Chapter 10: One Week
The first thought that made any sense in Dana Scully’s head Monday morning, was that she really, really really had to pee. Other things had run through her head first, like *sex with Mulder* and *holy matrimony*, that didn’t really make sense, and she discounted them. But when she slid out of bed, feeling his arm slide off of her, and felt that ache, the one through her belly and thighs, it all came tumbling back.
It still had that air of unreality that comes when everything in your life changes faster than your mind can track. She stared at herself in the mirror for a long time. Hair tumbling. Eyes brown, and damn didn’t that take some getting used to. A week. She realized, finally, that it had been one entire week since Mulder had come, unshaven and slightly drunk, to explain to her exactly how many ways the Bad Guys had screwed her over. At that, all things considered, she just might able to win this one. *Do not come between a mother bear and her babies. You will not like the result.*
She brushed her teeth, splashed water on her face, and went back out into the improbable fact of climbing into bed with her husband. *Husband.* The word was less skittish now, fluttering around her brain, and she envisioned herself letting it land on her hand, feeding it a sunflower seed. She smiled at the thought. His hand slid sleepily over her hip as she snuggled back into that warm space he held open for her under the blankets. *I never want this to stop,* occurred to her as his hand found the small of her back, ran lightly up her spine.
He opened his eyes, found her looking at him, smiled. “I had the nicest dream,” he said. “And you were in it. And an Archbishop. And a large giraffe. And oddly enough, my third grade teacher.” He paused. “I think the third grade teacher was the one that was out of place.” He rolled up onto one elbow, lifted up the covers, leered at her naked body. “First time in a long time that the reality is better.”
She grinned. He studied her for a long moment. “Is this what happy feels like? Because I really hope so. Will you marry me?”
She laughed. “I did already, I think.” She shifted, winced a little at the pull in her sore thigh muscles. “Oh yeah. Definitely.”
He looked concerned. “Anything I can help with?”
She laughed. “Sorry, I was just discovering holes in my workout routine. Must add several repetitions of certain abdominal and inner thigh workouts to fill the gap.”
The prospect seemed to delight him. “Personal trainer, reporting for duty!’
She muttered, “Incorrigible.”
She closed her eyes, then felt his hands pushing her onto her back, parting her thighs, massaging the muscles there gently. “I’ll give you three hours to stop doing that,” she said, stretching under his hands.
He smiled and worked his way down to her feet. She was almost falling asleep again, when she felt him kiss her instep, the inside of an ankle. He drew little circles with his tongue up her leg, inside her knee, up her thigh, and when he stopped, she looked down at him. When he saw her looking at him, he smiled, parted her labia with two fingers, and still watching her, ran his tongue along her clitoris.
Her eyes closed and she groaned, and he smiled against her, started to tease her with his tongue. After a few minutes, he pulled back a little to study her, to run a finger along her inner folds. She opened her eyes, looked down at him, and he slid a finger inside, feeling the texture of her skin, finding that place... he curled his finger up a little, and grinned as she shuddered a little. He leaned in, finger still inside, and started working at her clit with his tongue, finding the spot that made her shiver, working both places at the same time, finding a rhythm, staying with it until he felt her flaring under his tongue, pulsing around his finger. He reached up, found her nipple. *Like flipping a switch,* he thought, as she arched, gasped, cried out. *If you can pat your head, rub your stomach and whistle the national anthem, it’s easy.* He managed to follow her movements, then held everything still as she relaxed. Then he sat up, wiped his chin off, and said, “If you roll over, I’ll rub your back.”
She raised an eyebrow, smiled, “How can I argue with that?’
“You really, really can’t.”
She rolled over. He ran his hands from her shoulder downward, pausing at her waist, the flare of her ass. He realized then that she must have finally gotten back to her healthy weight. He ran his hand across her ribs, no longer gaunt from the cancer. He found himself studying her again, memorizing the feel of her skin, the curves, how she responded when he touched her there, or there, or...
