinkled over her nose and cheeks. Her full, soft lips parted slightly, a shuddery sigh escaping from her throat. She was rare and beautiful, and she loved him. He could hardly bring himself to believe that fact, even after seven years of building to this moment in time. For so many years, his future had seemed a bleak, barren place filled with far more questions than answers. Then Scully had walked through the door of his basement office at the J. Edgar Hoover building, cool and poised, blinding intellect shining from her clear sea-blue eyes. She'd looked years younger than he could ever remember being. He'd been torn in two from that very moment, he realized--part of him wanting to run back into the comfort of familiar darkness, part of him drawn like a moth to her incandescence. Against his will he had given her utter power over him, and time after time she'd rewarded his gift with her unwavering loyalty and overwhelming love. He knew now that he had fallen in love with her the first time she'd listened to one of his crazy theories and considered the extreme possibilities. That she had subsequently rejected the theory wasn't important. What mattered was that even in her skepticism, she'd pledged a bond of fealty that had eventually become the only solid ground in his fragile world. She had become his sanctuary, his place of rest. He crouched in front of her chair, his hands on her thighs. "Sometimes I wonder why you're still here, Scully." She cocked her head slightly, her expression quizzical. "If I didn't leave you during six and half years of frustration, why would I leave you now that we've finally gotten to the good part?" He smiled at her pragmatic, very Scully-like answer. "This is the good part, isn't it?" She brushed his hair back from his forehead, letting her fingers trail across his brow. "Well, it could be better-- if you'd shut up and kiss me." "When did you know you loved me, Scully?" Her lips curved slightly. "Haven't I ever told you that?" He shook his head. "I knew it when I saw you in Elaine Henderson's apartment, wearing nothing but your underwear and a death-warmed-over expression on your green-tinged face." He sat back on his heels, surprised. Of all the good times they'd shared, why had that horrible morning been her moment of realization? She traced the frown lines on his forehead. "Does that shock you?" "I'd have thought you'd want to forget that day." "I'll never forget it, Mulder." She took the potential sting out of the words by bending forward to press her lips against his in a brief, soft kiss. She sat back, her expression gentle. "That was a turning point for me. I had to decide whether to risk everything for you or to back away and save myself the heartache." A little half-smile flirted with her lips. "Funny thing is, I found out that my decision had already been made years before. I realized that morning that I loved you. But that wasn't the moment I fell in love with you." He understood what she meant. He hadn't realized he was in love with Scully until the night before that disastrous morning. The night he'd seen her by Walter Skinner's side and jumped to some crazy, jealousy-induced conclusions that had almost destroyed their future before it had even started. "I realized I loved you when I saw Skinner's hand on your back that night at the Mathesons' anniversary party. I felt an insane urge to invite him out back for an ass- whipping." "Like he wouldn't have beaten you to a pulp, Mulder." "It's the thought that counts, Scully." He caressed her bare thighs, enjoying a surge of masculine satisfaction when he felt her skin quiver beneath his touch. "I didn't realized I loved you until then, Scully. But looking back, I know I fell in love with you a long time ago. I suppose it was a process that started from the first time I turned around to see you looking at me as if you were deciding whether to run for the hills or slice me open to see what made me tick." She chuckled. "That's what you think I was thinking?" "Weren't you?" She shook her head. "No. I was thinking, 'God, he looks great in glasses.'" He arched his eyebrows. "Really?" "I can't believe I've never told you how hot you look in your glasses." Her voice lowered to a velvety purr. "You look like a sexy professor, and I start having all these naughty school girl fantasies...." Heat flooded his body at her words. "Even back then?" She reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his glasses, unfolding the metal legs. She slid forward and placed them on his face, her fingers lingering to trace the angles of his cheekbones. "Even back then." "I'm not sure