TITLE: Philanthropy (1/2)
AUTHOR: Jess M.
EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@mindspring.com
DISCLAIMER: I was just borrowing them, honestly, officer.
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere, just let me know.
SPOILER WARNING: None
RATING: NC-17
CONTENT WARNING: Sex, spooning?
CLASSIFICATION: MSR, M/O Pre-XF
SUMMARY: Scully asks Mulder to tell her about his first time. He does.

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AUTHOR'S NOTES: This came from rereading that damn 1998 Playboy interview
where DD talks about his "Mrs. Robinson". This isn't exactly like that, but
hey, can I help it if images of a young Mulder and an, um, older woman were
stuck in an endless grove in my head? I don't really do M/O, so this is very
pre-XF and Scully's there the whole time. It doesn't count, I swear. I'm
still shippy as hell.

Email me. Tell me about your first time. Ok, don't, I don't want to know,
but I would like feedback.

PHILANTHROPY


It was afterward that she wanted to know. In the intimate darkness of his
bedroom, with the lamp glowing a very pale yellow, casting a circle of light
like a flower against the ceiling. She'd never even wondered before, never
thought about it. But now, with his sweat cooling on her chest, his hand on
her hip, she wanted to know everything.

"Tell me about your first time," Scully said, curled tight around Mulder's
left side. He shifted beside her and she raised her head. "Don't tell me
this was it."

He snorted and gave her a squeeze. "No." His breathing was still ragged,
still sharp in the hot, still air of his apartment.

"Then what? Was it bad? Was it Phoebe?"

Smiling, he scooted up a bit and propped his head up with a couple stray
pillows. They were in for the long haul. "Why do you say 'bad' and 'Phoebe'
that way, Scully? Did you have issues with her?"

"So it was Phoebe," she said, feeling a little sick and smug at the same
time.

"No," he said slowly, "it wasn't Phoebe."

"Tell me," she urged. "I want to know something about you I didn't know
before tonight. I want proof, a blood-red badge of honor, Mulder, that
something remarkable has happened here."

"What, the sex wasn't enough?"

"Stop stalling," she insisted. "You've never told anyone about this, have
you?"

Brushing his fingers down her arm, he shrugged. "No one else has ever asked.
But since you insist... this is long, all right?"

She nodded and settled more firmly against him. "That's how I want to hear
it. The unabridged version. How it felt. Everything."

His voice was quiet, lazy as he began. Outside, it was raining one of those
heavy spring rains. Scully could hear it tap against the window, a rhythm
for his words.

"The winter after I turned seventeen, the year before I went to England, my
mother asked me if I could do her a favor. She was involved in a
philanthropic women's group at the time. That sort of thing was big with the
wives in the Vineyard. We hadn't celebrated a Christmas since Sam was taken,
and even before, my family weren't much for the holidays. I think it had to
do with Dad being Jewish and Mom being Methodist; they just couldn't decide
which one to go with, which God to offend the least.

"Over the holidays, my mother worked with some of the other wives on a
canned food drive. One of those things where they gather up soups and tins
of fancy asparagus that are past the expiration date, plop them in a basket
with a turkey and drive them around to more needy families in other areas of
the county. She asked if I could come down on Christmas Eve and help load
the baskets into the women's cars. With the turkeys, they were too heavy for
the delicate wives of the Vineyard to lift on their own, you see. Anyway,
there was a local boy for each wife. We were assigned to help her load the
car up, then go with her to each house and deliver the baskets."

"I think I see where this is going," Scully murmured against his chest. He
chuckled.

"You wanted to hear about it, so you will. I was one of the final shift,
assigned to a woman named Mrs. Ayers. That was all I knew about her, since
she wasn't one of my mother's circle of friends. I think the assignments
were random. I'm sure they were. Anyway, I was putting turkeys into my
allotment of baskets, when I heard this woman call out my name. I turned and
there she was, just a nice mother of two little kids, dark hair and I
remember she had green eyes. She wasn't beautiful, but she was pretty in the
way that you expect a young wife to be, curvy and she had a wonderful,
full-wattage smile. I wasn't particularly smitten or anything, but I was
delighted to realize I wouldn't be accompanying any of the older, stiffer
women, the kind who had to condescend to talk to a teenage boy. Looking back
on it, she was probably younger than you are now, Scully, but she seemed
very grown-up to me then.

