Enivrez-vous
by Audrey Roget

Spoilers: Hollywood A.D. post-ep
Rating: Mature audiences
Summary: Mulder, Scully, a bottle of Champagne and a 
house in the Glen.
Feedback: audrey_roget@yahoo.com
Archive: Ephemeral and Gossamer auto-archives; please
contact the author for other archive requests.
Author's Notes: For the full text of the poem that inspired
the title, see. http://www.translatum.gr/forum/
index.php/topic,1064.0.html

Thanks to Forte, Diana Battis and mountainphile for eagle-
eyed and ego-boosting beta. 

For Angel

###

"Time to get drunk!
Don't be martyred slaves of Time,
Get drunk!
Stay drunk!
On wine, virtue, poetry, whatever!"
 - Charles Baudelaire

He takes another gulp of sparkling wine. He's drunk. No, it's 
not the bubbles. Booze has never made him feel like this. 
He's off-his-ass baked just looking at her. Drunk on the glow 
of her skin. Drunk on the warm animal scent of her hair, the 
sweet grassiness behind her ear, where he tucks his nose, 
rooting around, making her giggle her own tipsy little giggle.

"You know, they say Jim Morrison's ghost wanders these 
hills," he murmurs into the pink curve of her ear, seducing her 
the only way he knows how.

"Next canyon over, Mulder." Scully tilts her head just east, 
rubbing her cheek against his prickly-soft hair. "Laurel 
Canyon, not the Glen."

"Jim and Zappa's ghosts...stoned and looking for Joni 
Mitchell."

That giggle again.

###

Her hand was warm in his as they strolled out of the fake 
cemetery.

"So Mulder, nothing takes the taste of humiliation out of 
one's mouth like fine wine and an expensive meal. Where 
to?" 

They reached the curb and began trying to identify "their" 
limo among a fleet of identical cars.

Mulder pulled a key ring with a magnetic card attached out of 
his pocket and waved it before Scully's face. "Apparently 
Skinner isn't the only one feeling generous tonight."

The tip of Scully's tongue appeared between her teeth a 
moment before her lips formed the question. "Where will that 
get us?"

A sly grin. "Federman's house in Beverly Glen." 

"And where will Wayne be?"

"Said something about having to catch a flight to New York 
tonight for his next project."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He just couldn't keep 'Steve and Tom' waiting another 
day," Mulder air-quoted, "and said we should make 
ourselves at home."

"I see," Scully replied with an ill-suppressed smirk.

With the precise timing of a special effects producer, their 
driver eased the town car alongside and hopped out to hold 
the rear door. 

"So, whaddya say?" Mulder asked, ushering her into the 
waiting cavern on wheels. "Take the old AmEx for a spin at 
Spago and then check out the lair of the Federman?" 

From the back seat, she considered the keys dangling from 
his fingers for a moment, then eyed the man before her with 
intent. "We can eat later."

###

The drive is one smooth silent glide in a smoked-glass 
bubble. Like at Disneyland, but with piercings and prostitutes 
and million-dollar homes along the way instead of ghosts or 
pirates or octopi. 

The car pulls up to a white plaster wall edged in glossy 
green ivy and strung with dusty fairy lights. Mulder trips a 
little over the curb on his way out of the limo, steadies 
himself on the doorjamb and reaches back for Scully's hand. 
"Watch your step exiting the ride."

She does, then leans back into the cabin to snag the bottle. 
Scully waves at the driver and slams the door hard. Mulder 
swipes the key card and enters the code into a little pad next 
to a wood gate worthy of one of the California missions. At 
the buzz, he swings it to and she creeps into the courtyard 
under his outstretched arm.

Ambient green waves flicker against the inside wall, lighting 
their way across smooth paving stones. Mist plumes up from 
the swimming pool, seeming to absorb the sounds of their 
clicking shoes. They head in the other direction, stepping onto 
a narrow bridge spanning the koi pond that lies between 
them and the front door. Scully pauses at the crest of the 
arch to knock back another hit of champagne, and a few 
drops escape the corners of her mouth. She draws her lower 
lip beneath her tongue to sop up the stray wine, then rubs it 
against the top one, sheening them both. Turning back just 
in time to observe this little move, Mulder freezes a moment, 
then trips over an uneven slat - or possibly, probably, his 
own shiny wingtip - on his way back to his suddenly 
insouciant partner. 

Scully leans her elbows back on the railing, bottle dangling 
between two fingers. The bridge's delicate frame squeaks as 
Mulder plants one hand on either side of her. His mouth 
pauses a fraction of second before finding hers and pressing 
against it soundlessly. The near-empty bottle clunks to the 
rickety boards under their feet, before rolling noisily several 
feet and splashing into the murky water below. Mulder and 
Scully separate on a laugh, but not for long.

