Title: Gourmet Groping 
Date: November 2002
Author: The Pimpernel
Rating: R for sexual situations, bad words, innuendo and 
gratuitous twisting of anything resembling a plot.
Summary: You know you'd have accepted the bet too. 
Admit it.

Classification: SHR
Keywords: fluff 'n' stuff, MSR sort of. S POV.
Spoilers:  Don't think so, but you know who these two are 
right?
Feedback: I'd be stunned but if you want to I promise to 
reply when I've picked the keyboard up off the floor. - 
thepimpernel@waitrose.com
Archive: I'd be even more stunned but go ahead. It's 
written to be read.
Disclaimer: Just five more minutes Dad, then I promise I'll 
put them away.
Fanfic is a self indulgence of the non fattening type for 
neither body nor bank account.
In other words any reference to characters created by Chris 
Carter real or imaginary is purely deliberate but they're not 
mine.
I'm English forgive me my spelling, but special thanks go to
Elsie for the rigorous grammatical workout.

***********************************************

Well.  I was in deep shit now.  I never should have accepted 
that bet.  Never.  Never, never, never...  Never.  It had 
seemed so simple at the time, so tempting.  I had weighed 
all the options of course and this remote possibility had 
crossed my mind but had seemed unlikely and gain had far 
outweighed the risk...  Then.  And who would have thought 
that Mulder would have been so...  Well I suppose I would 
have anticipated the intensity and passion followed 
automatically, it had just never been directed towards me in 
quite that manner.  The gentleness and caring while not a 
total surprise had none the less caught me off guard.  The 
technique...  Let's face it had been mind blowing.  

I had had some long-standing curiosities about my partner, 
who wouldn't have having worked so closely for years, and 
that's all they were - just curiosities, I had assured myself. I 
had certainly underestimated my evaluation.  Well I would 
have done had I given it much thought I added hastily to 
myself.  I wondered if he had planned this all along, all 
those months ago when we started.  I wouldn't put it past 
him.  But he would have had to anticipate my reactions.  He 
was a profiler but if he had been certain of my response and 
reactions, he wouldn't have done it this way I'm sure.  
Maybe I was reading too much into this, projecting my own 
feelings on to him.  Maybe all he had wanted was the sex 
just like I had wanted the dinner.  

But why all the intimacy?  On second thoughts, that wasn't 
hard to understand.  I could have gone to the restaurant with 
my mother if all I had wanted was a meal but I had wanted 
the companionship, the camaraderie, the banter...  Yes, the 
intimacy of dinner with my friend and partner.  Alright, 
alright. What I really wanted was a date with a handsome, 
sexy and intelligent man with a few added extras. Mulder 
was a close match. 

So the same for him, he didn't just want sex, he wanted the 
closeness, the touching - the intimacy.  So where did we go 
from here?  Nowhere.  After I won my bet and got my 
dinner, three dinners in fact, we'd had a pleasant, relaxing, 
contented evening and gone back to work the same as 
always.  Debating, discussing, challenging, bickering; no 
change.  So what was the big deal now Dana?  So the 
evening had been a little more energetic than I had 
anticipated, the sweat was still cooling on my body, bits of 
me were still tingling and my heart rate wasn't quite back to 
normal. 

Mulder was most definitely relaxed and contented now.  
Unconsciously sated came to mind.  And me?  Okay, 
consciously sated...  in body and if only I could stop 
thinking and just accept the moment for what it was, all 
would be well.  But I couldn't.  He'd made love to me.  
Deliberately and wilfully.  

Oh, not maliciously.  I had this niggling little thought that 
he'd done it to jolt me out of my complacency.  Everything 
else he'd tried had failed and Mulder, never one to give up, 
had just been a little more creative in his attempt to show 
me.  All carefully hidden behind the facade of a bet and our 
previous dinners, so that it could be ignored if it went 
disastrously wrong.  If true, I had to admire his strategy, 
especially from someone who was usually impulsive rather 
than tactical.  That was usually my department.  So highly 
unlikely right? But 'if' he had, how had I missed it?  
Perhaps I hadn't; perhaps subconsciously I'd seen it coming 
and had denied it to myself, the loops of curiosity coiling 
round my rational mind and blindsiding it.  

I thought back to the first bet. Well, not the first bet; we'd 
had plenty of bets before that, so in some ways it had been 
hidden in familiarity.  We were fairly predictable in our 
stakes.  I, a meal, a nice one no greasy burgers or pizza in 
sight.  We often went to a nice little Italian, not too 
romantic, just cosy; no case discussion.  Once, a concert 
when a friend had let me down.  Or occasionally a chick 
flick, to use Mulder's terminology.  I once roped him in for a 
church fete to help my mother. Mom had made it up to him 
with a home-cooked meal.  Mulder usually wanted me to go 
to a ball game, an action movie, visit some bizarre 
exhibition without whining.  Once he roped me into 
cheering at a charity basketball game.  Afterwards, I had 
explained that I would have done that anyway if he'd asked.  
He just smiled.  

Then there was that occasion where Mulder had wanted me 
to eat a popsicle. I don't want to chase that event too 
closely. I wasn't blind to the implications and I have to 
admit I played on it a bit. It was a warm afternoon, literally, 
so I wasn't adverse to something refreshing. I think Mulder 
might have been drooling a bit, right up to the point where I 
bit a chunk off and chomped on it.

So anyway, back to what precipitated my current situation. 
In this instance, I'd said, "Mulder, there's no way that a 
poltergeist is involved in this case.  I think we should look 
more closely at Mr. Rubin.  He seems to know far too many 
details."

"Scully, he's just a lonely middle-aged man, with too much 
time on his hands who spies on his neighbours.  He's always 
been seen twitching his curtains from the other side of the 
street when any of these incidents happened."

"His home is full of gadgets which he tries to control from 
his PC using software he writes as a hobby, he could have 
had something set up to twitch the curtains. He's got video 
cameras all over his house; he's a social misfit..."

"Well if it's not a poltergeist I think maybe astral projection 
is involved."

"Mulder!"

"Wanna bet?"

I'd done a quick mental check of the facts of the case. 

"Yes.  Italian?"  

"Okay.  Sex."  

"What?"  I'd been momentarily wrong footed into a 
somewhat surprised response.  

"Sex.  Like you don't want to eat alone in the restaurant I 
don't want to have sex on my own.  So sex."  

I'd assumed at this point he had some convoluted wordplay 
in mind for what would turn out to be some bizarre 
exhibition and he planned to surprise a response out of me 
so he could slide an innuendo or three at me.  So I played 
along.  

