::  An Unexpected Haunting  ::

It is absolutely ridiculous on my part to obsess about a man who I have only met once. Even it he did have such lovely eyes. Even at the height of my nighttime fantasies I suspect that those eyes are hiding something. Hid a great deal - from me and from Mulder.

Oh Mulder.

I have no idea when my partner began to annoy me more than amuse me. We’ve always had a Ying and Yang type of relationship. My analytical hard nose need for proof counter-pointing his intuitive ‘I want to believe’ acceptance of the wildest claims. For four years he has dragged me across the country looking into some of the most outlandish cases ever put to paper, many of them true and most of them unprovable.

I love him. I will always love him, but somewhere during the past year I discovered that I am no longer ‘in love’ with him, the crush that I have been nurturing has been destroyed by reality. Opposites may attract but the attraction wears thin after a while. The past month or so has been the worst and I have found myself snapping at him, playing the bitch rather than the tempering rod. I don’t really know why either because this past month hasn’t been any worse or better than previous months. But I am allowing little things to get on my nerves and I don’t like this aspect of myself.

I don’t like the fact that my life seems secondary to his. I have lost my sister because of his quest. My relationship with my family is tenuous at best. My career is at a dead end. My love life is non-existent. The last time I felt this way I got a tattoo on my back and almost killed.

He no longer stars in the dreams that I have substituted for a relationship. Relationship? Hell, I would dearly love to just get laid by a real, live man, preferably one with no connection with the FBI. An accountant would be nice. A bureaucrat would be acceptable. Particularly if he had eyes as green as…"

"Scully!" His hiss interrupts my musings and I am once again aware just how cold November in Washington can be. I am pissed that he has dragged me out on Halloween on a ‘wild ghost’ chase. "Scully, I found a way in!"

"Mulder. This is just wrong and you know it." My tone is the harsh bitch tone that he has become accustomed to lately. He ignores it and pulls me around to the back of the old, boarded up Victorian mansion set in the middle of the block that is just barely in ‘Georgetown’ proper. The surrounding houses are all dark. They should be, it’s 2:00 am on November 1^st.

His argument for breaking and entering a house we were forbidden entrance was childish and typically Mulder. "It’s haunted. I checked it out. The story is that one of the first owners of the house was murdered here on November 1, just three hours past midnight. The neighbor kids have seen his ghost." My glare resulted in a muttered. "Well, the neighbors have reported seeing lights and hearing strange cries and moans." The look on his face once would have made me sigh and enter into the game.

Now all I want is to find the break in the overgrown bushes, crawl back through the way we came and get the hell out of here before someone sees us and reports us to the cops. Skinner will love that!

The front stairs look like they wouldn’t hold the weight of a cat, let alone two grown people who should have had better things to do. The back of the house yields a porch with the stairs rotted through.

I put my hands on my hips and wait. When I see what he’s pointing at, I snap. "Are you out of your mind? If you think I’m climbing down there…"

"Hey, we’ve been in worse places." He retorts.

"Yeah, but those were always ‘viable avenues of investigation’," I sputter as he pulls up the storm cellar door. He plays the light over the steps leading to the basement. "Mulder, please." Fear joins aggravation. Everyone is entitled to stupid fears. I hate enclosed spaces and I hate spiders and their webs.

"Oh come on." Shining his light down through the cobweb covered stairs he announces senatorially "They look pretty solid to me."

"Famous last words." I snidely retort, forcing my fears down. Though, when he gestures for me to go first, I snort. "No. No. You go right ahead."

"And women wonder where all the gentlemen have gone." He mutters as he carefully makes his way down the storm cellar steps.

The basement is empty; his flashlight catches nothing that shouldn’t be there. No open graves, no red-eyed demons staring from the corner, no ‘man-eating’ plants, growing out of the foundation. The steps leading up to the first floor seem pretty solid.

The door at the top of the stairs shrieks out its protest as Mulder pushes it open and we find ourselves in a cabinet-lined hallway. At one end is a propped open door leading into a dining room. Peering through the door at the other end reveals an old-fashioned kitchen. "Butler’s pantry." Mulder explains.

Dust is everywhere. Graceful strands of gossamer drape two tarnished candlesticks. Mulder reaches out to trace his finger through the dust on a bottle of wine just sitting there. I grab his wrist. "Fingerprints!" I whisper disgustingly.

