From: Tory Anderson <tory_anderson@yahoo.com>
Date: Sun, 10 Oct 1999 00:53:56 -0700 (PDT)
Subject: New story- "Sandalwood"
Source: direct


Sandalwood 
By Tory Anderson
tory_anderson@yahoo.com

Rating:   R, for some swear words and, well, sex.
Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance
Category: VR
Spoilers: Nope.
Summary:  Scully's internal thoughts lead to a mutual 
decision.

Disclaimer:  To quote Dasha K., "These characters
don't belong to me, but to the guy who won't let them
have sex."  
Archive:  Anywhere.

A short smut piece, inspired by a scene from the John 
Travolta movie, 'Michael.'

X-*-X

Your skin smells lovely like sandalwood.
Your hair falls soft like animals,
and nothing else matters to me
I want to kiss the back of your neck,
the top of your spine where your hair hits,
and gnaw on your fingertips and fall asleep.
She can't tell me that
all of the love songs have been written
'cause she's never been in love with you before.
- Lisa Loeb "Sandalwood"

X-*-X

     Mulder rubs my shoulder reassuringly, "Don't
worry, Scully.  We'll catch this bastard."

     I muffle a bitter laugh in the fabric of his 
jacket.  Perhaps we will, but how many more innocents 
will die before we do?  Mulder's clothes smell as he 
does - delicious, like coffee and chocolate and 
sandalwood and my grandmother's spice cupboard.

     But this closeness, this rare intimacy of our 
bodies is suddenly too much for me.  I am constantly 
finding myself so close to the tip of this cliff that 
is mine and Mulder's relationship.  One push, one 
breath of air would be enough to send me flying over 
that edge, into the yawning chasm beyond.

     I step back.

     Mulder gazes at me with eyes of saddened
concrete, grey and endless like a sidewalk.  But the
sidewalk ends here.  I hurt him.  I turn away from his
gaze, "I'll see you in the morning, Mulder," I tell
him.

     "Bright and early." His humour is forced.  I hurt

him. 

     The steps leading to the second story of the Town

& Country Motel seem huge, like a giant staircase in
an ancient castle. I mount them, hesitating. Something
is wrong.

     Mulder waits at the bottom, staring up at me with

those asphalt eyes.  I feel like Scarlett O'Hara.  I 
want Mulder to sweep me into his arms, to smother me 
with kisses, to bury himself in me and make me forget 
all the horrible things we learned today, make me 
forget all the nightmares that haunt our dreams.

     Apparantly there's some kind of international 
business conference going on in town, and all the
hotels and motels are jam-packed for miles around. 
The manager of this motel, who looked alarmingly like
Norman Bates although I'm sure it's just a
coincidence, said that we were lucky to get two rooms
in one motel, never mind adjoining ones.  So my room
is directly above my partner's.

     "Goodnight, Mulder," I say, and it's only when I 
try to climb another step that I realise my hand is 
trapped firmly in Mulder's.  When did that happen?  I
glance down at our entwined fingers, then up at his 
face.  In the inky shadows of night, his eyes are 
impossible to read.

     He tugs on my hand, pulling me toward him.  I 
descend the stairs until I am only two steps above
him.
Now I am on perfect level with his face.  His face
that is slowly approaching mine.  My heart starts
beating faster and my cheeks flush and I wonder if
this is to be it.

     It is not.  Mulder brushes a kiss on the soft
strip of skin connecting my mouth to my cheek.  His
lips are hovering, no more than a centimetre from
mine. "Goodnight, Scully," he says, and his voice is
gravely.  My breath is too rapid to reply.  He turns
away and leaves me standing there on the stairs as he
enters his room and shuts the door.

     I remain rooted to the spot for a moment before 
ascending the stairs slowly, dreamily like a
schoolgirl with a crush, rubbing absently at the patch
of flesh where he kissed me.  The lock in my door
clicks shut automatically, and I pull off my clothes
and head to the bathroom for a nice relaxing soak in
the tub.  It is already 10:37, but it is doubtful I'll
get much sleep tonight.

X-*-X

     The freesia and vanilla-scented water is
soothing, warm, making me feel sleepy.  Although I
cannot remember, I am sure that this is what being in
my mother's womb must have felt like.

     I close my eyes and slip under the water,
revelling in the sheer warmth.  The day was chilly,
and Mulder and I spent most of it looking for evidence
in a bloody field.

