Title: Post-Premiere Party
Author: Scullysfan
Classification: SR
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Hollywood, A.D.
Distribution: Do not archive at Gossamer. I'll take care of
ATXC myself. Anyone else, *please do not archive without asking
first.* Thanks. : )
Disclaimer: The characters of Mulder and Scully are the property
of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. They are not mine and no
copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: A borrowed convertible, take-out margaritas, and
moonlight. How could it get any better?
Feedback: Any and all comments longed for at:
Scullysfan@aol.com
~~~~~~~
In the end, none of Hollywood's plastic glitz and glam held much
appeal. Maxing out the Bureau's credit card might have given
them some measure of satisfaction, Mulder thought, as he tugged
his tie loose and stuffed it in his pocket, but that kind of shit
wasn't their style. Not that he would mind seeing Scully in
that little black dress again, her arms bare and touchable, her
hair held back by a headband thingamabob he was pretty sure he'd
never seen her wear before. Thank God her hair was growing out
enough to need one.
He ran his hand back and forth over his own head until the hair
stood up in spikes, and looking to his left, he grinned.
She must have sensed him watching because she glanced in his
direction once, twice... a wide smile flooding her face. He knew
he had a goofy look on his. Flying up the Pacific Coast Highway
with Scully at the wheel of Federman's BMW convertible, so new it
begged to be spanked, made him feel goofy. She didn't mention how
she finagled the use of Federman's car, by guilt or by gun, but
Mulder bet it was spectacular.
Or maybe the man was a sucker for a beautiful face, something her
captive passenger understood all too well, at least where Scully
was concerned.
Whatever her method, she apparently intended to take full
advantage of the situation. If Mulder didn't trust her with his
life, he might have been tempted to grip the door handle for all
it was worth or practice a little passenger-side braking. The
State of California had done a commendable job lighting that
highway, but there was still something spine-tingling about
weaving in and out of traffic with a dark plunge into the ocean
on one side of them and some really unforgiving cliffs on the
other.
This was her night to call the shots, but maybe if he asked
nicely, she wouldn't mind letting him in on her plans.
"Scully, where are we going?"
"Mmmm... I don't know yet. Exactly..."
She didn't know yet. "Are you waiting for a sign?"
"Yes, actually."
"Let me guess... a choir of angels, the brightest star in the
East, or maybe something simple like neon lights spelling out
'You are here' in the clouds."
"Keep it up, Mulder, and I'm not going to share."
"What makes you think I'll want whatever it is you're gonna
offer?"
She turned to look at him again, the smile gone, her eyes dark as
the rolling clouds in the night sky. Her gaze traveled the
length of him and back again before settling on the road.
"When haven't you?"
For some time Mulder had known that a sultry woman lived
underneath Scully's conservative suits, and he took great
pleasure in her coming out to play with him. Seldom were their
games public, and never before had she blown the starting whistle
while whizzing along in the dark California night.
His hands flexed as they rested on his thighs. He glanced over
his shoulder. This little number's back seat was pretty small,
but he felt sure they could figure out something.
"Pull over, Scully."
She chuckled and reached over, squeezing his hand. "Don't worry,
you'll get yours. Besides, here's my sign."
Releasing his hand, she slowed the car and yanked the steering
wheel to the left, cutting across the highway and pulling into a
gravel parking lot. They screeched to a stop in front of a
wooden building probably dismantled several times by earthquakes,
and just as many times thrown back together. Raucous mariachi
music and spicy aromas strong enough to bring tears to Mulder's
eyes flowed out the open front door. Scully's sign from the
heavens towered over the shack masquerading as a bar and featured
a plump, mustached worm hanging over the rim of a tequila bottle.
The worm lifted a stuffed burrito in salute. Faded black
lettering across the burrito read "Panchita's Margaritas."
"This is what you were looking for?" Somehow this was not what
he expected.
She looked at the bar as if seeing an old friend again and
nodded. "I wasn't sure it would still be here, but this is
it."
"Why?"
"One taste of Panchita's nachos, and you'll understand."
Unbuckling her seatbelt, she leaned over and pecked his cheek
with a kiss. "I'll be right--"
The crash of glass meeting an ungiving wall or floor cut off her
words, and a tangle of kids stumbled their way outside. From the
looks of them, Panchita's margaritas were a hundred proof. The
kids'whooping shouts continued to drift across the tiny parking
lot as they piled into a dingy Grand Am following a scuffle over
the keys. The winner was the lone female in possession of all
her
motor skills. Pulling onto the highway, they disappeared into
the night.
A clamor of voices and laughter burst anew from inside as Scully
began to step from the car. Mulder snagged the hem of her dress.
"Wait, Scully! Maybe I should go in with you... you know, get
your back."
"Just guard the car, Mulder."
And then she was gone. Leaving him to wonder if Scully's
apparently intimate knowledge of Panchita and her wares was
something that should concern him.
He'd barely had time to work up a good worry when she was back,
handing him a grease-stained white sack and two tall, styrofoam
cups. Sliding behind the wheel, she coaxed the engine to life
with a flick of her wrist and began backing them out of the
parking lot and onto the highway, narrowly avoiding having the
end of Federman's car sliced off by a limo pulling in for a late
night snack.
Only in Malibu.
