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Beach Blanket Bingo I thru VI

by ScullyFu

Title: Beach Blanket Bingo I thru VI
Author: ScullyFu
Feedback to: X-File_Addict@msn.com
Author's Website: http://scullyfu.populli.net/
Date Archived: 04/12/02
Category: X-File or Casefile  
Pairing: Scully/Other Female      
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers:
Permission to Archive:
Series or Sequel/Prequel: Contains Beach Blanket Bingo, The Casual Observer, Fear of Flying, First Contact, The Visit and The Truth Comes Out
Notes:
Warnings:
Disclaimer:
Summary: The Continuing Saga of Dana and Melanie

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Title: Beach Blanket Bingo
Author: ScullyFu
Email: X-File_Addict@msn.com
Posted: 8/15/00
Archives: Spookies, Gossamer, Ephemeral are okay. Others, please ask. Spoilers: Not a one. Can you believe it? Rating: NC-17. Vignette.
Classification: ScullySlash.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. CC, 1013 and Fox have the sole rights to their existence. Dammit! Summary: Dana gets overheated in the noon day sun. (Yes. I know, but there's a reason I use her first name. Trust me.) For other stories in the series, please go here: http://scullyfu.populli.net/

Jesus, this heat is making me horny.

Lying on this white-sand beach with the sun beating down and waves gently lapping at the shore, I can't help but be lulled into a state of extreme relaxation. The swishing of the water, in and out, in and out. Is it any wonder that my mind has drifted to the woman lying oh-so-close? She's on her stomach with her face turned towards me. I wonder what she's thinking. She looks asleep, her features smooth and content, except for the barely noticeable upturn of her lips. I decide to take a chance that she is awake, but just caught in some divine fantasy. Hopefully, I'm in there with her.

I slowly sit up and reach for the suntan lotion. She is fair-skinned and can't stay in the sun for long periods, especially without re-applying sun block with maximum SPF protection. She'll think nothing of me rubbing the lotion on her overheated skin. Hesitantly, I turn the bottle on its end and squeeze. A blob of white goop squirts into my palm. I rub my hands together and then reach for her. Gently, so as not to disturb her if she is asleep, I begin to massage the lotion into her shoulders. She moans her approval and her smile widens.

She's awake.

I straddle her hips, my body casting a shadow across hers. Slipping her bathing suit straps down off her shoulders, I continue to apply the block, hoping it is enough to keep her from getting burned; already there are red streaks around the thin white strap lines that have protected her skin from the direct rays of the sun. I hope it's not too late to keep her tender flesh from frying.

Feeling bolder, I unhook her top and lay it open along her sides. She wiggles a bit before quieting beneath me. I smooth the lotion all over her now fully exposed back and my thumbs venture to the soft skin on the sides of her breasts. She says nothing, no sound, and no reprimand. Leaning down, I whisper to her to lift up a bit. She obeys. Still moist with lotion, my fingers slide smoothly under her, and grasp her hidden nipples. She lies back down, resting in my hands. You are so lovely, I tell her. I want you always. Kneading her breasts, firm and yet pliant, I feel her nipples harden. She squirms. I ask her if she's enjoying herself and she nods slowly in the affirmative.

The sun is at twelve o'clock, it's hot and only getting hotter. She is fire. Even her hair is red. Being around her is not unlike walking barefoot over hot coals. You're pretty sure you're going to get burned, but the chance to prove yourself wrong makes it too enticing to stop.

I lean down to her ear and ask her for my hands back. She smiles broadly, hesitates, and then rocks from one side to the other to release me from her bosom. Lifting the lotion, I again squeeze out only enough to be absorbed into her body. Rubbing it into her lower back, I tentatively push down the tiny piece of material euphemistically called her bathing suit bottom. A little at a time, I inch it lower and lower, all under the guise of applying sun block. Her rounded ass, which apparently has never seen the light of day, is completely bared. The only thing keeping it from being on display to all who walk by is my body hovering over hers; that, and the fact that there are not a lot of people on the beach.

We deliberately chose this vacation spot because of the private beach. Having only recently gotten together, this is a settling in period for us. We wanted a place devoid of distractions, and that translated to people. Somewhere we could immerse ourselves in each other; really get to know each other, up close and personal, so to speak. And that we have. We've been here three days and the only other people we've seen are the beach bartender and the room service waiter; oh, and the maid, briefly, before we told her to go away, we were still in bed. She graciously departed.

So this tropical isle with wavering palms has proven to be as discreet and private as the travel agent guaranteed. Bless her, we will be booking with her again. Soon. I think Dana would enjoy spending this Christmas in the South Pacific. She likes me to call her Dana when we're together; says she gets enough of being Scully at work.

I take her ass in my hands and squeeze each cheek like I would test a plump melon. There's no doubt she's ripe and ready for eating. But this is not the time. Later when we're in our room, out of the blistering noonday sun, my appetite will be satisfied.

She murmurs something that I can't make out as I slide one finger under her suit bottom and glide it up into her hot cunt. I bend over her and kiss her ear before tracing its outline with my tongue. She rewards me with a smile. My finger is ebbing and flowing, just like the waves on the shore. She pushes back into my hand and silently tells me she wants more. I grant her wish and slip in a second finger. As they meet inside her, I twine them together and start to push deeper. Her pussy is hot and wet. She mews like a kitten.

My other hand reaches to her front and she lifts up, a nearly imperceptible movement and I slip my other hand under her. My fingers strain to come in contact with the source of her heat. I kiss her spine up to the back of her neck and notice that she's starting to burn. I don't want her hurt and unable to enjoy the rest of our stay, so I determine to get her off fast and then out of the mid-day heat.

Her clit is swollen and begging for release. As I touch her, she shivers as though she is suddenly cold. It started out at eighty degrees this morning, must be ninety degrees by now, and is only getting hotter. She shivers not from cold, but anticipation. Anticipation of my continued exploring touches.

I give her what she wants, what she craves. My finger circles her, slowly, teasingly. Her body tenses. She struggles to move herself into position so that I'll touch her clit. I tighten my knees and thighs around her and don't allow her to move. She must wait until I decide she is ready. I know in my heart that I won't let her wait long, that would be mean; and I can never be cruel to my lover. She is perfect, even in her imperfections.

She twists her head around to look at me. She says nothing, but a look of pleading in her eyes tells me everything I need to know. She can't wait much longer. Her eyes are dark and full of want. She lets a little whimper escape. I give in. I can't withhold anything from her.

Finding her clit, I tug on it while thrusting my fingers deep inside her. She jumps under me. I'm momentarily suspended in air. As I settle back down over her, increasing my rhythm and pressure, she moans. She's ready. I give her the release she so desperately wants.

She buries her face in her beach towel and screams into the sand. Her body gives itself over to the feeling of abandonment. I notice her toes digging into the towel; it is stretched so that I think the threads are going to rip. She thrusts against my hand, my fingers clamped tightly inside her. I wait for her to return to me.

As her body continues to slowly spasm, I rise off her and help her to turn over. I see her fully. Her breasts are swollen, her nipples erect, and her body is flushed with the afterglow of her orgasm. After watching her for a moment, I whisper, God, you're beautiful. She lifts up for my mouth. I capture her's and she lets me stroke her tongue with mine. Velvet. She is a goddess.

Our lips barely a breath away, I ask her, are you ready to go inside now? Yes, she says. The first word she has said to me in the last hour. Our love needs no words. We are in sync, from the first time we met we have been connected.

I kiss the tops of her breasts. Dana, I say, pulling her up and wrapping the over-sized towel around her, I love you. Walking over the sand, hand in hand, back to our room, she takes my breath away when she stops to kiss me and says, I love you, too, Melanie.

THE END

FEEDBACK? I'D LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU. X-File_Addict@msn.com

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Title: The Casual Observer
Author: ScullyFu
Email: X-File_Addict@msn.com
Posted: 8/30/00
Archives: Spookies, Gossamer, Ephemeral are okay. Others, please ask. Spoilers: Not a one. Can you believe it? Rating: G. Vignette.
Classification: ScullySlash. 3rd Person POV Disclaimer: They're not mine. CC, 1013 and Fox have the sole rights to their existence. Dammit! Summary: Scully and her friend are being watched. Note: This is set in the Beach Blanket Bingo Universe. It is not necessary for you to have read Beach Blanket Bingo first; this can easily stand-alone. If you want to read it to get caught up, go here: http://scullyfu.populli.net/

My second Bloody Mary is just being set on the fresh, dry cocktail napkin when I see them walk into the airport bar. I glance at them briefly; they look like two close friends, leaning into each other and laughing over some private joke. I am putting the finishing touches on my latest story and hoping my laptop battery doesn't give out before I'm ready to send the copy to my editor.

Some people may think that working for the high and mighty Conde Nast Travel magazine for the dripping-dollars wealthy would be a great way to live. And, for the most part, it is. I get paid handsomely to fly around the world checking out luxury vacation spots that the normal, everyday working person will never visit. Only the best for the old money crowd; but I think that's even truer for the nouveau riche. God, how they love to have people fawn over them and wait on them hand and foot. I sometimes think that's the reason why loafers are so popular in that set, they wear them just so they don't have to tie their own damn shoes. I stop to give some more thought to how I want to end the write-up, how many stars this place will receive, and realize that the two women have been seated at the booth across from and two up from mine. Although I can only see the back of the head of the dark-haired woman, I have a perfect view of the small redhead. She is stunning. Her hair is a shade that I have never seen. It's neither too red, nor too brown. It has a certain hue about it that neither Crayola or L'Oreal has yet to capture. It's curly, not tight like those popular Afros from the seventies, more like a soft body wave. But, it's obviously natural. Collar length in the back, she has the front pushed back off her face with a thin beaded headband. Her eyes are as blue and clear as the water of a pristine lake in Switzerland. They are warm and gentle with just a touch of sadness behind them. But now she is laughing softly at something the other woman has said, and they are sparkling and dancing with glee, much like a child's on Christmas morning.

She reaches across and takes the other woman's hand, briefly. Her smile is luminous and I see the other woman dip her head, as though needing to break from the spell the redhead has cast on her. I wonder how long they have been here on the island. The dark-haired woman is tanned beyond belief; but not that fake tan from a salon or a bottle. This is natural. God, I hate people who have large amounts of melanin in their system. It's not fair!

But the red-head, she looks like she either just arrived here, which is not likely, or that she spent the entire time under an umbrella with lots of sunblock slathered all over her. That's possible. With her fair complexion, she's probably used to avoiding the direct sunlight, at least in a sunbathing context. Nope, you'll never see her with a wrinkle from too much time spent in the sun that's for sure.

She obviously takes care of herself. She is tiny. If I had to guess from the brief glimpse I caught of her when they walked in, I'd have to say maybe five two or three. Even sitting down, she appears to be a few inches shorter than the other woman. And she looks to weigh all of maybe a hundred and five pounds dripping wet. Her silk tank top frames arms that look well toned, like she lifts weights. Her shorts show off thighs and calves which exhibit the musculature of a runner or someone who does regular aerobic workouts. I wonder what she does to afford this place? This nearly deserted island that caters to the rich and famous. Computer whiz kid? Plastic surgeon? Corporate lawyer? She looks smart. I can see that in her eyes, even from across the room. There is a certain air of intellectual superiority about her. It's not that she looks like she's snobby or anything, just that she has a sense of her own self and her abilities. She looks like a calm kind of person. Centered.

A slow smile is forming on her lips. God, how did I miss those lips? They are so full. And she seems to have this nervous habit of licking them, sometimes slowly sweeping her tongue across the entire breadth of either the upper or lower lip, and other times just darting the end out to moisten one of the sides of her mouth. She projects sensuality. Nothing about her is overtly sexy. I doubt she even thinks of herself in those terms anyway. Nothing about her gives the appearance of any vanity. No, sensuous is the best word to describe her.

Her friend leans across the small table and whispers something to her. She turns her head slightly, meets her eyes, and kisses her companion directly on the lips. There's no hesitation, no darting of her eyes around to see if anyone is watching. So, it seems they are more than friends or just traveling partners. Yes, that makes sense. After all, this resort is billed as a lover's getaway, with very few guests and bungalows a good distance from each other. Lots of privacy with few distractions. Lots of wait staffs who are rarely seen and who are trained to see even less. There's no boardwalk with rides or carney games, no one spinning cotton candy. Hell, there's only one nightclub. It you're looking for a lot of action, you have to go to the other side of the island with all the budget travelers.

To the casual observer they would seem to be nothing more than friends. But I used to be a real journalist; schooled in the art of observation. I could put the pieces of the puzzle together with the best of them. But somewhere along the line the five double-u's got sidetracked. The who, what, where, when, and why of a hard news story instead became about how much and the different levels of luxury that money could buy. So, now I have my answer. They have come here to escape from prying eyes in their every day life. I wonder if they live together or put up the front of being "just friends" back home. Do they share a home or keep up separate residences for appearance sake? Do they share the same profession? They are intriguing.