"'All set?' she asked and I nodded. She pointed to this giant station wagon
out in the parking lot and then picked up a basket. I was surprised that she
helped me, carrying out one basket for every two I was able to pick up. I
remember she wore a heavy wool pea coat and by the time we were finished,
there was a fine line of sweat around her hairline. She just smiled and
wiped it away with her hand. I can still remember setting two of the baskets
into the children's seats in the back seat of her car.

"We chatted as we drove from house to house. She was recently divorced, but
had grown up in the Vineyard. I think she came from money herself, because
she was still socially active without her husband. It was bitterly cold and
after each house we would run back to the car and get in as quickly as we
could, laughing about how we couldn't turn the heat up or the turkeys would
defrost. I remember she wore a pair of mittens with roses on them and a hat
that matched. I asked her if she made them. She told me they were a gift
from her mother, who was Norwegian, and that they were reversible. She took
the hat off and handed it to me to turn inside out and sure enough, there
was the exact same pattern on the inside, but the negative. I tried it on
and she let me leave it on at the next house, which made the woman getting
the basket laugh.

"On the way back to the car that time, she told me she didn't like my
mother. She said she could imagine how hard losing Sam had been, but she
didn't understand how my mother could speak so coldly about me. 'If I lost
one of my children,' she said, 'I'd love the other one twice as much.' I
didn't know what to say to her.

"The last house was on the way back into town, right at the edge of all the
richer houses. I remember how small and fragile it looked, back in the
trees, and everything, including the roof, was covered in a thin white layer
of frost. The night was so clear that the air seemed like water around us,
the icy water of a midnight lake. The woman in the last house looked so
tired. She took the basket with her three year-old hanging onto her leg,
crying miserably. I had never really spoken to anyone that poor before,
living right there on the edge of town. Mrs. Ayers... her first name was
Cindy, but I didn't know that then, Cindy gave the little boy a candy cane
and the woman burst into tears. She grabbed Cindy and wouldn't let her go,
just stood there crying. And Cindy cried right back, hugging the woman so
fiercely. I was astonished at her empathy for this woman, at her compassion.
No one I knew was like that.

"On the way back to the car, she was still emotional, I think. I remember
she slipped, slightly, on the icy pavement and I grabbed her arm to hold her
up. She held my hand the rest of the way back to the car and I was tingling
at the contact, suddenly aware of her, suddenly aware of everything. In the
car, we turned the heat up full blast and she shook her hair out from where
it had been tucked into the collar of her coat. It was so thick and dark and
curly and I remember wanting to touch it because it looked so beautiful,
streaked blue by the moonlight. We were very quiet on the drive back into
town. I think she was probably embarrassed for having taken my hand. I asked
at one point where her kids were and she said they were staying with their
father over the holiday.

"The road curved slightly and I remember she was driving very slowly,
nervously. Suddenly the car started to slide and we turned a full
three-hundred sixty degrees, not fast, but gracefully, like we were ice
skaters on a pond. We came to rest in a ditch, backwards and I offered to
get out and push. It was so cold outside, she gave me her mittens to wear.
The fabric stuck to the metal of the car when I touched it. I couldn't budge
it an inch, and the smell of the exhaust was making me sick. Finally she
gave up and got out, laughing. 'Come on, Fox,' she said. 'I live about a
mile that way, across the field. We can call a tow-truck and your father
from there.' I gave her the mittens back and she insisted I keep one. That
seemed illogical until she reached out and took my bare hand in hers,
tucking them both into my jacket pocket. Her hand was small and hot and my
stomach was shivering as if I'd been dipped in freezing water. The grass
under our feet was frosted gray and it crackled as we walked. The night was
absolutely silent. I wished the walk was longer than it turned out to be,
despite the fact that my extremities were frozen.

"She lived in this massive old Victorian house. I could see the Christmas
tree in the window and she had hung lights all around the eaves. I asked if
she had done it herself and she said she had. I remember wondering how,
since she wasn't very tall. I kept imagining her up on a ladder, straining
to reach the edge of the roof with a staple gun. Once we were inside, she
took off her coat and her mitten and pulled the other mitten off my hand
herself. The whole house smelled like those oranges stuck with cloves my
mother used to have in a bowl by the door this time of year. I looked
around, but couldn't see any. The house was beautiful, everything done up
for a Christmas I gathered she wasn't going to have. 'Do you want anything
to drink?' she asked and I said sure, thinking she meant coffee or hot
chocolate. She brought out a bottle of red wine.

