TITLE: Addendum 35d
AUTHOR: Jess M.
 
DISCLAIMER: Lord, no.
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere, just let me know.
SPOILER WARNING: A very, very small one for Theef. If you haven't seen it,
you won't even know it's there.
RATING: NC-17
CONTENT WARNING: Oh, there once was a young girl from Venus...
CLASSIFICATION: Smut smuttidy smut smut, smut smut.
SUMMARY: Oh for heaven's sake, there's SMUT! Smut, I tell you!

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This smut is all Darla's fault. Her irresistable plea is
reprinted below. This, folks, is how you motivate someone:

"<on my knees> Jess, I'm begging you. You're my friend. Hell, if I'm
Princess Leia, then you're Obi Frickin' Wan Kenobi. Puh-leeze give me smut.
I'm in withdrawl. I'm shakkkkkking, soo eye cannnt typpe copreectly.
<falling on floor in seizure>"

This is dedicated, however, to Susan, who refuses to give up on Video 3,
though it's deader than a proverbial doornail, and to Galia, who always
forgives me for forgetting to put in my website. Here it is:

Visit my site for all my fiction, lovingly archived by Galia:
http://galias.webprovider.com/Jess/jess.htm
Then visit Galia's site for more great fiction!
http://galias.webprovider.com/visions.html

Email me, I'm leaving them as a trail for Mulder and Scully to follow to my
house. So far it's only attracted a few strange-looking men, but I'm ever
hopeful...

Addendum 35d (and yes, I made that up, folks)


I wake quietly, shaking off the despair of my dream to find myself alone in
my hotel room, as always. Apparently I fell asleep watching bad porn through
the steady pink blinking blaze of the neon sign outside my thread-bare motel
curtains. Twenty-five bucks and you get five hours of the Spice channel. As
if anyone needs five straight hours of porn.

I'm trying to quell the residual tremors left over from my nightmare, the
panic of it still pinging at my nerve endings, the plaintive tone of my own
voice still echoing in my head.

"Don't leave me, Scully. I'm sorry," I hear myself plead, and feel her flesh
fading away beneath my frantic palms. It's a familiar refrain.

This particular dream began a few weeks ago, after I'd found the answer to
my sister's disappearance. Or at least one possible answer, as Scully would
say. She's never quite bought the whole thing, star-lit travelers being
rather difficult to quantify scientifically. She'd like a body, some bones
to sort through and catalog, to number and then to bury. So you can stand
somewhere specific and mourn, as opposed to what I do, which is mourn
everywhere, at any time.

It starts out sweet enough. Scully and I are standing in one of those
nameless dream rooms that are your living room, or your friend's house, or
wherever, but in reality are nowhere you've ever seen. A dream room, in a
dream apartment, where we stand in the living room and kiss like dream
lovers. These aren't the frantic, tearing kisses of two people fumbling over
seven years of repressed passion. Instead, I'm holding her face just as she
holds mine and we are savoring one another; kissing as two long-time lovers
do when they realize it's Saturday and it's raining and they don't have
anywhere pressing to be. And for a while, that seems to be it, and it's
lovely.

Then I realize, with the same unerring horror each time, that my hands are
starting to penetrate her skin. Not because I am sinking into her, no no,
nothing that romantically gory, but because she is disappearing. Fading, as
I watch. Frantically, I kiss her again, and again, trying to hold onto her,
but she continues to go. Drifting away into the surrounding air like mist
beneath a warm sun. And I try begging, pleading with her to stay with me. I'
m so sorry, I tell her, over and over. I'm so sorry. I wake up just as the
final watery outline of her body fades completely, leaving me alone in a
strange room I no longer recognize.

Now, I'm a trained psychologist. I know the meaning of this rather
hit-you-over-the-head dream. This isn't wondering if dreaming of falling
means loss of control, there is nothing vague or amorphous about the
implications here. My psyche is frightened, and it's the same fear I've had
since I first met this woman, only I have finally let it manifest in my
nightmares.

You see, there is, ostensibly, only one reason I will not kiss my partner.
It's called Addendum 35d to the Official Federal Bureau of Investigation
Agent Behavioral Handbook (OFBIABH, as we like to say. Or not). What it
says, in a nutshell, is thou shalt not sleep with thy partner. And should
thou doest so, thou shalt be mightily smitten down, or something to that
effect. The actual wording is more like "the partnership will be terminated
immediately and without further recourse." Reading it always makes me want
to whine: ah, c'mon, you never let us have any fun.

