Pretensioner ****** Part Two ****** Babies. I'm having a love-hate thing with 'em. I've been seeing all these women with their kids, little curly haired, chubby ones. Dimpled knees, dimpled cheeks and I know they just have that talcum smell. Dressed in their stupid little outfits, in all those ugly pastel colors. Pink for a girl and blue for a boy. They're everywhere, laughing, crying, eating, sleeping, living. Sweet little babies. Sweet for other people maybe, but not for me. Not that I have a choice anymore. You see, I'm gonna have a little rugrat of my own. I keep asking myself, Ellie, how did this happen? Fucking stupid question, right? I mean, fucking IS how it happened and it's dumb to even wonder about it. If only I'd learned how to keep my legs closed. But he seemed so sweet, and man could he kiss. I was a goner the moment he laid lips on me. Now I have this baby growing inside me to prove it. It was totally unexpected. I know about birth control, they taught us all about it in school. We always used a rubber, and they're supposed to stop you from getting pregnant. We sacrificed the pleasure of skin on skin for safety's sake. Fat lot of good it did me. Now, at nineteen, my life is over. I don't look pregnant yet, at least, not much. My stomach is still kind of flat, with just a tiny bit of roundness to show there's a baby growing inside me. And my boobs seem a tad fuller, though I may just be imagining that. I remember my mom saying hers swelled up like balloons when she was carrying me. Not a very pretty picture, I can tell you. My body's going to go through a lot of changes though, and there's a lot more to come. My legs and ankles will swell. Funny, then they'll match my belly. Oh, god, and stretch marks! I'll never be able to wear a bikini again. All that so I can 'glow'. Isn't that what people say about pregnant women? They glow? I figure that's to make them feel better about looking like they swallowed a bowling ball. God, I'm going to have to tell my mom soon. She'll be angry and disappointed in me. And she'll throw me that 'what-would-your-poor-father-think-thank-god-he's-not-alive-to-see-this' line. Just what I need, more guilt. Especially about my dad. For years I tried to be the kind of kid he wanted, but I was never good enough or smart enough to suit him. Nothing I ever did was right. So after a while, I used to say to myself 'fuck it'. But it bothered me. I thought parents were supposed to love their kids. I've got the opposite of the Midas touch. Everything I touch turns to shit. Fuck it, I don't have the energy for this. I'm too tired. Always seem to be anymore. Guess that comes from being pregnant. Driving to Kansas I had no problem staying on the road for fourteen hours at a time. I enjoyed it, too. But driving to Virginia in November was different. This cross-country trek seemed to take forever, and it wasn't much fun either. Gray skies seemed to follow me the whole way, making this frigging ride more depressing than I expected. You'd have thought it would be an interesting journey, that I would feel the magic and excitement of places I'd only read about. Well, you'd have been dead wrong. Driving east, I got to see some of this country, but I didn't get to see the pretty parts. Ask me about seeing America, and I can tell you all about its restrooms. I had to stop and pee about every half hour, and my morning sickness seemed to last all day long. But I had to keep going, for my sake and that of this little hitchhiker I'm carrying. You see, I need to get it a daddy. I have a guy in mind. He's perfect, abso-fucking-lutely perfect. He's got brains and patience, two things you really need to bring up a kid nowadays. No need to worry about money, either. I know he likes me. He was the one of the few who cared enough to help me last September. There I was, stranded, my car completely dead along this lonely stretch of Kansas road. Lots of cars passed me without a second look. But he stopped. He took care of me, saw that I had a place to stay and something to eat, and didn't expect anything in return. Like I said, he's perfect. So, when I realized I was going to have a baby, he was the second person I thought of. I trust him, and I know he won't judge me because of what happened. He'd be totally cool with it. It isn't like I have a lot of options at this point. There was someone else, back in Kansas, but that's all over with now. It has to be. The kid's real father is another story. He doesn't even know I'm pregnant. Hell, I didn't know until two weeks ago. I figure I'm about three months gone. Anyway, Ricky, the father, is a big college man. He's gorgeous and the sex was hot, but he's not someone I could picture myself spending the rest of my life with. I mean, who wants a guy who's always thinking only about himself? Just once, I want to be the most important thing in a guy's life. So, after weighing all my options, I came here. Fox had given me his card, with his address and personal phone number written on it, before he left Kansas. Said if I ever needed help he was just a phone call away. I didn't called him though. My plan was to surprise him. And