From: Dasha <dakluz@stkate.edu>
Date: Wed, 06 May 1998 22:21:26 GMT
Subject: NEW:  Anticipation: Save The Best For Last by Dasha K (1/1)

Note:  I posted this story under the title "Building A Mystery" a few
days ago.  The next day I realized there are tons of other stories
with the same title, so I've changed titles.  So to all you lovely
archivists, please archive this under "Anticipation:Save The Best For
Last" and I will be supremely joyful.  I will be even more joyful if
you folks send me feedback!!  (Don't make me beg.....hehe)


Title:  Anticipation: Save The Best For Last (1/1)

Author:  Dasha K.  (dakluz@stkate.edu)


ARCHIVING:  Definitely at Gossamer and anywhere else, just let me
know, so I can come visit! 
DISCLAIMER:  Chris Carter and his pals at 1013 and Fox own Mulder and
Scully, I am just borrowing them, but since I will not make a red
cent, do not come after me for copyright infringement. 
SPOILERS:  Not really any
CLASSIFICATION:  V, R, a little bit of A, a little bit of H
KEYWORDS:  MSR
SUMMARY:  Scully gets dressed for her first date in ages.
RATING:  R for language and adult situations
AUTHOR'S NOTE:  This story belongs to the little universe I have
created with my previous stories "Night Vigil" and "Tequila and Lime",
but you don't really need to have read them to enjoy this one.  This
story is dedicated to all women who have  horrible fashion crisises
while getting ready for a big date.  
FEEDBACK:  Oh yes, oh yes.  The feedback I have gotten from you guys
has been tremendous!  Drop me a line and let me know what you think,
it's what keeps all of us scribblers going.  dakluz@stkate.edu


Anticipation: Save The Best For Last
 

Dasha K.

Three hundred and sixty-four days a year getting dressed is a fairly
uncomplicated process.  I get out of bed, make coffee, jump in the
shower, shave, moisturize, slap on some makeup, blow-dry and eat toast
at the same time, gulp coffee, yank a suit out of a dry cleaning bag,
put on said suit and I'm out the door.  Forty minutes, tops.  Not bad.

Tonight however, I'm in a very un-Dana Scullylike dither.  I have a
date.  Yep, a date with Mulder.  The jerk overheard me on the phone
with my mother the other morning.  She asked me what we do for fun
together and I sighed (just a tiny sigh, really) and said, "We rent
movies and get takeout.  Mulder and I don't really go out on dates."
I didn't know he was listening, I thought he was shaving in the
bathroom, but he must have been because he came up to me in the office
later that day and said, "Miss Scully, will you do the honor of going
out with me Saturday night?"

I raised an eyebrow at him.  He had the goofiest look on his face.  "A
date, Mulder?  Aren't we a little past the dating stage?"

He looked crestfallen, which I rather liked seeing.  "Does that mean
you don't want to go out with me?"

I laughed.  "Of course not.  Where are we going on this date?"

He gave me an enigmatic smile.  "Ah, Scully, there have to be some
mysteries in life."

So I did what any smart woman who hates surprises would do.  I broke
into his computer datebook while he was out picking up lunch and found
he had made 9:00 p.m. reservations for a courtyard table at Courgette,
which is the hot new restaurant of the moment, serving food from the
Provencal region of France.  A far cry from our usual fare: diner food
when we are out of town on a case or burritos from Carmencita's.  It
excited me in a strange way to know that Mulder had been paying
attention.  One Sunday morning I read a glowing review of Courgette in
the paper and had made some offhand comment about it to him as we
drank coffee and read the paper in bed.

He also had made reservations for a room at the Morrison House, a
beautiful old inn in Alexandria, the kind of swanky place we Federal
employees rarely get to see.  Yes, the man definitely had done his
homework.

Which leads me to the clothing issue.  I hate everything in my closet
tonight.  It is not like me to get into a girlie fashion crisis like
this, but my wardrobe is divided into two separate and distinct camps:
no-nonsense tailored suits and jeans and sweaters.  I don't think I
own one single dress that could be considered sexy, or even pretty.  I
have a couple of old bridesmaid dresses shoved in the back of the
closet, but I'll be damned if I'm going to march into Courgette in
fuschia taffeta with a bow riding on my butt.  There is a simple black
crepe dress that I wear to weddings and funerals but that's not the
effect I'm looking for.  I want drop dead sexy.  I want to make
Mulder's jaw hit the floor when he sees me.  I want him to entertain
visions of ripping off my clothes the minute I open the door.  Damn
damn damn.  I don't own a single thing that will do the trick.