That's the "official" reason we haven't jumped on each other. But we both
know that it's only part of the story. The easy, painless part. The real
reason we rely so heavily on the crutch that is Addendum 35d is that we are
both afraid. Not of each other, but of ourselves, and our potential ability
to destroy this tentative little thing we call over seven years together. In
other words, ladies and gents, we are full of shit, but we're afraid anyway.

What is Scully afraid of? Oh, four years ago I might have opened up a copy
of the OFBIABH and pointed to page one hundred and seventy-two, paragraph
two, aka Addendum 35d. But today I would point to me. She isn't afraid that
I will hurt her, or leave her, or cheat on her. Nothing so shallow, since
she knows that I will, by my very nature, hurt her, but I won't leave her or
cheat on her. What you know doesn't scare you. She's frightened because she
has seen me at my most needy, my most obsessive, and she knows she can't
possibly give me everything I want, everything I need, everything she
erroneously thinks I deserve. But the funny thing is, and logically we both
know this: I would never be disappointed in her. She could give me as much
or as little as she wanted and I would take it all gratefully and never
press for more. Friendship, partnership in the work sense, is one thing. Fox
Mulder's tentative inability to believe anyone could love him is another.
Just having her love me back, physically, would probably be enough to keep
me sane for years on end. Ok, weeks. But there's a difference between
knowing your fear is illogical and being able to fight it. We're talking
about a scientist who is deathly afraid of flying. She knows how airplanes
work. She knows that they are statistically safer than crossing a quiet
country road. Still, when the wings start to dip or everything begins to
rattle, she's clutching the armrests and lifting, lifting, lifting, just
like her mother taught her to, because everyone knows that if you lift up on
your armrests, you're helping to keep the plane in the air.

Mind you, she's actually conquered her fear of flying enough to get on a
plane. The same cannot be said for getting on me. The difference, I suspect,
between a need and a desire.

And what am I afraid of? Me, Fox Mulder, great thinker? The sensitive man
with a plan? Her. Of course. I'm afraid of disappointing her, just as she
fears it with me. I know that Scully would one day like to "get out of the
car." She'd like a nice little house in the suburbs. Equity, you might say.
A dog. Maybe a few kids. And a nice husband who comes home in his nice car
and makes nice love to her in front of a roaring fire after their nice
children are asleep. Now, I might be able to do the love-making part, but
the rest... would mean giving up the X-Files. And I'm not going to do that.
Does that mean we could never get married? Probably. Because then we'd be
"terminated without recourse" and I can't do this without her. Does this
mean we couldn't have a dog? Does the name "Queequeg" mean anything to you?
No? That's because he's dead. And kids? Who would care for the little
darlings, pray tell, while mommy and daddy were out chasing dangerous
mutants in Kansas? I grew up with distant parents, I wouldn't subject a
child to that. Which leaves us with nothing, and my fear. Except that I know
Scully, and I know she loves me. Right now. As I am. And she knows I would
never abandon this work, not for her, not for children, not for anything. I
learned my lesson with the imaginary Diana thing, thank you very much. I'm
in this one for keeps. She knows this, and she loves me anyway.

So what are we afraid of? I don't know. Maybe it's just a fear of the
unknown. It's like when you go to have a minor operation. The whole way
there, you're thinking: this is going to hurt. They put you in the chair and
it's: this is going to hurt. They bring out the needle and you think: ouch!
That hurt, but not as bad as the REST of it is going to hurt. And then it's
over and you think, wait a minute, that didn't hurt. What the hell was I so
scared of? I'm hoping that's how it is.

Of course, at this rate, I'll never know. I roll over and look at the
connecting door between our rooms. From just beneath it comes a sliver of
yellow light. Scully is also awake at... I glance at the cheap alarm clock
next to my bed. Three a.m. Suddenly, the porn switches off, mid-fuck, and
the room is left in silence and the blue glow of the blank screen. I watch
as the yellow sliver suddenly disappears. Scully is going to sleep now.

And I know, right now, I have to see her. Just for a moment. To make sure
that she's not over there... disappearing too. That she's not fading away
and I just haven't noticed. It's certainly a possibility.

