Title: "Never"

Author: Allison Kinney

Feedback to: Akinney238@aol.com
Summary: No clever summary. Smut biscuit, pure and simple.
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Vague for "Pine Bluff Variant" and "Arcadia"
Distribution: Gossamer please. If anyone else wants it I'd very much
appreciate a little note telling me why and where.
Disclaimer: Never had 'em, never will. They don't much resemble certain
characters from a certain show in this story anyway. Joe belongs to me.
Special thanks to Pufferdeux for the encouragement and the beta. Here goes
nothin' sister.

For my Tallahassee lassie and The Unemployed. Author's notes at the end.

***

It has been nearly three months since I arrived at work to find a note on
the office door instructing me to meet with Skinner ASAP. Once I arrived
in his office he told me that Mulder had gone undercover again. After the
near disaster with the New Spartans last year Skinner had decided to take
no chances and simply tell me at the start that he was gone. Mulder was
unable to contact me and I should not try to contact him.

Skinner stonewalled my questions that morning and every day since. Mulder
was simply gone and, despite my misgivings for him, I made no attempt to
find him. Until I received a phone call at 1:30 in the morning. No one
answered when I said hello but I could hear music in the background and
laughter, like whoever it was had called from a bar. After my second
hello went unanswered I realized who it was and I said nothing.

Almost five minutes of nothing went by before he quietly hung up. Two
weeks later the phone rang again in the middle of the night but the caller
hung up after just a few seconds. The aching loneliness I felt then still
hasn't abated. With every subsequent silent night the ache has grown a
little stronger.

I'm worried about him. I've felt anxious since the moment Skinner told me
he was gone. With each passing day the feeling of apprehension has
increased. Mulder would probably be gratified to know that I'm willing to
admit, if only to myself, that I have an uneasy feeling something is
wrong. I can't ignore it anymore. Call it a hunch, call it intuition,
call it silly - something is wrong and I can no longer just stand by
waiting for Mulder to turn up again.

Late last night I showed up at the Lone Gunmen's. "Do you know where he
is?" Frohike asked as he ushered me inside. I shook my head. The grim
set of his jaw told me that they didn't either.

They hacked into Eastern Bell and traced back the phone call to Denny's
Beer Garden in Martin's Ferry, Ohio. The second call had come from a
payphone in the nearby town of St. Clairsville. Which is why I'm currently
sitting in a rented sedan outside Denny's Beer Garden watching the
clientele arrive for Thursday night's festivities. The crowd is mostly
redneck, men in tight Wranglers and women with hair teased so high they
look like tropical fish under the blinking fluorescent beer signs in the
front window.

In over five hours spent in the cold cab of this car, drinking tepid
coffee, I haven't seen Mulder. He called on a Saturday night, maybe he
only comes here on the weekend. Maybe he only came here that single
night. I decide to pack it in and come back tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll go
in there, but first I have to find myself the proper attire.

***

I've been nursing the same beer for nearly an hour, it's flat now but I
still turn down the offer of a new one from the persistent gentlemen on my
left. Finally he gives up and wanders over to one of the pool tables to
chat with the buddies that put him up to hitting on me. I decide to visit
the restroom and stand up, doing my best not to self-consciously pull my
skirt down.

When I leave the bathroom one of Romeo's friends is stationed outside the
door with a beer in one hand and a pool cue in the other.

"You shoot stick?" he asks by way of introduction.

"Not in years," I tell him, slipping past him to try and go back to the
bar. What am I doing here? In these clothes, with this hair and this
makeup? I feel cheap and fake and I wonder how other people can live like
this.

"Come on, who are you waiting for?" Romeo joins his friend in following
me back to the bar.

"Are these guys bothering you?" I look over to see a dark haired lady
wrinkling her nose at the men behind me.

"No," I answer her. "I'm just waiting for a friend," I tell my two
pursuers. "Otherwise I'd be delighted to play with y'all." Without
thinking about it I slide into a Southern accent.

"What, you can't play pool and watch the door at the same time? What's
your girlfriend's name? She can play too."

"I think that was a polite 'no' boys," my new friend says and I give her a
grateful smile. I might as well start playing the helpless female because
no-nonsense does not match my clothes. "What's your name?" she asks
pushing three drinks together so that she can carry them.

"Julie," I tell her; the first name that comes to mind.

"Amy," she says and gives me a wide smile before nodding towards the
tables behind her. "Why don't you come sit over at our table while you
wait? You're liable to get eaten alive out here by your lonesome."

"Thanks." This time I really am grateful. A lone female in a bar

certainly does draw attention. A group of women will allow me to blend in
better, not that I really think I'll meet anyone here I know. Not even
Mulder. I pick up my flat beer and follow her into the back corner where
I'm introduced to Jeanie and Carol who greet me warmly and accept the
vague answer I give them about why I'm here alone.

An hour later my sides are aching with laughter. Amy is a natural

storyteller with a flair for the dramatic. She's currently telling us
about an ex-boyfriend she had completely forgotten about until the FBI
called looking for him. For a few moments I forget about being Scully,
about Mulder, about dangerous assignments and just revel in the moment and
the tale of 'Crazy Carl'.

I'm wiping carefully under my eyes, trying not to smear my mascara, when I
see him.

He's sitting two tables away with three other men, all of them in grimy
t-shirts and jeans. His hair is longer and he's tan as if he's been
working outside. He must sense my gaze because he glances over in my
direction and then does a double take. For a brief moment our eyes meet
and his widen slightly in surprise.

