TITLE: Act of Desperation SPOILER WARNING: We should all be so lucky RATING: NC-17 CONTENT WARNING: MSR. Smut. Bad language. CLASSIFICATION: SRH SUMMARY: A continuation of the Book of Acts. Our heroes spend a long holiday weekend at Bill jr's house. AUTHOR'S NOTE: Way back in the mists o' time, I was told that if you use at least three sources and publicly acknowledge them you can't be accused of plagiarism. Which is a back-handed way of saying that I owe a literary debt for this story to the following wonderful ladies: Laura Blaurosen, for her beautiful, funny story, "Oh, I Forgot to Tell You, Mulder Called", in which she reminds us all of just how much fun sexual frustration can be (as long as it's happening to someone else); Vickie Moseley, whose ongoing series, "By Her Side", especially "The Edict", always brings a shit-eating grin to my face; Susan Proto, for the wonderful Barbecue Series, especially "Holiday on Ice". Heathers and Nicole van Dam, whose delightfully funny tale, "Carpe Felis Mortuus" also contributed to the madness.You should run, not walk, to the nearest archive, and read all three of these lovely stories. :) FINALLY: Thanks so, so much to Laura Blaurosen, Rachel Lewis and Shannon for the beta tests and other encouragement. Naturally, any shortcomings which remain are my own doing, but any coolness herein is surely at least partially to their credit. And FINALLY FINALLY (and I really mean it, this time): An entire bag of virtual chocolate chip cookies go out to Kristen the Bassoonist (who is extraordinary, or so I'm told) for help with the San Diego locale. Act of Desperation by Brandon D. Ray I blame myself. It was my idea that Mulder come with me on my latest visit to San Diego. Not that he put up that much of a fight. In fact, he didn't put up any fight at all, which kind of surprised me. Spending time in the presence of my older brother is not high on Mulder's list of favorite pastimes, but apparently when given the choice between spending a three day weekend with me in my brother's home, or spending that same three day weekend alone in his own apartment, he chose me. This is actually a little breathtaking when you stop to consider the depth of dislike he and Bill have for each other, and also tells you something about how far our relationship has progressed in the last seven months, sixteen days, twenty hours and eighteen minutes. Not that I'm counting or anything -- anymore than I've been counting the two days, twelve hours and thirty-one minutes since Mulder reluctantly climbed out of my bed and went back to his own apartment to pack, or the approximately twenty-nine hours and fourteen minutes (allowing forty-five minutes to fight our way through the traffic from Washington National to my apartment, and God help Delta Airlines if that flight is delayed) until...well, you get the picture. I didn't used to be this pathetic. I honestly, truly didn't. I was never this way over Jack, or any of the other men I've been with in the past. But somehow Fox Mulder has the power to reduce me to a blithering, hormone-drenched idiot, just by chewing on his lower lip, or by raising his eyebrow at me just so, or God forbid he should touch the small of my back.... Let's not think about that, shall we? It all started about two weeks ago when I got a phone call from Bill. Mulder and I had just got back from a case in Sigourney, Iowa, of all the Godforsaken places, and he'd gone off to see if any of his fish were still alive. I'd just shut the door to my apartment and dropped my bag by the sofa when the phone rang. My brother has always had good timing. In the back of my mind I'd actually been expecting the call. Our family had kind of drifted apart since Dad died, but starting two Christmases ago Bill had started trying to put things back together, and resurrecting the old Scully Family Memorial Day Picnic was the next logical step. And of course it was perfectly in character for him to leave the invitations until the last minute and then expect the rest of us to drop everything and fly to San Diego. "So how about it, Dana?" he said, as I lay sprawled on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. I'd only been half listening, the bulk of my attention being focused on the question of how soon Mulder would be back, and whether he'd have the common decency to bring food with him, and maybe a six pack of Rolling Rock. "Memorial Day weekend?" I replied. "Sure, I can probably make it -- if a case doesn't come up between now and then, of course." "Dana --" I could hear the tone of exasperation in his voice, and I cut him off before he could really annoy me. "Just let it be, Bill. My job is just as important to me as yours is to you. Would you go AWOL just to spend a weekend with the family?" "Dana, the two situations are miles apart." "Not to me, they aren't. I'm in law enforcement, Bill, and I took the exact same oath of federal service you did." I sighed; he was really starting to aggravate me, and I didn't want that to happen, so I decided to bring up the other subject I'd been thinking about ever since I'd realized this invitation was probably going to be coming. "Look, can we just drop it? I'll be there if I can, and anyway, I have something else I want to ask you about." There was a moment of silence. Finally, in a grudging