TITLE: Work of Art: Interlude (1/1)
AUTHOR: Evielouise
EMAIL ADDRESS: evielouise@hotmail.com
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: I'd be honored. I'd
appreciate a note, but it's not necessary.
SPOILER WARNINGS: none
RATING: NC-17 (So what else is new?)
FEEDBACK: Email me, and spontaneous happy dancing
will ensue. I swear.
CLASSIFICATION: MSR
KEYWORDS: First Person (Mulder) POV
CONTENT WARNING: Smut, fluff, and sap ahoy!
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Mulder, Scully, or their sex
lives. I just like to think I do.
SUMMARY: Scully poses au natural for Mulder's latest
sketch.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is a fill-in-the-smut piece for
a wonderfully sweet and suggestive little series of
vignettes written by Jemirah, who managed to
completely capture my overactive imagination with her
story of Mulder as smitten artiste. Her fics are
"Work of Art", "Another Work of Art", and "My Work of
Art" and they may all be found at Ephemeral or
https://www.angelfire.com/ms2/XFGoddess/j.html
My fic fits nicely between the second and third of
Jemirah's stories. I am indebted to her for writing
such a lovely series and getting my creative juices
flowing again.
MANY THANKS go to Jemirah for her excellent and
thorough beta reading, and to Andrea, Sista' A,
Kimpa, Amy, and Sisters Teresa, Linda, Tracy, Tess,
Shell, and Foxsong down at the SisterSpooky Convent
of the Not-So-Immaculate Conception for yet another
read-through to satisfy my anal perfectionist
mentality. See here, I'm finally posting! Ya'
happy?!
*********************
"Work of Art: Interlude"
Scully sits on my bed holding the drawings of her
that I have kept secret for so long. For eight years
to be exact. I am still afraid that I have offended
her by choosing to draw her in this intimate manner,
in the nude.
Loosening my tie that has suddenly become way too
constricting, I shrug off my jacket, throwing it over
the back of a nearby chair. I am watching Scully
closely, apprehensively, all the while.
Then she says to me quietly, "You are very talented,
Mulder." I am speechless for the nth time today.
"Maybe someday you'll let me pose like this for you."
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end and my
eyes widen in shock. Did she say what I think she
just said? I can feel my mouth working
ineffectively, and my mind whirls as I search for
something halfway intelligent to say. How do I
respond to an offer like that?
"When?" I practically gasp. Did that sound as
desperate as I think it did? I hope not.
Scully tears her eyes from my drawings to look at me
curiously, cautiously. Am I moving too fast for her?
Did she really mean what she just said?
"I don't know, Mulder…" she stammers a bit. She
seems caught off guard. Is she nervous as well?
"Maybe…sometime when…"
"How about now?" I say breathlessly.
Did I just say that? I can't believe I just said
that. I am probably moving way too fast for Scully.
She definitely looks nervous now. But then she gazes
down at the sketches in her lap for a moment,
thoughtfully tracing the softly curving lines of the
topmost one with a manicured fingertip. Taking a
deep breath, she looks me in the eye and says
quietly, "Alright, Mulder."
My brain has ceased to function at her response, so I
simply back towards the door of the bedroom
awkwardly, my hands shoved in my pants pockets,
watching as she lays the sketchpad on the bed and
slips her jacket from her shoulders. This simple
action tugs at my heart and makes my mouth go dry at
the same time.
I finally croak out as I sidle through the door,
"I'll just…go in here…give you some privacy."
Privacy. How ironic, I contemplate. Scully is about
to bare all to me and I'm worried about giving her
privacy while she undresses.
I busy myself to help calm my nerves, gathering
various graphite and charcoal pencils plus the
largest sketchpad I can find. It doesn't work. At
calming my nerves, that is. A colony of butterflies
has taken up permanent residence in the pit of my
stomach. I sit gripping the arms of an easy chair
and wait anxiously, my leg jiggling a steady rhythm
to the pounding of my heart.
Just then I hear the snick of a door opening, and
Scully emerges from my bedroom, wearing only my gray
FBI Academy t-shirt. She must've found it where I'd
left it thrown carelessly in a heap this morning
after dressing for work. My eyes are drawn to the
shapely thighs and calves revealed beneath it, and I
restlessly roll up my sleeves.
She won't look me in the eye just yet. Gazing
instead somewhere in the vicinity of the top button
of my shirt, she asks quietly, "Where do you want
me?"
