TITLE: Indefinite Article
AUTHOR: Anne Hedonia
RATING: NC-17. Smut times ten. Hide the kiddies (or, if you're so inspired,
*start* some.)
CLASSIFICATION: S
KEYWORDS: DSR, Doggett/Scully Relationship, Smut, PWP, Mind Candy
SPOILERS: None
ARCHIVE: Go for it. Just tell me where.
DISCLAIMERS: Don't own 'em. They do give me a reason to get up in the
morning though, so I humbly ask the powers that be to continue to let me
play with them (and by extension, them with each other) on my profit-free
pages.

FEEDBACK: rocks. ahedonia@yahoo.com
WEBSITE: http://annehedonia.populli.net

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story came from the title, which came in turn came from
me thinking about the fact that, in the English language, that's what my
first name is. (Meaning that "Anne" sounds exactly like "an" -- in grammar,
an "indefinite article". Reminds me of that movie "Johnny Dangerously": "Did
you know your last name's an adverb?") Then I liked that phrase's possible
multiple meanings - an "indefinite article" = an object that raises
questions?

I don't know exactly when this occurs, but Doggett and Scully are there and
Mulder's not. Also, on the topic of movies: you ever watch the movie
"Vertigo"? It's really unnerving to watch usually sweet, normal Jimmy
Stewart go to this place where he's fetishy and obsessed. But on the other
hand, it's also believable as another side of him.  Even Juh-juh-juh-Jimmy
had testosterone, and undoubtedly needs and wants that we wouldn't associate
with him.

With that in mind, consider this Doggett's "Vertigo".

--------------------

He had only been looking for the scissors. Really.

Scully had been out of the office on an errand, and Doggett had needed the
one pair of scissors they shared. She'd had them last. When he hadn't found
them in that top flat middle drawer of her desk, where scissors
traditionally lurk, he'd progressed to the lower drawers. In the second one
down on the left-hand side, he'd come across a small brown bag with a
discreet but definitely sexualized logo on it - a suggestive tangle of arms
and legs. He recognized it - it matched the one on a sign, the sign outside
a local "adult novelties" shop. A shop he was too polite to tell women he
visited.

He was only human.

After a moment's hesitation - and a lot of kicking himself for even
considering such a move - he peeked into the bag. His mouth dropped slightly
open. He took the bag out of the drawer and drew what he found halfway out
of it, with careful hands and disbelieving eyes.

Scully had purchased a bottle of Astroglide.

His discovery produced two immediate reactions: first, a numbing wave of
shock and hot dread. Second, a kind of agitated arousal.

Doggett was a grown-up.  He'd had his fair share of sex for a man his age,
maybe a little more. He was definitely familiar with the logistics. He
wasn't a pimple-faced teenager enthralled with his dad's stash of Playboys,
and the item in front of him wasn't that unfamiliar or provocative, on its
own.

But what it hinted at felt like it would be his undoing.

Just then he heard what had to be, specifically, the worst possible sound
for his current situation:

"Agent Doggett?"

Doggett startled like a high-strung Chihuahua, a fact he had the presence of
mind to hate once he'd realized it. As his heart raced triple-time, he
looked up and saw Scully standing in the doorway, her eyes first focused
like lasers on the object in his hands, then on his face. She didn't look
exactly furious, but she also wasn't what you'd call unconcerned.

Doggett put the bag back as quickly as he knew how, shut the drawer a little
too loudly. "Ah...Agent Scully...I'm...very sorry." He saw little else to do
but face the music. "I shouldn't have been snoopin'," he declared honestly.
"I was just tryin' to find the scissors."

It seemed only a few strides before she was next to him, leaning close in
front of him to open the first drawer on the right-hand side, where he
hadn't looked yet. She reached in and handed him the heavy government-issue
metal shears.

"Thanks," he muttered.

He stood there almost helplessly as she then bent to re-open the dreaded
left-hand-second-from-the-top drawer. He couldn't seem to will himself to
move as she pulled out the little bag again and put it in her purse. She
closed the purse and met his eyes with a grim little smile. Doggett smiled
weakly back. Christ...what was that he'd just thought about *not* being a
pimple-faced teenager?

"I'm going to lunch," Scully said simply.

