Title: Go with the Flow (1/1) By: Kel ckelll@hotmail.com Rating: NC-17 Spoilers: Everything through "Existence." Season Nine never happened because Mulder didn't leave. Classification: MSR, "first time post-babyfic" Thanks to my beta, Nell, who filled in the cracks and potholes. If you get through the story without snapping an axle, that's because of Nell. Thanks to Tesla, for finding the correct text to the Hemingway quote. Summary: A fond farewell to Mulder's couch. Disclaimer: Finders keepers? Possession is nine tenths of the law? Squatter's rights? Damn. I guess they're not mine after all. My obstetrician said there was no reason I couldn't resume intercourse. *Resume* intercourse. The fact was I'd made love to Mulder so few times that I could count them. Mulder was ready to resume intercourse. I knew it and felt it, even though his demands were unspoken. In all his moves, I read an insistence for more contact. A quiet restrained desire. I welcomed the kisses, the squeezes, and the soft whispers. I craved Mulder's persistence and reassurance, all the while feeling flabby, sore, and fragile. I adored the cuddling and affection, but most of the time I was too tense and preoccupied to initiate. My body still stung and burned in places I couldn't inspect. I felt incompetent as a mother. Daily diaper disasters made for mountains of laundry. Normal baby stuff threw me into a panic. I was tired all the time. In short, intercourse was not high on my to-do list. When I was carrying William, with no right to hope for Mulder's return, I'd been full of brave notions about single parenthood. Now I was certain I could never have done it. The only reason William and I survived that first month was because of Mulder. I had no idea what I was doing. Every other woman in the world, from young teens to old ladies, could keep a baby safe and happy. Not me. William screamed when I bathed him. He screamed when I rocked him. He wailed when I gave him his vitamins, spraying horrible yellow fluid all over him and me. One exceptionally rugged morning, when I was simply trying to change him out of his stinky, vitamin-stained stretchy, the frustration overwhelmed me. William was an indignant tangle of limbs and Onesie, bawling his outrage, and I broke down and bawled right along with him. "He doesn't want me to change his shirt!" I sobbed as Mulder stepped in to take over. "Tough luck, little guy," he said sympathetically as he forced our son into a clean outfit. William was still crying, but his shirt was clean. Mulder was the quiet voice of reason. "All babies cry, Scully. You know that." If I met the challenges with anxiety and self-doubt, Mulder welcomed them with utter joy. He was fascinated by "babyshit." ("Hey, Scully, is this French's, Gulden's, or Grey Poupon?") My leaking breasts and stained blouses were "cute." He loved to trace my stretch marks with his fingers. He was sweet and dependable, and I loved him. Then one morning, completely out of the blue, I happened to glance over at him and realized... he was also incredibly hot. William was blessedly down for the count, and I was collapsed on the couch, sipping a cup of tea. I never drank hot liquids with the baby around, so this was a treat. Mulder was sitting on the opposite end of the couch with his bare feet up on the coffee table, unaware that I was watching him. He was on the phone, engaged in a lengthy conversation about something that seemed to please him. I noticed the way his jeans were more faded at the knees and crotch, and bluest right around the rivets. I observed the faded ridge of denim to the left of the zipper, and how his large hand rested casually between his legs. I noticed his long toes. He hung up the phone. "I found someone to sublet my apartment," he said happily, ignorant of my stolen glances. "I'll just run over and get the last of it cleared out." "I'll go with you," I offered impulsively. "I'll help." "What about the Conqueror?" he asked, nodding toward our sleeping infant. As much as motherhood was sapping the very life out of me, I hated leaving William with other people, as Mulder knew all too well.Monica Reyes, however, had all but begged me to let her baby-sit. Today seemed like a good day to take her up on it. I hope she wasn't offended when I asked John Doggett to be her back-up. = = = = = "Our first day off," Mulder said as he opened the car door for me. I had forgotten how simple it was for two people to go somewhere, if they weren't bringing along a baby. "Let's make the most of it," I said, trying not to giggle. Such a ladylike way of saying I wanted to jump his bones. He nodded enthusiastically. "How about Schoonmaker's for lunch?" he asked. He looked disappointed when I turned him down. My sweet, dependable Mulder didn't have a clue. The air in his apartment was dusty and stale when we opened the door. Some things never change. "There's nothing left except the towel closet and a few things in the kitchen. The Salvation Army will pick up the