This case is going nowhere and Mulder and I are both
hot, tired and frustrated by the time we return to our hotel room.  I've also got a headache so bad I can hardly see straight.

"Want some ice for your head?" Mulder asks gently.

"Yes, please. The extra-strength Tylenol doesn't seem
to be working."

I lie down and he returns with the ice bucket and
wraps some cubes in a towel.
"Anything else I can do to help?" he murmurs, his
voice low and tender. He hates - really hates - to see me in any kind of pain.

"I think I just need to go to sleep," I reply. "I'll
probably be better when I wake up."

"Okay," he murmurs, "I'll work on our report."

"Mulder, we don't have anything to report."

"Yeah, that's what the report is going to say."

***

After about twenty mintues, I close my laptop and walk over to the bed. "You sleeping, Dana?" I whisper.

"No."

"Feeling any better?"

"No. It's like. . .I know the headache would go away
if could get to sleep, but the headache's too strong
to let me sleep!'

I'm quiet for a moment, hoping she won't misintepret
what I'm about to say next. "I could help you get to
sleep, sweetheart."

"How?"

"You know. What we always joke about. That it's
supposed to be men who fall asleep after a satisfying
orgasm, but in our marriage you're the one who's
usually out like a light within minutes of climaxing."

"Fox, I hate to sound like a reluctant wife from 1950s suburbia, but. . .not tonight, dear. I have a
headache."

"I'm not suggesting sexual intercourse, Dana.
Obviously, that requires a bit of bouncing around,
which wouldn't do your headache any good. I'm just
offering to bring you to climax."

***

I am quiet for a moment. It's not the kind of offer
most men would make. Then again, my husband is
definitely not "most men".

"How?" I ask.

"Orally or manually, whichever you're in the mood for. Maybe a combination of both."

"Won't that leave you feeling frustrated?"

He shrugs. "To a certain extent, sure. But I *AM* used to dealing with feelings of sexual frustration,
Scully. I used to have this sexy partner who drove me
crazy! In some Oriental cultures, bringing your
partner to orgasm without coming yourself is actually
considered proof of ultimate sexual prowess. After
all, giving just to give, without expecting something
in exchange. . .isn't that the essence of what loves
all about? And I do love you, Dana."

"Mmm. I know. I love you, too. Okay, but one
condition."

"What?"

"I get to return the favor sometime."

"Whenever you want, sweetheart. Now lie back and let
me love you."

***

She closes her eyes and I drop a feather soft kiss on
her lips. Then I bite down on the tense tendon in her
neck.

"Ow! What'd you do that for?"

"Old psychologists' trick. Causing a small pain in one place can distract from a large pain someplace else. It's the basis of acupuncture, among other things."

"Oh."

I flip open the buttons to her shirt and the clasp at
the front of her bra. I slowly lick around her breasts -  the valley between them, the very top slopes, the undersides - then, when they are slick, I suckle briefly at first one nipple, then the other. I kiss down her tummy while running my hands up and down her legs at the same time. Scully removed her shoes, socks and slacks while I was getting the ice, so all she has on now is the unbuttoned shirt, the open bra and her panties. Which, I notice with a smug smile of masculine pride, are now wet.

***

Mulder moves his mouth down to the waistband of my
panties and lets his fingertips dance along the lace
at the leg holes. "Decided which you want yet,
Scully?"

"Both," I murmur. I refuse to give in to guilt about
my demands for sexual pleasure. He'll get his turn.

I can feel him smiling against my leg as he eases my
panties off. Then he gently spreads my outer lips and
licks softly. "Mulder, take off your shirt," I say. I
want to feel his bare skin under my legs, not the
cotton of his white dress shirt.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." He quickly divests himself of his
shirt, then dives back down between my legs, this time using a finger as well as his tongue.

I moan and it's not from the pain of my headache.

***

Scully is thrusting against my face so hard that I
have to wrap my other arm around her hips to keep her
still. I love this. It's funny, but in a strange way I get a bigger kick out of Scully's climaxes than I do my own. She's a woman who prizes control so the fact that she's willing to lose control - for me, because of me - is a heady aphrodisiac. I burrow my tongue a deep inside her as it can go, stroking her with my fingertips at the same time. She comes and I'm awash in it, the heat, the smell, the taste, the sound, the sight of my wife's climax as she moans out my name. When her trembling subsides, I kiss my way back up her body.