They traveled a few more miles before the sporadic buildings on
the ocean side of the drive ended. The tide bubbled in
almost to the edge of the grass separating the beach from one of
the many parking areas strewn up and down the PCH. An exchanged
glance confirmed their dinner reservation, and Scully parked
between a pair of lights, one on either side of the nearly empty
lot, their glow dimmed by years of bugs on kamikaze missions into
the hot glass.
Scully's plans for the evening hadn't included enough forethought
to bring a blanket, so eating on the sand was out. Instead, they
boosted themselves up onto the still warm hood. As his partner
unpacked their food, Mulder surveyed the area. The illumination
from the streetlights barely reached the water's edge as the
waves
crashed over each other. Dark and brooding, the ocean looked
ominous at night, capable of snatching people without a trace,
only toreturn them with the tides in weeks, months. Just in
front
of the car, unmown monkey grass danced with willowy waves in the
wind. That same breeze brought the salty ocean air to mix with
the
scent of toasted corn, sharp cheese, and peppers.
Faint laughter carried over the roar of the waves, and Mulder
could just make out the shadowy outlines of a few people flirting
with the edge of the water. They were at least a hundred yards
down the beach, and he hoped they stayed there. Sharing a
picnic
on the beach with Scully was a novelty for Mulder, and he'd be
damned if anyone ruined it.
The pointy toe of Scully's left shoe poked him in the calf.
"Mulder? Where are you?"
"Sorry..." He nodded in the direction he'd been looking. "I was
just wondering if those are the same kids we saw back at
Panchita's."
Barely giving the group a cursory glance, she waved her hand over
her shoulder as she offered her opinion. "Probably. That car
over there is the same make and model as the one we saw. There's
a Pepperdine student parking tag in the rear window and I noticed
a couple of them wearing the university sweatshirts."
Mulder chuckled as he watched her place a steaming container of
nachos and all the trimmings on the hood between them. The two
over-sized cups sat between her knees. At his laugh and
subsequent silence she raised her face to his, letting her
eyebrows ask the question.
"Very good. Anybody ever mention you'd make a great FBI agent?"
Narrowing her eyes in mock anger, she shoved his drink at him.
"Shut up and drink your margarita."
"I've never had one in a styrofoam cup, complete with straw, that
didn't come with free beads and directions to the woman most
likely to bare her breasts."
"Yes, well... Panchita's is known for the same sort of
atmosphere."
He leaned back in new appraisal. "Do tell, Ms. Scully. How
exactly did you acquire your knowledge of Malibu's finest
watering hole?"
She crossed her legs at the ankles and straightened her skirt
over her thighs. Peering up at him, she shrugged. "A group of
us came down here two or three times during my one and only year
at Berkley. Panchita's was cheap, and they weren't concerned
about little details like under-age drinkers."
"So this... group... of yours, you'd bring your food here to the
beach?"
"Sometimes, yes."
"How many people made up this group, Scully?"
Amusement threatened to bubble over as he watched her duck her
head to study the nachos. A visual inspection apparently didn't
suffice because in her next move, she stuck her index finger in
the gooey mess of melted cheese, sour cream and finely ground
chorizo, swirling it through the mixture before popping it in her
mouth. She sucked the hot delight from her finger, her eyes
rolling back in gastronomical ecstacy and a flush blooming on her
face. He'd seen that image before, and it usually had nothing to
do with food.
She was trying to distract him. This must be good.
He reached over and tugged her finger from her mouth. Slowly her
eyes opened to meet his and she grinned. Busted. And she knew
it.
"Scully? How many passed for a group back then?"
"I don't know... a few."
Hoping another taste would loosen her tongue further -- and oh,
that thought alone could do him in -- he formed a spoon with his
first two fingers and scooped up a blob of sour cream. Her mouth
opened to his silent entreaty, her tongue cradling his fingers as
she swallowed his offering. The motions drew her lips tighter
around him, and he could feel his fingers begin to tingle.
Not to mention other parts of him.
She cleaned him off with meticulous strokes of her tongue, ever
thorough as she sucked the last traces of cream from under his
fingernails. He remembered that this was supposed to be an
exercise in obtaining an answer, though at the moment he couldn't
recall the question. Oh, yes... how many.
"So... uh... was a few three or four or--"
Releasing his fingers, she sighed. "There were two of us, okay?
Me and P.J. Thomas. He was the requisite freshman relationship -
-played the romantic to the hilt, talked about houses and kids
even though he still took his clothes home for his 'mommy' to
wash. Took me a few months, but I finally came came to realize
that his blinding devotion hid his real desire... which was to
get
into my pants."
Her feet spoke of her anxiety in revealing these things, as they
waved back and forth, the edges of the soles clunking together.
Mulder covered her knee with his hand, and the nervous habit
stopped. She continued ruefully. "I suppose deep down I knew
that all along, but the sexual aspect of it was part of the
assertion of my adulthood, one of several rebellions in my life.
Eventually I'd had enough and realized I'd like a little self-
respect to go along with sex, and for it to be with someone who
loved me. I broke it off." She finished her admission and sat
up
a little straighter, adding, "Here as a matter of fact."
"Scully, you didn't bring me out here to break up with me, did
you?"
A slow shake of her head preceded a wistful smile.
"No... whatever the outcome of my relationship with P.J., I loved
this spot. I wanted to see it with the right person for a
change."
