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From dmd26@columbia.edu Mon May 12 13:10:15 1997
Subject: story: Visceral
From: Danielle Dandrige
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Please archive. . .Thanks, Danielle
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TITLE: Visceral
AUTHOR: Danielle
RATING: NC17 - to be on the safe side
CLASSIFICATION: VRA - MSR
SPOILERS: Everything post NEVER AGAIN except ZERO SUM
Disclaimer: I do not own them. Don't want to, either. The pressure
would be too much. They belong to CC, Fox, DD, and GA. Warning:
suing will only cost you money. I promise on my stack of very expensive
textbooks, I do not have any money. I will not have any money. That is
an absolute truth. You can't fight Kant. To the musicians, same applies.
Note: please email author at dmd26@columbia.edu. Will be at that
address for only a short while longer but will do her best to get back to
once email service is resumed. Everything in carrots is a song lyric.
Singers and titles listed at end. 5/5/97
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Visceral
Damn him. Damn him. Damn him. *Damn him*
It was a litany. Words. . .curses ran through her mind, enraging her
further. None seemed to fit. `Damn him' would have to do. But it didn't
do, not at all.
She fit her key into the lock and shoved the door open, its large
woodenness also pissing her off.
Why didn't he understand?
Dana threw her bag and coat vengefully against the couch. Clothes fell
off her body as she practically ran to her bedroom. She wanted something
warm, something comfortable.
How could he? *Why didn't he understand*
She yanked on an oversized man's sweater and flannel boxer shorts, heavy
rag socks on her feet. As her head emerged from the neck hole, she finally
got a glimpse of her face and was frightened.
The fear in her face frightened her more than anything else she had
encountered over the past four years. The face that reflected back to her
was not hers. It was a woman with mascara stained eyes. Tears blurred
the blueness but could not hide the sickness. Red colored the edges of her
nostrils and lines. . .deep, harsh lines bracketed a rosebud mouth that was
not rosy.
deathdeathdeathdeathdeathdeathdeathdeathdeath. . . .death
In her haste she knocked over a jar of talcum powder. White dusted
coated her dresser and floor, lily of the valley everywhere. She didn't
even notice as she squeezed cleansing lotion on a tissue and began
scrubbing at her face, carefully closing her eyes to the sight. When she
finally opened her eyes, she let out a low, hoarse laugh. Or was it a cry?
Her face was bright red now from the rough scrubbing. She looked like
the bright red nose of clown amidst the white face. She looked alive
amidst death. She gave a choked cry and sped out of the room, not
bothering to clean up.
She slowed down as she neared the kitchen and detoured slightly to turn
on her CD player. She had bought herself a six CD changer for her
birthday and never once regretted the expense. She set the controls for
random mix and turned up the volume. Soon Sarah McLachlan's ethereal
voice filled the room, floating over Dana, soothing her frayed emotions.
Why had he snapped at me? Doesn't he realize what this is doing to me?
Doesn't he care?
Small white teeth worried the bottom of a full lip, as she trudged the last
few feet into the kitchen. Not liking the harsh glare of the overhead light,
she opened up a cabinet and pulled out a slew of white candles, varying in
sizes, and lit them. Within minutes warm heated light flowed from all the
rooms in her apartment. She toyed briefly with the idea of lighting a fire
but decided that it would take too much effort. She no longer had the
energy for effort.
Why did I to see him in my rearview mirror? What was he telling me?
Why did he have to choose me?
She trudged back into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. She hung
on the door as she looked disinterestedly at the contents. She wasn't
hungry. Not for food anyway. Her eyes landed on a bottle of wine and
she reached for it. Not letting her commonsense stop her, she gripped its
cold neck and set it on the counter, hip bumping the fridge shut. She
backed away from the temptation, her back pressing into the fridge.
Candlelight shone on the bottle, making the green smoky, as droplets
welled and began to slid down its body.
It was white wine.
He preferred red. She liked only white.
Eddie had brought white. They drank the whole bottle; she had laughed;
he had listened.
Why hadn't she known? He preferred red.
A manicured fingernail slid along the bottle, gathering condensation. She
plucked it into her mouth and regretfully pulled it out. She turned from
the bottle and opened a nearby cabinet. Two small tablets were shook into
her waiting, but never willing palm. They were for the pain but they
caused pain too.
I never tell him about the pain. But, then, he never asks.