Loaded question. "Ah, uh…" My hands rake through my
hair as I cast about for someplace suitable to pose
my beautiful, naked partner, the object of my
obsession for eight fairly torturous years.
She begins to walk toward the fish tank as I debate
in my mind the perfect spot, and I watch her as she
appears to examine the small, whimsical spaceship
that bobs up and down in the water. Suddenly, Scully
takes a deep breath, her arms cross in front her and
she pulls the shirt over her head.
I am grateful that her back is turned to me so that I
may compose myself suitably before she sees my
expression. I silently gasp at what she reveals to
me in one fell swoop, all creamy white skin and soft
curves, plus a small circular tattoo riding low on
her back. Feeling like an awkward schoolboy, I stare
achingly at her ethereal beauty.
"Well, Mulder?" she questions again, and I can see
her breath is coming a little more quickly. She
can't possibly be affected by this as much as I am.
"The couch," I manage to say. I want to see that
pale skin of hers contrasted against the black
leather. "Lie on your stomach, Scully." My fingers
twitch, and I think if I don't get to sketch her
deliciously rounded little bottom soon, I'm going to
explode.
She crawls onto the couch and curls her arms around
one plump pillow. It's all I can do not to cry or
burst into undignified giggles or simply stare open-
mouthed at the vision of loveliness that is my
partner lying innocent and exposed before me. Her
obvious trust in my discretion makes my chest ache,
but at the same time, all this Scully skin laid
completely bare is making other parts of me ache as
well.
My hands long to skim over her alabaster skin, but I
don't dare. My voice comes out in a hoarse whisper.
"Scully, bend your knee just a little…" I puff out a
breath as I watch her slim legs slide obligingly into
place, her torso sinuously shifting and pressing her
firm breasts into the leather beneath her. I clear
my throat with an effort. "Yeah, perfect."
My face is burning with anticipation and something
else I don't want to think about right now, and I can
hardly wait to start, but something is not yet right.
Her hair is falling in her lovely face. I think she
may be purposely hiding her expression that way, but
I am determined to see Scully's face.
I stand up and walk over to the couch, hesitantly
reaching down to smooth the golden red strands back.
Then I can see her cheeks are flushed pink, and I am
relieved to not be the only one in this room so
strongly affected by what is taking place. My hand
accidentally brushes her glowing cheek as I comb
through her hair with my fingers, and that single
touch is so electric that my knees become weak, and
I'm afraid I'll embarrass myself by collapsing on the
floor.
"Are you alright, Mulder?" she asks with gentle
concern.
"Yeah, Scully, I'm fine," I recover with some
difficulty. Just great, Scully... We're hanging out
at my apartment on a not-so-typical Tuesday
afternoon, and, oh, by the way, you're not wearing a
stitch of clothing! The world is a wonderful place!
My heart pounds even harder just looking at that
smooth expanse of skin revealed to my hungry eyes,
and briefly I hope I don't have a coronary and ruin
everything. I doubt I'll ever have this opportunity
again.
Sitting once again, I eagerly begin to work. It's a
heady feeling being given free license to gaze at
Scully's naked body for an extended period of time.
I'm actually feeling a bit dizzy, but I rub my face
to clear my thoughts and work intently, studying
every entrancing inch of her that I can see, reveling
in this unforeseen opportunity. The seconds stretch
into minutes, and the only sounds in the room are the
gentle bubbling of the fish tank, the persistent
scraping of my pencil against the bumpy sketch paper,
and our combined breathing.
We don't talk. What would we say to each other?
Nice weather we're having? How 'bout those Knicks?
Oh, and by the way, this is the single most erotic
event I've ever witnessed in my entire life--my
gorgeous partner lying completely naked on my living
room couch? Holy shit. So, rather than embarrass
myself, I keep my mouth shut and enjoy the view.
She is incredibly beautiful. And I don't think she
even realizes it. My mind is drawn back to the time
we sat in yet another dingy roadside diner during a
case, eating greasy hamburgers and fries, and a
country singer's twangy voice came over the tinny
radio singing about his girl, "She don't know she's
beautiful…" And I looked at Scully's unassuming,
quietly elegant ways and thought, that song's about
her.