Mulder approaches the dining room, "Man, I just don’t understand why he said no." He sighs out for perhaps the twentieth time.

While he is getting his bearings, I resolutely stand there and wait. I think back on the events that have led to this ridiculous stunt. Mulder had tracked down the owner of the house through court records and deeds. Mulder further discovered that she was in Europe for six weeks. The search had kept him busy and out of my hair during a particularly long restful lull in X-File cases. I should have known that an idle Mulder was dangerous thing, but at the time I had been grateful for the peace and quite.

The son of the owner seemed like a pretty nice guy, perhaps a little uptight, a typical bureaucrat - with the most incredible green eyes. The meeting had not gone well. The office on the fifth floor wasn’t anything special. In fact, it looked as sterile as Skinner’s with the obligatory pictures of Cabinet Secretaries and Clinton. He met us at the door and politely asked if we wanted coffee. Mulder had taken an instant dislike to the man. But then Mulder either mistrusts people or bleeds for them. "I tell you, Scully, he’s hiding something?" He had insisted bitterly as we drove back to the Hoover, the refusal fresh in our ears.

As he strove to listen to Mulder’s typically rambling request, I was allowed an opportunity to study the Secretary’s assistant. He was pleasant to look at, with a very serious air about him. His hair, just beginning to show a hint of widow’s peak, looked like it wouldn’t dare muss. And, I found myself wondering what it would feel like to run my fingers through it. The dark blue suit looked like it had cost a month’s salary, but looked perfect on him. The color made his eyes seem even greener.

Most people to whom Mulder talks will invariably begin looking to me, at first for explanation and sometimes for salvation from his orations. I’ll give the guy credit; he listened intently to every detail that Mulder explained. It wasn’t until Mulder was finished that he turned his attention to me. Skinner sometimes looks at me like that, trying to judge exactly how much of the current load of bullshit I’m agreeing too. But Skinner has never, ever given me a smile that tightened my stomach.

While he took his turn to study me, he appeared to consider the request. But somehow I wasn’t surprised by his answer. "I’m sorry, Agent Mulder, Agent Scully," he seemed to force himself to look away from me, but perhaps it was just wishful thinking on my part. "Even though Mother is owner of record, my cousin has been contesting the will. We haven’t moved a thing from the house in five years. It still contains valuable antiques and breakables." He stood. "My answer has to be no."

Mulder had tried to argue. "Aren’t you even curious about the ghost?"

"No." The answer was short but amused. "Look, Agent Mulder. I know the story you’re referring to. My Great-great Uncle Obidiah was killed there. But there is no ghost."

Mulder had even tried to get a number where he could contact the mother, but he got nowhere. Mulder had stormed out, leaving me to make sure that the Secretary of State didn’t call the Attorney General in protest.

He definitely won points with me when he didn’t try to make jokes about Mulder’s enthusiasm. Mulder may be a pain in the ass, but he’s my partner. We didn’t say much, but he seemed to dissect my very soul. "Do you have a card?" His voice seemed to linger in my mind. I handed him one and he carefully positioned it in the center of his blotter, before standing, signaling the end of the meeting. Taking my hand in his, Clayton Webb held it a fraction too long. His smile was a little too intimate and suddenly I knew I would have a guest star in my continuing imaginary love life.

Footsteps overhead jar me from my pleasant reverie. Well, hell. I’m not going to stay here all night. I push away from the wall, dust off my butt and go hunting for ghosts or at least Mulder.

The dining room is right out of ‘Great Expectations.’ Like Miss Havisham’s dining room, this table is set with eight place settings, complete with serving dishes, silver candlesticks and napkin rings. All are covered in dust and cobwebs. A set designer couldn’t have done a better job. Cold air suddenly engulfs me and I yelp in alarm.

"Scully? You okay?" Mulder calls from somewhere above me.

The clicking of the expanding ductwork explains the draft and I grind out. "I’m fine, Mulder." Stepping off the heating vent I move into the living room and a ghostly cocktail party with canvas-covered guests scattered throughout the room. A grandfather clock ticking behind its white shroud is the tallest; a low couch reclines against one wall. Various shaped chairs complete the party. Heavy damask curtains cover the boarded windows and no light from my torch escapes the room. I feel something brush my face and I jump and bat away strand of a cobweb that tangles in my hair. Glancing up I see they didn’t bothered to cover the chandelier. My heart begins to match the stately tick-tock as it echoes through the room. A whisper of a sound behind me causes me to gasp and turn around, but I see nothing. I am going to kill Mulder.

