TITLE: Accents in Ink

NAME: Crash and frogdoggie

E-MAIL: lunagrl@peoplepc.com or frogdoggie@hotmail.com

CATEGORY: SRA

RATING: NC-17, and we mean it. WARNING! THIS STORY CONTAINS GRAPHIC SEXUAL SITUATIONS. Once again, consensual sex between Mulder and Scully. Forewarned is forearmed. If you don't care for the physical, graphic stuff, STOP HERE!

SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully have a confrontation over Ed Jerse and a certain tattoo. Expect the unexpected. This is kind of a fantasy piece. A wicked little idea born of speculation between two fan fic authors - one inked and one not yet but leaning towards marking the moment. FEEDBACK? LOVE IT - FEEL FREE TO E-MAIL US. Comments, suggestions and healthy debate are always welcome. Flames? Flames are for roasting 'weenies' with a marshmallow chaser.

TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: "Never Again" would be a big spoiler. As to Time - the time is in our minds. We're dancing in our own X-Files universe here. So get down and boogie too. Enjoy!

KEYWORDS: story romance angst Mulder Scully NC-17

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Frohike, Byers, Langly, Walter Skinner and Ed Jerse as well as any other incidental X-Files characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen Productions and 20th Century FOX Broadcasting. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from their use.

Accents in Ink
by Crash and frogdoggie

Accent on the morning after...

I don't drink much as a rule. This morning tells me why some rules aren't meant to be broken even though I make a habit of breaking them both personally and professionally on a regular basis. But piss on it...I really shouldn't have broken this one. No ma'am Carrie Nation.

God, my head hurts and my shoulder and...if it's possible...even my eyelashes hurt. My mouth feels like AD Skinner's BVDs - tight, white and full of 100 per cent cotton. Hangover Hell hath no fury like a whiskey corned to coin a lopsided phrase. And oh man, old Jimmy Beam and I were on hellishly intimate terms last night. I drank to his health more times than I can remember this morning. That would be why I feel like utter crap, well that and SHE'S mad at me.

I couldn't help it, OK. I'm a jealous bastard. I had to know and it's not like she ever told me. It was stupid. It's not like it matters, really. Whether she did or she didn't, I'm still hopelessly in love with her. Not to mention it was so long ago. I could, I really should, stop thinking about it. But how can I when she's always the subject of my hottest fantasies? I felt betrayed, even if I have no real claim on her.

I still hear my own stupidity.

xXx

Accent on the night before...

"Did you sleep with Ed Jerse?"

The fork dropped from her hand. In retrospect, it wasn't a really good question to ask over a pleasant early dinner. No kidding, that would be a damn understatement. I am a titanic idiot. But I sat there staring at her eating her food, watching her full, perfect mouth and the thoughts came crashing into my head. Did she let him kiss her? Did she let him touch her? And finally the last most dreaded question but the one that always jumps unbidden into my fevered mind - Did she let him fuck her?

Her eyes flashed at me and I saw it all on her face. The hurt, the anger and something else I should have known. I know her so well. But I have to have the words. I have to know, even when it isn't any of my damn business.

"Mulder..." her tone is a warning one.

Without impunity I rise and raise my voice. "No, I want to know. Was it to get back at me or did you really want him? If you were so mad at me, why didn't you tell me? Why did you have to go to someone else..."

I could see tears well up briefly in her eyes, but they were gone in a flash, replaced by a wellspring of anger. In an instant she was on her feet. Her hand sliced out and connected firmly with my cheek. A crack split the air and sundered my heart as well.

She threw her napkin down in her chair and crossed the apartment quickly. She stood with her back to me and opened the door. "Get out."

That hurt more than the slap, but I remained indignant.

"Fine."

I strode to the door and through. I turned to volley another salvo to salve my wounded ego, but it was stopped by the slamming of the door in my face. I stood staring in a stupor at it for several seconds. Then I turned on my heel and walked away.

That's more or less what led me here, well that and some other things, starting with a trip to Central Liquor. Dad was an alcoholic. I don't touch the stuff much myself as a result, but last night I needed it. I needed a crutch because my heart was making it hard for me to stay afloat. Or maybe I didn't want to stay afloat. Maybe I wanted to drown. At least I wanted to drown the proverbial sorrows.

So I bought a fifth of Jim Beam and went to the one place I knew I could behave like an unmitigated ass and get away with it.

"Mulder! Que pasa?"

"Let me in, Langly." I pushed past the thin, blonde man and into their lair. Lair. Oh please. Lair connotes...well it gives the impression the Gunmen reside in a make-out pad. That they're some kind of nerdy babe magnets. I don't think so. Like these three dorks could ever get dates?

But shit, who am I kidding. I mean how many dates have I had in the last let's say...year? I can count them on one hand - ok - two fingers. I'm just as big a dork. A first class geek, nerd, hey - one of the guys. No better than any one Gunmen. Hell, my hottest dates have involved my VCR and my hand down my own pants for quite some time now. I guess I didn't have room to criticize.

Byers and Frohike appeared directly. Frohike came right up to me, "So what's up G-man? Has Klaatu landed on the White House Lawn? Or are you finally returning my copy of *Embrace of the Vampire*"

"Shut-up, Frohike." I grumbled falling onto a well-worn orange and brown sofa. I pulled the bottle out of the bag and turned my head up to their expectant stares. "Well? One of you get some glasses. I'm not drinking alone."

"Well, hey, we can just pass the..." Frohike began.

"I'm not drinking after you jerkwads either."

Byers scrambled out of the room. Langly, seeing my obviously foul mood, frowned sourly and headed over to sit back down in front of the PC he had been working on. Frohike stood in front of me. He started nodding in a very sage and meaningful way.

He looked like a grizzled, dissipated monk for a minute. I stared at him in annoyance until he finally spoke.

"Mulder there are only a few things that make a man turn to drink. I can think of two big ones. Somehow I don't think you've lost your job. But if you have, my congratulations and you can come to work for us."

"No I'm still gainfully employed in Hoover's army," I ventured and he interrupted me.

"Well that brings me to the second main reason for boozing it up - female trouble."

I slapped my forehead with my free hand and feigned surprise, "Amazing Frohike - you've hit the nail right on the head. It's the wrong time of the month. I've got PMS."

"Cut the crap, Mulder. Remember who you're talking to here, Mr. FBI. We are your friends such as we are. Where else can a guy come if not to his buddies when he's got problems with the ladies?"

I glared at him, "Frohike...never mind. Just sit down and...what the hell have you guys been up to lately," I asked, desperately trying to change the subject. But Frohike wouldn't let go. He sat down next to me on the ratty sofa. He leaned in close and I thought - God, in a second he's going to start patting my knee or slapping my back and telling me...hell I had no idea what Frohike could possibly tell me about women. And quite frankly I didn't want to hear his Dr. Ruth imitation anyway.

"So what is up with Agent Scully?" he asked.

Oh Crap. How can this little gnome be so perceptive?

I flashed him an even meaner look, but it's not like you can scare him. He's perverse that way.

"Oh, man. Don't tell me...I mean did she...Hey, she'd break any man's heart," he droned on in embarrassed commiseration, "Hell, she's broken mine just by being alive. She's a beautiful broad with brains, a veritable goddess...a siren with smarts...a..."

"FROHIKE! SHUT UP! I DO NOT WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT, OK?"

He just stared blinking at me, fortunately Byers picked then to return with the glasses. I scrubbed my face with my hand and then opened the bottle. Langly sauntered back over and Byers handed him, Frohike and me a glass. All three Lone Gunmen extended their glasses towards me. I poured the four of us all a good healthy tug.

"Sorry, Frohike," I managed, "It's been a rough day."

"Whatever, G-man."

I lifted my glass, "To good company," I almost said it like I meant it too. And don't get me wrong, these guys are great, but obviously my heart was somewhere else. They all raised their glasses in silence and then we all polished off our shot.

"Let's have another," I said grabbing the bottle and pouring myself another belt. They all lined their glasses up in front of me. I poured each of them another shot and we all downed the fiery liquid again and again and again...

"So, Mulder," Langly was slurring his speech a bit, "why ARE you here?" He was sprawled in the comfy recliner that sat in front of the couch. Byers sat next to him on a folding chair he had dragged over. Everyone sat nice and close. The better to swill some more Jim Beam if it was within easy reach.

I viewed him with hooded eyes, but in my drunken state I no longer cared what they thought. It's not like I thought they'd ever judge me.

"Frohike was right. It's Scully," I tossed back another drink.

All three of their eyes got wide. Of course, Frohike was the first to speak. "So, did she throw you out of her bed, or what?

"FROHIKE! No, Jesus...we had a fight, that's all."

"A fight?" Byers finally opened his mouth.

"Yeah, I'm pretty fucking stupid." I ran my hand over my face. I actually asked her if she slept with this other guy, as if it was ANY of my business. Like I have a claim on her or...But, shit she has to know...I mean know what I feel for her. How could she even think of..."

"Scully's sleeping with some other guy?" Frohike asked, "I mean I thought maybe...the two of you...the way you... damn, Mulder." Frohike replied managing to sound both crestfallen and confused all at once.

"No Frohike, she...God, this is complicated OK."

So I told them the sordid story. I was a jerk. She went on a case and found comfort in another man.

"So, did she sleep with him?" Langly asked.

"I don't know, she didn't answer my question. But the look on her face told me she didn't and that's probably why she slapped me and threw me out of her apartment."

"Ouch, man. She threw you out of her apartment? That's cold," Frohike commented.

"Yeah, but I deserved it. I should never have even asked her the question...I mean, Scully just isn't that type of woman, but she got a tattoo with this bozo in tow and THAT'S hardly something she'd do either."

They all three chimed in together, "AGENT SCULLY HAS A TATTOO?"

"Yes, Uroborus. The snake eating itself. Normally Uroborus symbolizes *eternal* return."

"For every end there is a new beginning," Byers added with a small hiccup.

"Yeah, right. But in this case I don't think she sees it that way," I replied woozy.

