From: "foxcub ~" Date: Fri, 14 Jan 2000 22:02:43 CST Subject: submission Source: direct Title: Back In the Day Author: foxcub E-mail: fox_cub@hotmail.com Category: MSR, H Rating: PG-13 for swearing and adult situations Spoilers: Rush Disclaimer: Yes, they're mine. I take care of them so Chris can go surf . Summary: A post-Rush discussion evolving from a comment Feedback: Do your part to help humanity: Feed a 'phile! Distribution: Anywhere, just let me know. Author's Notes: Well, I think I've angsted myself out for now, so this one's for fun and fluff . In my little world, I take into account that "Millennium" was aired out of order. So in other words: Kiss? What kiss? Many thanks to my beta team of Caz, Alicia, and Addicted2fanfic for words of wisdom, spelling corrections, and general inspiration. I really should put you guys on a payroll . ============== "You must have been a Betty back in the day." --Max ============== In the car on the way back to the motel, I laid my head against the passenger side window and quietly sighed. "Thinking about what Max said to you back at the school?" Oh, please. Trust Mulder to remember that minute detail. I rolled my eyes at him and sighed again, this time in disgust. "I *happened* to be thinking about what on earth could have caused those kids' condition. You said yourself there was no evidence left in that cave. How does a force so powerful that it can rip a human being apart disappear without a trace? I just find that hard to accept." Mulder smirked, not taking his eyes off the road. "C'mon Scully, I *know* you were thinking about what Max said to you." I didn't even grace the remark with a look. "Mulder, I'm not about to let the lewd, hormonal comments of a seventeen-year-old high school student occupy my time. This case is over and done, and I'm ready to head home." His smirk turned into a grin and he gave me a mischievous glance. "Personally, I think you're still a Betty." My forehead fell against the window again. God, did I have a headache. ***** I was toweling my hair dry when he came into my room eating out of a cup of yogurt and flopped down on my bed. I wondered briefly where the hell he'd gotten that yogurt. "I really hope he didn't bother you with that comment, Scully," he said around his plastic spoon. I threw my hands down in exasperation, letting the towel dangle from my fingers. "Mulder. I'm *not bothered*. I had in fact forgotten about the whole thing until you brought it up." He eyed me carefully as he tapped the spoon to his chin. "Don't tell me you've never worried about getting old, no longer being 'hip' or 'cool'." "Oh, is that what this is all about -- my fear of getting old?" Finishing my hair, I hung up my towel and went back into the bathroom to change out of my robe and into my pajamas. "Really, Mulder, I think I've met death one-on-one enough to never waste time worrying about dying again." "I'm not talking about dying," I heard him say through the cracked open door. "I'm talking about getting old. There's a big difference." When I came back out, he was still draped across my bed, only he'd eaten the last of the yogurt and was now just blatantly staring at me, as if he was contemplating something really profound. I ran a hand through my damp hair and shrugged. "I suppose it hits me every so often, usually when I'm visiting with my nieces and nephews. I know I'm not *young* anymore, but it's not as if I'm ready to sign up for social security. At least I know who the hell Poke'mon is." "'Are', Scully. Poke'mon is plural, Japanese for 'little monsters'. Pickachu, he's the fat yellow one." I yawned. "Ok, Mulder, so you're hipper than I am." I really wanted to climb into bed, but he didn't seem to be in any hurry to move. So I curled up in one of the chairs across from him, pulling my legs up under me to keep my bare feet warm. "Actually, I'm more concerned with my mother getting old. Nothing really seems to make you feel your mortality more than watching your parents age." His eyes took on a faraway look; he was the one who'd witnessed his mother lying in a hospital bed, not me. "'Mortality'...the word just doesn't hold much water when you're young. You feel as if you're in constant motion, gravity and inertia working with you instead of against you, and that nothing on earth can possibly stand in your way." He let out a long sigh, staring up at the water-stained ceiling. "And I guess in Max's case, he was right. For a while, at least." Hearing the melancholy tone seep into his voice, I felt slightly guilty for hoping he would decide to get up and go mope in his own room. Damn it, if he didn't move soon, I was going to roll him off the bed. All I wanted was some shut-eye -- "Scully, did you like high school?" My eyes widened slightly. Well, that was certainly random. "High school? Which one? I attended about five, you know, not including the one