couch tomorrow." "They didn't want your towels, Mulder?" I teased. "Maybe we shouldn't take them either." "Very cute, Scully. We can use them for rags," Mulder said. "Handy for wiping all those nasty milk spatters off the furniture," he added, stealing a glance at my chest. My breasts weren't content to simply leak. They liked to squirt as well. "Feels funny to say good-bye to your couch," I said, suddenly nostalgic. I sat down on it for the last time. "It's a couch." He shrugged, but he sat down beside me. "It's different for you." I couldn't expect him to feel sentimental about his own furniture. "I suppose. Let's pack up the stuff and get going," he said. "No." "No?" he asked quizzically. "No." Rubbing his inner thigh through his jeans, I turned to kiss him. Before he knew what hit him, I had more or less climbed on top of him, essentially straddling him with my knees resting on the couch. His mouth settled into a lazy grin. "No's a good answer," he drawled. He shifted a little, pulling me onto his lap. One hand traveled up under my sweater, the other was on my ass, pulling me closer. I kicked off my shoes. I kissed him again, licking at his lips in delicate dabs. He licked and nipped back. Gently, tenderly. The contact felt electric as I rubbed against him. Unfortunately, I was all too conscious of the extra weight I still carried. "I don't want to crush you," I whispered. "Okay." Another kiss. "I'll crush you." He easily turned me onto my back and I felt a rush of excitement along with a small ripple of apprehension. Was it too soon? Would it hurt? Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Mulder unzipped my slacks--my fat, ugly slacks. I was splayed out on the couch in the middle of the day, with nowhere to hide. I needed sheets for camouflage, and the dark of night. I pulled him down, close to me, so I wouldn't have to worry about him looking at my stretch marks. Mulder nuzzled my throat, and then his mouth took a leisurely excursion to my earlobe. I arched my neck, sighing with contentment, and decided to worry about my gut tomorrow. It was a simple choice between pleasure and pain, and I decided that dwelling on my insecurity was a lot less fun than feeling good and making Mulder feel good. What I wanted more than anything, at that moment, was to rub his ass, but I just couldn't reach. Instead I stroked his back, with its lean, hard muscles. God, even his back was sexy. "You're so wet, Scully," he murmured. "God, I love that." "Mm," I agreed. His hands were way up north, under my sweater, but I was very aroused and he knew it. He laughed. "We're both wet." "Oh, damn it!" Our clothes were damp--no, saturated--with breast milk. I flung off my sweater, exasperated by the mishap. Mulder gazed at me dreamily until I pulled his shirt up and over his head. That broke his trance, and he busied himself peeling off my wet bra. "Set them free," he said huskily. My breasts were warm and heavy. I knew I should have pumped before we left. Suddenly, I felt a familiar tingling sensation. Letdown--the hormones were telling my breasts that it was feeding time. Unlike Old Faithful, my personal geysers were given to surprise performances. Completely still, Mulder hovered over me, positioned so the milk sprayed against his chest. As the shower of white slowed to a trickle, Mulder lowered his head towards my breasts, very slowly, all the while looking into my eyes. As those luscious lips moved closer and closer toward my breasts, I searched for a subtle way steer him away from my nipples. I knew he would be gentle, but they were tender and overworked. I wouldn't refuse him, but I hoped he had other plans. His head moved lower, his eyes never leaving mine. He tenderly kissed my breast, sticky with milk. Nothing more than a soft, almost weightless graze of his lips against the swell of my breast. And then he licked. He paused, head tilted like a cocker spaniel while he decided if he liked the taste, and then he licked again, another drop. "Sweet," he pronounced. "And salty." He licked circles around my nipples. "Salty?" I was surprised. "Saltier than I expected." His tongue and his voice made me wilt, but what excited me most was his presence, his strong, solid body over mine. I reached to unfasten his jeans, feeling his hard cock against my hand as the zipper slid open. His cock was warm to the touch even through the cotton boxers. I shoved the denim out of my way and reached underneath the elastic waistband of his shorts. Mulder's penis felt so familiar to me, more than it should have. For every time I'd stroked it or kissed it or gasped in wonder as it throbbed inside me, there were a thousand times more I had savored it in my mind. There had been so many years when I thought I could never have him, and so many months when I thought I would never have him again. My thumb caressed the underside, focusing on the frenulum. I remembered how that used to drive him crazy. "Scully . . . . please . . . . soon," Mulder gasped. Soon. Yes. I