"You think I'm going to put out just for a quick Italian, 
Mulder?" 

"You implying I think you're a cheap date?"  

I raised an eyebrow at him. 

"Okay.  Dinner at that French restaurant you wanted to go to 
in Georgetown."  

I think I raised both eyebrows in surprise.  I'd mentioned it 
once a few weeks ago, wistfully.  It would probably work 
out at over $100 a head but I really wanted to go.  
Superficial as it may seem, I hadn't been anywhere where I 
could dress up for ages and I just felt the desire to indulge.  I 
did another quick logic check.  Mulder had this irritating 
way of seeing things that weren't there and being right, but 
everything pointed to an earthly solution in this case.  I did 
an overview of his sex request, I still wasn't sure he meant 
sexual intercourse, even if he did, he was probably just 
having one of his bizarre moments trying to catch me out.  I 
briefly thought about future bets decided this was Mulder in 
a bored moment trying to unnerve me so I accepted the bet 
and awaited for him to wriggle out of it, renegotiate, 
clarify...anything.  But he said nothing.  

I won the bet.  Mr. Rubin's penchant for holographic 
projections allowing him to fool the eye into thinking that 
something was still there when it wasn't. When he was 
safely home he switched off the remote projector which was 
when the fun started. He never stole anything, just moved 
valuable objects all round the house. Eventually the owners 
would get spooked and either sell the object or move house. 
And there was Rubin with an offer for a quick cash sale at a 
knock down price of course. 

I hadn't even had to remind Mulder about the bet.  He'd 
phoned up from the office while I was there and given me 
the choice. We could wait until next month for a Saturday 
night, otherwise we could make a reservation for next 
Thursday?  I'd chosen Thursday and hoped we weren't out 
of town on a case.  

It had been a little awkward to start with.  Verging on the 
romantically intimate but Mulder had covered by 
overplaying the gallant.  Taking my hand in his, saying 'ma 
Cherie' and fluttering noisy kisses all over the back of my 
hand before grabbing a rose out of the vase, sticking it 
between his teeth and then trying to kiss his way up my arm.  
I'd grinned at him and he smiled back, rose between his 
teeth, eyes dancing.  I have to admit to a small shiver down 
my spine at his antics but I put it down to the air-
conditioning.  We'd had a very pleasant meal after that, 
lovely food, pleasant atmosphere, good company.  Mulder 
had paid the bill with nary a murmur which ought to have 
sounded alarm bells but didn't.  I'd gone home in blissful 
contentment.

A few weeks later, another case, another bet.  When Mulder 
said 'you want to bet on it', my heart had done a momentary 
flutter but I needn't have worried it was back to the usual 
stakes.  Italian for me, a psychic fair for Mulder.  So I'd 
been right.  Mulder had just been bored.  I'd lost that time by 
the way, just so you know I'm being fair.  I don't just bet on 
certainties.  Imagine my surprise when several weeks, cases 
and bets later Mulder came up with the same bet.  Sex 
versus the French restaurant.  I'd hesitated.  

"What's the matter Scully? Not quite so certain?  Bet too 
rich for you?"

That hadn't been the reason for my hesitation.  This case 
was nowhere near as cut and dried as the Rubin one, but I 
was still sure that the dog napping was not the work of 
aliens.  It's just that I had a niggling doubt that Mulder had 
deliberately set up the previous bet just to take me to the 
restaurant, and letting him do it once was acceptable, letting 
him do it twice made me feel uncomfortable.  I appreciated 
the gesture but it was too much.  

On the other hand I'd never refused to bet and we'd been 
needling each other on this case so that last dig had just 
been the final straw to my irritation.  I accepted the bet, 
Mulder's bank balance be damned.  In hindsight he might 
have done that deliberately.  He lost and he booked the 
restaurant for a Saturday two weeks later.  By which time 
we were back to friendly banter and I dismissed the 
traitorous thought that he'd booked well in advance of the 
bet.  

We had a really good time.  I was relaxed enough to drink a 
little more than usual.  I think I giggled.  I know I giggled 
when Mulder took me home, handed me into the car, out of 
the car, in through the front door with exaggerated cavalier 
bows and scrapes, and bended knee.  At my apartment door, 
he leaned towards me.  I thought he might have kissed me 
goodnight, if only on the cheek.  Instead he took my hand, 
and bowing over it, kissed my knuckles whispering 
'farewell fair maid' before departing.  I felt a twinge of 
disappointment, either that or indigestion.

Work carried on as normal, bets came and went, of which I 
lost quite a few, but for over a month sex never reared its 
head, ugly or otherwise.  Well not that I saw.  I had to admit 
my curiosity was a little more aroused than normal where 
my partner was concerned.  I had never actually considered 
myself his type.  Not that I considered him shallow enough 
to just go for the physical design, I know he looked at a lot 
of women but he very rarely followed, not that I saw.  I 
know he admired and respected my intelligence but I also 
know my logical, rational approach to everything he 
sometimes found irritating and frustrating but from a 
personal perspective I'd always assumed he would prefer 
someone a little less...  challenging.  Not exactly biddable 
but more... accommodating.  He threw innuendo at me I 
know, but I guess he'd just thought it... I was safe to do it 
to... so to speak.  I'd never called his bluff, so I don't 
suppose he expected me to do so.  And vice versa.  

Or was I projecting again?  I mean, was he my type?  He 
was easy on the eye certainly.  He had a brilliant mind that I 
found fascinating.  A quirky sense of humour which I 
occasionally allowed myself to respond to.  From a personal 
perspective I found his impulsiveness irritating and 
frustrating.  His untidiness and slovenliness irksome, his 
persistence could be overwhelming but you could hardly 
accuse him of not being thorough.  His leaps of logic 
downright scary but challenging.  Something I found I 
wanted if not quite needed.  Therefore we developed a 
friendship but with a professional distance.  So when he 
threw innuendo at me or flirted with me, even made more 
physical overtures, I'd always assumed it was because he 
felt safe doing so.  I was safe, good old Scully.  I wondered 
if I had been mistaken.  

See... well it was possible he just wanted a warm body, a 
sort of one night stand without the danger, he was a man 
after all.  With the usual needs he'd never taken much pains 
to hide.  I could empathise with that.  It was just that... sex; 
it wasn't my strong point.  Everybody is good at something 
but you can't be good at everything and sex had never been 
my specialist subject.

