Pretensioner ****** Part Three ****** She tastes so good, sweet and ripe like a piece of forbidden fruit. Savored in secret and gone too soon. Leaving me wanting more. Looking at her face, seeing the flush of passion still on her cheeks and her eyes heavy with desire, I can't quite understand why she wants to stop. My hands, lingering at her waist, refuse to let her go and she's forced to stay seated on my lap. Don't do this, Scully, I think as I pull her closer. I've been afraid of love for so long, felt unworthy of it, until Scully. We've come so far these past few months. Both of us learning to give, to open up. To share our innermost thoughts and dreams. I never thought I would find anyone who could love me, let alone with the uninhibited passion she shows. My greatest fear is losing her. And somehow, that seems to be happening. I can barely breathe, and my cock is hard enough to burst right through the fabric and zipper separating us. She wants me, she loves me, I know she does. And yet she pushes me away. "Why are you doing this to me, Scully? To us?" My voice sounds harsher than I'd meant it to. But she's hurting me with the constant ebb and flow of her feelings. She looks confused and slightly disoriented for a second, then I see something flash in the clear blue of her eyes -- understanding. "No, no, no!" She shakes her head, and then leans in to plant a soft kiss on my brow. Running her fingers through my hair, she clasps them behind my neck and rests her forehead against mine. "I'm sorry!" Remorse colors her words. "I don't mean I want to stop, Mulder. God, no! I mean we *have* to stop. Ellie's in the bedroom, she might hear us, might. . .interrupt. And I don't think I could handle that." She speaks softly, the sincerity in her words apparent as her eyes beg for my understanding. I realize I've been holding my breath, and let it out in a sigh of relief. "You can't handle it? Christ, Scully, I'm about to go out of my mind." Loosening my grip, I allow her to stand, grinning in pleased amazement at her wobbly stance. It's nice to know I haven't lost my touch. "We should be able to solve this problem." Her forehead wrinkles in concentration, and as I watch an enchanting grin blooms on her face. It turns up the corner of those enticingly full lips, and my mouth longs to sample the perfection of her smile. Scully takes my hand and tugs me from the chair, leading me out of the room. At this point, I'm ready to follow her anywhere, but I do wonder what she has in mind. Maybe the elevator? Lately, that's been another fantasy of mine. . . "Uh, Scully, this isn't the part where you ditch me again, is it?" She doesn't miss the teasing note in my voice, and she stops short, causing a near collision. Turning, her brow raises as she looks me up and down. "Hmm, I hadn't thought of that." A finger from her free hand taps against her cheek as she ponders my question. "It would serve you right, Mulder. But don't worry, I would never ditch a man in your *condition*. . .not twice anyway." The tapping finger moves from her face to trace the length of my erection, straining against the wool trousers. "I trust you, Scully, I do. And I hope you have something in mind." Breathing has become a bit more difficult. She's just raised my blood pressure way past the safety zone, and that's not the only thing she's further elevated. My voice drops to a near whisper. "I'm *up* for suggestions." "Well, we can't just walk out and leave Ellie. Not until you know why she's here. She has the bedroom. We need some privacy. . .do you understand now?" She points at the closed door in front of her. I have to admit, Scully is nothing if not creative. I'm embarrassed this didn't occur to me first. Some of the best sex in my life has occurred in this room. With Scully, of course. I open the bathroom door. "Ladies first." Smirking, I wave my arm, gesturing for her to enter. Her eyes rake over me, head to toe, like she's buying a new car and I'm the latest model. With a slight smile, she reaches out to cup my arousal, squeezing lightly, before sweeping past me into the room. Choking, I follow her, closing the door and clicking the lock in place. "Alone at last." Scully laughs at my weak attempt at humor, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. I move up behind her, wrapping my arms around and resting my chin in the softness of her hair. Watching our reflection, I marvel again at the circumstances that brought this woman into my life. God knows, she deserves better, but for whatever reason, she chose me. My eyes still on the mirror, I reach down to free the buttons on her shirt, one by one. Her eyes follow my fingers, her lips parted and breathing shallow. Unfastening the last one, I carefully part the sides, exposing the creamy swell of her breasts confined in the silk and lace. Cupping their weight in my hands, I trace my thumbs over her nipples, feeling them harden. "That feels heavenly." Her head rolls against my chest, her soft hair brushing across my skin in tantalizing, feathery traces. Reaching