I stand up and realize I'm just wearing my boxers. For the sake of decency,
which I have never been accused of ignoring, I slip on a t-shirt. Ok, now I'
m covered, right? Nothing objectionable here, officer. Stepping up to the
connecting door, I knock gently.

"Mulder?" I hear her say, and I know I should just leave it at that. She's
there, she's apparently still got vocal cords, the world is all right.

But instead, I open the door and step into her room. It's very bright in
here, the same eerie neon glow bathing her bed, coloring her hair so that I
get my wish, and Scully is topped with bubble gum pink. This, it occurs to
me, may have something to do with the fact that she's still awake.

"Mulder?" she whispers. "What's wrong?"

I don't have an answer for that, so I simply slip over to her bed and slide
in next to her, wrapping her up in my arms, seared by her warm skin. She
lets me hold her for a moment, clearly convinced I'm injured as she keeps
probing my head with her small fingers.

"Copping a feel, Scully?" I finally manage, and she stops instantly. I can
practically read her next line to her: Oh, so you aren't injured. Then get
the hell out of my bed.

I fend her off. "I'm all right," I say. She snorts.

"What are you doing?" she asks, and it is a legitimate question. I don't,
normally, crawl in bed with her.

"I had a bad dream," I say and I can see her roll her eyes, which are
lavender in the strange light.

"And you needed your mommy?"

I shake my head and pull her closer. She doesn't resist, exactly. "I just
wanted to touch you. I was lying in my room, thinking about fear, and I
wanted to touch you."

"About fear?" she asks, ignoring the fact that I am peppering her hair with
kisses. She smells like citrus shampoo and oddly, cigarette smoke.

"Specifically," I say, "About my ever-lessening fear of Addendum 35d."

She stiffens briefly and I smirk. It thrills me to no end to know that
Scully recognizes the number.

"Oh," she says. "The sex thing. I assume that has something to do with why
you've shut off that nine-man orgy and come into my bed." One of her arms is
crushed between us, the other is lounging across my shoulder, like a
leopard.

"Scully," I try for my best wounded look. "There were only four men and two
women, and that is certainly not why I'm here. If that were all it took, I'd
have been in here that first night in Oregon after you showed me your
 bites."

I can tell she's trying to stay calm. She fidgets and roughly shoves one leg
against mine, pushing me further back. I can feel her toenails and think
randomly that she needs to trim one of them.

"Then why are you here?"

"I told you," I remind her.

"You had a bad dream," she says wearily.

"And when I woke up, I realized I was tired of dreaming about you, Scully,
and I was tired of being so afraid of my dreams."

There, I've said it. Now it's up to her to react. To toss me out on my ass,
to smother me, to react with cold indifference. It almost doesn't occur to
me that she might react favorably, I'm steeling myself so thoroughly for
disaster.

After a long moment, she says: "What did you dream about?" and I'm not sure
what she's asking, exactly. Typical Scully to respond without actually
responding.

"I dreamt I kissed you," I whisper into her hair.

"That was the bad part?" she says, incredulous.

"No," I assure her, "That was the sweet, wonderful part. But then you
disappeared, like fog."

At that, she laughs. "God, Mulder, forgive the pun, but you are so
transparent."

We both smile at that one.

"You said you were tired of fearing your dreams, so you came in here to
touch me, to be sure I was substantial, is that it?"

"Oh, you're substantial all right," I assure her. "I never really doubted
it."

She rolls, gently, out of my arms and onto her back, tossing one bare white
arm over her head and looking over at me out of the corner of her eye. "But
now that you've seen me, you're feeling better, right?"

"Yes," I admit. She is clearly waiting for me to then rise and exit. When I
don't, she stretches a bit and opens her mouth to speak, then closes it.
"What?" I whisper and she rolls her eyes.

"All right, Mulder, fine. I'll admit it. Will that make you happy?"

What the hell is she talking about? I stare at her, puzzled, until she
closes her eyes. Just because you can't see me, Scully, doesn't mean I'm not
here.

"I had a bad dream," she says slowly. "There, I've said it. I'm sorry I woke
you. You can take your silly disappearing Scully act back to your bedroom
and go back to sleep, Mulder. I'm ok."

This startles me. I didn't hear anything, or even sense anything. I always
assumed Scully just slept like a rock.

"You had a bad dream too?" I ask, stroking the underside of her raised arm,
just above her armpit. It feels like brushed cotton, soft and slightly
downy.