"We sat on the edge of her couch and she poured us each a glass. 'Make a
toast, Fox,' she said and I couldn't think of anything for a moment, it was
all so unreal and dreamlike to me. Finally I said: 'To philanthropy,' and
she laughed and clinked her glass against mine. We each took a sip and I
noticed she was watching me while I swallowed. There were wrapped presents
under the tree. 'When do they get those?' I asked and she shrugged. 'After
the New Year.'

"'Aren't you lonely without your kids?' I asked and she sat there for a
moment before she answered me, looking out the window. 'No,' she said
finally. 'That's the funny thing. I don't miss them at all, sometimes.' It
was astonishingly quiet in that house. I could hear a clock ticking in
another room. 'Maybe I'll build a fire,' she said. 'Don't you need to call
the tow truck?' I asked and she turned and looked over her shoulder at me.
'Do you think I should, just yet?' And I remember feeling the weight of my
head as I shook it, no. She just nodded and bent to make the fire.

"'Let me do that,' I said and she scooted over, squatting there beside me in
corduroy jeans and a wool sweater with snowflakes on it. There was a small
hole in the shoulder of her sweater, just at the seam, and I could see her
skin through it. I shoved newspaper in and loaded on the kindling and she
set a log on top. When she lit it, the smoke swirled into the room for a
moment, then up the chimney in a long, thin stream of gray. 'Do you want to
make love to me?' she asked suddenly and I dropped the unlit match I was
holding.

"Of course there was only one answer to that. I nodded furiously and she
just took my hand and walked over to window, shutting the curtains. I
thought I ought to kiss her, so I bent down and pressed my lips onto hers. I
remember being so astonished when she opened her mouth and really kissed me.
I couldn't breathe and the room felt like it was in the tropics. We were
standing beside the Christmas tree. 'Come lie down,' she said, 'you're
shaking,' and pulled me over in front of the fire. I just sat there,
hyperventilating, unable to make another move. Finally she smiled and said:
'Is this your first time, Fox?' I thought about lying, but it didn't make
any sense to do so. She wasn't going to reject me, or look down on me, that
much was obvious, so I nodded. 'Close your eyes,' she said. 'You have to
trust me.' Of course I immediately shut my eyes and lay back on the rug. I'd
have trusted her with a red-hot branding iron at that moment.

"I could hear her moving, but she wasn't touching me. Finally I couldn't
stand it any longer, so I opened my eyes. She had turned the overhead lights
off and the room was lit only by the Christmas tree and the yellow moving
light of the fire. She had taken off her sweater and was sitting beside me
in white cotton bra that looked nothing like the giant constructions my
mother wore, and her dark green corduroy jeans. I remember thinking: my God,
this is real. This woman is going to let me touch her. You have to
understand, I had barely even kissed a girl before, and that had been
because someone at a party dared her to 'go kiss Fox, the loser'. She had
very white skin and with the dark hair she seemed unbearably beautiful to
me. I sat up and kissed her shoulder. She sighed. So I kissed her clavicle.
When she didn't stop me, I couldn't stop myself. I worked my way down her
breast, kissing everything, right through the cotton. I was frantic and she
kept slowing me down, holding my head still against one spot or another
until I calmed down. Then she pushed me back onto the floor and we just lay
there for a moment as she stroked the hair back from my face.

"She told me I was beautiful. No one had ever said anything even remotely
like that to me before. At home I was 'stupid', or 'annoying'. 'Fox, you're
annoying me today. Can't you do anything right?' This was so different, I
didn't know how to react. When she sat up and undid the clasp on her bra, I
thought I might cry. Gratitude kept welling up inside me, and I didn't know
how to handle it. I distracted myself with her nipples, which were soft and
the color of the coral beads on one of my mother's bracelets. I tried to
hear what she liked, to concentrate, but I had never realized that a woman's
breasts have that wonderful, spicy, hormonal taste before. I knew, without
being told, that this was how she would taste between her legs and it made
me crazy. I stopped thinking and just concentrated on that taste, on that
smell. Finally, she pulled me away and kissed me again, helping me come back
to earth. She let me touch her, then she slipped her hands down my body to
my waist and lifted up my shirt.