I move to the front of the house and start to follow Mulder upstairs, but the door across the empty foyer draws my attention. Hesitantly, I push it open to find floor-to-ceiling bookcases covering all the walls.

Dust seems to dance in the torchlight as I study the titles on the shelves. I could spend days in this room. There are serious tomes like Durant’s ‘History of the World’ and classics by Fitzgerald, Faulkner and Williams. I spy Gore Vidal’s ‘Lincoln’ next to Studs Terkel ‘Chicago.’ There’s a whole shelf full of books by King, Clancy and Patterson.

Something begins to niggle at the back of my mind but the atmosphere is clouding my judgment. Ever since seeing Ahab after he died, I’m not sure whether people come back from death to haunt the living. I leave the library and look down the hallway. An eerie light shadows the room and I reassess my earlier resolve. Damn Mulder! The back of the house can wait. I look up the winding staircase trying to catch sight of the object of my derision. Some natural reticence on my part keeps me from calling out. But suddenly, I NEED to get the hell out of this house. With each step, my anxiety rises. Just as I reach the landing the grandfather clock in the living room bongs out the hour.

Wait just a fucking minute here! A grandfather clock has to be wound every day or so depending on the model. I finally realize what was wrong with the books in the library. What had Webb said? "The house had been unoccupied for five years?" Well, how the hell did King’s ‘Bag of Bones,’ published last year, get here?

Somewhere close by I hear "Far out…" followed by a sound of something falling.

"Mulder?" My gun is in my hand and I run up the last short flight. A hallway leads off in either direction. "Federal Agent." I call out, the tone sounding wimpy and scared even to me. But I hope whoever is in the house will take heed. Yeah, it has always worked so well in the past.

I can’t tell from which direction Mulder’s exclamation came from so I start trying doors at random. All of the doors down the right hallway are locked and they all feel solid. No way am I going to try to break them down with my shoulder. I return to the landing and hurry down the left-hand corridor and began trying those doors, each lock increasing my panic. By the time I reach the last door at the end of the corridor, I’m ready to start shooting out the locks, and let the neighbors call the cops. I would think up some excuse as to why we were here. It isn’t like I’ve never had to do it before. I twist the knob and lean against it hard. So hard that when it opens easily, I fall into the room.

Where everything downstairs was dark and covered in dust, this large spacious room is clean and neat and bright. Soft plush peach carpeting covers the floor. A huge iron filigree four-poster bed draped in soft pale material is against one wall. A seating area across the twenty-foot room contains a deep leather lounge in front of a fireplace. The fire crackles, and a log falls sending sparks against the screen.

It’s so unexpected that I get stupid and before I can react, a hand reaches out and pulls the gun from my hand. Good job, Dana! Skinner will give you a fucking medal. I try to recover, but he has stepped back out of my reach. He’s leaning against the wall, a smug grin kissing his lips. Probably not the best description I can use. He looks good. A soft heather green v-neck sweater accents his eyes, which seem to dance in the firelight. I force myself to ignore the pull between us.

"Webb! Where the hell is Mulder?" I manage to remember to be angry.

"Agent Scully. How nice of you to prove me right."

"Mr. Webb, I am only going to ask you one more time. Where is my partner?" I try for a growl.

He laughs gently at me. "You know, it would almost be worth it to see what you would do." But, he turns to go out the door. "Come with me."

He leads me back down the hall, past the landing to the other end of the hall. Reaching into his pants pocket he pulls out a key and hands it to me.

The room, not nearly as spacious as the other one, is clean and neat enough. The lights are dim but I make my partner out, lying prone on the double bed, his shoes off, and his head resting on a deep pillow. "What the hell did you do to him?" I rush to check his pulse, which is surprisingly strong and steady. There is big silly grin still on his face.

"He’s fine. He’ll sleep for at least 12 hours and when he wakes up he’ll feel great and remember the ghost. He’ll be out of our hair and safe all night."

"Why did you think you needed to keep him out of ‘our’ hair, Mr. Webb?" I stand up from the bed and approach him. My glare is cold and threatening. "Look, you’ve had your fun. You tweaked his nose. Now help me carry him down to the car and we’ll BOTH get out of your hair." I sigh. It had been such a lovely dream.