I'd never seemed to inspire it in my lovers, whom I'd been 
attracted to for things other than sexual prowess. So I was 
conscious of feelings of inadequacy, of inexperience.  The 
fact that I might disappoint Mulder, which I didn't want to 
do.  I was aware that as an articulate, intelligent woman I 
should be able to achieve good sex but somehow this had 
always warred with the Catholic upbringing and naturally 
reserved nature, to leave me with inhibitions that none of 
my previous lovers had been successful in lifting.  

But sex with Mulder, I had to wonder and instead of staring 
into space as was my usual wont, I found myself staring at 
Mulder's crotch and wondering.  So far he hadn't caught me 
doing it but it had been a close run thing.  However I'd never 
seen any sign of interest, so what was with his bet for sex?  I 
wouldn't put it passed him to have some elaborate set up in 
mind.  It had been weeks since the last time he made the bet 
and I'd almost put it from my mind as an anomaly when he 
did it again.  Just after pay day.  

No cut and dried case this time, some very strange 
peculiarities.  Although I felt Mulder was leaping again I'd 
seen him make other such leaps in the past and be right. It 
was enough to give me pause.  I wondered briefly about 
renegotiating the bet but that was hardly fair and I wouldn't 
have even thought about it had it been one of our more usual 
bets.  I had to admit that I was also intrigued as to what 
Mulder would do if he won. I was beginning to feel that 
when he said sex he meant the physical act of intercourse. I 
felt a little tremor of nervousness, definitely not 
anticipation. However, I accepted the bet and gave a sigh of 
relief, not a twinge of disappointment when I won.  No, that 
was not a flutter of resignation.  

However, when Skinner sent us on a case the Thursday 
before the weekend reservation, I was disappointed enough 
to be grumpy.  

"Don't worry, Scully, I'll rearrange. I wouldn't dream of 
using Skinner as a reason to renege on my bet."

I hastened to reassure Mulder that that was the last thing on 
my mind and, inadvertently, let slip that I'd been looking 
forward to it.  I hadn't meant to take my disappointment out 
on him.  For once, he was not directly to blame for my 
annoyance.  I was a bit surprised to find he'd rebooked for 
the following weekend.  He said he got a cancellation, but 
still.  Anyway, I didn't let it interfere with my enjoyment of 
the evening.  

We had another pleasant, relaxing, sociable evening.  
Mulder was at his most charming and entertaining and I 
responded accordingly.  I was fairly certain I flirted back, if 
not downright teased him as I got caught up in the moment.  
I didn't feel guilty or embarrassed about it afterwards, it felt 
right, and we hadn't been on work's time.  For once we 
were just having fun.  

He'd taken me home again.  Leaned in again.  I'd have let 
him kiss me, might have kissed him back, but again he'd 
kissed the back of my fingers.  In retrospect that was 
probably for the best; we weren't on a date, just the bet, but I 
couldn't help but be a little wistful.  

Work came and went.  Bets came and went.  Pay day came 
and went.  I wondered if maybe he could only afford the bet 
after being paid.  I toyed with the idea of initiating the bet 
myself but if he were short of cash it would be a bit mean 
and there was no way I was going to reverse the bet.  It 
never occurred to me to reverse the bet when I was likely to 
lose.  So when the bet came up again, I'd smiled 
indulgently.  

"Mulder, that's a sucker bet. There's no way you are right on 
this.  This is an open and shut case.  The butler did it, with 
the lead piping, in the dining room."

"I agree Mr. Butler did it, but I'm betting he's got a cast-iron 
alibi for the time of the murder."

"So what - he did it with telekinesis?"  Mulder grinned.  

"Mulder!  No way.  If he has an alibi then he rigged 
something up to go off on a timer, or a motion sensor, or 
a... or, or he operated it remotely."

"So you're accepting the bet?"

"Don't be ridiculous, I can't take a bet that is loaded against 
you like that."

"I'm serious.  He's got telekinetic powers and..."

"And how are you going to prove that?"

"Well, so long as you don't deny the evidence of your own 
eyes, I think I can provoke him into demonstrating."

"What we need to do is gather the evidence that proves he 
committed the murder."

"Exactly.  So the bet's on?"

"If you so easily want to be parted from your money, 
Mulder, definitely."

No one had been more surprised than me when Mulder had 
provoked Mr. Butler into throwing the ashtray across the bar 
at him, followed closely by the collection of knives 
displayed on the wall, before making a run for it.  

Fortunately, I didn't allow my surprise or Mulder's ducking 
'shit' to distract me from watching Mr. Butler and I collared 
him before he got to the door.  Unlike the Sheriff and his 
deputy, who were staring open mouthed at Mulder 
surrounded by a ring of knives.  

Fortunately, most of them had been sheathed but the handle 
of one had caught Mulder on the head in passing.  I passed 
the man over to the local law enforcement, so I could 
inspect Mulder's wound.  However, I couldn't help glancing 
round to try to see the hidden strings or springs or smoke 
and mirrors.  Some explanation of how the knives had leapt 
off the wall in Mulder's direction.  After I'd cleaned his 
wound, I inspected the knives, the wall, the outside, the 
inside.  Mulder smirked as he watched.  

"You just don't want to accept it do you, Scully?  Don't want 
to admit I was right?"

"There's no such thing as telekinesis, Mulder, there has to be 
some more practical explanation."

"So what? He knew we were going to find him here and had 
it all set up ready? That doesn't make sense, Scully, if he 
knew we were on to him he'd have done a runner not waited 
here."

I continued to inspect the wall, the ceiling, then the opposite 
wall.  Nothing.  

"So are you reneging on our bet, Scully?"

The bet!  I'd forgotten the bet. 

"No! It's just, I'm not convinced that he used telekinesis..."  

"So as usual you refuse to believe.  So what - I lost the bet 
then?" 

"Well, I don't think either of us proved the method."

He snorted in disgust and walked away.  It was 
uncomfortable in the office the next day.  Mulder was 
sulking.  Actually he was only sulking at me, he was pretty 
jovial with everyone else.  Well, he'd successfully wrapped 
a case.  The law enforcement didn't flinch from admitting 
they'd seen the knives fly across the room, 'damnedest thing 
I ever saw' and Mr. Butler admitted he killed Mr. Winwood 
over an argument about some damage to his car.  He said it 
was accidental; he'd just been trying to scare him, but he'd 
lost concentration when the phone rang and dropped the bar.  
Said he had had the ability since he was a child; sometimes 
he couldn't help himself and scared people, which was why 
he kept moving around.  

