part 2/4

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He pats the surface of the porch between his thighs and tips his
head just so, beckoning her once again. He is aware that she's made
her decision, but that she can't simply say 'okay'. She has to weigh
her choices, gather the evidence and arrive at an answer to her
hypothesis. She needs anecdotal confirmation and he's more than
willing to provide it. If she will just hurry up and comply with his
invitation.

She regards his body language now as the toes of her shoes make
contact with the edge of the bottom step. There is not much now,
nor has there ever been much 'closed' about him. At least not to
her. His forearms rest easily on his thighs, his hands hanging
between his legs. He has left plenty of room for her to nestle
there. Even his face is inviting her, his lips parted, his eyes
focused so intently on her that she is forced to glance at the few
locks of hair that bracket his forehead. Such a lanky, muscled body.
So at home in his skin.

She leans forward and places her hands on his knees, indicating
that he should move toward her a bit. He understands and she feels
his long fingers encircle her wrists, anchoring her to him. But she
wants a bit more right now and she bends just enough as he leans his
head back just enough and their lips are touching. The feeling is
both electric and warm and moist and nowhere near enough for her.

His hands move to her biceps as she kneels on the worn, but somewhat
cushiony stair carpeting that seems quite out of place here. She is
between his legs, leaning into him, her arms on those legs, hands
holding the folds of fabric at his waist. He draws her to him closer
still, his fingers sliding to frame her shoulders, to hold her where
he wants her. He pulls back a bit at the sound of her huffing
laughter. His much larger nose has bumped her aquiline-shaped nose
in his need to reconnect, to make love to her mouth. He attempts to
reproach her with his darkening eyes, but he knows she is not
buying it, that she realizes it's another part of the tease as his
grip borders on bruising and his lips crush hers.

All before she has had any more time to find a breath. Before she
has had any time to realize that his tongue has slipped past her
lips and is plunging the depths of her mouth with passion. A heat
rises in her, starting somewhere in her belly and radiating in no
particular pattern to other parts of her body, liquefying her,
making her weak in the knees and anywhere else she still has
control of her senses.

He can hear and feel her moaning, the vibrations traveling through
him, and he is moaning with her in his lower tone. She's close to
him, but not close enough and he can't choose between his hands
tangling in her hair to position her mouth for better access or his
hands slipping into the pockets on the back of her thankfully short
skirt to cup her ass and pull her toward the growing ache beneath
his draped fly. He does what comes naturally and one hand lays claim
to her hair and one to her pocket on the back of her thankfully
short skirt.

She somehow manages to undo the buttons on his shirt, shoving the
soft knit panels open so she has naked skin beneath her hands. She
briefly toys with his navel, one index finger rimming it beneath
the belted waistband of his pants, then darting in and out,
mimicking the movements of their tongues. The feel of his abs
tightening under her ministrations spurs her on and her hands
splay open and upward to the solid span of his chest, her thumbs
then brushing with gossamer lightness across his nipples.

He starts and gasps at the sensations as her fingers join her thumbs
and she tweaks and tugs, hoping to elicit more of the same.

She is rewarded as he breaks their kiss for a breath-gulping second,
finding time to search her eyes and murmur, 'Jesus Scully', before
bending her backward to explore her mouth with his once again.
His action accomplishes many things, not the least of which being
her breasts straining forward, perfectly in position for his hands.

The thin fabric is no barrier to the heat of his hand as he
roughly kneads first one, then the other, his knuckles grazing her
very visible nipples as they rise through the cotton. He wants more.
He wants his mouth on her and in his lust-driven state, he
nose-nudges the tight peak first and then his wet mouth fastens over
her cotton-covered breast. Sucking on the one, he massages the other.

Eschewing the massage for closer contact, he tells her that her tee
is in his way, but she is not sure which gets her moving faster, his
words or the feel of his head as he literally burrows under the
shirt, his hands assisting in the effort.  It goes not further than
just above the swell of her chest when he makes quick work of the
front clasp on her white satin demi-bra.

