From: flynn X <flyn121@yahoo.com>
Date: 1 Nov 2003 20:14:14 -0800
Subject: [all-xf] Perfect Opposites by Flynn (1 of 4)
Source: atxc


TITLE: 	 Perfect Opposites
AUTHOR:  Flynn
CLASS:	 MSR, *MAJOR* PWP
DATE: 	 November 1, 2003
E-MAIL:  flyn121@yahoo.com
ARCHIVE: Unlike Surferboy, I was taught to share my
toys. Take what you want, but please keep author and
headers attached, and let me know where to visit.
WEBSITE: www.geocities.com/cratkinsonflynn/
FEEDBACK: Appreciated in mind and heart. 
RATING:  Eventually NC-17 for adult expressions of
affection. If you're under-age, leave now. 
No aruging. Go.
SPOILERS: Brief nod to Je Souhaite and Brand X.
Note: I'm a California girl. East-coast sea side towns
are not my area of expertise, thus the absense of any
names. Any errors in geography are unintentional and
completely open to derision.

DISCLAIMER: Archetypes belong to Carter. Besides, you
know what they say about the sincerest form of
flattery, right?

For Mish, who wanted something else for her recipe
box; and as always, for Christine, my sister-in-sin.

SUMMARY: A day of sun, fun, and deep thoughts,
Mulder-style.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Perfect Opposites
by Flynn
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


It all started with a phone call. 

"Hey, Scully, what're you doing today? Any plans?"

She groaned inwardly at the cheerful tone. With the
vacuum running, she had barely even heard the phone
ringing. Now she wondered if she shouldn't have let
the machine pick up. A glance at the clock told her it
was barely nine. God, she hated conversations that
began with those words. How many weekends down through
the years had been ruined with just that phrase? Well,
*ruined* might be a little harsh. How about
*compromised?* It wasn't that she had anything all
that exciting down for the next two days. Little
stuff. Cleaning the living room. Lunch with her
mother. Clearing her winter clothes out of closets and
drawers and putting them carefully away for the
summer. Not one exciting thing to do, really .... and
she wasn't about to give any of it up without a fight,
especially to go running after Sasquatch or Elvis - if
not something even worse. "Mulder, what is it? What's
the case?" Ooo, impatient. Would he care? Would he
even notice?

"What case?" He actually managed to sound confused,
the little faker.

She wasn't buying. Not this Saturday. Not after a
month of beetles and bodies, of hours spent in morgues
and days in hospitals - to say nothing of genies
wishing away the ills of the world and apparently
taking her right along with them. That she had no
memory of it only made it worse somehow. Her
impatience doubled. "C'mon, what's going on? Where do
you want us to go?"

A tiny hesitation. She wished she could see his face.
She could usually tell just by the gleam in his eye
when he was trying to hoodwink her, especially these
days. Namely, since that night last April. But over
the phone? He could hide anything behind that
monotone. "Well, I was wondering if you'd like to take
a drive north along the coast today. Spend the night
in one of the towns up there, do a little
sight-seeing, eat some seafood, maybe get our feet wet
in the Atlantic." Another hesitation. "But listen, if
you'd rather work, I think I could be pressed into
finding something active in the files -" 

"Forget it, Mulder. I'm not going."

"You're not? C'mon, Scully. It'll be fun."

Oh, that'll do it, won't it? When all else fails,
whine. She could picture him so easily standing there
in the office, looking at a file containing photos of
God only knows what and trying to come up with just
the right line to entice her away from domestic chores
and a day of Cary Grant on AMC. Good luck, mister. She
grunted as she toyed with the lock of hair hanging
over one eye. "Fun, Mulder? Sure, I'll bet. What is it
this time, cattle mutilations in upstate New York?
Bright lights hovering over the Governor's mansion in
Rhode Island? Whatever it is, I'm not interested."

He hesitated. "What do you mean, 'this time'?" Odd. He
didn't sound sullen, which at this point he normally
would - Mulder didn't like being thwarted. 

Well, neither did she. In fact, she hoped he *could*
hear her impatience. To hell with it. This was *her*
day, dammit. "What I mean, Mulder, is that I have a
life right here in Washington. It may not be an
interesting life as some things go, but after the
stuff we've seen and done the past few months, I'm
sort of looking forward to just catching up on stuff
around the house. We haven't had a lot of downtime
lately, you know, and I'm .... well, I'm behind on a
lot of things." Like laundry. If she didn't get some
done today, she'd be buying pantyhose for the coming
work week.

There was an awkward silence, and she could almost
hear the wheels spinning in his head. Then to her
surprise, he actually chuckled. "Oh, now I get it. No,
this isn't a case. This isn't work. Honest."

The tense muscles in her neck and shoulders relaxed
just a tad. "Oh." It was her turn to hesitate. "Well,
what is it then?"

Another chuckle. "What you just said .... downtime.
Something different. Something you and I have never
done." He paused for effect. "But listen, if you're
not interested ...." The words trailed off, potent in
their absence. 

*Bluff*, she almost snorted. Instead she turned and
surveyed her apartment, quickly separating what needed
doing from what could wait. Vacuuming. Dusting. Some
ironing to do. Filing - argh! Not that word! Okay, so
maybe a little road trip had its appeal. She looked
down at herself. A shower was definitely a must.
Fortunately, rapid departures were the routine with
their work. "A drive along the coast?" she repeated
slowly.

"Mm hmm."

"A good hotel, or some fleabag dive Accounting would
push off on us?" Did he realize how much hinged upon
his answer?

Evidently he did. "Well, I wouldn't say *fleabag.* It
might not exactly be five-star, but I doubt it has
dung-eating robotic cockroaches from outer space, if
that's what you're worried about."

She ignored *that* reference, but permitted herself
something of a sigh as she considered her options. A
chance to sit on a beach, listening to the surf and
birds and the wind .... and her partner prattling on
about one thing or another, no doubt something
supernatural and altogether improbable, and priceless
because of it.

Holding hands as they walked barefoot on the cold,
hard, wet sand. 

Letting him steal a kiss as she ran her hands up his
warm, smooth back .... 

Damn. Laundry was quickly falling on her list of
priorities. Still, a lingering doubt remained. There
was *always* more to his plans than what he declared
up front. Seven years had taught her that. "All right,
what's the catch?"

"Catch?"

She snorted very softly. "Yeah. I don't mean to sound
suspicious or ungrateful, but it sounds a little too
good to me. We won't be investigating reported
sightings of the innkeeper's dead uncle Edgar, will
we? No dogs barking from beyond the grave? Nothing to
do with work at all? I just want to be clear on this.
This is *completely* for fun, right?"

His voice was silky in her ear as he replied, "Fun,
Scully. The kind that involves you and me and nothing
else." He stressed the last two words, and she swore
she could feel him standing behind her, pushing his
nose gently into that spot just behind her ear, his
breath warming her neck and cheek and, as she turned
her head, her mouth. "Of course," he added in the same
seductive tone, "if we *do* happen upon some
unfortunate victim ...."

She struggled against a girlish titter and lost. "If
we do, then *you'll* be bellying up to the autopsy
table while *I* gorge myself on whatever buffet I can
find." 

"That, Agent Scully, is a deal."

His tone was still silken, and her giggle mellowed
into a contented smile. "A trip up the coast. With
you. For fun." She paused as she considered everything
she'd been determined to accomplish over the weekend.
The image of her partner sprawled, naked and panting
and drenched in sweat, quickly reduced those ambitions
to a passing thought. "Oh, what the hell - I think I
can handle that." 

"Good. How soon can you be ready?"


~*~*~*~


It was tempting, but he didn't rent the convertible.
Not that he was seriously afraid of decapitation. Nor
that someone might look at him cruising around in what
could easily be termed a chickmobile with someone as
drop-dead gorgeous as his partner and immediately
assume he was suffering a classic mid-life crisis.
Nothing so pedestrian as that, and besides,
thirty-nine wasn't old. He *could* be practical when
he wanted to, and for once he was prepared to
demonstrate it. Spring was drawing rapidly to a close.
The sun was going to be fierce. He would be okay, he
reasoned, but with that red hair and pale skin, Scully
wouldn't fare so well.

However, just because he opted for the hard top didn't
mean he still couldn't indulge himself a little.

As he drew up in front of her building, he could see
her standing at her living room window, shielding her
eyes with one hand as she held a coffee mug with the
other. On the lookout, huh, partner? She spied him at
once, and a grin practically split her face in two.
What, had she expected him to sign out something from
the Bureau auto pool? He double parked and got out in
the middle of the street, beckoning to her with a wave
and a smile. With a shake of her head, she retreated
behind the shades and appeared a moment later at the
building's entrance, a gym bag in her hand and a small
purse slung over her shoulder. Her usual severe suit
had been replaced by jeans and a plain white shirt.
Clean white runners instead of heels. She looked
comfortable. Even relaxed. Different. He liked it.

She came to a stop a few feet away and looked the
situation over. Her wry half-smile did not waver. "A
Mustang, Mulder?"

Arms folded, he leaned casually against the gleaming
fender and winked at her. "A *white* Mustang. Which
reminds me .... my suit of armor's at the cleaners.
Those coffee stains must have been a real bitch before
stainless steel came along. Here, allow me." He moved
closer and gently took her bag from her. Mm, she
smelled wonderful - all her assorted aromas combined
with morning brew. God, he wanted to kiss her right
then and there. Time for that later, he told himself
firmly. A flick of his arm sent the bag through the
open window and into the back seat. 

