The Very Best by Jori

Mulder discovers one of those 'holidays' that seems to be invented by a 'card company,' and makes a mistake which he later tries to rectify. NC-17

***************

FBI Headquarters
Washington, DC
June 8, 1999
11:27 a.m.

"What's this?" Scully asks as I set an envelope down in front of her. I can see she is reviewing the toxicology report from her last 'patient' and our latest case. I know that I usually hope everything turns into something mysterious, but this time I hope this woman died from a simple overdose and exsanguination by her fellow voodoo cult members. It is too damn hot now that it is June, and I have no desire to head back to Iowa to stand around in an old barn that smells like baked pig shit. Not even all those months on manure duty got me used to that scent.

"That is something I picked up for you over the weekend," I say, as I sit down on the edge of the desk, almost in front of her. She looks up at me suspiciously. We've already celebrated her birthday a few times this year, and we are a million miles away from any gift-bearing holiday. Or one where I would give her a card, for that matter.

"What's this for?"

"I just saw something and it made me think of you. How I feel about you," I say. She picks it up, and turns it over in her hand but doesn't open it yet. She just studies how I wrote her name on the envelope. 'Agent Scully' it says. I didn't really know what to put.

"You fit all of your feelings for me in one envelope?" she asks, with a slight smile.

"I would have done more, but you know that the last couple of weeks have been hell, with no sleep and all. And then there was Iowa, and I don't see much of a difference between Iowa and . . ." I start to say, before she interrupts me.

"It wasn't that bad, Mulder. We had a nice weekend in a quaint little town. In between the autopsy and interviewing suspects, I had some time to go antique shopping and you had some time to . . ." she stops and looks at the envelope flap. ". . . visit a Hallmark. I'm impressed."

"Considering I'm almost certain Hallmark invented this occasion, I would have never found out about it if there wasn't a Hallmark in town," I say. "But then again, didn't they invent every holiday? Well, maybe not Christmas and Easter and probably not Yom Kippur, but I'm sure they had their hand in most other ones."

Scully takes my letter opener and puts it under the flap, opening it carefully. She reads the front slowly, glancing up at me once. At least she didn't shake it to see if the money I owe her from the weekend fell out.

After she reads the inside, she just closes it back up, and puts it in the envelope again. Probably not something we want laying around.

"Best Friend's Day?" she says, incredulously, but without much emotion.

"I'm not making it up," I say, nodding towards the envelope sitting on top of a picture of a dead woman.

"Did you get Frohike a card?" she asks, her voice sounding a little strange.

"Why would I?" I ask. She doesn't say anything for a minute, as we face each other in silence.

"I thought after what we talked about last week . . . I just assumed I was more than a friend," she says quietly.

"You are. I think the card has best friend embossed on it," I say, picking the card up, pulling it from its envelope and reading it over again. I'm sure it didn't say anything offensive, like 'I'm glad you're my best friend, because all our past lives have taught us that you will never be anything more.'

"That isn't the point," she says. I stuff the card haphazardly back into the envelope and pitch it towards the trash.

"Fine. I'm sorry I said anything," I say, as I slide off the edge of my desk and leave my 'best friend' behind in my office.

************************

I watch as the peephole darkens and lightens before Scully opens the door for me.

"I'm sorry about . . ." we both say simultaneously, and we end up laughing about it.

"Come in," she says, letting me by her, and looking at the package in my hand. "What have you got?"

"I apologize for earlier. You are more than my best friend. I just felt that was the most important part of what we are, because if we aren't friends first, how can we be anything else?" I ask, as I put the package behind my back.

"You're right. It just seemed strange and I read too much into it. Instead of appreciating the gesture, I wanted more," she says, as she walks to her kitchen with me following. "Want something to drink?"

Scully changed from her suit and is wearing jeans and one of my t-shirts. Her body is practically swimming in the large shirt, but it looks so damn good on her. She looks great in all my shirts, and I don't know how she does it. It is even better now that I know exactly what is under there, and have studied it thoroughly from top to bottom and everywhere in between.

"Mulder, a drink?" Scully asks, shaking me from my fantasies. My brain got stuck in traffic in Scullyville and couldn't get past the beltway.

"Sure. I'll have tea," I say, my eyes trying to focus again and not wander down. She puts a cold can of Nestea in my hand and I look at it before looking at her.

