MSR NC-17 (Epilogue 5/4) Desire Is Suffering.Epilogue: 5/4.  See part one for info.



	Scully slept lightly for what was left of that night, wandering fitfully
between the planes of sleep and wakefulness, opening her eyes every few hours
convinced that she had dreamed a particularly vivid and disorienting dream,
expecting to find herself alone each time.  And each time she reached our her
arms to Mulder she was immensely relieved to find him next to her, giving off
warm breath like a loaf of fresh baked bread.  
	Once near the end of the inky night she rolled on top of him, straddled him,
and sunk down on his erection before she was fully awake.  She laced her
fingers through his and rode him until she came fast and hard, then rode him
some more until he came just as forcefully, crying out in a cracked voice as he
filled her body again with his warm seed.  As he softened inside her she slid
from his hips and they muttered nearly incoherent words of love to one another
as they fell, limbs tangled, back to sleep.
	
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	Scully woke up abruptly for good at nine-thirty.  In the solid morning light
that worked its ways in around the blinds, Mulder was quite real, still
sleeping soundly next to her in bed, even snoring lightly.  She pushed some
hair from his brow, kissed his forehead and threw her feet on the floor. 
Scully tied her robe around her and made her way to the kitchen to start some
coffee.  
	As it brewed, she went into the bathroom and regarded herself in the medicine
cabinet mirror, smiling slightly, surveying the damage.  Her face and neck were
red from where Mulder’s stiff, two-day beard had abraded her skin.  Her hair
was wild.  She had a love bite just above her left clavicle she only vaguely
remembered getting, the color and shape of a strawberry.  She could feel the
muscles through her arms and torso protest as she splashed water on her face.  
	And she was late for work.  An anxious knot caught in her gut as the thought
hit her.  Life just didn’t stop because she had gotten some.  Her smile widened
at this thought, but anxiety settled in her stomach and worked on her as she
filled a mug with coffee and sunk into one of the chairs at her dining room
table.  She was unsure whether or not to call in sick to work;  she had accrued
many more sick days than she would ever use as she would be leaving the Bureau
in less than a month, but she felt hesitant about using one, almost
inexplicably.  She considered showering and slipping into a smart suit and
sneaking off to work without waking Mulder.   
	She realized that she was a little bit nervous about confronting Mulder by the
morning light.  Would he regret it?  Feel guilty?  Had she- well -taken
advantage of him when he was feeling down?  Everything had felt so right the
night before, but suddenly she was unsteady.  Was he in her bed right now,
feigning sleep, trying to avoid the morning-after awkwardness?  Had he changed
his mind about the whole thing ?  Was he, just at this moment, trying to think
of a nice way to tell her?  
	Traditionally when Mulder suffered a bout of the Mulder-jerks, Scully blew it
off  easily.  But she knew, sitting there huddling around her mug of coffee,
that this morning if cold-Mulder or mean-Mulder or distracted-Mulder were to
emerge from her bedroom, it would crush her.  And she’d spent her life to that
point trying to avoid feeling that vulnerable if she could at all help it. 
She’d trusted Mulder with her life countless times, but her heart and her body
and her dignity were another matter entirely.  Scully was so lost in her
fretting she didn’t hear Mulder’s footfalls behind her and so his arms were
encircling her and his kisses were on the back of her neck before she had
completely snapped out of her daze.
	“Got some of that for me?” he asked, taking the seat next to her, pointing to
her coffee cup. 
	He was wearing just his boxers and the same soft, stupid grin she’d noticed on
her own face earlier that morning.  His hair was even more messed up than hers;
in fact he resembled a hedgehog who’d stuck a fork in an electrical socket. 
All the fear that had built up in Scully washed away, for the moment at least.
	“I need to call Skinner and told him I was taking the day off,” Mulder said,
padding into the kitchen to pouring himself some coffee.   
	“What do you think he’ll say?”
	“He’ll say good riddance.  He’ll say take two weeks,” Mulder said, kissing
Scully on the lips before sitting down again.  “I don’t want to take the
liberty assuming you can take a day off, Scully, but I was hoping, if you
didn’t have anything pressing going on, you’d consider spending the day with
me.  You know, for old time’s sake.”
	“Old time’s sake, huh?  That makes me nervous.  Just what would we be doing
today, Mulder, if I consent to this plan?”  
	“By my count, Scully, there are lots of things we haven’t done yet.  Take your
pick.”
	She blushed and looked into her coffee, shaking her head.
	“Ah-ha,” Mulder said, “she’s a little shy in the morning.  I’ll make a note of
that.”  
	“We’ll see,” Scully said.  She stood up and took Mulder by the hand and led
him back toward her bed.  He complied, taking a final swig of his coffee before
letting himself be pulled away.  She was hungry for warm cinnamon buns straight
from the oven, but she needed more Mulder first.  
	He settled himself again in bed as they each called in sick to work.  Scully
hung up and turned around to face Mulder, sliding her robe from her shoulders
and tossing it over the chair where their pants still hung.  She was naked when
she climbed into bed, and his eyes were huge and dark and all over her. 
Mulder.  Her lover.  Unbelievable.  
	“Agent Scully,” Mulder said when she was pressed against him, “you seem to
have a suffered a subdural hemotoma, commonly referred to in junior high
vernacular as a hickey.”  He was tracing its outline against the tender flesh
of her neck with his index finger.
	“Yes,” she said, “I noticed that.  How do you suppose that got there?”
	“Dunno,” he said.  His lips were brushing her ear and he was whispering so low
and close that a current ran through her body each time he spoke.  “Guess we’ll
have to open an X-File.”
	“Later, Mulder,” she said, her voice rough again with desire, “it can wait.”


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That’s all.  Hope you liked it.  Comments welcome to my e-mail: dar1480@aol.com
		  



Darwin
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