     That wasn't swearing.  I was being literal.

     I emerge from underwater and glance at the clock.
 11:30.  I'm already pruning up and I'd better get out
now if I want to salvage any hope of a decent sleep.

     I pull the plug, and wonder if Mulder can hear
the splashing below me.  

     The only pyjamas I packed were the hunter green 
silk ones.  I am delighted with myself - they're my 
favourites.  By the time I am ready for bed, it is 
11:41.  The sheets are cool, crisp.  I shift around, 
trying to get comfortable.  I cannot sleep.

     Give it time, Dana.  Relax.

     I *am* relaxed.

     Fourteen minutes pass before I realise that
dammit, this is not working.  Throwing off the covers,
I stalk across the room and throw open the door.  My
steps quicken to a jog as I hasten towards the stairs,
toward Mulder.  My decision has been made.

     As I approach the second landing, I see a dark 
figure, still dressed in a suit shirt and pants, 
approaching the base of the staircase.  It appears
that Mulder has come to a decision as well.  I slow my
pace, then come to a halt about five steps above him.

     "Mulder," I breathe.  It is 11:57.  The shadows 
have shifted and the moon is out and I can read
Mulder's eyes clearly.  They spell pain, desire, fear,
lust, loneliness, anticipation, and most of all, love.


     An abiding, all-consuming, hopeful, hopeless, 
desperate, passionate, romantic, primal sort of love.

     I love him too.

     I tell him so, and descend the last few steps
into his waiting arms.  The clock chimes 12:00 when
Mulder finally lowers his lips to mine.  And I was
right - coffee, and chocolate, and sunflower seed
salt.  Mulder is my five-course meal.  His lips are
moist, soft and pressing; nervous like a first kiss,
confident and hungry like a familiar lover, my lover. 
My fingers tangle in his hair as my lips part beneath
his and my tongue sweeps curiously through his mouth. 
He must have had an Aero sometime tonight.

     His hair is soft, silky, like animal fur.  It's 
texture brings back memories of my uncle's ranch, and
my favourite thoroughbred mare, Bellatrix, and how she

had the softest fur.  What would Mulder think if he
knew I was comparing him to a horse?  But he is.  He's
fast, slender, with wide eyes and hard muscles.  And
something even harder prodding into my belly.

     I moan into his mouth, pulling down rather 
ruthlessly on his head, grinding our hips and lips 
together.   Mulder groans, breaking the kiss.  He
buries his face in the curve of my neck and shoulder,
"Scully," he murmurs. "I love you."  He places a
careful row of kisses along my throat, his lips
vibrating with my sighs.  He tugs an earlobe into his
mouth and sucks gently on it.  My nipples tingle. 
"Mulder, oh god,"  I gasp aloud.  He smiles.  

     "Even though it *is* midnight," he kisses around 
the curve of my ear, "and all the good people in this 
motel ought to be asleep, I, for one," another kiss
just below, "do not feel like giving them a free
show."  Exactly like in my 'Gone With The Wind'
fantasy, Mulder lifts me off my feet, and starts up
the flight of stairs.  I laugh, a silly sort of
immature laugh, and hold on to his neck tightly.  I am
finding him.  I will never let him go.

     We pause outside my room, and Mulder carefully 
releases my body.  The tingling electricity where our 
skin touches is almost tangible.  And now, he's
kissing me again, pressing me up against the wall
outside my room, devouring my mouth like Bellatrix
with an apple. His warm hand slides from the safety of
my neck, down, down, until the heel rests softly on
the upper slopes of my left breast, just above my
heart.  His heart.  I arch my back, causing his
fingers to slide over my hardened, aching nipple.  I
let out another thin-sounding moan against his lips. 
Mulder, oh god, Mulder, please.  Did I say that aloud?

     Apparently so, and it is all the incentive he 
needs.  The tips of his fingers curl around the tips
of my breasts, pushing, pulling, kneading, playing.  
And *god* I cannot wait to feel those agile fingers 
elsewhere on my body.  Somehow, through that thought
and my red-blood haze of passion, I remember what
Mulder said about a free show and blindly reach out
with a hand to open the door.
 
