TITLE: Act of Faith (1/2)

AUTHOR: Brandon D. Ray

EMAIL ADDRESS: publius@avalon.net

DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere and everywhere, so long as my name
stays on it and no money changes hands.

FEEDBACK: Oh, hell yes....

Ephemeral: *FEEDBACK*publius@avalon.net

SPOILER WARNING: Anasazi; Never Again, Memento Mori

RATING: NC-17, for explicit sex.

CONTENT WARNING: Explicit sex between two consenting adults of the
opposite sex. Includes scenes of mild bondage, but NO discipline; this
is NOT B&D.

CLASSIFICATION: SRA, MSR

SUMMARY: On their three month anniversary of becoming a couple, M&S
explore an extreme possibility.

DISCLAIMER: Nope, I do not own these characters or situations. If I
were THAT smart, I would be rich.

Act of Faith

by Brandon D. Ray

I'm humming.

There's really no point in denying it; I really am humming, and I've
been humming all day long. Occasionally I would catch myself at it, and
force myself to stop, but within minutes I would start up again. And
now I'm humming yet again, and I'm damned if I'm going to make myself
stop anymore. I just feel too good NOT to hum.

I take the lid off the pan holding the spaghetti sauce and give the
bubbling mixture a quick stir. It's pretty much done; all I need to do
is let it simmer until I'm ready to serve it, and stir it occasionally
to keep it from burning on the bottom. I replace the lid, fill another
pot with water and turn on the burner, and wander out of the kitchen and
into the living room of my apartment. Still humming.

It isn't as if there's actually anything wrong with humming. A lot of
people hum. It's perfectly normal to hum. Perfectly natural. Humming
is a sign of happiness. A sign of contentment.

A sign of joy.

None of which are emotions I've had a lot of experience with in the
recent past, but three months ago all that changed, and now I find
myself humming. A lot.

It was October 13 when it changed -- Mulder's birthday. I'd been
hinting around for days, trying to find out if he had plans for that
evening. What those plans might be, I had no idea; other than the Lone
Gunmen, I'm just about his only friend, and he doesn't get along with
his mother. So I really didn't think he'd be doing anything that day,
but I hadn't had a lot of success in getting him to come right out and
admit it.

I finally gave up on the subtle approach and asked him, point blank, if
I could take him out to dinner for his birthday. And much to my
surprise he didn't give me any doubletalk -- he just said yes.

I took him to a quiet little Italian place over in Arlington that I'd
heard about from one of my mother's friends. It turned out to be a
little more romantic than I'd had in mind -- candles, checked
red-and-white tablecloths, and so on -- but that was okay. Mulder and I
understood each other, and romance just wasn't on the agenda for either
of us. Work was what we lived for; it filled us and it fulfilled us.
We didn't need anything else.

If you think it sounds like we were both suffering from a severe case of
denial, you are absolutely right.

It was a pleasant evening all around. The food was good, and of course
the company was good. Even then, even in the time I have come to think
of as Before, there was no one I would rather have spent time with than
Fox Mulder. There still isn't, but now I'm allowed to admit that to
myself.

Finally, though, the evening drew to a close, and we found ourselves
sitting in my car, parked in front of his apartment building. For a few
minutes we just sat there, neither of us saying anything, neither of us
wanting the night to end.

To my surprise, it was Mulder who broke the silence. "Scully," he said,
"I want to thank you for taking me out tonight. It was really
special." And then he turned in his seat to face me, and gave me a look
which I can only describe as enigmatic, if you'll excuse the expression.

I smirked slightly. "Does that mean I get a goodnight kiss?"

And he said, "Sure," and slipped one arm around my shoulders and the
other around my waist and drew me in to him and kissed me.

And as of that moment I was a fallen woman, and I've been falling ever
since.

It's wonderful.

I am torn between saying that the last three months have been a blur,
and saying that every golden moment is etched indelibly in my memory --
including the one that occurred at five o'clock this morning, before
Mulder finally, reluctantly, climbed out of my bed and went home to
shower and change before going to work.

The funny thing is, both statements are true: It HAS all been a blur,
and I DO remember every single moment. I think this may be an
indication that time is not a universal invariant after all, but I'm not
too concerned about trying to explain this particular extreme
possibility. I'm having too much fun experiencing it to want to pick
it apart.

Which brings me up to tonight. January 13. Our three month
anniversary. And we're going to celebrate it, just like a couple of
teenagers celebrating the three month anniversary of deciding to go
steady. And I'm sitting on the sofa in my living room, my head thrown
back and my legs stretched out, thinking happy thoughts and waiting for
Mulder to get here. And I'm humming.

Finally I hear his key in the lock, and I rise to meet him. He's
beautiful, as always, even wrapped in his heavy winter coat and stocking
cap, and as I step into his arms I am amazed all over again that this
man is mine. All mine. I feel like Ebeneezer Scrooge at the end of "A
Christmas Carol": I don't deserve to be this happy, but since I am,
I'll take it. And Mulder leans down and kisses me and for a timeless
interval I just stop thinking entirely.