She chuckled when her hand found his cock and he startled, groaned, stopped moving his hands. He swatted lightly at her hand. “None of that now.”
She pouted at him. He laughed at her expression, so ridiculous. He shifted away from her, where she could not reach him, straddling her ankles and massaging from her legs up to her buttocks.
Then he shifted upwards, rubbing her back, shoulders, neck, one knee between her legs, the other off to one side. She stretched, shifted, pushed herself to her hands and knees, stretched back until her back was in contact with his stomach. She let her shoulders drop, stretched her arms forward until the touched the headboard. He sat up, she looked back at him, wagged her rear at him.
He laughed outright, felt himself responding to the invitation. “You call me incorrigible.”
She just arched a little more. The position took a little adjusting, but he spread his knees a little around hers, positioned himself, and *Sweet Dana,* he slid into her.
She seemed to be actually purring.
It was 10 am when they checked out. Room service had provided a ridiculously huge breakfast, lots of protein and carbs, and they had eaten it ravenously. The valet brought the car to the front, and they looked at the map to find their route south.
“We’ll be in San Diego tonight,” Scully said, “La Jolla, actually.”
He sighed. “Aw ma. Do we have to?”
Scully shrugged. “We really should meet the contact.” She flipped through the papers as Mulder pulled out onto the ridiculously steep streets.
“Any idea who she is?” Mulder asked absently, as he stopped the car at a light.
“I think she’s a dean at the university. Gwynne said that they go back a long way.” Scully flipped through, found her professional documents. “Yep, form here with her signature, it’s the thing that will let me practice in California without having to re-sit my boards. Oddly enough it would be harder if we were officially US citizens in this case.”
He smiled, wryly. “Dual citizenship has its privileges. Do you think they’ll ever manage to close the loopholes that are letting us get away with this particular fraud?”
She shrugged. “Who knows?” Then she opened the CD wallet and plucked something out at random and stuck it in. “It’s what, 8 hours to San Diego?”
He nodded, distracted as he paid the toll to enter the Bay Bridge.
As they started across the bridge, a woman’s voice came from the speaker, a drum beat, a strange but melodic song, sung in another language. Latin? Something... She turned it down a little.
As soon as they were on 580 and had cleared the bulk of the traffic, Mulder’s hand found hers. They’d long mastered the art of comfortable silence, but something was humming between them now. She found herself grinning. Her body felt a little sore, but in a good way. They moved through some hills, the sun cam out, vivid and enthusiastic, in sharp contrast to the fog of San Francisco. She opened the window, stuck her hand out the window to feel the air on her skin, hand in a flat plane, playing with Bernoulli in the air whipping by the car.
Mulder glanced over, saw her smiling, squeezed her hand, and turned his attention back to the road.
When the album ended, Scully popped the disc out. “Dead Can Dance. That was interesting.” She slipped it back into the wallet. “So, Martin. Beatles, Floyd, or a compilation disk that just says ‘Road music?’”
Mulder said, “Floyd is for when the bad guys win. Which Beatles?”
Scully flipped back through. “Looks like the White Album and Sgt. Peppers.”
He feigned indigence. “No Abbey Road? For shame. Ob La Di me, Sally.”
She slipped the first disk in. When he started singing along to Dear Prudence, she laughed outright. They were both singing after a while, even nodding in time to the music for Ob La Di, Mulder gave a falsetto “Thank you” at the end which made Scully giggle. She started aping the next song, and by the time Bungalow Bill came around, Mulder was laughing so hard he had to pull over.
Scully drove for the rest of the White album, both discs. She pulled off at a tiny little town, mostly gas station as the last notes faded.
