From: Kirsten Kerkhof <kirsten_xf@yahoo.com>
Date: Mon, 30 Aug 1999 16:10:26 -0700 (PDT)
Subject: New story
Source: direct

TITLE: "The Neck of the Geisha"  
AUTHOR: Kirsten Kerkhof * kirsten_xf@yahoo.com    
RATING: Mild R I suppose  
CLASSIFICATION: Mulder/Scully Romance    
CATEGORY: S R H  
DISCLAIMER: Mulder, Scully and Skinner aren't mine. Akiko  
Yoshida is mine though.  
SPOILERS: None  
FEEDBACK: As always! A Mulder to taste is the reward (come    
on, that should be enough! <g>)    
SUMMARY: Geishas knew that a woman didn't need to reveal   
much skin to make a man shake with desire ... Scully gets a little   
help from a friend to get Mulder.  
  
XxXxX  
  
*Part 1/5*  
  
   My downfall, that's what it was. It was the end of my   
existence as a civilised man and the beginning of my existence as   
an animal. At least, as far as Scully was concerned. I didn't show   
it to the rest of the world. To them I was still my old self; a   
normal restrained suit-and-tie type of guy, product of generations   
of good schools and the right neighbourhoods, who fitted in   
perfectly in the end of twentieth century, despite his odd   
fascination for all things paranormal. Without that, I was pretty   
normal I suppose.  
   But when it comes to Scully I'm a changed man now, and   
not in a good way either. Charles Darwin is probably turning in   
his grave as I speak, having to watch me upset his entire theory   
on the evolution of species. I'm a caveman, a Neanderthal, driven   
by lust and desire and the urge to hunt and club his woman down.   
At least, like I said, when Scully's near. When she's not I behave   
perfectly normally.  
   It all started when, one afternoon, we received an   
invitation to attend a social meeting, held in honour of who-  
knows-who, and we were invited to attend the ceremony. Invited   
as in ordered of course, we both felt Skinner's breath in our necks,   
filling the air with threats so horrendous it would make Smoking   
Man tremble with fear.  
   At the time we didn't think much of it though, the paper   
work having numbed our minds to the point where nothing   
seemed to make any impression on us anyway really. So we put   
the invitation aside and worked our way through the immense   
piles of red tape, as always with Scully having done the major part   
of the job, but luckily she never really holds it against me. I'm just   
a slow worker, that's all - even though recently I've ... but I'm   
straying from the subject I suppose.  
   And then the day arrived, that fateful day Scully and I   
were to go to that party. It was November 21st and one of those   
dreary dark days in the middle of autumn when cold winds sweep   
through the city, taking with it a fine dirty rain which soaks you   
right through to the bone and for which no real protection exists.   
The cold just creeps up and chills you right through. Well, that   
was the kind of day it was. I hated it. And poor Scully had to   
endure my temper.  
   I had been grumpy pretty much all day, even when first   
thing in the morning Scully welcomed me with a steaming cup of   
actual coffee instead of that hideous FBI brew they dare to pass   
for coffee. Nor did she manage to lift my spirits by buying me this   
really good lunch. So in the end she grew wise to the fact that   
there truly was nothing to be done about me and left me alone,   
directing her attention to her share of the work. I couldn't have   
