Geez, I'm hot! And my body is beginning to remind me
that I'm nearly 40 and that maybe subbing in a
basketball game full of twentysomethings was not one
of my more brilliant ideas. 

***

The pretty Hispanic woman smiles at me as I sit down
on the bench to watch the game. I'm late, but I wanted to run by home and change before I came out. "Which one is your guy?" she asks.

***

I catch sight of Scully out of the corner of my eye
and signal for a time out. I strip off my shirt and
hand it to her, reaching for the bottle of sports
drink that I asked her to bring for me. "Hold this for me, will you?" I ask. She smiles and nods while I gulp down half the bottle.

***

As Mulder retuns to the game, I smile at the younger
woman and say, "That one's mine."
It's funny - I can lay claim to a magna cum laude
bachelor's degree, a medical license and an exemplary
record with the Federal Bureau of Investigation - but
none of it inspires me to brag the way being able to
lay claim to a sweaty, half-naked man does. Maybe
because I've always had good grades and been lauded
for my hard work, but being half of a couple is a much rarer experience for me. Maybe it's because I
accomplished the other things about when most people
usually do, but I didn't get married until I was in my mid-30s, by which time most of my friends and
relatives had long since written me off as an old
maid.

***

"That's Agent Scully?" the rookie agent on my team
asks.

"Yeah," I nod.

He looks at Scully again and smiles. "She's really,"
he begins, then looks at me and gulps. I think he's
just remembered that I'm his boss. And I've got a
reputation for not being the most stable agent in the
bureau. And the woman he's ogling is my wife. "She's
really, um, . . .nice. I mean to, er, bring you a
drink and everything."

I give the kid a glare and toss the ball to him. I
turn away to hide my quick grin of amusement. Yeah,
she's "really nice" all right. So damn nice it's a
wonder I can make it into work on time as often as I
do. He actually did a pretty good job of thinking on
his feet while being glared at by Spooky Mulder. A
lesser agent would have suddenly announced they heard
their mother calling. The kid may work out okay.

***

Mulder sinks a three-pointer from center court to win
the game, then walks over to me and gulps down the
rest of the drink. "You ready to go home?" he asks.
Before I can give my answer, which I'm trying to edit
down from "Yeah, I'm ready to go home, but we may not
make it all the way there, because you look so damned
sexy there's a high possibility that I'm just going to jump you in the parking lot," Chan breaks in.

"Hey, you two, drinks first. The losers always buy a
round for the winners and their girlfriends." He grins at us, "Or their wives. Sorry, Agent Scully. None of the regular players are married."

"You okay with that?" Mulder asks.

"Sure," I nod. Because as much as I want to be alone
with him, I sense he needs this. Ever since we found out about my pregnancy, Mulder has been busting his ass to be the one thing he's never been in his whole glorious good-and-bad-up-and-down career with the bureau: a team player. One of the guys. Besides, I kind of enjoy being in a situation where we can act married in front of other agents; it hasn't happened all that often.

***

When we reach the sports bar, the only available table is way in the back and only has six chairs. "We can share," Carter says, pulling his giggling girlfriend down into his lap.

I glance at Scully and she nods, just imperceptibly.
"So can we," I say. I sink down into the chair and
Scully settles down in my lap, but without the
giggles.

We get our drinks and the younger guys begin analyzing
the game as I sit back and relax. The whole scene
vaguely reminds me of the pub I used to hang out in
during my student days at Oxford, but when I catch one of the other agents staring at Scully, I realize there is a fundamental difference.

It's not like I've never been envied before. For most
of my adult life there have been other men who've
coveted my grades or my professional abilities. But,
for the first time in my life, I realize that another
man is sexually jealous of me and wishes he could
trade places with me, go home and sleep with the woman I'm going to sleep with. This is a first.

Phoebe and I were considered an odd pair: two tall,
smart, weird people who fit well together. The British students were, on the whole, more tolerant of our eccentricities than other Americans probably would have been and one of my friends even said he was glad the two of us found each other. But nobody ever envied me; quite frankly, I got her pretty much because nobody else really wanted her.

Fowley and I didn't hang out much with other agents,
but the Gunmen knew about our relationship. And I
think Langley pretty much summed up all their feelings when he said, "She's attractive enough, I guess, for a woman her age." Byers and Langley and I were all still in our late twenties then and a woman in her mid-30s was not exactly what any of us were dreaming about. Frohike was older, but even he never seemed to think Fowley was "hot".

The funny thing is, Scully's about the age, now, that
Fowley was then. But it's obviously that the men who
are staring at her aren't thinking she's "attractive
enough for a woman her age". They're thinking she's
hot. And wondering if all the stories they've heard
about redheads are true. And thinking that I'm one
lucky SOB. Which I am.