I couldn't blame Mulder for being peeved at me.  Any other 
bet, I would have admitted I didn't have an explanation and 
let Mulder win the bet.  Paid up with only token protest 
about lack of proof, evidence, whatever.  And the truth 
being I wasn't feeling very good about myself.  I didn't 
renege on bets. I wasn't a poor sport. I'd happily accepted 
the bet in anticipation of another great meal, and I would 
have persisted in Mulder accepting my evidence, had I the 
least shred to wave in his face.  In all our previous bets 
neither of us had refused to pay up, although I had 
occasionally had to remind Mulder he still owed me dinner 
and we'd frequently argued about who was right. For this 
one, Mulder had backed off, but not because he thought he 
was wrong.

I squirmed all the way to Friday afternoon, before I finally 
had to admit to myself that by our rules, Mulder had won 
the bet.  

"Okay, Mulder, you win."  

He looked at me, puzzled.  

"The bet - you win.  The lab have inspected the ashtray and 
knives, no signs of force, springs, strings, explosives.  
Nothing.  You win." 

He stared at me for a moment before a huge grin split his 
features.  Smug bastard.  

"So are you going to pay up?"  

"Naturally."  

I waited for him to tell me it was some exhibition or risque 
film or photography show, anything.  An 'I had you big-
time' coming any time soon.  

"Okay, my place seven o'clock tomorrow.  Wear something 
black and sexy under that blue soft wool sweater thing.  The 
one that brings out the colour of your eyes."  

I was surprised and faintly amused that Mulder would 
remember anything in my wardrobe.  

"Anything else?" 

He smiled, "Those ass-hugging black trousers and high 
heels would be good, but not obligatory. Whatever you feel 
comfortable in."  

"Okay. Seven o'clock."  

He nodded and returned to his e-mail.  That's all I was going 
to get.  Typical.  

While sipping my coffee over breakfast the next morning, I 
considered all the scenarios Mulder might have planned.  
Difficult because his mind can be extremely convoluted.  
He'd started this bet months ago, so it seemed unlikely it 
was an exhibition.  It was at his place...  Maybe just a video 
then.  Something to try and embarrass me?  Not really his 
style.  What if he really meant sex as in just sex, physical 
gratification?  I gulped.  Naw, he was just trying to wind me 
up.  But what if he did?  I felt my insides lurch and my face 
flush.  Would it be so bad?  I mean, it was so long since I'd 
had sex with anyone but my vibrator, that I practically had a 
Pavlovian response to the sound of an electric toothbrush, so 
the prospect of real sex was not something to take lightly.  
The thought of a warm body touching mine was...  Mulder's 
body.  Where was I?  Mulder and sex.  Well, it was one way 
of making a covert pass.  If it all went horribly wrong we 
could hide behind the facade of the bet.  Still, in some ways 
it seemed a bit simple for Mulder.  Ask for sex and mean 
sex.  Well, no use brooding about it. I have things to do 
today.  

I got to Mulder's just after seven suitably attired, just as the 
pizza delivery turned up.  

"Ah, Scully, right on time."  

He ushered me into his apartment.  I didn't know what I was 
expecting but it looked the same as normal, maybe a touch 
tidier.  Some B movie playing on the television.  No clues 
here.  

"Go sit down, Scully. I'll bring in some plates.  I take it 
you'd like to eat first?  Or have you already eaten?"  

"No.  Pizza's good. Thanks."  

"You want beer or wine Scully?"  He yelled from the 
kitchen.  

"You've got wine?"  

"Sure."  

We chatted while we ate, just like our normal bets.  Having 
finished eating, I leaned back on the couch, wine glass in 
hand, sipping quietly while he told an amusing anecdote.  I 
laughed when he finished.  He was watching me when I 
became aware that his look was becoming intense.  I licked 
my lips nervously.  I wasn't sure what was coming next, so I 
hid my confusion by taking another sip of wine.  

"You look really nice tonight, Scully."  

I think I froze, glass halfway to my lips.  He put his beer 
down.  

"Actually, that's an understatement," he turned more fully 
towards me. "You look beautiful as always, but tonight you 
have this...  softness."  

He waved his arm about as if to describe something all 
encompassing.  I looked at his face trying to judge his 
sincerity.  I hoped this wasn't going where I thought this 
was going... and if it was, I needed him to be sincere.  I'd 
rather he said nothing at all than make fake compliments.  

"Mulder, please don't say things you don't mean."  

"You don't think you look nice?  You don't think I might 
think you're beautiful?  You don't think I might see you as 
soft, sexy, womanly?"  

I licked my lips again. 

"I don't really know how you see me," I whispered.  

He took my wine glass from me.  I had been clutching it 
hard. I wasn't sure what do with my hands now.  

"That's only fair. I don't really know how you see me."  

Oh.  I suppose not.  I glanced up at him.  He smiled, reached 
out to cup my face with his hand and leaned forward to kiss 
me, gently, tenderly.  I still couldn't help my nervousness; 
my heart was thudding in my chest, my stomach was doing 
cartwheels.  

"Scully, when was the last time you had sex?"  

Oh God, I think my heart just leapt out of my chest. "A 
while."  

"You nervous?"  

"No.  Yes...  I..."  

"Me too.  I have to confess to a feeling of performance 
anxiety, on the grounds of being severely out of practice."  

Okay, that made me feel a little better - not all the fumbling 
would be mine.  

"Anything you don't like doing?"  

Jesus, not something I want to discuss in detail right at this 
moment.

"This isn't all vulgar curiosity... maybe a bit, but I was 
rather hoping for a mutually pleasurable union.  So if there's 
anything you really don't like or anything you really do like, 
then now would be a good time to say."  

Not an unreasonable request and those lips on various parts 
of my body was something I'd really like to try, but I 
wouldn't know if I'd really enjoy it until I experienced the 
practical application. I'd like to believe... but I needed... I 
jolted to reality realising I'd been staring at his lips.  

"Ah, there you are," he smirked. "I was beginning to think 
you'd sent a clone."  

Then he kissed me again, a little more insistent this time but 
still no tongue.  My hands sneaked up his arms over his 
biceps to his shoulder.  His tongue touched my lips, I 
opened my mouth a little more, allowed my hand to stray to 
the back of his neck.  His tongue was tentatively 
approaching mine.  Still the kiss was light, investigative. 
Not his usual technique of plunge right in and see what he 
flushes out the undergrowth. Surely he wouldn't have gone 
this far if it was just a gotcha. Even Mulder.  

Blood rushed through my ears deafening me to all 
extraneous sounds. I flushed, blushed, tingled, trembled and 
thrilled. Okay, so sex it was.  No hidden agenda, just sex.  I 
can do that.  Long time since I had, but I'm sure it would 
come back to me.  