She glanced at him as she belted herself in. He saw a
smile twitch the corner of her mouth. With a soft
grunt he leaned close and kissed her on the cheek. 
"Good morning, partner. Mm, you smell good."

He was delighted at the answering wash of color in her
face. "Thanks. Better than my refrigerator's going to
smell in a couple days. And we might have to stop at
Hecht's tomorrow. I don't think I'll be doing much
laundry before Monday."

He grunted softly as he pulled away from the curb and
made the turn onto Bridgeport. "Why, what do you need
to buy?"

Her mouth opened and then closed, and the color
staining her cheeks brightened even more. "Never
mind." 

 
~*~*~*~


This is weird. We're going away for the weekend.
Mulder and I. Together. For a purpose definitely not
related to work. 

Weird.

He didn't say anything about getting separate rooms.
God, I hope he doesn't think that's what I want. I
don't. 

She looked over at him almost bashfully. He was
watching the road and didn't seem to notice. Jesus,
what was with her? Bashful? They were partners. They
were friends. Friends could talk, right? Besides,
weren't they lovers, too? True, they'd been together
only twice. The first time in early April, and then
just the other night .... beer and popcorn .... that
silly movie .... a make-out session that ended in a
tangle of limbs long before the end credits played
themselves out. If he wasn't interested in sleeping
with her, would he have invited her along on what
could only be called a romantic jaunt?

Don't be such an ass, she chided herself. You're
over-analyzing. What is it he's always telling you?
Just go with it?

She was startled when he reached over and took her
hand. Analyze that, smart ass. She smiled as she
watched their fingers lace. "So," she said, "what's
the occasion?"

His brows quirked. "Occasion?" 

She pursed her lips and half-shrugged. "Perhaps I
should rephrase that. What do you have planned for
us?"

His smile prompted a slow burn from her throat to her
pelvis, and she was hard-pressed to restrain a shiver
of anticipation. "Don't you want to be surprised?" he
asked softly. 

She was staring at his mouth. The realization caused
her to blush, and she struggled to look away. Jesus,
he was sexy. Those jeans and the charcoal T-shirt ....
and the sunglasses. Yum. He didn't appear to have
shaved, either. Had he showered? She hoped not. It
wasn't often that she was treated to the raw essence
of her partner. Just the thought made her mouth water.

Her mouth, and other parts.

What was he saying? Come on, dammit, pay attention.
What if he asks you something? What if he looks over
and finds you oggling his crotch? What then? ".... a 
little spin up the coast. I realize the traffic's
going to be a bitch, but so what? There's a place
about a hundred miles from here called .... hell, I
can't remember. It's supposed to be nice, though.
Byers told me about it the other day."

That got her attention. She looked at him with what
she feared was suspicion in her eyes. "Byers! You
didn't tell him about us, did you?"

He gave her a look of genuine dismay. "No, of course
not. Jesus, as many years as Frohike's been hankering
after you .... do you think I WANT to have my
apartment bugged again? Shit, I might just as well
hand the little troll my keys."

She relaxed back in her seat. "Well, how did it come
up? You two just happened to be discussing romantic
get-aways?"

He smiled again, and her heart did a nice flip-flop. 
"Sort of. Only it was framed as the old
where-would-you-go-to-get-decent-crab cakes question.
He was thrilled to tell me about the convention
they're attending in Atlantic City this weekend. I
think he was hoping I'd want to go along." She gave
his hand a quick squeeze and smiled when he returned
the gesture. 
"Anyway. I figured we'd start with lunch down on the
pier and see what happens after that. Oh, and I made
reservations for us at the Starlight motel. That's
fitting, don't you think? I checked it out on the
internet. It overlooks one of the local beaches, and
close enough we can walk to the town's nice,
old-fashioned boardwalk."

She felt a stab of disappointment. "Reservations?"

He spared her a quick glance. "Yeah. Why? Shouldn't I
have?"

Reservations, plural. She didn't want plural. Hope
warred briefly with pride. Pride lost. "But we're
going to sleep together, right?" she asked, picking at
a spot of lint on the seat beside her knee, not daring
to look at him. "I mean, we ARE going to have sex this
weekend, aren't we?" No reply. She shot him a quick
look and found him staring at her, slack-jawed. A horn
blared from a passing car, and she made a fast grab
for the wheel. "Mulder! Jesus, keep your eyes on the
road!"

He faced forward again with a snap. "Oh. Sorry." His
voice was little more than a croak, and his Adam's
apple bobbed as he forced a swallow. "Uh, yeah. Well,
I suppose we could do that, if you want."


~*~*~*~


Let it never be said Scully doesn't speak her mind. 

He could barely keep his attention on what he was
doing. Thank God driving was second nature at this
point in life, because it was just too hard to
maintain any logical order to his thoughts. And
speaking of hard .... he was getting that way, fast.
Why he'd opted to wear those damned jeans, he could
not remember. The Bermuda shorts he'd packed ....
okay, *stuffed* into his travel bag offered SO much
more room in front. As it was, things were getting
awfully uncomfortable. Oh, and it didn't help in the
slightest when he found himself thinking back on the
other night. Watching her make love to that beer
bottle .... feeling her lean bit by bit into his side
until there was absolutely no distinction between his
space and hers .... the way she tilted her head back
just enough to accept his tentative kiss. 

It didn't stay tentative for long, as he remembered.
That first kiss was brief, a gesture of greeting. The
second must have lasted a full five minutes. After
that, there was no looking back.

Her hand on his neck. Lips exploring his throat, his
mouth. The heat of her mouth beneath his as he delved
into her, reacquainting himself with all the sweet,
secret places that comprised this woman, his partner.
Panting her name in time to the rhythm of their
movements. Jesus, how beautiful she looked as she rode
wave after wave of madness. And what she did to *him*
.... well, he suspected that both his next-door AND
his upstairs neighbors were quite familiar with her
name by the time all had been said and done. 

And done. 

And done some more.

Blaring static interrupted those sweet, tantalizing
thoughts. Oh, thank God and all that was holy for the
distraction. She'd turned the radio on and was
flipping idly through the stations. The offerings were
pretty meager - too bad the rental hadn't come with a
few CDs. Country? Ugh. Saturday evangelists - keep
going, partner. That bigoted, opinionated woman with
the big hair and even bigger mouth? He smiled. Sorry,
Doctor KnowItAll. No time for your puritanical crap
today. 

He grunted his approval when she settled on a
selection of jazz. Not that they would have very long
to enjoy it. "Good choice. And perfect timing. This is
our exit." 

*******

The manager greeted them with polite indifference.
Have a nice trip? Ice machine's two doors down on the
left, just under the stair well. Room 212. He ran
Mulder's credit card, then handed it back along with a
little plastic key ring. Room should be ready for you.
Checkout's tomorrow noon. Enjoy your stay.

Mulder grunted in response as he turned and handed her
the key. The receipt, she noticed, was not shoved into
his pants pocket as it normally would have been, but
disappeared into the bag slung over his shoulder. Hmm.
Guess there wasn't getting anything else into those
jeans. She'd noticed the pronounced bulge, of course,
the one only half-concealed by his fly. Poor Mulder.
Too much longer and he'd be in danger of sustaining
permanent injury, probably to his eyes when they
popped right out of his head. How would she explain it
to their superiors? Well, Sir, you see, we were out on
a short holiday and, well, the pressure to copulate
simply became more than Agent Mulder could handle ....

Jesus, Dana, give it a rest. Mental babbling. Bad
sign. Bad bad bad. 

He didn't say anything as he followed her up the
wooden stairs, and stood quietly as she turned the key
in the lock and pushed the door open. "Be back in a
minute," he said as he flicked on the bathroom light.
She smothered a grin as the door clicked shut behind
him.

The room was comfortable; clean if rather bland. A
queen bed and a color TV, complete with remote. Well,
Mulder would be happy. Laying her purse and bag on the
bed, she went to the patio door and heaved it aside. A
brisk wind carrying a tang of salt washed over her.
Even from this distance she could hear children at
play near the water's edge. She let her head fall back
and inhaled deeply. The ocean, the laughter of
children, and Mulder. No hospitals, no cases, no forms
that needed completing in triplicate. This must be
what heaven was like.


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
to be continued
in Part 2
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Perfect Opposites, pt. 2
Headers, ratings in part 1
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


Mulder. What was he doing? She turned and eyed the
closed door. No sounds, not even the flushing of a
toilet. She crossed back and knocked gently. "Hey, are
you okay in there?"

There - she heard a few muffled sounds. He'd taken his
bag with him. Must be changing. "Don't worry, Doctor
Scully, I haven't fallen in. Gimme a minute, okay?
Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere without you."

You'd better not. Definitely changing. Dammit. Not
that she could blame him, but that particular activity
was one she would like to have witnessed. She leaned a
shoulder on the door jamb and closed her eyes. He'd
have kicked his shoes into a corner. Were the jeans
button-fly? She imagined them popping open one by one,
and a soft groan escaping him as he carefully peeled
them off over his hips. What sort of underwear did he
have on? Not the silk boxers. Not for a road trip.
Seven years together had taught them a lot about each
other: he preferred cotton on the road, and
particularly in the summer. What color? Gray. Black.
Dark blue. He would be winter-pale yet; the man was
not a great worshiper of the sun even at the best of
times, and life of late had been anything but the
best. Yes, pale. Thick and elongated and ....

