TITLE: Towel Boy 
AUTHOR: Wylfcynne

DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere, with headers intact,
please. Also, please drop me a line so I'll
know where it goes; I like to visit my
children. 

SPOILERS: none
RATING: NC-17
CLASSIFICATION: PWP, MSR, SMUT

SUMMARY: would be longer than the fic. It's
SMUT!!! What else do you need to know?? 

DISCLAIMER: They certainly aren't mine; if
they were, they'd be having more fun, and I
wouldn't have to save up for a vacation!
Mulder, Scully and the rest belong to FOX
Networks and 1013; I'm just borrowing them
for a little fun and games...I promise I'll
bring them back on time and unharmed... and
they won't remember a thing...

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This one is dedicated to the
Believers who inspired it... you KNOW who you
are!!! Really, this is based on me mis-
reading something someone else posted: 
"...and maybe a hazel-eyed towel-boy paying
you a visit..."
I saw this... TWICE!!! ... as "a hazy-eyed
towel boy..." and the image is stuck in my
head... This PWP is the result.

DEDICATION: Overall, all my X Files work is
dedicated to my writing partner, Ravenwald,
without whom I would still be doing all this
using a ballpoint pen, who introduced me to
fandom on the ''Net, and awakened the Muse,
who had been sleeping for a VERY long time. 


Towel Boy by Wylfcynne

Hazel eyes unfocused, his attention is
elsewhere; sight is unimportant at this
moment. He is concentrating on something
else. The towel in his hand has slipped 

through his fingers; he has forgotten that he
was holding it.

He is standing on the stone deck around a
private pool. The sun is glittering on the
water dripping from his hair; he just climbed
out of the pool himself. His body is wet,
water droplets running down over smooth
almost-hairless skin tanned enough that we
know he doesn't pay for it or sunbathe; it
just happens because he's outside a lot. Tan
lines show on his upper arms; he usually
wears tee shirts. More tan lines mark his
thighs; he usually wears shorts, but right
now he is naked. 

We can tell that he is too old to be a real
towel boy; this is not a boy, at all. This is
a man at the height of his power.

The core parts of his body: his long
smoothly-muscled back, flat belly, perfect
buttocks and muscular chest, are tan enough
that we know this is not his first time here,
like this.

She doesn't allow swimsuits; it's a private
pool, and she prefers to swim naked, herself,
so it's only fair that her guests do the same.

He isn't really the towel boy; he was playing
at it to make her smile. He is not a guest,
either. 

She smiled. She walked across the stone
toward him, her bared breasts holding his
attention, her small, neat body, sleekly
muscled and strong, but much shorter than
his, being raked by his piercing gaze. 

She moved the fallen towel a bit with her
foot, arranging it by his feet, and dropped
gracefully to kneel on it.

She opened her mouth and took him in, and
that is when his eyes went all hazy.

But his mind did not. Yes, he loves this; he
always has. He is male, after all. But this
is just the teaser, the appetizer. 

"Oh, baby... stop, please..."

Those words were always hard to say, but she
understands that, so she rarely argues. She
knows he doubts that he has the fortitude to
ask this twice.

She never doubts him.

So she releases him, kisses her way up his
still-wet stomach, teases his nipples
briefly, and then leans into his embrace,
looking up into his rapt face.

"What did you have in mind?"

He shudders with the effort of re-directing
some of his blood back into his brain. Rather
than waste the effort with speech, he hugs
her, runs his hands down her arms until he
finds her hands, and then backs away, tugging
her after him.

He backs down the steps into the pool, and
she comes with him. He has her hands
imprisoned in his much-larger ones, though
his touch is always gentle. Always adept in
the water, he pulls her into deep water,
where he can stand and breathe but she
cannot, and he pulls her through the cool
water until her body is tightly held against
his. 

The contrast makes her moan: the water is
cool and his flesh is hot; she wonders why he
has stopped here, in the middle, where there
is nothing for her to hold onto but him.

*Maybe that's why...*

He gently removes her arms from around him
and wordlessly, with one hand courteously on
the small of her back, he lays her flat on
the surface, his other hand on her thigh,
holding her close so she will not float away.

She smiles and stretches her arms up over her
head, letting herself float. He spreads her
thighs with his hands under her knees, and
walks them back a little; until the water is
exactly the right depth, and she floats at
exactly the right height.

He turns so that he faces the deep water, and
pulls her to him, plunging deep into her
ready body.

As he comes to her, she arches in reaction,
her arms coming down a little, her hands
fisted in the water; there is nothing to
hold. He uses his hands to move her away, and
then pull her close again, and she closes her
eyes against the sun, concentrating on the
heated touch of his hands, the cool water
swirling over her skin, her breasts floating,
and the languid rhythm he is using, the feel
of being filled, and being pushed away,
emptied, then being pulled close and filled
again, over and over and over...

Just when she is beginning to realize that
this is pleasant but not progressing, he
pulls her up into his arms. She locks her
legs around him, holding him tightly. She is
pressed against his chest, now, her arms
wrapped around him. He is still deep inside
her. 

He walks them into the deep water, swims with
her to the ladder. He does not climb out; he
just puts her hands on the ladder's upright
sidebars. 

"Hold on, honey."

"Always."

She anchors them with her arms on the ladder;
he puts his hands on the first step below
her. His arms brush her sides, but other than
that, he is not holding her at all; she is
holding him deep inside her. He lets his body
float, and as he comes horizontal he leans
down through the water and kisses her.

She moans into the kiss and thrusts her hips
against him, urging him on. Breathing
raggedly, he begins to pump into her, using
his back. Her grip on him keeps him snugly
against her body, and her nipples brush
against his chest lightly as he thrusts into
her harder and harder.

"Ooohhh... this is soooo goooooood..." She
has total control over angle and position,
and she makes it perfect, locking her ankles
behind his back. 

"You're... so... hot... tight... strong..."
He missed one beat as he inhaled. "Come. For.
Me. Come. For. Me. Come. For. Me..."

The water is splashing across her body, now,
and steam is rising off his back. She arches
just a little more, and one of her heels
slides over his back. It slips between his
legs and presses against him in just the
right spot. His back arches and he roars as
he comes; she comes in her turn as his
movements become uncontrollable, her shriek a
counterpoint to his.

Long minutes pass as they cling to one
another and to the ladder, catching their
breath. Finally, she looks up at him and
smiles. 

"Next time, let's use the floating lounge
chair. I won't have to hang on to keep from
drowning." 

He smiles down at her and kisses her. "Deal."

Side by side, they swim to the shallow end
and walk up the stairs, still holding onto
one another.

She glances at him slyly. "Oh, towel boy...!"

He grabs her, and kisses her fiercely. When
she goes limp he scoops her up into his arms,
still kissing her as he carries her across
the stone deck toward the house.

He kicks the towel into the pool.

==============================