She dry swallowed them, masochistically enjoyed their rough and chalky
glide down her throat. They didn't really cause pain, just mental pain.
Knowing that they were a very small barrier between her and death.
She is me. I am her. We are the same.
Scully suddenly laughed as she thought, "Grammar Dirge."
Sick. Scully, you are really sick. No pun intended.
She laughed again, actually amused. She put on the kettle and hunted
around for the right tea. She stuck a bag of jasmine in a teal stained
pottery mug. She then started hunting again until she found the reduced
fat peanut butter and honey. She squeezed the teddy bear's swollen belly
into her mug and onto a spoon. She stabbed the spoon into the jar and it
emerged victorious with a huge glob of caramel colored cream.
Her sigh was hedonistic, if somewhat muffled as she sucked the butter off
the spoon. The spoon dove twice more before the kettle whistled. She
licked the spoon spotless and went about preparing her tea. Singing softly
to herself.
She is me. I am her. We are the same. She is me. I am her. We are the
same. She is me.
She thought the words were sung in her head. She was wrong.
"Nice little ditty you have there, Scully. Write it yourself?"
She did not turn around, but went on preparing her tea. He wouldn't go
away. He never did when she wanted him to. But she didn't have to pay
attention to him. She stirred her tea, staring into its depths, wondering if
she could distinguish the honey from the amber liquid. The candlelight
and her human eyesight worked against her.
"Ahh nawed."
He was speaking in tongues. She chanced a glance over her shoulder to
see what horrible disease suddenly struck him incomprehensible. Maybe
it would last. She sighed, disappointed when she saw him and turned back
to stirring her tea. He was leaning against the opposite counter, butt
resting lightly on the formica, one long finger scooping peanut butter out
of the jar and into his mouth. There was no disease.
No, my dear, no disease over there. The disease is here in you. Right
here.
She swore softly under her breath and cupped the mug between her palms.
Without bothering to cool the liquid with her breath, she swallowed. The
heat felt good. She was so cold. Very, very cold.
Death is cold.
Tears stung her eyes and the fear returned. She bowed her head under its
threatening presence. She felt him move. He was nearing her and then he
was behind. She was trapped between the vee of the perpendicular
countertop and his body. Double imprisonment.
"I said I knocked. A couple of times in fact. When you didn't answer, I
let myself in. I could hear the music. I guess that's why you didn't
answer the door?"
It was a question but she was not going to answer. Dana hadn't heard him
but he didn't need to know that. Silence reigned and his warm breath
caressed her hair.
"I like this song. Who is singing?"
<`Cause sometimes, I said sometimes, I hear my voice. And it's been
silent all these years.>
She wanted to scream, yell, to rent the world with her voice. But she only
murmured, "Tori Amos."
"Scully. . ."
Something salty touched her lips and she was stunned to realize that she
was crying. For how long, she didn't know. "Mulder, don't."
He stretched his arms along hers, his resting on the formica. His fingers
looked long and elegant next to her stubbier ones. She thought bitter
thoughts.
Everything he does and has is better than me. His fingers, his faith, his
belief. . .his ability to live. Why didn't his belief ever falter? Why do I
have so much difficulty believing?
A hard voice answered in her diseased head, "Because believing means
dying. She is me."
Her voice was equally hard, if only a whisper, "Fuck you, Mulder."
He chuckled and settled his hips and groin against her bottom. He very
hard and heated against her softness. Too hard, but she was used to that.
She just never said anything. He pressed. She retreated but had nowhere
to go.
"Mad at me Scully?" A taunt.
She growled, "I'm dying, Mulder. How in the hell can you be aroused by
death?"
He stopped pressing. Time stood still. "You bitch."
The tears stopped and the anger came. It overwhelmed the fear and the
pain. It was cathartic. "How could you say those things to me? How
dare you ask me if I still believe in you? When do you believe in me?
How can you profess to trust when you have to question? Goddamnit,
Mulder, where the fuck is your compassion? I'm dying." The last was not
angry. Instead it was a wail. She didn't want to die.
His hands were no longer beside hers. Now they cupped the sides of her
face, his thumbs digging in the hollow at the nape of her neck. They
pushed as if he were trying to deflate the tumor. She shook her head and
twisted her body, but he refused to release her. Rather his body tightened
further as she slithered against him.
"You will not die. I will not let you. Remember what I said, Scully, you
can give up, but I won't. I will never give up on you. *Never.*"
She stopped fighting and sagged. His hands slid from her head to her
hips. "You hurt me."
