This is a piece of (hopefully) original fan fiction, and in no way is meant to infringe on the copyrights of Chris Carter, Fox Television, and/or Ten-Thirteen Productions. And before they think about suing me, they should just realize that I'm in their most-valued viewing demographics, and if they take all my money away I won't be able to buy all that lovely merchandise...




IN VINO VERITAS
by suricata




Saturday

10:05pm

Mulder stopped at the door, rechecking the address scribbled on the piece of paper clenched in his hand, even though it was stored clearly in his memory along with countless other, less frightening bits of information. He frowned, questioning his choice of words. Frightening?

He considered the door: gunmetal grey, sided by a grimy window filled with black and white photographs of boxers past and present, kept company by one lonely blue-white neon sign for Miller Genuine Draft. Not the most preposing place. Alone, he wouldn't have looked twice at the narrow bar. It certainly wasn't what he expected for the retirement party of one Jason MacKenzie Alexander. "Mackey" Alexander. FBI legend. Arson specialist extraordinare. And the man who had first spotted Dana Scully's potential; contacted, courted and recruited her for the Bureau.

His partner had spoken warmly of the older man, but his most recent assignment had been in Tucson, so Mulder had never met him. Now the legend was about to retire, and his fellow agents were throwing him a no-tie required bash at his favorite Washington watering hole to celebrate.

Scully had left the message about the party on his answering machine when she knew he would be out running. No pressure -- and no chance for him to come up with an excuse. So here he was, trying to decide if this was a good idea or not. Walking into a party in progress, full of people who knew him only as "Spooky" Mulder, wasn't his idea of a good Saturday night. She *asked* you to come, he reminded himself when he would have turned away from the door. Asked, in that almost diffident -- almost shy -- manner she had developed since... since not-Samantha, he thought. Since he woke up in that military hospital, her wide smile of relief the most beautiful thing he had ever hoped to see.

Taking a deep breath, he ran one hand through his hair, and pushed open the door.

Immediately to his left there was a long, well-stocked bar, two deep with mostly men, ranging in age from barely legal to wizened geezers in workboots and denim shirts. On his right was -- wall. The entire building wasn't more than ten feet wide, an alley with a roof. Pushing through the crowd, Mulder worked his way to the back, where a jukebox partially blocked three steps upward. After the steps, the bar widened slightly, opening to a small rectangular room lined with more photos of boxers and filled with rickety tables, and packed with some thirty loud, drunk people. A flash of auburn caught his eye, and he spotted his partner crowded into a corner between two men who were obviously in the middle of an argument. Scully was watching the two of them like a spectator at a tennis match, a small smile on her face and a beer in her hand. Apparently displeased with something one of them said, she slammed her beer down on the table to get their attention and launched into her own speech, waving one small hand in the older man's face to make her point.

Mulder caught the waitress' attention and asked what they had on draught. She looked at him as though he had asked for caviar, listing what they had in bottles. He ordered a Bass, and leaned against an unoccupied wall, watching Scully stop to take a swig of her own beer, thereby losing the floor to the other, younger man next to her. There was something -- off -- about his partner tonight. He frowned, then shook his head. Of course there was. She was drunk.

Mulder took his beer from the waitress, pulled two bills from his wallet and placed them on her tray with a nod of thanks. Suddenly, this party got a lot more interesting.

Scully looked up just then and saw him. Her face lighting up, she waved one arm, indicating he should join them, and hit the man to her right with her elbow, telling him to make room for her partner.

"Mulder! This," and she indicated the older man to her left, "is Mackey. Mack, Fox Mulder."

The guest of honor waved Mulder to the seat the departed agent had vacated. "Scully wasn't sure you'd make it," he said in a gravelly bass. "Sad when you can't depend on a Fibbie to show up for drinks."

"It's a failing," Mulder agreed seriously.

Scully made a face at both of them, finishing her beer and gesturing to the waitress as the woman slowly worked her way through the crowd. "Mack, you ready for another?"

"Fill 'er up," he said. "So, Mulder, any truth to the rumor you're weird?"

Mulder smiled despite himself. Scully was right. Mackey Alexander didn't waste any time with bullshit.

Mulder stared at his beer, trying to remember if it was his fourth or fifth. Somehow he hadn't been paying attention when Mackey had ordered another round earlier, and he'd lost count.

No, that's not exactly true, he told himself. The reason you can't remember is because you've been paying too much attention to Scully. Or, being completely accurate, to Scully's thigh. In the crowded confines of their table, his partner had gotten pressed up against him, her shoulder rubbing his arm, her thigh pressed against his. Once she had reached across the table to pass an ashtray to someone, and her free hand had landed on his thigh, leaning on him for balance. Her fingers had tightened briefly, then she had pulled away, but not before alarms had gone off in every nerve ending he owned.

Even moving down the table from her, mixing with other people, hadn't helped. In the stale air of the bar he could smell the undertones of her perfume, the tang of her sweat. She wore a light fragrance most days, something that smelled of vanilla. Several months into their partnership, he had discovered that the smell of fresh-baked cookies made him hard. It was damn embarrassing. It also gave eating chocolate chip cookies an oddly erotic feel. Every time he bit down, he would close his eyes and think of Scully. He'd had to increase the number of laps he swam, to keep pace with the results of his sublimination. Tonight that scent was following him, through all the other smells of the bar, like he had become part bloodhound.

Right now the source of his discomfort was involved in a detailed discussion of the OJ trial being highlighted on the small television against the far wall. She was saying something about how Simpson should fry just on general principle. He couldn't remember hearing her quite so... bloodthirsty before. It looked good on her. She was laughing now at something the other woman said, her hands running though her hair to lift it away from her face. She gestured to the television, where an "expert witness" was being shown talking about DNA testing, and said something that made the others groan. Mulder heard something about "extreme possibilities" and grinned, shaking his head. He didn't think he wanted to know...

