Title: Not With a Bang
Author: Gina Rain (firstname.lastname@example.org)
Spoiler: Je Souhaite
Summary: Mulder multitasks by making discoveries while making out.
Many thanks to: My beta, Sybil. You understand my work and push me (in really the only effective way) to do more. What more can a girl want?
Dedicated to: Lidia. It was such a pleasure meeting you and I wish you so much in the coming year--most of all, peace within yourself and the full knowledge of how much you are loved and appreciated. God bless and have a good birthday.
Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to CC and Co.
So, I was in the middle of making out with Scully when I made a serious discovery.
"What?" you say. "Back up. Hold the phone. I want more details about this making out session. Screw the discovery."
Well, if you insist.
Scully and I did that occasionally. Made out. Well, perhaps that particular expression isn't entirely accurate. Since the beginning of this, our seventh year of partnership, we have taken our relationship to the physical level. That's a romantic turn of phrase, isn't it? Well, it's pretty much the way I looked at it. And I believe she did, too. We definitely knew we loved and were in love with each other. But, damn, we were tired.
Who knew we could feel so old? It didn't seem possible. I still remember how she walked into my office. There was literally a gentle gust of air her hand created as she extended it toward my own for that first physical touch. It was prophetic, really. She was the breath of fresh air in my stale existence. I felt like an ancient soul before she entered the office, and a young buck ready for action by the time she left. But now we're both feeling our years and then some. I suppose knowing your life journey ended in a completely different way than you expected, and feeling you wasted a good portion along the way ages a soul. Supporting someone in his fruitless endeavor, apparently, has the same effect.
But I'm straying from the subject. Making out. Well, having sex. Those are two very different physical acts and we were only up to the sex. We began having it. Together. Very serious, very loving sex. But, that's the problem. There is a "but."
But . . . why now? Is it because we were so damned tired we couldn't fight "it" anymore? Probably. And it's been great. It really has. I come; she comes. We all come. Still, there are devices that could handle that part quite efficiently. The stuff they have designed for women recently do everything but wash the dishes while she's coming all over the place. But . . . there goes that word again.
But . . . I want more. I think she does, too. I want more than a few unscheduled appearances in each other's motel rooms on the road. More than a few late-night visits to each other's apartments when we're feeling particularly lonely and vulnerable and don't seem to have anyone to turn to but each other. I want the jump-on-the-coffeetable, beat-my-chest-with-both- fists, "she-is-my-womanand -I-want-LOVE" kind of moment, complete with her dissolving against the couch cushions in a fit of girlish giggles worthy of the young girl-woman who was once afraid of a few mosquito bites.
So,making out . . .no, we haven't covered that yet. We've only established the fact that Scully and I do, indeed, from time to time, when the moon isn't full, and the stars aren't aligned, have sex. Good sex, but more or less "just" sex. Everything else is subtext. That very morning, I'd had three wishes that could have given me all I wanted. Do you think I'd have had the presence of mind to say, "I want sex to be a true representation of everything this woman and I have felt for each other since the moment we met?" Would that be specific enough? Well, knowing Jenn, probably not. She'd probably make it some grotesque manifestation of every angry feeling we've had for each other and we'd end up knifing each other's backs right before our first simultaneous orgasm.
In any case, I wished for something else and ended this day of wishes by inviting Scully over for an evening with a light movie. It was hardly a date movie but Scully wouldn't really want to watch Steel Magnolias with me, anyway. I'm not entirely sure she'd want to watch it by herself, either.
She asked me about the final wish. I didn't say anything but she knew. In an instant, she knew. Apparently, doing something nice for a genie is a big aphrodisiac in Scully's book.
So, we were making out (eventually, I get to the point). Really and truly making out. Not just as foreplay but kissing like a couple of Saint Bernard puppies, all warm tongues and enthusiasm, and lots of groping and hugging and cuddling when I felt her reach for my belt buckle. I was still deeply involved in the kissing and was barely aware of my zipper's downward movement until her hand slipped inside my shorts and surrounded my dick.
Ah, Scully. Yes, I do want sex. But this has been so different. I'm not sure I'm ready for it to end.
Her eyes were tightly closed as her hand slowing slid up and down. I was thinking of a particularly nasty corpse we ran into on one of our cases so the sex, when it happened, would be more than just a "Shit. Sorry about that," kind of event. I have to admit, though, I could only conjure up a picture of a naked Scully doing the autopsy on the stiff (pun intended). Her perfect little breasts bobbing a little as she sliced and diced and . . . well, I had to get the show on the road or I'd be taking my bows alone while she booed from the front row.
So, I pulled her even closer to me and we continued kissing while I attempted to remove her pants, which were not magically slipping down her thighs (more good wish material wasted in an act of genie-compassion), when I heard this small, strange sound coming from her. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was -- a whimper?
And, debonair romancer that I am, I immediately responded with what sounded like a laugh. Not an out and out howl, mind you, but an expression of amusement all the same. It was an unconscious reaction and I didn't want to hurt her feelings so I looked at her. Really, really looked at her and saw . . .
Scully--the woman with the ability to walk into dark warehouses by herself, in the middle of strange cities' most nefarious neighborhoods without flinching; the woman who wouldn't hesitate to tell very bad men where to get off--had fear in her eyes. Did she say too much with that whimper? Did it reveal all? But, at the same time, that look of fear was mixed with relief that, if it did do just that, it was now out in the open. There was even a promise of something more in that look. Jubilation? Her own version of the Mulder-coffee-table declaration? "See this guy--the one whose dick I was using as a hand-warmer--that is MY man and I want LOVE."
Forgive me. I fantasize.
The real deal was straddling my lap with her pants halfway down her thighs, her lips swollen, lovely and very, very wet and her eyes expecting more than a laugh as an answer to her whimper. I put my hands out and cupped her face. I looked into her eyes and told her everything right back without, of course, saying a word because . . . why start now?
Yes, Scully, I know you need me. Just as I need you. We need this. Not because we're sad. Or lonely. Or defeated. We need this because if we don't have it, we just may start proving some of those spontaneous human combustion theories. We need this because . . . well, just because. And it's a wonderful feeling. It's more than just two people exercising their tired bodies. It's us-- making love. Damn. After seven years, it's us, making love.
And, with the greatest of apologies to T.S. Elliot, my tale ends with a beginning. The beginning of a true romance.
This is the way our world begins . . .
This is the way our world begins . . .
This is the way our world begins . . .
Not with a bang, but a whimper.
By now, some of you are probably banging your head against the nearest metal object, saying, "Crap. I don't believe she tried to cheer up 'The Hollow Men' by TS Elliot. Will this woman's madness ever end ???" Well, technically, I had Mulder do it and he's in love so he can be forgiven, no?
Read the Hollow Men. Good angsty stuff.
If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Gina Rain
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