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The End of the World


Contains explicit female/female BDSM sex.

Pairing: Scully/Julianna Cox

Summary: A restless Scully decides to celebrate the new year with some new experiences. Spoilers for “Never Again” and “Millennium.” X-Files/Homicide crossover.


Disclaimer: Dana Scully belongs to Chris Carter and 1013. Julianna Cox belongs to Barry Levinson & Tom Fontana and Baltimore Pictures. No infringement intended.


The world didn’t end, Dana Scully thought to herself. She lay back on her couch and slowly began to unbutton her blouse. The world didn’t end. She heeled off her shoes, letting them fall to the floor as they landed. She stared up at the ceiling of her apartment: off-white, vaguely shadowed from the lamp. Bland and empty. Her pants rode up on her thighs as she slid down on the couch. It was the new millennium and she had kissed Mulder (or he had kissed her, technically, but she had certainly participated willingly enough in the event), and here she was at home, alone, staring at the ceiling. And the world hadn’t come to an end. Neither had it exploded into showers of sparks. She had not heard bells ringing, nor had she swooned. She had pressed her mouth to Mulder’s, at last, after seven long years; felt his strong arm encircle her, his heart beating against her breast, his thigh press between hers. They had kissed. And then they had smiled at each other and said Happy New Year, and each had gone home, alone.

Not that it hadn’t been pleasant. It had been very pleasant, in fact. Mulder’s full lips were warm and soft; she had felt comfortable and safe in his arms. She had been happy to prolong the kiss as long as he wanted. If, instead of getting into a cab and driving away, he had expressed a desire to come home with her, to undress her and lay down with her and take her, she would have let him. She imagined him here with her now: his fingers unbuttoning her blouse, sliding under her bra, stroking her nipple. His hand sliding up her thigh. It was… pleasant. She could easily imagine doing it.

Then after the act saying good night, see you tomorrow, watching him dress, smiling contentedly, watching him go out the door to go back to his own apartment, going to bed alone, enjoying the tingle between her legs from being penetrated again after so long, going back to work in the morning as if nothing had happened. It would be easy to fall into a sexual relationship with Mulder, she thought. Easy and comfortable. It wouldn’t disrupt their working relationship. It would barely change things at all.

Scully sighed deeply, wriggled down further onto her couch, and pulled at her pants. They felt tight, all of a sudden, even though she’d lost weight since she’d bought them and they were in fact half a size too large. Her bra felt too tight, and so did her pantyhose. Her clothes, her carefully selected, conservative yet stylish, businesslike yet feminine clothing, felt constricting, unnatural, abrasive against her skin.

She pushed herself to her feet and began to undress, there, in the living room, dropping her expensive clothing into the floor. She wanted to breathe, damn it. She wanted to feel alive. She wanted to feel.

Naked, she walked into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator, felt the cool air chill her skin. Yogurt. Apples. Leftover takeout. She had no beer, no wine. She closed the refrigerator door and opened the freezer. Cans of fruit juice. Frozen vegetables. Ice cubes. She took one of the ice trays out, ran water over it, twisted it over the sink until the cubes fell out. She picked up one of the ice cubes and put it in her mouth. She felt restless, wild, dangerous. She took the ice cube and ran it down her chest between her breasts, letting herself shiver and gasp from its cold. She touched it to each of her nipples, watching them harden from the sensation, feeling the melting water drip down her ribcage. She slid it between her legs, moaning, bent over the sink, gripping the edge of the counter with her other hand. The freezing cube was not entirely pleasant against her clitoris, but pleasantness wasn’t what she was after. She moved the ice cube down, pressed it into herself. The cold was harsh, shocking. She let out a little cry, and stood shuddering as it melted inside her, water dripping down the insides of her thighs. She wanted to reach down and touch herself, but she resisted. She pushed away from the sink, wiping her hands on her torso, as if they were unclean.

This wasn’t right, she told herself. She was acting crazy. She went into the bedroom and began to dress: plain cotton underwear, black jeans, cotton sweater in dark burgundy. Ordinary clothes. Sensible.

Sensible? And why was she getting dressed to go out, now, at this hour, when she should be in bed?

* * *

Scully settled herself onto the barstool a little nervously, and ordered a beer. She looked around. The club was dark, lit only by a few track lights made strange and surreal by blue and red filters. Throbbing music played. The couples wrapped around each other on the small dance floor were androgynous in the shadowy dark. She thought perhaps they were mostly women. Occasional glimpses of black leather glinted in the purplish light. Scully felt her heart thud under her sweater. She sipped her beer. The cold, yeasty taste was good in her throat. She took a deeper swallow. She’d skipped dinner; the beer went straight to her head. And then to her groin. She remembered the feel of the ice cube on her breasts, between her legs. Was it wrong? The sensation had been strong, powerful, almost frightening. How long since she’d felt anything strongly?

