From: Evielouise <evielouise@hotmail.com>
Date: Tue, 28 Mar 2000 19:48:43 CST
Subject: Little Black Dress 
Source: xfc


TITLE: Little Black Dress (1/1)

AUTHOR:  Evielouise

EMAIL ADDRESS:  evielouise@hotmail.com

DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT:  I'd be honored.  I'd appreciate a note, but it's 
not necessary.

SPOILER WARNINGS: "En Ami" post-ep

RATING:  NC-17

FEEDBACK:  You'll make my day if you send it!

CLASSIFICATION:  S, A

KEYWORDS:  MSR, First Person (Scully) POV

CONTENT WARNING:  Smut biscuit, with real butter and, as Andrea put it, 
dripping with honey.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Mulder, Scully, or their libidinous intentions.  CC 
keeps that last bit tucked away in a vault on the Fox lot somewhere, I'm 
sure.

SUMMARY: All the other writers came up with serious, soul-searching post-"En 
Ami" fics.  I wrote smut.  Go figure.  While watching that scene in the 
restaurant, I *really* wished Mulder could see Scully in that black dress...

DEDICATION: To my muses: Sistas A, J, & S, bimbos with an attitude.

This is also for all those nice folks who send feedback, asking me to write 
more.  I had fully intended to write one fic and one fic only, as an 
experiment just to see if I could do it.  That was five fanfics ago.  I hope 
you enjoy Number 6.

I must admit, I got my smutty inspiration on this one from a fic I read a 
long time ago called "Loss of Control" by Joann Humby.  I never could quite 
get a certain scene on Mulder's couch completely out of my head...

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

LITTLE BLACK DRESS (1/1)

Mulder is angry with me. I mean *really* pissed off. He's standing in the 
doorway, conspicuously avoiding my gaze while the Gunmen attempt to download 
data from the disk C.G.B. Spender gave me on the boat dock.  I don't think 
I've ever seen such a disappointed look on his face before where I'm 
concerned, except for maybe after that whole humiliating affair with Ed 
Jerse in Philadelphia, or perhaps when he found me in Phillip Padgett's 
bedroom.  But no, this time I've committed an unpardonable sin.  I ran off 
without him to pursue a lead.  With our sworn enemy even.

But you know what?  It serves him right.  How many times has he ditched *me* 
over the past seven years?  The shoe's on the other foot now, so to speak, 
and I think he doesn't particularly care for the uncomfortable fit.  Well, 
tough.

Now that sounded heartless.  Like I don't care at all.  But I do care, I 
really do.  It's just difficult, remembering all those long, lonely nights 
in the past I spent wondering where in the hell Mulder had run off to this 
time, fearing for his life.

I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach dredging up those unpleasant 
memories, and now maybe I'm getting over my petty ideas of "turnabout's fair 
play" and starting to regret putting Mulder through the very same thing.  I 
recall the painful hurt and frustrating anger of those times, and suddenly I 
don't want Mulder to feel the same way about me.  I send another beseeching 
look his way, but he just ignores me with a pained expression on his face.

The disk turns out to be empty.  When Frohike tells me, it hits me like a 
physical blow to the stomach, nearly knocking the breath from my lungs.  Not 
only is Mulder probably more angry with me than he's ever been in his life, 
but it was all for nothing.  I was played for a fool by that smug smoking 
bastard, Mulder's royally pissed, and I've got nothing to show for it.  
Except for a very unhappy partner, that is.

I can hardly wait for the gunmen to leave so that I can begin to explain 
myself to Mulder.  To make him understand why I did what I did.  He tries to 
listen politely, but I can see the muscles in his jaw clenching, and he 
still can't bring himself to look me in the eye.  When I get to the part 
about visiting Spender in his office suite, I talk him into going there with 
me.

