From: "Narida Law" Date: Wed, 12 Jan 2000 20:07:33 PST Subject: Closet Doors (1/1) by Narida Law Source: revision TITLE: Closet Doors AUTHOR: Narida Law E-MAIL: narida_law@hotmail.com RATING: NC-17 CATEGORY: MSR, Smut SPOILERS: None. KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully Romance, voyeurism ARCHIVE: Anywhere. Telling me is sweet and would be much appreciated, but not obligatory. DISCLAIMER: Well, Mulder and Scully have sex in this story, so it can't be the doing of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, or Fox. No infringement is intended, even if the characters tell me that they have more fun with me than with CC. NOTES: This piece has no redeeming social value whatsoever. Mom and Dad would be so proud. ADDITIONAL NOTES: Yes, it gave me hives to call Scully "Dana" all the time. But alas, the narrator doesn't know Scully. SUMMARY: A third party finds himself observing some pretty personal happenings between his best friend's little sister and her partner. Closet Doors by Narida Law ~~~~~~~~ This is unarguably one of the most surreal moments of my life. I never thought the day would come when I'd be standing in Dana Scully's bedroom watching her have sex with another man. And not just any other man; this is her partner, Fucking Fox Mulder. That's how I think of him. I can't help it; that's how Bill refers to him, and since Bill is about the only person I ever hear talk about the man, that's the way I always hear his name. Dammit. I certainly didn't ask to be here, and if given the opportunity I would have turned it down, no matter how much the thought might have excited me. I'm not such a sick bastard that I would deliberately choose to intrude on an intimate moment between two people. At least, not without their consent. So that begs the obvious question of why I =am= here, if I'm not just some sick fucking voyeur in search of a cheap thrill. All I have to say is - this is all Bill Scully's fault. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Bill's been a good friend of mine for - let's see - hell, it's so long ago, I don't really remember, but a good number of years. In fact, he's probably one of the best friends I've ever had. I first met the Scullys all those years ago when Captain Scully was stationed in my hometown for a little while, and Bill and I got to be real good friends, real fast. We were a lot alike. We were always getting into trouble, though I have to say that it was mostly Bill's doing. I never really paid much attention to his sisters; at that age, I still thought of girls as pests. After a couple of years, they moved away. Bill and I stayed in touch, and when Dana, Bill's younger sister, started attending the University of Maryland, he asked me to look her up, make sure she was OK. Typical big brother stuff. Of course, when I met up with Dana Scully again she looked nothing like I remembered and instead looked like the stuff dreams are made of. I confess I had a little crush on her. But she never really seemed to reciprocate my feelings, and I'm not one to pursue a dead end, so we met up a couple of times, I did my duty by Bill, and that was it for a while. The next time I had cause to see her was after she joined the FBI and started teaching at Quantico. I had a steady girlfriend at the time, but seeing Dana again aroused all those feelings of lust that just paled what I had with Jessica. When I returned from lunch with Dana that day I found myself breaking up with my girlfriend, knowing I had to search elsewhere for the kind of feelings that Dana Scully inspired in me. I knew by then that she would probably never look at me in that way, and she was dating someone, in any case. I lost touch with both Bill and Dana for a while. Then I got a job in DC, and when I was cleaning out my apartment for the move I turned up old Bill's number. I gave him a call and we fell back into our old camaraderie. He mentioned that Dana was a field agent with the Bureau now, based at Headquarters. Well, of course, when I found this out, I had to give her a call. She seemed genuinely glad to hear from me, and we agreed to meet for lunch at TGI Friday's near the Naval memorial. We did the usual chitchat, what we each had been up to in the years since we'd seen each other last, that kind of thing. She was vague about her work, saying only that she worked cases other agents couldn't solve or explain, and that she had a partner. She didn't really seem to want to discuss either topic, and instead asked me about what I did. Being your typical guy, I was only too happy to launch into the details of my life. I told her that I'd just broken up with my latest girlfriend, kind of hoping that she'd take the hint and maybe let me know she was interested in taking up with me, but she either didn't get the hint or she was letting me down gently. In any case, she got a little distracted at that point. I was going on and on about - hell, I don't remember, maybe my job - when she caught sight of something over my shoulder and visibly softened. I halted in the middle of a sentence, mesmerized by her liquid eyes and the way a tiny smile played at the corner of her mouth. By the time I turned to see what had put that expression on her face, HE had already shown up at the table. "Hey Scully," he said, sliding nonchalantly into the booth next to her, as if he made a habit of interrupting dates in exactly such a manner. Well, OK, so this wasn't a date, but she was an old friend whom I hadn't seen in a long time, and seeing her again had resurrected all those feelings that I had for her. They were just beneath the surface, clamoring for release. I was disappointed about losing my one-on-one time with her, which might explain some of the annoyance I felt. I remember trying to smile, trying not to be irritated, and losing both battles. I was about to say something when he casually stretched his arm across the back of the booth (and thus her - don't think I wasn't aware of =exactly= what he was doing). OK. He was staking his claim. He knew I knew what he was doing. I don't know if Dana read or even noticed our silent manly conversation, but if she did, she didn't let on. His action opened up his trenchcoat a little, and that's when I saw his gun and holster. I shut my mouth. You don't mess with a man who's packing heat and does it for a living. And having lunch with a woman he obviously considers his is probably number one in the "mess with" category. Whether or not she really was his didn't matter. I was not about to make things worse for myself. The first thing I noticed about them was that they called each other by their last names. It was =supposed= to convey professionalism, I'm sure, and distance. The way they said the names, however, conveyed something entirely different: intimacy. The second thing I noticed was that they looked at each other like there was no one else around, and they sure touched far more than any platonic friends =I= knew. He then proceeded to eat half of her lunch, and she proceeded to let him. The looks that she threw him were equal parts exasperation and indulgence. But not once did she ask him to leave, or indicate that he was not wanted. When they left, they left together. To this day, I still have no idea whether she asked him to be there, whether he had followed her, or whether it had just been a hell of a coincidence. I'll probably never know. I accounted to Bill all that had happened, just because he happened to call that night, and when he heard me mention Dana's partner he practically shouted, "Fucking Fox Mulder! God, I hate that guy! He's always sticking his nose into other peoples' business, ruining other peoples' lives." I then got to hear the entire story of what an asshole Fox Mulder was, and I was only all