"I was so young then, and I was skinny. I felt ridiculously underdeveloped,
though I don't think I was. Now that I'm a grown man, I know what adults see
when they look at a young person. The lean muscles, the supple skin. But
God, I felt so inadequate. I think I thought all men should look like
Skinner. I lay there waiting for her to laugh, to ask me to go. She didn't.
Instead she began to kiss me, starting at my navel and working her way back
up to my mouth. I'd never felt anything like it. Even when I was young, my
mother didn't touch me very much. No one in my family understood the value
of a caress, of tender touches. I couldn't keep my eyes open, it was so
overwhelmingly good. Everything was sensitive: my nipples, my sides, every
inch of my skin. I was so hard I couldn't sit up, couldn't do anything but
lie there and feel her mouth on my chest.

end 1 of 2

TITLE: Philanthropy (2/2)
AUTHOR: Jess M.
EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@mindspring.com

"'Does that feel good?' she asked and I couldn't even speak. I just groaned.
'Yes,' she said, 'it felt that way to me too.' This astonished me. My kisses
made her feel this same longing, this same aching? Suddenly all I wanted to
do was kiss her. I rolled her over onto her back and started kissing her
arms, her fingers, her waist. She laughed and I paused, thinking she was
amused by me, but then I looked at her face and saw that she was joyous,
that she was laughing precisely because it felt good.

"'Keep going,' she gasped and so I did. I suckled her breasts and lavished
attention on her neck, on her cheeks. She raised my face to hers and kissed
me.

"The strange thing is, I've spoken to other people about their first times
and it's never like this. It's always rushed, or frightening, or just
awkward. This wasn't any of those things. It was what I dreamed it would be
from the moment I started to picture it. She ran her hands down my back and
said: 'I can't believe no one's wanted to do this with you before,' which
made me blush and bury my face in the space between her breasts. I didn't
think of myself as handsome. Maybe I'm aware of my looks now, I know what I
look like to other people in the abstract sense, but I can still remember
how ugly I felt most of the time, how worthless. I wondered what I looked
like to her, but couldn't see it. She kissed the tip of my nose. 'Take off
your jeans,' she said and I collapsed for a moment on top of her,
overwhelmed with need.

"'Come on, now,' she said, laughing. 'You can do this. I promise.'

"I sat up and started unbuttoning my jeans. My hands were shaking. She put
her own hand over mine and did it for me, dragging her fingers over me. I
groaned and felt incredibly stupid until she answered me with her own soft
moan. I'd never thought I could feel this sort of pleasure with another
person. I had heard my parents having sex a thousand times. Hell, I'd even
scooted my bed over to the wall to get better sound quality. My early
experience with porn, I suppose. It didn't sound like this. My father would
grunt and my mother... well, I never heard a sound from her. I always
pictured her just laying there, watching some spot on the ceiling, thinking
about tomorrow's dinner or next week's charity meeting. Cindy pushed my
jeans down my thighs and before I could rise up and slip out of them and my
shoes, she simply took me in her hand and rose up on her knees to kiss me. I
ejaculated almost immediately.

"I was horribly embarrassed, nearly in tears. 'I'm so sorry, oh God, I'm so
sorry.' I remember saying it over and over, frantically trying to clean
myself and her hand with something. I think I did start to cry, more from
frustration than anything. The orgasm hadn't even been that enjoyable
because I was so horrified as it was happening. She shushed me, kissed me
and whispered: 'It's all right, Fox. I wanted you to come. Now you'll be
able to last longer inside me.'

"I thought the bottom had dropped out of my world. After all this, after
making such a monumental fool of myself, I was going to get to be inside
her? How was this possible? I kissed her so passionately I probably nearly
choked her with my tongue. She responded by pushing me back onto my back
again and pulling off each of my shoes, then my jeans and underwear. I
stared down at her and caught sight of my penis, lying flaccid against my
stomach. It looked greasy and spent. I glared at it, filled with contempt. I
wasn't sure I would ever really trust it again. She caught me and laughed,
lifting it with her hand and examining me. I thought she would tell me I
wasn't adequate. Of course I'd compared myself to the boys in the locker
room at school, and I knew I was neither big nor small, but somewhere in the
middle. But those were boys. How did I compare to men? Was she looking at me
and thinking: 'this is it?' I closed my eyes, feeling more than just
completely naked. Then I felt her tongue on my balls and my eyes opened
again, starting as if she'd shot me.