He couldn't help it -- the goofy look was back, complete with a
blush, if he wasn't mistaken. God, what an odd one he was. Five
minutes ago she was giving his fingers the blowjob of all time,
and he was seriously considering fucking her right there on the
hood in front of God and a bunch of drunken Pepperdine students.
And yet, something as simple as hearing Scully refer to him as
"the right person" left him blushing like a teenager.
She was talking about him, wasn't she?
"You are talking about me, aren't you?"
Picking up a nacho laden with artery-blockers, she held it until
he obliged and opened his mouth.
"Don't push your luck, buddy."
He pouted, so she soothed him with a kiss and another chip. For
the next few minutes they were silent, save for the moans of
appreciation brought on by their makeshift dinner. This was no
Taco Bell ninety-nine cent plate of nachos and cheese. No,
Panchita must have ground the corn fresh. Maybe even shucked it
herself. The meat and its spices had Mulder convinced it should
be investigated as a cure for clogged sinuses. Scully nixed that
idea. While tasty, the cheese, sour cream, and salsa conspired
to perform a more important function than satisfy hunger.
It dripped.
And bless Panchita's heart, she forgot to include napkins with
their order.
A blob of cheesy sour cream offended Scully's sensibilities by
spilling from Mulder's lips onto the side of his chin. Halting
his hand on its way to wipe his face, she leaned closer. Her
pointed stare flicked from his eyes to her destination and back
again. Licking her lips, she placed an open-mouthed kiss on his
skin. He felt her hot little tongue dart out and lap up the
mess, and yet she continued to taste him, trailing wet kisses
along his jaw on one side and then the other.
Tired of letting her have all the control, he moved to take a
little for himself. A gentle shove sent the remainder of their
dinner sliding off the hood. Her indignant protest died out when
he took her head in his hands and turned it to suit his mouth.
Having satiated one hunger, he feasted on her lips in the hopes
of easing another.
Minutes passed this way, with neither of them coming up to
breathe. Huffs of air passed through their noses like two
racehorses barreling around the track.
It was safe to say Mulder was aroused. Merely kissing Scully was
almost guaranteed to leave him in some stage of that condition.
Dizziness and a ringing in his ears was even known to occur.
Tonight sparks and bright flashes of light registered
between half-closed eyelids.
Wow, fireworks.
He groaned and tugged Scully further into his arms, settling back
to watch the show they were producing. Gradually he realized
there were muffled pops and bangs with most of the lights, and he
pulled away.
"Mul... Mulder?"
They'd worked up quite a sweat in a short time, even with the
brisk breeze blowing, and he had to rub his eyes to clear the fog
of perspiration and arousal. Blinking, he peered into the
darkness as Scully twisted around to follow his line of sight.
She began to turn toward him, a question poised on her lips, when
faint, gunfire-rapid pops exploded -- a quick succession of
lights against the backdrop of night. Next, two sizzles, one
after the other, heralded bursts of light as sparklers ignited.
It seemed the kids they saw earlier had moved closer and had
progressed from firewater to fireworks. He and Scully watched as
the two holding the sparklers danced circles around their friends
who dodged falling light and egged them on with their shouts. No
sooner had one stick died out, but another burst into flame in
its place.
"Mixing alcohol and pyrotechnics probably isn't the safest
choice, Mulder."
He glanced at her with a grin. "Why are you telling me that? I'm
hardly buzzed from the margarita, and any sparks around here you
helped generate."
His comment earned him an elbow in his abdomen, but he continued
undeterred.
"Besides, I remember setting off firecrackers at the beach --
those little ones that were more bang and smoke than anything."
Scully nodded. She would remember this, too.
"Samantha and I would save up our money for those weeks we spent
at the beach. Well, she mostly bought ice cream with hers, but I
let her come with me when I set mine off. Playing with fire is
so much more fun with an audience, you know."
She chuckled and twisted to rest in his arms, letting him make
his memories hers, too.
"Mom never seemed worried about turning us loose with matches and
fireworks. Maybe she trusted that I knew what I was doing. Or
maybe she knew even then that she couldn't protect us from life."
He tightened his arms around her waist when she shifted
restlessly. "Samantha would mash her hair into her ears and hold
her hands over them. I called her a baby. She'd just stand
there... her hands clamped to the sides of her head, elbows
jutting out, and her tongue blowing a raspberry at me."
"Sounds like me and Bill."
"Let me guess... he was the big baby?"
"How'd you know?"
Laughing, he rubbed his chin on the top of her satiny headband.
"Did you all have sparklers too, Scully?"
"They were Missy's favorites."
"Yeah... Samantha's, too. No matter how many she saw, she looked
at each one like it was magic."
Silence had reigned between them but a moment when Scully
straightened and stared intently at the students, whose showed no
signs of running out of ammunition. She turned and looked at
Mulder, her expression blank.
"Fireworks of any kind are illegal in the State of California."
He gave her an odd look. Before he could find his voice, she
hopped off the hood and fished her badge out of her purse under
the seat. Without a word, she took off across the grass. He
heard her curse as she stepped onto the sand and her heels sank
all the way to her ankles. Seeing her predicament as an
opportunity, he called to her as she slipped out of her shoes,
tossing them toward the car.
"Aww, c'mon... you're not going to spoil their fun, are you?
Scully?"
Resolutely ignoring him, she took long strides across the sand,
slipping and sliding as the grains shifted under her weight.