I look back to Amy just as Jeanie and Carol erupt into another round of
laughter. I laugh along with them, acutely aware of Mulder sitting not
ten feet away. How long has he been here? Why didn't I see him come in?
My heart is thudding in my chest, it hurts, and I realize that I should
leave. I should go now before I endanger him. He was never in trouble -
it was me. I just wanted to see him, to know that he was alright.

I try my best to keep my gaze focused on Amy, not on the table behind her,
but I still find myself looking over every few minutes. Finally we hit a
lull in the conversation and I look down, tracing patterns on the tabletop
with the condensation on the edge of my glass.

"I don't think my friend is showing up," I tell them, preparing myself for
departure and hoping like hell that Mulder gets up and follows me into the
parking lot. To what end? I ask myself. What do you want him to say?
Nice skirt?

"Ladies, you have some admirers." A waitress sets a bottle of beer in

front of each of us. Amy whirls around and the man sitting next to Mulder
raises his bottle in our direction. He looks to be in his 40's with curly
blond hair. He leans to Mulder and says something that makes Mulder
smile. I look away, my lungs squeezing the breath out of me. Jeanie
begins to giggle and Carol elbows me, leaning closer to whisper slyly,
"They're cute!"

The men confer amongst themselves for a few minutes, casting glances at
us. Finally they get up and come over to our table. I keep my eyes fixed
on the label in front of me, suddenly fascinated with Budweiser's
intricate border.

"What does a beer buy a man these days?" Mulder's blond friend asks. Amy
looks up at him coyly and coos, "Depends on what you're in the market for.
My going rate is a 'thank you'."

"Jerry," he says, extending his hand to Amy. "I think it's worth a 'thank
you, Jerry', at the very least."

"Thank you, Jerry," Carol and Jeanie chorus and I shake my head slightly.
Mating dances, every culture has them, and I'm beginning to see the value
of the arranged marriage. How does anyone ever find anyone doing it this
way?

There is a lull and I realize that Jerry is looking at me, noticing my

ingratitude. I decide that I'll just pretend to be shy so I bite my
bottom lip and look up shyly. "Thank you, Jerry." I say it so softly I
doubt he can hear it over the noise of the jukebox in the corner but Jerry
nods his approval and pulls a chair over from the next table, seating
himself between Amy and myself.
I dare a glance at Mulder but he's smiling at Jeanie.

How many other weekends has Mulder spent in this bar chatting up the
ladies? Why does it hurt to think about it?

Jerry places one hand on my knee and the other on Amy's, giving us both a
squeeze. I give him a vacuous smile. "Now tell me your names," he
instructs and we all do. The shorter dark haired man standing behind
Jerry introduces himself as Ron and sidles up to Carol, his hands on her
shoulders as he leans over to take in the view straight down her shirt.
Carol obviously finds this flattering and I have to stifle the urge to
frown at her. There isn't enough room for him to draw up a chair so Carol
gladly obliges him, standing up so he can sit down and then she sits on
his lap. Mulder is still smiling at Jeanie and I stand up. His attention
shifts to me and the smile widens as he takes in the tight shirt, short
skirt and stacked heels I'm wearing. Eat your heart out, Mulder. You'll
never see me dressed like this again. I guarantee it.

"You can have my chair," I drawl. "I was just about to leave." His hand
reaches out to hold my upper arm. "Don't go," he says. I know that
voice, I know those eyes, I know his touch. Any doubts that this might
not really be Mulder are gone.

The fourth man with Mulder has sandy colored hair pulled back in a pony
tail. "Surely you don't have to work tomorrow," he tells me. "It's
Friday. Stay and talk to us. We're nice guys." I must have a dubious
look because he flashes me a smile. "Really, we are. I'm Gil, this is
Jerry, Ron and Joe." Mulder nods at me, his hand sliding down my arm to
close loosely around my wrist.

"What's your name?" Mulder/Joe asks me.

"Julie," I tell him and wonder if he had the same momentary doubts I did.
Maybe he doesn't realize it's me. Maybe he wonders if this is just some
tramp who bears a remarkable resemblance to his strait-laced partner.

"Julie," he repeats the name back at me, rolling the name experimentally
and I know he knows it's me. I remember the time we posed as husband and
wife, how odd it felt to have him call me Laura. At least this time I got
to pick my own name.

Gil hunkers down next to Jeanie's chair and she gives another giggle. I
wonder if she realizes how inane she sounds. Maybe she doesn't care. She
agrees to dance with him and they make their way over to the couples
groping and swaying in front of the jukebox. Mulder sits down in her
vacated chair.

"So, Julie," he draws the name out in a tease as his eyes take in the
plunging v-neck of my shirt. "Where were you going in such a hurry?"

"I was waiting for a friend but they never showed up."

"A friend?" His eyes make it up to my face before taking a detour to the
dangly earrings I'm wearing. His lips quirk in a smothered laugh. "Is
this a boyfriend or a girlfriend?"

"Just a friend."
"I love your accent. Are you from around here? Come here often? What's
your sign?" He leans closer to me as he speaks, resting his elbows on the
table and finally meeting my eyes. His are full of mischief.

"Georgia," I tell him. "I'm from Georgia. I'm just up here going to
cosmetology school."

That earns me a full smile. "They don't have beauty colleges in Georgia?"

I give him the eyebrow. "Of course they do. But my cousin went to this
one and she recommended it highly. I wanted to see the world so here I
am."

"There's a lot of world to be seen in Ohio, that's for sure."

"Are you being facetious?" I ask him and he laughs.

"I'm just humoring you," he tells me.

"Why?"