Why can't I fight harder than this? Why do I always give in to him?
When did I first know that he wanted me?
Her thoughts were a confused jumble and she didn't know what to do.
But she didn't want to be angry or scared or dying either. But she was
and more than ever she needed her best friend. Even if he was an asshole.
She giggled, paused to consider her action, then giggled again.
I *am* really losing my fucking mind. I swear having this tumor is like
being on hormones.
She giggled harder and wiggled her ass, teasing Mulder.
He sucked in a shaky breath and backed away. A triumphant grin lit her
face. Winning just once felt damn good.
"Scullleee?"
"What, Mulder?" Her brow arched even if he could not see it. Old habits
die hard.
"Can I. . ." Hesitance entered his usually cocksure voice, "Can I see your
tattoo?"
He wants to see my tattoo. The snake. The ink. My skin.
She didn't know how she felt about him seeing her tattoo. That had been
one act of rebellion and passion done without him. It had been enacted on
her own. And she liked that. The tattoo was hers in a world where little
was. She didn't know if she wanted to share that.
She started to shake her head no, but Mulder being Mulder did what he
wanted. She felt a chill in the air as he lifted the bottom of her sweater
over her hip and the small of her back. He held up the cloth with his left
hand and ran the fingertips of his right hand over her back.
She husked, "Mulder, the skin is not raised or anything. You can't feel
it." Her nipples had tightened and she judiciously decided that it had to be
the introduction of the cold air to her skin. Nothing else. Not his fingers
on her. Not that.
I've lived too long in denial. Why start facing reality now? Mulder and I
are just friends. Best friends.
His voice startled her. "I know." He continued to press his fingers on the
tattoo, smoothing it, stroking her.
Her pupils dilated in the candlelight.
His hands suddenly left her back and Dana's breath caught in the back of
her throat. Mulder grabbed the candle nearest to them and brought it near
her back. He wanted a closer look at the tattoo. He bent slightly and his
breath teased the fine hairs on her back. Nothing else moved. He had
grown preternaturally still. She grew nervous.
"Mulder, you better not drip any hot wax on me. I don't like pain."
"I'll remember that, Scully."
Her throat dried at the promise in his smoky voice. He dropped the
sweater and straightened. The candle was replaced on the counter. For a
brief moment he rested his forehead on the back of her head. She noticed
that this time his hips kept wide berth of her backside. She was
disappointed.
I will not covet my partner. I will not covet my partner. No. No. NO.
Mulder's hands went to her hips again and he quickly spun her around
before she could stop him. She stared at him, shocked. He quirked a
smug eyebrow and then lifted her onto the countertop. A small smile
graced his pouty lips, but his eyes were dark and dangerous. Needy. She
guessed his intent and tried to forestall him by bringing her knees together.
However, he had already insinuated himself between her legs and her
knees only touched his jean clad hips.
Scully wanted to touch him so she placed her hands behind her. Bracing
herself so she could lean away from him. The distance allowed her to
finally look at him. He had changed from what he was wearing at the
group home. He wore an old white tee shirt with a hole at the collar. His
jeans were the black 501s that hugged his ass and thighs like an old lover.
She loved those jeans. She envied those jeans. He watched her checking
him out and his grin widened, this time reaching his eyes. Although the
need remained behind the smile.
He reached down to her ankles and twined them around his thighs. She
didn't understand the game they were playing, but she knew it was deadly.
Despite that certainty, she didn't unlock her legs or protest when his hands
slid up her bare legs until they reached the tops of her knees.
Mulder, stop. Please stop because I won't stop you.
"Scully, you have bony knees."
"Well, Mulder, you have a big ass."
The eyebrow climbed and the hazel eyes twinkled, "Why, Scully, I'm
shocked. You've looked at my ass? Tell me more."
She is me. I am her. What do I have to lose?
A throaty rasp, "Mulder, I have looked at everything. *Everything.*"
His lips parted and she correspondingly licked her own. He fingers
gripped her knees hard before the hands began sliding up again. The
fingers slid over the muscle of the front of her thigh while the thumbs
made a path on the softer, plusher skin of her inner thighs.
