Truce
Chapter Fifteen


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers

Note: Special thanks to Audrey Roget and Sybs for
pulling me together on this one.



"You neglected to tell me you had a producing
natural gas well on the estate."

"You mean besides me and Marv?"  Mulder held the
kitchen door open for her, his light-hearted reply
intended to keep the lid on her curiosity.  Truth
was, his wealth was an embarrassment more than a
source of pride, and he wished she'd stop with the
little digs.  She wasn't accusing by any means,
though he could tell from her sometimes narrow
looks she wasn't too pleased he'd kept his money a
secret all these years.

She ignored his joke, throwing over her shoulder,
"And a stable full of quarterhorses, and a vintage
Porsche in the garage..."

"Scully..."  All jokes aside, he was seconds away
from kissing her to shut her up.  Which wasn't all
that bad of an idea, really.

"Any other sources of income I should know about,
Mr. Robie?  A gold mine under the pecan orchard?"

"It's pe-cahn, not pee-can," he pointed out,
impatient with her sudden obsession with the
trappings of his new life.

"*Pe-cahn.* I see."  She stilled; he could feel her
mind working from where he stood.  "And just how
much did your 'pe-cahn' orchard bring in last year,
Mulder?"

Damn.  He should have known she'd pick up on just
why he knew the correct pronunciation.  He mumbled,
hoping she'd let it go.

"What's that?"

"Almost twenty thousand pounds."

"In dollars?"

"Give or take a little, about ten thousand."

"Nice chunk of change."

She faced him, her eyes bright with mischief. 
Throughout the tour, she'd peppered him with
questions as easily as she did phantom touches and
sly, promising glances.  He realized then she was
just teasing, especially in light of his chagrin at
his wealth, something he never had the need or
desire to have.  Relaxing, he gave her a small,
devious smile, intending still to extract his
revenge.  With words or kisses, either would do. 
But words weren't nearly as fun as liplocks.

"So... what else is there?"  Leaning against the
ceramic-tiled island, she braced herself on her
hands, tilting her face to his with confident
challenge, as if she were throwing zingers once
again across his desk in the basement.  "I know -
your very own UFO tucked away in the attic of the
barn."

His hands trapped innocently in his pockets, he
moved close to her, ducking to avoid the copper
pots hanging overhead.  "All that came with the
estate, you know."

"Even the UFO?"

Dipping to caress her upturned face with his gaze,
he murmured, "Nah.  Marvin had it shipped here from
the Ivory Coast."  She stiffened beneath his stare,
jerking away to give him an incredulous look.  "I
had you," he said, watching her join in his grin. 
"Big time."

"You had nothing."  Her tone dropped an octave. 
"But the night is young.  I'd say there's still
hope."

He couldn't answer.  His voice seemed to be stuck
somewhere between his aching dick and his muddled
brain.  He licked his lips, watching her watch him.

The past hour, while spent on a pleasant tour of
the grounds, had frazzled his nerves with
anticipation of what was to come once they got back
to the house.  The handhold persisted throughout
the tour of the grounds, and had even escalated
once or twice to nuzzles and kisses.  But the
openly sexual banter had dissolved to curious
questions about the workings of the plantation and
just exactly how much effort and time he spent
upkeeping the place.  He didn't know much about it
all, he admitted freely, despite his knowledge of
the pecan orchard; Marvin took care of all that. 
But it didn't stop her inquisitive nature from
coming to the fore, and he ended up cursing the
wasted hour, wanting nothing more than to make love
to her at every stop along the way.  In the hay
under the cobwebbed rafters of the barn, amidst the
grease smell of the garage... he'd even pondered
the logistics of the ancient hammock nestled
between two pecan trees before he'd realized how
moth-eaten it was.  But Scully had either missed
his amorous overtures or ignored them completely,
which was more likely.  He told himself over and
over she was just being Scully.  She wasn't the
type of person to engage in sexual activity in a
barn full of damp, musty hay... not when a soft bed
waited inside.

Well, now they were inside.  And he didn't know how
much longer he could watch her, touch her, *smell*
her without exploding.

A tempting smile and pinch of his sleeve brought
him around.  "No more discussing work.  Or pecans."