His smile turns predatory and my stomach lurches as he leans even closer.
"Julie," he sings the name and moves one hand to touch my necklace. To my
astonishment my nipples tighten the second his flesh meets mine. My shirt
is so close-fitted I know he can't have missed that and I swallow, hard.
"Do you do this frequently?" he asks. "Pick up strange men in bars?"

"Never," I whisper.

"You look like the kind of girl who does. I thought you knew how this
game was played."

"What game?" I ask and shiver as his finger traces the vee of my shirt. I
should stop him, shouldn't I? Or would that look suspicious? He's right
- I do look like the kind of girl who's into one night stands. "I don't
play games."

"Don't you?" His eyes are dark and I realize that he's every bit as
aroused as I am. Oh god, we're in trouble. I should leave. "Are you
telling me that you've never played games? Never hid your true feelings
from someone? Never flirted?"

"Are you calling me a flirt?" I bat my eyelashes at him, desperate to get

this conversation back on lightfooted ground.

"I think you are. You act all high and mighty but underneath it all you
just want to be fucked."

My mouth opens in a gasp and Mulder picks up my right hand, holding it

between his own, turning it over as if to read my fortune.

"Was that an offer?" I ask. Jerry and Amy are watching us, I can feel
their interest across the table and I realize Mulder's playing to the
crowd. Well, crowd of two. Ron and Carol have started kissing each other
and their attention is elsewhere.

Mulder holds my hand, his long fingers stroking lightly over mine, tracing
barely-there patterns on my palm. It is intensely erotic, the soft touch
he is using and I try my damndest not to wriggle. "There's something
here," he murmurs bending closer to my hand. "I see a man in your
future."

"Really?" I lean closer myself until our foreheads are nearly touching, my
legs crossing restlessly under the table. This was a bad idea. I admit it
fully.

"Tall, dark, handsome," Mulder leans closer, his eyes squinting for closer
scrutiny. "Wickedly funny. You don't want to laugh at his jokes but you
do. You think he's full of shit but you still find yourself drawn to
him."

"I don't know anyone like that."

Mulder glances up at me. "I said it was in the future. You will."

"Can you see a name? I'd like to know who to watch for."

"Hmmmm," he bends to his task again, running his fingers lightly in

circles on my palm before stroking up to my wrist. I can't help it, this
time I squirm but at least I'm not shaking. Yet. His fingers glide back
down drawing a pattern on my palm. I close my eyes for a second and bite
my lip.

"Maybe an 'M'?" He traces it again and nods. "His name starts with an
'M'."

"Matt? Mark? Mike?" I puzzle it out.

"Melvin?" he adds helpfully and I shake my head.

"You said tall."

He nods at me and lifts my hand to place a kiss in my palm. "For Melvin,"

he tells me. "Hearing you're taken will break his heart." He kisses my
palm again and I feel the tip of his tongue dart out to taste me. Oh god,
I don't think these panties will ever be dry again.

"What about you, Joe?" I ask. "What do you do for a living?"

"Construction," he tells me. "We all work together." Jerry gives me a

smile and tosses back the rest of his beer before turning his attention to
Amy. Mulder scoots his chair so that we're sitting knee to knee, facing
each other.

"Nice skirt," he says, resting his hands on my bare knees and I jump
involuntarily. "What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"

"Would you believe me if I said I was looking for you?"

Mulder smiles. "I'd say you found me." His hands are warm, his fingers
tightening on me just the smallest bit before creeping upward to rest mid
thigh. His fingers are now just barely under the hem of my skirt.

"What kind of construction?" I ask as his thumbs stroke over the insides
of my legs. Our eyes meet in a staring contest as he silently calls my
bluff. How far am I willing to let him go?

"Buildings. We're working on the office park out by the mall." His hands
creep upwards just a little further.

I nod as if I know what he's talking about.

"So, Julie, when do you graduate from beauty school?" Mulder looks down,
watching my lap, apparently as entranced as I am with the movement of his
fingers beneath my skirt.

"Next week," I say with a squeak as his right hand wanders further north
than any man has been since Bush was president.

"So this is hello-goodbye. I'll never see you again." He looks back up
at me and licks his lips. I can't help but watch the gesture and the
sight of his glistening lower lip really does something for me, I must
say. His gaze shifts to look at the distinct outline of my nipples
through my shirt and I feel a blush rising across my chest, up my neck and
suffusing my cheeks. I have to know, have to oogle. I look down at his
lap and I can see the bulge in his jeans.

What in god's name are we doing here?

His right hand is still climbing, sneaking closer and closer to the truth
about what he's doing to me. I can't watch him so I close my eyes. He
knows. He knows. Oh god, he knows. Either my thighs are sweating or I'm
so damp it's embarrassing, but he knows. He squeezes my leg and pulls
both his hands away.

He knows.

*** End 1/3

*** Disclaimer, etc. in part one.

"Dance with me, Julie." He stands up, pulling me up with him and I give
him a dazed nod, turning to head towards the makeshift dance floor. His
hand rests on the small of my back as we make our way over. I flush all
over when he puts both arms around me, pulling me close against him. My
arms feel heavy and uncooperative but I manage to reach his shoulders.
How could I never have noticed how broad they were before?

You noticed, I tell myself. You were just in denial. You've been in
denial for years. Welcome to the 12 Step program. My name is Dana and
I'm addicted to my partner.

So, if Mulder is an addiction, dancing with him is not going to cure me,
is it?

The press of his body against mine, the weight of his arms encircling me,
the invasion of his knee between my legs - these are not things to set a
girl on the road to recovery.

Mulder bends his head, his breath hot and damp against my neck. May I
never recover. And may God forgive me for thinking so. The song isn't
quite slow enough for slow dancing but we improvise, our bellies shifting
against each other as Linda Ronstadt wails "You're No Good."