Mulder's fingertips edged past the hem of her boxer shorts. She fiercely
wished that she was not wearing boxers or panties. That there would be
nothing to stop him. . .nothing at all. Dana's blue eyes tried to stay
trained on his, but it was too much her. Her head rolled back on her
braced shoulders. A few strands of red hair escaped her hair clip and
clung to her mysteriously sweaty cheeks and neck.
I was so cold. Now I am burning.
His fingers moved, neared, then stopped. She could feel his whole body
tighten between her legs. He groaned once softly, then again, louder. He
removed his fingers. She almost wept. With relief or disappointment, she
didn't know.
What do I have to lose? My best friend.
His grin was lopsided and not quite cocksure as normal. "I think it is time
for you to go to bed."
Scully considered making same teasing remark but immediately dismissed
the idea. It had already gone farther than ever before. And while verbal
teasing was the norm between her and Mulder, it did not usually occur
after an almost seduction. She kept her mouth shut and just nodded. Her
legs unlocked and he was released. He backed up so she could hop off the
counter. She did not look up at him, but started to walk to her bedroom,
leaving him to blow out the candles. His hand on her shoulder forestalled
her.
An indecisive look graced his face as he peered down at her. He
mumbled, "What do I have to lose?"
What indeed? So much. Nothing at all.
She waited. He grinned again before leaning down and hefting her into his
arms. It felt natural as if she had always been an extension of him.
Symbiotically connected. Her left breast brushed his chest and her nipple
responded. She pressed harder against him. Her eyes did not want to
meet with his, so she buried her face burrowed in the crook of his neck.
His heart thudded against her side and her heart beat a similar rhythm.
Viscera. Heart. Lungs. Vital. With him, there is no death.
He didn't speak and neither did she. He strode to her bedroom,
candlelight marking their path. She felt as if she were six again and Ahab
was carrying her to bed. The thought (and the pills) made her sleepy and
she snuggled closer, her arms tightening. He hummed along with the
music, his lips vibrating against the top of her head.
She bounced once, lightly, on the bed. She looked groggily down at
herself and saw the sweater. He stood over her watching. Waiting.
"Mulder, there is a tank top on the chair over there," she pointed
waveringly, "Get it for me."
Humph, getting bossy in my old age.
She let out a groggy chuckle and caught the shirt he tossed to her. Dana
started to pull the hem of her sweater up and over. Mulder watched as she
bared her tummy and then abruptly spun around. She smiled, curiously
pleased with his action.
Respects me. He respects me.
She tugged the body-hugging tank on and sighed in dismay. Her nipples
stood out clearly, tenting the white cloth. She shrugged and flopped back
on the bed. Her muscles pulled as she gave a luxuriant stretch. Softened,
she let her limbs flop where they would and closed her eyes.
"Mulder?"
He must have crossed the room in three strides because she soon felt him
standing over her reclining form. One callused thumb rested on her
partially parted lips. Opening them further, it gained entry. She sucked
lightly before releasing it. As she turned her head, a mumble sounded,
"G'night." She slept.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He watched her for long seconds, admiring the way the candlelight played
over her features. Rosebud lips remained partially parted and he
entertained the thought that perhaps she tasted him even in her sleep. But
he knew better, she always slept that way. He had watched her enough
times in the dark to know that fact.
The dark is where I have always felt safe. She likes the light. Now she
lives in the dark with me.
The dark was not a haven for her and her fright made it less safe for him.
The dark was becoming threatening. He decided to leave the candles
burning.
The mass that will cut off her life is dark. A big black mass extinguishing
the light.
Mulder's eyes darted around the room, instantly suspicious of the
flickering shadows. He saw the white dust powdering her dresser and the
floor beneath and winced. He knew what that white dust signified. Her
fear, her anger, her pain. The Scully of old would have never let the dust
remain. This new Scully did.
Do I know her now? Do I recognize her? Does she recognize *me*?
He snagged a chenille afghan off the chest at the foot of her bed and
dropped it over her. She rolled, tugging the cover up to her chin. The red
of her hair was vibrant on the white.
Red. The color of love. The color of life. The color of her blood as it
seeps out her nose.
Tears stung his eyes and he walked quickly out the room, no longer able
to bear looking at her. As he reentered the living room, shapeless slips of
cloth lay on the wooden floor, reproaching. With a sigh, he bent and
scooped up her discarded work clothes. Folding them so they were bound
to get wrinkles, he heaped them on a nearby armchair. He walked over to
stereo and adjusted the volume so the music no longer overwhelmed the
rooms. However, he made sure it was still audible enough to float in to
her, to comfort her.