He pulled away from the kiss to look into my face, "Okay?"  

"I'm fine, Mulder." 

He smiled slightly at that.  "I guess fine's good at this point, 
but I think you ought to know I'm aiming for better than 
fine."  

That gave me a nice tingly feeling down my spine.  My 
heart had stopped thudding quite so much and my stomach 
was just fluttering.  He whispered kisses up my jaw towards 
my ear, he nibbled my earlobe, but when he moved to 
nuzzle my ear, it tickled and I giggled.  Most of my ticklish 
spots became erogenous zones as I got aroused, at what 
point I had no idea, because no one had ever taken the time 
to find out, and I didn't seem to be able to do it to myself.  

"We'll come back to that." 

Oh. 

"Any other ticklish spots?"  

I nodded.  

"Oh good, that's two courses."  

"Two courses?"  

"Finding those ticklish spots exposed while your clothes are 
on, and finding all those ticklish spots hidden under your 
clothes."  

Oh.  Oohh. "How many courses are there?"  

"Surely you haven't forgotten Scully.  The bet was sex 
against a meal at that French place. Last time we had the 
menu gastronomique.  It had seven courses. Nine if you 
count pre-dinner drinks and the coffee and brandy after."  

"We were there for three hours."  I think my voice 
squeaked.

"Three and a half by the time we finished the coffee."  

Oh my God.  OhmyGodOhmyGod.  Oh.  My.  God.  In my 
musings of sex with Mulder, this scenario had never 
occurred to me.  That it might be quick and impersonal yes, 
perfunctory and fumbling yes, sweet and gentle, fast and 
furious, yes and yes.  I guess I was hoping, given my recent 
sexual history, for starting with sweet and gentle and maybe 
progressing to something a little more rigorous, but although 
I might have fantasised on taking about an hour, I was 
expecting something around 20 minutes, 30 minutes tops.  
Three and a half hours had never even been a twinkle in my 
imagination.  Was Mulder into tantric sex?  My stomach did 
a somersault of...  of...  anticipation, I admitted to myself, 
but I was also a little unnerved.  

"Mulder, you know how the first time we went to the French 
restaurant, I couldn't manage all the courses?  How I had to 
practice pacing myself...?"  

He smiled, "I'll let you skip the cheese course, but you know 
you always manage to find room for a little desert and 
there's no excuse for missing out on the coffee and brandy."  

I was so overcome.  I sunk back down onto the couch, 
Mulder covering my body, covering my lips with his own.  
His hands now starting to roam.  When I next had control of 
my lips to form a coherent sentence, "Mulder, I don't think I 
got to see the menu."  

"I didn't let you read the menu. I thought I'd surprise you."  

"What if I don't like a course?"  

"Then we'll order something else."  

"What course are we on?"  

"We just had the pre-dinner drinks and nibbled the crudities, 
moved to the table for the first course, and I'm about to 
discover your exposed ticklish spots and catalogue them for 
later."  

My mouth opened in surprise. I knew it was, but I just 
couldn't seem to get enough brain to jaw co-ordination for 
me to close it.  Asparagus came to mind - where you swirl it 
round in the melted butter, suck it off with maybe a little 
nibble and then swirl it round again.  My fingers, the inside 
of my wrist, my toes, my instep, the inside of my ankle, my 
collarbone, the side of my neck, back of my neck, back to 
my ears, my forehead, my eyebrow. Then fingers through 
my hair, down the outside of my arm, over my shoulder, 
down my spine, across my hip, down the outside of my 
thighs, the inside of my knees and my calf.  No skin on skin 
contact here, but a soft fluttering over my clothes.  In some 
places I could hardly feel it, but I knew it was there.  

I didn't know what to do.  I could hardly complain, he hadn't 
even touched me intimately yet.  In fact, he hadn't yet 
strayed anywhere that could be considered controversial.  
His lips however, I'd never had his lips there before or there.  
You could not have got me to admit this, even with the 
application of thumbscrews, but I was on the point of 
whimpering, I wanted more.  I'd been trying to contain my 
little gasps and hums but it was very difficult.  He was 
causing goosebumps, tingles and sensitivity.  My nipples 
were hardening, I didn't think they had spontaneously 
hardened like that for years.  I couldn't wait for the next 
course.  

His hand moved under my sweater to touch my flesh.  My 
skin startled with the touch.  Then it realised it was onto a 
good thing and hummed, sparking little darts of pleasure in 
all directions.  Both hands roaming under my sweater now, 
soft strokes with the palm of his hand followed by 
whispering touches of his fingertips finding more ticklish 
spots at my waist.  Thrills and giggles at the same time.  I 
tried not to giggle, I was paying off a bet, this was a serious 
matter, a business matter, but Mulder seemed to be 
concentrating on pleasure rather than business.  

Now I thought about it, he seemed to be concentrating on 
my pleasure, although from the look in his eyes he seemed 
to be enjoying himself. His lips were now brushing over my 
abdomen, the skin twitching and sensitive.  Still, he'd won 
the bet. I should be a more active participant.  I reached 
tentatively to touch his hair, roaming my fingers through it, 
down over his nape to his shoulders, gently running my 
hand across his shoulders and the top of his back.  As he 
reached to push the collar of my sweater away so he could 
kiss across my collarbone, I reached to kiss the side of his 
neck.  

"Ah, ah, ah, Scully.  This is my meal, my choice."  

"But...  But we always have a taste of each other's, Mulder."  

He smiled at me. "That's true.  A nibble then, but if you 
want what I got, you'll have to order it yourself."  

At my puzzled look, "You wanted a meal. I wanted sex. If 
you want the controlling hand, so to speak, you'll have to bet 
for sex."  

Oh.  I blushed furiously.  Well, that wasn't going to happen.  

"However, I might let you have half my dessert like you 
usually do, if I'm not still feeling ravenous, of course."


I felt a pang of disappointment, then a huge thrill of 
apprehensive excitement. I was the nine course meal and 
Mulder appeared to have every intention of savouring every 
mouthful, forkful, handful, whatever.  Oh God.  Oh God.  
Somewhere inside me something was punching the air, 
yelling and shouting 'Yes.  Yes.  Yeess!' I was so overcome 
I hardly noticed that he'd undone the buttons on my sweater 
and was parting it with his nose, as his lips followed across 
the flesh.  I couldn't decide if my breasts were doing a sultry 
'why heelloo' or were leaping up and down waving and 
yelling 'over here, over here', quickly followed by a 'me 
first, me first.  No.  Me.  Me.  Meee.' Reticent shyness didn't 
seem to have crossed their mind.  