too eager to listen. After all, the man had just ruined the closest thing I'd had to a date with the woman of my dreams, the woman I'd been wanting since her days at the University of Maryland. I wanted to believe Bill, that this Fucking Fox Mulder was ruining Dana's life. I liked to imagine myself "rescuing her." Of course, part of me knew that Bill was a little off base, and biased besides, being her older brother, but I ignored that voice of reason for the time being. I was too busy imagining Dana's gratitude when I saved her from that evil partner of hers. Sure, she packed heat, too, and could probably take care of Mulder - if he needed taking care of - better than I could. But that was the point – she wasn't aware of her own peril. He had put a spell on her; he had warped her mind. She was like one of those abused wives who defend their husbands to the very last. That night I had some pretty delicious me-saving-Dana dreams. But by the next week, I'd forgotten all about the incident. As time passed I kept in touch with Bill, though I didn't seek out Dana's company again. The reasonable part of me knew that she didn't want or need my presence in her life - not in that way - and besides, I had no doubt that her partner was liable to kick my ass if there was a next time. Bill would regale me with Evil Fucking Fox Mulder stories, and I would listen with half an ear. I started seeing a little redhead of my own, Yolanda. We weren't really dating, per se; we just met up once in a while and fucked. Neither of us pretended it was anything more than that. Anyway, last Sunday I was with Yolanda at a small cafe in Georgetown when I saw her. Or rather, she saw me. I felt a little tap on my shoulder, and there stood Dana Scully, looking absolutely edible in little running shorts and a tank top. Her hair was pulled away from her face, little tendrils of fire escaping here and there. She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. I realized I had been staring too long when she gave me a quizzical look and said my name. I introduced her to Yolanda, they smiled and made nice, and Dana left soon after. "You can wipe that drool off your mouth now," Yolanda told me. She shook her own mane of auburn hair, and I spirited her back to her apartment and didn't make it back out until the next morning. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ A week later, I got a call from Bill. He was in town, so we agreed to meet at a bar near where I lived. We rehashed old times, talked about our current lives - he was married now, to a woman he obviously loved - and it was just great in general to be with my old friend again. Of course, eventually we got around to discussing Dana. How the subject came up was rather abrupt. We were just sitting there gulping beer when all of a sudden Bill turned to me and blurted, "You've always liked Dana, right?" Well, I knew the answer to that right away. But you don't go answering questions like that about a guy's little sister unless you know exactly what it is he's asking, and in some cases, how he wants you to answer. So I took my time, trying to read him. Finally I just took the safe out. "Yeah, sure Bill. She's great." He could take that to mean whatever he wanted it to mean. He didn't say anything for a long time, and I had an insatiable curiosity to know why he'd asked it. I was willing to let the subject drop, though, since it seemed like he'd forgotten about it. Six beers will do that to you. Actually, the amount of alcohol in my system is what I attribute to agreeing with his highly questionable request, and I also blame the alcohol for him making the request in the first place. Essentially, he told me that his sister was lonely. Her partner dragged her all over the country, chasing UFOs and aliens (at least, I =think= that's what he said, but again, I never underestimate the influence of alcohol on a person's perceptions), and at this rate she'd never get to settle down and lead a normal life – which was what she really wanted. She was a loyal person, Dana was, which was why she was sticking with Fucking Fox Mulder even though he was ruining her life. Of course, I heard what I wanted to hear. I wanted to believe that Dana was lonely, that she needed a man in her life. I wanted to be that man. But... "Isn't she doing her partner?" The beer made me so tactless, I swear. I would never have said such a thing to her brother's face sober. At least, not in those exact words. Bill turned absolutely purple with what I assumed was disgust and rage. "No!" he practically shouted. He was so loud that people turned to stare, and in a bar teeming with other loud people, that's saying something. Then, more quietly, he added, "No, no they're not involved. Thank God." Hope blossomed in my chest. OK, so Dana needed a man. I'd be there for her. I'd take her away from the evils of her work, from her selfish partner who used her so ruthlessly and wouldn't even see to her sexual needs. "I have a plan," Bill said, downing his seventh of the night. "She's coming back from a case tonight. Mom gave me the key to her apartment and a casserole that I'm supposed to stick in the fridge. Instead, I'll give =you the key and the casserole - don't forget to put it in the fridge - and we'll get a bottle of wine and some flowers and candles and stuff that women like, and you can decorate the place all nice for her when she gets back from a hard case." Of course, he had no idea if the case she was on was hard or not, but those were insignificant details. Sober, it would have been a crazy idea. Totally insane. He would never have suggested it, and I would never have gone along. We both would have realized that not only would it give Dana a complete fright to find me in her apartment, but it'd make her mad as hell besides. But in my fuzzy alcohol-induced haze, I could only imagine her weeping with gratitude at my chivalrous gesture. So I agreed. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ That's how I found myself in Dana's neat little apartment, holding a paper bag full of stuff that Bill and I bought at some random supermarket, as well as the casserole her mother had made for her. I was debating where to begin (and that is a generous description of my thought processes, slow and fuzzy as they were), when the decision was taken out of my hands. I heard the key in the door, and a stifled female laugh. Suddenly I became aware that the situation was very wrong. I stood there, wondering why the hell I was there, and what the =fuck= did I think I was doing standing there in her living room? Then I heard the other voice. Oh, =shit=. He was with her. Fucking Fox Mulder. Now I understood why Bill called him that. I panicked. I ran, right into her bedroom. And just in time, because I heard the door open. In retrospect, I probably should have just remained where I was, scaring all three of us for a moment, then explained about the casserole and Bill and that I'd be on my way now, thank you. But I wasn't thinking clearly. It wasn't just the beers I'd had. Fear shuts down my thinking processes like nothing else. I get paralyzed; I can't think properly. It's amazing I even had the presence of mind to run. I was really panicking when I heard their voices get a little louder, as if they were coming closer. Shit. I couldn't confront them now, not when I was in her bedroom, for godsakes. Even if I'd been in the bathroom I could have made a believable if lame excuse. But in her =bedroom=? What would I be doing here unless I was some sick freak who was making myself comfortable in her most intimate of rooms? She'd shoot me. If her partner didn't beat her to it. I'd come into his woman's apartment with intent to seduce. I'd deserve it, I told myself fatalistically, if only