There was a full moon tonight, and while they'd sat there, the
clouds had blown away, leaving the moon to shine only on Scully.
Or so it appeared. Illuminating and projecting her so that she
wasn't just a short woman in stocking feet, her hair disobeying
the band holding it back. She reached the group, and if their
reactions were any indication, she appeared bigger than life to
those drunken fools. Just as she had for years to this sober
one. They wouldn't refuse her a thing. No one could.
But then he remembered that a great many someones had.
Shaking his head to drive away somber thoughts, he watched with
amusement as Scully brandished her badge and the fizzle went
right out of the kids' fun. She held out her hands, and they
unloaded their loot, walking away as she headed back to him.
She tossed her badge over the windshield and when he slid down,
resting his feet on the bumper, she stood between his knees.
"Look, Mulder -- Morning Glories!"
He accepted the sparkler she held out, keeping one for herself.
They were longer than regular sparklers, with a pink stick and
tissue paper covering the ignitable portion. The color of the
paper gradually faded from pink to blue at the very tip, and
wrapped around and around -- like a candy cane -- was a gold
ribbon holding it all together.
"You're an evil woman, Dana Scully... taking toys away from
children."
Flicking the lighter she also apparently confiscated, she
replied, "Life's hard."
Her unaffected mask slipped and she grinned up at him as she
stepped away.
"Ready for some magic?"
The flame from the lighter set afire first his sparkler, and then
hers. Brighter than the ones he remembered, they also burned
bigger, sending off showers of colored sparkles rather than a
fountain of white light. He enjoyed the sight for a moment, but
soon found another far more captivating. It was Scully, of
course -- her head cocked to one side as she leaned her face
close to the stick, her eyes squinted against the bright light
shooting from it. Obviously trying to puzzle out the mechanics
behind the magic, she made him laugh. Rearranging her
inquisitive face into her annoyed one, she stamped one foot.
Not nearly as effective without her clunky heels.
He snickered and moved to stand beside her, gently taking her
Morning Glory, which like his had nearly died out. A quick pitch
sent them clattering into the metal trash can a few feet away.
As Mulder crouched down to pick up the mess made of their dinner,
Scully stretched her upper body across the hood of the car,
reaching for their margarita cups. Her sheath dress rose slowly
up her thighs, and his eyes were drawn to a tantalizing patch of
skin, its temptation not lessened by the delicate nylon weave
covering it.
It's true that most men probably wouldn't find the back of a
woman's knee to be especially arousing, but then, Mulder wasn't
most men. And he didn't expect to ever get enough of Scully's
reaction when he kissed her behind the knees.
Moving swiftly before the moment was lost, he bent his head and
pressed an open-mouth kiss to the tender back of her left knee,
flicking the tip of his tongue against the delicate fabric
covering her flesh. A peal of giggles sounded from above him,
and he had to draw back and grab her leg at the same time when
reflex sent her kicking, nearly putting a kibosh to any further
romantic plans for the night.
As he stood, she spun around, still giggling through a poor
attempt at a glare. His arms encircled her waist and he drew her
close, silencing her laughter with soft kisses and gentle
caresses. She sighed as his lips moved to nuzzle the soft down
of her cheek.
"This was so nice. Just the two of us, away from everything.
Does it have to end?"
"No, not yet," he whispered. After picking up her shoes by the
little black straps, he handed them to her and held out his hand.
"Walk with me, Scully."
And so they walked -- guided by the light from the parking lamps
as far as it would reach, and beyond that by the moon. The
breeze picked up and grew cooler. Since she'd left her dress
coat in the back of the car, Mulder shed his tuxedo jacket and
engulfed her in it; her fingers barely peeking out from the
sleeves. Strolling the beach, tethered to this woman by her
thumb and two fingers encircling his index finger, and by a
lifetime of shared history crammed into seven short years, he
reconsidered Hollywood's portrayal of their relationship.
He'd been disgusted by how Federman presented the thinly veiled
version of them... horrified that what they had together would be
so trivialized and put on display for millions to see. But on
second thought, he wasn't all that sorry Joe and Joan Q. Public
wouldn't see the real them. No one would ever capture the
complexity of their relationship, and he was discovering that he
rather liked having her all to himself. Knowing that in private,
they ceased to be two agents and became just a man and a woman in
love, a marvel that was for them and them alone to enjoy.
She smiled up at him when he tucked her hand more firmly into his
and swerved toward the car.
"Let's go to the hotel, Scully. You promised earlier that I'd
get mine."
"I was talking about the nachos."
"That's what you think..."
END
Author's thanks: It's a good thing my beta readers are all
spoiler hussies, since I wrote this a month before the episode
actually aired. Thanks and all the cookies go to Laney, Lisa,
Jill, and Meg. Oodles of thanks to Kris for help with cars,
food, fireworks, and Malibu -- she's better than a search
engine. g
Special thanks goes to Sue Schramm for letting me borrow from
her fabulous "Dividends," the idea of Scully being ticklish
behind her knees and Mulder wanting to kiss her there. If you
haven't read it, *do*! She's written lots of great stories, but
this one remains my favorite. It, along with the sequel,
"Seven Year Itch," can be found at Chronicle X.
Feedback would be much appreciated at: Scullysfan@aol.com
My fanfic can be found at:
http://members.aol.com/scullysfan/myfic.html
Author: Scullysfan
Classification: SR
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Hollywood, A.D.