The waiter brings me another Bloody Mary. Is that number three or four? Ooh, this is fun watching these two women, much more so than writing this stupid travelogue piece. Oh, hell, I've got to get this sent off now. Okay, Mister Editor, here it comes. There, that's done. Another piece of copy completed. One more hidden place for the hoity-toity and high-falutin to get away from it all. But I've done my duty, so now back to my reward.

They have ordered another drink while I was busy spell checking, attaching, and sending. I check my watch to find that my flight off this tropical isle will be leaving in about forty-five minutes, but I'll need to get to the gate to load in about fifteen minutes. First class has its privileges.

I see the redhead take a quick peek at her watch; she appears to be advising her friend of their time schedule. I check my ticket and itinerary. After I get back home I'll have close to a week off before jetting off to the South Pacific. Time enough to do the laundry, tidy up around the apartment, see a few friends, and then take off again. Just this past half-year alone I've added seventy-five thousand frequent flyer miles to my coffer. Funny really, all those damned redeemable miles sitting there and all I want to do on my vacation is stay home. Oh, well, looks like I'll be giving out trips to my family and friends again this Christmas; but they seem to enjoy the trips more than any box of macadamia nuts or exotic souvenirs I could give them.

Oops, time to go. I wave for the waiter to bring me the tally of damages. I sign the slip, rip off my copy for the old expense report, and leave a big tip. That's a nice advantage of having everything paid for, I can afford to be very generous with my gratuities. No doubt service workers worldwide love me.

While slipping my ticket into my jacket pocket, I notice that the two women are gathering up their belongings. I postpone my departure to watch them. The redhead is signing her credit card slip while the dark-haired woman stands and waits.

When the redhead rises from the booth, she takes her friend's hand and gives it a squeeze. It is such an intimate gesture, I feel I should look away, but don't. The taller woman leans over slightly and they kiss briefly. Nothing passionate, but at the same time the emotion it conveys is astounding. I envy them. They exchange smiles and then head toward the terminal hand in hand.

I wonder if they are on my flight. Probably not, this is a big island and there are lots of simultaneous boardings. People heading all directions, back home to L.A. and New York and Dallas. Besides, what would be the odds that we'd be on the same flight back to D.C.? Oh, well, it was a fun little diversion while it lasted.

THE END

FEEDBACK? I'D LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU. X-File_Addict@msn.com

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Title: Fear of Flying
Author: ScullyFu
Email: X-File_Addict@msn.com
Posted: 9/17/00
Archives: Spookies, Gossamer, Ephemeral are okay. Others, please ask. Spoilers: Not a one. Can you believe it? Rating: NC-17
Classification: ScullySlash. Scully POV. Disclaimer: They're not mine. CC, 1013 and Fox have the sole rights to their existence. Dammit! A special thanks goes to Erica Jong, an early explorer of women's sexuality. Summary: Mel makes Dana an offer she can refuse and one she can't. Note: This is set in the Beach Blanket Bingo Universe. It is not necessary for you to have read the first two installments, this can easily stand alone. But a little background never hurts, and since they are both vignettes, if you want to read them to get caught up, go here: http://scullyfu.populli.net/

When I called Mel from the hospital to let her know I was all right she was pissed beyond words. I suppose being woken from a sound sleep at three in the morning may have been a factor, but I truly believe her anger was merely acting as a mask for the fear. She hates it when I go on night surveillance. It scares her. She says bad things can happen after dark. I try to reassure her, tell her that bad things can happen in broad daylight as well, but she counters that at least you might have a chance to see the bad guy coming when the sun is out. I can't argue with that logic.

Mulder was out of the room when I called to tell her that he would take me home, but she insisted on coming to get me.

"Mel, really, you don't need to come out at this hour. Mul--"

"I said I would be there in fifteen minutes."

She rushed into the emergency waiting room area wearing a pair of sweats, a sweatshirt with her pajama sleeves peeking out at the wrists, tennis shoes with no socks, and her hair pulled back into a rough approximation of a ponytail.

Mulder had finally figured out a couple months ago that I'd been seeing someone, but I refused to tell him any of the particulars. So when Mel appeared he put two and two together. I mean, other than your mother, who else besides a lover would schlep to a hospital in the middle of the night if they didn't have to? Mulder looked at me, I looked at Mulder. In that split second his eyes told me that he understood exactly the dynamic of my relationship with this whirlwind that had just blown in.

Mulder and Mel exchanged pleasantries as I re-introduced them to each other. She told him thanks for staying with me and he left. After looking me over to see that I still had all my limbs, we exchanged a hug; we both exhaled with relief that the other was there. I could physically feel my body relax as she held me.

Mel all but slammed the car door as she settled in behind the wheel. "We're outta here. Tell Skinner or whoever that you're taking two weeks off, I'm getting you away from this madness." She refused to listen to or be swayed by any of my usual arguments about being fine and needing to work. Melanie is not Mulder.

"It's not going to work this time. I know you love your job, Dana, but it's just plain nuts to put yourself on the line every single day. You deserve a break and I can use one, too. This past week has been hell for me with you gone every night. I sit up and wait for you to come home. Dreading the call. My muscles seize up from the time you leave till I hear your key in the door." She looked over at me and took my hand as we waited for the light to change. "I'll be damned if I'm going to lose you this way." Then she smiled so tenderly that I just couldn't refuse her.

Looking over at her now, on the plane home from the island, I realize how much I've missed by years of self-denial. But all things happen in their own time and if I want to get all metaphysical, I could say that Melanie happened now because I'm in a space that allows me to be open to her.

She senses my periodic sideways glances, looks up from her book and smiles. Her dark eyes twinkle. I take her hand and twine our fingers together.

"You okay?" she asks, placing the tasseled bookmark between the pages and closing her book.

"Yep. Just a little sad about having to leave."

Turning towards me, she says, "We can always go back. Maybe if I ask real nice the pilot will turn this baby around."

I can't help myself and laugh out loud. "Yeah, sure, like that'll work."

"I can be quite persuasive when I want to be. Charming is the word, I believe."

"Well you are both of those, but somehow I don't think the pilot would succumb to your charms up here at thirty-five thousand feet."

She gets a devilish look in her eye. "Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"You know, succumb to my charms?"

When I don't speak, she adds, "Up here, at thirty-five thousand feet."

"Surely you're not going to suggest some sort of mile high club antics in the bathroom."

"Why not?" she asks, reaching for my other hand.

"Because those bathrooms are so small there's barely enough room to have sex with myself in there." I can't believe I just said that. I know I must be blushing.

She throws her head back against the seat and laughs. "Dana, sometimes you come out with the craziest things."

She returns to her book and I turn to look at the ocean from my window seat. It's hard to tell anything about it from up here. It appears calm, but it could just as easily be choppy or rolling with giant swells. There are big fluffy white clouds and I remember how on summer days as children Melissa and I would lie on our backs on the grass and try to make castles and whales out of them. More often than not, Bill and Charlie would douse us with buckets of cold water; mom would come running out of the house yelling at us to stop screeching and chase the boys with a rolled up paper. They'd take off running down the street; I don't think she ever caught them, but it was funny to watch all the same.

The first class cabin is only about half full, unlike the trip down when there wasn't an unoccupied seat. We decided to treat ourselves and fly first class. I'm glad we did, it's a nice change from bumping elbows with strangers in coach. Our closest fellow passenger is a familiar looking woman in the aisle across from us and back a row. She appears to be traveling alone. I stop to think of where I may have seen her, but can't quite nail it down. No doubt I saw her somewhere on the island. Doesn't really matter, it's just one of those niggling things that eats at me.

I close my eyes until the flight attendant brings us our lunch. The food up here isn't that much better than what they serve in coach. When you get right down to it airplane food is airplane food. It's all pre-fabbed and nuked. I could be wrong, but the drinks do seem a little stronger up here. Maybe it's just that I've had more to drink than when Mulder and I fly. Two drinks in the bar before we boarded and then another two on the plane have placed me well over my limit. But what the heck, technically I am still on vacation, at least for another couple of days.

So when Mel asks if I want another drink I nod in the affirmative. We're not going to be driving home; we're taking the blue shuttle service and they'll take us right to the house. No fuss, no muss, no long-term parking charges.

Suddenly I feel exhausted. For having just spent the last week doing nothing but lounging around the beach all day and sleeping late, I'm beat. A week of sun and surf, lovely healthy food, and lots of loving, you'd think I'd be rested and ready to get back to the grind. But I think the exhaustion is more a symptom of not wanting to go back down into the dungeon again. A dungeon, by definition, is a dark place and the basement of the Hoover Building is no exception. A few street level windows bring in some natural light, but there's no substitute for the healing properties of mass quantities of the real thing.

And then there's Melanie. This last week with her has been nothing short of glorious. I'm glad she refused to let me off the hook. To be honest, I was already planning on taking some time off and my protests to the contrary I loved that she was being so protective. Besides, it gave us some much-needed time together. I've never been so happy, so contented. I'm worried though. Worried what will happen next. It was easy being together openly on the island, there's a freedom in anonymity; but back in the city we will need to be more careful. People know us there and we have careers to protect. Although Mel is out to some people, I'm not. Hell, I didn't ever expect to have a relationship with another woman. Mel is the first. And if all goes well, my last.

"I'll be right back," she says, rising. I look up at her and am struck once again by her lovely and strong athletic body, tanned beyond belief; she has her silky dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. She is sexy and smart to boot. She owns a computer consulting company that allows her some leeway for spontaneous travel.

My eyes are closed and she's back before I realize it. I hear the overhead storage compartment open. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"Getting a blanket and pillow, want one?"

"Yes, thanks." She tosses them to me and then sits back down.

"Tired?"

"Not really, maybe just a bit of a chill. All this sitting still doesn't allow for much circulation," I say, adjusting the pillow behind my head. Mel helps to spread the blanket over me, tucking it around my shoulders and draping it over my legs.

"Better?" she asks, raising the armrest that separates us.

"Mmm."

She turns towards me, bending her knees and putting them up on the seat between us. Throwing the blanket over herself, she lays her face against her pillow. We can't be more than a foot apart.

"I bet I could get you warm in a hurry." She speaks softly, her warm breath floating over me like a gentle breeze.

"I bet you could," I say, smiling.

She brings her hands out from underneath her blanket and slides them under mine. "Mel, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to help get you warm."

"You must be joking."

"Must I?"

Her hands have found mine and she is running one hand up and down my arm. Despite the sudden goose bumps, I am getting warm.

"I checked out the bathroom and you were right about there not being enough room in there to have sex, so..." Her voice trails off, but she leaves no doubt as to what she is suggesting.

"We can't, not here in our seats for heaven's sake."

"Why not? There's no one around and if anyone does look over they'll just see us covered with blankets. They'll never suspect as long as you're quiet and don't do any of those famous power moans of yours." She's grinning from ear to ear, obviously relishing the prospect of getting me off here on the plane.

"A bit of an exhibitionist, aren't you? First on the beach, now here." The way her hand is moving over my breasts is forcing me to re-think my reluctance.

"I don't recall you telling me to stop on the beach," she says, continuing to stroke and squeeze me under the blanket. I gasp. "Shhh."

She slides her hand up under my tank top and pushes up my sports bra. It all happens in less than thirty seconds and suddenly she pinches one of my nipples. Oh, God, the shivers that sends throughout my body, the electricity courses down to and out my toes. Then she pinches and tugs on the other one. Same reaction, only now I have to swallow hard to stop from crying out.

"You're being very quiet, that's good because otherwise I'd have to stop." She hesitates. "You don't want me to stop, do you, Dana?"

She knows I don't, but I shake my head anyway. She leans in closer and whispers, "I want to kiss you so badly." She watches my face to see my reaction.

It must have "me, too" written all over it because then she adds, "I want to suck on your lips and run my tongue across them." I think my temperature just spiked up about seventeen degrees.

"Feeling warmer?" she asks. Her other hand has somehow found its way behind me. I can feel her fingers fumbling with the waistband of my shorts.

"Uh huh," I grunt, relying on caveman language, it's all I can manage. I have no doubt that my cheeks are flushed, can't she tell?

Her voice is so low I can barely make out what she says except for "right here, right now", but the look in her eye is unmistakable.

"Unzip you shorts." My eyes must register my surprise. "Go ahead, unzip them."

"Mel," I whisper.

She looks around. "It's all right. Just be quiet."

I hesitate. This is crazy. I've never done anything like this. "What if someone sees?"

"No one's looking." Her hand is stroking the inside of my thighs and I'm all atingle.

"What if the flight attendant comes around again?"

"They're back in the galley visiting, on a break or something." She blows seductively into my ear. She's making it very hard to breathe, let alone think up excuses.

"What if--"

"Dana," she says, holding me with her gaze. "If you want me to stop, just say so."

Her hands have stopped teasing my body. The sensations have ceased; I want them back. I gather up my nerves and unbutton and unzip my shorts. Those four drinks have really lowered my inhibitions.

"God, Dana, you are a wild one. Remember, be quiet." I nod, practicing my new language of silence.

She slides her hand down my stomach and into my panties. Oh, Holy Mother. I'm terrified and excited all at the same time. Then I feel her hand that was behind my back.