boy, did I ever. This might not have been the best night to drop in on him. Fox wasn't exactly sober. Hell, he was bombed out of his mind, the disgusting stink of booze and smoke clinging to his clothes. Good thing he's not one of those weak stomached drunks, 'cause one heave and I'd have been joining him. Morning sickness is really a bad name for it -- my stomach isn't too strong at any time of day. You should have seen his face -- his jaw practically hit the floor. He was shocked. Positively stunned. I threw myself into his arms, and cried all over him, acting my ass off in a performance that deserved an Oscar. Tears are a pretty good way to get what you want. And I want his help. I need it. I need a husband, someone who will get me through this. I don't want to do it alone. I'd expected the third degree, but he didn't ask me many questions at all. One look at my face probably told him all he needed to know, for the moment anyway. Instead he tried to calm me down and then he tucked me into his bed, all warm and snug, like some little kid. I'm supposed to be asleep. And even though I'm tired, my nerves won't let me relax. All I can think about is marriage. There's no way I'm gonna end up one of those welfare moms, with a brat or two clinging to my legs while I bitch to some reporter about losing my benefits. I'm not exactly equipped to care for a kid on my own, and the only jobs I'm qualified for require standing on my feet all day for very little pay. So, getting married is the only realistic choice for me. I guess I need to figure out how to approach the subject. Don't want to wait too long. Waddling down the aisle is not on my list of things to do before I die. Hell, I can't imagine being married. At least, I couldn't until the rabbit died, or rather the stick turned the wrong color. Funny as hell, that was. Me, the 'Who Gives a Fuck' poster child, suddenly wants to be married. Orange blossoms, white dress, church, the whole lame package. Only it wasn't Fox Mulder I saw in the role of groom. But it's too goddamned late. No, I don't expect anything like that anymore. I know Fox will be kind. I don't count on more than that. Suddenly I can hear someone talking. I scramble out of bed and tiptoe over to the door, pressing my ear against the surface. "Scully, pick up." He's calling *her*. Damn it! What's the deal with that? At first I'd thought she'd be a problem, but after seeing him stumble in I figured their thing was over. Any guy that comes home drunk and alone on a Friday night usually isn't hooked up with anyone. So what the fuck is he calling her for? He's really making this way more difficult than it should be. Now, not only do I have to deal with him, but she'll be nosing around. And she's trouble. Scully! That's what he calls Dana. I've met her. A pretty little redhead, and I guess she's still got Fox wrapped around her little finger. I know the type -- bossy and possessive. She's the biggest problem I face right now, well, second biggest next to my unexpected 'little bundle of joy'. He's talking again, his voice so low that I missed some of what he said. Listening closely, I can just barely make out what his words. ". . .just hurry, god, please hurry, Scully. I need you, only you." Geez, what's his problem? Why in hell does he need her? He sounds like he's scared to death. Of me? Maybe he doesn't trust himself to be alone with me. A lot of guys don't. I guess I'm just too much for them to handle. He hangs up the phone, and I hear him moving across the room, heading this way. Shit! Rushing back to the bed, I manage to climb back in and pull the covers over me before I see the door slowly open. Quickly closing my eyes I pretend to be asleep. Fortunately, he doesn't come over to look at me. I'm lousy at pretending. The creak of the door and his footsteps fading away tell me he's gone. Waiting for her, I guess. God, this is turning out to be tougher than I'd expected. What am I going to do? ****** I'm pacing back and forth in the living room, my shoes long gone and my bare feet protesting against the cold. Wish I could relax. But I feel wired, and it isn't just from the coffee I've recently consumed. What the hell is taking Scully so long? Checking my watch, I realize it really hasn't been more than ten minutes since I spoke to her, not long enough for her to get here. If she's coming. . .no, I have to stop thinking like that. Besides, I'd purposely left the phone off the hook after talking to her, in case she changed her mind. I look longingly at my basketball, my fingers just itching to pick it up. A little dribbling would just be the thing to occupy me until Scully gets here. But I have to be quiet. It's late. Besides, I don't want to risk awakening Ellie, now that she's finally settled down. Thankfully, she'd quickly gotten past the weepy stage. God, I hate it when women cry. I never know what the hell to do or say when I'm sober, but when drunk, well, the best I could do was pat her shoulder and let her cry it all out. We must have looked ridiculous standing there. Me, slack-jawed and bleary-eyed, patting her with one hand and holding a gun with the other. And