Alternatives 3:  Payback
By shannono (shannono@iname.com)
and Brandon D. Ray

DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT:  Anywhere and everywhere, so long
as our names and e-mail addresses stay on it and no money
changes hands.

SPOILER WARNING:  Set one week or so after the events in 
"Alternatives 2:  Obstacles," with various small spoilers for
episodes aired up through "Tithonius."

RATING:  NC-17

CONTENT WARNING: Smut. MSR. PDA.

CLASSIFICATION:  SRA

SUMMARY:  Payback isn't always hell ...

DISCLAIMER:  In our dreams...

==========

AUTHORS' NOTES:

Shannon's turn:

Well. We never knew there were quite so many smut addicts out
there in fanfic land. And we *certainly* never knew so many
people would resort to flattery, bribery, and outright lying
to get us to write more, and faster.

We're lovin' every second of it.

And so, herewith, you have "A3," out on time but, unfortunately,
not under budget, due to the untimely illness of Brandon's
computer. But that's his story, so I'll let him tell it ...

Brandon?

*sniffles*  My computer...*choked sob*...it DIED on me.  It had 
to go to the computer hospital.  It may not be back for a week.  
I don't know if I can live without it....Now I know how Mulder 
felt during Redux II....

Oh ... and, as usual, no marriages or other long term relationships
were harmed during the writing of this fic. ;) 

And now...on with the show....

==============================

Alternatives 3: Payback


This has got to be the worst airline experience I've had in 
my *life*.

God. Just when I think it can't get any worse ...

First, we end up on the red-eye back from Nevada, thanks to 
getting bumped from an overbooked flight. Nearly an hour in 
line and several badge-flashes later, we managed to snag these
two seats -- at the very back of the cabin, of course, with 
the least legroom of all. Then THAT flight is delayed nearly
a half-hour on the runway, and we're stuck in our seats the 
entire time.

And, to make matters worst of all ... I'm as horny as hell.

It's been nine days now since that night in my apartment when
Mulder and I threw aside the rules and our inhibitions and 
took the first step toward consummating this relationship of
ours. Unfortunately for us, when all the other timing was 
just perfect ... I was on my period.

Big downer. I just couldn't do it. However, I didn't want us
to put off intimacy another moment -- so I took another route.

From his reactions, it was a good decision.

We even made plans for the follow-through. "Next Friday," I 
told him, just before we both fell asleep. An interminable
wait, partly to make sure I'd be OFF my period by then, and
partly because I'd already made plans for a trip to the beach
with my mom that weekend, taking advantage of the unseasonably
warm weather.

For the next three days, including the aforementioned weekend,
we made do with a nice little string of e-mail exchanges. Well,
"nice" isn't quite the word for it ...  let's just say we
didn't dare use our work accounts, and I certainly didn't 
read ANY of them with my mother in the same room.

So we passed time with that, and with planning our rendezvous.
A night in a nice little cabin a few hours away, complete with
hot tub, fireplace, and complimentary champagne. Reservations 
were made, brand-new lingerie purchased ... for me to wear,
not him ...

And then we stumbled into the case from hell.

Six deaths in four days, all of them as brutal and nasty as 
any we've encountered in all our years as partners. I'm not 
going to think about it enough to get into much detail, but 
suffice it to say that, for the first time in my career, I 
had to stop not once, but twice, in the middle of an autopsy
to puke my guts out.

God.

Needless to say, the case stretched on long enough that we 
had to put off our plans. The reservations were cancelled
-- thankfully, in time to avoid any fees -- and the lingerie
stayed in the Victoria's Secret bag in my closet, entirely-
too-expensive price tags still attached. Once again, we had
to let our personal lives take a back seat to our work.

But it's over, thank God, another madman off the streets and,
this time, an actual closed case. It's some ungodly hour in
the middle of Friday night, we're on a nearly full plane
somewhere over Iowa, I believe, and all I can think about
is that we're supposed to be in bed right now. Preferably 
naked, preferably not sleeping, and preferably with me on 
top.