She bought snacks while Mulder filled the tank, and when they continued down the road, she slipped in the first disk in the Road Music compilation. It started with the Stones singing “Route 66,” which got Mulder tapping the steering wheel cheerfully. When it shifted to a tinny old recording of “Oh Susanna,” he raised an eyebrow. When Scully started singing along to “Country Roads,” he decided that whoever had made the mix had been smoking something. The miles slid by, the music shifted from They Might Be Giants singing “Road Movie to Berlin” to a rollicking jig that a little folded sheet of notebook paper tucked inside the CD walled indicated was sung by a group called Fannigan’s Isle and called “The Rambles of Spring.” The switch from that to “Highway Chile” was surreal, but Mulder grinned and said, “Jiiimmmy!”. Next up was Burl Ives, singing “I’m Goin’ Down the Road.” Then one they hadn’t heard, “This Dirty Little Town,” folksy and acoustic. When “Walking in Memphis” started playing, they looked at each other and smiled. Then a couple of bootleg sounding concert recordings, listed as “Don’t Tread on Me”, which cracked Mulder up, and “Little Liza Jane,” which was just plain silly.
It slid from the ridiculous to the sublime with “Calling all Angels” and “Suzanne.” Peter, Paul and Mary singing “This Land is Your Land” got them both singing again, and a quiet rendition of Ol’ 55, sung by Sarah McLachlan, ended the compilation. They turned the player off for a while.
Eventually, he said, “You know, my dad would be shocked at the idea of me actually marrying someone. Mom, on the other hand, will dote excessively if she can get out of her head enough to notice. She’ll probably drive you mad.”
She laughed. “You know my Mom is going to be very welcoming. But she’ll fret. Bill, on the other hand, will be nasty. He always is. Charlie won’t care. I honestly don’t know if there’s a single thing you could possibly do that would make Bill be civil. I’ve never been able to manage it.”
A thought occurred to him. “Skinner’s going to shit.”
She laughed. “I don’t know. I suspect that he’s more of a romantic than you give him credit for.”
“Yes, but he’ll still shit. Frohike will be so disappointed.”
“He won’t. He wouldn’t know what to do with me if he caught me. I wonder what the guys are doing now.”
Mulder ate a pistachio out of the little bag Scully had gotten at the last stop. “I have no idea. But I know what I’d like to be doing now.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
He grinned at her and waggled his eyebrows. She swatted his leg. “Incorrigible.”
He feigned injury. “You know, we could stop at a hotel for an hour or two...”
She rolled her eyes. “You just married me for the sex.”
He sighed happily. “Not just. But the sex... yes. Mmmm. Definitely a good idea, that. I approve wholeheartedly.”
“How long had it been for you?” she asked, not quite casually enough.
He didn’t answer right away, but shot her a look. “When you were abducted.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Really? Not that Detective...”
He rolled his eyes. “She attacked me. I was pushing her away. Never anything else. Did you and Jerse...”
She blushed. “I was drugged.”
Then she shook her head, “I think I would have anyway... I was not in a good place... faith was so far away. I suspected but did not know for sure that I had cancer. You seemed so distant, so wrapped up in everything else, and I couldn’t tell you, because I didn’t know, and you didn’t know, and you were acting like everything was normal. I couldn’t tell you it wasn’t, and I just wanted to not be who I was right then. I said to hell with it. It nearly killed me.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t see...” He took her hand.
She snorted. “It’s not like I was letting you. I didn’t want to believe it.”
He looked at her briefly. “When did you start to suspect?”
“The first hint was when I met the Mufon women... but just before Jerse, Leonard Betts told me...”
He looked slightly horrified. “What did he tell you?”
“That I had something he needed. Later I had my first nosebleed.” She twisted the end of a strap of the backpack in her hands. “I just didn’t want to face it.”
“And I was too busy heading down the rabbit hole to see it.” He looked down the highway. “I wish I could say that I won’t it happen again, but my track record...”
She shrugged. “I know you.” She hesitated, he could hear the unspoken, “Mulder” and realized that while she didn’t call him “Martin” very often, she’d managed to curb her tendency to say Mulder whenever she spoke to him. “I know what drives you, and I know that there are times when you can’t help putting everything you have into solving a problem.” She gave a sudden laugh. “Which is why you swept me to the altar yesterday, isn’t it?”