The twitch grows to a half smile. "You think this was about Mulder? You think I left that storm cellar door unlocked, sprayed everything with dust, set out all those little clues like the 1998 bottle of wine or left the grandfather clock running to ‘tweak’ Mulder?" He’s shaking his head, and the grin is gone. It feels like he can see into my soul. "You disappoint me, Dana. Or, while you sat in my office did I see something in your eyes that wasn’t really there." A spark of anger crosses his features. " Or, are you just a tease to further you partner’s cause."

Everything has been about Mulder for so long that I find it hard to think that a man would lure us here because he is attracted to me. Sometimes, I imagine that if Fox Mulder ceased to exist I would just fade away. I suspect that Webb sees this and I hate that. My retort is snide and skeptical. "You’re saying you did this so you could see me again?"

His smile wavers but he steps closer. His next words blow me away. "Are you really that surprised?" His voice is a seductive whisper. "You’re a beautiful, incredibly intelligent woman. Why wouldn’t I want to see you again."

"Yeah, right." I manage. I force logic to come out of her hiding place and manage a sarcastic little purr. "Why didn’t you just call me up and ask me out?"

His finger barely caresses my skin but I feel it all the way to my toes. "It’s complicated." He sighs.

"Indeed. I didn’t see a wife mentioned in your…" My voice trails off and I can feel the heat on my face.

"I’m flattered you checked me out." He nods graciously. "I’m not married." Instead of coming closer though he backs out of the room, forcing me to make the choice to stay with my sleeping partner or to follow him down the hallway.

A lump forms in my throat as I look back. I should stay with him, like I have done on so many occasions. He would stay with me - at least until he came up with a really good excuse to ditch me. The feeling of guilt has an odd effect on me this time – anger. And, suddenly I know I need to do something for me that has nothing to do with the X-Files. I take one last look at Mulder before closing the door.

However, the confident grin on Clayton Webb’s face will have to be dealt with. I follow him down the hallway but when we come to the landing, instead of continuing into the next hallway, I stop and put my hand on the banister leading downstairs. He raises an eyebrow and I purr. "So let me get this straight, Mr. Webb." Moonlight bathes his form and those eyes nail me with an intensity that is almost painful. "Just because there was a…a…spark between us in your office, you planned this whole elaborate seduction?"

Mulder has a nice smile. I’ve seen countless women and a few men react to it. But Clayton Webb’s smile seems to erase the darkness that I hadn’t even realized graced his face. I suspect he doesn’t smile very often. I can see the argument play out behind his eyes. "Why not. I checked you out Dana Scully. You and Mr. "The Truth is out there." I smirk in triumph. "You, I wanted to check out, but not just for the reasons you think."

"Oh really?" Suddenly, I can almost see the cigarette smoke rising above him, but I realize that it is just more dust floating in the moonlight. The incongruity of this finally sinks in and I look up. From the outside it appeared that the windows of the whole house had been boarded up but in fact, while the first floor had been cast in darkness the second floor is really quite bright in comparison. I tear my eyes from him and look out the large paladin window over the foyer. I can see there is something covering the window from the outside but I can still see out. "How?"

He shrugs again but takes the opportunity to get a little closer. "I have no idea. Some kind of special material, looks like boarded up windows on the outside but lets light in. It would be pretty awful to be cooped up here for months on end without any sunlight, wouldn’t it."

"You don’t live here…you keep…" Some FBI agent I am. I stare at him in shock and fear. "Oh my God." I whisper. He’s one of them. He has to be. Bitter disappoint kills the mood that I was just getting into.

"Hey," he whispers, "the CIA isn’t all THAT bad. Is it?"

My knees are weak. CIA? To date we’ve had no problems with the CIA. Hell, I can’t even remember any case we’ve ever worked on that caused even an inquiry from State. It all makes sense. The reason there was so little information on him. Why the office in the State Department looked so bare. I wonder if it is really his or he just used it to interview Spooky Mulder and his sidekick. "This is a safehouse?" I breathe in wonder. It’s not your mother’s and it’s not haunted." Mulder will be so disappointed.

