xfc: NIGHT BLOOM by AnubisKV5 (*Do not archive to Gossamer!*)
anubiskv51013
Gossamer!*)
AUTHOR: AnubisKV5
E-MAIL: Anub...@cs.com
FEEDBACK: Constructive feedback always
appreciated!
RATING: NC-17 - no minors allowed! If you're
under 18, SHOO! Go away! This isn't for you!
BETA-READER: The wonderful, amazing Aerostar.
All other errors are my own.
CATEGORY: MSR. Mid- and Post-Ep
SPOILERS: The Beginning
DISCLAIMER: Not mine -- I make no claims; The
X-Files characters belong to 1013 Productions,
Chris Carter and Fox. No rights implied. I'm
just borrowing them. (Mrs. Edgar is *all* mine,
however.) Also, I am not the same Anubis
archived on Gossamer, nor am I AnubisLite. I'm
a totally different person, ergo, AnubisKV5.
But, you can call me Anubis. ;)
SUMMARY: They fought like wildcats at times, at
least verbally. He was the believer and she was
the skeptic. As always. Eternally. But, as best
friends, they always came together and were able
to put work behind them and truly *be* friends.
She'd always hoped they could become more. Was
that possible now?
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Written for the Virtual Season
of Smut Challenge - Season 6 at Fandomonium.com.
DEDICATION: For Aerostar, for her constant
support and friendship. For her suggestions,
additions, beta-ing and everything else there
is. You go, girl! -- ahite? To AJ, well, just
because.
~x~X~X~X~x~
She awoke, disoriented, though she wasn't
certain why.
And then she heard it; something she wasn't
accustomed to hearing very often: the soft,
gentle snores of her partner. She smiled to
herself and slowly, quietly turned over on her
bed to face him.
The dim light of the motel bedside lamp was
enough for her to watch him sleep. He lay on
his side, facing her, one arm pillowing his
head and the other wrapped around his middle.
She resisted the urge to run her fingers along
the edges of his slack mouth, especially that
plump bottom lip which had fueled so many
fantasies for her during the nearly six years
of their partnership.
They fought like wildcats at times, at least
verbally. He was the believer and she was the
skeptic. As always. Eternally. But, as best
friends, they always came together and were
able to put work behind them and truly *be*
friends. She'd always hoped they could become
more. Was that possible now?
Lately, the friendship had been strained and
their slowly-escalating relationship had
stalled, it seemed.
Her mouth strained, too, into a slight frown.
Diana Fowley: the two words that held the power
to spoil her mood faster than anything she knew.
Not even her brother Bill's haughty, holier-
than-though haranguing about *his* opinion of
how she should be spending her life could bring
her mood down so damned quickly.
*Why* did he trust *her* so completely? Believe
everything *she* said as canon? Why didn't he
trust her -- his partner -- the way he trusted
his *ex*-partner? Even if it wasn't true, it
certainly felt that way at times. Now, more
often than not.
The pain lodged uncomfortably low in her gut,
chewing, she was sure, an ulcer into her
stomach. Maybe she'd have to have it checked.
The pain was real, visceral, deep. And it hurt
like hell.
Or did she need to have her heart checked?
Truly, she wasn't sure which.
"Scully?" His voice was sleep-filled, tinged
with worry. "Are you okay?" He tentatively
reached over to attempt to gently rub the frown
from her forehead with a fingertip.
"M'okay," she muttered, allowing the touch
momentarily before moving back out of his reach.
But she wasn't okay. Not with the specter of
Fowley around. She'd lied; Dana Scully was
always on edge lately. Fowley was like a bad
penny; always showing up at the most inopportune
times. Now, Diana Fowley and Jeffrey Spender
had the X-Files and the basement office.
Mulder's life work which had become *her* life
work as well. She was invested; totally and
completely.
Every time she saw the woman, Fowley reminded
her, unfairly or not, of one of those spitting
cobras, one of the ones that coiled, flared its
hood, swayed provocatively, hypnotizing its
unsuspecting prey and then blinding it with its
acrid venom before devouring the prey whole.
Fox Mulder, it seemed, was Diana Fowley's prey.
Scully had done everything she could to convince
Mulder of Fowley's deceptions, but because of
their past together -- or maybe in spite of it
-- Mulder continued to insist that Diana Fowley
was his friend and would not betray him or the
X-Files. More than anything, Scully was certain
he'd be hurt by her again. Admittedly, she knew
little of their past; he was not especially
forthcoming. She surmised the rest, wrong or
right.
Scully sat up, rubbing her eyes. She hadn't
meant to fall asleep while they were talking,
discussing the case and the crime scene they'd
visit the next day, and neither had he. They
were both dressed in casual clothing and had
been sitting on the bed in her Phoenix motel
cottage, a little "Mom and Pop" set-up, which
was surprisingly nice, considering that Mulder
had, as usual, picked the place.
They'd checked in earlier in the afternoon, too
late to go to the crime scene at the nuclear
reactor, and met the "Mom" of the motel
operation instead.
Mrs. Irawanah Edgar had greeted them warmly. She
was a small, elderly, round woman with glowing,
apple-colored cheeks. Her hair was almost
completely iron-gray and she had a happy smile
on dark-reddish skin that bespoke of her Native
American ancestry. She'd been impressed and
pleased that *real* FBI agents had decided to
stay at her and her husband's place.
After they'd signed in, Mrs. Edgar had walked
them through the small courtyard to their
respective side-by-side white-washed stucco
cottages. Mr. Edgar, it seemed, was in Tucson,
on business.