After all ... he owes me one.

I smile slightly at the memory. Mulder, sprawled across my
bed, the covers thrown recklessly to the floor, while I
touched and licked pretty much every square inch of skin
on his body. Paying closer attention to some spots than 
others, of course. By the time I was finished with him, 
he looked like every bone in his body had been liquefied.

Yeah, I *definitely* think I made a good decision with that 
one.

We spent the rest of that night spooned together under the
replaced covers, and when he woke up early the next morning
to head home for a shower and clean suit, he left me with a
parting shot promising payback as soon as I was up to it, 
punctuating the offer with a suck on my earlobe. I nearly 
decided to jump him right then, messiness and all ...

But I didn't. We went with the weekend-away idea ... and 
now we may have missed our chance.

To tell the truth, I don't know if we'd have been able to
relax enough to enjoy it this week anyway. I don't think 
either of us fully realized how all-encompassing the X-files
would be after we got them back. We've been stuck on scut 
detail so long that we forgot how *intense* things can be.

I *also* should have taken into consideration what kind of 
bounceback effect I'd encounter when we got the files back.
Mulder's like a man who's suddenly regained his sight and
is busy spending every second scrutinizing the big, bright
world around him. He's been up to his knees and elbows in 
reconstructed files and recovered evidence from the moment
we stepped back into the basement late Friday afternoon,
and I'm surprised we lasted until late Tuesday before heading
out on the road.

Now, finally, we're on the way home, and I've already argued
Mulder against the wall about getting at least one full day
off when we get back. I've got to get re-acclimated to this
crazy schedule that used to be my way of life, and I'm 
determined to get one personal day before he's dragging me
off again.

I understand his enthusiasm, believe me. I feel the same way,
for the most part. I don't begrudge him a moment of the past
week, including the half-dozen arguments and that nasty 
autopsy with the maggots two days ago. Ugh, I promised 
myself I wasn't going to get into that ...

Anyway. The X-files are his passion, and they're important 
to me, too. I, however, need a break now and then, something
I don't think he's ever fully comprehended. He believes 
everyone else should be able to run on an average of four
hours' sleep a night, supplemented by gallons of coffee, 
long runs, and junk food. But I just can't do that, especially
after so much time away from that kind of schedule.

Only a week back on the X-files, and I need a vacation.

No, I just need a couple of days off.

No ... what I *really* need is a decent meal, one good 
night's sleep ... and then an early morning rendezvous with
the man sitting next to me. Something involving a soft bed,
scented candles, and multiple orgasms would be nice ...

"Scully? You okay?"

Yeah, I just should have worn a panty liner ...

"I'm fine, Mulder. Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing. ..."

Mulder sighs beside me, and I chance a sidelong glance at 
him. I haven't dared look at him since we finally made it
into the air, afraid I'd start taking out my frustration 
on him -- undeservedly, despite the past week.

Either that, or I'd drag his ass into the bathroom and 
join the Mile High Club.

My little glance quickly gets out of hand, my eyes starting
to wander up and down his long body. He's still wearing his
"official G-man" suit of the day, minus jacket and tie, 
which are tossed over the back of his seat. His jawline is
darkened with close to 20 hours' worth of stubble, his eyes
are half-closed, and his lips are slightly parted.

My gaze drifts down, taking in the vee of skin left bare by
the three open buttons on his shirt, then goes on further,
coming to rest at last on his lap.

My, my, Mulder. You carrying your gun in your pocket these
days?

I pull my eyes away and stare out the tiny window next to 
me, a tiny smile twisting my mouth. A thought is forming in
the back of my mind, and I take a furtive look around the 
darkened cabin. Looks to me like most of the other passengers
are sleeping.

Perfect.

I start to turn back to Mulder, intending to feign a chill 
and ask him to get a blanket from the overhead compartment.
But he's already half-standing before I can say a word and 
opening the door above us.