That's part of her charm for me. She's not showy or
vain where her looks are concerned. And I like that,
more than I can say. I guess she'd be surprised to
hear me voice that thought, considering my choice of
reading material sometimes. She'd never believe my
taste in women ran towards intelligent, headstrong,
petite redheads in business suits.
And I guess I haven't helped matters by kidding her
over the years about her size. I'm not proud of that
fact. But occasionally, the awkward, teasing,
juvenile kid side of me surfaces, and I have no
control over what stupid remarks come tumbling out of
my mouth. Sometimes I act like a heel of monumental
proportions where Scully is concerned, unfortunately.
I don't know why.
I smile as I run my charcoal-blackened thumb over my
drawing, smudging many tiny lines into one soft
shadow emphasizing the indentation of the small of
her back on my paper, and I imagine it is my hand
smoothing over her actual skin. I carefully sketch
in the intricate tattoo that signifies eternity, and
imagine that I have branded it there with my own hand
as I held it at the small of her back over the years,
making her mine forever. I shake my head ruefully
and smile again at my fanciful thoughts.
"What are you smiling about?" It is the first time
she has spoken since I began drawing and it startles
me. A living, breathing, talking Scully, still
tantalizingly naked on my couch. Good lord. I blush
with the renewed realization.
"Nothing," I hedge. "I'm finished."
She takes a deep breath and then very quickly sits
up, allowing me an all-too-brief yet enchanting view
of her lovely breasts and gently rounded stomach
leading down to the alluringly auburn curls in her
lap. She rushes to pull my t-shirt over her head
without looking at me, and hurries into the bedroom
wordlessly.
My mouth drops open at her abrupt departure, and I
wonder if I've done something to offend her.
Swallowing hard, I attempt to assuage my thoughts by
polishing my drawing, and then I realize how self-
conscious she must have felt sitting bare-skinned
before me while I was fully clothed.
In a few minutes, Scully emerges fully dressed and
leans hesitantly over my shoulder. I can feel her
warm breath on my ear as she asks almost shyly, "May
I see?"
"Of course," I answer quickly, and I wince slightly
as my voice cracks like a gawky teenage boy. Real
smooth, Mulder.
I hold up my rendering of a very lovely and
completely vulnerable Scully, her eyes taking in my
work for several long moments. Turning her head, she
kisses my cheek softly, murmuring, "Thank you,
Mulder." I feel those butterflies working overtime
in my stomach again.
I shiver when she touches my arm ever so lightly with
the tips of her fingers and breathes, "Mulder, I…"
"Yes, Scully," I encourage her, hope welling up
inside my thumping chest.
Her expression becoming suddenly and inexplicably
panicked, she withdraws her warm hand from my arm and
hurries to the door, where she pauses to say in a
rush, "I have to go, Mulder. Thank you again. I'll
see you tomorrow."
I smile wistfully after her, and my heart aches as
the door closes behind her.
**********************
I've spent the entire morning in the office trying
not to remember the way Scully looked in my apartment
yesterday, but I'm fighting a stupendously hopeless
battle. As we sit and work on field reports, all I
can think about is the radiant skin and bewitchingly
curvaceous body my partner is hiding beneath her
standard FBI-issue clothing. I've not completed an
entire report all day, and I hope Scully doesn't
notice. I don't want her to think that this new
intimate experience between us is going to affect my
work. I want to act like a professional. God, but
it's hard.
Finally, a change of pace. At four o'clock, we have
a budget meeting in Skinner's office, which will
hopefully serve to distract me from tormenting
thoughts of Scully's creamy flesh contrasted against
my black leather sofa and her clear blue eyes gazing
back at me as I attempt to place my vision of her
onto a blank white page. For a short time at least,
I won't have to sit confined in this small office
with a partner for which I'm hopelessly yearning.
How pathetic.
Scully's obviously not bothered by this whole
experience in the least. She looks as cool as a
cucumber as she bends over her papers, gently biting
her pencil eraser and smoothing her hair behind her
ear. Neither of us have dared to mention our little
encounter yesterday at all. I'm amazed at how she
seems to be taking it all in stride.
At 3:50, we ride the elevator side-by-side up to
Skinner's floor. I am acutely conscious of the heat
of her petite body so close to my own. Before the
doors slide open, she leans over and whispers in my
ear, low enough so that the other passengers can't
hear, "Would you like me to pose for you again?"
I stop breathing. This cannot possibly be happening
again. My heart hammers in my chest and I choke out,
"Yes, Scully."