The courtyard had been full of all kinds of
desert-blooming foliage and an impressive cactus
garden, and Scully had commented on its beauty.
Mrs. Edgar had smiled even wider, if it was
possible, and told her about the deer, rabbits
and other desert wildlife that came into her
courtyard in the very early morning hours to
munch on her plants for breakfast. She'd tried,
she said, for years, to stop that, and then
finally gave up. Instead, for the past decade,
she and Mr. Edgar enjoyed watching, from the
swing on their front porch, with cups of steaming
coffee in their hands, the animals come and go
in the early dawn hours. The desert, she said,
could be very cold at night, even in the hottest
summers, and the coffee helped warm them up.
"Scully?--" Behind her on the bed, breaking into
her thoughts, Mulder sat up, too.
She started to turn toward him, but whatever he
was going to say was stopped by the rapid but
quiet knock on her door. Scully and Mulder
looked at each other, then, as one, at the
clock. It was after midnight. Scully stood and
retrieved her SIG from where she'd deposited it
on the top of the television and went to peek
out the curtains. With a sigh of relief, she hid
the gun behind her back and opened the door.
"Miss Scully! I have something to show you!"
Mrs. Edgar said excitedly, then suddenly noticed
a rumpled-looking Agent Mulder sitting on
Scully's bed. "Oh!... I'm sorry... I didn't mean
to interrupt..." Her dark skin blushed an even
deeper red.
"Mrs. Edgar," Scully told her, "You didn't
interrupt anything. Agent Mulder and I were
working on our case files." She motioned back to
the bed, where, indeed, next to her partner were
a series of official-looking file folders. "What
can I do for you?"
"Well, I saw your light on, and as long as I'm
not bothering you... it's such a rare occurrence,
and you seemed to like my garden, so, I wanted
to share this with you." Mrs. Edgar looked
hopefully from Scully to Mulder and back again.
"If you'd both like to see it..."
Scully smiled warmly at the woman, noticing the
flashlight in her hands, and said, "Yes, we'd
love to come. Just let us get our shoes." Scully
returned her SIG to its place on the television.
"You might want a sweater, dear," Mrs. Edgar
added, "It's actually quite cool out tonight."
Scully smiled at her, inviting her in out of the
cold as she and Mulder donned their footwear and
jackets.
~x~X~X~X~x~
Shortly, they were following the older woman on
a care-worn dirt path through the hard desert
scrabble of rocks, succulents, cacti and other
flora out behind the cottages. It *was* cool
outside and Scully was very glad she'd taken her
jacket. They walked for a few moments in silence
until Mrs. Edgar stopped. "Oh, here it is, dears!
Look!"
Mrs. Edgar shone her flashlight on a rather tall
specimen and on it were three very, very large
blooms, reminding Scully of a morning glory, only
much, much larger. Each bloom was about six
inches across. She watched as Mrs. Edgar leaned
forward and inhaled one of the blooms' fragrance.
"This is my favorite," the old woman said
cheerfully, telling them its technical name,
which was lost on both of them. "But it *only*
blooms at night, usually after midnight, and
only for a few weeks of the year. I come out to
check every night and, well, you must have
brought some luck with you, because it's blooming
for the first night this year!" She looked back
at her guests. "Would you like to...?" She waved
vaguely at the bloom. "Be careful of the spines,
dears!" she warned.
Scully smiled and moved forward, carefully
lowering her face to the delicate bloom that,
while pure white, looked exquisitely blue in the
light of the Arizona moon. Its fragrance was
heady, sweet and wonderful. She'd never before
experienced anything quite like it. Scully closed
her eyes and enjoyed its scent again.
"Hey! Save some of that for me," Mulder whispered
closely behind her. Scully smiled and stepped
back, making room for her partner. He inhaled
deeply, then turned, with surprise on his face,
looking back at Scully and Mrs. Edgar. "This is
wonderful, Mrs. Edgar!" Scully could swear she
saw the woman blush under her handsome partner's
gaze.
"Thank you, young man. Well," Mrs. Edgar said
with a smile, "I won't keep you. I know it's
late and you two young people have... *other*
things to do." She smiled a knowing smile and
Scully was glad it was dark so that Mulder
couldn't see her blush. "I just thought you
might enjoy it. Thank you for indulging an old
woman." She watched as the male FBI agent put his
arm around the pretty female FBI agent, his eyes
intent on her face. "Come along, dears!"
"Oh, we'll be along," Mulder murmured and looked
at Mrs. Edgar with a smile. "It's bright enough
with the full moon and I memorized the path. I
think we'd like to enjoy your flowers a little
longer." Mulder winked at her.
"Well, okay, then," the woman said, "Remember, I
serve a full, home-made breakfast in the dining
room from seven until nine-thirty." With one last
smile, she left and they watched as the beam of
her flashlight bobbed along the path.
"Mulder," Scully said quietly, glancing back at
the gorgeous blooms, "we should get back; it's
late."
"I know," he said and hugged her closer, noting
her shiver. "Are you cold, Scully?"
"Y-Yes," she said. It was a lie; it was his
proximity, not the cold. Lately, more than ever,
his proximity made her shiver, though he'd always
had an incredible effect on her.
"Then, let's go back and get you warm," his voice
was low, honeyed, seductive.