tone, he said, "Sure. What is it?" I drew in a deep breath, then took the plunge. "I was wondering if I could bring someone with me. It's kind of important." There was another moment of silence, even longer than the first. "Sure, I guess so." He hesitated, and I could almost hear the wheels spinning in his head. "I didn't realize you were seeing someone." "Well I am. I have been for awhile. So it's really alright?" Okay, so I was doing this under false pretenses, obtaining his consent before he knew who it was. You know what they say about love and war. "Of course," he said, and I could hear him settling firmly into Big Brother Mode. "I'll look forward to meeting him." That was a hint; definitely a hint. Not that I'd been planning on keeping it from him; I knew it would be better all around if he had a little time to adjust to the idea. "Actually, you already have met him," I said. "It's Fox Mulder." This time the silence went on for so long that I was beginning to wonder if the connection had been broken. Finally, in flat, unemotional tones, he said, "You're joking." "No, Bill, I'm not joking," I replied. "Mulder and I have been seeing each other socially for quite awhile now." I paused, but he didn't say anything. "Bill? This is really important to me." Still nothing. "Bill, I love him. I know you don't care for him very much, but --" "We'll look forward to seeing you both on the 28th," he said flatly. And with that he hung up. # # # So it was a dirty, rotten trick I pulled on my big brother. I'll be the first to admit it. But in my own defense I'll point out that no matter how awkward and uncomfortable the weekend turned out to be -- and we'll be coming to that shortly -- it would have been even more awkward and uncomfortable for the entire family had Bill and I had a showdown when he refused to invite Mulder to come along, which I'm pretty sure is what he'd have done if he had known. In any case, this is how it came to pass that Mulder and I are spending the weekend in San Diego together. The long holiday weekend. At my brother's house. In celibacy. You wouldn't think it would be that big a deal to go three days without. I mean, Mulder and I went five YEARS without more than the occasional hug or the even more occasional kiss on the cheek or forehead. So what's three days? Eternity, that's what it is. I have peeled the labels off of more beer bottles in the past 48 hours.... But I digress. Bill picked us up at the airport, and much to my surprise he was actually affable, even insisting that Mulder take the front passenger seat and relegating me to the back. And we had barely pulled out of the airport parking lot before he started chatting. About old times. My old times. My romantic old times. Specifically, he proceeded to regale Mulder with stories of every love affair that I have ever had (at least, the ones that Bill knows about), requited or not, with special attention to that fling I had with one of Bill's Academy buddies the summer after I graduated from high school. To my pride, relief and, yes, surprise, Mulder took it all in stride, nodding in the right places and making the occasional token comment, and most of all not letting Bill get his goat. Eventually we arrived at Miramar. Bill grabbed our bags and led the way into the house, and Mulder and I wound up sitting on the living room sofa while my brother went upstairs to look for Mom and Tara and Matthew. I turned to look at Mulder; I wanted to tell him how much of an ass I thought Bill was being, and how proud I was of Mulder's own self-restraint -- a quality he does not normally have in great abundance. And so I turned to him, wanting to thank him for staying above it all, wanting to express my gratitude that he hadn't let my idiot of a big brother pick a fight with him. And wanting to encourage more of the same. That was my first mistake. Again, I blame myself. I should never have looked at Mulder. He was sitting there next to me, perhaps two inches separating us on the sofa, and he was looking at me with that curious, thoughtful look he gets when something really has him intrigued. And he was chewing on his lower lip. Let me explain something: That lower lip of Mulder's belongs to me. It's my property, and I don't share it with anyone, including the man it happens to be attached to. And if anyone was going to be chewing on that lip, it was going to be me, it's rightful owner. All I would have to do would be to lean forward and stretch my neck slightly, and I could take it away from him. Just a few inches.... I really didn't intend for things to get quite as far out of hand as they did, but Mulder and I are both passionate people, and it shows up in our personal relationship just as much as it does in our work relationship. The next thing I remember is lying on top of Mulder on the sofa, grinding my hips against him and exploring his mouth with my tongue and most especially reestablishing my claim on that damned lower lip, while he tightly gripped the back of my head with one hand and caressed the small of my back with the other. I think I've already mentioned what it does to me when he touches me there. "Ahem." I'd never actually heard anyone say that before; trust Bill to be the first. I reluctantly pulled out of Mulder's embrace, mouthing "later" at him before