up, she flips the little front clasp of the bra and the fabric springs apart, leaving my hands partially trapped. My arms drop back to my sides as she moves slightly away from me. Her shoulders wriggle seductively as she shrugs away the blouse and bra like minor irritations. Her breasts bounce provocatively, the nipples further puckering in delight at their newly found freedom. Leaning back again, the heat of her flesh warms my chest, and she pulls my wrists until my hands are again caressing her breasts. Watching her in the mirror fascinates me. The perfection of her skin, so smooth and pale, marked here and there by tiny blue veins. It's like the finest marble, sculpted into a work of art that is arguably the Eighth Wonder of the World. Her face is flushed, her lips wet from numerous swipes of her nervous tongue. The pink tips of her breasts peek out between my fingers, like little ripe berries waiting to be plucked. This is one of the most erotically charged moments in my life. Her hands aren't idle. She's sliding them over her stomach, fingers lightly circling her flesh before slipping one beneath the waistband of her jeans. I don't know for sure what she's doing, but I can imagine. Her breath catches, and she rocks against me, pressing herself into my cock. I shudder, nearly losing control as her bottom circles over me. She leans her cheek against my chest, rubbing like a contented kitten, and any minute I expect to hear her purr. Her eyes, dark as sapphires, meet mine in the mirror, and issue an invitation. Her tongue again wets those luscious lips, but this action is not an unconscious act, but a deliberate one. Leaning down, I kiss her, my tongue softly sweeping over her mouth before parting her lips. She tastes of mint and desire, a heady mixture that I find instantly addictive. Spinning around in my arms, she never loses contact with my mouth. Her hands brush through my hair, scratching along my scalp until they finally come to rest at my neck. She locks her fingers together, holding me in place as her mouth devours mine. The kisses are hungry, as though we are starved for sustenance after a long fast. Tongues touch, darting and retreating, as they rediscover secret and sensitive places. This, I think, this is what gets me through the week, what makes all the bullshit and rhetoric and boredom worthwhile. As if by mutual agreement, our mouths part. Stripping off the rest of our clothes takes but a minute. She opens the shower curtain, stepping in to turn on the water and regulate the temperature. When she has it adjusted, she reaches for me. The spray of the water, hot as our passions, pelts us. Grabbing her, I pull her against me, all thoughts of soap and shampoo forgotten. She slides against me, molding her body around mine as her arms and legs anchor her to me. Fumbling like an overeager virgin on his first date, I try to work through the logistics of this moment. It isn't easy to think when all the blood has left your brain and taken a little pleasure trip south. But I manage. With trembling arms, I reposition her, finally finding the right combination to make this work. The tip of my cock trails through the coppery curls, probing her slick folds to find her center. And with one push I'm in, instantly enveloped in her wet heat. Jesus, she's so tight! Pressing her back into the tile I start thrusting, hard and fast. She twists in my embrace, moving her hips in perfect counterpoint to my drives. Her mouth opens, groaning encouragement against my shoulder. There is something primitive and wild about this pairing, as though it were our first, last, and only time together. Her head rolls away, hitting the tiles with a dull thud as she hitches and glides against me. One hand continues to cradle her buttocks. With my free hand I reach down to slide my fingers into her. Finding her clit, I stroke it, hard and fast, sliding over the sensitive nub, forcing her to the edge. Her breath catches as the orgasm ripples through her, her body clenching against my fingers. Azure eyes, wide with wonder, stare into mine before the lids droop slowly over them. ***** I can't move. My body is boneless. I am dangling like a rag doll, limply draped around Mulder. I know he's close, but I can't seem to do a thing to help. He's knocked the stuffing out of me. Mulder shoves my body against the shower wall, his hands cupping my bottom. He's pounding into me, harder and faster with each thrust, losing his finesse. And, oh god, he's going to make me come again. I hear someone moaning, little incoherent sounds that mix with the steam and blanket the air with their density. I realize with a shock that it's me. My second orgasm is nearly violent in its intensity. My back arches and my muscles tighten in an almost reflex action. And I come, screaming his name repeatedly, until his mouth covers mine and swallows my words. Breaking the kiss, I look at him. His eyes are dark and penetrating, and his breath whistles through clenched teeth. The cords in his neck throb with the strain as he adjusts