Abruptly the door snapped opened, as did her eyes. He
looked at her in surprise. Yes, he'd changed. Khaki
shorts instead of jeans, his t-shirt hanging untucked
and rumpled. A smile immediately brightened his eyes. 
"Hey there. Something I can do for you?"

She lifted her chin and met his gaze full-on. "I was
getting a little concerned."

He shook his head slowly. "Thought I might be letting
out a little steam, so to speak? Not a chance. My
girlfriend would kill me." He edged closer, almost but
not quite touching her. "What's on your mind,
girlfriend?"

She folded her arms as she looked at him. "You said
something about lunch down on the pier. Then I was
thinking maybe a walk on the beach, if we can find a
spot that doesn't have twenty people on it. Kick our
shoes off ...."

His eyes were soft and warm as they flitted around her
face. His tone was low and soft. "I don't know,
Scully. If memory serves, *you* said something about
sleeping arrangements. Maybe we should work out the
details before we get too involved with playing
tourist."

She willed away a girlish blush. Of course his
priorities would lie there. Well, if it came down to a
choice, she'd take sex before food, no problems.
Still, she couldn't contain a wry half-smile. "Why the
rush, Mulder? Planning on taking a nap?"

He leaned closer. "Maybe." The lean became a nuzzle,
and his voice dropped to a whisper as his nose brushed
her cheek. "God, you smell good." Another nuzzle, and
she felt his lips touch her jaw. "Mmm .... so glad you
said yes ...."

She smiled as she closed her eyes. "What else would I
say to you?"

His response was not spoken so much as it was purred. 
"Mmm, you always find a way to keep me guessing."

His hands settled on her folded arms, gentling them
apart, touching and stroking and caressing. It was fun
to resist for a while, to pretend that his touch did
not reach her; but it was even better when she gave
in, returning his gestures with cool, not-quite-steady
fingers. His lips traced a line along her jaw,
circling her ear and eliciting a little gasp when he
latched onto her neck and sucked. Her hands were not
still during this slow assault, but carefully slid up
beneath his shirt and mapped out the bare skin of his
chest and belly. The sprinkling of hair on his sternum
gave way to stiff, prickling beard at his throat. He
smelled warm and musky. 

His lips trailed up the side of her face to her
temple. He kissed her eyes by turn, then tilted her
chin up so he could lavish the same attention on her
throat. "This is what I was thinking about on the
drive up," he breathed. "Touching you. Tasting you."
His fingers shook a little as he worked at the buttons
on her collar. 

"Tell me something, Mulder," she murmured.

His voice was little more than a whisper. "Anything."

She worked the thumb of one hand into the waistband of
the Bermudas. "Why'd you put these on if we're just
going to take them right back off?"

He let out a low moan as she gently drew her nails up
his flanks. " .... give you something to .... ah ....
to open, of course."

She plucked at the zipper and eased it down. To strip
down and take him then and there was a temptation she
wasn't about to resist. It would be so easy. A single
push toward the bed and he'd topple onto his back -
when faced with the prospect of sex, Mulder became
singularly cooperative. A few seconds to divest
herself of clothes, another few for a last kiss, and
then ....


A sudden explosion shook the door violently in its
frame, shattering the peace of the moment and
dispelling all thoughts of sex and romance. They leapt
apart in alarm, Mulder immediately grabbing at his
waist for the gun which he'd clearly forgotten wasn't
there. Only it wasn't an explosion, Scully realized -
someone was merely knocking. Well, pounding. And
shouting. They exchanged disbelieving looks. Then with
a snarl, he closed up his shorts and pulled his shirt
down over the sizeable bulge. The jarring sound
continued, unabated. 

He jerked the door open, cutting off the thunderous
hammering and catching the gatecrasher in one motion
when he stumbled forward. A quick push and the
intruder staggered back against the banister. Scully
sized him up quickly. A kid, probably no more than
eighteen, skinny and sunburned, and obviously drunk.
Sandy hair was disheveled from the wind and whatever
else he'd been up to, and alcohol fumes rolled off him
in waves. He squinted a little as he looked at them. 

"Something we can help you with?" Mulder snapped. His
interrogation voice. No Mr. Nice-Guy, Tell Me Your
Troubles here. Not this time. This was the voice of
Mr. I've Had Enough Of Your Bullshit, Just Tell Us The
Fucking Truth.

The teen swayed precariously, like a scarecrow come to
life. "'s Sim'n ready t'go swimmn'?"

Mulder drew himself up, face wrinkling in disgust. 
"You've got the wrong room, kid. How 'bout you do a
one-eighty and go back to where you came from before
someone tells the manager he's got under-aged drinking
going on here."

The threat fell on deaf ears. The kid blinked and
looked past him to Scully. "Sim'n ready t' swim, Mis'
McAl'ster?"

She laid a hand on Mulder's arm to both silence and
restrain him. "What's your name?"

Slow blink and more swaying. God, she could smell him
from six feet away. "Harl."

She nodded. "Well, Carl, there's no one named Simon
here. No one here is going to go swimming, either. Now
I want you to turn around and go back to your room.
Will you do that?"

The sandy head jerked up and down. "'kay." He paused
and looked first left, then right. "Where's it?"

"Shit." Mulder sighed noisily and caught the kid by
the front of his shirt when the swaying threatened to
pitch him backward over the banister. "I'll be right
back. C'mon, Icabod, let's go find out where the hell
you belong."

She stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Uh, Mulder 
.... are you sure you want to go out like that? Armed,
I mean." She gestured to his midsection with a lift of
her chin.

He snorted and gave the boy's arm a little jerk. 
"Don't sweat it, Scully, it's on a fast fade. Save my
place, would you?" He shot their unfortunate visitor a
withering look. "C'mon, fratboy. The bar is officially
closed."


~*~*~*~


Great. Fucking wonderful. Forty-five seconds away from
absolute heaven on earth and here he was escorting
Ferris Bueller's idiot twin to the principal's office.
Forty-five seconds, tops, from being up to his
eyebrows in his partner, with those lush soft spots
and eyes that could see straight down into him ....
oh, just the thought made his balls ache. Not fair.
Not fair. So many years of working next to her, seeing
her and smelling her and barely being able to bring
himself to God-damn touch her; and now that she was
ready and willing and so damn hot he expected it to
burn when he kissed her, *now* he wasn't even in the
same room with her. And he hadn't exactly been
truthful just now: his condition wasn't subsiding in
the slightest. If he wasn't damned lucky, some
passer-by was going to see more than they were likely
to appreciate. Distinguished profile indeed.

Seven years together. Did she know adrenaline had that
effect on him?

It really didn't help his mood when, a dozen paces
from the manager's office, the kid abruptly threw
himself down on all fours and shot whatever he'd been
drinking all over the pavement. Mulder grimaced and
took a hasty step back. Damn, maybe he should have let
Scully play escort, or at least come along for the
walk. ALL he needed was for the kid to barf up
something vital, because then it would be ambulances
and paperwork and very little time for touchy-feely
for the rest of the weekend. Jeez, this just was not
fair. He looked around helplessly.

What luck. The manager was standing in the open
doorway of the office and had seen the whole
disgusting show. 

Impatiently Mulder waved him over. The kid was either
taking a break from airing out his guts or he'd
finally passed out - he had his forehead pressed up
against some lucky bastard's hubcap and was moaning
very softly. The kindly old fart immediately took
control of the situation, half-carrying, half-dragging
his drunken charge back across the parking lot and
into the office. 

Mulder wasted no time on conversation. He took the
stairs two at a time - he might have done three, but
it didn't seem a wise to attempt it with a pry bar in
his shorts. She was standing beside the open patio
door when he swept into the room. "Crisis over," he
announced as he locked the door behind him. "Our
friend Harl should be in rehab by the end of the
weekend." 

She folded her arms and looked at him with a carefully
blank expression. Oh, who did she think she was
kidding? Did she honestly believe he didn't know her
well enough to spot the playfulness she was trying so
hard to hide? It was actually getting to be something
of a game for them. How long could she hold the dour
faade? What would it take to make the ice in her eyes
melt away? Mmm, want to play with a blowtorch, little
girl? I just happen to have one *right* here.

Bending, he brushed his lips over hers. Her
expression, he saw, was still stoic, but her eyes
gleamed with mischief. "Now then ...." Another kiss,
longer this time. "Where were we?"

One hand slid slowly up his arm, while the other
drifted down to cradle his erection. "Right about ....
here." She hefted him gently, and a sly gleam joined
the mischief in her eyes. "Subsiding, huh, partner?"

He smiled as he toyed with the buttons on her shirt,
slipping one free and revealing a small area of pale
flesh. "Sue me." Another button, more skin. Mmm, there
was a lot for a guy to appreciate here. The drunk was
a rapidly-fading memory. 

Was that the door? He groaned as he kissed her. Life
was not fair. The dumbfuck was back. That must be it.
Or Dumbfuck's friends, no doubt more drunken fratboys
out looking for their lost buddy. Well, at least this
one wasn't trying to wake the dead with his knuckles.
In fact, this one was actually polite. Timid knocks. A
voice that sounded almost apologetic. And familiar. 

"Mr. Mulder? I'm sorry to disturb you and your ....
friend, but we have something of a situation here."