struggling to a sitting position and looking across the room at my brother, who was standing at the foot of the stairs with his son in his arms and a disapproving look on his face. I felt just slightly woozy from all that kissing, and had to shake my head slightly to clear it. "S-sorry," I said, and instantly regretted it. I'd sworn to myself that I was not going to apologize to Bill for my relationship with Mulder; it would give him too much leverage, and it was none of his damned business anyway. And while this wasn't exactly an apology for the relationship, it was close enough to make me uncomfortable. I think Bill might have said something biting in return, probably some dreck about exposing his tender child -- my nephew, Goddammit! -- to such a tawdry scene. But just at that moment Mom and Tara appeared at the head of the stairs, and by the time all the hellos had been said and greetings exchanged the situation had been pretty well defused, and Tara was leading us all into the dining room. Dinner. I don't even want to think about that dinner. Bill immediately assumed his prerogative as head of the household (but ask Tara about that sometime -- in private) by launching off into more amusing tales and anecdotes from our family history -- and every single one of them was something the rest of us had fond memories of, while Mulder, of course, had not been involved at all. Give me some credit: I attempted several times to steer the conversation to other topics. I tried to bring the family up to date on the cases Mulder and I had been working on (although there's only so much of our work that can be decently discussed at the dinner table); I tried to start a discussion of the new baseball season; I even tried to draw Mulder out concerning his most recent trip to Graceland. Anything to give Mulder something to talk about, so that he wouldn't feel quite so much like a complete outsider. Unfortunately, Bill was having none of it. He just sat there, nodding impatiently everytime I tried to change the subject, and as soon as I paused for breath he was off again, remembering this incident, chuckling over that one, and making knowing, unexplained inside references. To my surprise it was Tara who finally saved the situation. I don't know WHY I was surprised -- my sister-in-law is one of the most polite, decent human beings it has ever been my pleasure to know. I think she would find it possible to be gracious to a serial killer, as long as Matthew wasn't his next intended victim, and even then I think she'd be trying to put him at his ease as she ripped his lungs out. In any case, there came a lull in the conversation, and I was trying desperately to think up a new conversational ploy to steer things away from Bill's agenda, when suddenly Tara spoke up. "You know," she said softly, looking at Mom with a fond smile on her face, "all this reminiscing has really got me thinking. And Mother Scully, I don't believe I have ever adequately thanked you for how well I've been treated by this family." Mom smiled at this, and I could see Bill starting to tense up as Tara reached across the table and put one of her hands over one of Mom's. "So many times you see situations where the in-laws don't really make the new family member feel welcome. But you and the Captain always made me feel welcome, right from day one." Then she turned and looked at me, that affectionate smile still on her face. "And that goes for you, too, Dana. I already knew I was lucky to be getting Bill, but when I discovered how loving and accepting the entire Scully family is....well, I just thank my lucky stars that I've been privileged to be a part of it." Tara did not wink at me as she delivered this last line, and I swear to high heaven that her gaze did not flicker to Mulder and then away again. But no one at the table could have missed the subtext of what she'd just said, and her husband had a look on his face that said he knew he'd just been hauled before the Captain's Mast, remanded to courts-martial, tried, convicted, sentenced, executed, and left hanging from the yard arm to serve as an example for others. The rest of the meal passed quietly. # # # Tara's intervention got us through dinner, and even carried us through the rest of the evening. Bill was quiet, presumably biding his time, while the rest of us fell into a sort of calm, happy, companionship. Mulder and I, of course, were still on Washington time, and so it wasn't too long before we found ourselves stifling yawns and thinking about bed. I'd known from the outset that it was wishful thinking to hope that Bill might actually assign Mulder and me to share a room -- although given the shortage of bedrooms he was going to be facing after Charlie and his wife and kids arrived on Saturday morning, it would have made a certain amount of logistical sense. And so I took the matter in stride when I was informed that I would be using the daybed in Matthew's room, while Mulder would have the sofa in Bill's downstairs study. And that was my second mistake. And once again, I have only myself to blame, although I do plead the extenuating circumstance of ignorance for this one. You see, I have never before in my life been in a relationship with a man which involved actually sleeping in the same bed on a regular basis. Not even with Jack. And