They'd been moving towards a change in their
relationship for a long, long time. With his hand
slipping down to its his usual place on her lower
back, he gently urged her up the path toward her
cottage. Along the way, he slipped his hand from
her waist to her forearm and took her hand in his;
then slowly entwined his fingers with hers.
Scully was alternately elated and nervous at each
new overture.
In silence, they enjoyed the moonlight, the
sounds of the desert and each other's company.
~x~X~X~X~x~
Back in her cottage, Scully shucked her jacket
and excused herself to go to the bathroom. There,
she ran the tap and splashed water on her face
and brushed her teeth. Scully looked in the
mirror for a moment before removing her make-up.
Mulder had seen her in much worse situations so
she wasn't worried about that. She stripped and
pulled on her midnight blue silk pajamas.
When she returned to the room, she stopped in
shock, staring at the bed. The files had been
removed and stacked haphazardly on the little
table by the window and Mulder lay in her bed,
under the covers, naked to the waist, at least.
She wasn't sure about the rest of him, for he
was under her covers. Her eyes roamed the planes
and muscles of his torso.
"Scully?" He looked vaguely apprehensive.
"Mulder..."
"Scully," he interrupted her, "It doesn't have
to be anything you don't want it to be. You were
cold. I want to help warm you up."
At that, Scully snickered. "Oh, I'm *sure,*" she
said with a snort. Mulder smiled back at her.
"Come on, we can cuddle." He patted the space in
the bed next to him. "Warm each other up."
"You have your *own* cottage, Mulder. Complete
with a thermostat," she replied.
"Yeah," he agreed, "but I don't know of a
thermostat that can warm me up as fast as a
little red-headed FBI pathologist who can kick
my ass." His eyes were openly appraising the
dips and curves of her body under the midnight
blue silk.
She crossed to the bed and sat on it looking at
him, a small smile on her face, "And you'd better
not forget about the 'kicking your ass' part,
Agent Mulder."
"I'm not *that* stupid, Agent Scully," Mulder
replied, his grin widening.
"Mulder," she tried one more time, "we have an
early morning, you know."
"Yep," Mulder replied, "and we can have a late
night, too. Not to mention a full, home-made
breakfast served from seven until nine-thirty to
refuel. The longer it takes for you to get in
here, the longer it's going to take for both of
us to get warm."
Tentatively, Scully climbed into her own bed,
relaxed against the pillow, turned her back to
him and pulled the covers up to her shoulders.
She closed her eyes and took deep breaths,
trying hard to ignore the scent of Mulder next
to her. His unique scent was just as heady and
overwhelming as the night-blooming desert plant
they'd just experienced. More so, in fact. She
saw the dim light of the bedside table go out
from behind her eyelids and felt Mulder snuggle
down into the bed behind her.
They'd done this before after a particularly
hard case or for no reason at all. They'd shared
a bed for comfort and nothing else. That's all
this was, too, right?
Scully's eyes blinked open in surprise when a
strong arm reached around her middle and pulled
her back slowly against his chest. "C'mere,
Scully."
"Mulder..."
"Just covering my partner's back," he said, a
smile in his voice.
Scully started to pull away, but went limp when
his soft, warm, wet lips connected with the back
of her neck, on the delicate scar that they both
believed contained a secretive chip that kept her
alive. "Oh..." she sighed and squirmed back
against him, her body betraying her conscious
mind.
Behind her, Mulder had moved his arm, reached up
and pulled back the neck of her pajamas, to lay
sweet kisses down the top of her spine, as far
as he could touch his lips to her uncovered skin.
She closed her eyes again and reveled in his
intimate touch.
All thoughts of Diana Fowley fled, and Scully
lost herself in the moment, in Mulder's heat.
His hand crept around her again and his fingers
worked under her top, drawing light, tender
patterns on her stomach. It took her a moment to
realize he'd been spelling out her name with his
forefinger: Dana Katherine Scully. Then his
fingers moved slowly higher.
"Mulder!" her voice came out in an explosive
whisper as his fingers carefully brushed the
undersides of her sensitive breasts, then moved
higher to tweak a nipple. It was not enough and
it was too much.
"Scully," his deep voice was rough with need
next to her ear, "we need to lose this top." His
fingers were now toying with the buttons of her
pajama top, but he really wasn't doing anything.
He was anxiously waiting for her assent.
She knew he'd stop if she said the word. But,
did she want to say the word?
Her answer came in the form of a silent nod that
he couldn't help but feel with his stubble-
roughened cheek next to hers. He acknowledged it
with a nod of his own, and a happy sigh. Scully
could almost feel him smile. She could also feel
something else, long, hard, throbbing, hot and
delicious against her back, realizing he was
naked under the sheets and blankets. She
couldn't help the deep, heavy feeling of longing
spread down between her legs.
"You're awfully sure of yourself, G-Man," Scully
breathed, covering his hand with hers, helping
him to slip the buttons from their buttonholes.
"What would you have done if I'd kicked your
naked ass out of my cottage?"
"I'd have frozen my naked balls off running back
to *my* very cold and empty cottage, Scully," he
said, nibbling the soft skin behind her ear,
making her shiver again, "But I had faith in
you: I trusted you to do the right thing."
She couldn't help it, tears sprang into her eyes
at his confession of his trust in her. She turned
in his arms, hugging him tight.
"Scully?" he had her face in his hands, looking
deeply into her ocean-deep blue eyes, wiping the
tears from her cheeks with his thumbs.
"Shut up, Mulder," she said, snaked her hand
behind his head and pulled him to her for their
first kiss as lovers.