He is so close that I can feel his breath on my cheek. "Actually it is Mother’s, somewhere down the line, but we never lived in it. As far as I know it isn’t haunted. But Mulder will still think so. See." He pulls what looks like a penlight from his pocket and aims it down the corridor. A wispy apparition appears to float just before us. "I used it to keep his attention then I sprayed him with a little concoction the boys whipped up. Smells like lilacs, puts you out instantly."

I turn and stare up into his serious eyes, the smirk nowhere to be found. I’m suddenly struck by all the trouble he went through for this. He said he sprayed everything in dust. I wonder who will have to clean it up and how he will explain it. I don’t wonder for long as his finger traces an endless circle on my wrist.

"Dana?" He whispers and I follow the sigh back to his lips. He has very soft but firm lips. The kiss is tentative. We know nothing about each other, two strangers who have met exactly one time deciding to follow through on a mere hint of attraction. But, as he deepens the kiss I realize that with the life I lead as chief nursemaid to the wonder child down the hall and the life Webb probably leads, that sometimes you have to go with your feeling and I’m really beginning to get into this feeling.

His tongue gently traces the outline of my mouth, exploring, learning, but not penetrating. There is nothing demanding in his touch. I part my lips to begin an exploration of my own. The moan that floats above us has nothing to do with ghosts. He touch is feather-light. Fingers trace up my arms and even though the pressure is slight, electricity seems to spark between us. I start to lean into him, but he moves away and our eyes meet in the moonlight. "Nice." He whispers. "As nice as I imagined it would be."

I’m not good in the language of seduction. I’ve had little practice in it. I can translate Mulder-speak into something that Skinner can understand on a report – maybe not believe, but understand. I can speak the language of medicine and converse with scientists about complex issues. But now, when I want to tell this man how good he has just made me feel, I am reduced to, "Oh, yessssss."

His smile is my reward. The green in his eyes have turned the color of rich jade. "I did plan to seduce you, Dana. I have chocolate and champagne and…"

He seems just a little nervous and that makes me feel more comfortable, bolder. "Later." I whisper and I lean in a little. This time he holds me a little tighter and the kiss is a little rougher, more demanding. His hands roam this time, caressing me through the windbreaker I had worn over the Halloween tee my niece had found for me. Jeans complete the ensemble and it isn’t quite what I would have picked had I had a little notice that tonight would be about sex and not ghosts. Webb doesn’t seem to mind.

He backs away, his hold on me a tenuous thing. Fingertips fold over fingertips and he leads me down the corridor unerringly. His eyes never leave mine. The dim light from the open door is the only illumination but he doesn’t falter. As we enter the room he hesitates, "You sure you don’t want some champagne?"

"Positive." Champagne would lead to talking and what do we have to talk about. His cases? I rather doubt it. Mine? Yeah, right.

"Good." He pulls me close and nuzzles my ear. "Tell me what makes you feel good, Dana Scully."

Whoa. It’s been so long, I hardly think ‘a new battery for my vibrator’ is what he wants to hear. I’m at a loss for words so I run my hands up his chest, desperately trying to think of what to say. What is it that turns me on?

He must sense my indecision because he kisses me again, softly and undemanding. "May I undress you, Dana?"

Oh man. I quickly do an inventory of the sexy underwear I have on. Cotton briefs and a practical bra – I suppose since they are both white that makes them matching. I swallow and nod. He pulls at the snaps of my windbreaker and I can see the effort he is making to keep from laughing at incredibly tacky shirt. "Had I known, I would have worn something a little more alluring." I sigh bitterly.

"Why? It would wind up on the floor anyway." He whispers as he pulls the tee shirt over my head. He tosses it onto a chair in the corner. I want quid pro quo, so I reach out and run my hands over his sweater again, this time rucking it up. He has a marvelous chest. Not muscle-bound but firm and inviting. As I dance my fingers through his chest hair, warm hands surround my waist, smoothing over my skin, causing a most embarrassing case of goosebumps. I decide to take the offensive and flick a nail over one of his nipples and I am rewarded by a shudder rippling through his body.

He buries his lips in my neck and I feel him working at the clasp of my bra. Is it nerves or intense desire that clinches my stomach?

