Title: Premature Ejaculation Author: OneMillionandNine Feedback: just send it to kokotheuberchimp@hotmail.com Spoilers: All Things Disclaimer: I am not Chris Carter and I'm not making a dime off of this Category: MSR, V, Angst Rating: big fat NC-17 Summary: an exercise is possibilities; exactly what has kept M and S apart all these years? Note: Thanks to MaybeAmanda for encouraging me and for keeping my fic from looking like they were all written by e.e. cummings. :~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~: When it finally happened, it didn't go the way I imagined. I didn't hyperventilate. I didn't ejaculate the second I realized Scully was standing beside my bed wearing nothing but a scratchy blanket. I even managed to postpone crying for a while. Where did I gain these super human powers? Ring in a cereal box, maybe? I honestly don't know. We'd done it once before, sort of. Back in the beginning - two days before we got asked to consult on the Tooms case. It was a fiasco, so I gave up literally screwing her in favor of the career-in-the-toilet-been-experimented-on- and-abducted-by-aliens-and-lost-the-ability-to- have-children variety. I came by her place to pick up a file early that Saturday morning. Pajama and robe-clad Scully offered me a cup of coffee. I took it. Standing in her kitchen, I ribbed her about having a lunch date with Tom Colton. We laughed, and somehow found ourselves standing closer than when we'd started out. A lot closer. More than a few thoughts struggled through my head at that moment. I remember thinking I was really turned on, but she wasn't my usual type. I also remember thinking this could go a long way towards helping to convince her of the validity of supernatural phenomena - it seemed like the next logical step after I'd spilled my guts to her in Oregon, like after the way I'd opened up to her she 'owed' me this. Then I wondered if the men who had sent her to spy on me had assigned her this task as well. Not that that would stop me. I would make her into a new, better Diana - smarter, braver, and unwilling to leave me. Besides, it would give the 900 operators a break. I'd be fucking Svengali. Mostly, I remember thinking sex would put her firmly on my side. I was about to lean down and kiss her when she grabbed me by my shirt collar and stuck her tongue in my mouth. It was like a sweet little fish between my lips. That morning was a study in missed opportunity. I hadn't come to her apartment with any sort of intent, but I remember clearly, standing there, how much I wanted her. I should have slowed her down, cupped her little tits in my hands, worshiped them with my mouth, learned every tiny curve of my Scully, but no, what did I do? I pinched her nipples and sucked on her tongue while she pulled me to her bed. That was the first time I saw the mole above her lip. I did kiss the mole. I may have been young and had my head completely up my ass but I wasn't utterly callous. That mole needed kissing and I was just the man to do it. Like a fool, I slipped my hand into her pajama bottoms and was caught up in her hot, slippery wetness. I should have slowed it down there, too, but I sunk my mouth into that sweet spot right below her ear and fluttered my fingers between her clitoris and her cotton panties, instead. Her response was shocking. She came. Just like that. So I did it again. And so did she. Wow. Making Diana come had been tricky and time consuming. This had real 'Letters to Penthouse' potential. What a liar she was, with her shapeless little suits and up-tight demeanor. Dana Scully was hot. I should have taken the opportunity to use the skills that Diana and Phoebe had honed to near art. I should have knelt between her legs and taken good, long taste, and a good, long look. But, at the time, all I could think of was sinking into her. If she came like that from my fingers, how would she respond to my dick? It was amazing. When she brought down my pants, I was not aware of it. I was not aware of anything, really, but the feel and scent of her skin, until she took her small hand and, with the lightest grip possible, grasped my cock. It was just the barest whisper of sensation and yet, every hair on my body stood at attention. She drew both hands up slowly. Perfect. It was amazing. I never would have believed a hand job could be better than any head I'd ever had. In her slippers, she was the perfect height to suckle my nipple without bending. She kept hard pressure on my chest as her hands fluttered up and down my shaft. I remember pushing her down on the bed very suddenly and, for a minute, we were nose to nose. I'd be damned if I was going to come in her hand and that's where things had been rapidly heading. Years later, when I had catalogued every single Scully expression, I realized that the look I had taken for arousal was fear. Her breath was deep and even, her pupils, dilated to black saucers. I held her hands above her head loosely with one of mine for no other reason than that I didn't want her to touch me and make me embarrass myself. She raised her hips to help me ease down her pajama bottoms. Her panties were still on one ankle when I penetrated her. Yet another thing I did wrong. I remember just sort of falling onto her. It was awkward, getting in, because she so small and I was so nervous, so I suppose it was sort of the sexual equivalent of tripping, but I fell onto... into her and felt an odd little give, not like with a virgin, but similar. In a less than a moment, she was bucking against me and my 'accident' was almost forgotten. Inside Dana Scully was like inside a dream, smooth and slick and hot. With every thrust of my hips, her cunt tightened and sent a jolt racing from the head of my dick and up my spine. Then she came and it was like being squeezed in a wet fist. I was wondering how many more of her orgasms I could last through. I should have kissed her more. I was just getting back into my rhythm when she whispered. "Fox, we're not using any protection." "It's okay. I'm clean." I bit my lip and kept moving, unwilling to open my eyes all of a sudden. "I don't want to get pregnant." She sounded so young, like a teenaged girl, and afraid, but she was still meeting my hips with her own. It breaks my heart now to think about it, but back then, she still could have gotten pregnant. It could have happened. I could have done it. I answered her. "I'll pull out in time." She looked, for a second, like she was going to put forth yet another argument, but it never came. Her eyes just closed for the first time and her movement against me continued. I nodded, and slowed down, wanting to make it last. Not more than two minutes later, she shuddered against me a second time, but there was something halfhearted about it now. Gasping, she said, "This is wrong." I was talking but not thinking. "Feels pretty right." "I - " her hips met mine with a slap and groan. "I'm sort of with someone." "Yeah," pound pound, "you're with me " "No, I'm sort of SEEING someone." There were more glorious wet noises and I shut my eyes tighter. "Dump him." I let go of her hands and opened my eyes. She was so small, so perfect, and yet, so strong, so alive. I felt something cold and unfamiliar in my chest. For a second, I wondered if I was developing a heart condition. "I think, Dana, I think I love you." It may have been true, but I didn't even know what that meant. I didn't know what it could mean to us. I never should have said it because that, apparently, was that. "You barely know me." She stopped moving altogether and her little hands were spread across my chest. "Stop, Fox, just stop. This is a mistake." I stopped, but didn't pull out. Then a stream of cliches came spilling out of her mouth: "It's-not-you-it's-me-I-like-you-I- really-like-you-I-just-don't-want-to- jeopardize-a-good- working-relationship-I'm- not-ready-your-friendship-is-important-to-me- this-is-wrong." I must have pulled up my pants and left, but the memory of the event is like a photograph taken from far away - I'm not quite sure I recognize the figures. Was I that skinny, shaking 32 year old boy? Was she really that chubby-cheeked girl doctor whose eyes seemed to take up half her face? Had that really been us? Had we ever been such strangers ? It was months later before she tried to call me 'Fox" again. Insisting on last names was all I could do to stop the memory of my name moaned between our mouths. For six years, it was almost like it hadn't happened. But last night, I remembered, and I slowed things down. I remembered, and I did it right. I didn't make the same mistakes and I didn't stumble. Last night, I looked up into her face and was choked with emotion. Last night, when I forced out the words, "I've loved you so long," she simply answered, "Me too," and didn't even pause the cadence she was beating into me with her pelvis. But in the morning, I was still alone. :~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~:~: kokotheuberchimp@hotmail.com