"Okay, folks. Close the polls, no trial talk while I'm at the table." Mackey shoved his way back to their table, ordering the man next to Mulder out of his seat with one jerk of his thumb. The black man grinned, salaaming as he slid out of the chair. Mackey sat down with a groan, a fresh beer in his hand. His eyes were a little red, and his gait somewhat lopsided, but other than that he was holding up pretty well in the face of the determined partying going on here.

"So, Mulder. Scully ever tell you 'bout how I hooked her?"

Mulder shook his head. "Can't say as she has," he said, aware that Scully was reaching for another beer. She'd only had two more since he showed up, but with her body weight, it probably didn't take much more than what she'd had to put her out for the night. He grinned to himself, thinking of the headache she was going to have tomorrow. He wondered if she was a nasty morning-after, because based on the evidence she was definitely a cheerful drunk.

"Well," Mack said, warming to the story. "Back now about five -five? yeah five years ago, there was a blast at an office building which just happened to house an a-coun-ting bizness that the Bureau was investigating on several suspicions of mob related nature. Someone suddenly remembers that they've got this so-called arson guy on payroll, and decides to make me earn my munificent paycheck."

There was a burst of laughter at that, which Mackey graciously acknowledged, a King responding to his Court. "So I headed out, fire-sniffer in hand, to check the extreme possibility that it was related to the pending case. I get there, the scene is a madhouse. Firefighters all over the place, paramedics, people crying and carrying on, and everybody's covered with soot, can't tell the victims from the players. So I try to set up shop, get some answers from the idiots milling about and generally making the scene unreadable. Someone blocks my light, and so I look up. Standing in front of me's this bit of a thing, asking if I'm the guy investigating. I say yes, and she tells me she's got someone I should take a look at. I ain't no doctor, I tell her. She stares at me with this Look, says 'that much is obvious' in this schoolmarm voice."

Out of the corner of his eye, Mulder could see Scully shaking her head in embarrassment, one hand to her face as though to hide. If there had been room under the rickety table, she might have slid under it. She looked about eighteen at that moment.

"Anyway, I try to brush her off, thinking she's some candyassed bystander. She gets mad, stomps away. Then she comes back, asks me if I would be interested in a man with scarring pattern across his hands. A pattern that would indicate probable exposure to incendiary fluids, close range." Mackey shook his head, recalling the scene. "A truly beautiful moment, that was. This clever bastard'd gotten caught in the confusion, thought to blend in with the crowd. Would have, too. Some overworked medic would've bandaged him up, sent him home, and I would have been out one very important lead. Broke him, solved the case," Mack reached past Mulder to chuck Scully under the chin. "Got the Bureau one hell of a recruit."

"You want to show him my prom pictures too?" Scully said, snorting. Mack grinned. "Nah. But I got those photos from Nick's boat launching." He grinned at Mulder, eyebrows waggling. "She looks pretty good in a bikini."

"Careful, Mack. =I= still have a permit to carry. Yours expired ten minutes ago," she said before Mulder could ask to see the photos.

Mack glanced down at his watch, then stood up, banging his bottle against the table to get the crowd's attention. "I'm a free man!" he roared. "Somebody buy me a drink, goddamnit!"

Scully looked longingly at her beer, then put it down resolutely.

"Had enough, huh?"

She looked up at him, and Mulder caught his breath. Her skin was flushed, her eyes wide and shining. He'd seen that look before, just never on her face. Not unless guilty daydreams counted, anyway. The air conditioning had given up several hours before, and her cotton vest clung to her in a way that Frohicke would have appreciated. He felt himself sway towards her, focusing on her lips, wet from that last sip of beer. He caught himself barely in time, one hand landing on her shoulder, fingers curling against the soft flesh of her shoulder. A new song came on the jukebox, and she grinned, grabbing him by the collar. "C'mon, Mulder. Let's dance."

His jaw dropped, but he followed her out into the spaces between the tables, unresisting. There were already a number of people clogging the cleared area. Scully turned to him with a smile, stepping closer and beginning to move with the music. She danced quite well, he noted, watching her hips move with more than aesthetic appreciation. The last time he could remember dancing had been with Phoebe. Mulder took a swig of his beer to wash away that memory, and grabbed his partner by the hand, swinging her into his arms as Van Morrison sang "Moondance" in the background. Her head barely reached his shoulder, the warmth that had been teasing at his senses all evening now firmly pressed against his body. Certain portions of his anatomy stirred, the combination of beer and proximity working its usual alchemy. His erection pushed against the confines of his jeans, urging him to dire acts.

Mulder had drunk just enough not to worry about consequences for once. It was enough that she was there, that he had an excuse to hold her, feel her within his arms. She had pulled her hair back into a ponytail sometime during the evening, and he could see the sweat glistening along the side of her neck. He wondered, just for an instant, if the sweat ran all the way along her spine, and mentally kicked himself for the images that conjured up. As though he didn't have a warehouse of them stored in his memory already, just waiting for a weak moment on his part to take over.

Scully took the now-empty bottle from him, handing it to the passing waitress. His hand, freed, found its way to her hip, pulling her closer against his body. They moved to the left, and the brush of her denims against his groin sent another surge of unneeded libido straight to his brain. His breath caught in his throat, and the resulting urge to drag her into a dark corner and fuck her until she screamed left him dizzier than the combined beer he had drunk. Taking a step back to clear his brain didn't seem to help, either, since Scully followed his movement, her arms sliding around him. Her breath was warm against his neck, the pressure of her body against his a reminder of why he kept his physical contacts with her brief. Well, he admitted to himself, brief and frequent. He had traded off in his mind -- if he couldn't hold her, he would simply have to keep reminding himself what she felt like, small doses at a time.