"Sit up a little bit." I do as instructed and am rewarded with two fingers thrust quickly inside me. I sit back down, on her hand, forcing her deeper inside me.

I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning out loud. My body is tense with restraint. Dear Lord, this has to be a sin. I want to cry out as she rubs my clit, but I don't. I'm quiet.

Mel leans over to me. "When we get home it'll be my tongue inside you." The sound of her voice and the promises she's purring are making it extremely difficult to remain mute. "I want to taste what I do to you."

"Now," I mouth silently. I can feel my muscles clamping around her fingers inside me. I clutch her hand that is stroking my clit. "Now." OhGodohGodohGod. I've got to do something or I will scream. I bite down on the pillow to avoid chewing through my tongue.

She speeds up her movements, both inside and outside of me, and I fight to keep my body from lurching and kicking the seat in front of me. The last thing I want to do is attract attention with any sudden movements. Out of the corner of my eye, between our seats, I notice the woman across the aisle watching us, me. It hits me. The bar, she was in the bar and I felt that she was watching me then, too. I'm just being paranoid. It's the guilt and embarrassment of what we're doing that's making me think she's watching. She can't see a thing and I was quiet. Even when I wanted to scream, I didn't.

After my muscles stop pulsing, Mel says, "Dana, I'd gladly stay like this the rest of the flight, but my hand is going to sleep. Lift up a bit." I do, but I don't want to. "Thanks." She smiles and gives my breasts one last squeeze. They're tender, but she's gentle. She helps me pull my bra back down. I zip up my pants. It's more difficult than one would think to do these things under a blanket without drawing unwanted attention.

I give myself a couple minutes to calm down. "It's a good thing I don't smoke," I say.

"How so?"

"Cause I'd sure as hell need one right about now and there's no smoking on airplanes." We grin like stupid fools at one another.

"I need to go to the bathroom." Mel gets up to let me out and I see the woman watching me again. Does she know? Can she see it in my eyes? I quickly look away.

When I return the blankets and pillows are back in the overhead and Mel has ordered us each another drink. The woman smiles knowingly at me. Jesus. What a fool I've made of myself. And for what? Stupid question. Was it worth it? Oh, hell, yes.

"So, warmed up now?" Mel stares at me and moves over, so I take the aisle seat.

"That woman saw us."

"What are you talking about? What woman?" She moves her vision past me.

"Don't look." I pause as she settles back into her seat. "The woman across the aisle and back a row."

"You're imagining things. She didn't see a thing. She couldn't from where she's sitting." She flashes her 'trust me' smile and I feel myself relax, for a moment.

"But you didn't see the way she looked at me when I got up."

"Dana."

"Or, or the 'I know what you did' smile she gave me when I came back."

"I really don't think so, but even if she did, so what?"

"So what?" I fight to keep my voice low and under control.

Mel takes a casual sip of her drink. "Yes, so what? We didn't do anything wrong. Besides, it's not like we're ever going to see her again."

"I guess you're right. I've never done anything like that and well, I think my nerves are a little jangled."

"Just a little? I must be slipping," she says, grinning.

"Don't tease me, Mel."

"Hell, I bet she probably liked it. Not as much as we did, but..." she lets her voice trail off.

I think my jaw must be hanging open. I can't quite process what I'm hearing.

"Look, Dana, everyone's got a bit of a voyeur in them."

"I don't know if that is a viable assessment."

"Oh, no?"

"No," I protest.

"Have you ever watched the Indy 500?"

"Yes, a couple times with my dad, but I don't see--"

"Why do you think most people watch those things? Surely, it's not to sit for hours on end watching cars go in circles. Secretly everyone is waiting for the crash, the big excitement." She pauses. "I can see you're still not convinced. Have you ever driven past a wreck on the freeway and slowed down to look?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's the same thing. People are voyeurs. It doesn't have to have a bad connotation. We like to look at people and what they're doing, that's all."

"I guess that's a plausible hypothesis."

She snorts. "Yeah, I guess it is."

"Are you going to stay over tonight?" I ask.

"I thought I made my intentions on that subject quite clear about fifteen minutes ago or maybe you just weren't focusing on what I was saying."

"Um, I was a little preoccupied."

"Dana, do you know how happy you make me?"

"If it's half as happy as you make me--" I stop mid-sentence, aware that she is touching my knee. Searching, I find my answer in the dark eyes that openly declare what is in her heart. We sit quietly for a moment just being together, content in our happiness.

"Have you thought about what you're going to do when we get back?"

I'm a little confused by the question. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, have you given any more thought to my job offer?"

"Oh, that." Shit, that didn't come out right. Mel has been trying to recruit me for her firm practically from the first time we met.

That was about six months ago, and although I turned her down, she still asks me periodically. For whatever reason, she's chosen this to be one of the times.

"Can we talk about this after we get home, please?"

"Sure," she says, picking up her book and burying her nose in it.

Crap. What's wrong? Just because I don't want to discuss this right now, she gets in a snit. Great.

We sit in silence for a bit. She has a will of steel that puts mine to shame. I know her, she will not crack. I'm the one who's going to have to say something.

"Mel."

Zippo. "Mel, what's wrong?" She lets out a heavy sigh.

"Dammit, Mel, what did I do?" I think back to my earlier, 'oh, that' remark. It was insensitive and probably the catalyst.

"Not a thing, Dana."

"Then why are you acting like I have?"

She shuts her book. "I guess I'm just disappointed, again."

She fiddles with the tassel of her bookmark. I remain quiet and wait for her to continue.

"Your hesitancy to even discuss it can only mean that I'm going to be shot down again."

How can I make this better? I don't want this to be the end of our vacation. "May I make a suggestion?"

She nods slightly. "Believe me when I say that I have not stopped giving your very generous offer consideration." The fact is that after this latest surveillance episode I've been weighing over the pros and cons of her offer again.

"Please just let me come to you if I change my mind? My work on the X-Files is still important to me and as wonderful as your offer is, at this time I can't accept it."

She says nothing, but again nods. Her face shows her disappointment, but her eyes reveal a return to hopefulness. I reach over and touch her face; she forces a small smile and kisses my palm.

"Sorry."

"No need to apologize. I know what it's like to want something badly and think you'll never get it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." I smile to reassure her, but decide not to reveal the secret that darkened my heart on many occasions was the fear of never being with her.

The pilot chooses this moment to announce our impending descent. We face forward, return our seats to the upright position, and buckle our lap belts. I reach out and take her hand.

"Which is worse for you, take-off or landing?" she asks, seemingly ready to put the tiff behind us.

"I don't know, they're about even, I think."

The plane starts down. "Breathe, Dana." I didn't know I wasn't.

"Look, you can see the city lights, just a few more minutes. Hang on."

The squeal of the tires gripping the tarmac is always a relief. Now I can relax. Now I can breathe easily.

"Okay?"

"Yep." I turn and give her a smile to show her I'm fine.

"Ready to go home?"

"Definitely. I'm glad we took the shuttle. After all the drinks we've had neither of us should be behind a wheel. Besides, I'm tired."

"Me too. Why does alcohol make me so tired?"

I start to speak, but she cuts me off. "It was rhetorical. As much as I love to hear your scientific explanations for everything, I think I can live without it this time." She squeezes my hand reassuringly.

I smile at her teasing. "Let's go," I say, rising and flipping open the overhead luggage compartment. "Don't forget your book on the floor."

We take our carry-ons and head to the luggage carousel to collect our suitcases. We limited ourselves to one bag each, figuring we wouldn't need much for a week at a beach resort. I spy the woman from the plane at the opposite end of the carousel. She's smiling at us. I nudge Mel and tilt my head a bit towards the woman. Mel doesn't miss a beat before smiling at her and putting her arm around me. The woman's bag arrives before ours; she grabs it, and heads out of the terminal.

We don't have long to wait and are soon heading out to the shuttle bus area. Fifteen minutes later we're on our way home.

THE END

FEEDBACK? I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU! X-File_Addict@msn.com

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Title: First Contact
Author: ScullyFu
Email: X-File_Addict@msn.com
Posted: 11/4/00
Archives: Spookies, Gossamer, Ephemeral are okay. Others, please ask. Spoilers: There are a couple of minor mentions in passing. Rating: NC-17
Classification: ScullySlash. Scully POV. Summary: I'm curious. Just how did Dana and Mel meet? Disclaimer: They're not mine. CC, 1013 and Fox have the sole rights to their existence. Dammit! Special thanks to Meredith for her generous beta services. Her insights were invaluable. Believe me, this story wouldn't be the same without her. Thanks, chica. Note: This is the prequel to the other stories set in the Beach Blanket Bingo Universe. It is not necessary for you to have read the first three installments since this can easily standalone. But a little background never hurts, and they're short, so if you want to read them to get caught up, go here: http://scullyfu.populli.net/

It's Friday night and it's been raining all day with no let up. Driving home from work, there were three fender benders due to a sudden hailstorm and I'm thankful just to get home in one piece. I treat myself to a long relaxing soak and now I'm cozy and warm in my pajamas, sitting cross-legged on the couch watching the flickering flames, a glass of wine on the table before me.

I pick up the book I've started to read on numerous occasions this past week. After a few pages, I'm staring, my mind wandering. I can't do much of anything these days without having my thoughts being overtaken by memories of her and our time together. It doesn't matter what I'm doing. It happens at work, while driving, shopping, or watching television.

But late night is definitely the worst. Then there are no distractions. Lately, after years of sleeping alone, my bed seems too large. I've always been a solitary person, self-reliant, needing few people in my life. The difference is that now, at this point in my life, I'm willing to admit, at least to myself, that I have been lonely for a long time.

But, this, this is a new experience for me. My previous bed partners have been male. If I ever had sexual thoughts about another woman, I buried them before allowing them to surface. I'm good at hiding my feelings, especially from myself.

The fact that I am attracted to a woman is not as much a shock to my system as I thought it would be; that is, had I ever given it any thought. Thinking back on my school days and formative years, I realize that I have been with men because it was the accepted route, the norm. It's not that being with men was unpleasant or repugnant, it just was not fulfilling in a deep soulful way.

I know that my past behaviors regarding relationships would lead many to wonder about my sanity right about now. Hell, I've been doing the same thing ever since I realized and admitted to myself how I feel about this woman.

I was raised in a traditional home with a loving mother and father, and in a church that expounds the virtues of marriage and children. Most everyone goes along with the program. We're told it's what God wants us to do. Few people question it.

I haven't always agreed with the dogma of my religion. It's no secret that I've had doubts and even left the Church for a number of years. At best, my belief in it remains tenuous. As a scientist, it's been difficult for me to blindly adhere to some of the Church's teachings. I've always believed in the spirit of the Church and, rightly or wrongly, I disregard those teachings that don't pass my personal litmus test for acceptability. Rules regarding pre-marital sex, birth control, and abortion have always been troublesome for me to embrace. Most of my disagreements with the Church have to do with its view of women in general and, specifically, a woman's right to determine what to do with her own body. And now I'm being forced to take a much closer and personal look at the Church's policy on homosexuality.

I put down my book; it's useless to continue. My full attention is on Mel, again. I can't even count how many times I've replayed how we met. I know I'm doing it again, but I can't help it. It makes me happy to think of her.

Skinner, God bless him, had sent me to a three-day seminar to assess the new software the Bureau was thinking of purchasing. The directive came down that all middle and upper management was to read the glossy brochures and go to the seminar. Since he had a bad cold and couldn't fly, Skinner sent me to Seattle in his stead.

As luck, or as Mulder would say, fate would have it, Melanie was there. There were very few women in attendance and we were the youngest of those, so we just sort of naturally migrated towards each other. After the first half-day session Mel suggested we have dinner. She was intelligent and friendly and I didn't want to eat alone in my room, so I agreed. To my surprise, within an hour of freshening up we were on the elevator headed to the top of the Space Needle.

As the Seattle skyline stretched out all around us, and Puget Sound glistened with the setting sun, we talked over dinner and drinks of our jobs and what led us to embark on our separate career paths. The evening passed pleasantly and when the check arrived, Mel picked it up, insisting she needed the tax write-off. After strolling around the Seattle Center grounds, we rode the Monorail back downtown, and since it was only around ten, we decided to have a nightcap in the hotel bar. Before we knew it, it was midnight. We said our goodnights and arranged to meet for breakfast before the morning sessions.

By the time the seminar concluded on the third day, she and I had spent nearly every waking minute together attending assorted training classes; we searched each other out at breaks and took our meals together. Mel had told me she lived in Boston so I knew seeing her again soon was not entirely out of the realm of possibility. Not having a lot of women friends, I was anxious to keep contact with her. I guess she felt the same way because she suggested that we juggle our airline schedules and fly back together. By the time we arrived at Logan Airport in Boston, we had exchanged home and work numbers as well as email addresses. With an hour layover before my shuttle up to Dulles, we went into the airport lounge for a coffee.

As soon as we were settled in our booth with our coffees, Mel announced, "I think you and I would be good together."

That certainly got my attention, and I admit to having been more than a little curious. It was obvious from her statement that she had been thinking about me, but in what respect? I recovered and managed to respond with, "Excuse me?"