She remembered: a year ago, sitting on a stool in a tattoo parlor, leaning forward, shirt pulled up, trousers worked down to her hips, and the sharp, stinging bite of the needle in her lower back. Tensed against the pain, breath coming in short gasps, sweat forming on her forehead, trickling down her sides, she’d had to force herself to hold still, to breathe through the pain, as her body had been marked. Afterwards, she had felt exhilarated, sensitized, liberated. She had laughed. She had wanted to dance, to howl at the moon.

She looked around again. Bodies pressed together, flesh to flesh. She envied the dancers, the couples tucked away into booths. She wanted… something. She wanted to throw off the burden of being Dana Scully, to shed her skin like a snake.

* * *

“Would you like to dance?” the low voice murmured moistly into her ear. Scully looked over her shoulder.

A woman stood behind her. Tall and cool and sleek, with severe, chin-length black hair, and sharp dark eyes that seemed to glow in the night like an animal’s. She was wearing a short black leather skirt and a red silk blouse. Her smile was challenging and seemed to offer invitations to more than dances.

No, Scully thought. I don’t want to dance with you. “Yes.” She stood. The woman was a good half a head taller than she was. She held out her arms, felt herself taken into a strong but soft embrace. The woman’s breasts pressed into her chest. The leather of her skirt rubbed against Scully’s jeans. They moved slowly onto the dance floor. The music pounded, hypnotic. Scully let her face rest against the woman’s chest. I’m not interested in this, she told herself. But her groin throbbed. Like the ice cube, it felt strange, daring, illicit, with a pleasure that was not entirely pleasant. “Hurt me,” she whispered, surprised at herself. She could almost feel her tattoo burning, as if it had just been etched into her back. She felt the woman’s arms tighten around her, and her heart fluttered. Surely, with all the noise from the music, the woman hadn’t heard her whisper? The woman’s thigh pressed between her legs. She was afraid. She wanted to protest, to pull away, to run out of this place and safely home, but her body remained strangely pliant in this tall woman’s arms. She let her lips brush the bare skin of the woman’s chest, just below the hollow of her throat. She and the woman barely moved, just rocking slowly back and forth on the dance floor, lost in the heavy throb of the music. She rubbed her crotch against the woman’s thigh, feeling careless and wicked.

She could not have said how long they danced, only that the slow fadeout of the music was unexpected and unsettling. Disentangling herself from the woman made her realize how closely entangled she had become. The front of her jeans felt damp. The heavy sweater, now too warm in the smoky heat of the club, felt clammy on her skin. She tried to return the woman’s smile, but felt sure she managed only a startled grimace. The woman took her hand and began to lead her off the dance floor. Scully followed meekly, like a child being led to school. The woman brought them to one of the booths at the back, and gestured for Scully to sit, then slid in beside her. “What’s your name?” she asked. She had to lean close to Scully’s ear to make herself heard, even back here away from the crowd.

“Dana,” Scully replied, and instantly regretted it. Not that she didn’t want her name known, but that she suddenly felt the need for a new name, a new identity. Tonight she needed to be someone else, not Dana Scully.

“I’m Julianna. Pleased to meet you.”

After the intimacy of their dance, the casual introduction seemed weirdly ironic. Scully’s mouth twisted in a strained smile.

Julianna smiled back. There was a note in it that was not exactly cruelty, but was not entirely pleasant, either. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

“No,” Scully said. “It’s a new year. A new millennium. Time for some new places, new faces.”

“And new experiences?”

“Yes.” Scully felt an icy shiver of apprehension in her gut, although she told herself there was no reason for it.

Julianna nodded, a knowing glint in her dark eyes. She reached out, slowly, and let her fingers trail down Scully’s cheek. The casual touch was somehow more intimate, more frightening than the way their bodies had clung together in the dance. Scully shivered again.

“Are you cold?” Julianna asked.

“No.” Not cold, not cold at all. She glanced away, watching the dancers for a moment, trying to catch her breath.

“Do you want to dance?”

“No.” The word came out sudden, harsh, almost a protest. Scully smiled weakly, trying to soften it. “Not just now.”

