A Granted Wish Part 1 by Danielle

A Granted Wish by Danielle

STORIES ON THIS SITE ARE INTENDED FOR ADULTS ONLY

Disclaimer: This story was inspired by a deep desire to see a M/S romance, although not too early in the show. Don't want it getting stale. So, in order to fulfill my deepest desires (no pun intended) I wrote this not so little story. If all goes well and response is favorable I will continue. Please enjoy and young people under eighteen refrain from reading this story as it contains the vivid, graphic sexual reveries of a frustrated college student.

Thanks to Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen for provided a wonderful t.v. show and please forgive my trepass onto your property. The characters Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and Melissa Scully do not belong to me, but the illustrious Mr. Carter. This story is in parts and I wish I could say that one of them is pg-13, but they are definitely nc-17. Sorry.
- Enjoy, Danielle

A Granted Wish (Part I) by Danielle

New Orleans Airport
August 20th
Wednesday, 2pm

The sun beat mercilessly on the pavement and heat waves rippled in the distance as Scully scanned the rental car lot. A breeze lifted the ends of her hair and she looked up to see a 747 glide over the airport and into the carpet of sky. She pursed her full lips, wishing again that she didn't have to be there. Her mind's eye pictured a white sandy beach gently kissed by agua blue waters. She breathed out a wistful sigh. She really hated this city.

"Scully. Scully," a slightly irritated male voice interrupted her thoughts. She glanced up into the hooded eyes of her partner. She had to squint slightly because he stood off to the side of her, knowing that she hated having to crane her neck to look into people's faces. He learned this quickly after once making a snide comment about her height, or rather lack of, and receiving a day's worth of the silent treatment.

"Are you ready to go? I have the car."

She raised an auburn eyebrow and pointed, "That's the car? Mulder, for god's sake, it's a sky blue convertible. I don't think Skinner is going to be pleased with this when he sees our expense report."

Mulder grinned boyishly at Scully's concerned face, "It's a 1956 Chrysler. Isn't she beautiful!"

Scully's blue eyes widened at Mulder's unexpected enthusiasm for the car and teased, "Since when do you know about cars? I thought skin flicks and UFOs were your only outside interests."

Mulder blushed lightly at the mention of the pornos. He grimaced and silently chasitized himself for not hiding his stash of porns. A few months ago, he spent a restless night watching blue movies until he fell into a light sleep on his couch. He woke groggily to the sound of Scully's knock and stumbled to let her in. He completely forgot about the tapes resting on his vcr. Instead, he had snatched the food from her arms and made his way into the kitchen. Therefore he was startled when she joked, "So who do I resemble most -- Clara Kent in 'Superwoman' or Savannah Sugar in 'Steetcar of Desire'?" He had leaped up and snatched the tapes from her before stomping into the living room, muttering colorful imprecations the whole way. She spent the rest of the day tormenting him by humming John William's theme song to 'Superman'.

He narrowed his eyes at her and grabbed the cases form her, stowing the luggage in the trunk. He fleetingly thought about how pretty Scully looked with her hair blowing in the breeze. The thought partially prompted his next question, "Top up or down?"

She brutally ignored the hopeful look in his eyes, "Up." She relented slightly, "After we meet with the police and check everything out then we can go with the top down. I won't have to worry about making a presentable impression to anyone."

He shrugged, dismissing the olive branch. "You better drive since you know the lay of the land. How long has it been since you last visited the Big Easy?"

Scully walked over to the driver's side and got behind the wheel. She ducked her head and peered through the passenger window. "Get in." She started the motor, relishing the purr of the big car. She eased the car out of the airport, not answering his question. He wasn't until he gave an impatient snort, did she reply.

"The last time I was here I was fourteen. I started my freshman year of high school here. Dad wasn't exactly stationed in New Orleans but at a base on the coast. Mom wanted to give me and Missy a little stability so they sent us to a Catholic school in New Orleans. She had gone to college with one the nuns who taught at Sacred Heart." She paused for a moment, "Finish briefing me on the case. Why are you so determined that we take this one? It sounds pretty basic."

He didn't remark on the abrupt change of subject but instead launched into a detailed account of the case, "Three months ago four college girls rented an apartment in the French Quarter. They were going to spend their summer soaking up the sights. They all worked in the same jazz club. Ummm...it's called Ella's Sweet Sound. Well a month after they arrived, two of them disappeared. The other two were not particularly concerned at first because it seems that their friends had serious boyfriends and they figured there was separation anxiety and the girls left to be with them.