"I think you and I would be good together," she repeated.

"What do you mean?"

"Look, Dana, I won't pull any punches. I've been trying to crack the old boys' network at the FBI to get a consulting contract for this new software. Honestly, it wouldn't hurt my credibility if I could bring you in on my next presentation to them. After this seminar you're as familiar with the software as any of those suits and bean counters claim to be. I could work with you and get you proficient in no time. You know your way around the Bureau and what their needs are. You'd be a tremendous asset to my team. You're an insider, Dana; one of the FBI's own. You'd be fantastic with the pre-emptive strike, heading off all their objections before they even know they have them. I don't know what you earn, but if you're half as sharp as I think you are, I could put you in six figures right away."

I nearly spit out my coffee. "Six figures?"

"That's only to start. I have a large HMO and a pharmaceutical company on the hook, and with your credentials, I could blow all the competition out of the water. What do you say?"

Stunned, I sat silent for a few moments. Jesus, I thought, six figures, to start. What else could I say, but that I was extremely flattered?

"And?" Mel seemed nervous, fidgeting with her napkin.

"And, I think it's something I really need to contemplate. I couldn't possibly give you an answer right now." The thought that computer consultants probably don't make many impromptu emergency room visits crossed my mind.

"Oh, of course, I didn't expect an immediate answer, I just wanted to put all my cards on the table. I'm just happy that you're even considering it. Thank you."

"Are you kidding? Thank you. And I promise that I will give it some serious thought."

She walked me to my terminal. We smiled and gave each other a quick hug before I headed to the tunnel. The flight home was uneventful, other than I couldn't stop thinking about Mel and her offer.

It's been well over a week since the software seminar and I haven't heard from her. I am perplexed. I thought that we had developed a kernel of a friendship. I think I've been pouting. My disappointment must be obvious; even Mulder asked me what was wrong.

I gave him my pat answer of being fine. Of course, it was a lie. We both know it, but it's part of the distance game we play. What is happening? Why hasn't she called me? She seemed so sincere, so interested. Was she just blowing smoke when she offered me a position at her firm? I don't think so. Maybe after she thought it over, she changed her mind and felt it was easier just to ignore me in hopes that I'd go away.

Well, I refuse to be dismissed. I check my watch. It's too late to call her tonight. Tomorrow will have to do.

I didn't sleep well. I've been up since just after six killing time till now. I've done my laundry, mopped my kitchen floor, dusted, the whole nine yards. Ten o'clock seems like a reasonably safe time to call. She's probably up by now. I swallow my anger and fear that festered as I tossed and turned restlessly. Placing the call, I take a few deep breaths as the phone rings. After the fourth one I am expecting the message machine to pick up when the phone clicks.

"Hello?"

"Hello? Melanie?"

"Who's calling, please?"

"This is Dana, Dana Scully." I barely finish my name before she responds.

"Oh, hi, Dana, it's me. How have you been?"

Is she serious? I've been living the last week on pins and needles, a bundle of uncertainty -- that's how I've been. But, of course, I reply with my patented, "I'm fine." I'm so damned predictable.

"It's good to hear your voice. I've been meaning to call you, but I've been swamped working on a new angle for my next presentation."

Her explanation sounds reasonable. "Oh." That's the sum total of my brilliant repartee.

"Is something wrong, Dana?"

"No, no, nothing."

"Are you sure? You sound distant."

"Um, no. I, I just thought I heard someone at my door. Sorry."

"So to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"

She seems happy to hear from me. "Just thought I'd touch base. We haven't spoken since we got back."

"I thought I explained that." She hesitates. "You don't think I'm avoiding you, do you?"

"No, no," I stammer, "it never crossed my mind." Mulder's right, I'm a bad liar.

"Okay." She apparently decides to let me off the hook. "So what do you want to talk about?"

Do I dare say that I've missed her, can't stop thinking about her, and just wanted to hear her voice? Of course not. Not me. "I wanted to tell you that I've thought about your job offer." Well, at least that's true.

"You have? That's promising," she says, her voice hopeful.

"And as enticing as it sounds, I really can't accept."

"Oh." It's her turn to go monosyllabic. She sounds disappointed.

The line goes silent for a bit, neither of us saying a word.

"And there's nothing I can say or do?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Don't mind if I keep asking, do you?" The tone of her voice lightens considerably.

Keep asking? That implies that she wants to keep in touch. "No, keep asking. Who knows, maybe one day I'll surprise you and say yes." I kind of chuckle.

"Hey, can you fly up here?"

"When?"

"Today. Now. I'm on a self-imposed work-free weekend. No need for a hotel, I've got plenty of room here."

My mind is racing. I can feel excuses starting to take form. Before I can talk myself out of it, I blurt out, "Sure."

"Great. Hang on. I'll be right back." Where's she going? After a few minutes, she returns.

"I just sent you the link for the United Airlines site. There are still seats available on the early afternoon flights out and a mid-evening flight back tomorrow. Sound do-able?"

I'm encouraged by her enthusiasm and eagerness and the fact that she has my email address so handy. "Yes. Sounds perfect. I'll just throw together an overnight bag and head out." I can feel myself getting caught up in the excitement of seeing her. "Here comes your email. I'm looking at the schedule. Okay, I'll catch the twelve-thirty flight. If anything changes, I'll call. Otherwise, I'll see you around two."

"I'll be there."

Again, silence. It's a bit awkward.

"Um, do I need to bring anything special?"

"Nope. Casual is fine. Just come on up."

"See you soon," I say, hanging up.

I stand frozen for a moment; my hand still wrapped around the phone. Oh Lord, what am I thinking? Here I am literally rushing off to spend a weekend with a woman I barely know. I tell myself to relax; it's just a friendly visit. Nothing more than a chance to catch up and touch base with a new acquaintance.

I rush around my bedroom, grabbing a few last-minute things to throw in my overnight case. One advantage of always having a bag ready is the ability to pick up and leave at a moment's notice. Unlike most of my sudden departures, in this instance, it's a happy occasion.

Traffic to Dulles is light. Yesterday's bad storm has blown itself out and the sun is shining. I leave my car in the short-term parking lot and head for the terminal. While making a beeline for the United desk I pull out my credit card. The transaction is complete and I still have fifteen minutes before I need to board. Now I'm wondering if this is really such a good idea. Calm down, I tell myself, you're just nervous.

I decide to buy a magazine; I need something to take my mind off what I'm doing. I haven't had my caffeine fix today and it shows. I'm jittery. I get myself a triple grande, non-fat mocha, no whipped cream and head back to the terminal.

My flight is announced for boarding. I'm ready. I have what's left of my mocha in hand and my magazine shoved into my bag. To the casual observer I'm the perfect example of a seasoned flier. Ho-hum. If they only knew every take-off and landing is tantamount to a death sentence for me.

I settle into my seat. Fortunately there's no one next to me. That means no one watching as I put a death grip on the armrests; no one to stare as my knuckles turn white.

Once the plane levels off, I'm able to relax some, although I still feel a bit unsettled. I think it has less to do with the flight than the circumstances. I'm not usually so impulsive. I like to gather facts, weigh options, reach conclusions in a logical fashion. It's what I do; it's my modus operandi. So why the hell am I flying to Boston on a whim on a Saturday afternoon?

I check my outfit, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about my clothing choices. She did say casual. So I slid into my jeans and a t-shirt, loafers and my bomber jacket. I tell myself that I look good. Mel hasn't seen me dressed like this. In Seattle, it was professional dress during the seminars and when we went out for the evening, it was less formal, but still upscale. I wonder how she'll be dressed. I hope I'm not too casual for whatever she has planned. My make-up is light, mostly mascara and lipstick. And I've let my hair go natural, so it's curly rather than blown straight.

I have a drink to try to calm down. It's not working. I'd have another, but I need to be in total command of my faculties. The last thing I want is to stagger off the plane. That would make a great impression.

While I've been fretting the plane has been cruising along without regard to my damned insecurities or me. So, it is a surprise when I hear the pilot's announcement that we will be landing in approximately ten minutes. Boston, he says, is a clear, sixty-five degrees with no wind. Sounds like a lovely day in Beantown. I feel comfortable in my choice of clothing.

After we touch down, I wait for the other passengers to deplane. It gives me a few minutes to gather my nerves and do a little deep breathing. I hope Mel is here already. For a moment I consider staying on the plane and going back home. I'm being irrational. Two deep breaths and by sheer force of will I get up.

I grab my bag from the overhead and start towards the door. I look around and notice I'm the last of the Mohicans; except for the flight attendants, everyone else is off the plane.

"There you are! I was beginning to think you'd missed your flight." I follow the voice and see Mel give me a little wave. I watch as her eyes travel up and down my body. Inexplicably, I feel myself shiver. She walks around some plastic-molded chairs and over to me.

"Oh, no. I always wait for everyone else to leave rather than fight my way into the aisle just to stand and wait."

"Good idea. You look great," she says, smiling.

I return the compliment. And it's true. She is lovely, dressed in snug-fitting jeans; long-sleeved t-shirt topped with an unzipped polar fleece vest, and tennis shoes. Her dark shoulder-length hair is pulled back into a ponytail; her sunglasses positioned on top of her head. She looks very fresh, not much make-up, just mascara and lipstick, like me.

We grasp each other's hand in greeting. Not a handshake, per se, more like a hand hold. Her hand is warm, mine is cold and I'm afraid a bit clammy.

"You all right?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"You look a little shaky." She takes my bag from me and we start walking. I become conscious of our hands still together and disengage mine from hers.

"The weatherman is predicting thunderstorms today, was it a bumpy flight?"

"Not particularly. Just my usual jitters."

"Well, you're back on terra firma now. So you can relax, right?"

"Right." Relax? I think I'm more nervous now that I'm here.

"Are you hungry? I'm sure they didn't feed you. You think for the prices these people charge they could come up with more than a lousy bag of peanuts."

"Yeah, and they don't even give you that anymore."

"So, do you want to grab a bite to eat? Maybe some chowder?"

"That sounds great. I haven't had a good bowl of chowder for ages," I confess.

We've made our way out of the terminal and into the passenger loading area. "This way," she says, briefly interlocking our arms as we cross the street and head towards the parking structure.

"I'm parked on Level C. Want to take the stairs?" She looks at me and I answer her by grabbing the handrail and starting up.

We're there in a matter of a minute. Since Mel is carrying my bag, I open the door for her.

"Thanks. Now, if no one's stolen the damned car," she says, laughing. She stops, looks around, and for a moment I think maybe someone has. "There it is," she says, pointing. "It's the silver Saab convertible."

I'm impressed. A Saab is not an inexpensive piece of machinery. Her business must be doing well. She opens the trunk and tosses my bag in.

"Okay, food. I'm famished. I was about ready to eat when you called, but decided to wait."

My, this is a luxury car. The leather molds to my body. I buckle my seat belt and sit back. I turn my head slightly to look at Mel. To my surprise, she's looking at me.

"It's lovely out, should I put the top down?"

"Yep."

She reaches into the back seat and grabs us each a baseball cap. "It can get a little breezy," she explains, backing out, the tires squealing as we descend the ramps and out into traffic. Hopping on the freeway, we head towards the water. The wind isn't all that bad, and I feel invigorated from the fresh air.

When we arrive at the docks, Mel parks and sets the car alarm. The sun is shining; it is a glorious day. I'm more relaxed now and feeling good about my decision to come. The server leads us out to the deck and we grab a table by the water. It's warm in the sun, so I take off my jacket and throw it over the back of my chair. Mel pushes up the sleeves of her shirt. Her arms are tanned and strong.

The server is attentive and brings us big chunks of sourdough bread, butter and water before asking for our order. "Two bowls of chowder, please." Mel looks at me. "You did want chowder, right?"

"Right."

"Have a preference for beer?"

"Not really. I'll have whatever you do."

She turns towards the server. "Two Mack and Jacks, please."

"Mack and Jack?"

"Trust me, it's good."

I smile at her. "This is a lovely treat. Thanks for inviting me up."

"Hey, no problem." We look up as the waitress brings our beers. "It's true, you know."

"Pardon me? What's true?"

"That I've been working like a madwoman and not intentionally avoiding you."

"Oh." I flash back to our earlier phone call and hope I didn't come across as wounded or needy.

"I haven't forgotten about you, Dana. Hell, you're not exactly an easy woman to forget." She laughs and I try to smile.

"Quite honestly, meeting you was the highlight of the Seattle trip." She pauses. "I just wish I could talk you into joining my firm."

"Hey, no work weekend, remember?"

"I remember, but if I don't mention work at least once, I can't write off lunch." Her eyes are dancing with mischief. "Okay, I've fulfilled the IRS guidelines, no more shop talk."

The chowder arrives in short order. "This is delicious and the beer is fantastic. I'll have to remember it next time I buy some at home."

We pass time with a quiet visit interrupted by spurts of laughter, finish our meal, order another beer, and savor the late afternoon sunshine.

"So, have anything special you want to do?" she asks.

"Mel, I didn't come to sightsee." I pause. "I came to see you."