"Beautiful." He sighs as he pulls the straps off my shoulders and down my arms. I have no idea where the bra ends up because he embraces me, still lightly, teasing my nipples with the skin and hair of his chest; his eyes locked on mine. His face is so intense. I can’t remember the last time when any man in my life was this focused on me. It’s intoxicating and a little frightening. He kisses me again and slowly moves me back until my thighs hit the edge of the bed. "Lie down." I shiver at the hoarse command. His smile is still seductive but his breath is becoming just a tad ragged. I sit, supporting my weight on my arms, stretched behind me, but he towers over me, still holding my gaze. I know now how deers feel as they face on- oncoming cars.

He trails just one finger of each hand over my chest, across my nipples, already pebbled and jutting out, straining for more contact. Continuing south until they rest on my jeans’ button, his hands work open each metal button of my fly. Never glancing down, he opens my button-fly jeans. I toe off my dirty tennis shoes - there are some things you don’t ask a new lover to do. I start to work at my white socks but he pushes me back before I can get them off. My jeans and underwear, somehow including the socks, join the bra. He stands back and surveys me. I should be embarrassed but the almost shy look of awe on his face leaves me breathless. He returns his gaze to mine and I hear his zipper opening, shoes thudding and change clanging as his pants hit the floor.

I lick my lips in anticipation and he looms over me, settling next me, our feet dangling over the side of the bed. A more demanding kiss, a soft hand stroking down from my throat to my breast has me drowning in the lovely feelings. Its been so damn long since anything felt this good. He begins to move down my body. Stroke followed by nip, followed by long luxurious licks. My moans fill my ears and I reach out to run my fingers through his hair. It’s much nicer than I had imagined.

His lips reach my navel and his fingers begin to play in my curls. It’s been some moments since I looked into his almost hypnotic green eyes. And with that loss of contact, my damned analytical side comes out to mess up the evening. The doctor in me knows this is wrong. After all, what do I know of this perfectly wonderful stranger? Just what he told me and what Mulder read to me from the report on Clayton Webb, Assistant to the Secretary of State. ‘Hey Scully, he went to Harvard, he was in the Olympics. Oooh, maybe you could seduce him. Says here he had his HIV test just last week. Report shows he’s clean as a whistle.’

I sit up again and gently push him away. "Wait."

The look of confusion makes him look much younger than the 38 years his file says he is. "Excuse me? Did I do something wrong?"

I try and soften the blow to his wounded pride. "You were doing just fine, I just had a flash of how dangerous this is in this day and age and then I remembered Mulder reading your file. But it isn’t your file is it, Clay?"

He sits back on his heels and glares up at me. Oh dear. Those eyes can darken in anger as well as passion. "Just what in my file has you so intrigued, Dana? And, for your information, I am an employee of the State Department – too – and my file is not falsified." I could see he was trying to remember what was in that file. "Maybe not everything is in it, but what’s there is true. What don’t you believe?"

I’m blushing now and am really embarrassed. I stand up and look down at him still crouching, kicking myself for ruining the mood. Maybe I shouldn’t even try anymore. "I’m sorry, Clay. The HIV clearance just seemed a little convenient."

He stands up then and turns away from me. "Oh. What exactly are you asking me, Dana? Did I put a false report in the file? I got back from Africa three weeks ago. It’s SOP." He turns and studies me, his eyes softening. "But, of course, you’re right. I really hadn’t planned on – I mean I do have…"

I step up to him and put my fingers on his lips. "Stop. I’m sorry. I…I…" I feel tears well in my eyes.

"Hey." He pulls me to him and I lay my head on his chest. "Do you want to stop?"

Do I? This encounter has all the earmarks of a one-night stand. But I feel the incredible tension between us. Tonight is perfect. There will be no phone calls from Mulder at 3:00 am, wanting someone to talk to because he can’t sleep. For once I’m sure my partner is safe. I’m not even sure if this will go anywhere beyond tonight, but damn it I want tonight. "You said something about champagne?"

His sigh is relieved but still a little scared. As he walks to a cabinet against the wall I admire his build. His back and his butt are as nice as his chest. Inside the armoire is an ice bucket containing a towel wrapped bottle. He pops the cork and I walk over to the long boudoir chair and sit there. He brings the bucket with the bottle and two glasses. He doesn’t seem at all uncomfortable with his nudity and I realize that I fine with mine too. Sitting next to me, he hands me the glasses to hold while he pours the bubbly liquid. "What should we toast to?" He won’t look at me. I think he’s a little scared.

"To tonight?"