"I think I said 'oh God!' or maybe 'oh shit!'. She smiled and licked me, top
to bottom, and I do mean bottom. I thought I would die with pleasure, with
surprise. I didn't even know women did things like that. She smiled at me
and sat up, undoing her pants and stripping out of them, her underwear and
her shoes and socks so quickly I had trouble following it. Perhaps I was a
bit out of it. Today I might have wanted her to strip, slowly. To savor
those last few minutes before you've seen it all, but then... I just wanted
to see it all. I remember how dark the hair between her legs seemed, and how
thick. The only naked women I had seen were in skin magazines and they were
nearly always shaved. Cindy didn't look like that. She looked lush, and
verdant, and tempting. She spread her legs a bit, straddling my leg, and
said: 'You can touch me, you know.'

"I nodded and still I couldn't move. I could no more have put my hand
between her thighs than I could have flown up the chimney like Santa. She
smiled and reaching down, pulled my limp hand to her body. I couldn't
believe how hot she felt, and how wet. I don't know how your own wetness
feels to you, Scully, but this... to me it felt like heaven. It was slick
and hot and my fingers slipped through her and it was like mud pies when you
were a kid, or finger-paints, or anything tactile and therefore delicious.
She moaned, loudly and let go of my hand. I had no idea what to do, so for a
few moments, I just explored. It was like a topographical map down there,
with hollows and mountains and foothills. I wanted to know the lay of the
land, so to speak. Then she took my hand again and guided my finger inside
of her.

"I will never forget that moment. There was some sort of immediate sensory
identification between my prick and my hand. I knew, in that moment, that
was where my penis belonged. Right there. I was hard again, instantly, and
fascinated. Maybe too fascinated. I couldn't think about anything else but
putting my fingers into her body. First one, then two, then finally three.
She was gasping and I was plunging them in and out and she was saying: 'oh,
oh, oh,' and this little grunt thing and it was marvelous. I could have done
just that, all night. But I think it wore thin for her after a few moments
because she said: 'Fox, stop,' which I did, instantly.

"'Did I hurt you?' I think it was the first thing I'd said since 'oh shit'.
She shook her head. 'That's wonderful, but that's not all there is, you
know.'

"No, I didn't know. There was more? I was enthralled. Like what? She crawled
up my body until she was right over my face. I had heard, of course, about
oral sex. I knew, technically, what it was. But she wasn't expecting me to
actually do it, was she? Because I didn't know her ass from Adam, so to
speak. I think I gulped and she laughed. She touched herself, pulling her
lips apart and I could see everything. It was amazing, familiar and yet
totally strange. She ran a finger up to her clitoris. 'This is it,' she
said, and I knew what she meant. 'This is where I want your tongue to be,
most of the time. Flick it like it's candy,' she said. 'Or suck on it, or
press your tongue against it. That's why you're going to use your tongue,
because you can't hurt me accidentally.' I just nodded. Whatever. All I
wanted was to taste her. She lowered herself down to me and I reached up and
grabbed her ass, instinctively.

"Nothing on earth tastes quite like a woman. Within reason, most women taste
about the same, but there are subtle variations with each. I didn't know
that yet, and I couldn't believe, at first, how strong and musky she was. I
didn't love it like I do now. But it was tolerable, and hearing her moan and
feeling her grind herself down on me was enough stimulation to keep me happy
for quite some time. Then suddenly, she was still and I thought I had
screwed up. 'Keep going,' she said, and her voice was deeper, throatier. My
tongue was a bit sore by now, but I complied, running it up to her clit and
circling it, then thrusting against it. And then I was watching her come,
right above me, calling out and pulsing and I was rubbing myself in her
liquid, covering my lips in her. I wanted to drink her, to lap at her until
she was dry. I'd never felt anything so wonderful. I was completely addicted
and my confidence surged. I'd made a woman come! Me, the loser. The bad kid.
The crazy one. Who would believe it? There was no one to tell. I just lay
there beaming at her crotch.

"Later I would figure out that it was mostly her doing. There is no magic
skill that makes all women come. I hadn't learned the secret of the
universe. She came easily and freely because she wanted to, because I
suppose it was sexy to deflower me, to teach me what to do. But I felt
grand. Slowly she slid down my body until we were eye to eye.

"'That was great,' she said. 'You did good.' I grinned at her and she
grinned back. 'You don't smile enough, Fox. I've watched you when you drive
your mother to the club, or when I come into the hardware store and you're
working behind the counter and you barely smile at the customers. You have a
wonderful smile.' It was glued onto my face by the time she'd finished. No
one else ever seemed to care if I smiled or not, until I met you.

"We lay there for a moment and I wondered briefly if that was it. Then it
occurred to me that maybe she needed to recover. I ran my hand up and down
her back, stroking her skin. She sighed and rose up a bit. Before I quite
realized what was happening, she was sliding down onto me. I opened my
mouth, but no sound came out.