they'll stay on while--" She silenced him with her lips. Her tongue lightly traced the outline of his mouth, flicked gently against his teeth like a visitor tapping at the door, begging entrance. He let her in, let her take the lead, gave himself over to her delicate probing exploration of his mouth. For a woman who wrapped herself in the rigid armor of science, Dana Scully Mulder had the deft, artful touch of a magician. She knew on instinct how to touch him, what would arouse him, what would cool him down if things got too intense too quickly. She released him after a moment, her eyes soft and murky with passion. "I do love those glasses." He smiled. "What are you saying, Scully? That if I'd worn my glasses more often, I might have had my way with you sooner?" She bent forward, her face so close her breath stirred his hair. "You could have had your way with me sooner even without the glasses." How much sooner? he wondered. He tilted his head, reaching out to clasp her hand and pull her to her feet. "Such as when?" She made a show of thinking. "Well, you know, after you reappeared at your apartment after the fiasco in New Mexico, you didn't even let me tell you how glad I was that you were back." "We were in a hurry." "One little hint of encouragement, Mulder, and who knows?" She ran her hands across his chest, her fingers circling his nipples through the thin cotton shirt, making his breathing grow ragged. Her husky voice seemed to bypass his ears and head straight to his groin. "That could have been the elevator ride of your life." "That far back, huh?" He was surprised his voice sounded so steady. "Farther back, Mulder." "Such as?" "Well...there was Wisconsin." He quirked his eyebrows. "It was that barbecue sauce thing, wasn't it?" She nodded, a faraway look in her eyes. "You probably have no idea what that one little incident did to me." He had an idea, all right. The look she had given him had cost him some sleep that night. "You were a mess, Scully. Dripping barbecue sauce...." "Just think what you missed because you used a napkin instead of your tongue," she whispered, pressing her flat belly against his hips. His mind was way ahead of her. "What about Icy Cape, Scully?" He turned her in his arms until her back was pressed against his chest. He brushed aside the tendrils of red hair spilling from her ponytail, baring the snowy curve of her neck. He placed his palm over the small ridge where her neck met her shoulders, reliving a long-ago moment when he'd felt the same silk-over-flame sensation beneath his fingers. He'd been angry and hurt--and aching with the need to touch her, to share with her the wild, reckless sensations he'd felt moments earlier when her hands had traced the muscles and ridges of his back. Scully made a soft, soughing sound deep in her chest. "Are you saying I should have done this?" He bent and replaced his hand with his mouth, tasting and nibbling the satiny smoothness of her flesh. "Yes." The word was half-sigh, half groan. He slid his hands under the football jersey she wore, edging the hem inexorably upward. He bared her back, lifting his face away from her neck to pass over the bunched fabric, then lowering his mouth below the lifted shirt to follow the peaks and indentations of her vertebrae. Her skin puckered and twitched beneath his questing mouth, silent affirmation of the effect of his touch. "What about Oregon, Scully?" he murmured against the corded muscles at the base of her back. His fingers traced a path of memory, reliving in exquisite detail that first case, that first heady sensation of being half of a wonderful whole. For once, his photographic memory ceased to be a curse and proved to be a miracle, helping him remember exactly where the mosquito bites had been. He drew back slightly and touched her soft skin, fingers light and questing. "What about that night, Scully?" He drew a circle around one, two, three phantom bites. Her soft chuckle rumbled through her. "Mulder, I barely knew you." "Even if I'd done this?" He nibbled at the soft skin where her hips just started to flare. She made a little hissing sound between her teeth, and he flicked his tongue against the tiny dents his teeth had left in her flesh. "Well?" he asked when she didn't say anything more. "I'm thinking," she whispered, curving her back to give him greater access. He stood quickly and turned her around, slanting his mouth over hers in a hard, hungry kiss. She enfolded him, swallowed him in her softness, and he backed her toward the couch, uncaring that he knocked several files off the coffee table and almost punted Clyde the Pomeranian