But now he was holding her, and not because she was frightened, or hurt, or... but she was drunk, a killjoy voice reminded him. So enjoy it while you can, but don't get too used to it. Yeah, yeah, yeah, he said to the voice, tilting his partner back into a dip. She staggered a little at the change in orientation, bumping up against the people still drinking. So much for grace under pressure, he thought, pulling her upright.

"Sorry," Scully called out to the bumpees, laughing. She twisted in his grasp to see who they had knocked into. Mulder swallowed, painfully dragging his gaze away from the vee of her vest, having caught a glimpse of black lace exposed underneath by her actions. Suddenly the

crowded room, which had been merely close before, was suffocating him. Scully, you're killing me, he told her silently.

The music stopped for a moment while someone fed more coins into the jukebox, and he took that excuse to move them back to the chairs, leaning her against the wall when no seats opened up. She waved to the waitress, apparently having forgotten her decision not to drink any more.

"You sure that's a good idea?" he asked.

"You my mother now, Mulder?" Her enunciation was perfect, only the cant of her body betraying how much she had had to drink. Mulder shook his head, aware that he wasn't too steady on his feet either. "Grab me one too," he said, giving up. "I've got to use the little agent's room."

He escaped to the tiny bathroom, where he locked himself in and let his hand slip inside his jeans, trying to adjust things a little more comfortably down there. He was tempted to bring himself some relief, but some perverse smidge of self-respect made him stop. If he had sunk to the depth of jacking off in the washroom of some dive bar... Mulder closed his eyes, his overactive imagination picturing Scully in there with him, her mouth on him, his fingers tangled in her hair... Staring at himself in the cracked mirror, he laughed without humor. "Jesus, Mulder," he said. "Get a grip on reality. Dana Scully is off-limits. Do you hear me? Off limits." He ran the water, splashing it onto his face. Reaching for a paper towel, he stared at himself again in the mirror. "Off limits," he said a third time, trying to convince himself. Returning to where he left Scully, Mulder noted two things. One, the bar had cleared out noticeably. Two, his partner had disappeared.

"Spooky!"

He swung around to track the voice, almost falling into Cotter Rabison, the only person Mulder had ever met who he felt had gotten a worse ticket in the names lottery. "Hey, Mulder, you've =got= to see this."

`This' turned out to be Mackey and Jenny Whistler engaged in a to-the-death shooting match. The two were seated at the bar, turned so that they could face each other, a row of empty shot glasses testifying to the intensity of the battle. Mulder immediately threw a dollar bill down in the bar next to Jenny. The woman, a veteran of the much-maligned tech support staff, was barely five foot tall, a hundred pounds with weights on. If she had the guts to take on Mackey, Mulder figured there had to be a reason other than sheer deathwish. He hoped.

The two combatants knocked back another round to ragged cheers. Mulder shook his head in amazement, turning to talk to Rabison. But the other agent had moved away, and was now talking with Mulder's missing partner. Apparently they were old friends. The noise level was so high, she had to reach up and drag his ear down to her level. He put an arm around her shoulders, steadying them both. "I love this job!" Mulder heard her yell at him. "I fucking =love= this job!"

"You're drunk," Cotter said, laughing down at her.

"Oh, brilliant observation, Rabison. You must've been top of your class."

He leered at her. "Wanna go back to my place and see my transcripts? I promise I'll respect you in the morning. Maybe even more so," he said with an endearing waggle of his greying eyebrows.

Mulder reached them just then, his hand coming down on Scully's shoulder in what he hoped was a casual manner. She started, falling backwards into his arms.

"I seem to be throwing myself into men's arms all night," she said, only half-joking. "Only they're all throwing me back. I'm beginning to get a..." the word escaped her for a moment.

"A complex?" Mulder asked, not moving his arms from around her.

"Yeah." She nodded once, satisfied. "Complex. Damn but you're useful to have around, Mulder."

"You're smashed, Scully." Mulder tried to keep a straight face, but he knew that she knew that he was laughing. She pushed her lips into a pout. "Why does everyone keep pointing that out? =I'm= the one drinking, I know damn well I'm drunk."

No, not drunk. Plastered. Hammered. Righteously shitfaced. Mulder could almost believe that someone had stolen his partner, replacing her with a woman who looked like Scully, talked like Scully, but did not behave like Scully. Or maybe she does, he thought suddenly. This is the first time you've seen her really cut loose. Maybe she does this every chance she gets. No-one else seems the slightest bit surprised. In fact, when he had asked about his partner's whereabouts, someone had suggested he check the alley out back. That apparently was the punchline of some story involving Scully, because everyone had started laughing. How much else have you been missing out on, not accepting her invitations? he wondered. It had always seemed safer somehow, keeping out of her off-duty life. Safer for both of them, and their partnership.

He had long ago analyzed his inability to maintain relationships, and concluded that he was better off keeping sex and friendship in two neat, completely separate, boxes. Dana Scully had been the first woman in years to challenge that decision, and only the knowledge that coming on to her would be the first step to screwing up their partnership had kept his hands in his own pockets rather than hers. That little tete-a-tete with his libido in the washroom would be evidence enough, should anyone need it.

But he was doing fine tonight, in the face of all temptation. He was behaving himself, acting perfectly normal, holding her -- he realized suddenly that he was still holding her. More, in the press of the crowd she had somehow wiggled back against him, the curves of her body fitting against his, head tilted against his shoulder as she lifted the beer to her lips. He looked down, noticing with a detached portion of his mind that a button had come lose on her vest. The silhouette of her cleavage revealed by that made him want to slide one hand down into that shadow, cup the flesh, lifting her breasts free of that lace... He broke those images off abruptly, feeling his face flush. You're acting like a goat in rut, he thought in disgust. Why the hell couldn't it be someone else who does this to me? Why Scully, damnit?!