my body, seeking deeper penetration. His hunger is almost insatiable, born of fear and desperation and lonely nights, and I need to feed it. Wrapping my legs around his hips, I begin to move with him, clenching him tightly within me. He shudders, gasping my name as he presses his face into my neck. With one last, erratic thrust he comes, spilling within me, an explosion of heat that leaves me exhausted and energized at the same time. Sinking to the floor of the shower, my body still straddling his, I fight to catch my breath. His mouth is pressed against my cheek, and I can feel the little whispering sounds he makes. Sated, we sit there, and it would take the threat of an alien invasion to move us. Or a change in the water temperature. . . Squealing, I leap out of the shower, shivering in the aftermath of the freezing water. Mulder follows seconds later, stopping only to turn off the tap. Fluffy towels, one of Mulder's concessions to our relationship, await our chilled limbs. He wraps one loosely around his hips before picking up another. Opening it fully, he envelops me in its softness, moving the towel over my body, careful to dry me completely before folding it around me like a sarong. Now it's my turn. Picking up another towel, I move it over his chest and shoulders, patting away the droplets that caress his chest. I marvel at his shape, firm and lightly tanned, as I wipe away the moisture that coats his strong back, and covers his lightly muscled arms. Sliding it across his stomach, I take time to carefully dry his navel, silently cursing the towel that rides low on his hips and has the audacity to absorb the wetness beneath. I love the play of shadow and light over his body. To see his rugged frame stretch and flex, and watch the movement of skin and muscle working in tandem as he performs the most ordinary activities. I frequently watch him. Like a naturalist, I observe him furtively, careful to keep him unaware of my scrutiny lest he become self-conscious. He is truly unaware of his looks. Like a rare and exotic animal, he is a man who is beautiful to look at, and beautiful inside, too. I'm not the only one watching. His eyes, more golden than green, blaze from beneath the half closed lids as they follow my progression. Kneeling before him, I lift a foot and rest it against the towel draped over my thigh. I wipe carefully between the toes and over the instep, repeating the procedure with his other foot. Finishing, I drop the towel and stand, letting my fingers wander over him. Mulder is ticklish, and I use this weakness to my advantage as I trail my fingers along his side, watching in delight as his body reacts to my touch. This is a side of him that I rarely get a chance to see -- laughing and carefree. Finally, he's had enough, and he grabs my wrists, easily imprisoning them in his grasp. Pressing me back against the door, he swoops down to claim a kiss, his reward for patience. His mouth is soft against mine, almost reverent. A beautiful, romantic interlude in an otherwise unconventional relationship. Too bad it had to end. Mulder pulls away, a surprised look on his face. "Is that you?" My stomach is now responsible for a series of gurgles and rumbles that would be better suited to a truck driver than to someone my size. Blushing, I close my eyes and nod. "I'm sorry. I was just a little on edge when I got home because of. . .and I guess I forgot to eat." "If you keep making all that noise you're liable to wake Ellie." The look of mock horror on his face would be funny if I weren't so embarrassed. "This is a perfectly normal physical response to hunger." My face is hot, color blooming in my cheeks as I attempt to hold on to my towel and my temper. His fingers comb through his damp hair, creating that rakish, slightly spiky look that somehow suits him. "What's your definition of normal, Scully? From where I stand it sounds like Mt. St. Helens is ready to erupt." Sighing, I hitch the slipping towel more securely around me. "You know, Mulder, I can get rather unpleasant if I'm not fed at regular intervals." "Guess I'd better feed you then." He smiles and leans down to kiss my nose, his eyes full of amusement. I stare at him in amazement. "Since when do you have anything edible in your kitchen?" He really is sweet, and he means well, but the thought of the contents of his cupboard doesn't exactly tempt my appetite. His mouth droops, giving him that sad, lonely puppy look. "I don't, but my phone works. I know of this great all night Chinese place, and they'll deliver for me." Rubbing a hand across his forehead, he grimaces. "I'm kind of hungry, too. My dinner was of the liquid variety and. . ." I place my fingers over his lips. "Later, Mulder. We'll talk after we eat. Now, hand me my clothes." The steam has almost disappeared and the room is cooling rapidly. My limbs are prickling with goosebumps and my teeth are just shy of chattering like castanets. "Uh, Scully? I think we have a problem." His hands are full of something dark and dripping -- my jeans. "I guess the shower