Carter's not staring; he's too preoccupied with his
own girlfriend. Chan isn't either; he seems to think
of Scully sort of as an older sister, or maybe Anglo
women just don't appeal to him. But the other three
are practically drooling. And I'm feeling so downright possessive and chauvinistic that not only would Scully be disgusted with me if she knew the path my thoughts were transversing, I'm a little embarrassed of these cave man tendancies myself.

***

I settle myself more comfortably in Mulder's lap and
flutter my fingertips against his biceps. This is so
immature. What am I going to do next, say, "Ooh, Fox,
you're so big and strong"? Yeah, probably. He's
actually *surprisingly* strong, given the deceptive
leanness of his body.

This whole situation sort of reminds me of my high
school days, except that this is a bar instead of a
pizza parlor. There's one more important difference,
too. This time *I'm* the one sitting on the lap of a
good-looking, athletic guy. In high school, Missy was
always the one with the hunky boyfriend. I was usually at the other end of the table, trying desperately to carry on a conversation with some guy who would have made Frohike look like a love god.

I always told myself that I didn't want to be pretty
and popular, that it was more important to me that I
be smart and self-confident. But the truth is, I
wanted it all.  To be valedictorian *and* homecoming
queen. To have the respect of my peers and a guy who
thought I was gorgeous. And now I've got it. Mulder
may have his quirks and eccentricities and demons, but he's never - not once in all the years I've known him - thought less of my intelligence because I'm a woman. Since our marriage, I've also never known him to not to think of me as a woman just because he knows I'm intelligent.

***

Meyers is gawking at us so often and openly that I
eventually get fed up. It's the first time I've ever
met the man. Although younger than Scully and I are,
he's older than the others around the table, probably
in his early 30s. So he's had time to hear more of the rumors. But I finally snap "If my wife sitting on my lap is offending your sensibilities so much, Meyers, feel free to offer her your chair!"

Meyers gives us a shamefaced grin. "Sorry, Agent
Mulder, Agent Scully. It's just that. . . I mean you
two are not what I expected. You're so normal! I guess I expected you to be spouting off about aliens or communicating telepathically or channelling Elvis or something."

"Actually, Elvis is in our backyard even as we speak," I say completely deadpan.

Chan and Scully both break into laughter at that. Then she swats me on the arm. "Teasing other agents isn't *nice*, Mulder!" She looks over and tells Meyers, "Elvis is the name of our dog."

"That's what I mean," Meyers replied. "I mean Spooky
Mulder, married, playing basketball, going out for a
beer, owning a dog. Heck, when's the baby due?"

"November," Scully and I say in unison.

***

Meyers jaw practically hits the ground at that. Poor
guy. I guess we aren't exactly living up to our
images. Mulder's not acting spooky. An "ice queen"
isn't supposed to cuddle up in her husband's lap and
announce she's pregnant.

"Oh, you're going to have a baby?" Carter's girlfriend asks. "Is this your first?"

"Yes," I say and she and I drift off into chatter
about names and due dates, while the men debate the
upcoming NBA finals.

After a few more minutes, I become aware of Mulder's
hand on the small of my back. He's taken advantage of
the low lighting and our secluded position to slip his fingers beneath my T-shirt and trace patterns on my skin. He's always liked to touch me there. I wiggle a bit on his lap and bend my lips to his ear, then give a tiny, almost inaudible whimper.

Mulder jerks his head up and looks into my eyes. "I
thought you said teasing other agents wasn't  *nice*,
Scully!" he whispers.

"Mmm, this is different. It's okay for me to tease
you. Besides you started it!"

"You ready to go home?"

"Mulder, if I have any hope at all of retaining my
'ice queen' image and continuing to inspire fear and
respect in my male students and colleagues, you need
to get me out of here right now!"

"You coming onto me, Scully?"

"You taking me home, Mulder?"

He pushes me up gently, then stands.

***

We make our goodbyes and leave. Chan gives us an extra big grin, like he's figured out why we're in such a hurry to go. Well, hey, he is the best investigator on my team!

When we reach the car, I back Scully up against the
door and kiss her. Hard. When I finally lift my mouth, she gives another one of those little whimpers that drive me crazy.

I open the door and practically shove her in, then
walk around and get behind the wheel. "You know, I've
just realized something."

"What?"

"You, Special Agent Doctor Dana Katherine Scully
Mulder, have one helluva an athlete and cheerleader
fantasy!"

"Mulder, shut up."

I laugh and watch with delight as she blushes.

"If I knew watching me compete was going to turn you
on like this, I would have invited you to one of my
games years ago!"

"Actually, although I did enjoy being a spectator, I
think I enjoy it more when I get to play *with* you.
Remember when you taught me how to hit a baseball?"

"It's not something I'm like to forget, Scully!"

"You're speeding," she points out.

I shrug. "I'm a federal agent. And I've got some
important investigating to do."

***

We make it home in less than ten minutes, which -
considering the traffic and distance - probably
violates several laws not only of the state but also
of physics. As soon as we get inside, he scoops me up
and kisses me again. This time I take advantage of our privacy and wrap my legs around his waist. I'm
half-expecting him to just tear my clothes off and
take me right there, so I'm surprised when he wrenches his mouth away from mine and gives a long shuddering sigh. He's fighting for control.