"Without notifying their friends in advance?"

Mulder glanced at the file in his lap, "The two that disappeared are both natives of NY, Audrey Giatta and Gina Ricci. The other two, Grace Chen and Francesca Reina, apparently reached the same conclusion and got worried when they did not receive any phone calls. After 72 hours, they notified the NOPD. Two weeks went by and the police could find no trace of the girls and because manpower was so tight the search was eventually called off. Well, it seems the missing girls had relatively wealthy parents back in NY and they got together and hired a private detective, a Mr. A. Braxton. He, too, was unsuccessful in finding the girls and didn't get a break until very early last Tuesday. A junkie, one of his informants, found their decapitated bodies in an abandoned road house on the outskirts of the city. Their heads have yet to turn up."

"This still sounds pretty routine. At worst, it could have been the work of a serial killer. What aren't you telling me? From what you've described to me this does not sound like a typical x-file."

"You're right, normally this is a case that would not interest me. However, these decapitations are definitely strange. Not that decapitations are what I would term normal behavior and you know how I am an expert on normality," he grinned at her wry look and continued, "Five years ago twelve bodies were found throughout New Orleans. After four bodies turned up, the police department realized they had a seril murderer on their hands and called the Bureau. The AD sent me down to investigate but soon after I arrived I came down with some sort of kidney infection and I spent the following four weeks in the hospital. While I was there, nothing happened and once I was released I was called away on another case. Twenty-four hours after I departed, they found another pair of bodies. Six more days went by and the last two bodies were found. There were no more after that. The police and the Bureau never turned up any clue as to who was the killer and had to close the case. However, since the murders were so distinctive, they were eventually shuffled down to the x-files."

"How were these decapitations so unique," her mouth curled minutely as the distasteful passed through her lips.

Mulder ignored the question and looked out the window. He saw condemned buildings that hinted at their days of grandeur and opulence. He stared at a six-story building whose floors boasted what looked like wrought iron balconies. He wondered briefly if that was an old cat house used to entertain mariners in New Orleans' heyday. He enjoyed a brief daydream imaging sexy sloe-eyed French girls and mysterious cafe-au-lait Creole girls leaning over the balconies wearing only thin petticoats and revealing corsets. "We've just entered New Orleans," he murmured.

"Are you asking or telling me," she questioned dryly.

He ignored her query again, "How much further to the police department?"

"About ten more minutes before we reach the station in the quarter. Finish answering my questions."

He began abruptly, "The heads of the twelve corpses were never found. Their bodies, yes. Instead the killer left something else. Each body had holes punched in each hand and each ankle. The bodies had also been wiped down with a mixture of milk and honey. Placed at the top of their shoulders, where the head and neck would have been, was a bouquet of red rose buds with a crucifix made out of bird bones. Dove bone, to be exact."

"Where was the crucifix?"

"Nestled in the bouquet. What is interesting, however, is the fact that not one of the bodies displayed any breakage of the skin or any other marks that would indicate how the heads were removed form the bodies. And the punctures on the bodies' hands and ankles were afflicted postmortem."

Scully's pale face lost little color it had. She gripped the steering wheel tighter and gazed intently out the window. She saw a parking lot full of cars, many of them unmarked polices cars. She lifted a hand and pointed, "There's the station." She clicked on her blinkers and turned into the lot.

Mulder looked concernedly at Scully. He didn't like her pallor. He had never seen his partner have such a emotional reaction to the description of bodily mutilation. She had seen much worse in her forensic work. The only other time she had such a violent reaction. . ."You think those holes are stigmatas, don't you?"

Scully looked up, startled.

"Scully, I wouldn't forget a little boy whose hands spontaneously bled all time and was mistaken for the Christian savior."

Scully gave a thin smile, "You can say his name, Mulder, it's Jesus. He is not going to strike you down for being a nonbeliever. He doesn't work that way. And yes, that is what the punctures in the ankles and hands are referred to as, but only if they appear spontaneously. That is a sort of prerequisite according to Catholic theology. You said the holes were punched into their bodies."

"Just a figure of speech. They were like the heads except they appeared or were put there after the girls' organs stopped functioning. What's got you so upset? You don't think this another rapture, do you?"

Scully opened her door and got out of the car.. She turned, leaned in to look at him and said cryptically, "We should be so lucky."