"Couldn't live without me, could you?" he murmurs, his lips grazing my ear
as he speaks.
I laugh, letting my forehead rest against his chest and his arms tighten a
little around me. "Three months. I miss you," he breathes into my hair.
"I should never have called. I just, I just wanted to hear your voice."
We both know he did it deliberately, leaving me a way to find him - just
in case. We both know this but neither of us wants to acknowledge what it
means.

"When do you graduate from beauty school?" I ask him, looking up only to
be shaken by the tenderness in his eyes.

"I don't know. Gil and Jerry have their own little militia going. I've
been working with them since I got here but it's only been recently that
they've let me start hanging out with them."

"I came at the wrong time, I should go."

"Actually, Julie," he draws out the "lee" on the end and I hear my name in
the inflection. "You couldn't have come at a better time."

A new song starts, a faster one, but Mulder doesn't loosen his hold on me.
"You're here now, I think you should stay." His eyes search mine and then
he steps back, releasing me. "I've yet to bring anyone home with me,
they've been teasing me about it. I just couldn't involve someone in
this, I couldn't." He stops speaking as Jerry and Amy come up next to us.
"Dude," he tells Mulder. "We're splitting. You coming?" Behind them I
can see Gil and Jeanie heading towards the door.

"Wanna hang with us?" Mulder asks me. Mulder and I exchange looks,
weighing my options. Unexpectedly the feeling of fear for Mulder returns.
I can't just let him leave. He doesn't have a weapon and I can provide
him with back-up. I have my gun in my purse. All the well-dressed bimbos
are packing heat these days.

"Sure," I say. "Let me grab my bag." Carol and Ron are so engrossed in
each other I doubt they even realize they're being left behind. Outside
Mulder is leaning against the building by the door. He straightens up as
I exit.

"Are you sure you want to come with us? I don't think this is in your job
description." His voice is quiet and deadly serious.

"I'm off-duty, my time is my own," I tell him and he reaches out to touch
my hair, his fingers brushing over the new 'do I'm sporting, all hairspray
and backcombing.

"This is a great look for you."

"Joe! Let's go!" Gil shouts across the parking lot, laughing at the
rhyme and I put my arm around Mulder's waist. "Let's go then, Joe. Show
me how the game is played."

Jerry has a Bronco and the bland expression on Mulder's face tells me a
hundred OJ jokes. I climb in behind him and realize there is no place to
sit. Mulder has to sit with his long legs sideways to even fit. Gil and
Jeanie are getting a head start on their foreplay right next to him. This
is foolish, reminding me of piling into the car with Missy's friends in
high school. Of course, back then I always ended up in the front seat
wishing that I had someone to make out with in the back seat. Mulder
pulls me down onto his legs, his arms loosely circling my waist. I can
feel the heat of his legs against my bare skin even through the denim. I
shiver and Mulder pulls me closer.

"You cold?" he asks and I nod. "Yes, a little."

"Hey Jerry, can we get some heat back here?" Mulder asks.

"Gotta wait for the engine to warm up before I can turn on the heater.
Can't you warm her up?" Jerry finishes with a nasty little laugh. Mulder
answers with his own laugh and rubs my arm with his hand.

Next to us Gil breaks the kiss with Jeanie. "I was starting to think you
didn't like girls, Joe."

"I don't. I'm after your ass, Gil."

Jerry laughs from the front seat. "Tell the truth, Joe. Some woman broke
your heart, right?"

Mulder shifts uncomfortably beneath me. "I was just waiting for something
worth waking up to," Mulder grumbles good-naturedly.

I guess I came just in time. If I hadn't been here, or agreed to leave

with him, he would have had to pick up someone else. Yep, good thing I
was here tonight. I've saved Mulder from a possible STD, at the very
least.

Wherever Jerry's going, he's in a hurry to get there. He tears out of

Denny's parking lot onto Route 7 and follows it south. As we weave in and
out of traffic I say a silent prayer that we get wherever it is we're
going. Mulder's knees are braced against the back of Jerry's seat and I
can tell by the tension in his body that he's having the same doubts about
arriving alive. I feel off-balance, wobbling on Mulder's legs, unwilling
to put my full weight down. Jerry takes a right turn that sends me sliding
closer to Mulder's chest.

"Sorry," I mutter, struggling to sit upright again but Mulder closes his
arms around me and holds me against him.

"I can keep you warmer if you sit closer." Mulder tells me, his hand
rubbing across the gooseflesh on my arm for emphasis.

"I'm not really that cold," I lie.

"Liar," he calls me on it. "Or maybe you're trembling for another

reason?" He shifts again beneath me and I swallow the gasp that rises in
my throat. For one wild, unexpected moment I pictured myself sitting
astride him while he bucked up beneath me. I banish that thought to the
furthest reaches of my mind.

"I am not trembling." I will myself to stop shaking and my body obeys.
"I don't tremble."

Mulder's hand travels down my arm again, the heel of his palm brushing
over my breast. When he speaks his voice is as deliberate as the gesture
was. "Not yet," he tells me.

Jerry steers the Bronco up a hill and turns onto a narrow street. He
parks in front of the dead end sign and we all pile out. Gil crosses the
street clutching Jeanie to him. Jerry and Amy are holding hands as they
follow them. I heft the comforting weight of my purse onto my shoulder as
Mulder drapes his arm over me.

In the dim light cast by the streetlamp it's difficult to tell but the
entire neighborhood seems to have seen better days. We climb a rickety
porch behind Jerry and Amy as Gil opens the front door and turns on the
lights.