Finally our lips part, and we just stand there in the doorway, wrapped
in each other's arms and looking at each other for a pair of minutes. I
can't get enough of looking at Mulder these days, and the best part of
it is that he can't seem to get enough of looking at me. And so we
spend a fair amount of our private time just looking at each other.
Looking is a vastly underrated activity in my opinion.

At last Mulder releases me, and we move into my apartment and shut and
lock the door. Then we stand there looking at each other for another
minute, and a slow, affectionate smile spreads across Mulder's face.

"Scully," he says, "you're humming again."

I smile back at him, and just say, "Yup." And I turn away and go back
into the kitchen.

He follows me, of course, and as I dump the spaghetti noodles into the
pot of boiling water, he slips his arms around my waist from behind, and
murmurs in my ear, "Funny isn't it, how cooking imitates life
sometimes?" I smile, not knowing what's coming, but knowing that it's
going to be good. He goes on, "I mean, think about it. Those noodles
are so firm and hard." He strokes my hipbones with his hands and I
shiver slightly. "But after they've been in a warm, wet place for
awhile, they get soft." And he squeezes my hips and I press myself
back against him and sigh, and for a moment I close my eyes and just
lean against him as he continues to caress my hips and sides.

Mulder knows the way to my heart, and it isn't through my stomach.

Finally he lets me go again, and he goes back out to the living room
while I finish putting dinner together. The whole scene is rather
alarmingly domestic, but I know better than to be too worried by it.
There is no possible way that Mulder and I could ever fall into a
cliche-ridden trap; we'd both die of boredom the first afternoon.

At last the spaghetti is done. I take the two salads I prepared earlier
from the refrigerator, load two plates with spaghetti and sauce, and
head out to the living room and Mulder.

# # #

It's later. Supper is behind us now, and we're cuddled on the couch
watching one of Mulder's favorite classic monster movies. Truth be
told, I've acquired a taste for them myself, a consequence of being
persistently exposed to them for the last five years.

This one's pretty good: "The Thing". Not the remake from the 1980s,
but the really good one from the early 50s, the one with James Arness
playing the part of the monster. I hadn't realized it was Sheriff
Dillon in that suit until Mulder pointed it out to me, but now that he
has I can see it in the way the creature walks, and it's all I can do to
keep from laughing everytime it comes on the screen.

At last the movie is over. Mulder picks up the remote and clicks off
the television, and for awhile the room is quiet as we just enjoy each
other's presence.

In some ways these are the times that I enjoy most of all: the quiet
times when we are just together, holding each other, touching each
other, feeling each other. I've never been like this with a man, and
it's so incredibly intimate that sometimes I can barely stand it. I
didn't know that this was even possible; certainly nothing in my
previous relationships led me to expect it. It's almost better than
sex, and if I had to choose one or the other, I don't know what I'd do.
Fortunately, I don't have to make that choice; I get to have it all.

I get to have Mulder in all the ways there are to have him.

At length I decide that I've had enough cuddling, and I turn in his arms
and plant a soft kiss at the base of his neck. He moans slightly, and
his grip around my waist tightens as I trace the outline of his jaw with
my tongue. His skin is warm and salty and uniquely Mulder in flavor,
and I can't resist stopping and nipping lightly at the tip of his chin.

He chuckles at that, and says, "Are you coming on to me, Agent Scully?"

That makes me chuckle, too, and I push him down onto his back and crawl
up on top of him, rotating my hips so that my soft center rubs against
the hardness of his erection. "I don't know," I reply. "I haven't
decided yet." And at that he laughs out loud, and I start laughing too,
and for a long moment we hug each other tightly, laughing like a pair of
hyenas.

And this is another thing I never experienced Before: I've never had a
lover I could laugh with. Sex always seemed so sober and serious; I
hadn't realized that it could also be fun. Laughter, too, is a form of
intimacy, as overwhelming in its own way as the gentle communion we were
sharing a few moments ago.

Without warning, I swoop down and capture his mouth with mine. Boldly,
I plunge my tongue into his mouth, probing and licking and caressing,
and moaning with sudden urgency. My hands roam over his chest and
shoulders, exploring once again the territory I have come to know so
very well, and his hands are on me, too, touching, stroking, tickling.

Finally I break the kiss, and I close my eyes and lay my head down on
his chest to rest and catch my breath for a moment. I am aware of the
warmth of his body underneath mine, and of the precious hardness
pressing up against my abdomen. I shift my position slightly, trying to
bring more of my body into contact with his, and he groans and nuzzles
his nose through my hair.

"God, Scully," he says. 'Oh, god." His hands are gently stroking my
back, warming me all the way through. "I love you so much." His words
are low and gravelly, and send tingles of electricity racing through my
body.

"I love you, too, Mulder," I say, and I move my hips against him again.

"Scully, you have no idea what that does to me," he whispers. "You have
no idea." And he returns the favor, arching and swiveling his own hips
so that his erection moves against my center, and now it is my turn to
groan.

Then for a little while we lie there on the sofa together, limbs
intertwined, breathing softly, neither of us speaking. This is
different from our earlier cuddling; different, but equally good,
equally intimate. It is profoundly erotic, and my desire for him slowly
builds within me as I feel the heat of his body beneath me and inhale
his scent with every breath I take.

