Title: Can I Have This Dance?

Author: J. D. Rush

Series: Big Things; takes place after 'Lean On Me'

Rating: R, for sexual situations

Pairing: Frohike/Scully

Summary: It takes two to tango, after all.

Disclaimer: FOX, 1013, CC. . .I think we all know the song by now.

Can I have this dance. . .?

Sunday, April 7, 2002

"EEEEK!!!!"

The very unScully-like girlie-scream had me off and running. Standing outside the bathroom where the noise had come from, I pounded on the door and cried out, "Scully, are you okay in there?"

"NO! I'm not okay!" came the distressed answer.

Trying the doorknob and finding it locked, I asked, "What's wrong?" even though I was scared of hearing the answer.

"Get in here and look at this!" Dana wailed, as the door suddenly unlocked from inside. 

I didn't need to be told twice. I pushed the door open and rushed into the room, only to find Dana standing on the bathroom scale. She was dressed in just a large bath towel, a matching one wrapped around her still-wet hair. After taking a moment to enjoy the view, I cleared my throat and questioned, "What is it?"

She just stared at me, even as she gestured towards the scale. "Frohike! I'm up to 116 pounds."

That puzzled me. "Is that a problem?"

"I've gained six pounds since I married you!" she squealed. "That's nearly a pound a month!"

I looked her up and down. Wherever she was hiding it, I couldn't tell. "Are you sure?" 

Gesturing towards the scale, she stated, "The scale doesn't lie."

"Well, maybe it's just baby fat," I tried to reason.

Her eyebrow shot up. "You think I'm fat?" 

I backpedaled quickly, "No, that's not what I meant. All I'm saying is, well, you DID gain some weight when you were pregnant with Billy and perhaps. . ."

She cut me off before I could finish my thought. "And I lost it all. Mel, I've been 110 since the day I graduated from the Academy." 

Trailing my eyes over her once more, I said, "Dana, honey, I don't know what you're so upset about. I can't even see it. You look great. Incredible, even."

"But. . ." she started to protest, but I put up my hand to stop her.

"So it's a couple of pounds. Who cares?"

With a heavy sigh, she informed me, "*I* care. If I let myself go. . ."

"I'd still love you," I insisted.

She tilted her head and gave me a indulging smiled. "I know you would, Mel, but I don't know how I'd feel about myself." 

"That sounds like something from a Richard Simmons infomercial," I joked.

Stepping off the scale, she sat down, ladylike, on the small step stool sitting in the corner. She fixed me with her piercing blue eyes and said, "I know this is going to sound silly, Mel, but when I look good I feel good. Knowing I'm in shape lets me do my job efficiently, without any doubts as to my ability. I'm not doing it for vanity's sake – I'm doing it for my own piece of mind." 

"I'm sorry, Dana," I replied, penitently. "I shouldn't have teased you. I didn't realize how important this was to you."

She stood up, took another glance at the scale and whined, "Looks like diet time. And I'll have to find a few minutes to get to the gym. I've really been slacking off lately."

"You could exercise here, you know," I commented, offhandedly.

"What do you mean?"

Leaning against the doorframe, I crossed my arms over my chest and explained, "Well, you've been asking me to teach you how to tango, and dancing is an excellent form of exercise."

Her eyes got big and bright and hopeful. "Really? You'd do that?"

Patting my own tummy, I snickered, "Hey, I've put on a couple of pounds these last few years myself. I wanna stay buff for you."

"When can we start?" she asked, excitedly.

Slipping my hands into my pants pockets, I said, "Right now, if you want."

Her smile positively beamed. "Sounds great. Let's go."

Nodding at her towel-clad figure, I chuckled, "Like that?"

She looked down at herself and blushed sweetly. "Oh, I guess not. Give me a couple of minutes to change, okay?"

"Sure thing, sweetie. I'll go get things set for us." With that, I left her to her privacy and headed to the living room to get everything ready.

As she wandered off to her bedroom to get dressed, I busied myself with moving the sofa back and getting the coffee table out of the way to make room a slapdash dance floor. Next, I went through our CD's, looking for some appropriate music – something with a good rhythm and beat. I finally found a Marc Anthony disk of Dana's that I had heard her play before, and figured it would do until I could get my hands on some real tango music. 