I spent my junior high years in." "No, I don't mean the school itself. I meant high school life in general." He folded his hands behind his head and a wistful smile started to form on his lips. "I kinda liked it, I guess. Not exactly something I want to ever live over again, mind you, but I still managed to enjoy myself." The sudden smug look on his face worried me slightly. "Mulder, high school is one of the most stressful times in a teenager's life. A...a battlefield, if you will. And the fact that my father moved us kids around about every five months didn't help matters." He sat up, his left leg dangling over the side of the bed while he hugged the right one up to his chest, staring at me intently like he had earlier. He looked way too youthful for his own good. "So what are you trying to say, Scully? You weren't popular?" Jesus, I was too exhausted to be dealing with this mood of his. Go with it, I reluctantly told myself. He was bond to get tired of this after a while. And the sooner I got him off the bed, the better. I ducked my head, picking at my pajama bottoms. "No, I wasn't. No Homecoming Queen title, no student body presidency, nothing. I did homework; the rest I left to Missy." He gnawed at his bottom lip for a moment, thinking. Then he nodded. "Yeah, I can see that: Missy getting all the action and Scully the little bookworm." I raised an eyebrow at him. "I never said I didn't get any action. I just said I wasn't popular." God help me, the brief snort he gave in reply made me want to slap him silly. "Sorry, Scully, but I simply can't picture you fogging up the windows of some guy's car overlooking the city lights on a Friday night. That's not you." I could feel my eyebrows reaching up into my hairline. "Really? Then what, exactly, *is* me, Mulder? Do you see me as being the type who flaunted her Catholic and military upbringing and dismissed men altogether until college? Who ran from sex instead of embracing it with hormone-charged curiosity?" He got very quiet, and I figured it had to be due to my defensive tone, which I really didn't completely understand myself. Why was I suddenly sounding so haughty? "N-no," he replied carefully, slowly. "I just see you as being...more subtle." The tension which I hadn't realized had crept into my shoulders disappeared. I nodded. "Go on." "You weren't the girl who swooned over older guys or passed notes to your friends during chemistry class about how cute so-and-so was." Mulder shook his head, grinning ever so slightly. "No, you probably lusted from afar for some quiet intellectual and nobody ever knew word one about it. And if you happened to actually get the guy, any weekend fun was kept in total secrecy." He then stretched and leaned against the headboard, looking very satisfied with himself. "Am I right?" I proceeded to stare at him, thinking, Mulder, you cocky bastard. Oh, I was gonna get him for that. "Okay, so I was an antisocial prude," I said, trying my damnedest to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. "What about you? I highly doubt you were the big man on campus." He gave a short laugh, and then the wistful look was back in his eyes. "No, not exactly...." "Wait, I know." I unfolded my legs and crossed them in front of me so that I'd look more like the Scully he was used to: serious, professional, strait-laced. Even if I *was* wearing fuzzy pajamas. "You hit on the occasional girl, maybe asked her out, but it rarely worked in your favor. However, when you *did* succeed in getting a date, you more than likely overwhelmed her with your raging hormones and sent her screaming from your car." I lifted my chin slightly, feeling very smug. Take *that*, G-man. I wasn't sure about how I expected him to react to my little profile of his teenage years, but his actual response was nowhere near what I had in mind. He was nibbling at his lip again, his eyes narrowed, and I felt myself growing infuriated at the tiny grin that tugged at his mouth. "Gee, Scully, is it that obvious?" I could hear the thinly disguised laughter in his voice. Goddamn him. He couldn't ever let me have the upper hand. "Please. I'm no more on target than you were." I was so tired. Any minute now I was simply going to get up and crawl into *his* bed. Mulder sighed as if in fond remembrance of something cherished. "No, you were partially right. I did get rejected quite a bit." Then he laughed, the sound short and bright in the stuffy motel room. "But then there was Rachel. My junior year, I bet her twenty bucks that I could take her blouse off with nothing but my teeth. Easiest twenty bucks I ever made." He chuckled. "God, I can't believe I remember that." I believe my train of thought derailed right at 'I could take her blouse off with nothing but my teeth.' A mental picture of a teenaged Mulder nipping at the buttons of a writhing young girl's shirt flashed across my mind, and I felt the heat start to rise to my cheeks. It was then that I noticed for the first time the faded, frayed jeans he was wearing with the tight gray t-shirt I had come to adore. The way he was sprawled over my bed, with his left leg still dangling precariously over the side, and his arms folded up under his head really did make him appear, at first glance, about twenty years younger. My room was starting to get hot. "A girl actually paid you money to pry her shirt off with your teeth?" Shit, did I *really* need to repeat that? "Yep. And if you don't mind me saying so, it actually preceded the best damn sex I ever had." He sighed again, like he was reliving the whole damn scenario. Yes, Mulder, I *do* mind. *A lot.