TITLE:  Princess Leia Races Home Aboard Her Starship
SPOILER WARNING:  Minor ones for Fallen Angel and Lazarus
RATING:  NC-17  Oh, yeah....
CONTENT WARNING:  Smut.  Language.  Smut.
CLASSIFICATION:  SR, MSR
SUMMARY:  Two lovers.  A sofa.  A classic movie.  A lime green
negligee.  Need I say more?
AUTHOR'S NOTE:  I want to acknowledge my literary debt to Rachel Anton
and Laura Blaurosen.  I'll explain why in another note at the end of the
story; I don't want to give away TOO much...  ;)
 

Princess Leia Races Home Aboard Her Starship

by Brandon D. Ray
 

She's up to something.  I can tell.  She thinks she's being subtle, but
whenever she looks at me that way, like a cat sizing up the next canary,
I can tell.

She's up to something.

She's been looking at me that way since yesterday afternoon, ever since
she got back from that outing with Charlie.  I realized as soon as I saw
her walk back in the door that she was planning something, and that I
was the centerpiece.  I should have known better than to let her out of
my sight; I especially should have known better than to let her spend
time alone with Charlie.  But water under the bridge and all that.  At
least I can be reasonably sure that whatever the two of them dreamed up
for me, it will turn out to be fun, in a twisted, harrowing sort of a way.

Today we actually went in to the office for awhile.  We haven't spent
more than three or four hours actually working since Christmas -- not
counting that wretched side trip to Iowa -- which is something of a
record for us, seeing as how we're both workaholics.  Somehow having
something more to come home to than a beat up old sofa and a collection
of videotapes makes fourteen hour days and six day weeks a little less
enticing.  I know this little impromptu vacation is going to have to end
soon, but it's been fun while it lasted.

This afternoon as we were getting ready to leave work, she looked over
at me, and her face had that same predatory look she's been wearing
since yesterday, only now it was even more open and, well, wanton I
guess is the word.  And she asked me if I wanted to drop by her place
and watch a movie tonight.

Now on the surface this seems like a reasonable question, and up until
two weeks ago it would have been perfectly normal.  Hey Mulder, here it
is Friday night, I've got nothing planned, want to drop by and watch a
movie?  And I'd respond sure, Scully, what time, and she'd say, oh, how
about sevenish, and I'd say sure again, want me to pick up some Chinese
on my way.

And in fact, that's the exact script we worked through this afternoon,
right down to the casual eyebrow quirk and the little wave of the hand
she gave me just before I walked out the door.

But the thing is that we are no longer doing the let's-be-friends 
thing.  As a matter of fact, I woke up in her bed this morning and had
Dana Scully for breakfast instead of coffee and a bagel.  I don't think
I've spent more than 15 minutes in my own apartment since New Year's;
the last time was Monday afternoon, and that was just a quick stop to
verify that all my fish were dead.  So it really makes very little sense
for her to be asking me if I want to come over tonight; I'd kind of been
assuming that I would, and that we'd pick things up where we left off
this morning when her snooze alarm went off for the third time.

I almost called her on it.  Almost.  But that look in her eye stopped
me; the look that said, sure, she'd tell me what she was up to.  But
then it wouldn't be as much fun.

I can wait.

So here I am standing in front of her apartment door, feeling alarmingly
adolescent, a rented movie in my coat pocket and a single red rose in my
hand.  Yeah, a rose.  That's right.  Fox Mulder, charter member of
Cynics and Misogynists Anonymous, has brought a flower for his best
girl.  Bite me.

Even more amazingly, I find myself reaching out and knocking politely on
her door, instead of using the key she gave me long before we ever
started exploring all this new territory.  Again, don't ask me why I'm
doing it this way; it just seems like the Right Thing to Do.

Now the door is swinging wide, and in the brief instant it takes to open
a dozen images flash through my mind, including one triggered by an
advice column I read once while waiting for a connecting flight from
Resume Speed to East Bumfuck, in which the columnist advised someone to
put more spice in her marriage by greeting her husband when he got home
from work wearing only a pitcher of margaritas.  Well, not WEARING the
margaritas; you get my meaning.

Finally the door is open and Scully is standing there, wearing not a
pitcher of margaritas but her favorite lounge-around-the-house quilted
robe.  It covers her completely from neck to ankle, but fortunately I
have an eidetic memory, and I know how to use it.

I smile and offer her the rose.  She takes it and closes her eyes as she
holds it to her nose and inhales deeply.  Then she opens her eyes again
and flashes me her thousand watt smile, the one I don't think anyone but
me ever gets to see, and this almost makes up for the Mother Hubbard of
a robe she's wearing.  She steps forward and gives me a big hug, which I
of course return, then she rises up on her toes and gives me a welcome
home kiss.

This is more like it.

"I'm so glad you're here," she murmurs against my mouth.  "I've missed
you."

Well, Scully, it was your idea for me not to come over until seven. 
Aloud I just say, "I've missed you, too," which is the god's honest truth.

After another quick kiss she releases me and we stop putting on a show
for her neighbors and step into her apartment and shut and lock the
door.  I glance around the living room, trying to look casual, but I
can't spot anything different.  Whatever she has planned for tonight, it
must be in the bedroom.  This is looking better and better.  Maybe we
won't even get around to watching the movie I rented.  Another $2.49
shot to hell.

