Sense Memory II
There was a Santeria shrine in the back room, but other than that, the gang's "social club" was X-File-less. Nice pool table, though, Mulder thought.
They were lying on the pool table. The only light from the Coors sign in the window
Mulder picked up the pool stick, leveled it at the table, as flashes of memory appeared faster and faster, like when he envisioned the action of a crime scene.
he ran his hands up her legs, pulling off the panty hose, as her hips lifted, pulling them off with her shoes and dropping them on the floor. He smoothed the sweet soft skin of her thighs, soft skin and surprisingly strong thighs. Her eyes were blue pilot lights in the semi-dark, as he ran his open mouth up her neck, and along the rim of her jaw to her mouth. Her mouth opened to his tongue at the same time that her legs fell open to his fingers at her panties.
Mulder blinked. The fuck? He didn't usually have waking fantasies at a crime scene. Well, not for a while, anyway. He lined up a shot, and hit the cue ball. The nine ball bounced twice off the bumpers, and rolled into the side pocket. "Sweet," he said, to himself, pleased, and straightened up.
"You taste so sweet," Mulder said, and she did, from her minty tongue, to the fresh clean smell of her neck, to the breath of cologne from between her breasts, to her essence as he pulled the panties down and tasted her clit.
Weird. Better run at least five miles tonight. He certainly had something to think about in the shower, though.
But.
Scully was staring at him, with her eyes almost popping out of her head like a cartoon. It was warm in the abandoned club room, but her nipples were standing out like marbles through her white blouse. If he didn't know better, he'd think she knew exactly what he was thinking. She stared at him, at the table, back at him, eyes dilating.
But shit, he could feel her coming, clenching around his dick, Mulder rocking her so good, Scully moving with him all liquid fire, over and over again, the cue balls clicking beside them. Her legs were locked around Mulder's waist, and she was biting him like an animal, a beautiful tawny animal, right through his blue shirt, and he got one hand free long enough to jam his fingers between them and he yelled and she yelled.
Mulder threw the pool stick back on the table. "Let's go, Scully," he said abruptly. He hoped he sounded normal, because he felt like he was blushing like a high school sophomore caught making out in the supply closet.
Your conscious mind could forget details, but the memory of the senses was true.