Jeez, the manager. Shit, it had to be - no one else
knew his name. Shit. Shit. Shit! Reluctantly Mulder
pried himself away from the locked Scully had on his
mouth. "Tell me not to pull my gun and start
shooting," he groaned.

She scowled gently. "You didn't bring it, did you?
Mulder, we're on vaca-"

"Kidding." He kissed her again. "It's the manager.
Ignore him. He'll get the idea."

Only the yutz didn't get it at all. There was a second
volley of polite taps, these just a little louder, a
little more persistent. "Mr. Mulder, I'm aware how
inconvenient this is, but I'm afraid it's something of
an emergency. I must insist you open the door."

Scully drew back so suddenly the suction created an
audible smack! The look she gave him was guarded.
Wary. "Mulder, tell me you didn't use your credentials
to book us here. Tell me he doesn't know we're with
the Bureau."

He blinked and shook his head. "Not a word. I think I
even put *Psychologist* down as my occupation.
Whatever he wants, it can't be our professional
services." He glanced over his shoulder at the door. 
"I should have put the Do Not Disturb sign up.
Dammit."

She slowly peeled herself away from him and stepped
back. He let her go without a struggle. "Well, we
should see what he wants."

He stared at her. Hair nicely messed up, face aglow,
shirt and pants hanging open to reveal what could
laughingly be called underwear .... God, he loved her
in a thong. Oh, very nice. The man wouldn't suspect a
thing, would he? "Well, which of us gets the honors of
embarrassing the old guy?"

She gave him a look as she buttoned her shirt. "Do you
honestly think he doesn't know exactly what's going on
in here? What goes on around this place *every*
weekend?" She softened her words with a smile. "Close
your mouth, Mulder, and get yourself pulled together.
I'll get this one."

Despite her words, she didn't exactly run to the door.
He could practically hear her cataloging herself
before reaching for the doorknob. Hair finger-combed
out of her face, shirt buttoned, zipper checked ....
okay, so the guy knew what he was interrupting here -
there was no reason to give him a skin show. She
slowly unlocked the door and opened it a crack. "Yes,
can we help you? What's the problem?" 

The manager, a man in his seventies with soft blue
eyes and an even softer-looking Santa Claus beard, had
the good grace to look chagrined. "Terribly sorry to,
uh, interrupt, but the boy that your .... uh, friend
apprehended evidently first stumbled over .... well,
he *fell* over the propane assembly behind the office
and damaged the regulator. We're going to have to
evacuate the premises until the unit can be repaired
and the fire marshal can get in and give us the
all-clear."

She looked back over her shoulder at him. "Did you
catch that, Mulder? We have to clear out for a while."

Silently he applauded his restraint: not so much as a
snivel. "What's the timeframe?" he asked, his tone
brusque. "Should we change motels? Is there any real
chance of an explosion?"

The manager drew himself up just a little. "None, in
any practical sense. This is only a precaution. The
repair service is already on their way from the next
town. I assure you, there's no need to make any
changes to your plans." He hesitated as his glance
took in their rumpled clothes, and a dark flush
appeared in his bewhiskered cheeks. "What I mean is,
it won't take long to make the repairs and have the
place inspected for safety. It's not too late for
lunch - I happen to know the Captain's Shanty down on
the dock serves a very nice seafood menu. And there's
always the boardwalk. Now, if you will gather what
you'll need for the day, please - no one will be
allowed back until after the fire marshal's been."
With that, he turned on his heel. They could hear him
knocking on the neighboring door. 

Mulder swore roundly as he turned away. "Dammit, just
once I'd like it if things would go our way. Just
once." He went into the bathroom and retrieved his
shoes, then threw himself down on the foot of the bed
and tugged them on without unlacing them. "You know,
I'm beginning to think we've been hexed. Maybe we're
damned to suffer Murphy's wrath all weekend. Maybe we
should just go -"

She silenced him with a kiss. "Shut up, Mulder. The
only place we're going is the Captain's Shanty, or
whatever it is, for that lunch you promised me." She
kissed him again, over and over until she coaxed a
soft sigh out of him. "Come on. So we won't be able to
indulge in .... other things for a few hours." Kiss. 
"For *years*, I went without." Kiss. "I can go a few
more hours. So can you."

 He grumbled sourly as she caught his hands and drew
him to his feet. "This wasn't exactly what I had in
mind when I called you this morning, you know."

She leaned into his side. "I know. C'mon, G-man.
There's fun to be had even with our clothes on."

He sighed morosely. "Not the same, Scully. Not the
same at all."


~*~*~*~


Okay, so the day wasn't proceeding exactly as he'd
planned. True, he wasn't where he currently wanted to
be, which was up to the hilt in his partner. Did it
really matter that he'd probably end up with a
third-degree case of blue balls? At least he was
*with* her. They weren't working. They weren't in some
damned hospital. Neither were they stuck in their own
apartments, separated by circumstance and miles of
weekend traffic. The town was nice enough. The weather
was warm. He was hungry, and so was Scully.

The restaurant was charming, in a touristy sort of
way. The waitresses were nice to look at. The food
looked .... pretty damned good, actually. 

Not as good as his partner. Hair very nicely mussed, a
faint glow lingering in her cheeks and in her eyes
.... None of the other women in the room could hold a
candle to her. And she was his. His. Jesus, he was a
lucky man.

They gave their order to the waitress, then he excused
himself and made his way to the bathroom. Gravity and
disappointment were finally getting a handle on the
situation, at least as far as his flesh was concerned.
He looked as his reflection in the mirror as he washed
his hands. They'd eat. They'd walk. They might spend a
little money on stuff they didn't really need .... sex
wasn't their only mission that weekend, after all.

No, his inner hedonist moaned, but it was so close
.... SO close ....

He thought back on that night back in April. The
terror and the hope that seized him when he realized
just why she was coming to him .... the feel of her,
and the smell and taste .... 

"Get a grip," he muttered, reeling off a yard or more
of paper towel and vigorously drying his hands. "It'll
happen. It *will* happen." A glance in the mirror
assured him that it was at least safe for him to go
out in public. Blood was flowing to his brain again.
They could always get another motel. Or maybe just
drive up to the coast to a secluded inlet where they
could make out like crazed teens. The day wasn't a
total loss.

"Agent Mulder. Not working on a case, are you?"

He knew that voice. Oh, shit. He turned with a snap. 

"Sir." His hands clenched around the wadded paper
towel. Strike that thought about the day not being
shot to hell. Fuck Murphy and that God-damned law of
his. "What .... are you doing here?" Did he sound
panicked? Was his poker face in place? 

The last vestige of his erection withered and died.

Skinner fell back a half step and allowed a tow-headed
little boy into the single stall. How did he do it,
Mulder wondered. The severe dark suit had been
replaced by khakis and a casual shirt, but the man
still looked as relaxed and inviting as the Grim
Reaper. Maybe it was just his guilty conscience at
work, but Mulder half expected him to start quoting
regs about male and female agents consorting in hotel
rooms. Ah! But they weren't on assignment, were they?
"...in town for a visit with my sister," Skinner was
saying. "She lives in the next town and invited me up
for the day. You know, a day at the beach with the
kid. Ride the roller coaster. Whatever."

It took two tries, but Mulder finally swallowed the
rock in his throat. "K-kid?" Oh, brilliant. Now a
stammer. The man won't suspect a thing.

Skinner eyed him curiously. "Yeah, kid. Maybe you've
heard of them. Look kind of like adults, only shorter.
Perhaps you even noticed the one I just came in with."
His brow furrowed into the scowl Mulder always seemed
to cause. "What, may I ask, are *you* doing here? I
don't remember seeing a 302 cross my desk that
mentioned any sea-side towns." 

The rock slid out of Mulder's throat and landed with a
thud in the pit of his stomach. "That's .... because
there was none. I'm not working." He mustered a wan
smile. "Personal time."

The AD's eyes narrowed perceptibly. "I see." He
glanced at the closed stall door, as if expecting to
catch his young charge eavesdropping. "Anyone I know?"

Should have seen this coming, Mulder thought wearily.
Things were going too well, at least for those
precious few minutes. He shrugged and tossed the
wadded paper in the plastic trash can with studied
care. Would Skinner recognize his panic face? Scully
would in a heartbeat, but would Skinner? Best not to
deny anything outright; no telling if the A.D. had
already seen them. "Yeah, you may have seen her from
time to time."

Skinner pursed his lips as he regarded him. "Uh huh."
He glanced again at the closed stall, then looked down
at his feet. "Listen, if she .... if she happens to
have red hair ...." He paused, clearly searching for
words. "I don't need to know about it. I don't *want*
to know about it. No one needs to know. No one will,
just so your personal time stays personal." He met
Mulder's gaze again, and his dark brows twitched
upward. "I trust I make myself clear?"

Mulder studied him for a moment before nodding. "Yes,
sir. I believe you do." He gave a feeble wave in the
general direction of the small feet visible beneath
the stall door. "Say hi to the family for us."

It was more difficult than he would have thought, but
he managed not to run back to his waiting partner. She
was studying a framed photograph on the wall beside
their table. She looked up at his approach, a smile
lighting her face. "Mulder, take a look at this. This
man, who stands five-foot- three, managed to land a
three hundred pound halibut in 1953. This narrative
says it took him two and a half hours."
 