I miss her.
He wanted to go and wake her up but realized that would be selfish. She
needed the sleep. He needed the time to think. He needed her.
A chill danced over his arms and shoulders and he shivered. Working
quickly, efficiently, he gathered what he needed and soon had a fire going.
I wonder who made the fire that night. Eddie? Dana?
A voice inside his head snapped, "Scully!"
Yes, Scully. Dana was a woman other people knew. Scully was his.
Scully. He whispered it and the sound was erotic to his ears. He
suddenly, viciously, wanted Eddie to disappear, to die. Eddie knew things
Mulder did not. Eddie knew a part of Scully.
Cocksucker.
Mulder toed off his sneakers and socks. Bare feet made no noise as he
padded back into the kitchen. Dumping Scully's frigid tea down the drain,
he refilled the kettle and let the water heat. He opened her cabinets,
scrounged around until he found the Constant Comment. He put it on the
counter and then went back into the cabinet, touching and looking at the
contents. He wanted to know her inside and out. The kettle rattled and he
reluctantly moved away from his discovery.
He placed the mug on the floor and then shucked off his shirt and jeans.
He tugged on the black sweatpants she had somehow absconded and he
retrieved. He wondered if she had ever worn them, smiled, and settled
down on the couch.
He would sleep here tonight. He knew this might be construed as an
invasion of her private space. He knew it was an invasion. But he was
always invading. He did not know how to stop. He wasn't sure if he
wanted to.
He put a pillow over his stomach and rested the hot mug on top of it.
Taking occasional sips of the tea, he stared at the flames and pondered.
I hurt her again. Why do I do that?
No answer came from the fireplace and he childishly poked his tongue at
it. He remembered the defensiveness on her face when they had stood in
the corridor. She hadn't wanted to tell him about her vision, the words in
the mirror, but she did. Then the pained anger that flooded her features
when he questioned her lack of belief.
If you are not working with me, Scully, you are working against me.
It was always about him. Even when she was the one dying. This time,
the tears escaped and bathed his face.
deathdeathdeathdeathdeathdeathdeathdeathdeathdeath. . . death
Before she had come, he lived alone and liked it. When she first came, he
tried to live alone and did not like her. When she stayed, he no longer
lived alone and liked it. When she was taken, he returned to solitude and
wanted to die. After she returned, he was no longer alone and in love. If
she died, he would die because he could no longer live alone.
My life hinges on hers. She is my viscera. She is my vitality.
Pain clutched his gut and he groaned. He blindly set down the mug and
curled into a fetal position. The pain was intense. This is what it would
be like without her. When she died.
The pain receded and he returned to lying on his back. The fabric of her
couch was soft on his skin and reminded him of her touch. It reminded
him of the few times they hugged, the one time he pressed his face into her
stomach, his lips on her forehead, and her knees on his hips.
How long has she known? How long has she known that I've wanted her?
He remembered when the reactions started to become elemental. At first,
he had dismissed it as hormones. He was always horny.
Jesus Christ, did Eddie listen to my messages? Did he tell her about the
phone sex calls?
The thoughts flitted across his mind, but he realized they were irrational.
Eddie wanted to get in her pants and humiliating himself, me, was not the
way to do that.
It was on the Tooms case when he understood that it was more than an
erection. Although, he had felt the stirrings of one. But when she had
asked if he was jealous and he had caught her necklace on his finger, he
knew that he had been the one caught. He had been jealous because for
better or worse, he considered her as his. She belonged to him. He
belonged to her.
You are always making your claim but why do you never let her stake
hers?
The women. There were always women. Yet, he honestly believed he
remained faithful. Scully was the only one who touched his heart. Still,
he never told her. Yet, he had the nerve to be shocked and hurt when she
had gone out with Ed Jerse. He wondered if she fucked him. He hoped
not. He realized he was being selfish again. He stopped hoping.
It's that tattoo I'm really pissed about. How could she do that without
me?
When he had seen the tattoo and touched it, he had been so aroused that
he wanted to take her in the kitchen. To stake his claim. To fuck the
tumor out of her. To taste the passion in her that made her want a tattoo.
Instead, he had backed off, not wanting to destroy the delicate equilibrium
between them.
Asshole.
Deeply regretting his actions now, he wearily closed his eyes. He would
be able to sleep. She was near.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sensuality coated his dreams and he slowly awakened, hungry for her.