blamed her in the least.  
   At four she came up to me, her coat neatly folded over her   
arm, her purse in her hand.  
   "See you at eight then?" she said.  
   I'm sure I must have worn this expression of 'I have no   
earthly clue what you are talking about.' for she explained herself   
more clearly.  
   "The party, Mulder. Surely you haven't forgotten about the   
party, have you?"  
   In fact I had, but I didn't really feel like telling her so. I'm   
a coward - and a liar too ...  
   "No, no, of course not," I said, shaking my head. "Your   
place at eight. I'll be there."  
   She nodded briefly and left, leaving me in the office with   
no X-Files to investigate and the silence to depress me even more.  
   That's true as well. It can be really silent in our office   
when we're working, but with Scully present that silence is   
beautiful, vibrant, full of life. When she's not there that same   
silence suddenly becomes oppressing and cold. Suppose that says   
enough about my share in the atmosphere.  
   About an hour later I left for my apartment, picking up a   
pizza on the way home and briefly going by the office of the Lone   
Gunmen because they no longer want to mail me my copy of the   
TLG. They're so paranoid. At home I finished my pizza, surfed   
some channels and then put on the damn tuxedo I'd rented a   
couple of days earlier. I really really hate those ...  
   As I slipped on the jacket I spotted my sister's photo, the   
one with her as the eight-year-old, smirking at me and looking for   
all the world like she was saying,  
   'Going somewhere nice, big brother?' in that annoying   
little voice I know she had. I walked towards it and grinned at   
her.  
   "Nope," I said. "I'm going to a party."  
   'Don't you like that, big brother?' she seemed to ask and I   
shook my head.  
   "No, I don't. And believe me, I don't want to go!"  
   Guess that says enough about my powers of prediction,   
because I could never ever have predicted what would happen   
about fifteen minutes later when I knocked on Scully's door and   
got my first good look at the dress she was wearing.  
   It knocked the wind right out of me, and even more when   
she turned and walked back into her apartment, silently inviting   
me to come in. I couldn't have been more prepared for what I got   
to see if someone had shown me the dress in advance.   
   It was a cream coloured silk chinoiserie dress and truth be   
told showed hardly any skin at all. It had long sleeves, a fairly   
high neck and a skirt almost to the ground. Of course it was a   
tailored dress and showed her curves precisely right, the comb   
holding her hair up revealing the tempting curve of her neck, but   
despite all that and despite the fact that so much skin was actually   
covered, the dress revealed one bit of Scully-skin it should never   
ever have done: the nape of her neck. Her neck down to where her   
shoulder blades began was completely bare, not even broken by   
the gold chain of the cross necklace which she wasn't wearing. It   
drove me crazy ...  
   But by then she had turned around again and, picking up   
the little matching purse, she took the velvet cape which was   
draped over the chair by the door and we left.  
   We got into the car and drove off to the place where the   
party was going to be held, my mind still busy trying to process   
the highly fascinating information Scully's neck had so   
inadvertedly sent me.  
  