"Yes, ma'am."  He encroached further, his body
taking up the advance in response to her playful
mood.  Their combined heat wafted up in the few
feet between them and he swallowed down the urge to
carry her upstairs like Rhett Butler.  All this
southern decadence was going to his head; he
searched her eyes for any sign of reciprocity, and
his breath caught at the warmth there.  Maybe she'd
been waiting until they reached the safety and
comfort of the house... then again, he stopped
short of reaching for her.  They were in the
*kitchen*, for Christ's sake.  Should he just
suggest they move this party upstairs?  God, he
felt like a boy with his first woman.  Gathering
his failing courage in the face of her warm
response, he went for broke.  "I can suggest a more
lively topic of conversation."

Scully didn't move an inch, the demure upsweep of
her lashes rivaling Scarlet O'Hara for a teasing,
but revealing smolder of her light eyes.  "Oh Mr.
Robie, how you go on."  At least she hadn't copped
a simpering accent, he thought gratefully. 
However, her deadpan delivery and Mona Lisa curve
of her mouth were enough to make his heart trip,
especially when she added, "Whatever shall we talk
about?"

"Who said anything about talking?"

She kept up the farce, cocking her head to one
side, her jaw dropping with mock offense at his
effrontery.  "You mean..."

Placing a hand on either side of her, he almost
shivered at the feel of the cold tile.  He already
felt as though his skin burned with a thousand
little sulfurous points of fire, and it seemed as
though his fondest wish of the day was about to be
realized, from the come-hither look she bestowed
upon him.  "Yep."  He licked his lips, groaning
inwardly at the monosyllabic fool he always seemed
to morph into when within inches of her delectable
mouth.

"Oh, I get it.  With your millions, you've finally
learned the secret to harnessing the human brain's
capacity for mental telepathy.  Communication
without moving a muscle.  Thoughts transformed into
electrical impulses, sent along neurons mastered
only by those of superior intellect.  Hate to break
it to you Mulder, but I could read your mind years
ago.  All you had to do was ask me and I could have
saved you a bundle."

Her *smart*, delectable mouth.  Did she know how
much Scullyspeak turned him on?  Moving closer, he
inhaled her clean, familiar scent and it threatened
to go to his head.  Oh yeah, she knew what she was
doing to him all right.  He twitched like an antsy
thoroughbred at the gate, his nostrils flaring with
anticipation.  Slow down, he told himself.  This
precious time was something he never expected so
soon and damned if he was going to rush.  "Save me
ten cents now," he murmured.  "And tell me what I'm
thinking."

"*Ten* cents?"

"Inflation, Scully."  His thoughts weren't the only
thing inflated at the moment, and he made sure she
noticed, gratified when she spread her legs to
accommodate his intrusion into the cradle of her
pelvis.

"Ah, I see."  The soft reply was delivered with a
slide of her fingers around his waist, pulling him
even closer.  A brush of fine hair tickled his chin
as she angled her head to fit under his.  He heard
her sniff softly at his jaw, felt her eyelashes
mingle with the minute stubble of his evening
beard.  "Your thoughts... hmmm... perverted at the
moment?"

God, she was *smelling* him.  Like a small, sleek
feline, she rubbed her nose against his skin. He
jerked when her hands settled on his ass, her
fingernails digging in a bit through the faded
denim.  It was all he could do to give her a croak
in reply.  "No.  Well, unless you count the fact
you figure prominently."

"I do?  Am I naked?"

Sighing in overdone regret, he replied, "'Fraid so. 
Guess I'm a pervert."

"Some things never change."  The tip of her tongue
on his chin punctuated her muttered,  "Thank God."

"Scully."  He'd had enough mind-reading to last a
lifetime.  It was time to get down and dirty. 
Kitchen counter top, against the refrigerator door,
the step stool Marvin used to access the pantry...
he didn't much care how or where, because he was
about to howl and gnash his teeth if he waited one
more minute to make love to her.

He opened his mouth over her temple, slowly roaming
his way down to where he really wanted to be.  As
he meandered in the general direction of her jaw,
she spoke once again, her words a glide of sultry
promise that quickened the pounding pulse in his
neck.  "Can I just say one thing before we begin
this momentous discussion?"