He knew why, of course. It was inevitable, considering the conditions, the situations they worked under. There were all sorts of case histories he could look up, dry, rational =scientific= explanations for the emotions that she made twist in his gut even when she wasn't present. And he also knew that they were all bullshit.

"Hey, Dana, weren't you getting a ride home with Sandy? 'Cause she just left," someone

yelled from across the bar.

"That'll teach you to put your trust in =anybody= from Personnel. They'll shaft you every time," Cotter said. "So, wanna reconsider my offer?"

"I don't know," she said thoughtfully. "What're you offering for breakfast? Because I don't go home with =anyone= for less than a home-cooked meal."

"Lets me out then," he said regretfully. "Best I can offer is an egg McMuffin and coffee."

"Bzzzt. Wrong answer. Agent Rabison goes home by his lonely self, again. Although, for really good coffee..." she let her voice trail off suggestively, giving him a smoldering, sideways glance.

"We can share a cab," Mulder said right on cue, pulling her back. "Come on."

Dana grinned at Cotter as Mulder tugged her towards the door. "Sorry. My guardian doesn't think you're fit company for me."

"He's probably right," Rabison yelled back. "Go sleep it off, Scully."

She barely had time to deposit her empty bottle on the bar before Mulder dragged her outside. Taking a deep breath of the hot summer air, Scully smiled up at him. "Of course, since our apartments are nowhere near each others, nobody will believe that was anything other than a belated attempt to preserve my virtue."

"Obviously a wasted effort," he growled, looking down the street for an available cab. If he didn't get away from her, and soon, Mulder refused to be held responsible for what happened. He might spank her. The thought of her bottom bared made his mouth go dry, and he shivered despite the heat. Jesus, Spooky. What're you, fifteen? Get a grip!

Standing in front of him, Scully reached up and laced her fingers around the back of his neck. "I'm beyond salvation, huh? A fallen woman. So sad." Her hips swayed suggestively, her breasts brushing against his chest.

Mulder raised his hands to her shoulders, pushing her arms down gently. I'm trying to behave, he told the uncaring heavens. So please stop sending temptation my way! "You're drunk, Scully," he told her again.

She laughed, a low, enticing sound. "And your point being...?"

A cab drove along the street in front of the bar, and he hailed it, one hand still on her arm. When the cab pulled up, he opened the door and handed her inside. For a moment he seriously considered sending her off alone, then he sighed and got in as well, giving the driver her address.

The twenty minute ride through deserted streets was completed in silence. Had he only imagined that she stayed in his arms longer than needed when he held her, that her attention had been distracted when he was near? Or was it there, that simmering need that had been growing, unacknowledged, for too long now, in her as well as him? Fox Mulder wanted very badly to find out. Maybe it was the booze, maybe just a reaction to hanging out in a bar, bringing back the college memories of being on the prowl, maybe it was just the smell of her perfume, for god's sake, but he wanted very badly to crawl across the vinyl seat, crawl into her lap and make her see him as a body as well as a mind, a man instead of her partner. With drunken, mortified honesty, he acknowledged that only the presence of the cab driver was keeping him from acting on those thoughts. If they'd been alone...

"Get a grip," he told himself sternly, fighting down the wave of arousal that accompanied those mental images. Since when did you stoop to seducing drunk women? Even if she wasn't your partner, that would be a dumb idea. Very, very dumb.

The cab pulled up in front of her building, and Dana reached for the door, then looked over her shoulder at him.

"Come on up," she invited. "I know for a fact that you don't have decent coffee at your place."

He stood in the doorway of her small kitchen, watching his partner rummage in the freezer for coffee beans. He still didn't know what he was doing there. Common sense told him to go home, let them sleep tonight -- this morning -- off =alone.= Scully was sending out signals even a blind man couldn't miss, and he didn't know if it was aimed at him, or any available male. It could just be something that happened when she got drunk, and she didn't mean anything personal by it at all. Which meant that =he= had to be the responsible one. They'd been working together for almost three years, for christ's sake, and she'd never given him any indication of interest before. Had she? Mulder shook his head mentally. No. Of course, he had been told, on a number of occasions by people who would know, that he could be dumber than a mule when it came to women...

The sound of the bean grinder jerked him from his thoughts. She was leaning against the counter, watching him, a tiny smile on her lips.

No, he realized suddenly. Dana Scully knew exactly what she was doing, and to whom. Which put a whole new spin on a lot of things. For a moment he was angry -- how =dare= she put him through the hell he'd been through tonight! -- then he was taking the three steps required to close the space between them.

They stood like that, inches apart, for several long heartbeats. The grinder finished, its roar puttering down to a high-pitched whine. Mulder reached past her, flipping the off switch without taking his gaze off her face.

Slowly Dana put her hand on his shoulder, sliding gentle fingers down his arm, feeling him shiver beneath the touch. He closed his eyes, swallowing once, his throat convulsing. "Scully, I'm not up to any games. Not about this. Not from you."

Her hand returned to his shoulder, then traced the line of his jaw, her fingers steady and sure. "I'm not playing games, Mulder."

He wanted to sink into her voice, lose himself in that warmth forever. Her other hand curling against the back of his neck, she pulled him forward, her lips brushing against his in a butterfly-light caress.

Then she pulled away, regarding him with a solemn gaze. "I don't play games," she repeated. "I'm here. The door is over there. The decision's yours."

Mulder backed away from her; one step, then another, never looking away from those soft, patient eyes. She was drunk, she wouldn't be saying that if she wasn't. He was going to chalk tonight up to booze and friendship and a galloping case of heat-induced pheremones. He was.