I placed the CD in the player, then headed into my bedroom to change my own outfit--you can't dance the tango in combat boots, after all. I dug out my old costume, disturbed to see it was a bit tight (man, must've gained more weight than I thought), slipped on my dancin' shoes, and threw on my Fedora while I was at it. Taking one last look in the full-length mirror, <Yup, clothes certainly make the man!>, I made my way back to the living room. 

Dana was already waiting for me on the couch. She jumped up as I entered and announced, "Okay, I'm ready."

Yeah, that's what SHE thought! She was decked out in her standard weekend gear: sweats, a baggy T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers. One look and I immediately vetoed the entire fashion disaster. "Not in THAT outfit," I informed her.

"What's wrong with the outfit?" she demanded. "It's what I'd wear to the gym."

"The tango is a sensual dance executed on the balls of your feet," I explained. "It's almost impossible to do it barefooted or in sneakers. High heels work best. And you don't want anything that will be restricting – I'd suggest a dress or a skirt." 

Her mouth quirked into a half-smile. "I'm sure you would. You're a leg man, aren't you, Mel?"

"I'm a Dana-man," I retorted with a leer. "But seriously, the right outfit will go a long way in establishing the right mood and the right attitude." And I gestured to my own outfit as proof.

"And those are important?"

"Very."

It was obvious she wasn't completely convinced, but she finally shrugged her shoulders and huffed, "Fine. I'll go change."

She returned a few minutes later as I was stretching and limbering up. (Hey, I'm not a young turk anymore, okay?) "Will THIS do?" she asked, sarcastically. I looked up and got a gander at her get-up.

"Gack!" or something equally intelligent was my only response to the vision standing in front of me. The sloppy casuals were gone, replaced with a slinky low-plunging red dress that clung to every curve she had. It was highlighted by a thigh-high slit that showed off her shapely right leg, decorated with a lacy red garter. <I don't care what she thinks – those extra coupla pounds looked GREAT on her!> The ensemble was completed with a matching pair of 4-inch high-heel shoes, their slim straps lovingly encircling her delicate ankles. When I got my mouth (and my brain) working again, I managed to wheeze, "Dana! Where'd you get that dress? I've never seen you wear it before!"

"For obvious reasons. It's very – unprofessional. I bought it in a moment of weakness." She paused, seemingly embarrassed by her impulsive purchase before asking, "So . . . what do I do first?"

Tearing my eyes away from that attention-grabbing outfit, I cleared my throat and told her, "I thought we'd start with some basic holds and steps, then we can try it with some music. And later on, I'll show you some of the more advanced stuff. Is that all right with you?"

"Whatever you say, Frohike. I'm in your hands."

That decided, I stepped forward, grabbed her around the waist with my right arm, and jerked her close. <Man, with those heels, she towers over me!> She gave a little yelp of surprise, then dissolved into a fit of giggles. "Dana, honey, this isn't gonna work if you can't control yourself," I growled, even though I couldn't help smiling myself.

"Sorry, Mel," she apologized through her sniggles, and I almost started laughing at her efforts to curb her amusement. She finally settled down, took a deep breath and announced, "Okay, I'm ready now."

"All right – first thing to remember is the tango is slow and sensual, romantic and seductive. And above all, it's tragic."

"Tragic?" she asked, baffled.

"It's a love story, one that's doomed from the start," I explained as I held her. "The man pursues the woman, chases her, declaring his love, only to be spurned again and again." And I gave a small smile, thinking of how the dance paralleled our relationship.

"Then why does he do it?" she inquired, inquisitively.

"He can't help himself," I continue, weaving the legend. "She's an enchantress who has captured his heart, his soul. He has no choice but to pursue and hope that some day . ."

"Some day?"

I paused a moment before whispering, dramatically, "Some day. . .he'll be the conqueror." <If only. . .>

"And that's all told through the dance?" she pondered.

"When it's done right," I assured her. "Still interested?"

Her eyes sparkled with curiosity and intrigue. "More than ever. Let's go for it."

We spent the next few minutes going through the warm-up exercises and basic footwork. I showed her the straight-line and serpentine walking exercises to get the hang of the specialized intricate movements, especially the way the ankles and knees should brush each other with each step. I reminded her not to lift her feet too high, that they should skim the floor, and that her head and back should be straight at all times. Dana quickly mastered the skills, and I felt she was ready to attempt the eight basic steps that compromise the dance.