The Silver Trellis Hotel 7:45pm

Scully sighed and leaned her head back against the tub. Steam rose up causing the tendrils that escaped her loose topknot to curl around her face. She could hear a soulful saxophone play in the distance. She sighed again and lifted a foot so she could plug her big toe into the old-fashioned spigot. She smiled, thinking how much she liked this claw footed tub -- nice and roomy enough for a girl to fall asleep in. She closed her eyes and reviewed the events of the day. Their interview with the police had gone predictably awry. NOPD was infamous for its incompetence and corruption and that their reputation was deserved was obvious from the investigating detectives' lack of preparation for their debriefing. Mulder had gotten quickly annoyed with Det. Martin and Det. Debouix. The two men had been in charge of the case and had done relatively little to find the girls. Basically, they had handled the search but had made no effort to dig deeper into the case. They hadn't even attempted to confer with the officers who handled the murders five years ago. Hell, she was surprised they had even made the connection.

Dana heaved another sigh and sank down until her breasts were submerged in the cooling water. She would have to get out soon and grab some dinner with Mulder before they went to meet the deceased's friends. She shut her eyes tightly. Thinking about the case turned her stomach. Dove bones. God, that sounded so familiar. A voice from the past invaded her mind.

"See these, Dana, they're dove bones. They have been polished until they look like ivory. Don't you think so?" She had nodded wordlessly, too transfixed by the man's handsome face to speak. He had continued to explain the importance of the bones, telling her how the slaves used to bury them with the bodies of their dead to ensure the soul's safe travel to heaven. The birds were to take the soul up in order to ensure that it would not get disoriented and travel back to earth. The Creole slaves had believed that if a soul didn't immediately depart for heaven, it would be trapped on earth and live in suspended agony. Apparently the angels only made these rescue missions with the help of an earthly summons. Therefore, a soul waited for the scent of roses, which always heralded the presence of an angel.

A knock on the door startled Dana back to the present. "Det. Debouix called and said that the girls were at the club. They wanted to meet us there for drinks at eight. It's twenty till now. I called down to the lobby and the man at the desk said the club was a ten minute walk from here."

"All right, I'll be ready in five." A thought struck her and she called out again, "Mulder, how did you get in my room? I know I locked my door."

Mulder flopped into a red velvet wing-backed chair and idly crossed his legs. He heard the disconcertion in her voice and smiled. Scully hated being caught unaware. She must have headed straight for the tub and not canvassed the room or she would have noticed that the terrace covered the whole left side of the floor so people could look out onto the street during the festivals. People could easily travel to each other's rooms and enter in if the terrace doors weren't properly latched. He noticed something silvery at the foot of the bed and went to investigate. He picked up two diaphanous nylons and heard the swish of water as Dana got out of the tub.

Scully's harried voice came through the door, "Mulder, are you still here? How did you get into my room?" Followed by a muttered, "Shit. Mulder if you are still here, please answer me because I need to get something from the bedroom."

Mulder fingered the lacy elastic edging the nylons. He hadn't known that Scully would prefer to wear thigh-highs instead of pantyhose. How unlike her to prefer something so sexy. Or at least the Scully he knew, "Yes, Scully, I'm still here. What do you want? I'll pass it to you."

There was a moment of silence and then, "I think there are some stockings on the bed. Could you please hand them to me?" She cracked open the door and stuck her hand out.

He passed the hosiery to her, purposely pressing his fingers in the palm of her hand before releasing the underclothing. He didn't bother to analyze why he did that but grinned again when she quickly closed her fingers around them and slammed the door. Mulder watched the closed door for a few moments before ambling back to the armchair. Unbidden the thought that Dana was naked on the other side of the door arose in his mind and he blushed at the turn of his thoughts.

Meanwhile Dana leaned against the door and pressed the thigh-highs to her belly, shaken by the contact with her partner. She picked up her towel and wiped the fog from the mirror. She looked critically at herself. Her reflection showed a short, trimly curvaceous woman wearing only matching white silk panties and bra. Dana watched as her reflection unpinned the topknot and red hair washed over white shoulders. The wet ends curled above the collarbone. The reflection unfurled the nylons and slowly pulled on each one until the lace fitted itself to milky thighs. Dana wondered what Mulder would think of his starchy partner if could see her with her tousled hair and scantily clad body. Suddenly she snapped her head and thought disgustedly about what she was doing. Lately, her reveries were centering on Mulder and sex more and more.