Then his arms were moving of their own accord, pulling her forward, fingers tangling in her hair, holding her still while his mouth came down heavy on hers, taking everything that was offered and looking for more, searching for the point where she would draw back, deny him access to some part of herself. They slammed up against the counter, her fingers digging into the back of his shirt, pulling him deeper into the intoxication of her scent, her touch, and he realized that the moment of denial wasn't going to come.

He pulled away, breathing hard. The alcohol had been purged from his system, but something else was running though his veins, making it difficult to speak.

Dana smiled. He wished to god that he knew what that smile meant. "Mulder,"

He started.

"You're not taking advantage of me. And I promise not to take advantage of you."

Obviously giving him time to come to terms with her words, she turned away, removing the ground coffee from its container and shaking it into the paper filter. "Let's face it, half the Bureau probably thinks we're sleeping together already. I keep expecting Skinner to cut our budget to only allow for one motel room."

Mulder knew that she was only partially kidding. There had been enough comments made to him, envious and otherwise, in the past few years, to bear it out. Maybe that was why he'd run from it for so long, that fear of falling into 'the expected thing.' God, how cliched, sleeping with your partner! But now he knew the taste of her skin, the smell of her sweat, and he didn't know if he could walk out of this apartment without finishing that offered meal. If I stay, we're risking everything just for sex. But if I leave...

Enough! he thought suddenly, sweeping all of his doubts into a small mental closet and locking the door securely. It was too late to leave. It had been too late from the moment she invited him up, and they both knew it.

He reached out and pulled the fabric band out of her hair, watching as the pale red strands tumbled down. His fingers wove through them, sweeping it up to bare her neck once again. His head bend to taste the salt at the nape, his senses literally reeling from the smell/taste/feel of her.

Nipping at the curve of her neck, his arms reached around her waist, pulling her firmly

against him. Hands resting on the countertop, she pushed back, her head falling forward to allow him better access. "Mmmm..."

"You like that, huh?"

He could swear that he heard her purr, the sound more deeply arousing that he could have imagined from any other woman. She twisted her head, trying to look at him, see his expression. His hand left her waist, pushing her chin to face forward. Sparks flew down her spine as he brushed soft kisses along the exposed flesh, breaking the pattern with flicks of his tongue that made her moan.

"Oh yeah. I think you like that."

He could feel the pulse in her neck, kissing the soft skin over it. She wiggled against him, her backside pressing up against him, moving against him until he thought he was going to explode. "Damn it, Scully," he growled into her ear, "are you trying to kill me? Because, so help me, I'm going to take you with me" He warmed to the topic. "You're not going to be able to breathe when I get through with you. I'm going to watch your eyes roll back and your skin flush, and every muscle in your body is going to take at least a week to recover."

"Braggart," she murmured.

He swung her around, forcing her chin up. "Promises, Scully. Promises." He ran one finger down the vee of her vest, stopping when he hit the lace of her bra. He knew that it was only a trick of the light, and his own perception, but he could have sworn that Scully's eyes darkened. His slid his hand down further, hooking one finger under the clasp. One upward twist, and he lifted the fabric away from her skin, his palm rubbing against nipples already hardened.

He wanted to go slowly, prolong the moment, watch her face soften and her eyes fog, but he couldn't. Like a kid forced to wait for Christmas morning, he wanted his present unwrapped now. Grabbing her at the waist, he lifted her onto the counter, pushing the coffee and grinder to the side. Before she could do more than gasp, he had unbuttoned her vest, sliding it off her shoulders and dropping it on the floor. Her bra followed, then his hands were all over her, stroking her into escalating heat. Scully moaned, her own hands busily fumbling with buttons of his shirt. Letting out a frustrated whimper, she tugged hard at the material, and buttons flew across the floor. Satisfied, she leaned forward, biting at the pale skin exposed at his neck.

"God, you've got the most bitable skin I've ever seen," she said in a whisper, her hands fastening at his waistband. He yelped as she nipped a particularly sensitive spot, then retaliated by pinning her shoulders to the cabinet and lowering his mouth to one smooth breast. Carefully avoiding the nipple, he left a row of faint purple-red marks in his wake. She arched against his mouth, trying unsuccessfully to free herself. "Mulder..."

He raised his head to find her watching him, her eyes heavy-lidded. He could feel her trembling under his hands, and he wanted nothing more than to take her there, on the counter. But she wasn't going to escape that easily. Not after two and a half years of self-restraint on his part. If tomorrow, when they sobered up, she regretted this, at least he'd have these memories to fill the long, sleepless nights. Something she wouldn't be able to forget.

His gaze was caught by something in the cabinet she had left open when retrieving the coffee filters, and a smile crept onto his face that Scully could only describe as sinful. She tried to turn her head to see what he was looking at, but couldn't see into the shelves. "What..."

He released one shoulder to reach out, withdrawing a small bottle.

"Oh." She looked at him, her eyes gone wide. And then, in a completely different voice, "oh."

Releasing her, he opened the bottle, dipping his finger to withdraw one liquid drop. He held the honey over her mouth, dripping just a bit onto her lips. Before she could lick it away, he bent and did it himself, the honey slick against her skin.

Her mouth opening for the next drop, she closed it around his finger, her tongue taking the honey and lingering to taste him as well. Her teeth rasped against a knuckle as he withdrew the finger. He kissed her again, his tongue demanding entrance. She gave it gladly, her own tongue meeting his, taking the taste of honey deep into her own mouth. Mulder imagined that tongue on his skin, thought of his penis in her mouth, and almost came then and there.

He pulled back, a wicked gleam in his eyes. Tipping the bottle, they both watched as a slow golden stream dropped onto her skin, cold and sticky. Holding the bottle at a careful angle,

Mulder laced the honey carefully over the tops of her breasts, letting it trickle down the cleft between.