Almost as if she were reading my mind (which I wouldn't put past her),
Scully says, "What movie did you rent, Mulder?"  I pull it from my
pocket and hand it to her; she glances at the label, then looks up at me
and gives me another thousand watter.  That's two of them in less than
five minutes, and if I had any lingering doubts I am now absolutely
certain that something is up, and that I am going to be one lucky son of
a bitch.

"Star Wars Special Edition," she says.  "Wonderful.  I haven't seen Star
Wars since I was in junior high."  Her smile broadens, which I wouldn't
have thought was possible, and she leans up against me and wraps her
arms around my waist.  "I was thirteen when it came out, Mulder.  I
spent most of the last reel in the balcony, necking with Jimmy Winston. 
He was a good kisser."  And she goes up on her toes again and gives me
one of the more erotic kisses she has ever given me, which is really
saying something.  "But not as good as you."

I am suddenly struck, as I'm sure she intended, by the image of
13-year-old Dana Scully, breasts just budding, hips just starting to
take on a hint of a womanly shape, engaged in a friendly bit of
wrestling with some pimple-faced punk with more hands than are good for
him.  Good kisser, though; she said he was a good kisser.  I stare down
at her face for a moment, and I can't help but wonder how that necking
session went.  Did she let him put his hand under her shirt?  Maybe she
did; I can see from the expression on her face that she is remembering
that day in rather vivid detail, but I'm not able to read those
details.  She probably let him put his hand in her shirt, I decide, but
not down her pants or up her dress or whatever.  Not at thirteen.

At least, I don't THINK she would have done that sort of thing when she
was thirteen -- but now that I think of it the very idea is making me
even more horny than I already was.

Now her smile is back -- not the thousand watter, but the one that tells
me that I'm next in line for the rotisserie.  And then she breaks away
from me and walks over to the sofa, and of course I follow.

"Why don't you take off your coat and sit down, Mulder," she says,
laying the tape on top of the television and turning around to watch as
I follow her suggestion or instruction or whatever it was.  Hell, I
might as well be honest and admit that it was an instruction; we're
following her script now, and there's no point in trying to deny it. 
Then once I am comfortably seated -- or as comfortably seated as I can
be with a raging hard-on and the woman who inspired it standing only
three feet away -- she turns away from me and with studied casualness
she takes off her robe and drops it on the far end of the sofa before
turning to face me again.

Oh.

My.

God.

This has got to be a dream; it has got to be a fucking dream.  She is
standing there, the very slightest smile on her lips, dressed -- if you
want to call it that -- in a lime green, floor length negligee, which
covers her completely and not at all.  I can't quite make out whether
she's wearing anything under it, and that last tiny bit of mystery and
uncertainty is just making this experience all the more surreal.

"Mulder?  Are you okay?"

I am jerked partway back to reality by Scully's voice.  With a supreme
effort of will I force my eyes away from feasting on her curves and look
back up at her face.  She has walked over to stand in front of me and is
peering down at me, wearing her Dr. Scully face, the one she uses when
she thinks I might be hurt or sick.

"W-what?" I manage to stutter out.  "What did you say?"  Wow.  Four
syllables.  A complete sentence.

"I asked you if you're okay," she says, taking another step closer to
me.  Now I know what it feels like to have the mountain come to
Mohammed.  She puts a gentle hand on my forehead.  "You feel hot," she
adds, her voice barely above a whisper.

Oh boy, do I ever.  But I suddenly realize at least part of what's going
on:  Scully wants to tease me.  She wants to torment me and see just how
much I can take before I crack and fall on the floor, begging for her to
wrap those luscious red lips around my --

No.  Not going to do it.  Think about something else.  Think about the
movie I rented.  The movie that I am suddenly determined to by god sit
and watch all the way through.  Think about the movie.  And in the back
of my mind I suddenly hear Yoda saying, "Control.  You must learn
control."  Which is from the wrong movie, it's from Empire, but close
enough for a government worker, at least for the moment.

 I suddenly realize that she's still standing over me, her breasts
swaying about two inches from my face, not so much concealed as enhanced
by the thin green gauze of her negligee, and that her hand is still
gently stroking my forehead.  "I'm fine, Scully," I say, and I tear my
eyes away from her breasts and look up at her face again, trying
desperately to think about Yoda.  "I'm fine."

"You sure?" she asks, giving my forehead one more stroke for good
measure.  "You feel like you might have a fever.  I hope you're not
coming down with something."

I have to replay that statement in my head twice to confirm that she
said "coming down" rather than "going down", and the glint in her eye
tells me that she knows just exactly what I'm thinking about.

Two can play at that game, Agent Scully.  "No," I say.  "No, I'm fine. 
This morning I thought I might have felt something coming on.  But it
went away and I'm fine now."

She raises an eyebrow at me and gives me a sultry little smile which I
think Eve must have first perfected just outside the Garden of Eden, and
which has been passed down from mother to daughter ever since.  Then she
turns away again and heads for the kitchen.  "I'll just be a minute,"
she says.  "I want to make some popcorn.²

The popcorn break gives me a few minutes to collect myself, which is a
good thing, I think, since it means the preliminaries are likely to last
longer.  I am now certain I know how this evening is going to end, and
the longer it takes us to get there, the better that ending will be. 
Oh, Dana Scully, you wicked, wicked woman.  I am so glad you fell in
love with me, and one of these days I am going to have to find some
suitable way to pay you back for what you're doing to me tonight.  Your
birthday is coming up --

Suddenly she is back in front of me with a bowl of popcorn and a couple
of bottles of iced tea in her hands.  She sets the iced teas down on the
end table next to me, then she gives me that little smile again, and she
leans over farther than necessary, giving me another closeup of her
breasts as she sets the bowl of popcorn down in my lap.  Of course, the
hand holding the bowl lightly brushes my hard-on, but I knew that was
coming, and so my hips hardly jerk at all when she does it.  Good thing,
too; I'd hate to see that popcorn spill all over the floor.