My lovely partner did remarkably well, only stepping on my toes a couple of times before she was quite proficient. She proved to be such an excellent student that we soon moved onto the more advanced Ochos figure-eights and the Arrastre sweeps. With each new challenge, Dana more than exceeded my expectations, and, in fact, it was hard to tell who was having more fun – I hadn't enjoyed dancing this much in years.

Finally, I knew she was ready to try stringing all the lessons together, and I turned on the music. Instantly the slow rhythmic guitar strains that open the CD filled the room. I grabbed her passively around the waist once more. . .and the dance began.

"I have been in love and been alone,

I have traveled over many miles to find a home,

There's that little place inside of me,

That I never thought could take control of everything." 1

"Dana," I marveled, as she executed a perfect figure-eight, "you're magnificent. Are you sure you never did this before?"

She giggled, "Nope. I just had a great teacher."

"'Cause I only feel alive,

When I dream at night,

Even though she's not real it's all right.

'Cause I only feel alive,

When I dream at night,

Every move that she makes holds my eyes,

And I fall for her every time." 1

She was light on her feet, lighter than air, and Lord, did she feel good pressed up against me. Her technique was impeccable, as if she had been dancing the tango all her life. She exuded sex appeal and attitude, and I found myself falling deeper in love with this exquisite goddess I held in my arms.

"I've so many things I want to say,

I'll be ready when the perfect moment comes my way,

I had never known what's right for me,

Till the night she opened up my heart and set it free." 1

I released her in order to perform a Calesita spin. . .and then suddenly I was no longer falling in love. I was just plain falling, as Dana's heel got caught in the carpet. She stumbled into my arms and the momentum toppled me over backwards. We crashed to the floor together, my hat flying from my head. Luckily I was able to break her fall, landing on my back, but the impact knocked the wind from me. I closed my eyes and groaned loudly.

When I opened my eyes again, I found myself staring into Dana's big blue ones. "Mel, are you okay?" Dana asked, concerned, from her prone position above me.

"Yeah, I think I'll live," I wheezed.

"Good, because if I don't laugh, I'm going to explode," and she broke out into hysterical laughter. 

"Glad you can get your jollies at my expense." I tried to sound gruff, but soon I was joining her, as we were both overcome by a case of the giggles.

She gulped a couple of times, trying to get herself under control, and said, "Crap, I was doing so good too."

"You were doing great, kiddo." And it occurred to me that she hadn't moved – she still lay full-out flat on top of me, breathing hard from our activities. She smelled heavenly, and she looked – she looked like an angel. An ethereal red-haired angel. Her sweet bow lips, just centimeters from mine, parted slightly, and then. . .

She was kissing me--tenderly at first, but quickly building in heat and intensity. A shiver went down my back as her tongue timidly licked against my lower lip, shyly asking to be admitted; I parted my lips and gladly allowed her to enter. A flash fire shot through me as her mouth plundered mine, her tongue wrapping itself around my own.

While her lips were busy, so were her hands. They nimbly unbuttoned my shirt and opened it wide. I felt her fingers slide over my nipples, stopping only long enough to pinch them playfully, and I moaned into her mouth. 

With a final nip at my lower lip, she pulled away from me, and I groaned in disappointment and frustration. "Did you like that?" she asked, coyly, as she once again pinched my tender nubs. When I let loose with another loud groan, she smirked and informed me, "Then you'll REALLY like this."

Before I knew what she was doing, she had pushed herself upright, straddling my waist, her shapely behind resting against my rapidly hardening cock. She wiggled a bit to get comfortable (or drive me crazy – not sure which) then bent over me, and began leaving a trail of kisses along my neck and across my pecs (what there is of them). When she got to my right nipple, she lapped at it like a kitten, and the little mewling sounds she was making only enhanced the image. I threw my head back and grunted as she scraped the sensitive flesh with her perfect teeth, laving it with her tongue to take the sting away. Soon I was squirming beneath her, whimpering under her ministrations. Content with her work on the right nub, she started in on the left. 

Once she had reduced me to a jabbering incoherent lump, she abandoned my now raw and well-loved nipples and resumed her journey downward. "Mmmmm . . .I like this," she sighed, running her fingers through my abundant chest hair. "So soft and furry." Her lips soon joined her hands and the tiny vibrations from her satisfied humming tickled my hypersensitive skin.

"Oh, Dana. . ." I moaned, deliriously. 

I watched with growing fascination (pun intended) as she doggedly began to unbuckle my belt and unzip my pants over my straining erection. As her hand fondled my hard-on through my boxers, she asked, "Was I really?"