"What does she see it as?" Langly muzzily asked the obvious.

"I think it's supposed to symbolize the two of us...that we consume one another." I poured myself another drink and tossed it back. I was really getting hammered.

"Well, I think that's a crock, Mulder," Frohike replied shaking his head. It was pretty obvious he was emboldened by the booze into thinking he could wax philosophical with me. And at that point he could probably best me. I was pretty blitzed.

"How do you figure that...Melvin?" Langly interjected. He always seemed to want to stick it to Frohike when he was drunk. It was fairly good-natured teasing however, and Frohike put up with it because the two were close.

"Well he said they weren't even sleeping together so the *consuming* part doesn't enter into it either does it?" he replied completely deadpan.

Byers choked on his Jim Beam and started to cough. Langly reached a lanky arm over and pounded him between the shoulder blades.

"Frohike, you half pint pervert. I should punch your lights out," I slurred. He smiled goofily back at me from his lounging position on the other end of the couch. He extended his glass towards me.

"How about hitting me again with the rot gut instead, G-man. You can rest assured you'll be making me suffer in the morning," he chuckled. I looked carefully into his eyes. Oh yeah - he'd be roiling in hangover hell in the morning. I didn't stop to think that I'd be swimming in fire with him. I refilled his glass.

"Where does Scully have the tattoo?"

I swiveled my head to look at Byers. He had stopped choking and was smiling dizzily at me. Oh brother. So booze makes this guy bold too I thought. Byers was normally so reticent. So shy. It amazed me that he'd even want to know.

"Thanks man, I owe you," Frohike laughed saluting Byers with his glass.

"Byers - I didn't know you were into feeding Frohike's fantasies," I replied dancing around the question.

Byers reddened, "Sorry, Mulder...idle Beam induced curiosity I guess."

"Yeah, come on, tell us, Mulder. You must have seen it if you know it's the great worm," Frohike added his two cents again.

"Frohike, give it a rest. Maybe he doesn't want us to know where she has it. After all we should show a little respect here for Agent Scully," Langly grouched from the recliner.

"Oh sure. Mulder goes out of his way to tell us she's got a tattoo and now he's not going to reveal the location. I mean what does he believe we're going to fantasize about now, Rin...go," Frohike jabbed back taking a sip of his Jim Beam.

"Speak for yourself Frohike. I'm sorry I even brought up the question," Byers threw in looking dejectedly into his half full glass.

I just stared from one of the Gunmen to the other trying to focus my thoughts. I didn't want to tell them where the tattoo was because it *was* disrespectful. It was also none of their damn business and I knew Scully might entertain thoughts of shooting me again if I did tell. She might do it anyway once she found out I'd even told them about the tattoo at all. Revealing the location would just make her reach for an Uzi or Mack10 instead of her Smith and Wesson. Boy if she was mad at me before...Cripes - why the fuck did I have to get drunk?

My mind jumped to another thought then. It does that when I'm polluted. I have trouble keeping my mind focused on the topic at hand. I began to consider that I had never actually seen the tattoo on her body. I had seen photos of it however. The photos that were taken as evidence after Jerse's assault on Scully. So I knew where it was but hadn't actually seen it in the flesh. Thinking of Scully's lush, curving, butt and the area above it with the tattoo was doing something to my groin that my boozed up mind was having trouble stopping. I crossed my legs to hide my arousal. Wonderful. Just what I needed here - a boner. If Frohike picked up on it I'd never live it down. I beat back my more prurient thoughts with a quick mental kick in the slats. I was grateful when my dick started to relax at last.

"Frohike, there are some things man was not meant to know..." I intoned in my best 50s science-fiction film voice.

"You cheesy coward..." Frohike began.

"Hey, if you're so hot to find out about Scully's tat Melvin - why don't you show Mulder your friggin' ink," Langly shot out snidely from his perch in the recliner.

Frohike's mouth clamped shut with a snap.

Ah Ha, I thought. Busted! Now I can really let him have it, the little buzz bomb.

"So, you have a tattoo Frohike? Well, shut my mouth. Must be a humdinger if you've kept it a secret from me all these years."

"The subject just never came up," Frohike mumbled looking down at his glass.

I moved in for the coups de grace. "Just where is your tattoo?" I asked significantly. "If you'll show me yours I'll show you mine," I added wiggling my eyebrows. I glanced down at his crotch for emphasis. Of course I didn't have a tattoo. Accent on the didn't - but I digress. At any rate - that remark got him. He started to blush. Langly and even Byers started to chuckle.

"Close Mulder, but no cigar," Langly guffawed. Frohike gave him a really venomous look. Byers continued to laugh. He was at the silly drunk stage - flushed and his blue eyes had gone all watery. I was really curious now.

"Come on Frohike. If you show me your tattoo I'll tell you where Scully has hers," I smiled wide. I was lying through my teeth but Frohike was too drunk off his ass to know the difference.

"Really?"

"On my Fibbie honor."

"Ok. Ok. Hang on," Frohike hastened to put his glass down on the floor. In his headlong rush to stand up he almost fell over. I grabbed his arm.

"Steady there Tex," I laughed. He took a step forward and then turned around. Oh Christ I thought, don't tell me.

Byers was laughing like hell now and Langly was shaking his head as Frohike unbuckled his pants.

"Melvin I didn't mean THAT one..." he began but it was too late. Frohike had dropped his trow and his boxers in one yank. Oh lovely I thought. Just what I needed to see - a double visioned vista of Melvin Frohike's hairy white ass.

But maybe it wasn't so hairy and maybe - Jesus!

"Christ Frohike, who did that for you? It looks just like him."

"Ink courtesy of the lovely Larissa Nevramont," he hiccuped, "It's a great likeness isn't it?" he turned to grin at me over his shoulder.

I got up and risked taking a closer look. No doubt about it that was the best portrait of Bill Gates I'd ever seen on somebody's butt. It was a dead on likeness of Mr. Microsoft all right. All the way down to his bad hair day.

"God, Frohike, that *is* fucking incredible. And who the hell is Larisha Nevramont?" I lisped around my booze thickened tongue.

"*Larissa* lives in the loft above us. Haven't you seen the sign, Mulder? Christ I thought you worked for the FBI," Langly laughed at my bewildered face.

It finally dawned on my fogged brain just what he was talking about.

"You mean *Accents in Ink* is a tattoo studio? I thought it was a printer or something," I groused.

"No, that's her studio. She's a superb artist, really. She did this one too," Langly added rolling up his pants leg. He had an elaborate Celtic pattern running from his ankle up the calf of his leg to his knee. It was all black, bold and very intricate.

"Jesus, are you all inked?" I asked looking at the sodden Byers where his butt was barely hanging onto the chair he sat on.

"Mine? Oh yeah - me too," he giggled, "I've got the Big - oh let me show you," he nodded. He unbuttoned his shirt shyly and pulled it open.

"Very nice t-shirt," I quipped. The guy was so wasted he forgot he had on his Fruit of the Looms.

"Sorry," he grinned and then he pulled off his shirt and let it fall on the floor behind him. The t-shirt came off next. Wow was I getting a treat tonight. First Frohike's scrawny ass and now...Ok, so Byer's pecs weren't too bad. And the tattoo drawn on his right tit was magnificent.

On his chest was a perfect likeness of Godzilla breathing out his radioactive breath. Byers was a huge fan of the *Big G*. It was very well rendered. You could practically see every scale on his bulgy lizard body.

"How come he isn't stomping Bill Gates?" I giggled. Oh, I was really gone. Totally stupid. But this was almost too much for my besotted mind.

"Stomping Bill Gates?" Byers laughed in reply, "No. Frohike's the only guy I know who...who has...who can sit on Bill Gates face and..." Byers lost it completely dissolving in helpless gulps of mirth.

"Don't go there, John, Ok?" Frohike warned.

"Well he has a point," I defended the bearded Lone Gunmen grinning up into Frohike's glasses. I shifted back and fell onto the couch again. Frohike bent to pull up his clothing. He got his pants up and belt buckled again without too much trouble.

"I just can't stand the son of a bitch. You guys know that. The fact that I can sit on his ugly kisser every time I plant my butt is poetic justice as far as I'm concerned."

"You're full of shit, Melvin. You got Gates that night when you got wasted on Vodka and..." Langly jibed sarcastically.

"Hey, I was inspired that night. Remember that hack I did on..." Frohike replied waving his arms.

All of a sudden I was snorting through my nose with almost insane glee. All three Lone Gunmen stopped to watch me drip I guess. My nose is rather spectacular when it's running after all. So I took that opportunity to interject my drunken pearls of wisdom.

"Yeah, well, the next time you tell me to kiss your ass it's gonna have a whole new meaning," I laughed and then I let out a terrific belch.

All of us cracked up at that point and we had a really great companionable belly laugh. As soon as we'd calmed down Langly spoke up.

"Any more Beam left?"

"Nope, running on empty I'm afraid," I shrugged tipping the bottle up for emphasis, "And listen - what did you mean before about....Well, Langly made it sound like you had more than one tattoo. You got another, uh, tat you haven't told me about Frohike?" I added.

A swift look passed between all three Lone Gunmen. I watched Langly and Byers close off a bit and look away from me. Frohike moved to sit back down on the couch. He didn't look at me right away either. I'd obviously missed something critical here.

"Hey what gives?" I asked, muddled. I didn't have a clue. And my confusion had nothing to do with the liquor. I let my head swivel from one Gunmen to the other.

"Mulder, Frohike doesn't like to..." Byers began.

"No, John, It's ok. I...I should tell him. Show him I mean. It's not a good idea to have too many secrets amongst friends," he mumbled boozily.

Byers and Langly both nodded their heads with solemn inebriation. As one they got up and left our little convivial circle. Byers mumbled something about washing our glasses and Langly mentioned having to take a piss. I dumbly watched them go thinking idly a piss sounded like a damn good idea. But then my attention was drawn back to Frohike and his seat at the other end of the couch. I stared at Melvin Frohike in curious anticipation.