She has long since lost track of the time, but somehow notices that
the last rays of the horizon-sliding sun have vanished and with the
exception of a few bare bulbs softly swaying at the far end of the
porch, they are alone with the night sky.  She is sure that a field
such as this must have wildlife by land or by sky, but either it is
strangely muted or her senses have been diverted to the minute
space between her and him.

And in that space, she has not lost touch or sight or scent of him,
although she is keenly aware now that her knees are going numb.
This is not the numbness from her earlier state of 'weak in the
knee'. As usual, he is right there, anticipating, and his shirt and
jacket are under her--her joints now cushioned. Her smile warms
him as he regards her, lovingly stroking her face before he returns
to her lap at her and nuzzle her, his hands sweeping under her
arms, his fingers curling over her shoulders.

Although her head is thrown back, she arches, she finds his
mouth, her fingers tracing his brows, swirling patterns at his
temples. He is doing amazing things to her, the heightened
sensations rush from the spiraling and tingling pleasure in her
nipples in a bee-line for her pulsing center. She is on fire and the
source is nipping at her causing her to cry out and call his name.
Exerting a control she doesn't realize she still has, she gently
pushes him away. Long enough to lick and butterfly kiss and nibble
at his face while her hands wander south.

Before he has had time to acknowledge her actions, she has unbuckled
and removed his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his fly. Efficient
hands that can wield a scalpel demonstrate their dexterity with
heated and frenzied clothing removal

Backing down a step, she leans into him until her cheek is flush
with his hard heat. Catching her breath, she wraps her arms around
him intending to hold him, hold her position, but she can feel the
throbbing, can feel his heart pumping. Or is it hers? More of her
weight sinks into him and he drops to his elbows, his legs falling
open a bit more. Sitting now, perched sideways on the step, her lips
find the sensitive skin just above the waistband of his knit boxer
briefs and she plants wet sucking kisses there.

His 'ooos' and 'ahh-Scullys' tell her what she wants to know and
she palms his erection in earnest, paying special attention to the
sensitive ridge below the head. Reaching inside the generous flap,
she draws him out, immediately bending to taste him;
warmhoneyvelvethardtangy he is. She pauses, but is not surprised,
that he chooses this moment to talk to her.

"Scully, did you ever stop to wonder how we got here?" He asks her
haltingly. Although he manages to pose the question, it is obvious
to her that he is feeling the effects of her covering as much of him
as she can take into her mouth. She hums her response, causing him
to hum with her, although his wordless tune seems to be a bit more
syncopated than hers. Nonetheless, he continues. "I mean, is it fate?
Or magic?" His hips thrust randomly and he chuckles shortly at
himself and then adds, "That's right; you don't believe in fate,
let alone magic."

He can tell she is smiling, although she has not stopped moving.
And, as a matter of fact, she is also cupping his sac in one hand
through the soft fabric, while she takes his cock through the flap,
surrounding the base of his shaft with the other. He sighs,
forgetting his questioning to watch her head move up and down
along his very sensitive flesh, his hips moving without conscious
effort. Sitting up a bit and moving his feet up one step for better
leverage, he twines the fingers of one hand in her hair, guiding
her head in spite of himself, wanting very much to lay back, both
hands lost in her hair as he clutches her to him. It is only with
the utmost restraint that he keeps his touch gentle.

As it usually is, they are working together. She has set the pace
this time, but he follows at first and then takes the lead. His head
is now thrown back, his eyes slamming shut either against the
onslaught of the thrumming or because of it. He is not sure which,
nor does it matter. She has twisted and turned so she is hugging him
to her, her head bobbing now, her cheeks hollowing as she sucks him
again and again. And then again until his hands at first grip
uselessly at the hard wood beneath him and then clutch at her hair,
not wanting to force her but finding himself so lost inside her
sweet warmth that he simply cannot get enough of her.

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