His lips a hair's breadth from her cheek, he
swallowed, hoping she wasn't about to cut his legs
out from under him.  Scully had a knack for keeping
a level head.  Facing the wrong end of a gun, it
was quite handy - but now was definitely not the
time for good sense, not when they'd waited so long
for each other.  A shaky chuckle burst from his
chest, one tinged more with dread than humor. 
"Will it ruin my Mardi Gras?"

Silence greeted his playful remark for interminable
seconds, and he closed his eyes, knowing by her
hesitation he was in for a long, long, Lent.  Damn
it, he'd had enough of abstinence.  "What is it?"
he asked quietly, pulling back, though he didn't
let her escape from the entrapment of his arms.

A trembling laugh erupted from her mouth and she
embraced him, her nose nuzzling the hard planes of
his chest.  Immediately, he reined her back into a
hug, shuddering at intense feel of her small body
in his arms.  She was shaking, possibly even more
so than he, and alarm made his hug tighten. 
"Scully, you're scaring me.  What is it?"

"I'm sorry," she murmured into his sweater, "I
don't mean to scare you."

"Well, you're doing a damned fine job of it.  What
is it?  Don't tell me you've taken a vow of
celibacy... my brain may not remember everything
that went on last night, but my body sure as hell
does."  And she'd all but said they'd made love
back in the study this morning, though she hadn't
come out and specified the exact *way*, using
discretion in front of Marvin and Bombay.  Okay, so
maybe they hadn't had intercourse.  Maybe, like an
oversexed fool, he'd blown his load before he even
got inside her.  He groaned, remembering the subtle
way she'd told him this morning she'd hadn't
reached orgasm.  "I can do better, you know."  He
repeated his vow of this morning, excruciating
embarrassment making his face hot.

At that, she giggled.  Really giggled.  Even if it
was at his expense, it felt amazing, with the way
it rumbled through his sweater like a refreshing
nip in the winter air.  Hell, he'd embarrass
himself at hourly intervals if it meant he could
hear that the rest of his life.

"I know you can," she said softly, raising her head
at last.

Instead of the wry self-confidence he expected, he
saw similar discomfort in her pink cheeks and
thoughtful gaze.  Something was on her mind and she
was determined to have it out before they tumbled
into his bed.  He didn't blame her; he doubted that
once there, they would come up for air the rest of
the day.  Well, maybe for food later... though he'd
gladly sacrifice his own hunger by feeding her in
bed.  Just the thought of picking crumbs off her
naked skin with his tongue made him gulp with
suppressed longing.

Her laughter faded as she searched his face, one
hand leaving the cozy haven of his jeans back
pocket to touch his cheek.  "I'm not on the pill,
Mulder.  Please tell me you're prepared for this."

Like a moron he stared at her, his brain working to
catch up with a body still in overdrive.  In the
next second, he realized what he'd done by waving
Marvin off earlier.  What *they'd* done by sleeping
together the night before.  He disentangled himself
from her inviting embrace, backing off to turn and
mutter, "Shit."

"Guess you aren't."  Behind him, her voice turned
dry as dust.  "I didn't plan on this when I came
down here, you know."

"I know."  He could have succumbed to anger.  Could
have railed at her and himself for the careless way
they'd backed themselves into a corner.  But he
didn't, sighing as he calmed down.  "Now what?"

"If you think I'm letting you leave to find a
drugstore, you're nuts."

"And if you think I'm letting *you* leave, you're
crazy," he snapped back.  "And before you say it,
no, there's no drugstore in these parts that will
deliver."

"Like you'd let a stranger beyond those gates,
anyway."

"Damn straight.  So I say again, now what?"

"Well, we could play Scrabble."

Facing her again, he took heart at the humor in her
gaze, glad she found something to smile about in
this mess.  Still, lingering clouds in her eyes
spoke of her worry that he'd put a halt to this
magical time between them.  He couldn't bear to
break the fragile cord that held them together by
letting a dim possibility overshadow the evening.

"Naked?"

The smile in her eyes faded to a steady stare and
she walked to his side, placing one hand on his
arm.  With a gentle squeeze, she said softly, "I
know now is not the time to bring all this up,
Mulder.  But I do have another reasoning behind my
impulsive decision of last night."

"I'd say it's the perfect time.  Shoot."

"William's conception was something I never
questioned.  Really, I didn't *want* to question
it."