He didn't even spare a glance at the photo. "That's
great. Excuse me, Miss?" The passing waitress stopped
short and eyed him appreciatively. He pretended not to
notice. "Would it be possible to get our order to go?"

Scully's smile abruptly vanished. "What? I don't want
to leave! It's perfect here!" She folded her arms
stubbornly and glowered at him, reminding him for all
the world of a rebellious teen. "I'm sure you have a
very good reason for this sudden change of plan."

He considered dragging her bodily from the restaurant,
but discarded the idea. Too much effort, too much
noise; Skinner would be bound to hear. Instead he
picked up her purse and slung it over his shoulder. 
"You want a reason?" he asked briskly.

She didn't move. "Yes, I do."

"No problem, I have the perfect one. I'll even give
you a hint: it's a guy, maybe six foot three, doesn't
have a lot of hair upstairs, wears glasses, has no
discernable sense of humor .... and I'd just as soon
he didn't come out of the men's room and see us."

Her petulant expression dissolved away with remarkable
speed, leaving in its place a look of wide-eyed
disbelief. "You don't mean ....?" He nodded. She
looked at the waitress and managed a tight smile. 
"We'll need that to go ....."

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
don't give up now,
Part 3 dead ahead
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Perfect Opposites, pt. 3
Headers, ratings in part 1
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


They found a quiet corner of the boardwalk and, using
the rail as an impromptu table, stood and ate their
lunch. The motel proprietor hadn't been exaggerating -
the food *was* good. When the last of the crab cakes
were gone, Mulder tossed the Styrofoam containers and
wadded napkins into a nearby trashcan - this, Scully
mused to herself, was *his* idea of doing the dishes -
and then they turned their attention to the town's two
main attractions: the wide, breezy expanses of beach,
and the vibrant, chaotic boardwalk, stretching like a
multi-hued dragon down the length of the pier.

No one could sulk like her partner, Scully knew, and
she'd be damned if she'd let him sink into one of his
moods. Without a word, she slipped her arm around his
waist and pressed herself into his side as they
walked. His gaze quite naturally fell from her face to
her cleavage. When he realized she was smiling at him,
he actually blushed a little and looked away. "Sorry,"
he murmured. That was followed by a dispirited sigh. 
"Hell, I'm sorry for everything. The whole damned
thing."

She chuffed softly. "What exactly does *everything*
entail?"

He shrugged one shoulder listlessly. "This isn't what
I had in mind when I called this morning."

She sighed as she looked out over the crowd snaking
along the length of the pier. Sometimes he could be SO
predictable. "Shit happens." He looked at her, clearly
surprised by the vulgarity, and she grinned. "Come on,
Mulder. You didn't do anything to foul things up. We
can thank our friend Carl for that."

Mulder grunted. "Yeah, him and that puddle of ooze
that passes for his gene pool. What kind of parent
takes their kid someplace like this and then lets them
get plastered?" 

She tipped her head to one side and peered up at him.
He could be so cute when he pouted. If that lower lip
of his stuck out any further, it was going home with a
tan-line. "You aren't pissed at them, Mulder. Not
really. You're just sore because you can't get laid
yet."

A wry half-smile drew at his mouth and eyes. "Is that
your medical opinion, Doc?"

She abruptly sidled away, searching in her wallet for
some bills as she made her way to a carnival stand. "I
know how to take your mind off your troubles. C'mon -
I'm going to beat the crap out of you in some of these
carnie games." 

Challenge issued and accepted. His chin lifted just a
little, and she caught the glimmer of curiosity and
the feigned affront in his expression. "I seriously
doubt that. Surely I told you about my formative
years? All those summers spent in all those resort
towns, honing my skills at dart-throwing .... breaking
plates .... pitching softballs ...."

She slapped a five down on the low counter and hefted
one of the cheap BB rifles anchored to the stand with
plastic chains. "That may well be," she replied,
raising the gun to her shoulder and trying to sight
down the barrel. Evidently it had been put together by
three chimpanzees and Brittany Spears; the quality was
deplorable, and she quite earnestly thanked her lucky
stars that her life had never depended upon such a
useless weapon. "I don't see any balloons or plates
here, though. You can talk the talk, Mulder, but if
you're gonna walk the walk, you're going to have to
outshoot me, at least this once."

His eyes narrowed. "Ooo, Agent .... was that the sound
of a gauntlet being flung down?"

She set her shoulders. "You got it," she replied
without turning. 

"And you honestly expect to beat me with that piss-ant
pellet gun?"

That made her look up. "You've GOT to be kidding." She
jerked her chin at the short alley before her, and the
tiny red star centered in the scrap of paper no larger
than a playing card. "With your crappy vision, I'd be
surprised if you can even make out the target."

He fished a handful of bills out of his front pocket
and picked out some singles. The attendant immediately
swept the money up and stuffed it into the front
pocket of his apron. Mulder hefted one of the cheap
guns. "Someone certainly sounds cocky."

"Probably something about the company I keep."

He snorted softly. "Ha ha. Get ready to eat crow,
partner. Lucky for you, it goes down a lot easier when
it's warm."

"Well, you should know." 


~*~*~*~


All right, he'd admit it. He'd had fun. So what that
she'd out-shot him in three straight sets? Things like
that didn't exactly bother him. It certainly wasn't
the first time that had happened - he *had* been to
the practice range with her before, after all. Still,
it was a good day. The sun was warm, with a delicious
cool breeze coming off the bay. True, the beer was
watered-down; but the pretzels, huge and soft and
layered in salt, did a lot to make up for it. What was
more, he and his partner weren't working or fighting,
*or* languishing in some damned hospital somewhere. 

And he'd had an epiphany. Sort of. Gotta love those
epiphanies.

It began with a chance encounter. Scully was in the
restroom, and he was waiting in line for lemonade ....
well, lemonade for her and another watery beer for him
.... and there they were, right in front of him. An
elderly man and woman. Just another couple in a
veritable sea of humanity milling around him. Except
there was something different about these two. They
were close. Not so much in the physical sense - in
fact, they rarely touched. These two didn't have to.
It was the way they looked at each other. The way they
spoke; quietly, not-quite-whispered, as if they and
they alone existed in their own small corner of the
world. And their expressions .... rapt. Then,
realizing Mulder's carefully casual scrutiny, they
smiled and, with no more than a sidelong glance at one
another, politely invited him into their little world.
Wasn't the sun glorious? Did he win that stuffed horse
at the shooting gallery? Had he tried the soft
pretzels yet? Weren't they wonderful? That pretty
woman with the red hair .... was that his wife?

It pleased him to learn they were on their honeymoon -
well, *second* honeymoon - having just renewed their
vows the day before. The man .... his name was Homer
.... had once been missing in action in Korea and of
course been presumed killed. The woman .... Emma ....
thought she'd never see him again this side of the
grave. Only she had. Some deal or other, an exchange
of men for men, men for land, or something - and the
love of her life had come home. Life continued. It
wasn't always fun, true, and in fact was rarely easy.
There were kids, and fights, lost jobs and looming
bankruptcies, and more than one life-threatening
illness .... but the partnership continued. Only it
was more than that. Looking at them now, Mulder
figured it was safe to say the partnership hadn't just
survived, it had *thrived. *

They smiled at Scully when she joined them, admired
her stuffed horse and complimented her on her shooting
skills, and then took their lemonade and disappeared
into the crowd. Mulder felt a distinct flicker of awe
as he watched them go. Conflict and fear,
disappearances and deals made .... and still they were
together. In the final analysis, maybe that was what
really counted.

He found himself thinking about them a lot throughout
the day.

A loud, throaty roar from the roller coaster abruptly
snapped his reverie and brought him back to the here
and now. He glanced around and saw Scully standing at
the water's edge, looking out at the rolling waters of
the bay. They'd had their fill of the boardwalk a
while ago and, without so much as a single word being
uttered, agreed it was time to leave the pandemonium
behind. A short walk had brought them here, to a
narrow strip of beach just below the boardwalk. For
the moment it was empty of sun-weary tourists and
screaming, playing kids. They were alone.

Her arms were folded, and he could tell just from the
set of her shoulders that her thoughts were far, far
away. Probably thinking about her father, he mused.
Did she realize how lucky she was? How much her
partner secretly envied her for something she had
growing up with, and that he hadn't? William Mulder
never let his son forget the distance and differences
between them; never missed the opportunity to remind
the boy of his inferior station, no matter his age.
How are you, Son? Where're they sending you this time,
Son? You've lost your sister again, Son. While he'd
had someone who ignored him and belittled him by
turns, Scully had had someone to take her out and
teach her how to throw a ball. How to shoot a gun. How
to act .... and talk .... and .... and how to BE a
good person. 

Mulder'd had a father, but Scully had had a *dad.* 

And what about marriage? His idea of the concept
certainly wasn't a positive one, growing up as he did
in the emotional icehouse that was his parents' union.
What chance did he stand of ever having a stable
relationship, let alone a good marriage? Certainly his
efforts to this point hadn't been all that successful.
Lots of battles, lots of scars; little caring, less
comfort. It always felt better being alone. At least
then he didn't have to wonder what was wrong with him
that he could be in a so-called relationship and still
be so fucking lonely. 

Homer and Emma. He wanted to be like them. Hell, maybe
he already *was* like them and just didn't know it. 