I feel him moving slightly beneath me, and he brings his lips to my ear
and whispers, "Scully, I want to make this special for you. I want this
to be a night you'll never forget -- a night that neither of us will
ever forget." His words send shudders racing through me, and the feel
of his hot, moist breath against my neck and ear is almost overwhelming.

He nips lightly at my earlobe, sending a cascade of pleasure crashing
through my body. "Tell me, Scully," he continues. "Tell me what you
want. Tell me your secret fantasy, something you've never told to
anyone. Tell me what you think about when you touch yourself, the thing
you never thought you could have. Tell me so that I can give it to
you."

I raise my head up off his chest and look down at him, suddenly feeling
very nervous, even slightly afraid, and not quite sure why. "What --
what do you mean?"

"Just what I said," he replies, and slips his hand behind my head and
draws me down to him for a soft, erotic kiss. "I want to give you
something special," he murmurs against my lips. "I want to give you
something no one else has ever given you, something that you've never
even told anyone you want." Again he kisses me, and I feel my body
start to tremble. "Please, Scully. Let me give this to you."

I am suddenly short of breath, and my mind is whirling, whirling. I
don't know what to say, I don't know what to do. What he's asking of me
is so far beyond anywhere I've ever been with a man, so far beyond
anything I've even considered. I've opened my body to men, and twice
now I've even opened my heart, but now he's asking me to open my soul,
as well. He is asking for an act of supreme intimacy, an act of
ultimate trust. He's asking for something I've never been able to do
with anyone, FOR anyone, and the very thought of it is terrifying.

He's asking me for an act of faith.

And I am considering it.

I draw back from him, just a bit, and I stare down into his eyes,
searching for some clue. Searching for some sign, some hint of...of
something. And he is looking back up at me just as intently, and I know
that he can read the fear and uncertainty in my own gaze, but he isn't
pushing, he isn't insisting, he is simply waiting. He has asked me for
this, and now he is simply holding me and waiting for my reply.

And abruptly my final walls collapse, and the last remaining barrier
between us comes tumbling down. I cannot refuse him this; I cannot
refuse him anything, and suddenly I am shaking, and my breath is coming
in short, ragged gasps, and I bury my face in his chest and clutch at
his shoulders as his strong, comforting arms tighten around me, holding
me, protecting me.

"It's okay, Scully," he says, very softly. "It's okay." And he rocks
me gently back and forth while I try to get my breathing back under
control. "You can tell me anything," he says. "You can trust me with
anything. You know I'll never hurt you."

And I do know that, but I'm still so scared, so afraid -- afraid of what
will happen if I tell him, but also afraid of what will happen if I
DON'T tell him. I don't know why this has suddenly become so important;
I haven't even consciously thought about this in years, although I've
always been aware of it, lurking in the back of my mind. This is the
feeling that makes me wake up sweating in the middle of the night; this
is the feeling that feeds my most intense dreams and my worst
nightmares; this is the feeling that drove me to Ed Jerse's bed....

It is that last thought which finally sends me over the edge, and makes
me realize that I have to tell him. I have to share this with Mulder; I
have to correct the terrible mistake I made in Philadelphia so long
ago. If I had turned to Mulder then, and shared this with him instead
of running from him, things would have been so very different, so very
much better. An irrational part of me even thinks that perhaps the
cancer would not have come, but I know better than THAT, at least in my
mind.

I have to tell him, and I have to tell him now. Already I can feel the
barriers starting to re-form, and in a few more seconds they will be
back in place, high and strong and impenetrable once again. I have to
tell him. I have to. I have to. My face is still buried in his chest,
but I can't seem to move, I can't raise my head and look him in the
eyes, but I have to say it, and I have to say it now. And when I speak
it is barely above a whisper. "I want to lose control."

He continues to rock me in silence for a moment, his hands gently
stroking my back and my hair, and I begin to wonder if perhaps he didn't
hear me. A dark, distant corner of my mind, the part which has been
cowering in fear since I first started considering this, begins to
exult. If he didn't hear me, then it doesn't count, i don't have to be
responsible for it, I don't have to let it be real. I can just pretend
it didn't happen.

Just as I did after Philadelphia.

No. I can't do this; I can't deny this. Mulder deserves better than
that -- *I* deserve better than that. I raise my head off his chest and
with all the will I can muster I open my eyes and look down at him, and
I say, in shaky, uncertain tones, "I want to lose control, Mulder. I
need to lose control. I need to be helpless."

The words hang between us, heavy and meaningful and threatening. I know
I have put a lot on the line with those words; so much depends on how he
responds, what he says, how he says it. The wrong words, even the wrong
tone of voice, and I will go skittering back into my shell and the walls
will be rebuilt, stronger, perhaps, than they were before. We will
still be friends, we will still be lovers, but this opportunity for even
greater closeness will be gone, perhaps forever.

Finally he nods, ever so slightly, and says, "Okay, Scully. Okay. I'll
help you lose control." And he draws me down to him and kisses me
again, a long, lingering passionate kiss.