for being stupid enough to listen to Bill Scully. Hadn't I learned =anything= from those scrapes we got ourselves into all those years ago? So I looked for a place to hide. Under the bed? No, I couldn't do that to myself. I'd never be able to know when it was safe. Then I saw her closet. It was rather large (it took up practically the whole side of the wall), and it was the kind that had the little blinds on the doors, so you could actually see out between them. Wrap that to go; I'll take it. I ran in there, closing the door, clutching the paper bag to me. If anyone could have seen me then, it would have been a sorry sight. I quickly put the bag down in a way that it couldn't give any more - the last thing I needed was to tire from holding the bag or have it make noises and alert them to my presence. I really don't know how I thought I was going to get away with it. Did I fondly imagine that Dana wouldn't open her closet door? Judging from the neatness of her apartment, she was probably the type to hang up her clothes as she removed them. In spite of myself, my mouth went dry at the thought of Dana taking off her clothes. But God was on my side. He looked down at this pitiful, stupid man, and He took pity on me. Thank you, Lord. It seemed that Dana was in =no= condition to care whether her clothes were neatly rehung or not. She sounded like she was...drunk. They entered the bedroom noisily, turning on the lights. That about gave me another heart attack, but I realized that the last thing they were looking for was an intruder in the closet. That helped to slow my heartbeat. I could see into the room a little, my view only partially blocked by the louvered doors. Dana came into sight first, still dressed in a business suit, though her coat was off. The skirt was kind of short, and I found myself admiring Fucking Fox Mulder's fortitude at being able to work alongside her day after day and not touch her. Or maybe he was gay. He was certainly good-looking enough to be gay, my alcohol-soaked brain offered as he stepped into my line of sight. I didn't remember him being this attractive the first and only other time I'd seen him. Of course, I'd probably been stewing too much about his date-crashing excursion to notice or care. "Mulder..." Dana began. "I don't think I should have had that last shot." His response was wry. "You probably shouldn't have had those last =three= shots, Scully." She let out a sound that was somewhere between a giggle and a snort. "But they were niiiiice," she drawled out. "We deserved it after what those bastards put us through this week." He made noises of agreement. She started to strip her clothes off left and right. Her partner was picking up each piece, carefully avoiding looking at her, and placing them on a chair by the bed. "You should get some rest," he said. Hello, what's this? Was it me, or was his voice a little raspy? I guess he wasn't immune, after all. "I'm not tired," she countered. "You should be nice to me. I hurt my foot." I couldn't see the expression on her face, but she sounded like a pouting little girl. Of course, when she pouted as a little girl it probably wasn't half as effective as it was now. He swallowed, the sound audible from even several yards away. "I know, Scully. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let you run in those shoes..." "Oh, shut up, Mulder! I wanted to run. You couldn't have stopped me." She sounded extremely annoyed now. "And now I can't take any medicine 'cause I've been drinking." "You're right," he said, a grin in his voice. "It's your own fault." I imagined she must have pouted again at that point. She moved back where I could see her, and she was clad in only her underwear and a bra. One of her hands reached back to unclasp her bra. "It's hot, Mulder," she said seductively. Or at least, I thought it was seductive. But maybe I was wrong, too driven by my hormones, because when I spared him a glance, he hadn't even batted an eyelash, barely seeming affected at all. "I've...uh...gotta use the restroom, Scully. You get into your pajamas and I'll be right back." And Fucking Fox Mulder fled. Here was his beautiful partner stripping in front of him, speaking to him in a seductive voice, and he runs? OK, he was definitely gay. But I also grudgingly realized that Dana was not herself, that the drugs in her system were making her act a little unpredictably. I'm sorry to say that I don't have first hand knowledge of this, but judging from his reactions so far, I'd even venture to say that it was making her act =very= unpredictably, and probably very much unlike her usual self. And it was the gentlemanly thing to do to spare her a little dignity for when she woke up in the morning. I watched as she removed the rest of her clothing – yeah that's right, I did, so sue me, I'm not the gentleman her partner is (nor am I gay). She was pretty dexterous for a woman who was five foot three and had downed probably well more than three shots of hard liquor. But instead of getting into the pajamas he had set out for her, she simply laid down on the bed and waited for him. Naked. She even spread her legs a little. Jesus. I should have known better than to listen to Bill. Not doing it, my ass. As if she would tell Bill if she were fucking Fucking Fox Mulder. At this point, I was enormously happy that I would be able to pay Bill back by informing him that his worst nightmare was true. When Fucking Fox Mulder made his way back to her bedroom, clearly expecting her to be in her bed under the covers (or at least clothed) but found her otherwise, the expression on his face was utterly priceless. I would have burst into laughter had I been in any position to do so. He quickly averted his gaze. "OK well um...I'm gonna go, then...Scully." Dana did not looked too pleased with this announcement. "Don't go yet," she entreated softly. He replied, sounding like he was trying to be firm, "I think it'd be better if I took off now, Scully." He was staring off to his right, looking right at the closet door. I felt a shiver of anxiety run down my spine, but it passed when I realized that he wasn't really seeing anything, lost in whatever was going on inside his head. "Better for whom?" Wait a minute. She didn't sound drunk just then. She sounded lucid. He finally looked straight at her; I noticed he kept his eyes trained on her face, not looking at her body. "For both of us, Scully. I know...we've...talked about this, and agreed to...to try to...uh – " I hoped for her sake that it was the situation rendering him inarticulate and it wasn't the normal state of affairs for them, because that could get really tedious. Dana bit her lip. "You've changed your mind?" Her fingers began to fidget on the bedcovers, and I could tell she was suddenly wishing she wasn't so naked...so vulnerable. Mulder was spurred into action as he quickly dropped down next to her. "Oh God no, Scully. You're killing me here. I want you...I want you more than anyone has ever wanted another human being. I told you before that I love you...I meant it. I love you, Scully." He closed his eyes and sighed. "What am I saying? You won't even remember this in the morning." He covered his face with his hands. Gently, Dana reached up and pulled his hands away so that they rested on his lap. "I remember every thing you've ever said to me, Mulder. Even the things you said when you didn't know I was listening. But I did hear them, Mulder. I heard them here." And taking his much larger hand in hers, she placed it right above her breast, right where her heart was beating. Before he could say a word, she had moved his hand from her chest bone to the breast itself. Both of their breaths caught in their throats. "And besides...I want this." Her eyes closed as she had him