TITLE:      BEER WITH THE BOYS
AUTHOR:     Pacquin
E-MAIL:     pjtdjt@stellarnet.com
RATING:     PG
CATEGORY:   MSR
SPOILERS:   Up to the movie.

DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and its characters are the 
            property of Fox Network and 1013       
            Productions and are used without       
            permission.

SUMMARY:    Mulder's got it bad, and that ain't
good. How far would he go to get Scully into bed?

***************


    It was a bar like so many others in D.C.: Wood
paneling, brass light fixtures, dart board at the
back; trying to give the appearance of a men's
club. It had its clientele, had become known as
somewhat of a hangout for agents of the FBI. On
this particular Friday, five of them sat around
one of the large oak tables.

    "So, where's your partner, Mulder?" Agent
Phillips tilted his head back, finishing off his
second beer.

    Mulder shrugged and drank his beer. "I don't
know.  Home, probably."

    "She didn't want to come and have a drink with
us?" 

    "Guess she had better things to do than guzzle
down beer with you guys," Mulder said.

    He didn't often go out drinking with the FBI
boys. They weren't really his friends, although he
did occasionally get together for a pickup game of
basketball with them. But they were okay guys, and
Mulder felt the need to be visible occasionally in
the rank-and-file of the FBI. He knew, too, that
there was some professional jealousy of him within
the Bureau; he really didn't give a damn, yet
every now and then he exerted himself to deflect
some of that jealousy by being "one of the boys."
Mulder answered to only one superior, Assistant
Director Skinner, while the other agents often had
three or four people keeping tabs on them. And he
had an expense account that was the envy of all.
He pretty much did what he wanted, that was their
opinion of his work on the X-Files. He never had
to deal with some dumbass student newspaper editor
who made threatening comments about the President
so that you had to fly to Grand Forks, North
Dakota, and "talk to" him. No, they thought that
Mulder had the sweet life.

    And then there was Agent Scully, his partner.
She was very attractive, and it was only natural
that the other agents should be interested in her,
and in his relationship with her. He knew they
made sexual jokes about the two of them behind his
back, but rarely in front of him because they knew
that he could be touchy where Scully was
concerned. He had never, as a matter of fact,
allowed anyone to think from anything he said that
there was anything improper between them; which,
of course, there wasn't. It would have been the
easiest thing in the world, at the beginning at
last, to have said nothing and smiled, and just
let them think that he was giving it to Scully. But he
hadn't done that; first, because he knew she would
kick his ass if she found out what he'd done; and
second, because it seemed to be the worst kind of
lie, and whatever else people said about him,
Mulder had integrity.

    But always, always, they brought up Scully to
him. He'd heard it all, over and over again, their
same stupid comments and jokes about him and
Scully. How the biggest X-File of all was how he
managed to get anything done with a constant hard-
on from working with her; how much he must enjoy
"snapping on the latex" with her; how they wished
they could have some of the "bedside manner" that
Mulder got. He remembered how startled he'd been
when shortly after Scully had been assigned to the
X-Files, he had been out for a drink with the
guys, and someone had turned to him and said, "So,
have you fucked your partner yet?" He'd been
surprised because he really didn't think of her
that way. 

    At least, not then.

    He was used to it by now, and most times they
let it go after one or two comments, but today was
different, because there was a new agent in their
midst, Phil DeNora, who worked in Alcohol,
Tobacco, and Firearms. So here was Agent DeNora,
pumping him for information about her. The other
agents talked the talk, but when Scully was around
them, they were unfailingly polite and deferential
to her, hypocritically so. At meetings she rarely
spoke to anyone but Mulder, and the male agents
often spent entire meetings just trying to get
Scully to talk to them. Sometimes Mulder just had
to laugh.

    "I can't believe you aren't in her pants.
What's wrong with you, buddy?" DeNora said to him.

    Mulder took a drink of beer. "Our relationship
is strictly professional, boys."

    "You can't tell me you haven't thought about
it, though, working down there all by your
lonesome with her in the basement. You're really
saying the two of you aren't...."

