Title: Self Complete 01/02
Author: Daydreamer
Author E-mail: Daydream59@aol.com
Rating: NC-17 for language, graphic violence, and
disturbing imagery
Category: SAR - character exploration
Spoilers: none
Keywords: M/Sc/Sk friendship; MSR
Archive: Yes, please.
Feedback: Yes! Please!
Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, and Skinner are owned by
Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox Television Network, etc.
They are wonderfully brought to life by David Duchovny,
Gillian Anderson, and Mitch Pileggi. I will make no profit
from this, and neither will Fox if they sue me, for I am poor
and have nothing material they can profit from.
Comments: Check out my web page, Daydreamer's Den
Http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dunes/2113
Summary: With Priest defeated, Mulder and Scully move
forward.
Part of the Self Serial. Series in order is:
Self Lost
Self Unknown
Self Revealed
Self Torment
Self Complete
Self Complete 01/02
He didn't have long. He figured the longest Mulder
would stay in the shower was 15 minutes. But still,
a 15 minute run would be better than nothing. He was
wound up tighter than a bow. Fear, rage, concern all
swirled about with no good outlet. He couldn't very
well go about hitting people because they couldn't
find Scully -- but he wanted to.
He stripped of his shirt and tie, removed his undershirt,
and stepped out of his shoes. He looked down at his
trousers and decided it would be his turn for the
shower next -- he'd change then. What he really wanted
was a good go round with the heavy bag, but that was
sorely lacking from this yuppie version of a gym.
Weights, a leg press, ab cruncher, and a stair machine
were all present along with the treadmill he planned
to use. He climbed on the treadmill, starting slow but
rapidly increasing speed until he finally set the
machine for a 5 minute mile -- fast even for him. He
usually preferred to run a little slower but go for
distance. This time, however, he was looking for
maximum expenditure of energy in minimum time.
He was moving smoothly now, well within his comfort
zone, and the pressure of the past few days began to
slowly slide away. This was how he coped. Physical
activity -- running, boxing, lifting weights -- it
was his survival mechanism. If he could just work
out the kinks physically, he could usually wrap his
brain around a problem and come up with a viable
solution. He rolled his shoulders again, then lifted
a hand to wipe away the beads of sweat the were forming
on his forehead.
Mulder and Scully. There was a situation. All those
years of working together and it took someone like
Priest to get them to acknowledge they were in love.
No one had been more surprised than he when those words
had popped out of Scully's mouth three months ago. Well,
he amended, maybe Mulder had been more surprised.
They had a hard row to hoe. A romantic relationship
between partners was frowned upon at the Bureau. If
they kept the relationship low key, kept it away from
the work, he might be able to keep them together. But
if they wanted to get married, start a family, he'd
have no choice but to split them up. And then what
would he do?
Scully had dozens of options. She could go anywhere,
work in any office with a pathology department. She
could teach at the Academy; travel on a lecture circuit.
The possibilities were endless for Scully. But what
would he do with Mulder? Mulder couldn't work the X
files alone -- he'd never survive without Scully to
keep him from running off half-cocked, running into
situations that were far too unpredictable for a single
person to face alone. He didn't think the man would
accept a new partner -- and he wasn't sure he'd trust
anyone else with Mulder.
And he wasn't going to send his best agent back to
VCS -- no matter how talented he was in that area. Now
that he had seen what it cost Mulder to look into the
mind of a killer, he'd have no part in returning him
to that world. And he certainly wasn't going to consign
the man to listening to bullshit tapes on bullshit
operations to solve bullshit crimes. As brilliant as
Mulder was, he'd go crazy if he had to do that day
after day. No, Mulder was going to be a problem and
there was just one thing to do. He was going to have
to find a way to promote the man. He had a good mind --
he could be organized when he wanted to. And he had
the ability to read people. He'd make a good SAC.
Removed enough from the actual crimes to keep him
safe -- and sane -- and yet still involved enough
to satisfy that need of his to be the protector, slay
the dragons, kill the bad guys.
Skinner smiled to himself. Well, wasn't that just
the end of it all? Who'd have thought that Mulder
and Scully falling in love would result in Mulder
getting promoted? It'd drive Mulder crazy when he
told him. Skinner laughed now, imagining the look
on Mulder's face. The man would be in absolute shock.