Doggett knew she was not doing so in a huff, but her tone left little doubt
that she wanted to do so alone.  He watched the sway of her smartly-tailored
clothes as she swept out of the room. He still hadn't moved.

Fuck.

FUCK.

Doggett made it to his chair and sank down with a disgusted sigh, leaning
back and pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes.  Why the hell had that
just happened? Didn't he know better? What was going through his head to
make him invade the space of *the* most private woman he had ever met?

He removed his hands from his eyes and let them fall to the armrests of his
chair. Despite his acute embarrassment, at the back of the mind he knew it
was only a fraction of his current problem.

He stood up and yanked his coat off the rack, deciding to go take a lunch
himself. Perhaps a liquid one.

******

When Scully came back from lunch, she of course acted as if nothing had
happened. Doggett tried to follow her example.

He was busy trying to sound patient to some nutcase on the phone - some
woman calling him about a possible "case" - when the second incident
happened, the second event that seemed tailor-made to unbalance him. He had
been listening to this woman drone on about her belief that she was
reincarnation of Amelia Earhart. She wanted the X-Files division to
investigate her claim and authenticate it, so that she could come forward
and tell her story and solve the mystery once and for all. The only evidence
she seemed to have to back up said claim was that she was afraid of flying.
Doggett squeezed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, fighting the urge
to tell the woman to *really* make like Ms. Earhart and get lost.

He had finally looked over at Scully, hoping for a little salvation, when
she'd done it. She too was on the phone, but when she saw him looking at
her, she'd given a quick embarrassed smile and turned away. He was ashamed
to find his ears ignoring his own phone conversation and straining to pick
up on hers. But he couldn't make anything out -- she was speaking much lower
than usual, even holding her hand over the mouthpiece. Doggett's stomach
disappeared for the second time that day. Now what was *this* about?

He found a way off the phone with Amelia, just as Scully ended her call. She
was smiling faintly to herself as shut off her computer, rose and reached
for her coat. Doggett glanced at the clock: 4:25 pm.

"You outta here, Agent Scully?" He sounded reasonably casual to his own
ears.

Scully seemed startled by his question - she looked a little guilty, like
he'd reminded her of homework she hadn't done.  "Oh, I'm sorry Agent
Doggett...would you mind if I clocked out a little early? It wouldn't leave
you with too much to do, would it?"

Doggett shook his head.  At that very moment, he couldn't have listed what
was left to do in the office if he had a gun to his head. He was too focused
on retrieving a certain tidbit of information from Scully, and making it
look casual, and the possibility of managing that feat.  He smiled in a way
he hoped was friendly, non-stalker-like. "Big plans?"

That smile from a moment ago was back on Scully's face, playing with the
corners of her mouth and making her eyes wistful. "No, just...little ones
that seem big." She offered nothing else, but brought the smile to him
directly, and for a moment he would have sworn he could feel it from head to
toe. "How about you?"

"Me? Nah." Doggett could really only see six things in his future for
tonight, neatly attached with one of those clear plastic ring holders -- or
maybe it was a 12-pack kinda evening. "Nothin' special goin' on for me. I
can pick up whatever's left to do around here."

Scully's smile turned thankful, and she moved toward the door. "Sorry to
rush out, but I've really got to go now if I want to beat the traff--"

Doggett was already waving her on, the dutiful friend with no attachments on
his officemate's free time. "Go, go..."

She thanked him again with her eyes and was gone, unknowingly taking
Doggett's concentration and peace of mind along with her.

******

That night proved to be a long one.

He lay in bed sprawled on his back, catching his breath, the sheet pushed
down. After laying there for over an hour, totally unable to sleep, he had
rolled over in near desperation and jerked himself to a fast, ruthless
orgasm. This was his second time doing so. He was actually considering a
third. Fucking hell.

He sighed and grabbed some tissues from the nightstand. His mind was
rioting, trying to put the pieces together, to reassure himself. If Scully
had bought that bottle, then it meant she had a use for it. If she had a use
for it, then that added up to...someone else. There was a hollow ache at the
back of his throat at the idea that she could have taken a lover of some
sort, without him ever suspecting. It didn't add up to what he'd seen of
her. She'd let out no clues that such a thing was going on, hadn't seemed to
be busy on nights or weekends -- except tonight, he thought with a twinge of
panic. But then again, tonight had been unusual - she had otherwise taken no
time off of their cases.