Her eyes widen at my disclosure and she seems genuinely surprised. Can't say as I blame her. I'm surprised and I'm the one who said it. It's true, but I still catch myself off guard that I would actually say it. Usually I think things, but rarely say them. Maybe it's the sun and beers making me bold. The movement of my arm gets her attention and she looks down to watch as I reach out and wrap my hand around hers. God, what's gotten into me?

She looks up. "I see." Our eyes are locked.

"I'm sorry," I say, breaking the gaze and releasing her hand. "I'm afraid I miscalculated and spoke out of turn."

"So you wanted to see me, that's what friends do. I'm assuming here that you consider us friends since you flew up here for a visit."

She pauses, waiting for some sort of an acknowledgement, so I nod.

"And, secondly, you didn't make a miscalculation." She smiles warmly.

"I, I didn't?"

"No, you didn't." She reaches across the small table and intertwines our fingers.

"I told you you weren't an easy woman to forget, Dana. I have been thinking about you, and not just in a work capacity."

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do or say.

"I'm glad you called today. I was going to give you a buzz this weekend, but this worked out soooo much better, don't you think?" She lets out a laugh.

"Want another beer?" She doesn't wait for my answer before signaling to the server in the unspoken language of drinkers everywhere.

She rests back into her captain's chair and smiles at me. She has a lovely warm smile and her eyes seem to twinkle in the fading late afternoon sunlight.

"You look great, Dana."

"You said that already," I say, averting my eyes.

"Well, it warrants saying again." She pauses until I look up. "I've missed you."

I take a moment to process that information.

"You doubt that?"

I shrug and offer a half smile.

"Dana, you are a terrific woman. I enjoyed your company tremendously in Seattle, and I was hoping that we could keep in touch even though I knew you wouldn't accept my job offer."

"How could you know?"

"Well, the way you spoke about your job and your partner told me that you were deeply invested."

"Then why did you ask me to join your firm?"

"I'd have to be insane not to try to get you on board. You have so much going for you; you'd fit right in. I still think you and I would be good together."

She is talking about the job, isn't she? "Thanks."

"I'll keep asking. Like you said, you never know when you might give in to me."

Is she doing that on purpose? I swear she's speaking in code.

The sun has long since set over the water and the wind is picking up a bit. The sky is threatening to cloud up and block the stars. The restaurant has filled up with the evening clientele. I check my watch; amazingly, it's close to eleven o'clock.

"Ready to call it an evening?"

Before I can formulate an answer, she's paid the bill, and we're piling into the car.

I put my hand over hers as she starts to turn over the engine. "Are you okay to drive?"

"Sure. We've been here quite a while, and we ate. I think that ought to counteract all the beers. I'll be fine. My house isn't but ten minutes max."

She's slowly leaning in very close to me. God, I think she's going to kiss me. My heart is thumping. She gives my hand a squeeze and reaches across my body. When she speaks her voice is low, both in volume and pitch.

"Don't forget to buckle up," she says, smiling slowly.

It's a balmy night. There's definitely a storm brewing. The air has taken on a heavy quality, like when a fog rolls in over the ocean. I drank more than I normally would and am feeling no pain. Mel puts a CD in the player. The music is romantic in a jazzy way, the woman's voice soft and sultry with only a piano and bass as accompaniment.

Revving the engine, she pulls out onto the near-deserted highway. True to her word, within ten minutes we're pulling into her driveway. She pops the trunk to grab my bag while I get out of the car.

She comes around and links our arms. When we reach the front door she puts down my bag; unlocking it, she pushes it open and heads over to the stairs where she flips open a small box and disarms the silent alarm.

"Come on in. There's no guard dogs." She's smiling as she picks up my bag and takes it down the hall into what I surmise is the guest bedroom.

Suddenly a yawn sneaks up and out of me. "Sorry. Guess I'm more tired than I thought, must have been all those beers," I hypothesize.

She gives me the ten-cent tour of the downstairs and promises to show me around more tomorrow. She walks me to my room and leaves me to get ready for bed.

I'm just emerging from the bathroom when she knocks on the bedroom door.

"Decent?"

"Yep." I'm buttoning up my pajama top when she walks in. I look down for the buttonhole and see my hardened nipples against the satin material. It's obvious that she notices.

"I brought you some aspirin and a glass of water just to be on the safe side. Do you have everything you need?"

"Yes, thank you."

She turns down the bed for me. "Hop in," she says.

The sheets are a cold against my bare feet, but the down comforter is fluffy and I know it will be no time before I get warm.

"Comfy?" she asks while pulling up the covers. Looming over me, she gently pushes a piece of hair off of my face and tucks it behind my ear. Her hand lingers and I think I can detect a trembling in her fingers. Maybe it's me. She sits on the side of the bed and leans down towards me. My feet are no longer cold. No part of me is. Our eyes are locked. My breathing is shallow. If I lift up a bit I can reach her lips. I want to kiss her. My chest tightens. I part and moisten my lips in invitation.

I purposely keep my voice soft. "Mel." The sound of her name seems to pull her back from wherever she is. She blinks, gets up and leaves without a word. The only sound is the gentle clicking of the door as it closes behind her.

I lay in wonder of what just happened; or more precisely, what didn't. A big sigh escapes from deep within me as I turn onto my side. The bedside clock indicates eleven-fifty. I'm suddenly exhausted, my body feels heavy and my head is threatening to ache. Taking some aspirin with a few large swallows of water, I lay back down. Remembering that I barely got any rest last night, I close my eyes.

I wake up with a start. For a moment I'm disoriented, not sure where I am. The room is pitch black except for the illuminated numbers on the clock. It's four-thirty. I've been asleep for close to five hours. I listen closely, but the house is silent. God, it's hot in here. I throw the comforter off, then the sheet.

Water, I need water. My mouth is like cotton. I'm dehydrated from all the beers. My head has eased up, but there remains a hint of ache behind my eyes. I'm still hot. I get up to open the window then remember the alarm system. I'd hate to trigger it. Unbuttoning my top, I flap it to create a breeze. Better. I take off my bottoms and go stand on the bathroom floor in hopes the cool linoleum on my bare feet will give me some relief. I splash water on my face trying to bring down my elevated body temperature.

Walking back to the bed, I sit down and take two more aspirin. I think I'll lay back down and let the drugs do their thing. At least I hope they'll take away what's left of this headache. I'm sprawled on my back on the bed with my eyes closed, my top still open and no covers. Drifting, drifting, drifting.

I slowly become aware of kitchen noises. Cupboards are being shut, pots and pans are being placed on the stove, the water is turned on and then off again. I hear a mixer whirring. Checking the clock, I see that I fell back asleep for another five hours. Good Lord, I don't usually sleep this much. I realize that I'm starving and nearly sniffing at the air to catch the bacon and coffee aromas.

Lifting up the covers, I button up my top and step back into my bottoms. I brush my teeth and hair before heading out of the bedroom.

Mel doesn't hear me approaching; she's busy making what looks like pancakes. My stomach growls.

"Morning," I say.

She turns around. "Hey, sleepyhead, just in time. Breakfast is ready."

"I just wanted to say good morning before I grabbed a shower."

"Can you wait till after? The food will get cold."

She motions me to the breakfast island and I climb up onto one of the backless stools. Placing a plate of piping hot pancakes in front of me, she slides the softened butter across the tabletop. She turns away and when she returns she has two plates of crisp bacon and eggs over easy in one hand and the coffee pot in her other.

"You do that really well."

"Well, like a lot of women putting themselves through school, I used to do some waitressing. Guess it's a talent you never lose." She smiles and takes a seat next to me.

She's wearing a pair of boxers with a short cotton belly shirt and I can feel her bare leg rubbing up against mine under the table. I don't move away. It's intimate and pleasant and natural.

I nearly woof down my pancakes, interspersed with bites of eggs and bacon; I didn't realize just how hungry I was.

"I can't eat any more," I announce, pushing my plate away. "That was a fantastic breakfast."

"Thanks. I like to cook once in a while. You know how it is, when you're just cooking for one you tend not to. I usually eat a salad or something that doesn't take too much bother." She talks while she clears the dishes.

"More coffee?" The pot is poised over my cup and when I nod she pours. "The paper's over on the table by the couch. Go on over, I'll join you in a minute."

Silently, I take my coffee and settle on the couch. I find the main page and start looking at the headlines. Mel comes out of the kitchen, coffee cup in hand, and sits next to me. Close. She smells good.

"Mel, could you excuse me for about fifteen minutes? I'd really like a shower," I say, standing up.

"I'll be here."

Standing under the spray, I feel revived. Amazing what a little soap and hot water will do. With a towel wrapped around my wet hair, I brush my teeth again and swig some mouthwash. I throw on a pair of shorts and a button up cotton shirt and comb out my hair. After I apply lotion to my entire body I feel human again, ready to face the world and Mel.

I was ready for something to happen last night. The question is do I still or was it just the alcohol? I ponder that for a few moments and decide that while the alcohol may have been a factor, I wanted something to happen then and I still do.

Having no experience with this sort of thing makes it difficult to know how to begin or what exactly to say or do. The best solution I can come up with is just to do whatever feels right at the moment. The thought occurs to me that I may not be the only one to not have any experience in these sorts of circumstances. Great. Talk about the blind leading the blind. Well, if it happens, it happens and we'll just fumble through together. That thought makes me smile.

A few deep breaths and I'm ready to re-join Mel in the front room. As I re-enter, she's sipping her coffee and turning the pages of the paper. She looks up when she sees me.

"You look great in the morning," she says.

"So do you."

Mel pats the cushion inviting me to sit and swivels so that she's facing me, both her knees up on the couch. I mirror her position.

"You're dripping."

I'm frozen in place as her fingers wipe away water that is running down my neck.

"I wasn't aware that you had curly hair until yesterday. Why don't you wear it like that all the time?"

Her fingers have been joined by her thumb, which is steadily stroking my throat. I try to sound casual, but my neck muscles tighten, making it suddenly difficult to speak with any sort of volume.

"Well, I don't think it looks professional, so I blow it straight during the work week and let it dry naturally on the weekends."

She twists some still wet hair around her finger. "I think it's sexy as hell." My stomach clenches with the realization that the something that almost happened last night is about to occur. Using my hair, she pulls me closer to her. I'm nervous and I think I may be trembling ever so slightly.

"Don't be frightened."

"I'm not," I lie.

"Okay." She says it like she doesn't quite believe me.

I pull back. "Mel?"

"Yes." Her thumb is tracing the outline of my ear. God, she's good. I try to control my breathing, forcing myself to keep it slow and steady.

"Um, have you ever done this before?"

"This?"

"You know."

"You want to know if I've been with a woman before?"

I nod.

"Yes." She's inching closer. Her other hand is on my knee. She's squeezing it.

"A lot?" For some reason it seems important.

"Enough to know what I'm doing," she says, smiling. "I'm taking a wild guess here, but this is your first time, right?"

I release a small nervous laugh and shake my head. "Relax, Dana. It's going to be fine."

"I'm afraid I won't know what to do, that I'll, I'll disappoint you."

"Highly unlikely." Her hand slides further up my leg. I grasp her wrist lightly.

She pulls me to her again. I think her lips are going to meet mine, but she moves her head a bit till her mouth is near my ear. I can hear her breathing and feel the moist heat from her mouth puffing against me. She whispers softly, "If you want to stop, just tell me."

She pulls back to search my eyes before leaning back to my ear. "Dana, I want you. Every fiber of my being is screaming for you. May I please kiss you?"

Her declaration of need for me is overwhelming. It's so sweet the way she asks to kiss me. Turning my head till our lips meet, I close my eyes. I want absolutely no distractions. Her lips are soft, so very soft. Our mouths capture each other's quivering moans. Its obvious we've both been waiting for this for a while.

"I didn't think this would ever happen," she says.

I want another kiss. Only this time I want more. I put my hand behind her head and pull her to me. Her lips are parted and waiting. Her eyes are bright, her pupils dilated. She wants me. I dart my tongue into her mouth. She doesn't object so I run it over her lips before re-entering her mouth. It's hot, soft and hot. She tastes like coffee. I wonder if she's thinking that I taste like mint mouthwash.

A hunger I haven't acknowledged for years begins to awaken. Her tongue is velvety and slippery. It feels good here, here with her. She runs her tongue along the length of mine. Oh God, oh God. Then over and under. Sweet Jesus. She's starting all over again. I don't think anyone has ever kissed me like this before. It is completely arousing. I need to catch my breath. My lungs are demanding more oxygen, but I don't want to stop.

Her hand is on my hip, stroking up and down my thigh. I've got to breathe. I'm going to pass out if I don't. I take her head in my hands and pull us apart.

"What?" she asks, panting.

"I need to catch my breath."

She chuckles. "Are you saying that I take your breath away?"

"Yes." I kiss her face, her eyes, her nose, and her chin. This is something I can do and still remain conscious. I caress her throat and neck with baby kisses. She sighs.

We settle against the back of the couch. I have my breath back and kiss her again. My nerves are gone. Feeling confident and relaxed, I deepen the kiss. One of us whimpers. Our heads tilt in all directions, but we never break apart. My hands are in her hair, my fingers examining her scalp.