Okay, unspoken communication is one thing. Telepathy, 
however ...

Blanket in hand, Mulder clicks the compartment shut, then
shakes the cloth open and sits back down. He turns toward me,
then gives a lopsided grin and holds the blanket up.

"I figured you'd probably be asking for it," he says, 
answering my question before I can ask it. "You usually do 
on the late flights."

I feel a smile gradually spread across my face. "I was about
to ask," I admit, reaching for the edge and pulling it 
halfway onto my lap, leaving the rest draped across Mulder.

# # #

Perfect.  Absolutely perfect.

I stand in the darkened cabin for just a moment and glance
around at the other passengers, and they're all asleep, at
least the ones closest to us.  I take an especially careful
look at the two businessmen in the row across from us, but 
they're both dead to the world, which is just as well --
one of them had been eying Scully when we first got on the
plane, and is alive and breathing at this moment because I
packed my Sig Sauer in my checked luggage for the flight 
home.

I turn my attention back to Scully and see that she's 
looking up at me, an amused expression on her face.  I 
give a rueful smile and hold up the blanket.  "I figured
you'd probably be asking for it," I say.  "You usually do
on the late flights."

The slow smile I get in return would melt my heart, if she
hadn't already done that nine days ago on her living room 
sofa.  "I was about to ask," she murmurs, and as I settle 
back down next to her she spreads the blanket out over us 
and snuggles down against my shoulder.

Absolutely perfect.

I told Scully last week that I was going to get her back, 
and I've decided that now is the time. It's been a long, 
harrowing week, we've both been pumping adrenalin 24/7, and
speaking for myself I feel more totally alive than I have 
in years. Scully's responsible for most of that, and now 
she's curled up half-asleep in her seat, her head resting
on my shoulder, just as she has countless times in the 
past -- only this time I'm allowed to fully enjoy it.

"Sir?  Did you need something?"

I'm pulled from my reverie by a woman's voice, and I 
turn to see one of the flight attendants bending over
me, an apologetic smile on her face.  "I'm sorry," she
goes on.  "I didn't mean to disturb you, but I saw you
standing up a minute ago, and I wanted to make sure you
have everything you need."

I glance at her name badge, and then up to her face.
"Thanks, Noelle, but I think we're fine," I say.  I 
allow her a smile, which is not something I'm accustomed
to doing, but somehow the last week or so it's been 
coming more naturally.  "We're both just tired.  It's
been a long week."

She smiles knowingly.  "Newlyweds?" she asks.

For just an instant I'm startled, and I can feel Scully
stirring against me, ready to issue the rote denial that
both of us have gotten so good at these past six years, 
but I beat her to the punch.  "I guess you could say 
that," I reply with an embarrassed, affectionate chuckle.
I can almost FEEL Scully's eyes widening as I go on,
"You know how it is."

Noelle nods, still smiling, and says, "I thought so.  I
can always tell.  Well, if you're both doing all right 
Mr..."

"Mulder," I supply.

"Mr. Mulder, I'll just leave the two of you alone."  
And she winks and starts to turn away.

And it occurs to me that maybe she CAN do something for
me -- and for Scully.  "Noelle?"  She turns back and raises
an eyebrow.  I go on, "There is one thing.  Do you think 
you might be able to track down some hand lotion?"  She 
cocks her head questioningly at me, and I explain, "My 
Dana's a surgeon, and the soaps they have to use are a
little hard on her skin.  So I thought maybe..." I let 
my voice trail off.

Noel's smile broadens at my apparent thoughtfulness.  
"Of course," she says.  "I'm sure I can find something.
I'll be right back."  And she turns and walks away.

Payback's a bitch, Agent Scully.

#          #          #

Stunned is simply not the word for it.

Newlyweds? What the hell was that all about?

"Mulder, what the hell was *that* all about?"

He just grins at me. "All what?" he asks, trying -- and
failing -- to affect an innocent tone.

