"Umbra" 14/?
			       By Dawson E. Rambo

Disclaimer : Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner and any
other tangentially mentioned characters created by Chris Carter
remain his copyrighted property, the property of 1013 Productions,
and the property of Fox Television, a unit of 20th Century Fox,
Inc. No infringement of any copyright is intended. Characters
created by the author remain his property.

Original Post  :  June 2, 1997
Archive Entry  :  Book I, Chapter 14
Classification :  Action Adventure, MSR+++
Rating	       :  NC17 (Adult Themes, nudity, sexual contact)
Notes	       :  Some nudity, EXTREME sexual contact. :)
Antishipper    :  1 on a scale of 1-10.
Shipper	       :  10 on a scale of 1-10.
Casting	       :  Val Kilmer "Commander Matthew Stone"
Timeline       :  4th year, prior to anything having to do with cancer.

Preface: Ok, I'll admit it. I have been shamlessly badgered via email
for the last two days about this. There have been those that have
argued that the tease should last forever, and those that want the
tease ended post-haste. This is my attempt to appease both ends of
the spectrum. So, sexual contact ahead -- just not what you might
expect. Kiddies: Go away. This is not for you. This is a depiction
of two loving adults expressing intimacy and deep, heartfelt caring
for each other. Go watch some MTV or a violent, blood-splattered
movie. God knows you shouldn't actually see love.

Anti-shippers: Go 'way. Now.
Shippers: Rejoice.

Enjoy!
====================================================================
Oahu Holiday Inn
Oahu, Hawaii
Penthouse Suite
0430 Hours Local Time (1630 UT)

	Mulder snapped awake, his mind in a thousand pieces. He struggled
to remember where he was, what he was doing, and who he was doing it
with. His body told him several things at once; he was in a bed, not on
the familiar couch in his apartment. He was somewhere near the ocean; he
could smell the salt air.
	And he was not alone.
	In that terrifying moment before reality flooded back into his
mind, Mulder was certain that it was Kristen next to him, that she would
roll over at any moment and reveal long, white, glistening fangs, that
she would start moving towards him slowly, her gaze snaring him, a tiny
animal caught in the sights of a hunter...
	Or that it was Phoebe, that she had somehow found him and
kidnapped him and taken him to this place, whatever this place was, and
that she was getting ready to play another nameless mind game on him,
that she would point and laugh at him when he tried to tell her how he
felt, that she would make fun of his attempts to communicate the depths
of his emotions towards her-
	And then reality did flood back into Mulder's mind, and he knew
where he was, why he was there, and lastly, gratefully, who he was with.
	He moved slowly, shifting position slightly on the bed. He was on
his back, and Scully was against him, the blue silk of her pajama top
soft and smooth against his skin. Her head was against his chest, her
arm casually tossed across his hip. Her soft, gentle breathing told
Mulder he hadn't awakened her.
	The fact that he hadn't been awakened by a nightmare didn't escape
him. He struggled to remember the last nightmare he'd had. Last night,
they'd spent together in Connecticut. The night before that, her
apartment. Three nights in a row, they'd...slept together. Odd how that
phrase had taken on a whole new meaning with Scully. He fought the soft
laugh he felt swelling in his gut; most words took on a whole new
meaning when applied to Scully, and most especially when applied to the
both of them.
	Take love, for instance.
	As defined by her, and him, he thought, love was anything but the
typical definition. The love they had for each other manifested itself
in so many different ways that it was impossible to count them all. He
thought of all the times she had looked at him with an expression he had
now, finally, begun to understand. If only, he thought, if only I'd
understood what it really meant all those years ago. Equal parts
protectiveness, bemusement, admiration and deep, heartfelt...what?
	Attraction?
	Perhaps. Part of Mulder's ego would like to believe that Scully
had fallen for him the moment she'd entered his office four years ago. A
large part, truth be told. But he also knew, deep in a part of himself
that he rarely visited, that it had taken weeks, months, even years for
the love to take root and grow. The shared experiences of the X-files,
the glue that held he and Scully together had taken a while to set, to
bond, and even longer to strengthen to the point it was out now. There'd
been tests along the ways, horrible, evil tests that had stretched the
bond to the breaking point.
	But they had remained together through it all. Through more than
most couples ever experienced, he thought.
	Couple?
	Is that what we are? he thought. A couple? Somehow, the word
evoked images of white picket fences and walks through a park filled
with laughing, running and jumping children. It most certainly did not
invoke images of what the two of them did represent. A team. A dynamic
duo, to turn a phrase. The two of them against the rest of the world.
And even though the score was World 60, Mulder and Scully...what? Ten?
Twelve? More often then not, Mulder thought, he and Scully fought the
demons of the world to a draw. There had been so few clear victories.
Pfaster was one. A close call, a game won at the final buzzer, a
fadeaway jumpshot in the guise of a SWAT team kicking in the door and
rescuing a shaking, scared Scully from the clutches of that...madman.
	"Escalating fetishist." That was the phrase Mulder's dry
psychologists' mind had dreamt up. It sounded so clinical, so...remote.
But a madman was what Pfaster had been.
	We're not a couple, Mulder thought. We may be together, but we're
not a damn couple.
	Scully shifted, pulling herself against him just a little more
tightly. His arm was around her back, and he encouraged her movement. In
her dreams, Scully lifted her head a fraction of an inch and placed a
soft, dry kiss against his chest, two inches from his left nipple. He
saw the smile on her face, the contentment, and he smiled at the
darkness, feeling the familiar ache in his chest every time he saw her
face.
	Once, a long time ago, it had been an empty, hollow ache, a
feeling of...well, not exactly loss, but of hunger, of desire, of
wanting and knowing that the object of the want was not obtainable. One
day soon they would talk about days past, about when it had started for
the both of them, when the feelings had slowly begun to shift from
friendly partners to something more, something deeper, something more
meaningful and powerful.
	Scully sighed in her sleep and rolled over, giving Mulder her
back. He smiled in the darkness and moved against her, snuggling his
body into the curve of her back, the slope of her buttocks. She felt him
there, his warmth, his presence in her dreams and she pressed back
against him, pressing her body even closer.
	His hand slid over her hip, under her top, to that comfortable,
familiar spot. His fingers spread, Mulder thought about sliding his hand
up, about discovering for himself the secrets of her body. He knew he
could; he knew that if he started slowly, carefully, he could arouse
Scully in her sleep, excite her to the point where she would turn and
welcome him into her, welcome his touch in her most secret, private
places. The ache he felt, the need that burned inside him threatened to
overwhelm his control, and he fought it.
	Mulder knew that he probably was not going to fall asleep again
that night. The four hours he'd managed to squeeze out while entwined in
her arms was all that he needed, and knowing how used his body had
gotten to working with such little rest, he was all but sure that sleep
would not take him again that night.
	He was wrong.