Dana did not consider herself a sexual being by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, until she met Mulder she lived quite happily in the ordered world that she had created for herself. Of course, once she got involved with the x-files, she had to contend with men that exuded pheremones that drove women sexually insane, alien abductions, and her damnably attractive, completely infuriating partner. Now to top it off, the past weeks she spent almost every night tossing and turning, her dreams filled with erotic images of her and Mulder together. Oh boy, that last dream had been a doozy. She sighed and stepped in her beige skirt and called out one more time, "Mulder, are you still here?" She received no answer in return. She gave a slight shrug and reached for her blouse.

Mulder angled his chair so he could look out the balcony doors but still keep an eye on the bathroom. He ignored her question and searched the red and blue lights of the Quarter. He breathed in deeply and smelled fish and booze with an odd scent of roses underneath it all. That couldn't be a coincidence. He turned to tell Scully about it and was surprised to see her coming out of the bathroom. She obviously didn't see him because he was partially obscured by the wing of the chair. Anyway, she was concentrating on buttoning her blouse, which was at that moment swinging open, giving him a clear view of her torso. Mulder leaned back, hoping that she would continue not to notice him and he could look at her unhindered for a little while longer. All thoughts of the roses and the girls waiting at the club fled his normally one-track mind. She was gorgeous. The cream color of the blouse flattered her pink-tinged skin. He shifted again, feeling himself become aroused and trying to stem the reaction. However, his movement finally caught her attention.

Dana stood stock still, her fingers still clasped around the button she just fastened at the bottom of her blouse. Her eyes swept his figure before locking with his. He looked lik what she always imagined Rochester from Jane Eyre to be, except better looking. He lounged against the chair, his black suit contrasting against the blood red velvet. She irrevently thought that she should tell him to stop wearing black. August in New Orleans was a sticky wet scorcher and black would quickly wilt Fox. Fox. God, she couldn't seem to break her gaze from his much less make a move to finish dressing.

He pressed his hands on the arms of the chair and made motions to lift himself out of it. This allowed her to break his gaze and concentrate on a less threatening part of his face, though not by much. Dana dropped her eyes to his lower lip, which looked enticingly soft. She wanted to offer him a drink of water so she could see droplets glisten on his lower lip and maybe even lick them away. That last thought simultaneously caused her to flush and her nipples to harden. Mulder's gaze, which had dropped lower, widened and he finally hefted himself out of the chair. Dana welcomed the musty air that was flowing through the open balcony door, hoping that it would calm her sensitized nipples. However, she made no move to evade his advance or to button her goddamned top.

Mulder did not stop until he was toe to toe with Dana. He let out his breath and it brushed warmly against her skin. She shivered but did not step away from him. He tilted his head and appraised her form. In response, she straightened her shoulders and thrust her breasts out. He sucked in the breath he'd just let out and reached to touch her. He slid his hands beneathe her blouse and ran his fingers down the indentation of her waist. She moaned softly and arched her back. He looked at her and half-smiled before dropping his eyes back to her breasts. He cupped his hands as if he would mold her breasts with them, but all he did was slide his index finger along the top of her bra. She grimaced and gave him a reproachful look. All thoughts of job protocol and the safety of emotional distance fled her mind. She wanted Fox to touch her. Now. But all he did was reach behind him grab her suit jacket. Thrusting it into her hand, he fastened the second to last button on her blouse.

"Button up, Dana. We're going to be late. I'll go ahead and find the girls. Finish dressing." He turned and walked to the door, his mind clouded by what he'd just done. What he had just passed up. Oh god, he was a fool! Halfway to the door, he changed his mind and walked out onto the balcony. She followed him, embarrassed by her actions, but still desperately hoping he would finish she had long dreamed about.

"This is how I got in. Remember to lock your balcony doors as well as the room door or you'll be getting more nightly visitors." He turned around quickly and stared at her. It couldn't end like this, not when he was so close to what he wanted. Mulder reached up and fingered a strand of her hair, "I think we should talk later. I think we should definitely do a lot of things later." With that audacious parting statement, he walked swiftly into his room and shut the doors behind him. Dana drifted back to her room and dropped into the chair he had vacated. She pressed her hand to her mouth and stared out into the city, breathing in the same scents he had.

Continue to A Granted Wish II