* I do mind you sitting in here on my bed and reminiscing about your high school sexual escapades when all I want is sleep. Yawning big and loud, I stood and headed for the joining door between our rooms. I really was going to get in his bed. "Probably the *only* sex you had in high school," I muttered. I heard the bed springs creak with the loss of his weight as he got up to follow me. "Is that envy I hear in your voice, Scully?" Oh, he was determined to be a little Puck tonight, wasn't he? I paused in the doorway, my back going rigid. Honestly, I really don't know what pissed me off more: his ridiculously suave tone or the insinuation that I was a virgin in my teen days. More than likely, it was probably the latter; that assumption of virginity meant he was once again typecasting me into the role of the boring, sexless, plain woman he'd become accustomed to. By God, I was sick to death of being that woman. I *wasn't* that woman. I never had been. So why the hell hadn't he realized this after seven fucking years? With a slow pivot, I turned to face him, my eyes narrowed into slits. He was standing there by the bed, grinning like mad. "Envy, Mulder? No, I wouldn't quite put it that way." I put my hands on my hips and moved ever so slightly toward him. It probably looked as if I'd lost my balance; in a way, I guess I had. "Okay, not envy," he said, glancing skyward in mock concentration. "How 'bout regretful?" Keep going, Mulder, your hole's getting bigger. Unfortunately, this little comment caused usually cool and collected yours truly to speak before actually thinking. "For your information, Mulder, when I was eighteen, a guy named Gavin Tillsdale invited me over to his house, which just so happened to have a very large hot tub. The two of us had been lounging in it for all of maybe five minutes, when he leaned over and asked me if I'd ever 'done it' in the water." I paused and fixed him with a hard gaze. "Needless to say, I never wore that swimsuit again." I would've been horrendously embarrassed by my lack of tact had it not been for the sudden change of expression on his face. The grin vanished altogether and a slight reddish tinge spread across his cheeks. His lips parted a fraction, but no sound came out. It was rather obscene how much I enjoyed that look. Finally, I'd gotten him; score: Scully one, partner zip. I felt like I deserved some sort of Nobel prize for rendering him speechless. Stop the presses, call the Pentagon -- Mulder was at a loss for words. It took every effort in my being to keep the victorious grin off my face. I was just about to reach for the knob to close the joining door behind me when he said, "Yeah, well, I've got one better, Scully." Wait a second. He wasn't supposed to respond. He *especially* wasn't supposed to respond in that rumbling, fuzzy deep tone of voice that he rarely uses. I'd won, goddamnit. I had proved to him the existence of my sexuality. What more did he want? "Don't you wanna know *why* that girl Rachel bet me twenty bucks?" In the time it had taken me to think all of two thoughts, he'd managed to position himself within my personal space. He always, *always* knew the exact moment I *didn't* want him invading my bubble. "No, what I want is sleep." I tried to turn my back on him, but of course the attempt to end the conversation was in vain. His hand came out to stop me, pinning me lightly to the doorway. "My friends dragged me to a sleazy little bar that never bothered to card minors. We all ordered a round of shots, and after I'd had about two or three I saw her walk in. I knew her from one of my science classes, although I can't recall which one...." Why, why, *why* was he telling me this? "She was with a group of girls, and they all sat over in the opposite corner, away from us. So after a while the music got kind of loud, so I went over and asked her to dance." His hand had yet to move from my shoulder, and soon his thumb started making slow, lazy circles over my collar bone. I hoped like hell he didn't feel me shiver. "She didn't seem too thrilled at the prospect, but she agreed to it nonetheless. We went out on the floor and I couldn't