Julianna regarded her thoughtfully, dark eyes narrowed, the tip of her tongue just touching her lower lip. She looked like someone contemplating a box of chocolates, deciding which to bite first. Scully squirmed, wanting to break away from that measuring gaze, but somehow held helpless, as she had been when they were dancing, as if she were a puppet, able to move only as she was directed.

Then Julianna leaned forward, and once again spoke directly into Scully’s ear, her voice low and sleek. “What do you want?”

The question was velvet over needles, heavy and sharp and enticing. Scully felt the fear again, like ice stroking her body, like the needle piercing her back. “I want to feel alive,” she replied. “I want to feel. I want… to be afraid.”

Julianna’s smile deepened, and her dark eyes grew blacker, irises swallowed up by pools of ink. She seemed unsurprised by Scully’s answer. Scully felt her face blaze.

Julianna’s hand stroked Scully’s arm. She continued to gaze into Scully’s eyes. “Do I frighten you?”

“Yes.” Scully felt a shocking explosion of pleasure.

“Does it feel good?” Julianna’s smile was cool and confident.

“Yes.” The answer was torn from her. Her hands gripped the edge of the table.

“Good.” Julianna let her fingers trail lightly along the collar of Scully’s sweater, just barely touching the delicate skin of her throat. “I want to make you feel good. I want to make you feel.”

“Please,” Scully said. She had no idea what she was asking.

“I want to hurt you,” Julianna said. Her voice was a soft purr.

The explosion of pleasure again, even stronger than before, now mixed with shame and need, as well as fear. So Julianna had heard her whispered plea, or had seen it in her eyes, or felt it in her body, or somehow knew what Scully barely knew herself. The heady mix of emotion was exquisite, like nothing Scully had ever felt, tiny needles in all her nerve endings. She felt stripped, exposed, helpless, a fly caught in a spider’s web. She felt alive. “Please,” she begged. She still didn’t know what she was begging for.

“Say ‘yes,’ Dana,” Julianna said softly.

“Yes.” The pleasure was fuller now, thicker, throbbing deep inside her. She felt that she could do anything, that anything could happen. She almost wanted to laugh.

Julianna nodded once, eyes shiny with anticipation. Then, in one swift, graceful motion, she was standing, tall and regal, holding out her hand to Scully. “Come with me.”

Scully’s body obeyed, although warning signals now jangled in the back of her mind, and her knees wobbled as though she’d been running for hours. Still she followed, as if in some sort of trance, unable—unwilling—to break free.

Julianna brought her to an unmarked doorway at the back of the club, hung with a heavy black cloth for a door, and led her through into darkness. She was aware of Julianna reaching out to flip a switch on the wall, and the room was suddenly bathed in deep, blood-red light from a single bulb in the ceiling.

Blackness. The room was solid black; floor, wall, and ceiling. In the thick, bloody light, it was hard to differentiate floor from wall, wall from ceiling, to judge the size of the room, or the material of its structure. The floor felt strangely rubbery under her shoes, almost as if she could sink into it, like quicksand. Scully felt a sudden attack of vertigo, and Julianna’s hand on her arm steadying her.

“Wait here for me,” Julianna said. Her voice, low and cool, had no obvious note of command, but nonetheless carried a quiet authority.

Then Scully was alone in the strange black room. She blinked, trying to force form and structure onto the matte darkness, but only disoriented herself further. The walls appeared to be thick and rubbery, like the floor. In Scully’s sense-starved vision, they began to pulse, to liquefy. She wanted to step forward, to reach out and touch them, to reassure herself that they were solid, but she felt rooted to the spot, where Julianna had told her to wait.

Julianna was back. The room was suddenly just an empty, black-painted room. Scully drew a choked breath of relief, only now realizing how close to panic she had been. Julianna was carrying a full pitcher in one hand, and a glass filled with ice in the other. She carried a towel over her arm. “Water,” she said, putting the pitcher and glass and towel down on a bench that Scully only now noticed against the far wall. She straightened up, and turned to Scully with an appraising look. “Perhaps you’d better have some now.” She poured the glass full and handed it to Scully.

Ice clinked against the sides of the glass. Scully shivered again, feeling the ice in intimate places. With a strange gasp, she gulped at the water, letting it drip down her chin, crunching ice between her teeth.

Gently, Julianna took the glass away from her. There were still a few inches of water in the bottom. Julianna tipped it up and drained it, her soft white throat undulating as she swallowed. She set the glass aside.

Then she stood back, closed her eyes for a few moments and took a deep breath. Her muscles tensed, then relaxed; her face held a look of concentrated calm. When her eyes opened, they glowed with power. “Let’s begin,” Julianna said.