"Sorry. They didn't have Lipton's. So, what brings you to this side of town, Mulder?" she asks, as if I need an excuse to drop by. It is a Tuesday night and we usually don't go to one another's apartment until the weekend, but I wanted to see her. Maybe she had other plans for the evening, like snuggling in on the couch and watching a rerun of JAG.

"No reason. Just wanted to see my best friend," I say, and she turns to me and smiles. She is making herself a drink, a glass of Diet Coke. She doesn't like to drink out of the can. She cracks the ice cubes out of the tray and places exactly four into a tall glass. Always four. I don't know if she's always done this, or if it something that only a person who has spent a lot of time with her would notice. She fills the tray, even though I didn't know anyone did this, and carefully puts them back into their frosty home. Next her glass gets filled, and she deposits the can into the recycling bin. I suspect that one of the reasons she likes her drinks out of a glass is because she likes to chomp on the ice. Drives me crazy, but then again, who am I to complain?

"And what is it you have behind your back?" she asks again.

"Something I would never buy for someone who was just my best friend," I say, as she tries to peek around my back. "Oh, you can wait a few minutes."

"Fine. But I didn't get you anything to celebrate this occasion," she says, still trying to peek. She takes her glass and goes by me, and I pivot so she can't see it.

"Father's Day is coming soon. You can get me something from my fish," I say, and she laughs.

"The ones you have killed or the *one* that lives to see another day?" she says. It is true. Since we became lovers, I've gone through fish in record numbers. I'm surprised the pet store will let me take anymore out of their safe waters.

"At least they are only fish . . . not a dog . . ." I say and get smacked on the arm.

She turns on some music, although I can't recognize what she listens to even after all this time, and we both sit down on the couch, setting our drinks on the table in front of us. I pull her over to me, and she curls up next to me, and makes a noise that can only indicate contentment. She doesn't stay content for long.

"Okay. Long enough. Give it up," she says, as she reaches over me for the package. We wrestle for it, and I let her win. I want her to have it anyway, and I'm always afraid she will eventually kick my ass in one of our wrestling matches.

Her fingers untie the bow on the package, and it brings to mind some of the lingerie she already owns. She always makes the perfect present. That is how this started at Christmas. Just an innocent exchanging of gifts, and here we are now. The gift isn't so innocent this time.

"Remember I wouldn't buy this for someone who was just my best friend . . ." I remind her as she pulls the lid off of the box.

"What in the hell?" she asks, pulling out the scrap of black leather held together with some black ribbons. "Mulder?"

"I liked it," I say, as she looks at the leather 'lingerie' that can hardly even qualify as lingerie. Or any kind of body covering at all, for that matter. "It was either that or a clear vinyl skirt. There is more in the box."

She digs around the little bit of tissue paper until she finds the other piece stashed in there. A blush crosses her cheeks, and I know she remembers our conversation from Memorial Day weekend.

"We now have matching leather underwear?" she asks, as if she still can't believe I would do this to her. I suppose her taste is more into soft teddies and silk pajamas, but I wanted to see her in leather. I've wanted to see her in black leather for years.

"Yeah. I thought it would be fun if once a week, we showed up to work with these under our clothes. Maybe a day we have a meeting with Skinner . . ." I say, and her jaw drops as she tries to imagine how she would tuck everything into that scrap of leather and black ribbons and keep it hidden under a suit. "I'm kidding."

"And you want me to wear this when?" she asks, as she moves her fingers up and down it.

"Best Friend's Day," I say, and ending up on the receiving end of a look of disbelief. "You show me yours, I'll show you mine."

I'm spinning the little thong bikini I bought for myself around on my finger tip. She stares at me for a few moments, in silence. Probably trying to figure a way out of this. It isn't like I haven't seen it all and more before. I just haven't seen it wrapped in leather.

"I think that since you started this, you are going to model yours first," she says, as she stops my rotating underwear and puts them on my lap.

"You mean, without you wearing yours?" I ask. I wanted this to be something we did together, for fun. Not an exercise in humiliation.

"That is the plan, leather boy. Now get moving," she says, as she gives me push.

"I didn't finish my drink yet," I say, as a last ditch effort.

"It will keep. Now, go," she says, shoving me harder.

"Then you will put on yours?" I ask, hoping to at least get that much out of this.