We step inside, the house is redolent with the smell of stale cigarettes.
The kitchen is off to our left, the living room to our right, with a
counter separating them. In the living room a ratty Naugahide couch with
tufts of stuffing poking through it takes up one wall. An ugly brown and
gold afghan covers the back of the couch. In the corner is an orange
beanbag chair. A tv sits on the floor in front of the window. There are
stairs on the far wall leading to both the second story and a basement.
Next to them is a closed door. Gil goes into the kitchen, pulling a
couple of six packs out of the refrigerator. He sets one six pack on the
counter. He tucks the other under his arm and tugs on Jeanie's wrist.

"We're going upstairs," he informs us all. "Make yourself at home," he

tells Mulder and me. "Bathroom's through that door." He waggles his
eyebrows at us and leads Jeanie upstairs.

Mulder and I are left staring after them. My stomach squeezes in a fresh
rush of uncertainty. This was a bad idea. Jerry turns on the tv and
turns off the light in the living room. He and Amy sit down on the couch.
Mulder looks at me and I give him a slight shrug.

Mulder sits on the bean bag chair as Jerry lifts a remote and starts
clicking through the channels. "Hey babe," Mulder says. "Bring me a
beer." I bare my teeth at him and look over at Jerry and Amy.

"Y'all want one?"

"Great, thanks." Amy accepts my offer. I pull four beers off the six
pack and scoop them against me. I drop off the first two to Amy and Jerry
and saunter over to where Mulder sits. I hold the beer out to him but he
reaches out to grab my wrist instead.

"Why don't you sit down here with me?" He opens his legs enough for me to
sit between them. His hand is still holding my wrist, pulling me
downwards so I give in. I sit down, crossing my ankles, instantly
uncomfortable and hoping that Jerry and Amy can't see up my skirt. Mulder
scoots backward in the chair a little, pulling me with him. My purse
slips from my shoulder, landing on the floor with a thud.

On the couch Jerry and Amy seem much more interested in each other. Jerry
has the tv tuned to some mindless action movie. Sirens wail on-screen as
he and Amy snuggle into the corner of the couch. Neither one even looks
over to see why my purse makes so much noise. Mulder's hand reaches out,
pulling my purse a little closer to the chair. Then he puts both hands on
my shoulders and gives them a light squeeze.

"Relax," he says. "You're so tense. Cutting hair must be more stressful

than I imagined."

I take a deep breath and let it out. His hands continue to massage my
shoulders lightly and I lean back against him.

"It can be stressful," I say. "You have to remember that you're really
working with someone's self-image. You mess up and they'll be hating life
for weeks."

"I never looked at it that way." Mulder has found a knot in my muscles
and he pushes down harder with his thumb, making small circles. I lean my
head forward, closing my eyes to memorize the sensation of having his
hands on me for this long.

For nearly half an hour I sit between Mulder's legs with my eyes closed as
he kneads my muscles gently. If he keeps this up I'll be asleep soon.
Why can't all the surveillance we do be like this? I open my eyes to see
Amy and Jerry kissing on the couch. One of them begins humming as the
kiss grows more demanding. What would it be like to kiss Mulder that way?
Mulder's hand brushes lightly down my back and it tickles. When I startle
at the feeling he repeats it.

"You trembling yet?" he asks and I turn to look at him. His eyes are
teasing and I shake my head. "No. I told you, I don't tremble."

Jerry breaks the kiss and whispers hoarsely to Amy that they should go
upstairs. They scarcely give us a look as they leave the couch and hurry,
laughing, up the stairs.

A door upstairs slams shut and I can hear their footsteps directly above
us. After about 30 seconds Mulder gives me a gentle push forward.

"Time's up, Julie. The masseuse has another appointment."

We both stand up and Mulder walks over to the wall, turning the light back
on. I blink in the sudden glare. Mulder begins poking around the living
room with a relentlessness that tells me he's never been here before. I
head into the kitchen and start opening drawers. Nothing unusual, nothing
out of place, they may not be into interior decorating but Gil and Jerry
aren't slobs either.

Mulder starts up the stairs and then turns to motion for me to go check
out the basement.

"Are we looking for something in particular?" I ask, feeling foolish and

wanting desperately to appear useful.

Mulder shrugs and I take two steps up so he can whisper to me. "We know
they have weapons stockpiled somewhere and that they've been purchasing
the raw materials for a bomb over the past year. I doubt they'd be
keeping them here but we should check."

I nod and slide my heels off so I won't clomp loudly on the stairs. The
stairs are wooden and they creak as I descend. In the light coming from
the doorway I can see a string hanging from a bare light bulb. I tug on
it and the light comes on. The basement smells like my grandmother's,
like bleach, dust and mouldering books. Clothes are piled all over the
floor in front of a washing machine. There is a counter along the far
wall covered with boxes and a few stray tools. I head over to the corner
cast in shadows and poke around. Nothing. Just junk.

Behind me I hear the stairs creak as Mulder comes downstairs. "Anything?"

he asks.

I turn around and shake my head. "Nothing. Do you want to check

outside?"

"No." Mulder lets out a sigh and turns in a small circle. "I doubt we're
going to find anything here. They have a place out in the country where
they go to shoot each weekend. I'm hoping to tag along with them this
weekend."

"Maybe I should go then, call for backup and we can follow you tomorrow."

"No, I don't think so. It would look better if you stay. Tomorrow you
can beg off the shooting trip. I just wish I could be there to see you
explain to Skinner how you happened to stumble across me dressed like
this." Mulder gestures at my skirt with a grin and then starts back up
the stairs.