Distribution: Do not archive at Gossamer. I'll take care of
ATXC myself. Anyone else, *please do not archive without asking
first.* Thanks. : )
Disclaimer: The characters of Mulder and Scully are the property
of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. They are not mine and no
copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: A borrowed convertible, take-out margaritas, and
moonlight. How could it get any better?
Feedback: Any and all comments longed for at:
Scullysfan@aol.com
~~~~~~~
In the end, none of Hollywood's plastic glitz and glam held much
appeal. Maxing out the Bureau's credit card might have given
them some measure of satisfaction, Mulder thought, as he tugged
his tie loose and stuffed it in his pocket, but that kind of shit
wasn't their style. Not that he would mind seeing Scully in
that little black dress again, her arms bare and touchable, her
hair held back by a headband thingamabob he was pretty sure he'd
never seen her wear before. Thank God her hair was growing out
enough to need one.
He ran his hand back and forth over his own head until the hair
stood up in spikes, and looking to his left, he grinned.
She must have sensed him watching because she glanced in his
direction once, twice... a wide smile flooding her face. He knew
he had a goofy look on his. Flying up the Pacific Coast Highway
with Scully at the wheel of Federman's BMW convertible, so new it
begged to be spanked, made him feel goofy. She didn't mention how
she finagled the use of Federman's car, by guilt or by gun, but
Mulder bet it was spectacular.
Or maybe the man was a sucker for a beautiful face, something her
captive passenger understood all too well, at least where Scully
was concerned.
Whatever her method, she apparently intended to take full
advantage of the situation. If Mulder didn't trust her with his
life, he might have been tempted to grip the door handle for all
it was worth or practice a little passenger-side braking. The
State of California had done a commendable job lighting that
highway, but there was still something spine-tingling about
weaving in and out of traffic with a dark plunge into the ocean
on one side of them and some really unforgiving cliffs on the
other.
This was her night to call the shots, but maybe if he asked
nicely, she wouldn't mind letting him in on her plans.
"Scully, where are we going?"
"Mmmm... I don't know yet. Exactly..."
She didn't know yet. "Are you waiting for a sign?"
"Yes, actually."
"Let me guess... a choir of angels, the brightest star in the
East, or maybe something simple like neon lights spelling out
'You are here' in the clouds."
"Keep it up, Mulder, and I'm not going to share."
"What makes you think I'll want whatever it is you're gonna
offer?"
She turned to look at him again, the smile gone, her eyes dark as
the rolling clouds in the night sky. Her gaze traveled the
length of him and back again before settling on the road.
"When haven't you?"
For some time Mulder had known that a sultry woman lived
underneath Scully's conservative suits, and he took great
pleasure in her coming out to play with him. Seldom were their
games public, and never before had she blown the starting whistle
while whizzing along in the dark California night.
His hands flexed as they rested on his thighs. He glanced over
his shoulder. This little number's back seat was pretty small,
but he felt sure they could figure out something.
"Pull over, Scully."
She chuckled and reached over, squeezing his hand. "Don't worry,
you'll get yours. Besides, here's my sign."
Releasing his hand, she slowed the car and yanked the steering
wheel to the left, cutting across the highway and pulling into a
gravel parking lot. They screeched to a stop in front of a
wooden building probably dismantled several times by earthquakes,
and just as many times thrown back together. Raucous mariachi
music and spicy aromas strong enough to bring tears to Mulder's
eyes flowed out the open front door. Scully's sign from the
heavens towered over the shack masquerading as a bar and featured
a plump, mustached worm hanging over the rim of a tequila bottle.
The worm lifted a stuffed burrito in salute. Faded black
lettering across the burrito read "Panchita's Margaritas."
"This is what you were looking for?" Somehow this was not what
he expected.
She looked at the bar as if seeing an old friend again and
nodded. "I wasn't sure it would still be here, but this is
it."
"Why?"
"One taste of Panchita's nachos, and you'll understand."
Unbuckling her seatbelt, she leaned over and pecked his cheek
with a kiss. "I'll be right--"
The crash of glass meeting an ungiving wall or floor cut off her
words, and a tangle of kids stumbled their way outside. From the
looks of them, Panchita's margaritas were a hundred proof. The
kids'whooping shouts continued to drift across the tiny parking
lot as they piled into a dingy Grand Am following a scuffle over
the keys. The winner was the lone female in possession of all
her
motor skills. Pulling onto the highway, they disappeared into
the night.
A clamor of voices and laughter burst anew from inside as Scully
began to step from the car. Mulder snagged the hem of her dress.
"Wait, Scully! Maybe I should go in with you... you know, get
your back."
"Just guard the car, Mulder."
And then she was gone. Leaving him to wonder if Scully's
apparently intimate knowledge of Panchita and her wares was
something that should concern him.
He'd barely had time to work up a good worry when she was back,
handing him a grease-stained white sack and two tall, styrofoam
cups. Sliding behind the wheel, she coaxed the engine to life
with a flick of her wrist and began backing them out of the
parking lot and onto the highway, narrowly avoiding having the
end of Federman's car sliced off by a limo pulling in for a late
night snack.
Only in Malibu.