    "That's the way the lady wants it," said
Mulder. It was a safe comment; it put the ball in
Scully's court. He didn't want people to think he
was a complete loser, or gay, or something.
"Besides," he eyed Phil DeNora, who was short and
already starting to develop a pot belly, "why
should she be interested in me when she could have
any one of you guys?"

    They all laughed and ordered another beer.
Agent DeNora looked as if he might be going to bring
up Scully again, but Agent Lang whispered
something in his ear. You didn't want to piss off
Mulder too much. The guy was smart and clever and
funny, and if you got on his bad side he could
make a comment about you that was dead on, that
would stick to you, would follow you around,
sometimes for years.

    Mulder hadn't realized it at the time, but in
a way it might have been better if he'd kind of
gone along with their talk about Scully. Because
now she was a mystery to them all. Her cool
demeanor; her dark, somber clothing; her sensible,
low-heeled shoes; and it made them crazy to know
more about her. That was part of her mystique. The
mystique of Scully. Yeah, she was the object of
God knew how many sexual fantasies among the male
members of the Bureau, he thought. The idea of
Scully, out of her dark, black pantsuits, naked in
an anonymous motel room, her red hair fanned out
against the white sheets, writhing in sexual
pleasure under him as he was fucking her---   

    "Jesus!" Mulder had cut himself on a bottle
cap; he put his thumb in his mouth, tasting the
salty tang of his blood. Where had *that* thought
come from?

    "You okay?" Agent Lang asked.

    "Yeah," said Mulder. "That bottle cap was
really sharp." He finished his beer. "Guess I'll
be going."

   "Yeah, say 'hi' to Scully for us!" Agent
Phillips called after him.

    He sighed.

***************

    He was worried about himself. It was bad
enough to dream about fucking her, but then dreams
were unconscious thoughts and you really couldn't
be blamed for them. It wasn't his fault that he
dreamed about her. And then sometimes when he was
jacking off, and he just couldn't get there, or he
had to do it fast, then he'd let himself think
about fucking Scully instead of the women he saw
in his videos and magazines. But he really tried
to save it for special occasions. And, of course,
when they were on the road together, and he needed
to relax, he'd touch himself and think about her,
just a door away, just a wall away. It was only
natural to think of her then, because she was so
close. But now he was *daydreaming* about giving
it to her. And while drinking beer with the boys,
no less. Sad to say, the joke about how he could
get anything done working with a perpetual hard-on
was becoming more and more true.

    Scully, he thought. Did he have a chance in
the world with her?

    It was hard to say. At times it seemed as if
there was a lot of sexual tension between them,
but since pretty much all his thoughts these days
were about having sex with her, he wasn't sure.
And he was in love with her, he thought glumly, so
it was hard to be objective. What did she think of
him?

    Would she accept him as a lover? Scully was
pretty selective. She wasn't really into material
things that much, he didn't think, but what she
did have was top of the line. He wasn't sure what
he had to offer her, anything that she wanted,
anyway. And he'd rather jack himself off into a
coma than risk her rejection. No matter how she
did it, even if she let him down gently, he didn't
think he could take it. And maybe she didn't even
think of him in that way at all. Not even
remotely.

    Did she think of him as a brother? God, he
hoped not. He felt anything but brotherly toward
Scully. A brother in Appalachia, maybe. He hadn't
really gotten that feeling from her, although he
thought maybe he'd pull back a little on his
stupid jokes, or not tease her so much; he didn't
want to appear too juvenile.

    He hated to admit it, but sometimes he got the
feeling that she felt about him the way you might
feel about a pet, like a dog you really, really
liked. You loved the dog, and had affection for
him, but in a completely nonsexual way. How many
times had she ruffled his hair, anyway? Too damn
many.

    Then Mulder had a thought. She was a doctor,
and didn't they get off on helping people? She was
always looking after him, looking out for him.
They took care of each other, after all, as FBI
partners. But approaching her as her FBI partner
was sexual suicide. Was there some illness he
could get, something he could develop, so that he
would then need her, need her help? And of course
she would want to help him, as a doctor. That was
her job. Hmm, he thought, it was a start....