It occurs to me that I have known for three whole days where we were
going and I never got around to going somewhere to pick up a dress.  I
detest shopping.  My favorite way to shop is to run to Ann Taylor or
Banana Republic, blindly pick out the most classic suit I can find and
if it fits, I buy it.

Suddenly I have a brainstorm.  Alicia, my neighbor across the hall is
about my height and has a similar build.  She moved in about six
months ago and we've had some friendly chats at the mailbox.  She has
come over for coffee on a couple of Sunday mornings.  Alicia is a
curator for a hip art gallery and possesses a fabulous wardrobe.  I
head for her door with my fingers crossed, praying silently
pleasebehomepleasebehomepleasebehome.

God must have been listening, because she answers her door, wearing a
silk kimono, her hair in a towel.  "Hey Dana," she says with a big
smile on her face, "What's up?"

I practically collapse on her doorstep.  "You have to help me.  I have
a big date tonight and I don't own one item of clothing that's sexy."

Alicia cracks up.  "Oh dear, that is a problem, especially with a
boyfriend as cute as yours.  Come on in, let me fix you up."

"I promise, I'll have whatever I borrow dry cleaned."

She tosses her head, which dislodges the towel and lets loose a flood
of black curls.  "I trust you."

Alicia's wardrobe is immense.  It is like entering the Better Dresses
department of Saks; everything color-coordinated and perfectly hung.
She looks at me appraisingly.  "Hmm-a redhead.  I see you in green
tonight.  Something simple, yet utterly devastating."  She reaches
into the closet with a practiced flourish and pulls out something pale
green and silky.  "Aha, Calvin Klein will never fail a girl."

My face falls.  "Alicia, I can't wear that.  It looks like a
negligee."

"Dana, you are such a tight-ass.  Drag your butt out of the
Professional Wear Department.  It's a slip dress and all the rage.
Don't you ever read Vogue?"

I shrug helplessly.  Sometimes I'm convinced I was born without the
fashion gene.  "I'm on the road most of the time.  I don't ever really
get the chance to read fashion magazines."

"Well then, thank goodness you have me to guide you.  Where are you
going tonight with your Special Agent?"  She smirks.

"Courgette."

"Oh, nice choice. This outfit will be perfect there.  It's a warm
night, but here take this-" She tosses me a length of silk, exactly
one shade darker than the dress.  "It will give you that 40s-50s
glamour girl thing, just wrap it around your shoulders and pout."

I thank Alicia profusely, promising her margaritas and eternal
devotion.  Back home I run a hot bath and dump in an indecent amount
of lavender bath salts.  I pour myself a glass of Chardonnay and slide
into the water.  Ah, I love taking a bath.  I rarely have the time to
just soak and reflect, but Mulder isn't coming for almost two hours so
I allow myself this rare treat.

From time to time I still forget that Mulder and I are lovers.
Sometimes I'll be sitting at my desk, tapping away at the computer and
he'll walk in the office and it will hit me.  I was in bed with him
last night, I'll think, and it always surprises me.  I will see his
hand resting on the steering wheel and I'll remember that just that
very morning that hand was touching me in my most secret places.  His
voice on the telephone is the voice moaning in my ear as he came.  I
kissed those lips.  This is the man I love, I think, and a thrill
courses through my body every time.

It has taken some adjustment since that night four months ago in
Seattle when we became lovers.  Mulder and I are deeply private
people, who are not used to sharing our innermost feelings with
anyone.  We both spent many years alone before we came together and we
still need out time apart.  We are together perhaps two or three
nights a week, but we both have to have our alone time to recharge
ourselves for the next time we are together.  There is nothing sexier
to me than getting my bed alone, but knowing that tomorrow, or the
next night, he will be with me.  It is the ultimate luxury.

Tonight I think of the two of us, alone in the private kingdom of a
hotel room.  Of undoing his tie and unbuttoning his shirt.  Of sliding
his pants off and feeling the rough warmth of his bare skin.  I dream
of falling on crisp hotel sheets with Mulder, of feeling his hardness
against my stomach.  Of him inside me, filling me and I'm thinking,
this is mine.  This is all mine.  I imagine taking him in my mouth,
his hands in my hair, desperate in his ardor.  Of wrapping my legs
around his so tightly, as pleasure pools in my body and finally spills
out as I scream his name.  This is mine.  This is all mine.