Her hands, one warm from her coat pocket, the other cool 
from the champagne bottle, come up to stroke each corner 
of his jaw, to draw him down on her again. The kiss is a 
lingering one, building heat slowly until the edge of her coat 
collar makes her neck itch. Mulder opens her throat to the 
cool evening air, blessing the ivory column with tiny lauds.

"Mmm..." Her head tilts this way and that as she drags her 
hands down his torso. At his waist, they wander beneath his 
jacket and around, coming to a warming rest on his 
backside. 

He is dropping kisses along her hairline when she tugs him 
tight against her. A heated gasp escapes his lips and he 
pauses for a sudden, fierce battle with his composure. Scully 
tucks her head beneath his chin, cheshire in her smile and 
the way she nudges up against his throat.

The still green water on the other side of the yard beckons to 
her like a lost, amoeba-shaped city.

"Did I ever tell you...," she whispers into his collar, "...how 
many times I saw 'The Blue Lagoon'?"

"N-no."

"It was the forbidden cinematic fruit of my formative years." 
She reaches up to pull the loosened knot of his tie 
completely free, sliding it down his chest and tucking it into 
her coat pocket.

He is feeling fine and fuzzy, but her eyes when she fixes 
them on his are clear, and the look in them unambiguous. 
Something within him finds focus as well, and his vague 
desire coalesces, hardens into need, into gotta-have. 

Their clothes dissolve into a trail from the little bridge to the 
edge of the pool. This way, Scully muses, they'll be able to 
find their way back. Steadying herself with a hand to his 
forearm, she bends to splash her toe in the pool. Like 
bathwater. She grins up at him, invites him with an arched 
brow, then turns and dives with stretched arms and pointed 
toes.

Scully surfaces, surprised to find him still lingering on the 
deck. Pleased to recognize a pattern emerging, she sees 
now that she is the more reckless of the two when it comes 
to the risks posed by their new togetherness. She went to 
him that first night. And the second. And here she is, pointing 
the way forward again.

Treading water in the deep end, Scully's body is backlit like 
that of a screen goddess, rays of undulant light waving out 
from over her head, behind her shoulders and between her 
legs. "Well?" she challenges.

"Just enjoying the view," he says hoarsely.

Scully could say the same. Standing there nude at the edge 
of the pool, he resembles nothing so much as one of 
Hearst's San Simeon marble statues. Mulder is warm, 
breathing, tender flesh, however, and she devours his 
graceful form with famished eyes. After another moment's 
mutual admiration, he cannonballs into the pool, sending a 
wake of water over the lip and flooding the polished concrete 
deck. From beneath, he tugs at her feet and she lets out a 
delighted yip before going under.

They come up kissing. On tiptoes, Mulder dances them into 
the shallow end, twirling, twirling, twirling. With strong thighs, 
Scully hugs his hips as her sex slides against his thick cock,
trapped between their bodies. She breaks 
their kiss, hanging loosely back to let her hair spiral in the 
water. Mulder palms the cheeks of her ass, holding her 
tight against him, and she splashes her torso back into the 
water, luxuriating in the stretch of skin over her muscles and 
bones, the tightening of her nipples, the sheer 
weightlessness of the night.

"Oh, God, I'm dizzy, Mulder. Aren't you?"

"Perpetually," he chuffs, and gradually stills their roundabout 
motion. His heart is pounding, and not from swinging his 
partner. 

With a little grunt and a tug on Mulder's forearms, Scully 
draws herself back to vertical, looping her arms about 
Mulder's neck. In the murky light, her eyes glow the same 
color as the water all around them. One hand reaches up to 
play with his hair, sculpting it to spike this way and that. 
"Mulder," she questions gently, "When you stormed out of 
the screening...it wasn't because the Scully character in the 
movie said she was in love with Skinner, was it?"

"No," he denies immediately, chagrined less at his behavior 
than her ability to read him. "That was just the proverbial 
straw."

"Good." She smiles a slightly unbelieving smile, an indulgent 
smile, and leans in to nuzzle his camel nose. "Because, I 
mean...it was just a movie. And a really *bad* movie at that."

He nods, a lump surprising the back of his throat, which he 
banishes with a deep kiss.

"Anyway," she continues a minute later, "it was all in the 
casting. Who would choose Shandling over Richard Gere?"

"Good point," he notes, his interest drifting from the 
conversation. His lips find hers again, and the tip of his 
tongue sneaks out to meet hers. The gliding wet warmth 
of her mouth would make his hair - among other things - 
stand on end, if it - they - weren't already. 