It crossed mine, momentarily, that Mulder might be 
disappointed, quickly followed by a 'don't be stupid, Dana.  
He's worked with you for years; he knows what size they 
are, he's had the odd covert glance, well, not so covert 
glance, down the front of your blouse from his superior 
height.  You may have leaned across his desk once or twice, 
too.  He's seen you naked, for God's sake.'

So he knew what he was getting, well in outline.  He didn't 
know he was going to get that response, or that.  I didn't 
know he was going to get that response, or that.  Had I 
complained about his sunflower seed husks lately?  I was 
never going to do it again.  I was going to go out and buy 
him a large, no, an extra large packet...  But not just yet.  

I was biting my lip, a little embarrassed at the noises 
scrambling to get out of my throat.  

"You're very quiet, Scully.  Come on, I expect you to make 
polite conversation while I am eating."  

"Con...  ver...  sation?"  I gasped out. 

"Well, maybe not polite.  It's just me, Scully.  You can 
babble about anything you like, but now is not the time for 
comfortable silences." 

What?  His tongue swirled around a nipple surprising a 
moan out of me.  

"That's better. Keep talking to me, Scully."  

Oh.  Conversation, as in noise coming out of my mouth, not 
necessarily coherent or intelligible.  I could probably do 
that.  

Despite the situation, despite my embarrassment, my 
reticence, I was becoming aroused.  My heart rate had gone 
up. At the very least my chest and face were flushed, I could 
feel it.  I watched Mulder as he brushed his lips across my 
skin.  

It was Mulder.  That was a good and a bad thing.  Should I 
let go and just feel?  

It was Mulder.  I knew I needed to let go to get the most out 
of this.  

It was Mulder.  I trusted him.  

It was Mulder.  He wouldn't hold it against me.  

It was Mulder.  But would I be too embarrassed to let him 
see me if I let go. 

It was Mulder.  It was a bet.  

It was Mulder.  For sex.  

It was Mulder.  

He turned me over and was caressing my back.  My sweater 
off, my bra undone, I was feeling the need to squirm.  His 
hands were on my calves coming up.  His lips on my back 
coming down.  Then a hand stroking up around my neck. 
This time it didn't tickle round my ears. I was expecting to 
cringe but oh God, the arousal shot down my spine along 
the neural paths to all the other erogenous zones.  

It was Mulder.  I let go just for a minute. 

It wasn't as if my breasts completely disappeared when I 
was lying down, but there was obviously more when I was 
above him, with them dangling tantalisingly near his mouth.  
Was he drooling?  It made me feel wanted, liked, desired.  It 
was just a bit...  I was feeling...  Shy.  I wasn't shy, reserved 
yes, reticent yes, but not usually shy, which meant that this 
was important, it mattered. What Mulder thought mattered, I 
wanted him to like what he saw, desire what he saw.  But it 
was just a bet.  And I didn't want a romantic relationship 
with him. I didn't.

Between courses we moved to the bedroom.  My trousers 
came off, his shirt came off.  He pulled me against him and 
we both moaned at the skin on skin contract.  He laid me on 
the bed and started kissing at my toes moving up.  I felt a 
little exposed, still a little self-conscious.  It wasn't that my 
body was bad but it was definitely...  used, second-hand, one 
not so careful owner.  A gunshot here, a knife scar there.  It 
had been touched up, cleaned up, waxed and polished but 
still it was used and definitely the compact model, hardly 
the luxury elongated caddy with the drinks cabinet in the 
back.  I'd have liked a little reassurance, I didn't need it, it 
would just be nice.  But it was just a bet.  

"God, Scully, you're beautiful."  Oh.  Was he reading my 
mind?  "You know that?"  

I had to shake my head no.  I thought I was probably 
attractive to some men but my intelligence was off putting 
to some and my occasional shrewish temper a turnoff to 
others.  Of the few men who had admired me enough to 
persist and whom I had admired back, I didn't think any had 
described me as beautiful. Not in such a reverent tone that I 
could believe.  Oh, they had said nice things but of course I 
never responded well to flattery, although I wasn't averse to 
an honest compliment.  

One lover had been clinically honest, making a catalogue of 
my features, one eye bigger than the other, funny nose, great 
lips, one breast bigger than the other.  All perfectly true but 
not the sort of comments one appreciated at quite that 
moment.  

This was so niiiice. I just wanted to let go, to just feel; it was 
just a bet.  He was really taking his time, having mapped my 
sensitive spots in the first and second course, he was now 
revisiting the more sensitive bits.  And God, this was really 
good. I just needed to relax a little more.  It was just a bet.  
It was Mulder.  Oh God he was headed...  Would he?  Oh 
God.  Should I let him?  

"Mulder, I err... uhm..." 

"You don't fancy this course?"  

"I err..." 

"Have you tried it before?  You know you should always try 
something before you refuse it, especially when it is on 
someone else's plate who doesn't mind sharing."  

He kissed a bit lower. 

"Have you tried before?"  He asked again.  

A hesitant nod from me.  

"You didn't like it?"  

Noncommittal shrug.  

"You know, Scully, I really recommend the chef at this 
Establishment.  This is one of his speciality dishes.  I think 
you should have a little taste before you skip the course."  
He nuzzled closer. 

I hesitated in indecision.  It was...  this...  it was Mulder.  
Mulder in his usual fashion pushed the boundaries, or more 
to the point brought a forkful of food to my lips, or the other 
way around.  He brought me to his lips.  Oh God. Oh. 

I seemed to have devoured everything on the plate.  Might 
even have licked the pattern off.  That was a novel 
experience, a delicious, mouth-watering, lips smacking, 
tongue swirling, slurping orgasmic experience.  I was 
replete. I gathered my wits - well some of them I was fairly 
sure that I spotted a couple circling the light bulb, and a 
couple must have slipped down the back at the bed and onto 
the floor.  However, I didn't need all of them at this moment.  

Was it my turn yet? That was my turn, well yes but didn't 
you want a taste of my victuals?  Onto the main course it 
seemed.  Maybe the 'cliched' thing to think here was fresh 
cucumber, and a couple of beef tomatoes.  I was thinking 
thick slabs of rare steak, melt in the mouth succulent 
protein.  

It was just a bet. It was Mulder. A moment of panic. 

"Mulder, it's been a long time."  

"Uh huh. We'll eat slowly, savour every mouthful." 