**************

    Scully answered the door nearly as soon as he
had finished knocking; she must have been watching
for him out the window. She was wearing a long-
sleeved pale green sweater and a pair of black
pants. He could see the little pearl buttons of
the sweater dip between her breasts, which were
outlined by the tightness of the fabric. He was
already erect; God, he hoped his pants were loose
enough. Mulder took a deep breath and swallowed.
This was going to be harder than he thought.

    She looked worried and concerned as her eyes
searched his face. "Come on in, Mulder. What's up,
anyway?" she said.

    He laughed hollowly. "Bad choice of words,
Scully." He exhaled deeply, and looked at the
floor, hoping he looked sufficiently depressed.

    "What is it?" she said, closing the door
behind him. "I was really worried when I got your
phone call."

    He looked down at her; he had practiced his
vulnerable look in the mirror all afternoon and
hoped he'd gotten it right. Her eyes looked
worried, that was for sure, and her lips were
parted anxiously as she waited for him to tell her
what was wrong. He sighed, then shook his head.
"Maybe I'd better leave," he said, biting his
lower lip.

    "Mulder, you're scaring me. What is it?" She
put her hand on his arm. "You can tell me ... you
can tell me anything, Mulder, you know that."

    "Oh, Scully," he said, walking over to sit on
her couch. He put his head in his hands. "I don't
think I can tell you. Not even you. Which is
terrible, because you're the only person that I
trust, the only person who maybe gives a damn
about me in this whole world. No one cares."

    She came over and knelt down on the floor next
to him, putting her hand on his knee. "Mulder, you
know that's not true," she said soothingly. "Lots
of people care about you. *I* care about you." She
reached up to stroke his forehead. He could smell
her perfume, feel the warmth of her body.  Uh-oh,
he thought. Uh-oh. He raised his head and looked
at her.

    "You do?"

    "You know I do. Of course I do," she said
gently.

    He sighed heavily. "I wish I could believe
that."

    "Mulder!" She sounded slightly offended.

    Oops, he'd miscalculated a little bit, thought
Mulder. He looked at her sadly. "No, Scully, I
only meant that with my ... with my ... problem,
it's hard to believe that even *you* will care
about me any more."

    She stroked his arm. "Do you want to talk,
Mulder?"

    "Yeah ... but ... well, Scully, do you have
any wine or anything? It's kind of difficult to
bring up."

    "Sure." She got up and went into the kitchen
to get some wineglasses and rummaged in the fridge
for some wine. "Red or white?"

    "Either one."

    She came back with a corkscrew, the wine, and
two glasses. She pushed aside some magazines on
the wooden coffee table in front of the couch and
sat down on it, putting the wine and glasses down
beside her. "Here," Mulder said, taking the
corkscrew and wine from her. "Let me do it." He
looked away. "It's about all I'm good for
anymore."

    "Mulder?"

    He poured some wine into a glass and handed it
to her, then poured some for himself. They sat
quietly for a few moments, drinking wine. Then
Scully set her glass down next to her on the
coffee table. She looked at him, then leaned
forward and rested her hands on his knees and
said, "Okay, Mulder, what's going on?"

    He looked at her and then drank his wine down
in one gulp.  "This is probably the hardest thing
I've ever had to tell anyone," he said, looking
deeply into her eyes. "And I'm not sure a woman
can even understand. But ... well...." He pushed
her hands away and stood up, walking a few steps
away, turning his back on her. "I can't even look
at you when I tell, you, Scully," he said, his
voice low and throbbing, his head lowered.
"Scully, I'm not a man anymore."

    He could hear her rise from her seat on the
coffee table and come to stand behind him. He
turned to face her. "Scully, I'm ... I'm ...."
Okay, Mulder, he told himself. Get it right or
you're screwed. Or not screwed, as the case may
be. The word is IM-potent. IM-potent. Accent on
the "IM," buddy.

    "...impotent." Thank God he'd pronounced it
right. He felt his cock harden even more. Maybe he
should have gone with that other thing, priapism,
having a constant, painful hard-on. He probably
*did* have that. He'd decided against it as being
too threatening. And weird.

    She was silent. "Mulder, I'm ... sorry." She
put one arm across her waist, resting her other
hand at the base of her neck. "I'm really sorry.
Are you ... are you sure?"