Ellie, all hair and strong, cheap perfume, squeezing the life out of me as she sobbed into my shoulder. What a Kodak moment that must have been. It was good for one thing, though. It sure sobered me up in a hurry. Well, that and the pot of coffee I'd had since. I stop pacing and flop down on the couch again, reaching for my mug. The liquid in it is cold and bitter, but I swallow a mouthful anyway before settling the mug on the coffee table. Resting my head against the back, I close my eyes and try to sort out my jumbled thoughts. What the hell made her come here? She tried to explain, but I couldn't understand a goddamned word she said. She was incoherent most of the time, and even after her crying stopped her breath continued to catch on little residual sobs. It made rational conversation impossible, and I finally convinced her to go to bed, no wiser than before. Sighing, I prop my feet on the table, knocking over my mug. The small amount of coffee left spills over the surface, and I use my foot to slide last week's copy of "D.C. Muse" over the wetness. It stops the liquid's flow, and I watch as it absorbs the color of the coffee, changing the newspaper to a muddy brown. Like poor Ellie's eyes. . . I'm surprised she'd even thought of me. Hell, her mom's in Indiana, a damn sight closer to Kansas than I am. And Ellie is no weakling. No, something must be very wrong for her to have turned to me. I only hope she'll let us help her. I only hope Scully will help me. I can't handle this alone. I need Scully. She has a sharp mind and uncanny ability to put things in perspective. Somehow, I get the feeling this situation is going to warrant her touch. Besides, I'm scared shitless to face this alone. Standing, I wander over to the window, peeking out through the blinds to the deserted street below, hoping for the sight of her car. No such luck, only the whine of a fire truck as it roars down the street.  I absently run my finger over the bent slat, the accumulated dust drifting away in its wake. If only solving this problem were that easy. Scully's more than capable of handling this situation. She's a very strong woman. You'd never know it to look at her. Scully has the fragile air of a madonna. So small and slight. But I know that she's really a potent little package, more than capable of taking down a guy twice her size without breaking into a sweat. I've been on the receiving end of her 'capabilities' more than once. And Scully has a brain. Oh, I'll admit that when I first met her, it was her looks I noticed. What man alive wouldn't? Those blue eyes, sparkling with humor even when I'd done my damnedest to make her feel unwanted. Nice body too, though she was a bit more voluptuous then. And her hair! It was longer, the shiny coppery strands flowing to her shoulders. I've had a number of fantasies lately involving naked Scully and that hair. Wonder if I could convince her to let it grow. . .But I digress. As time went by, her less obvious attributes became apparent. Her strength of character, and her quick mind. Not as open as I'd like, but still able to accept my unconventional theories and come up with a few of her own. Beauty and brains, that's my Scully. A deadly combination. I was a sitting duck. It took me a while to recognize all the signs. I knew I lusted after her right from the start, but the love part, that was a lot harder to identify. Only after seeing someone else touch her did my feelings come to the surface. I was like a little boy again, throwing a tantrum because someone else had the toy I wanted. I acted like an ass. But I'm a lucky bastard. She forgave me. Leaving the window, I reseat myself, hearing the creak of leather and the groan of springs as I settle back on the couch. So what was today all about? I have to admit that I'm no closer to understanding her actions now than I was earlier. Leaning forward, I cradle my head in my hands, fingertips rasping across my cheeks through the prickly stubble of my beard. What the hell did I do that was so wrong? I love her, want to be with her and assumed she wanted the same. Is that the problem? Maybe she doesn't want to be with me. I'm not the easiest person to get along with. Moody and unpredictable are two words that come up often when describing me. Maybe this relationship is too much for her. Hell, we really didn't take much time to get used to the idea. Instead of building up to the championship round, we jumped right to it, skipping all the little preliminary bouts that should come before the main event. Not that it mattered to me. I was ready, more than ready actually, and she still knocked me for a loop. I used to think it was the same for her, but now I'm not so sure. And yet, when I called her tonight, she seemed concerned. . . According to my watch, it's been over twenty minutes since I spoke to her. She should be here by now. I know Scully hates it when I worry about her, and she does have a point. She's more than capable of taking care of herself. That's been proved to me over and over again. Shit, she's saved my ass more times than I care to remember. So what's keeping her? She must have thought I was out of