Not that it was any of his business, he berated himself, except...

...except, God dammit, what about him?

It sounded so pathetic to his mind, but something in his heart protested
that it was valid. Yes, he knew that one wasn't supposed to go around
shacking up with one's partner. Yes, he realized Scully - of all people -
could easily be gun-shy about such a thing. But in the months since Mulder
had left her - with nothing but a note and a bullshit explanation - her
ordeal had pulled them closer. He'd been there while she wept, and sat up
late with her while she talked it out, going over the details exhaustively,
as though she could make sense out of someone else's obsession and
cowardice.

He had become awfully proud of the fact that she had started a tradition of
calling him before she went to bed. She had done so without any prodding on
his part, first to talk about her pain, but then eventually...just to talk.
Their conversations didn't occur every night, or even every other night.
Doggett wished they'd happen more often, but he never pushed. He just
enjoyed what the talks were when she did reach out: a sleepy, silly way to
end the day, the joshing of good friends, grateful to have made each others'
company.

He had been starting to see that her shields were lowered, and that perhaps
her heart was on the mend, but...he hadn't really seen evidence that she was
ready for anyone else. It didn't seem time yet. If he'd thought she was
ready for such a thing, he'd definitely have made a move. Could his
instincts really have been so off-base?

When had this other thing started, if it had? He hoped to God it hadn't,
because if it had, it meant she was even further out of his reach than she
was when he'd first arrived. When he'd first met her, she couldn't be his
because someone else had already laid claim to her heart. If she was with
someone else now, it meant she'd recovered and made a new choice, this time
with him around...and he still hadn't been the man she'd wanted.

Still another idea tumbled over and over again through his mind -- the idea
that he had seen the first tangible evidence of her sexuality, a side of her
that had only existed in his very active imagination since the time he'd met
her. Yes, when he met her she had been pregnant, and he knew how babies got
made...although in the world of the X-Files even that was suspect. But by
the time he knew about it, the fact of her pregnancy just seemed to make her
even more saintly and untouchable. It didn't show him anything about her
wants, her desires...things that gave her pleasure.

Doggett blew out a gust of air to try and steady himself.  He was jumping to
a lot of conclusions. He didn't know anything.

Which was exactly the problem.

He grimaced and rolled over on his stomach to keep from reaching for himself
again. If he kept up at this rate, he was gonna pull the damn thing off.

*******

Doggett glanced down at the trip odometer, noting with an almost silent sigh
that they still had 80 miles to go. 80 miles meant one hour and 20 minutes
more of sitting, in the car, with a beautiful creature next to him radiating
untouchable womanly glory while he felt like an eighth-grader who rode the
short bus and didn't know he had rutabaga in his teeth.

It was true, he could sense Scully next to him with every inch of his body,
but had long since given up the idea of looking at her. The last time he'd
tried it he'd noted the healthy glow in her cheeks, the bright apology of
her smile, and hadn't been able to decipher what she was offering amends
for.  Or what she was glowing about - all the possibilities in his head kept
falling away in favor of the one he dreaded.  Better to not even go there,
better to just let her think he was a typical monosyllabic male who couldn't
form a sentence about anything other than cars or beer or what team kicked
what other team's metaphorical ass recently.

There was no way on God's green earth he could ask about what she did last
night.

Unless he could?

It *could* be seen as perfectly appropriate, a co-worker asking casually
about his partner's after work activities, just offering to listen to a few
stories about what happened in her off time.

Except he knew he wasn't asking casually, and he wouldn't be satisfied with
casual-question answers.  He wanted names, locations, addresses, social
security numbers if available.  He wanted to know who and what and how many
times and in what positions...wait, he wasn't sure he could handle knowing
that.  But was *not* knowing less deadly or more?

And God help him if the conversation led her to ask what *his* last night's
activities were.  He winced, remembering the workout he'd given himself. As
if that weren't enough, it had happened again in the shower this morning. He
was off his hinges, over one little bottle.

"I wanted to thank you again, Agent Doggett."

Houston, we have conversation.  Mayday, mayday...

"Thank me for what, Agent Scully?" Holy shit!  Mouth successfully engaged.
Praise God.

"For taking up whatever slack there was last night after I left.  I hope you
didn't stay too late working."

Doggett's brain raced to no destination whatsoever.  "Uh...no, that's not
what I did."