Now Scully turns away again, and sways over to the TV.  That's right: 
sways.  This is Special Agent Dana Scully of the sensible business suits
and sturdy, almost masculine stride, swaying across the room, her hips
moving to that secret rhythm that only women can hear, and god help me
if there's a fire or something, because I don't think it's possible for
me to get up and stumble to safety.

Scully finally makes it to the TV, and she takes the videotape from its
case and bends over, again farther than is strictly necessary other than
for esthetic reasons, and she tries to slide the tape into the slot.  I
suppose it comes as no surprise at this point that she has a little
trouble getting it in, so to speak, but she finally manages, giving a
barely audible sigh of contentment as the cassette slips into place. 
Then she switches on the TV and turns to face me.

I think at this point the floor show is over, but Scully is always full
of surprises, and now is no exception.  She arches her eyebrow at me
ever so slightly, then moves away from the TV and over to her desk and
turns on the floor lamp standing next to it.  She says over her
shoulder, "I'll be with you in just a second, Mulder; I just want to
adjust the lighting a little bit."  And she fiddles with the lampshade
for a moment before once again turning to face me.

Jesus.

This is the sort of image I think the Communications Decency Act was
written to combat.  Scully has angled the lampshade so that the light is
shining right at me, and her very own self is standing directly between
that light and me, so that her body is silhouetted within her green
negligee.  And now I am completely and utterly certain that there is
nothing underneath that negligee other than Dana Katherine Scully.

Jesus.

She stands there for just a moment, giving the vision she has presented
me ample opportunity to burn itself into my brain, then she walks back
over to the sofa and finally sits down next to me.  I look down at her
as she snuggles up against my side, and she looks right back up at me,
giving me that enigmatic Dr. Scully look she does so well.  The
enigmatic Dr. Scully in a lime green negligee, her warm little body
squirming against mine and her soft little hand coming to rest on the
inside of my thigh, just above the knee.  Max Fenig, you have no idea.

Only one thing to do.  I quickly look away, grab the remote control and
push play.  As the opening fanfare starts I settle back into the sofa,
and try to concentrate on the screen.  And for a few minutes it actually
works.

I really love this movie.  I remember being a little wary of it when it
first came out.  I remember thinking it was probably another one of
those silly-ass space operas with bad dialogue, bad special effects, bad
everything -- an embarrassment even to science fiction geeks like
myself.  Boy was I wrong.

I was fifteen that summer, just the right age to be nuzzling a thirteen
year old girl in the balcony during movies, now that I come to think
about it, but I wasn't into the dating scene as a teenager -- or, to be
more accurate, the dating scene wasn't into me.  Samantha had been gone
a little over three years by that point, and I was just sleepwalking
through my life, and looking back I can see that the girls all sensed
that and kept their distance.  At the time I just thought it was my nose
or my acne or something, and I got real well acquainted with my right
hand and my father's collection of Playboys.

Speaking of right hands, Scully's right hand is now inching its way up
the inside of my thigh, real casually, like she's not even aware she's
doing it.  Yeah, right.  I take a deep breath and try to concentrate on
the image on the TV screen.

Darth Vader steps through the smoking doorway, flanked by storm
troopers.  Vader is a real baddy in this movie, a villain's villain. 
Later on, in Return of the Jedi, he seemed to have a change of heart,
but I never really believed it.  I was just getting over Phoebe that
summer, and a villain with a heart of gold just didn't strike me as
being very likely at the time.  It still doesn't.

Scully's been awfully quiet for the last few minutes.  I take a quick
look at her, and she seems to be totally engrossed in the movie, and I
take just a moment to admire the creamy white skin of her shoulders and
upper chest, not to mention the shadowy swelling of her breasts under
the green of her negligee.  God, her breasts are so beautiful; they're
the most beautiful breasts I've ever seen.  They really ought to be in a
museum, but then they'd be stuck up on a wall behind a velvet rope where
I wouldn't be able to touch them, or flick my tongue across those hard,
tight little nipples --

Stop it, Mulder.  You're going to make yourself crazy.  Crazier.  I turn
my gaze back to the movie, and watch as Darth Vader chokes the life out
of a rebel officer.  God this is a good movie.

Suddenly Scully's hand is gone from my thigh.  I look down in surprise;
I'd almost gotten used to having it there, insofar as it's possible for
me to get used to having her hand resting about two inches from my
cock.  But now her hand is delving into the popcorn bowl, and her eyes
are still fixed on the TV screen.  Focused.  Scully is totally focused. 
She wants me to think she's focused on the movie, but I know her too
well to fall for that.  This is part of the plan, and if I just wait a
minute I'll figure out --

Oh sweet Jesus.  She's picked up a single kernel of popcorn and brought
it to her lips, and now she's sucking on it.  She's actually sucking on
a piece of popcorn, licking the butter off with her dainty little
tongue, and if she doesn't stop soon I'm going to rip a seam in the
pants I'm wearing.  They're denim, and double stitched, but everything
has its limits.