    "Yeah, Scully. A man's pretty sure about
something like this." He looked down at her; she
looked up at him, then glanced away quickly. "I
wouldn't even tell you except that, well, you
being a medical doctor and all ... and I just
didn't know where to turn."

    "Well, Mulder," Scully cleared her throat. She
looked a little embarrassed. "I really think that
you need to consult a good urologist. I'm sure I
can find someone for you to see."

    Mulder took a deep breath, then exhaled
slowly. "Yeah, you're probably right. I was just
hoping that you might have some information ... or
something ... that could ... help me. You know,
right now, before I see a ... urologist ...
whatever." He went over to sit on the couch,
reaching out for her hand, pulling her over to
him. "What causes this, Scully, do you know? Do
you think there's any hope for me?" He looked at
her imploringly.

    She sat back down on the coffee table across
from him. "Well, it's difficult to say," she said
slowly. "Sometimes it's physiological, sometimes
psychological." She up straight. "Let me ask you a
couple of questions, Mulder. Do you ever have
erections in your sleep?"

    "Yeah, I think so; sometimes, anyway." As in
every fucking night, he thought.

    "And in the morning after you wake up, do you
ever have an erection before urinating?"

    "Yeah."

    She sighed, patted his knee, and smiled
encouragingly at him. "Well, that's good. It
doesn't sound like there's anything wrong with you
physically, at least." 

    Mulder poured each of them another glass of
wine while she was talking. "Why would this be
happening to me, Scully?"

    "How much alcohol do you consume, Mulder?"

    He blinked at her. "Alcohol's bad?"

    "It can be," she said. "At a certain level it
can impair performance in males."

    "Wow." He thought for a moment. "Here, Scully,
you'd better have my wine."

    Scully hesitated. "Gee, Mulder, that would be
three glasses for me. And I didn't eat any dinner;
I was too worried about you."

    "Come on, Scully, don't let it go to waste. If
you don't drink it, I'll feel guilty that I made
you open the bottle. And I feel bad enough
already." He gave her a weak little half-smile.

    "Well, okay," she said doubtfully. She drank
the glass of wine, and thought for a moment. "How
long has this been going on?"

    "Oh, for a while, I guess."

    "Have you had a problem ... I mean, did you
notice it with a ... partner?"

    "*What*?" He jerked his head up to look at
her, a million warning bells going off in his
head. What the hell? *Partner*? He felt his mouth
go dry. Somehow, some way, she knew he was lying.

    "Yeah, Mulder." Scully looked puzzled. "A
sexual partner."

    "Oh." Relief poured off him in great waves.
*Oh*. She *wasn't* on to him. "You mean a *sexual*
partner." He looked down. "Scully, could I have
just a taste of your wine?" He took the glass from
her hand and drank some, then looked at her.
"Well, Scully, the answer is no. I haven't had a
sexual partner in a long, long time. *Really* a
long time." He stared into space. "No, I'm a
little embarrassed to tell you that I discovered
my problem ... on my own, so to speak." He
hesitated. "And I guess I'll never get over this
because I really don't have a ... partner ... that
I trust enough to help me with it."

    She looked at him sympathetically. "It's hard,
I know."

    "There just isn't *anyone*, Scully. No one."
He lowered his head, took a deep breath, and
sighed. "Well, no one ... except...." He looked at
her.

    "Except whom, Mulder?" she asked gently.

    "Well, no one but ... but ... you, Scully," he
said softly.  Okay, here we go, he thought.
Pleasepleaseplease.

    She frowned a little, then shook her head
slightly. "I don't know what I could do, Mulder.
I'm really not trained to---"

    "Oh, no, not anything medical or anything.
Maybe you could ... I don't know...." he said,
sighing. "Scully, I know it's a lot to ask, but do
you think I could maybe just ... be near you for a
little while or something? Maybe that's the
problem. Maybe if I were near a real, live flesh-
and-blood person for a change, maybe that would
help."

    "I don't know, Mulder," she said flatly. "That
doesn't sound very ... conventional."