We clink glasses and raise them to our lips. I smile over the rim of mine and he seems to relax a little more. I strive for a safe subject. "So tell me, Clayton Webb, son of Porter and Neville Webb, what was it like to complete at the Olympics."

We make the small talk that we should have made before taking our clothes off. He tells about the Pentathlon and Harvard. I tell him about being a navy brat, med school and Ahab. I see the sadness in his eyes when he talks about losing his father and I realize how lucky I was to have mine as long as I did. We quickly exchange the obligatory information about STD. Now I know why Tara puts up with Bill. Who really wants to deal with this? We finish the bottle of champagne and I lean into his warmth. Even with the fire, when you don’t have any clothes on it still gets chilly. "You want a robe?" He whispers into my hair.

I grin to myself before looking up into his eyes. "No, I want you." Before he can say or do anything I kneel in front of him, lifting my face to his. He takes my cheeks in his hands and this time there’s little subtly to the kiss. It is hard and demanding and I know he won’t take any crap. The next time I stop or say ‘no’ will end it – for good. I find I don’t want that. I also discover something deep inside me wants to be in control for a while. I break the kiss and when he tries to lift me up, I lean in and begin my own teasingly slow exploration. His hiss of surprise quickly changes to a groan of approval as I take first one then the other nipple between my teeth and worry them to hard little nubs. I push him until he is reclining on the lounge, my legs straddling his torso as I move slowly down.

My ass bumps against his hardened cock and I grin evilly up at him as I rub my damp folds against his belly. Lifting up, I work my way lower, trailing my tongue down the path of hair leading to his groin. It’s his turn to run his fingers through my hair and caress my cheek. And while I concentrate on my trek south, I keep glancing up to make sure he is paying attention. The jade passion has returned but I sense a reticence on his part, a holding back because of my earlier hesitation. That, I cannot allow. I kiss the insides of his thighs and he arches and almost involuntarily opens wider for me. I squeeze his scrotum and his hiss of pleasure breaks the last of his reserve.

I blow across the head of his cock and I hear a noise that almost sounds like a whimper. I worry the slit, tasting his pre-cum. "Oh lord, Dana. Oh baby, that feels so good." That’s the last articulate statement I get from him for a while. I lick and kiss and finally I take as much of him as I can. As I run my tongue along and around him he can’t help bucking slightly. I haven’t done this in a very long time and the last time doesn’t hold fond memories for me at all. But Webb is a most considerate lover. While he holds my head in his hands he doesn’t force himself on me. I’m controlling this act, this man and its empowering like I never would have believed. His salty taste isn’t unpleasant but I really don’t want to finish this way. When I feel him push my head back I release him immediately. He sits up. "Bed. Nightstand drawer. Condoms." I’ve reduced this Harvard grad to near incoherency.

I push him back and whisper. "Here. Right now." Before he can protest further, I impale myself on his shaft. Oh damn, it feels so good to be filled like this. He looks at me in amazement and wonder as I just sit above him letting wave after delicious wave wash over me.

The palms of his hands seem to hover over my nipples just barely grazing them but eliciting a response so intense that I arch forward demanding more. My groan of frustration brings a little more contact but when I rise up, almost off of him his thumbs and fingers begin to roll and pinch my fevered flesh. Keeping my eyes locked on his I hover over him, his cock head just inside my folds. Time stops for a moment and the only sounds in the room seem to be our labored breathing.

"Dana, please." For a little while, I own this man. When I plunge back down, driving my clit against his groin and his cock deep against my G-spot we both gasp at the sensation. I start to rise, but he uses my movement to his advantage and sits up, driving me down onto him again. His hands wrap around my waist drawing me tight against him. I almost don’t want to kiss him, as that will entail breaking the intense eye contact.

I wrap my legs around him and he begins to thrust up into me. The friction of his coarse pubic hair against my clit is almost unbearably wonderful. His lips begin a serious assault on my eyes, cheeks and neck before capturing my mouth with his. Before we danced a gentle waltz – now our tongues meet in a throbbing dance as old as life.

Had I really thought this room was chilly? Our bodies are slick with sweat. I can feel his fingers dig into my hips as he helps me meet each of his thrusts. That sweet tightening starts in my womb and I arch back gripping his shoulders. Somewhere in the haze I hear his groan of release. He somehow keeps me from falling and I find myself back in his embrace gasping for air.

We rest in each other’s arms until the chill becomes noticeable. "Shower?" He murmurs in my ear.