				       ***

	Scully felt Mulder pressing against her back, and she smiled into
the pillow. She twisted her arm just a little, studying the luminescent
hands of her watch. Almost five am. The sun would be coming up soon,
rising above the ocean like a Phoenix out of the ashes of yesterday. It
was a new day, she thought, a new beginning for so many things.
	Mulder was snoring softly, and the sound was music to her ears. He
got such little rest, so little actual sleep, she was loathe to wake
him. She stretched slightly, letting the muscles in her back and legs
tense for just a minute, reveling in the answering shiver. Mulder's arms
tightened around her as he slept, and she smiled wider, taking as much
warmth as she was giving.
	Moving slowly, Scully twisted in his arms, bringing herself around
to face him. She remembered this exact position on her couch, taking
those first few quiet moments of that morning to study the face of the
man she...
	What?
	The word had crept into her mind on the plane ride out. He had
looked at her with those depthless eyes and she had heard the word
spoken in her mind with the clarity of a bell.
	Love.
	The man she loved.
	How could she have been that blind? Matthew Stone, of the chiseled
chin and ice-blue eyes. Stone, the man with the face of a movie star and
the soul of a killer. Yes, his attentions had been welcome, before he
had made his intentions known. But that was forgotten now, for the most
part. She was in the arms of the only man she was ever meant to be with,
and she knew it.
	Four hours sleep was enough, Scully thought. They would have to
rise in another hour or so and greet the new day. They would have to
make their way onto another military base, find another submarine, and
conduct another interview to try and unravel this mystery. The more
Scully thought about it, the more she was convinced that Stone knew more
than he had told, that he was hiding something. And once she and Mulder
discovered what that piece was, what the critical, missing puzzle
segment was, she would own that arrogant SOB's ass.
	Scully slid her arm across Mulder's chest, and then down his body,
towards his abdomen. Turning her face, she could see the evidence of his
masculinity pressing against the material of his boxers. Her fingers
slid along the elastic waistband as she thought about sliding her hand
further inside. Just a quick touch, she thought. Men have been copping
cheap feels for years!
	Her fingers inched lower, slowly.
	"Lose something?"
	His voice in the quiet room startled her, and she drew her hand
back as if burned. Caught! she thought, and grinned.
	"Maybe. Maybe I found something," she answered.
	He said nothing, but she could almost hear his thoughts. Not yet,
Scully. Not just quite yet.
	"When?" she asked, and she felt him smile.
	His answer was direct, honest, brutal. All Mulder. "I don't know.
I want you...you must know that."
	She turned to him, her eyes bright in the early-morning light. "Of
course I do," she said warmly, letting the smile reach her eyes. "I've
known that for years, Mulder."
	It was a challenge, he saw, an opening. A way to talk about what
they had been avoiding for days. He moved slightly putting some space
between them. Wordlessly, his hands moved to her top, his fingers
quickly unfastening the buttons. When he was done, only gravity kept it
shut.
	"Show me yours..." he whispered, the grin on his face teasing,
playful.
	"Can we?" Scully asked, the unspoken part of the question loud in
the room. Can we trust ourselves? Can we stop?
	"How can we not?" he whispered, his voice thick, hungry.
	"Tell me," she said softly.
	His hand moved to her top, lifting it away from her body, draping
it over her back, revealing her to his gaze. His hand moved to her face,
cupping her cheek, his finger tracing the outline of her features and
then sliding lower, memorizing her skin. His finger slid through the
valley of her breasts, seeking the silken skin of her. "I'm not good at
finding the words..." he started.
	"Don't worry about it, Mulder...let your heart speak the words."
Ooh, Scully thought. Nice. Have to remember that one.
	"Your body is a sacred place to me," he whispered softly. "The
only church I ever want to attend." Scully had a sudden ugly thought;
this was not the first time he had spoken these words, and she thought
she knew who he had spoken them to.
	He felt her tense, saw the look of pain and fear in her eyes, and
he knew her thoughts. Hurt, he hurried to explain.
	"No, Scully...I may have said them before, but no one's ever heard
them except me."
	Her eyebrow asked the question.
	"To you, when you weren't there. A picture of you I carry in my
heart. A smile you once gave me. A laugh I once heard. I tried to tell
that image first, so when the time came to tell you the words would
seem...real. Natural. Comfortable."
	Scully relaxed at his words, knowing they were the truth. Her hand
found his face. "God, Mulder...I have wanted this for so long-"
	"We both have."
	She smiled. "Let me finish."