He knew that.  It wasn't hard to discern her
ambiguous feelings back then, even if he walked
around in a half-daze for some time after his
resurrection.  Her fear of outside manipulation had
been evident in every glance of her clouded eyes,
every brush of her hand over her distended belly. 
He wondered as she did - was her baby a product of
a loving relationship?  Or was the child a
successful lab experiment brought to fruition by
unseen hands?  The in vitro fertilization hadn't
worked - or so they thought.  He remembered vividly
how they fucked each other at every opportunity
after the bad news, wanting so badly to make it so.

"Cancerman drugged me, Mulder.  When I went with
him to Pennsylvania.  I lost several hours; he told
me I'd been exhausted, but -"

"What?"  Fury whipped through him, sweeping away
his musings in broad brushstroke of seething
purple.  "Why didn't you tell me?"

Scully stepped back, the corners of her mouth
pinched and white.  "Because everything worked out
fine.  And admit it, you weren't in any mood to
listen to details of my 'fucking stupid' trip, were
you?"

"I'm still not," he snorted, moving away from her
as he tried to rein in his temper.  "Hell, Scully. 
I wish you'd told me this."

"What difference would it have made?  You weren't
happy with me in any case."  She sighed, waving a
hand in dismissal.  "Doesn't matter.  What matters
is it scared me.  I thought about that for months
afterward.  He could have done anything to me,
Mulder. *Anything*."

His anger died in an instant.  "But you've been
fine since then, haven't you?  You've been checked
out?"

"Of course."  She approached him, reacting to his
worry with a softer voice.  Eyes bright with the
plea for understanding, she went on, "But don't you
see, Mulder?  No one can be trusted.  Parenti was
working for 'them'.  God only knows who they had in
their circle.  My doctors, yours."  She hung her
head, her words paper thin.  "Much as I want to
believe in miracles, I can't deny the evidence."

Mulder gathered her shaking form to him, closing
his eyes against the pain he felt bleed from her. 
"He's ours, Scully.  DNA doesn't lie."

"I know he's ours," she whispered, holding on to
him like they were two lost souls drifting at sea. 
"It's how he came to be that's in question."

He fell silent at the confirmation of his greatest
fear.  As long as Scully held on to her beliefs, he
could ignore the facts.  He could pretend, as she
had, that William was the miracle he'd told her
never to give up on long ago.

"Last night, I think I finally admitted it to
myself.  We don't know how I conceived, Mulder - or
if it even matters anymore.  And even if it's the
height of irresponsibility, I won't deny myself or
you this chance at a bit of happiness.  It may be
the last we'll ever have."

"Don't say that."  He pulled away to sear her with
his steady gaze.  "You know, irresponsible or not,
there's one big difference between William and any
future child we might have."

With a small smile, she warmed to his intense
attempt to comfort and assure her.  "What's that?"

"Me."  Hands cupping her cheeks, he brushed away
the hint of tears glistening under her lashes. 
"You'll have a helluva hard time getting rid of me
this time."

Her smile became blinding, though still a bit
tremulous.  "I kind of figured that."  Her own hand
came up to touch his face as she sobered.  "I will
do whatever you want, Mulder.  The decision is
yours.  I accept whatever comes... as long as
you're with me."

He thought of all the things he wanted to do with
her - do *to* her.  She'd taken matters into her
own hands last night, and she offered him the same
power with her words now.  Pulling her into his
arms, he settled his chin on the static-charged
softness of her hair, hearing the little crackles
their friction created.  "Like I'd go anywhere
without you."

"You have before."

The barb hit with subtle force, but the intent was
not hurt.  Rather, it brought home to him just how
afraid she was he'd leave her once again.  Did she
subconsciously wish for pregnancy in order to have
a hold on him?  No, Scully had never used William
as a pawn, and she wouldn't use any future children
in that way, either.  Not even in her deepest
psyche would she be so selfish.

But the fear was there.  Try as she might to hide
it, or explain it away, it colored every word,
every touch.  She didn't cling or cry, or even hold
him at a distance like she had days ago.  In the
face of her fear, she courageously offered him the
truth.  The decision was his, as she said.  

So he took it, with both hands sealing their fate
as he turned her face up to his.  Pressing a kiss
to her lips, he smiled.

"I have a request of my own, Scully."  It wasn't
all he had to say to her, but the rest could wait.

"What is it?"

"For once, we don't worry about what might happen.
Let's just love one another.  Sort of like the
honeymoon we never had."