It was sweet, it was deep, it was wet and it was
hot. Their tongues tangled as they engaged in
each other's tastes while their fingers both
moved down to finish working off the buttons.
Scully cursed under her breath as she twisted in
the sheets to remove the shirt and Mulder laughed
and helped her.
"Oh, Scully," he breathed, stopping all movement
to stare at her breasts in the moonlight
filtering through the gauzy curtains. Suddenly
unsure, she stared at him, forcing herself *not*
to cover herself under his appraisal. She wasn't
brunette, tall and leggy with giant, artificial
boobs and she'd always known she wasn't really
Mulder's type.
Mulder glanced up at her, then back down, slowly
licking his lips at the feast presented in front
of him. "Oh my God, Scully. You are *perfect.*"
Scully shivered again; maybe she was wrong about
not being his type, after all.
Scully shuddered as he lowered his lips and
slowly flicked his tongue over each nipple,
causing her to gasp and arch, until he gently
nudged her completely onto her back. Mulder
didn't hesitate at all as he devoured first one
and then the other breast. His lips, teeth and
tongue were rasping, tugging and urging her
nipples into tingling tight, hard, aching peaks.
While his mouth was busy distracting her with
that task, Scully could only breathe heavily,
trying without success to keep her eyes open and
watch him. She wound her fingers tightly into his
hair during his ministrations and then her eyes
popped open again when she realized, belatedly,
that one of his hands had disappeared under the
elastic band of her pajama bottoms.
"Oh God! Mulder!" she cried quietly into the near
dark. Her hands jerked down to his shoulders and
her nails dug in, nearly drawing blood.
Mulder groaned, then raised his head and watched
the play of emotions on her face as his hand slid
well-past her belly button and into the thatch of
curls below. "Good?" he asked.
Scully bit her bottom lip as his talented fingers
explored, gasped in surprise and arched against
his hand as his fingers found their goal. She was
already slick, ready and heavy with arousal. Her
excitement, she noted absently, was obviously
feeding his as his erection grew harder and more
insistent against her thigh. Mulder was stroking
her, increasing the pressure on her clitoris
little by little, until Scully thought she would
fly apart like a supernova.
His lips were back at her ear, his stubble
rasping her cheek again. "These have to go, too,
Scully." His hand had retreated somewhat, to her
extreme disappointment, and had pulled the
elastic waistband up a little, only to let it pop
back against her waist.
Scully jumped in surprise at the tiny bit of pain
and looked into his eyes. They were hooded and
his gorgeous hazel irises were reduced to thin
rings around the pupils. She hoped it was arousal
for her, his proximity to her body and not just
the dark causing that look.
Mulder had busied himself by inserting the thumbs
of both hands under the elastic on either side of
her pajama bottoms and was attempting to pull
them down her legs. "Scully, up, please."
"Mulder," she put a hand on one of his shoulders.
"Maybe we shouldn't... we're here on a case, you
know."
Mulder stopped and looked at her for a long
moment, then lay back down next to her and cupped
her face with both hands. "Scully, I've wanted to
make love with you for so long... yes, we're here
on business, but right now we're 'off the clock!'"
Scully only stared at him uncertainly, despite
reacting with a shudder at his words.
He watched her for another long moment, then
slowly slid his fingers from her cheeks and
pulled his hands back. "Okay, Scully. I
understand. You're not ready..."
"Mulder," Scully whispered so lightly he almost
didn't hear her, "I've been ready for you for
years." She reached for him and scraped her nails
across his nipples, allowing one hand to continue
to scratch all the way down his abdomen, feeling
his muscles twitch involuntarily, and taking his
cock in her firm, warm grip. Scully watched in
delight as Mulder shuddered, closing his eyes.
"Oh, God, Scully! Don't do that if you don't mean
to follow through... if you're not sure! I'm an
'all-or-nothing' guy. And with you, well, it has
to be 'all,'" Mulder said, trying to get his
breathing under control.
Scully smiled at him. This was as close to a true
declaration as he'd ever given her, and that was
okay, because she knew how he felt. Besides, she
also had a difficult time putting her feelings
into words.
She squeezed him slightly and wrenched a gasp out
of him. "Scuh--uhh!" Then she released him,
pleased to discover that she could reduce him to
a quivering lump of blazing testosterone.
Scully leaned close, nibbling on the small cleft
in his chin, then soothing it with her tongue and
whispered to him. "Hold that thought, G-Man."
With that, she threw off the covers, lifted her
hips and shimmied out of her pajama bottoms, all
under Mulder's appreciative gaze. An evil little
grin crossed his face. "Why Agent Scully! I *do*
believe you're out of uniform! I didn't see any
panties!"
"I don't wear panties when I sleep," she replied
huskily, then surprised him by tackling him,
knocking him flat on his back, his arms to his
sides, and she straddled his middle.
"D-Do..." Mulder gulped audibly and had to clear
his throat at the vision sitting on top of him,
"Do you wear panties to work, Scully? Have you
ever gone to work 'au naturel'?"
"THAT, Mister Mulder," Scully leaned over,
crossed her arms over his chest and pressed a hot,
open-mouthed kiss to his lips, "is something
*you* will never know because of the 'no
fraternization rules.'" She allowed her
fingernails under her to scratch through his
chest hair, making his muscles quiver.
"Oh. My. God," Mulder exclaimed quietly. "I think
I'm gonna die."
"Not yet," Scully stated matter-of-factly. "You
die on me here and I'll have to shoot you again."