He could feel Scully waiting for more, then nodding when none was
forthcoming.  Doggett, feeling brave and crazy, chanced a look at her.  When
his eyes came to rest on hers, a whole world opened up in her clear,
searching, mildly bewildered gaze.  Her lips were slightly parted, waiting.
He shut down, he couldn't help it.  He nodded.  He looked back at the road.

He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard Scully sigh.

He looked down.  78 miles to go.

Christ.

*******

Doggett never would have expected there'd be a day when he'd be grateful for
hardened, dirt-bag federal prisoners, but here it was.

The interviews he and Scully had to conduct that day gave him a place to
focus, a handy target for venting his tensions, a place to feel useful,
strong, effective.  A certain Matthew Allen Potter - currently doing 20 for
armed robbery - was proving especially cooperative in serving Doggett's
therapeutic needs, which meant he was being especially uncooperative
otherwise.

Doggett slammed Potter back into his chair for the hundredth time that
interview and watched Scully resume her questioning with calm, admirable
professionalism, coolly unruffled by the violent offender before her.

Doggett wished it didn't turn him on so much.

He chanced a cautious glance her way, looking at her back.  His eye traced
the line of her suit down her small ribcage, the slim indentation of her
waist, the achingly feminine flare of her hip...her ass. He watched her
smooth, perfect hands flip through the pages of the case report.  His brain
wandered to other things those hands could possibly do, other
things...people...they could possibly have touched, skills they could have,
feelings they could provoke...every inch of his skin felt on fire, and his
heart felt leaden.

Fuck.  Potter had better misbehave again soon.

The torture of looking at her didn't let up until they were leaving,
escorted by two guards down a long hallway toward the front gates.  Doggett
was still feeling protective, but felt momentarily drugged watching the
swing of her hair, the curve of her calves, the arch of her feet in her high
heels.  Unfortunately, the spell continued just a moment too long as they
moved through a door and out into an area with two floors of cells lining
either side.

As the usual hooting and hollering dialed up, he looked off to the left to
see that he'd been snagged - one small, wiry brown convict on the first
floor had seen Doggett's traveling glances, and was grinning like a fucking
Cheshire cat with the knowledge.

Before Doggett could do anything, the convict's attention moved with
lightning speed to Scully.  "Hey Red!" he crowed. He grabbed his crotch with
glee.  "How 'bout you suck me off?  No charge!"

Before logic could become anywhere near involved, Doggett's ire was in full
flare and he was throwing himself at the convict's cell.  The man jumped
back with easy delight as Doggett thrust an arm through the bars and grabbed
impotently at Scully's would-be tormentor.  A roar of laughter erupted from
the assembled population, echoing against the walls and ringing in Doggett's
ears.

He could only guess about this, but Doggett thought he felt like a man
waking up from an epileptic fit, suddenly finding himself in a position he
didn't remember getting into and would never have chosen consciously.  He
retracted his arm and smoothed his suit, turning red-faced to look at Scully
and the guards.  The shorter guard looked a little puzzled and maybe
sympathetic, but the taller one's smile was shit-eating. "Get 'em, tiger!"
he enthused cruelly.  He guided a bewildered, worried-looking Scully on
toward their destination.

Doggett was no longer grateful for cons.

*******

Of course Scully was the one to bring sense into the matter.  Doggett's
abrupt emotional constipation was showing no signs of budging.

It happened when Doggett was dropping her off at her apartment that
evening - he'd picked her up in the FBI sedan that morning - sitting in yet
another uncomfortable silence.  Even Doggett was starting to feel this ban
on talking was ridiculous, but could seemingly enact no other possible plan.

She'd been reaching for the door handle when she'd suddenly abandoned the
move and turned to him in mild exasperation.  "Agent Doggett...are you still
concerned about what you found in my drawer?"

There, it was out there. Doggett felt a rush of relief, a swell of honor
that she'd discuss it with him, a warm flare of arousal and a cold clench of
fear of her answer.  He wondered if he'd have to see a doctor.

"Uh, yeah..." he admitted. "I guess so." He risked a glance at her -- her
eyebrow prompted him to continue.

Doggett fought for a way to express what he felt without giving away too
much of the spin he'd been in.  "I guess that...what I found just made me
wonder if maybe you were seein' somebody, and uh...hadn't told me about it."
For safety, he added: "It made me wonder *why* you wouldn't tell me about
it." He swallowed hard, hoping she wouldn't see.