struggled to push down his jeans. "Help me with these," I begged. He growled as he jumped from the couch and shucked off his clothes, almost losing his balance as he pulled off the second sock. Then he grabbed my pants, hauling my butt up off the couch in his eagerness. "These... gotta... go!" For a moment I felt naked and exposed, but then Mulder was atop me, lowering his body, gently coaxing my thighs apart. "I want you so bad," he growled, warm against my neck. "I want you too, Mulder," I told him. Reaching down I grasped his penis, fingering that special spot again. His breathing quickened and my legs spread wider. He took his time when he entered me, murmuring about love and God and "oh, yeah." I felt a sting of protest as my body reminded me that not so long ago a very large baby had passed this way. Taking a deep breath, I let my knees relax, and that changed everything. Mulder adjusted to the new position smoothly, lowering himself onto his forearms. His chest rubbed against my breasts, and finally I could reach his ass. "I was afraid it would hurt," I whispered. "I know you were. I was too," he answered. "Feels good," I said. "You too?" "Oh, yeah. Feels good." It felt even better when he started to move. We were lined up perfectly for my pleasure. Mulder's skin against mine; his sculpted, muscular butt under my hands; and the friction, the pressure, exactly where I needed it. "You're going to come," Mulder whispered as if he was sharing a secret. "Don't stop," I gasped. "I won't stop," he promised. "Dana, kiss me when you come." I lingered on the brink for a few more strokes, and then I simply let go. I reached up, turning Mulder's head so I could kiss him, but even without my hands for guidance, his hips kept up the rhythm. I tumbled over the edge, but what I thought was the crescendo was only the prelude. I was shooting the rapids, and each time I thought my ride was over, the river took a bend and hurtled me through another rush of delight. I would have bellowed in ecstasy but my mouth was too busy communing with Mulder's. Eventually I became aware that I was naked, sticky, and pinned in place by a sticky, naked Mulder. He had moved aside as much as the narrow couch would permit, but a great portion of his weight rested on me. "Mulder?" He gave some sort of groan in reply. "Was it good for you?" I asked. Another groan, very similar to the first. "Mulder, how was it?" I really needed an answer, but my lover was starting to snore. "Hey, sleepyhead. Did you feel the earth move?" I persisted. "Fuckin' earthquake, Scully. Go to sleep." He pulled me closer and as I relaxed against his sticky chest, I wondered if we'd wake up glued together. = = = = = When I opened my eyes, the light through the window had faded to late afternoon and the shower was running. I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror before I joined Mulder in the shower. So that's what happiness looked like. Mulder kissed me and then he began to soap my back. "Thee," he said. "What?" I turned to him. "=But did thee feel the earth move?= Thee, not you." He grinned proudly, squinting at me through the spray. "Mulder, nobody likes a literary geek," I said. "Gimme that soap." We were very clean when we left the shower and reluctantly put on our clothes. Fortunately, as Mulder had pointed out, the apartment was all but cleared. I stuffed the linens into a pillowcase, he gave the couch a hasty wipe, and we were out the door. In the car, I pulled out my cell phone. "Going to check on William," I explained unnecessarily. "William who?" he deadpanned. It was Doggett who picked up the phone, grabbing it on the first ring. "When the hell are you coming back?" he demanded. "What's wrong?" I knew it couldn't be anything major or he would have called us, but I still felt goosebumps. "Nothing . . . I think. He was fine most of the day. He just about finished the bottle you left him. Took a little nap. Now all of a sudden he's screaming and kicking and making these crazy faces," Doggett said. "We'll be there soon," I promised. "Everything okay?" Mulder asked when I flipped the phone shut. "Everything's fine," I assured him. "In fact, I think you should slow down." He checked the speedometer, then peered at me through narrowed eyes. "Why is that?" he asked, perplexed. I should have felt guilty. "Because it sounds like William is working up to a monster-sized kaka," I said. "Oh. Well, really, Scully, we should . . . . " His voice trailed off. "The kind that comes squirting out the sides and up his back and under his--" "Exactly." He lightened his foot on the gas pedal. "Think they can handle it?" he asked doubtfully. "They're FBI agents, Mulder. They've been trained to deal with explosive devices." "That's true." I could see him wrestling with his conscience, and I was rooting for the little devil. "Scully," he said at last, "want to stop for ice cream?" end "Go with the Flow," by Kel Feedback of any kind would make me very happy. ckelll@hotmail.com