I follow him upstairs and watch in bemusement as he goes straight to the

refrigerator and pulls out another six pack. He pulls all the beers off
and lines them up on the counter. "You want one?" he asks and when I
shake my head he hands me two. Then he goes down the line, opening the
other four with precision. He offers me a small smile before turning to
the sink and dumping one down. Following his lead I set one down and open
the other, pouring it down the sink as well.

For a few minutes we stand there, listening to the ceiling begin to thud
methodically above us as we pour beer down the sink. When all of them are
gone Mulder crushes a few of the cans and tosses them towards the garbage
can on the far side of the kitchen. He hits with two, misses with the
last one but leaves it on the floor. He pushes the other empty cans
together and walks into the living room with them, setting them down at
the end of the couch before kicking two across the room.

I stand with my arms crossed, watching the whole performance. Above us

Amy lets loose with a screech that causes us to both look up. Mulder
flips off the living room light, casting the room into shadows backlit by
the tv. He bends to adjust one empty can just-so before walking back over
to where I'm leaning against the counter.

"Only one other thing we have to take care of here," he tells me and I
feel all the blood rush to my stomach at the gleam in his eye.

"What's that?" I ask and he bends down, his lips brushing my neck in an
almost-kiss.

"This," he whispers and bites down.

*** End 2/3

*** Hide the children. Here be monsters.

"Mul." I start to say his name and he lifts his head. "Joe," he corrects
me, his eyes searching mine for understanding. "When the morning comes
and Julie looks unmolested it could seriously call my manhood into
question."
Right. Don't blow his cover. Let him give you a hickey or two. It'll
look good for Gil and Jerry. I'll just wear shirts with collars for the
next week and avoid Skinner. My hands squeeze the counter behind me as he
bends to his task again. This time his teeth only scrape across me
lightly, his tongue darting out to obstensibly soothe me before he starts
suckling and my knees wobble.

"We should leave more than one," he tells me as he leans back and eyes my
cleavage. "Tell me where you want the next one."

I study the company logo on his t-shirt as if it contains the secrets of

the universe. I have a long list of places I'd like him to kiss me but
lifting my hand to show him would mean letting go of the counter and I'd
fall down for sure. He bends and kisses the edge of my shirt and then his
tongue slides underneath, pushing the material to the side as he finds the
trim on my bra to his liking.

"Right there," I tell him. "Right there is good."

"Mmmmm," he agrees with me and his arm goes around the back of me to brace
me as he gives me an experimental nip. My head drops back and I watch the
ceiling as Mulder kisses the inner boundary of my breast. In a minute I'm
going to screech even louder than Amy did. The heat of his mouth is
stoking other fires, just as hot and wet, and I shudder at the thought
that maybe he really is seducing me, that he doesn't intend to stop at
this.

His mouth moves up, to my shoulder and this time he uses his hand to pull
the fabric aside as his mouth stakes a new claim. His neck is just a few
millimeters from my mouth and I am nearly as shocked as he is when my
tongue darts out to taste him.

"Sc, Julie," he half-moans and then increases the suction on my shoulder.

"Don't you think my womanhood will be called into question if you're left
unmolested by morning, Joe?" He makes no reply but shifts closer,
pressing the length of his erection against my hip and I take that as a
'yes'. I let go of the counter and cling to him, holding tight to his
shoulders as I feast on the warm flesh of his neck. He tastes like all
the dark mysteries we've never solved, like danger and like salt. I used
to lick my palms as a child, craving the taste of salt and the sea.
Mulder tastes like that. Forget a salt lick, I need a Mulder lick.

I close my eyes so I can savor him completely, drunk on the musky smell of
sweat on his collar and the tangy taste of his skin. I stretch up a
little to reach his earlobe and his breathing becomes erratic when I pull
it into my mouth. I run one hand up into his hair, holding him to me as
he continues to mark my neck.

He gives me a last wet smack before straightening up. For a moment we

just look at each other, our eyes wide as we catch our breath. His eyes
are dilated and hooded, his lips swollen and another bloom of heat
suffuses me to see him this close, this aroused.

"That's probably good enough," he tells me and I nod. This is all going
to be over in a few seconds and I want to cry at the loss of him. I think
he feels the same way because he doesn't move, not letting up the pressure
of his body pinning me against the counter, his hands moving restlessly
across my back. I'd give anything to really be Julie at this moment.
"Like hell it is," I barely register that he spoke before his lips cover
mine. He's hesitant for a second, as if he thinks I'm going to push him
away. Doesn't he realize we crossed that line back at the bar?
Truthfully I realize that there are lines and then There Are Lines. I may
as well have set fire to every bridge I crossed between here and D.C.
Standing here kissing Mulder I've broken every rule of professionalism and
common sense I've ever adhered to.

After that moment's indecision he becomes bolder, his lips pulling on mine
to draw me further into the kiss. I don't need any urging. Tonight I am
not Scully. I'm Julie and, by god, this is one one-night stand I'm going
through with. If Gil and Jerry want to see some molestation they're going
to get an eyeful. I tug his shirt free of his jeans, sliding my hands
underneath and marveling at the sleek muscles that bunch beneath my roving
fingers. Three months of working construction have hardened his body, the
weight he'd put on while we were on desk duty is gone. Desire washes over
me, hot and liquid and scary.

Yes, scary. Scary because I'm positive that this is the worst possible
idea but I've wanted him for so long, wondered for so long. Scary because
the sensation of his hands on my body is endlessly more erotic than I had
ever dreamed it could be. Scary because I don't recognize the woman I've
become. I'm kissing him with desperation, my hands tearing at his shirt
and he obliges me by stepping back and shedding it. Scary because I've
never actually wanted to devour someone before.