After a moment I feel myself start to relax in his arms. This is
Mulder, my Mulder, the one I have come to trust as no other, and I know
that he would never hurt me. I more than just know it; I feel it. I
can share this with him; I can share anything with him, and it will just
make us closer, more intimate, more nearly one. Another part of me, the
part in that dark, distant corner that didn't want me to tell him in the
first place, is absolutely terrified, but at least for the moment that
part of me is not in control, and I melt down against Mulder, almost
flowing against him as he continues to kiss me and hold me and rock me
in his embrace.

Finally he ends the kiss and carefully pulls himself to a sitting
position. I don't know quite how he does it, but somehow he
accomplishes this without pushing me off of him, and now I'm curled up
in his lap, still encircled by his warm, loving embrace, feeling wanted
and cherished and very, very safe. I know that this feeling is not
going to last; I know that if Mulder does give me what I've asked him to
give me, it is going to be a very difficult and frightening experience,
but I'm not dwelling on that right now. Right now all I want to feel
are his warmth and love surrounding me.

He rises from the sofa, still holding me in his arms, and gently sets me
on my feet. His arms are still around me, and I cling to him for just a
moment, feeling his body against mine and breathing in his scent, before
I finally allow him to lead me towards the bedroom.

Now the fear is back, and with every step we take towards the bedroom it
grows stronger. It fills me, it pervades me, it surrounds me, and only
Mulder's arm around my shoulders, tender and firm and loving, allows me
to continue walking. My knees are weak, and I lean against him
slightly, letting him take some of my weight as we move together down
the hallway.

At last we are in the bedroom, standing before my bed. Mulder's arm is
still around me, and that is all that keeps me from bolting from the
room. On one level I don't understand this rising sense of panic that I
feel: Mulder and I have lain in this bed so many times in the past
three months; he was even in this bed once Before, that time when I shot
him. Being here with him should be comfortable and familiar, but it is
not.

On another level I understand all too well why I feel the way I do. The
other times I've been here with Mulder have been special and intimate,
but even when I opened my body to him, even when I allowed him to
penetrate me physically and willingly gave him my heart, still I was
holding back from him, and not allowing him into the secret place at my
very center. And now I am about to do just that, and it terrifies me.

I feel my body start to tremble again. I want so much to back away from
this; I want to turn to him and fling my arms around his neck, and tell
him I've changed my mind. I want him simply to hold me and touch me and
make love to me in the way we've become accustomed. It would be good,
so very, very good; it would be wonderful. It's always wonderful with
Mulder, more wonderful than it has ever been with anyone, and I want to
have that again.

But I cannot speak the words. I cannot say, "Mulder, I want to stop, I
want to go back." I struggle within myself, I try to articulate what
I'm feeling, but nothing comes, and finally I give up and close my eyes
and lean against him.

It seems that he has been waiting for me to decide, because now he turns
to me and circles both his arms around me once again in a loving
embrace. For just a moment we stand there together, Mulder holding me
while I listen to his heartbeat and his breathing. Then he releases me
and steps away, and I am alone.

So alone.

I open my eyes and turn to look at him. He is standing across the bed
from me, watching me, and as I search his eyes I see nothing but love
and caring. He nods to me slightly, and as I continue to look at him he
slowly begins to take off his clothes.

I have seen Mulder naked before, many times, yet somehow this time it is
different. It is revealing and sensuous and erotic, and it makes my
pulse pound in my groin as I watch him slip out of first his shirt and
then his trousers. He slides his thumbs into the waistband of his
boxers, his eyes fixed on me, and now once again my breathing is harsh
and ragged.

He slides the garment down off his hips, allowing his erection to spring
free, and for just a moment I can't see anything but his penis, long and
hard and thick and waiting for me. I want to reach out and touch it,
but he is out of my reach, on the other side of the bed, and I don't
think I would be able to move my arm in any case.

Now he stands before me, completely naked, and for another moment I
simply stand there, looking at his erection. At last I move my gaze
upwards, across his well-muscled abdomen, across the sparse hair of his
chest, across his beautiful shoulders and neck, finally reaching his
face, and his eyes, and what I see there is almost indescribable: A
complex mix of love and lust and uncertainty, even of fear. Yes, fear.
Mulder is afraid, and I realize with a sudden rush of emotion that he is
not only afraid for me, but he is afraid OF me, and of himself. He is
afraid that he is doing the wrong thing, and that I am about to turn on
him -- or, worse, that I am about to turn away from him.

I want to reach out to him, I want to reassure him, but still I am
unable to speak, still I am unable to move, and so I try desperately to
send the message with my eyes, begging him to read my true feelings
there. Wanting him to know how deeply I need this, how much I need to
have it from him, no matter how much it frightens me.

I must have succeeded, because suddenly his eyes clear, and he smiles
slightly and nods again, and then he is moving around the bed and back
to my side, pausing only to give me a brief kiss before stepping behind
me, out of my range of vision.

End of Part 1 of 2

--
"If I heard 'Silent Night' one more time I was going to start taking
hostages."

--Special Agent Dana Scully, "The Ghosts Who Stole Christmas"

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

Okay, I succumbed. I've established an online archive of my own X-Files
fanfic:

http://www.avalon.net/~publius/MyStories.html

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

TITLE: Act of Faith (2/2)

AUTHOR: Brandon D. Ray

EMAIL ADDRESS: publius@avalon.net

WARNING: NC-17. Contains explicit sex.