"Hey." He felt her before he heard her, the slim,
sun-warmed hand slipping into his, offering an anchor
he couldn't imagine ever being without. He gave his
head a mental shake, chasing those particular ghosts
back into the shadows, and looked down at her. Yes,
she *was* lucky, in her own way .... but so was he. He
had her in his life. God, let that never change. She
wrinkled her nose up, eyes squinted against the late
afternoon sun. "You were a million miles away. Deep
thoughts?"

He slipped his arm around her, drawing her with him
back along the smooth beachhead. "Thinking." 

Her arm slid around his waist, her hand finding its
place on his hip. "About?" she prompted gently when he
did not expound.

A tinge of melancholy plucked at him. Being here was
too reminiscent of the Vineyard. He always thought too
much when he was around the ocean. Besides, how could
he explain? Could words alone begin to convey all that
he had seen and heard and felt that afternoon? What
began with a hedonistic impulse that morning had
become, for him, a lesson about life itself. What he'd
sought without knowing it, without even realizing that
he didn't know it, was found in the eyes and easy
smiles of two strangers who existed for, and with,
each other. 

Smiling, he drew her closer still and pressed a kiss
to her forehead. When words failed, as they so often
did, it was habit to fall back on silent
communication. Now as always, she seemed to know
exactly what he needed to say and couldn't. She said
nothing, merely held him, arms encircling his chest
like a lifesaver. Which, in a way, was precisely what
she was. 

Above them, the noise of the carnival was suddenly
bothersome. He could feel the gazes of curious
strangers like fingers pressing unseen bruises on his
skin. He needed to be alone. With her. "C'mon," he
murmured. "Let's go see if Harl has blown our motel
off the map yet."


~*~*~*~


He was standing in the open patio door when she came
out of the bathroom. One leg was held straight beneath
him, bearing his weight; the other was bent, giving
him a slumped, relaxed look. He'd already kicked his
shoes off. As she watched, he ran his fingers through
his hair and then laced them behind his head. His
shoulders rose and fell on a sigh. 

Outside, she heard the mournful call of a gull, and
beyond it, the deep rumble of breakers. The children
who played so hard earlier in the day had long-since
been dragged off to bed by weary parents. There was no
sign of Carl or his kin. There was just the wind, and
the ocean .... and her partner.

He turned suddenly and caught her staring. His chin
rose a little and he grunted softly in greeting.
Slowly she took up a position opposite his in the open
doorway. For a long moment they stood there, silent,
unmoving, and watched the lavenders of dusk deepen
into deep jewel tones of night. 

"Sorry the day didn't go as you'd planned," she said
very softly.

He didn't respond at once, but let his eyes rove over
the expanse of empty beach spread out below them. 
"Wasn't a bad day," he said at last, turning in place
and looking at her. "I could have done without running
into Skinner, but .... other than that, I wouldn't
change a thing." He caught her scowl and smiled. 
"Really."

She nodded thoughtfully as she crossed her arms before
her. "'kay." 

"What about you?" he asked, stepping close and
gentling her arms apart again so he could step into
them. "Good day?"

She raised her chin and looked up at him. "Hmm. Lemme
think." Thoughtfully, she watched her hands play up
his shirtfront, and she smiled when his breath caught
in his chest. "Sun, fun, good food, and a stuffed
horse to go with that Mustang of yours ...." His hands
rose and cradled her head, gently impelling her to
look at him again. "Mmm, I really can't think of
anything to complain about." 

He lowered his head and found her mouth with his. The
first kiss was soft and brief. The next was neither.
Strange, she thought as her arms found their way
around him, how just this simple contact can
precipitate so many physical changes. Already she
could feel her pulse beginning to climb; could feel
the warmth spreading through her body. Gooseflesh
rose, and she felt her nipples go hard. His mouth was
warm as it slanted across hers, soft and inviting. Her
eyes fell closed as he molded her to him. Breath
mingled. Tongues met, circled, seduced. Bodies
prepared for a dance as old as the ages. 

They paused to put out the lights, but left the patio
door open. In time the breeze would probably be too
cool, but for the moment it felt wonderful washing
over their heated bodies, cooling sweat and drying
saliva from tender bites. Before she was quite aware,
his shirt was gone. How and where, she didn't really
care. All that mattered now was his warm flesh, pale
and bare and hers. Hers to touch, to taste. 

Hers.

Twice, they had been there. Now there was no
awkwardness, no first-time nervousness or fumbling,
although even on that first night there'd been
precious little of *that*. He held her now with
special care, not because he wasn't sure what she
wanted, but rather because he *was* sure.

A few nudges with his hips and hands guided her
backwards toward the bed. Warm fingers joined hers in
a slow dance with buttons. Six on the shirt, one for
the jeans, and a slow, deliberate waltz with her
zipper. Hushed whispers and deep kisses that made her
knees weak and her head spin. She made no protest as
he settled her on the bed and lowered himself over
her.

More wet kisses, this time to her throat, the round of
her shoulder, the top of her breasts. A whimper
escaped her as he found a tender landmark in a nipple,
nudged it with his nose, then claimed it with teeth
and tongue. An hour, a day, a week later - she could
not say for sure - warm, steady fingers joined in the
seduction, imploring her to open, to accept him in.
Not the instrument she truly longed for, but nothing
to complain about; in no time at all those tools,
teeth and tongue and blessedly nimble fingers, all
conspired together to drive her to madness. As her
climax swelled and then broke over her, sending all
thoughts flying out into space like so many sparks,
she flung her head back and cried out to the very
heavens.

Awareness returned with a delicious rush. She opened
her eyes to find him propped on an elbow over her,
watching her. "That," he purred, drawing himself back
up her body and nuzzling as he went, "was without a
doubt the sexiest thing I've ever seen."

Her arms rose as he glided up over her, holding him
fast. He smelled of sun and sweat, of carnivals and
delicious seafood and home-spun cotton-candy; the
essence beneath it, however, of the man she had for
years called friend and now, thankfully, could call
lover, was enough to make her eyes fall closed and her
body grow soft in anticipation. How perfectly he
complemented her, she mused; though different in so
many ways, they were now drawing together in the
ultimate unity, possible only because of those
differences. Physically, emotionally, spiritually, he
was her perfect opposite.

Voices echoed hollowly around them, vague and
indistinct. High and rushed, full of juvenile
enthusiasm. Children. She smiled to herself as she
cradled her partner in her arms and made love to his
mouth. Some lucky neighbor had their patio door open,
and was at this very moment probably explaining to
their kids or grandkids that not every scream was in
response to a gut-wrenching turn on the roller
coaster. After all, not all thrills rides could be
found on the Midway.

She heard a soft chuckle then. Mulder drew back a
little and looked at her with laughter in his eyes. 
"Don't be embarrassed," he whispered, "but some kid
just got one hell of a primer in sex-ed."

She gave a girlish laugh. "Just so long as they check
out before we do, I couldn't care less if they had a
stethoscope pressed to the wall so they could listen
in."

His lips pursed and delight lit his whole face. "Ooo,
Agent Scully, the image that brings to mind."

She caught a handful of hair and drew his head down
again. "Shut up and kiss me."

He grunted softly and chuckled again, though whether
from surprise or appreciation, she couldn't say. "Mmm,
yes, ma'am," he managed from one corner of his mouth. 
"Anything else?"

She gasped when his fingers found and gently toyed
with her nipple. Her eyes clamped shut, and she saw
fireworks explode behind her closed eyelids. "Mm, just
make it up as you go," she whispered, her words rushed
and muffled by his seeking mouth. A second roll of her
nipple, and she could not contain a long, low moan of
approval.

"Uncle Walt, what was *that*?"

Scully bit back a breathless laugh. "I think we have a
captive audience next door."

He gave a heartfelt groan. "Mmm, yeah. And since they
probably don't have a stethoscope, I vote we make as
much noise as possible so they don't miss anything."
Another kiss, longer this time. "Call it doing our
part to help out the public school system back home.
Wherever *home* happens to be for that kid, anyway."

"You're all heart, Mulder."

He groaned and pressed himself into her soft belly for
emphasis. "No, I'm all *hard*. There's a difference."
He hissed when she grasped his cock and pumped him
slowly. Down and up. Down and up. A pearl of fluid
appeared at the slit on top - a preview of coming
attractions, Scully thought with an inward snort of
laughter. Thoughtfully she captured the pearl on her
finger and gently drew that finger into her mouth.

This time his groan was helpless. And loud. "God,
you're killing me."

"Is that a movie they're watchin'?" The voice was
clearer this time, and much closer. Just beyond the
open door, maybe. Scully could just imagine some
inquisitive five-year-old hovering on one of the
neighboring patios, perhaps to the sides, perhaps
below them, looking around at the darkness and
wondering what movie could possibly be playing where
grown men sounded like werewolves. All joking aside,
the two of them were going to have to keep it down.
All they needed was the manager coming around again,
this time asking them to turn the volume down only to
find the television was the only thing in the room
*not* turned on.

Mulder snorted softly as he shimmied the head of his
cock up and down in her slickness, clearly ready and
eager to take the game to the next level. Apparently
not even blind lust could cut the mental connection
between them; he rolled his eyes skyward and muttered,

"If we don't watch it, we're gonna have Santa Wannabe
sniffing around, trying to find that cat we keep
torturing."

Another voice abruptly barked out an order, drowning
out her riposte. "Billy, get off that railing!" 

