From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 2 Jul 2006 21:34:36 -0000
Subject: NEW:  Those Weird Latin Ways (MSR - NC-17) by Mark Darcy
Source: direct

Reply To: oriflammelite@hotmail.com


Title: Those Weird Latin Ways 
Author:  Mark Darcy (oriflammelite@hotmail.com) 
Site/Blog: http://www.livejournal.com/users/oriflammelite 
Rating:  MSR, NC-17 for sexual situations 
Disclaimer: These character are the property of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions.  No money is being made from their use.
Summary:  He loves her in all those weird Latin ways.

^_^

It's a pretty picture she makes the first time they do it, all sweet
soft skin, hair delicately damp across her forehead, clinging
only enough to make it enticing instead of sweaty-gross and
Mulder's happy to know Scully can scream for reasons other
than being attacked from something strange and slimy.

Her breasts are slightly different sizes.  He can't help but
wonder if she's ever taken measurements because that's the
kind of woman Scully is; precision is her unspoken god but he
forgets all about that when she reaches for his cock and
strokes it hard, thumbing the slick tip, making him moan and
glad to be alive.

She kisses him open-mouthed while doing that, doing such
wonderfully dirty things with her tongue and hand, Mulder
wonders if he's strapped down somewhere hallucinating it all.  

Which would be fine, as long as the bastards don't ever let
him go.

^_^

A few days later he wants to repeat the experience, but she's
not in the mood.

It's her, not him she swears up and down as every insecurity
Mulder's had since sixth grade comes roaring back.  All right,
maybe not *roaring* back, but that raw jolt of <i>'aw crap</i>
is hard to deny.  

But he agrees to sit and cuddle on the sofa, even giving her
the remote, knowing he won't be vaguely interested in
anything she flicks on, her tastes running more toward history
lessons and classic films versus baseball and 'UFOs Among
Us'.  

He stares at her feet instead, delightfully bare except for bright
red nail polish, a sight which he's ashamed to discover gives
him a raging hard-on.  "Those are hot toes you have there," he
says, shifting slightly and licking his lips.  "I didn't know you
had such a wild side inside your shoes, Scully."

"Mmmm," she replies, engrossed in whatever Cary Grant is
doing.  "I have to get them done professionally.  I get ingrown."

"Ingrown?"

"Ingrown nails.  From running so much in shoes that aren't
meant for it."

"Oh," he replies.  His hard-on fades a little.  He's not sure he's
that grateful for it.  "But the red..."

"It's the default color they use.  Could you pass me my soda,
Mulder? No, not that one ... the diet.  Thanks."

Now he feels vaguely cheated.  Which is a shame because
Scully is still in his arms, still warm against him and sexy toes
are such a trivial matter all things considered.  It's just that he
wants her to have a wild side, he wants it now and he also
wants sex, with blowjobs and hand jobs and Scully lying
panting beneath him, preferably forever.

He also wants something to eat, maybe some pizza and
Mulder wonders when he became so high maintenance.

"Have you seen this movie?" Scully asks, oblivious to his inner
turmoil.

"Once."

"Only once?"

"Only once."

She actually tears her eyes away from it for a split second.
"Seriously? It's one of the most famous ever made."

"I'm culturally bereft," he retorts.  "Have you ever seen the '86
World Series in its entirety? Twice?"

"Why would I watch it more than once?"

"Exactly."

Her eyes narrow exactly like he expects them to.  He's
supremely comfortable then and with a happy noise, Mulder
spreads his legs just enough to sink back into the perfect
couch potato position.  

This is the good life, here with Scully by his side.  

Even without pizza and sex.

^_^

Scully's embrace is red-hot when they leave the building and
in spite of having a genius IQ, it takes Mulder more than a
minute to figure out she wants to have sex right then, right
there, in the dark ally next to the boarding house.  

He's still paranoid about the creature they're chasing this
week, something mutant and deadly that can slip through the
cracks in the floor but when Scully pushes him up against the
bricks, her thigh shoved between his legs, he forgets to be
afraid.

This is dangerous in the stupid way, but it feels great so
Mulder goes along with it, throwing whatever caution he has to
the wind.  Miss Careful Scully is out there somewhere, starting
the car, while her hotter twin sister is rutting against him and
jacking him through his pants, making him moan. 