fondle her. "But you're not yourself, Scully. You've been drinking. You'll regret this in the morning, and I don't think I could face you then." It looked as though Dana wasn't even listening to him; she was too busy trying to get him to play with her nipple. He began to cooperate, kneading her breast and using two fingers to hold the nipple in place while his thumb ran over the hard nub. She moaned, and his body jerked at the sound. This in turn caused his fingers to jerk what was between them, and she moaned again. Her breathing grew uneven. "I know what I'm doing. I'll remember," she promised. "I've wanted you for...ever." A sigh escaped between her lips. "Mulder...I wanted this to happen. But I was a coward and couldn't do this without...help. So I suggested we go to a bar...to unwind, loosen up a bit." He seemed to let that soak in. "So this isn't some manifestation of all the alcohol you've taken in tonight?" Hope was the overriding emotion in =that= statement. "Nope. It's always been there...Dutch courage," she whispered. "You don't know how much I want this, Scully, you have no idea." His voice sounded strangled. "But I want this to be perfect for you. I should go." He took his hand from her breast. She grabbed it again, holding on tight. Her other hand she used to run up and down her body. "But...Mmmulder (I swear, she said his name like that the whole time, drawing out the "m" with a little moan - would =any= guy have been able to resist?). It =will= be perfect. And right now I'm so...horny." Good tactic, I thought. When all else fails, do some dirty talking. Of course, it's usually the guy trying to convince the woman, but I imagine it works about the same. Mulder looked distinctly...shocked. Yep, that's the expression I saw on his face all right. As if he'd never in a million years expected such a word to come out of Dana's mouth. =Surely= he's heard worse from her. Little potty mouth Dana, who took being a sailor's daughter so seriously. She could always out-curse me and Bill and Charlie combined. It was aggravating as all hell to watch the woman of my dreams in the throes of sexual arousal for someone else. It made it ten times worse that it was with someone I'd come to peripherally hate, that it was all for =him=. But maybe it wasn't all for him, I told myself reasonably. She was drunk, after all. She probably didn't even know what she was doing. Dana was whimpering now, her body writhing on the sheets. "=Please=," I heard her say. She was begging. He closed his eyes, and tried again to pull his hand away, unsuccessfully. She was holding on tight, and he tried one more time to deter her. "Scully, you don't..." he began, but she cut him off. "God, Mmmulder," she moaned, finally letting go of his hand and sliding her hands across her breasts. She pinched her nipples, and I felt it in my cock, as if there was a direct line running between her body and mine. "Please, Mmmulder," she said, sounding on the verge of tears. "Please. Don't do this to me. I want you..." Jesus. I was on the verge as well. On the verge of crashing right out of this closet and jumping her myself. If the guy's made of flesh and bone and possesses a willing cock, how =could= he resist? He didn't. "OK, Scully," he said, in a tone of voice like he was giving in, resigning himself to the fact that he was going to have sex with her. Don't do her any favors, buddy. I'm here for her. You can leave if you want. And then the reality of the situation hit me, and my mind shouted a ringing NO! No, I was =not= about to see Fucking Fox Mulder have sex with Dana, at her own insistence. NO. That's what I'd come here to do, to alleviate her sexual needs. I was supposed to do it. But it was too late. Here was the beginning of my career as a voyeur. "Please Mmmulder...please," she continued to moan. OK, I have to say at this point that no man could have – or should have to - resist a plea like that. I resigned myself to it. I'm not an unreasonable man. And besides, from what I heard, Fucking Fox Mulder was such an asshole that I would hardly expect =him= of all people to refuse. Just because he's managed it all this time (supposedly) doesn't mean he's made of stone, and here Dana was offering herself up to him on a silver platter. Fine, you have your fun now, buddy. But the next time Bill sees you, you can kiss that pretty face goodbye. But instead of stripping, like any sane red-blooded man would have done at that point, he simply knelt at the foot of her bed. What the fuck was he doing? If Dana had made such a request to me - hell, if any good looking woman had made that request to me - I would have had my pants on the floor faster than you could say strip. He took off his leather jacket, looking like he was getting himself comfortable, and I thought, here it comes. But why the fuck was he taking so long, and why was he positioned at the foot of the bed? Dana's up =there=, asshole. Was he planning something kinky? I felt ill at the thought. I might have to reveal myself if he did, because I was =not going to watch some perverted sexual act performed on Bill's little sister. Good old-fashioned sex would be difficult enough to take. Then he grabbed her ankles and pulled her toward him. The light dawned. Ohhh. That's what he planned to do? I felt a certain amount of reluctant admiration for the man. How selfless of him. Any man I know - including myself - would certainly not have thought of taking that particular solution to a naked woman's profession of horniness. Or maybe we would have thought about it, but it certainly would have been tossed aside, real quick. Finally she was right in front of his face. He pressed a kiss to the little thatch of auburn curls between her legs, his hands lightly circling her ankles where they now dangled over the bed. He moved his hands up to her thighs, spreading them, and Dana eagerly helped. "Oh, Mmmulder," she moaned again. It was a little hard to tell, since I could only see his profile, but it looked like he closed his eyes, as if in pain, and I realized that his jeans were probably =really= uncomfortable right about now. The whimpering and moaning of his name continued. I couldn't believe it when I found myself thinking, will you shut the fuck up, Dana? Not that I didn't love the little noises she was making – God, I =loved= the little noises she was making – but I was pretty sure he wouldn't want to embarrass himself, and having her naked and in his face was probably hard enough on him as it was. He was going to go down on her and not fuck her. In my book, that made the man a saint. Of course, I had to quickly regain my bearings after such disloyal thoughts. He's Fucking Fox Mulder. Remember that. His chest seemed to expand. I realized he was breathing her in. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and then he dropped his head even lower to begin his task. I couldn't see most of what he was doing, of course, what with the blinds and Dana's thighs in the way, but she seemed to be enjoying it. She sounded like she was having the time of her life. That was nice to know. Going down on a woman is vastly different from going down on a guy. Wait, that didn't come out right. What I meant is, when a guy is being given a blow job, it's hard for us not to like it. I mean, unless the woman REALLY doesn't know what she's doing, or unless she's doing stuff that should never be done to the male sex organ, we're enjoying it. It's different with a woman. If you don't do it right, she's liable to either fake it or yank on your hair and tell you to get to the main show. In my experience, and this comes from both personal and second-hand accounts, for a woman to really enjoy a man's tongue and lips on her pussy, he's gotta know what he's doing. And I'm the first to confess that I'm no good at it. I'm terrible. I have no technique whatsoever. It doesn't really do anything for me, and it's hard to get into something you don't really like, you know? Most guys I know do it because they're asked or expected to, not because they want to. Obviously, from what I'd already seen, Mulder wanted to. He could have given in to Dana's pleas by giving her what she was really asking for - and I don't kid myself about this point - sex. As in, full on intercourse. But not only did he actually =want= to go down on her (and I'm thinking if I could enjoy it with any woman, it'd be Dana, who I've had more wet dreams about than any other woman in my life), from what I was hearing, the bastard was good at it, too. Really, really good. His hands were now at her waist, and her hands were gripping his head, holding him to her. I could hear the sounds that were coming from between her legs, general sucking, biting, and licking sounds. I thought maybe I should pay attention, just concentrate on the technique, forget that it was =Dana= he was doing these things to, and try to learn something. I could surprise and thrill Yolanda with some fancy tongue-work. I like pleasing my sexual partners, and I figure that anything that could bring as much pleasure to her as Dana seemed to be experiencing was worth my time and concentration. Then Mulder lifted his head, and I thought, what, the show's over already? Had Dana come? She couldn't have; I remember the hotheaded little sister of Bill's and I'm pretty sure she would scream like a banshee, especially in the state that she was in. Was he tired? I felt some sympathy for him. Women do take forever to come. But it wasn't a break, or even a reprieve. Immediately after he lifted his head, presumably to see Dana's face and be sure she was enjoying what he had been doing (Hello! Are you deaf?), he brought one of his hands to the place where his mouth had been. And even if I couldn't see exactly what he was doing, from the sound of Dana's groan and from the movement of his palm sliding toward her, I knew he'd just slipped a finger into her. Another groan – another finger. Pretty soon he was just fucking her with his fingers, eyes half-hooded but still watching her face, never letting up for a second. Without breaking the rhythm he had generated, his head lowered again and the suckling sounds started anew. From the sound of things, Dana was going to come pretty soon, and hard. Fingers =and= mouth, I mused. That was good to know. I couldn't have come up with it on my own. After a little bit, he lifted his head and asked in a voice I barely recognized as his, "You want to come, Scully?" His fingers were merciless against her, thrusting hard and fast. "Yesssss..." she hissed. "I don't know if I'm convinced, Scully," he said in that voice again. "Why don't you tell me how much you want it?" I realized that his voice was coated with lust, and that's why it sounded so strange. Hmm. Fingers, tongue, and some dirty talk. I could do that. Yolanda was going to be =pleased= with me soon. "Mmmulder, I...I want to come." Each word was paced by a slight hitch in breath as his fingers worked her. "You're making me...crazy...I want to come." She moaned again, and this time, her hands found his head and tried to draw him down to her. "IwantocomeIwanttocomeIwanttocome," she chanted. He was finally appeased, and his head lowered to where she wanted it. He was there for just a second when a keening cry came from Dana's throat. What did he do? I wondered in panic. I needed to know the finale if I was to repeat this performance on someone else. I watched him, hoping for a clue. The gods were on my side. After a while, Dana's convulsions subsided and I saw him slip her clit out of his mouth. Oh. Yeah - I would have guessed that. He didn't take his fingers out, though, simply sliding them gently in and out, letting her ride the wave as long as possible. Finally, Dana stopped moving altogether, and it looked like she was passed out from the combination of the alcohol in her system and post-coital lethargy. Mulder slid his fingers out and sucked on them, never taking his gaze away from Dana's sleeping face. Since she was no longer aware of him or what he was doing, this was obviously for his own personal pleasure. He got up with some difficulty, and I didn't blame him, considering his position for the last - jeez, how much time =had= passed? It seemed like forever and no time at all. He stretched a bit, still gazing down at Dana, then reached down and picked her gently up in his arms, replacing her higher up on the bed, her head resting on her pillow. Finally he reached for his jacket lying in a heap on the floor. He was heading for the door, his hand brushing the front of his pants. Poor guy, I thought in sympathy, seeing how they were bulging in the front. He was in no condition to be wearing jeans. Or any pants at all, for that matter. No doubt he was headed for the bathroom to relieve his own sexual tension. I was struck again by the fact that he hadn't taken the easy way out and just taken what she had offered. "Mulder." Her voice stopped him. When had she come to? "Don't leave. I..." she licked her lips. He couldn't see her face, but I could, and it looked like she was screwing up her courage. "I want to feel you inside me," she whispered. Oh God. He was a dead man. From the way he swallowed convulsively and closed his eyes with this look of utter torture on his face, I knew he thought the same thing. =No man= could have left that room, though I give him points for trying. He had barely taken one step when Dana practically vaulted off the bed and went over to him, reaching up to touch his shoulder. It was as if she controlled him. You could tell that he didn't want to give in, practically =saw= the resistance surrounding him, but it was as though her gentle fingers had more power over him than he could ever hope to possess. And I knew with a certainty that astounded me that he wasn't reluctant to make love to her, that he wanted to do so with every fiber of his being, but that the reluctance was for =her=, in case she should regret it in the morning. "Please don't make me beg," she said quietly, and he simply crumbled right there, in that instant. Luckily the bed was there to catch him when his knees gave out. Dana settled him onto the bed, and pretty soon he was lying on his back, all his clothes still on, and he was looking at her with this expression of trepidation, guilty relief, and some other emotion I couldn't place. She removed his shoes and socks, and together they got rid of his shirt and his jeans. He still hadn't said anything, as if he were afraid that if he did, it would all turn out to be a dream. He might have been relieved to know that there was a third party witness there, someone to reassure him that this was no dream. But then again, maybe not. All he had on now was his boxers, this white cotton pair with Snoopy playing Joe Cool all over them. I wanted to laugh. I could tell Dana felt the same, the way her lips kept trying to tug into a smile. But she probably didn't want to hurt his feelings, in case he took it the wrong way. "You like my boxers, Scully?" he asked finally, a sheepish grin coming over his face, telling her to indulge in the laughter he could see was on the verge of bubbling out. She giggled - and I realized that I hadn't heard Dana Scully giggle since the last time I'd seen her in pigtails, which was =quite= some time ago. Since then, she always seemed to wear this defensive armor around herself, as if she was afraid of giving away too much. Her job probably didn't help matters, being such a boys club and all, but now the armor wasn't there. I'm sure she wears armor around her partner, too, but I