He'd never believe it. He'd protest at first, try
and wriggle out of it. But once Skinner explained
that it was the only way he was going to be able to
still work with Scully, well, he'd settle down and
accept.
Mulder could still dabble with the unusual cases. As
AD, he could assign Scully to wherever he put Mulder.
She'd keep an eye on him, make him tow the line. It
wouldn't hurt to have her around to help until Mulder
got the knack of all the increased paperwork he was
going to be doing. But, he mused to himself, if he
was going to rely on Scully to get Mulder through as
SAC, she was going to need a raise as well. Well,
hell! He could do that. He was the god damned
Assistant Director after all. He did have some
discretion in these things. And it was about time
he started using it.
No more sitting on the fence. No more trying to play
both sides in an effort to keep his people safe. No
more deals with the devil on his part. It was time
to take a stand. It was odd how seeing Mulder and
Scully take a stand on their own relationship was
pushing him to redefine his own standards and values.
There was definitely something going on with the X
files. Some sort of conspiracy or government cover-up.
Did it involve aliens? Who knew? And did it really
matter? If aliens were going to waste all that time
and energy abducting humans, why the hell weren't
they using that famous anal probe on world leaders
instead of any idiot with a pickup? Skinner shook his
head. There were things going on in the shadows, that
much was sure. Some possibly extra-terrestrial -- but
certainly there was enough political maneuvering amongst
the key players right here on terra firma to keep things
interesting. He could dangle an opportunity to focus
on that before Mulder -- that ought to help make the
promotion a little easier to swallow.
He liked the man. He had to admit it. He liked and
respected the man. There was a level of commitment,
a purity of purpose about him that was appealing. If
he didn't drive you crazy first, of course. He'd been
touched when Mulder called him by hiw first name. It
was something new. He didn't admit it, but he'd been
called by his last name probably longer than Mulder
had. Eighteen years old, in the Army. Somehow, Walter
had vanished over in Vietnam, and some new person, harder,
colder, and stronger in many ways, had emerged. Sharon
had been the only one to still call him Walter. And
she had died with that name on her lips. He'd not
thought to hear it again. And then Mulder had said it --
Walter. It was a small thing, but it touched him
deeply.
He didn't have friends -- he worked too hard and too
long, and he couldn't very well talk to people about
what he did. Women were available to him since Sharon
died, but he didn't understand these women. They
reminded him of the boys he grew up with, only after
one thing. And while he enjoyed that one thing, it
wasn't enough. But, if he could have friends, real
friends like Mulder and Scully. Friends who understood
the work, understood the hours, understood him, then
life became just a bit more worth living.
But the first step in all of this -- promotions,
reassignments, friendships -- was to find Scully.
None of it would mean anything if they didn't find
her, get her away from Priest, and put an end to this
god awful case.
He glanced at his watch, startled when he realized he'd
been on the treadmill for 20 minutes. He glanced over
at the closed door to the workout room, wondering why
no one had come to find him. He slowed the machine,
winding down until he was jogging, and then walking
briskly, and then finally, stopped. Climbing down, he
began to towel off. He slipped on his shoes and T-shirt
and went directly back to the room where he'd left Mulder,
but the man was not there. Frowning, he hurried to the
command center.
The agent he had appointed as Mulder-watcher was in
the room, busily scanning through sheets of an MLS
printout. "Where is Agent Mulder, Dexter?" he demanded.
"Oh, uh, I, uh, missed him, Sir." The young man was
blushing to the tips of his toes as he stood to face
the AD.
"What do you mean, you missed him?" Skinner could feel
a vein in his temple begin to throb.
"I was, uh ..." Dexter looked around for help, found none,
and swallowed hard. "I, uh, had to go to the bathroom, Sir."
"I am not interested in your toilet training, Agent."
Skinner towered over the other man, fighting for self-
control. "Where is Agent Mulder?"
"I, uh, think he went to get something to eat." Dexter
raced the words out, then took two steps back as Skinner
advanced on him, hands fisted at this side.
"Mulder doesn't eat, you idiot. I told you to watch
him and come get me when he got out of the shower."
Skinner shook his head in disgust. "What was so hard
about that?" He turned and grabbed a woman in an NYPD
uniform. "Find Detective Nowak. Have him report to me."
"Yes, Sir," the woman replied sharply as she turned and
left the room.