Mulder realizes there's a lot more to this woman than ingrown
toenails that just happen to be painted red.  "I can't stop
thinking about this," she hisses against his chest.  "I can't stop
wanting you."

Those words are both hot and scary and Mulder does his best
to make sure she keeps on wanting him by hooking a finger
inside her panties, working her soaking clit around in fast
circles until she shrieks into his suit jacket.

Nice, he thinks.  Even nicer when she slips to her knees and
gives him the best blowjob he's ever had, her expression
sweetly dazed, even when he fucks her beautiful mouth with
abandon.  

He comes in seconds and it's back to business in record time
as Scully straightens out her clothing and hair before neatly
attending to Mulder's disarray.  She strides out of the alleyway
perfectly composed, with Mulder stumbling after her and once
in the car, it's as if they never paused in the investigating of
Marvin: the Wichita Slimeman.

"Turn left here," she orders once they are out on the road.
"Once we hit the main route, we should be within a few miles
of the motel, I hope."

Mulder's lost again, but this time, it's not his fault.  "You
distracted me," he protests. "You know you did."

She doesn't confirm or deny.  "I said 'left', Mulder.  You still
know your right from your left, don't you?"

"It's a known fact that men who've been accosted in alleyways
by insanely hot women temporarily lose their sense of
direction."  He tries to keep his eyes on the road, but Scully's
visage is far too tempting. With a little luck, he probably won't
crash, he thinks, continuing to stare at her.  "Maybe you should
drive.  Or have you lost your sense of direction too?"

"You missed the turn, Mulder."

"You're dangerous, you know that?  You should come a
warning - do not hump and drive."

"I guess we'll be sleeping in the car," she says, but a sign
pointing them to the motel pops up over the hill.  She visibly
relaxes as he finally makes the proper turn.  "What do you
want for dinner?"

"Carbs."

"That covers a lot of things," she replies, sounding very
scientific, which, to Mulder's great horror is also a turn-on.
"Pizza?"

"Salad."

"That's not exactly a carb or at least, it's not the carb I'd
assume you were looking for, but salad is good," she replies
with a smile.  Scully does love her salads.  "Think we'll find
anything fresh in these wilds?"

"I don't know," Mulder mutters, realizing that he's just agreed -
no, not agreed, he's *suggested* they eat salad -  which is a
crime against man and nature as specifically outlined in
almost every code of manly behavior ever written.  Dana
Scully has fried his brain and good, there can be no other
explanation for it. "There is always vegetable pizza too," he
adds lamely.

"I think I'll have a Cobb," she says, happy, maybe because
she knows he's trapped.  "With light dressing."

"Make that two," he sighs, before pulling the car into park.  A
light shower is starting to fall, splattering thinly on the
windshield, making him wonder what it would feel like to fuck
her in the rain.

She smiles.  He smiles back, wondering if she'd looked at any
other man this way.

He prays she hasn't.

"We'll get pizza," she says, leaving the car and ignoring the
rain as she walks to their motel room door.

^_^

A week afterward they are hunting a ghost and Mulder makes
one of the biggest mistakes of his life by almost getting killed
in front of Scully, who turns seven spectacular shades of red,
white and blue, exactly in that order.  She curses at him with a
sailor's tongue before shooting the creature manipulating the
spirit dead, with a single bullet to its forehead.

It flops to the floor without an ounce of finesse, but Mulder
thinks it might be better off than he is, having to face Scully's
post-close-call wrath.

"What were you thinking?" she snarls, clearly indicating she's
speaking rhetorically and that Mulder, obviously wasn't
thinking at all, at any point. 

Her chest heaves, her forehead drips sweat and she's insane
with fury, which makes her the hottest hellion on the planet.  

"I ... wasn't?" he replies with a shrug that he hopes is cute
enough to reduce his death sentence to a mere spanking.
With a paddle.

Scully makes a terrible face.  If she could command the souls
of darkness to do her awful bidding, they'd probably be
popping out of the ground at that very second.  "Don't ever do
that again," she warns, holstering her gun.  "Or I'll kill you
myself."

Mulder thinks he should be lucky to meet such an end.  "Cross
my heart and hope to ..."