He flushed, looked out the window. “I didn’t want to be something you had to confess about, something you had to atone for. Not now. It would have made another wall between us. I think eventually it would have torn us apart, if I’d been your guilty pleasure. There would always be something pulling you from me.”
She smiled. “So you took a chance.”
A few minutes later, she said, “You know, most priests wouldn’t have done that. They tend to be pretty adamant about couples classes, and many priests will resist marrying people who do not both share the faith...”
“Ah, yes, but I figured in San Francisco, in the old church, we just might have a chance. When I realized that he’d recognized you... it felt like fate.”
“You’re just lucky that Father John is such a sap.” She opened the plastic document case, pulled out their church certificate of marriage. “What are we going to do about this? I think it’s the only piece of paper we have that actually has our real names on it. We can’t keep it... I don’t think we can risk mailing it... I don’t want to lose it, either.”
He frowned. “Mail it to your mother?”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, no. And I don’t feel safe mailing it to anyone we actually know. The boys said our contact in San Diego won’t know who we are. I want to keep it that way.”
“For now,” he said, “I think I’ll keep the backpack with the documents with me at all times until we are moved in. Then maybe I’ll get a safe deposit box, or put in in something waterproof and bury it until we have another option or are done with this craziness.”
She let it drop. “How close are we, anyway?”
He shrugged. “Sign a few minutes ago said 45 miles to Los Angeles. It’s another hundred miles or so past that to the college. But we’ll be hitting LA at about 4 pm on a Monday, so God only knows how long it will actually take.”
“Remind me why we didn’t fly?” She looked tired at the very thought of driving across LA at rush hour.
“Because then we would have skipped San Francisco. And left the car behind. And probably not gotten hitched.” He grinned.
She sighed. “For that, it is worth it... but L.A. traffic?”
He shrugged. “How about we stop somewhere for a late lunch, early dinner, head out around six...”
She nodded enthusiastically. “We’ll get there at the same time anyway, won’t we.”
They drove until the traffic was slower than 40 miles per hour, then followed signs to a Mexican restaurant just off the highway. They were the only people in the place, and the owner came out to greet them wearing a sombrero, but looked so disappointed when they said they didn’t want to order drinks, that Mulder ordered a virgin margarita, and Scully got a virgin Daiquiri.
When the owner left to get the drinks, Scully laughed. “Even if I’m not driving, I can’t order booze in a Mexican restaurant, they usually put so much booze in them that if I try to drink the whole thing, I’m flattened for days.”
Mulder gave her a speculative look. “Mmmm. Flat.”
“And vomiting. Really, it’s not worth it.”
He allowed that the vomiting might not be that appealing.
They lapsed into silence, but sat, holding hands, both almost grinning.
She ate one of the corn chips that a tiny little dark haired woman slid onto the table. She chewed it thoughtfully, then said, “You know, I think I’m actually giddy.”
Mulder muttered, “Bout damn time,” around a corn chip he had just put in his mouth.
She looked across the booth at him. “It’s all your fault, you know.”
He cleared his mouth, took a swig of the drink that had just appeared. “Haven’t you figured out yet that EVERYTHING is my fault?”
She laughed. “That means you get to take credit, though, not just blame.” She kicked a shoe off under the table and ran her toes up under his pant leg.
He raised an eyebrow. *Frisky Dana* Then he grinned, slid his own shoe off, checked the side of the booth to see how far down the tablecloth went, and satisfied, slid his toes all the way up her leg until they were brushing against her thighs, nudging her to move her legs apart.
She almost choked on a chip. When she stopped coughing, she said, “You know, our school used to have a rule for class trips. Feet on the floor, hands in sight at all times. I always wondered about the feet. But you, you have answered one of the great mysteries of my teenage years. Now I understand.”