while Mulder and I continue to maintain separate apartments, the honest truth is that it's been at least two months since I've had to sleep alone. No big deal, though, right? I've been sleeping alone my entire life; what's two or three nights, right? Wrong. I hadn't been curled up on that hard, lumpy mattress for more than fifteen minutes before I came to realize just how pathetically mistaken that blithe assumption was. I tried to rationalize my sudden wakefulness; I tried to attribute it to having had one too many cups of coffee after dinner, or to the stress of flying across the country. I even briefly considered blaming Cancerman or those damned little gray men from Reticula. But the simple fact of the matter is that I missed having Mulder's body next to mine. I missed having him spooned behind me. I missed having his arms wrapped protectively around my waist. I missed his body heat, and I missed the way he gently cups my breasts in his hands, stroking my nipples with his thumbs.... Stop it. It was only with considerable effort that I was able to shut down that particular train of thought, and of course that did nothing to change the fact that I was lying there in a strange bed, all alone, feeling horny and lonely and more than a little depressed. And with my nephew sleeping peacefully about three feet away, I couldn't even avail myself of the obvious remedy for the first of those three conditions. Inevitably, my thoughts turned back to Mulder again. He was downstairs, not fifteen feet away as the crow plummets, most likely chewing on MY lower lip again, and if I knew my Mulders -- and I like to think that I do -- he probably wasn't sleeping any better than I was. It would have been so easy just to slip out of bed and go downstairs...and I KNEW he would be glad to see me. There was no doubt about that at all. But I couldn't do it. It would be just a little too much like sneaking around behind my father's back, like a guilty teenager, and my pride just wouldn't let me do that. Not that I really think Bill has any right to dictate my sex life to me, but I knew in my heart that the dignified solution to my problem would have been to stand up to my brother in the first place, and tell him I was by God going to sleep with Mulder whether Bill liked it or not. And the really, REALLY dignified thing to do would have been for me and Mulder to have rented a car and gotten a hotel room -- although the way our luck usually runs, a tree probably would have fallen on our rental car as it sat in Bill's driveway, and we would have been trapped here anyway. Finally, after much tossing and turning, I was able to drift off to sleep. # # # Eventually morning came, and between having breakfast and helping Mom and Tara put together the picnic lunch and greeting Charlie and Betty and their brood, I didn't really have time to fret about my problems of the day before. Bill seemed to be on his best behavior, too; he was chatty and cheerful and friendly, and even treated Mulder semi-decently, which was a big step for my older brother. I guess I wasn't TOO surprised at that; no one crosses Tara Scully twice. The site Bill had selected for the picnic was Torrey Pines Park, about seven or eight miles west of Miramar, and whatever other failings my brother may have, this was a good choice. It's a lovely natural area, covered with pine trees and sagebrush, with plenty of trails for hiking and lots of little nooks and crannies for anyone who might happen to be seeking a little privacy. Not that such a thought ever crossed MY mind. The picnic itself was actually a lot of fun: plenty of fresh air and sunshine, good food, good company -- in short, everything anyone could ask for in a family outing. Best of all, Charlie and Mulder really hit it off, which was a tremendous relief, and at one point Betty took me aside and proceeded to grill me about all the "juicy details", as she put it. (*I* do not say "juicy details", in case that isn't abundantly clear. Never have; never will.) Things were starting to seem so normal it was almost, well, spooky. I should have known it was too good to last. This time it started, ironically enough, as a result of too much contentment, which I wouldn't have thought was possible. And let me make it clear that I am NOT taking the rap for this one. There is absolutely, positively nothing wrong, morally, ethically, legally, hygienically or even epistemologically, with participating in a hard game of Frisbee golf, stuffing yourself with potato salad and carbonized hot dogs, going for a quiet, romantic walk, and finally curling up with your head in a man's lap. Nothing. Not even St. Augustine would have found anything wrong with it. Okay, maybe St. Augustine wouldn't have approved....but no one with any common sense could possibly have objected. It even would have been relatively safe, if only I'd managed to fall completely asleep before Mulder started stroking my hip. Let me back up just a bit. The aforementioned game of Frisbee golf had ended, with Betty as usual the victor -- there must be something about being a freelance aerospace writer that gives her an inside track on aerodynamics or something. The food had been eaten, and people were lounging around on the grass moaning about being overstuffed. And Mulder and I decided to take a