True to his word, take my word for it, every melt in the 
mouth, succulent, sweet, toe curling, stomach clenching, 
spine sizzling, tongue tingling, nipple crinkling, clit 
throbbing, stuffed to the gills mouthful was well and truly 
savoured.

As I got my breath back I tried to gather wits enough to get 
up, get dressed and go.  I needed space distance.  But 
Mulder had other ideas.  He turned us on our sides, 
spooning up behind me pulling me into his chest, moulding 
his hips, thighs and knees to mine.  What the hell?  

"Dessert, Scully.  Nothing heavy this time, something light 
and refreshing, and as we are skipping the cheese, straight 
into the post prandial coffees and brandies."

Coffees and brandies? Did that mean questions? Post-coital 
revelations? I couldn't do that now.  

It was just a bet.  Sex.  

Mulder hadn't had sex, he'd made love to me - was still 
making love to me.  Slow, sensuously, tender, seductive 
love.  Oh, there was no doubt he'd enjoyed it.  Even now, he 
was making soft, contented sighing noises behind me.  Still 
occasionally nuzzling my hair.  I felt unnerved, if I thought 
about it too carefully, tearful.  I tried for anger but that was 
illogical.  How could you be angry when someone made 
love to you?  By consent, because I'd agreed to sex, which it 
was.  It was my own expectations that were off kilter. 

So here I was, sweat cooling on my body, snuggled in bed 
with a lover who wasn't. Emotions in turmoil because it was 
just a bet.

Mulder might have wanted sex but he had given more than 
that, the stroking, the touching, the warmth, the closeness to 
someone he knew and trusted.  Unless he was going to try to 
use it against me later?  No, I didn't think so. That wasn't his 
style.  But this mustn't happen again.  It was too assiduous.  
It was far too tempting just to let go and drop off to sleep.  
Then I'd be in the middle of a relationship before I realised 
it.  Well, I was in a relationship, but not that sort of 
relationship. I couldn't even sort my own feelings out at this 
point, let alone try to interpret Mulder's motives. I needed to 
think, I needed distance.  

Fortunately, the post-coital chat I'd dreaded didn't 
materialise, Mulder apparently, for once semi-comatosed. I 
waited for him to sleep before extracting myself from his 
embrace and slinking home in the night.  I half expected 
him on my doorstep the following day, but nothing.  Not 
even a phone call. 

Had Mulder planned this?  Planned to shove my emotions 
into a spin? Perhaps so, if the problem as he saw it was to 
jerk me out of my groove. Unfortunately, I couldn't be sure 
that's what he wanted to do. It circled round and round in 
my head. Casual sex, friends who fuck, one-off sexual 
encounter, opening salvo to get me into a physical 
relationship. I'm sure Mulder didn't want a romantic 
relationship; he didn't have the time to invest in one, didn't 
want to create the time to invest in one. I didn't want a 
romantic relationship, I needed my space, my own quiet 
time. A romantic relationship between Mulder and I could 
never work, could it? All this speculation and it was 
probably irrelevant. Just Mulder being... Mulder.

Come Monday morning, I dressed for work, trying not to 
appear too buttoned down or show too much cleavage.  
Something neutral.  Of course, when I apprehensively 
entered the office, trying to be as measured as always, 
Mulder was in a buoyant mood. New case. Mobile plants 
ganging up and breaking into local houses.  I noted 
cynically that you might expect plants to break into local 
garden centres or garden sheds to steal fertiliser, but these 
seemed to be targeting wealthy homeowners for small 
valuable items like jewellery and cash and credit cards.  I 
challenged; he produced a security video and a Sheriff's 
report of a homeowner shooting one of the intruders.  The 
evidence being a bucket of leaves, twigs and branches.  
However, the plant survived to root off.  I had been 
expecting to see the leaf camouflaged, body-shaped plants, 
but even on the grainy security video that obviously wasn't 
true.  Still I wasn't convinced.  

"Come on, Scully.  I bet you a trip out to that chick flick you 
want to see against you cheer leading at a game on 
Saturday."  He was already guiding me out the door.  

"Not cheer leading, Mulder," I whined.  I'd swear his hand 
lingered on my back just a fraction longer than normal.  

"Definitely cheer leading, if I have to do the chick flick."  

Of course, there had been nothing paranormal about the 
plants, just some sacked disgruntled engineer who made a 
couple of robots, then covered them in branches and leaves 
to hide the arms and cutters.  The robots were almost 
endearing. They were quite ingenious and a terrible waste of 
his skills. Now he wouldn't be using his joystick for some 
time.

I'd seen the wheel tracks at the last victim's house.  It could 
have been from a child's toy, then a pattern to the victims 
emerged.  They were all directors or associates of the same 
company.  We arranged to have the houses of the next 
potential victims monitored, and lo and behold, plants 
emerged from the undergrowth.  Tempting though it was to 
rush in, the felony was allowed to happen then the plants 
trailed back to their compost heap.  

I tried not to gloat. Mulder spouted on about the possibilities 
of locomotive plant life.  Oh and we went to the movie.  On 
Saturday I went by the gym, just on the off chance and yes, 
it was another charity game.  I joined in the cheering.  
Mulder spotted me and smiled wide enough to make my 
heart leap.  I departed hastily at the end of the game, but 
Mulder caught up to me in the car park, still hot and sweaty 
from the game.  

"Don't rush."  

"I'm going shopping."  

"I'll come with you."  

"What?!"  

"So long as we can have lunch."  

"Mulder, you hate shopping, especially at the weekend. You 
moan about the crowds, you whine about the queues."  

"I'll be good."  

"Mulder...?"  I called to his retreating back.

What was with Mulder, I thought while I waited?  Was this 
his idea of surreptitious dating? Courting?  Why not come 
out and say so?  High risk of rejection.  We weren't 
relationship type people.  No, that wasn't right.  We weren't 
relationship with each other type of people.  I could imagine 
Mulder in a relationship with someone who didn't mind 
being stood up frequently without notice...  maybe not.  He 
had a lot of endearing qualities, he could be very 
entertaining, great conversationalist but...  and physically he 
was attractive, in more ways than one, I now knew, but...  
for passing a lonely hour or three, he could be a really 
convenient guy.  I just wasn't a just in passing type of girl. 
However, I would have said Mulder wasn't either if you 
replaced the word girl with boy. But neither of us wanted to 
make time for... this was very confusing.

I sighed as Mulder, still flushed and sparkling eyed from the 
exercise, hair damp from the shower, opened the car door 
threw his bag in and bounced into the passenger seat, 
turning to grin at me.  I wondered if I could get the staid, 
reserved side of my mind to make an exception and just go 
for the whiling away a few hours?