bet he gets to see her take it off a lot more than other people do. Before I could process the significance of this realization, and what it meant regarding the things that Bill had told me about Mulder and about Dana's relationship with him, a groan distracted me. Dana had stopped amusing herself with Mulder's boxers and had gone on to amuse herself with what was straining to get out of them. I'm a pretty decent person. Decent enough to know that at that point I should have closed my eyes, looked away, done =anything= but watch them. But I couldn't help myself. I had seen too much already; there was no going back. It was like some sick sight that you couldn't avoid looking at. Like gawkers of an accident on the freeway. You know it's awful; you know that it's terrible and you shouldn't look, but something in you, some sick sense of curiosity, makes you do it anyway. And it wasn't even =that= bad, nobody was hurt or dying – it was just two people having sex. So I watched. I am a red-blooded male and this was like a live skin flick. Can anyone truly blame me? Besides, she wasn't =my= sister. What did I have to lose, anyway? I was already witness to Fox Mulder, Cunnilingus Practitioner Extraordinaire. His erection was tenting his boxers to the point where I couldn't help but notice that he was pretty well endowed. Look, I've never been one to feel bad or good about my size - nobody's ever complained - but when Dana finally slipped those boxers off, I was cowed. I felt like half a man. And I found a new reason to hate Fox Mulder. I found myself thinking that Bill would be happy to know I'd found another reason to despise his sister's partner, though I wasn't sure I'd be bonding with him about this one. "Ooh! Mulder," Dana exclaimed, stroking his cock like it was a Christmas gift she had just unwrapped, paying no heed to his groan and the fact that he'd obviously been on the edge of coming since he first knelt down between her legs. She peeled the boxers all the way off his legs and tossed them over her shoulder. He whimpered. Then she straddled him. She was looking at him with such admiration, as if he had had any personal involvement regarding the size of his dick, as if it wasn't all a matter of genetic luck. She was a =doctor= for crying out loud. Did she =have= to pet him as if he had accomplished some difficult feat? As if guys who had small dicks =chose= to be that way, or that they hadn't earned the right to be bigger. I shook my head in disgust, and railed at the injustice of it in my head. Women. They were looking at each other, staring into one another's eyes. I doubt they would have noticed if a bomb dropped in the middle of the room. It occurred to me that I could actually leave now, and they might not even notice. But no power on earth could have forced me from the bedroom at that point. "In me," was all she said. I couldn't tell if it was a question, a request, or a plea. He nodded, looking at her with that emotion I couldn't place earlier. She rose up, inching her way toward her destination, and his engorged penis eagerly tried to find her, too. Finally, she was there, he was in position, and she slowly lowered herself onto him. I could see his fingers twitching where they lay by his hips, but he didn't do anything with them; he let her have control. I knew that likely, he just wanted to grab her hips and shove into her, and again, I had to admire his restraint. She was about halfway down when she stopped. I could tell they'd both been holding their breaths when simultaneously they both let out great gulps of air and started to breathe erratically. Why had she stopped? I took one look on her face and I knew. Sweat was beading her face, and she was biting her lip. It was hurting her. I felt my hackles rise. Every other consequence aside, I was not about to let this woman get hurt. But Mulder beat me to those sentiments. "Scully?" his voice was panicked. "Scully, get off me." She didn't answer, still had her eyes closed, breathing hard. "Scully, this is hurting you." He sounded like he was about to cry. His hands went to her hips, and I could tell he was about to lift her up and off of him. She finally spoke. "Stop it, Mulder. I told you, I know what I'm doing." He snatched his hands away as if he'd been burned. Whipped. That's what he was. She opened her eyes, and brought a hand up to his cheek, stroking it lovingly. "It's been a while, and you're so big, okay? I just need to get used to it, that's all. I want you. Now be quiet." Translation: shut up and let me fuck you. If that had been me under there, I could have come from those words alone. Control, thy name is Fox Mulder. And then her words penetrated and it sounded like the two of them really hadn't ever done the deed before. This was their first time =ever=? The knowledge made me feel even more like a shit, if that was possible. He whimpered again but did not otherwise move or make a sound. I could only imagine what torture it was, to be halfway inside a woman and have to lie still while she got "used to it." Especially considering the fact that he was at the point where even a well-placed hand could have probably set him off. Meanwhile, I was thinking that this is exactly why horses don't have sex with cats. The parts just don't match. He was huge, and she was so incredibly small. It was pretty obvious to me that when it came to sex, human beings constituted the stupidest species of all. The next thing I realized, Dana had taken in all of him – I imagined that he must be halfway up her throat - and was riding him at a leisurely pace. I couldn't believe that he wasn't dead yet. He was so whipped it wasn't even funny. He was on the verge of blowing his package, had been since he'd been eating her out, yet he was letting Dana ride him like they had all the time in the world. He kept staring at her, watching her face with rapt attention. It was like he couldn't even feel what his cock was doing. I knew that fanciful thought wasn't exactly true when her little ride got a little more frantic and choked noises started issuing from his throat. Up and down, up and down, she buried him in her again and again. His hands had gone to her waist, but he wasn't controlling her movements in any way. He wasn't forcing her to a faster rhythm; he wasn't shoving her down on him like I knew he must have wanted to do. He looked like all he wanted to do was watch her, that that was enough for him. Then it got to the point where she was riding him like a crazed woman. My own jeans were uncomfortable, and I was afraid I was going to blow my wad right there. I shut my eyes, both because I was feeling guilty and because I was hoping to control my own helpless reaction to the visual stimuli. Plus, my eyeballs hurt from straining through the little closet blinds. It didn't work. Mostly because I couldn't stop myself from =hearing= them, and the noises they were making were just as erotic as watching the sex take place, if not more so. Every squeak of the bedsprings, every grunt from a human being, every wet slap of an ass against someone's thighs. God, it was torture, and I gave up the battle, threw in the towel, waved the little white flag. I reopened my eyes to see what is probably going to feature in my imagination every time I close my eyes for the next fifty years or so: the vision of Dana Scully riding a man. It didn't even matter that the man wasn't me. The only thing that could have possibly improved upon what was happening right before my eyes was if you threw Yolanda into the mix. Aw, damn. Two little redheads, maybe kissing each other as one of them was being fucked...shit, what was I doing? I was a sick, sick bastard. As if I wasn't already between a rock and a very, very hard place. I was dying to touch myself, but