"Why'd they leave?" I asked dimly.

"It makes them uncomfortable, I guess." Frohike shrugged.

Frohike struggled with the cuff of his long gray work shirt sleeve. Finally, not able to get it up far enough on his arm to reveal what must be the second tattoo. He yanked at the buttons of his shirt with disgust. He got the shirt completely unbuttoned and pulled it off his shoulders. He swung his right shoulder around into my field of vision and pumped up his bicep so I could see the tattoo that was etched in his flesh. This one was older, faded slightly but nonetheless still visible. It was two crossed rifles superimposed over a skull. The skull had the ace of spades on it's forehead. The words Semper Fidelis ran above the tat the words Death Before Dishonor ran below it. And below those words ran the final black ink characters - Vietnam 1973. I bit my lower lip and looked up into Frohike's specs.

"I had no idea," I shook my head.

"I guess you probably thought I ran to Canada or something," he whispered.

"Uh, I..." I didn't now what to say. Something passed over Frohike's face then. Something painful. I was sorry I had brought up the second tattoo at all. Stupid. Another stupid Mulder blunder. Christ. How many more people could I manage to hurt tonight?

Frohike must have noticed the emotions running across my face.

"It's ok Mulder. You wouldn't have guessed and God knows I don't talk about it much."

"I'm sorry..." I ventured.

He nodded, "I got this tat in Saigon on leave. I enlisted you know. Can you believe it? Well, I was a little different back then. I thought it was patriotic to go over there. Needless to say I didn't come home feeling that way."

"Skinner was in Nam," I offered in way of conversation.

"Oh yeah?" he showed some boozy interest on hearing that factoid.

"Yeah. Marine special forces."

"Shit, that was a tough war too," he nodded, "I was just a grunt. Infantry. Cannon fodder really." he added.

"Crap, that sucks," I commiserated.

"It was pretty miserable. Want to know what I specialized in? You'll laugh I bet," he replied.

"Only if you want to tell me Frohike."

"I used to go down into the underground bunkers - you know the VC's hidden underground tunnels. Tunnel rats they called us. I was one of the smallest guys in my unit - smaller then a lot of the fucking Cong. They used to send us down there to see if anyone was at home. Like some terrier at the end of the fox hunt. Flush 'em or kill 'em in their den, that was the tunnel rat's job."

He got a very far away look on his face. It was as if I wasn't there any more and Melvin Frohike wasn't either really. His memories overtook him and it was 1973 and he was back in the jungle.

I studied Frohike as he talked. I wasn't laughing at all. One look at his face and I would never have imagined laughing in a million years. It was hard to believe he'd done something like that in the war. But looking at him I could see it. As he talked he wasn't the old *leering at every babe in sight* Frohike. He was someone a lot different. Someone very courageous and proud. I had a sudden new found respect for the little photographer. I wanted him to know it.

"That took a hell of a lot of guts," I told him with genuine admiration. He looked me in the face and gave me a beatific smile. The fact that I had recognized his bravery obviously pleased him very much.

"Thanks Mulder. So, anyway I got that tattoo to mark the moment. All tats should mark a significant moment. And mine is significant of what my job was back then too. That's what the ace of spades on the tat means - part of our *op* was to frighten the enemy if we couldn't kill them outright. We used to leave the ace card all over down there. The VC were very superstitious about it - a very bad omen - bad juju..." his voice trailed off.

"Hey, man, you don't have to tell me any more. It's ok," I interrupted his reverie by patting him on the knee.

He shook his head a little, "So Skinner was in the war?" he asked again trying to get the subject off Melvin Frohike's war time experiences.

I looked at him for a moment wondering how far I should go in that direction. Skinner's war story had been told to me in confidence. But in this case I figured I could break a little of that confidence. Frohike was perfectly capable of finding the information out anyway just by hacking into Skinner's service records if he felt like doing so. I nodded and told him as much as I thought advisable to tell.

"Yeah, he was wounded. He was the only survivor of his platoon. The rest of the guys were massacred by the Viet Cong in an ambush. They thought he was dead too. I guess they had him in the body bag when somebody noticed he was still breathing."

"Shit," Frohike breathed out slowly, "well I was lucky that way. Believe it or not I came back without a mark on me. I had a little jungle rot but that cleared up once I got stateside again. God, wounded hey? That's too bad."

"Well, he doesn't seem to be self conscious about the scar. Half the agents have seen it in the FBI gym shower I guess. He doesn't hide it."

"He shouldn't Mulder. It's a fucking badge of honor," Frohike hiccuped, "A fucking medal," he added nodding grimly. Both of us fell silent then. As if on cue, Byers and Langly made their way back over to our side of the room.

"So where's Scully's tattoo? And hey, where's yours?" Byers blurted out as the air hung heavy between us all.

I yanked my eyes away from Frohike and the grizzled photographer pulled his shirt back on.

"I don't have a tattoo." I stated flatly.

"You lying skunk," Frohike laughed. He wasn't really angry. Our shared moment seemed to have raised his spirits for the rest of the night. His eyes were twinkling.

"I knew it," Langly laughed gesturing towards Byers, "pay up, John."

"You bet I didn't have a tattoo?" I raised my eyebrows in imitation chagrin, "I'm wounded to the quick."

"I thought you did," Byers frowned, "you lost me 20 bucks, Mulder, you ashold..." he burped struggling to get some bills out of his pocket. "Oh no Guys, I gotta go..." his face turned green then and he made a mad dash in the direction of the can.

"You won't get out of the debt that easy," Langly called after him.

"I hope he makes it this time," Frohike sighed as I stared after the woefully ill Byers.

"Never could hold his liquor," Langly giggled slightly.

"So, G-man how come no tat?" Frohike turned away from watching Byers and wiggled his eyebrows at me.

I shrugged, "Well you said they should mark a moment. I guess I haven't had a moment to mark yet."

"You're shittin' me?" Frohike barked a laugh, "God, Mulder of all people - you could look like Bradbury's fucking *Illustrated Man*!"

I shrugged again. The little guy had a point there. No shit. I shrugged though. I didn't want to admit anything. Didn't want to face up to the unending weirdness of Spooky Mulder.

Frohike took in my shrugs with practiced skepticism, "Well, what about Scully's tattoo? I mean if that's not reason enough for you to mark something I don't know what is, Mr. FBI."

"Oh, right. I should get a tattoo because Scully got one? I don't think so," I snorted, "Besides, tit for tat isn't a good reason to ad something to my body which will be pretty much a permanent addition," I added. "Tit for tat? Hey, that's pretty good." I laughed. Shit, how far gone was I that I'd laugh at my own lame joke?

"Chickenshlit," Frohike slurred out with a chuckle, "Big G-man like you afraid to get a tat. I never would have thought..."

"Afraid? I'm not afraid. I just don't think..."

"He's afraid, isn't he Ringo?" Frohike grinned at the long haired Gunmen.

"Sounds like it to me, Melvin," he burped slightly.

"Come on you two - get a life," I shook my head ruefully.

"Get a tat and we'll think about it," Frohike laughed, "Hey Ringo haven't we got some Beams around here too? he asked curious.

Jesus how could he possibly want more booze? I didn't. It was getting me into too much trouble.

"What some more Jim Beam, Mulder?" Langly asked with a grin.

"No tattoo," I replied again scowling.

"What?" Langly asked in confusion, "Oh, hey, how dare you imply I'm trying to get you more drunk so..."

Frohike interrupted his mock serious protesting companion in arms.

"Ok. But I'm gonna tell Scully the next time I see her just how much of a coward you are, Mulder. I mean it. After all, she's got a tat. And she's a woman." Frohike smiled wide.

"Right on, Melvin," Langly chimed in finally getting a better handle on the murky turn in the conversation.

Oh Fuck. Now they were challenging my manhood, I thought. This was too much coming from these two eunuchs. For crying out loud. Somewhere in my Beam befuddled brain my better judgment was about to shut down. All the anguish over Scully and Ed Jerse, my wild and weird life and career and the alcoholic haze were combining to give me a colossal lapse in common sense. A big need to prove myself in the eyes of these guys. Well, they probably were my closest friends. And even though I said I didn't care what they thought about me...well I was drunk, OK? Besides, I couldn't really be sure in my confused state whether Frohike really would tell Scully I was a coward. Like I said - I was pretty blotto.

"I am not a coward," I growled.

"Then prove it, Spooky. Let's go up to Larissa's and get you inked," Frohike jutted his jaw out at me in pugnacious challenge.

"Wait a second, Frohike, she won't ink him if he's drunk," Langly advised throwing cold water on the suggestion.

"She will if I ask her and if Mulder signs a release form," Frohike waved his hand dismissing any objections.

I stared from one to the other Gunmen. My vision blurred for a moment. I heard myself say in a voice I barely recognized as my own...

"All right, let's do it."

xXx

Accents in ink...

A few minutes later, after judicious trips to the can, Frohike and I were wobbling carefully up the stairwell to the landing above the offices of The Lone Gunmen. Langly had stayed downstairs to baby-sit Byers who, it was discovered, had passed out on the floor of the bathroom after having heaved his guts up. Frohike helped Langly to shepherd him off to bed with the admonishment, "You'd better stay with him Ringo. You know how he gets," before we exited the offices in our quest for misadventure.

"Frohike, it's late. Are you sure this poor woman isn't in bed already?" I whispered as we teetered on the landing.

"No, she's a night person, Mulder. She takes appointments for tattoos in the evening. She might even have a customer up here. If she does you'll have to reschedule."

"Oh yeah?" I asked raising an eyebrow.

"You're not going to wimp out are you?" Frohike taunted me, grinning.

"Hell no," I shook my head. The movement caused me to almost pitch backward. Frohike grabbed my arm.

"Whoa, hang in there, G-man," he laughed pulling me towards the door labeled *Accents in Ink*. The light was on and shining through the transom. It did appear that the artist was in residence. I straightened my back as best I could, ran a hand through my hair and smoothed the front of my t-shirt down. Thankfully I hadn't spilled any Jim Beam down the front. Frohike chuckled.