They traveled a few more miles before the sporadic buildings on
the ocean side of the drive ended. The tide bubbled in
almost to the edge of the grass separating the beach from one of
the many parking areas strewn up and down the PCH. An exchanged
glance confirmed their dinner reservation, and Scully parked
between a pair of lights, one on either side of the nearly empty
lot, their glow dimmed by years of bugs on kamikaze missions into
the hot glass.
Scully's plans for the evening hadn't included enough forethought
to bring a blanket, so eating on the sand was out. Instead, they
boosted themselves up onto the still warm hood. As his partner
unpacked their food, Mulder surveyed the area. The illumination
from the streetlights barely reached the water's edge as the
waves
crashed over each other. Dark and brooding, the ocean looked
ominous at night, capable of snatching people without a trace,
only toreturn them with the tides in weeks, months. Just in
front
of the car, unmown monkey grass danced with willowy waves in the
wind. That same breeze brought the salty ocean air to mix with
the
scent of toasted corn, sharp cheese, and peppers.
Faint laughter carried over the roar of the waves, and Mulder
could just make out the shadowy outlines of a few people flirting
with the edge of the water. They were at least a hundred yards
down the beach, and he hoped they stayed there. Sharing a
picnic
on the beach with Scully was a novelty for Mulder, and he'd be
damned if anyone ruined it.
The pointy toe of Scully's left shoe poked him in the calf.
"Mulder? Where are you?"
"Sorry..." He nodded in the direction he'd been looking. "I was
just wondering if those are the same kids we saw back at
Panchita's."
Barely giving the group a cursory glance, she waved her hand over
her shoulder as she offered her opinion. "Probably. That car
over there is the same make and model as the one we saw. There's
a Pepperdine student parking tag in the rear window and I noticed
a couple of them wearing the university sweatshirts."
Mulder chuckled as he watched her place a steaming container of
nachos and all the trimmings on the hood between them. The two
over-sized cups sat between her knees. At his laugh and
subsequent silence she raised her face to his, letting her
eyebrows ask the question.
"Very good. Anybody ever mention you'd make a great FBI agent?"
Narrowing her eyes in mock anger, she shoved his drink at him.
"Shut up and drink your margarita."
"I've never had one in a styrofoam cup, complete with straw, that
didn't come with free beads and directions to the woman most
likely to bare her breasts."
"Yes, well... Panchita's is known for the same sort of
atmosphere."
He leaned back in new appraisal. "Do tell, Ms. Scully. How
exactly did you acquire your knowledge of Malibu's finest
watering hole?"
She crossed her legs at the ankles and straightened her skirt
over her thighs. Peering up at him, she shrugged. "A group of
us came down here two or three times during my one and only year
at Berkley. Panchita's was cheap, and they weren't concerned
about little details like under-age drinkers."
"So this... group... of yours, you'd bring your food here to the
beach?"
"Sometimes, yes."
"How many people made up this group, Scully?"
Amusement threatened to bubble over as he watched her duck her
head to study the nachos. A visual inspection apparently didn't
suffice because in her next move, she stuck her index finger in
the gooey mess of melted cheese, sour cream and finely ground
chorizo, swirling it through the mixture before popping it in her
mouth. She sucked the hot delight from her finger, her eyes
rolling back in gastronomical ecstacy and a flush blooming on her
face. He'd seen that image before, and it usually had nothing to
do with food.
She was trying to distract him. This must be good.
He reached over and tugged her finger from her mouth. Slowly her
eyes opened to meet his and she grinned. Busted. And she knew
it.
"Scully? How many passed for a group back then?"
"I don't know... a few."
Hoping another taste would loosen her tongue further -- and oh,
that thought alone could do him in -- he formed a spoon with his
first two fingers and scooped up a blob of sour cream. Her mouth
opened to his silent entreaty, her tongue cradling his fingers as
she swallowed his offering. The motions drew her lips tighter
around him, and he could feel his fingers begin to tingle.
Not to mention other parts of him.
She cleaned him off with meticulous strokes of her tongue, ever
thorough as she sucked the last traces of cream from under his
fingernails. He remembered that this was supposed to be an
exercise in obtaining an answer, though at the moment he couldn't
recall the question. Oh, yes... how many.
"So... uh... was a few three or four or--"
Releasing his fingers, she sighed. "There were two of us, okay?
Me and P.J. Thomas. He was the requisite freshman relationship -
-played the romantic to the hilt, talked about houses and kids
even though he still took his clothes home for his 'mommy' to
wash. Took me a few months, but I finally came came to realize
that his blinding devotion hid his real desire... which was to
get
into my pants."
Her feet spoke of her anxiety in revealing these things, as they
waved back and forth, the edges of the soles clunking together.
Mulder covered her knee with his hand, and the nervous habit
stopped. She continued ruefully. "I suppose deep down I knew
that all along, but the sexual aspect of it was part of the
assertion of my adulthood, one of several rebellions in my life.
Eventually I'd had enough and realized I'd like a little self-
respect to go along with sex, and for it to be with someone who
loved me. I broke it off." She finished her admission and sat
up
a little straighter, adding, "Here as a matter of fact."
"Scully, you didn't bring me out here to break up with me, did
you?"
A slow shake of her head preceded a wistful smile.
"No... whatever the outcome of my relationship with P.J., I loved
this spot. I wanted to see it with the right person for a
change."