That, too, turns out to be a bust, and I look around the empty offices in 
astonishment, both at Spender's resourcefulness in duping me, and my 
complete and utter naivete.  How could I have been taken in by him so 
thoroughly?  One mention of a cure for cancer, and I was willing to 
accompany him on his wild goose chase to the ends of the earth.  Granted, I 
never completely trusted him, but I should have known from experience that 
C.G.B. Spender was not a man to possess enough compassion for the world that 
he'd give away his precious technological secrets.  I feel like a fool, but 
even worse, my partner thinks I've betrayed him.

I try and explain to him in the car on the way back to his apartment that I 
had attempted to contact him during our journey.  I had worn a wire and 
mailed him audio tapes that were evidently intercepted at some point.  I 
wanted to call him, but at every turn there was Spender looking over my 
shoulder, and he'd sworn he wouldn't give me his cure if Mulder knew about 
it.  I had no choice but to blindly follow the smoking man on my own and 
hope for the best.

I tell Mulder all this and more in the car, but my words are not reaching 
him.  He has a faraway look in his eyes and I know he's not ready to listen 
to explanations or excuses.  He's told me before that I'm the only one he 
trusts, and in his eyes, I've gone and betrayed that trust.  Now he's 
reeling in the aftermath.

I have to give him time, and then he'll be able to listen to me.  That's how 
I comfort myself anyway, secretly afraid that Mulder's distant expression 
might never go away, that this rift might never be repaired.

I drop him off in front of his building, and he mumbles his good-byes before 
slamming the car door and walking away without a backwards glance.  I try to 
compose my apprehensive thoughts as I drive down the street, telling myself 
that this coldness I'm witnessing from my partner is only temporary.  He'll 
come around, won't he?

I suddenly panic and feel the need to speak with him again, to tell him how 
sorry I am that I have caused him this heartache.  I reach for my cell 
phone, and realize I'd left it in the bag I packed to go away with Spender.  
I'd hurriedly taken the bag into Mulder's apartment earlier with the disk 
tucked safely inside, and forgotten to bring it with me when I left.

This gives me the perfect excuse to return to Mulder's apartment.  To get 
him to look me in the eye and talk about this like grown-ups.  I do an 
illegal U-turn and speed back down the street towards my partner.

I grab my keys from the ignition and hurry down the sidewalk, my heart in my 
throat, wondering what exactly I will say to him this time.  His door is 
slightly ajar, and I push it open hesitantly, spying Mulder by his desk with 
his back to me.  He's standing in front of my open bag, holding something I 
can't see.  I step closer until I get a look at his somewhat astonished and 
disbelieving expression as he gazes at a long, filmy black scrap of cloth 
held gingerly aloft by its tiny straps on the end of one index finger.

I clear my throat and he starts, then turns toward me slowly, still holding 
the dress I'd worn to dinner with C.G.B. Spender.

"Mulder, I see you found my bag.  That's why I came back."

I can't help but remember the night I'd worn that dress, wishing that it was 
Mulder sitting across the dinner table from me instead of the smoking man.  
It was a lovely dress, and goodness knows I have too few opportunities to 
wear nice things.  I did so long for Mulder to be able to see me in it, to 
know that I could look feminine and desirable.  In fact, when Spender had 
left in search of his mysteriously elusive contact, I relaxed for a moment 
and let my mind wander, trying to imagine Mulder's reaction if he were to 
see me in my deliciously low-cut, backless gown.  Would he be shocked?  
Appreciative?  Would he offer sly innuendoes or shy compliments?

And now he stands delicately holding the garment before me as though it 
would disintegrate if he grasped it too tightly.  "You packed formal-wear 
for your trip, Scully?"

"I didn't pack it, Mulder.  It was given to me.  What are you doing 
rummaging around in my things anyway?"  I say this teasingly, gently, afraid 
of wounding his fragile ego any further.

"I..." he stammers awkwardly.  "It was open.  You left your bag open and 
this..."  He holds the dress out for emphasis.  "...was right on top.  I 
wasn't really snooping, I swear," he offers sheepishly.  Then his expression 
turns puzzled and he asks, "Someone *gave* this to you?"

"Um... yeah.  Can I have my things now, Mulder?"  I hold out my hand palm 
up, but Mulder doesn't make a move.