walk. Torrey Pines is, as I said, a beautiful park, and the hiking trails are the best part of it. You can walk for hours back among the trees, and when I was a kid and Dad was stationed at Miramar sometimes I did. And taking a leisurely stroll through a beautiful semi-wilderness, while holding hands with Mulder...well. Eventually we found ourselves in a little cul-de-sac a short distance off the main trail. It was really just a small clearing, perhaps twenty yards across, and it really seemed the most natural thing in the world for us to settle down underneath one of the trees and doze for awhile, cuddled together in each other's arms. As I believe I've already mentioned, it was the hip stroking that really did me in. I'd been drowsily aware for awhile of Mulder gently petting my shoulder and upper arm, but I can take that; it just makes me feel like a cat lying in the sun, warm and comfortable and sleepy. The fingers of his other hand ruffling through my hair didn't bother me much either, even when they started to explore the shape of my ear and trace the outline of my jaw and brush against my lips. In fact it felt pretty good, and I just closed my eyes and snuggled back a little further into his lap and lightly kissed his fingertips when they made their next pass. Mulder, of course, took this as encouragement, and the next thing I knew he was lightly touching and caressing my hip, which is not quite as bad -- or as good -- as touching my lower back, but very nearly. In a matter of seconds every nerve ending in my body was on full alert, and I was wide awake. I didn't even think about the situation, and I certainly never considered the fact that we were in a public park, albeit a rather private and secluded section of a public park. I simply rolled onto my back, my head still cuddled in his lap, reached up and dragged his head down and kissed him. Now let me tell you, that was one humdinger of a kiss, and it came complete with all sorts of fascinating tactile accessories, as well some quiet, whimpery noises issuing from the back of a throat which may very well have been mine. What I'm trying to say is that this was a good kiss. I mean it was a really, really good kiss. I felt myself rapidly sinking into a warm, erotic haze, and I had no interest whatsoever in being rescued from it -- at least, not in any way which would really be suitable or even legal in a public park. Mulder had slid down against the tree he'd been leaning against, until now we lay in the grass next to each other, kissing, cuddling, touching, caressing.... And of course this is the moment when I got hit in the back by a Frisbee. "Uncle Bill! Uncle Bill! I found them!" My brother is going to die a horrible, lingering death someday, and if there is any justice in the world I'll get to do the autopsy. # # # The less said about the rest of that afternoon and evening, the better. Suffice to say that there were seven adults, two hyperactive children, and a toddler, all crowded together in a house which the Navy laughingly believes is large enough for a mid-rank officer and his presumably-growing family. You do the math. And although my frustration level was now high enough for me to accept the indignity of creeping around the darkened house like a cat burglar, the fact that Charlie's kids were now crashing on the floor of Bill's study, literally at Mulder's feet, while I was still sharing quarters with Matthew, was enough to make the whole idea seem hopelessly impractical. As to why we hadn't moved to a motel during the day -- YOU find a motel room in San Diego in the middle of a holiday weekend. I tried. It can't be done. The next morning was not much better. While laying in that damned daybed the night before, tossing and turning and trying to push certain thoughts out of my mind so that I could get a little sleep, I had conceived of a possible route to salvation: Church. Or, to be more specific, not-Church: Mulder and I would stay home together -- alone -- while the rest of the family went to church on Sunday morning. Mulder wouldn't want to go anyway; he's agnostic, and hates all forms of organized religion. It was brilliant. It was simple. It was foolproof. It was doomed. I had failed to take into account the vagaries of the man I was trying to corral. So I had this plan, right? So it was even easy to execute, right? All I had to do was lie in bed in the morning and pretend I overslept. Finally, I would arise from my bed and trundle downstairs and sheepishly apologize for being such a laggard and tell everyone they certainly shouldn't wait and go to late Mass on MY account and the rest of them would leave and Mulder and I would -- The rest of the scenario is left as an exercise for the student. And so it was that at twenty minutes past nine I came sailing downstairs, a happy smile on my face because I knew my troubles were almost over. I passed through the living room and into the dining room, where I found my partner and my mother and my two sisters-in-law lingering over breakfast, and I opened my mouth to speak, and Mulder looked up and smiled and said, "Hey, Scully! Your Mom and Betty and Tara just invited me to go to late Mass with the family. Isn't that great?" And he looked so happy and pleased with himself, like a cat which has just deposited a dead bird at its