She leaned over and pressed a kiss to the scar on
his left shoulder, then smiled coquettishly at
him.
Mulder looked at her for a moment then burst out
laughing, which created the interesting effect of
raising and lowering his lower abdomen against
the damp auburn curls at her center and causing
his cock to tap out an erotic tattoo on her ass.
He'd started this seduction, but, clearly, she'd
run over him with her own, like a freight train
at full throttle; he was enjoying *every* second
of it.
"So," Mulder said, raising his hands to caress
her shoulders and letting them slide behind and
down to map out her back, spine and her very firm
butt, "What's next?" He looked so innocent. Or
tried to.
Scully gave Mulder what he secretly referred to
as "The Patented Scully Eyebrow," and then she
frowned. "Well, I guess 'those videos that aren't
yours' aren't doing you any good at all if you
can't figure out what's next. Maybe you need to
just give them to Frohike. I'm *sure* he could
learn something from them."
Mulder smiled. "Oh, I think I just remembered
something I learned from 'Big Lotta Love.'" With
that, she shrieked as he flipped her over and
settled himself between her thighs. His hands
slid up and down her sides as he buried his
tongue in her mouth. Scully groaned and squirmed
under the assault. Mulder couldn't help it and
found himself thrusting against her, his cock
grazing into her curls, bumping against her clit.
Scully jumped as if she'd been shocked and, with
a moan, pressed herself up against him.
Slowly, ever so slowly, Mulder dragged his lips
away from hers, leaving her bottom lip with a
tender tug and covered her face in kisses.
Scully reeled from the overload of sensation, her
toes curling involuntarily. It had been *far* too
long and she'd waited for Mulder for what felt
like ten lifetimes.
Before she knew it, he was christening her with
kisses, from her neck to her breasts, to her
belly button, where he spent some time poking it
with his tongue, making her writhe.
When Mulder slid his tongue from her navel
further down, Scully's eyes opened and she
grabbed his hair. "Mulder, you don't have to--"
In the near dark, his eyes were luminous as he
looked back up at her. "I *know* I don't have to,
Scully. I *want* to." Their eyes locked as he
lowered his head between her legs. Mulder opened
her with his thumbs and dropped his eyes to look.
Scully fought the urge to close her thighs. This
was Mulder and she trusted him with her life, her
soul and her heart. Now she was trusting him with
her body.
The touch of his hot tongue was electric and she
could not help her reaction. Her back arched and
she threw her head deeper into the pillow,
exposing the porcelain column of her throat, her
eyes closed tight. Without thought of causing him
pain, she twisted her fingers into his hair,
somehow needing him closer. Scully growled her
pleasure.
Vaguely, she thought about his oral fixation with
sunflower seeds and pencils and almost laughed at
the incongruity of it as Mulder continued his hot,
erotic explorations of her with his tongue, teeth
and mouth.
"Georgia O'Keefe," he commented suddenly and she
realized he'd stopped. With an effort, she raised
her head to look down at him again. There he was,
his head between her thighs, staring at her
center, arousal written clearly on his face.
"Wh-what?" Scully asked.
At that, Mulder looked up at her, but still held
her open with his thumbs, moving to hold her open
with one hand while he began to explore her with
the fingers of his other. "Do you know who
Georgia O'Keefe was, Scully?" he asked.
Scully only blinked at him, trying to concentrate
on what he was saying, but it was difficult with
one of his fingers beginning a slow imitation of
what she'd hoped they'd be doing by now.
"She was a painter, Scully. An American
southwestern painter," Mulder returned his
attention to where his fingers played her, "A
lot of people were offended by her paintings of
flowers. They accused her paintings to be that of
a woman's labia, vagina and clit instead of
flowers, you know."
No, she hadn't known. All Scully could do was lay
there and gasp at the picture his words were
painting in her mind and his fingers were
painting on and in her body.
Mulder smiled, then looked back up at her. "I
think I can really appreciate Georgia O'Keefe
now, Scully." Without warning, he lowered his
head and worked her to a fevered pitch. Scully
fisted her hands tightly into the bedding. She
actually screamed his name when his teeth and
lips tugged on her clit and then shattered into
a million points of starlight when his tongue
began licking her roughly.
When she came back to herself, sweaty and
breathing hard, heart beating like a trip-hammer,
she heard a chuckle. Scully looked down to see
Mulder with his arms folded over her hipbones
and lower abdomen, his head resting on his
forearms, his eyes alight with green fire at what
he'd done to and for her.
After he knew he had her complete attention
again, Mulder slowly, intentionally licked his
lips, she noted, with that evil tongue that had
been alternately torturing and pleasuring her
beyond all reason and she moaned his name again.
"Mulderrrr..."
"Yes, my little Night Bloom?" The corners of his
eyes crinkled.
"Mulderrrr," she warned, reaching out both hands
to capture his ears and tug. "Get up here,
Mulder," she ordered breathlessly.
"Your wish is my command, Sweet Petunia." With
that, he crawled up over her, gently lowering his
pelvis to rest on hers. Their skin came together
with a hiss of pleasure from both of them, his
erection nudging her already over-stimulated sex.
But Scully couldn't close her eyes, despite the
overwhelming feelings washing through her. She
had to watch him. He propped his upper body on
his elbows to keep his heavier bulk off of her.
Scully wrapped her arms around his ribs and drew
her nails down the back of his sides. Mulder's
eyes closed and he threw his head back, gasping
in surprise. She kept up her assault until he
thrust against her involuntarily.