"It was indescribable. She was soaking and I was so hard I felt like I would
burst at any time. She controlled the pace, riding me slowly, gently,
letting me get used to the sensation, she said. I could have told her then,
you never get used to it. I couldn't keep my eyes open, I couldn't pry my
hands off her hips. The pleasure was so intense I was actually emitting one
long, endless groan. She sped up then, faster and faster. I was thrashing
beneath her, holding on, trying to stay there for as long as possible, right
on the edge, forever if that would work. I could hear her breathing speeding
up. 'God Fox,' she said, 'you're so damn hard.' That did it. I came and came
and came. It wouldn't stop, I couldn't. The orgasm seemed to last forever
and then it was over, and I was rolling to a stop. She lay on top of me,
watching me through slitted eyes. I moaned and she laughed.

"'Good?' she said and I could only nod, slightly. My toes were still
twitching. I wanted to do it again, right then, though I knew I couldn't. I
wanted to do it again all the damn time, for the rest of my life. Hell, I
still do.

"We did do it again, about half an hour later. I was so young then, I had no
idea how miraculous that was. I fucked her that time, on top, pounding into
her. It was amazing to be in complete command of her body, to touch her at
the same time and feel her shiver around me. She was a good lover, eager and
easy to please. I could probably have fucked her all night long, but she was
also intelligent enough to understand how talk starts.

"At ten we called the tow truck. She helped me dress, smoothing my shirt
over my chest, kissing me. 'I had a great time,' she said as I was lacing up
my shoes. 'We won't do this again, you understand.' I remember how sharp the
disappointment was, and not just because I couldn't have sex with her. I
liked her. She was funny and warm. I thought that's how all my future lovers
would be. It wasn't until I met you that I found that again.

"The tow truck driver took me home. She patted my back as I left, like I was
just some neighborhood kid, helping her out. Maybe that's all I was, I don't
know. The tow truck driver talked about baseball on the way home and I
didn't even listen. He was following the citrus league, I remember and he
kept talking about Nolan Ryan. I just sat there, pressing my face up against
the icy window of the truck because it still burned, thinking about how her
skin felt, how she tasted, how damned lucky I was. It took me months to get
over that feeling of joy, of astonishment, of delight. I went to England
with it and it colored everything at first, making the entire country seem
magical. It ended after Phoebe, when I realized that it wouldn't always be
that good, that fresh and sweet."

He paused. Was she even listening? Was she asleep? Maybe he had told her too
much. He waited, breathless, until he heard her voice.

"Did you ever see her again, Mulder?"

"I did," he admitted. "When I was home the next summer, I worked in the
hardware store again. She came in with her kids. It was so hot and she
looked harried and exhausted. The kids were whining and she was dragging
them over to the vending machine to get a Coke. I remember just standing
there, transfixed, waiting for her to see me. She turned around, finally,
and our eyes met. She smiled and then her attention was back on the youngest
girl, helping her to open her drink. I realized then that she was prettier
than I'd remembered, and smaller. She pulled the children toward me and I
could hear one of them asking to go home. 'Just a minute,' she said. 'How
are you, Fox?' She seemed to genuinely want to know. 'I'm ok,' I said. 'I'm
great.' One of the guys who worked with me looked at the two of us. I
wanted, for a moment, to say something to her so that he would be able to
tell, so that he would know I had been with this woman. She caught my eye
and shook her head, almost imperceptibly and I knew I wouldn't say anything.
'I'll see you around,' she said and left with her kids. She met someone, a
lawyer I think, and moved away the following year. I never saw her again
after that."

He listened to Scully's even breathing, felt her small hand curled into a
fist against his chest.

"That's a nice story," she said at last. "I didn't think it would be, but it
was. I'm glad someone took the time to love you a little bit before me."

Smiling, he pulled her in closer, tighter. "She didn't love me even a little
bit, Scully. I know that now. She was just lonely, maybe, and I was young
and I think... maybe sexy, if you can believe it."

"I can believe it," she said and kissed his shoulder. "A little bit." Then
she slid up to his mouth and leaned over him. "Think you can do it again?"
she whispered, sliding one hand down his body.

"Scully," he answered, filled with affection, "you're only as young as you
feel."

Which begged the answer he received, her hand tight around him.

"Mulder, you feel pretty young to me."

End 2 of 2

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