*Part 2/5*  
  
   When I heard of the invitation to the party I briefly   
wondered what to wear. It's not like I've got a collection of dresses   
that could  match up with Ivana Trump's and while there are a   
couple of dresses stacked away in the back of my closet they   
somehow didn't really suit the occasion.  
   Then I remembered the woman I had met a couple of   
weeks ago, Akiko Yoshida. She's Japanese, or rather her parents   
are, she was born here in the US. We met down by the mailboxes   
and started talking. She's very nice.  
   On one occasion our talks happened to be about her   
Japanese background and she invited me to come and have a look   
at the two kimonos she's got. Actually, only one was a real   
kimono, the other was a summer kimono, a Yukata, which was   
made of cotton instead of the much more expensive silk. They   
were absolutely gorgeous and she even allowed me to try them on.   
They weren't exactly comfortable, but that was a small sacrifice   
compared to the breath-taking beauty of the dresses.  
   Of course I never expected her to allow me to wear one of   
her kimonos to the party, but I knew she had a few dresses that   
were affordable, fashionable imitations of the real thing - and   
much less conspicuous and much more flattering than the original   
dresses.  
   I remember the night before the party. I had put off the   
necessity to ask her to lend me one of her dresses as long as I   
could, but the Fashion Gods had had no mercy with me   
whatsoever: I couldn't find a single dress I thought even remotely   
acceptable.  
   Not one dress I saw I felt beautiful enough in to face   
Mulder ... I admit, I was wearing this dress for Mulder much   
rather than for the faceless, nameless men who had decided to   
turn this ordinary evening onto the sit-straight, kiss-ass event I   
knew it was going to be.  
   After some trying on, Akiko and I decided on the cream   
coloured dress. It was embroidered with brightly coloured flowers   
and plants and closed with tiny gilded buttons.   
   The dress in itself was chaste enough. There was no need   
for a wonderbra to show off the cleavage for there was no   
cleavage visible. Not that I've got terribly much of it anyway, but   
that's beside the point. However, it was the neckline in the back   
that made my lips curve. Modest and sensible as the rest of the   
dress might have been, the back was definitely decadent. And I   
just knew it was going to knock Mulder out.  
   Mulder's always had this weakness for skin, especially   
when it's in places he'd never expect to see any. And I'm pretty   
damn sure he wasn't going to expect to see my neck the way the   
dress showed it.  
   On the evening of the party I took a quick shower, put on   
my make-up -- only a hint more than usual -- and, oh, miracles of   
miracles, got my hair to co-operate. Akiko gave me a beautiful   
gold comb to go with the dress and the thing must have been   
magic for it tamed the wayward curls of my hair immediately.   
Then I put on the dress and fished a pair of cream coloured   
leather pumps from the shoe closet. The heels weren't particularly   
high, but I've always liked to be short enough to fit under   
Mulder's chin. I don't think he knows about that and back then I   
fully intended to keep it that way. Past tense, that's correct.  
   Turning around in front of the mirror I suddenly spotted   
my necklace. And I made a decision. Beautiful as it may be, I   
knew it completely ruined the effect I wanted this dress to have on   
Mulder. It simply had to go.  
   I had barely removed the offending piece of jewellery when   
I heard Mulder knock. Smiling at my image I looked one last time   
before I went to open the door.  
   Have you ever had the chance to see a man look at you   
with that mixture of awe, tender admiration and barely checked   
lust all competing for dominance in his eyes? I must admit I very   
rarely have. Men usually looked at Missy who had both the charm   
and the looks to make guys look at her that way. But Mulder   
made good for all the times I felt jealous of my sister. His   
expression was simply breath-taking. It looked like ... He looked   
... stunned ... And it only got better when I turned around and   
walked ahead of him back into the room and I heard his sharp   
intake of breath.  
   Bingo.  
   I ventured a quick look over my shoulder at him and saw   
his nervous smile and the uncertain way his fingers moved   
through his hair. Then he laughed softly.  
   "God, Dana," he breathed and a shiver ran all the way   
down my spine. This promised even more than I'd already   
anticipated. However, I decided not to pay too much attention to   
either his words or the way my body jerked into attention at these   
words. Instead I took the purse and the velvet cape I was going to   
wear to shield me from the bitter winds that swept the city.  
   "You ready to go, Mulder?"  
   He nodded slightly and quickly adjusted his bowtie. Then   
he smiled again and I felt my insides do a happy little dance   
around the bonfire. Mulder in tuxedo is one of my favourite   
flavours. He knows how to wear a tux and how to wear it well.  
   We walked to the car, got in and drove off.  
  
