Dormi Con Mi Socio by T Bishop Rated: NC-17 Category: MSR Disclaimer: Any resemblance to the characters created by Chris Carter are purely intentional. Summary: Translation is roughly 'I Slept With My Partner' or so I am told. I took French in college, not Spanish. That said, I think the title pretty much gives it all away. Author's Note: While this fic can be read as a stand alone piece, it was written as a prologue to a story Char Chaffin and I wrote titled ONE-UPMANSHIP. Feedback: Please send it to my NEW addy - tbishop27@mindspring.com Thanks to David and Shoshana, Shell, Tess and my Smut-sis Char for inspiration, support and beta. And to Jess for the title. And, as always, to Grasshopper for keeping up the archive. You can find all my stories archived at The Literary G-Spot http://members.xoom.com/arcticfox42/Tbishop.htm or try The Literary G-Spot Mirror http://tbishop.freeservers.com/ DORMI CON MI SOCIO "Morning, Sunshine." Oh my God... my head. What have I done to myself...? What have I done? Look at the grin on his face. How can Mulder be so bright-eyed and happy after all the drinking we did last night... after... last night! OH MY GOD! LAST NIGHT - MULDER! When he sees the realization hit me, my partner chuckles softly and casually brushes a few wisps of hair out of my eyes, as if waking up in bed together was something we'd been doing all our lives. I SLEPT WITH MY PARTNER!!! It's all flooding back into my hangover-fogged memory in a dizzying rush. What happened last night... the tequila, my pathetic blubbering, our confessions that we both had felt something much deeper than friendship for one another for quite some time... yeah, yeah, love... It's okay to admit that now, I suppose. God, I'm lying here naked with the man, the scent of our lovemaking oozing from my every pore, sore as hell and not one bit sorry for it... yeah, I guess it's okay to concede it now. "I love you, Mulder." I surprise myself as the words tumble out of my mouth. Saying it out loud, hearing myself acknowledge the feelings I've kept buried for so long, fills me with apprehension. What if last night was merely the result of too much alcohol? What if Mulder was only being sweet to me because of the state I was in? God, I really made an ass of myself, crying like a baby; blithering on about how my life wasn't at all what I wanted it to be, how tired I was of being alone, how much I hated that the best years of my life were quickly passing me by, whining about being unable to have children - lamenting my past relationships with men... It's a wonder he didn't throw me out. I don't know where all that came from - alcohol usually puts me in a good mood. But this time... after working the Roberts case nonstop for seventy-two hours, the perp taunting us with victim after victim, only to take his own life minutes before we tracked down his whereabouts and moved in for the arrest... It was too much, and we both suddenly found ourselves intrigued as hell with the idea of getting numb and forgetting all those mutilated bodies that marked the whole horrible fiasco. Forgetting our complete failure... a rarity, but it DOES occasionally happen, even to us. We're pathetic when we lose on a case. And we lost big time on this one. So when Mulder suggested the idea of going to his place and drinking until we passed out, I told him it was probably the most brilliant idea he'd ever had. Little did I know how truly brilliant it was. The alcohol quickly affected our exhausted bodies, and we let go of the usual thin barrier of propriety that defined our professional relationship. The more comfortable we got, the more difficult it was to conceal my affection for my partner - tequila makes me horny as hell. I tried to control my feelings and wound up seriously frustrated, which is what led to the crying... and all that complaining about my life... which led to Mulder's attempts at comforting me, which really made me want him even more... and then, before I even realized what was happening, we were both in each other's arms and all I could think of was what it might be like to make love to him. I could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of his dress shirt... and that wasn't all I could feel. I was sitting in his lap and Mulder's body was making a very prominent and impressive statement about his own desires... a statement that was pressing hard into my backside. When I shifted a little, he groaned and bit his lip. Then he said, "Um, Scully... I have a confession." To which I responded, "Me too," before he ever got a chance to tell me what it was he wanted to confess. Then we just sat there for the longest time, staring into each other's eyes, both of us trying to work up the courage to go first. When suddenly Mulder found his nerve - or maybe he just couldn't take the way I was squirming against the bulge in his slacks anymore; because he let it all out in a rush... the fact that he wanted more... that he wanted me... that this was something that had been building slowly over the years and he wasn't sure how much longer he could ignore it. I jumped in then with both feet, telling him how much I wanted him too, and what a struggle it was to try to continue to deny the feelings I was having for him... And then with a gulp I said, "So what do we do about this?" He shrugged, a little embarrassed. But Mulder being Mulder, he couldn't resist adding, "I've got a few ideas," with that devilish grin of his. I quirked a brow in invitation, which he answered by lifting me in his arms and carrying me off to his bedroom like a scene from a movie. Okay, it took him a couple of attempts to get to his feet - we'd drained nearly two bottles of tequila by this point, and he staggered rather than walked, stubbing his toe on the corner of the bed to boot, calling out a stream of curses into the darkness, but to me it was the most romantic moment of my life. Mulder was carrying me off to his bed... FINALLY. He turned on a dim lamp, enough that we could see what