    He stood up. "I knew I shouldn't have come
here, burdening you with my problems. You've done
so much for me, Scully, nobody could ask for a
better friend or ... partner ... than you've been
to me. You've always helped me. I guess this time
... well, I guess not even *you* can help me this
time...." he trailed off. He pushed the fourth
glass of wine toward her. "And even though I've
saved your life a couple of times, I guess this
really is too much to ask of anyone, even a health
care professional like yourself, my best
friend...."

    She pressed her fingertips together and
brought them to her lips, tapping them lightly.
She said nothing, then looked at him. "All right,
Mulder, if you think it would help ... what do you
want me to do?"

    "I was thinking maybe I could lie down in your
bed for a while. And maybe you could lie down next
to me for a little bit."

    "Do you think that would help?" she asked.

    "It's worth a try," Mulder said bravely.

    Scully stood up. "Sure, Mulder," she said,
and squeezed his arm.

    They went into the bedroom together. "Scully,"
he said, turning toward her. "I'm kind of
embarrassed by this. Maybe I'll just get undressed
and get under the covers and then you could join
me. I'm ... well, kind of humiliated at the
thought of you seeing me ... like this."

    "Okay, Mulder," she smiled reassuringly. "I'll
wait in the living room. Just let me know when you
want me to come in." She left.

    There is a God, thought Mulder, grabbing his
shoes and pulling them off, yanking his socks off
and stuffing them in his shoes. He pulled his
shirt over his head and took off his pants and
boxers, throwing them on a chair in the corner. He
threw back the covers and hopped into bed.  Now,
how to arrange himself, he thought. On his back
was out. That would be a dead giveaway. He turned
on his side, facing the door, and cleared his
throat. "Okay, Scully. I think I'm ready," he said
softly.

    Scully came into the room. "Do you want the
lights on or off, Mulder?" she asked.

    "Uh ... how about kind of on the low side--but
not completely off," he replied.

    "Okay, whatever you want." She flipped off the
overhead light and dimmed the bedside lamp. She
approached the bed hesitantly. He smiled at her
and patted the spot next to him, on top of the
covers.

    Scully frowned at him. "I'm feeling kind of
weird about this, Mulder."

    "Don't feel weird, Scully. I really appreciate
what you're doing for me. I'll never forget it."
And neither will you, I hope, he thought.

    She climbed on the bed and lay down next to
him.

    Mulder looked at Scully intently. Four items
of clothing. That was all there was between him
and Scully. But how to get them off of her? They
lay there quietly.

    "Those are really nice buttons on your
sweater, Scully," he said, touching the top one.
"What are they made of, anyway?"

    "I'm not sure," she said, glancing down.
"They're supposed to be mother-of-pearl, but I
don't suppose they are, really."

    "They're nice." He unbuttoned her top button,
then the next one.

    "What are you doing, Mulder?"

    "It just feels odd to be naked in bed with
someone who isn't, Scully." He looked at her
innocently. "Is it okay, if I just undo a few
buttons?"

    She hesitated. "Well, okay."

    He unbuttoned her sweater. "Here, Scully, let
me help you off with this. You don't want to
wrinkle it. What is it, cashmere?"

    "Yeah, as a matter of fact, it is." She sat up
a little so that he could get the sweater off.
"Thanks, Mulder."

    "Happy to help." Three to go. They lay there
together. "And those pants, Scully. Are those
cashmere, too?" he asked hopefully.

    "No, they're gabardine."

    "Oh." He sighed loudly.

    "What's wrong?" asked Scully.

    "Well, it's just that those black pants
against your white skin ... the contrast is kind
of ... distracting ... and you know I don't need
any distractions." Scully eyed him suspiciously.
"Come on, Scully, I've seen you in your underwear
before. It's okay." Mulder smiled reassuringly at
her. She sighed, then got up and unzipped her
pants, took them off and folded them, setting them
on the back of the chair. 

    She was wearing only her bra and panties now,
black silk that barely covered her; she got back
into bed. Mulder's groin was really aching now. I
don't dare use that contrast thing again, he
thought. Think, Mulder, think.

    "Hey, Scully. Don't bras have hooks anymore?"
he asked. He looked at her sadly. "Now you're
going to think that I'm really pathetic, that it's
been so long that I've been with anyone that I
don't even know what a bra looks like anymore."

    "Of course I don't think that. This is front-
closure bra, Mulder, it doesn't have hooks."