"Really what?" By now all the blood had gone south and I was having a hard time thinking clearly. 

"My dancing," she explained. "You said I was doing great."

"Best partner I ever had," I told her honestly, and it had nothing to do with what her fingers were doing to my naughty bits.

"Better than Mykita?" she purred.

I sighed, deeply, "There's no comparison, Angel."

She gave me a huge smile and whispered, huskily, "Good answer, Mel." With that, she leaned down until her hot breath caressed me through the thin cotton material. I felt her kissing, then licking, a sensitive spot right below my belly-button as she hooked her fingers through the waistband of my shorts and started dragging them down over my hips. Her breath was even hotter now, as it struck naked skin. 

She looked up at me, a twinkle in her eye, and a smirk playing on her lips. "Ready to tango, lover?" she cooed, as she leaned over my rock-hard cock. 

"Ohhhh, Daaaana. . ." I moaned in ecstasy, closing my eyes as I awaited a trip to Nirvana.

But instead of feeling her warm mouth on my flesh, I felt a sharp 'slap' across my face. Then a couple more, followed by a stern command: "MEL! Wake up!"

"Hunauh?"

"Are you okay?" she demanded.

"Did you say something, Angel?" I slurred, groggily.

A loud sigh rang throughout the room, and I risked opening my eyes. Dana was kneeling beside me, her hand now gently caressing the same cheek she was just slapping seconds earlier. "Thank God you're okay. You had me worried."

"Wha' happened?" I asked, as I tried to sit up. Bad move.

Pressing her hand against my chest, she pushed me back down. "Just lay there a moment," she responded in her 'Dr. Scully' tone. "You bumped your head on the floor when you fell. You've been unconscious for a couple of minutes. I was starting to get nervous when you weren't responding. By the way, what's with this 'Angel' stuff?"

I cut in, "Unconscious? Then you mean you didn't. . .?" I let the sentence trail off, as the meaning of her words finally registered to me. <It was nothing but a dream? SHIT!>

"Didn't do. . .what?" she posed, curiously.

I just shook my head--another bad move. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Don't be so sure. I did work with Mulder all those years," she laughed.

"Yeah, right." I pretended to laugh along, happy to drop the whole line of conversation. I mean, there was no way in hell I was going to confess what I was fantasizing while I was out cold. With Dana's help, I was able to sit up, resting against the sofa. She carefully ran her hand over the back of my head, and content that my brain was no more scrambled than it was before, she sat down next to me. I took the opportunity to ask her, "So--what'd you think of your first lesson?"

"First--and last," she informed me. "This dance is far too dangerous. I'm heading back to the gym, where it's safe."

"Awww, Dana. Don't let one little mishap put you off. You were doing really good."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. I think you have a lot of potential."

She beamed at me, visibly pleased by my words. "Thanks, Mel. But I think you just want to see me in this dress again."

I gave her the requisite leer and wink. "You know me too well, my dear."

"Potential, huh?" It was obvious she was mulling it over.

"You were amazing, Dana. Truly amazing. I can't remember the last time I enjoyed the tango so much."

Her eyes sparkled like a thousand stars. "I had a lot of fun, too, Mel. I'd. . .I'd like to try it again. If you'd be willing to try."

"It'd be a pleasure. Just give me a couple of days to recuperate, okay? This dance really sucks the energy right outta me."

Patting my shoulder, she assured me, "No problem. I think I need a couple of days to recover myself." She gracefully stood up and added, "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. What say I wake William and we go out for dinner tonight? I could really go for Italian."

"What about your diet?" I commented.

"Party-pooper. You HAD to remind me, didn't you?" she pouted. "Fine. I'll have a salad and watch YOU eat Italian, okay?"

I reached up and grasped her hand in mine. "I'll make a deal with you. We'll BOTH have salads, and watch BILLY eat Italian."

"Oh no. That child's not eating spaghetti again until he's in high school." And we both laughed at the memories of Billy's first encounter with pasta--a week later I was STILL cleaning up tomato sauce. As the laughter petered out, Dana leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. "Thanks for the lesson, Mel. You're such a great teacher." And with that, she headed off towards her room.

I sat there on the floor a moment, my fingers retracing over the burn mark her lips had made on my cheek. <Oh, Dana--if you only knew all the lessons I wanted to teach you. . .>

THE END

1) "When I Dream at Night" by Marc Anthony. Written by Dan Shea and Robin Thicke.