curtain wasn't closed all the way." He smiles sheepishly, his tone begging my understanding. I can't help it, I start to laugh. After everything that's happened today, wet clothes are nothing more than a very minor nuisance. Taking them from him, I wring as much of the water from them as I can, before draping them over the shower curtain rod. I do the same with the cotton blouse. "You're taking it rather well." He sounds surprised, and I start to laugh again, but it ends on a shiver. He notices my discomfort. "Shit, Scully, you're freezing! Why the hell didn't you say something?" He picks up one of the discarded towels, and wraps it about my shoulders. Though slightly damp, it does provide some warmth and I pull it tighter around me. "Let me get you some sweats." Turning, his hand is on the knob when I stop him. "Uh, aren't you forgetting something? Ellie's here, and I don't think you're dressed for company, Mulder." He grins sheepishly, reaching for his trousers, which remarkably enough, had escaped the fate of my clothes. "Never mind, Mulder. You can clean up this mess." My sweeping gesture encompasses the room. "I'll get the clothes. You don't mind my going through your drawers, do you?" I gaze at him, aiming for a wide-eyed innocent look as I play Mulder's innuendo game. He raises his eyebrows, and gives me a look of amused admiration. "It seems to me you've already done that once tonight." Grinning, I open the door and slip out, blowing a kiss over my shoulder. The floor is cold beneath my feet, and I hurry to his bedroom, longing for the comfort of soft cotton flannel. I open the door slowly, and a splash of light from the other room spills across the floor, illuminating the figure on the bed. Fortunately, it doesn't waken Ellie. My first stop is the closet, pulling out the extra blankets he keeps there and dropping them on his armchair. The heat in this apartment is notoriously unreliable, and if we're going to sleep on his couch we'll probably need them. Almost as an afterthought, I take one of the pillows from the bed and place it on the chair with the other bedding. I open several drawers in his bureau before finding what I need. Turning to place the clothing on the bed, I brush against something, which falls to the floor with a loud bang and rolls over to the wall. Feeling along the woodwork, my hands identify the noisy culprit. A baseball bat. Standing, I look again at Ellie. She appears to be sleeping quite soundly, which isn't unusual, but after my noisy encounter with the bat I find it a bit disconcerting and lean closer to examine her. Her face is flushed, and her eyes are ringed with smudged eyeliner. The rise and fall of her chest seems to indicate she is deeply asleep. Holding her wrist, I feel her pulse, strong and regular, and her skin is cool to the touch. I had wondered for a second if she were using drugs, but her condition doesn't appear to warrant my concern. Dropping her wrist, I pull the covers over her, tucking her in before picking up my booty and tiptoeing out of the room. Two hours later, we're lying on his couch. My back is nestled against his chest, and his breath, redolent of mint and spice, stirs the hair at my cheek. Our appetites are satisfied, and in the quiet darkness of his apartment, we surrender to our weariness, and sleep. ****** I'm pushing this baby stroller down the street, and people keep stopping to look at the baby. They all start out cooing and shit, until they get real close. And then they start screaming. I can't see the baby, and for some reason I don't try. I just keep walking and pushing. And it happens over and over again. Finally, I see my mother. She looks at the baby too, and doesn't scream, but there's this strange look on her face. I can't stand it any longer, and pull back the canopy to see what they're all so afraid of. The baby's face, oh God! Green eyes look out of a furred face, with a long nose and sharp teeth. My baby has the face of a fox. . . Sitting up in the bed, my heart pounds, and I can feel sweat dripping down my face. A dream, it was just a dream. For a minute, I can't remember where I am, then it all comes back to me. I'm in Fox Mulder's bed. It's a beautiful bed, too. Last night, I was too upset and worried to really pay attention to anything. But in the morning light I am truly impressed. And damn, but there's a mirror over the bed. Never imagined he was such a perv job! I can see myself, sitting up against the pillows. Geez, I look like hell! Pulling my hair from my face, I see the little black marks my tears and eyeliner made on my face. I can't believe I didn't see this last night! It's cold in the room, and I snuggle back under the quilt until I am perfectly warm again. The sheets are soft, and smell like him, sort of dark and musky. A very pleasant smell. According to the clock by the bed, it's a little after eight in the morning, and thankfully, the nausea I've been experiencing is missing. I wonder where Fox is. My stomach tells me it's been a long time since my last meal and I could use