mistress' feet, that I wanted to cry. # # # Which brings us more-or-less up to the present: Sunday afternoon, 3:31 p.m., to be precise. I'm sitting here all alone on the sofa in Bill and Tara's living room, not-watching a baseball game and trying to find the gumption to root for the Braves on behalf of Shannon, my old college roommate. We went to church, and we went to lunch, and we finally got back to the house about an hour ago. Mulder has wandered off, God knows where, and the rest of the family has also found things to occupy themselves. And so I sit here, all alone, feeling sorry for myself and peeling the label off my third bottle of Rolling Rock. Or at least I was until just a few minutes ago; right up until the moment when Tara came into the room to inform me that she and Bill and the rest of the family were going out for ice cream. "We'll be gone for at least an hour," she said, eying the pile of shredded beer labels on the coffee table in front of me. "At LEAST an hour." And she turned and waltzed back out of the room again. A moment or two later I heard voices chattering in the front hallway, including Bill's baritone rumbling of, "But what about Dana --", cut off in mid-phrase as if someone had wrapped a garrote around his neck. (No, I do NOT believe in sympathetic magic.) And then the front door opened and closed, and they were gone. So why am I just sitting here? Because I'm still a little stunned, and I'm not sure I believe it, that's why. In my heart of hearts, I'm certain something will go wrong: The car won't start, or one of the kids will suddenly get sick, or they'll discover that no one brought any money and they'll have to turn around and come back. Or maybe there'll be a freak early-summer ice storm and they'll get in an accident. SOMETHING will happen.... Suddenly I am full of energy, and I find myself rising from the sofa and striding purposefully through the dining room and into the kitchen. Mulder's in the backyard, somehow I just know it, and as I push the door open and step out onto the back stoop, I see that I was correct. He's leaning against the old oak or elm or whatever it is that shades much of the yard. He has his back to me, and now I think I have an inkling of how a lioness must feel as she stalks her prey on the African savanna. He must have heard the door open and close, because now he's turning to face me, and the sight of his face going from pensive to happy as he realizes it's me just intensifies the warm sense of arousal that's rapidly building in my abdomen. As I move to within striking distance he opens his mouth to say something, and I jump him. Literally. Now, I must caution the folks at home against trying this. In fact, it's not the sort of behavior I normally indulge in myself, but you know what they say about desperate times and desperate measures. Fortunately Mulder is a trained professional, and he manages to maintain his balance long enough so that when we do hit the ground it's more of a controlled tumble rather than a bone-jarring thud. We roll over and over in the grass, and eventually come to rest with me sprawled out on top, straddling Mulder's hips. I have one hand planted on either side of his head, and by sheer reflex his hands are tightly gripping my hips. In short, he's got me right where I want him. For just a moment I hover over him indecisively, like a starving woman suddenly confronted by a smorgasbord. His eyes look shocked and slightly wild, and his hair is in a delicious state of disarray. He opens his mouth again to speak, and I swoop down on his neck and begin my feast.... I hear him gasp, and then he moans slightly as I nip and nibble my way up his neck towards his ear. Already I feel him hardening beneath me, and I rub down against him slightly to hurry the process along. This causes his hips to jerk in response, and now it's my turn to gasp as his denim-clad erection hits the target precisely. I grab his earlobe with my teeth and bite down on it, and he moans again.... Having momentarily finished with his ear, I now proceed along his jawline, marking my property as I go. By the time I get through it's going to be really obvious to everyone in the household just exactly how we spent our time in their absence, but I'm beyond caring -- nor do I care that we're still lying in my brother's backyard, about to scandalize his neighbors. At least the backyard fence is high and reasonably impenetrable.... Not that it would make much difference to me at this point if it weren't -- at this moment I'm ready to do Mulder on CNN for the whole world to see.... Mulder has finally gotten into the spirit of the proceedings, and is now sliding his hands up under my t-shirt and cupping my breasts. I arch my back in appreciation, pressing myself more firmly into his grasp, and for a moment I close my eyes and breathe deeply as his fingers tickle and pinch my rapidly-hardening nipples. God...this is what I live for. Mulder's hands.... But it's not nearly enough, and suddenly I'm kissing him, and my tongue is thrusting aggressively into his mouth and I'm sucking first his lower lip and then his tongue into MY mouth and his fingers are continuing their explorations and his erection is pressing up against my center as I frantically grind my hips against him.... And STILL it's not enough. I