I raise an eyebrow. "Newlyweds, Mulder? A surgeon? Shall
I go on?"

His smile only widens. "It all depends on the perspective,
Scully," he says mildly. And he slips his hand over mine,
under the blanket.

Why do I get the feeling we've got vastly different goals
in mind for the rest of the night?

Hmmmm. Now that's is an interesting thought. He did promise
payback, after all ...

I relax back against the seat and tilt my head until it 
rests on his shoulder. Softly, I whisper, "*Your* Dana?"

He stiffens just slightly, and then his hand slides from
mine and his arm lifts to encircle my shoulders, pulling
me closer to his side. His lips touch my temple.

"I missed Valentine's Day, Scully," he murmurs against my
skin. "Be mine?"

God.

How can this man send me from one end of the emotional
spectrum to the other without batting an eye?

I blink back the sudden burn of tears and nestle myself
into his side. I can't even answer, but luckily, I'm
rescued by the reappearance of Noelle.

"Mr. Mulder, I found some hand cream," she says softly,
holding out a small tube with a smile.

Keeping his arm in place around my shoulders, Mulder
reaches for the lotion and smiles. "Thanks so much,
Noelle," he says in his most charming tone. "Dana and
I both really appreciate it."

Noelle glances at me, and I manage a swift smile and
nod, still not quite trusting my voice.

When she's gone, Mulder drops the lotion in his lap,
then finally extracts his arm from around me, reaching
under the blanket to pull my hands out and laying them
in my lap. He picks the lotion back up, opens it, and
squirts a blob into his hand before recapping it and
dropping it back into his lap.

I frown in confusion. "Mulder, what ..."

Before I can finish, he's picked up my right hand and
is spreading the warm cream across my skin. His fingers
press lightly as they move, working the lotion in
thoroughly, massaging gently.

God, this feels wonderful ...

I guess that's the idea.

Well. I have two options. Make some sort of effort to
turn this back to my original plan ... or just sit
back and enjoy myself.

I'll take option two, I do believe ...

#    #    #

I think she's on to me.  Not that it matters.

Scully is cuddled up against my side, breathing softly
as I work the hand lotion into her skin. Her hands are
so small and delicate -- they were among the first things
I noticed about her all those years ago when she first 
walked into my office, and I've always admired them.

I softly and gently stroke the back of her hand,
thoroughly exploring every square centimeter.  I can
feel the tendons, and the long, long finger bones that
reach almost down to her wrist.  Her hand twitches 
slightly as I touch the back of her wrist, but then
I let my fingers move away, back up towards her knuckles.

I massage each of her fingers in turn, not forgetting 
to pay special attention to the sensitive spaces between
each pair of fingers, and also to the webbing between 
her thumb and forefinger.  Scully shivers slightly as I
touch her there, and so I spend just a little extra time
and effort on that spot, stroking and rubbing all around
the base of her thumb.

I find myself becoming surprisingly turned on by all 
of this.  I mean, I've been in a low state of arousal
all week, but this....this is really getting to me, and
I've barely even begun.  Scully seems to be liking it 
pretty well, too, judging by the way she's pressing up
against me and breathing against my neck, and of course
that just makes it better for me, too.  I want her 
aroused, I want her so turned on she can't even see 
straight -- and I want to know that it was me that did
it to her.

I turn her hand over and start to work on her palm, 
grazing my fingers lightly across her skin in a slow,
slow, circular motion.  Part of what I said to Noelle
actually is true; I really do worry about Scully's skin,
considering all of the harsh soaps, disinfectants and 
other chemicals she has to use in her daily work.  Just
about the only upside to our period of exile with Kersh
was that she wasn't exposed to such things, but I know 
she wasn't happy.  She's too much like me; she's never
happy unless she's got her proper work.