"We'll see how yours looks. If I like it, I will put *this* on," she says, holding up the impossibly skimpy thing I bought her.

I go into the bedroom, kicking my shoes off on the way and locking the door behind me. I strip out of my shirt and tie and carefully fold my pants and hang them up in her closet. Yes. Stalling just a little. I step out of my boxers and into this little leather thing the sales girl told me was the matching piece to the item I already had in my hand. What possessed me to do this? I make sure everything is tucked in place but I don't look in the mirror before I leave the room.

Scully just looks at me as I stand before her, and then reaches for her glasses. She examines me a little more, and makes a motion with her finger for me to twirl around. I do it quickly.

"Uh uh. Slowly. I want to carefully decide if I like it or not," she says, and I turn around and wiggle my ass in her direction.

"Done gawking?" I ask, as I hear her giggle.

"Except for the socks, it isn't bad. I kind of like it, and I think you should definitely wear it at our next budget meeting," she says. I pull off each of my socks, hopping around while doing it, just to add to her amusement.

"Is that all you have to say?" I ask, as I turn to face her, with my hands on my hips. Although this stance has an menacing effect on a variety of criminals and an occasional mutant, I'm sure under these conditions, I couldn't threaten a flea.

"Oh, I can think of other things to say. Or do," she says. She takes the last sip of her Diet Coke, and then crunches on an ice cube.

"Like what?" I ask, still standing here in my 'even though I'm half naked, I'm a man and don't you forget it' stance.

"Turn around," she says, and I comply. At least this way, I don't have to see her giggle. And to think this was my brilliant idea.

I feel her move behind me, and come closer. I can feel the warmth of her body as she reaches around me from behind, and moves in until we are in complete contact with one another. I can feel the fabric of her -- and my -- clothes against my skin, denim and cotton rubbing against me, meeting my nakedness everywhere. Her fingers slowly make circles on my chest, and I can still feel the coolness from the drink she had in her hand. I swear I can feel her heartbeat from behind, thumping all the way through my body. Perhaps that is just my own heart. Surely she can feel it, too.

She begins to sway slightly with me in her arms, and I nearly jump when I feel her cold tongue make contact with my skin. Ice cubes on a hot June evening. I think I might like this.

Scully's hands go to my sides, and trace down to my hips, where the little band of elastic is all there is holding this thing up. Well, there's a little more holding them up now, but the elastic is still quite necessary. Her fingers loop into that elastic, and under it.

I don't want her to move from me, and am disappointed when her body leaves mine. I know I let out a raspy groan of frustration when I feel her form separate from mine. Her hands remain in place, her fingers wrapped beneath the thin strip of material around my hips, and I sense that she is sinking to her knees, behind me still. I would prefer her to sink to her knees in front of me, but this will do for now.

The CD changes on her stereo, and someone begins to croon about being a slave to love, about not being able to escape, as they cry for someone to help them. Oh yeah. That is something I could easily become under the touch of this woman. She could shackle me right now, right here to her coffee table and I would be happy.

Her one hand leaves my hip, and moves around me, still staying under the fragment of clothing I'm wearing. It slips into the pouch that isn't going to contain me much longer. Her fingers tease along the length of my cock, and all of a sudden I don't know where to put my arms or my hands. She nudges my legs apart just a bit, and her other hand slips under me, to my balls. Now I really have no idea where to put my arms, and I'm not sure if my legs are going to function much longer here if she keeps this up.

I can hear her breathing become placid, as she pulls her hand out of under me. Scully shifts just a little, and I hear the all too familiar sound of ice clinking in a glass. Somehow I'm guessing she has no intentions of eating that particular cube.

"Scully," I say, not wanting for that cube to end up anywhere dangerous. But I hear it drop back into the glass and her hand comes back to me, tracing a cold, wet line across my hip and down my front, until that hand replaces the other inside of this leather garment. The cold makes me jump a little, but it doesn't feel bad. Her fingers heat up quickly enough trapped under here with me.

Finally, her hand leaves my skin and she pulls me around so I'm facing her. She is still on her knees, leaning back against her heels. Her eyes look up and meet mine for a moment and I know she isn't done here, with whatever game she has planned for Best Friend's Day. Once again her fingers loop into the tiny strap of my underwear, such that they are, and she tugs them down, freeing me from my leather confines. I was beginning to feel like the stuffing in my couch.