Five years ago, I never could have dreamed that this man would be my
greatest passion.  After the terrifying things we've witnessed, the
tragedies we have managed to survive, I cannot hide anything from
Mulder.  He is the first man who has made me laugh hysterically in
bed.  He is the first who has made me cry out in passion.  I just
cannot be embarrassed in his presence.  There are no secrets between
us and there will be no fantasy that will go unexplored.  I can
whisper anything in his ear and he will do it, he will fulfill it.

I break from my reverie and get out of the tub, slather my body with
lotion, fix my hair with a quick blow dry.  Only one hour left.  I
can't wait.  I love the anticipation of waiting to see he him, of
building the mystery of our night together.

If I didn't manage to get to the store for a dress, I did call
Victoria's Secret at 2:00 am and order a ridiculous amount of frilly
things.  That is one thing Mulder never knew about me, one surprise I
had in store for him when we became lovers.  I, Dana Scully, am a
lingerie addict.  There, I said it.  I may look cool and collect on
the outside, clad in my prim little suits, but I'm usually wearing
something wicked underneath.  

After the kind of deliberation I usually reserve for a post-mortem on
a murder victim, I choose a lavender lace strapless bra and matching
bikini panties.  I rummage through my underwear drawer and find a
darker violet garter belt.  I always figured Mulder, with his
predilection for porn, would be a garter belt fan and I was correct.
He loves to fuck me when I'm wearing nothing but my stocking and a
pair of heels and I'm only too happy to oblige him.

Alicia knows fashion very well.  The pale green silk slip dress fits
perfectly and I have to say I almost don't recognize myself in it.
The bias cut follows the contours of my body and when I walk the side
slit shows a generous amount of my thigh.  Oh my, I think, I look
sexy, really sexy for the first time in my life.  For a minute I
entertain the thought of ditching the dinner reservations and just
taking Mulder, right there on the living room floor.  No, I say to
myself sternly, just let it build.  Save the best for last.

I search my shoe racks in the closet until I find the highest heels I
own, a pair of three-inch heels, black satin sandals.  Sometimes I
hate being so tiny and barely reaching Mulder's shoulder.  Tonight I
want to be strong, powerful, all woman.  I want to be tall.

Makeup only takes a few minutes.  I don't like to wear a lot of goop
on my face on warm nights, even on a special night such as this.
Concealer (have to cover up that beauty mark), powder, a light brush
of shimmery silver shadow on my eyelids.  Just a hint of wine colored
stain on my lips.  I am pleased to note I am not as pale as I was just
after I was ill.  The glass of wine I drank and the anticipation have
made me positively flushed.

The morning after Mulder and I first made love, I slipped off to the
bathroom and took a long look at myself in the mirror.  I was still
the Dana Scully I had always been; yet I looked different somehow.  My
hair was a crazy tangled mess, but my eyes had a spark I had never
seen before.  I could actually see the blood flowing beneath the skin
of my face.  For the first time in an eternity, I looked alive and
healthy.  Suddenly, Mulder came up from behind and put his arms around
me.  "Look at yourself.." he said.

"I am looking at myself." I replied.  "Yep, that's me in the mirror."

He turned and looked into my eyes with an intensity I had never seen
before.  "You are so beautiful it astounds me."

Right there I felt it, a definite physical response.  I felt my heart
open.  For the first time in my life, I let someone into my heart.
Suddenly, I knew what it was to be truly loved.  We made love there on
the hotel bathroom floor, hard tile be damned.  My back was killing me
all that afternoon during the conference sessions, but I didn't care.
I was in love and I knew that a fabulous massage was mine for the
asking later that night back at the hotel.

Sometimes I wonder if I love him so much because it could end any
minute for us.  Our lives are marked by danger.  Mulder and I are like
cats with nine lives and one of these days we will run out of lives.
I am certain that as long as the both of us live we will be together,
but I fear out time is short.  No wonder we love each other so
fiercely.

One squirt of perfume, a special blend of florals I have made for me
in a little shop in Georgetown, and I am ready.  Tonight I am
beautiful.  Mulder and I will have a perfect dinner in a courtyard
full of flowers.  We will drink a bottle of champagne and talk only of
our love.  Then we will retire to a beautiful room full of antiques
and make love as if we have all the time in the world.

The doorbell rings.  Mulder is five minutes early, bless him.  I open
the door and he is standing there in his best blue suit.  He is even
wearing a normal looking tie, blue and red stripes.  He is holding a
single red rose.  Our eyes meet and he smiles.  "My God, Scully." he
breathes.

I slip the silk wrap around my shoulders, take his arm and we head out
into the summer night.

END