break the kiss just long enough to rip my shirt off over my head, and then I perform the same service for my partner. His eyes pop open even farther, which I wouldn't have thought was possible, and then I'm pressing my body down against his and once more plunging my tongue into his mouth as his arms go around me.... I hear a low growling sound, and after a moment I realize it's coming from me. Mulder's hands are grazing my lower back, the fingers of one hand dancing lightly around the circle of my tattoo, while the other hand traces my spinal column. My body squirms under his ministrations as I try to get closer to him, and my own fingers are threading through his hair, my nails digging slightly into his scalp.... Finally we have to break the kiss again in order to breathe, and for a moment I rest my forehead against Mulder's as we lie in each other's arms, chests heaving. Mulder has unfastened my belt and the top button of my jeans, and now his hands are sliding beneath the waistband to squeeze and caress my buttocks, and again I grind my center against his erection and we both groan.... He's not going to last very long; I can tell by the desperate, needy way he's clutching at me, by the short, sharp gasps of air he's taking, by the frantic little kisses he's showering on my shoulders and neck and face. Fortunately I'm already getting close myself, and we haven't even got our pants off yet.... Time to do something about that. I lift myself off of Mulder, feeling momentarily bereft at the loss of contact with his body, and I kneel next to him. Despite the fact that my hands are shaking with passion, somehow I'm able to unfasten his jeans and then shove both them and his boxers down to his knees, and in another instant I've engulfed his hot, swollen penis in my mouth.... God, I love doing this for him. I truly, truly love it. I don't know why it took him so long to reach the point where he would allow it; most men I've known seem to have assumed that a blowjob was their God-given right. But Mulder's always been different, he's always been a challenge, and maybe that's why I'm able to love him so intensely.... The combined taste and scent of his arousal are almost overwhelming as I begin to slide my lips up and down his shaft, my tongue twirling around the head on each upward stroke, and then probing aggressively along the length on the way back down. Mulder's hips jerk in an irregular rhythm and I can't help smiling around him as I feel his cock swelling even larger in my mouth, and with one hand I reach in to gently cup his balls.... From the way Mulder's body is starting to tremble I know he's having trouble holding back. And while part of me wants to take him there, wants to give him this and taste him and accept his orgasm right here and now, another part of me -- the demanding, deperate, needy part that Mulder never got to see when we were merely friends and partners -- that part of me wants more, and today I simply cannot deny myself.... I reluctantly withdraw from him, and I give his cock a firm squeeze directly below the head as I kick off my shoes. I then let go of him just long enough to shuck off my own jeans and panties, and in another instant I'm straddling him again and crying out in pleasure as he finally slides up into me.... As our hips begin to move together in perfect unison, Mulder reaches up and grips my shoulders and pulls me down to him and again we kiss, but this time it is sweet and tender and deeply erotic. The sensations assaulting me are so intense, so overwhelming, and I feel as if my heart is going to burst from the love I feel radiating through both our bodies, but somehow I hold myself together.... Not much longer now. The tempo of our lovemaking has increased, and so has the intensity of our kissing. Mulder's hands have now returned to my hips, where he is tightly gripping me and rubbing his thumbs against my hipbones as he thrusts up into me with ever-increasing power.... I feel the world drop away from beneath us, until finally we're floating together in a universe all our own, and all I can feel or hear or see is Mulder -- his lips, his hands, his warmth, his cock, and then even those things are gone and for one eternal moment there is nothing at all, nothing but us and a pure white light.... # # # I am lying on top of Mulder, my head resting on his chest, as awareness returns to me. His body is warm and hard and soft, his skin like rough velvet, and I can hear the dull, regular throb of his heartbeat and the slow, soft sighing of his breath as I lay curled in his arms. His cock is still semi-erect, and still rests inside of me, and I give it a languid squeeze with my most intimate muscles. Mulder shivers slightly in response, and so I do it again. I know we have to get up soon; I know we have to get dressed. I don't know what time it is, or how soon the others will be back, but it can't be very much longer, and at the very least we should not be lying here naked in my brother's backyard. I give his cock another squeeze, and I smile into his chest as I feel him start to harden again, still inside of me. Soon, I think. Soon we'll get up and get dressed. Soon. And his hips begin to move again, and mine easily pick up the rhythm as we once again begin the ancient dance. Soon, I think. But not right away. Fini