"Mmmmmmm." I agree and somehow manage to untangle myself. We stumble into the bathroom. The centerpiece of the room is an overlarge claw foot tub. He looks at it, then over at the shower stall in the corner and then at me. A quirk of his brow asks the question. I bend over and turn on the taps in the tub. "I don’t suppose you have some nice bath salts?"

He goes to a cabinet and pulls out two large towels and then rummages through several bottles before turning to offer me a choice. "Lilac?" He looks slightly aghast and since I want him in the tub with me, I shake my head. "Sandalwood?" He asks hopefully.

I pour the rich spice into the water and step in. I wait expectantly and he climbs in behind me. He trails kisses down my back as he lowers himself into the water. "Come here." He whispers. His hands guide me down in front of him and I sigh as the warmth covers us.

For a long time we just sit there. "That was incredible, Dana." He kisses my neck.

I snuggle closer, my ass once again finds his cock. It feels so good to be held like this. His hands occasionally soothe and caress. I twist my neck for furtive kisses, but mostly we just relax. When the water starts to chill, his foot stretches out and opens the hot water tap for a bit. He stretches up to a ledge and brings back a small rough loofa sponge and a bottle of bath gel.

He starts at my neck, letting me get used to the roughness. Gliding it over my shoulders, he nudges me forward so he can bathe my back. Next he pulls me back and works on my abdomen and under my breasts. I am once again feeling a tingling sensation that has more to do with his expert touch than the abrasion of the sponge. When he eases it over my now sensitive aureoles, I gasp and try to jerk away but he holds me tight. "Am I hurting you?" His husky growl sends ripples of renewed desire through me.

"No!" I whisper before demanding another kiss. By the time the sponge reaches my curls, I’m on the edge once again. He tosses the sponge to the floor so he can part my folds and as his finger begins a slow circling torture of my swollen nubbin, I’m bucking against his hand. "Oh yes. Oh, God! Don’t stop." He doesn’t. Instead. he slowly increases the pressure and I come so hard that water splashes over the sides of the tub.

He chuckles softly. "I knew you would be like this."

"Like what?" I pant.

"All wild and wanton beneath that calm exterior. You are so incredibly sexy, Dana Scully."

I sit up and maneuver around, no small task even in a tub this comfortably large, to study him. Is this just sex talk? A stock comment he makes to all the women he brings here? Is it? Does he?

He must see the questions in my eyes because he sighs. "I suppose that’s a terribly sexist thing to say." He takes a deep breath. "I read your file, Dr. Scully. I know you are a truly intelligent, even brilliant…"

I interrupt him. "I know I’m smart, Clay." I smile reassuringly. "But, it’s nice to hear someone tell me I’m sexy." I sigh and admit the truth. "I can’t remember anyone ever saying it before." At his shocked disbelieving look I just shrug. "Who has the time?"

"Ah, yes." He agrees and a look of pain replaces his shock. He arches his neck against the curve of the tub and gazes up at the ceiling. "When we’re old and all used up, do you suppose we will think it was worth giving up everything for ‘truth, justice and the American way,’ Dana?" His voice is so sad that I have to make it better some how.

Crawling up until I’m straddling him, I peer down into his face. "When I’m old and all used up, I will still remember tonight, Clayton Webb." I bestow one lingering kiss on his lips, breaking it off with a smile. "However, if we don’t get out of this tub pretty soon, you will get a preview of how I will look all wrinkled."

The chuckle that I had so liked before turns into a hearty belly laugh. I stand up and reach out my hand to him. We dry each other off and he leads me to the bed. A yawn escapes me and I snuggle down into the deep soft-topped mattress. He spoons behind me, turning off the last light in the room. Dawn is just starting to filter through the curtains. I want to sleep, but I want to make love to him again in this secret place. "How long will Mulder be out?"

He snuggles into me. "Well, let’s see. He got the full dose at around 2:30. It’s what? He glares at the clock on the nightstand. "5:45." He groans. "At least 2:30 this afternoon. Maybe longer."

I know it’s wicked of me but I’m glad he had the ingenuity to pull this off. "Clay?"

"Hmmmm?"

"A nap and then maybe we could…"

He hugs me, cupping one breast in his hand. "No maybes about it, Dana."

Home     ::    crossovers Index     ::    e-mail