Although he had let go of her, Scully didn't move, her eyes locked on the flow of honey. Then her eyes closed as his head lowered to follow, his tongue warm and soft as he cleaned the sweetness from her skin. Her hands tangled in his hair, memorizing the coarse texture, the slippery feel of the sweat gathering at his neck.

A groan came from the back of her throat as he suckled one nipple almost to the point of pain. "Oh god, Mulder. You feel so damn good. So. Damn. Good."

He bit down ever-so-gently, and her fingers convulsed in his hair. Her body shifted under his, urging him on. He drew back to look at her, his hands holding her at the hips so that she didn't slide off the counter. Her upper torso glistened where his tongue had cleaned the honey off. Mulder noted one drop trailing its way down her abdomen and bent his head to capture it. Her stomach muscles tightened under his touch, and he lingered there, his tongue darting into her navel. She giggled and moaned in one noise.

"I should get you drunk more often," he said thickly, drunk again on her reactions.

"I got myself drunk," she corrected him. "You're just reaping the benefits." She looked down at him, her eyes filled with mischief. "If I don't pass out first."

Mulder smiled, a very, very naughty smile. "I don't think that's going to be a problem, Scully," he said, his fingers trailing under the waistband of her jeans. He bent further and unsnapped the closure, finding the zipper tongue with his teeth and drawing it down slowly. That done, he fitted his hands underneath her ass and lifted slightly. She squeaked, her knees clenching at his hips.

"Whoops. Room spins," she told him. "Wheee..."

Shaking his head, Mulder slid the jeans down over her legs, regretfully peeling her off of him in order to do so. That done, Scully half-lay against the edge of the counter wearing only a pair of very unpractical, very black, very silky underwear. "Well, well, well. Another aspect of Dr. Dana Scully revealed. Let me guess, a stocking stuffer from Melissa?"

Scully blushed, but grinned. "Nope. From my mom. Melissa got me" and she leaned over to whisper in his ear, causing Mulder to lose his balance and fall backwards, Scully coming forward to land on top of him when he hit the floor.

"Whoops," she giggled. Mulder, a little more winded, lay on his back looking up at his partner, her hair falling in clumps around her face. With her knees tucked alongside him, she looked, Mulder thought, very much like a red-haired Lady Godiva. He played with that image for a few seconds, then decided that, in her present mood, Scully would probably take to it all too well, and he wasn't sure how good he'd look with spur marks. Not to mention the fact that they'd be real difficult to explain when he got his yearly physical next week.

Lifting his knees so that she had something to lean against, Mulder ran his hands along her thighs, urging her backwards. "You're limber," he said in appreciation, watching her back arch

away from him. "Years and years of gymnastics," she told him. "I thought I was Nadia Whats-her-name." She reached back and grabbed his toes, the skin stretching along her ribcage.

"Now you're showing off," he said, licking one thumb and flicking it against her nipple just to see what happened. The muscles in her legs tightened, but she maintained her position. He was impressed, and said so. Slowly she brought herself forward, grimacing as her back cracked slightly. "Guess I'm not as limber as I thought."

"Oh, I don't know," he said thoughtfully, cupping her breasts in his hands. "I think you'll do." Taking advantage of her inattention while his thumbs rasped across the sensitive nubs, he shifted, sliding her off his lap and onto the floor.

"Hey!" she yelped, "The floor's cold!"

"We'll change that, " he promised, still holding on to her. "I bet in a few seconds you won't notice it a bit..."

Scully opened her mouth to make a comment about his ego, and he covered it with his own.

She wiggled underneath him, and Mulder groaned, letting go of her only to reach down and unzip his own jeans. She lay on the floor, arms crossed under her head, and watched him undress.

"Y'know something, Mulder?" she said lazily.

He stopped. "What?" he asked, more than a little warily.

"You've got a great bod."

He shook his head, surprised to feel himself blushing. "Isn't that supposed to be my line?"

She laughed. "Okay." She got to her knees, holding her arms out and turning first to the left, then to the right. "Feel free."

For the first time that evening he stopped to =look= rather than feel. Her head held high, she let him take inventory. Mulder ran one finger down the line of her neck. The skin was as soft as it looked, a creamy white with bluish undertones. She was firmly muscled, but not obviously so. Enough flesh to round out her curves, her body inviting him to hold, caress, indulge. His hand slipped to the curve of her waist, and down over her hip. She shivered, and his gaze was drawn back to her breasts. Her areolas were darker than he had expected, given her coloring. Raspberries and cream rather than strawberry. He knew already that her breasts would fill his hands comfortably, and that she had a scattering of freckles across them. He wondered if the freckles would darken in the sun, or fade.

"You're taking too long," Scully warned him, her voice threatening.

"Well," he said thoughtfully, knowing that he was risking his life every second he hesitated, "not too bad --"

He let out a "whomph" of air as his partner tackled him. They tussled for a bit, then Mulder finally pinned her against the tiles. "No," he repeated. "Not too bad at all." He kissed the pout that appeared on her lips, nipping at them until she relented and kissed him back. Sliding his hands further down her body, he spread her legs open, one hand sliding underneath the silk to caress the curls at the junction of her thighs. One finger slipped further, not at all surprised to find wetness. What did surprise him was Scully's immediate reaction, curving up against his hand with a little gasp. He sat back, probing a little more, watching her face. She lifted herself into the action of his hands, and moaned softly. "More," she demanded, not opening her eyes.

Mulder found, much to his amazement, that the need to bury himself inside her, to feel her wrapped around his body like a tailored glove, was overlaid by a desire to push her further, to see how far Dana Scully could go before her beer-sodden body collapsed. He hadn't forgotten his promise of earlier, after all. A man had to live up to his promises, didn't he?