Skinner went back to the hotel room. He stood in the
doorway and studied it. The bed was still made --
slightly mussed from where Mulder had sat on it, but
still, nothing unusual in that. He peered into the
bathroom. The steam on the mirrow was gone; there
was not residual heat to show the shower had been used.
Mulder had been gone awhile.
"You wanted to see me?" Nowak stood in the door behind
him.
"Mulder's missing." He looked at Mulder's clothes,
left on the floor, and then went to his bag and tried
to take inventory. "I think he's in jeans. Not sure
what kind of shirt." He looked back at the open closet.
"Didn't take his coat."
"He wouldn't have gone out in this weather without
his coat." Nowak nodded as he spoke. "Surely that's
a good sign; he didn't go far."
"It just means Mulder didn't think about it. He doesn't
always remember mundane things like eating, and sleeping,
and wearing a coat in the snow. They're too -- ordinary.
He sorta gets focused on something and the rest just
disappears." Skinner dropped Mulder's bag, his eyes
running around the room again. He was beginning to panic.
Something had clued Mulder; something new had come in.
His eyes lighted on the laptop. For close to 24 hours it
had been open, connected to the internet and running
searched on MLS. Emails had been rocketing back and
forth between members of the search team, LEOs who
weren't on site, and Mulder's special unofficial sources.
Now it was closed.
He move smoothly across the room, opening the notebook and
booting up in one quick move. His foot tapped impatiently
as he waited for the dial up modem to connect. A few
keystrokes and he was in. Good thing he'd already hacked
Mulder's email once -- it saved time this go round.
And there it was. Old house. On the river. Underground
tunnels and storage areas. Not listed as vacant because it
was owned by the government. Skinner jotted down the
address, leapt to his feet and headed out. "Get 'em
rolling, Nowak. I know where he went."
**************************************************
She got another glimpse of Mulder's face as he tumbled
into the bedroom, grappling with Priest. She followed
as swiftly as she could, making it to the door in time
to see the two men crash against the dresser, fightinh
and struggling in a silent choreography. Mulder swung
violently at Priest, his face a contorted twist and rage.
Priest broke free and swung at Mulder, striking him on
the cheek, drawing instant blood and knocking him back
against the bed.
Scully pulled herself to her feet, and launched herself
at Priest, knowing with a terrible certainty that Priest
would kill Mulder, if he could. Scully was strong, but
she was small; she was normally quick, but she was hurt.
Priest was neither small nor hurt, and he brought up a
forearm, slamming it into Scully's chest and knocking
her backward. She fell against the wall, lights
exploding in her head.
She crumpled on the floor as Priest leapt past her
and went out the bedroom door. She felt rather than
saw Mulder launch his body over hers, yelling, trying
to reach Priest as he ran out of the room.
Use your gun, idiot, she thought, but she had no energy
to spare to call out.
Scully shook her head as she heard a crash in the living
room. She listened to the struggle, still trying to
gather herself and climb back to her feet. She heard
yelling, echoing down the hall.
"Gonna kill you."
The voice was so matter-of-fact, yet it was the voice
of hatred, and Scully knew that Priest would undoubtedly
kill Mulder, given half the chance.
She pushed herself up and got her knees under her, then
stood, holding onto the bed, her body swaying, and she
lurched out the door and into the hallway. She heard
what sounded like a chair slam into a wall in the living
room as she lurched down the hall.
This can't be real. Why won't this end? For an insane
moment, she wanted nothing more than to run to bathroom,
lock the door, and hide. But while hiding might avoid
Priest, it would desert Mulder, and she could never do
that.
She entered the living room and put her hand out to the
wall to steady herself, seeing movement on the floor by
the front door. The door was open, splintered door frame
lying on the bare floorboards. Two dark figures struggled,
swinging wildly, throwing punches faster than her eyes
could follow.
She lunged for Mulder, yanking him backward and
scrambling at his gun holster. She tore the flap
open, jerked the pistol out in one motion, and then
she was up from the floor, holding the Sig in a
two-handed grip. She saw Priest stand now, moving
along the wall toward her. Her aim wavered, her
vision blurred, and she fired three shots in quick
succession.
A shot hit a lamp and the ceramic exploded in a
white shower. The shade bounced crazily across the
floor and then Priest lunged for her, knocking the
gun from her head. Oblivious to Mulder's roar, he
locked his hands around her throat, squeezing, squeezing,
squeezing ...