She's stroking my back, but I can barely feel it. It's more of a perception than awareness of any pressure. I shudder when I think of how it will feel when her hands are in direct contact with my skin.

I've lost all track of time. But if I had to guess, I'd say we've been kissing for nearly a half-hour. There's no sense of urgency, no need to rush. Kissing has never seemed this important before; usually it's been a quick precursor to the main event. But here, with Mel, nothing else seems to matter, only the sensation of her enticing mouth melding with mine. I could do this for hours. It's comforting being here like this, so close with her.

"Dana." She kisses my neck and gently sucks on my skin.

"Ummm?"

"Are you ready?"

Oh dear God. I think all my nerves just re-surfaced. Everything was going so well that I forgot about what was bound to follow. Oh.

"For what?" I ask.

She's standing before I even realize she's moved. She's reaching for me.

"I promised you a tour, remember?"

"Now?" I say, gasping in equal measures of surprise and relief.

She shakes her head and takes my hand. Thank you, Lord. I don't know if I'm ready for anything else right now. I mean I want her, God, do I ever, but I don't want to rush into anything.

She gives me a quick hug and puts her arm around me. The tour is starting.

"You've seen the lower half of the house, so I'll take you upstairs."

Why does that fill me with trepidation? I tell myself to calm down. Where else would she take me? It's the only part I haven't seen yet. It makes sense.

We stop on the landing and she kisses me, nothing intense, just sweet. It's not long before we're continuing up the stairs.

"This is the family room. Well, it would be if I had a family. But since I don't, I christened it the t.v. room. So named because the big screen t.v. takes up most of the floor space. But, hey, you can't watch sports on a twenty-seven-incher now, can you? That would be downright sacrilegious."

We laugh as we continue down the hall. I put my arm around her waist. It feels like the most natural thing in the world to do.

"Bathroom." She pulls me in and just as quickly pushes me out. "Seen one, seen them all," she says.

"My work room. Notice the soft lighting, the warm wood paneling, and tastefully functional, yet utilitarian furniture. Everything meant to put me at ease, so I can work productively."

"Does it work?"

"Mostly. But sometimes I just come in here and sit."

"And do what?"

"Nothing. Just sit."

I glance at her. She seems far away, like she's thinking of something kind of sad. Silent, we hold each other for a few moments.

"Are you okay, Mel?"

She shakes her head. "The tour continues." We walk down the hall. "Linen closet. Don't think there's anything much to see in there," she says as we pass right by it.

"Other spare bedroom." She looks at me. "I know what you're thinking. Why do I need so many bedrooms, right? Well, I like company. I work like a dog sometimes, and when I come up for air I want my friends nearby. It's not unusual for a few people to be here for a week or so when I finish up a big project."

I smile. "And you're in your work mode now?"

"Pretty much. I've been working nearly non-stop since Seattle to get this presentation just how I want it. I'm determined to get that Bureau contract."

"Well, I think you'll do it. You seem to get what you go after." I pause and wonder if she thinks I'm speaking about myself. "I mean, just look at this lovely home. It's so warm and inviting. Your job is obviously satisfying and challenging. You have a lot of friends. And dare I mention how much I envy you your car?"

"I've always been goal-oriented, results are important to me, they validate the efforts. As a bonus, I get to have all this." She sweeps her hands around in an all-encompassing gesture.

"Okay, last stop coming up." We take a dozen steps down the hall and enter what I assume is her bedroom. The room itself is fairly big, maybe twenty by thirty, but gives the appearance of being bigger because of the large bay windows. They are partially hidden by the levolor blinds, which are closed halfway to keep the afternoon sun from shining directly into the room. The window seat is about six feet long and is covered with a lovely chintz print. A few matching pillows are thrown haphazardly on it.

The queen-sized sleigh bed is made from lacquered hardwood with a comforter that looks like the one on the bed in the downstairs guestroom, and the pillows have matching shams. There's an armoire directly opposite the bed. I wonder if there's a t.v. or stereo system tucked away inside.

The floors are highly polished hardwoods covered with area rugs that appear to be Turkish. On the walls are black and white photos of various sizes, beautifully matted in wood frames. The glass looks to be museum quality non-glare, and there are the same small lights you'd find in a museum hanging over and illuminating each picture.

"These are stunning. Are you a photographer?"

"Me? No. A good friend of mine took them. She's a wonderful photographer. She's working now on putting together a show for a gallery. It won't be for a few more months, but maybe you'd like to go with me?"

"I'd like that."

"You can't see everything from the door. Come on." She leads me in and we walk around. She opens a door to reveal a walk-in closet. Inside there is a wall of business suits, one of evening clothes, and the final wall has her casual outfits; an extensive variety of shoes are on trees, placed under the appropriate clothes. Accessories have their own little corner spot wedged in between the business and casual areas. I'm impressed. I appreciate the care and diligence it takes to be so meticulous with a wardrobe.

"I bet your dry cleaning bill puts mine to shame," I say, half-laughing.

"Well, I probably don't have the extra charges you're subjected to for blood stains and bog sludge. Come on."

Mel removes her arm from around my shoulder and holds my hand as she leads me to another door. Opening it up, she guides me in ahead of her. I am in the most beautiful bathroom I've ever seen. In fact, it's almost a shame to call it that. The floor tile is obviously imported; the sink and toilet are definitely special order, all the fixtures are gold, well, not real gold, I'm sure.

To call what is before me a mere tub would be a crime. It is more like something you'd expect to see in an old movie about the Romans in their heyday. It's huge and deep and I can see the jet openings. The porcelain is tinted blue. I imagine it looks like a small pool when it's full of water. The bathroom has the same bay windows as the bedroom giving it an open, airy feeling.

"Is that a sauna?" I ask, staring over at the wooden box.

"Uh huh."

We walk over to it. I open the door. It's a two-person style with facing benches. "It helps me unwind after those all-day meetings. Sometimes I come home all kinked up from dealing with people who just don't get it and this really helps to release all the tension."

"God, what I wouldn't give to have one of these at home."

"You're welcome to use mine whenever you like."

I turn to face her. "Well, the daily commute might be a little rough."

Her arms reach for my waist and I step into her embrace. Here, in her bathroom we join together. Our bodies pressed tightly together, its apparent that neither of us is wearing a bra. My nipples are extremely sensitive, and each movement transmits small electrical charges through them to the rest of my body. We're kissing, not sweetly like on the landing earlier. This has an almost desperate quality to it. Her tongue sliding around mine is driving me wild. I've wrapped my arms around her waist and up her back gripping her shoulders from behind. She slides her hands down from my waist and cups my ass, pulling me closer. I seriously doubt there's one inch of space anywhere between us.

"Dana?"

I say nothing, but tilt my head in a questioning gesture.

"I want to make love to you."

This is it. This is what I've been simultaneously dreading and craving. Why I nearly stayed on the plane and the same reason I didn't. I want this; my body wants this, to be with her, here, now. I'm shivering, damn nerves, I can't seem to stop.

Mel kisses my temple. "If you're not ready, Dana, just say so. I don't want to rush you. It's understandable that you'd be scared."

Nerves. Fear. Frustration. Disappointment. All these things conspire to attack me at once and I feel myself on the verge of tears.

Mel takes my face in her hands and tries to comfort me. "Shh. Shh. It's all right." She uses her thumbs to wipe away the tears that are trickling down my face. "Shh. It's okay." She places a light kiss on each of my eyelids.

I lean into her, my face buried in her shoulder. Mel wraps her arm around my back and uses her other hand to stroke my hair. This is a disaster. I'm a grown woman and I'm behaving like a frightened child.

"Come on," she says, quietly leading us out of the bathroom and towards the bed.

"Mel, I...I can't." My voice is choked with emotion.

"Shh. It's okay. I just want you to get under the covers. You're shaking like a leaf. You need to get warm."

She pulls back the comforter and I climb in. In an attempt to get me warmer, Mel is wrapped around me. But she's stayed on top of the blanket and it's not having any effect. I'm huddled in a fetal position and still shaking badly.

I try willing myself to stop, apparently I'm not listening. I chide myself for losing control. I don't understand it, usually one of these techniques works.

Mel tells me to breathe slowly. Good advice. In no time the shakes start to subside. Thank heaven for small mercies. Mel has not let me out of her grasp, whispering words of encouragement. I'm warming up now.

"What time is it?" I ask, turning around in her arms so that we are face to face.

"About one, why?"

"I need to start thinking about getting to the airport."

"It's still early."

"I have to go to work tomorrow."

"Don't worry, flights run pretty late."

Mel kisses my forehead. I feel the nerves coming back. I close my eyes and force them away. I can feel her gaze. It's intense and piercing. I can't meet it. It will engulf me and not let me escape.

I slowly bring my eyes up to meet hers. They are warm and embracing. Happiness wants to break free, but a hidden sadness won't let it. A subtle melancholy surrounds her. I picked up a glimpse of that when she spoke about just sitting in her workroom. There was something there. I wonder if she'll ever share it with me.

It's her turn to look away. I start to speak, but stop. She looks at me inquisitively, wordlessly urging me to continue.

I clear my throat. "It's just that, well, I'm...I don't have the best track record when it comes to successful relationships."

"Dana, it's okay to be nervous. I was my first time, too; it would seem to be a pretty universal reaction. But this has to be your decision, and you should only do it when you feel ready. Choosing to be with a new person is hard enough, but then we have to deal with all the societal pressures and religious types that tell us what we're doing is wrong, and well, it can be overwhelming."

I wince at the wisdom of her words. "Have you always known that you're a lesbian?"

"I think deep down, yes, although I denied it for a long time. It's not uncommon to find lesbians and gays who were previously in straight relationships, even married, and with children. It's still what society expects from both women and men. It takes courage to go against that, and for some it takes a long time to build up that courage. Know what I mean?"

"Uh huh." I sit up and pull back the covers, silently inviting her to join me. The bed is warm. Here, under the covers, I can feel her heat.

"Give," she demands when I chuckle.

"It's nothing. I had a thought and it made me laugh."

"Yeah, I got that. What was it?"

"Okay. I could feel the heat coming off your body and thought that your aura must be red."

She waits for me to continue obviously figuring there's got to be a punch line coming up. Her eyes widen to let me know she's not seeing the humor yet.

"So, I just thought how Mulder would get a kick out of that. He's the one who's more in tune with, shall I say, the less scientifically grounded phenomena. He'd get a good laugh about me even admitting to the possibility of auras. I can just hear him. 'Dear Diary, Today Agent Scully opened herself up to extreme possibilities.' Then he'd go on to give me a lecture on the Chinese life force, the chi."

Now she's laughing, too. "So, you two really are like the yin and yang then."

"We compliment each other very well."

"I think we have that same potential, Dana. Do you?"

My aura must be red now, too. "Yes."

Searching under the covers, Mel finds my hands.

"We'll take it slow. Give you some time to get used to the idea and work through things in your own mind. Then, if you decide that you want to go through with this, I would ask just two things of you, Dana."

I look at her and nod, indicating for her to continue.

"I want you to stay open, don't close yourself off. If you have concerns, I want to know about them." She squeezes my hands. "I don't pretend to have all the answers, but I have been where you are right now and I can give you the benefit of my experience, but only if you let me in. Can you make me that promise?"

"Yes, I can do that." And I can, I know it. I know I have a reputation of being tight-lipped, but this is different. I want this to work and I'm willing to do whatever it takes. "And the second thing?"

"Don't ever lie to me."

That seems like an odd thing to say; of course, I'm not in the habit of lying myself, but know from personal experience that others have no qualms about it. "I won't," I say, knowing it's a promise I can easily keep. I wonder if some event in the past has prompted this request. Is that the source of her melancholy?

"Did someone lie to you before?" I've obviously touched upon a sensitive subject.

"Yes," she answers, her voice barely above a whisper.

I repeat my earlier pledge as I cradle her in my arms. "I promise I'll never lie to you." I stroke her hair and lay a kiss on her cheek. She sniffles a couple times and takes a few deep breaths. I recognize her actions. She's displaying the same behaviors as I do when the faade has cracked and I'm trying to regroup. It's not an easy process; I'll give her all the time she needs.

I'm holding her in her bed. It seems almost surreal. I've dreamed of sharing this kind of closeness with another person for what seems like years. And now it's here. Granted, it's not exactly how I envisioned it, but it's all part of being with someone and I'm willing to be here for her, no matter what the circumstance. It's so rare that I ever hold anyone, and when it does occur it's usually me on the receiving end of the consoling.

My arms around her, I lay my ear against her back and can hear her beating heart, her breathing is returning to normal. Her body has relaxed. She clears her throat and swipes quickly at her eyes to push away any lingering tears. When she feels secure that she's back in control she pulls away a little.

"Thanks." Her eyes are a tad bloodshot and beginning to puff up a bit and her nose is a little red.