I was more afraid that if I did I'm come right then and there and wouldn't be able to hold the sounds of ecstasy in. Mulder was holding onto Dana's waist for dear life, and I'm not sure, but I think he was finally letting himself pound her. And then Dana came, crying out his name like a mantra. Oh yeah. She's a screamer. When that happened, it was like something snapped inside Mulder. Before the strongest tremors had even ceased running through her body, he was sitting up on the bed, with Dana still twitching on him, still coming. He lifted her up and off of his still-erect cock, and flipped her over onto her hands and knees. He rose to his knees, gripping her hips in both hands, and in a microsecond had slammed back into her. She gave a little cry that went straight to my dick, which was suffering enough as it was. It took all the control =I had not to cream my jeans right there. This time her body gave absolutely no resistance. I was struck once more by the difference in their sizes. It looked like he was gutting her. Rearranging some organs, possibly. It was an arousing sight. But I felt for poor Dana. She hadn't done this in a while? Damn, was she going to be sore come morning. He pulled almost all the way out of her, so that he could see his cock, all glistening from having been in her, before he thrust it back in. She was so slick and wet from her previous two orgasms that what was happening between her legs now was giving off its own symphony of sound. It sounded like her juices were gushing out of her. Her ass slapped wetly against him as he fucked her like there was no tomorrow. There wasn't any other way to put it. Yeah, yeah, it gets used all the time - "he ate like there was no tomorrow" "she danced like there was no tomorrow" - but those are just figures of speech, exaggerations. The man I saw fucked the woman beneath him like there was =no tomorrow coming. At this point I would have given my right arm for Yolanda to have been stuck in this closet with me. There is no way you can watch the kind of raw and dirty sex that was happening right in front of me and still remain unaffected. It ain't possible. It ain't human. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ So now here I stand, in Dana's closet, watching her partner fuck her brains out. And I am not one to use that expression lightly. I've been trying to distract myself, ruminating about how I got here in the first place, trying =not= to do the thing that Fox Mulder is at this moment trying to accomplish. I think of what I'm going to tell Bill. That seems to do the trick, at least for now. I can feel my hard-on subside a little. Do I tell him that he used to be right and Dana and Mulder weren't doing it, but that's no longer accurate? Even despising him as I do at this moment for putting me in this situation (all right, all right, I know I'm not entirely blameless), I feel guilt at the pain this revelation would cause him. Do I not say anything at all? That would surely kill me. How can I possibly not share with another soul what I witnessed here tonight? Yet if I'm going to share it with any other person, I have to tell Bill, in case it gets back to him somehow, and then I'd be in deep shit. OK, so I have to tell Bill. But that would make me even more of a scumbag than I am already. This is an intimate, private moment between two people that I have no right witness, much less share with other people...with Dana's big brother, for God's sake. But doesn't he have a right to know? It's his little sister, part of my mind argues. And then I realize: no. He has no rights here. The only people who have rights here are Dana and Mulder, and I've already violated them. Besides, do I really want to cause a rift between Bill and Dana? From the sound of things, their relationship is rocky enough as it is. She wouldn't want him to find out this way, and I doubt he'd want to find out in this manner, either. And I'd hate to fall victim to the "kill the messenger" mentality. Not to mention the fact that one day Dana might learn that I was here in her closet when she made love with Mulder for the first time. OK, that scenario is absolutely unacceptable. That's right; it all comes down to what's in =my= best interest, dammit. That problem resolved, I turn my attention back to the events at hand. Mulder's still giving it to her, nice and hard, and I think the man has got to be made of fucking steel. Let it go, I want to tell him. You deserve it! And then I see him take his hands from her hips and instead drapes himself over her body. His hands rest right next to hers on the bedcovers. Suddenly I find out why he still hasn't given in, why he's still torturing himself, no matter how pleasurable the torture is. Because =Dana comes again=. Yes, you heard me right. For the third time. I know she's not faking it; why should she? She's already come twice - it's rightly his turn. But Fox Mulder is a more generous man than I'll ever be. Boy, I have to admire Bill's little sister. What a taker. If I had a woman like that, who could come three times in a sitting so easily, I'd feel like the biggest stud that ever walked the earth. And of course I have to admire Mulder, who is my new hero. At last he breaks the rhythm he had going and just shoves into her fast and rough, and he climaxes =finally= with a guttural cry of his own. You know, I never thought the day would come when I would hear the sound of a man calling out my best friend's name when he's in a fit of sexual release, but here I am. It should probably disturb me, but it doesn't. I think it's the way Mulder says "Scully" like no one else. There's no mistaking when he says that word that he's talking about Dana. It doesn't even sound the same as when other people say it, like it's not even the same word. So it doesn't even faze me that Mulder's yelling "Scully!" as he's letting loose all the little Mulders into her. That should probably bother me too, considering how much I had wanted her for myself, but for some reason it doesn't. It suddenly occurs to me that they didn't use protection. Either they really trust each other or else they're really stupid. I know they're both intellectual giants, but you know what they say: the smartest people often have no common sense whatsoever. I grin sadistically at the passing thought of breaking the news to Bill that not only are they really fucking like little bunnies, but also that he's going to be an uncle soon. Of course, I won't - but the thought is fun. When Mulder's recovered somewhat, he rolls to one side and says huskily, "Scully?" She doesn't respond, and I can see the panic crossing his features. He thinks he's killed her. But then he apparently realizes that she's still breathing (you aren't =that= good, buddy), and he exhales a long breath, then eases completely off of her body with reluctance and some difficulty. He straightens the covers as best he can, and rearranges their bodies so that no one will wake up with cramps in the morning. He just lies there until his breathing evens out, and then the grin comes. I've never seen anyone look that happy. To my surprise, he gets up soon after and starts putting on his clothes. He grabs his jacket from where it's been forgotten on the floor. He doesn't put it on, for I imagine he's still a bit hot and flushed, but sits down on the edge of the bed and just looks at Dana for a moment. He brushes a wayward strand of hair away from her face, which has no doubt gotten stuck there from her tossing her head about and the sweat that clings to her skin. "Don't regret this, please, Scully," he whispers. "Ask me to stay...ask me to stay." Her breathing remains even; she is unresponsive. He sighs deeply then, almost as if he can't help himself, and takes one of her