my mind when I called. It wasn't easy for me to make any sense. I didn't want to get into it over the phone -- I was afraid she'd refuse to help me if she knew it was about Ellie. And I really didn't have anything to tell her. The creak of a door catches my attention, and I turn in time to see Ellie step out of the bedroom. Her face is flushed, the traces of tears still apparent around her eyes. Her hair hangs in an unruly tangle around her face, and she looks uncertainly at me. "Hey, I thought you were asleep." I smile at her, watching as she pads softly over to the couch and sits next to me. "The sirens woke me," she explains. "Are you hungry, Ellie? Can I get you something to eat?" The minute the words leave my mouth I regret them. What the hell do I have that's even edible besides sunflower seeds? Eggs, but not much else. "Maybe, maybe something to drink? My throat is awful dry, and I have a headache." She tries to smile, but it's obvious the poor kid is wiped out. I pat her hand before heading to the bathroom to get her some ibuprofen. I notice a bottle of sleeping pills Scully had prescribed for me. It only takes a second for me to decide. The best thing for Ellie is some sleep, and I put the ibuprofen back and opt for the sleeping pills. Shaking one into my palm, I leave the room. She's still sitting where I left her, her long legs curled under her, and her head resting on the back of the couch. Her arm covers her eyes, and for a minute I wonder if she has fallen asleep. But as she hears me approach, she sits up, managing to muster up a weak smile. "Here. I'll get you some water." She takes the pill, examining it closely. Her hand reaches out to her stomach, rubbing the surface lightly. Maybe she is hungry, I think, as I fill a glass. Sitting back beside her, I hand her the water, watching as she tosses back the pill and washes it down with a huge gulp. Silently, she sets the glass on the floor. "Are you sure I can't get you something to eat? I have some eggs, and I can make you toast. . ." She shakes her head, and leans closer to me, tears forming in her eyes. "I had a bad dream," she whispers, as she rests her cheek against my arm. I feel her tears, wetting the fabric of my shirt as her body shudders in misery. Sighing, I pull her head on to my chest, stroking her hair and making soothing sounds as I rock her gently. Suddenly, she's climbing into my lap, forcing her head into my chest and wrapping her arms around my neck in a vise-like grip. With a sigh she settles down, her cheek over my heart. Her eyes are closed, and she seems to be drifting off . . . Of all the ways I'd imagined spending a Friday night, this wasn't even in the top ten thousand. My legs are falling asleep, her perfume is giving me a headache, and I desperately want a drink. This ain't my day. We sit there, her soft easy breathing telling me she's asleep. I need to move her back to the bed, but I'm not sure I'd be able to carry her. Not that she's fat, but she's no flyweight either. At nearly six feet tall, she's an armful, and with all the vodka I'd imbibed earlier there's a real possibility I could drop her. She'll have to sleep on the couch. The sound of a key turning catches my attention. Oh, Fuck! And before I can get Ellie back on to the couch, Scully is in the doorway, taking in the scene. Her mouth opens and closes like a ventriloquist's dummy, but no words emerge. It's an interesting sight, Scully at a loss for words. I wish I could enjoy it, but I know she's going to regain her powers of speech soon, and then she'll start swearing as only a Navy brat can. With Ellie safely settled on the couch, I rise. Unfortunately, in my haste I bang my shin on the edge of the coffee table, sending the overturned mug off the edge. It bounces once, the handle separating from the side, another casualty of my carelessness. Rubbing my leg, I hop forward, knocking over Ellie's glass of water in the process. It spills over my foot, instantly freezing my toes as it soaks into the carpet. Wet, bruised and tired, I hobble over to the doorway to greet Scully, a big smile plastered on my face. I'm in deep shit. Again. ****** Tonight's drive to Mulder's seemed like one of the longest of my life, although I made it in under thirty minutes. I must have broken a dozen different laws on the way. Running red lights, speeding, and not using turn signals among them. Fortunately, the streets were pretty much deserted. Anyway, none of that really mattered, because he needed me. Me. Mulder never needs anyone. He's always so damned strong, so capable. Far more likely to suffer alone than to risk showing his vulnerable side. The pain he feels is usually locked inside, hiding under a cover of humor. Even I am rarely witness to it, except for the nightmares he can't control. So this is a first for us. Using my key, I try to enter silently, my hand resting on the butt of my gun. Imagine my surprise when I see Mulder, sitting on his couch with some bimbo in his lap. My face flames, and I can feel the heat of anger course through me. I know I must look like an overripe tomato, ready to burst out of my skin at the slightest additional