AUTHOR:  A. Kelley Nolan
EMAIL:  akelleynolan@yahoo.com
DISTRIBUTION:  Wherever.  Just let me know.
RATING:  PG for implied sexual activity and maybe one questionable word
CATEGORIES:  VR
KEYWORDS:  Mulder/Scully romance
SPOILERS:  None

SUMMARY:  "It is the scent I recognize before I see him when he comes 
up behind me, the scent that I know best and that fills my senses all 
the way down to my toes."\par

FEEDBACK:  Is good karma.

Disclaimer:  Clearly I don't own them, never have, and never will.  I 
don't own much of anything else, either, if you want the truth.

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

I'll never admit it to him, but a big part of the reason I'm draped 
like a rag doll across his sweaty, heaving chest is the way he 
smelled.

See, it caught me by surprise.  I thought I knew every possible scent 
Mulder has.  I've collected a sizeable -- an embarrassing -- database 
of his pheromone production over the years. It wasn't intentional, not 
at first.  I remember distinctly that we were sitting in a car that 
first year, on an ass-numbingly boring stakeout, and I caught a whiff 
of him as he leaned across me to dig a bag of sunflower seeds out of 
the glove compartment.  I thought how he smelled different after hours 
in that car than he did in the office, and that was the beginning of 
my research project.

After seven years, I thought I knew them all, had marked them all down 
carefully in my mental catalogue.  I have seen the man in every 
conceivable, and not a few inconceivable, situations, after all. You 
can see why I was caught off guard.

There is MorningMulder. When he first arrives in the office, he is all 
Ivory soap and peppermint toothpaste and clean aftershave and the 
faintly sea-colored scent of his shampoo.  I like MorningMulder, of 
course. It is comfortable, familiar.  It has welcomed me to work every 
day for years, since he is almost always there before me. I know 
exactly when he changes shampoos (seldom), and for the last year or so 
I've had the little thrill each morning of the aftershave I gave him 
for his last birthday mingling to create this scent.  It's a curiously 
powerful feeling, as if I've somehow helped create him, and I get to 
experience it every morning. That might be a slight turn-on, actually.

Then there's AfternoonMulder, my personal favorite. After all the 
ablutional stuff has worn off I catch the scent that I think of as 
_him_. AfternoonMulder, or RealMulder, is warm and golden.  I realize 
a smell really can't be either warm or golden, but that is what he 
brings to mind. If I close my eyes and just breathe him in, I picture 
dry grass under a summer sun.  A little salt, from those inevitable 
damn seeds. He is like summer in the California hills. I love that, 
and it is the scent I recognize before I see him when he comes up 
behind me, the scent that I know best and that fills my senses all the 
way down to my toes.

There is NakedMulder, when my scent is all over his skin. That's what 
he smells like right now, like me, like us, like sex and love. 
Needless to say, I plan to experience this one every day for the rest 
of my life.  It is beautiful.

Of course, there are many others. After years of study, I'd be a poor 
scholar indeed if I only had three examples in the database.  Some of 
his scents make a little pool of warmth coil in my stomach, like 
YMCAMulder, when the faint tang of chlorine clings to his skin because 
he never takes enough time with that special neutralizing shampoo of 
his to really scrub down after he swims, or SweatyMulder, when he 
comes back from a run, which is like that golden summer scent on 
steroids. His sweat smells fantastic.  Or SleepyMulder, when he has 
just awakened and his body is almost feverishly warm and his scent is 
subtle, rich, earthy, like walking through the woods.

There are others that make my heart clench.  HospitalMulder comes to 
mind.  Blood and Betadine and unforgiving antiseptic.  I hate that 
one.  I hate that I know the metallic tang of Mulder's blood.  
FrightenedMulder, with the slightly acrid scent of fear and 
desperation.  As many times as he's faced death -- and we must be well 
into the double digits by now -- I have only ever caught that somewhat 
bitter smell when I am in danger, when he fears for me.  I wish to God 
he'd have the sense to worry about himself, but pheromones don't lie.  
If anything, FearlessMulder is worse.  I have seen him this way on 
more occasions than I'd like.  Wild eyed, nothing to lose, nothing 
left to hope for.  Those times are usually about me, too, and the 
shocking, feral scent lingers in my nostrils for days.

Then there are the dozens of variations on _him_.  There is 
HappyMulder, which always makes me think of boardwalks and bubble gum.  
The scent is nothing like either of those things, but it is light like 
a breeze, relaxed, sweet.  PissyMulder makes an appearance almost 
strictly in the presence of Skinner or some other bureaucratic toady, 
and I think the subtle, musky shift in his body chemistry is pure 
testosterone at those moments.  I have caught SickMulder only a few 
times in all the years we've known each other.  Last winter when he 
got the flu, and that whole LSD-in-the-drinking-water incident.  The 
top of his head smells different when he's sick.  Just...wrong.  Like 
an imposter.  TakeoutMulder smells hot and spicy, all those peppers 
and onions and fiery sauces that he loves ratcheting up his already 
active metabolism and breathing out through his skin so that I am 
transported to Bangkok or Madras or Marrakech just by brushing against 
his shoulder.

GoofyMulder, GrievingMulder, TuxedoMulder (that's a good one, very 
rarely sniffed), HornyMulder, AirsickMulder (not a favorite), 
StakeoutMulder, PoutingMulder, ExuberantMulder...they all have slight 
but distinct variations, and I can tell his mood just by closing my 
eyes and inhaling.  He doesn't know I do this, thank God.  He thinks 
it's all about the eyes, and that's just as well, because 
MischievousMulder has a scent, too, and it's a dangerous one.

But this one was new to me.  I don't even know what to call it except, 
maybe, ScullyMulder.  God, this is so embarrassing.  I think I'd shoot 
him before I'd let him find out.  You see, he stayed over last night, 
all night, which he's never done.  It's not a luxury we get all that 
often, and for some reason our all-night romps have all been at his 
place, even though mine is bigger, cleaner, better stocked, and just 
generally nicer.  Regardless, last night he stayed here.  All night, 
wrapped in my arms.  I loved it.  We woke up in the middle of the 
night and made slow, silent love, and when I woke in the morning he 
was still there, his arm draped heavily over me, the scent of 
NakedMulder on the sheets.

The sleepover wasn't expected, though, so he had nothing with him 
except the set of emergency clothes that he's kept at my place for 
years.  He had to make do with my stuff, an extra toothbrush from the 
medicine cabinet, that kind of thing.  And when he came out of the 
shower, dripping water on my newly waxed floor, in the blast of heat 
and moist air from the bathroom I caught this powerful new scent.  It 
was him, but with my shampoo, my soap, my toothpaste...It was 
ScullyMulder.  I was so turned on my knees nearly gave out.  It was so 
primal, my inner cavewoman was shouting.  I felt like I'd just marked 
this man as mine for all the world to smell.  Is that nuts?  I'm not 
normally turned on by the scent of my own shampoo, I assure you, but 
on him...

He looked surprised when I slid up to him and got rid of his towel 
with one quick tug, but the wild look that I know was in my eyes and 
the hot kiss I pressed to his mouth were apparently a compelling 
argument.  I've discovered one of the few times when he doesn't 
disagree with my way of thinking.  And now I am boneless atop him, and 
his breathing is returning to normal as his hands glide over my back 
and hips, and when I slide my lips against his throat there is 
_another_ new scent -- NakedScullyMulder.  Damn.  That's got to be one 
for the book.

-Fin-