help but touch her. My hands were all over her -- " As he spoke, his fingers trailed gingerly up my neck, then back down to my shoulder. The touch was so light, almost tickling, yet I thought again that my room was getting a little too warm. What the hell did he think he was doing? "And although I was fairly tipsy, I remember each one of her responses. But the one I remember most was 'You don't have the guts to make good on your promises, Fox.' She knew I was scared of her, of her sexuality, yet she challenged me, dared me to make a move." I gulped down the gasp that rose up in my throat as he leaned in, bridging the gap between us, and spoke into my ear, his mouth all but brushing against my skin, "So I said to her, 'I'll make you a deal. How 'bout I strip you naked using nothing but my teeth and you take back what you just said.' And she replied, 'What if I just bet you twenty bucks you can't do it?' I said, 'Where do I sign up?' " God, his breath was fanning hot and moist against my very sensitive earlobe. I swallowed hard and allowed myself to briefly shut my eyes in an effort to calm my rapidly accelerating heartbeat. But then he pulled back slightly and made matters worse; those lips, those fucking gorgeous lips that he kept licking every ten seconds to make them glisten, were far too close for comfort from my own chapped, dry ones. I no longer had his steamy breath caressing my ear; no, now it was sliding its way across my mouth and chin. I would've been totally furious with him had my body not been kicking itself into hypersensitive overdrive. Finally, my voice dug itself out of the clogged pit of my throat. "So you...um...obliged her?" I sounded like I was auditioning for a job as a phone sex operator. His smile was deliberately slow in coming. It was then that I realized with only mild surprise that he was playing a game with me; indeed, he was trying to even the score. And here I was, the victorious one not three minutes ago, now fast becoming a melting pile of goo at his feet. "I did say it led up to the best sex of my life, didn't I?" His tone was low, bordering on sultry. He added a small twist to his grin, giving him that smirky, sexy little smile that I'd only witnessed a handful of times. And most of those times hadn't been directed at me. Oh, yeah, he knew *exactly* what he was doing. Trying to make a point, Mulder? We'll just see about that. I inched my mouth in the direction of his own, ignoring the fact that I was getting a serious cramp in my neck and letting my words blow cool across his moist lips. "That doesn't mean an adolescent experiment in foreplay got you there. For all I know, that sex could've been two years later." Was it my imagination, or did his breathing get heavier? "Scully, have you ever known me to embellish the truth?" No more bordering--his voice was now *definitely* sultry. "Yes, quite frequently." I impressed myself by how well I mimicked his tone; it'd been a long time since I'd purposely tried to sound sexy. I watched as his eyes flickered slightly, darting momentarily to my lips. "I remember it in vivid detail." His gaze jumped back to mine, and I didn't miss the dare that teased from behind it. "She lead me outside to her car and we drove a few miles to a cliff that overlooked the valley -- " "A makeout point, Mulder? That's so cliched." I was trying to repress the quiver of shock that was pulsing through me at the realization I was actually *salivating* at the sight of that lower lip so painfully close to mine. Which meant that, yes, I was staring at his mouth. "I was seventeen: cut me some slack here, I thought it was pretty romantic." Oh, Mulder, you were looking for everything *but* romance. "I distinctly remember some Sonny and Cher song playing on the radio. I turned it off, though, because frankly, that woman gives me the creeps." Letting out a silent sigh, I tried in vain to wet the Sahara of my throat. His scent, filled with subtle hints of fading cologne, soap, and just plain *him*, was starting to infiltrate itself into my senses. "Funny, I always thought 'I've Got You, Babe' was our theme song." His grin revealed the barest hint of teeth. "It's not the best makeout music, Scully." "Point taken." I was beginning to feel a little drunk. "So you turned off the radio ..." "And she looked at me with this calm expression and said, 'At least when you kiss me I can tell everyone I've kissed a guy named Fox.' I didn't know whether to take that as a compliment or not." I knew I was flushed, could feel the heat radiating from my cheeks and from every other facet of my body, though I never stopped to consider that part of that heat might have been contributed by him. My mouth opened with a witty remark poised and ready to present itself when he continued, "But I didn't really care. All I knew was that I didn't want to disappoint." Before I could blink an eye, his