"It's not going to help, Mulder. You still look as drunk as a skunk."

Oh, just bloody marvelous, I thought as Frohike, hand on the knob, twisted it and opened the door to the tattoo studio.

"Mon petit chou chou," a Cajun accented voice greeted us as we stepped inside. It's owner got up from a leather couch in the front room of the studio, laying the hard cover book she had been reading down. She glided gracefully towards Frohike arms outstretched to embrace him. Larissa Nevramont was as tall as I am. She was tall, black and gorgeous. Her resemblance to Naomi Campbell the model was uncanny. When she hugged Frohike his nose was pressed into her tits and he was sporting a very blissful grin that stretched from ear to ear.

"Oh, but, mon cher, you have been drinking," she exclaimed after having gotten a good whiff of Frohike's exhalations. She held him out away from her and then releasing his shoulders, she wagged a finger at him.

He gave her a more sheepish grin, "I'm sorry Rissa but we had good reason. We had to console my good buddy here - Mulder. His girl just kicked him out of her apartment. If that doesn't call for a drink or two I don't know what does."

"Or four or five, mes oui?" she smiled gently in my direction. She extended her hand, "Is this the Fox Mulder I have heard so much about, Melvin?" she smiled graciously. I did my best to smile back without cringing or glaring at Frohike. I hoped for his sake she'd heard the good stuff and not the utterly...but Frohike was speaking and I labored to concentrate on his words.

"The one and only," he smiled, "my bosom buddy, Mon frere Fox..." he started in.

I hastened to interrupt him, "The pleasure is mine Ms. Nevramont. And my friends call me Mulder," I added shaking her outstretched hand.

"Well, my friends call me Rissa, cher. I'm sorry to hear of your troubles, Mulder," she nodded shaking my hand firmly, "That was a sad thing your woman did to you."

"Well, she's not exactly my woman," I replied carefully, "no, she's definitely her own woman, I can say that most positively." I hiccuped slightly.

She studied my face for a moment and then gave Frohike a little wink.

"Whatever you say, mon cher. But the heart aches does it not? And your head will ache in the morning, mes oui?" she laughed a really musical laugh, "Now, Melvin to what else do I owe this pleasure?"

"The G-man wants a tat, Larissa. I told him you were the only one to ink him..." Frohike began to explain.

"Non, non, mon petite rogue. You know I don't ink anyone who has been imbibing spirits. It is strictly against policy. You should know better."

"Oh, Rissa, come on. For old times sake. Mulder's really serious. He wants to mark a special moment. He'll sign a release."

"Special moment? His lady love giving him the boot in the derriere? I tink not," Larissa set her mouth in a semblance of a frown. But she did it with difficulty. She was suppressing her laughter.

I just stood there dumbly watching the interchange. I was getting some kind of weird vibes between the statuesque woman and the diminutive Lone Gunmen. Like when he said for old times sake he meant for good old roll in the sack times. I was just a bit flabbergasted to entertain the picture of Frohike bedding a woman as tall and stunning as Larissa Nevramont. Even my booze soaked brain couldn't get around the bizarre image that idea conjured up in mind.

"No, not because of his lady love, Larissa. We're making Mulder a Lone Gunmen tonight. He's getting inked because he's becoming an official member of our posse. So come on, what do you say? You don't want to mess up his moment of honor do you?" Frohike took her hand and squeezed it gently. A very soft look crossed his face. Oh Lord. What a lying little operator I thought. The guy *must* have been bedding her at some point. And now he brazenly thought he could lie his way past her? God, maybe he still was sleeping with her. I knew I was ogling them both in bemused and drunken amazement.

But it was evident that Larissa Nevramont was no man's fool, "Melvin, do not presume on the past, mon ami. I will decide on the inking, not you and not Mulder - no matter what honor you think you are bestowing upon him."

"Look, it's OK, both of you," I interrupted. I'd had enough. This was getting old fast. I was tired now on top of being blasted. I really wanted to go back downstairs to Frohike's ratty couch and collapse on it in a stupor until dawns early light, "this isn't important," I added, "None of it's important. I'm not...just...let's go Frohike," I finished dismally. I turned and headed back towards the door.

Larissa stepped forward and grabbed my shoulder tenderly, turning me around. I teetered on my heels for a moment while she pinned my eyes. She ran her hand down my arm and grasped my hand in hers as she studied my face. I held her eyes. Neither of our gazes wavered at all for several moments. Then she dropped my hand and nodded once turning to Frohike.

"Tres bien, all right mon cher. I will ink this man. But you must let me choose the design. I reserve that right."

"What?" I asked a bit suspiciously.

"Oh, Mulder, I forgot to tell you - Larissa has the sight. You know, a little of that whammy thing going on," Frohike informed me.

"Clairvoyant?" I asked, "Right. I'm outta here," I nodded turning again to go. I wasn't in the mood for some stupid Frohike practical joke. I'd kick his portrait of Bill Gates as soon as I could get my leg to aim straight in the morning.

"Ah, but I thought it was the lady love who was the skeptic, mon ami. At least she was, mes oui? But perhaps the table has turned now?" she asked my receding back. Well that stopped me dead. I pivoted back around and then I went to sit down on the leather couch. I was a little weak in the knees.

Frohike laughed, "See what did I tell you?"

"Get stuffed, Frohike. You probably told her about Scully," I glared at him. This wasn't funny anymore. It was downright annoying. I wasn't having a good time and I was getting ugly drunk. But I didn't want to get nasty. I started to breathe to calm my temper. There was no sense in getting mad at Larissa. Frohike either for that matter. He was such a mensche his actions just came naturally. I was used to it. Or at least I should have been by now I told myself. Christ this day was really getting to me. I should go to bed I kept telling myself. Before it was too late. But my legs wouldn't carry me away.

"I swear I never said a thing about her being a skeptic," Frohike held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, "I just told Larissa she was a hot chick, that's all."

Oh, I bet she loved hearing that come out of his mouth I chuckled at the thought. Especially if she was doing the horizontal bop with him.

"Hot, oui. But not hot et noire. Right, mon petite beau l'homme?" she ruffled Frohike's hair.

"Oh Gheez, Rissa," Frohike blushed from the top of his head all the way down his neck.

God damn! What next I thought. I got my answer a moment later.

"But perhaps hot enough. She does have the tattoo, c'est ca? The snake in the circle, oui?

O-K I thought. So this wasn't one of Frohike's lame jokes. I stared at Larissa.

"Uroborus," I whispered. I was a little awestruck. Caught off guard as it were. Blown away in my space cadet state of mind.

"Ah yes. The one is everything for her I see. But...the tat...you were not happy with her choice or the circumstances of it," she stated matter-of-factly.

"You could say that," I admitted.

"Then you must deal with it in your own way, mon cher. And I will deal with it in mine," she nodded, "come with me," she gestured towards a door at the rear of the room.

Frohike waved his hand in the same direction. I got up and walked between them into the studio proper. I had an eerie, spaced out feeling. Almost a heightened sense of reality. My skin was tingling as if it knew what was coming. I set my back as straight as I could and put myself in Larissa Nevramont's artistic hands.

The minute I saw the design Larissa had chosen for me I knew I wanted it. I needed it. It was fitting. Apropos of so much. Not just Scully and her tattoo and all the issues bound up in that ink in her flesh. It was an image that echoed what I had been doing all my life. What I did even in my dreams. Seeker of truth and slayer of demons. Dragon Slayer. Larissa had chosen for me the image of St. George resplendent in Holy armor astride his white steed, lance impaling the great dragon, the great worm of legend.

"Can you do this tonight?" I asked quietly as I gazed at the design in the spiral bound book she had spread out before me.

"Oui, it will take around 3 hours - but you are not going anywhere, true?"

I wasn't about to go anywhere. I didn't want to go back home and face the four walls and my couch alone. I also didn't want to go back to Scully's apartment and face her ire. I thought distantly that I should call her to let her know I was ok. But hell, she hadn't called me. I had my cell phone. I knew she was really angry because she hadn't called me. Well, too bad. Boy was she in for a surprise, I thought. I was feeling very smug now that I had come to my decision. I was committed. Maybe I should have been committed. But what the fuck. I really wanted the tat now. It was phenomenal. I had seen several examples of Larissa's work. There were more examples all over the studio walls. She was phenomenal as well. I felt phenomenal. Everything was...phenomenal. I smiled dizzily at Larissa and Frohike. If I had stopped to check my cell phone and had discovered that I'd shut it off and forgotten to turn it back on, I might not have been smiling like the village idiot at that moment. But I was smiling wide and ready to go under the tattoo gun. Yessiree.

"OK. What do I have to do and how much do I owe you?"

"Mulder, this is on me," Frohike slapped me hard on the back. I jolted forward, "all you have to do is sit down in the chair and relax."

"I can't let..." I barely got it out before he broke in.

"It's the least I can do for the new Lone Gunmen," he winked broadly at me and then wobbled over to sit down in a comfortable overstuffed recliner in the corner of the room.

I shook my head in bemusement again. Larissa gestured for me to sit down in her chair, the artist's center seat.

The chair sat next to a portable table in the middle of the room. An adjustable stool was placed next to it. The chair looked almost like a dentist's or barber's chair. It was adjustable too so that it could convert into a table for someone to lie on. It also had attachments on both arms for clients to rest their arms on while they were getting their tattoos. I thought it looked like the *comfy chair* for the Spanish Inquisition a la Monty Python. I walked over and carefully sat down.

"Where do you want the ink, mon cher?" Larissa asked looking me up and down.

"I get to choose the location?" I grinned at her.

She laughed, "I will allow you that, sir. I have chosen enough for you tonight."

I nodded and gave it some thought, slowly.

"Tats over bone hurt, Mulder. Get it on a fleshy area," Frohike advised from his position in the cushy chair. He had picked up a *Tattoo Times Magazine* and was paging through it.

"Yes, mon petite is correct in his advice. I would recommend that as well, at least for your first time," Larissa nodded with a knowing smile. She stood back and waited for me to make up my mind.