A teary smile graced her lips.  "A honeymoon? 
Mulder, we never had a wedding."

"Sure we did.  What - you don't consider 'you're my
one in five billion' an appropriate wedding vow?"

Her chuckling sniffles warmed his chest as she
nuzzled him.  "Ah... the good stuff."

"Damned right it was."  One more kiss to the
shining cap of hair, then he continued, "It's
getting late.  You want dinner in the dining room
or on the patio?"

"The patio?"  Head raised, she looked up at him
with a crinkled brow. "Mulder, we still need to
talk -"

"We will," he promised with a sincere nod.  "First,
I feed you.  But you gotta tell me where you want
me, because I owe you one, remember?  And I have a
feeling once we eat we won't get very far before
you have me at your mercy.  Anywhere but the pool
table... my knees aren't that good anymore -"

Her trepidation fled in an instant, replaced by
wary happiness.  "You mean I won't get to see
'Carcharodon carcharias' in action?"

She was the only woman he'd ever known who could
turn him on with hard C's of Latin.

"Talking dirty to me won't change my mind about the
pool table, Scully."

Eyelids at half-mast, she replied softly, "Fix me
dinner, Jaws.  We'll discuss the finer points of
billiards later, okay?"


**********


The view really was spectacular, she had to admit. 
Even if winter was waning and patches of dormant
grass overwhelmed the green still, the sheer
expanse of the estate, with its moss-covered oaks
and breathtaking gardens, was a sight to behold. 
The whole panorama probably burst with color in the
springtime and it was with faint regret she
realized she probably wouldn't be there to witness
the renewal of life.  Mulder may think they'd
always stay together, but she'd learned there were
no guarantees, no fantasies to be lived out beyond
the moment at hand.

Stop thinking, she admonished herself.  Tonight is
for reunion and rejuvenation, not dismal thoughts
of what might come to pass.

It wasn't hard to banish thoughts of departure,
especially at the sight of the setting sun behind
the pecan grove.  Its dying rays cast the flat lawn
in dappled shades of orange and brown.  She lazed
in a hazy cloud on the back patio, having found her
way to the hot tub via the game room. Mulder had
yet to show her all the rooms of the house, and
when she'd left him in the kitchen, the completion
of the tour was the furthest thing from her mind. 
Knowing that they needed a bit of space, he'd
suggested she find a cozy spot for dinner while he
threw something together. The billiards table
beckoned for a mischievous instant before she
decided on more soothing climes.

She had to admit, she needed a breather from his
tempting presence and the hot tub was the perfect
place to relax and regroup.  Mulder wasn't
displeased with the decision she'd made last night,
but she could tell she'd given him something to
think about.  And she couldn't blame him, really. 
For once, she'd taken a path not carefully thought
out in advance.  Even when she'd come to New
Orleans that first time as Ana, she'd stuck to the
plan.  She told herself back then that using Mulder
for release from her self-imposed sexual rigidity
made no difference, though it hadn't taken long to
realize what a difference it *did* make.

Now, she'd thrown caution to the wind once again. 
Taken what only he could give her in a greedy
grasp, without his knowledge or consent.  It was a
wonder he hadn't gotten angry at her foolishness;
but then again, she'd effectively managed to trap
herself in this mansion after a half-hour's lapse
into lust and he knew it.  She wanted Mulder.  She
*needed* Mulder.  No amount of denial would
suppress her desire for him, for his presence and
touch.

"Scully!"

The frantic call from the object of her greed
brought a grin to her face.  "I'm here!" She
supposed she should feel a bit guilty about making
him search the house for her, but she knew he'd be
happy when he found her.  Especially when he
realized the state of her undress.

A slim shadow over her shoulder froze in place and
she murmured, "I raided your bar.  Hope you don't
mind that I started without you."

One arm drifted up out of the bubbling water to
reach for her glass of wine.  She took her time,
waiting for his response to her overt invitation. 
He said nothing and, as the moments dragged by, her
bravado faded.  Had she been too bold?  Yes, they
both knew what was destined to happen, but she'd
never been one to be so obvious.  Previous bouts of
lovemaking had been stolen hours for them, always
aware of the threat beyond the walls of their
respective apartments.  An awful thought made her
suck in a breath - maybe he'd had time to think it
over.  Maybe the diversion of making dinner had
been a ploy on his part to cool things down, to
make them both stop -

Her anxious thoughts were cut short with a huge
splash; blinking, she wiped away the sting of
chlorine-laced water, sputtering, "Mulder?"