Scully's hand goes back to my cock, and wraps around it, holding me there as if she is warming it up. Her eyes never leave mine as her hand goes back to that glass and draws out an ice cube that has melted down considerably since she first took it from the freezer.

I want to tell her to stop, but I can't find the words. Something in me wants to see where this is headed, to feel her mouth around me, to watch her head dip up and down upon my cock as if she's bobbing for an apple. I will even take it cold if I have to.

She gets a sinister look on her face as she pops the cube in her mouth, and crushes it just a little between her teeth. She swallows some of the chips, using it mainly to chill her mouth. She pulls me closer to her, and her very warm hand is replaced by her icy mouth. I can feel myself begin to shrink from the cold contact, but it warms up fast. Especially when she applies a little friction to the whole thing. She forms a constant rhythm, a steady up and down with a quick flick of her slightly frigid tongue at the end. I don't think my legs will be able to stand much more of this, as her hand goes around me and under, stroking my balls in time to the movement of her mouth.

"Scully, um . . . I really need to sit down," I say, my hands finally finding their place in her hair. She breaks contact with me, and rocks back onto her heels again. I kneel down in front of her, my erection jutting out towards her, as if it is a divining rod pointing towards a source of wetness.

I finally get my turn now that we are on the same level, and I reach for her -- my -- shirt and pull it over her head. She is wearing a simple black bra, and I quickly unfasten its front closure with one hand while my other hand moves to the waistband of her black jeans. I get them undone quickly before she can get back to her ice, and she wiggles out of all of her clothes. The two of us kneel completely naked in front of each other, trying to decide who is going to make the next move. I think it should be my turn with the ice and her eyes widen a little as I make my move towards the glass.

I pull out a cube, and flick the melted water and Diet Coke off of it. Slowly, and under her constant scrutiny, I move towards her. She quivers a little when the cube makes contact with her neck, and by the time I have made a wet trail down between her breasts, her skin is covered with goosebumps. That is fine. I plan on warming her up yet. Gradually, and with much deliberation, I circle her nipples with the cube, teasing each of them until they are standing up and begging for more. Her eyes are closed now, no longer observing my every move. I lean in and pull one of her nipples into my mouth, warming it, and letting my tongue brush across it until she moans something unintelligible. I withdraw my mouth from her, and rub the ice cube against the spot I just made warm and her hand flies up to mine, stopping me from doing it again.

Without much thought, she drags my hand down lower, and the warmth from her skin begins to melt the frozen water just a little more. It drips down her, leaving a cold trail down her abdomen as I go. She pushes my hand down past her curls, until my fingers are tucked in between her thighs, the ice cube between me and her warm, slick folds. She shivers as the ice makes contact, but leans back to give me a better vantage point in which to play our iceman games.

The ice melts quickly from her heat, and soon it is just my fingers against her clit, and she is moving upon my hand like no other friend of mine has ever done.

"Warm me up," she says, as she pulls me to her. I lift her onto my lap and her legs wrap around my waist. I enter her, enjoying the perfect warmth I find in this well-known place. We piston against each other, moving with the fluid motions of a well-oiled machine. My hands wrap around her tiny waist, as she glides up and down on my cock. I can feel her maneuvering herself so she receives the most stimulation she can without having to use her hands, and I want her to come with me.

I drive into her harder, and her body slams back down against mine. The ice is long forgotten and we both are now covered with a slick layer of sweat, making her body stick to me more with each second that passes. I thrust into her one more time, pulling her as close as I possibly can, and her head bobs backwards. She and I both release a similar gasp at the same time, and I feel her body quake on mine, as I release everything I am at that moment into her.

She leans forwards, and I don't want to leave the comfort that is Scully. But I also realize something else.

"Scully?" I ask.

"Hmm?" she asks back, almost purring in her contentment.

"You never put on the lingerie I bought you," I say, looking at the abandoned piece of leather over on her couch.

"Oh, Mulder. Friends as close as we are don't need to wear garnishments like that to please each other. Especially when they are the best of friends," she says, her hands moving up into my hair and pulling me in for a kiss. No, I've never done this with a best friend before. I break the kiss and smile at her.

"Do you think Frohike would wear it for me?"

************

The End of The Very Best

Continue to next story: SUMMER DREAMS