Title: Cravings Author: abracadabra Rating: NC-17 Summary: It's Mulder's turn to share his favorite dessert. Keywords: MSR, Alternating POV, PWP Disclaimer: 1013 Productions, Fox Network, Chris Carter and various others seem to have the rights to Mulder and Scully. I just like to let them have some fun once and again. Notes: A companion piece to Hot and Cold, although you don't have to have read it to understand this, it probably works better if you do. Thanks: To Lovesfox for her suggestion...very yummy and for making sure things, uh, flow...! To Mortis for previewing and to D for 'technical assistance' (good catch, woman!). Archive: Sure. Please let me know where. Websites: http://www.geocities.com/spookys_girl2000/index.html http://www.geocities.com/mesmerizememulder/ Feedback: I'd really love it! Please email: abracadabra1754@hotmail.com Crave: v. 1. To have an intense desire for. 2. To need urgently. Craving: n. A consuming desire. Yearning. Cravings by abracadabra *;*;*;*;* Fox Mulder's Apartment Saturday September I'm bored and I have a craving. I'd say this is unusual for me, but what's really unusual is both conditions existing simultaneously. I'm bored often enough, when we're between cases, when I have to do reports, when my partner's not around. And I have cravings, I get cravings. For some pretty strange things--to see a UFO, to have Scully *see* a UFO, to have me witness her seeing said UFO, but I'm digressing. A craving can be defined as a 'consuming desire, a yearning'. Hmmm. Breaking it down further, 'consume: engross, absorb', 'desire: wish, longing, craving...sexual appetite: passion'. Seems rather cyclical to me. It all comes back to just one intense all-purpose need... I do, of course, crave other more mundane and routine things, too. Like a good beer, a day by the water, seeing Scully smile--really smile--and banana cream pie. Maybe even having some banana cream pie and seeing Scully smile. And sharing some of my 'all engrossing wishing, longing and passion' with the object of said craving. *;*;*;*;* Dana Scully's Apartment Friday night I'm bored, but there are no reports to finish and Mulder hasn't called to invite me to trip the light fantastic with him. Heck, he doesn't usually ask me to do that, whatever *that* is. I don't think I know anymore, but I think I knew once upon a time. Back when my world wasn't routinely taken over by the quest for all things beyond explanation. Back when there was such a thing as a normal Friday night, followed by a possibly exciting Saturday night. Back when I could sleep through *any* night without the highly plausible possibility that my partner's voice would be on the other end of my phone cajoling me into grabbing my already packed carry-on so we could uncover the details of yet another set of phantom lights in the sky. I should be... I don't know what I 'should be'... I debate grabbing that book I've yet to finish, doing laundry, doing nothing, calling Mulder. Calling Mulder... I needed my space tonight. And now that space is feeling mighty, well, 'spacious' without him. *;*;*;*;* Fox Mulder's Apartment Saturday noon She was on her own last night, something about needing her space. And that was okay with me, at least on the surface. We spend so much time together professionally and have always still managed to be connected even on off-hours. Since August, we've been spending more and more time outside of work together. I like that. I like that a lot. I know she does, too, although she was somewhat hesitant at first. So, when she says she needs her space, I can be flexible. But it's been almost 19 hours since I've seen her. When we left the office Friday at five, she said she'd 'talk to me'. She hasn't yet. And I want to talk to her. I decide I'm going to do more than just talk, I'm going to get the pie and see Scully eat it. Then we'll see if there's any 'talking' to be done. Sita's Bakery across town makes the best banana cream. The crust is flaky and golden, but that's not the best part. While I love the bite of a finely made crust, the taste of the butter melting on my tongue, it's the way Sita's renders the filling and topping that makes me salivate. The banana custard has texture, but it slips and slides in the mouth and the real banana taste with the small chunks of real fruit is wonderful. Then there's the real whipped cream topping piled high. We're not talking that confectioner's sugar and shortening goop that sticks to the roof of your mouth. This is the real McCoy. And Scully's never had it. But...it's missing a key ingredient, the banana slices on top. Guess I'll have to buy a few bananas and add the slices myself. Then I can tell Scully I helped make the pie. She'll be impressed. She won't believe one word of it. *;*;*;*;* Damnit, Mulder, where are you? I decide to call him and he's not answering. I try his cell: 'Where are you?' 