His wet, grinning face came into view.  "Call me
Jaws."  One hand lifted the glass from her fingers
before she could sputter a reply.  Bare, golden
arms trapped her against the side of the hot tub
and she gulped, feeling his scratchy legs brush
hers.  "Want some..." he looked over her shoulder,
"... peanut butter and Wheat Thins?"

"That's dinner?"  She grabbed hold of his waist to
steady herself.  "What have you been doing all this
time?"

"Well, the crawfish pie is thawing in the
microwave."

"That takes all of thirty seconds.  What else?"

"Took me a while to find the peanut butter. 
Marvin, I discovered, alphabetizes the pantry."

"Another minute.  And?"

"Ah, but there's the rub - the peanut butter was
under 'B' for butter."

"Mulder." She could see he'd been up to something
by the flash of guilt in his eyes.

"Changed the sheets on my bed, put on my smoking
jacket -"

"Smoking jacket?"

"Quilted.  Nice.  You'd love it.  Fits John Robie
to a 'T'."

"Mulder."

"I hate it.  Thank God I found you naked.  I can
strip in twenty seconds flat, did you know that?"

"So that leaves twenty-eight minutes and ten
seconds.  Care to enlighten me?"

"I've been thinking."  His mouth glided over her
cheek; she inhaled, feeling as if all the humidity
in the world enveloped her in a steamy blanket. 
Nice.

"You feel good," she murmured against his skin.

"So do you."  A firm hand settled on her back to
pull her closer.  "So good."

Mischief made her lean back; she stilled his
amorous pursuit with a hand to his face.  "Thinking
about what?"  As if she didn't know.

Glazed eyes swept over her face and he licked his
lips.  "Don't stop me now, Scully."

"What were you thinking about?"

"About you.  About how I missed you.  And other
stuff."

He curled around her and she once again realized
how lean and hard he'd become.  His physicality
almost frightened her - it was as if he'd spent the
last months in training for the final battle of his
life.  With her?  No.  More likely with the men
who'd ruined his chances of ever having a normal
existence.  His sheer wolfish mien told her he
wasn't backing down this time.  Hope, that once
fleeting feeling she'd learned to live without,
blossomed up in her chest, making her giddy.

"Would the 'other stuff' include sex?"

The water swirled around her, rushing between her
legs, which floated with increasing lethargy at his
encroachment.  Suddenly, their positions reversed;
she found herself straddling his lap.

"Sex?  What's that?"  His reply was directed in the
general direction of the foam covering her breasts. 
She tipped up his chin to give him a censuring, yet
laughing scowl.  He closed his gaping mouth with a
swallow.  "I was thinking you'd change your mind. 
I wouldn't blame you, you know.  Life with me - in
the best of circumstances - isn't a picnic."

Sometimes Mulder was too accommodating for his own
good.  She wished for the man she'd found in New
Orleans, the one who didn't hesitate to make his
needs and desires known.  But she knew he wouldn't
surface until she asked.

"Who needs a picnic?  I like chaos."

"Chaos would be the pool table, believe me.  The
hot tub demands deliberation.  Order."

"So order me."  Her look told him she was dead
serious.  "Make me stay, Mulder.  Make me tell you
'I love you' every day.  Make me never want to
leave.  It wouldn't be so very hard, you know.  All
you have to do is make me."

He was all muscle and heat beneath her and her
stomach fluttered with anticipation, reacting to
the long-forgotten feel of his body.  His long
form, all arms and legs and curves and contours,
felt so familiar under her slick fingers.  But at
the same time it wasn't, especially his face.

She could pick out the threads of silver in his wet
hair, just faintly count the more prominent lines
at the corners of his eyes in the muted light from
indoors.  He looked older suddenly, more world
weary as he never had before now.  With his loss of
weight had come a definition marked by the
hollowness of his cheekbones, made more dark by the
flush of desire.  His eyes, heavy-lidded and tinged
with minute drops of glistening water, spoke of the
joy to come, as did his husky reply.

"Don't leave.  Stay with me, Scully.  Tell me you
love me."

