Title: Wicked Witchcraft Author: Thirteen Cats Archive: SIS, Goss, Eph, Spookys - yes. Others may delight us by asking. Spoilers: None. Rating: NaughtyContent -17 different kinds Pairings: Mulder/Scully and Skinner/Original Character (Anne Downing of WesternRose's "Light from Darkness" story, which you do not need to have read to understand this), and......we'll just leave it at that. Disclaimer: They're Chris', except for Annie, who belongs to herself and WesternRose. Sue us and we'll put a hex on you. Summary: 'Cause it's witchcraft, wicked witchcraft, and although I know it's strictly taboo, when you arouse the need in me, my heart says "Yes, indeed!" in me, "Proceed with what you're leading me to....!" Notes: When one writer has 9 cats, and her co-writer has 4 cats; when you've got 2 writers, a great original character, and Halloween smut on the mind; when you add moonlight, autumn, Calvados and the inevitable Loreena McKennitt in the background, you get....ThirteenCats and this fic. Enjoy. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ All Hallow's Eve an hour before midnight "On spirit winds let my wish take flight, Bring my heart's desire to me this night." The two women looked at each other over the steam rising from the silver brazier. Each wore a peaked black hat, a pair of high heels, and nothing else. Blue eyes met green, and Dana Scully said to Anne Downing, "I think that our heart's desire should be the return of our wits." Anne burst out laughing and rocked back on her heels. "Oh, sure! While we're at it, how about the ten points of intelligence it cost us to even think about doing this!" Anne sputtered through her laughter. Dana began to laugh herself, thinking of the picture they must make. Two grown women clad in nothing but the silly hats from their Halloween costumes. As if the nudity wasn't enough, they were half-seriously casting love spells using a Calphalon pan over a fondue warmer, and the snips of fresh herbs Scully grew, a legacy from Melissa. Melissa would have liked the herb lore, but Dana grew them for beauty, scent and remembrance. They removed their hats self-consciously, still giggling. What foolishness! They must be drunk. Hopefully, this would all be a muzzy haze of memories in the morning. Suddenly the herbs, which were steeping in watered wine and pinpricks of their blood, popped and hissed twice. Sweet scents of rosemary, catnip, sage and red valerian wafted through the air, out the opened window, and into the night. The curtains stirred and the dozen candle flames danced. Both Anne and Scully shivered. "It's pretty chilly," Scully said, closing the window. Anne could only nod. They gathered their bits of their fanciful costumes about them and dressed before collapsing on the sofa. Neither would admit to the other that they felt a potent buzz through their bodies, intoxication having nothing to do with alcohol. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ All Hallow's Eve 10 pm It had all started with a party, and two women both in a rather pissed off mood. They had each been invited separately to a costume party, and although neither one would claim the other as anything other than a colleague, they wound up talking. They talked most of the time they were at the party, and finally fed up with the drunken oafishness of several male guests, had left to wander the streets of Georgetown with other manifestations of the supernatural. A stop at the Insomnia Caf had turned into a long mutual bitch session about their apparent lack of anything resembling a normal life. Dana had worked up the nerve to ask Anne a question that she had no right to ask. "You and Skinner...ah... are you?" Anne's blush had come out of the low neckline of her black stretch-velvet dress and ascended to her hairline. It was answer enough. "You and Mulder?" Anne asked. Dana thought that she had probably turned as red as her hair. "Sort of," she mumbled back. "So why the hell are we here without these guys?" Anne groused. "Not that I'm not enjoying your company," she added hastily. "Because Mulder has ditched me, sort of," Scully said, sounding resigned. "What's with you and Skinner?" "He's being...surly!" Anne said, making a face. "Nothing unusual. Some serious problem between you two?" Scully asked. "No, just work. Not a big rift between you and Mulder, I hope," Anne said. "No. I don't think anything on earth could really break us apart," Scully said, her eyes full of emotion. "But sometime I'd like to break his head." "Same with Walter. He's wonderful most of the time. I know I can't really change him, and I wouldn't truly want to. Just sometimes, once in awhile, I'd like to..." Anne paused, sipped and snorted at her own unspoken thoughts. "What?" Scully asked. "...cast a spell on him!" Anne finished. Scully smiled wickedly. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* All Hallow's Eve 10:30 pm Skinner removed his wire rimmed glasses and rubbed his face and scalp wearily. He popped his neck, then jaw, and noted that his ass ached in the chair. There was no way he could think of to pop that. Well, at least not one he'd do in his office, even if it was growing late on Halloween night, and he was quite alone. If the Senate thought that funding nominally democratic group in Central America with strong ties to drug cartels was a good idea before, they'd have another think coming after reading what Skinner had just spent hours writing. It was a good report, based on solid evidence. He was sure it would be ignored. "Beware of stupid people in large groups," he muttered sourly. The whores in elected office were even worse than stupid. He heaved a sigh and wondered if the traffic would be worse with the holiday partying. Perhaps waiting to leave later would mean getting home sooner. Well, there were a few reports he could just finish up.... The subtle scent of sandalwood washed over him. Anne's perfume? Was she still here? He thought he remembered her saying something about a costume party. Had she changed her mind? The scent of her perfume wrapped itself around him, insinuating itself into memory, stroking him to life as surely as Anne's gentle touch. ....he thrust into her as she leaned on the bathroom counter, her legs weak. Only his hand on her swollen clit and his prodigious cock were keeping her upright as he took her from behind. Her buttocks quivered with each thrust and her cries spurred him to go even more deeply into the pulsing silk of her. He felt the building pressure in his balls as one hand found a generous breast and rolled the sensitive nipple as he groaned and... Dear God! His cock throbbed insistently, rock hard and ready for her. If she did not shoot him on sight, that is. He grimaced at the memory of that afternoon. Violent crime was not Anne's beat and the Warner case was a VC. The fraud was secondary to the kidnapping and murder that the fraud engendered. He had handed it off to Tom Colton. Anne had done the groundwork solidly and not even an unimaginative dolt like Colton could fuck this up. Anne had hit the roof and cussed at him in a stream of the several languages she had been exposed to growing up. This was HER case and she was NOT going to hand it over to a flatulent fool like Colton and furthermore.. He had come down on her, hard. He was the AD, she was the agent, and that was that. Anne had an obsessive streak and once she had her teeth in a case would hang on like a pit bull. He had gotten bitten before. Just because they had become lovers did not change their basic natures and she had left in as bad a mood as he. Yet now he could no more stop thinking of her, any more he could stop breathing. He shook his head, astonished at his lack of self-control, the way he could not refocus on his work. Oh sure, he thought of her often, but work was work, and except for the briefest of heated thoughts, he never let his mind wander to her. Now, it not only wandered, it seemed entirely out of his control. He was certain, certain, that at that moment, she was thinking of him, imagining herself sliding up and down in his lap, chanting his name, begging him to beg her, her voice like heated honey, begging him to touch, to taste, to take... He pushed himself away from his desk with a groan. Think of something else, think of... ...a wild toss of brunette hair over his face when he couldn't take anymore, and screamed out whatever she demanded to hear... Skinner clutched the arms of his chair and stared down. His cock was tenting out the front of his trousers. This was a fine situation for a fortysomething man. That little witch wasn't even in the building and she