His cock throbbed against his belly and he instinctively reached a hand
down to relieve himself. A falling log stopped him and he blushed as he
realized what he had been about to do and where.
Pervert. That's all you need. For her to walk in and see you jacking off
on her couch. Pervert.
He needed her; that's what he needed. He remembered his last thoughts
before he had slept and hurt. He needed to know that she wanted him. He
needed to know that she loved him. He needed to know so he could
continue to fight even when she wanted to give up.
Distressed, he got up and stroked the fire, reinstilling life in the dying
embers. Soon the fire roared again. His erection had subsided and he lay
back on the couch to stare discontentedly at the shadows playing on the
ceiling.
A sound distracted him from the patterns he was finding in the ceiling. He
looked to Dana's bedroom doorway and saw her standing there. She had
the blanket wrapped around her, her red hair tousled and her face pouty
with sleep. One sock slouched around her ankle while the other still
gripped her shin. She looked all of six. She sounded six, too.
She whined, "Mulder. I woke up."
He bit back a grin since she looked grouchy, "I can see that, Scully."
She tilted her head to the side and stood there, watching him, waiting. It
took him a few seconds before he realized what she was waiting for: an
invitation. Joy coursed through him, making him giddy, and he waved her
over.
She gave a sleepy grin and walked over to the couch. Or more apt, slid
over since her feet never left the floor. He scooted over and watched as
she spread the blanket like a cape. Lowering herself until she was nestled
in his side, the blanket spread over them both, closing them off from the
rest of the world.
Where is this going? What's changed?
Who cares?
Enjoy the moment, Mulder, and stop being an asshole.
He groaned half in pain and half in pleasure as she looped an leg on top of
his and shifted until half of her used him as a body pillow.
A sleepy praise, "You feel nice." She slept.
He stayed awake for long moments, savoring her heavy warmth. His
hands swooped up and down her back, tracing the contours through the
thin tank. Knowing that he was being a masochist, he slid one hand under
the thigh resting on him and hitched it higher. Thus readjusted, she now
pressed intimately against his hip. He wondered if he would ever sleep
again. He did, with one hand curved around her rear and the other lightly
touching her cheek.
They both slept.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When she woke again all candles had died and the fire provided the only
fading light. She stuck a toe out from underneath their cover and rapidly
pulled it back. It was chilly out there. She toyed with the idea of stroking
the fire but nixed it moments after its birth.
He would be her fire.
She snuggled closer, pleased when his arms tightened possessively around
her. He didn't want to let her go.
Don't worry, Mulder. I'm not going anywhere.
She wondered if the thought had deeper meanings and decided it was too
late at night to figure that one out. She lifted her head slightly and
squinted at the green numbers on her stereo. Three-fifteen. Music still
played softly in the background and she remembered that she had set the
program on repeat.
Yes, Mulder would lay his life down for me.
She shifted again and blushed when she realized how she was situated.
One hand plucked nervously at his chest and she tried to convince herself
to move. Her position was dangerous.
Desire was dangerous.
She did not move away.
She rolled her hips and moaned low with the pleasure that the action
wrought.
A harsh pant, "Scully."
Startled, her eyes flew to his and was afraid of but drawn to what she
saw there. His eyes blazed and the muscles in his jaw flexed. He was
excited.
Suddenly scared of what she saw, she slid one knee until it rested on the
couch between his legs. Her other knee came up on the other side of his
leg and she pushed herself up. She hunched over him, his thigh trapped
between her legs, but no part of her touching him. Except for the one
hand, the prop, that remained on the center of his chest.
Her confused eyes searched his.
What now? Is this right?
She started to back away and get off the couch, but he lay his hand over
hers.
It's too late, Scully. Far too late.
She read the message in his eyes. He never spoke.
She closed her lids and swallowed, then moved. She settled back on her
haunches, his thigh a seat for her rear.
His other hand pushed at her and she accommodatingly inched backwards,
wondering why.
His eyes stayed locked to hers and she was transfixed. Her heart thudded
heavily in her chest as she identified the emotions. Desire. . .Love. . .Need.
. .Hunger. Her nipples peaked.
She also saw a plea in the hazel orbs.
A plea for what?
He spoke.
"Please, Scully. . .," he swallowed hard, "I need you to. . .to. . ." He
trailed off and twisted his face away.
He was afraid.