"Tell me, Scully," he whispers, his eyes dark and
dilated and heavy-lidded. "Tell me what you want. What I can do to make your fantasies come true."

I smile. What a wonderful, sexy, gorgeous man he is!
And he's mine, all mine. "The couch," I say softly.
"Take me over to the couch and hold me on your lap,
like you were doing at the bar."

He complies and sits us down, then looks at me like
he's awaiting further instructions. "I just want to
kiss you. On your neck. And you can, um, let your
hands wander."

"With pleasure," he replies.

I bend my mouth to his neck and began to kiss and
nibble and suck, right where his neck and shoulder
meet. I love doing this to him. I don't know why,
exactly. But he certainly seems to enjoy it.

And is he ever letting his hands wander! He seems to
be touch me simultaneously on my breasts, my hips, my
back, my thighs. I know he only has two hands, and
can't possibly by touching me more than two places at
once but. . ."Oh!" I gasp in pleasure when he finally
moves one of those long, sensitive fingers to where I
most want it to be.

***

"Mmmm! More, Mulder!" Scully sighs.

I smile and slip another finger inside the wide legs
of her cotton shorts. I'd like to do more than
manually stimulate her - use my mouth, for example -
but we seem to be fulfilling some sort of teenage
fantasy of hers and I don't think high school boys are big on giving oral sex. If she all wants if for me to finger-fuck her, then I'll do that.

She's leaning practically backward over the arm I'm
using to support her, hair hanging down and breasts
thrust upward, clinging to my shoulders for dear life. She's pumping herself hard against my hand and with every wiggle her hip bumps against my erection.

When I can tell she's very, very close, I lower my
mouth to the juncture of her shoulder and neck and
suck. She gives a little scream and comes, her wetness soaking my hand. I slide my fingers gently out of her, stroking her thighs as she comes back to earth.

Scully gives me one of those dazzling, breathtaking
smiles that I'd gladly walk across hot coals for.
"Thank you," she whispers.

"The pleasure's all mine," I assure her.

***

"Looks like we have some unfinished business here," I
murmur, stroking him through the cotton of his shorts
and briefs.

"Want me to carry you upstairs?"

"Not yet. I want to finish up here on the couch."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure. We haven't really made love in the living
room since we moved into this house; we used to do it
all the time in the apartment. Besides. . ."

"It's more in keeping with this evening's theme?" he
asks gently.

"Yeah," I admit, then kiss him.

He positions me beneath him and rocks against me,
letting me know how much he's enjoying this.  Then he
pulls my T-shirt off, flips open the front clasp of my bra and gazes in appreciation at my breasts.

"Your breasts get more beautiful everyday. Fuller, a
more vibrant color. Not that they weren't beautiful
before."

"Thank you. It's one of the nicer side effects of
pregnancy. Before, I was so small I used to wonder
sometimes why I even bothered with a bra. By the way,
you're overdressed for this party."

Mulder grins and yanks his T-shirt over his head.
Then, for good measure, he goes ahead and removes his
shoes and socks, followed by the rest of his clothing. I let my eyes wander up and down his leanly muscled legs and torso then stare in open appreciation at his arousal. He reaches down and pulls my shorts and soaked panties off as he rejoins me on the couch.

"I love you so much," he murmurs as he slips into me.

"I love you, too," I reply.

***

I end up taking the teenager theme a little further
than I intended to, coming inside Scully within
moments of penetration. This is mildly embarrassing. A man in his late 30s is not supposed to have this
happen. But she grins at me and says, "When you get
into a role, you really get into it, don't you,
lover?"

"I guess that's one way of looking at it. Come on, you won't be comfortable if we end up falling asleep down here," I scoop her up in my arms and carry her
upstairs. Yeah, I know. It's pure cave man stuff and a civilized Oxford grad like myself should be ashamed of such behavior. But I enjoy it and from Scully's
blissful sigh as she wraps her arms around my neck,
I'd say she does, too.

After I tuck her into bed, I murmur, "I'm going to hop in the shower just real quickly. I don't want to go to sleep all sweaty."

"Don't be long," she says her voice beginning to slur. She always gets sleepy after we make love.

***

When Mulder rejoins me in bed, I slide over and
snuggle next to him. I figure I better take advantage
of this ability while I still can; pretty soon, my
belly will be too big for this kind of behavior.

"We never did eat dinner," I remind him.

"Do you want me to go make you a sandwich or
something?" he asks, immediately concerned. Mulder's
always been sweet to me, dating all the way back to
the times when he would let me sleep on his shoulder
during our stakeouts, but ever since we found out
about the baby he's outdone himself in taking care of
me.

"No," I reply. "Tomorrow's Saturday. You can make me
one of those great, big yummy breakfasts you do so
well."

"Count on it, Scully," he answers.