	"Go ahead."
	She felt like slugging him, sometimes. But not this morning, not
now. They were so far from Washington, so far from that basement office,
not just in miles, but in distance traveled. Emotional distance, a
separation that had once seemed so great as to be a chasm incapable of
being crossed. But they had come so far, again in miles, and distance.
	Her hand stroked his face. "I know what you're trying to say,
Mulder. I know you want to touch me, and I want you to. I know you want
to make love with me...I've known that for months, years." She smiled,
tempering her next words with love and care. "But I don't want to hear
about that; that's expected, Mulder. There will be a time for the soft
platitudes of love, the gentle words spoken in a warm bed. I need more,
Mulder."
	His frown wasn't out of anger, or fear, or hurt. It was out of
curiosity.
	"Mulder..." Scully started, trying to find the words. It was such
a hard thing to speak of. How do you ask a man to tell you why he loves
you? How do you ask such a question without sounding pathetic? But she
needed the words, needed to know why he loved her so, and she had no
doubt that he did.
	"Do you know why I always ditch you?" he asked, a smile in his
voice.
	She shook her head, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.
        "Because...well, it's not because I don't think you're my equal.
Scully...I'd have to work UP to be your equal. And it's not because I
don't think you can handle yourself. I've never had a more capable
partner."
	"Then why?" she asked, hating herself for the pleading tone she
heard in her voice.
	"Because...Samantha." He paused, trying to find the words. "I
couldn't protect her." His voice dropped, so soft and quiet that Scully
had to strain to hear it. "I can protect you."
	Scully sighed. Even in his overwhelming arrogance, he touched her.
"And do you know why I get so angry when you ditch me?"
	Mulder shook his head.
	"Because of Missy. Same reason, Mulder. I couldn't save Missy. I
wasn't there for her when she needed me. I need to be there for you when
you need me." His chest heaved as he took a breath, a breath she knew
that would be filled with words of debate, of explanation.
	"No. Let me finish."
	He let the breath out, a long, heavy sigh.
	"I know what you were going to say, Mulder. You were going to say
that you need me on the outside, ready to bail you out, to save your ass
when you get it wedged so deeply in those cracks you manage to find on
practically every single case we handle." She moved her other hand to
his face, her thumbs digging into his cheekbones, pulling his gaze to
hers, making him see her eyes as she spoke. "I need to be there with
you, Mulder, in the cracks. I need to be by your side when you get
yourself into trouble." Her gaze softened, moving from demanding to a
silent plea for understanding, for agreement. "Do you understand,
Mulder?"
	His mouth moved towards hers. She opened her mouth, taking his
breath inside her, feeling the gentle press of him against her. Her top
parted, and they were skin to skin, and it burned where they touched.
The kiss deepened, lengthened and Scully had trouble discovering where
she ended and he began; two had become one, a single soul shared in two
bodies.
	They parted, both of them gulping for air.
        "Touch me," she pleaded. "Please, Mulder...touch me...." His hand
slid lower, tracing the outline of her hip, and then cut inside, heading
for the juncture of her thighs. She felt his sure, gentle touch, and she
threw a leg over his hip, opening herself for him.
	His fingers were knowledgeable, certain. They crawled through the
curly hairs, seeking her center. He was undemanding, patient,
exquisitely gentle, tracing the shape of her there, her outline, before
sliding one exciting, exploring finger inside.
	The penetration was incredible; Scully saw stars as she gasped.
His finger was thick, masculine, possessive. He claimed her as his own
and she went gratefully, losing herself in his need. His finger moved,
stroking, finding her most sensitive spots seemingly without effort and
she gasped, her hands dropping from his face to his arm, clutching him,
pulling his hand against her, needing the hot, hard contact of his heel
against her center. She moved, arching her hips towards him, needing
more contact, more hot, hard, Mulder contact.
	So long, a portion of her mind thought. So long since anyone has
made me feel this way. So long since another has touched me. Garden, she
thought, the word sticking in her mind. Secret garden. And then all
rational thought left her as Mulder's touch took her higher and farther
than she'd ever been; no one had ever touched her exactly like this. No
one had ever been able to excite her this way.
	With a small grunt of intense pleasure, Scully teetered over the
abyss and then she dissolved into it, feeling the ecstasy detonating in
her belly, her groin, her chest. Her nipples tightened into hot, hard
points, digging channels of pleasure in Mulder's chest. She leaned