She sat, silent, letting him think. This time she would *let* him take the
lead.
I have the power.
She had the power, but she wanted to share it.
I love him.
She sat and waited.
He turned back to her and a slight sheen of perspiration had coated his
face. He was afraid but his need was greater.
"Please touch me."
The hand grasping hers started pushing it down. Down over his chest and
stomach, down until both hands rested at the waistband of his sweats.
His hand paused. His eyes questioned.
She remained silent. Her lips parted and air sailed out in jagged puffs.
He understood. His hand pushed hers underneath the sweats, underneath
the boxers, until both hands gripped him. His hand on top of hers. Her
hand around him.
They moaned simultaneously.
She flexed her hand and he gave a small thrust upward.
His other hand squeezed her waist. The guiding hand showed her what he
liked.
She let him show her how he liked long, sweeping stokes. How he liked to
be squeezed at the base. How he liked slow, then rapid strokes. Always
alternating.
She never broke her gaze from his. Not until he closed his eyes and began
to growl.
He was near. It was too fast.
She wanted the power back.
She shook his hand free and jerked her hand out from his pants. He
whimpered at the loss. She smiled ferally and began rotating her hips,
rubbing her heat against his thigh. He whimpered again and reached for
her hand. She pulled it out of reach and teasingly shook her head.
She moved back a little more and hooked both hands around his clothes
and yanked. He moaned as the cloth rubbed against his sensitized flesh,
but then he was free. They both looked down at his bared flesh and
laughed.
An erect penis was invariably humorous.
He smiled lazily and pushed himself into a half sitting position against the
arm of the sofa.
"Play with me, Scully."
The tip of her tongue darted out, kittenlike, and moistened her lips.
"Whatcha wanna play?"
"Doctor."
She placed both hands on his chest and pulled herself up along his body.
She made sure she dragged her damp boxers along his thigh. He twitched
and sighed with pleasure. She stopped when her face hung over his, her
nose touching his.
Her tongue darted out again and licked at his lips. She whispered, "Okay.
I'll be the doctor." He grinned and his own tongue left the heated cavern
of his mouth. Their tongues touched and dueled in the air. She was
shocked and excited by the lewdness.
When did I become this woman?
She retracted her tongue and sat up. "What do you want me to do?"
An order. A request. "Pleasure me."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~
Both hands very tiny on the expanse of his chest. Her nails scratched
lightly at the sparse fur on his it. She flattened her hands over his pectoral
muscles and massaged, kneading her way over the mounds and across his
ridged stomach.
A small dot of white liquid pearled near his navel. She swiped it up with
her index finger and tasted him. He tasted of heat.
He stirred her.
Without warning, Scully got off the couch, not giving him the opportunity
to lace her with his arms.
He moaned at her absence.
She lifted the heavy swath of hair off her neck and turned from him,
staring with deep concentration at her coffee table. Not bothering to ask
for his help, she tugged the table off the braided rug and to the side of the
fireplace.
I need more room.
She told him, "We need more room. Get off the couch. Get undressed.
Now."
He liked the aggressive Scully. He did as she ordered. She placed the
blanket on the braided rug and sat crosslegged on it. Watching closely as
he pulled off the sweats and boxers from where they were tangled around
his thighs. His penis bobbed with his struggles and she bit back a laugh.
Her fingers caressed the soft blanket and she had passing wish that the
blanket was not white. It was going to get dirty.
Finally freed from his clothing, he stood straight in front of the fire and
waited.
How the hell can she assume the Scully face when I am standing here
naked with an erection to beat all erections?
He fought not to squirm as her impassive eyes raked over him. He cursed
the fact that she didn't reveal anything with her eyes, when his always
betrayed him. He knew right at that moment his eyes were widened and
dazed with arousal. He wanted her.
He would wait.
This time he would let her take control.
He loved her.
He really wanted that control back.
A pathetic cry, "Scully, please let me touch you."
Her grin was wide. She held up a hand to hold him off. He was really
beautiful. His legs and thighs were long and ropy with muscle. His feet
were long and elegant. His torso was long and ridged. His. . .well, it was
long and very ready for her. Her grin turned heated. She pulled the tank
over her head and tossed it haphazardly to the side.
His eyes fastened on her breasts. They liked the attention and swelled for
further praise. She rolled back on her hips and shimmied off her boxers
and panties.
"Come here, Mulder."