across the room. Their lovemaking was fast, fierce and heedless. The world around them shifted, transformed, became both less and more than it was. He made love to her in a hotel room in Oregon, in a tiny makeshift detention cell in Alaska, in a restaurant in Wisconsin, in an elevator in Virginia. He made love to her on the leather sofa where he'd spent long, solitary, hopeless nights dreading that the phone would ring and a cold, uncaring voice would tell him that she was dead. He made love to her in a starry void where his soul and hers had met one night and formed an unshakable bond of purpose, loyalty and love. She had once told him that he kept unfolding like a flower. But he recognized that it was not something he did but something she did, daily, hourly, by the minute and the second. Petal by petal, she opened and closed him at will, and he bowed gratefully to her skill and expertise. He couldn't even regret the clear memories of a time when he had been without her, because they only sharpened the pleasure of being with her now. They floated back to themselves and their world on a sea of remembrance, weakened by passion but strengthened by love. Scully's breath warmed his throat as she shifted slightly, lifting her eyes to meet his drowsy gaze. A smile curved her lips and bared her teeth. "What?" he asked. Her chuckle buzzed against his chest. "How the hell did you keep your glasses on through all that?" The End DISCLAIMER: Mulder and Scully do not belong to me, alas; they are the creative and intellectual (smart is sexy) property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions, the Fox Network, and the talented Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny. No infringement is intended. This is a LOVERS story, which means it takes place after the events of my 12 DEGREES OF SEPARATION series. Rated a very strong R for sexual situations and language. Most definitely a Mulder/Scully romance. You have been warned. LOVERS: "Rub a Dub Dub" by Anne Haynes AHaynes33@aol.com O how your fingers drowse me, Your breath falls around me like dew, your pulse lulls the tympans of my ears, I feel immerged from head to foot, Delicious, enough. - Walt Whitman * * * * * Dana Scully turned off the water and dipped her fingers into the tub, testing the temperature of the bath. Hot enough to make her skin tingle, but not so hot that it burned. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the steamy scent of the bubble bath. Perfect, she thought. Just perfect. She glanced at her watch as she left the bathroom and went to check on the progress of the chicken breasts she was roasting in the oven. Almost 6:30--Kelvin Thacker's warning call had come fifteen minutes ago, which meant Mulder should be walking through the door any minute-- As if on cue, the front door opened and her husband walked in, already peeling off his suit jacket. "Hey." He gave her a weary smile. She took his coat and folded it over her arm, then reached up to loosen the knot in his tie. "I hear you had a rough afternoon." "Kelvin's been tattling again?" He bent and kissed her, his mouth moving lazily across hers. "Yup." She pulled his tie loose from his collar. "Said the other agents wouldn't play nice with you." He kissed her again, hard and long, until her stomach muscles bunched and quivered. She gently extricated herself from his embrace, lest she forget her plans for the evening and just throw him down right there on the living room floor. She unbuttoned the top couple of buttons of his shirt. "Lucky for you, you're married to a doctor. I know how to cure what ails you...." His eyebrows lifted. "Hmmm...trying to forget that you're a pathologist...." She finished unbuttoning his shirt, untucking the tails from his trousers. She slipped it off and added it to the jacket draped over her arm. "Kelvin said you DID find the key piece of evidence to crack the case." She put the discarded clothing over the back of the couch. "My hero." "Which the other guys just LOVED." Mulder grimaced, shrugging off his rumpled white undershirt. He tossed the t-shirt onto the sofa and reached for Scully. She dodged him, softening her rebuff with a little smile. "Mulder, you need a bath." He sniffed a couple of times. "I didn't forget my deodorant..." "Trust me, Mulder. You NEED a bath." She caught the waistband of his pants, hooking her fingers beneath his belt and tugging him with her toward the bathroom. A quizzical half-frown creased his forehead, but he went willingly enough. She stopped in the doorway of the bathroom, stepping aside so he could see the big clawfoot tub, full of steaming water