Finally she pushes the morsel the rest of the way into her mouth, and I
give a little sigh of relief, but it's short lived because before I can
even catch my breath she's reaching for another one, and giving it the
same treatment.  Then a third, and a fourth.  I am totally mesmerized,
and she knows it, I can see it in the flicker of her eyelashes as she
continues to give every appearance of watching the movie.  Jesus.  Who
would have thought that eating popcorn could be so fucking erotic?  And
as she delicately pushes the fifth piece into her mouth, I lose it, just
a little, and moan.

Instantly she is on her knees, turned towards me and looking into my
eyes.  One of her hands is resting on my shoulder, and the other is
trailing delicately across my thigh again.  "Mulder?" she says. 
"Mulder, are you okay?"

"Y-yeah," I manage to get out.  "I'm fine, Scully.  Just fine. 
Why....uh, why do you ask?"

"I though I heard you moan," she says, compassion and concern oozing
around her voice.  She takes her hand from my thigh and again presses it
against my forehead.  Okay, so it's this again.  We've been through this
once already, and I think I can handle it.

"Mulder," she says.  "You feel really, really hot.  I'm worried about
you."  She pauses for just a moment, giving my fevered brain an
opportunity to contemplate the possibilities.  "I think I'd better check
you for swollen glands."  And while I'm still processing that statement
she leans slightly against me and with both hands she starts fondling --
that's the only word for it -- my jawline.

I never knew my jaw was an erogenous zone.  I guess you learn something
new everyday.  Her fingers are soft and delicate as she probes at me,
and everywhere she touches me she leaves a trail of fire.  She is good
at this; she is really, really good.  I can't believe that idiot Willis
let her get away from him, but I thank god that he did.  Her fingers
continue to trail across my jaw and down my neck, carefully prodding and
squeezing, ostensibly looking for signs of the infection she knows I
don't have.  I only have one swollen body part at the moment, and it's
not on my face or in my neck, thank you very much.

It was a bad idea to think about that, though, because now I feel even
more blood pouring into my cock.  My god, it must be huge this evening. 
I mean, I've never been too concerned about size, it always struck me as
a silly thing to worry about, but right this minute I feel like I must
have a telephone pole in my jeans.  It's so tight in there it's actually
starting to hurt a little.  Sweet torture.

Again, she must be reading my mind, because suddenly she's going for my
belt buckle.  "Mulder," she murmurs, "I think the swelling must be down
here.  Let me take a look."

And on the TV Obi-Wan is saying to Luke, "Your father wanted you to have
this when you were old enough, but your uncle wouldn't allow it."  Which
is just too fucking perfect a fit for what I'm feeling at this moment,
as Scully's soft, warm hand plunges into my pants and burrows beneath
the waistband of my boxers.

Naturally, she doesn't touch my cock.  Oh, no; not Scully.  She's far
too subtle for that.  Instead she starts probing at my groin, touching
me here and there, and never quite landing on any of the spots I really
want her to land on.  My hips jerk a couple of times, and I bite my lip,
hard.  I am NOT going to moan again.  I just am not going to do it.

I've got to do something about this.  Distraction.  I need a
distraction.  I focus my attention back on the TV screen, just in time
to hear C-3PO say, "Sir, if you'll not be needing me I'll close down for
awhile."

Close down.  Good idea, 3PO.  Close down.  Just close down, try not to
think about it, just watch the movie and try to ignore the next-to-naked
woman kneeling next to me on the sofa with her hand down my shorts.  I
close my eyes and try to distance myself from this a little.

Of course she doesn't let me get away with it.  Almost as soon as I
close my eyes, she leans further forward and starts whispering in my
ear.  "A thorough examination like this is very important, Mulder," she
breathes.  "Your lymph nodes are the first line of defense your body has
against infection.  It's where the antibodies gather to fight off germs
and things."  She probes a couple more places, and I can feel her
breath, hot and moist against my ear.  Finally she says, "But I don't
seem to be finding anything.  Maybe just a little bit of swelling, but
nothing serious.  I'm sure it will go down in awhile."  And she gives my
cock one quick squeeze and pulls her hand out and reaches for my zipper.

"Uhnn...Scully."  I'm pretty proud of myself.  That started as a groan
-- not a moan, but a full-fledged groan -- but I managed to get it under
control and turn it into her name.  She stops what she's doing and looks
up at me questioningly.  "D-don't," I say.  "Don't zip it up."  Now she
arches her eyebrow at me, and I hasten to explain, "I think you're
right; there is a bit of swelling down there."  Breathe, Mulder. 
Breathe.  "And it'll be more comfortable if I stay unzipped.  Okay?"  I
desperately reach for something to prove, at least to myself, that I
still have a little bit of cool left.  "I mean, if it won't embarrass
you or anything."

The expression on her face is very serious, her very best Dr. Scully
look, and she says, "No, of course it won't embarrass me, Mulder.  I AM
a doctor, you know."  And she settles back down next to me and turns to
watch the movie again, and of course her hand lands right back on my
thigh.  I can take that, though.  It's almost like an old friend at this
point.

A few minutes go by and we sit next to each other watching the movie. 
Somehow my arm got around her shoulders, which is pretty much okay,
although it is rather eerily like being at the movies with a thirteen
year old girl -- assuming, of course, that you could find a thirteen
year old girl who would go to the movies wearing a translucent negligee
and then stick her hand down your pants on the pretext that you might
have an infection.

