From: khyber@citizensofgravity.com   
      
   TITLE: Vapour Trail   
   AUTHOR: Khyber (yes, THAT Khyber.)   
   E-MAIL: khyber@citizensofgravity.com   
   DISTRIBUTION: Ephemeral, Gossamer, please ask for anywhere else.   
   RATING: PG-13 for implied sex   
   CATEGORIES: SR   
   KEYWORDS: Mulder / Scully romance.   
   SPOILERS:  Oh, come on. All of late S7, especially "Je Souhaite."   
   SUMMARY: Post-ep for "Je Souhaite." Scully's not making this too   
   easy.   
      
   Disclaimer: Nope, nobody making any money.   
      
   Author's Notes: More angsty fun if you think of this as Friday, and   
   "Requiem" as Monday. Also, I was thinking of calling this "Gong   
   Endir" in an attempt to win something for "Most Cryptic Songfic   
   Ever."   
      
   * * *   
      
   "So, was that a wish, Mulder?"   
      
   "Well, I was gonna go for invisibility, but I've heard that isn't   
   as cool as you'd think."   
      
   I rolled up on one elbow and probably gave him the eyebrow. If he   
   was going to wish something involving me, he'd probably wish my   
   ovaries back, or something equally noble.   
      
   "No, seriously, that was apparently my native charm and the   
   undeniable romantic appeal of Caddyshack."   
      
   "I was trying to think of a way to get out of watching the last   
   half of Caddyshack. Maybe it was my wish."   
      
   "Works every time."   
      
   He likes the way it's going this time. Except for three nights ago   
   in Missouri, it's been all me, me slipping into the bedroom, me   
   casually sliding my starlet-gown off in one smooth move (I was   
   proud of that one), me rolling across the couch to straddle him and   
   growling to turn the damn movie off. He likes being absolved of the   
   guilt, if there is any. Mulder's seductions, except for the   
   baseball incident, are inevitably dark, scenery-mangling affairs   
   with loaded phrases and impossible promises. I may have to give him   
   the credit on this one, though, for a moment immediately before   
   that awful Kenny Loggins song started when he glanced down at my   
   lips, my neck, in a way that hinted of possession.   
      
   "Are you going to tell me what that last wish was?"   
      
   Mulder laughed. He was laying on his back, I on my side, sheet   
   tucked and tugged to flatter me a little.   
      
   "Are you suspiscious?"   
      
   "Well, it's a very practical concern. I mean, trouble, often fatal   
   trouble, seems to follow wherever her carpet lands."   
      
   "That won't be a problem anymore."   
      
   "You released her, didn't you."   
      
   I touched him, carefully, running my fingertip over his bare   
   shoulder. I rarely start the touching; that's almost always his   
   job. But I was having trouble keeping everything in line, fresh   
   from an orgasm that felt like it gently removed my skeleton and   
   left it laying beside the bed. My hand continues on his chest, and   
   one of my feet slides over his calf.   
      
   "Yeah, I did."   
      
   "I though you might."   
      
   "Why?"   
      
   "Because while you're probably not the first person who's thought   
   of it, you're the first who would actually do it."   
      
   "Was that a very, very backhanded compliment?"   
      
   "No. It's a real compliment. It sounds funny in this day and age,   
   Mulder, but you're an honourable man. An occasionally foolish and   
   frustrating one, but an honourable one."   
      
   On that note, I rolled on my back, drawing myself up on my elbows   
   and beginning to look around for my clothes. Mulder's hand ran down   
   my bicep. I tensed it like a teenage boy.   
      
   "Are you going?"  he asked.   
      
   "I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing."   
      
   "Well, don't go yet."   
      
   "I don't know, Mulder..."   
      
   I should have been able to do better than that. I didn't want to   
   leave, but there was something old and chilly pushing me between my   
   shoulder blades, pushing me up and out of his bed.   
      
   "Scully, it's one in the morning. It's Friday anyway. Are you going   
   to make me get sentimental here?"   
      
   "This should be good," I said. Temporarily reprieved from carrying   
   out my sacred and lonely duty, I lay down beside him and we reverse   
   our previous positions, Mulder up on one elbow. I know he's hoping   
   that I'll have a stray hair that needs taking care of, but he had   
   to continue without props.   
      
   "I know that we are not supposed to speak of these things. But, I   
   mean, in seven years we... this has happened before, and I think,   
   you know, we usually managed to pick the very wrong times to do the   
   right thing."   
      
   "You're saying this is the right thing to do?" It came out right,   
   for once, not questioning, actually asking.   
      
   "Well, we're ending up here a lot lately, and I don't sense an aura   
   of impending crisis."   
      
   "The time before last was totally a crisis. You'd nearly been   
   killed by mutant tobacco beetles. And two years ago we were pretty   
   out of control for a couple of months, so it's not completely   
   without precedent."   
      
   "Scully, it feels different, and you know it."   
      
   "You're right, Mulder, but it's complicated. I mean, we work   
   together, and after everything that's happened..."   
      
   "Aw, Scully... how can you say that with a straight face? This   
   isn't like we're waking up after a Christmas party gone wrong and   
   going 'oh, shit, what's your name again?'"   
      
   He's right. That was embarrassingly weak, like a parody of   
   something I would have said years ago.   
      
   "I'm not sure I mean that, Mulder. I think it's just some sort of   
   conditioned response. I have to say it."   
      
   "I'm not sure what I mean either. But I don't want to forget this,   
   Scully, I don't want to pretend it's not there."   
      
   "So, what...? The same, with admittedly extraordinary sex on a   
   slightly more regular basis?"   
      
   What I meant to say was that he was a crazy and beautiful man, and   
   that we should immediately move to Fiji and become scuba   
   instructors. However, I wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't have just   
   agreed with me.   
      
   "Verging on paranormal." He chuckles. "I don't know, Scully. I told   
   Skinner a few years ago that my future plans were in the X-files   
   somewhere."   
      
   "If you tell me that your future plans are me, I am so not going to   
   believe you."   
      
   "That's not exactly where I'm going," he begins. The way he   
   hesitates lets me know that it's a false etreat. "... but what if   
   you were right that morning before I went off chasing crop circles   
   in England? What if all that's in the X-files is more X-files?"   
      
   "Am I really hearing this, Mulder?" I tried to make it sound like   
   I'm calling bullshit, but he moves close to me and I'm betrayed,   
   suddenly conscious of the warm rush of contentment. The nearness of   
   his body reminds me of being held, touched, penetrated, adored. The   
   urge to purr and snuggle and do other terrible things is almost   
   overwhelming. I smile at him. "Keep talking, this is going to be   
   pure gold for future arguments."   
      
   "I can't do this anymore, Scully. This bullshit, this now-and-again   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)