She's looking at me with a "give me a break, Mulder" expression on her face,
but I hold my own. I really did have a bad dream, so for once, I'm ahead of
the game. "Fine," she says at last. "Yes, I had a bad dream too. Why the
hell else would I be awake at this hour? After chasing that... thing all
over town? There is no Island Sasquatch, Mulder, and there never will be.
And that whole thing with the midget mud-wrestling..."

"You had nightmares about the midget mud-wrestling?" Now it's my turn to be
incredulous.

"No," she says slowly, as if speaking to a slightly retarded child. "I
dreamt I was blind."

end 1 of 2

part 2 of 2


My heart does this strange clenching thing and now it's my turn to close my
eyes. This is not any more effective in making things go away for me than it
was for Scully.

"I'm sorry," I say, stilling my hand at her wrist, feeling her steady heart
beat. "I didn't realize that had upset you so much."

"Frankly, Mulder, neither did I." Her voice is calm and steady, unlike mine,
which trembles like a church choir soprano.

"Are you all right now?" I ask, stupidly.

"Obviously," she says. "Now would you please go back to your room and go to
sleep? I'm not going to turn you in for trying to comfort me. I don't really
give a rat's ass what Addendum 35d says about partners and hotel rooms."

"You're not going to turn me in?" I'm flabbergasted. "Why would I think you
would, Scully?"

Her face shifts slightly, becoming defensive. Suddenly I can see the lines
of stress around her eyes, the rise in tension. She isn't particularly
calmed by my presence, she just wanted me to think she was.

"So what was that about?" she asks, and her body is curved slightly away
from mine beneath the sheets. "You brought it up, Mulder. Why?"

The fact that I might have to explain to her why I brought up the dreaded
Addendum 35d wearies me. I scrub at my stubble and open my mouth, but like
Scully, find that nothing comes out. I start to get up from the bed.

"Mulder," she says and to my great surprise I feel one small foot hook
around my leg. I could, of course, disengage myself from her quite easily. I
probably should. But instead, I settle back down and stare again, waiting
for her to close her eyes. She doesn't. "Did you really have that dream?"
she asks at last.

"Yes," I affirm, "I really did."

"So you didn't come in here to comfort me," she says. "You came in here to
comfort yourself."

"The comforting you part, which incidentally, doesn't seem to have worked at
all," I point out, "Was purely coincidental. Couldn't hear much over the
grunting and groaning in my room."

She smiles, and reaches up with the same arm I was just stroking until her
hand touches my face. She cradles my jaw for a moment, then returns the hand
to her pillow. "Thank you anyway," she says. "Both for needing comfort and
for wanting to give it in return."

I sigh. So that's how this will play. I try not to be disappointed. "You're
welcome," I tell her, sincerely, and start to get up again. The little
shepherd's crook foot remains.

"When you kissed me," she says softly, so softly I have to lean way down to
be sure I'm hearing her correctly, "In your dream, was it like that kiss you
gave me at New Years?"

"Yes," I murmur, my mouth now inches from her ear. This is a new game. The
disappointment lies deflated in the corner and Scully hands me the ball. "It
was like that. But with... more passion."

"Show me," she whispers and I feel a long tremor start from my groin to make
my entire body twitch. "And if you so much as mention Addendum 35d at any
point tonight, Mulder..." Her voice is serious now, and not nearly so quiet.
"I will personally destroy you, do you understand?"

Laughing, I nod and settle over her, one arm bent just by her shoulder, my
hand twisting in her soft hair.

She looks up at me and gives the slightest nod, as if to say she's ready, so
I bend to kiss her mouth. For a moment, our lips touch and rest there, warm
and pliant. Neither of us is breathing. Then I pull away and watch her
closely for any signs of panic. She merely smiles.

"That's not how it was," she says, knowingly.

"No," I agree. "It was more like this..." And I lean down and kiss her
again, this time with my mouth open. Her mouth is already waiting for me,
parted, her breath slipping out across my lips when we meet. Then something
extraordinary happens. Ok, it isn't extraordinary to anyone else, but it
makes me hard as rock.

Scully slips me the tongue.