Begin what? Scully stared helplessly.

“Dana, take your sweater off.”

Scully gasped, felt her face go hot. Was this what she had come in here to do? Something deep inside her told her that this was exactly what she had come in here to do. She felt her body tremble, felt more dampness seep into her pants.

Julianna’s smile hardened, and her eyes glinted dangerously, but her voice was quiet and delicate, barely above a whisper. “Dana, take off your sweater.”

“Y—yes, Julianna.” Her hands trembled as she worked her sweater off. So this was what she’d come for. This woman was going to use her, in ways she had never been used before. It was at once shocking and completely familiar, as if she had held this night as a dream inside her always, unaware of its nature, yet knowing it as an empty place waiting to be filled. She took off her sweater, carefully folded it and set it on the bench beside the pitcher of water, then returned to stand before this woman, suddenly her mistress.

“Now, your pants and shoes.”

Scully felt her throat constrict. She had to swallow several times before she could get the words out. “Yes, Julianna.” She went down on one knee to untie her shoes. She was painfully aware of her bare shoulders and belly as she pulled off one shoe, then the other. The bra she wore somehow only made her feel more exposed, cupping and emphasizing her breasts, outlining her erect nippes against the thin fabric. She wished Julianna had ordered her to take it off. It was too tight now, it dug into her flesh. She felt every thread of it, scraping against her skin.

She rose slowly to her feet, fumbling with the buttons of her jeans. They were also too tight now, heavy and clammy, and she wanted them off, despite the burning embarrassment she felt at stripping herself before this powerful woman. She felt the thick, rubbery material of the floor beneath her naked feet. It was strangely sensual, not cold as she would have expected, smooth in texture, slightly giving. She wanted to pull off all her clothes and lie down on it, roll in it, feel it pressing into all her curves and crevices. She unfastened her jeans, slowly pushing them down over her hips, down to her ankles, and then stepped out of them. Then she stood there, dressed only in her bra and panties, her whole body trembling, sweating, breath gasping in her throat.

Julianna waited calmly, that same cool, dangerous smile on her face, while Scully folded her jeans and put them with her sweater, and lined up her shoes on the floor beside the bench. She heard Julianna chuckle softly, as she returned to her position in the center of the room.

“You’re a good little girl, aren’t you?” Julianna’s soft voice mocked her.

No, she wanted to protest, although she didn’t know why. “Yes.”

Julianna began to circle her, slowly, only inches away from her. “You always do what you’re told.”

“Yes.” It seemed a shameful confession.

“You work hard, and keep your nose clean.” In front of her now, Julianna reached out with one finger to touch the cross Scully always wore around her neck. The tiny metal thing burned.

“Yes.” It was hypnotic, to stand here and admit these things, somehow terrible in this strange black room.

Continuing behind her, Julianna’s hand touched Scully’s lower back, to the right of her spine. Her tattoo. It, too, seemed to burn under Julianna’s fingers. “Did it hurt?” Julianna’s voice whispered in her ear.

“Yes.” Pleasured now, the word escaped from her.

“Did you like it?” Julianna’s thumbs slid under the waistband of Scully’s panties.

“Yes. Yes, I liked it. I want more.”

Slowly, slowly, Julianna’s hands pulled Scully’s panties down, over the smooth globes of her ass. Each slow millimeter was intense, paralyzing pleasure. Scully gulped in air, her hands fluttering at her sides, searching for something to hold onto, to steady herself, but finding only empty space. Her knees trembled.

“I have pain for you.”

Scully cried out at this; her knees buckled, and only Julianna’s strong hands gripping her upper arms kept her standing. Julianna chuckled again, this time a warm and satisfied sound. “Come with me, Dana. Let’s get you propped up so you don’t fall over while I spank you.”

Scully felt like a circuit shorting out. Nothing made sense any longer. Her limbs had ceased to operate on their own. She needed Julianna’s guidance just to take a few short steps across the room, then stood obediently while Julianna arranged her, bent forward at the waist, hands braced against the wall, legs spread wide, feet planted firmly on the floor. She was going to be spanked. The thought kept churning around in her mind. Her bottom was bare, her panties pulled down to her thighs, and she was going to be spanked. She barely understood what it meant, much less how she was supposed to react to such a thing, what she was supposed to do. She was afraid, and she was helpless, and she was so sensitized that even the slightest currents of air in the room seemed to abrade her naked skin. Her bra dug into her back and gripped her breasts obscenely, and her panties bit into the flesh of her thighs. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the air rushing into her lungs, feel the sweat oozing out of her pores, feel the blood swirling in her veins, her nerve endings twitching, the tiny electrical pulses firing in her muscles. She could feel her swollen sex throb, wetness leaking from between her legs, tingling heat inside her. She felt everything, so much it was frightening. Her fingers dug into the rubbery walls, her toes into the floor.