"Who gave you this dress, Scully?"  He can't hide the worry in his voice 
from me.  Mulder is jealous, and it gives me a guilty thrill to realize it.  
But I still don't want to reveal who gave me the damn dress.  It will bring 
the hurt expression back to his face once more.

"Scully?" he prods.

I don't know how to get out of this.  I absolutely cannot lie to him.  He 
has been lied to once too often in the past few days.

"Spender."  I look at the dress and not at his face.  "Spender gave it to 
me."

I can feel the frustration and anger rolling off him.  "And you took it?  
Scully, how could you?"  The naked emotion I hear in his incredulous voice 
nearly breaks my heart.

"He took me to dinner to meet Cobra.  He gave it to me to wear because he 
knew I couldn't hide a wire underneath it."

He warily eyes the skimpy bodice.  "That's for sure.  But you didn't have to 
wear it for him, Scully."

"Mulder, I was trying to earn his trust."

He snorts.  "Now that's a switch."

"I was afraid he'd call the whole thing off if I didn't wear it.  He didn't 
want me recording the conversation with his contact."  My tone is pleading 
with him to understand.  "I wanted that cancer cure, Mulder.  I would've 
gone naked if he'd asked me to."

At this comment, Mulder reluctantly huffs out a small laugh, then touches 
the soft fabric hesitantly.  He eyes me quietly.  "You really believed that 
bastard was going to give you the cure?"

"I wanted to believe, Mulder.  Like you, I wanted to believe...with all my 
heart."

His hand reaches out to caress my cheek, and he looks me fully in the eyes 
for the first time since I returned.  I detect a hint of forgiveness in his 
expression, and my own eyes fill with tears of relief that I will myself not 
to release.  I will not make Mulder feel any worse about this situation than 
he already does.  None of this was his fault, and I don't wish for him to 
shoulder any of the blame or guilt.  He tends to take the weight of the 
world on his shoulders, and I don't want to add to his burden.

His hand lingers on my cheek as I smile at him through my tears, and his 
thumb strays to stroke gently just below my lower lip.  My mouth goes soft 
and slack at this intimate gesture, and my eyes unwillingly flutter closed.

"Scully?"

"Yes?"  I look up at him breathlessly, waiting for what he has to say next.

"Put it on for me."

"What?"  I have no idea what he's talking about until my gaze falls on the 
dress he's offering to me.

"I want to see you in this."

I'm nervous and confused.  I stammer, "No, Mulder."

"You'll wear it for him, but you won't wear it for me?"  His face is both 
angry and hurt.

"That's not it, Mulder.  It's just..."  I don't know what is holding me 
back.  The same thing that's been holding us back for seven long years, I 
suppose.  How many more years until we finally give in to what we obviously 
feel?

"Try the dress on for me, Scully."  His voice is gently demanding, and its 
intensity melts my remaining resolve.  I can refuse him nothing right now.

"Alright, Mulder."  I take it from his outstretched fingers and walk slowly 
to his bedroom to change, feeling his gaze on my back as I go.

I lay the dress on his bed and strip off all my clothes, tossing them on a 
nearby chair.  It's an oddly titillating sensation to be changing clothes in 
Mulder's bedroom.  I pull the whispery soft black fabric over my head and 
shiver as it slides sensuously over my bare skin and falls into place.

I look in the mirror and run my fingers through my hair, smoothing it 
slowly, realizing I'm stalling for time.  I'm scared to go back in and face 
Mulder looking like this.  I feel positively naked dressed this way, but 
hadn't I just been wishing Mulder could see me in my little black dress?  
What was I waiting for?

I square my shoulders and hesitantly pad barefooted into the living room.  
He's sitting on the couch leaning forward, but when I enter the room, his 
mouth drops open slightly and he leans back.  Then he quickly recovers and 
tries to play it cool, his face becoming an unreadable mask.  Turning and 
lying back lengthwise on the couch with one arm stretched behind his head, 
he stares intently at me.  I feel a bit like an insect under a magnifying 
glass.