*Part 3/5*  
  
   Just like I'd already predicted this party was dead. And if it   
hadn't been for Scully I'd almost certainly have dropped off to   
sleep -- which is not a terribly smart thing to do when the room is   
full of people who's main interest in life is to have your ass booted   
out of the Bureau. It was tempting though ... There were a couple   
of speeches, but I remember hardly anything, if anything at all.  
   Scully was acting sort of weird. It wasn't unwelcome or   
unpleasant, but she wasn't exactly herself that night: she flirted   
with me unabashedly, something which I enjoyed in a way, even   
though at the time it kind of unnerved me.  
   After about an hour and a half of speeches, thank-you's   
and the general kissing of asses, the party -- such as it were --   
began for real. At least, the part that was more or less interesting   
to us, that is.  
   And so did in fact one of my worst nightmares: Skinner   
asked Scully to dance with him. And she said yes.  
   Let me get a few things straight with you before I continue:   
I like our boss. I really do. The man may have his faults and he   
may not always have acted in our best interests, but I like his   
sincerity, the way he dares to counter-act orders from his   
superiors to help Scully and me find the Truth.  
   Scully likes our boss as well. For, I suppose, quite the same   
reasons. The man has withheld information about me or my work   
for no other reasons than that she asked him to. Just like us the   
man should've been fired ages ago. The fact that until now he   
hasn't been is good for us, but he walks on thin ice here.  
   However, the problem is that Skinner means more to   
Scully than just that. Or at least I think so, and Scully definitely   
means a lot more to the man than would be required, seen from a   
purely professional point of view. He loves her. And when I'm   
feeling really good-natured towards him I'd even admit knowing   
that he's secretly in love with her.  
   Not that I blame the guy. God knows I'm in love with my   
partner and let me assure you that there are countless men in the   
Bureau who turn their heads every time she walks by. It's no   
wonder why: she can make the most sensible of suits look like the   
most seductive of lingerie -- and what red-blooded man wouldn't   
be affected by that?  
   Exactly.  
   But I wasn't feeling good-natured towards him when he   
asked her to dance with him. On the contrary, I was tempted to   
deny him that dance, to claim Scully as my own. I'd probably get   
shot right after that by that lovely, beautiful, wonderful partner of   
mine, but I probably wouldn't have cared less. I'm a smart man,   
though, and so I merely nodded, even if it completed a couple of   
circuits inside my head ...  
   They hadn't moved away from me for more than a few feet   
when I saw a tall brunette heading decisively in my direction.   
And sure enough she sat down at my table and flashed me a   
knock-down toothy smile that could even classify as sexy. I'm   
pretty sure she knew the power of that smile on men. Sadly for   
her, I'd already lost my heart to someone else and she could've   
frowned at me and get the same reaction.  
   Still, I knew what she was here for and with a quick look   
at my partner and my boss I decided that, while I was waiting for   
Scully, I might as well enjoy myself for a little while.  
   "Care to dance, Agent Mulder?" she asked and I smiled   
politely in return.  
   "Certainly," I answered, my voice all fake interest. I didn't   
care, but at least I could do the woman a favour. We moved to the   
dance-floor and assumed the customary dance position.  
   While she was a fine dancer by all means, I didn't like it at   
all. I suspect it was because she was simply too tall. She was   
almost my height, at least 5'10", and while most men would   
probably like that, I did not. After almost six years of holding my   
petite partner I'd grown accustomed to the small height of her.   
Not in the sense of feeling the macho man, towering over and   
dominating his woman, but Scully had always felt precisely right.   
This woman was simply too tall for me.  
   Apparently my head was really someplace else, for I   
suddenly heard my dance partner asking me to keep my head to   
the dance and not to step on her toes so much. And if I did step on   
her toes once more, I 'could as well go back to the Ice Queen'.  
   I don't think I've ever felt more tempted to knock down a   
woman. I didn't hit her of course. For all the mistakes my parents   
made while raising me at least they taught me not to hit a woman,   
but it came damn close this time. I escorted her back to her table   
the fastest way I knew, not even waiting until the dance was   
officially over. Then, still fuming, I walked over to where Scully   
and Skinner were standing and asked her to come with me. In a   
way, I claimed her, I couldn't help myself.  
   She probably didn't know what had happened between me   
and that woman, but she agreed to dance with me. And whether it   
was me -- which isn't very likely -- or her I'll probably never   
know, but the moment she moved into my embrace I felt the storm   
inside of me calm down. We moved towards the dance floor and   
started to dance. From the corner of my eye I saw the brunette   
approach another man.  
  