'Where's 'out'?' Brief silence. Inhalation. 'Don't say it, Mulder--do *not* say it; 'not home.' Smile. Laughter. 'What're you doing?' Longer silence. Heavy exasperated sigh. 'You're being difficult, Mulder.' Playful smirk. 'Mulder...' Groan of acknowledgment. 'Because I don't know where you are.' Laughter. 'Mulder?' Dial tone. The man can be downright infuriating. *;*;*;*;* Fox Mulder's Apartment I love it when she fumes, most of the time. Well, those times when I know she's not really angry or mad, just frustrated with me because she can't figure out what's going on, because I'm not responding predictably/the way she wants me to, not playing by her orderly rules. I love breaking her rules, watching her walls chip. Like this summer. A few short weeks ago. Some ice cream, a very hot day. A somewhat angry and frustrated partner. And the rest, as they say, is blissful history. Don't get me wrong, her orderly rules and predictability have been my saving grace too many times to count. I'd be lost without them. She and I, we're yin and yang, toe-may-toe and toe-mah-toe. But there are those times when I admit to a selfish and perhaps even more base desire to watch the sheer energy of her fury transform into her arousal. Or, maybe it's *my* arousal. Her earlier frustration on the phone will just have to be channeled. I'm sure sharing my favorite dessert with her will help. Scully has a sweet tooth craving. She doesn't often show it, but if the way she all but demanded I bring her the ice cream is any indication, then I'm sure she'll understand my particular craving. I set the glossy, cream-colored bakery box with the marled string knotted on top of the coffee table. I've still got about twenty minutes before she arrives. Debating whether or not we need the 'good' plates, a.k.a., those that did not come with the microwave dinner, I settle on the only set I have, some old Corelle from KMart. It's the thought that counts anyway. Two plates, two forks, a roll of paper towels, a good knife and a pie spatula I'm not sure I knew I owned and I'm almost ready. I remove the three bananas I grabbed at the market down the street and arrange everything on the low table. Not that I'm up on my daily dose of potassium, but I occasionally indulge my oh-so-practical partner and manage to eat at least one one-thousandth of the RDA for fruits and vegetables. I only need one for the top of the pie, but they were linked in a trio. I imagine I can find a use for the other two. Maybe I'll eat them. Maybe I'll bring them to work for Scully, although I'm sure she meets her RDA requirements. I untie the small knot and let the string slip from the box, lifting the flapped lid. Perfection. The whipped cream topping is piled high and swirled just right. The urge to poke my index finger right into the center and bring it out of the sweet whiteness is overwhelming, but I have self-control. For now. Sitting on my couch, I carefully lift the pie from the box with both hands and set it on the paper towels I've already prepared. The box is nudged farther away, landing on the floor. I manage to peel the banana and start slicing when I hear her knocking. *;*;*;*;* Eschewing the elevator in favor of the stairs, I buy more time to contemplate what Mulder's up to. He lives for surprise, for catching me off-guard and, while it has certainly been the fuel for some rather exasperating moments, for the most part, I find it rather engaging. I need some spontaneity in my rather ordered and organized life. We're often like that, yin and yang, my salad to his fries. He likes to rock the boat. He loves to rock my world. But he's also been known to rise to the occasion offered to him as well. Acquainting him with my very favorite ice cream flavor last month is a good example. Depending on who's around, I'll probably admit that I pushed him a little. Ok, more than a little. I was rather miserable in the extended heat wave and knew that only a few things would make me feel better. Mulder was one of those things, but I had to decide 'how'. He can be too much of a good thing. Way too much. I was rather clever in the end, but he'd unwittingly provided the impetus, having unfairly finished off the last of my Ben & Jerry's. Knowing he'd probably refuse me nothing, I'd made him replace it...on the hottest day of the damn summer. While I'd certainly intended to help nudge our several years of foreplay along, I can't say I orchestrated what actually happened. Call it the heat, call it my love of Ekstacy Schmekstacy, call it my love of my partner. Let's just say that I'll probably never look at a Ben & Jerry's carton quite the same way again. I'm still thinking that a nice little letter to the company president about the power that flavor has over burgeoning relationships might be a nice thing to do. I still have no idea what he has planned, but that special Mulder Mirth has a