I feel so close to her right now. To be able to share such an intimate moment is special. I'm filled with a feeling I can only describe as love. Not of a romantic nature, just the love one human feels for another. I want to take care of her, nurture her, help to take the hurt away. I pull her back into my arms and ease her down so that her head is on my lap. I want to let her know that she's not alone; there's someone here who cares about her and will not ever betray her. She closes her eyes, relaxing. Today the tables have turned and she is letting me take care of her. We remain in this position for a long while, just being close, our hearts making wordless promises.

Leaning over, I tilt my head so that our lips can touch without banging noses. Her lips move, but I don't hear any sound. Time seems to be standing still. Everything is moving in slow motion. I'm watching her face and see a full range of emotions displayed there. Her brown eyes are moist again, but they appear to be tears of joy. I can feel my eyes tearing up in response. I smile to show her how happy I am. I can't wait any longer. I move the extra millimeter and we are joined. Hmmm. I feel weightless. I have no cares, no worries. And it dawns on me, no nerves. I am completely at ease. The bond we have forged has eradicated all my apprehensions.

Pushing through her lips, I seek out her tongue and she sighs as I slowly trace its length and then massage the insides of her cheeks. Her mouth reminds me of the humid tropics. We continue kissing and exploring until we both have to breathe. If we're not careful, we're going to hyperventilate.

"God, Dana."

We're both a bit breathless. What we are doing and the prospect of what we are about to do, monumental. We kiss again, seemingly unable to get enough of each other. I'm wet with anticipation. I whimper when she breaks the kiss, but she presses our foreheads together.

"What's, what's wrong? Why'd you stop?" I can hardly think.

"Are you sure this is what you want? Now, I mean."

"Very sure." I smile and lie down next to her. "Want to kiss me?" I ask, teasingly.

She pretends to think about it. "Not really." She smiles, her swollen lips testament to our passion.

"You know, it'd be a shame..." I say, purposely letting my voice trail off.

"What would?" she asks, playing along.

I run my finger down the length of her nose. "It's a perfect size for your face. It'd be a shame for it to start growing again."

She pulls my finger into her mouth and gently bites it. I start giggling. That's weird, I don't usually giggle, ever. Then it dawns on me what is causing this phenomenon. I'm having fun. Me. Dana Scully. Fun in bed is not something with which I have a lot of experience. If I recall correctly, it's usually been more of a wham-bam sort of experience. It hasn't included a lot of foreplay. The only real bonding was of a physical nature; it rarely reached an emotional level. I could get used to this.

Mel rolls over on top of me and starts snuggling my neck. Oh God, she's found my favorite spot. Ooooh. A half-squeal, half-moan escapes when she starts licking it. Jesus. I think I may come just from that. My legs twitch beneath her. For a split second I worry that my nerves are back. Nope, I assure myself, just good old-fashioned excitement.

"I want to touch your breasts," she says, sounding short of breath.

My mind is yelling yes, yes, absolutely, yes. I nod. Her hand travels over my chest. My nipples leap to attention at her touch. Our arms and legs are tangled above and below the covers. Her bare leg rubbing against mine is amazingly erotic. She's rubbing from one breast to the other with feather light touches that make me crave more.

Without taking her eyes from mine she slips her hand up under my blouse. I gasp as her skin makes contact with mine. Her hand is soft and she runs it gently across my erect nipples, squeezing first one, then the other. She keeps kissing me. I'm rapidly approaching nirvana.

"I want to taste them," she whispers, her voice as raspy as if she'd been yelling for an extended period of time.

Despite the fact that she just removed her tongue, my mouth is dry. It seems that I have lost the ability to speak. All I can do is nod. Slowly, she withdraws her hand and starts to remove my blouse. When the four buttons have been freed she spreads it open exposing my breasts for her scrutiny.

She gasps. "They are beautiful." I think I detect a look of appreciation in her eyes. My breasts are aching for her as she moves her head down slowly and takes my nipple into the wonderful oasis of her mouth.

Dear God! She's sucking ever so slightly, and her tongue is swirling around my aureole, working steadily toward the hardened tip. My hands clutch at and grip her head, tugging her closer. I don't want her to stop. She must be telepathic. I've never felt anything this amazing. It's hard to think. Why do I want to? I want to feel, just feel. Mel is assisting me with that goal. She moves to my other breast and performs the same astonishing feat. I arch my back to try to get closer to her. Electricity shoots through me much like lightning does a tree in a storm. I'm humming, long and low, and through the haze I can feel Mel smiling against me.

Her hand is drawing swirls on the side of my breast; it tickles and teases all at once. I want her skin on mine. Her breasts touching mine. My fingers travel down her back and I tug at her shirt, pulling it up towards her head. She understands what I'm doing and raises up, releasing my breast with a wet smacking sound. The cool air on it sends a chill through me. I'm trying to hurry; I want her flesh as my blanket.

Mel throws a leg over my stomach and straddles me, her knees pressing against my hips. Tossing her shirt hastily aside, I stare at her breasts. God, I think I've never seen anything as lovely. I look at her for permission to continue. She smiles down at me. I'm unsure, but I refuse to be deterred. Not this time. I want her too much. In an effort to relax, I take a big breath and release it. I must have blown on her breasts because she abruptly sucks air in through her teeth. I watch with amazement as her nipples instantly harden. With slightly shaking hands, I reach up tentatively, and let my fingers trace the outline of her face, my thumbs sweeping over her lips, her throat, and down the slope of her breasts. They feel soft and spongy, but firm. Her nipples that were rosy not more than an eye blink ago are now magically transformed to a reddish-brown.

Oh my God. I'm doing this. I'm making love after what seems like ages. I glance up; her eyes have a faraway look, she's most definitely in an altered state. Her jaw has dropped open and her breathing is ragged. It occurs that this is because of me. I've done this to her. The thought bolsters my courage and I lift up and place little baby kisses all around her breast. I'm not completely sure about what I'm doing, but the fact that I'm even doing anything is a miracle. And I note with a bit of pride that Mel's certainly not complaining.

I squeeze her other nipple between my thumb and finger, not hard, just a little pressure. Mel must like that because she just jerked and moaned all at once. Well, if she liked it that much I'll do it again. This time she tenderly calls my name. I can feel the adrenaline of excitement coursing through me. I focus on calming down. I tell myself to relax. Unlike earlier, now the self-talk works. I move my mouth over to her other breast and apply the same baby kisses to it. But now I'm feeling bolder, and I suck on her nipple and quickly dart my tongue across it. Oh Jesus, it feels good. I repeat the action over and over. The thrill does not diminish. My hand is rubbing over her other breast, pushing gently on her nipple as I pass over it. I don't know which one of us is receiving more pleasure.

I honestly never understood the big attraction men had with breasts until now. Besides the wonderful feeling of closeness with your partner, I think it's an opportunity to reconnect with your earliest memories of being safe and warm in your mother's arms. When you had no fear and nothing could harm you. Receiving nourishment not only for your body, but also for your soul.

"Dana."

"Hmm?" I guess the vibration caused by my answer felt good because she lets out a little puff of air.

"You are wonderful," she says.

I can't help smiling. I don't want to sound self-congratulatory, but I have to agree that I seem to be making all the right moves. Mel squeezes my hips with her knees and, taking me with her, rolls onto the bed, so that we are lying side by side. I close the gap between us and kiss her, deep and long. Our upper bodies are pressed together as our hands continue our mutual pleasuring.

Right now I don't know how things could be any better. I'm totally lost in the moment. I wanted feeling. Well, I got feeling. My body is like one big satellite dish pulling in signals from all my nerve endings and sending them straight to my vagina. I can feel my muscles contracting with anticipated fulfillment. Every inch of me is flush with desire. I bury my face in her shoulder and nuzzle her.

"Are you, aaah, are sure you've never made love to a woman?"

"I don't think that's something I'd forget." I gently bite her earlobe.

She gasps. "So how do you explain the fact that you are driving me out of my mind?"

I laugh. "I can't, guess it's an X-File." She's helped me out of my blouse. Her hands wandering gently over my naked skin.

"How are you holding up?"

I rise up on my elbow and prop my head on my hand. "What do you mean?"

"No nerves?"

"Maybe a few." I chuckle.

"Remember, if you want to stop, it's okay. Don't feel pressured."

"I know and I don't."

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Isn't it apparent?"

"Just checking."

"Mel, I'm having a wonderful time. As a matter of fact, I can truthfully say I'm having the time of my life. You've shown me nothing but kindness since I arrived and your patience has put me totally at ease."

She raises up and gives me a chaste kiss. "I really like you, Dana. I think we can be good together."

Returning her kiss, I say, "I think so, too."

She pulls me back to her and kisses me so thoroughly that I think I'm going to pass out. Jesus. Where did that come from? It was the most toe-curling kiss I've ever had.

"Mel, make love to me."

She searches my eyes and silently asks if I'm sure. I grin and answer with a simple, "Yes."

Reaching under the covers, she slides my shorts down and helps me out of them. She runs her hand slowly up the outside of my leg to my hip and pulls on the waistband of my panties. She gives a tug and starts to pull them down. Breathe. Breathe. I lift up creating space between myself and the bed and wiggle a bit to help her. I'm completely nude under the covers.

"Now you," I say, hoping that my impending nerves will subside when the playing field is leveled.

She quickly obliges. Her shorts and panties come flying out from under the covers. Oh God. This is going to happen.

"You okay?"

"Yep."

"Dana, I think you are magnificent." She strokes my face, then adds, "Not to mention, very brave."

My body is on fire. Mel is above me, her body completely stretched out on mine. Our legs are entwined and we are joined at the hip. I'm breathing too rapidly. Mel is kissing my neck and throat. I shut my eyes and feel her hands raising mine up over my head and down onto the bed, her movements causing our upper torsos to brush against each other. Moving steadily downward, she explores me with her mouth, licking the moisture from my body. If I thought it was good before, now, with nothing separating us, is a hundred times better.

Nothing but skin on skin. Heat generating more heat. I'm wet and getting wetter. Her mouth is sucking on my stomach. Ooooh. Her tongue pushing into my navel causes me to squirm. Lower and lower she goes. She releases my hands and moves hers down my body, caressing and fondling, until settling them on my thighs. Alternating between stroking and gentle scraping, her fingernails travel up and down them. Her nose is buried in the curly hair covering my pelvic bone. I'm trying to remain calm. I want to remember everything.

"You smell great," she murmurs.

I have an unexpected revelation of just how profound that simple statement is. Combined with sight, smell is one of our most powerful inborn tools. If we were animals in the wild this is how we would locate each other, sniffing in the wind to ascertain each other's scent. We would use our stored memory to pick each other out of a pack. Is it any wonder then that all animals smell each other upon meeting? In effect, they are determining if they have come upon a friend or a potential threat to their safety. So, it is no surprise then that we rely on the scent that secrets from our core, the very place where all life begins. An essence from so deep inside us that it can't be covered up. An aroma that is as singularly and fiercely our own as our fingerprints.

"I can hardly wait to taste you," she purrs.

"Then don't," I say, encouraging her.

Help me, Jesus. She pushes my legs apart and runs the tip of her tongue along the inside of my thighs. My body is tingling with expectation. Bells and whistles are going off in my head. My body feels like a four-alarm fire. I want her inside me. I won't be satisfied until she makes me come. I reach down and grab her head and pull her to me, thrusting my hips up into her face. She grasps my wrists and removes my hands from her head. Smiling at me, she tells me to wait a minute. Jesus, not now, don't stop now.

"Do you want to watch?" she asks, continuing to lay kisses on my bare, fevered body.

"What?"

"Watch."

The slow dawning of what she's proposing intrigues and excites me. The thought had never crossed my mind.

"Watch?" I repeat, wondering if I have come to the right conclusion.

"Watch while I eat you."

My eyes shut briefly as I contemplate the promised sensations. Yet, in those few moments, the remembered pleasures of the flesh come rushing back. I open my eyes and look directly at her.

"Yes."

"Okay, then sit up a bit." She puts a pillow behind me to prop me up against the headboard and then places two under my butt. Smiling, she explains that it will help raise me up so she doesn't kill her neck.

"Still okay?"

I nod.

Obviously satisfied that I'm properly situated for maximum viewing, she scoots back down and flips the covers to the side of the bed. There's another delay while Mel's eyes travel from my head to my toes and back again. She looks sad. Laying gentle kisses on all my scars, the visible ones and some that aren't, she murmurs "I'm so sorry" as she moves from one to the other. I feel my own tears threateningly close to the surface in the face of her sincere sympathy.

Mel slowly works her way back up and kisses me slowly. "Comfy?"

"Uh huh." That must be what she wanted to hear. Her hands roam over me as she continues to kiss me. Her tongue runs over my lips and I'm quickly re-igniting.

I need to research why body parts that are touched in the normal course of a day become so super sensitized when it's another person doing the touching. For instance, my tongue is inside my mouth all day and I never get aroused. So why do I when hers is? And its not as though it requires some build up time. The minute it touches me I'm gone. Oooooh. While I've been musing and making mental notes that very same tongue has found it's way down my body.