The rest of the headers are at the beginning of Part 1.

He waits for just a few seconds, allowing me a moment of anticipation
before he begins to remove my clothes, slowly and methodically. His
hands brush lightly against me in an irregular, unpredictable rhythm as
he works buttons and zippers and clasps. My skin burns wherever he
touches me, and every nerve ending in my body is completely alive and on
full alert. I have never been this aroused in my life, and yet we have
only just begun.

Finally I am naked, too, except for my plain cotton briefs. Mulder
pauses in undressing me and rests his hands on my hips, as he did
earlier in the kitchen, gently and tenderly massaging my pelvis through
the thin material of my panties, and I feel a shudder race through my
body.

He slips his hands under the waistband and gently pushes the garment
down past my hips before finally allowing it to fall softly to the
floor. He then tightens his grip on my hips and draws me to him,
pressing his body against mine and wrapping his arms around my waist. I
can feel his erection probing against my lower back, hard and hot and
insistent, and again I start to tremble.

For a pair of minutes we just stand there like that, Mulder's arms
around me, embracing me from behind, and his body is so warm and his
scent is so intoxicating. I feel dizzy, exhilarated, and my eyes slide
shut and my head lolls to one side, exposing my neck to him.

In another moment I feel his breath against my neck and ear, and it is
warm and moist, and he whispers, "Scully, I love you. I know you know
that, but I want to remind you. I love you more than anything. I would
never do anything to hurt you, and I would never allow you to be hurt."

I moan softly, as much from the sensations coursing through my body as
from the tender caress of his words. I am simultaneously aroused and
afraid, and the combination of emotions is assaulting my mind, sending
me to places I've never been before. I have never felt like this;
never. And while part of me just wants it to go on and on, another part
of me crouches in that dark, dark corner, waiting for a chance to
escape.

"Scully," Mulder continues, his voice still very, very soft. "I'm going
to give you what you asked for. I'm going to give you this gift. I
want you to know that I understand how hard it was for you to ask for
this, and I am awed and humbled that you are so sure of me that you were
able to ask for it. This is not something lightly given, Scully, and I
know that, and I want you to know that I know that."

God, he understands. This is all so incredible; it is so unbelievable
that anyone, any man, could possibly be so gentle and understanding, and
my arousal grows still stronger at the knowledge of it, but the fear
grows, too. If he can look that far inside me, if he can understand me
that well, then he is a threat, and part of me insists that I must be on
guard against him.

Now Mulder moves away from me again, and again I feel lost and alone. I
hear him opening and shutting the drawers in my bureau, and then he is
moving up behind me again, letting his body come once again into contact
with mine. Warm. Comforting. Safe.

His arms move up and around and past my shoulders, and suddenly I cannot
see, and for an instant I try to jerk away from him, but he has
anticipated this and with one hand he holds my upper body still while
with the other he wraps a cloth around my head, covering my eyes as if
with a blindfold. I suck in my breath as the fear comes racing to the
foreground, and I have to make a conscious effort not to struggle
against him.

He finishes tying the cloth in place -- it is a scarf, I realize, one of
my own scarves, and somehow that knowledge makes me relax, just a little
-- and once again he wraps his arms around me from behind and holds me
close while I gradually adjust to the fact that I cannot see.

In a strange way, it is actually rather pleasant. There is no sound in
the room, other than our breathing, and with my vision restricted I am
able to focus my attention on my other senses: On the feel of Mulder's
body pressing gently against mine, and on the musky, male scent of his
arousal mingling with my own. These sensations are familiar to me, and
comforting, and slowly I feel myself start to relax in his arms once
again.

After a timeless interval he releases me again, and now he takes my left
hand in one of his, and places his other hand on his spot on the small
of my back, and he gently leads me forward, and says, very softly, "Step
carefully, Scully. Three steps and you'll be there....that's it." His
gentle guidance brings me to a halt as my knees touch the edge of the
bed, and then he is turning me around and helping me sit down.

My breathing is now slow, steady and even. The fear has receded
somewhat, having been overwhelmed at least for the moment by arousal,
but still the fear is there, hovering in that dark corner, waiting for
an opening.

The mattress sags as Mulder sits down next to me, his warm, bare thigh
brushing against mine as he does so. He slips an arm around my
shoulders and again he simply holds me for a moment, cuddling me
protectively against his side. Then, slowly, gently, lovingly, he urges
me down until I'm lying flat on my back.

I'm pretty sure I know what's coming next, and again I feel the fear
rising within me, battling with my arousal for ascendancy. I am
struggling to control my breathing, and my pulse is hammering in my
ears, while at the same time there is a hot, needy ache in my very
center. God, I want him so much, and at the same time I am so
afraid....

Now Mulder is adjusting my position on the bed, arranging me with my
head lying on a pillow and my arms straight down at my sides. Suddenly
he leans over me and presses his lips against mine, and I shudder as his
tongue swishes briefly into my mouth and then is gone again. And then I
feel the mattress shifting once more as he rises from the bed, and I
hear one of my bureau drawers open and then close again.