and fragrant bubbles. The pink box of Mr. Bubble sat on the shelf by the sink, the big bubble face smiling at them. She glanced up at Mulder, wondering if he'd think a bubble bath was as good an idea as she thought it was. He looked down at her, his expression somewhere between bemused and intrigued. "We're going to take a bath together?" "Not exactly." Scully unfastened his belt and pulled it from the loops of his trousers. "I'm going to give YOU a bath." Intrigue eclipsed bemusement. "Really?" She unfastened his suit pants and slid them down his trim hips, taking his blue silk boxer shorts along for the ride. Seeing that her idea was already having the desired effect on her husband, she hid a smile. Oh, Mulder, just you wait.... He stepped into the tub. "What do you want me to do, just sit?" He sounded like an eager kid, she thought. Ready to play. She slipped her watch off her wrist and put it safely on the sink stand, then picked up the large bath sponge on the shelf above the tub. "Just sit." He lowered himself into the tub. Despite its roominess, he still didn't quite fit, elbows hanging over the sides and knees poking up like twin islands in the bubbles. "You sure we couldn't just make this a quick shower and--" "Mulder, 'quick' is not in our vocabulary tonight." He quirked one eyebrow, a smile flirting with his lips. For a second, Scully thought about breaking her own rule for the night and dragging him, wet and soapy, into the bedroom with her right now. But she was nothing if not self-disciplined. All good things were worth the wait. She squeezed a small dollop of sea-scent bath gel onto the sponge and worked it into a fine lather. With gentle circular strokes she began to wash his back and shoulders. "You're so tense," she murmured, tracing the hard, knotted muscles in his shoulders with slick, soapy fingers. "You shouldn't let those idiots get to you." "I know. I guess I just missed having you there to protect me. You and your lethal eyebrows." She bit back a chuckle. "I wish I'd been there, too." "How'd the classes go?" Mulder sank a little deeper into the suds. She sighed, directing her breath toward his ear and smiling behind his back when he squirmed a little. "Boring." For the past couple of days she'd had to take over a block of pathology classes at the F.B.I. Academy at Quantico after one of the instructors had to have an emergency appendectomy. The X-Files division was between cases so the timing wasn't too bad. But it was the first time since their marriage four months earlier that she and Mulder had worked apart for any length of time. "I missed you," she added in a faint whisper that stirred the fine hairs at the back of his neck. "Pendrell missed you," he returned, glancing over his shoulder, a teasing light in his eyes. This time she did chuckle a little. "Alan's over that now, Mulder." Mulder scooped up a handful of lather and let it drip between his fingers. "Nobody gets over falling for Dana Scully." Once again, her resolve almost failed her. Mulder wasn't the most verbally expressive man she knew when it came to emotions. Sweet talk like this was rare and heady. Stay focused, Scully. Miles to go before you sleep.... Lifting Mulder's arm over his head, she slowly ran the soapy sponge from his hand down to his armpit, lathering his skin until it was white with foam. His gaze locked with hers, his hazel eyes darkening. The intensity of his regard threatened to play havoc with her respiration, but she was powerless to look away. Even as moist heat began to build and pool in her core, she forced herself to continue her ministrations, her hands moving over his arms, shoulders and chest with deliberate care. His breathing was rapid and shallow by the time she decided to check the progress of her plan. She ran the sponge across his chest, then reached for the little tube of bath gel precariously perched on the edge of the tub. Hiding a smile, she "accidently" knocked the dispenser somewhere in the vicinity of his lap. He reached for it, but she caught his hand. "I'll get it." She rolled up the sleeve of the Patriots jersey she wore and reached into the water. Her fingers brushed the tube of bath gel, but she ignored it, sliding her hand into her husband's lap. Her fingers brushed the object of her quest and she bit back another smile at the involuntary whoosh of air that escaped his lungs. Glad to know not EVERY part of his body's relaxed, she thought. She let her fingers play lightly over his flesh, gauging his reaction by the rapid bobbing of his Adam's apple. "Can't quite find the bath gel," she murmured, feigning apology. "No