His hand crept up her back to tangle in the
clinging mass of her wet hair; without a word, she
met his kiss, opening her mouth to his enveloping
ardor.  Lips and tongues entwined, breath became
one.  A soft moan erupted in her throat at the feel
of his cock between her legs.  Shifting, she tried
to bring him into her.  "I love you, Mulder.  Do
whatever you want with me."

"Whatever I want?" His chuckle was breathless, the
fingers of his free hand wrapping around her thigh
to hold her still.  "Are you sure?  I could make
you beg, you know."

"God, Mulder," she said, biting gently at his lips. 
"I'm counting on it."

"Then let me do what I want," he said against her
lips with soft insistence, ignoring her unspoken
entreaties for union.

She didn't know how much longer she could wait.  He
seemed to sense how she hovered on the edge without
more than a kiss and a brush of skin on skin. 
Bringing her body up to his lips, he nipped at one
taut nipple, his hand moving from her thigh to
caress her folds.  At the first touch she jerked,
so sensitive to the rough pads of his fingers she
felt her face flush with heat.

"This okay?" he chuckled, the hum over her breast
making her grip his shoulders.  "Deliberate enough
for you?"

"God, Mulder," she breathed into his ear, feeling
one finger slide over her warmth in a long pull. 
"Any slower and I'll melt right here.  Please..."
Words left her in a gasping plea for quick release.

His power over her was undeniable; like a rag doll,
he maneuvered her to face him, keeping her aware of
his burning gaze with the hand at her nape.  "Look
at me," he demanded, the scratchy words almost
harsh.

Face all sharp angles, mouth tense, he worked her
slowly with his fingers and cock, using both to
tease without entry.  The control he exercised
affected him as well - if she hadn't known him as
lover before, she could swear he had ice in his
veins.  But she did know him, knew the glitter in
the eyes darkened and dilated, recognized the way
his voice dissolved into the gravelly crunch of a
thousand pieces of broken glass.

"You're mine, Scully.  No more running away."

"No."  She tamped down the lingering fear that
she'd be driven away somehow.  If her will counted
for anything in this world, then she was his
forever.  "I promise."

"You get pregnant, I'll chain you to me.  You
realize that, don't you?"  She arched into the slow
entry of his finger into her warmth.  "Don't you?"

"I do," she murmured, gripping his neck as he did
hers.  Lowering her chin, she kissed him, offering
him a vow of commitment.  It had been a long time
coming, and she knew all the words that had come
before were meaningless compared to this moment. 
"I do - oh!"

A jolt of pure electricity shook her as he found a
spot he knew well.  "Nothing's going to take you
from me," he growled.  "No one will dare separate
us again.  C'mon now... come for me."

God, she was close.  He mimicked the act of
lovemaking with his fingers, sliding in and out
with increasing friction.  Bracing her knees on the
rough bench beneath him, she jackknifed up, the
cooler air above the water pimpling her shoulders
and breasts with fine gooseflesh.  Relentless, he
followed with his mouth, closing his lips over a
breast made heavy with arousal.

Only Mulder had ever been able to make her lose her
head, and she did it now, twisting above him like a
wanton, little cries of pleasure rolling from her
like pounding waves over silky sand.  Another
piercing catch, then another, and she stiffened,
her head falling to his shoulder as he caught her
close.

"That's it, Scully, that's it," he muttered over
her racing pulse, his voice hitching and
breathless.

Long seconds stretched by, the roar in her ears
slowly replaced by the muted popping of bubbles as
she went limp into his embrace.  The whirlpool rose
up as she fell into its subtle fury; she gasped one
last time when she felt his fingers give her a
final curl and squeeze before pulling out.

"Better?" he asked with a grin in his voice, his
tongue sweetly scraping the sweat and chlorine from
her cheek.

"Oh yeah."  Mind clearer now, she moved with a
resumption of her usual command of things.  Losing
control was fleeting and fine now and then, but
taking control was infinitely more her style.  "But
now I get to do whatever I want with you."

"Order me around?"

"Actually, at this moment I have a need for chaos."
He groaned and let his head fall back against the
edge of the hot tub as she pulled his rigid,
straining flesh into her.  "And you're going to
give it to me.  Aren't you, Mulder?"

"God, yes."



End Chapter Fifteen