Her vision was fading as Mulder threw himself onto
Priest's back, hands working furiously to remove Priest's
fingers from about her throat.
She heard Skinner cry, "Freeze!" and thought it was
about time backup arrived. There were several more
shots, but the hands were still around her throat,
and she couldn't see, and she couldn't hear, and then,
she couldn't breathe.
************************************************
She woke in the hospital. One arm was strapped to a
board and an IV pumped fluids into her. Her ankle had
been bound, and was elevated. Her ribs had been taped
as well, making her wonder if she'd cracked one or
two. But it was her throat that hurt. She tried to
speak, just an experimental little sound, but hardly
andything came out. She furrowed her brow and looked
around.
Mulder was sitting in a chair, bent over the bed with
his head resting against her leg. One arm curled
protectively across her lap. He was sound asleep.
Her eyes found Skinner next. He was slumped in a chair,
long legs stretched out before him and studying her as
she took her silent inventory and grew oriented.
"Better, Dana?" he asked quietly.
She nodded, then pointed to her throat with her free
hand.
"Are you thirsty?" Skinner was on his feet in an
instant and holding a cup to her lips.
She swallowed carefully, then asked, "Did we get
him?"
"Oh, yeah," Skinner nodded. "Mulder had pretty much
beaten the shit out of him, then you got him with
Mulder's gun. We're still not sure which bullet
actually killed him -- yours, mine, or Nowak's.
Skinner smiled grimly. "But we are sure of one
thing -- he is one dead fucker."
"How's Mulder?"
"Awake."
She turned to find her partner smiling up at her,
looking for all the world like a kid who'd just been
given Christmas, Easter, and his birthday all rolled
up into one.
"You got him, partner," she whispered hoarsely.
"We did." Mulder waved at the room, including Skinner
in the gesture.
"I'm going to leave you to now," Skinner said smiling.
He leaned down, surprising both his agents when he kissed
Scully on the cheek. "I'm very pleased you're still with
us, Dana, and if you ever go off alone again like that,
I'll hold you while Mulder beats you. Got it?"
He turned and left the room, chuckling quietly at the
astonished expressions on both their faces.
"Well, Scully... since Walter did bring it up." Mulder
drew back in the chair and tried to look sternly at the
love of his life. "What the hell were you thinking
when you went in that house alone?"
"Probably the same thing you think every time you take
off on one of your little jaunts, Agent Mulder," she
replied smartly.
"That's different," he said, and she could hear the
hurt and confusion in his voice.
"How?"
Mulder shrugged. "It just is."
"Well, there's a valid argument if ever I heard one.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury -- it just is."
She tried to cross her arms, but it was difficult
with the board and IV.
"Scully," Mulder began, and his voice broke. He paused
a moment, then tried again. "Scully -- I know it's not
fair, but you can't put yourself at risk. I can't stand
it. I couldn't stand it again. I couldn't go on if
something happened to you."
All the anger that had been building toward him seeped
away as she listened to the pain in his voice, saw the
tears in his eyes. "Mulder," she said softly, reaching
out to pull him toward her. "I'm not going anywhere."
He was leaning over her, bending closer, and then, like
magic, his mouth touched hers. Just the lightest touch,
his lips grazing across hers. His tongue peeked out
briefly, almost as if he were tasting her, or marking
her, making her his own.
"I love you, Dana Scully," he whispered.
She drew his head down until it rested against her breast.
Her hand stroked his hair, soothing, calming, promising.
"And I love you, Fox Mulder."
End part 01/02
Self Complete 02/02
It was her turn on the range at Quantico. The gun made
rapid little sounds -- pop, pop, pop -- the bullets hitting
the target almost before the sounds registered. She
stood with her legs spread, the gun held before her
in both hands, totally focused on the cardboard man
at the end of the range. He felt himself begin to harden.
What was it about death and sex? Well, it had been
near death this last time, and it had been near sex for far
too long. He looked at the target. A cluster of nine holes
were centered on the chest.
She lowered the weapon and turned to look at him.
"Nice shooting, Scully," he commented. "Gonna
fire the last round?"
With a look that couldn't be described as anything
but saucy, she eyed the target, then brought her gun
up and fired in a single smooth move. He looked at
the target, watched as a hole bloomed on the left shoulder.
"Trying to tell me something, Scully?"