forward, biting his chest, sucking at his warm, soft skin, feeling her
saliva bathing him, her eyes screwed shut in release.
	Chuffing, she slowly regained her senses, opening her eyes and
lifting her face to find his eyes, smiling, grinning.
	"Now you," she said, reaching for him, her hands insistent,
hungry, eager.
	"No."
	His voice was final, commanding.
	"What?"
	He said nothing. He moved on the bed, releasing himself from her
embrace, lying her gently back on the bed. Quicker than Scully thought
possible, he was between her legs, his body moving down, his mouth at
her navel, tasting, twirling his tongue, then lower, towards her
wetness, closing slowly, dangerously.
	"Mulder..." she whispered, wanting it so badly, but afraid of what
it meant. It was an escalation, a new step, a higher level. Was she
ready? Was he? Were they?
	And then all thoughts left her as his mouth found her, his hot
breath scorching her sensitive skin. Her legs were over his shoulders,
her heels dancing a tattoo on his back as he feasted on her. His tongue
seemed to be everywhere at once, dancing, licking, teasing, inserting
and then withdrawing, circling, tracing, first gentle and then hard, and
then somewhere in between; his teeth grasped a fat, moist lip and
pulled, the tiny sparks of pain only adding to the overwhelming
pleasure. She had exploded so hard only moments ago, but Scully found
herself climbing towards release again while at the same time descending
into the sensations his hot, wet mouth were causing.
	Her fingers found his hair and she used it to guide him, to show
him where she wanted the pressure, to pull him away when it was too
much. His nose, his perfect Roman nose was rubbing her; only Mulder
could have a nose that found her erogenous zones.
	She was there again, almost too quickly, but she reached for it,
wanting it again, wanting the release with this man again and again,
over and over-- For the longest of moments she teetered on the edge of
final release, and when he sensed it, when he knew she was there, he
sent Scully crashing over the edge with not one but two fingers this
time, inserting them none too gently, spreading her with them, the
rough, bitten edges of his cuticles scraping the silken walls of her
interior and that last little spark was all Scully needed: She exploded,
her thighs clamping shut around his head, her fingers pulling his face
against her harder still, her hips arching off the bed to meet him. She
had never been so wet, so ready, so completely and totally open. The
pleasure peaked, a warm buzz filling her head, and then she started the
slow slide down again-
	But Mulder was there, ready for her. He grinned into her wetness,
knowing that he was going to send her over the top again. He withdrew
his fingers, his hand wet with her nectar, his fingers crawling up her
skin to find her breasts, rubbing the slickness into her, his fingers
flicking her hot, aroused points. His other hand slid lower, underneath,
spreading the half-moon globes of her ass, finding her last secret and
slowly stroking her there at the same moment his mouth closed over her
clitoris, sucking it between his lips, his tongue reaching out and
circling it and then lashing it, bashing it from side to side, sucking
on it, drawing it as far into his mouth as he dared.
        The room vanished, replaced instead by the incessant buzzing in
her gut. There was nothing in the world but Mulder's mouth, his hands,
his fingers, the feel of his touch on her body, everywhere on her body,
in places she had never dreamed anyone would ever touch her, or kiss
her, or lick her or stroke her. She screamed again, a low, animal wail
coming from somewhere inside her, exploding out of her lungs with the
force of a thousand screams, her nails digging painfully into his scalp.
	Mulder rode her, trying to keep as much contact between their
bodies as possible. It was hard; Scully was twisting on the bed like a
bucking bronco. He tried, and failed, to keep his mouth attached to her.
The brief respite only gave Scully more pleasure when his mouth found
her again and closed on her, his tongue insistent, demanding, inserting
itself inside her and stroking her walls, finding her wetness and
savoring.
	Savoring; that was the word, Mulder thought. I could live to be a
thousand and never tire of this. He heard her moans and screams of
pleasure, felt her clutching at him, her hands and legs pulling him
against her tighter, her desperate need for the contact, and he smiled,
thrilling on the power of giving her this much pleasure.
	And then it was too much; Scully gasped, pushing him away. He knew
that she wasn't angry or upset; just over stimulated. He moved quickly,
gathering her in his arms, rolling over and pulling her on top of him,
his hands going underneath her top again, spreading it over the both of
them, her breasts crushed against his chest.
	Scully was gasping for breath, her face buried against his neck.
"Oh. My. God."
	Mulder just smiled.
	Slowly, they drifted back to sleep.