Julianna stood behind her, hands on her hips. Then she leaned forward, over Scully’s back. She’d undressed in those few moments, and was naked: the shock of skin on skin left Scully moaning, as if in pain. Julianna’s firm breasts stroked her back. Her soft pubic hair brushed against Scully’s buttocks. Scully found herself straining into her touch, hungry for it. Julianna’s hands stroked up Scully’s sides, ran across her breasts. Scully squirmed, hating the bra between her and the touch of those skillful fingers. She wanted it off, but her hands stayed pressed against the wall where Julianna had placed them. Then, thankfully, Julianna slipped her hands under Scully’s bra, cupping her breasts, pulling them free of the fabric, squeezing and stroking them, pinching her nipples. At the same time, her crotch ground into Scully’s bottom, and her own breasts with their hard nipples rubbed Scully’s back. Scully felt her hips moving, thrusting, her frustrated groin jabbing into the air, seeking contact.

Julianna released her and stepped back, “Not yet,” whispered teasingly into her ear. Desperately, Scully stilled her frantic movements, breathed deeply, waited for her thudding heartbeat to calm down. Not yet. Not yet.

She felt Julianna’s hand stroke her bottom. She tried not to squirm. Then the hand patted, and slapped lightly, five easy strokes, centered right over the lowest part of her butt. The tingly vibrations went straight to her vagina. “Harder, please,” Scully found herself asking, ashamed of her need.

“Patience,” Julianna told her, and continued to caress, occasionally adding a slap or two, but only the lightest strokes, maddening, tantalizing, but not enough. Scully squirmed uncontrollably, straining into the blows, willing them harder.

“Please,” she asked again, heedless of the blood rushing to her face. She wanted more, wanted to feel.

Julianna obliged her this time, spanking her harder, so that the blows stung as well as tingled, all over her bottom. Scully leaned into it, growling under her breath, feeling her buttocks slowly begin to heat, then to burn, and finally to flame.

And the blows grew harder still, becoming real pain now, sending shocks through her entire body, making it hard to stand still and take it, making her whimper and cry out, “Please, it hurts.” But Julianna was implacable, and went on spanking her; hard, solid blows to her butt, now sore and swollen. Scully felt tears come to her eyes. She struggled against the urge to bring her legs together, to stand up, to put her hands behind her to protect herself. She forced herself to breathe through it, to relax her tense muscles. She willed herself to take it all in, to feel it. This was what she wanted: sensations so strong she could barely contain them, so huge they filled her to the brim, until they pushed out all doubt and fear and shame and nothing was left but her body, and crashing waves of feeling.

At last, the blows grew slower, softer, turned back into gentle strokes, welcome now on the burning skin of Scully’s buttocks. Soothing strokes, all over her bottom, that had Scully moaning. Then Julianna was leaning over her again, embracing her from behind, covering her with her tall, strong body. And once again, the cool, quiet voice spoke in her ear.

“What do you want, Dana?”

“This,” was the instant answer.

Julianna chuckled softly. “You have it. What else, Dana?”

“More.” She wriggled against Julianna’s body.

“All right.” Julianna released her, and stepped away.

Scully’s arms were starting to be sore from bracing herself against the rubbery black wall. Her legs, too, had the beginnings of aches from maintaining the same position for so long, wide apart. She felt stabbing little pains, pins and needles, in her shoulders and thighs. Her butt burned and throbbed where the sharp slaps of Julianna’s hand had fallen. Her panties were tight around her thighs, and her bra twisted up under her breasts. It did not occur to her to stand away from the wall, to stretch her legs, to rub her aching arms, to cover herself, to rearrange her underwear. It did not occur to her to wonder whether this was right or wrong, or whether what she was feeling was discomfort or pleasure or both. In fact, nothing much on the level of conscious thought occurred to her at all. She was acutely aware of her body, of everything that was happening to it, from the slight tickle of perspiration trickling through the hair at the back of her neck, to the thick, slightly giving texture of the walls and floor pressing against the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet, to the swollen, heated throb in her genitals. She made no conscious decision to remain as she was and accept whatever Julianna would choose to do to her—it simply did not occur to her that she could do anything else.