I watch as Mel spreads my legs apart and buries her head into me. Jesus H. She's pulling my labia open and running her tongue around the inside of it. Hmm. I can feel her sucking on me, then gently tugging with her teeth while soothing the soft tissue with her tongue. My body is tensing up. I can feel the muscles starting to shake with the strain. I'm glad she suggested me watching; it is extremely arousing, and is truly adding to the experience. Is it possible to be a Peeping Tom when it's your own body? Ahhh.

She's got her mouth completely over me and her tongue is teasing me, darting inside. OhmyGod. She's whispering something as she's licking me; the vibrations from her lips causing me to tingle all over. My legs instinctively wrap around her neck. Her magnificent tongue is sliding in and out of me. She starts out slowly, gradually picking speed and pushing in a little farther each time.

I notice that I'm rubbing my breasts in time with the thrusting of her tongue. Hot. Like an erupting volcano, my lava is flowing. I'm alternating between moaning and whimpering. Reaching down, I twist my hand in her hair. My other hand is tugging and pinching my nipples. Chewing on my bottom lip, I fight to keep my eyes open. My hips have started their own primal dance of lust.

Mel's head is moving rhythmically. She lifts up and looks up at me. Her eyes are dark with desire. Her mouth is glistening with my juices.

"You're delicious," she says, running her tongue over her lips. Oh God.

While I'm watching she slides two fingers into me. Ahhh, I sigh. She pushes them deep within me and then slowly pulls them very nearly out before repeating the process. I beg for more and she obliges, inserting three fingers knotted together inside me, filling me up. I pull my knees up while Mel pushes them apart, her fingers stretch to push against my cervix. OhGod. OhGod. OhGod. I can feel my vaginal walls gripping, begging them to stay buried in the warm cocoon of my body. She moves her mouth to my clit and starts sucking. Holy Mother of God. The feeling is glorious. Eight thousand nerve endings are bundled in that little piece of flesh, and they all seem to be firing at once. I wonder if I'm dead because I have no doubt that I'm in heaven.

I feel and recognize the beginnings of my orgasm. It's always the same. My skin heats up to the point where I think my blood is close to boiling. I experience intense pleasure mixed with a small measure of pain, the kind that would hurt if it didn't feel so good. I have trouble focusing, my breathing becomes ragged, I moan almost constantly, and my body twitches and stiffens then reverses the process, my fingers claw at and clutch fistfuls of sheet.

Thrusting my hips, I grind them into her, my head thrashes from side to side, and there's roaring in my ears as my blood pounds ceaselessly through my body. This is it. Her tongue is flicking over my clit. Teasing it, daring it to explode in ecstasy. It's too much. My entire body is on overload. I'm about to check out. I hear myself scream and it's the last thing I remember.

My next conscious thought is that I am floating in space. My eyes are still closed; my breathing is returning to normal. All my limbs feel weightless. My body is prickling like a foot that's been asleep and is now returning to life. I can feel my cunt still slowly pulsing, reminding me of why I feel the way I do. I'm totally relaxed. I don't have a care in the world. Nothing exists but this, this euphoria.

There's a weight on my stomach. Forcing my eyes open, I see Mel's head resting on me, her dark hair my only covering. I lift my hand and stroke her hair, pushing it back off her face. She tenderly kisses my belly. My body is still warm from the blood pumping rapidly through my veins. Mel kisses her way up my boneless frame and we join our lips. It's gentle and soft and slow, in complete counterpoint to the frenzied activity of a short time ago.

I'm totally satisfied and it's all her doing. I want to tell her so much, but it will have to wait. Right now all I want is to lie here, her arms wrapped around me, her head on my chest. Everything seems to be happening in slow motion. I watch as her head rises and falls with my breathing. She reaches over and pulls the covers over us. We are safe and warm in her bed.

"Sleep," she says and I gladly obey. I am sated, content, and tired. It's been so long since I had any real sex I'd forgotten how strenuous it could be. Sleep seems like the logical next step.

We wake simultaneously, the mid-afternoon sun peeking through the partially shut blinds, our positions unchanged. I lift Mel's chin up towards me and kiss her.

"Thank you for making me so happy," I say.

Her smile stretches from ear to ear, her eyes warm and loving. "It was my pleasure."

"But, you. I didn't--"

"Dana, your pleasure was my pleasure."

"But--"

"But nothing. Making love to you was, in a word, breathtaking. It was your first time and you chose to give yourself to me. You trusted me to take care of you."

I'm blushing. Mel has joined me on the pillow and we are lying face to face, not more than a few inches apart.

"Watching you while you had your orgasm was quite simply the most exciting thing I've ever experienced." Taking my hand, she continues. "You were open and responsive. You didn't hold back on expressing how you felt or what you wanted. I find that quite a powerful aphrodisiac. I like my partner to feel free to tell me what she wants, what feels good and works for her. And you did that, without reservation."

"That's because you made me feel so safe. I'm not usually so demonstrative," I say, lowering my eyes to escape her bemused gaze. "Being with you was so easy, so right."

We kiss and touch each other tenderly.

"But, I still feel bad that you didn't--"

"Relax, I took care of it while I watched you."

"Oh."

"If it makes you feel better, next time you can do me first. Deal?"

"Deal."

"So, I imagine you'll want to grab a shower before heading to the airport."

I groan. I don't want to leave. I have just had what I would conservatively assess to be the peak sexual experience of my life and now I have to go.

"When will I see you again?"

"Well, I'll be pretty busy with this project for another couple of weeks. Then I'll be coming down to Washington to give a presentation. Can I see you then?"

My heart leaps at the prospect, but I wonder if I can last two weeks without seeing her, touching her.

"Will you stay with me while you're in town?"

"If you're sure, I'd love to."

"I'm sure."

She gets up and for the first time I see her entire body, strong and taut, yet at the same time, soft. She grabs a robe and the object of my desire is hidden from my view. I stifle a cry of regret. Getting up, I head towards the shower.

"Mel?"

"Hmm," she answers distractedly.

"Would you like to join me?"

She looks up from her dresser. "Next time." She grins. "If I get in that shower, you'll never get to the airport."

I'm disappointed, but I understand. If I'm going to be home before it gets too late, I've got to get a move on. "Okay. But I'm going to hold you to that promise," I say, smiling and disappearing behind the bathroom door.

When I come back out, Mel greets me with a quick kiss as she passes by and into the bathroom for her shower. Wrapped only in a towel, I gather up my clothes from the floor and head downstairs to change.

I'm just clicking the locks down on my overnight case when Mel reaches the bottom of the stairs.

"Want something to eat before we head out?"

"No, thanks. I'm not hungry. I'll eat later at home."

"Okay, then. Are you ready to go?"

Reluctantly, I answer, "Yes."

I gather up my things and we head out the door. In the car I have to fight myself to keep from becoming dispirited. We don't say a word all the way to the airport. What could I say that I haven't already, except that I don't want to leave her? I take her hand and lean over to kiss her cheek. She looks at me and I offer up a weak smile.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me."

I hesitate and remember my promise to be open with my feelings. "I don't want to leave."

"And I don't want you to. But we both have obligations that need our attention. I'll see you in two weeks. And we'll be in touch in between."

"I don't want to lose touch with you, Mel."

"You won't," she says, smiling reassuringly.

We arrive at the airport. Pulling into one of the metered spots, Mel shuts off the car engine.

"Dana, I'm not going to let you out of my life. This weekend was just the beginning. I want us to really get to know each other. Being with you was just what I needed. These last couple of years I've closed myself down for various reasons, but I feel that I'm about to be reborn and it's all due to you. So, please, don't worry."

I listen to what she says and try to heed her advice. "Mel, let's say our good-byes here."

When our lips meet it's different. There's a feeling that something big is about to begin. Something that I never would have predicted in a thousand years. Yet, it is something I want. We have no need to utter words; our tongues are saying everything for us. Finally, we break apart.

"Come on," she says, getting out of the car.

I grab my bag from the back seat and we go into the terminal and wait for the boarding call. I make her promise again that she will stay with me when she gets to D.C.

Now, after just a little over twenty-four hours, we part as we greeted, holding hands. Except that unlike before, this time my hands are warm.

THE END

FEEDBACK? I'D LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU! X-File_Addict@msn.com

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Title: The Visit
Author: ScullyFu
Email: X-File_Addict@msn.com
Posted: 01/01/01
Archives: Spookies, Gossamer, Ephemeral are okay. Others, please ask. Spoilers: There are a couple of minor mentions in passing. Rating: NC-17
Classification: ScullySlash. Scully POV. Disclaimer: They're not mine. CC, 1013 and Fox have the sole rights to their existence. Dammit! Summary: Mel comes to town on business. To Meredith and Char Chaffin, for generously providing their time and critiques, thanks again, ladies. Note: This is the fifth in the series and falls between "First Contact" and "Beach Blanket Bingo". At this point in the series, I think it is necessary for you to have some background information from the other stories set in the Beach Blanket Bingo Universe. But, if you only have time for one, I'd suggest "First Contact" to get you up to speed. But all the stories are relatively short, so if you want to read them to get caught up, please, be my guest. Go here: http://scullyfu.populli.net/

Eighteen thousand, seven hundred and twenty minutes to be exact.

A couple of weeks, she said. Thirteen days ago I extracted a promise from Mel to stay here with me when she comes up for her presentation to the FBI. So, why has it seemed like an eternity?

Thank God, Mulder and I had that case file to work on for over a week. If I hadn't had something to distract me, I'd have gone out of my mind. But when we got home and her voice was on my message machine, all my anxieties melted away. I returned her call, and God, it was good to speak with her. The first thing we did was to take turns declaring how badly we each missed the other and count down the days until she'd be in D.C.

So, here I am at Dulles waiting for her to arrive. She had some errands to attend to before she could get out of town, so now it's heading on close to eight o'clock on Tuesday night. I'm feeling nervous. This will be the first time we will have seen each other since the weekend in Boston. There she is. Jesus, she looks great. She's looking around for me. I catch her attention with a little wave and a big smile.

Making my way over to her, I take her hand and give it a squeeze. I want to kiss her, but opt instead for a peck on the cheek.

Pulling me into a hug, she whispers, "Jesus, you feel good."

I shiver as her warm breath wafts past my ear.

Over her shoulder, I check the people around us, but no one seems to be paying us any mind. No one thinks anything of two women friends greeting each other with a hug and a kiss in an airport. I know I don't.

Oh, God, I've missed her. My body craves her. My lips ache for hers. I have to push away now; I can't afford any out of the ordinary behavior. Who knows who may be watching? If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's to always be a little less than trusting and never let my guard down.

"Let's go get your bags and--"

"Go home," she interrupts, seemingly reading my mind.

I can't stand that she's so close and I'm denying myself her touch. I decide to take a chance. It's an airport, for God's sake. Linking my arm through hers, she leans into me and we walk slowly through the terminal to the luggage carousel.

The ride back to my apartment is subdued; except for a few pleasantries, we both remain mute. I don't want to talk. I just want to relish in the fact that she is here, with me, for the rest of the week. Reaching over, I put my hand on her knee and run it up and down her thigh. Closing her eyes, she puts her head back as she sighs and seems to relax.

After a moment, she asks if we're almost there. "Yes, not long now," I say.

"Good, I don't know how much longer I can wait."

"Oh, I can pull off at the next exit."

She laughs and I look at her quizzically.

"I don't have to pee, Dana. I meant I don't know how much longer I can wait to make love to you."

"Oh."

She leans over and whispers in my ear, her voice low and throaty, "I nearly went crazy thinking about you."

I step more firmly on the gas pedal and we're home in another twelve minutes. Miraculously, there's a parking spot right out front. I can see in my window that the automatic timer has switched on the table lamp. No sooner are we inside, than we drop her luggage to the floor.

Pushing her up against the closed door, I kiss her roughly and start undressing her. In a matter of moments, her clothes are strewn all over the foyer.

I'm kissing her shamelessly. She quivers as I explore every inch of her neck and torso with my lips and fingers. Her nipples go taut at my touch. She sighs when I reach between her legs, her knees buckling as she sinks down onto my hand, inviting me to enter her. Less than a heartbeat and I am deep inside, my fingers acting as tentacles, feeling their way in her darkness.

My breathing has become rapid, matching hers. I push my tongue into her mouth; boldly taking what I know is mine. My fingers strain to get further inside her. She is wet, so wet for me.

She grinds her clit against the heel of my hand. Her moans sound like they've worked their way up from the center of her being, her very core, exactly where I'm touching. Breathlessly, she calls my name as she comes.

When her muscles relax, I withdraw my hand. Stepping back from her nude, flushed body, I tell her how beautiful she is. I hold out my arms and she comes to me.

Silently, our eyes locked on each other, she starts undressing me. She's going too slowly. I rapidly help the process along. The feel of her skin on mine is heavenly.

"I've missed you so much," I say, leaning back against the couch, with Mel standing between my legs, and sharing what are now slow deep kisses.

"Me, too."

"Come on." Taking her hand, I lead her through the front room and down the hall. "Let's get in bed."

I throw back the covers and we slide in between the sheets. We lie huddled together like snow monkeys against the elements, simply enjoying the closeness.

"I'm sorry," I say, placing a kiss on her temple.

"For what?"

"I didn