He couldn't help it -- the goofy look was back, complete with a
blush, if he wasn't mistaken. God, what an odd one he was. Five
minutes ago she was giving his fingers the blowjob of all time,
and he was seriously considering fucking her right there on the
hood in front of God and a bunch of drunken Pepperdine students.
And yet, something as simple as hearing Scully refer to him as
"the right person" left him blushing like a teenager.
She was talking about him, wasn't she?
"You are talking about me, aren't you?"
Picking up a nacho laden with artery-blockers, she held it until
he obliged and opened his mouth.
"Don't push your luck, buddy."
He pouted, so she soothed him with a kiss and another chip. For
the next few minutes they were silent, save for the moans of
appreciation brought on by their makeshift dinner. This was no
Taco Bell ninety-nine cent plate of nachos and cheese. No,
Panchita must have ground the corn fresh. Maybe even shucked it
herself. The meat and its spices had Mulder convinced it should
be investigated as a cure for clogged sinuses. Scully nixed that
idea. While tasty, the cheese, sour cream, and salsa conspired
to perform a more important function than satisfy hunger.
It dripped.
And bless Panchita's heart, she forgot to include napkins with
their order.
A blob of cheesy sour cream offended Scully's sensibilities by
spilling from Mulder's lips onto the side of his chin. Halting
his hand on its way to wipe his face, she leaned closer. Her
pointed stare flicked from his eyes to her destination and back
again. Licking her lips, she placed an open-mouthed kiss on his
skin. He felt her hot little tongue dart out and lap up the
mess, and yet she continued to taste him, trailing wet kisses
along his jaw on one side and then the other.
Tired of letting her have all the control, he moved to take a
little for himself. A gentle shove sent the remainder of their
dinner sliding off the hood. Her indignant protest died out when
he took her head in his hands and turned it to suit his mouth.
Having satiated one hunger, he feasted on her lips in the hopes
of easing another.
Minutes passed this way, with neither of them coming up to
breathe. Huffs of air passed through their noses like two
racehorses barreling around the track.
It was safe to say Mulder was aroused. Merely kissing Scully was
almost guaranteed to leave him in some stage of that condition.
Dizziness and a ringing in his ears was even known to occur.
Tonight sparks and bright flashes of light registered
between half-closed eyelids.
Wow, fireworks.
He groaned and tugged Scully further into his arms, settling back
to watch the show they were producing. Gradually he realized
there were muffled pops and bangs with most of the lights, and he
pulled away.
"Mul... Mulder?"
They'd worked up quite a sweat in a short time, even with the
brisk breeze blowing, and he had to rub his eyes to clear the fog
of perspiration and arousal. Blinking, he peered into the
darkness as Scully twisted around to follow his line of sight.
She began to turn toward him, a question poised on her lips, when
faint, gunfire-rapid pops exploded -- a quick succession of
lights against the backdrop of night. Next, two sizzles, one
after the other, heralded bursts of light as sparklers ignited.
It seemed the kids they saw earlier had moved closer and had
progressed from firewater to fireworks. He and Scully watched as
the two holding the sparklers danced circles around their friends
who dodged falling light and egged them on with their shouts. No
sooner had one stick died out, but another burst into flame in
its place.
"Mixing alcohol and pyrotechnics probably isn't the safest
choice, Mulder."
He glanced at her with a grin. "Why are you telling me that? I'm
hardly buzzed from the margarita, and any sparks around here you
helped generate."
His comment earned him an elbow in his abdomen, but he continued
undeterred.
"Besides, I remember setting off firecrackers at the beach --
those little ones that were more bang and smoke than anything."
Scully nodded. She would remember this, too.
"Samantha and I would save up our money for those weeks we spent
at the beach. Well, she mostly bought ice cream with hers, but I
let her come with me when I set mine off. Playing with fire is
so much more fun with an audience, you know."
She chuckled and twisted to rest in his arms, letting him make
his memories hers, too.
"Mom never seemed worried about turning us loose with matches and
fireworks. Maybe she trusted that I knew what I was doing. Or
maybe she knew even then that she couldn't protect us from life."
He tightened his arms around her waist when she shifted
restlessly. "Samantha would mash her hair into her ears and hold
her hands over them. I called her a baby. She'd just stand
there... her hands clamped to the sides of her head, elbows
jutting out, and her tongue blowing a raspberry at me."
"Sounds like me and Bill."
"Let me guess... he was the big baby?"
"How'd you know?"
Laughing, he rubbed his chin on the top of her satiny headband.
"Did you all have sparklers too, Scully?"
"They were Missy's favorites."
"Yeah... Samantha's, too. No matter how many she saw, she looked
at each one like it was magic."
Silence had reigned between them but a moment when Scully
straightened and stared intently at the students, whose showed no
signs of running out of ammunition. She turned and looked at
Mulder, her expression blank.
"Fireworks of any kind are illegal in the State of California."
He gave her an odd look. Before he could find his voice, she
hopped off the hood and fished her badge out of her purse under
the seat. Without a word, she took off across the grass. He
heard her curse as she stepped onto the sand and her heels sank
all the way to her ankles. Seeing her predicament as an
opportunity, he called to her as she slipped out of her shoes,
tossing them toward the car.
"Aww, c'mon... you're not going to spoil their fun, are you?
Scully?"
Resolutely ignoring him, she took long strides across the sand,
slipping and sliding as the grains shifted under her weight.