A deep voice. A loud voice.

A familiar voice.

Mulder's eyes, which had fallen closed in anticipation
of finally, finally, *finally* seeing a little action,
suddenly snapped full open. Scully saw realization,
recognition, and a good amount of horror in them. She
also knew without doubt that he could read the same in
her own expression. "Oh, shit," he whispered, tensing
as if preparing for a physical blow. "That's ....
that's ...."

She shushed him with a hand over his mouth. He didn't
struggle, didn't resist at all, just hung there over
her, listening and no doubt praying, Now of all times,
let me be wrong!

As if.

Loud footsteps pounded next door, across the room and
to the patio. "Billy, I told you climbing up there's
dangerous. Someone's watching T.V., that's all. It's a
movie. I can't be sure, but I'd hazard a guess it's
not one your mother would approve of you seeing. Or
hearing, for that matter. Now, get back on the bed and
watch that Disney P.O.S., or I'll lock the door up for
the night and it'll be lights-out for you."

Tiny feet jumped up and down. The voice sounded high
and excited. High was right, Scully mused; after a day
of sunlight and sugar, the kid was practically in the
stratosphere. "Uncle Walt, what's P.O.S. mean?"

They heard an irritated sigh, one so familiar that she
had no trouble envisioning the scowl that
unquestionably accompanied it. "P.O.S. is short for
piece of .... never mind. Forget I said it. Christ, if
that mother of yours doesn't get back but fast, I'm
gonna blow a fuse." Another impatient sigh, this one
accompanied by muttered obscenities. Then a bark. 
"Billy, for God's sake, stop bouncing on the bed!"

"But Momma *always* lets me bounce on the bed!"

"Well, she's not here. She left me in charge so she
could go back to work, and I say no bouncing. So knock
it off!"

A tiny thud and more footsteps. Running. Scully could
just imagine the child leaping to the floor and
scuttling past the bulking Marine in search of new
mischief. "Where'd Momma go? When's she gonna be
back?"

A harried sigh. "Billy, I told you. She got called
into work. You know that. And before you ask again, I
don't know when she'll be back. The hospital's really
busy tonight, and they needed a kid's doctor."

"I don't hear the movie no more. D'ya think they
turned the TV off?"

Scully cupped her free hand over her mouth to muffle a
snort of laughter. Envisioning Walter Skinner as an
uncle was amusing enough, but to see him in the role
of babysitter as well was almost more than she could
process without hysterical laughter ensuing. She
looked up at Mulder, sure that he would find the image
at least as amusing as she did.

Only he wasn't laughing. In fact, he looked like he
was trying not to cry, and he wasn't having all that
much success with it. "I don't believe this," he
whispered, his voice choked and hoarse. "I don't
fucking believe this." With a snort of utter disgust,
he flung himself away from her onto his back and lay
there, glaring at the ceiling. His mouth was a thin,
angry line, his eyes narrowed and flinty-hard. "We're
jinxed. That's it. We're God-damned jinxed. How many
near-misses have we had today? Okay, so sex wasn't the
only thing on my mind when I called this morning. I
guess you could even say it wasn't the most important
issue of the day .... but this has gone way past
ridiculous. This could be an X-file all by itself.
*He's* gonna blow a fuse? What about me? My balls are
so blue now, they could pass for sapphires." He threw
an arm over his face. A deep sigh shook his whole
frame; then he was still. When he spoke, he sounded
weary and defeated. "Forget it. Forget the whole
thing. We should have just stayed at home. I could
have come over with a pizza or Thai, and we could have
watched Fried Sneezed Tomatoes or some other
estrogen-drenched flick ...."

Scully rolled up on one arm and looked down at him. 
"Are you finished? Is that the end of the diatribe?"

He snorted softly and peered at her from beneath his
forearm. "I give up. That's the end. This is the last
straw." He closed his eyes tight, clearing endeavoring
to shut out fractious boys and lurking bosses and
bitter, bitter disappointment. "Go to sleep, Scully.
I'm gonna get up and go get some ice for my nuts, and
then I'll just watch TV or something. We can try again
tomorrow. Maybe take a shower together. It's .... it's
just not gonna work tonight."

She favored his delicates with an appraising look. It
wasn't working? Long and dark and engorged with blood,
slick from her secretions as well as his own fluids
.... She honestly didn't think things could get any
more ready. Clearly this sudden change of heart wasn't
reflective of flesh, but of spirit.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. If she could find a
way to re-engage the flesh, and quickly before time
and gravity took their hold, then surely the spirit
would follow suit.

Without preamble, she quickly gathered herself and,
with one smooth motion, flung her leg up and over his
hips. He flinched and grunted in obvious surprise.
Shock and irritation competed with something more
feral in his expression as he looked at her in
disbelief. "I appreciate the offer, Scully, but you
really don't have to -"

"I know I don't have to," she murmured, cutting him
off. She carefully folded herself over him, taking
care to just brush his warm chest with her nipples. 
"I'm not doing you a favor. And I'm not doing anything
I don't want to do." Despite his protests, he made no
move to dislodge her. His eyes held hers, endlessly
gray-green, like the Spanish moss growing in
neighborhood trees when she was a young, lusty
schoolgirl. She slid up and down over his hips,
sandwiching his erection between her body and his.
Muscles in his jaw rippled as he clenched his teeth,
and his hands settled firmly on her hips, permitting
her freedom to move, but not to withdraw.

Faces inches apart. Bodies, hot and wet. How long
would he last, she wondered. It'd been such a
built-up, the pay-off was probably going to half-drown
them both. 

He swallowed hard and let his eyes close. "Why're you
doing this?" he breathed.

She brushed her lips over his. "I could have fellated
you," she whispered, eliciting a soft groan from him. 
"But I want you inside me when you come." Another
kiss. "But you have to be quiet. Deal?"

His face drew up as if in pain, and a crease appeared
between his brows. He nodded spastically. How similar
the appearances of pleasure and its polar opposite,
she noted distantly. A roll of her hips and his cock
twitched, eager and impatient. "Scully, in case you
missed it .... our boss is about four, maybe five
paces away ...."

"Shh," she crooned, dropping kiss after kiss on his
upturned face. Nose. Cheeks. Forehead. Time to bring
the curtain down, so to speak. She gave his lips a
glancing touch with hers. "Don't move," she whispered.
A slight lift, a gentle roll of her hips, and he
glided home inside her.

"Ahh ...." he breathed, kicking one leg out futily.
His eyes closed as his arms tightened around her,
squeezing her closer. His heart was throbbing, she
could feel it hammering against her ribs, beating in
syncopated counterpoint to her own. His head rolled to
the side, and she could see the fluttering of the
pulse point in his throat, just below his ear. She
could feel it deep within her, too, throbbing and full
and very, very good.

Slowly she drew herself up and back down, impaling
herself ever so slowly. He gasped, and the tension in
his expression ratcheted up even higher. "You're
killing me," he whispered. His hands fluttered and
danced over her back, begging, driving her. "Go
faster, God, please, go faster ...."

She sped up. She slowed down. She drew herself up
until she was all but empty of him, then with a soft
grunt took him in again, this time so deep her pelvis
all but creaked in protest; she could feel him in her
abdomen, in her very heart. Another slow-motion lunge,
and he whimpered softly. Time and again she took him
to that edge, danced with him upon it, then carefully
eased him back again, using words and kisses and her
own body's tempo to prolong the drama, to distract him
when passions threatened to carom out of control.
Until the end, when there was no more ebb and flow,
but a sharp upheaval that signaled the impending
finale, and she knew the dance was about to come to a
very wet end.

She watched it take him. Consume him. He arched high
beneath her, digging in his heels and lifting them
both off the bed, pressing higher and harder, so much
so that she was surprised where was no pain. One arm
held her and the other was flung out to the side, the
long, graceful fingers clenched and knotted around
great folds of bedcovers. The fine lines around his
eyes, which she normally noticed only when he laughed,
became deeper and more pronounced with his grimace.
One long, slow plunge of his hips led to another, then
a third, each accompanied by a shudder and a soft,
choked cry that she did her best to trap with her own
mouth. With each groan, she felt the wetness within
her expand.

Abruptly he slumped beneath her and lay very still.
Gently she nuzzled his face. "Hey, are you still in
there?"

Chest heaving, he cracked one eye open and looked at
her. "Where'd .... you learn .... to do that?" he
gasped. "God .... I must have .... come .... a
gallon."

Smiling, she reached up and gently brushed the sweat
from his face. The eye studying her was bright with
mirth, but also looming exhaustion. "Chalk it up to
seven years of foreplay," she murmured. "And it was
probably just an ounce or so. Just felt like a
gallon."

He laughed breathlessly. "Felt like a baseball. Hurt,
but in a good way." As she watched, the eye slowly
closed again. "Sorry to leave you hanging. Gimme a
minute to rest .... I'll see if I can return the favor
...."

She kissed his lax mouth. Already she could feel
twitches beginning deep in his over-taxed muscles.
"Later," she breathed. "It's all right, Mulder.
Sleep."

To move would mean breaking the seal their bodies
still had on one another, and that would mean on hell
of a wet spot. Besides, as long as he stayed where he
was, she could pretend there was a chance for
conception. Carefully she lowered her head to his
shoulder and closed her eyes. It wasn't the most
comfortable way to sleep, but after seven years of
stake-outs and crappy motel beds, it wasn't the worst,
either. 