hands, the one closest to him, and he kisses it. He presses it to his cheek. He kisses her palm. Reluctantly, he places her hand back onto the bed, and tries to draw a sheet over her. Since they are all tangled and Dana is lying on top of half of them, he's not able to get much over her. Oh well. It isn't cold, anyway, and certainly not to Dana. It's the thought that counts. I've never been much of a romantic. But it's obvious Mulder is; there's no way he could have handled tonight the way he did otherwise. With sudden clarity I know why he's leaving: it's so that when she wakes up in the morning she can get her bearings without the added pressure of having to face him. He's letting her have control. And as he gets up to leave, I get a good look at the expression on his face, and I realize it's of love. It's of love, I tell myself, feeling an indefinable weight lifting from my shoulders and relief washes over me. It's of love. Again, Dana surprises us both by speaking. I thought she was out of commission for a while. "Mulder?" she says softly, tremulously. "Stay with me?" She asks it like a question, as if she doesn't know that he's doing a little dance of joy inside that she asked. And then I realize – she =doesn't= know. And I am struck by how two such brilliant people can be so stupid. Like I said before, when it comes to sex, humans are dumb. And that thing about smart people and common sense. Excuse me if I can't recall all the deep philosophical =stuff= that I said earlier. I'm still half-soused and hard as a rock with little hope of getting it relieved any time soon. If they would just go to sleep... He strips down to his boxers, turns off the lights, and rejoins her on the bed. It looks from here like he's shaking slightly, as if he can't believe what's happening. I hear Dana say drowsily, "Mulder, I'm sleeping on the wet spot. Can you move me away? I can't seem to move my body." He laughs softly and spoons her up against him. Well, sort of. She's lying on her back, but he's on his side pressed up against her. It's a quasi-spoon. Listen to me, I'm getting poetic. I hear some sounds, kind of wet and sounding like suckling...oh. They're kissing. It shocks me to realize that it's the first time they've kissed since they walked into the room. Then Dana shocks me some more. "Do you realize that was our first kiss, Mulder?" she murmurs. I don't hear what he says, but I can hear what sounds like sniffling, and I'm pretty sure it's coming from him. I can't blame the guy for losing his cool. Hell, my =own eyes feel a little damp. Though I'm not sure whether it's from the emotion these two have roused or the strain I've put on my eyes from watching their activities through some pretty damn small closet blinds. There is silence, then Mulder's voice. "So this was premeditated, huh Scully?" She doesn't answer for a while, and I think she's fallen asleep, but then her voice answers in the darkness. "Didn't you notice I shaved my legs especially well, Mulder?" There are a few contented sighs, then pretty soon they are both sleeping the sleep of the well-and-truly-fucked-but- good, in post-coital bliss. I make my way out of Dana's apartment without incident, paper bag and all, stifling the urge to whistle until I'm safely out of the building. I think of Yolanda and a predatory grin overtakes my face. I've got some brand-new sexual techniques under my belt now that will blow her away and make me feel like the stud I know I can be. Not that I wasn't a stud before, but anything that helps my cause along is good. Suddenly I realize that I'm sober. I wonder when that happened? When I get to a major street, I hail a taxi and give Yolanda's street address. I almost slap myself on the forehead when I realize that I forgot to put the damn casserole in the fridge. Oh well, I don't think Dana's going to miss it all that much. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ The next day I come home from Yolanda's and find a frantic message on my machine from old Bill. Seems he thinks he's the scummiest big brother that ever lived. I think about torturing him for a few more hours, for putting both of us through that ordeal, but in a way he did me a favor. For some reason, seeing Dana and her partner together kind of gave me hope that there is someone out there for me, someone perfect =just= for me, like they are for each other. I think this whole thing has affected me in a really positive way. When I got to Yolanda's, I found myself wondering if she had always been that beautiful. I marveled at the fact that she put up with me, that she opened her door for me at such an ungodly hour. I think my new attitude presented itself well to her, and she seemed to blossom as a result. Of course, that could have just been my highly appreciated new techniques...but I like to think that maybe it was something a little more. So I go ahead and call. Bill answers on the first ring, and the first thing I say is that nothing happened; Dana didn't know I'd been anywhere near her apartment. I tell him the casserole never made it, but won't elaborate further than that. I do tell him that Mulder was there. When he hears this he's less than thrilled. "At that hour? Fucking Fox Mulder was there?" he spits out incredulously. I'm so tempted to tell him that the designation he uses for his sister's partner is a lot more apropos than he realizes, but if things go the way they should (and as I'm positive they will), I'm sure he'll eventually find that out on his own. I know he's dying of curiosity to know how I know all these details and yet his sister doesn't know I was at her place, but our pact keeps his questions silent. I make him swear that he won't ever tell her that I was there, and he makes me swear that I won't ever tell her what he asked of me. We then both swear never to mention it again. While he's taking a huge breath to start in on another Fucking Fox Mulder tirade, I insert, "He loves her. I think they're perfect together." The last thing I hear before I put the phone down is Bill shouting, "Wha-at?! Has the whole fucking world gone =crazy=?" I've gotta get cleaned up. I've got a hot date with a lovely little redhead tonight, for the second night in a row. She's sweet and funny, she's got a hell of a body on her, and she hasn't realized yet that she's too good for me. If I'm smart I'll grab my chance and hang on for dear life. Maybe I should wear =my= Snoopy boxers. Snoopy got at least one guy I know the woman of his dreams. Maybe Joe Cool can work some magic for me. I muse a little on the fact that Dana and Mulder's unknowing sacrifice wasn't an entire waste, that seeing them together made a significant impact on another person's life. I'm glad I can at least give that back to them, even though hopefully they'll never know about it. Well. I guess I have a romantic side after all. Who knew? =End ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ For the full text go to: http://www.angelfire.com/ms/naridalaw ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ HUGS AND BESOS TO: Brandon, Paulette, and Shannon for the polish and shine. Your collective talent and generosity continue to inspire me. I can't do you guys justice. Brandon, your understanding of the characters is second to none and I love that you call me on it when they start getting unrecognizable. Paulette, what an eye! Your knowledge of the impossibilities of certain sexual situations is much appreciated. Shannon, any part in this that's any good is all you. And finally, though she has no wish to be associated with this trashy fic whatsoever, to Louise Marin, who unwittingly goaded me into writing this when she forced me to think of smut and then proceeded to leave a scene filled with UST. "Any Other Name" continues to obsess me.