She was next aware of Julianna’s hand in her hair, gripping it tightly, lifting her head until she was standing upright—and then holding a glass of ice water to her lips. Scully drank, gratefully. The cold water was delicious, satisfying. She had drunk about half of the water in the glass when Julianna took it away from her. Standing behind her, holding her by her hair, Julianna drank the rest of it, holding the glass over Scully’s shoulder. Cool drops of water dripped down the sides of the glass and fell onto Scully’s breast. Scully gasped, and laughed.

Julianna kissed the back of her neck. Her mouth was cold and moist from the water. Scully shivered, pushing back, rubbing her back and butt into Julianna’s body. The cold of the water was a sweet counterpoint to the heat in her buttocks and groin. “More,” she whispered. It was not a plea, exactly, or a demand—it was simply her desire.

Julianna released her, put the glass down. Scully heard the clink of the ice cubes.

Ice. The ice cube touched the back of Scully’s neck and she gasped, twitching in Julianna’s grasp as the ice was drawn slowly down her spine to her tailbone. It ran across the top of each thigh, teasing close to the heat of her spanking. Julianna drew the ice cube in circles over each buttock, soothing the burning flesh, sending shivery tingles through Scully’s body. She pressed the ice between Scully’s buttocks, sliding it up and down, over Scully’s anus, then with a gentle push, squeezed it past the sphincter until it slipped inside. A strangled groan escaped Scully’s throat. Protests gathered and died, turned into gasps of pleasure, as Julianna’s fingers followed, stroking inside her. Her own hands clutched at the air. Julianna’s fingers pressed in deeper, and Scully squirmed onto them, drawing them in.

All too soon, Julianna let her hands slide free, and stepped away from Scully once more. She bent down, and Scully heard the clink of ice again, then Julianna was once more behind her, body pressing into hers. She slipped one hand under Scully’s left arm, folded her forearm along Scully’s shoulder, then brought her other hand around and touched the ice cube to Scully’s chest.

Scully moaned. Her hand reached back, unbidden, to find Julianna’s hip and draw her body closer. Julianna slid the ice cube down, between Scully’s breasts, circling each one, then on down her belly, drawing watery paths of tingly coldness as it went, let it play a moment in her belly button, and slid it through Scully’s pubic hair. Scully’s fingers tightened around Julianna’s hip.

The ice cube moved lower. At last it touched her clitoris; a sweet, icy shock that made Scully cry out, and squirm and thrust in Julianna’s grasp. She heard Julianna’s thick chuckle in her ear, felt Julianna’s other hand come down to cup her breast, to pinch and squeeze.

The ice cube stroked along her labia, then pushed into Scully’s vagina, followed by slim, strong fingers, moving and thrusting inside her. Julianna’s crotch ground into her from behind. Scully’s moans were constant now, as were the rhythmic thrusts of her hips. The heat, the cold, the strokes, the slaps, the feel of Julianna’s body, mouth on her neck, fingers inside her, hands on her breasts, her buttocks, her hair—it was unbearable, and thrilling, and gorgeous. Scully felt the unbelievable sensation build, and build, until finally it burst, and she collapsed into Julianna’s arms with a shout of wonder and delight.

* * *

The telephone was ringing. Scully’s first impulse was to turn off the ringer and go back to sleep, but instead she opened one eye to see that it was day and her bedside clock read 11:30, and she sighed and reached for the phone. Shifting under the tangled sheet, enjoying the lingering tingle in her vagina and anus, suppressing a little moan over the soreness in her butt, she brought the phone up and mumbled, “Scully.”

“Hi.” It was Mulder, of course. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Yes, Mulder, you did.”

“Sorry,” he said, in a tone of voice that said he was not sorry at all. “What are you doing in bed so late?”

“Mulder, it is January the First, of the Year Two Thousand. Some of us had better things to do last night than sleep.”

“Why, Scully,” he teased. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you got lucky last night.”

Scully grinned. “Well, it’s a good thing you know better, isn’t it?”


Poor boy, he was confused. “Don’t worry about it, Mulder. The world didn’t end.”

There was a pause. Then, “Okay. Well, I want you to meet me at the office as soon as you can get here….”

Scully shifted onto her side and yawned as she listened to Mulder excitedly tell her about the new piece of information he’d come across. She reached out to pick up the scrap of napkin lying on the nightstand by the telephone—Julianna’s phone number. She smiled.

No, the world hadn’t ended. But a new little piece of it had begun.


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