We haven't progressed beyond the leisurely kisses, but oh, when there's
tongue involved, everything ratchets up a notch. I shift so that I can lie
on top of her, and feeling her small body beneath me makes me crazy. I have
to physically stop myself from taking this another step and ramming my
tongue into her mouth like a piston. I'm showing her my dream kisses, I
think, over and over. Just my dream kisses. She's placed her steadying hands
on either side of my face, holding me there, tipping me slightly to one side
or the other as she pleases. And my God, does she please. When our mouths
catch and hold one another as she pulls away, I open my eyes to look at her.
She's beautiful, breathtaking beneath me, her lips drawn into a small smile.
She looks so much like she did on New Years Eve, I half expect her to
suddenly seem disappointed. Wisely, this time I keep my mouth shut.

"See," she says gently, "I'm still here."

I nod, and just a bit of the feeling of panic from my dream resurfaces. I
have to lower my face and bury it in her hair, just by her left ear.

"Are you ok?" she asks, stroking a hand along my back. I imagine a
phosphorescent wake, trailing from her fingertips along my skin.

"Yes," I assure her, "I'm just in love with you, so this is hard."

She gives a little short bark of laughter, and nuzzles my hair with her
nose. "Why does that make it difficult?" she asks. "Because of what you're
holding back?"

"Yes," I say. Trust Scully to understand the need to reign in my rampaging
emotions.

"It's ok," she says, lifting my face by pulling lightly on my ears. She
examines me for signs of tears and finding none, kisses me again, sweetly.
"We'll just hold back together. It wouldn't be the first time, would it? We'
re experts at repression."

I laugh with her this time, and when I begin to kiss her again, the passion
is easier to handle. I'm not sure how long we stay in control, but
eventually, my dream kisses turn into something else entirely: my dream
kisses. Scully is clutching at my shirt and attempting to lift it over my
head, but it keeps getting stuck around my chin since I refuse to stop
feeling up her lips with my own. We're both panting and shaking, as if we're
both boiling and freezing, which is ironically, how it feels.

"Stop," she moans, nipping at my earlobe. "I want to take your clothes off."

This is one of those moments that shall live on in history, like the signing
of the Declaration of Independence. Scully has just uttered, word for word,
a line from one of my fantasies. I stop and look experimentally at her.
Could this really be Scully, this wonderfully soft and sleek little form I'm
lying on and thrusting at?

"You're not dreaming," she says, reading my mind. Or perhaps she's
reassuring herself, I don't know.

"That's good," I nod and strip the offending shirt over my head quickly,
tossing it off into space. I feel a bit like I've regressed to part of my
childhood and everything surrounding the bed is red-hot lava. I'm not
putting one bare foot on that carpet to save my life. Scully grabs my face
and brings my eyes to meet hers.

"Watch," she says. "This is really amazing." Then she slowly unbuttons her
pajama top and, as my eyes reach critical mass, parts the blue satin sea to
reveal her sandy peach skin.

"Oh my," I whisper, "A miracle."

She grins and pushes my head down toward one of the perky breasts I'm
attempting to choose between. Oh, that one. Ok. Her nipple tastes sharp and
sexual, and of course I'm humping her leg like dog. And like a dog, I have
this terrible temptation to grab the hot little thing in my mouth and worry
it, stretching and biting. Scully brings out the animal in me, apparently.

"You taste good," I attempt to tell her, but her nipple keeps getting in the
way.

"Mmmm," she moans, clearly paying little attention to my voice at this
point. When I have visited both sites of worship, I start making my way down
her smooth belly. It rounds a bit near the top of her pajamas and I think
that at some point I would like to fall asleep here, but not tonight. Or at
least, not yet. I lick her smooth skin and she grasps me, yanking hard. I
take it I'm wanted upstairs.

"Boxers," she gasps and for one surreal, ridiculous moment, I'm tempted to
tell her that I don't wanna wrestle, but then my brain clicks over and
processes the word into the correct category. Clothing, for 500. I manage to
end up wrestling anyway, trying to push silk covered in small pink winged
pigs off my legs. Someday I'll tell her that the first night we made love,
pigs flew, but for now it's unimportant.

My mind is keeping up this hysterical running commentary on the whole
proceeding and though I realize this is a defense mechanism (what is Scully'
s mind thinking, I wonder? The Periodic Table of Elements? Geometry? God
forbid, autopsies?), I let it go. Fox Mulder, comedian for a very distracted
audience of one.

Grasping her pajamas together, we somehow get them off her legs and
incinerate them by tossing them as an offering into the surrounding volcano.
Bye-bye, I think as the last of our clothing is sacrificed. Good riddance.