    "How does that work exactly?"

    "Well," Scully said, "you just kind of ... open
it ... like this---" she gave the closure a
little twist, and it fell open.

    Her bra was barely covering her breasts; he
could see their soft curves against the black
silk, saw the bud of a nipple as she leaned
forward. His mouth was really, really dry. He
wondered if he dared ask Scully to get him some
water.... God, how long could he stand this?  

    "Jesus," he groaned loudly.

    "Mulder, what is it?" she turned to him
quickly.

    "Oh, God, it's been so long since I've been in
bed with a woman, Scully.  Scully ... could I just
look at you ... naked, that is?"

    "I don't think that's a good idea, Mulder...."

    "Please, Scully," he begged. "It's okay. I've
seen you naked before, remember? That time in the
motel?"

    "When the hell was that?"

    "Uh ... sorry, I meant ... in the hospital. 
You were still unconscious ... I can't quite
remember what case we were on...."

    She looked at him warily. 

    He leaned toward her, sliding his hand between
her thighs, then reached for the waistband of her
panties, pulling them down slowly over her legs.
"Please, Scully, I need some help here." He
reached up and pulled her bra off the rest of the
way.

    There.  He and Scully were naked in bed
together. He could die a happy man. Almost.

    "Oh, God, Scully, you are the most beautiful
thing I've ever seen." He pulled her close to him
and held her, then touched her face with his hand.
"So incredibly beautiful...." His heart was
pounding in his chest. God, please don't let me
have a stroke first. I know I deserve to have one,
but please.... He looked down at her, her hair
fanned out on the crisp, white pillow, his fantasy
coming true in front of him. Her eyes were a
clear, deep blue; her creamy skin gently flushed;
she was breathing quickly, her beautiful lips soft
and moist. Now or never, Mulder, it's now or
never.

    He bent down to kiss her, parting her lips,
finding her tongue, gently stroking it with his
own, his pulse beating hard in his throat. She can
probably see it, he thought, or feel it. Suddenly
he pulled away from her. "Oh, my God, oh ... oh,
Scully, I think ... I think I can feel something!"
He reached under her to pull the bedding down from
underneath her so that they were now naked under
the covers together, then pulled her to him, and
pressed his hard erection against her. "Jesus,
Scully, it's a miracle ... just being with you ...
oh, Scully, you've saved me. I love you,
Scully...." He began brushing his lips over her
face, feeling her body turning toward him.

    "Mulder," she whispered, sliding her tongue up
his jaw, gently kissing his earlobe, her tongue in
his ear, her breath warm and erotic against him.
"Mulder," she breathed gently.

    He felt her fingers sliding slowly down past
his shoulders ... over his chest ... down his
belly.... "Unnhh ... Scully," he moaned.

    "You are *SUCH* a bastard!" She whacked him
hard on his chest with her hands.

    "What? Wait a minute, Scully ... oh, shit!" He
fell off the bed onto the floor. God, his hip
hurt, not to mention his erection.

    "Get the hell out of here!" She was on her
knees on the bed, her eyes blazing, pointing
toward the bedroom door. "I'm going to kill you,
Mulder! How dare you!"

    "Scully, wait, please ... I can explain...."
He grabbed a pillow and held it in front of
his groin. "You've got it all wrong...."

    "Put my pillow down! And I've got nothing
wrong! You are such a complete, utter asshole! I
am going to kill you, Mulder, right now! Where's
my weapon---" she started looking around the
bedroom.

    "Scully, please ... it's a federal prison for
you if you shoot me---I'm a federal agent,
remember?"
 
    "White-collar federal prison, Mulder! I'll be
growing flowers and playing bridge at a halfway
house in San Francisco in six months while you ...
well, you'll be dead, won't you?"

    His shoulders slumped forward and he sat down
heavily on the bed. "When did you know?" he asked
resignedly.

    "Not until the very end, you bastard! 'It's a
miracle!' Come on, Mulder!" She couldn't think of
a word bad enough to call him. "Not until the very
end, but knowing you, you probably had a major
hard-on when you got out of your car! You've done
it this time, Mulder, you have crossed the line.
I've taken a lot of shit from you over the years,
but this is ... this is...." she spluttered
futilely.