we were doing, but not so bright that I felt uncomfortable undressing for him. Still, my hands were trembling in nervous anticipation as I fumbled with the buttons of my blouse, and Mulder graciously came to my rescue, moving slowly, one button at a time until the task was done. I shrugged out of my shirt, giggling at the precious expression on his face. You'd think the man had never seen breasts before. My bra came off next, and when I had bared myself to him, Mulder wasted no time moving in. The first moment his mouth came in contact with my nipple, the wet heat of his tongue sliding over a part of my anatomy that hadn't seen any action in quite some time, I let out such a gasp that he drew back in surprise, meeting my eyes with a worried glance. "It's been a while," I laughed, anxious as hell and giddy from the alcohol. "I'll take it slow," he promised me, and I shivered at the seductive tone his voice had taken on. Mulder as my lover - this was going to require some getting used to. I'd told myself for far too long that it would never happen, that we were partners and close friends, but so much time had gone by that exponentially it seemed more likely with each passing day we would never be more than that to each other. I should have known better. If my years with Mulder have taught me nothing else, they've taught me to believe in extreme possibilities. Maybe a part of me always did believe. Maybe that's why I couldn't bring myself to get involved with anyone else all these years. It took us a while to get fully undressed. For the longest time we just lay back on the bed holding each other, cuddling, whispering reassurances as we tentatively explored this new territory together. I was much more timid with Mulder than I'd ever been with any other man, and he was hesitant, uncertain whether he should touch me here, or kiss me there. We were clumsy, bumping noses and teeth as we kissed - nervously laughing at our own awkwardness. I was so uptight - just couldn't make myself relax, and Mulder seemed unsure of himself like I've never seen him before. And so it happened. We made love. Even though my brain was functioning on fairly high octane, I'll never forget what it felt like when he entered me for the first time. So perfect. So right. It took everything I had not to start crying all over again. I've had a few men in my life, but I can't recall ever having this feeling that I had when Mulder was inside of me. I felt complete, whole, like I'd just been given the answer to a question I'd been asking all my life. Riddle solved. This is the one. But I knew that. Somehow, I'd always known. Mulder is an incredible lover - of course, it takes two to tango, as they say, and I was a little out of step. Try as he might, and hoo boy did the man ever try, it just wasn't going to happen for me. I felt terrible about it, because I knew he was blaming himself, but I couldn't get off. It occurred to me to fake it; I've been guilty of that in the past, but ultimately I couldn't bring myself to deceive him in our most intimate moment. I held him and kissed him and tried to tell him that it really didn't matter to me, that it wasn't his fault, that it had been so long for me that I'd probably forgotten how. He started laughing at that. And then so did I. And soon it began to feel more like US. Like Mulder and Scully laughing it up - despite the fact that we were naked and in bed together, and that what had struck us both as so amusing was my inability to reach orgasm. We laughed until it hurt. But it was a great release of tension, apparently just what I needed, because we were soon at it again and this time... this time Mulder let me lead. Our movements became more frantic, and as I gave Mulder my own special version of a lap dance, I suddenly found myself overwhelmed with the most intensely powerful climax I'd ever known. We were amazing together. I did things with Mulder I'd never done with anyone before, but it was okay, I trusted him, and he gave me a night of passion that I will never forget. But now it's morning. I can't help but wonder what truth the light of day will reveal. I'm scared. I admit it. With all that happened between us last night, we never said the words. And now I've just put it all on the line. If he doesn't say he loves me back, I'll be crushed. God, why... why did I put this kind of pressure on him first thing? Why couldn't I have said 'Good morning' and let him decide where to go from there? Maybe because we have a tendency to deny these things between us. Maybe I'm afraid this will be like the time we almost kissed in his hallway, or the kiss we had on New Year's, moments in time we shared but never mentioned again. I don't want to walk away from this pretending that it never happened. Please, God, let him say it back... XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX She's so beautiful when she's nervous. Hell, this woman is beautiful no matter what. I've seen her in practically every conceivable (and a few utterly inconceivable) situation over the years, and Scully's beauty never fails her. Even the shade of blue she's turning right now from holding her breath waiting for my reply - it becomes her. "Scully, relax. My love is something you never have to doubt. You have my heart. It's yours and yours alone. I'm sorry I didn't say it last night. I've been lying here for the past hour waiting for you to wake up so I could tell you just how much I do love you." She's damn cute when she's trying not to cry too. "Oh God," she manages a whisper, choked with unshed tears. Then my five-foot-practically-nothing partner knocks me flat on my back as she throws her arms around my neck and hugs me like there's no tomorrow. I can't really breathe with the hold she's got on me, but I'm sure as hell not going to complain. My beautiful naked partner just threw herself at me, who needs air? ScullyErotic asphyxiation - it's not such a bad way to go... But now that I have so much more reason to live, I think a