I grab the belt loops on his jeans and pull him back against me, kissing
the hard planes of his chest. I dart my tongue out to tease his nipple
and he jerks, groaning deep in his chest, the vibrations of it tickling my
lips.

His fingers weave into my hair and tip my head back so that he can kiss me
again. I open my mouth wanting more - more of him, more of his kisses.
My tongue pushes into his mouth and his strokes against mine, luring me
further inside. I've never much cared for the taste of beer but, in
Mulder's mouth, it somehow tastes sweeter, more rich. I need to know how
the rest of him tastes. I give his lower lip a soft nip and then move to
plant kisses along the stubble on his jaw. His head rolls back, allowing
me access to his neck and I repay

his earlier actions by leaving another bruise on his neck. I kiss a path
down his chest, working my way towards the fine trail of hair below his
navel. I push him backwards, my breath whistling as I gulp in oxygen.
When I hear his foot hit the edge of the couch I still him and he waits.
My hands are shaking but I manage to undo the top button on his jeans.

"Juuu-leeee," he groans, his hands gripping my shoulders as I slide the

zipper down. I tug at his pants and boxers, pushing him backwards before
they even reach his knees. He lands on the couch with a dazed expression
on his face. The tv casts shadows and light across his face as I kneel
slowly in front of him, pushing his knees apart to accommodate me for the
second time tonight.

God help me, I salivate at the sight of his erection, rigid and
gratifyingly thick. My fingers skate up his legs and he slouches a
little, drawing closer to me. I scratch through the hair on his thighs
with my fingernails, moving my hand closer to where we both want it to be.
Mulder never takes his eyes off my face, watching me with the astonished
look he usually reserves for the paranormal. I lick my lips and nearly
giggle when his cock twitches.

I wrap my fingers around the base of him, giving him a small squeeze
before sliding up. His hips lift off the couch, following the movement of
my hand as I reach the head of him. My hand glides back down and he sinks
into the sofa again. I lick my lips again and then lean forward, taking
just the tip of him into my mouth. He tastes salty here too, bittersalt,
but still delicious. My tongue traces the slit on the head and Mulder
gasps above me. His hands move back to my shoulders, his fingers flexing
but not insistent.

Oh, Mulder. We'll see who trembles.

My tongue swirls a few times around him, pulling him a little deeper with
each pass. I hollow my cheeks, letting him have some suction before I
relax my throat and let him slide all the way in. It has been a long time
but I still manage not to gag as he bumps the back of my throat. My hand
slides down to cup his balls, my thumb tracing gentle circles on the
papery skin there in time to the up and down motion of my mouth.

Mulder relaxes into the couch, his hands dropping off my shoulders. With
each upstroke my tongue bathes the tip of him before I swallow him whole
again. His hips jerk when my thumb traces the line down the middle of his
scrotum.

"Not fair," he groans. "You're not being fair."

I want to ask him what he means but I can't. At least, not until he puts
his hands on my shoulders again, not-so-gently pushing me away. "What's
not fair?"

Mulder takes a few deep breaths before answering in a raspy voice. "What
are we doing here, Scully?"

"Julie," I correct him, caressing his upper legs. I know exactly what
we're doing here and I don't want to stop it. The barriers I erected
between us over the years are crashing down. I can hear them tumbling
down in every squeak of the floorboards above us, every thud against the
ceiling reminding me of why I came here. "I'm Julie. You brought me here
for a reason, Joe. What was it?"

For a minute he doesn't speak. His harsh panting is louder than the tv.
His cock lurches as if to assert its opinion. "I never thought. I never
dreamed we'd end up like this."

"Never?" My knees are aching on this wooden floor but I don't move from
between his legs. I decide to continue being brazen. "I have. I dream
about you all the time, Joe."

He laughs then, although it comes out more like a wheeze. "What do you
dream about? How does it happen?"

I look around the living room taking in the ambience and then look back at
Mulder, naked save the jeans bunched around his ankles, and I laugh
myself. "I don't think I ever had this particular one before. Usually
I'm dressed differently."

"Do I take your shirt off, Julie? Or do you do it?" Mulder leans forward,
bunching my sleeve between his fingers experimentally.

"It depends," I tell him.

"Well, when I never dream about this you usually take it off." He sits
back and watches me, waiting. I pull my shirt off, tossing it to the side
and then look back at him. My eyes flicker down to his erection, still
bobbing against his stomach. Mulder catches my look and reaches down to
stroke himself. My eyes widen, I never realized that watching a man do
this could be so erotic.

"Sometimes, when I don't dream about you, you take me in your mouth like
you just did, Julie." I tear my eyes away to look back into his. He
strokes himself a few more times and then he slides forward, off the
couch, and I scrabble backwards in surprise. Most people seem so much
smaller when they're undressed, Mulder seems larger than life, vibrantly
alive and close enough to kiss. My heart beats furiously and I realize
that I'm about to get what I've been asking for all night.

"But I have one little fantasy I never indulge in, Julie. One I could
never believe would occur with the precise and correct person I never
dream about."

Oh god, I'm afraid to ask. The same liquid scary desire from earlier
washes over me, much more amplified now.

"What?" I finally manage to ask. "What don't you dream about?"

I've granted him permission but Mulder doesn't move. His eyes rake over
my chest and I'm ready to tear my bra off and beg when he lifts one hand
and makes a circling motion. Turn around.