    Mulder hung his head dejectedly. "I'm sorry,
Scully."

    "You're sorry? You do this, and that's all you
have to say for yourself?" She stared at him.
"Mulder, I was going to have sex with you!"

    "Really?" he said hopefully.

    "Yes!" She narrowed her eyes at him. "What is
this all about? What is---oh, my God." She put her
hand to her forehead. "Was this some kind of bet
with those assholes you drink beer with, that you
could get me into bed?" She stood up. "That's it.
I'm going to call Skinner. I'm going to get your
ass fired."

    "Wait, Scully," he protested. "It wasn't
anything like that. It was ... I don't know," he
said miserably. "It didn't have anything to do
with those guys."

    "What did it have to do with then?" she
demanded.

    He exhaled heavily. "Well, maybe with them a
little bit."

    "What? The kids at school tease you and this
is how you cope with it?" Scully jeered. "Why do
you hang around with those losers, anyway?"

    "They do tease me, Scully. 'Hey, Mulder, how
can you not have a hard-on all the time, working
with Scully?' Or 'Mulder's got it bad for Scully.'
Or 'Fucked your partner, lately, Mulder?' Or
'Mulder's in love with Scully; she just leads him
around by his dick all the time.'" He looked at
her. "It didn't used to bother me. But it does
now, because it's true, all of it. I do have a
hard-on all the time, being around you. I'm glad
when we get to go out in the field, so I can be
near you, and I hate it, knowing you're in the
next room and I can't go to you." He put his head
in his hands. "It's affecting my work, too. I
can't think about anything but you. I can't
concentrate anymore. Remember when Skinner was so
mad at me last week? I spent three days on a case,
spent a lot of Bureau money on it, and it was just
some asshole guy with a 'case' that turned out to
be the plot of 'Ghostbusters.'" He sighed and put
his hands on the bed.

    "The first one or the sequel?"

    Mulder looked at her. "It's not funny, Scully.
I do have it bad for you. Real bad. And I am in
love with you, Scully." He looked down at the
floor. "Okay, so the part about fucking my
partner's not true; as you know, I haven't done
that." He looked up at her. "But I want to."

    She crossed her arms under her breasts and
looked at him speculatively. "So you want to fuck
your partner, Mulder? You sure about that?"

    "Yeah, I am."

    She walked over and sat down next to him on
the bed. "Well, you can't do that, Mulder, it's
against Bureau policy to fuck your partner."

    He looked at her dejectedly. "I know." He
noticed that Scully was still naked and hadn't
made any attempt to cover up. Oh, boy. He reached
for a pillow. The pet theory was probably the
right one; she loved him like a pet; she wasn't
even self-conscious about being naked in front of
him.

    "Hmmm," she said, tapping her upper lip with
her index finger. "You *do* need a sexual partner,
don't you, Mulder? Now who could we get for you?"
A faint smile played at her lips.

    Scully was just not getting it, he thought. He
had just poured out his heart to her, and here she
was talking about *sexual* partners. How smart was
she, anyway? Maybe medical school really *wasn't*
that tough. It was lucky for her that she was so
good-looking.

    She got up from the bed and stood in front of
him. "No, Mulder," she said softly, pushing his
knees apart, coming to stand between his legs,
sliding her hands slowly up his thighs, "you can't
fuck your *FBI* partner; however...." she tried
to suppress a smile, "if I were your *sexual*
partner ... maybe we could work something out."
She leaned over and drew him down to her, lifted
her lips to his and kissed him, sliding her tongue
into his mouth. 

    "Unnhh...." he moaned, and put his arms around
her.

    "Mulder?"

    "Yeah?"

    "Didn't I tell you to put that pillow down?"
she whispered.

    He pulled back from her and looked into her
eyes. "I love you, Scully. And you love me, too,
don't you? We love each other? I mean, unrequited
love, that's been our thing, right?"

    "Well, I did love you, Mulder, but after
today...." she teased him. "I just don't know."
She lifted an eyebrow. "What are you going to do
to make it up to me?"

    He grinned at her. "Requite you. Long and
hard. Let me show you." 

    And he threw her down on the bed.
 

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