"Besides," she adds with unnerving lucidity, "You said it 
yourself, Mulder - Tea Leoni would never go for someone 
like you."

Off her smug smile, Mulder bounces all the indignancy he 
can muster at the moment. "Oh yeah? Why is that?"

Scully bites her grinning lower lip, then states the obvious. 
"She's a glamorous movie star, Mulder. She must lead quite 
the jet-set existence. She'd never have the patience to wait 
around seven years for anyone." Mulder's answering smile is 
slow and liquid. "And even if she did...*I've* got a bigger gun 
than AD Skinner, and I'm not afraid to use it."

Mulder sets her on the bottom step next to the handrail, so 
that they are eye-to-eye. He licks his lips and glances down 
to where the water laps at Scully's belly. "Did I ever tell 
*you*, Scully, that I was the Indian Guides champion in long 
distance under-water swimming?"

Her eyes widen and the expected witty rejoinder is a no-
show.

Grinning, he submerges, her hips between his hands. That 
mouth made for kissing fulfills its design function to indoor-
outdoor, underwater perfection.

"Mmuh-" It could be "Mulder" or "my God" or "motherfucker." 
The sounds are distorted, but he feels them reverberate 
along her skin and through the water. She is vibrating all 
over.

Scully shivers, diamond droplets glint off her collarbone in 
the cool air. Her nipples become painfully taut, begging for 
Mulder's palms to soothe them. He uses his mouth instead. 
Rising slowly up out of the water, he first trails his nose over 
her belly, then cups her shoulder blades as he tongues each 
aureola in turn. Once. And again. She molds her hands to 
the sleek crown of his head, arching her back in a luxurious 
wave of lust.

When did it happen, Scully wonders, that she gave into the 
idea that if she didn't get him inside her this goddamn 
second, the universe would collapse? Will she always feel 
this way the moment before they join? Jesus, she hopes so.

His knees begin to shake slightly as he turns her in his arms, 
curving their bodies forward in parallel question marks. His 
hands guide hers to the handrail, and she grips the cold 
brass. Mulder backs down a step, his cock sliding along her 
creased flesh. Scully's breath stops suddenly and her ribs 
explode out again under his trailing fingers. A wave of heat 
rises through him, a feeling built of equal measures ferocity 
and tenderness. His fingers creep between her thighs, gently 
widening her stance. Funny how they say a man "takes" a 
woman, when it's precisely the other way around.

He cradles her skull in the crook of one arm, chasing her 
lips, her jaw, her neck with kisses as it rolls restlessly side to 
side. Her carotid artery thrums against his forearm as her 
chest rises and falls in rhythm with the undulations of their 
lower bodies. Mulder's right arm is draped across her belly, 
his large, attentive hand molding her mons. One long finger 
rides her clit as he swings her pelvis to and fro, driving into 
her with long, aching strokes. On nights like this, he feels he 
can never get enough of her, and he knows there can never 
be enough nights like this. 

His normally unabashed orgasmic outburst is muffled by 
planting his open mouth against her shoulder blade, the flats 
of his teeth pressing into her flesh. Scully's neck arches back 
as her own cries, following a heartbeat behind his, issue into 
the damp all around them.

###

Dripping wet, they escape the thickening ground fog, 
scurrying, still naked, into the dark hush of the house. Cool 
teak floors lined with thick rugs pave their path to the nearest 
bathroom, where they dig up plush towels and a hair dryer. 
They wick the dampness off of each other's skin, and Mulder 
gets a little frisky with the blow dryer.

Dry and robed in borrowed terry, they explore the sprawling 
single story. Their neglected bellies send them on a seek 
and consume mission, and the sortie lands them in a well-
stocked kitchen. They sip guava nectar and spring water in 
between bites of goat cheese with almonds. Mulder stabs 
three Kalamata olives onto the ends of his fingers and is 
nearly comatose by the time Scully finishes nibbling them 
away.

They decide against tucking into one of the house's four 
beds, favoring instead the pillow-piled sofa overlooking a 
gauzy, twinkling panorama of the San Fernando Valley. 
They doze on and off, waking one another for a moment now 
and again to extend a cramped elbow or burrow a nose into 
the crook of a warm neck. 

When dawn creeps over the mountains, Mulder discovers 
that last night's inebriation has yet to wear off. Scully's lids 
flicker open to meet the reeling caress of his gaze. He's drunk 
on the way the love in her eyes dissolves his night of 
humiliation into champagne bubbles, into lapping water and 
stardust, into pink, rising light. 

###