She murmurs as we walk towards Skinner's office,
"Tonight? Six o'clock?"
I stammer, "My place?"
"Yes."
I bite my lip and smile in sheer amazement.
Scully greets Skinner calmly as we enter his office,
"Sir," and nods to the other agents present. I groan
to myself at the thought of enduring an hour-long
budget meeting as I sit across the table from my
demure little partner, anticipating what she'll look
like tonight without that starched white shirt and
form-fitting black skirt and jacket. My blood rushes
south at the mere idea, and I recross my legs and
arrange the file folders on my lap carefully. Scully
thinks I don't notice that she's watching me, but I'm
sure I could feel her contemplative, warm gaze from a
mile away. Somehow I realize it's going to be a very
long meeting.
**********************
It's now 5:55. The meeting ran over and we didn't
get away from the Hoover building until late. I
anxiously wonder if Scully will be here on time as I
abandon my jacket on the couch and tug restlessly at
the knot in my tie. Maybe she'll go home and eat
first. Maybe she is expecting me to feed her. I
hadn't thought of that.
My mind has been occupied by other things. Like the
fact that Scully is going to take off her clothes for
me again tonight. I feel slightly guilty and
lecherous, but then I remember that this was all
Scully's idea in the first place and that she likes
my drawings of her.
Six o'clock and I hear a quiet knock. Scully's
punctual as usual. Answering the door, I am
ineffably pleased that she's still wearing her black
suit. Thoughts of the tender flesh hidden beneath
that prim suit had helped me endure the interminably
mind-numbing budget meeting.
"Mulder, are you just going to stare at me, or are
you going to ask me in?" The corners of Scully's
mouth twitch up in amusement.
"Sorry, Scully," I say in a rush. "Please, come in."
Motioning her inside, I ask hesitantly, "Would you
like some dinner first? Can I get you something to
drink?" I swallow and unfasten my collar button.
She walks to the center of the living room and gazes
back at me. "I'm not hungry, Mulder."
"So," I stumble, "you, uh…want to get started?"
"Don't you?"
"Yes!"
"I'm ready then."
She pulls her jacket off without ceremony and places
it on a nearby chair as she toes off her shoes. When
her hands reach for the zipper on her dark skirt, I
realize she is going to undress right here in my
living room. I swallow audibly and wonder if I
should leave.
"Are you okay, Mulder?" she asks as the soft material
puddles in the floor around her ankles and she
gingerly steps out of it. Her hands move to slowly
unfasten the buttons of her blouse.
My knees go incredibly weak for the second time in
two days and I sink onto the couch to watch her. She
curiously doesn't seem to mind, and I notice a gleam
in her eye that I don't remember being there
yesterday. "I'm fine, Scully."
Now she is standing before me in her panties, bra,
and stockings, and she makes short work of the latter
as she places one foot on the chair and rolls them
one at a time down her shapely legs. I scrub my
hands over my face and again wonder at the sheer
magnitude of my good fortune.
She walks toward me and asks, "Where do you want me
today, Mulder?"
Another one of those loaded questions. I bite back
my original response, thinking instead of the light
of the sunset streaming through my bedroom window,
and lead her in that direction.
"Would you stand beside the window, Scully? The
light is good here."
"Yes, Mulder."
And with that she reaches behind her and unfastens
her bra, letting it slip down her shoulders to the
floor, revealing pink-tipped breasts that make my
mouth water for the wanting of them. Then she slides
her panties over her hips and lets them fall as well.
She walks to the window and stands there in all her
full frontal glory, and I think I'm going to cry.
I've been drawing her beautiful body from fleeting
memories of stolen glances in decontamination showers
and alien space ships hidden in the Antarctic for so
long, it's overwhelming to have her here in the flesh
before me.
Rolling up my shirt sleeves as I sit, I quietly choke
back a sob and say simply, "Turn a bit towards the
light. Now put your hand on the sill. That's
beautiful, Scully."
I wish I were painting her in color. The hues cast
on her skin by the setting sun are glorious. Her
eyes are crystalline and luminous in the golden rays
of the sunset. But I will have to be content to
record the light and shadows caressing her ivory skin
with my simple black charcoals. I tug distractedly
at my tie and drop it to the floor as I begin to
work.