"Go to sleep," I whisper in her ear.

"Stay close," she murmurs.

"Always, Dana. Always."

***

The next week. . .

We are finishing up a case, interviewing an old farmer for one last time. As we're leaving a half-grown puppy, pure mutt, starts yipping around our feet.

"You two don't want a dog, do you?" he asks.

Scully's eyes light up like a kid at Christmas.
"Well," she says, with a glance up at me.

"No, we don't need a dog. Thanks," I say.

Scully is strangely silent on the way back to the car, casting a longing look over her shoulder. I feel like a rat. I feel worse than a rat. I don't want a dog. But Dana does. Over the nearly nine months of our marriage, I've bought her several presents. Expensive presents, which I can well afford. My father's death left me a relatively welathy man. She's thanked me for them, but none of them were things she was really longing for. The things she most deeply desires - a baby, the return of her sister, answers to some of the things that have been done to her - are beyond my ability to give her. But, I realize, for once in my life I have the capability of getting her something she actually wants.

"Wait here, Scully," I say. My voice is brisk,
efficient, as I toss her the car keys. "I'll be right
back."

I jog back to the old farmer and ask him if he was
serious about looking for a home for the dog. I assure him we'll treat it well and scoop up the mutt in my arms.

***

Mulder is right. We don't need a dog. The life we lead leaves no room for any pets more demanding than fish. And I don't need a degree in psychology to understand why I want something cuddly and needy. It undoubtedly has to do with my fertility problems. My inability to conceive was reconfirmed yesterday, with the start of my period.

But I'm mad at him anyway. I don't even turn to look
at him when he opens his door and slides behind the
wheel. I just continue gazing out the window until he
says, "One condition, Scully."

"One condition about what?" I ask dully.

"No more 'Moby Dick' names."

***

The smile she gives me is amazing. Hell, to make her
look like that I'd commit to a pony, an entire litter
of kittens and a chimpanzee!

"Thank you, Fox!" she screams, hugging the puppy and
me at the same time, then kissing me long and deep.

When we get back to the motel, she plays with Elvis -
the name we dedcided on for the pup - until he falls
asleep. I've never seen Scully so happy and part of me is almost jealous.

"Hey, do I get a belly rub, too?" I ask.

"Sure," she agrees. "Take off your shirt and just let
me wash my hands."

When she returns, I'm still fully clothed. She walks
over and begins to very deliberately unbutton my
shirt, then slides it off my shoulders.

"Lie down, Fox," she commands, in a tone that always
sends shivers down my spine.

"Um, Dana, I was kind of joking."

"Baloney. You want to make damned sure you get as much attention as our pet. Believe me, Mulder, I'd much rather touch you than the dog. I spent years keeping my hands off you and now that I don't have to anymore, I don't intend to waste a single opportunity."

Shit! I am painfully hard. I am also painfullly well
aware of the fact that this can't go anywhere for the
next couple of days. She pushes me down on the bed and begins to rub and stroke my chest and belly.

"Your chest has always turned me on. From the very
first time I saw it," she murmurs huskily.

"I thought my glasses turned you on. And seeing me in
jeans."

"Those too."

"So what if I wore jeans and glasses, but no shirt?"

For an answer, she bites me gently on the shoulder,
then begins to kiss and lick all over my torso. I
moan, but manage to get out, "You didn't answer,
Dana."

"So try it sometime and see. But make sure it's at a
time of the month when I can act on my impulses."

Her hands skim my thighs, then go back up to my belt
buckle. Once she's got it loose, she quickly and
efficiently strips me, then moves to place her mouth
on my cock.

"No, Dana."

"Why not?"

"Because we can't take this to its logical conclusion
and I'll just end up uncomfortable."

"I come for you like this," she whispers, almost
shyly.

Damn! Has she just offered to do what I think she just offered to do? Dana often performs oral sex on me as a form of foreplay and she's damned good at it;
especially considering that it was a pleasure she was
unfamiliar with until our honeymoon. Or maybe part of
the reason it turns me on so much is because I know
she never did it to any other man. But this - this is
from one of my most private fantasies. Scully has made an amazingly large number of my fantasies come true, beginning on our wedding night, but I figured a few of them would be better left unfulfilled.

"You sure?" I ask.

"I want to," she whispers. "Please."