It was *her* turn to gasp. Mulder forced his eyes
open and looked back down at her, affection and
so many other emotions flitting across his face
so quickly she could never have catalogued them
all.
He smiled at her tenderly, his eyes wandering
over her features, stopping to stare deep into
her eyes, and then lowering his swollen lips to
hers. Scully parted them slightly to take a deep
breath and he immediately took advantage,
thrusting his tongue home. A bolt of lightning
coursed through her when she tasted herself on
his lips and tongue, and suddenly she wanted to
taste him, too.
As he continued with his assault on her soft
mouth, slanting his lips this way and that for
the best advantage, Scully slid one hand down
between them and circled his hard, silken flesh
with her fingers.
Mulder's eyes popped open like saucers and he
pulled back slightly. "No, Scully!" he protested
feebly as she stroked him.
"Why not, my little ... Bachelor Button?" she was
overcome with the feel, the heft of him in her
small hand. Her other hand had slid further down
and was squeezing his cheek rhythmically. "Or
maybe *not* so little."
"Oh God, Scully!" Mulder closed his eyes
momentarily, then opened them again. "Please ...
stop. Please stop, Scully!"
She hesitated, halting her movements, frowning,
misunderstanding, but didn't remove her hand.
"It's not that, Scully," he realized from her
expression what she'd been thinking and kissed
her languidly again. "It's been so long, Scully.
So long ... and if you keep doing that, I'll
embarrass myself." Mulder smiled as she smiled
shyly back at him, finally realizing exactly what
he'd meant. "I want to be inside you, Scully. I
want to make love to you."
Scully couldn't help the tears that flooded her
eyes and glanced away from him with a shaky
smile. "I never thought I'd hear you say that,
Mulder."
"I've wanted to say it for years, Scully. Years."
With that, he leaned down and kissed her with
even more passion than before.
"Oh God! Mulderrr!" she cried softly, parting her
thighs further and increasing their contact.
"Mulder, please!"
He'd lowered his head, his face hidden in her
neck, inhaling Scully's totally unique
fragrances, and then nodded.
"I want to apologize," he mumbled into her hair.
"What about?" Scully asked, puzzled.
"Because ... because I may embarrass myself
anyway." He leaned up and looked deeply into her
eyes again. "It's been a long time for me,
Scully. I've waited a long, long time ... for
*you,* Scully. I didn't exactly plan for it to
be 'wham, bam, thank you, ma'am.' And I'm getting
a little long in the tooth to 'lock and load'
very quickly twice in a row, y'know?"
Scully couldn't help it, but she actually giggled
at that. Mulder smiled back at her, his humor
self-deprecating.
"Well, in spite of your obvious ... oral talents
... which you've honed over the years with those
damned sunflower seeds, it's been a long time for
me, too, Mulder," she squeezed him gently one
more time and he groaned her name softly. "So,
how about we get this show on the road, G-Man ...
or should that be ... Geranium-Man?"
"Oh, anything you say, my Little Passion Flower!"
Mulder smiled and as Scully opened her mouth to
comment on his most recent pet name for her, her
voice caught in a garbled, unintelligible
syllable as he thrust purposely toward home.
He couldn't get far, however, with her hand still
wrapped around him, almost vise-like. Mulder
kissed her mouth that seemed to be frozen into a
surprised "O," and told her, "Let go, Sweet Pea,
or the show really *will* be over, and not in a
way you'll like, though, admittedly, it would be
*really* good for me," he smirked, his voice
hoarse.
Scully managed to come to her senses enough to
pull her hand away, but not before dragging her
fingernails lightly across his own swollen skin.
"Scully!" he cried and dropped his head to her
neck again. "You're trying to kill me. I know it
now. You've just wanted me for my basement office
all these years."
Scully giggled again and pulled his head down for
another intense kiss. "I may want what's *in*
your basement, Mulder, but I don't want your
office." She ran her hands along his sides and
down to his ass, hitched her legs up and crossed
her ankles behind his thighs, then, with all her
might, as she growled, "MINE!!" she pulled him
in.
"OH. MY. GOD!!! Scuh-leee!!!" he cried, his head
falling back, and his eyes snapping closed,
totally taken by surprise at her actions as he
found himself lodged to the hilt in Scully's
heat. She thrust against him. "Wait a minute,
Scully!"
"What's wrong, my Little Morning Glory?" Scully
giggled. "You can dish it out, but you can't take
it ... Pansy-Man?"
Panting harshly, Mulder cracked his eyes open to
glare at her. "'Pansy-Man?' Scully, you wound me!
I haven't even begun to 'dish it out,' Rosebud!"
That said, Mulder took her breath away again,
beginning with slow, even strokes in and almost
completely out of her body, only to stroke slowly
in again. It was passion. It was love. It was
Mulder.
And it was completely right. Everything wrong
with their world faded away in his arms and all
she could do was feel and enjoy, skin against
skin.
Scully now knew without a doubt that he loved
her. She knew she was in love with him.
Their mouths clashed and their tongues fought for
dominance, but neither won. They were both even,
and yet both out-matched. They were each other's
halves and they had now come together to make a
whole. They completed each other.
Scully moved in counterpoint to Mulder's
increasingly feverish thrusts, the sweat between
them making their skins slick. She *wanted* to
tell him she was impressed, despite the fact he
claimed he might not last, but it was obvious he
wanted to enjoy her pleasure again because he was
working so very hard for it.