				       ***
0630 Hours

	Scully's travel alarm chirped quietly at first, and then got
progressively louder. She woke, her eyes drifting open slowly. Mulder
was beneath her, and she grinned at the warm contact of their bodies.
	His eyes were open.
	"Why?" she asked softly.
	"Why what?"
	"What didn't you let me-?"
	He grinned. "Are you complaining?"
	"No...just curious."
	"Forgive my indelicacy," he started, and then she knew. She kissed
him to silence his words.
	"Go now. And when you get back..."
	"No," he whispered. "I want to remember this morning as being
about you, Scully. I have a better idea. A much better idea."
	She cocked an eyebrow.
	He stood, holding out his hand. She took it, and he led her to the
bathroom.
	He worked the shower handles, letting a good head of steam build
up. He turned to her.
	Suddenly, Scully felt shy, girlish. The way he was looking at her,
his eyes warm and liquid, drinking in the sight of her, even though she
still wore the top. It was unbuttoned, hanging loosely on her breasts,
but the soft expanse of skin that it showed was alluring to Mulder in
the extreme.
	He reached out and slid his fingers under the top, gliding across
her shoulders, lifting if from her body. It fell to the floor with a
whisper of fabric against tile.
	He slid his boxers off.
	The entered the shower together, and closed the door.
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END CHAPTER 14.