hands were suddenly framing my face, and for a small moment I felt faint. They were hot, so hot that I swore they were soldering themselves to my cheeks. "I took her face in my hands and began kissing her softly, wanting everything to be a mystery for her." With that, the breath of space between us was closed as he pressed his lips carefully to mine. They were incredibly soft and gentle, and as my eyes slipped shut I could imagine a seventeen-year-old Mulder kissing me in such a hesitant manner that desperately longed for self esteem. Then I felt the feather-light insistence of his tongue knocking against the seam of my lips in a silent request. Did he really even need to ask? My mouth parted on a gasp, louder than I meant it to be. I was just beginning to tilt my head to give him better access when he pulled away, barely far enough to keep us from inhaling each other's air. "Yet I could tell she was impatient and would rather have an adventure than a mystery." His sigh came out weak and ragged, and oh dear God, how I wanted to nip at the thumbs that were starting to rub against my lips. "And damn, did she have a wilful tongue." Every single fantasy I'd ever had about him went flying out the window. All I ever had to do now was close my eyes and remember how that velvet-rough voice said "tongue". His lips took over for his thumbs, and I was more than ready for him. In the back of my mind I could sense myself being startled at my aggressiveness--I practically yanked him into my mouth. He tasted like strawberry-banana yogurt mingled with mint Crest toothpaste, and I wanted to devour every bit of it as an appetizer before feasting on that lower lip of his. I hadn't realized until that moment how incredibly hungry I was, and not just for food. His hands slid into my hair as he deepened the kiss even further, his tongue caressing the roof of my mouth. I pawed blindly for his chest and gripped handfuls of his t-shirt, pulling his body flush against mine as our little muffles and sighs grew louder (Missy always used to call them "kissy noises," but I've never been partial the euphemism). I'd made up my mind not to breathe; I was determined never to break this new connection with him, this new-found communication between us. Every swipe of his tongue against mine, every tug at my lips told me exactly what he was thinking. My mushy brain wondered briefly if this new technique would still work out in the field: 'What do you think, Scully?' 'I don't know, lemme kiss you and I'll decide.' When he broke away for the second time, I was very close to simply tearing his shirt off and ending this little game of stop and go. God, how quickly I'd regressed from Scully the Logical FBI Agent into Scully the Lusty Amoeba. Panting, I looked up into his dilated, hooded eyes and purred, "Were you holding her like this?," indicating his deathgrip on my hair. Sadly, my voice sounded more nervous and jittery than smooth and seductive. He nodded slowly as the tip of that talented tongue darted out to wet his swollen lips. His breath puffed out in hot, heavy spurts across my cheeks. "And was this about the time when you...uh, sealed the bet?" I couldn't believe the words had actually left my mouth. From beneath my palms, I could feel the laughter start to vibrate deep within his chest. He grinned devilishly at me and leaned in to nuzzle my nose in a quasi-eskimo kiss. Oh, that grin couldn't be good. All the blood in my body had completely packed up and headed south, where it was beginning to throb and spread a heat so intense I wasn't sure if I could -- "C'mon, Scully, I was a geek in high school. Do you honestly think I'd get a gorgeous girl to let me rip her clothes off with my teeth?" Holy shit, he was laughing at *me*. No, no, no, I prayed, don't tell me that he...that he... "I gotta tell you, though, I really am flattered that you'd think so." He was biting his lip and grinning like an idiot. Yep, he certainly had. Of course it would be now of all times that I'd buy into Mulder's practiced imagination. I pursed my lips as I slowly released his shirt. I took a step back into the doorway, my eyes never leaving their focus on the carpet. "But honestly, I *did* know a girl named Rachel in high school." He was leaning in after me, his nose just barely inside the other room. "She was in my psychology class, and she always had this annoying habit of debunking my theories -- " The sound of him yelping and swearing in pain right after I slammed the door in his face gave me almost as much satisfaction and enjoyment as flopping onto the smooth, clean sheets of his untouched bed. ********************* end :) End Notes: Inspiration for this comes partly from Barbara D.'s "D.K. (Dana) Scully, You've Got Unsuspected Depth". Go read it right now and send her lots o' feedback...oh, and while you're at it, drop me a line, too . fox_cub@hotmail.com