Her hands are simply amazing.  Just the right amount
of fleshiness overlying muscle and bone.  I lightly 
trace the path of her lifeline, first out towards her
fingers, and then back down again to her wrist.  Her 
hands are so strong and sure, so knowledgeable and 
decisive -- it suddenly strikes me that Scully's 
hands are almost like a metaphor for her entire self.
Everything that she is, everything that makes her 
Scully, is exemplified in her hands.

I trail my fingertips one more time up and down her
lifeline before I finally abandon her hand, and now
I gently tease and caress the inside of her wrist.  
Scully sighs slightly and snuggles a little closer, 
and I can't resist the urge to chuckle.  "Getting more
relaxed, Agent Scully?" I ask.

She doesn't say anything, but simply shakes her head
as it rests against my shoulder, and I continue to 
stroke and tickle the sensitive patch of skin that 
I've found.  And finally I lift her hand to my lips
and kiss her palm before lightly running my tongue 
along the inside of her wrist.

Scully moans.

#    #    #

I bite the moan off almost as soon as it starts, realizing
suddenly just exactly where we are. The last thing I want 
to do is draw unwanted attention to us, because then we'd 
be compelled to stop.

Mulder chuckles lightly, lifting his head from my arm 
and leaning across to bring his lips close to my ear and
whisper: "Now, now, Agent Scully, do you want me to have
to keep you quiet?"

My mind quickly turns over the possibilities, and I 
manage to keep the next moan low in my throat as his lips
travel down the curve of my neck and settle in the hollow
of my throat. My hands move of their own accord, one 
gripping his left knee and the other settling at the back
of his head.

His right hand, I quickly realize, is skimming lightly 
over my upper thighs, brushing along the soft wool of my 
pants. For a moment I wish desperately that I'd worn a 
skirt today -- a short one -- but then his fingers deftly
work my belt buckle, pulling the thin leather strap apart,
and I realize it really doesn't matter. At this point, I 
doubt even a chastity belt would stop him.

Not that I want him to stop. Oh, no. He can keep this up
for the rest of our lives.

His hand has shifted up, tugging the hem of my blouse from
my waistband to allow him access to the skin of my stomach.
I swallow another groan as he brings his other hand into 
play, sliding it down from my shoulder to skim along the 
edge of my breast.

He keeps up this sweet torture for what seems like hours,
one hand caressing the curve of my breast but never 
reaching the nipple, while the other traces soft patterns
around my navel. I'm shivering already, and he's barely 
even touching me.

And then he raises the hand under my blouse to cover my
right breast, and my head drops back against the seat.

#     #     #
 

I think Scully's really starting to get into this.  I know
*I* am.

I pause for just a moment in my ministrations to her neck
and draw my head back to admire my handiwork. And Scully's
beautiful; she's simply beautiful:  Head thrown back, face
flushed, eyes squinched tightly shut. Her lips are slightly
parted, and she's breathing in short, irregular gasps.  My 
right hand is still underneath her blouse, lightly cupping 
one breast through the thin material of her bra, and every 
time my thumb brushes against her nipple she shudders.

But there are a couple of problems here.  The first is that
her blouse is just too damned confining, while the second --
well, we'll deal with that in a minute.  One thing at a time.
First the blouse.

While continuing to lightly tease and caress her breast with
my right hand, I send my left down to gather up the blanket 
and draw it up until she's completely covered from the neck 
down, gently but firmly tucking the corners in around her
shoulders.  Then that same hand dives back beneath the blanket
and goes to work on the buttons of her blouse.

Ah.  Much better.  I flex the fingers of my right hand, the 
one holding her breast, and then I lightly trail them across
her skin, tracing the outline of her bra until I come to what
is unmistakably a clasp in the valley between those two heavenly
mounds.  Scully's eyes are open now, and I can see just the 
slightest flicker of unease at things having moved this far 
this quickly.  She opens her mouth as if to speak, perhaps to
tell me it's time to stop, or at least slow down, but before 
she can get out even a single word I pop the clasp, and then 
my hand brushes her bra aside and my fingers close upon a bare
nipple and give it a firm, delicate squeeze.