hurry," Mulder assured her, his voice a little strained. She teased him a few seconds more, then located the gel dispenser and withdrew it from the water. Mulder released another long sigh. She squirted more gel onto the sponge and lathered his right knee where it poked up from the water. "Did you know that in some parts of the Orient, it's customary for women to give men baths?" "I've always been fascinated by Oriental traditions." She washed his other knee. "Nothing sexual about it, of course." "Really." He made a skeptical face. "Didn't you ever read SAYONARA?" "No, but I did see EMMANUELLE IN BANGKOK." She frowned, pretending to consider his words. "Don't think I've seen that." "Want me to tell you about it?" His eyes had a distinctly devilish glint. "Maybe later." Coyly, she retreated toward the end of the tub, reaching into the water to lift his right foot. Working the sponge lightly over his toes with one hand, she gently rubbed his instep with the thumb of her other hand, watching him from beneath her lowered eyelashes to see if her seduction was having as powerful an effect on him as it was on her. He closed his eyes, an expression of mingled pain and pleasure darting over his face. He caught his lower lip between his teeth, and it was all Scully could do to keep from diving headfirst into the tub with him. Worth the wait, worth the wait, worth the wait. Scully repeated the words to herself like a silent mantra as she slowly worked her way up his legs, kneading his muscles and stroking his flesh. Bending forward over the edge of the tub, she ran the sponge down between his legs, caressing his inner thighs. He made a low, strangled sound that rippled straight from her ears to her loins. She lingered there for a moment, drawing lazy circles over his upper legs with the sponge, her movements intentionally slow and (hopefully) maddening. Mulder's hand tightened around the edge of the tub, his knuckles brushing the underside of her breast as she bent over him. She couldn't suppress the tiniest of smiles. Then the smile became a gasp of surprise when Mulder's hands shot out, grabbed her beneath her arm and dragged her into the tub. "Mulder!" He settled her on his lap, his wet, soapy hands urging her thighs apart so that she straddled him. His hazel eyes were deceptively drowsy-looking, but she could tell by their twinkle that he was very much awake. "Scully, your shirt is wet. Did you know your shirt is wet? You could catch a cold!" He slipped his hands beneath her shirt and peeled it upwards, baring her silk and lace bra. She lifted her arms and let him pull the shirt over her head. "Better?" she asked, placidly stroking his chest with the sponge she'd somehow managed not to drop. "And look...." He scooped up a handful of water and bubbles and dribbled it down her front, drenching her brassiere. "Scully, your bra is wet, too. Can't let you sit around in a wet bra." Her stifled chuckle turned into a soft gasp as he slipped his hands beneath the lacy cups of her bra and lightly rasped his palms against her nipples. He slid his hands slowly around to her back and unfastened the clasps. With a tug he removed the bra and tossed it across the bathroom to join the Patriots jersey lying in a wad against the wall. "I hope you know you'll be picking up those clothes." She tried to sound stern, even as he took the sponge from her nerveless fingers and began to lather her breasts. "You're such a neat freak, Scully," he murmured, pulling her more firmly in his lap. She felt his arousal through the thin, wet fabric of the cotton boxer shorts she wore. Suddenly her decision not to wear any panties under the borrowed Calvins seemed like a stroke of genius. She rocked her hips slightly and was rewarded by a low, involuntary groan from deep in her husband's chest. He stroked down the length of her back until his fingers met the waistband of the boxers. "Oh, these are REALLY wet. Gotta go." He tugged the boxers down over her hips. "Good thing they're your Calvins and not the black silk," she murmured. "Do you have any idea what water does to silk?" She scooted back, letting him pull the pants down over her legs and feet. He wrung the boxers out and tossed them into the growing pile of discarded clothing. "Now, where were we?" She eluded his grasp, sliding back in the tub until her spine was painfully pressed against the water spigot. She drew his feet into her lap and started to massage the ball of his right foot. "Scully, you're too far away...." She ran her fingers down the length of his foot and circled his ankles, her touch feather light. When she spoke, her voice