I recalled Frohike showing me his war tattoo downstairs. I remembered him flexing his bicep to show it off. Oh yeah. I knew where I wanted it now.

"How about up here, on the upper part of my left arm?"

"Are you left handed, mon cher?"

"Why?"

"Because you will be a bit sore tomorrow, Mulder. It is best not to get the first tat on the arm you use the most."

"Oh. Well, I'm right-handed," I replied.

"Bon. On the outside part here then?" she asked moving forward and drawing a finger from my shoulder down the outside of my bicep. I trembled a bit at her touch. She was a very attractive woman.

"That's the spot," I answered quietly looking up into her eyes.

"As you wish. It is a good choice. Remove your shirt. I will get my tools ready."

Along with her tools came the release for me to sign. After penning my John Hancock I did as she instructed and sat bare chested in the hot seat. I watched Larissa snap on a pair of latex gloves. Next she went over to the cupboards against one wall and pulled out individual little ink cups and placed then in a tray. Sterile packaged needles, the pre-drawn design which she took from the spiral bound book of her illustrations, alcohol, a razor, and a pile of various sized sterile gauze packages all came next and were put on the portable table next to the chair. The tattoo gun was all ready on the table. It looked freshly cleaned and slightly steamy under the lights. The motor for the tattoo gun was under the table.

The cord was plugged in to the power source. While Larissa had gone about collecting her equipment, Frohike had nodded off in the chair in the corner, the forgotten magazine draped across his lap.

"I had a client cancel on me tonight, Mulder. So, you are in luck. I had the free appointment. Everything is clean too as you can see. I autoclave all my equipment. The needles are sterile and individually wrapped as are the ink cups. I run a safe establishment, mon cher."

"Thanks, I appreciate you telling me," I nodded.

"Bon. So, we begin. Would you put your elbow on the chair's arm, here. I will shave and disinfect the area."

Larissa prepped my arm as thoroughly as a surgeon would. It was shaved and wiped with alcohol soaked sterile pads. The stencil of the tattoo was transferred onto my skin. She held a hand mirror up so that I could check the size and positioning. St. George was riding his charger squarely on the upper part of my left arm, far enough above my elbow so he wouldn't show even when I wore a t-shirt. I guess Rissa figured I might want to hide it on occasion. I really didn't care who saw it I told myself at that point. Liar! Oh, I was delusional. There was one person I cared about seeing it. I put the idle musings out of my mind however. Rissa was talking to me again.

"Now, we are at the point of no return, mon petite. Do you wish me to stop?" she asked raising an eyebrow.

I took a deep breath. No, I really didn't want her to stop. I did want to mark the moment. The moment I realized I had no right to meddle in Scully's life. No right to claim anything of her because I was too much of a coward to tell her what I really felt for her. The moment I had hurt her, wounded her, by asking my question about Ed Jerse. The tattoo would remind me to keep my rotten suspicions to myself and trust her from now on every time I looked at it. I told myself those were the reasons. But were they? I wasn't sure. In the back of my mind I knew the reasons were a lot more convoluted - complicated and connected to everything I felt for Scully. Everything I wanted us to be together. My brow furrowed as I tried to bend my boozed out brain around that connection. I couldn't quite make it. I gave up on the effort.

But there was one thing I did know for certain and I seized on that thread of certainty. The tattoo would give me the satisfaction that I was symbolically destroying the memory of Scully's assault and the memory of Jerse as sure as St. George was killing the dragon, the snake. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I had a strong desire to kill the guy. I wanted him dead for what he had done to Scully. The tattoo would give me that vicarious thrill too. I smiled up at Larissa.

"Stop? No way. Ink me," I replied with finality.

"As you say, mon ami. It is a nice bit of flash."

"Flash?"

"The design, Mulder. We call it flash."

"Ah, I see," I nodded slightly, "It's more than nice."

Larissa filled the ink cups and was turning on the tattoo gun. A hum like a dentist's drill filled the room. It blended nicely with Frohike's gentle snoring from his seat in the overstuffed chair.

"Will it make you nervous if I watch?" I asked.

"Non. But it may make you nervous," she chuckled, "there will be some blood."

I raised an eyebrow, "Rissa, did Frohike ever tell you how many times I've been wounded in the line of duty?"

"Ah, oui. But he said you were a very bad patient."

I laughed a bit at her comment. Well that was the truth.

"Yeah, I guess I am. I'll try to be a good one for you, however."

"Truly. You had better be sweet mon cher if you want the ink to flow well. Your skin is a canvas for the artist. The canvas should not be a moving target. Now hold still - I am going to begin. This will prick a bit at first. I outline in black. The noire ink is hardest to push. When I get to the color it will go more easily. And oh yes - I need to tell you it will feel...how do I put this..."

"Painful?"

"Non, not painful, Mulder. It will feel...pleasurable. Be prepared for a...ah - a high. You know - a rush - as the skin, as your body, marshals its forces to battle the ink. Just like St. George going into battle, mes out? Your body will send endorphins rushing into your blood. The blood sings. Just be aware you may feel it. I like to warn my customers. I had one client pass out years ago. If you feel dizzy tell me right away mon cher. I do not want to have to catch you."

"OK. I'll make sure I tell you if I'm going to pitch on my face."

"Oui. So, now watch or not, your choice, sir," she smiled and pressed the needle of the tattoo gun to my arm.

I wasn't quite prepared for the sensation. It felt like someone was tickling my skin at first. Then it did feel like someone was stabbing me with a myriad of tiny pins. I bit my lower lip. After a moment however I got used to the prickly pain. After a very short period it wasn't really painful at all. In fact a new feeling was replacing the pain. I looked up into Larissa's face. She was concentrating on her work, focused on my arm and the gun. But she must have sensed my gaze. She looked up briefly into my eyes, lifting the needle away.

"Ha. I see you are realizing what I meant by the rush," she grinned at the expression on my face, "Ride with it mon cher. It is part of the experience. Part of my art. There is no embarrassment. No shame in it." she bent her head again and continued pushing the ink into my skin.

I knew I had a blissful, aroused look on my face. I couldn't help it. She had been right. My blood was singing. In fact I felt terrific. Intense. On top of the world, Ma! My mind keyed in on it. God was this what Scully felt I wondered. This pain mixed with an exquisite pleasure? Christ it felt...it felt like Larissa was fucking me through my skin. As she pushed the ink into my flesh it was making my body feel as though it was tensing for a mind blowing orgasm. A sexual heat seemed to radiate from the tattoo gun directly into my flesh. And man it was making me hot.

The ink was like an electric jolt of cum and it suffused its warmth throughout my entire body. When it hit my brain it felt like a jism sledgehammer. The alcohol was adding fuel to the fire I'm sure. I welcomed its incendiary effect. My nerves were smoldering, popping, combusting. I reveled in the conflagration. I felt tiny beads of sweat blossoming on my upper lip. My whole body seemed to glow. My mind jumped instantly to Scully again and again as the pain mixed with pleasure continued to mount. God I was getting hard too, I thought distantly. I stopped watching Larissa's skillful hands moving the needle over the design and closed my eyes. I swallowed hard and turned my head away.

Closing my eyes didn't help stop the sensations. In fact it intensified the visions of Scully that danced on the inside of my eyelids. Scully naked, her back to me, the tattoo undulating as we moved together. Sweating, my hands on her hips as I thrust into her. Oh God. I didn't need to be thinking of this now. My erection strained against my jeans zipper. I knew I was getting more red and now it wasn't just arousal that was making me flush. I was mortally embarrassed even though Larissa had said there was no shame in my reaction. I hadn't really taken her at her word. I mean I didn't expect this intense a response from my body. I was breathing a little harder and shifting to try to relieve the pressure in my balls. My actions drew the attention of the lithe artist. I opened my eyes when I heard the tattoo gun cease to hum and the needle pull back from my skin.

I looked up into Larissa's face.

"Ah. Mon cher might like a little break?" she whispered a knowing look in her eyes.

"Uh, yeah. Maybe so," I mumbled.

She squirted some sterile water onto my bicep from the squirt bottle she had been using to wash away the blood and excess ink on the tat. She blotted it dry with one of the sterile pads.

"Oui. The bathroom is over there through that curtain," she gestured with her head towards the other side of the room. I nodded quickly and got up very gingerly. God! I felt like I did when I was sixteen years old and got stiff in front of Mrs. Barnard my favorite high school teacher. Like I wanted to crawl in a hole and quietly die. I beat a hasty retreat for the can as Larissa's gentle chuckling sent me on my way.

Once I was in the can, I switched on the wall light and risked a peak at the tat in the mirror over the tiny sink. It looked magnificent even in its half finished state. I on the other hand looked like shit. My eyes were glassy and my face was red and sweaty. I looked drunk and horny. If I hadn't been so ashamed, I might have burst out laughing. I almost did. Instead, I ran some cold water in the sink and splashed it on my face. It didn't do much good. Instead of cooling me off, my attention was distracted by another bolt of arousal that made my cock twitch. I was really surprised I was this hard. I was still rather drunk after all. But the combination of the booze and the endorphins must have been responsible for my aching dick. I really wasn't thinking too straight. And what little thinking I was doing was being done with my little head and its erotic thoughts were very insistent.

Mr. Johnson was just dying to salute. I decided to give him the opportunity to do it. Like I said - my big head was out to lunch folks. I toed off my sneakers and tossed them to the side. I unzipped my pants and dropped my jeans to the floor. My boxer briefs followed. I stepped out of both and stood there with my Willie waving hello to the porcelain God. /Now what?/ The cold water hadn't worked. I toyed with the idea of asking Larissa if I could use her shower but I vaguely remembered reading something about not getting a tattoo completely wet for several hours after it was done. Hell. I would have rather died then ask her to use her shower anyway. What the fuck could I say after all? Gee, Rissa can I use your shower to run cold water on my woody? Cripes. Nope. Not an option. I made a mental shrug. There really was only one option. I bowed to the inevitable. I turned both faucets on full to mask any tell tale sounds and tipped up the toilet seat. Sighing, I grabbed my cock. I placed my left hand on the wall over the can, positioned myself over the bowl and started to pump. It only took a couple of cranks before I shot. My aim was pretty good for a drunk. Most of the cum hit the water.