way of taking the edge off my indignation--but just an 'edge'. *;*;*;*;* "It's open, Scully." I'm setting the final banana slice in the very center of the whipped cream, the knife in one hand, the peels in the other as she opens the door. The look on her face is a cross between furrowed-brow scowl and amusement. She can't decide whether to still be ticked for not being in on my little secret or simply happy to see me. "C'mon in." I pat the couch, the peels flapping in my hand and that makes her smile. One of those rare smiles of real enjoyment. Chalk one up for goofy Mulder. Hands on the hips of her cotton drawstring checked pants; she makes her way over and sits down beside me. She kicks off her shoes and crosses one leg under her. I can hear the wheels turning inside that pony-tailed head of hers. "Mulder, your skills amaze and astound me." She's trying hard to regain her composure, but the twinkling in those blue eyes is a dead give-away. "Only the best for my best girl." "I'm not your 'girl', Mulder, and you didn't bake that pie." She sidles a little closer to me. I'd like to think it's because of just how charming and cuddly I look in my Knicks running shorts and tee, but I won't be hurt it it's really because of the possibility of having a slice of the pie. "Aww c'mon, Scully, just pretend. You know, suspend your disbelief for a few moments and allow yourself to consider extreme possibilities." I've put the knife down, but for some reason am still clutching the peels in my left hand and I nearly hit her in the face with them as I turn to her, expounding my latest theory. She swats the peels away and retreats to the corner of the couch, yanking her pullover sweater down to cover her exposed midriff. "I suspend my belief whenever I'm with you, Mulder." She tells me as she leans over and reaches for the peels. She takes them into kitchen and returns, but remains standing. Always focused, as she claims me to be, she asks me when she gets a piece of my pie. Trying not to read more into her innocent question, I pat the seat again, saying that I have a story to tell her about the pie. She rolls her eyes, shifts one hip to the side and crosses her arms in front of her. I've just been non-verbally told the equivalent of 'make it good'. "I wanna tell you why I love this pie so much, Scully. It's my all-time favorite dessert. Bet you didn't know that, did you?" She's still standing, but her arms aren't crossed anymore. "No, I didn't know that. You've been hiding anything else I need to know?" Her attempt to control her smile is unsuccessful. "Nothing else, cross my heart. I'll even let you cross it if you want." "The story, Mulder? I want some pie." "Ok, well, one year my Mom couldn't make a cake for my birthday. I think I was 8 or 9--" Before I can finish, I see her slump and the saddest look crosses her face. "Scully? When I tell a story, you smile and laugh, remember? That's how it always goes." I try to get the corners of that pretty mouth to turn upward again. "That's so sad, though." She moves back over to the couch and sits next to me. Right next to me. Her Catholic nuns couldn't get a piece of paper between us if they tried; that's how close. Her hand goes to my hair and I debate basking in her warmth or finishing the story so we can cut into the banana cream. But, I decide to finish the story and she doesn't move from her spot, so I'm pretty happy. Just so she's sure I'm not sad, I turn and kiss her nose and put an arm around her. She settles back against me and we both recline against the cushions. "Well, it might have been, but Mrs. Brighton, our next door neighbor, decided to take care of it and she baked me the biggest banana cream pie anyone had ever seen. Of course, when you're that little, almost everything looks super-sized, you know? Anyway, she told me I could have as many pieces as I wanted and I did. I think I ate 3 pieces at lunch and then another 2 for dinner." I glance down to see her smiling at me. When I smile back at her, she runs two of her fingers across my bottom lip, her eyes following the trail she creates. I think somewhere during the story she shifted gears on me. Not that I mind. I gently take her two fingers in my hand and draw them into my mouth. Her mouth forms the most perfect little 'O' and then she gasps as I suck on said fingers. Mulder, Jr. has decided that he wants to be part of the action, too. *;*;*;*;* The very picture of domesticity? I think not. Mulder's cute, but his totally ineffectual attempt to make me think he's baked this pie falls flat. Heck, the least he could have done was hide the box and string. I am quite intrigued, however, as he decorates the topping with the banana slices. I'm even more intrigued that Mulder has purchased fruit by choice. That in and of itself probably qualifies as an X-File. He beckons me to join him on the couch and I kick off my