And then suddenly Scully has grabbed my face again with one hand and my
straining penis with the other. Before I can stop her, before I can say
"foreplay" or explore the glorious heated jungle that is Scully's sex in my
mind, she's sliding me into her and I realize, the moment I'm fully inside
her, why she was in such a hurry.

All the chattering voices in my head still and I am suddenly alone in the
darkness with my great, pulsing love. Scully shifts beneath me, her eyes
filling with tears, and I know, without question, that she feels it too.

"Oh," she murmurs, her voice heartbreakingly sad. "Oh."

I nod and just manage to push my weary nose into her hair before the tears
come.

"It's so wonderful," I whisper. "I can't stand it."

"I know," she gasps wetly, "I know."

We're absolutely motionless then, waiting to return to the world of the
underwhelmed. After a long moment of feeling my body shiver and my heart
race, I know we never will. This is something that will change us, shift us
off our foundations, hell... pick us up, stick us on a tractor and tow us
clear across town. We aren't the same two people any longer, and we never
will be again.

Thank God.

Now I am able to move. She tightens around me, pulling me into an arc so we
can kiss. This is the kiss of my dream, for certain now, and we have
disappeared. I straighten my back and kiss her forehead as I slip in and out
of her body, never quite leaving. "Scully," I whisper. We have no pet names,
and though I would like to, someday, for now her name is more meaningful.

"Mulder," she answers, and then: "Faster."

Right. I dive into her and rise again, pounded by the waves. She sweeps over
me, engulfs me. We are both gasping for air. At last it occurs to me she isn
't going to come just from this, emotional as it is, so I reach roughly
between us to touch her. She squirms and for a moment I'm convinced it's too
much until suddenly she groans and pulls me to her breast, hard. She comes
and I can feel it. God, I can feel it. It's all too much. I follow her down.

After a long moment of stillness, Scully's hands trail damply up my back to
swirl in the sweat on my shoulders. I am so peaceful, now, I could sleep
like this, in her.

Until I hear her phone ring, trilling from across the room. She sits up and
pushes me off of her body. I watch her groggily, wondering how she can move.

"Leave it," I say. "If you get out of bed, the lava will burn your feet."

She snorts. "I think I'll be ok maneuvering through the bedroom," she says.
"Besides, lava's red, not pink." I realize she thought I was referring to
the glowing pink carpet. Has this affected her so little?

"Scully," I begin, but she shushes me by kissing my fingertips as she
searches her coat blindly for the phone.

"Scully," she says at last, stopping the shrill sound. Why can't they make
cell phones with pleasant rings? Thirty options, this Nokia had, and that
was the best one. "Oh... no Sir, I was awake."

Right. Only Skinner would call at four in the morning and then ask if he
woke you up. Of course, it's nearly eight there. Island time, it messes with
your mind.

"Thank you, Sir," she says. "No, I understand completely. I'll let Agent
Mulder know and we'll be home tomorrow. I mean today."

I smile at her, so professional in her naked self. I lean up and kiss her
just behind the ear. She bats me away like an annoying fly. I return.

"Thank you for calling. No, really. It's no..." She gasps suddenly as I
slide one hand between her legs, but recovers quickly. "It's no problem."

There is a pause and then she says: "What was that, Sir? Addendum 35d? I don
't know what you're talking about..."

"Forget it," I tell her. "I saw you punch that 'talk' button."

She laughs and tosses the phone back over onto the chair. "That was
 Skinner."

"Obviously," I say, hand still buried in her, in us.

"Something's come up that they need us on, back at home. We're to return
tomorrow."

"What?" I ask, stroking her harder. She's thrusting back at me now, her
thighs tightening on my wrist. "And abandon all chance of spotting the
Polynesian Bigfoot?"

"The Abominable Sandman," she corrects and presses back against me. I oblige
and let my returning erection bump her lower back.

"The Poi Yeti," I counter.

"The Creature from the Blue Lagoon," she says and turns slightly,
disengaging my hand as she engages somewhere else instead. As she sinks onto
me, I groan.

"Scully," I murmur into her hair, "We've been transformed."

She stops moving for a moment and then kisses me, thoroughly. "The Beast
with Two Backs," she says, and picks up the pace.


End 2 of 2. Email me, since I went ahead and wrote the smut.