The release felt fantastic. I thrust my hips and moaned very softly as I wrung myself out. Oh Jesus, it did feel good. I kept stroking until I rode the climax to the end. Then I leaned against my outstretched left arm and let my breathing return to normal. The tattoo was flexing most impressively with every heavy breath I took. When I finally ceased to sound like the *little engine that could,* I cleaned myself off with some wet paper towels, wiped up around the toilet seat, and finally tossed the used towels in the trash. I washed my hands and splashed water into my face again. I felt better. I was still keyed up and intense but I was limp at least. My body felt more like it did after I'd been on a long run. Refreshed and ready to face the day. I managed to redress in record time and I hastened to return to the chair in the other room. I was determined not to get worked up again. I'd do square roots or conjugate Latin verbs in my head until hell froze over to keep my mind off my crotch.

Larissa was talking to Frohike. The Lone Gunman had evidently come too while I was in the can. He was weaving a little, still quite drunk and sleepy as well. When he saw me he smiled.

"Yo, Mulder. Wow, the tat looks good so far. Listen, I'm gonna crash in Rissa's bed for a while. When you guys are through just come wake me up. I gotta get back downstairs eventually. We have to edit the next issue tomorrow and Langly and Byers will want to start early.

I raised an eyebrow. I very much doubted any of us would be getting an early start in the morning. Lucky it was a Saturday. But I wasn't going to rock the boat at this point. I just nodded and smiled back.

"Sure, Frohike. No problem, man."

Frohike weaved off through a door near the chair he had been sitting in. I blinked at his back as the implication of his knowing the location of Larissa's bedroom registered with me.

"Shall we start again?" Larissa was asking motioning towards the tattoo gun where it lay in a sterile gauze pad on the table next to her.

"What? Oh, sure," I replied momentarily flummoxed. I walked over and resumed my seat. She took my arm gently into her hand and placed it once more on the chairs arm attachment.

I couldn't meet her eyes even though she was staring at me.

"Oh, mon cher. These tings happen. It is natural. Did I not say there should be no shame? "

"Yeah. But that's easier said then done, Rissa." I replied with a sheepish grin.

"Ah. You sound like Melvin now, Mulder," she giggled slightly.

I barked a laugh, "I don't think I want to go there." I shook my head in amusement.

Larissa smiled, "Why not, Melvin has a beautiful soul. You are lucky to have him as a friend."

"Well, I'll agree there," I nodded, "He is a good friend. An honorable man." I added seriously.

"And a good lover," she added with authority.

I guffawed loudly, "I wouldn't have a clue about his abilities in that area."

Larissa slapped my forearm lightly and followed the slap by wagging her finger under my nose.

"You know what I mean. Do not laugh, mon ami. You have no room to criticize, you who has been kicked out of his lady love's apartment."

Her rebuke was light and said in humor but I got the point.

"Sorry, I...that was...I'm sorry, really," I stumbled out the excuse.

"All right, I accept your apology. But would you like a piece of advice, mon cher?"

"I take it I'm going to get it whether I want it or not? " I laughed. I could tell she knew I didn't mean offense. She laughed her musical laugh again.

"Oui, we understand each other Mr. G-man. My advice to you would be to go home. She will not be there but she will come. When she comes to you - well you will know what to do. Follow your heart. She will. Things will be right between you then. And perhaps the tattoo will mark a different moment, c'est ca?"

I stared into her eyes at last. Her eyes were the color of caramel and just as sweet.

All I could do was nod mutely. Her words sank deep into my brain and lodged there where I could ruminate on them. I didn't chew on the words for long. I knew she was right. I knew what I would do. She patted my forearm in gentle imitation of her previous slap.

"Bon. Now we finish St. George. I tink this dragon is very dead now indeed. Hold still. I will add the shading next."

The rest of the tattoo took about two hours at the most. My blood continued to sing in my veins but I was more at peace - all of me now that I had come to my decision. I didn't get hard again much to my relief. Larissa's deft wielding of the tattoo gun created a masterpiece in my skin. Delicately drawn and colored in multi-colored splendor St. George rode his proud steed into battle against the great dragon. It was so realistic you could almost hear the clanking of armor, the crashing of steel and the hissing of the great worm's breath.

At last Larissa sat back and turned off the gun.

"Viola. Finis," she intoned. I looked down at my bicep and then up at the artist.

"You approve mon cher?" she asked all ready knowing the answer.

"It's a work of art."

"Of course. I am the best," she replied airily, "Ask anyone."

"I don't have to ask, Rissa. I've got the proof."

"You have the proof forever dear. It has been my honor to give you your first ink."

"Thanks. I'm honored as well," I nodded.

Larissa got up and walked to the cabinet nearby. She pulled a Xeroxed sheet from a drawer underneath it.

"Now we must talk of after care, Mulder. I will clean you up and apply some healing ointment and a bandage. While I do this ting I want you to read this sheet. If you have questions ask them. After care is important for your health and the health of the tattoo."

"All right," I replied taking the sheet from her hand. She sat back down and began to squirt the tattoo and gently swab off the excess ink for the last time. She cleaned it well and then applied Bacitracin ointment with another sterile pad.

As she worked on me I read the aftercare instructions.

>>Care of Your New Tattoo

1. Feed it (with healing ointments)
2. Water it (keep it clean)
3. Walk it (expose it to air)<<

I laughed. It sounded like I was bringing home a new puppy.

"You laugh, mon cher but it is true. And remember most importantly that unlike a new puppy, you should avoid scratching it, however hard it begs," she advised with a chuckle.

"Yes, ma'am," I grinned.

"So. Now read on, Mulder while I get the bandage." She went back over to the cabinet and started to rummage around. I bent my head to read the rest of the neatly typed text.

>>>Your tattooed skin will be a bit irritated and sensitive not unlike a sunburn. This is normal. You will feel tensed and charged up. This is normal as well. The feeling will run its course. Once you get your tattoo home leave the bandage on for 5 hours. If this coincides with bedtime however, leave the bandage on overnight - it will not hurt.

Take the bandage off gently. If it sticks use a little warm water to loosen it. Then using your hand, not a washcloth, and some gentle unscented soap, gently rinse the tattoo clean of old ointment and the other yucky crusty stuff that might be there. Gently pat dry and lightly cover the tattoo with a small amount of healing ointment (something with an antibiotic is good). Don't smother the tattoo with the ointment. Use just enough to keep it moist.

During the day reapply the ointment when the tattoo starts to feel dry and tight. Wash it again in the evening. After a week you can switch to moisturizing it with a non-fragranced lotion for dry skin.

Expose the tattoo to air as much as possible.

The tattoo may develop a light scab and/or peel. DO NOT pick at it.

Keep yours and everyone else's hands off it except to wash it and apply the ointment or lotion. The tattoo will heal in ten days to two weeks.

Do not soak your tattoo. You may shower but keep it out of the direct spray. Try putting a little extra ointment on it to keep it more dry during the shower.

Don't swim for at least two weeks and don't sunbathe. You may want to wear old comfortable clothing over the tattoo. Remember - a tattoo is an open wound. Treat it with care and common sense.<<<

I figured I could manage the instructions well enough. No sweat. Larissa came back over with the sterile gauze bandage and the tape.

"Do you have questions, mon ami?" she asked as she sat back down. She examined her work again, nodding as she did so. I noticed she had a fresh pair of latex gloves on. She opened up the large gauze package and placed the sterile pad over the design.

"No, this is very well written. Self explanatory," I replied smiling at her.

"Ah, well bon. Just remember treat your tattoo like your woman, Mulder, with respect and tenderness. Be gentle, mon cher," Larissa advised winking at me.

Right I thought. Fine. I nodded again at a loss for words. I still felt wired but fatigue was starting to creep into my muscles. I glanced at my watch. It was fast approaching midnight.

"Oui, it is late," Larissa commented as she finished placing the tape on the sterile gauze bandage. The covering was secure on my arm. She handed me my t-shirt and I pulled it carefully back on.

"Do you wish me to wake Melvin now?" Larissa asked carefully. I rose from the chair. By this time I was starting to sober up a little. I pinned her eyes. She smiled at me again and cocked her head.

"No...Uh, let him sleep. I'll call another cab...I think I'd like to go home now." I replied quietly. Her words were still echoing in my mind. I would go home. I would wait for Scully. I would follow my heart. I'd follow the truth. I'd...I'd cross my fingers and hope for a miracle. Larissa gave me a look that had *Oh ye of little faith* written in every line of her face.

"I mean it. I believe you. I'm going," I chuckled ruefully, running a hand through my hair.

She nodded in agreement a smile twitching on her lips, "Wise choice, mon ami. I will see to Melvin."

I imagined she would. I smiled. Melvin Frohike was going to wake up to one of his fondest wishes I chuckled inwardly. Well that was fine. He deserved a little happiness.

"Ok. Thanks, Rissa." I started to reach for my cell phone. She lightly touched my arm.

"Let me call the cab for you. I know the number for the company that is close. Why don't you sit down and rest. You are very white, Monsieur Spooky," she offered with a trilling laugh. "and I don't mean more Caucasian," she added laughing more fully. I nodded sleepily and went to sit in the chair left vacant by Frohike.

In very short order the cab arrived and I left her studio for Arlington, my familiar leather couch, and what I hoped would be good dreams and the chance to at least make amends with Scully in the morning.

xXx

Accent on the morning after...the moment marked...

I've just stepped out of the shower. I feel a whole lot better now. I grab a towel and start drying off and it occurs to me I could get rid of the vestiges of my headache if I took some aspirin. So I pad out into the hall and walk toward the living room, drying myself as I go, it's not like my neighbors can see me through my windows, no one faces me really.