"Turn around, Scully."  He gestures with one hand.

Strike the insect.  Make that one of the models in Mulder's infamous 
magazines.

"Please, Scully."  His tone is sincere.

I flush in embarrassment, but turn around slowly, hearing Mulder release a 
big breath through pursed lips.

"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are, Scully?"

I stop and look at him in surprise.  "No, Mulder, I don't believe that's 
ever come up in conversation."  I try to sound calm, but my heart is beating 
faster, and his comment has made me a bit weak in the knees.  That was a 
bigtime admission from my low-key partner.

"Well, you are, Scully.  Very beautiful."  He crosses his legs at the ankles 
and says, "I think it all the time, but I never could tell you."

"Do you, Mulder?  Think it, I mean?"  Suddenly I'm feeling very warm, and my 
throat is dry at the idea of Mulder thinking those kinds of thoughts about 
me.

"Constantly."  His eyes travel up and down my form as he says languidly, 
"Come here, Scully."

I'm feeling more than warm at this point and I walk slowly to stand beside 
where Mulder lies on the couch.  His eyes take in the sight of me in my 
dress from this new close-up position, and I'm sure he can't help but notice 
the uneven rising and falling of my chest as I struggle for composure, 
standing so near to him.

My attempts to keep my face neutral totally fail me when I feel one of his 
hands wrap warmly around my bare ankle.

"Spender was right, Scully.  I don't think you could hide any wires under 
that dress."

I gasp quietly as his thumb makes tiny circles on my ankle.

"No, Mulder, I can't hide anything under this dress."  I stress the word 
"anything" and he cocks an eyebrow at me and gives me a lazy smile.

"Scully, are you trying to tell me you don't have anything on under there?"

I start out with a cocky remark, "I'm going to have to take the fifth..." 
but words fail me as Mulder's hand slides languorously up my calf beneath 
the black material.

"Mulder..." I warn, but he can tell how this is affecting me.  A rush of 
heat floods between my legs as his hand continues to snake upwards along my 
trembling thigh.

Suddenly his hand is possessively cupping my bare ass as he wickedly 
murmurs, "You were wrong, Scully.  You are hiding a few intriguing things 
under here."

My eyes shut of their own accord at this illicit feeling as his hand slides 
around to find the mass of tangled curls at the juncture of my thighs, 
combing gently through them, and I unconsciously spread my legs wider.  A 
small moan escapes his lips at my gesture, and I myself gasp when I feel his 
fingers tickling at my soft folds, begging permission to enter.

I look deeply into his eyes and hope that he can read my thoughts because I 
have lost all power of speech at this moment.  Evidently, he received my 
message loud and clear, because then I feel two long fingers slide into my 
opening, collecting the juices that Mulder has already made flow abundantly 
there.  He draws them out slowly and sucks them into his mouth, and I watch 
him heatedly, my center throbbing with need.  I stare at those lush lips 
that drive me to distraction on a daily basis when we work together, 
watching him eat sunflower seeds or chew on a pencil eraser or toothpick, 
wildly wondering how those lips would feel working their forbidden magic on 
me.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I hitch my dress up and straddle my 
partner's chest, and he runs his hands up my thighs approvingly.

He murmurs, "Did you like it when I kissed you on New Year's Eve?"

I whisper, "Yes, Mulder."

"Pull your dress up for me, Scully."

At his words, I feel light-headed, but I am so consumed by need at this 
point that I obey him.  I wantonly pull up my dress and hold it in place by 
wrapping my arms around my waist, leaving the lower half of my body bare 
before his wandering gaze.

"Would you like for me to kiss you again?"

"Please, Mulder."

He raises up slightly and places a hot, open-mouthed kiss on my exposed sex. 
  I moan and he pulls back to examine my face.

"Do you like it when I kiss you there?"

My voice comes out in a hiss.  "Yess."

His voice is silky and challenging.  "What would you like for me to do now?"