"Shut up, Mulder."

^_^

Mulder always feels strange staying over Scully's apartment.
It's so very neat, a little bland and utterly inoffensive, which is
nothing like her, except maybe for the neat part.  

But as she barely lives there, he supposes it makes sense,
especially taking into account her bookshelves which are filled
with medical journals and school-room classics, from Moliere
to Steinbeck, topped off with a well-worn copy of "Moby Dick"
its front cover facing outwards, the only book in the house
given such a singular honor.

Still, he has trouble getting comfortable there, always afraid
he's going to scuff up her polished floors or rip her tastefully
flowered upholstery. "Smells great," he yells toward the
kitchen, hunched forward on her sofa, hands folded on his lap.
"What is it?"

"Canned soup," she yells back.  "Want toast with that?"

"Yeah, sure."  She's given him a beer upon arrival and he
debates lifting it from its coaster and drinking it, but decides
against that, knowing the condensation will probably drip in all
the worst spots. "How's your Mom?"

"She's good.  Do you want grated cheese on this?"

"No, thanks.  Should I come into the dining room now?"

"I thought we'd eat on the couch.  Watch some TV"

Mulder blinks back his horror.  He's nowhere near coordinated
enough for anything like that. "What's wrong with the dining
room?"

Scully arrives then, balancing a tray of soup, toast and drinks
with ease. "That's kind of formal, isn't it?"  She sets it down
and hands Mulder a bowl and a spoon.  "Feel free to
compliment my fabulous cooking."

He takes a tentative sip, trying to make sure drips of synthetic
tomato aren't flying everywhere like droplets of orange paint.
"You boil water like nobody's business, Scully."

She seems very pleased with this response.  Later, when the
dinner is safely consumed, she turns on the tiny television
hidden in the corner and rests her head on Mulder's shoulder
as they watch the game, letting him thread his fingers through
her hair and to his vast surprise, he finds himself feeling more
relaxed than he's ever felt in his own home, mess and fish tank
and all.

They fall asleep like that before the ninth inning is up, with
Scully spread across him like he's another, albeit warmer,
piece of furniture and Mulder knows he's going to pay in the
morning for sleeping like this now, but it's all good, as she's
there, she's safe and they are together as one.

^_^

"What I was trying to say before you so rudely interrupted me,
is that I'm in love with you."

If Scully is surprised by this confession, she doesn't show it.  "I
love you too, Mulder."

Which is very nice, he thinks, propping himself up on his
elbow so he can stare more easily at her, but it's not the
answer he wants.  "There's a difference between loving
someone and being in love, Scully."

Now, she looks surprised.  "Are you doubting that I'm in love
with you, as well as loving you in the every day way?"

"Well, no ..." he stammers, now wondering if *he's* the one
failing to measure up in the love standards department.  "But
you said ..."

"I said I love you," Scully interjects, before sliding her lovely
naked body up against his and rubbing against him the most
delightfully lewd way, her skin flushed bright against the white
sheets.  "This particular love of mine, Mulder, encompasses
agape ... eros ... phileo *and* storge."

A kiss punctuates each word.  Mulder has to close his eyes
against them before he gets the nerve to pull her up and
simply plunge into her, aching at how wet, how *ready* and
wanting she is for him.  She meets him stroke for stroke,
mewling and shuddering beneath him, rolling her hips up
repeatedly, slapping wetly against him.

It seems like seconds ... it seems like forever, when she
throws her head back and screams. She tightens around him
in waves and he can't stop, pressing his face to her neck and
letting go, not caring that she's scratching his back with freshly
done nails, no doubt leaving a trail of red marks behind.

"Fuck," she gasps, then repeats when he gives one last, weak
thrust, mostly for effect because he's long gone and spent.
"Oh, Mulder, fuck..."

"I love you, Scully.  In all those weird Latin ways."

"I know," she replies sweetly, brushing his face with the back
of her hand, making him, once again -- no, make that always --
glad to be alive.  "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

^_^

The End

Mark's Note: Thank you for reading and for the lovely
response to my last fic.  I appreciated it more than I can say.
Hope you enjoy this one as well.  Feel free to let me know at
oriflammelite@hotmail.com