pressure. The look on his face is priceless. Well, maybe not. Offer me a quarter and I'll sell you the look, and the son of a bitch attached to it. Why the hell did he call? Is this his idea of a joke, or is he trying to pay me back for this afternoon? Oh, he needs help all right. And as soon as I'm finished with him, the paramedics can give it to him. They'll have their work cut out for them when I'm through. Funny, but he can't move fast enough to get her out of his lap. He practically drops her on the floor, barely getting her on the couch before he stands. And like some obscene cartoon character, he manages to whack his leg on the table, break a mug, kick over a glass of water, and hop like a constipated kangaroo over to me. The only cliche missing is the tongue hanging down to the floor. Guess I got here too late for that little treat. His eyes are begging for my understanding. Ha! He'd have a better chance with that black lunged son of a bitch. I don't know what went on, but as soon as I give him a piece of my mind I'm getting the hell out of here. "You came." He slurs the words, very slightly. Most people wouldn't even notice, but I do. He's been drinking. . . Mulder reaches for my arm, and I pull away, to no avail. His fingers clamp onto me and steer my resisting body into the kitchen. Pulling out a chair, he shoves me, none too gently, into the seat. When I attempt to stand, his fingers clamp over my shoulders and push me back into the chair. His grip is strong, and he holds me so tightly I think my bones will crack under the pressure. "Damn it! If you don't take your hands off me, Mulder, so help me I'll. . ." As if suddenly aware of the power of his grip, his fingers loosen. Shrugging away, I rub the area softly, wincing more for effect than because of any lasting damage he may have done. "You'll what, Scully? Walk out on me? I think you already did that once today." He sighs, and walks over to sit across the table from me. For the first time, I take stock of his appearance. The hazel eyes are bloodshot, and the shadows beneath them match the darkness of his stubbled face. His hair is standing on end, probably from repeated contact with his restless fingers. The tie is gone, but he's still wearing the same trousers and white shirt from the office. His clothes stink of smoke, cheap cologne and sweat. He looks so lost and alone that I forget why I'm angry. But only for a second. I stiffen my spine. "Do we really have to do this tonight? You called me, claiming you needed my help. From where I stood, it looked like you had the. . .situation under control." "Not so loud, damn it! She's finally asleep." He sounds like a new parent, whose colicky baby has at last stopped crying and settled down for the night. Standing, he starts for the other room, only stopping when I move to follow. Crossing my arms, I tilt my chin in defiance. "And what makes you think I give a shit about whether *she* gets some sleep, Mulder?" Despite the fierceness of my words, I find myself whispering, too. "Please, sit down. Let me put her to bed so we can continue this conversation without interruption." His eyes plead with me, and against my better judgment, I re-seat myself. I hear him in the other room, his voice soft as he murmurs to the sleeping woman. A door creaks, then a moment later I hear the quiet snick of it closing, and Mulder's footsteps approaching the kitchen. "Did you get your *friend* settled down?" I can't keep the sneer out of my voice, and Mulder's eyebrows raise in surprise. Biting my lip, I look down at my hands, clasped together so tightly that the knuckles show white. I look back at him in time to see something flare in his eyes. They glitter with an undefinable light that frightens me as much as it attracts me. "Jealous, Scully?" There is malice in his tone, a deliberate attempt to hurt. He succeeds. His words wound me. I feel lightheaded, as though I am really bleeding from their cutting edge. Pursing my lips, I stand and walk out of the kitchen, unable to deal with his deception. Pushing back his chair, he follows me from the room. "Scully, wait a minute!" His grabs my hand, pulling me back to my seat at the table. "Why?" Taking a few deep breaths help, and I manage to regain my poise. Looking back at him I raise an eyebrow. My reaction surprises him, and his face colors, whether in embarrassment or anger, I can't tell. Ball's in your court, Mulder, I say to myself. "It's only Ellie. You remember her, don't you?" Smiling now, he leans his elbows on the table and cups his chin in his hands. Ellie. How could I forget her? That sassy and confused kid from Kansas. I'd met her briefly, and Mulder had supplied the missing details. He'd taken her under his wing, helping her when she was stranded. And I had gotten the wrong idea about his interest in her. Sighing, I realize how I've misjudged him yet again where Ellie was concerned. "Was she the problem you called me about? You could've at least told me that on the phone, Mulder. You scared the hell out of me!" I try to work up some righteous indignation, but fail miserably. Relief has managed to douse most of the flames