Scully's eyes softened.  Doggett wondered what she was thinking - maybe of
their late night conversations, and what a breach of trust such an omission
would be. If so, she didn't voice it.  She asked simply "When would I have
time to see someone?"

"I dunno, I thought that, too, but then yesterday with that one phone call
at the end of the day, and you clockin' out early..." He let the thought
fade out.

Scully nodded sagely, her lips pressed tight as though to keep out both
amusement and annoyance at his intrusion. "Well, I must admit," she said
finally. "That call did involve a date."

Doggett felt like his stomach was being ripped out through his nose. He
fought like a sonofabitch not to show it. "Yeah?"

A gentle smile lit her face as she looked at him. "A date my mother went on.
She went out with a man friend of hers from church. She hadn't gone on a
date in so long she was a mess. She swore she didn't remember what to do. I
went over to calm her down, and help her pick out what to wear."

Doggett blinked, fighting to return his heartbeat to normal. All he could
say was "Oh."

Scully looked down at the car seat. "I'm not seeing anyone, Agent Doggett."

Doggett was relieved, yet unsure. "Okay," he nodded. He was afraid to press
further, but shit - he had to get this whole thing cleared up, for the sake
of his sanity, and didn't know when he'd have another opportunity. "So is it
a bachelorette party gift or somethin'? And if it is, why didn't you just
say so?"

Scully looked at him in surprise, as though realizing for the first time
that the male sex didn't have a clue. Then her look softened, as though
she'd come to the gentle conclusion that no, of course it didn't. Doggett
didn't know why this still surprised women. Her conclusion was something
he'd been aware of for a long time.

She gave a little groan of protest, of frustration and embarrassment.
"Arrrrgh, Doggett..." She chuckled, and he did, too, waiting. She was silent
for a moment, looking out the window, half-mortified but smiling faintly.
After what seemed an eternity, she spoke softly.

"You can use it by yourself, you know."

Doggett felt the news hit his system like the second bomb in 48 hours. His
head immediately flooded with images, and arousal shot through his limbs and
washed hot and tingling through his groin. The mental pictures of her - legs
spread, fingers probing, head lolled and face contorted - oh, *God*. He had
to bite back a moan. His dick was granite almost immediately -he was
fiercely grateful that the fall of his jacket hid the evidence. And Jesus -
the idea of a woman actually going out and *buying* such a product to help
her do it - a woman so horny that she wanted to make her own fingers - and
whatever else - feel as good as possible...Christ.

She misinterpreted his silence, made a small joke. "What's the matter, John,
are you shocked?"

"Ummm..." he said slowly, "...no." He thought if he moved even an inch he'd
come in his pants. These reactions were ridiculous, totally unprecedented
for him. He had no idea how to control them, and yet he didn't want to.  She
had no idea what she was doing to him, what she had been doing to him since
yesterday. She had no fucking idea.

He had to get himself together. He tried to pry his mind free of his
thoughts, but they were like heroin. He stared at the steering wheel. He had
to fight to keep himself from staring at her, touching her, grabbing her.

But at the same time that these thoughts were enflaming him, they were also
causing him a choking sadness. She was so beautiful...the idea of her alone
was just...a waste. He found himself turning to her before he even knew what
he was doing, and speaking in a voice so husky it gave everything away.

"What I don't get is...why would you *have* to use it alone?"

It was, on a certain level, an idiotic question, he knew. If masturbation
were truly a sign that someone was an un-dateable loser, it would mean the
world was populated with nothing but. But somehow it was the only thing he
wanted to know.

Her face became blank with surprise again, almost alarmedly so, and Doggett
thought for a terrible second that he'd gone too far. But then her look
changed, melting into a kind of realization, an understanding, and - to
Doggett's charged disbelief - arousal.  He watched, hypnotized, as her eyes
darkened with the slight dilation of her pupils, as her lips parted a
tantalizing distance, her tongue reaching out to moisten them gently.

"Well," she began, "the last man I really wanted took seven years to make a
move.  He kept saying he wanted to protect me. You..." She raised her eyes
to look at him, but just her eyes, her face capturing that Lauren Bacall
tilt.  Doggett's breath caught tight in his chest. "...are even more
protective than he was." The moment suddenly weighed more than his truck. "I
guess I was just gearing up for more of the same."