As I gradually get my breathing back under control I notice that I have
Scully's bare shoulder resting under my hand, with only the spaghetti
strap of the negligee to serve as a hindrance.  And so I decide to let
MY fingers do some walking for a little while, and I start touching and
caressing and tickling her shoulder, letting my fingers just enjoy the
contact with her smooth, soft skin.

I think I'm getting to her, just a little, because she sighs softly and
moves a little closer to me on the sofa.  This is nice.  This is really,
really nice.  I'm sitting on the sofa, my arm around Scully, and she's
cuddled up against me and we're watching one of my all-time favorite
movies together, and as soon as it's over we're going to go to her
bedroom and make love.  I feel myself start to relax, and our bodies
start to meld together, and I think that if someone else were standing
there looking at us he wouldn't be able to tell where one of us stopped
and the other one started.

My fingers go to work on her neck and she leans her head down on my
shoulder, giving me better access.  At some point in the last few
minutes I stopped watching the TV and started watching Scully, and now
she's got her eyes closed and on her face is a look of pure bliss. 
She's happy, and it warms me all the way down, and I do mean ALL the way
down, to know that I can make her feel this good.  None of the other
women I've been with have EVER been this happy and content just to be
with me, just to have me holding them and touching them.  In a way, the
expression on her face at this moment almost does more for me than
having her writhing underneath me in the throws of orgasm.

Almost.

I should have realized it was a trap.

"Iced tea," she murmurs.

I jump a little bit.  It's not that I'm surprised that she said
something, it's just that I was expecting something more along the lines
of "I love you" or some such, or maybe even, "Let's ditch this movie and
hump like bunnies".  Still, if it's iced tea she wants, it's iced tea
she gets.  If Scully wants Monica Lewinsky's garter belt (and don't even
ASK where that thought came from) I'm there for her.

So I reach over to the end table and grab one of the bottles and hand it
to her.  She twists the cap off and hands it back to me, then sits there
looking at the bottle in her hand and frowning.

After a few seconds of this I clear my throat.  "Uh...Scully?"  She
looks up at me, still frowning, looking for all the world like a little
kid who just got handed a piece of birthday cake without any frosting on
it.  "Scully," I say again, "is there something wrong?"

"No straw," she says.

No straw?  What the hell?  I turn and look, and my eyebrows shoot up as,
sure enough, I see a straw sitting on the end table next to the other
bottle of iced tea.  A straw.  Oh Jesus.  I think I can already see
where we're heading with this, and no fucking way am I going to miss
THIS part of the show.  I grab the straw and turn and hand it to her
with a flourish, and she gives me yet another of those thousand watt
smiles.  If the power company is having problems with brownouts tonight,
I think I know what's causing it.

She tears the end off the straw's paper wrapper -- with her teeth, of
course -- and then proceeds to S-L-O-W-L-Y slide the wrapper down and
off the straw.  She then wads the paper up and I automatically reach out
and take it from her.  She looks up at me and, I swear to god, she
SIMPERS at me.  "Oh, Mulder," she says.  "You're so very thoughtful." 
And she stretches up and gives me a gentle kiss on the cheek.  "If
there's anything *I* can do for YOU -- anything at all -- you know that
all you have to do is ask."  And then she turns her attention back to
her iced tea, sliding the straw down into the bottle.

Jesus.  I think I said that already, but just in case I didn't, I want
to go on record:  Jesus.

And now the main event.  Scully raises the bottle and lowers her head,
and she delicately wraps her lips around that fucking straw and lets it
slide slowly into her mouth, and suddenly I'm having a vivid flashback
of something that happened in her bedroom this morning just before the
snooze alarm went off for the second time.

My cock is throbbing now.  I mean, I've read about throbbing cocks
before, in places like the Penthouse letters column, but I have never
had the -- pleasure, I guess is the word -- of actually experiencing
it.  But it is definitely throbbing; I'm sure you could take my pulse
just by looking at it.  I gotta find a distraction, and quick, so I look
up at the TV screen again....

....just as the Millennium Falcon makes the jump into hyperspace.

Now let me explain something.  By modern standards that special effects
shot is nothing to write home about.  In fact, it's almost boring, even
if they DID juice it up a bit for the Special Edition.  But right this
minute I'm sitting here staring at it with a huge hard-on, with Scully
sitting next to me slurping noisily at her drink, and I'm remembering
the almost orgasmic thrill that I felt the first time I saw that shot.

It almost makes me wonder if George Lucas ever bagged Scully, because
that's the only we he could have so perfectly captured what it feels
like to be deep inside her at the climactic moment.  But that can't be
-- she was only thirteen at the time.  Besides, her father would have
keelhauled Lucas if he'd tried it, and I'm fairly sure that would have
got in the papers if it had happened.

It must be an X-File.

I've gotta get my mind off of this, so I try looking back at Scully, but
that's just as dangerous, because at the moment she is running her
tongue up and down the straw, lapping up some imaginary drips which she
wants me to believe escaped from the tip of the straw while she was
drinking.

I'm just sitting here, staring at her, unable to take my eyes off this
little drama, and suddenly she stops ministering to the straw and looks
up at me and raises her eyebrows.  She holds the bottle up slightly, and
says, "Do you want some, Mulder?  If you've got a fever it's important
that you maintain proper hydration."