"Oh," I suck in a deep breath. "Oh god." But I do as he asks, turning my

back to him. I feel the hot breath from his lips before they touch me.
His tongue snakes out and traces the ridge of my left shoulder blade.
"After tonight Julie I'm going to know what you taste like everywhere," he
whispers. His hands run lightly from my shoulders to my hips and back
again. Then his hand takes a detour and I feel him drawing a circle on my
lower back. I realize he's touching my tattoo. "You're mine now." His
voice is scarcely recognizable, it is pitched so low. And then his
fingers grab the hem of my skirt. His hands are rough, pulling my skirt
up around my waist. He yanks my panties down. It's a struggle for him to
get them as far as my knees. I drop forward and scissor my legs, managing
to get one ankle free but I can still feel them damp around my left calf.

Mulder's hands are on my hips and he shifts me, pulling my ass a little
higher.

I can feel the air cool against the damp flesh between my legs before he
moves closer. The heat coming off his body is now the only sensation in
the world.

The weight of his right hand leaves me but he doesn't move. My arms are
shaking with anticipation and then I feel the thick head of his cock
prodding my entrance. Oh god, please, Mulder, please. I need this. He
presses closer, parting me, sliding only the tip of him in and I groan at
the invasion.

"You're trembling now, aren't you?" his voice is a guttural whisper that
makes me shake harder.

"Please." I whisper it through dry lips and rock backwards, impaling him
a little further inside me. My inner muscle leap and twitch as my nerves
try to decide whether this is pain or pleasure.

"Please." I whisper it again and try to buck backwards but he moves both
hands to my hips to hold me still. I can feel him throbbing inside me and
I groan in frustration. And then he moves, a swift thrust that stabs
right through the center of me. My arms are shaking so hard I can't hold
myself up and I slide to the floor, turning my head and muffling his real
name against my bicep.

Mulder's arm comes around my waist, hauling me back up close to him as he

begins a steady rhythm of slow thrusts. A long stroke in that makes me
gasp in gratitude followed by an unhurried retreat. His breathing isn't
anywhere as controlled as his movements inside me are and I wonder how
long it will be until he loses control. I wonder how long it will be
before I do as his testicles nudge my clit everytime his groin comes to
rest against my ass. I rock back against him with every stroke in,
locking my arms to keep myself upright.

Mulder picks up the pace, his hips grinding mercilessly against me and my
arms finally give up for good. I sink down, my head resting on my
forearms and wail as he slides one hand around to cup me. He is not
gentle, which is good, I'm far too swollen to be moved by delicate
caresses. A few small explosions radiate through my abdomen and down into
my legs. I slide further forward as my legs give out but Mulder follows
me down, relentless in his thrusts.

"I never do this to you, I never do," he groans, releasing my clit to

bring his arm up around my chest, buying himself a little more leverage.
"I never, god, Scully, I never could." He slows for a moment and plants a
kiss on my shoulder, his humid breath increasing the moisture across my
back. I clench around him, feeling the wave of another orgasm
approaching. Please, god, don't let him be stopping. He whimpers against
my shoulder, kisses it again and then tells me in a hoarse whisper,
"Never."

He takes a few short strokes inside me and I begin to sob against my arms
as love, pleasure and an indescribable feeling of well-being cascade
through my consciousness. Mulder stiffens, groans, and makes a series of
rapid fire thrusts. I feel him swell inside me and then he topples over,
pressing me into the hard floor as his hips give a few more languid
strokes. I can't stop trembling now, all my muscles are in rebellion,
unable to cope with the sensory overload. I cry silently against my arms
and wait for him to regain his senses.

After a minute or so he does, rolling to the side and sitting up. I can't
move, I feel like a rag doll. I can hear him shuffle back into his jeans
before kneeling down next to me again. "Hey," he touches my shoulder
gently. "There's no wet spot on the couch." I manage to push myself up
enough to roll onto my side. Mulder pushes my still-quivering legs apart,
wiping me gently with his t-shirt before pulling my skirt back down,
giving me partial modesty. When he looks up at my face his expression
changes to horror at my wet cheeks.

"Don't look at me like that," I wipe under my eyes with the back of my
hand and give him a watery smile. "I'm fine. I'm just incredibly moved."
"Well, let me move you one last time tonight, ok?" Mulder pulls me
against him, lifting me and shifting both of us onto the couch. I lay
spooned against him, the warm flesh of his chest against my back. I
should probably find my shirt but at least my bra is still on. Besides,
the feeling of his bare skin against mine is worth any ogling I might
suffer in the morning. Mulder reaches behind him, pulling the afghan down
onto us.

The tv continues to flicker in the corner but my eyes are too heavy and
tired to watch it. I take a deep shuddering breath and let it out.
Mulder's arms tighten around me and he kisses my cheek softly.

"I will admit to dreaming about this," he murmurs.

"What's that?" I ask.

"Sleeping on a couch with you in my arms. I'll admit to that."

"Let's just hope you're not asked to."

Mulder chuckles. "I never saw you here, this didn't happen. But every
now and then my partner's going to wonder why I dream of Julie."

"Jeanie." I correct him.

"Jeanie? No, I never dream about her."

"Like you never dream about me?"

"Don't tell me you have a harem girl outfit with you too? Because I never
dream about that either."

"Good night, Mulder." I whisper it to him, needing to hear myself say his
real name, acknowledge what really happened.

"Good night, Scully. Sweet dreams." He whispers back and I want to tell
him I don't have many dreams left but I'm asleep before I can do so.

***

End 3/3

Author's Notes: Ok, ok - I acknowledge freely that they're wildly out of

character but I wanted to write it anyway. This was my first try at
something like this. Feedback will only encourage my bad behavior.
Akinney238@aol.com