"Yeah. You put yourself on the line like that again --
for any reason -- and it won't just be your shoulder I
take out."
He stepped closer, skimmed his fingers over her hair.
"If it's for you, you'll have to shoot me to stop me."
She reached out and pulled his hand into her own.
His ring finger was crooked, a lasting reminder of
the damage Priest had done. "You can't do that,"
she murmured. "You can't protect me and keep me
safe."
When she started to step back, he tightened his fingers.
"I'm tired of you telling me what I can and can not
do. Don't you know you are more important to me than
anything?"
He didn't mind the accusation in her eyes, or the anger.
He preferred it to acceptance or disinterest. After all,
this was his Scully.
"Mulder, you have to let me do my job. You can't
always protect me. My job is who I am -- I have to
be able to function."
"So function." He shrugged. "I don't interfere with
you doing your job. You know that." He turned her
hand in his, his thumb gently stroking her.
"You can't protect me," she insisted. "I'm not some
fragile flower that can't take care of herself. I'm
strong and capable, and I can do what it takes to get
the job done. As nice as it might be to imagine a
white knight -- I can handle myself in the field.
You have to take me as I am."
His eyes darkened with impatient desire. "And that's
what I want. You're strong, Scully -- stronger than me.
I need your strength." The frustration he was feeling
now was with himself, for being so impossibly driven
that he might, at any moment, begin to beg. "I need
you, Scully," he murmured, stepping closer, curling his
hands on the collar of her shirt.
She gripped his arms, and he wasn't sure if she intended
to move in or away. "Are you sure?"
"Am I sure, she asks?" he muttered before his mouth
captured hers and she moved in.
Her arms went around him, fingers diving into his hair.
her body slammed into his, vibrating as the kiss grew
rough, then nearly brutal. His mouth was hot, almost
vicious. The shock of it sent flares of reaction straight
to her center.
Already, his fast impatient hands, with those long
elegant, though slightly crooked, fingers were tugging
her shirt from her jeans, finding her skin. In response,
she dragged at his, desperate to get through cotton
and touch flesh.
He had a vision of himself dragging her to the floor,
pounding himself into her until her screams echoed
like gunshots, and his release erupted like blood. It
would be quick and fierce. And over.
With the breath shuddering in his lungs, he jerked back.
Her face was flushed, her mouth already swollen. He'd
torn her shirt at the shoulder. He pulled back, looked
around at the room filled with violence, the smell of
gunsmoke still stinking the air -- weapons still within
reach. He scooped up her gun, shoved into her holster,
and began to tug.
"Not here." He half-carried, half-dragged her to the
door, then out of the range and across green lawn
toward the student dormitories.
"Mulder," she hissed, trying uselessly to stuff her shirt
into her pants with one hand.
He let her go, did something to the door, and they slipped
in. He pulled her to the elevator, pushing furiously at
the button.
"Are you nuts, Mulder? Have you completely lost your
mind?"
"There's not a class in session -- the dorms are empty."
The elevator opened and he dragged her inside, the torn
sleeve of her shirt a mere memory. He shoved her
against the back wall as the doors closed them in, and
fumbled with her holster. "Take this damn thing off.
Take it off."
"Mulder. Do you realize where we are?"
"Are you afraid?" Of me?" His eyes narrowed with
barely contained passion. "We've waited long enough,
Scully." He could see her shudder, feel the tension
that engulfed her. "Are you afraid to step over the
line?"
"It's a line we've been very careful to avoid. "It's
sex, Mulder. It always changes things. And we still
have to work together." She pushed him away, then
pushed at her shirt. "It could be distracting."
The darkness in his eyes lightened to a laugh. "Damn
right it could. Especially when it's done right." He
reached out and took her hand. "Isn't it time for us?"
The elevator opened on the third floor of the empty
dorm, and he tugged her down the hall to a room.
Another quick fumble at the door, and it opened beneath
his fingers. He pulled her in, then crushed her against
the door.
"I surrender," she gasped, pressing hard against him
as her hands roamed the planes and angles of his body.
She hit the release on the holster and let it dangle
from one hand as she fought open his buttons with
the other. "Why do you have on more clothes than
me?"
"I can fix that." He pulled his shirt off, tossed it
away and then ripped her tattered blouse aside.
Beneath she wore a thin, nearly transparent undershirt
that revealed small, firm breasts and hardened nipples.