little air might be a good idea. "Scu... Scul..." I try in vain to get her attention verbally, but can't find enough air to force the words out, so I reluctantly pry myself free from her death hug. She looks at me with a worried face... a 'beautiful' worried face. "Either I'm going to have to develop the ability to hold my breath for extended periods of time, Scully, or you're going to have to learn to be a little less enthusiastic with the hugs." "So what you're saying is, I take your breath away?" She grins at me, a fleck of mischief sparkling in her blue eyes. My partner, the woman who saves me on a daily basis in a million different ways, my best friend and confidant, my touchstone, my constant - now, my lover... my Scully... YES, you take my breath away, like no one else ever has. I tell her this without speaking, and she understands, I know she does. For she answers me back, not with words, but with the most tender of kisses, her lips barely caressing mine until I can't stand it anymore and I devour the sweet delicacy she has baited me with. Her tiny body pressed close to mine, I run my hands over baby soft skin, marveling at the toned muscles that lie underneath her silkiness. She shivers as I trace only the tips of my fingers across her lower back. I will never rest my hand there again without thinking of this moment, and how incredible it feels to hold her warm naked body in my arms, our tongues wrestling passionately as our kissing becomes more heated. Scully reaches a hand between us, finding my cock and squeezing with just enough pressure to drive me halfway to insane. Breaking our kiss, she moves down my body, the stare of a seductress looking back at me; and I lose what little sanity I had left when my partner sets to work giving me the most unbelievably hot blow I've ever experienced. Jesus Christ! This woman is going to be the death of me yet. I thought nothing could ever compare to what happened between us last night, but Scully seems determined to prove me wrong. And this is one time I don't mind having my theory debunked by my partner. It occurs to me as I lie helpless against the mattress, a hostage of the enigmatic Dr. Scully's skilled hands and talented mouth, that despite what we might try to tell ourselves, everything has now changed for us. I will never again find the strength to quell my passion for her. Nor will I be able to compartmentalize our relationship, seeing her as my partner by day and lover by night. This image of her tongue sliding over my pulsing erection will not fade from memory when I walk through the doors of the Hoover Building. And I will not put aside thoughts of our lovemaking as we work side by side on a case. And from this day forward, my partner will be at my mercy, because I now know exactly what it takes to make her scream, and just which places on her body ignite the fire within her. Dana Scully is mine, and I will never let her go. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX "Damn, woman," I pant hard, my body actually trembling with exhaustion as I flop back against the bed. We've been going at it most of the morning and as much as I hate to admit it, I'm completely spent. Thankfully, Scully seems finished as well. I haven't had this much sex since Phoebe, and I was a much younger man back then... and Phoebe never gave me the kind of smile Scully is giving me right now... and I never NEEDED Phoebe the way I need Scully... I've never needed ANY woman the way I need Scully. The depth of my feelings for her scare me like nothing else ever has. I've been in love before, but not like this. Scully owns my very soul. Giving her my body is purely symbolic; everything that I am is already hers. "Mulder," she mumbles, her face half buried in a pillow. I reach out a rubbery arm in her direction and she grabs my hand. Then amazingly she finds strength left in her body to lift her head and look into my eyes. "I want it to always be like this between us. This passion, I don't want to lose it." Like I said, she's going to be the death of me. "I'll start working out at the gym, Scully." She laughs at my joke. And for the first time since I've known her, her girlish laughter doesn't strike me as odd. Before, that happy giggle always seemed out of place coming from her, from the serious features and disciplined persona of Agent Scully. But now that she has finally let me know all of her, it seems to fit quite well with the woman she has revealed herself to be. "Mulder," she chides, a bit of a blush tinting her cheeks. "I didn't mean I wanted or expected a marathon performance every time. I just don't want us to settle into a tired routine and have the sex become boring. I want to keep the passion alive. I want it to always be spectacular between us." "I can't imagine sex with you ever being boring." "Now, you can't. But what about a year from now, or five or ten? ...Mulder, let's swear to each other that we won't lose the fire, that somehow we'll always find a way to keep things hot between us." "My word of honor, Scully." Hell, after last night and this morning, I'll promise this woman anything her little heart desires. If she asked for the moon I'd find a way to make it hers. "Mine too." She smiles at me, and we seal the deal with a kiss. For several minutes she is quiet, laying still in my arms, and I'm starting to drift off to sleep when suddenly the sound of her voice startles me back awake. "I read a story once about a couple who kept things hot in their relationship by playing this game." She lazily traces one fingernail in swirling patterns over my chest as she explains. "They took turns setting each other up to have sex in places and ways that were always new and exciting. They would actually try to outdo each other. We could play that game too, Mulder." "A little sexual one-upmanship, huh? Okay, you're on." How can I lose? End... and the beginning of a new chapter: Continued in "One-upmanship", by Char Chaffin and T Bishop ~Life is too short to drink bad wine~