I sketch her for many long minutes, the familiar
burning traveling down my arms into my feverish,
charcoal-smudged hands and upwards to my cheeks. I
also detect a familiar stiffening between my legs as
my eyes rake over her exposed flesh, and I am ashamed
that I am allowing Scully's nudity affect me this
way. She is offering herself to me innocently, so
that I can sketch her, and somehow I feel I am taking
advantage of her.
At length, I tell her regretfully that I am finished,
for this will all be over too soon. Scully will put
her clothes back on, and we will go back to being
businesslike and professional towards each other.
But this time, instead of hurrying away to dress, she
approaches me to look at her drawing.
"Let me see."
And then she is beside me, so, so close that I forget
how to breathe. I try to cover the evidence of my
arousal with the sketch pad, but she leans
excruciatingly nearer and lifts it up so that she can
examine the drawing, my own extremely personal
interpretation of the enigmatic Dr. Scully. I wonder
what she is thinking, and I realize she can't help
but notice the incriminating bulge in my pants.
God, she is so achingly close to me that I can smell
her, and I'd almost swear she is aroused herself.
Her soft breasts tempt me, swaying tantalizing near,
the swell of her hip nearly brushing my arm, her
stiff auburn curls close enough to touch, and I
actually begin to feel faint with the sheer intimacy
of this moment. Closing my eyes to try and regain my
equilibrium, I hear her voice saying, "Would you like
to do one more, Mulder?"
"May I?" I am amazed that I am still articulate
enough to communicate even the simplest of my wishes.
This time she doesn't ask where I want her to pose;
she simply climbs onto my bed and slides back against
the pillows, knees bent.
"Mulder, may I ask you a question?"
"Sure, Scully," I say in a strained voice as I sit
helplessly, watching her get settled. I have no idea
what she has in mind, but my erection feels painfully
confined in these pants. I'm not sure if I can bear
to watch her much longer.
"The women in those videos and magazines you look at—
you think they're beautiful?"
"Well, I…" I am caught off-guard at her question.
Yes, I find them attractive, or obviously I wouldn't
look at them. I'm lonely, and they keep me company.
That sounds pathetic, but sadly it's true.
She doesn't realize this though, but since I began
working with her, I've spent a hell of a lot less
time ogling porn videos and a much more time
sketching her. That's why I've amassed literally
hundreds of likenesses of Scully which could fill the
walls of my bleak little apartment and more. But
I've kept them hidden away, my little secret. Until
now, of course.
I notice she's looking at me with this odd, curious
expression, waiting. Her eyes are shining, and
suddenly I'm afraid she's going to cry and I'm not
sure why. I realize it's high time I gave Scully her
answer. So I do.
"I think those women are attractive in a superficial
and decidedly trashy way." The corners of her mouth
turn up slightly at my words and I grin a little.
"But you're the only one who is beautiful to me,
Scully." Biting my lip nervously, I wait for her
reaction.
I see her breath hitch in her chest, but she doesn't
speak. She just gazes at me silently in that way
that is so familiar to me, soothing yet unsettling at
the same time.
I sense a moment of truth is upon us, and suddenly I
feel reckless and bold. A surge of nervous energy
bubbles up inside my chest, and I rush headlong into
my confession before my courage deserts me. I begin
to list one by one all the ways I think my partner is
beautiful. It takes quite a few minutes.
I start with the simple things. Like the way she
smiles at me when I wake up from a major injury in
the hospital. She is amused at this admission, but
Scully's smiles are so rare and precious that it is a
beautiful thing when it happens. And a full-
throated, honest-to-god laugh from Scully is enough
to make my toes curl. I admit this to her as well.
I tell her I think her mind is beautiful, plus her
sense of humor that she so often tries to hide from
me, but that I can see right through her subterfuge.
I go on to explain that I think her trust is a
beautiful thing, because no one in the world trusts
me like Scully. That she places her faith in me at
all is a wondrous gift. And I have witnessed
compassion and caring from Scully that are beautiful
beyond measure.
Then I go on to the more obvious physical traits that
I think she actually had in mind when she ventured to
ask me her unanticipated question. I list the things
I like about my partner in vivid detail, and her eyes
glisten and lips part as she listens to me
incredulously. I can't quite believe I'm saying
these things myself, so I allow my thoughts to tumble
hastily from my lips before I am able to examine the
wisdom and practicality of my impetuous words. I
begin at the top of her shining red hair and list her
delightful attributes right on down to her dainty
pink-polished toenails.