Lifting her legs carefully, Mulder positioned himself between them, his hands sliding under her thighs and raising them off the tiles slightly. Scully drew a soft breath in, then let it out in a pleased sigh as he nuzzled the soft pink lips open, his tongue brushing the flesh within. She jerked in his hands once, then went still. He took the delicate nub into his mouth, applying gentle suction, and she surged forward. He heard her fingers scrabble against the tile, and smiled. His mouth and tongue and teeth went to work, everything he had squirreled away during his misspent youth going to good use until she cried out once sharply, her thigh muscles convulsing, and then went limp in his hands.

Without hesitation, he pulled her forward, sitting back on his heels and sliding her onto his lap. The scrap of silk lay forgotten on the floor, their bodies pressed against each other, soaking up the feel of each other. Sliding further up his body, Scully reached down and grasped his erection carefully, rubbing the head until moisture coated her thumb. Looking into his eyes, she lowered herself, ever-so-slowly, onto him.

Mulder couldn't look away from her eyes, feeling as though he were falling into a bottomless well. She slipped over him like hot velvet, and he gasped, forcing himself to stay still. His legs began to cramp, and he ignored it, his hands flat against her back, holding her steady.

"You fit so perfect," she said, moving on him slowly. "Like... " Her hands clenched his shoulder, and she lost track of what she was saying.

Seeing his cue, Mulder stood, holding her to him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, leaning back, secure in the knowledge that he would keep her from falling. Leaning her up against the wall, he pumped once with his hips, and was rewarded with a sharply indrawn breath. "You like?" he asked. She groaned, leaning forward to bite his shoulder, hard. "Yes. Don't stop. Ever."

He took her at her word, losing himself in the feel of her sliding over him, one hand under her ass for support, the other kneading her breasts; first one, then the other, sometimes pausing to take them into his mouth, all the while keeping the rhythm of his hips steady. He listened to the sounds she was making, adjusting his speed according to their intensity. Each time she felt ready to explode, he would slow down, waiting until her breath was down to quick panting before building speed again. She growled in frustration, her nails digging into his back in an effort to urge him on. Neither of them could spare the energy for words.

Finally, Mulder felt his own control start to slip. Taking her mouth with his, he thrust his tongue in a mirror action, coaxing her tongue into a frenzied duel. He was just ready to build her climax once more when she seized control, closing her mouth around his tongue and sucking gently at it. He groaned, from somewhere deep in the diaphragm, and felt the pressure burst from the base of his spine, racing up and down at the speed of light. Pounding furiously, he came in an agonizing rush, the back of his head feeling like it exploded at the same time. Somewhere, distantly, he heard Scully call out his name in a quiet scream, and he was grateful that he had been able to bring her along, because he'd had no control over that last moment, too lost in his own selfish sensations.

They sagged against the wall for a long moment, unwilling to move, then collapsed in slow motion to the floor. They lay there, pleasantly flushed, limbs tangled together, for a long, heavy-breathing moment.

"Did you like that?" he asked. Raising his head to look at her, he saw the answer in her softly-glazed eyes.

"C'mere," she said, lazily reaching up for him. "Lemme show you how much I liked it."

Laughing softly, Mulder took her hands and pulled her into a sitting position. "We should probably move this into the bedroom," he said. Scully just smiled and shook her head. "Always wanted to do it in every room of the house," she said gleefully. "Why use the bedroom so early?" She stopped to think. "It's not a very big apartment, though," she said. "We might have to do some places twice."

Mulder groaned at the thoughtful tone of her voice. "Collecting data, Doctor Scully?"

She grinned at him, taking his limp penis in her capable hands and stroking it. "A good experiment is a repeatable one, Agent Mulder," she reminded him. Much to his amazement, he felt himself start to stir. The flesh is willing, he thought. But the heart is about to go. You're getting old, Mulder. But her hands were persuasive.

Mulder thought he was going to die. It wasn't an unpleasant thought. But he did hope that Scully would be kind enough to make him decent before they laid him out for his viewing. It might require breaking his legs, though. He was certain that they'd frozen in that position. Not that he was complaining, he added quickly, lest whatever gods that were smiling on him think he was ungrateful. Not at all. If he had to die now, he'd go with a smile on his face. But he'd much rather live.

His partner moved against him, and his attention was dragged back to the matters at hand. "Scully, please." He heard the whimpering and couldn't believe it came from his mouth.

All he had said was that he needed some time to recover. It had seemed a reasonable request after they had moved through three of the four rooms in her apartment. He hadn't meant for her to take it as a challenge! But Dana Scully drunk had all the dogged determination of Dana Scully sober, and twice the enthusiasm. And suddenly his rest break had turned into a game of see-Mulder-squirm.

Scully moved her attentions from his stomach down to his inner thigh, intentionally avoiding the areas which begged out for immediate attention. He could feel her carefully-trimmed nails scrape against his skin, and heard a moan escape his lips. He pulled against the cuffs, swearing under his breath. He'd been cuffed before -- there probably wasn't an agent who hadn't, at least once, used them for non-official use. Fun with office supplies, Bureau style. But most people used them on the wrists. Just his luck, Dana Scully had to be different. He pulled again as her tongue did things he was certain were illegal in most southern states, and a few of the western ones.

All right, damnit, he was squirming. She won.

"You win," he said hoarsely.

Scully lifted her head to look innocently at him. "What was that, Mulder? I'm sorry, I couldn't quite hear you."

"You win. Damnit, Scully," his voice dropped an octave. "I'm good for one more go-round. Don't make me waste it alone."

She paused to think, her hand drawing patterns on the skin inside his thigh, careful not to touch his groin. It didn't matter. Her games had so primed him, she could have thought abut touching him, and he would have come. Only his determination to finish on equal terms was keeping him back.

"Ask me," she said finally. She turned to kneel astride his hips, her breath soft and boozy against his neck. "Ask me nicely."