of anger. He presses his fingers against his eyes, then up through his hair, leaving it even spikier than before. "I couldn't talk, Scully. She was hysterical, and I'm not good at dealing with tears. Besides, there really wasn't much to tell, I couldn't get a coherent word out of her. So I still don't know what prompted her little visit." A ironic smile crosses his face. "I wasn't exactly coherent myself." Mulling over his words, I try to reconcile what he's told me with the picture of them on the couch. She certainly didn't look like a lost soul, that's for damn sure. How the hell did she know how to reach him? "How did she find you, Mulder?" My words are bland, but I can't keep the flush out of my cheeks, and hope he doesn't notice. Unfortunately, his eyes don't miss that detail. "Scully, you *are* jealous!" He's so damned pleased by this thought, and though I protest, he pays no attention whatsoever. Shaking his head, he repeats, "You're jealous!" The smug note in his voice matches the one on his face. He's right -- I am jealous, or was. The pain I felt when I saw them huddled together was real. But my automatic sense of self-preservation kicked in and transformed my pain into anger. Not that it fooled him. Or me. So, what happens now? Mulder glances at me warily, sensing my indecision. His finger absently traces figure eights over the formica surface as he awaits my next move. The scenario of this afternoon replays through my mind as I weigh my options. Though I controlled that situation, I wasn't happy with the end result. Now is my chance to rectify it. But do I dare try? What the hell! Pushing away from the table, I move over to him. His face wears a bemused look, and a questioning smile cracks its surface. Ignoring his confusion, I grab a fistful of limp white cotton. Pulling roughly at the shirt, the buttons fly off, a volley of bullets that strike the wall and floor. Like a white flag, the fabric surrenders to my hands. I yank off my jacket and drop it to the floor, then turn and straddle Mulder where he sits. His cry of pleasure spurs me on. Smiling, I loop my arms loosely around his neck, and run my lips over his jaw. The sandpapery texture of his beard scratches lightly against my face, sending chills through me. Reaching an ear, I trace my tongue over it, dipping into the whorls before slipping down to catching the fleshy lobe between my teeth. Yes, I have his attention. "What are you doing, Scully?" His breathy whisper dances across my face, and I smile into his neck as my lips continue their exploration. The chemistry of want and need washes over me, a flux of emotion I am unable to control. Not that I want to. "I thought it was fairly obvious." Nipping lightly along his throat, I pay special attention to the little hollow there. I love this place, and suckle lightly at the skin, marking it as mine. "You taste so good," I murmur against him. My tongue dips into the depression, and I feel his groan of pleasure as it rumbles through him. I can feel something else, too, prodding against my bottom. Grinning, I deliberately wiggle against him, feeling him grow harder. His mouth opens on a gasp, and I take that as an invitation. My lips slant across his, open and hot, my tongue delving into his warmth, kissing him as I'd yearned to all day long. He's kissing me back, his tongue chasing mine, playing an erotic game of tag. His hands grasp my waist, settling me more surely against him. God, he feels so good, his hardness pressing against me, making me even wetter than I already was. Moving my hips, I rock over him as his mouth nips along my neck. I feel his cock jump at the firmer contact. Making love with Mulder is indescribable. Every time as exciting as the first. He makes me wet with a look, and one touch of his hands can almost drive me over the edge. I don't know how he does it, and I don't care. It's just the way he makes me feel, and I love it. I love him. He's beautiful. A man isn't supposed to be. But he is, and his body is a veritable feast for my eyes. His torso, exposed in all its glory, calls to me. The firm skin, so dark against the paleness of mine, is overlaid with a fine sheen of perspiration, making it glisten in the harsh light of the kitchen. My fingers trace through the light covering of hair, sliding over the firm flesh to find a nipple. A little brown button on the perfection of his chest. His nipple is sensitive, every bit as much as mine. Lightly rubbing it, I smile as it hardens, the tiny point tickling my palm. My lips replace my hand, suckling lightly at him, my tongue lapping over it in measured swipes. "Scully!" His groans into my shoulder, caressing me with both his voice and his mouth.  That sound, breaking a silence that had been punctuated only by our panting breaths, forces me back to reality. "No." I push away from Mulder. "Stop!" ****** End of Part Two   Go to Part Three -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Feedback is appreciated -- E-mail All4Mulder@aol.com -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Back to the Series Page -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Back to main fic page