Title: Not With a Bang   
   Author: Gina Rain (ginarain@aol.com)   
   Rating: R   
   Category: Fluff   
   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.   
      
   XXXXXXXXXX   
      
      
   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-coffee-   
   table, beat-my-chest-with-both- fists, "she-is-my-woman-   
   and-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 …   
      
   Everything.   
      
   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   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)