shoes as I take in the fact that he had intended to go running, but probably never did. I wonder what changed his mind, hoping it was because of my phone call. I like the fact that he did. He's explaining something to me and gesturing with his left hand, the hand holding the banana peels. Natural comedy, thy name is Fox Mulder. And it remains comedic until he nearly hits me in the forehead with his schtick. I remove it quickly, and return, but I'm not taking any chances. He's put the knife down, but he's sitting way too close to that pie, so I'm standing for now. HARD Then he does something that is at once so adult Mulder and child Mulder that it melts my heart and I need to sit by him. He tells me the story of how banana cream pie came to be his favorite dessert. It is at times like this that I catch another glimpse into the sorry excuse for a childhood it seems that he had and wonder at how he has come through with relatively few scars. Oh, Mulder. I move closer, my need to comfort him taking over. We're touching from knee to hip and from hip to shoulder and I lean back into him. He is solid and alive and warm and I'm watching the rise and fall of his chest as he tells me about Mrs. Brighton, bless her observant and caring soul. He's telling me about all the pie he consumed that day at the tender age of 8 or 9, but I'm having a difficult time picturing anyone other than the quite grown man sitting very close beside me. And he is very attractive and very inviting. So, I do what any other red-blooded American woman might do when touching and being held by said inviting man, and I reach out to touch his bottom lip. I will admit that of all his physical features, his eyes drew me in first, followed by his ass. Call it what you will, I'm being honest. His eyes are bottomless, expressive and the literal windows to his soul. His ass, well, it's just gorgeous and watching him walk or seeing him nude makes me weak in the knees. But his mouth... His bottom lip. Mulder's mouth is enough to send shivers coursing through me at the mere memory of his kisses. But, I digress. I trace lightly over his bottom lip with my index and middle fingers, feeling the pliant warmth of him. He mesmerizes me, Mulder does. Before my brain can register what he's doing, he has my fingers inside his very invitingly wet mouth...and he's sucking on said fingers. That is about all I can think/feel at the moment. I try to move closer to him, but short of climbing into his lap, I'm about as close as I can get. Since his mouth is already full, I ask him when we get to cut into the pie, but I can only look at what his mouth is doing to me. He takes my fingers in his hand and withdraws them, lapping at each finger like the most sexually turned on puppy. Of their own accord, I find myself drawing my knees under me as I turn toward him. *;*;*;*;* Scully's hands are on either side of my face and I have to stop tonguing her fingers...they're in the way of my lips seeking hers. My hands find the skin of her bare waist as she parts my lips with her tongue. There is no prelude to this kiss; it is all at once consuming and the pie is momentarily forgotten as she nearly draws my entire supply of breathable air from my lungs. Not that I'm complaining. She's on her knees and lifts herself up from where she has been sitting on her heels. One knee wedges itself between my legs and I'd swear she's purposefully nudging me. I say that because Mulder, Jr. has taken notice and is very glad to see her. However, we want more. More of her. Much, much more. She tilts my head to one side, finding the angle that will allow her to discover just how far her tongue will extend into my throat. My hands are twining and fisting in her hair as my tongue does some exploring of its own. Since she's successfully got me pinned in place, I decide that one hand can leave her silky hair. I want to touch her and encourage her to move just a little closer. I let my fingers skim along her cheek, the backs of my knuckles brush along the line of her jaw and then to her throat. She hasn't missed a beat as she now playfully nips at my lips, giving us both a brief opportunity to breathe. When her tongue traces a path over my upper teeth and under my lip, my hand cups her breast. She moans into my mouth, having resumed her passionate lip lock. I feel more than hear her making sounds. They seem to be words, but I'm not doing a good job processing this new data, so I let my other hand join the first, holding and massaging her breast, my thumbs just grazing her already hardened nipples through her cotton sweater. I'm not sure exactly what it is that she says that finally makes me realize she's not only talking to me, but is actually attempting to halt my progress. She reaches one small, very warm hand down to my lap, the heel of that hand applying just the right amount of pressure against me through my very tented running shorts. I attempt to pull her closer, but she draws back from the kiss and then leans in to my ear... She tells me it's time to taste my pie. She's thinking about fucking pie when I'm thinking about fucking her? Not at all sure that I actually have a voice right now, I wonder if she's serious. She's still straddling my one thigh and sits back, her hand never leaving me. I'm not sure what game she's playing, but she's paying, too. Her face is wonderfully flushed and her lips are so full and plump and red. Her completely tousled hair is very erotically set off by the deep, twinkling blue of her eyes as she smiles at me. Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath and I don't miss the fact that her nipples are small points straining against her shirt. Nope, don't miss that at all. "Pie, Scully?" I pride myself on managing those two words with some semblance of coherence. She threatens to rob me of further thought or speech as her hand now wraps itself around my girth and strokes me, once, twice. "Uh, huh...pie." She murmurs. I feel my eyes roll back in my head as her thumb makes contact with the head. *;*;*;*;* I'm not quite sure exactly what part of him I intended to connect with when I turned to him, but I knew we needed to touch...more. There are times when we can be in the same room for hours on end and be comfortable moving around each other, away from each other, occasionally brushing up against each other, but otherwise not connecting. Separately together. Always aware of where the other is. Then, there are other times when all energies add up somehow and one of us, or both of us, decides we have to reach out. It is sometimes comforting, sometimes reassuring, sometimes angry or frustrating. But it is ultimately loving. Did I mention that it is also sometimes so incendiary that even asbestos wouldn't contain the flames? Had I known what I was missing so long ago, I like to think I wouldn't have waited so long. But the timing has to be right for me. And while I pushed our much more personal relationship into a neat and tidy place, keeping it at arm's length, I believe that when it finally happened, it was for all the right reasons at just the right time. I find myself wanting more and more and Mulder seems only too happy to oblige. Selfish, single-minded, intense he is, but he is also kind, witty, passionate and caring. When the man turns his attention on me, it is as if no one other than we exist. And I know just how to focus those energies... I'm aware that he's confused. He's hot and bothered and my hand now tracing his outline under the fabric of his running shorts is ratcheting up his arousal. I half smile half smirk as I watch his eyes roll back into his head. He's surprised I could think of eating at a time like this...well, eating something other than him. I ease up the pressure and just let my fingertips slide along him, my hand resting on his inner thigh. "I thought you invited me over for your favorite dessert?" He tells me that *I'm* his favorite dessert. I believe him, I really do, but I'm talking about his favorite *real* dessert. "Let me remind you, Mulder." I lean back just far enough to dip my index finger into the whipped cream, taking a nice big dollop and bringing it between us. I taste just a bit, my finger coming closer to my mouth as my tongue laps at the cream. Before I can share some with him, Mulder's tongue darts out as he leans toward me. The force of his movement sends some of the cream onto my pants and we both look down...before I nearly lose my balance, sliding farther back. He grabs me by my waist and I lean one hand back, skimming off the pie in my attempt to gain purchase. Now what to do? Mulder seems a little over eager in his need to taste the pie on my finger and I bet he's still not sated. As he gently pulls me forward, I whip my hand around, flicking the banana custard and cream from my hand...onto his face. Mulder looks yummy in banana cream pie and I get a little more comfortable. The look on his face--what I can *see* of his face, is priceless. He's licking what's on his lips and his hand comes up to swipe at the rest. And he's glaring at me in that playfully lustful way that sends shivers down my spine and to all points north, south, east and west. "You wanna play or you wanna eat, Scully?" He lifts me off his leg, half pushing me onto the coffee table next to the pie. He's lightening quick as he briefly holds up his three middle fingers in a mock scout's promise, looking me straight in the eyes. Before I can move out of the way, and with his eyes holding mine, he plows those three fingers into the pie and lets fly a nice sized portion of custard in my direction. It lands in the neckline of my tee, slowly making its way between by breasts. "Oh, so sorry, Scully. Here, let me get that for you." My helpful partner. *;*;*;*;*