"Scully, uncuff me." A pause, calculated just long enough. "Please. Or so help me I'll --" He stopped, unable to think of anything dire enough. Truthfully, he couldn't think of anything at that moment other than getting his dick inside her.

She reached up to uncuff his ankles. The moment he felt the metal give way, he rolled over and pounced, grabbing her by the waist and swinging her around. She yelped, trying to twist in his arms, but for once that morning he used his strength against her seriously. Pulling her to him, he moved over to the couch. Rather than dropping her on it, he forced her to her knees, bending her forward over the cushions.

One hand firmly at her hip, the other reached down between her thighs and cupped the so-familiar flesh there. Her game had apparently aroused her as much as him, because she moved into his hand, grinding her hips in an impatient motion. The heat coming off her was threatening to incinerate him, but these were flames he didn't mind in the least.

Unable to wait any longer, he spread her knees and thrust into her, his hands pulling her hips closer into him. She tried to arch against him and he pushed her back down, feeling his balls slap up against her ass as he rammed himself deeper. He couldn't think, could barely breathe as the sensations flowed through him, his entire universe centered on the slick tightness encasing him, the warm flesh smelling of vanilla and an animal musk.

He could hear her whimpering, and the sound excited him more. She was the one who was going to need a rest after this, damnit. He was going to satisfy the nymphomaniac who had taken over his partner's body, and then he was going to find a way to keep her there. For him. Only for him. He'd kill any man who looked twice at her. He'd kill her if she went elsewhere.

Mulder didn't flinch from that realization, his hands harsh against her skin. All thoughts of civilized behavior were gone, and the scientific portion of his brain was fascinated before drowning in a wave of primeval urgency.

Scully reached down to grab his hands, dragging them up her body to her breasts. He pulled her back against him, his mouth fastening on the soft skin just below her ear. She moaned, and dug her fingers into the sofa cushion in front of her, her body shaking and sweaty underneath his.

Mine. Mine. Damn you, mine. Like an animal staking his claim, he pulled her up against his body, letting himself come hard, painfully, deep inside her. Scully let out a low-pitched scream, pushing back into him for an instant, then collapsing forward against the rough fabric of the sofa.

"I think I just had a stroke." Scully's voice was rough, slurred, and if Mulder hadn't felt exactly the same way, he would have worried about her. Pulling a strand of damp red hair, he drew her head off the cushions and kissed her neck softly where he had bitten before. She murmured softly, one hand reaching back to stroke his thigh.

Unable to work up the energy to move into the bedroom, Mulder crawled onto the sofa, pulling his partner up after him. She had the presence of mind to grab the quilt from where it lay folded under the coffee table and draw it over them. She snuggled against his chest, her legs tangled in his, and brushed a kiss against his lips, moth-soft.

"G'night," she said sleepily.

Mulder looked up, bleary-eyes, at the sunlight coming in through the windows. "Morning, Scully."

And then they were both asleep.

Sunday

9:40 a.m.

Fox Mulder woke to a feeling of not-rightness, even as his body told him that everything was very right. It took half a second, then the events of the evening before rushed back in perfect, agonizing detail. He was alone. Water was running -- Scully was in the shower. Mulder wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry -- or grab his pants and run like hell out the door. Maybe he shouldn't even stop for his pants.

Oh, he knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to find his partner and drag her back onto the sofa with him, pick up where they had left off -- he opened one eye to peer blurily at his watch -- where they had left off four hours before. But that required two people, ideally. And that, he told himself, was the kicker.

The water stopped. His heart froze in his chest, a rabbit caught between the road and a hungry dog. Oh, shit!

Mulder swung his feet over the side of the sofa, wincing as his head protested the treatment. He opened his eyes again, focusing on the glass of water sitting on the coffee table next to two small tablets. They weren't aspirin, but he trusted that she wasn't trying to kill him, and swallowed the pills, washing them down with the water.

Putting the glass down, he stood, preparing himself to face the music. Should he apologize, or be unrepentent? It didn't matter -- he'd never been able to lie worth a damn to her, not without getting That Look from her. She had such a suspicious nature. Most be the medical training.

Turning, Mulder brought himself up short at the sight of his partner standing in the doorway from the bathroom wearing only a towel. Her hair was wet, clinging to her neck and shoulders, and he was suddenly reminded of a painting he had seen once, of mer-children playing in the surf, all wide eyes and wide mouths and -- he realized that he was staring at the crevice where she had tucked the towel around her, and dragged his gaze back up to her face. She didn't seem angry -- more apprehensive than anything else. He opened his mouth to reassure her, of what he didn't know, when she beat him to the punch.

"If your first words are `last night was a mistake,' I'm going to shoot you."

Mulder let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Mistake wasn't the word I was thinking of," he admitted. She raised one eyebrow in that familiar manner, and his knees almost buckled. This wasn't a drunk and horny Dana Scully, this was his partner. His rational, skeptical, in-control partner... standing in front of him wearing only a towel. And a small towel at that. She wasn't raging, she wasn't throwing things, and most importantly, she wasn't aiming at him. There was a god.

Mulder closed his eyes, summoned up his courage, and opened them again to look her straight in the eye and say, with complete honesty, "incredible might start to cover it."

Scully smiled at him and he realized that she had been uncertain too. If he'd gone while she was in the shower, that would have been what destroyed their partnership. Now...

"What now?" he asked.

Her smile grew wider, with more than a touch of deviltry, and Mulder saw traces of last night's Dana Scully peeking out from underneath the more familiar facade. "Now we finish what we started," she said, dropping the towel and walking bare-assed to the bedroom door. She stopped there, looking over one bruised shoulder at him.

"Coming?"

"Hopefully not right away," he said with a smile of his own.

 

 

_end_