Sense Memory
by Tesla

It's a bitch.

Dana Scully would be first to tell anyone that you can only trust the factual evidence, the evidence that can be replicated in a lab, cue her partner's eye rolling, the evidence of a medical examination and the lab tests.

She and Mulder were called out because there were some vaguely occultish aspects to what Scully would call gang murders. Mulder didn't disagree, but something about the wreckage of the social club had his paranormal antennae twitching. He stood beside the pool table, palming the solid balls. He looked down, frowning, at the table, the long strong fingers of one hand making the ball spin.

And then the sense memory hit her, of those fingers on...her. On her. When...she wouldn't have dreamt it and forgotten it, she never forgot a single dream in her life, and she certainly would not have forgotten one starring Mulder.

Melissa always thought it so funny to refer to your clitoris as your 'naughty bits' and Scully stood straight up, feeling the bit very naughty indeed. Mulder looked up, still frowning, but she knew he wasn't seeing her. He walked around the table.

Oh, Mulder. Please don't pick up the pool cue. Please don't---

the pool table. Felt smooth on her back, one pool ball brushing her scalp and the only light from the Coors sign in the window

Mulder balanced the cue on his palm, his palm...

his palms on her thighs, surprisingly hard and his mouth soft hot quick on her neck, her jaw, her mouth. His tongue at her mouth at the same time his fingers are inside the crotch of her panties. She spread her legs and opened her mouth at the same time.

Scully's mouth was dry, but the rest of her wasn't. They had. They had. Mulder bent quickly, and made a shot. It bounced twice off the bumpers, and rolled into the side pocket. "Sweet," he said, absently, and straightened up.

"Sweet, sweet," Mulder said, stroking her clit and biting her earlobe, her neck, the fingers of the hand she brought up to his face. "Do you like this?" And she was amazed that she actually say, "Yes," instead of "Aaaaah."

Scully knew she wasn't blushing, she never blushed, but she felt hot all over, not just between her thighs. Here was their X-File, right here. She and Mulder had sex on a pool table, and why the hell didn't they remember it? How could anyone forget

coming over and over again, the cue balls rolling and nudging her right hip. Her legs locked around Mulder's lean waist, biting him through the shoulder of his blue shirt, he leaving finger- sized bruises on her upper arms, his fingers jammed between them on her clit and she was screaming into his shoulder.

Mulder threw the pool stick back on the table. "Let's go, Scully," he said abruptly. The light turned his face ruddy.


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