Oh boy.  Oh Jesus.  Oh wow.  That was better than I'd hoped.  
Pinching Scully's nipple seems to have set off a complex chain
of physiological reactions, almost as if she'd stuck her finger
in an electric outlet.  One of her hands is now tightly clutching
the back of my head while the other is digging mercilessly into 
my left thigh. The very tip of her tongue is sticking out between
her lips, and she's biting down on it in an obvious attempt to 
keep from making any noise, and I swear to heaven her eyes are 
crossed.

God.  If only I had a camera.

I move a little closer to her, and as I did earlier I slip my
left arm around her shoulders, while my right hand continues to
browse across her breasts.  I realize now that I didn't give
Scully's breasts nearly enough attention during our one previous
encounter, and I'm determined to make up for lost time.

And now for problem number two.

Actually, it's a two part problem, part A being the inevitable
one of height differential -- but that's just something we're 
going to have to learn to work around if we want this relationship
to last.  Part B, however, is more situational, and revolves 
around the self-evident fact that the engineers at Boeing did 
not have sex in mind when they designed the passenger seats in
the 727.

Necessity, however, is the mother of invention, and Scully is 
about as off-guard as she's going to get, and so without any 
preamble or warning I slide my right hand away from her breasts
and down to her hip, and finally slip that arm under her thighs
and scoop her up and into my lap.

#          #          #

Oh my God. I can't quite believe I'm doing this. I've never
in my *life* had sex in a public place, and while we're not
quite having sex, it's near enough.  

But it's been a miserable week, it's late ... and this just
feels too damned good to stop.

Mulder just pulled me into his lap, and it took every ounce
of willpower in my body not to gasp out loud in surprise.
That would have drawn entirely too much attention.

He's shifting me around now, turning a little sideways in
the seat so his legs stretch out toward the window instead
of the aisle. I'm sitting on his left thigh, leaning against
the seat, with my legs dangling between his legs and the back
of the row in front of us.

It takes me a minute to figure out that he's popped open the
button on my slacks and is easing the zipper down. One corner
of my protective blanket has slipped from my shoulder, and I 
lift a shaky hand to draw it back up ... just as his hand slips
down to cup me through my panties.

I bite back another moan and thrust my hips against his
fingers, silently begging for his touch, but he responds
by pulling his hand away. For a second I consider throttling
him -- justifiable homicide, I'd say -- but then he redeems
himself by dipping his head under the blanket and latching
that wonderful mouth onto my left nipple.

Oooohhhhhh ... mmmmmm .... Jesus, he's gooood at this ...

His hand is in motion again, stroking my abdomen just above
the elastic of my panties, dipping just under the edge of
the cloth to tease the top fringe of the curls there. His
mouth has traveled to my other breast, his tongue trailing
slowly around the nipple without touching it directly.

And then my stomach lurches, and I hit freefall for about a
second before landing, hard, right back in Mulder's lap.

#     #     #

Scully's breasts  God -- I'm licking Dana Scully's breasts.

And I'm not just licking them -- I'm kissing and sucking and
very, VERY gently nibbling on them.  And she appreciates the
attention.  Boy does she appreciate the attention.  I can tell
from the way she's softly squirming on my lap, rubbing her soft
round bottom against my erection and wrapping both arms around
my head to hold it tightly in place as I suckle on her.  I'm 
sure under normal circumstances she'd be expressing her 
appreciation vocally as well, but my Scully is nothing if not
self-disciplined.

Abruptly the plane dips and surges as it hits an air pocket, 
and I figure out what's about to happen just in time to pull 
my mouth -- and teeth -- away from her nipple.  Scully is 
briefly airborne, then comes slamming back down onto my lap,
and I guess maybe there is a god after all because by sheerest
chance her center lands directly on my hard-on.  