He wiggled his toes playfully. She shot him a look, looked around the restaurant, satisfied herself that no one else was in the room, then checked the tablecloth herself. He took advantage of her change of position and when she sat back down, his sock-covered toes were pressed up against her jeans, right there. He didn’t move, just sat, hands folded on the table, smiling serenely, looking past her head. *She looks so lovely when she’s blushing.*
She took another sip of her drink, wished that it had alcohol in it. Then she brought her knees together, neatly trapping his foot. She dropped one hand under the table, found his ankle, and ran her fingernail lightly up his leg as far as she could reach without stretching. His eyes glazed over, and his hands, clasped together, whitened around the knuckles as she dragged her finger back down his ankle, then stopped, brought her hand up, and smiled at the waiter who was approaching with their food.
He waited until the waiter had gone, until she’d taken a bite of her fajita, and started moving his toes, just a little, not hard, just so.
She stopped chewing mid-bite. Seemed to consider her options. Shifted just a little, and then continued to eat. He kept moving, watching the color rise in her cheeks. “Is the salsa too hot, honey?” he said, looking concerned. “You look flushed.” She stopped chewing again, then just looked at him. His mouth went dry. She kept eating, but he could see feel the tension in her knees. A guy in a suit came in, sat down, opened up a newspaper.
She relaxed her knees, he reluctantly dropped his foot. She mouthed, “Later,” and he felt his groin tighten. *Hotel. Definitely a hotel tonight.*
She took her napkin off her lap, got up, said, “I’ll be back in a minute.”
He watched her go. About five minutes later, she came back, and he chuckled, because if he read the fading flush on her neck correctly, she’d just taken care of the tension he’d created. He grinned. “Feel better.”
She answered, nodding “I do... Yes, in fact, thank you for asking.” She slid into the booth next to him, pulled her plate across, used a chip to steal some of his guacamole. “Hey!” he said, and she smiled.
“California is a community property state. Half your guacamole is mine.”
He laughed, and then swiped a chicken strip off her plate. “Works for me.”
Night fell like a rock. Between the time they paid the check and the time Mulder pulled the car out of the parking lot, it went from day to night. Granted that it took a little longer than it might have otherwise to leave the parking lot because the minute they got out of the restaurant, she backed him into a wall and kissed him, but it was still startlingly fast, with very little in the way of sunset.
She lifted up the console divider when she got in, scooted as close to him as the seat belt would allow, and promptly fell asleep leaning against his shoulder. He found himself humming absently as he drove across L.A. and south. At about 7 pm, he gingerly snagged the backpack from the space at her feet, withdrew a new cell phone from the outer pocket, turned it on, tried to remember the last time he’d been able to actually turn off his cell phone for a week, failed. He thumbed down without looking to the first phone number on the phone’s short list. *The first use is the most secure.* An earbud was already attached to the phone, he reached across with his left hand, snagged it, placed it in his ear, switched hands on the steering wheel and then thumbed the dial button with his right hand.
Gwynne answered on the first ring. “Everything okay?”
He smiled. “Better than. We’re about halfway to San Diego from Los Angeles.”
Scully stirred, looked up, put her head back down when she realized what he was doing.
“How was the trip?” No names. None needed.
“Dreamy. Sally met an old friend in San Francisco.” Mulder suppressed a giggle.
Gwynne sounded concerned. “Oh? Anyone I know?”
He couldn’t help it. “Nope. But it’s okay. The man considers discretion to be a sacred duty.” He could hear her parsing this out. “We decided to, um, renew our vows. Since he already knew us and all.”
He could actually hear the blink.
“Well, it was our vacation. We decided to make it our ‘second’ honeymoon.”
Gwynne laughed weakly. “I guess that’s one approach.” She paused, seemed to take stock. “So how is your lovely wife?”
He sighed. “Very wifely. In all the right ways. Currently snoozing on my shoulder. By the way, Yachats and Ashland? Great recommends. And San Francisco.”
That got a heartier laugh. “I guess they must have been. So, this friend of hers, I assume he was a religious minded man?”