"Muh-Mulderrr..." Scully cried softly as he
stroked her deeply, passionately, her nails
scratching patterns on his back.
He was thrusting desperately now, yet still
holding back, until he reached for and hitched
her right leg higher, slightly changing the angle
of his penetration. It was more than enough.
"Ohgodohgod! Mulderrr!!" Scully shrieked,
contracting and convulsing around him like a
tight, hot, wet fist.
"Scuh-leee!!" he cried back to her, hesitating
momentarily as he felt her shatter around him.
Then he looked into her eyes once more and thrust
hard several more times.
Mulder's mouth captured hers in their most
heated, passionate kiss yet and his shout was
muffled by her lips as he came within her.
Aftershocks flowed through both of them. Mulder
could no longer hold his weight and collapsed on
her, breathing hard. He could feel Scully's hands
begin to trace patterns on his back again and she
hummed an odd little song in her throat.
"I'm crushing you, Scully," he said and tried to
raise himself up, but she still held him in a
four-limbed embrace.
"No you aren't, Mulder. This little Night Bloom
doesn't crush that easily," she whispered into
his ear and then bit his earlobe. Mulder
shuddered again, dug his arms underneath her and
then rolled over, with Scully lying limply on top
of him. They groaned together as he slipped out
of her.
"My own Georgia O'Keefe," he muttered happily,
his hands sweeping gently from her shoulders to
her thighs and back again.
Scully raised her head to look at him. "Georgia
O'Keefe. Really?"
Mulder waggled his eyebrows at her, nodded and
kissed her.
"Only *you* would know something like that ...
*Violet,*" Scully accused.
"Actually, I learned it in an art appreciation
class in college ... my *Little Peony,*" he
admitted.
The skeptic was back and The Eyebrow rose at him.
"Art appreciation? You, Mulder? Are you sure it
wasn't an art appreciation course about those
videos that aren't yours?"
Mulder laughed and then yawned unexpectedly. "No,
I swear. I had to take some sort of art course in
my undergrad studies at Oxford. It was either Art
Appreciation, Music Appreciation or Theatre. At
least with art, I could legitimately look at
nudes ... *Sweet Little Hyacinth.*"
Scully giggled. "I should've known. But I'd give
a lot to see your fine ass in tights doing
Shakespeare, *Tulip.*"
Mulder frowned. "My 'fine ass' would *never* 'do'
Shakespeare, *Daffodil.* He's a *guy*; he's not
my type of flower."
"But Georgia O'Keefe is?"
"Well ... maybe not Georgia herself. She's kinda
dead, Scully," Mulder used a finger to push a
lock of errant damp, red hair behind her ear.
"You will only ever be my own personal Night
Bloom, my Little Begonia."
Scully smiled and kissed him sweetly, then
lowered her head onto his chest, listening to his
heart slow to a more normal cadence.
"I think we need a shower, *Tiger Lily,*" Scully
said, also yawning. When he didn't answer, she
raised her head to find him asleep, with a sweet,
sated smile on his face.
Their shower could wait, she decided, and
promptly fell asleep on top of her friend,
partner ... and now lover.
~x~X~X~X~x~
A few hours later, they'd showered together,
unfortunately, due to time constraints, having
to forego anything more exciting than soaping up
each other, which was exciting enough in and of
itself.
Scully remembered him promising her another
night of "gardening" together, once they were
off-duty again that evening. She had smiled and
laughed along with him.
But, that night had never happened.
Diana Fowley, unfortunately, had.
~x~X~X~X~x~
<Scully. God.> What had he done? He'd ditched
Scully and Gibson Praise. He hadn't watched her
back. *Or* Gibson's. He'd gone off with Diana
Fowley on that woman's word and left them
unprotected. Gibson had been taken again, leaving
Scully alone at the hospital and frantic for the
boy's safety.
Mulder had last seen the young boy behind a
locked door in Room Number Four at the Rolling
Hills Nuclear Power Plant, an hour east of
Phoenix. He'd seen him with that alien monster
which had, in front of his eyes, thick glass and
a door between them, violently torn apart the
thug who'd taken Gibson. Mulder had stared
through the blood-covered window, banging wildly
on the door, calling out Gibson's name to no
avail.
Diana Fowley had disappeared with the excuse of
looking for another way into the room. Then she
reappeared behind him, her gun in her hands,
aimed at him, as the place had swarmed with
police. He'd been taken into custody and dragged
away under Fowley's watchful eye.
Mulder lay alone on his sofa in his darkened
apartment, unable to sleep for the sixth night
in a row, awaiting daylight, when he would have
to again face his partner. His very angry and
now distrustful partner.
He closed his eyes and remembered their
conversation a few days earlier. She'd been
upset, understandably, but Mulder had not been
understanding.
"You know, Agent Fowley's report to OPR painted
the facts in an interesting way," Scully had
said. "I hope you haven't been betrayed."
Mulder squeezed his eyes tighter, hoping against
hope that Scully's hope was correct.
He hadn't been able to look at her when he'd
answered. He'd been busy piecing together the
burnt fragments of the X-Files, despite his
orders from the OPR to the contrary.
"Agent Fowley's report was a means to an end.
Trying to protect the work. Protect the X-Files,"
he'd said. He'd wanted to believe in Diana
Fowley. He'd wanted to believe she was truly
protecting him, protecting the work. He truly
wasn't sure anymore. But he hadn't been able to
admit that to Scully.