Doggett could not make his lungs work. And Scully could not possibly mean
what he thought she did.

His eyes bore into hers.

She did.

HolymotherofJesusfuckingGod.

It was several seconds later when Doggett thought to wonder if he'd hurt her
when he'd grabbed her head with both hands, pulled her feverishly to him and
kissed her.  If he had, she was showing no sign of it - her mouth was
plundering his more avidly than he'd ever dared dream.  Doggett moaned as
her hands slipped around his neck, into his hair, and pulled him as close as
the bucket seats would allow. They were making out like teenagers, he
thought, then dizzily revised his assessment as her lips grazed his with a
finesse that lit him on fire: teenagers who knew what they were doing.

A few moments later they broke apart to gasp.  Doggett could not believe the
keen, hungry way Scully's eyes searched his face - he thought his fantasies
were the only place she'd ever look at him like that.

There were so many things to get out of his mind and off his heart now that
he'd been granted this permission.  But for some reason, one particular item
on his agenda came out first. "I wanna watch you," he said urgently, his
voice a breathless growl.

Scully gazed at him a moment, then rewarded Doggett with a slow,
understanding nod, and a sly smile.

Doggett could not get upstairs fast enough.

It seemed an eternity before they were finally in the darkness of her room,
when he could pull Scully to him again, his mouth meeting hers as though he
needed its contact to breathe.  Scully obliged him for a moment, her hands
roaming the span of his back, then pulled away and moved to her dresser,
taking off her watch and earrings and laying them there. Soon she was going
about her other business without so much as a glance at him, as if he wasn't
even present.

Doggett chuckled softly, confused, and moved to touch her again, but she
stopped him with a gentle hand on his chest. "You want to see how I use it?"

Doggett nodded, bewildered.

She pushed him back easily toward a chair in the corner.  "Then watch."

She turned away from him and began casually unbuttoning her blouse.
Suddenly it was obvious what game she was playing, and Doggett felt fiercely
excited and pleased at her creativity. If he wanted to watch how she used
her little illicit product, she was going to show him...as if she was alone.
Doggett meant to settle into the chair and his new fly-on-the-wall role, but
found himself perching on the seat's edge instead.

He watched keenly as each new inch of ivory skin was revealed, his fingers
twitching with the urge to touch her, to grab her and run his lips and
tongue over every inch of her.  He reached for himself absently as her bra
fell away, revealing her soft breasts and pink nipples.  By the time she was
totally bare he was rubbing his cock slowly through his pants, his eyes
glazed and heavy-lidded.

She pulled back the bedcovers and laid down languidly on top of the sheets,
rubbing her eyes a bit then stretching her arms back over her head. At the
sight of her small, elegant body stretched out in front of him, her pale
skin glowing in the ambient light drifting in her window, Doggett moaned
softly.

"Dana..." he croaked.

Scully broke the charade for just a second to give him a mischievous,
scolding smirk, telling him to behave.  Doggett grinned back resignedly and
sighed, slipping a hand inside his pants to grip himself tightly as he
leaned back farther in the chair.

She relaxed for an extended moment and then sighed, as though she wanted to
sleep but found it was just not an option.  She rolled over to open the
drawer of her nightstand, and from it removed the recent bane of Doggett's
existence, that amazingly powerful bottle of Astroglide...and a sleek silver
vibrator.  She opened the bottle and poured some onto her fingers.

Doggett quickly kicked off his shoes and peeled out of his trousers, unable
to stand the confinement as he watched Scully's legs drift open and her
fingers descend between them.  The chair afforded him an unrestricted view
of her pink lips as she applied the clear, slippery fluid, sighing with the
apparently pleasant sensation.  His hand dipped back inside his boxers to
pump himself, hard.

She ran her middle finger gracefully upward from the top of her opening to
circle lazily around her clit, then flicked slowly back and forth.  Her hips
undulated with growing impatience, and Doggett's breath hitched sharply as
he saw her push two fingers inside herself.  Her breath soon came faster as
she rubbed an unseen spot.  Doggett was taking avid notes about exactly
where that spot was.

She kept it up, alternating between inside and out, until she could
evidently take it no longer.  A twist of her wrist later and a soft buzzing
noise was heard.