“Catholic even. By the way, thank you for including our paperwork. It was... helpful on the road from Ashland to San Francisco.”
“Hell of a road trip, that. And you must have done some sweet talking...” She sounded impressed.
“You don’t even know. But well worth it. Can you let your friend know that we’re running a bit late? I was thinking we might just stay in a hotel, meet your friend tomorrow...” He placed the emphasis on hotel, hoping she’d catch on.
She did, but reassured him. “Stay with her. She has a guest cottage behind her house, and would be upset if you didn’t come. What time do you think you’ll arrive?”
He glanced at the dashboard. “Hour, hour and a half?”
Scully sat up a little, reached for the phone as Gwynne started to say goodbye.
Mulder said, “Hold on a sec, the missus wants to talk.”
Scully gave him a strange look and he could hear Gwynne chuckling as he snagged the earpiece out of his ear and handed it over.
Scully said, “It’s me.”
Gwynne asked, “Having a good time?”
“Mmmmm.” Scully smiled up at Mulder.
“I understand you had some adventures in San Francisco.”
“The Ritz was lovely. And we saw Old St. Mary’s church. Met an old friend there. He took my confession and decided to humor my husband.”
“You’ll have to tell me the whole story sometime. My friend you’ll be staying with, she has a lovely little cottage behind her house. I told your hubby that she’d be terribly hurt if you didn’t accept her hospitality.” Gwynne sounded amused and stern at the same time.
“Yes ma’am. How are things up there?” Scully realized suddenly that they’d been completely out of any kind of contact for days.
“Comme ci, comme ça. Been doing a lot of online shopping, making some travel arrangements for some friends. Oh, we set up some movers to help get your stuff unpacked and set up, and I’ve arranged for a security system to be installed. Can’t be too safe, you know. Your host will show you the place tomorrow afternoon. I think you’ll like it, all in walking distance of the campus.
*No, no you can’t be too safe, or they’ll catch on. What are you planning, you crafty old owl?* “Thank you so much for making those arrangements. Knowing you were taking care of things really let us enjoy our vacation.” Scully felt her brain starting to trip over trying to make a conversation without names sound natural.
“It sounds like you really enjoyed it. Has your husband been treating you well?”
Scully smiled. “Oh, my, yes.”
“Well, let me know when you get settled in. Maybe we’ll come visit.”
Scully blinked. *Visit? Really?* “How settled do you want us?”
“Oh, when you feel like you know the neighbors, get comfortable, that will be soon enough. Just give me a call and let me know when you’ve unpacked everything. Maybe we’ll make it down for Easter.” Gwynne sounded very casual, but there was a slight emphasis on the word “unpacked.”
“Sure. Sounds good. I’ll talk to you then. Thanks for everything.”
“No problem, talk to you later.” Scully heard the line go dead as Gwynne hung up. She thumbed the phone completely off. “She wants to visit. When we’ve ‘unpacked’.”
Mulder raised an eyebrow. “Does she now. You know, I still have a room full of boxes?”
She laughed, then leaned back against his shoulder. “We’re going to be okay, doing this, aren’t we?”
He dropped a quick kiss onto her hair. “You know, Sally, I think we are.”
She dozed until they got to La Jolla. Mulder followed Gwynne’s directions, which took them round and about off the highway and into a posh subdivision. They turned into a cul-de-sac, and into a driveway at the end of it in front of a surprisingly modest house. They looked at each other.
“I guess this is where it really begins,” Mulder said.
She took a deep breath. “Yeah.”
He bent toward her. Kissed her, long and lingering. Felt himself slide completely into character. “Okay, honey. Let’s go meet our host.”
Carol Howard leaned heavily on her cane, watched out her front window as her guests climbed out of the car. *Gwynne, love, let’s hope we can make this work.* She walked slowly to the front door, opened it just as they walked up the driveway.