*Part 4/5*  
  
   I know very well that my partner didn't like it one bit,   
having to watch me dance with Skinner. Skinner himself knew   
that as well, must have known it even before he asked me.   
Whether it was an act of cruelty on his part towards his most   
troublesome Agent or something else entirely I don't know, but   
that didn't change the facts very much.  
   Personally I enjoyed dancing with my superior. Skinner is   
a fine man. I like him. Very much. I sometimes catch myself   
thinking I could even fall in love with him. If it wasn't for Mulder   
of course.  
   I've always liked older men, so Skinner wouldn't be such   
an unusual choice for me. And he's a good man, despite the   
troubles he's caused us. At least he's got a few character traits   
Mulder will never ever have. One can depend on him for one   
thing; and he works by the book instead of trying everything in   
his power to piss off those above him as Mulder can do so easily.   
He's probably also a lot more boring, but I get enough adventure   
already so maybe I'd want that.  
   Theoretically speaking I could fall in love with him. But   
the truth is that I cannot.  
   I'm in love with Mulder. Well, how could I not be?  
   When I first met my partner it was just the outside that did   
it for me. If with Skinner the inside counts, with Mulder it was   
the outside that won me over right away. But on the inside Mulder   
is a good man as well, he's just a little harder to figure out than   
most men. He's not that straightforward. He honest and   
dependable in his own way. He respects the people around him,   
cares about them, and despite everything they've done to ruin him   
he can still love. Mulder is a very real man and that's exactly what   
I've been looking for my whole life.  
   These thoughts flashed through my mind as we slowly   
swayed to the music. I felt his warm hand on my back, the long   
slender fingers tracing lazy circles over my dress. His hand crept   
up very slowly and one finger touched the skin in my neck, just   
where the low neck of the dress was at its deepest. I could feel his   
heart beat near my throat -- I was still slightly too tall now to fit   
under his chin -- and when he breathed I could feel it stir the   
hairs on top of my head.  
   "Scully?" he said, his voice slightly rough around the   
edges.  
   "Yeah?"  
   "You enjoying this?"  
   I nodded. "Definitely."  
   His hands stopped for the briefest of moments and I felt his   
head droop a little.  
   "That's good," he answered very softly.  
   We danced in this position until the end of the music,   
oblivious to the world around us. When the music stopped we   
reluctantly let each other go. My body screamed with the loss of   
his touch, his warmth, his presence.  
   'Please let the next song be a slow one as well. I'm not   
through dancing with him. It's the only way I can hold him this   
closely in public, don't you understand?'  
   No such luck. Apparently someone had requested a rock   
and roll kind of song and while the people in the room seemed to   
like it, one look at Mulder told me his thoughts were exactly like   
mine.  
   We just had to get out of here.  
   We made it to the door without making other people look   
up and see where we were going and with one last look at   
Skinner, who was dancing with a pretty blonde, we slipped out of   
the room.  
   Skinner knew. His look betrayed him, but we didn't care   
very much. The man had known for years and he'd keep his   
mouth shut.  
   Just outside the door we stopped. Looked at each other.   
The air was thick with what was going on inside our heads,   
between us. We both knew what we wanted, we both knew it was   
time to stop the denial, but neither of us knew what to do first.  
   The faint sounds of the music came through the door.   
Another slow number. I saw Mulder's eyes glisten in the soft light   
of the hallway. He held his hand out to me, the palm facing up,   
open and inviting.  
   "Dance with me, Scully."  
   Scully. Not Dana as I feared. Scully ... I smiled and   
nodded. I took a step closer and melted into his embrace. It felt so   
right, so natural to be there.  
   I turned my head a bit, trying to find the perfect position in   
his arms, but I couldn't find it -- until I realised the shoes I was   
wearing. I kicked them off, making Mulder chuckle softly, and   
moved back to where I wanted to be. Absolutely had to be.  
   I found my place immediately. Now it was perfect in every   
respect.  
   "Just imagine what other people would say if they saw us   