"Mulder," Scully had sounded in equal parts
disgusted and concerned, "Agent Fowley's report
states that the man you saw attacked was
bludgeoned by an unknown subject. She makes no
mention of a little boy who, as it happens, is
nowhere to be found. It would seem that her
report protects everything but you."
<God, Scully! Don't you know I *know* that?! I
wanted to find Gibson, too! It's *my* fault he's
missing!> he reflected to himself.
But Mulder being Mulder, hadn't let it go.
"Agent Fowley took me to that plant at great
risk to herself where I saw something that *you*
refuse to believe in." He could feel her tense
with his jab. "Saw it again, Scully. And though
it may not say it in her report, Diana saw it,
too. And no matter what you think, she's
certainly not going to go around saying that
just because science can't prove it isn't true."
"I don't doubt what you saw, Mulder."
Her next words, despite what he had just said to
her, nearly dropped him. "I don't doubt *you.*"
Even though he had just doubted her, at her
expense, comparing her, however unfairly, to
Fowley.
Even though *he* had ditched *her.*
God. What had he done?
She'd continued, "I'm willing to believe, but
not in a lie, and not in the opposite of what I
can prove. It comes down to a matter of trust."
At that point, Mulder had looked up at her and
saw the deep hurt on her face. "I guess it always
has."
He hadn't wanted to ask it, but his mouth had
seemed to shift into first gear before his brain
had engaged. "Are you asking me to make a choice?"
She had stared at him for a moment, then said
quietly, "I'm asking you to trust my judgment.
To trust *me.*" She held out a folder to him.
Mulder had looked down at it, refused to take
it. "I can't accept that," he had said. "Not if
it refutes what I know to be true."
Scully sighed tiredly, still holding out the
folder. "Mulder, these are test results. DNA
from the claw nail we found, matching exactly
the DNA from the virus you believe is
extraterrestrial."
Mulder had taken the folder at that point and
had opened it to read. But he wouldn't look at
her. "That's the connection," he rasped.
"Which matches *exactly* the DNA that was found
in Gibson Praise," Scully had quickly added.
Mulder looked her in the eye at that point, in
complete and total surprise, apprehension, and,
yes, excitement. "Wait a minute. I don't
understand. You're saying that Gibson Praise is
infected with the virus?"
"No," Scully explained to him. "It's a part of
his DNA. In fact, it's a part of all of our DNA.
It's called a genetic remnant. It's inactive
junk DNA. Except in Gibson, it's turned on."
Mulder had blinked at her. "So if that were true,
that would mean that Gibson is, in some part,
extraterrestrial."
Then Scully had dropped the bombshell of all
bombshells. "It would mean that *all* of us are,"
she said quietly, then turned and left him alone
in the room, closing the door behind her.
<Oh God.> Mulder opened his eyes and the
moonlight filtering through his Venetian blinds
reminded him, ironically, of the moonlight in
Scully's cottage in Phoenix that momentous night
they'd finally become lovers.
He so clearly remembered their late night
traversing of the desert terrain with Mrs. Edgar
to the beautiful, fragrant night-blooming cactus.
He remembered the wonderful, exciting,
unbelievable aftermath in Scully's bed, his
intense uncertainty that he was reading her
incorrectly, only to find out she'd wanted him
at least as much as he'd always wanted her.
Then, everything went to hell in the proverbial
hand-basket the next day and he'd made his choice
to go with and believe Diana Fowley rather than
to stay with Scully.
Beautiful Scully. His own personal exotic night-
bloomer with her own exotic, overwhelming
fragrances, tastes and textures. The way she felt
in his arms, under him, moving with him. How her
sighs, gasps and moans of their shared passion
had excited him to greater and greater heights.
Mrs. Edgar had said that the plant only bloomed
a few weeks out of the year. Mulder was never
good with plants, and now Scully was barely
speaking to him. And he'd only had one night
with her, not weeks.
The X-Files had been taken away and he and Scully
were now under the immediate supervision of one
Alvin Kersh. He almost laughed -- almost -- when
he thought that Walter Skinner had been a hard-
ass. But he couldn't laugh. Not now.
Tears leaked from the corner of his eyes as he
felt the devastating certainty he'd never see
Scully open up and bloom for him again.
He'd lost everything.
~x~X~X~X~x~
END
~x~X~X~X~x~
NOTE:
The night-blooming cactus *does* exist, though I
can't remember its exact name. I saw it at the
little "Mom and Pop" motel where I stayed in
Tucson a couple of decades ago. The elderly
little lady, who was of Native American descent
(Chiricahua Apache) came to my door with a
flashlight after midnight and lead me down the
desert path behind the place to her wonderful,
fragrant night-blooming cactus. It was gorgeous
and it really did only bloom in the middle of the
night, and only a few weeks during the year.
The motel is (or was) as I described it (with
stucco, white-washed cottages and a courtyard
visited by marauding deer, rabbits and other
wildlife), though I don't remember the real
names of the owners or the name of the motel. It
had very nice accommodations and was a great
place to stay during my vacation. The place was
on Highway 10, in southern Tucson, which I
believe is called the Benson Highway, more or
less in the Sonora Desert. I just moved it a
little north to Phoenix to facilitate its use in
this story. Mrs. Edgar's first name, "Irawanah,"
is a family name, also of Native American descent,
though not Chiricahua. I claim "poetic license."
It was a great pleasure to write this story. I
hope you enjoyed it and I'd love to hear from you
at Anub...@cs.com. Thank you. ~ Anubis.
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