He closed his hands over them, watched her eyes glaze.
"Where do you like to be touched?"
"You're doing fine," she murmured. She had one hand
on the side wall to keep from buckling. She let the
holster drop to the floor and began to circle him, his
teeth nipping and scraping along her throat.
She was fighting to release his slacks when he tumbled
her onto the bed. With a half laugh, she rolled on top
of him and fastened her mouth to his. Wild, reckless
energy was bursting inside -- he couldn't move quickly
enough, his hands weren't fast enough to satisfy his
craving.
She kicked off her shoes, let him peel her jeans over
her hips. He groaned, and felt her ripple against him.
The need for release was driving and fierce. The moment
they were naked, she tried to straddle him, but he flipped
their positions, muffled her edgy protests with a long,
rough kiss.
"What's your hurry?" he murmured, sliding a hand down
to take her breast and watching her face while his thumb
quietly tortured her nipple. "I haven't even really looked
at you."
"I want you." The words were gasped out, torn from her
throat.
"I know." He levered back, running a hand from her shoulder
to her thigh while his gaze followed the movement. The
blood was pounding in his loins. "Soft, smooth ..." His
hand squeezed lightly on her breast. "Small. Very nearly
delicate. Who would have guessed?"
"I want you inside me." The order was almost petulant.
He smiled. "Patience. Anything worth doing is worth
doing right."
"God damn it," she began, then groaned when he dipped his
head and took her breast into his mouth.
She writhed against him, against herself as he suckled, so
gently at first it was torture, then harder, faster until she
was biting back a scream. His hands, those clever hands,
continued to skim over her, kindling exotic little fires
of need.
She struggled to get a hand between them, to reach him
where he lay hard and heavy against her. He grabbed
her wrists, one large hand holding them both as he pushed
them up over her head.
"Mulder ..."
"You can't always be in control, Scully. Sometimes, you
just have to give in." As he spoke he ran his free hand
over her thigh. "Trust me." She trembled and her eyes
unfocused when his fingers brushed the back of her knee.
"Mulder ..." she moaned again, fighting for air.
Experimentally, he caressed that sensitive skin, tracing
his fingers up toward the heat, then back again. Her
breath was coming in pants now as she fought to roll
away from him, to roll him under her so that she could
quench her terrible need.
"Slow," he whispered, "slow..." He began a trail of soft,
open-mouthed kisses at the base of her throat, working
his way down while her body shivered like a plucked
wire beneath his.
She strained against him, bucked, but each frantic
movement brought only a new and devastating
sensation. "I can't wait, Mulder. Now. In me."
He was mad to have her, but her struggle to set the
pace both challenged and infuriated him "I'm going
to make you let go, and I'm going to watch it happen."
He slid back up her, feeling every tremble and quake,
until his face was close to hers again. He pressed his
palm firmly on the mound between her thighs.
Her breath hissed out. "You bastard -- don't ..."
"Shhh," he soothed, sliding a finger down, over her,
into her. His groan melded with hers as he found her
tight, hot, wet. Clinging to control, he focused on her
face, the change from panic to shock, from shock to
glazed helplessness.
He could tell when she began to slip, watched her
eyes as she fell over the edge, a wild cry pulled from
her throat. One moment the tension was vicious,
then the wave of pleasure washed over her, hot and
deep. Dazed and disoriented, she went limp in his
arms.
And he went mad.
He dragged her up so she was kneeling, her head heavy
on his shoulder. "Again," he demanded, dragging her
head back by the hair and plundering her mouth. "Again,
god damn it."
"Yesssss," she hissed. It was building again, so quickly.
The need grinding at her insides. Free now, her hands
raced over him and her body arched fluidly back so that
his lips could taste where and how they liked.
Her next climax ripped against him like claws. With
something like a snarl, he shoved her onto her back,
levered her hips high, and drove himself inside her. She
closed around him like a hot, greedy fist.
He nipped at her throat, murmuring beneath her ear.
"What?" she gasped. "What did you say?"
Her nails scraped at his back, her hips pistoned as he
plunged. She came again, shuddering beneath his touch.
"Complete," he groaned. "I'm finally complete."
Her hands slid weakly from his sweat-slicked
shoulders, and he emptied himself into her.
End of Self
Hope you enjoyed the ride!
(
geocities.com/daydreamersden)