Before I can even begin to consciously process what's happening
my own hips are bucking reflexively and thrusting back up against
her.  I can feel her body quivering and shuddering in response, 
but still no sound escapes her lips, and somehow I manage to 
keep quiet, too.

I pull my head back out from under the blanket to take another
look at what must surely qualify as the eighth wonder of the 
world:  Scully's face contorted in passion.  She's continuing
to grind her ass against my erection, her eyes once again 
squinched tightly shut while she chews on her lower lip, which
apparently is her current strategy for staying quiet.

I think it's time to finish this.

My right hand, which has been resting quietly on her lower 
abdomen for the last several minutes, now starts sliding 
downwards.  My fingers slip easily beneath the elastic of her
panties, and in another moment my hand is gently cupping the 
center of her arousal.

If suckling on Dana Scully's breasts was a profound experience,
having my hand pressing up against her crotch while my fingers
tangle in her curls is simply awe-inspiring.  Scully seems to 
like it, too, judging from the way she's tossing her head from
side to side and breathing in short, ragged gasps.

My index finger gently nudges apart her outer lips, and God 
is she wet.  Sweet Jesus.  As my finger lightly explores her
intimate folds her body shudders repeatedly and she tightens
her arms around my neck.  And then I finally reach my ultimate
goal and she presses her face against my shoulder and growls.

#          #          #

Oh God. Oh God.

How the *hell* am I supposed to keep quiet during *this*??

Jeeee-sus ... I don't have any idea how people can ever have
sex in public places without getting arrested. Oh God ...

Mulder's mouth has abandoned my breasts in favor of a return
trip to my neck, but I barely notice the loss, considering what
he's doing with his hand. Those long fingers are just perfect 
for this, gracefully dipping into my wetness and then running 
in tight little circles around my clit. 

He pushes his middle finger slowly into me as far as it will
go, then withdraws it just as slowly and goes back in with two,
thrusting gently in and out. Meanwhile, his mouth is drifting
up to my ear, then across my cheek to my lips, which part 
instintively to allow him inside, his tongue quickly falling
into rhythm with his fingers.

I can't stop moving, grinding myself against his hand and
mouth -- not mention his erection. I allow myself to moan
into the kiss, the sound waves reverberating through our 
bodies but not escaping into the air.

Still kissing me thoroughly, he slides his fingers out and
begins to stroke the skin just above my vagina, and I feel
an intense rush of fire throughout my body. Oh God ... right
there ... yeah ... oh ... how did ... how did he know? No 
one's ever ...

He presses harder, rubbing firmly in short strokes from
clit to vagina without touching either. My hips are moving
mindlessly now, and I've abandoned the idea of kissing him
back, although his tongue is still exploring my mouth. I 
can already feel the climax building from my toes.

A few more strokes, and his fingers are back inside, thrusting
firmly and twisting just slightly from side to side with each 
plunge. My hips fall into his rhythm only momentarily before
getting out of control again.

And then he pulls out, and two soaking-wet fingertips fall
onto my clit, rubbing firmly and without mercy.

And my entire body convulses against his.

#    #    #

And her entire body convulses against mine.

This is amazing.  Just simply amazing.  I've never seen anything 
like it in my life.  If she gets like this just from having my 
hand on her, I can't wait to see the consequences of some of the
other activities I have planned for the near future.

Gradually she starts to come down a little, and as her body relaxes
she sags towards me until she's just curled up in my arms like a 
rag doll.  My hand continues lightly stroking her oversensitive 
center, helping her finish off as the aftershocks go shuddering 
through her, until finally she squeezes my hand with her thighs 
and I take that as the signal to stop.

Her head is resting against my shoulder again, and her breath is 
warm and moist against my neck.  I feel a slight tickle against 
my skin, and after a moment I realize that it's her lips brushing
my throat.  And then I hear her voice, just barely audible, and 
she's simply murmuring my name over and over and over.