I could point out that I've got my own bottle of iced tea sitting on the
end table, not even open yet, but that would be cheating.  Instead, I
just nod my head, since I'm not entirely sure what would come out of my
mouth if I were to open it at this moment.

Instead of offering the bottle up to me -- why did I even think that was
what was going to happen? -- she bends her head once again and takes the
straw between those perfect blowjob lips and sips for a moment.  Then
she lifts her head again and stretches her neck up and up and up, and
kisses me full on the mouth.  My lips automatically come open, and she
proceeds to swish iced tea and her own saliva into my mouth.

I don't think I can even begin to find the words to describe what this
act does to me.  Words just don't exist for this.  Somehow I manage to
avoid inhaling any of the liquid she's just given me, and I swallow it
all down, and as soon as I do she breaks contact and settles back down
next to me, her eyes still focused on mine.  "Do you need any more?" she
asks.

I shake my head and turn back to look at the movie again, and Obi-Wan
says to Luke, "Remember; a Jedi can feel the Force flowing through him."

So that's what this feeling is.

Now we settle down and start watching the movie again.  Scully finishes
her iced tea and hands the bottle back to me for disposition.  And for
maybe half an hour or a little more we actually sit and watch the
movie.  The Millennium Falcon is captured; Han and Luke rescue the
Princess; Obi-Wan Kenobi confronts Darth Vader and lets himself get
killed...it's all there and it's just as totally cool as it was the
first time I saw it.

Scully is pretty well-behaved, too, which of course only makes me
suspicious.  She's just cuddled there next to me, her eyes fixed on the
screen, and she doesn't really try anything, other than the stroking of
my thigh, the quiet little noises of pleasure which she usually only
makes in bed, and the like.  She's even given up on the popcorn.  All of
which just makes me wary, of course, as I remember what happened to me
the LAST time I thought she was settling down.  Fool me once, shame on
you....

Now the Millennium Falcon is approaching the Rebels' hidden base, and
suddenly it hits me:  I don't remember where, exactly, it is, but
somewhere around here is the final reel change -- the place where, when
they showed this movie in the theaters, they started in on the last reel
of film.  And that means that somewhere right about HERE is where
Pimpleface made his move on thirteen-year-old Scully.  Maybe right here....

And Scully is on her knees again and whispering in my ear.  "That's
right, Mulder," she says, once again displaying her talent for
telepathy.  "This is the place.  This is where Jimmy started."  She
slips one arm around my shoulders.  "He had his arm around me, like
this," she says, her lips maybe half an inch from my ear.  "He'd had it
there for quite a while...ever since Alderaan was destroyed.  And I
liked it, Mulder.  I really, really liked it.  I'd never done anything
with a boy, never even been kissed, but I liked having his arm around me
like that."

Oh Jesus.  She's telling me that this necking session she's been teasing
me with was her first experience with...with anything.  And oh my god,
what an effect that knowledge is having on my poor, misunderstood cock,
not to mention the rest of my anatomy.  I really don't know how much
more of this I can take....

But Scully is still whispering in my ear.  "Mulder," she breathes.  "I
don't remember whether I told you this...but you know that I was
thirteen when this movie came out.  Well, Jimmy was a little bit
older....I felt so grown up, being taken to a movie by an older guy.  I
felt so sexy.  Do you know how old he was, Mulder?  Do you?"

I close my eyes.  This is gonna be bad; I just know it.  I shake my head
slightly.

"He was fifteen, Mulder.  Fifteen years old.  Just two years older than
I was."

Sweet suffering Jesus.  She's telling me that this kid was MY AGE...that
at the very moment when I was seeing this movie for the first time --
maybe just EXACTLY at that moment -- another fifteen year old boy whom I
have never met was....oh my god.

Once again I can feel her warm, moist breath against my ear and neck. 
"It felt really good, Mulder," she continues.  "I liked having his arm
around me."  Yeah, Scully, I think you already mentioned that.  Arm
around you.  Felt good.  We understand that.  "And then he started
touching me," she says, and she lays her free hand gently on my
abdomen.  "Right here."  And she moves her hand around in small, slow
circles.  "Like this.  And I was a little nervous about it -- I think I
mentioned that I'd never done anything with a boy before -- but it felt
so-o-o-o good, and I couldn't bear the idea of asking him to stop."

My breathing is getting pretty harsh and uneven, and so I think it's
time to try to regain control and I focus my attention on the TV again. 
The Rebel commander is just starting his briefing for the fighter
pilots, and he says, "The approach will not be easy.  You're required to
maneuver straight down this stretch and skim the surface to this point."

And Scully's hand is slipping under my shirt and sliding up my belly to
my chest, and she's saying, "And then he put his hand under my blouse,
like this.  Mmmm...."  She lets her voice trail off for a moment, and
her fingers play with my chest hairs.  She shifts her weight a little,
pressing her breasts more firmly against my body, and whispers, "You
know what he did then?"  I believe I can pretty well imagine what he did
then, but I think she's about to tell me anyway.  "He did this."  And
her fingers drift over to one of my nipples and she gives it a gentle
squeeze, and by god I've done the best I can, but there's a limit to my
stoic reserve.  I groan in pleasure.

"That's right, Mulder," she says, very softly, and one of her lips just
barely grazes my earlobe.  "He touched my breast."  And just to make
sure I understood what she meant, she gave my nipple another squeeze. 
"Like this."