some breakfast, but I'm not sure whether I should wait for him or just help myself. This isn't my home. Yet. I lay in bed for another five minutes, mentally redecorating the apartment. It definitely needs to be painted, and those windows are crying out for drapes. But this bed is perfect, I would just get a prettier quilt. Maybe something in satin or velvet, and in a brighter color. Red, maybe. I look good in red. But this brown and navy shit has got to go -- too depressing. I really gotta pee. . . Oh, to hell with it. My mind made up, I leave the bed and walk over to the door. Pressing my ear against it, I listen. Nothing. Not a sound in the apartment. Home alone. The thought of snooping through his stuff makes me giggle, and I open the door, eager to start. First things first -- where *is* the bathroom? Walking quickly down the hallway, I open the first door I see. Success! Washing up afterwards, I peek into the medicine cabinet. You can tell a lot about people by what they keep there. He's got the usual crap, like Band-Aids, ibuprofen, and men's stuff. No condoms though. Damn, this man likes to live dangerously, or he hasn't been laid in ages. Well, I can take care of that, and no condoms are necessary, not now anyway. Moving some of the bottles, I spy his aftershave. I open the bottle and inhale. Mmmm, it's sexy and masculine, just like him. Yeah, that's the smell in the bed. Tilting the bottle, I dot some of the scent on my fingertip and stroke it over my wrist. I look into the mirror as I close the cabinet, and see the reflection of something hanging over the shower curtain. It looks like a pair of jeans, still pretty wet, and a black shirt. They look like they shrunk, too. Poor Fox! He can't even manage to do laundry properly. Well, I can take care of that for him. With me around, he'll never have to worry about laundry again. Or cleaning either, I think, as I look at the cobwebs in the corner of the ceiling. Now to do something about my hair. Using his comb, I try to get most of the tangles out, but after breaking two teeth from it I finally give up and just push it behind my ears. Out in the hallway again, I move toward the kitchen. And that's when I notice the boots. Women's boots. Black, ankle high, with a three inch heel, and they're laying in the middle of the floor, as though kicked off or dropped in a hurry. What's the deal with that? And then a sound, a slight moan, catches my attention and I turn my head toward the living room. Someone is home. Stepping cautiously, trying to make no noise, I approach the doorway. . . Maybe I'm still dreaming, but I doubt it. And if I'm not, then I'm fucked. Again. I kind of figured that they were still friends, else why would he call her. And I kind of figured she'd be hanging around, trying to screw up my plans. But I never figured on this. The two of them are lying there, and it's almost impossible to tell where one body ends and the other begins. I've been screwed again, and so has she by the looks of it. And only one of us enjoyed the experience. They're still lovers? I can't believe this shit! And at their age! I thought old people got married and all. I didn't think they screwed around. Where the hell was she last night when he was out getting hammered? Guess she was waiting for him to call her so she could get nailed. How could he do this to me? This isn't the way it's supposed to turn out. I should be the one laying there with him, not *her*. I could almost cry. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Back in the bedroom, I crawl beneath the quilt. Stupid, that's what I am. What the hell was I thinking? Coming across the country to try to marry a man old enough to be my father, and who isn't in love with me anyway. Stupid, stupid, stupid! All this trouble for nothing. I should have gone to my mother. Oh, she'd be pissed off. Probably say she was too young to be a grandmother. But she'd take care of me, she'd love me and the baby. I guess Fox is just like all the men I've ever known. Like Ricky. All they ever want to do is cop a feel and hope to end the night boinking like bunnies. Only Randy was different. Ricky and Randy. Their names are alike, but that's the only thing that's similar. Ricky treated me like shit, only interested in screwing me, not in the person I am. But Randy, he was wonderful. Sweet and decent, he treated me like I was something fragile, something precious. For a little while, I was. . . For the first time since I found out I was pregnant, I'm crying. Not that fake shit I pulled for Fox's benefit, but real, honest-to-god tears. And I can't seem to stop. My body starts shaking, and it's hard to catch my breath, but I keep crying. What's wrong with me? Why can't I ever do anything right? ****** End of Part Three    Go to Part Four -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Feedback is appreciated -- E-mail All4Mulder@aol.com -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Back to the Series Page -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Back to main fic page