like this," I smiled and he chuckled again. He reached up and let   
his fingers slide over the gold comb. Then his finger slid over my   
ear, then my cheek and my chin, landing just under my chin. He   
curved his index finger and raised my head slightly to look at   
him. His eyes were absolutely incredible. I've known the mystery   
of these eyes for a long time, but I don't think I ever had half an   
idea just what magic they truly held.  
   "I'm not," he said. That answer puzzled me and he saw it.  
   He smiled. "I'm not going to imagine that," he explained   
and I smiled back at him. Then he slowly shook his head. "No,"   
he said, not quite to me but more to himself. "Not when I've got   
much better things to do."  
   He slowly leaned in and then his lips were on mine.   
Finally. Finally we kissed.  
   It was by all means a chaste kiss. Safe, sweet. There was   
an unmistakable fire, but it didn't break free. Instead it just added   
a little more magic to the kiss.  
   I slid my tongue over his lips, then closed my mouth over   
that lush bottom lip I'd been staring at for almost six years. God   
knows that half my repertoire of fantasies about him are centred   
around that lip. I've been imagining what it would taste like, the   
way we would react to it, but to my surprise I found out at that   
moment that they'd been but poor images compared to the real   
thing. Never could I have anticipated this. Never.  
   I parted my lips to welcome him and he gently brushed his   
tongue across mine, probing carefully, testing my reactions. Not   
that he had anything to worry about.  
   And during all this our hands were almost completely still.   
There was no frantic groping or awkward touches that would   
make this moment less magical. No, instead they were still, our   
bodies were still. Only our lips moved while I learned about this   
last unknown thing of him and he got to know me. We had known   
pretty much everything about one another, but this was one of   
those things we never dared to find out about. This was something   
new. And I adored it.  
   After minutes we parted. No one broke the kiss, we just let   
it come to an end. Instinctively we knew. Our eyes locked and I   
was pleased to see his happy expression. He was happy, seemed   
satisfied.  
   It took a little while but after a few moments my senses   
returned -- and I heard voices coming from the room where that   
meeting was being held.  
   "Mulder," I said and he nodded.  
   "The party is almost over," he replied and turned slightly   
away from me. Now that wasn't what I had in mind and I wrapped   
my arms around him again, trapping him in my embrace. He   
smiled, his eyes suddenly cheeky.  
   "So, my place or your place, Agent Scully?"  
   I felt a rush of blood course through my body. So this was   
it then. At last ...  
   "My place", I whispered, looking him straight in the eye.   
"I wanna make love to you in my own bed."  
   He feigned shock. "Why, Agent Scully, I was merely   
referring to having a drink!"  
   I shook my head, refusing to believe this. I grinned. "Oh   
no, buddy, you weren't!" He grinned as well. "But I suppose you   
could live with a change of plan on the off-chance that you really   
were serious just a second ago ...", I added in a husky whisper.  
   His eyes took on a smouldering look and something inside   
me liquefied.  
   "Yes, I can," he said slowly.  
   I put my shoes back on after which we went to the car. It   
was going to be a long drive home ...  
  
*Part 5/5*  
  
   My downfall. That's what it was. It was the end of my   
existence as a civilised man and the beginning of my existence as   
an animal.  
   Well, sort of.  
   You see, Scully's no saint either. She loves it and I know   
all about it. She loves the way we make love and believe me,   
under those prim little suits resides a woman who knows a thing   
or two about passion.  
   Scully returned the dress three days later. We couldn't talk   
Akiko into selling it to Scully. Sadly.  
   But I'm nothing if not an inventive man. And tonight I'm   
taking her out to dinner. Nice little restaurant I know, just across   
town. I bought her a dress which she's going to find sitting on her   
bed when she comes home. It's a cream coloured dress, sure   
enough. With a note, asking her to come over to my place.  
   I've rented a tux, but that's okay. Because tonight we're   
going to celebrate. And that dress is a vital part of the deal.  
   Guess I'll just have to remind her not to wear her necklace.  
  
THE END