was low and raspy. "I'm right here, Mulder. Can't you feel me touching you?" She felt the shudder go through him, vibrating the water around her. Her own body leapt in sympathetic response. "Scully..." She worked her way up his shins, lightly caressing his knees and the undersides of his knees, sliding her fingers up the soft insides of his thighs, stroking, kneading, brushing. She felt his muscles bunch and jerk under her hands and barely suppressed a smile of deep feminine satisfaction. I'm doing this to him, she thought, reveling in the eagerness of his body beneath her fingers. She felt a surge of power fill her, a sense of invincibility. She stroked his hips, her fingers gliding lightly up and down. He watched her, eyes wide and dark with the effort it cost him to remain still and let her play out the game. You'll thank me, she thought, moving her hands over his flat belly and along his rib cage. She loved the feel of him beneath her fingers, the hard and the soft of him, the smooth texture of his skin, the crispness of his chest hair. She loved the smell of him, the warm male muskiness that even the faint perfume of the bath couldn't completely mask. And she loved the way he wanted her, the way his whole body coiled, craving her, longing for what she could give him. She straddled his thighs again and slid forward, stopping just short of her eventual goal. He released a soft, explosive sigh. "Scully--" She splayed her fingers across his chest, stroking his nipples with the palms of her hands. "Scully!" He grabbed her hands and held them away from him. The swift, sudden movement shocked her into utter stillness. He loosened his grip. "Scully...please...." A look of tortured pleading captured his face. "Please...." She slid her hands into his, twining their fingers. As she bent forward to claim his mouth with her own, she scooted her hips forward until she was flush against him. He let go of her hands and grasped her hips, shifting her into a better position. With a soft, guttural exhalation, he rocked his hips upward and filled her in one powerful stroke. He tried to hold out. She felt him straining to wait for her, to deny his body what she'd just spent a half an hour promising him. She rocked her hips in counterpoint, knowing that he liked when she worked in opposition. It had defined their partnership for years, and now it added exquisite intensity to their sexual relationship. They often made love in pure harmony, just as they often worked together in harmony--but sometimes...sometimes a little tension was a very good thing.... "Scully...I can't--" He slanted his mouth over hers, drawing her lower lip into his mouth and sucking lightly. The sensation sparked along her nerve endings and she clutched his shoulders, extending the rolling motion of her hips, knowing he was close--so close--wanting this for him, wanting it so much more than she wanted her own release. She focused her entire being on his body, the little tell-tale signs that he was nearing his climax--the way his respiration quickened and roughened until he was breathing in soft, keening gasps, the way his shoulder muscles tightened beneath her fingers. Then, with one swift upward surge, he clutched her to him, burying his face in her neck, his long, low groan rumbling against her flesh. She held him, stroking his hair, whispering his name in a litany of love and joy. The thrumming of her unfulfilled body seemed as much a source of pleasure as release would have been. She didn't know how to explain that; she knew only that it was. They held each other for a long time, not moving, not speaking. Mulder stirred first, lifting his head to kiss her again. "I'm sorry," he murmured against her lips. "For what?" He met her gaze, his eyes tender and a little sad. "Because I don't like to cross the finish line alone." She chuckled softly. "I was with you in spirit." He laughed, a rare, wonderful belly laugh that made her heart soar. "God, what did I ever do in my life to deserve you?" "Beats me," she murmured, nuzzling his chin. "Yet you're still here." She nodded. "Go figure." He shifted slightly, reaching around her back and retrieving the bath gel that had miraculously maintained its precarious position on the edge of the tub. He grabbed the sponge floating near her elbow and squirted a dollop of bath gel into its center. His eyes locking with hers, he fumbled the little dispenser of gel. It fell somewhere in the vicinity of her lap. "Damn, Scully. Dropped the bath gel." He reached into the water between them. "Don't worry--I'll get it." As his fingers touched her flesh, Scully smiled. The End