Doggett watched the way the sleek plastic danced along the apex of her sex
as she toyed with herself, just teasing.  When she finally touched it to
herself in earnest, a fierce gasp ripped from her and she writhed, her neck
arching as her head pushed back into the pillow.  Doggett felt his own
mammoth jolt of arousal at the sight of it.

Soon her eyes - when she was able to keep them open - met his and never left
them. They said  "I'm doing this for you. I'm doing this in spite of you. I
need this. Nothing would keep me from it. But I want you - just you - to
watch."  Doggett had to fight to keep his own eyes from closing as his fist
jerked furiously up and down his shaft.  He didn't want to come yet, he
hoped he wouldn't let himself...but it was just so damned much...

But then, a moment later when Scully was at a fevered pitch -- using her
fingers on her clit and plunging the vibrator repeatedly into herself --
everything changed.

She pushed back her head and moaned his name.

There was no earthly way to hold himself back any longer.

He threw himself up from the chair and at her and knelt at the altar of her
spread legs, replacing the vibrator with his own fingers inside her and
rubbing firmly against the top of her walls. She cried out instantly, her
whole body jerking.  He reached up to paw her breasts, pumped his fingers
into her, pulled back to stare unabashedly at her pussy. He'd never felt
like such a caveman in his existence. And in this instance, he knew he didn'
t need to be ashamed of it. She was letting him be that, letting him glory
in it.

He had to taste her. The Astroglide was sweet, cold and artificial, but
beneath and mixed with it was the taste of sex, animal and warm. He could
taste both separately and together. The dichotomy in his head was soon
drowned out by the feel of her body writhing and bucking against him, by the
sound of her escalating moans.  She was close, he could tell, she was so
close, oh God she was there, grabbing his head and crying out his name in a
wild, hoarse voice that thrilled him to his bones.

Her body finally stilled, and he sat back and lay his cheek against the
inside of her thigh, resting as she panted, feeling his cock throbbing. He
didn't get to rest long before she was tugging on his arms, hauling him up
her body to grace him with the most gloriously satisfied smirk he'd ever
seen. "What," she breathed happily, her eyes heavy and sated, "have you been
*waiting* for?"

Doggett didn't know. He could only offer her his goofy, crooked grin, and
the joy in his own eyes as explanation.

Scully soon let *him* know, however, that this was no time to be resting on
his previous accomplishments.  He had kissing to do, clothing to lose, skin
to feel gliding along the length of his own...

...a woman he loved to lose himself in.

And then she was surrounding him, squeezing so sweetly and there was nothing
else in the world but her. Nothing but her urgent moans and her gripping
hands and her legs on his back and the pulse of her heart and her breath and
the two of them. It was falling into her over and over, feeling her catch
him and the surge of heat and pleasure that produced, the smell of her as he
leaned close into her neck and the tickle of her hair on his face and the
thrill of her cries for the second time and starting to pound and losing his
rhythm as his body spasmed and oh, God, oh God ohGodohGodohGod.

*******

Finally, he remembered what calm felt like.

He briefly wondered if he'd ever actually *known* what it felt like, as he
compared his previous experiences to the boneless peace he felt now.

He was wrapped in her naked body, feeling her breasts pressed against him
and her smooth legs and arms twined in his.  He smiled in soft bliss as he
wondered if it was possible to spend his days like this, wearing her around
like a coat.

He felt like verifying something, using his giddy new access to her.  "Hey,"
he said softly, "did you really used to think about me when you used that
stuff before?"

She raised her head from his chest to give him a look that was decidedly
femme fatale, drifting her face close.  "What did it feel like?" she purred
wickedly. Doggett grinned like a schoolkid, but now it was the better kind,
the eighth-grader who'd somehow won the heart and body of the high school
head cheerleader, to everyone else's amazement.

She laid her head back down, and he wondered how he'd ever contain this much
happiness. "God, Dana," he sighed. "What you do to me."

"Not yet," she teased.

"Hey." That gave him an idea. "That's an awfully little bottle. We may have
to go back to that place where you got it and get another one.  And then,
maybe we'll have to see what else they got..."

"Maybe?" she inquired. "What's all this 'maybe'?"

Doggett closed his eyes and thanked the day he went looking for the
scissors.

*******

End!