I grunt and shift my hips restlessly, not believing he is doing this to me.

I breathe desperately, "You know what I want, Mulder."

He insists, "Tell me, Scully."

I am so wet at this point that I am soaking his shirt through, and so 
desperate for his mouth on me that I'd do anything to get him to put it 
there.  So I tell him in no uncertain terms exactly what I want him to do to 
me, and his eyes widen in surprise, hearing words come out of his reserved 
partner's mouth that he'd never even imagined me saying before.  My voice 
shakes as I reveal my secret desires to him, and my hand cups my aching sex 
as his eyes become hooded with hunger at my words.

He quickly pulls my hand away and slides down the couch so that I can crawl 
up his body and straddle his face.  For a moment, he simply closes his eyes, 
cupping my ass and inhaling my scent as his mouth hovers tantalizingly near 
my aching flesh.  I groan impatiently and suddenly Mulder's tongue is 
insinuating itself between my moist folds, his mouth seeking to possess me 
in a way that he knows C.G.B. Spender never can.

He suckles and laves at the source of my heat, and I myself can't believe 
the primal sounds he's eliciting from my mouth.  I can say without 
hesitation that it's the most illicit thrill in the world to have your 
partner's head between your legs doing unmentionable things to your most 
intimate parts.  Mulder is working very hard to make this buttoned-down FBI 
agent lose total control, and he's doing an unbelievable job of it.  I don't 
think I've ever felt this wild with abandon, clutching my dress beneath my 
breasts, trying not to grind my hips into Mulder's face as he increases the 
intensity of his licking on *that* spot, oh god, right there.  Trust?  
Mulder wants trust?  I think I must trust him more than anyone in the world 
to let him do what he is doing to me right now.

My thighs are slick with sweat, my sex feels heavy and swollen, and I can no 
longer control the primitive rocking motion that overcomes me.  Mulder grabs 
my hips to still my body so that he can concentrate on sending me over the 
edge.  My legs can no longer fully support me, and I lean forward to steady 
myself with my arms, never once moving my hips from that sweet spot above 
Mulder's mouth where he is ministering to my too long pent-up desires.  He 
is humming and groaning against my dripping flesh, drinking me in, and I can 
feel the vibrations in my bones, making my toes curl.

I cry out when he hits that spot again, and I feel the telltale tensing of 
my most intimate muscles.  I wail when my climax hits me hard, and Mulder 
supports my limp body as it convulses, continuing to burrow his head between 
my legs, milking the last drops of energy from me.  The intensity of 
sensation has temporarily absconded with my ability to move or talk, so 
Mulder lowers me gently facedown on the couch, stroking my naked back and 
bottom possessively.

He murmurs, "You okay?" and I mumble something unintelligible into the couch 
in return.

"I'll take that as a yes.  You know, Scully..."

I turn my head weakly to gaze at him face to face for the first time since 
he rocked my world so completely with the inestimable talents of his soft 
lips and agile tongue.

"You're incredibly beautiful in this dress, but I hate it."

"You hate it, Mulder?"

He eyes me askance while my slow-moving brain processes the information and 
I remember who gave me said dress.

"Oh."

Without another word, he strips the offending garment over my head and walks 
away.  I wonder where he is going but a second, before I realize he is 
heading for the garbage chute, sending my black dress to burn in the 
incinerator where he previously witnessed the pages of a certain manuscript 
destroyed that had contained another man's desire for me.

He strides determinedly back to me, a grim look on his face as he covers the 
length of my naked body with his own, wrapping his strong arms around me, 
one hand cupping my breast and the other covering my still throbbing sex.

His lips brush my flushed cheek, and he murmurs in my ear, "I'll buy you 
another dress tomorrow."

I smile in anticipation.

END "Little Black Dress" (1/1)

For astoundingly astute XF fanfic recommendations with a heavy propensity 
toward MSR (smut optional but always appreciated), plus other 
X-Files-induced nonsense, visit the Bimbo Nympho Alien Junior League website 
at http://www.coyotecom.com/BNAJ/