I get to the recently tattooed flesh on my upper arm but skip touching it. After unbandaging my ink I had let the arm hang out of the shower spray of course. The tat had it's own separate hand wash, pat dry and ointment coat per Larissa's carefully typed instructions. It's still tender. It does feel like a concentrated sunburn. I'm just in front of my sofa on the way to the kitchen when I realize. I'm naked and not alone. I recall Larissa's words. *When she comes to you - well you will know what to do. Follow your heart. She will. Things will be right between you then. And perhaps the tattoo will mark a different moment*. I swallow hard and stare.

She's sitting on my couch, legs crossed, arms over her chest. Still really pissed. I freeze. I suppose I should cover myself, but I'm not sure which I want to hide from her more, my nudity or the tattoo I have strategically covered with my towel. I don't move because her eyes are fixed on mine. I don't move because I suddenly realize just as I did last night that I want her to see me. I want her to see what's in my face. What's in my eyes. In that moment I want to lay my soul bare to her as my body lies bare. No words. I suddenly don't have the words. But Scully does. And she speaks.

"I tried calling you last night but you didn't answer either phone. I suppose I'm an idiot for being worried about you after that little display during dinner, but I can't help it." Her voice is quiet and controlled. She folds her hands into her lap and looks at them. I see tears glistening in her eyes again and she flashes them back up at me. "How could you think that?" It's barely a whisper.

That's it. I am the world's biggest shit heel. If I didn't know it last night, I'm positive now. I can't believe I didn't try to call her either. It occurs to me in a flash that my boozed blasted brain hadn't let me remember I had turned off my cell phone last night. She must have been worried sick. She had no idea where I was at all. God! I am a total cretin and coward to boot.

I keep thinking I should get dressed, but rejecting the idea. This is awkward enough, but manners and etiquette are failing me now, in the headlong desire to connect with Scully. To communicate at last my true feelings for her. And seeing her on the verge of tears like this...I cross to the couch in three short strides and sit down next to her. I drape the towel over my shoulder so the tat is still hidden. It's thankfully long enough to cover a multitude of sins as it drapes over my lap as well.

I take her hand in my trembling fingers. "Scully..." she won't look at me and I can sense she's tensing up to pull away, "No! Look at me," I reach out with my other hand and turn her chin to me. Shit. She's crying in earnest now. "Look, I'll be the first to admit I was an asshole last night. I deserved to be slapped and I deserved to be thrown out of your house. I...hell, Scully, that whole stupid situation has had me torn up for months...the truth of the matter is, that when I think about another man touching you...well, I'm sorry, I know I don't have any right..."

She touches my face. "You're an idiot, Mulder," she says, half chuckle, half sob.

"Yes...yes I am..."

"Mulder, shut up."

I stare at her blinking.

"No, I didn't sleep with Ed Jerse..."

"Scully, you don't have to..."

She places a finger over my lips, "Let me finish. He did kiss me, just once...I wouldn't let him go any further. I kept thinking that it was cheating. No, you don't have any real claim on me, nor I you. But my heart does belong to you whether I like it or not...I couldn't tell you I was upset with you because..."

"I wasn't listening." I place a finger over her lips. "You had every right to be angry with me then, Scully. I was behaving like a teenager...and I wasn't doing much better last night. It just hurt that you went to him for comfort, Scully and it hurt even more that I more or less forced you too." I move the hand that isn't holding hers to her cheek. "My heart is yours as well you know. It always has been. It always will be yours."

She manages a small smile. Her hand still rests on my face and she rubs my cheek lightly. "I'm sorry I slapped you."

I turn and kiss her palm. "I deserved it, remember? Besides, that doesn't hurt half as bad as other parts of me this morning." /Whoops, shouldn't have let that slip./ The eyebrow arches skyward. "I...the Lone Gun Men and I kind of drank a little too much last night, hangover," well that's something of a cover.

She runs her hand up to my forehead. "Bad headache?"

"Not as bad as Frohike's I bet," I smile at her hoping she's buying it.

She starts giggling.

"What?"

"Umm...you're naked."

"You just noticed?"

"No, but it wasn't as obvious before..."

"Huh?" Then it dawns on me, I look down. So much for what's left of my hangover. My fading headache is fast disappearing as well. It figures. Can you say rerun? I knew you could. I've got an enormous boner again. The towel is tenting up in my lap. This one feels even bigger then last night now that I'm faced with the real Dana Scully and not just her image on the inside of my eyelids. Christ. But of course I want her. My need is pretty damn obvious now to both of us. But I can't be completely sure she wants the same thing. I'm having another crushing moment of self doubt here. Not to mention embarrassment at my reaction to Scully's close proximity. But God help me she's breathtakingly exquisite. She's delightfully warm and her alluring feminine aroma is making my hormones hop faster by the minute. Oh brother. This line of thought isn't helping either. I wince. I start to get up but she pushes on my shoulders and stills me.

"Don't..." she slides closer to me, until her jeans clad legs are straddling my thighs and our faces are just inches apart. She cups my face in her hands and I lean down and touch my lips to hers, questioning. She sighs and her lips fall open at the same moment mine do, leaving our tongues free to explore. My towel slips free.

I slide my hands up her back and pull her closer, then run them up and down her back. She sighs again and backs away from the kiss. I groan in protest. She flashes me a blinding smile.

"Shh...I'm just a little over dressed here," she starts to unbutton her white oxford cloth shirt. Come to think of it, I think it's one of mine. I still her hand.

"Let me," she stops, and I start undoing the buttons. "Scully, where did you get this shirt?"

I get the sphinx smile. "You left it at my house a couple of week's ago when we were working on some paperwork. You got hot and stripped down to your t-shirt. When you left you forgot it and I was too tired to remember you left it."

"I see," I give her a goofy grin. "It looks good on you, but I think I like you without it better." I work the last button free and slide the shirt off her shoulders and toss it aside. She's wearing a pale pink bra and her skin shimmers around it. I slide my hands over her bra clad breasts and she gasps a little bit when I tease her nipples with my thumbs.

"You like that?" she nods her head and bites her lower lip, suddenly shy. I lean in and kiss her, harder this time as my hands wander around her back and undo the clasp. I break the kiss and slide the bra forward as I pull back. It's my turn to gasp when I get a look at her perfect breasts. "God, Scully...you're so beautiful..." she leans forward and catches my mouth and then slides her hands down, gripping my upper arms and...

"OUCH!"

"Mulder?"

Oh shit. The towel has fallen completely away now.

"MULDER! You got a TATTOO?"

I nod dumbly.

She lets her fingers hover over the design. Hey, she's a doctor. She's being careful not to touch it. "Are you mad?" I ask sounding like a recalcitrant 6 year old.

She looks at my face. "No. Why did you get this, Mulder?"

I look into her eyes and it occurs to me that all the reasons I told myself last night sound so ridiculously facile that I can barely stand to give voice to them. But I have to try. She's fixing me with those wide guileless questing electric blue eyes of hers. They pierce my very soul. I open my mouth but once again. No words will come. This must be a first. Fox Mulder struck mute how many times in a 24 hour period? She's still staring at me, waiting. I finally manage to mumble out a rationalization, a clarification for my acts, but it sounds so inane I feel like kicking my own ass.

"Frohike said it was to mark the moment," I wince a little.

She raises an eyebrow and tries to suppress a grin, "What moment? The moment I booted your butt out of my apartment?"

"Funny you should mention that point. I seem to remember someone making that comment last night." I nod. But I press on in a fumbled attempt to add more to my feeble explanation.

"I...I don't know. Maybe I wanted to remember the night I finally realized I had no right to...to...that I have no real claim on you because I'm too much of a coward to tell you how I feel. You are your own woman and I was a bastard to have ever thought otherwise."

She looks to her lap and then back at my face, sliding a hand up to touch my lips. "Mulder..."

I plod on, "It's...the symbolism. I chose St. George because he's a dragon slayer. I feel that way myself sometimes. You know - the X-Files. Slaying...my demons...whatever. And, the dragon is also the great worm Uroborus in many legends, of course. Uroborus...well that's the snake devouring itself on your back I had a suspicion you got the tat you got because you felt like we were consuming one another...so I got Saint George here to slay that dragon for you and for me...stupid I know."

She's giggling then laughing outright.

"What?" I ask slightly bemused.

"You are so...well you know. Nuts. But I mean that in a nice way."

I'm chuckling too now, "Ok, I'll take that as a compliment."

She tries to shrug away her laughter and compose herself but doesn't quite succeed. She glances down at my lap again and the laughing becomes a choking laughter.

"Well, you did say nuts," I wiggle my eyebrows. She's getting really red now and it's not just embarrassment. We're still trying to continue our conversation. It's almost hilarious. I'm sitting here with a huge hard on and she's topless in my lap and we're attempting philosophical banter. I love her so much in that moment. The moment is indicative of our entire 5 years together. A massive case of unresolved sexual tension covered by witty, lusty innuendo. Thank God that's about to end. When I look in her eyes she speaks again and she has my complete attention.

"But you' re also...Oh Mulder - the gesture is just so you. Bent but sweet. I know it was sincere, and...oh what the hell..." she leans forward and kisses me lost in the moment. A few moments later we come up for air and I cup her face again. I cup her face with my hands.

"I love you. And I'm sorry I was such a jealous sod, but Scully I can't help it. When it comes to you, I just am not a reasonable man. I suppose, if you really want to psychoanalyze me, I'm trying to kill the memory of what happened with Jerse with this tat." I run my fingers over the small of her back. I can just feel the raised flesh of the snake. She shivers a little.

She places a warm finger over my lips again. "Mulder, I was hurting and wasn't reasonable when I went to him...I'm glad it didn't go farther than it did. I wanted him to be you, Mulder. And I realized he wasn't. I still want it to be you."

Her blue eyes are focused on mine and I feel like I'm drowning. I know without a doubt now that it's true. She really wants me the way I want her. I feel the dragon weakening as I continue to stare into her face.

"I love you, Mulder. I have for a long time."