Mulder is back, his weight once again moving the mattress as he settles
next to me. He takes my right wrist, and a moment later I feel his
fingers wrapping a cloth -- presumably another my scarves -- around my
wrist, and then he is tying a knot, yanking on it gently but firmly to
ensure that it will not come undone. And he stretches my arm up over my
head and releases it, and I feel a few sharp tugs on the scarf around my
wrist, and I know he must be tying the other end to the bedpost.

I have never done anything like this. I have never even imagined that I
might want to. This is not even what I envisioned when I told Mulder
that I needed to lose control, that I needed to be helpless. But now
that I'm here, now that it is happening, it seems right, and the only
reason for that is that it is Mulder who is doing it. I have to keep
reminding myself of that: This is Mulder. My Mulder. Only Mulder. No
one else, never anyone else. The only one in all the world whom I trust
enough to allow this to happen.

Mulder.

Now he is rising from the bed, and from the small incidental sounds I
know that he is moving around to the other side, and a moment later this
is confirmed as once again his weight causes the mattress to sag. And
another moment after that another scarf has been wrapped around my left
wrist, and then tied to the bedpost. And amazingly, at least for the
moment, I am feeling very little fear, although I know that it is still
there in the back of my mind, as strong as ever. Waiting.

I know that my ankles will be next, but before he moves on to them
Mulder lies down on the bed next to me, letting me once again feel the
comforting warmth of his body against mine. "Scully," he whispers.
"Oh, Scully, I love you so much. You're so very beautiful." I feel his
lips brush against my cheek, as delicate as a butterfly's wing. "I want
you to know that this can stop at any time. You can trust me; whenever
you need to stop, all you have to do is tell me, and it will stop."

He pauses for just a moment, and I'm thinking that what he's saying
can't work. I know how afraid I am, and I know that in order to
overcome that fear and work past it I need to be completely out of
control, and what he has just told me will rob me of that. I need to be
able to ask him to release me, I need to be able to beg it of him,
demand it of him, and have him not respond. If he is going to let me go
the first time I ask him to, this will all be for nothing. And back in
that dark corner the fearful part of me is again rejoicing, relieved at
the escape hatch Mulder has just provided.

But it seems that he is reading my mind. "It won't be simple and
straightforward, Scully," he says. "It can't be simple and
straightforward. You can't just ask and be let go; you have to ask in
the right way -- in just the right way. You have to use the code
word." And he pauses for just an instant, and then he says, "'Spooky.'
You have to say 'spooky'."

He repeats the word to me, as if he wants to make sure that I heard him
and will remember. "'Spooky'. You have to say 'spooky'. That's the
code word, Scully. If you say anything else, I'll ignore what you're
telling me, and we'll keep going. But if you say 'spooky' I'll turn you
loose immediately. No hesitation, Scully. No uncertainty. No
second-guessing." And again I feel his lips against my cheek, very
gentle and loving. "If you say 'spooky', you will be free within
seconds. I promise."

Unexpectedly, I feel my eyes filling with tears. I don't know how I got
so lucky as to find this man. He is so kind, so thoughtful and so
loving, and for a moment I feel as if my heart is going to burst from
the love I feel for him. I want to reach out to him and hold him in my
arms and touch and caress him, but then I try to move my arms and I
can't, and the fear comes rushing back.

But I don't need to be afraid, I tell myself as firmly as I'm able.
There is nothing to be afraid of. Mulder will not hurt me, and he will
let me go immediately if I need him to. He promised me, and he would
not break a promise like that. 'Spooky.' All I have to do is say
'spooky' and he'll let me go. 'Spooky.'

'Spooky.'

And again the fear recedes, just a little.

Mulder sits up again, and then moves down to the foot of the bed, and in
less than a minute both of my ankles have also been bound to the
bedposts.

And now I am ready. Now WE are ready. I am lying on my back,
spread-eagled on my bed, my wrists and ankles bound. I can move my
hips, a little. I can move my shoulders, a little. I can turn my head
and lift it off the pillow, a little. But beyond that I cannot move. I
am powerless. I am helpless.

I am trapped.

Now the fear is suddenly swooping into the foreground, taking me over,
submerging everything else as the panic rapidly builds in my chest. I
start to struggle, trying to pull free, trying to escape. If I can
free even one limb, I'll be able to free the others, it will give me the
necessary mobility. But it's no good, Mulder's done too good a job, the
knots are too professional, too tight. I choke back a sob....

And very distantly, I become aware of Mulder again. Once more he is
lying next to me, gently touching me, stroking my arms and shoulders,
talking gently to me, the soft murmur of his voice like a lullaby,
reaching out to me, calming me, soothing me. And slowly, gradually, my
struggles cease, and my body starts to relax again.

"It's okay, Scully," he's saying to me, his voice lilting and soft and
loving. "It's okay. It's okay to let go a little; it's okay to be
afraid a little. That's what this is for; that's why we're doing this.
So that you can face your fear, and let yourself go. So that you can be
wild and free." He stops speaking for a moment, but he continues to
stroke me and touch me, running his fingers over my skin. He is not
seeking a sexual response -- not yet. He is simply petting me and being
near to me, painting my body with his fingertips, covering me with love
and affection.