I didn't let my self control go that day or any subsequent 
days.  Things were just... normal, well as normal as things 
ever were for us. Work came and went.  Bets came and 
went.  I was tempted to set the bet myself, especially a few 
weeks later when my body was making requests I couldn't 
satisfy.  How could the body get addicted after just one... 
one... one session?  But of course if it got something good it 
wanted more, more, more.  Somehow, the moment passed 
and I never issued the bet.  

Just as I thought my body was playing reverse psychology 
on me and effectively sulking, Mulder voiced the bet again.  
My entire body must have been on standby as muscles 
jumped, contracted, twitched, caused tingles, and organs 
relocated or spun on the spot.  I accepted the bet, emotional 
turmoil be damned.  I was sure I was right.  But somehow I 
could not help feeling disappointed when I won.  

Not that the meal wasn't very nice.  We lingered.  Mulder 
flirted outrageously, I felt myself responding, unfolding at 
the attention, languidly stretching (internally of course) at 
his long lingering looks.  There was no pretence.  Mulder 
wanted me, I wouldn't have been unwilling, my body 
definitely was ready but that wasn't the bet.  Mulder walked 
me to my door again even though it wasn't a date.  

"Do I get a good night kiss?"  he asked.

"Is that included in the bet?"  I could have kicked myself, 
but that was our game and I responded automatically.  He 
shook his head smiling ruefully. 

"I'll remember to include it next time."  

"But this is my bet." 

"Oh, yes. You'll have to include it next time.  Night, 
Scully."  

And he was gone before I could change my mind.  I sighed 
to myself.  It wasn't a date, just a bet. We were not having a 
relationship. Not a sexual one.  And I didn't want one.  I'd 
get even more invested in Mulder than I already was, and he 
didn't want the same things out of a long-term relationship 
that I did. So there was no point in starting something that 
would bring heartache in the future.  What we had was as 
good as we were going to get.  Still...  Still nothing, Dana.  
It wasn't that Mulder wouldn't commit to a long-term 
relationship, I knew.  He would like the closeness, the 
stability, the affection. It was just that he'd never settle 
down, be still, which was odd, considering how many times 
he'd watched the old sci-fi B movies.  Such a contradiction.

The next couple of weeks went back to normal.  I didn't 
know whether to sigh with relief or fold my arms across my 
chest and sulk.  Sigh with relief, no sexual relationship, I 
reminded myself. Then the wager again.  I was stunned 
when I lost, then I panicked - we should not do this again - 
then secretly elated.  I played it cool, unaffected.  

I turned up when requested and suffered my losses with 
dignity.  It was a terrible price to pay, I hated every minute 
of it, it was awful.  He kissed, stroked, petted and teased for 
what seemed like hours.  He gave my breasts far too much 
attention, I squirmed in discomfort, he headed south and I 
writhed in embarrassment.  And oh God it was wonderful, 
exhilarating, satisfying, and satiating.  

I tried to return the attention.  I was allowed to kiss and 
stroke parts immediately before me but when I tried to take 
the lead, "No no, Scully. This is my winnings. I told you 
before, if you want to have me, you have to make the 
appropriate bet."

Oh.  Oh God.  I'd have flushed with something if I wasn't 
already flushed with arousal.  As we 'lingered over coffee' 
or spooned in the after glow, Mulder began to chat.  I 
tensed, fearing the discussion.  

"This has been a pleasant evening, Scully.  I really enjoyed 
the first course."  

I blushed in remembrance but responded, "Each individual 
course is nice but it's when you put it altogether you get the 
most enjoyment."  

"Have you ever tried that particular dish before, Scully?" 

"No," I whispered back apprehensively, knowing what he 
was referring to. My response must have given it away.  

"You didn't have to eat it if you didn't enjoy it.  You could 
have left it."  

"I know... it was different, unusual and it took me a few 
mouthfuls to decide whether I liked it or not.  And if it came 
as part of the meal again I wouldn't refuse it."  

"But if you're just ordering a course for yourself would you 
ask for it?"  

"Well, I suppose it might depend on what else was on offer. 
I might try something new."  

"Would you try something on my recommendation?"  

"I think I just did."  

I had intended to leave when he fell asleep but as we 
continued chatting, I drifted off to sleep.  I awoke to the 
feeling of warmth and weight. I shot to wakefulness when I 
didn't immediately recognise my surroundings; calmed 
slightly when I realised I was still in Mulder's bed even 
though I knew I shouldn't be here. I could take a few 
minutes. I tried to ease myself from Mulder's arms but he 
grumbled in his sleep and pulled me closer to him.  Oh God 
a morning erection.  I really needed to get out of here.  

That was not part of the bet, tempting though it was, it 
would only complicate things without the buffer zone of the 
bet.  I was trying again to extract myself from Mulder but he 
snuggled closer.  I knew when he snapped awake.  

"Morning."  

"Morning. Mulder, you need to let me go so I can get 
going," I said trying to disengage his arms.

"I haven't slept that well in years."  

He paused. There was obviously some internal debate going 
on.  I held my breath. Don't push, Mulder.  Please don't 
push, I thought to myself.  

"I have coffee and cereal." 

 With which he turned to get out of bed, retrieved a pair of 
boxes and padded to the kitchen.  Well, not quite as bad or 
embarrassing as if I'd tried to locate my clothes and dress 
while he pretended not to watch from the bed. I got up and 
followed my trail of clothes to the couch, dressing as I went.  
I hovered at the kitchen door to say goodbye.  Mulder saw 
me and indicated the coffee he was just making and to the 
bowl of cereal.  

"Don't even think about driving across town without 
breakfast, I know how cranky you get without your coffee 
and sugar boost in the morning.  So don't spoil the morning 
with rushing."  

I was tempted to scowl at him.  Tempted to feel 
embarrassed, unnerved by the morning after scenario.  In the 
end, I gave a small smile and accepted the coffee.

************************************************

The End

Author's Note.  I seem to have terrible trouble trying not to 
play in the gutter but it's just so much fun. However, I think 
I got caught in a flash flood and I'm left hanging by my 
nails over the storm drain in immediate danger of slipping 
into the sewer. All it would take is someone prising my 
fingers from their tenuous hold, wouldn't even need a good 
stomp. Should I have confessed to that?

By the way there's more to this story... in my head. If you 
think I should continue I'm sure you are aware of the most 
effective forms of communication to achieve this!