was the source of all frustration. Goddamn it! Walter Skinner snarled to the empty air in his seventh floor office as he grabbed his keys and trench coat. He locked the door securely behind him and stalked out the door of his outer office, all evidence of his arousal hidden under the expensive black wool. Skinner did not even know where he was planning on going, or why, or to say or do what, he only knew he had no choice, and rather resented that. There was an insolent drive in him for one thing: putting his mouth on Anne Downing. Like a drug, like junk he needed to shoot into his veins, bringing him bliss, he wanted her. He loved to drive her into a sweet frenzy of need for him, all the while hoping she never knew that it was his own need that knew no end, that grew even as it was satisfied. He was hers as surely as Anne was his. Skinner smiled at that thought. Anne. His. Anne, strong and feminine, beautiful and wanton, smart as hell and a lover from heaven. He needed her, and if Anne harbored any doubts about where things stood between them, he would make it plain to her tonight. Skinner fought with himself all the way to the garage. He fought as he opened the door to the car. He fought as he started the car and drove out onto a deserted Pennsylvania Avenue. He lost the whole damn war. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ All Hallow's Eve 8:15 pm Dana snarled at the phone that told her Mulder was incommunicado. She scowled at clock on the wall as she flung on her black velvet cape and snatched up her broom. If she really were a witch, then Fox Mulder would be sitting on a lilypad this very minute, she thought grimly." Bree-deep, bree-deep!" She smiled at the mental picture as she checked her reflection in the mirror. Mulder, she thought, is missing out. Her black velvet dress was cut full in the skirt, tight and low in the bodice, her Celtic knotwork necklace gilding her cleavage. She had let her hair dry naturally and now it curled softly around her face, emphasizing her reddened lips and kohl-lined eyes. What was under the velvet made her smile all the more. She had splurged at Boutique Lissandre on black re-embroidered Venetian lace panties, demi-bra, and round garters to hold up the black silk stockings. She dabbed on the most wicked perfume in her repertoire, so seldom opened, and swept out the door with her full black velvet skirts swirling behind her like an October breeze. By the time she reached the party, she wished that she had ridden the broom, or at least conjured up a cab. Every cab that passed her seemed full of ghouls, already. How many times had she been propositioned on the way here? It was nice to know that she was considered attractive. Oh very attractive. Somehow a carful of drunken fratboys yelling " Show me your tits, Witchipoo!" just did not warm her up. She stalked up the staircase of the townhouse and knocked at the door, trying not to look like she wanted to bite something. The door opened and the smell of cinnamon, candles, liquor, cigarettes and too many bodies in too small a space assaulted her. Somehow -- it was just right. Moreover, just where she wanted to be. She stepped in and looked around smiling, as her hostess pressed a mug of "witches' brew " into her hand. Dana sipped at the spiced cider and detected the liberal tot of Calvados within as it began to warm her to her toes. She was, to her astonishment, actually relaxing. Even the headache between her eyebrows was being smoothed away by the tides of conversation and music that swept the room. Someone was smoking marijuana and yet Dana the Federal agent who should care about such things was nowhere to be found. The man behind her brushed against her. She smiled at the implied pass and moved away, crossing the room to where a crowd had gathered. They cheered at something that she could not see and then groaned in disappointment She heard a splashing noise followed by a laugh and then " Oh, shit." The crowd shifted and she could see - several people were bobbing for apples. Again, the man, tall with sandy blonde hair and gray eyes, was by her side, and smiled at her warmly. "Haven't done that since I was a kid," he said, his breath candy sweet over the scent of a hundred candles, a hundred bodies. "Innocent fun." He was not at all a bad looking man, merely the wrong one. When she only smiled briefly at him, he was gentleman enough to take the hint. The man left her side with only a nod. A dance would not have hurt anything, but so little seemed innocent tonight. With merely a wink and a word, everything could spin from pretend to reality and from reality to magic. Scully's hips moved of their own will to the erotic beat of the music. She wasn't even dancing with anyone but it was just so right. She drifted into the middle of the floor, swaying to a rhythm she had not been aware of until just that moment. Around her ghouls and goblins danced and cavorted. She snorted at the costumes and masks around her - she had seen far worse in reality. Reality seemed far away, and so very unnecessary Circling her hips, shuffling her feet, arms loose and liquid, Scully listened to the voice of the moon powerfully feminine, having nothing to do with suits, pantyhose, Bureaus, 302s, but perhaps something to do with investigations - and extreme possibilities. The possibilities she was a powerful woman, free, bold, ripe and full with magic. Moreover, was this not a night for magic? Would not the spirits that roamed this night of all souls heed a call for aid? In Her Name? The thought stopped her in her tracks. She didn't even know what she was praying for, what she needed. But then.... maybe it was not the time to think. She wandered over to the cauldron intent on refilling her cup with brew and found a kindred soul. The woman she saw was familiar, not particularly liked, a bit too close to comfort to Scully's own reserve, to Scully's own dangerous path. They were much like twins who don't like each other. More than once she had thought 'witch' - or another word that rhymed with it - about Anne Downing. However, tonight, she found her a kindred spirit, another prowling nascent goddess, full of womanhood and wickedness. ~*~*~*~*~*~ All Hallow's Eve 9 pm Anne lifted a cup of brew to her lips, savoring her second cup of the night as she cast eyes over the crowd She was restless tonight. Not in the mood to cleave to her usual reserve. Not in the mood to be ladylike. In the mood to be bad, which can be so, so good. She had come here doubting her wisdom in doing so. Who knew what could happen when Special Agent Anne Esperanza Downing let her hair down and her inner goddess out? She let a wicked little smile cross her red lips. Who knew, indeed? Surely there was nothing ladylike in her appearance tonight. Her black velvet dress was cut to display and enhance her figure with its lace sleeves, scooped neckline, and flaring skirts. The Horned Moon rode between breasts lovingly encased in silver embroidered silk. Even her hair was out of character, freed from its braid, flowing about her shoulders. Anne started across the room to the space on the floor that had been cleared for dancing, the sensual beat pulling her with a lover's hands. Her hips swayed and she noted another velvet clad witch and smiled at the common thread. Were these women pretending to be witches this night, when indeed, they were? Did they spend the rest of the year pretending not to have womanly power? If all these women released their harvested magic this night what might happen? She took another warming swallow of her brew as the beat changed to a wild Celtic air. She wondered if the Goddess listened to her daughters' prayers tonight. She wondered what her prayer would be. Her pride stung as much as the tears she refused to shed. That fight with Walter over handing off her case to VC... That idiot COLTON on her case - HER case... She took a deep breath and tried to let her anger go. Skinner had done what he believed to be right. It still rankled her, but he was the AD. She knew that she was going to have issues with the decisions he made when she first started seeing him, same as before. Yet it had never come down to an issue of respect or abuse of power, his over her, nor hers over him. She shifted restlessly, pushing it from her mind. Not here. Not now. Now was not a moment of anything but the authority of wine and womanhood, the imperatives of music and dance, the spells of smoke and sweat. She turned to head back to the cauldron, thanking her lucky stars that tomorrow was Saturday. So she drank deeply and let everything simply wash through her. A wicked Georgetown party on an old pagan festival night. Could it be magic? An undeniable vibration, a sympathetic rhythm startled her reverie. A kindred spirit...nearby. The small hairs of Anne's body prickled to life, standing straight out against her soft clothing and the heated room's air like she was deeply chilled. The investigator's 'aha!' moment washed over her like orgasm. Someone else was here - watching her. Anne met the blue eyes of a sister witch - just where she least expected to find onne. Agent Dana Scully. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ All Hallow's Eve 10 pm The music was pulsating. The lights were a dim red that was meant to be lavicious, but only looked tired. The drinks were watered and too expensive. It was all about sex and it was just boring as hell. Fox Mulder sat at a low stage looking at, but not seeing, the melon-breasted dancer gyrating before him. He had been here many times, but had the feeling tonight that he was in the wrong place entirely. This club was supposed to be haunted by the spirit of a young stripper who had been electrocuted by a faulty stage light. The Lone Gunmen had packed the joint with tape recorders, rheostats, infrared cameras, and all manner of devices to measure miniscule fluctuations of energy. He had turned off his cell phone as a nod to their notions about electrical tracking. Byers sat at the bar, watching the Yankees get a shellacking from the Mets. Langley was talking about a band called Pretty Sick with a rather pierced young lady who had hair an unlikely shade of Black Cherry. Frohike was getting lapdanced by an augmented redhead who looked as if she wished to be anywhere on God's green earth but here. The feeling that he was supposed to be somewhere else grew stronger. The wrong place. The wrong people. The wrong woman. The wrong breasts. The wrong shade of red. Red hair. Scully. Oh. Shit! He did not realize that he had spoken aloud until the dancer stalked away in a huff. He was supposed to go to a costume party in Georgetown with Scully. He had promised her one night over dinner three weeks ago. It was important to her - old friend and too many invitations turnned down. He was a dead man walking. He grabbed his leather jacket from the back of the chair, tossed a few bills onto the stage and bolted for the door. Scully. He had to get to Scully. He would make it up to her. Somehow. Perhaps over the course of the next century. He ran his hand through his hair as he stepped out into the cold night. A taxi. He had to get a cab to take him across the bridge and into Georgetown. Scully. Get to her. Take her scornful remarks. Admit his rudeness. Accept a stinging slap, if he must. At least her hand would be on him. Anything to be touched by her. To pull her hand to his face where she smacked him, then suck her thumb into his mouth and watch her mouth pucker with pleasure. To take his pleasure from her finger and make her wait, wait for his mouth until she gave a little whimper. To then tilt her head up and kiss her, kiss her senseless, kiss her until their mouths grew swollen and they gasped for breath. To rip their clothes off, hands and mouth, flesh and hair, soft and hard and wet and inside her inside her inside her and... A horn blared, and brakes screeched far too close to him. "Hey asshole, watch where you're going!" Mulder hopped back onto the sidewalk in a hurry. He'd never make it to Scully at this point. Think. He had to think. Well, it would help if he actually had blood up in his brain, and not lower. Nearly an hour later he was walking backwards on the Key Bridge with his thumb in the air. He was freezing cold and thankful to be alive. The taxi that he had hailed refused to take him to Georgetown after a page from the driver's pregnant wife. He had gotten a ride with a leather-clad dominatrix who had tried to handcuff him to the passenger side door of her Chrysler minivan. His next ride had been an utterly silent man in a late model black sedan who drove with his eyes glued to the road and his hands welded to the wheel. He had stopped on the bridge until Mulder had exited the car and then roared off into the night. Mulder reached the end of the bridge and crossed M Street heading for Barton Court and Scully. Scully. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* All Hallow's Eve 11:10 pm Walter Skinner was beyond annoyed and well into pissed. Anne Downing lived in a brick townhouse on Pomander Walk. Nevertheless, no matter what he did he kept making a right on 32nd Street instead of a left. Anne was four blocks to the left. Dana Scully lived on Barton Court, three blocks from the right. He pulled away from the curb as the scent of sandalwood filled the car... Skinner trusted his instincts, which had kept him alive and advancing longer than anybody, including himself, would have bet on. Somehow he was meant to be here, at Scully's. Perhaps she was in danger? Competing emotions warred in Skinner - the drive to find Anne, the duty to know if danger threatened Scully. Pleasure would have to wait. Yet as he walked up to Scully's house, he felt strangely not that he was turning his back on his desires, but walking toward them. But what he found walking toward him was even stranger. Fox Mulder. At the same time they said, "What are you doing here?" Which was a question neither seemed able to answer. After a moment, they shrugged and proceeded to Dana Scully's front door, and by then, Mulder was visibly bristling. Neither of them raised a hand to knock, a situation that Skinner found ridiculous. As ridiculous as Mulder's glare. The nerve of the man! "What?" he barked. "What *are* you doing here?" Mulder asked, his hazel eyes very like a tomcat's. "I was looking for....Anne Downing!" Skinner said, unable to stop himself. "At Dana Scully's residence?" Skinner ignored that and bristled at Mulder, "What are you doing here?" "I'm Agent Scully's partner. I'm here to discuss a case with her," Mulder said loftily, obviously gloating over his superior pretense. Skinner snorted. A case. Right. He had a case alright. A case of the hots. Skinner could recognize all the symptoms. They were just like his own. Sudden female laughter caught them both by surprise. The door had opened while they were trying to mark their territory and they were caught. Skinner straightened, and Mulder calmed his face. The pretty pair just leaned on the doorjamb and smiled. Blue eyes. Green eyes. Skinner half expected to see the old woman of his Vietnam experience and his worst dreams. For as sure as then, he was a dead man. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ All Hallow's Eve 11:15 pm "Well, look what we have here, Agent Downing," Scully said, blue eyes luminescent. "Yes indeed, Agent Scully. Look what we conjured up," Anne replied, green eyes amused. Mulder did a double take then checked the number on the apartment door. Right apartment. But... but... these wicked seductresses had very little to do with his Scully, and Anne Downing, who always had given Scully a run for the money in the "who's so cool she's icy?" contest. Mulder got that shiver. The shiver that said, "Something spooky and dangerous is about to happen." He couldn't wait. Warm air tinged with perfume and candle wax rolled over the two men, drawing them half-willing into the witches' lair. Skinner gritted his teeth and said, "Good evening Agent Scully, Agent Downing." "A.D. Skinner, do come in," Scully said, with a tilt of her head. Anne Downing positioned herself right in Skinner's way and they did a side to side dance until Anne relented, with a giggle. Skinner's discomfiture and Anne's enjoyment of it was a fine sight, but nothing compared to Scully. Mulder feasted his eyes on his partner, and his many months lover. Oh that woman! Smiling so wantonly as she walked away from him, her silk stocking whisk-whisking where her soft thighs met. His fingers twitched at the thought of the silk trailing under his fingers as he....but Skinner! What was he going to do about Scully, her skin, her thighs, everything at the top of her thighs, oh God, while Skinner was here? It seemed, perhaps, Skinner had other things on his mind. He had caught the tail end of that argument between Downing and Skinner today, marveling at her chutzpah. Somehow, he didn't think that was what was on Skinner's mind. The expression on Skinner's face suggested that he was walking to his own execution. With a fireplace poker up his ass. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ "Agent Scully, uh, you're wondering why I came by, of course," Skinner started, cramming authority into his voice to hide the shakiness he felt. Scully didn't even helping him out by agreeing. She smiled and said nothing. Anne looked like she was ready to spit canary feathers. Skinner cleared his throat. "I was working late tonight and I had some questions about expenses on the Lowery case." Anne gave an unladylike snort as Scully rolled her eyes. Such impertinence. "You seemed to run up a lot of laboratory fees, and did not use the approved pathology labs. Can you explain fourteen hundred dollars of extra expenses, Agent Scully?" Damn. It was the best excuse he could think of and it limped on crutches. "Well, if you have the report, then you have my attached memo. I thought it explained that the time-critical analysis from the more sophisticated, and costly, laboratory helped us determine the exact chemical composition of the poison and thus catch the killer before he struck again," Scully replied, oh so patiently. "Perhaps it's confusing on the report. If you'll show it to me, I can point out what tests were run, at what time, and explain the significance more thoroughly," she said, with only the appropriate number of innocent blinks and raised eyebrows. What an actress. "Ahhh.....," Skinner had no such report, of course, and hadn't really needed anything explained further to him, of course, because, Scully had done a fine job of explaining it in the first place. Of course. Anne was grinning outright now. She would pay and pay, the little witch. Scully he couldn't exact any revenge on, but he thought that tying Anne up and dripping icy water on all her sensitive spots would be a fine idea. A fine idea that came right from his little head. He was still hard. They were right in front of Mulder and Scully, and what were those two up to anyway? This was entirely out of hand. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Skinner looked so clumsy, and yet Scully looked so delighted, her eyes never leaving Skinner. Mulder smelled a rat. That was as lame an excuse as he had ever heard, and he had heard some lame ones. He had told some excuses that definitely needed handicapped parking himself. To the very man who was sweating in the middle of Dana Scully's living room, as a matter of fact. He regarded Skinner through narrowed eyes, his usual paranoia now linked to a jealousy he had never suspected. What were these looks he was giving Downing, like he didn't want her here? The way he had said he was looking for her was very choked. Was this a coverup? Did he want Scully? He could not have Scully. Anne was either choking to death or trying not to laugh. Was she in on knowing something was up between Scully and Skinner and having a laugh at foolish Mulder? "I, uh, seem to have left the report at the office, but I'm sure I was tired and overlooked your memo by mistake. I am feeling very much better about this since you explained again, Agent." That man was scrambling for a scrap of dignity like a fig leaf, lest his duplicity hang out. Mulder did not appreciate this. "Oh I think you'll feel better if you have a drink, sir," Scully said, obviously being merciful. "Well I don't want to interrupt your party," Skinner said. "Some people seem to be having a very good time," he added, glaring at Downing. "I'm thirsty too, Scully," Mulder said, reminding her of his presence. "Scotch, vodka, wine?" Scully offered to Skinner, as Mulder took her elbow and dragged her into the kitchen. "Scotch, neat," Skinner replied. Mulder was at last alone with Scully, but not in the way he had planned before. "Scully, just what the hell is going on here?" Scully shrugged at him, then reached into the cabinet for two glasses. "What, Mulder? Do you want wine instead of whiskey? Just say so!" Mulder crossed the kitchen in two longlegged strides and pulled her around to face him. "That's not what I'm talking about and you know it." "Oh you mean you've already had enough to drink?" Scully said, sniffing at his breath. "Skinner. Why is he here? Did you.....? Do you....?" Mulder said, sputtering to a stop. "What?!" Scully barked much like Skinner had earlier. She looked as if she could very well throw the green bottle of Glenlivet right at his head. "He was here to see you Scully and you don't act surprised," Mulder said slowly. "He was looking for Anne, I do believe," Scully replied. "Anne Downing does not live here, and I didn't even think you two got along, much less socialized while dressing up like Stevie Nicks!" "This outfit I wore for a party that I went to alone, *alone* because you broke your word to me. You even turned off your cell phone. You either forgot or deliberately decided to ditch me, without so much as a word," Scully said, never needing to raise her voice to add lethal weight to her words. "Anne was at the party. We talked. She's nice, actually," she finished. "I know, I'm sorry about the party. I really am. I came to tell you that," Mulder said swiftly. The next part came out rather mumbled, when he said, "The guys came up with a viable case of haunting at Delirium..." "The men's club Delirium. A haunting. You ditch me for a ghost at a topless bar?" Scully said, barely hiding contempt behind amusement. "You know, that sucks. I wish you had come up with a better excuse than that." "Skinner's excuse for being here was pretty lame, too," Mulder countered. "And the AD cannot come see me to ask me a question, uh, why exactly?" she said, irritated. "Is that why he's here?" Mulder demanded, looking hard at Scully. Awareness and shock dawned across Scully's face, making Mulder cringe with shame. "I should kick your ass, Mulder. You insinuate I'm meeting him here tonight when by all rights I should have been out with you at this very hour? That's illogical. And that's not me. Moreover, that's not Skinner. You yourself have trusted Skinner far more than I have. He's our friend." Mulder knew the truth of her words, yet pride could not make him back down, for some reason. "Our friend? He could be spying on us. Wanting to catch us together and roast our asses for the no fraternization rule we break as often as possible." Scully seemed to deflate from her justified exasperation with Mulder. She shook her head and sighed, seeming to pity Mulder, which stung badly. "Mulder, Walter Skinner is Anne Downing's *friend.*" Mulder rolled his eyes. Walter Skinner. Anne Downing. Sure she was lovely, especially tonight, but the risk to Skinner's position was immeasurable. "Yeah right. The AD, breaking that rule? He tossed out Joe Fielding and Rachel Waite on their butts last year for a lot less than what we've got going on." "Mulder, open your eyes. Didn't you see it?" Scully said, incredulous. Mulder shook his head and went to the kitchen door silently. In the living room, Skinner and Anne stood less than a foot from each other. Their eyes were connected like magnets. Mulder was surprised that heat lightning didn't flash between them. "Oh," was all Mulder could say, ashamed of having thought anything unworthy of Scully and Skinner. "Oh," Scully echoed. She looked tired suddenly, yet offered Mulder a drink with a hand gesture. He declined, although his throat was dry and tight. "I'm sorry," Mulder said, in a hoarse whisper. "Scully...." "It's been quite a night, Mulder. My feet hurt. I'm going to give Skinner his drink and then I want to go to bed. He and Anne can settle what's between them." "What about what's between us?" Mulder said, moving to stand before her. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ As Mulder breathed out the question, Scully took a deep breath in. She needed the oxygen to fuel her brain, to look at Mulder. To her, he looked contrite and ashamed. As well he should. A forgotten date and a bitter insinuation? How much could she stand in one night? Scully looked around her kitchen, at the makeshift brazier over which she and Anne had chanted make-believe magic. But it was Scully who had had to make believe, pretend it was all nothing, when the very room had trembled with their power and the very air had ached with their longing and love. Yes, he was sometimes thoughtless. Yes, he had been foolish to be jealous. And yes, he was Mulder, and all she wanted in the world. "What's between us, Scully?" Mulder said, pulling her close to him. He slipped his hands to her waist and lifted her bottom onto the kitchen counter. He slid his hands up over her breasts and to the back of her neck and pulled her very close, kissing close, but didn't touch his lips to hers. "What's this thing? Is it a link? A nexus? A bond?" Scully shuddered in frustration and tried to lean toward Mulder's mouth, but he held her still, pushing his body between her legs. She wrapped his body tight with her legs, never to let him go. "Do you know what happened to me tonight, Scully? I was drawn here. Out of my own control," Mulder whispered, his hazel eyes burning. The two of themwere everything combustible. Silk against denim. Male musk and spicy perfume. Man and woman. Volatility was palpable in the air. "I couldn't think about anything but you," Mulder said, finally allowing himself the barest brush of his lips on the tip of her nose. Scully moaned softly at that touch. Who had been bespelled here? He studiously avoided her lips and instead kissed her chin, continuing to murmur, "I had to come to you, Scully. Had to touch you." He ran his hands to her ass and squeezed. "Taste you." He licked her neck. Scully fought a moan. "Have you," he said finally pulling her opened legs forward and letting her know of his intense arousal, just as he bent his head to suck at the hollow between her collarbones. "Oh! Oh, Mulder," she whispered, reaching down to stroke the hardness in denim. "Oh, I know what's between us." He looked down to where his need was undeniable, then thrust against her hand. Mulder lifted his head and groaned, finally plundering her mouth, kissing her for his life. They kissed frantically, no gesture of mouth or lips or tongue quite enough to convey their need, nor quite adequate to satisfy their lust. Scully barely felt the contact when her head banged hard against the upper cabinet. They swayed to the side, Mulder half-climbing on her, half-laying across her as they kissed wildly. Scully, with some effort, broke away in time to grab the skittering bottle of Glenlivet before it rolled and crashed to the floor. "Skinner!" she hissed. "Fuck Skinner," Mulder said, pushing her neckline down to get to her breasts. "No, not him, me," she demanded. For a moment she thought he'd undo his zipper and do it right there in front of God and her KitchenAid mixer. "Let's go. Let's go to my place," Mulder said. "No, that looks dumb," Scully said, trying to think. "Fuck dumb," Mulder mumbled against her cleavage. "I have it," Scully said. "Leave." "What?" Mulder said, pulling his mouth off her breast. He was leaving a wet spot on the velvet, anyway. "No, go out the front door and climb in the bedroom window." "Now *that's* dumb," Mulder said, panting. "Mulder, please," Scully wriggled until he let her up, not really wanting to end the embrace. "Go, do this, please," He couldn't resist her. They pulled themselves together for a moment. Scully poured the Glenlivet, hoping that her face was not too flushed. "Go," Scully said, pushing at him a bit and shakily grabbing the drink. "I'd rather come," Mulder said, winking at her. Her knees wobbled hard. "You will. And so will I." This was a promise she'd make him keep. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Mulder and Scully had disappeared into the kitchen, and there was a hint of conversation having nothing to do with Skinner's choice of beverage. Anne tried her best. She really did. It was no use. The giggle escaped her lips, bubbling through the tension filled air. One look at Skinner, his serious tight jawed glare, froze any further laughter somewhere in her throat. It was suddenly hard to breathe, to swallow. Whatever Scully brought back from the kitchen, Anne didn't think it would be half as strong as Skinner's anger. Was he regretting the risks of their relationship? Did he really think she would be indiscreet and jeopardize him? Even something as innocent as two women having holiday drinks sent him into this tailspin? What was going on here? "What the hell is going on here? What are you two doing here?" Skinner asked. "Dana lives here. We were at the same party. We actually kind of hit it off," Anne said, nonchalantly. "So what's this been? Tipsy girl-talk? Have you forgotten what we both have to lose here?" he hissed. "I could ask the same. Or maybe you came here as a trick, looking for a different kind of treat?" Anne snapped, meaning only to show how ridiculous he was being, but accidentally showing her own worst fears. "What?" he said, frowning. "Not, what. Who. Who are you here for?" Anne found herself saying to Walter, hating her naked vulnerability. Skinner stepped closer to her, his voice also softer, but still intense. "They have enemies. Hell, sometimes they think I'm one. One whisper of this?" he said, with a jerk of his head at the kitchen, "Eight other A.D.'s would eat that up. One whisper of you and me, and we face OPR, as well. I have enemies, too. If it came to a choice between me and the X-Files, Mulder and Scully might..." "Do you think that's a real possibility?" Anne asked, suddenly wondering if she had misjudged Scully's overtures. "No, not really. They're not like that," he conceded, rubbing his forehead. Something sad was in his brown eyes. "I'm being paranoid. Or I'm tired. I have to hold so much in balance, always be on guard, juggle so much." Skinner put his hands on Anne's shoulders, and they felt, as always, warm and strong. They both looked down for a moment. It was unspoken between them that their relationship was risky. Another thing that Skinner had to juggle and balance. Trained FBI agents develop a certain acuity in hearing. Anne Downing had heard Mulder and Scully, first in barely stifled argument, and now in barely stifled passion. She looked up, wondering which she would see from Walter Skinner. "How did you know to come here?" Anne asked. "I...I don't know. Just instinct," Skinner said, obviously at a loss. "Instinct," she repeated. "Off balance. Off guard. Out of control," she murmured. Was he out of control for her? Even now? In their private, stolen moments, he was a fiery lover, but could it be even now that he burned for her? She closed her eyes and knew the answer. The spell held him as tightly as it held her. She sighed as she felt his touch grow more intimate. His hands sought the exposed skin over her collarbone, the warm skin over her heart. Her knees were weak and he surely felt her heart flutter when he caressed the slope of her breasts, her nipples achingly erect under his touch. "I can't keep you out of my mind, Anne. You're staring at me from the back of my head no matter what I do." His fingers hooked into the neckline of her dress, rough against her heated, hungry flesh. She couldn't hold back the small moan that came from her lips. He pulled her to him as her hands fell to the sash of his coat. Closer, she had to be closer, to feel his heat past velvet and wool. "I want all of you Anne, not just in my bed," Skinner whispered. His hand stroked her, pressing her against his arousal as he whispered "I don't know how to make it any more clear to you." His mouth captured her soft, open lips and seared her to her soul. His. Always his. Never without his touch. Never to walk her chosen path alone again. And to help him, if she could, with his balance, his burdens. She relaxed against Skinner, melting and molten in the core of her as she twined her arms around him. His mouth demanded more, moving to the pulse in her neck as his hand slipped under her skirt. Skinner suddenly froze, holding his breath, and jerked away. Then Anne heard the stirring in the kitchen. They pulled apart, and Skinner tied the coat back over his rampant erection and tried to assume his "I-am-the-AD" face as Scully sailed out the kitchen door with Mulder in her wake. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The pair in her living room amused Dana Scully to no end. Two people exuding heat and pheromones at what must be a physically dangerous level, trying to look as if they were in a budget meeting. "Found the scotch. Had to look. Oh, I'm so rude, I didn't take your coat, sir" Scully said. "Uh, that's okay. Thank you," Skinner muttered, taking the whiskey. Scully had to grin somewhat at the sight of Skinner's firmly belted coat. Poor man. Hell! If what she had caught a glimpse of now and then was accurate...poor Anne. Her boss had, in her opinion, been very generously compensated for the loss of his hair. Very. Generously. Anne had found her own glass, was trying to sip and fan her face at the same time. All four stood around awkwardly, not meeting anyone's eyes. Scully looked at Mulder and tried to shout at him telepathically to go. Mulder's pager suddenly went off with a piercing beepbeepbeep that made everyone jump. He snatched it off his waist and looked at it like it might bite him. "Oh, wow," he said. "This is some bad timing. I was going to take you up on that drink offer, Scully, but a friend of mine needs a ride." Scully forebore to mention that Mulder's car was in the shop for brake service. Polite pretense was the order of the evening. At least he didn't snigger when he said 'ride.' "Have a good evening, Agent Mulder, and drive safely," Skinner said, with a tilt at the corner of his mouth that might be a smile, but more resembled a smirk. "Happy Halloween, Scully. Same to you, Anne," Mulder said. Anne returned the sentiment as Scully showed Mulder the door. Scully turned back to her guests, shuffling awkwardly. One down. Two to go. Then she'd be down. In her bed. Something of Mulder's would be up. And they would fly. Oh so high. High as the moon. Of that she had no doubt. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The Glenlivet made a friendly fire down his throat and into his belly as Skinner watched Mulder leave. He was under no illusions about how this was going down. "Well, the sobriety checkpoints should have traffic in a big old snarl now," Scully said. "Uh, well, I really am going to go change into sweats or something. Wash my face. You know, transform back into regular Dana Scully. I'll be back. Have a drink. Light the fire. Don't feel you have to go," she said, of course wishing they would. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* "Maybe I'll duck in the bathroom quickly, Dana?" Anne said, feeling the wine catch up with her. "Sure, down to the left," Scully said, walking ahead and gesturing, as she kicked off her high heels. Anne slipped into the bathroom and turned on the light. She relieved herself and washed her hands. Her hair was some what disheveled and her lips perhaps a trifle swollen, but when Revlon said that its make-up would stay on, it by God did! Thud! "Oof!" Ka-thump! "Careful!" Coming from the direction of Dana's bedroom. Anne smiled to herself. She had known that Mulder was not really leaving. Not with what she had heard coming from the kitchen. God no. The man was about to suffer Death from Denim if he didn't get naked and horizontal with Scully. Or at least out of those jeans. Which, if her ears didn't deceive her, was exactly the sound she was hearing? Over the wet slide of mouths, heavy breathing and the press of skin on skin, yep, there it was. A YKK zipper doing its duty. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Dana's velvet dress lay in a careless puddle on the floor. She reached behind her to undo the hooks that held the Venetian lace bra closed and felt herself soften at a warm breath on her neck. Mulder's breath eddied about her ear as he whispered, "Let me." He unhooked the delicate lace, sliding the straps down her arms. Every hair on her body stood on end, everything in her orienting on him, as his lips touched the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Mulder's hands cupped her breasts as the flimsy lace fell to the floor. His thumbs teased the hardened nipples, making them burn for his mouth to suckle her, to feed on her desire. She pressed her rounded buttocks back against him, feeling the heat and hardness imprisoned in the tight faded denim. She created that hardness. It was for her, because of her, hers to claim. She turned into his embrace letting Mulder worship her with his lips, his tongue, his hands... and it was worship, reverent and heated and as old as time. She was liquid fire, as silver as the moon, giddy with the power beating through her veins. He had come to her. He went to his knees, pressing kisses against her pale skin until he reached the lace boundary of her panties. She braced her hands on his shoulders as he pressed a kiss through the delicate lace, moaning a prayer that she was melting to answer. His hands slipped the lace from her as his questing tongue found its shrine. His worship became more fevered as he sought and sucked, weakening her legs until she was pressed against his upturned mouth, her moans joining his. He gently manuvered her to the bed. She sank down as she threw her silk clad legs wide for him. "Mulder..." He lost the jacket and damn near killed himself getting out of his pants. She grasped his cock through his boxers and squeezed gently. Mulder's forebrain shut down. She drew him onto the bed as he tore off his shirt and she latched on to a tiny man-nipple. Suckling sweetly as he groaned and gasped unable to form anything resembling human speech. His fingers stroked softly at her satiny flesh, finding and exploring the wetness there as she opened further for him. "Scully...Jesus..." She stopped him with a kiss that made his hips buck, her hands slipping in the wetness that coated his cock. "Mulder...Now..." His goddess commanded and he willingly responded. He moaned and entered her, slipping in her nectar, drowning in sweetness. She cried out, not caring who heard, only knowing that this was her heart's desire. This was her prayer. This loving man covering her body with his, giving her a pleasure that she had only dimly imagined. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Anne exited the bathroom quietly and stood in the hallway, realizing that the door to Scully's bedroom, as old doors in old apartments do, had not quite closed. Two inches let volumes escape and, in a slice of light, brown male arms surrounding Dana's white back. Desire swirled in her belly and she caught herself touching her own breasts. This is what this night had been for. This is what what she wanted. And what she would have. She whirled back down the hallway in a flare of skirts, her heart beating fast. No more waiting. Not even for enough time to get to her house at a dead run. Skinner had started a fire, yet was nowhere in sight. The golden glow of the flames was the only light in the room. She heard him in the kitchen running water, as he was courteously rinsing his glass. She joined him in the tiny kitchen and touched him from behind. "Let's go," Skinner said. "She doesn't want company." "She has company," Anne replied, arching a brow, her eyes glittering roguishly "And let's go, yes," she said. As they left the kitchen, she saw on the kitchen table the snipped herbs that had not earlier been thrown in the pot. Impulsively, the fragrant green handful and walked ahead of Skinner into the living room. He headed for the door, but she headed for the fire. She threw the sweet sorcery into the fire, watching the twigs ignite, burn, and release intoxicating smoke before becoming ash. She turned and as softly as humanly possible, simply said "Walter." He walked the short space to her, wordless and willing. She could feel the heat of him through her thick velvet, the heat, the hunger and the danger of this man. The fire in her veins answered his as their lips touched. She softened against him as he unbuttoned her dress, her hands caressing the muscular back, the strong arms, the beautiful chest. He would always be strong for her, strong enough to have said the gentle words of love earlier. She had always felt his strength and had known that it would be there for her but now she knew the love that went with it. Her dress fell to the floor and she stepped from it into his arms. *~*~*~*~*~*~* "Beautiful, Anne," Skinner murmured, kissing her, "You're so beautiful." His coat fell to the floor to lie beside her dress. His jacket dissapeared. Anne's nimble fingers unbuttoned his shirt, and sent his tie flying into the firedancing shadows. "Walter... God...love you..." He laid her on his coat and unwrapped her silver and black silk underthings. His. He had pursued her. She had willingly been caught. He had her in his arms now. The rest of his clothing peeled off under Anne's questing hands as they kissed with a wild heat and hunger. This little witch, a riot of sweet-scented flesh writhed against him, her fire stoking his to new heights. The Horned Moon between her breasts gleamed and pulsed with her rapid breathing. Skinner heard them. Scully and Mulder in the bedroom. The moaning of Mulder's name and squeak of bedsprings under the weight of two people. Dear God. They were in there, he in her, her in ecstasy. Suddenly the insanity of Anne pulling his clothes off didn't seem quite so insane. There was no chance they'd be caught. His mind flashed back to a wild coupling behind the curtains at a high school dance - the delicious danger of it all, shushing cries of pleasure with his mouth. The insanity of it all - Mulder and Scully right under his nose, he should do something... Oh hell, the hypocrisy of it all. He was bedding Anne as often as he could and apparently Scully knew. At least that would stop Mulder's green-eyed jealousy. Mulder who was currently satisfying Scully into forgetting Skinner was nearby... Suddenly Mulder and Scully