I am pleased to notice that her breathing is getting a little ragged,
too.  I take that as a sign that this game may be over soon, and we can
get down to some serious fucking.  There's a really strange feeling
drifting over me, enveloping me, and at first I can't quite figure out
what it is, but then it hits me:  I'm having fun.

Fun.  Me, Fox Mulder, having fun.

I mean, fun isn't something I have a lot of experience with.  I told
Scully last week while we were in Iowa that I don't do happy very well,
and that's true enough, but the fact of the matter is that I don't do
fun at all.  Or didn't.  But this...this is fun.  It's joyful.  Scully
and I are playing, and I'm loving every minute of it.  I shake my head
in wonder.

I want to report this new discovery to Scully, I want to tell her all
about this "fun" thing I've just discovered, and I turn my head and open
my mouth, but before I can get any words out she says, "And then you
know what happened, Mulder?  He kissed me."  And she leans into me and
presses a delicate kiss on my neck, just under my ear, sending a spasm
of urgent signals racing through my body.  "Right here."  She moves her
mouth a short distances and plants another kiss, this time on my cheek,
and I feel her tongue delicately tracing the outline of my cheekbone. 
"And here."  Next my jaw.  "And here."

And she pauses for just a moment and looks into my eyes, which is only
fair because I'm also looking into her eyes, and I see more open, naked
lust in that gaze than I have ever seen anywhere in my entire life.  And
finally, at long last, she presses her lips against mine, and murmurs,
"And here."

This kiss...I don't even know where to begin describing it.  I have had
intercourse that was less intimate and less arousing than that kiss
was.  Her tongue seems to be everywhere, probing, licking, exploring,
and mine is too, and she's making these small, urgent noises, and her
hands are gliding over my chest and shoulders and her body is squirming
and wiggling and rubbing against me.  It's just...it's just...I give
up.  There's no way I can describe this kiss.

One of us must have bumped the remote, because the volume on the TV
suddenly increases, and I hear Luke saying, "This is Red Five; I'm going
in!"

Yeah, Luke; do it.  You'll be glad you did.

The next thing I know Scully is straddling my lap.  Our mouths are still
joined, and that magnificent negligee is bunched up around her waist,
and she is urgently thrusting her crotch against my boxer-clad erection,
and I am just as urgently thrusting up against her, as well.  Scully
continues to kiss me -- I mean, this is one long kiss.  But finally we
break apart, gasping for air, and Scully looks down into my face as we
both try to catch our breaths, and then suddenly she's reaching down and
pushing my pants and boxers down past my knees, finally allowing my cock
to spring into freedom.

Funny thing is, as soon as my cock is free of its prison, it seems to
want to plunge right back into another tight spot, and my hips move
almost instinctively to try to accomplish this.  I barely avoid just
slipping it into her, but it does rub against her pubic bone, and
Scully's eyes glaze slightly and she gurgles.

That's right: Dana Scully gurgles.

Condom.  I have got to get a condom, and quick.  As far as I know the
nearest one is in the nightstand by her bed, but I should have realized
that my ever-practical partner would be prepared for this eventuality. 
She bends down and digs her hand into the sofa cushion and a moment
later her hand emerges, flourishing a little foil packet triumphantly.

She rips the packet open -- and I am pleased and relieved to see that
her hands are shaking as she does so -- and she slips it into place with
one smooth motion.  No more teasing; no more slow seduction.  We're both
past that, now, and what we both want and urgently need is to be joined
together as quickly as possible.  Scully smooths the rubber into place,
and looks down at it and -- I do not lie -- she giggles.  And that
provokes me to look down and see what's so funny, and my entire body
starts shaking with laughter.

Because right on the tip of that condom is an alien face.

We both lose it.  Scully collapses on top of me, and for a couple of
minutes both of us are just howling with laughter.  Between gasps of
joy, Scully manages to stutter out, "I...I h-hadn't....actually
OPENED...one of them yet!"  And then she's off on another round of
guffaws and chortles and snorts.

I could get used to this fun thing.

And suddenly I just can't wait any longer, and I grip Scully's hips and
lift her up slightly, and she realizes what I'm doing and grabs my cock
and between us we slide it right up inside of her,and we both groan with
pleasure, and Gold Leader says, "Red Leader, this is Gold Leader.  We're
starting for the target shaft now!"  And Scully and I lose it again, and
let me tell you, if you've never had the experience of having your cock
deep inside a woman who's shaking uncontrollably with laughter, you've
been missing something.

Finally we get control of ourselves again, and we both start to thrust,
and oh Jesus this is good.  It is so, so good.  I don't think I've ever
felt anything like this in my life.  Every nerve ending in my body is
totally, completely alive, and I know hers are too, because I can
actually FEEL it.  It's as if we've somehow become one organism sharing
a single nervous system.  I mean, I have had sex before; I've even had
sex with Scully before.  But this is something totally new and different.

We continue thrusting, and we pick up the pace, and I can tell that this
isn't going to last very long at all, but that's totally okay; however
long it lasts is however long it lasts.  In the background the Rebels
are shooting up the Death Star, and there are just enough lines like,
"This is Red Five, I'm going in" and "Pull out, Luke; pull out" to keep
both of us on the fine edge of hilarity while we fuck.  This is just
unbelievable.