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Keep going, 
there's more!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Perfect Opposites, pt. 4
Headers, ratings in part 1
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Mulder practically danced to the front office. Scully
had volunteered to trudge the bags down to the car,
and as soon as he dropped off the key, they were out
of there. No phone calls to charge to the room. No
pay-per-view movies, either. Just a night of
body-quaking sex, with a few hours' sleep thrown in to
break up any possible monotony. Yeah, like *that*
could ever happen. Then, after they finally dragged
their asses out of bed for good, a long, hot shower
that began with washing his partner's hair - something
he'd recently learned to love even more than she loved
having it done - led to another session of coitus
maximus, right there against the wall in the shower
stall.

Wow. His back was sore, his legs were sore - hell,
even his dick was sore .... and he wasn't about to
complain. It all made for a *very* good day.

A glance over his shoulder assured him she was waiting
at the car for him. Good. No chance of raised eyebrows
should he encounter .... well, *anyone*. After all,
Skinner wasn't the only guest who might have overheard
their primitive mating ritual last night.

The manager was busy with customers when Mulder burst
into the office. The couple at the counter was
apparently disputing some of the charges on their
bill. Probably didn't want to cop to ordering that
soft-porn they'd tried on for size, he thought with a
smile. A family place like this wasn't going to offer
first-rate hard-core, *that* he was sure of. Not that
it mattered to him if it did or not. He'd had his own
private screening. 

Sometimes just watching did not compare.

A coffee pot was sitting on a table not far from the
desk. A half-dozen pieces of fruit and some pastries
constituted the management's idea of a "continental
breakfast". Mulder waved the key in front of the
manager's face and pointedly dropped it on the desk
when the old man nodded distractedly. Then he turned
and took full stock of the breakfast offerings. Coffee
was a must. It wouldn't be as strong as Scully
normally took it .... the stuff she drank in the
morning tended to take the finish off silverware and
could eat through plastic spoons like acid .... but it
was black and hot, and she certainly wouldn't turn her
nose up at it. He stuffed a banana in a front pocket,
wedged an apple between his teeth, and balanced a
danish over each steaming cup - lemon for him, one
some sort of crme filling for her. Carefully he
picked everything up, careful not to splash hot coffee
over his hands, then turned slowly on his heel ....

.... and found himself face to face with Walter
Skinner. Or rather, face to apple.

The AD looked terrible. Dark circles cradled both
eyes, his glasses were slightly askew, the fringe of
hair above his ears was mussed and unkempt, and his
clothes looked as though he'd slept in them. For an
instant Mulder couldn't help but feel a twinge of
sympathy for him. The man who had survived Viet Nam
and countless skirmishes in both law enforcement AND
the Bureau was clearly out of his depth when it came
to working with children.

"Agent Mulder," Skinner said, not sounding quite as
brusque as usual. Mulder suspected he just didn't have
the energy. He eyed the cups in Mulder's hands almost
longingly. "Heading out, I see."

"Yesh, shir." Okay, talking around an apple was a
challenge, but at least his answer was clear enough to
make out. Hastily he set down one of the cups and
danishes, and dropped the apple into his open hand.
"You look .... uh, rested." Skinner snorted softly at
that. "Are you on your way back to the city?"

Skinner nodded almost imperceptibly. "Just as soon as
I can get rid of .... I mean, as soon as my sister
makes it back from the hospital. She's a surgeon. Got
called in to work last night. A kid with appendicitis,
I guess, and then some sort of traffic accident ....
one thing after another and she couldn't get away. I'm
gonna to try to get the management to drop the charge
for her room since no one used it." His eyes narrowed
a little. "Speaking of rooms .... you didn't happen to
hear the show last night, did you?"

Panic stuck in Mulder's throat. He swallowed hard,
thankful he hadn't taken a bite out of that danish
like he'd been considering, because he almost
certainly would have choked on it. "Show? No, not that
I recall."

"You and .... your *friend* didn't hear those two
idiots making the wallpaper peel?"

A casual shrug. Fox Mulder, master actor. "I don't
know about her, but I couldn't hear it from my room."

"You had separate rooms?" 

Slow nod of the head. Expression carefully blank. 
"Yes, of course."

Skinner snorted softly. "Well, if you managed to sleep
through it, you're the only one who did. Oh, they were
quiet enough after the first act, but they must have
had their sliding door open all damn night. I'd like
to have a buck for every time they .... woke me up."
He looked at Mulder, eyes narrowed. "It must have been
a couple college kids feeling their oats." His sigh
was more than a little harried. "Jesus, weekends like
this remind me just why I'm happy keeping goldfish."

Wow. Skinner had fish, too? Interesting. Mulder nodded
as he wedged the apple under his arm and reached for
the cup again, eager to be on his way. "I am in full
agreement with you there, Sir." He nodded pointedly to
the door. "Uh, would you .... ? Someone I know is
dying for this coffee."

For a few seconds Skinner didn't move to comply, just
stood with hands on hips, staring at him with a fixed
gaze. Mulder could practically hear the thoughts
racing behind those dark, assessing eyes: How much of
the truth am I hearing? Is his 'friend' who I think it
is? Were they the ones copulating like rabbits all
night long? And perhaps most importantly, do I really
want to know about any of this?

Was it just Mulder's imagination, or was that an
amused little gleam he saw lurking behind those
wireless Gucci frames?

At last Skinner took a step back and opened the door.
Mulder nodded thanks, though when he tried to brush
past him, a hand caught his shoulder and stopped him
in his tracks. Their eyes met and held for a beat;
then to his surprise, Skinner smiled ever-so slightly.
Humor. Definitely humor. "Give my best to .... your
friend."

Scully was leaning against the Mustang's fender, face
tipped up to the morning sun. Unfettered with make-up,
she was rosy-cheeked from sunburn, a hot shower, and
recent sex. Hearing him approach, she turned and
flashed him a grin. "Never guess who I just saw," she
offered, taking the cup and danish he offered her,
then very slowly reached into his pocket and extracted
the banana. He felt a delicious tingle at the
near-miss, and in the depth of his jeans, his weary
cock twitched hopefully.

"Lemme guess," he replied, leaning through the open
door and carefully nestling the Styrofoam cup in the
console's cup holder. "Big guy, not a lot of hair,
even less of a smile ...."

"On the contrary." She stowed her coffee in a similar
manner, then settled in the seat and reached behind
her for the belt. She was battling back a grin. "Big
smile. BIG smile. I just about crawled into the trunk
trying to avoid eye contact. Not exactly hiding .... I
just didn't want to make it any easier for him." 

Mulder shrugged as he stuffed half the lemon danish in
his mouth. It was tart and sweet, and it tasted
wonderful with a slurp of coffee. "Dudn't matter. I
told him we had separate rooms. He seemed good with
that."

She eyed him as she peeled the banana. "Oh? You two
guys just happened to discuss our accommodations?"

He nodded, for some reason not quite able to look
directly at her. Skinner, smiling? THAT was a little
disquieting. "Uh, yeah. He asked if we'd heard
anything during the night. I told him I hadn't, but
that we'd had separate rooms."

Her eyebrows were creeping toward her hairline. "I
see."

He nodded again, silently cursing his inability to
shut the hell up. "He thinks it was a couple college
swells who disturbed his beauty sleep. I didn't see
much point in correcting him."

She smiled behind her crme danish. "He may have
*said* that, Mulder," she said, giving her head a
shake. "You and I both know, saying and believing are
entirely different notions, especially when it comes
to Walter Skinner."

He shrugged as he turned the key in the ignition, and
the engine roared to life. "Even if that's true, and
I'm not saying it is, all it does is serve to
underscore one major difference between the two of
us."

She looked at him expectantly. "That would be ...? And
don't say the hair. That's a gimme."

He leaned a little closer and looked at her with
smoldering eyes. "One of us still dreams of sleeping
with the enigmatic Dr. Scully .... and one of us has
already had the pleasure."

At that, she flushed crimson. "You're full of shit.
Skinner does NOT think about me like that." When he
didn't reply, didn't respond at all except to blink at
her, she swatted his arm and nodded toward the street
before them. "C'mon, let's get out of here."

He grinned as he stomped on the gas and squealed out
of the parking lot. They hadn't gone far when she shot
him a hard look. "Fried *Sneezed* Tomatoes, Mulder?"
she half-whined, as if his earlier comment had just
registered. "What, may I ask, is wrong with my taste
in movies? Just because there're no explosions or gun
battles, or .... or body parts flying across the
screen .... I get enough of that stuff on the job,
quite frankly."

He gave a bark of laughter. After this weekend, after
Homer and Emma and several hours of mind-blowing,
perhaps even life-altering sex with the woman he
happened to adore, he was pretty sure he could make it
through just about any movie she could think to
inflict on him, even if it was the antithesis of
anything *he'd* choose. Roman Holiday, maybe, or some
silly Jane Austen thing. Even .... God help him ....
Shakespeare in Love. Maybe even Titanic.


He gave a mental shrug. Okay, maybe not Shakespeare in
Love. After all, a guy had to have standards.



~*~*~*~*~*
the end
~*~*~*~*~*


scribbler's note: this is what happens when life gets
too serious. SOMEONE has to be able to step back and
take a day to themselves .... *I* certainly can't do
it!


=====
~*~*~ I'm sick and tired of being patient and understanding! ~*~*~