When I speak shyly of her firm, rosy-tipped breasts,
one of her hands seems to unconsciously slide up the
soft skin of her stomach to cup one. My voice
falters, and I groan quietly as her back arches
sinuously, pink nipples erect on her straining
breasts.
She has been listening to me all the while so
intently, but now I walk to the foot of the bed to
watch her, my breath coming in short pants by this
time. I find my voice again along with even more
unexpected courage, and I tell her how indescribably
lovely I find her other female attributes.
She bites her lip, her other hand sliding down to the
tangle of auburn curls nestled between her legs. My
voice is trembling now as I tell Scully how utterly
and hopelessly beautiful she is to me, and I hold
onto the foot rail for support as she lets out a
small moan and touches herself. Her shining eyes
never leave mine for an instant, and as her legs
shift, I catch a fleeting glimpse of Scully's
glistening flesh--delicate, swollen, red petals
parting to accept her small, desperate fingers.
I let out a shuddering sigh. "God, Scully…"
She reaches out to me and heatedly whispers, "Come
here."
I pull her up off the bed and crush her naked,
shivering body to mine, kissing her feverishly. She
fumbles impatiently with my belt and zipper until she
has freed my throbbing erection, and we sink to the
floor in a tangle of limbs, our lips and tongues
sliding over one another, each of us savoring and
exploring the slick, heated depths of the other's
mouth.
I see my blackened fingers leaving smudges on
Scully's milky white skin, but I don't care, I don't
care. I want to touch her everywhere at once, and my
hands wander over her bare body to caress her in
places I've only dreamed of before, secret places
that are soft, warm and yielding and have always been
forbidden to me up until this very moment.
She climbs wantonly onto my lap, whimpering with need
as she lavishes me with deep, searching kisses that
leave me breathless. I am literally taken aback when
she wastes no time impaling herself on my painfully
engorged shaft, and I am nearly overwhelmed at the
sensation as I grip the curve of her small waist in
my trembling hands. Scully is so incredibly wet and
impossibly tight that I nearly come at once, but I
breathe deeply and look into her blue eyes to steady
myself.
She kisses me sweetly once more and begins sliding
rhythmically up and down my hard length. Grinding
herself onto my lap, I see her fingers reach down to
try and relieve the persistent, throbbing ache
between her own legs. A fine sheen of sweat covers
us both as we make love face to face, but then Scully
urgently presses me backwards onto the floor so that
she can get a better angle. She seems desperate for
release and groans in frustration as she clutches at
the shoulders of my sweat-dampened shirt.
I suckle her flushed, heaving breasts and knead her
luscious bottom as she rides me, then I reach down
and push her slick fingers aside so that I may finger
her swollen, aching clit myself. Responding to my
touch, she moans in ecstasy, and almost immediately I
can feel her muscles contracting and rippling around
me. She cries out my name as she comes, her back
arching as tremors wrack her body, and finally she
collapses heavily on my chest, breathless and
exhausted. I kiss her perspiration-slick cheek, and
then quickly but gently roll us over so that I am now
on top, driving into her furiously, impatient now for
my own sweet release.
Sliding in and out of Scully's slick, hot opening,
sweat dripping from my temples, I remember her slow,
unintentionally seductive striptease, peeling out of
that prim business suit until she stood naked as the
day she was born before me, and that does it for me.
I groan, spilling my seed in a warm gush into my
delectable partner, and she wraps her exhausted legs
possessively around my waist as I collapse bonelessly
on top of her.
Unfastening a couple of buttons on my shirt, she
languorously kisses my sweaty chest, then smiles into
my heavy-lidded eyes. I tiredly pull the comforter
from the bed, and roll us over once again with Scully
draped over me, wrapping the comforter over us both
like a downy, white cocoon. "You're the only one
who's beautiful to me, Scully," I sleepily tell her
again, kissing her over one delicate eyebrow and
attempting to wipe a black smudge of charcoal from
her cheek. I give up and she sighs contentedly,
languidly stroking my chest.
"Mulder, can I pose for you again?" Now I can feel
her insistent fingers working to finish unbuttoning
my shirt beneath the comforter even as she pushes my
pants further down my legs with one small foot. She
gazes up at me quietly adding, "And Mulder, how will
I ever be able to tell you just how beautiful you are
to me?"
END "Work of Art: Interlude"