There was a full moon tonight, and while they'd sat there, the
clouds had blown away, leaving the moon to shine only on Scully.
Or so it appeared. Illuminating and projecting her so that she
wasn't just a short woman in stocking feet, her hair disobeying
the band holding it back. She reached the group, and if their
reactions were any indication, she appeared bigger than life to
those drunken fools. Just as she had for years to this sober
one. They wouldn't refuse her a thing. No one could.
But then he remembered that a great many someones had.
Shaking his head to drive away somber thoughts, he watched with
amusement as Scully brandished her badge and the fizzle went
right out of the kids' fun. She held out her hands, and they
unloaded their loot, walking away as she headed back to him.
She tossed her badge over the windshield and when he slid down,
resting his feet on the bumper, she stood between his knees.
"Look, Mulder -- Morning Glories!"
He accepted the sparkler she held out, keeping one for herself.
They were longer than regular sparklers, with a pink stick and
tissue paper covering the ignitable portion. The color of the
paper gradually faded from pink to blue at the very tip, and
wrapped around and around -- like a candy cane -- was a gold
ribbon holding it all together.
"You're an evil woman, Dana Scully... taking toys away from
children."
Flicking the lighter she also apparently confiscated, she
replied, "Life's hard."
Her unaffected mask slipped and she grinned up at him as she
stepped away.
"Ready for some magic?"
The flame from the lighter set afire first his sparkler, and then
hers. Brighter than the ones he remembered, they also burned
bigger, sending off showers of colored sparkles rather than a
fountain of white light. He enjoyed the sight for a moment, but
soon found another far more captivating. It was Scully, of
course -- her head cocked to one side as she leaned her face
close to the stick, her eyes squinted against the bright light
shooting from it. Obviously trying to puzzle out the mechanics
behind the magic, she made him laugh. Rearranging her
inquisitive face into her annoyed one, she stamped one foot.
Not nearly as effective without her clunky heels.
He snickered and moved to stand beside her, gently taking her
Morning Glory, which like his had nearly died out. A quick pitch
sent them clattering into the metal trash can a few feet away.
As Mulder crouched down to pick up the mess made of their dinner,
Scully stretched her upper body across the hood of the car,
reaching for their margarita cups. Her sheath dress rose slowly
up her thighs, and his eyes were drawn to a tantalizing patch of
skin, its temptation not lessened by the delicate nylon weave
covering it.
It's true that most men probably wouldn't find the back of a
woman's knee to be especially arousing, but then, Mulder wasn't
most men. And he didn't expect to ever get enough of Scully's
reaction when he kissed her behind the knees.
Moving swiftly before the moment was lost, he bent his head and
pressed an open-mouth kiss to the tender back of her left knee,
flicking the tip of his tongue against the delicate fabric
covering her flesh. A peal of giggles sounded from above him,
and he had to draw back and grab her leg at the same time when
reflex sent her kicking, nearly putting a kibosh to any further
romantic plans for the night.
As he stood, she spun around, still giggling through a poor
attempt at a glare. His arms encircled her waist and he drew her
close, silencing her laughter with soft kisses and gentle
caresses. She sighed as his lips moved to nuzzle the soft down
of her cheek.
"This was so nice. Just the two of us, away from everything.
Does it have to end?"
"No, not yet," he whispered. After picking up her shoes by the
little black straps, he handed them to her and held out his hand.
"Walk with me, Scully."
And so they walked -- guided by the light from the parking lamps
as far as it would reach, and beyond that by the moon. The
breeze picked up and grew cooler. Since she'd left her dress
coat in the back of the car, Mulder shed his tuxedo jacket and
engulfed her in it; her fingers barely peeking out from the
sleeves. Strolling the beach, tethered to this woman by her
thumb and two fingers encircling his index finger, and by a
lifetime of shared history crammed into seven short years, he
reconsidered Hollywood's portrayal of their relationship.
He'd been disgusted by how Federman presented the thinly veiled
version of them... horrified that what they had together would be
so trivialized and put on display for millions to see. But on
second thought, he wasn't all that sorry Joe and Joan Q. Public
wouldn't see the real them. No one would ever capture the
complexity of their relationship, and he was discovering that he
rather liked having her all to himself. Knowing that in private,
they ceased to be two agents and became just a man and a woman in
love, a marvel that was for them and them alone to enjoy.
She smiled up at him when he tucked her hand more firmly into his
and swerved toward the car.
"Let's go to the hotel, Scully. You promised earlier that I'd
get mine."
"I was talking about the nachos."
"That's what you think..."
END
Author's thanks: It's a good thing my beta readers are all
spoiler hussies, since I wrote this a month before the episode
actually aired. Thanks and all the cookies go to Laney, Lisa,
Jill, and Meg. Oodles of thanks to Kris for help with cars,
food, fireworks, and Malibu -- she's better than a search
engine. g
Special thanks goes to Sue Schramm for letting me borrow from
her fabulous "Dividends," the idea of Scully being ticklish
behind her knees and Mulder wanting to kiss her there. If you
haven't read it, *do*! She's written lots of great stories, but
this one remains my favorite. It, along with the sequel,
"Seven Year Itch," can be found at Chronicle X.
Feedback would be much appreciated at: Scullysfan@aol.com
My fanfic can be found at:
http://members.aol.com/scullysfan/myfic.html