    It's locked.  And this time, I am not kidding.  I
disconnect mouths and hands from breasts very 
reluctantly and Mulder groans, "*Tell me* you're 
kidding, Scully."  I can't answer.  All I can think is

that I *need* to get Mulder and I into that room,
*now.*  I can't remember if, in my hurry to get to
Mulder, I brought along my key.

     Mulder smiles impishly and runs his hand along
the curve of my breast again, "Mulder, not now, I have
to find the key." I tell him.
Thekeymulderthekeyinside.
All my thoughts are jumbled up.  Mulder's nimble
fingers slide into the pocket on my shirtfront, and
withdraw a simple brass key.  "Mulder, I love you." I
say, and kiss him soundly.  He smiles.  I smile.  The
door swings open and we go in and slam it shut.

     Two seconds later it opens again, and my hand 
sneaks out and snatches the key from the lock.  The
door closes once more.

X-*-X

     It is a stalemate.  Mulder and I face each other,
not a foot apart.  There is a challenge in his eyes. 
I answer it and reach forward to unbutton his shirt, 
exposing bit by bit the tanned skin of his chest. 
About four buttons from the bottom, impatience gets
the better of me and I yank hard, sending buttons
flying.  Mulder looks surprised, but I note his cheeks
are pinker and he is breathing slightly harder.  I
smile, pressing a kiss to his sternum, dragging my
lips down, pausing every few inches to dart my tongue
out and lick gently at his skin.  Mmm, salty goodness.
I can hear his breath, rapid, sucking in air
desperately.  I can feel him beneath me, his erection
making a tent in his trousers and tickling my chin.  I
grin up at him, and he looks uneasy.  Just you wait,
Mulder.  

     Both of my hands come up, one to take care of the

rest of his clothes, as the other rubs along his
length, testing his hardness, his sensitivity.  Soon
enough, his pants and boxers are around his ankles and
my lips are exploring and Mulder is making noises that
remind me of a puppy.  "Christ, Scully," he moans, his
voice low and raspy.  I take that as a request and
bring him inside my mouth, my tongue teasing the
sensitive underside of his cock.  I smile sagely as I
hear him gasp my name, "Scullyscullyscullyscully...." 
It fills me with no small amount of pride, that I can
make this man call out my name so wantonly.  This man,
whom I have coveted every minute since the night he
opened his heart to me in a tiny motel room in Oregon.
 This man, whose pain and pleasure, whose restraint
and release I now control.

     This man who I love.

     I can feel him begin to contract within my mouth 
when violently, Mulder pushes me away, backing up a
few steps.  The look in his tar-tinted eyes is wild, 
turbulent, and makes my heart rate increase.  "You 
first," he says roughly, and pulls me to him in a kiss

as stormy as his eyes.  Our lips are biting, suckling,

messy but helplessly erotic.  I lick at his teeth, his

tongue, the roof of his mouth and he returns the
favour.

     He thrusts his hips against my stomach, small but

harsh little jolts, and he lets out a moan with every 
surging contact.  I need to get undressed.

     Either Mulder's psychic or we're both on the same

line of thinking, because our hands collide at the top

button of my pyjama top.  Mutely, Mulder's hands slide

to the bottom while I work down from the top.  There's

a fine example of partnership.  Skinner would be 
thrilled.

     Why am I thinking of Skinner when Mulder is
staring hungrily at my naked chest?

     We stumble to the bed and fall upon it, a 
collection of awkward sex-crazed arms and legs and
hands and mouths.  We kiss, again and again and again.
 Mulder licks and sucks at my burning nipples, only
adding to the heat there.  I cry out, tipping my head
back against the soft, worn pillows.  Mulder climbs
atop me, still utterly focussed on sucking my brain
out through my breasts.  It probably wouldn't be too
difficult, because I doubt there's much left up there.
 

     Mulder is exceedingly ambidextrous, but his
ability has never proven more beneficial to me than
right now.  One hand comes up to massage the breast
not occupied with his lips, while the other one traces
mysterious symbols across my goosepimpled stomach,
sliding closer and closer to the elastic waistband of
my pyjamas.  And thank you, Lord, because his hand
sneaks beneath it and into the dense tangle of hair
between my legs.  I can feel the heat there, the
wetness, and two of Mulder's fingers slipping into me.
 His thumb decides to move up and play with my clit,
and I think I may start screaming.  "You first," he
repeats.  Mulder is a man with a mission.