Now his voice changes, dropping into a lower register, and immediately
my body starts to tingle. "I love looking at you, Scully. You're so
very beautiful. So very, very beautiful." His hand continues to stroke
me, pet me, love me. "I could look at you all day, and sometimes I do.
Did you know that?"

Yes, Mulder, I do know that. I know that because I look at you, too. I
look at you and think about you and --

"I've always enjoyed looking at you, Scully. Always." He moves a
little closer on the bed, and now his fingers stray across my breasts,
not touching the nipples, but circling around them. Circling, circling,
circling. "Looking at you has always aroused me," he continued. "It
makes me so hard, sometimes, just looking at you. Even before we were
together, it used to make me hard sometimes. I would sit there across
the office....or sit next to you on a plane....or in the passenger seat
of a car....and I would try to imagine what you would look like under
your clothes, and I'd get hard."

He moves closer again, and now I can feel the heat from his skin
radiating against mine. His fingers are continuing their explorations,
seeking, probing, testing, and everywhere he touches me he leaves a
trail of fire. This is so arousing....I cannot believe how arousing it
is, just to have him touching me, just to hear his voice talking to me.
For a moment I am almost able to forget the fear....

"I wondered what you looked like under your clothes, Scully," he
continues, and his hand snakes up to cup my left breast. "I wondered
what color your nipples were." He caresses my breast, his fingers
dancing up to the nipple and then dancing away without quite touching
it, and I moan a little in frustration. "Were they brown? Were they
tan?" His voice drops to a whisper, and he says, "Were they pink?" And
finally he pinches my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Frantic signals go racing through my body, and another groan escapes my
lips as I arch my torso, trying desperately for more contact. I want
his touch, I need his touch, but I'm tied down, I can barely move, and
despite my best efforts his fingers dance away from my nipple, finally
arriving on my shoulder, and I am left gasping and moaning in
frustration.

"I wondered about other things, too, Scully," he says, not giving me any
time at all to calm down and relax again. "Sometimes at night I would
lie awake and think about your body. I wondered about your body; I
would think about it all the time. I would lie on my couch at night and
think about it, and I would touch myself."

His hand starts sliding down my breasts again, and in passing he gives
my right nipple a gentle squeeze, and again I moan and thrash for a
minute at the stimulation. Then his hand moves on to my abdomen, and
starts moving in ever-widening circles, coming closer and closer to my
center.

"I would touch myself, Scully," he repeated. "I would touch myself and
think about you. Did you ever do that? Did you ever touch yourself and
think about me?"

Yes, I did, Mulder. I would touch myself and pretend that it was you
touching me, and sometimes I would cry out your name as I reached
orgasm. God, if only it HAD been you. If only it HAD been...

"Sometimes I would do it when we were out on a case," he continued, his
voice still soft and seductive. "I would lie in bed in my hotel room,
thinking about you and touching myself." His fingers brush lightly
against my pubic hair, and I arch my hips as best I can, but it isn't
enough, and his fingers are dancing away again, moving back up onto my
belly.

"I would think about you," he said. "I would think about you lying in
your own bed, only a foot or two away on the other side of the wall.
And I would close my eyes and touch myself, and pretend that you had
come to my room through the connecting door, and that it was you who was
touching me, stroking me, feeling me."

God, Mulder; you have no idea how often I wanted to do just exactly
that. You have no idea. And I came so close once...I actually was
standing in front of the door, and I almost reached out to push it
open. I was so close...so close....

He moves still closer, and now his body is touching mine, ever so
lightly, and his warm, moist breath is teasing my neck and ear. And he
must be reading my mind again, because he says, "I know about that time
in Duluth, Scully."

Oh, Jesus! How can he know about it? How could he possibly --

"I know about the time in Duluth because I saw you," he says. "My room
was dark, but you'd left the light on in yours, and I saw the shadows of
your feet under the door." He leans down closer until his lips are
brushing lightly against my ear as he speaks. "I saw you, Scully. I
knew you were there. And I touched myself, keeping myself hard and
ready, just in case you decided to come to me. Just in case, Scully.
The whole time you were standing there, trying to decide, I was touching
myself, thinking about you, thinking about your hand on my cock." His
tongue runs along the rim of my ear, bringing another groan from my
lips, and I turn my head, trying to catch his mouth with mine, but again
he is too fast for me, and pulls away.

My arousal is now at a fever pitch. Mulder's hand continues to stroke
and touch my abdomen, occasionally moving up to caress my breasts, and
sometimes dipping down to brush against my center. I want so
desperately for him to pick a spot and just stay there, but he won't do
it, dammit. His hand keeps moving, leaving a trail of fire wherever it
pauses, but never staying in one place long enough to offer me any
relief. I feel a growl of frustration rising in my throat, and I toss
my head from side to side, because it's all I can do.

"God, I'm so hard tonight, Scully," he says. "So very, very hard. I --
I think I need to touch myself. I really think I need to." And his
hand lifts off of my body and is gone.

Oh, God, Mulder...no. Don't do this to me. Don't take your hand away,
and don't put it on yourself. I want to be touching you, I want to
touch you while you touch me. I want it. I want it. I want it. I
need it. Please....