This is by any measure one of the most profoundly intimate moments
of my life, just sitting here in this airline seat cuddling Scully
on my lap as she winds down from her orgasm.  Last week after our 
first time together I did have some vague guilt feelings over not 
having given her the pleasure she'd given me, but if that night 
was anything like as good for her as the last half hour has been
good for me, I guess I don't have anything to feel bad about after
all.

This is incredible.

Unfortunately it's not going to last much longer, because I catch 
some movement out of the corner of my eye, and glancing up I see 
our old friend Noelle gradually working her way down the aisle in
our direction.  We must be getting ready to land, because she's 
stopping to speak to some of the passengers, and I can see people
on the aisle stretching and reaching for their seatbelts.

I turn back to Scully and press my lips against her forehead before
saying, "Hey, love..."  And my throat suddenly constricts and I feel
a tremor pass from my body to hers and then back again as I realize
that this is the first time either of us have used that particular 
word in this particular context.

I clear my throat and try again.  "Company's coming, love."  There, 
I said it again.  Scully's head lifts from my shoulder and she looks
up at me a little blearily.  "I think we're about to land," I add, 
and she smiles sleepily and nods, and I just can't resist giving her
one more kiss, even as my hand slips out of her pants and starts 
re-buttoning her blouse.

#     #     #

It takes until Mulder's refastened two buttons for me to realize
exactly what's going on. I'm half-undressed, still sitting in his
lap, and the flight attendant -- Noelle -- is slowly but steadily
making her way toward us.

Comprehension spurs me to action, and I gently move Mulder's
hands away and finish refastening my clothes, not bothering to
tuck my blouse back in. The wet crotch of my panties is quickly
growing cold and uncomfortable, but it's a feeling I think I
can live with for a while.

Bracing a hand on the edge of the seat, I slide off of Mulder
and back into my own place, shrugging the blanket off in the
process. Mulder has a small smile on his face as he loosely
refolds the cloth and rises -- a bit uncomfortably, I notice --
to stuff it back into the overhead compartment ... and if I 
didn't know better I'd say those were tears I saw in his eyes.

Come to think of it ... maybe they were ...

//... love ...//

I smooth my hands over my clothes and hair, taking several deep
breaths to slow my still-pounding heart, then reach for my seat
belt. I fumble with the clasp, my hands still a little shaky ...

... and Mulder's hands cover mine, sliding the belt into
place.

He lingers there, his hands wrapped around mine, and I lift
my face to look at him. His eyes are still soft, but I spy
the mischievious twinkle deep inside just before he speaks:

"So ... does that qualify us for the Mile High Club?" he
asks, in a low, mildly teasing tone.

Despite my best efforts, I feel the grin breaking across my 
face. "I don't know, Mulder," I reply lightly. "I mean, if
there's no penetration, it probably doesn't qualify."

He shrugs. "Only one way to find out," he says, then turns
toward Noelle, who's at the row in front of us. "Noelle?"
he says. "We have a question ..."

It's all I can do to keep from clapping one hand over his
mouth to shut him up. Instead, I hiss out, "Mulder!"

Noelle's smiling as she turns in our direction. "What can I
help you with, Mr. Mulder?" she asks.

"Actually," I jump in quickly, using my sweetest tone of 
voice, "we were just wondering how long we had before we 
land. *My Fox* was just about to use the restroom ..."

I can practically feel Mulder's chagrin, although I'm not
sure if it's from what I said, or the fact that I used his
first name. I don't dare look at him, but I'm concentrating
so hard not to that I barely register Noelle's reply that 
it'll be just a few minutes and he should wait until we're
on the ground.

Finally, Noelle turns to speak to the men across the aisle,
and I chance a quick look at Mulder. He's staring at me, his
face is a mixture of shock and embarrassment, and he says, 
"Care to explain *that*, Agent Scully?

I give a slow, lazy grin, lean back against my seat and
close my eyes, and murmur, "Payback's a bitch, isn't it,
Agent Mulder?"

#   END   #