     A few more determined circles with the thumb and
I think I am being abducted.  Bells ring in my ears -
or is that me?  Am I actually screaming?  Bright
lights flash before my eyes and I fall apart in tiny
trembling, shaking pieces, and Mulder sews me back
together.  

     My limbs feel pale and shaky, and please god
don't
let me faint, it would be too embarrassing.  But the 
dizzy spell passes and I see Mulder smiling at me with

the sort of smug grin I always wanted to wipe off his 
face the violent way.  Now I kiss it off.

     "Hmmm..."  Mulder hums contentedly as he holds me

to his side.  But I feel his erection, hot, steel-hard

and huge against my thigh.  Poor Mulder.  I roll onto 
my back and take him with me.  Somehow, over the last 
few minutes he has removed my pyjama bottoms and 
panties.  Good boy, Mulder.  I feel dazed and I will
let him do the work.  He insinuates himself between my
legs and I suddenly speak my first coherent words in
quite awhile, "This is forever, Mulder."

     He nods.  "Forever.  I love you, Scully."

     "I love you."

     Pledges and confirmations and vows out of the
way, Mulder pushes forward with his hips and fills me
in a solid liquid thrust.

     Would 'ow' be too much of an understatement? 
Talk
about having eyes bigger than your stomach...or other 
body parts.  Mulder is fucking *huge.*  It's no
laughing matter.  Shut up.  

     He must see the wince on my face for he pauses, 
gasping, "All you all right?"

     I nod, "Gimme a second."  I bury my face in his 
well-muscled, tanned shoulder.  Is there any
unappealing part of Mulder?  I cross my knees behind
his ass, and pull his hips to mine.  I am ready.  I am
waiting.  I am woman, hear me roar.

     Actually, I think I did that already.

     Whatever.

     Mulder exhales sharply as he sinks into me, all
the way, "Shit, Scully, you feel so *good*..."  His
face is a grimace of pleasure as he pulls out partway,
and pushes back in.  Come on, Mulder, we can do better
than this. 

     I tilt my hips up and push them faster towards
his straining body, forcing him to accompany my
quickening pace.  He obliges, gripping my waist,
keeping my body still as he strokes wetly, hotly into
my body, smoothly over and over until I'm going out of
my mind and my eyes are rolling.  Nothing has ever
felt quite so wonderful.

     My tired, raspy voice catches on an desperate cry

as Mulder starts slamming harder into my body with
each thrust,  "I love you, I love you, I love you," he
gasps. "Scully..."  As for me, I can only let out
little whimpers, ground-out moans, and the occasional,
"Oh *god,* Mulder..."  I squeeze my internal muscles
around his cock, buried so deeply in me. I want him to
come in me, I want a little part of him, always.  But
the look in his eyes promises me I will always have
his heart.  He gasps aloud, desperately thrusting. 
With a shout of my name, he breaks loose, sweat
pouring down his back.

     Myself, I would be content just to lie back and 
watch the beauty of Mulder in the throes of orgasm,
but my lover is of a different mind and with slippery 
fingers, reaches down and tugs on my clitoris, hard.

     Now *that* was definately a scream.

X-*-X

     Afterwards, I lie sated in his arms.  I wonder
how many other of the motel's guests we managed to
wake.  I smile.  

     Mulder is dozing, but awake enough to keep
twirling a curl of my hair around two fingers.
"Mulder?" I ask sleepily.

     "Hmm?"

     "This is a good thing." It is not quite a
question.

     "Of course it is.  Go to sleep."  

     So I do. 

X-*-X
the end

Please let me know what you think.  I love and will 
respond to all feedback. 

Flames will be used to make s'mores at winter pyjama 
parties.  Don't laugh.  Try it.  All you need is a 
candle, some matches, toothpicks, marshmallows, graham
crackers, more mashmallows, and lots of Oreos.

Buffy fans may recognise a line from this story - 
Cordelia's description of Angel.  Sorry, Joss.

Ooh!  I finally have a new-and-improved website:
http://www.geocities.com/Vienna/Stage/3343/gallery.html
which contains the grand total of all FOUR of my
fanfic stories.  Knock yourself out.




=====
Mulder could have recited the entire Gettysburg Address
and she would have simply nodded and then complimented 
him on his fantastic ass. - "Blame It On Orville" by Det. 
Fugazi