I hear him groan, and the sound sends a spasm through my body. My hips
buck once, then twice, just from hearing his pleasure noise. "Scully,"
he says, and now his voice is choked with desire. "Oh, God, Scully, it
feels so good." Again my hips buck, and now I'm breathing in short,
ragged gasps. "It feels so good, Scully. I can barely stand it. I'm
so hard tonight...I'm so hard it almost hurts." And again I hear him
groan, and again my body shudders in response.

Then his mouth is on my ear again, and he's licking and suckling on me,
and he's whispering to me, "Scully, it's so good, it feels so good.
God, it's so good." I feel his body quivering where it touches mine,
and his hips jerk against me. He's not faking this; thank God he's not
faking this. He's as aroused as I am, I can feel it. I can feel the
electricity sparking between us. God, I need him....I need him. My
body has never been more ready, and I need him now....

And suddenly I turn my head again, and this time I am successful, and my
mouth closes over his. My tongue swirls into his mouth, exploring,
caressing, stroking, and then his tongue is returning the favor, and my
body is shuddering again in a premonition of intercourse as his tongue
penetrates my mouth.

And then his hand is on me again, and thank God he's no longer teasing
me. His fingers are exploring my center, pushing through the folds,
finding the hot bundle of nerves and making my hips jerk and buck
spasmodically. And he's saying, "Oh, God, Scully...you're so wet. I've
never felt you this wet before. I've never felt anyone this wet
before." And his words are spurring me on, and my arousal is building
and building and building....

And without even knowing how it happened or why it changed I am suddenly
in full panic. I'm struggling against the bindings on my wrists and
ankles, trying desperately to pull loose. Mulder doesn't seem to get it
right away, or maybe he does, I can't tell, but he's continuing to
stroke and caress my center, touching and rubbing me, but it's not good
anymore, it's not arousing me, it's terrifying me. My hips continue to
jerk, but now I'm trying to escape, I'm trying to get away, I have to
get away, I have to be in control. I can't take this any longer. Oh,
God, Mulder, I'm so sorry; I thought I could do this, I wanted to do
this, I wanted to share this with you, but I just can't, I just can't.
And I'm sobbing now, crying in fear and frustration and sorrow....

And suddenly I'm being pressed down into the mattress by a heavy weight,
and I'm so far gone in my terror that I don't know where it came from or
what caused it, but whatever it is it's making me feel even more
trapped, even more vulnerable. And now I'm crying Mulder's name, and
I'm begging him to let me free, and he's not doing it, he's not untying
me, and I'm going to have to use that special word, I'm going to have to
say it, and then everything will be ruined, but I have to I have to I
have to I'm so scared I have to and God Mulder please forgive me, and I
draw in my breath, ready to say the word --

-- and I draw in my breath, and the smell of Mulder's arousal hits me
like a hammer blow. It's stunning, it's incredible, and I don't know
how or when I stopped noticing it, but now it has my full attention, and
it's the most beautiful thing I've ever smelled in my life. And I
suddenly realize that the weight on top of me is also Mulder, it's his
body, and he hasn't trapped me, he's covered me, he's all over me, like
a warm, comforting blanket, protecting me and keeping me safe, and
suddenly the fear is gone, it's simply gone, and all I feel is love and
desire....

.....and then he's entering me, and he's inside me, and time seems to
stop, and he's filling me completely and he's all that there is I'm
totally engulfed in him and I want to wrap myself around him and I still
can't move but that's okay too because Mulder is everywhere, he's on top
of me he's inside of me he's all around me....

.....and he starts to move against me in a strong, steady rhythm, and
with every stroke I climb higher and higher and higher and he just goes
on and on and on and the feelings go on and on and on....

.....and there's a bright white light all around us and its surrounding
us and lifting us up and there's nothing in the universe but Mulder and
me and he's inside me, God he's inside me he's inside me he's inside....

....me....

# # #

Warmth. Suffusing. Surrounding. Blanketing. Radiating.

Weight. Pressing. Pushing. Squeezing. Grounding.

Touch. Feeling. Embracing. Hugging. Caressing.

Mulder. Holding. Caring. Cherishing. Loving.

I slowly open my eyes. The blindfold is gone. Mulder is lying on top
of me, looking down at me with an expression of awe and wonder on his
face. He leans down and kisses me, and I realize that we are still
joined, and he is still hard, or perhaps he is hard again. And my
wrists and ankles are no longer restrained, and I wrap my arms and legs
around him, drawing him down onto me, and I'm hugging him, loving him,
trying to get closer to him. And still he is kissing me, loving me,
worshiping me, and I can feel him inside me, and I want more, I want so
much more.

And he starts to thrust, and I moan and thrust back, and then we are
making love once again, our hips moving together in perfect unison.

And I'm humming.

Fini

--
"If I heard 'Silent Night' one more time I was going to start taking
hostages."

--Special Agent Dana Scully, "The Ghosts Who Stole Christmas"

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

Okay, I succumbed. I've established an online archive of my own X-Files
fanfic:

http://www.avalon.net/~publius/MyStories.html