Simple words that pierce the dragon's heart and he is finally slain. I feel breath rush into my lungs as if I am breathing for the first time.

She shifts off my lap and stands before me. Scully peels off her jeans and panties. She's now as bare before me as I am before her. We're just flesh and bone and ink.

I feel like a gangly 16-year old once again. But I never felt like this in front of Mrs. Barnard. No way in hell. This feels more like a lightning bolt was driven through my forehead. I stand on quivering legs, taking in the sight before me. I want her so badly and she's offering herself to me and OH SHIT!

"Scully, my beds a total mess," I whine, "I mean, boxes, files..."

"We can make do with the couch," her voice is low and I feel my cock throb between my legs.

"Ummm...OK, but I...I have to be careful," I motion to my arm, "It's still sore and I'm not supposed to touch it." Could I be more pathetic here?

She gives me that smile again, you know the cat ate the cream smile. God, I'm not sure how many of those I can take, but then again I want to see them again and again.

"Well then, Mulder. Looks like I'll be making love to you."

My eyes pop wide open as my mind wraps itself around this concept. I feel myself twitch again and feel my jaw drop open. Did Dana Scully really just say that to me?

"Uhhh..."

She giggles again. I beginning to long to hear that sound as well as the smile that goes with it. "Mulder. Sit down."

I comply, sitting down on the couch my legs slightly open to accommodate my aching erection. I'm already making fists in nervous anticipation and I'm watching her every move. I watch her move closer to me and I'm transfixed by the sway of her hair, her breasts, her hips.

I can't stand it any longer, so I reach for her hands and she laces her fingers with mine. She leans forward again and kisses my mouth. We linger there for a long time and then she lets go of my hands and straddles my hips. She only breaks the kiss for a moment. I close my eyes and feel rather than see her tiny hands drift down my chest. She teases my nipples and I gasp.

Her lips travel from mine to my throat where she kisses, sucks and licks at me breaking a trail of fire down my neck to my chest. I instinctually grab her upper arms when her full lips close over one of my nipples. Her eyes flick up to mine.

"Is this OK?" she asks, concerned.

"Yeah...more than OK," I breathe, "I just had to hold you, touch you."

She leans up and kisses my lips again and then moves lower, circling her tongue around my navel. I can hardly believe where my prim, proper partner is headed, but I'll not complain.

She plants an almost chaste kiss on the head of my penis and I can't help but groan. My eyes clamp shut and I give myself over to the feeling of her lips around me, sliding down and then up, each time increasing the pressure. She opens her mouth slightly and lets only her tongue slide over the underside of my length.

"God, Scully!" I'm writhing under her and I feel so helpless, but not in a bad way. I admitted she had control to myself last night, I might as well let her take it all the way for the time being.

She picks up the pace and I feel like I'm on fire. My arousal ratchets up notch after notch until I'm certain I'll explode. But I don't want to yet. I've wanted her to have the control, to know I respect it, but I want to do this with her. I want to make her feel the way she's making me feel. I grip her arms again.

"Scully, stop."

She releases me and eyes me curiously, then with worry. "Is something wrong?"

"No...I...I still need to touch you. I need this to be about us, not one or the other but both of us."

The very sight of her looking up at me from my lap is enough to undo me. I rise on shaky legs and pull her with me.

"Turn around, Scully."

She does but keeps looking over her shoulder at me, "Mulder, what..."

"I want to see it, Scully."

I get down on my knees and take my first look at her ink on flesh. The design is beautiful if the meaning is not. I trace my finger over it and feel her tremble slightly under my touch. I press my lips to the ink and run my mouth over the circle. I end by lapping at it gently and then pulling my mouth away. Her trembling increases. I flick my eyes back to hers.

"I...when I got it, it was the strangest sensation," she breathes, "It hurt...at first but then, it was arousing...I..."

"Did you get wet?" I ask, licking my lower lip.

She flushes slightly but then her eyes envelope me whole. "Yes. I shut my eyes and imagined it was you making me feel like that."

I lean forward and kiss the snake again, the worm I want to slay and then I nip at it. She lets loose a little yelp, but I still her with my hands and place soothing kisses there again and again. I trail a line of kisses up the beautiful curve of her body. I reach her neck and work my way to the shell of her ear. I suck on her lobe slightly and she moans. I feel my cock twitch again. /Give me strength to keep it up here. Please./

"You can keep your eyes open this time, Scully," I whisper and she opens them wider still as I breath into her ear.

I tongue her ear until she turns in my arms and kisses me hard on the mouth. I snake an arm between us and touch her mound, slipping a finger inside her folds. She's definitely wet now and I almost come from the sensation of feeling it. She moans and writhes under my touch and I stroke her with more purpose.

She breaks the kiss and utters a soft cry.

"Is this how you felt when you were getting inked, Scully?"

"Yesss...it felt...feels like white hot needles...But - oh Lord, this is so much better."

"Did you come?"

"No, I....I turned and saw Ed next to me and...and..."

"Shh...I know. But Scully," I increase my pace again and she gasps and her hips buck into me, her body is shuddering, "I came last night. I shut my eyes and I saw you....I saw you making love with me and I had to get out of that chair and go into the can. I had to go jerk myself off because I couldn't...wouldn't stop seeing you beneath me, over me..."

"Oh God!" She grabs my hand and stills it covering my mouth with hers. "I want you...I want you to..."

Oh, Jesus. She's having trouble with the words. Odd but true, I find that terribly arousing.

"What do you want Scully?"

"I want to feel you...inside."

I stumble backward a bit toward the couch and sit down again, holding her hands. "I want you over me, Scully."

She raises an eyebrow, "What?"

"I think this will be better, given the shape my arm's in, if you're over me...on top."

Her mouth drops open and I pull her down. She shifts her knees and straddles my thighs. I grasp her waist and pull her closer and maneuver her into position.

"Mulder...I...I'm..."

"Are you uncomfortable doing it this way?"

"No, it's just been kind of a long time..."

I smile wide at her. "Fuck, no kidding!" She laughs again and touches my face nodding her head in tacit assent. I muster my strength and lift her up a bit, "Just...take a deep breath..." I advise. She watches my face carefully as I help her to maneuver herself over my cock. She starts to sink down on me, slowly. Oh Christ, Oh Christ it feels so good. Hot, wet, enfolding silk over my erection. We never stop watching each other's eyes. We want to see, to study and remember our reactions in this moment of joining. If the tattoos marked a moment our eyes will mark this one forever. Her eyes are incandescent. The light touches my soul. I bite my lower lip as she tips her head back slightly, neck muscles growing taunt. She's reveling in the sensations and so am I.

She finishes sliding down my length until I'm inside her to the hilt. She gasps and our mouths meet and fuse again. Tongues dueling and hands roaming everywhere. I break the kiss and take several deep breaths. I need to calm down or I'm going to come before this is fun for either of us.

Accent on us.

I look deep into her eyes and put my hands at her waist again and help her to move her hips up and down my length. Oh God. This ecstasy is almost too much as well. I find myself struggling for control again. Her feet slip to the floor and she begins to move on her own and find a rhythm, steadying herself by lightly placing her hands on my shoulders.

She's never looked more beautiful than she does right now. Her mouth is slightly open and her eyes have slipped closed. She's quiet except for tiny gasps and sighs that escape her lips. I watch her face as she begins to pick up the pace and she begins to moan.

I move my hands from her waist to her nipples again and begin to roll them between my thumb and forefinger. She lets out a yelp. "Oh God, Mulder don't stop."

She moves faster and faster and I feel my own need increasing. I'm so close but I'm afraid I'll get there first. Reluctantly, I take one hand from her exquisite breasts and touch her clit. She cries out again as I begin to stroke her.

Her hips buck wildly and she moves faster and faster until she screams my name and I feel her inner muscles clamp down on me ferociously. There's a terrific roaring in my ears. All I can do is hiss out between my clenched teeth. Then I'm exploding and it's unbelievable. I gasp out over and over as I feel myself empty inside her. Something glitters behind my eyes as I buck up against her. I want us to ride out the orgasm as long as we can. I grip her hips and rock up into her until I'm empty and too exhausted to move.

xXx

Accent on the afterglow...

My eyes pop open sometime later and we're both sprawled in this uncomfortable position. I leverage our bodies around so we're lying flat on the couch. I realize I should pull out and do it as carefully as I can. But, Scully stirs.

"No, don't move, it's OK. I was just trying to get us a little more comfortable."

She smiles dreamily at me and reaches up to the top of the couch where I have a navy blue thermal blanket resting. She pulls it down and I help her spread it over us.

"You cold, Scully?"

"Sort of," she says kissing my chest, "But I really just wanted to wrap myself up with you."

The image of her tattoo comes to my mind unbidden. "Scully, I really did think you got the Uroborus because you saw us consuming each other."

Her eyes flutter open and she props herself up on her elbows regarding me seriously. "At first, yeah, that's what it meant to me. But now...it symbolizes something different doesn't it?" she trails a long manicured nail down my stomach and over my penis. I kiss her hair and stroke between her legs in return. Oh yes, it means something totally different now. It's symbolic of our joining, this new union. A consummation of a much different order. Hell yeah. I tweak between her folds and she laughs, bending over to chew on my lower lip.

When she releases my mouth and props herself back up on my chest, I grin.

"*I'll* have to give that consuming idea a practical test next time," I suggest, raising an eyebrow at her suggestively.

She smiles and continues to tease my cock. It's starting to wake up again in a big way under her educated fingers. Righty right, Dr. Scully. I focus on my tattoo and flex my bicep a little just for fun. I'm met with a pursing of her lips and a gentle chuckle. Ok, so she's not overly impressed with the bicep bit. Then again maybe it's because she's so focused on other parts of my anatomy at the moment.

"What about you dragon slayer? What do you think about St. George now?" she asks in a low, seductive voice.

"St. George? Well, I think George has a hell of a lance, me lady. Want to see him tilt it again?" She dissolves in laughter. I catch her as we fall into each others arms.
-THE END OF THE WHOLE STORY-