Scully has got her arms wrapped tightly around my neck, just clinging to
me while our hips continue to move in unison, and she's breathing into
my ear again in short, sharp gasps.  I feel my orgasm building up
inside, I mean I'm really getting close, and I can tell that Scully is,
too.  I don't know how long we've been going at it, but the anal
retentive part of me dredges up the fact that the musical score for the
attack on the Death Star is twelve minutes and five seconds long, so I
know it's been less time than that.  What I don't know is why I even
care, but somehow it matters, and something inside of me is waiting
for...something.

Now Scully is humming.  Not humming a tune; just humming, like a
well-adjusted car engine.  And someone is making short, sharp growling
sounds, and after a moment I realize it's me.  And Obi-Wan is saying,
"Use the Force, Luke!  Let go, Luke!"

I'm working on it, Obi-Wan...I really am.  Not much longer....

Scully is just...crazed is the only word for it, and that's great
because I'm not very sane at the moment, myself.  We're both just
thrusting and pumping away, building rapidly towards the brink; and then
suddenly Scully's body is cramping and convulsing, and Han Solo is
screaming, "Yahoo!"  This would cause us to start laughing again, if it
were possible at this moment for either one of us to feel anything other
than Scully's orgasm.  It seems to go on and on and on, and I can
distantly hear Solo shouting, "You're all clear, kid!  Now let's blow
this thing and go home!" and then I explode, too, and for a few seconds
I have no awareness of anything, none at all, except for Scully, who
seems to be all around me, like a warm, friendly blanket.

And finally I'm spiraling back down to earth, and Scully is collapsing
on top of me like a rag doll, and Solo is hollering, "Great shot, kid! 
That was one in a million!"

Oh, yeah.

We just lie there in each other's arms for a moment, waiting for our
breathing to return to normal.  Scully is still lying on top of me, and
the heat of her body is seeping into me through the thin material of the
negligee that still covers the upper part of her body.  God this is
nice.  This is totally, totally...nice.  I don't think I've ever felt
this complete before, this satisfied.

An act of Congress wouldn't be enough to get me to open my eyes right
now, let alone lift my head to look at the TV, but from the music that's
playing I know that we've come to the final scene, and Luke and Han are
getting their medals.  In my mind's eye I can see Princess Leia bending
over to put the ribbons around the heroes' necks, displaying a rather
remarkable amount of cleavage as she does so.  When I was a teenager I
was pretty impressed by that cleavage -- I mean, let's face it, the
young Carrie Fisher had a nice pair, as such things go.  But they're
nothing compared to Scully's, who has what is probably the only perfect
pair of breasts in the history of womankind.  But I digress.

"Mulder?"  Scully's voice is very soft, almost...shy?  And that IS
enough to get me to lift my head and open my eyes, and her face is just
a few inches from mine, and there are these two huge question marks in
those big blue eyes of hers.  I raise my eyebrows at her, and smile, and
she smiles back, just a little uncertainly.  "Mulder," she repeats, and
now it's definite:  Dana Scully is feeling shy about something.

"Yeah, Scully?" I say, just as softly and gently as I know how.

Now she drops her eyes, and says, tentatively, "Was that...was
that...okay?"

I can feel my own eyes widen.  She can't be serious.  Okay?  Was that
okay?  Jesus, Mary and Joseph....

But she's not kidding.  I can tell from her body language and the way
she refuses to meet my gaze that she is really, truly uncertain about
what just happened.  And so I tenderly place my hand under her chin and
tilt her head up so that she can see the sincerity in my eyes. 
"Scully," I say, still very softly.  "That was wonderful.  That was the
most astounding sexual experience of my entire life."  And it's true,
it's all true, and I know she knows it's true, because the tentative,
uncertain look is suddenly gone and she's leaning in against me and
hugging me close.

"Oh, good," she breathes in my ear.  "I've never done anything like that
before, and I wasn't sure...."

Her voice trails off, but that's okay, because I think I'm about to go
into shock.  "Scully?" I say.  "Are you telling me that...entire
performance you put on for me was, was --" But I can't find the words to
express what I'm trying to say, so I just stop in mid-sentence.

Scully lifts her head again and looks down at me, smiling, and she
nods.  "Yeah.  This was the first time I ever set out to, to seduce
someone.  I never...never had the confidence to let myself go like that
before, to risk making a fool of myself."  She leans forward and kisses
me lightly, then continues.  "It's you, Mulder.  It's because I trust you."

I don't know what it is about this woman, but she's had me in tears more
times in the past two weeks than I have been in my entire adult life. 
We just kind of sit there and cling to each other and sniffle together
for awhile.

The movie has ended, and now the tape is automatically rewinding
itself.  The late news is on, but I just tune it right out.  Nothing
going on in the outside world could possibly matter as much as what's
going on here on Scully's sofa.  And we just sit here together,
cuddling, and I rock her back and forth, ever so gently, and I wonder
what new thing we'll discover tomorrow.
 
 

Fini

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  As I said at the beginning of this story, I owe a
literary debt to Rachel Anton and Laura Blaurosen.  The reason being
that I lifted from them the notion of an extended seduction taking place
in front of a television, with appropriate lines of dialogue
interspersed.  Rachel and Laura did it first, folks -- go check out
Desideratum 2, and you'll see.  And while you're there, take a look at
Desideratum 1 and 3, as well.  All of them are on Laura's web page: 
http://members.tripod.com/~Blaurosen/