vanished into a smoky haze clouding what was left of his brain, because Anne had her mouth on him. Oh, my. He threaded his hand through the hair at the nape of her neck. Her green eyes glinted wickedly up at him. Oh, God, the sight of a woman delighted in what her mouth was doing to him - God! Oh, how he loved this. How he lovedd her! Anne sucked and licked as if to eat him alive, a Goddess taking her willing sacrifice. He couldn't think anymore, he could only feel her tongue on him. She teased him gently, then devoured him savagely as his hips made scarcely controlled small thrusts. Her pleased moans vibrating through him as his eyes shut and his head tipped back. It pleased her to do this but he had to stop her, and soon. Her tongue danced the length of him and he groaned out loud as he pulled her mouth from him. He looked down at her as her eyes met his, sheer mischief a wild light in them. She took the moist tip of him in her mouth with an imp's laugh... "Stop that!" he said. "You don't like it?" she lilted, smiling. "I like it too much," Skinner said, gasping for control. She laughed and reached for him again. "I like it too." "Annie!" he grumbled at her, yanking her forearms toward him, which involved a dangerous graze of teeth on his cock that made him shiver and gasp. "I love to watch you when I have you in my mouth," she whispered, as her lips pressed a gentle kiss where her teeth had been. She was going to be stubborn; already her mouth was drifting back to... He growled, "Dammit, Annie." and pulled away. He yanked her again, and gave her mouth no more chance to do mischief. He kissed her hard, cupping her head against his firmly while he sucked her tongue into his mouth. She melted for him like some exotic sweet. He shifted his weight until they tumbled over, and she was pinned under him. For all Anne's generous curves and small size, she was strong and arched back up into him fiercely. So hot, just for him. Skinner pushed between her thighs, one intention, one destination, and one home. With an indrawn breath, he pushed his cock into her and thought he would come just from the silken tightness of her and her hoarse cry "Oh yes!" *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Sometimes it was a beautiful curse to have an eidetic memory. The first time he cried and laughed when he came. The second time they knocked off a lamp and broke it. The third time it began to rain outside. The fourth time she had clutched the mattress so hard, she ripped it as he thrust into her from behind. However, this made all of those memories seem hollow. The sounds she made were a song with an ever-changing melody. An hymn of beauty and love and life. A chorus of flesh and heat. Mulder felt a trembling awe as he pushed and pushed into her body, every nerve in his body screaming to life as if with orgasm, but clearly, something even bigger was brewing, although he could not imagine what. He watched the light of the moon pour over her white body, silvering her to luminescence. The blue glow of her eyes and red fire of her hair shivered with his every movement. Under him, Scully writhed, a swirl of colors. "Mulder, yes, so good, so good," she said hoarsely. "Sc..." he started, unable to complete her name as a gasping, paralyzing sensation took him. When he could open his eyes and move again, he looked down onto...the firelit body of Anne Downing. Her brownblack hair spilled over the living room rug and her breasts shook with every thrust of his - his? - body into her. He was...not Mulder, but Skinner, at home in Skinner's mind, knowing Skinner's heart, wearing Skinner's powerful body. Mutely he could only reel in stunned amazement as Skinner's essence overtook him - his unbelievable passion for Anne, his growing orgasm, the feel of Anne's nails, raking through his chest hair, over his nipples, grazing his scarred belly. And Anne - Anne, under him, around him, moaning and sweating with the pleasure of him, giving him all of the pleasure that she could in return. Anne's face was transformed with pleasure but she forced open her eyes and looked up at him.. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Skinner moved in the ancient dance with Anne, man having woman, man serving woman, and man worshipping woman. His face streamed with sweat from the fire without and the fire within. Anne wrapped her legs around him and bit her lip not to scream out in delight when he lifted pressed a finger to her clit. She was all flame, burning bright for him, brightest in her green eyes glowing with pleasure. She was a Fauve painting, reds and golds of firelight on flesh, vivid green eyes, blue rug, black coat flung on the floor, red lips, pink flesh accepting his flesh deep into her. He felt a shivering rapture overtake him, not orgasm, too profound for orgasm, akin only to a hot green death he had known in Vietnam in its completeness. He cringed with the sensation of it, and when it was bearable again he opened his eyes to find himself ..... ...in Scully. Sweet Jesus, no, this wasn't his fantasy. No, it was Anne he loved, now and truly, and yet he moved in and out of Scully and yet, he was not Skinner. With amazement he saw Mulder's long-fingered hands moving over Scully's pink nipples, felt the tight flesh under his/Mulder's? fingers and knew he was Mulder, Mulder loving Scully. My God, how he loved Scully. The agony of searches for her, her illness, her losses, was close to the surface of his skin, and he thought he/Mulder might weep from it, if only it had not been for the incredible joy of her, the healing of her touch, the bliss of her pleasure. Mulder had been trying to say her name, just a second before. Skinner choked and wept it out, pulling it out of Mulder's body but saying it with his own reverence for all the good things that were this woman, and when he said it was a gift of himself. "Scully." *~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Scully heard her name and it was a sweet caress, a gift of the heart no less than the touch of hands on breast or the hot thrusts of Mulder into her. She shifted, grasped the headboard and pushed against him hard, pushing the rhythm up a notch, watching him react to it unconsciously. She had to push, she had to thrust, it was imperative, exciting, the slap of flesh the hard tickle of hair against hair, and balls on her ass, the wet sweet smell, the moonlight the only cold thing as it washed over Mulder, her Mulder, grimacing in his joy, all for her, with her, in her.... But she was not her. She was he and he was in a her and that was Anne Downing and ohmyGod oh myGod she was... Skinner. She was Skinner, male and hard and hairy, pushing, thrusting this incredible ohGod manhood into Anne Downing, feeling his rush, his joy, his sensation. Oh God in heaven what is this? She was imagining being a man. But she was Skinner, and Skinner was with Anne. It wasn't imagination. It was real and the rush of maleness and power through her body took her breath away. The depth of the man astonished her, the hundred thousand things he was not when he was at work. Through it all he sang of Anne, the love of Anne, the pleasure of Anne. Oh to be a man and sink aching flesh into a writhing woman. Oh, to be Skinner with his lover. God, it was intoxicating. To bend to her and take one kiss from her pouting lips, she'd allow herself that, and she closed her eyes...... *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Oh it was changing, he wasn't Skinner he was ....those hands over Skinner's chest were his, and he was leaning down for a kiss and he would oblige because he was Anne. Mulder concentrated on the kiss, incredible so good, rather than the pounding Skinner was giving his Anne body, which he didn't entirely find unpleasurable. God, to be a woman. He'd always suspected it was good. And it was, different, and, God, so good. The filling sensation of her lover (how am I ever going to look at Skinner again?) in her leaving with every backthrust an ache for more, joining, filling, pressing pounding. Yes, wanting Walter with every cell and all of her soul. Craving his joy bursting inside her. Sensing the coming of that hot infinite moment. Oh it was so good, too much... oh, THIS is what he gave a woman, what it meant to be one. Scully! *~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Skinner loved Scully, no less than, only differently than he loved Anne and as he said her name he....was Scully. He cried out in dismay and his voice was hers, his cry indistinguishable from that of a woman striving for pleasure. All he could do was breathe. This was all wrong, he had a man