“Welcome. Sally? Martin? Excellent.” She spoke with a European-flavored but not quite placeable accent. “I’m absolutely thrilled to finally meet you. Gwynne told me so much about you, and we’ve been preparing for you all week. I’m Carol, by the way. If you follow me, I’ll show you where you’ll be staying tonight.”
Scully smiled. “Thank you for putting us up, it’s very helpful.”
“We really appreciate it,” Mulder said.
They followed her across a tiled living room, through a door that lead to a breezeway, and into a tiny little cottage. “This is normally where I house an exchange student,” she said, “But we don’t have one this semester. I hope the bed is big enough, usually it just sleeps one.” A short, round woman, she shifted through the door, and made room for them to enter.
The cottage was essentially a studio apartment, bathroom and bedroom with a kitchen at one end. The bed was a double. Scully could see Mulder mentally measuring the space they’d been occupying, a fraction of a king sized bed, they’d slept essentially spooned for their entire trip. He gave a cheesy grin. “It’s plenty of room. We don’t mind being friendly.”
She nearly kicked him, but Carol just laughed. “Good. I know you’ve been driving all day, so I won’t try to fill your heads tonight, but in the morning I’d like to take you both down to campus, show you around, then after lunch, we can go over to your condo. I managed to snag something about as close to campus as you can get without actually living in campus housing, and while it’s not lavish, it should have room for a nice bedroom, plus an office for each of you.”
Scully forced herself to smile. “Their” space was the space most likely to be invaded. If they did their jobs right, they’d be bugged inside of a month, and every moment in the place she’d have to be on her guard. *Honeymoon’s over.* “I’m sure it will be fine. We’re adaptable.”
Carole smiled. “There are drinks in that refrigerator. If you need something to eat, feel free to come investigate the refrigerator up in the main house.” She turned, walked slowly out, cane thudding quietly up the flat stone walkway.
Mulder closed the door, dropped his bags next to the bed, and said, “Now, where were we?”
She stepped into his arms. “Right about here.” She reached up, laced her fingers behind his neck.
He flipped open the top button on her jeans, slid the zipper down. “I’m pretty sure it was closer to here,” he said, sliding his right hand into her underwear, using his left to start working her jeans down.
She laughed into his shoulder, and dropped her left hand down to open his zipper. “I thought it was more like here,” she said, pressing her hand against his abruptly firm penis.
They kicked off their pants, helped each other out of their shirts, and he backed her naked, against the wall near the foot of the bed. “Maybe it was here,” he said into her neck as he ran his hands down her sides.
She wrapped a leg around him. “Or here.”
He reached down, bent his knees enough to bring his cock between her legs. “I’m certain it was....” He put his finger down, slid it into her, brought moisture to her opening. “Yes, definitely...” He dragged the head of his cock along her clitoris, just to hear her sigh, centered it, crouching a little. She lifted one leg up around his hips, and he entered her, then lifted, her other leg wrapping around him, her hands at his neck tightening, her back against the wall. He experimented, moved his hips, straighted his legs. “Here.”
She laughed, a strange sensation to feel her laugh from the inside, and said, “Silly man. You should put me down, then do that.”
He thrust into her a few times, then decided that she was probably right, and carefully locked his arms around her, pulled away from the wall, turned, and started to lower her to the bed.
At some point in that process, he lost his balance, and they ended up pulling apart and tumbling into the bed on their sides. He looked completely alarmed, but she was laughing.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “Anything injured?”
He stretched a little. “Just my dignity.”
She scooted closer, kissed him on the forehead. “I’m sure it will recover. Now where were we?”
From a slightly safer vantage point, he showed her.
End part 1.
Music links below for everything mentioned in this chapter.
to Part 2
Continue to Part 1 Notes
Dead Can Dance
Rambles of Spring
Goin'Down the Road
This Dirty Little Town
Walking in Memphis
Don't Tread On Me
Little Liza Jane
Calling All Angels
Suzanne (Joan Baez cover)
This Land is Your Land
Ol' 55 (Sarah M version)