He was on her in seconds. His hand palmed the back of her head so it
wouldn't smack against the floor as he pushed her on her back. He
stretched full length on top of her.
Heat met heat.
Wet. Hot. She wanted him inside her.
She buried her face in his neck and let her tongue dance over his cartoid
artery. She bit lightly, nibbling.
He raised himself slightly and settled more comfortably in the vee of her
legs. He wanted entry. She wanted foreplay.
She had the power.
"You wanted to touch. So, touch."
He kissed her. He was rough. His mouth forced hers open and his tongue
thrust inside. He sucked. He pulled. He tasted. She anchored his head to
her with her hands and fought back. She must him thrust for thrust. Her
lips slid against his. Her jaw ached from the force. She loved it.
He pulled back. She looked beautiful. The lids of her eyes were heavy
and only mere slits of blue showed. Her lips were fuller than ever. They
were plump and bruised, purple with desire. His tongue laved them in
apology. He had not meant to hurt her.
She twisted her head away. She did not want sorries. She ran her hands
down his back and cupped his ass. She squeezed and allowed her fingers
to slide along the cleft. Sweat pooled in the small of his back. She dipped
her fingers in it and spread it over the muscles of his back, oiling them.
He dipped his head and attached his mouth to one breast. The other was
rhythmically squeezed. Her pulse throbbed.
He does that so well. His mouth is so hot.
He sucked hard.
Her hands slipped over his ass and in between his legs. The brushed, then
fondled the soft sacs. The moan was hoarse as it rippled over her breast
and tickled her nipple.
She mewled.
I can't wait any longer.
He hauled himself off and roughly pushed her hands away when she tried
to pull him back. He turned his back on her, searching. He could only
speak words, sentences were beyond him, "Jeans. Wallet. Condoms."
She smiled with relief and pressed her breasts to his back. Her arms
snaked around and distracted him from his task. She spoke to his spinal
column, her tongue flickering, her nipples poking. "It's okay, Mulder.
They put me on birth control pills. For the cancer." Her voice was
strong. It did not waver. She was not afraid any longer.
I have to fight. He needs me. I must live. I have too much to do. I will
not give this up.
Her thoughts distracted her and she did not notice the slight stiffening of
his back. He was glad she could not see his face because he knew it
would give him away. His eyes always fucking betrayed him.
The secret. Dana would never have babies. The birth control pills
controlled no impending birth.
Tears stung the back of his throat. He wanted to kill. They took too
much.
You will die.
It was a promise made his mind.
He whirled, covered her, thrust into her.
I will fill her with my life. She will live.
He pumped his hips and hers rose to meet his thrusts.
Sweaty limbs clung to each other. Her legs rose high on his back,
allowing him better access.
The coupling was rough. Fierce. Animalistic.
She curled up and bit into his shoulder. He increased the pace, filling her.
I can feel his heartbeat. His life's blood pulses in him as he pulses in me.
He stretches me. I am full.
Viscera.
He reared back onto his haunches and pulled her up with him. She rode
him.
"Take me, Scully."
It was close. They were near.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. He kissed her.
She rose and fell on him. She came.
ahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
She could not stop crying. Her body had exploded. Pleasure was not
supposed to be that intense.
"I love you Scully."
He returned her to her back. He thrust. Once. Twice. Thrice. He
stiffened. He could not move.
His cock throbbed.
He blacked out.
When Mulder came to, she was still crying. The sobs were soft. He
shifted his weight so he would not crush her.
Her tears were salty.
"Please don't cry. Please don't cry." He pleaded. His heart broke. She
regretted.
"You love me."
He looked away into the flames. They reminded him of her hair, her
vitality, her moaning beneath him. "Yes."
Her cries became louder. "I don't want to leave you."
She did not regret. She feared.
He understood. He feared too.
"Then don't. Love me to eternity."
You will live forever. Words of wisdom. Words to live by.
Her eyes opened wide and latched onto his. She allowed them to betray
her.
"I love you."
He felt peace however temporary. He gathered her and they moved to the
bedroom.
Hearts beat in tandem. Viscera.
They slept.
Words and worry would come soon enough.
Death hovered.
How to win?
Together.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sarah McLachlan -- "Good Enough"
Tori Amos -- "Silent All These Years"
Dave Matthews Band -- "Crash Into Me"
Annie Lennox -- "Primitive"
Peter Gabriel -- "In Your Eyes"
Sting -- "It's Probably Me"
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