in him, touching his oh God, clit and rubbing himself on his, Jesus, his soft round breasts. It was all wrong. Nuh uh, wrong, and yet, it... wasn't bad. Was kind of good. He was Scully and Scully craved it like water, like sun, like absolution. As he had known Mulder's love for Scully, his heart now burst with Scully's bond with Mulder, beyond strippers, beyond ditching, beyond doubt, beyond love, beyond life. With this man at her side and on her and in her, she was strong, healed and invincible, the perfect receptacle for the Goddess's cool moon power flowing over and through and around him. He was her, and the joy of being her made him crave a different joy, one more leap, one more journey, straight to Anne. Let me go to Anne Esperanza. My Annie Hope. I don't dare call her that, oh Anne, baby... *~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Anne was kissing, pushing her mouth up to her lover and then...she was looking down on her lover, thrusting her hips into...Scully. Well, damn. What a kick to be a man, and such a man, with his powerful slim hips moving in and out of his lover. God he loved her. He was close. It was so good, inches of good chasing after that good, tight wet place just for him. Oh, the noisy static of manhood like a rock and roll station just too far away, just the beat coming through sometimes. Just listen and you can hear it, in and out. And yeah, chase it. Chase it, it's yours, the world, the love, that hot tight tingling there. Taste it like lovemaking sweat on your upper lips and it has a hot salty taste that has one relief, one name and it's your lover's name. Oh her lover, not that fine flesh of woman, no her lover, her Walter. Let me find Walter, Wal... *~*~*~*~*~*~*~* "...ully!" Mulder finished and found his destination. He barely had a place in his brain for his thoughts, but there was no thought; there was love. Love for him, up there. Jesus, do I look like that and she still loves me? But, God I make her feel good. Yes good. Yes mmmm... hot aching good, steamy and building pressure. Good to be joined, together, nothing separating us. Nothing else, not a damn thing matters, Just here. Just home, together, right now. Not ending, Scully do you hear me? God, I... I... I... *~*~*~*~*~*~*~* I found my Anne, my hope, and I am my Anne, my hope, and I should die of shame. I'm not worthy of this woman's love for me. Where do I begin and she ends and does it even matter? We're together and I won'twon'twon't fuck this up. I'll tell her because she understands, she understands my walls and my starch and my scars and she loves it all. Loves me in her, so damn good, joined, joined, filled from the inside out, from the outside in. No barriers, nothing but Annie's love when she's pulsing, clenching, clasping. Can't breathe... can't control, must... fly... with... it... must... fly.... *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Fly. I knew we'd fly Mulder, and can you fly with me in your mind? Our nexus, our bond, you said. Oh it's so much more. So good to know your body and your joy, your sad funniness, your funny sadness, your need and ache and wounds. And your love, Mulder. Let it all out into that woman, that idealized thing you think is me, Mulder. Forgive me when you must make do with just me. We're flying to the moon, my Mulder, my god. The moon is turning the tide, the tide is building and turning in you, heavy in your groin, shuddering, swirling, burning, ready for me, hungry for me. You don't know how good it feels. Let it all go. Fill me, yes, oh yes... *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* "Walter, oh yes" different and better than Mulder, filled with sweet love in equal measure with this rage for release, for me, for that moment I burn up from inside out, for him. Careful not to hurt, no you won't my love. I'm strong, strong enough to cry on you. In a minute, I will. I always do. Sometimes you do too, the pressure melting out of us into sweat and stickiness and sobs. There's a demon in the small of your back, my love, making you thrust hard harder. You will, you are, oh, arching that strong back and unable to look down on me, burning from your inside out. No, look, you can take one more look at me, your lover, yours. Know it, Walter. Fuck me with it. Yes, in me. You in me. Yes, here, here are the flames..... *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* A clap of thunder and flash of lightning burst through Scully's apartment. Four lovers, reaching climax, melding together, born, dying, and loving in one moment, hardly noticed. The neighbors on Barton Court thought the noise and flash was revelry. A Shadow passed over the moon, that knew much better. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* The Feast of All Souls 8:44 am Dana woke up with the feeling that she would float away. She had never felt so good. She stretched like a cat, feeling her skin in a way that she hadn't before. She peered at Mulder, who incidentally slept like a cat, taking up more of her bed than possible for his mass. She kissed him softly, not wanting to wake him. Not just yet. She slid out from between the sheets like a whisper and went to her closet. Her skin tingled all over as she slipped into her seldom worn aquamarine silk robe. Her old terrycloth would be warmer, but her skin was wildly sensitized. She padded softly to the bathroom; she really had to *go*. She shut the door and only then turned on the light. Blessed relief. She found herself humming tunelessly as she washed her hands. She grinned as she reached for the face soap to remove what make-up had not rubbed, melted or been kissed off last night, then rubbed in a little moisturizer over whisker burn. She finished with brushing her teeth, and smiled at herself. Perhaps she should check on her, ah, guests? Dana tiptoed down the hall into the living room. She peered over the couch at the pair on the floor. They slept on Skinner's black wool coat with Anne's velvet wrap pulled over them, heads on cushions pulled from the couch. She noted that Anne had snitched a good bit of the covers, leaving Skinner's muscled ass peeking out from under a bit of silk fringe. Anne stirred and opened her eyes, looking utterly content. She stretched much as Dana had, slowly, sensuously, but her face showed some alarm, and Anne seemed to tighten up again. Another bladder in crisis. Dana recognized the expression for what it was and waved for Anne's attention. Anne was obviously casting about for something to wear. Clothing had been flung everywhere, the closest piece being Skinner's briefs, which didn't seem to be quite the thing. Dana scooped up a white, no-longer starched shirt and tossed it to her. Anne caught it and pulled it on, stopping to sniff deeply and grin unabashedly. Anne slid out from under the velvet and regretfully tucked it over her lover's bare butt. A criminal coverup indeed. She followed Dana back down the hall. Anne sighed happily as she flushed, then she buttoned the shirt up. Scully sat on the edge of the tub, also smiling, then stood to retrieve a spare toothbrush for Anne. Each caught the other's eyes as Anne brushed vigorously. My goodness, Anne thought, look at us. Survivors of the first Annual FBI Orgy. Well, the first since the times of J. Edgar Hoover. Bright eyes and glowing skin. Not a trace of a hangover and contented as cream gorged kittens. Anne wondered at that glow and eyed Dana, wondering if... There was no need to wonder. Anne was certain what she had experienced had happened also to Dana. To Mulder. And to Walter. What it was that happened, however, was open to speculation. She was, like Scully, at the heart of it, a very isolated person, however, that intimate sharing had been welcome... and glorious. How rare and special that they could find such ecstacy amidst their strained daily existences. All four of them were bound to their duty and the dangers that came with a dedicated life. It had started with two women, and witchcraft. Two men, two arguments, two couples. And in the end, they had been given a precious gift. All four of them were bound now, to each other. "You hungry?" Scully asked, after Anne spat and rinsed. "Starved." "Mulder makes a mean omelette. Tomatoes, onions, cheese..." "...and a few herbs," Anne said. They both smiled. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The End. Hope you had a blessed Samhaim. Many thanks for reading. Feed us or we'll yowl outside your bedroom window. Thanks to: Montana, Red V, Nyk, Munchie, Pasqua, Bear, Raggies, Rusty, Greything, Akasha, Lucky, Max, Emma, Fergus and Clancy, and the makers of Tidi-Cat.