From: akelleynolan@yahoo.com   
      
   TITLE:  Scent of a Man   
   AUTHOR:  A. Kelley Nolan   
   EMAIL:  akelleynolan@yahoo.com   
   DISTRIBUTION:  I'd be delighted.  Just let me know.   
      
   RATING:  PG for implied sexual activity and maybe one questionable word   
   CATEGORIES:  VR   
   KEYWORDS:  Mulder/Scully romance   
   SPOILERS:  None   
      
   SUMMARY:  "It is the scent I recognize before I see him when he comes   
   up behind me, the scent that I know best and that fills my senses all   
   the way down to my toes."   
      
   FEEDBACK:  Is good karma.   
      
   Disclaimer:  Clearly I don't own them, never have, and never will.  I   
   don't own much of anything else, either, if you want the truth.   
      
   *********************   
      
   I'll never admit it to him, but a big part of the reason I'm draped   
   like a rag doll across his sweaty, heaving chest is the way he smelled.   
      
   See, it caught me by surprise.  I thought I knew every possible scent   
   Mulder has.  I've collected a sizeable – an embarrassing – database of   
   his pheromone production over the years.  It wasn't intentional, not   
   at first.  I remember distinctly that we were sitting in a car that   
   first year, on an ass-numbingly boring stakeout, and I caught a whiff   
   of him as he leaned across me to dig a bag of sunflower seeds out of   
   the glove compartment.  I thought how he smelled different after hours   
   in that car than he did in the office, and that was the beginning of   
   my research project.   
      
   After seven years, I thought I knew them all, had marked them all down   
   carefully in my mental catalogue.  I have seen the man in every   
   conceivable, and not a few inconceivable, situations, after all.  You   
   can see why I was caught off guard.   
      
   There is MorningMulder.  When he first arrives in the office, he is   
   all Ivory soap and peppermint toothpaste and clean aftershave and the   
   faintly sea-colored scent of his shampoo.  I like MorningMulder, of   
   course.  It is comfortable, familiar.  It has welcomed me to work   
   every day for years, since he is almost always there before me.  I   
   know exactly when he changes shampoos (seldom), and for the last year   
   or so I've had the little thrill each morning of the aftershave I gave   
   him for his last birthday mingling to create this scent.  It's a   
   curiously powerful feeling, as if I've somehow helped create him, and   
   I get to experience it every morning.  That might be a slight turn-on,   
   actually.   
      
   Then there's AfternoonMulder, my personal favorite.  After all the   
   ablutional stuff has worn off I catch the scent that I think of as   
   him.  AfternoonMulder, or RealMulder, is warm and golden.  I realize a   
   smell really can't be either warm or golden, but that is what he   
   brings to mind.  If I close my eyes and just breathe him in, I picture   
   dry straw under a summer sun.  A little salt, from those inevitable   
   damn seeds.  He is like summer in the California hills.  I love that,   
   and it is the scent I recognize before I see him when he comes up   
   behind me, the scent that I know best and that fills my senses all the   
   way down to my toes.   
      
   There is NakedMulder, when my scent is all over his skin.  That's what   
   he smells like right now, like me, like us, like sex and love.   
   Needless to say, I plan to experience this one every day for the rest   
   of my life.   It is beautiful.   
      
   Of course, there are many others.  After years of study, I'd be a poor   
   scholar indeed if I only had three examples in the database.   Some of   
   his scents make a little pool of warmth coil in my stomach, like   
   YMCAMulder, when the faint tang of chlorine clings to his skin because   
   he never takes enough time with that special neutralizing shampoo of   
   his to really scrub down after he swims, or SweatyMulder, when he   
   comes back from a run, which is like that golden summer scent on   
   steroids.  His sweat smells fantastic.  Or SleepyMulder, when he has   
   just awakened and his body is almost feverishly warm and his scent is   
   subtle, rich, earthy, like walking through the woods.   
      
   There are others that make my heart clench.  HospitalMulder comes to   
   mind.  Blood and Betadine and unforgiving antiseptic.  I hate that   
   one.  I hate that I know the metallic tang of Mulder's blood.   
   FrightenedMulder, with the slightly acrid scent of fear and   
   desperation.  As many times as he's faced death – and we must be well   
   into the double digits by now – I have only ever caught that somewhat   
   bitter smell when I am in danger, when he fears for me.  I wish to God   
   he'd have the sense to worry about himself, but pheromones don't lie.   
    If anything, FearlessMulder is worse.  I have seen him this way on   
   more occasions than I'd like.  Wild eyed, nothing to lose, nothing   
   left to hope for.  Those times are usually about me, too, and the   
   shocking, feral scent lingers in my nostrils for days.   
      
   Then there are the dozens of variations on him.  There is HappyMulder,   
   which always makes me think of boardwalks and bubble gum.  The scent   
   is nothing like either of those things, but it is light like a breeze,   
   relaxed, sweet.  PissyMulder makes an appearance almost strictly in   
   the presence of Skinner or some other bureaucratic toady, and I think   
   the subtle, musky shift in his body chemistry is pure testosterone at   
   those moments.  I have caught SickMulder only a few times in all the   
   years we've known each other.  Last winter when he got the flu, and   
   that whole LSD-in-the-drinking-water incident.  The top of his head   
   smells different when he's sick.  Just...wrong.  Like an imposter.   
   TakeoutMulder smells hot and spicy, all those peppers and onions and   
   fiery sauces that he loves ratcheting up his already active metabolism   
   and breathing out through his skin so that I am transported to Bangkok   
   or Madras or Marrakech just by brushing against his shoulder.   
      
   GoofyMulder, GrievingMulder, TuxedoMulder (that's a good one, very   
   rarely sniffed), HornyMulder, AirsickMulder (not a favorite),   
   StakeoutMulder, PoutingMulder, ExuberantMulder...they all have slight   
   but distinct variations, and I can tell his mood just by closing my   
   eyes and inhaling.  He doesn't know I do this, thank God.  He thinks   
   it's all about the eyes, and that's just as well, because   
   MischievousMulder has a scent, too, and it's a dangerous one.   
      
   But this one was new to me.  I don't even know what to call it except,   
   maybe, ScullyMulder.  God, this is so embarrassing.  I think I'd shoot   
   him before I'd let him find out.  You see, he stayed over last night,   
   all night, which he's never done.  It's not a luxury we get all that   
   often, and for some reason our all-night romps have all been at his   
   place, even though mine is bigger, cleaner, better stocked, and just   
   generally nicer.  Regardless, last night he stayed here.  All night,   
   wrapped in my arms.  I loved it.  We woke up in the middle of the   
   night and made slow, silent love, and when I woke in the morning he   
   was still there, his arm draped heavily over me, the scent of   
   NakedMulder on the sheets.   
      
   The sleepover wasn't expected, though, so he had nothing with him   
   except the set of emergency clothes that he's kept at my place for   
   years.  He had to make do with my stuff, an extra toothbrush from the   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)