This is not one of my "Chiaroscuro" vignettes -- it's a short story of an entirely different kind.
Unlike those stories, there's no angst here, at least not of the dark and sad variety. This is
a much lighter piece that was inspired by an anecdote that I heard. That, and my obsession with
words. I thought it was the ideal basis for a piece of fanfic, so here goes.... Bear in mind, this
story is marked =NC-17= -- I did that for a reason, so if that isn't your cup of tea you might want
to find another story! If on the other hand you do read this and enjoy it, *please* let me
know at Blueswirl@aol.com. My mailbox hates being lonely. ;) Besides, I need all the
encouragement I can get!!
Note: Scully's apartment is a mystery to me -- in "Squeeze" she has hardwood floors, and in
"Anasazi" she has carpet. I'm a hardwood floor girl myself, so....
Oh, yeah, Another Note: This is a piece of fanfic, meaning it comes straight out of my
imagination, where there are no problems and no restrictions. By which I mean, if Chris Carter
ever lets Mulder and Scully get crazy, I'm sure he'll be responsible and make them use a condom.
I wasn't nearly so careful! Then again, this isn't reality, right???
Watch out -- disclaimer ahead: the characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully belong to Chris
Carter and 1013 Prods. and Fox Inc. and I'm using them for this story without permission. So
sue me.
PLATONIC (1/1) NC-17
by Blueswirl@aol.com
Classification: MSR (Mulder/Scully Romance)
12/13/96
He was doing it again. She'd counted at least four so far today, and as far as she was concerned,
that was four too many.
Oh, wait, she'd forgotten about the bit at the car. That made five.
Five distinctly non-partner-like touches that she'd received so far today. And it wasn't yet
noon.
Dana Scully sighed with exasperation and took a small step to the side so that she was just
outside the reach of her partner's hand. Her partner, Fox Mulder, looked up at her quizzically for
just a moment, but then turned his attention back to the crime scene they were examining.
That was the real kicker, she thought. He could rest his hand on her in a way that sent
sparks shooting down her spine one moment, and be totally focused on the matter at hand in the
next.
She envied him his control.
Five touches altogether. Just thinking about it made her start to sweat.
First had been the brush of her arm as he'd reached around her to open the door. They'd
been walking into the pathology lab, *her* domain, and he'd reached around her to open the door.
And brushed her arm while doing so. She could still feel the light pressure of his fingers against
her wool jacket. It had given her goosebumps.
Then there had been his grasp of her hand. Technically Scully knew she was stretching
the truth, just a little. He'd actually been reaching for the lab report she was holding, but he'd
touched her first, his fingers sliding over the back side of her hand like a caress on their way to
grab the report. It had made her blush.
As always, he'd placed his hand gently against the small of her back as he guided her down
the hallway in front of him. That had been the third. It happened so frequently that Scully
sometimes wondered if Mulder considered it some kind of protocol, an odd sort of Bureau
chivalry. The action had seemed unconscious on his part, just another one of his practiced habits.
But as always, it had made her weak in the knees.
The fourth one had come out of the blue, completely unexpected. They'd been in the car,
and Mulder had been driving, as he so often did. She'd been turned towards him slightly, reading
to him from the case file, as she so often did. He'd reached for the cup of coffee that he'd placed
in the holder that jutted out from the dash, and his hand had touched her knee. It was more than a
touch, she scolded herself, but truth be told she wasn't sure if her memory was getting the better of
her. It did seem as though his hand rested there for an instant longer than it should have, the
weight of his palm warm and heavy. For that instant, she had wished that her nylons would
disappear, that she could feel his hand against her bare skin.
And now this. It was more than she could stand.
Mulder had stroked her neck.
Stop it, Dana, she chastised herself. You know it was nothing like *that*.
And yet it had been. Of course, she knew that he'd meant to touch her shoulder, to call her
attention to the latest discovery he'd made. It was her own fault that she'd been standing too close
to him, so that when he reached out with his long, strong fingers he'd caught the back of her neck
instead, his fingers grazing across the tender skin there.
He hadn't even noticed the intimacy of the gesture.
It had made her eyes flutter shut. It had made her heart race.
It had to stop.
"Scully, are you okay?" His voice startled her out of her reverie.
"I'm fine, Mulder," she told him. "Let's just finish this up. I've got some things I want to
take care of back at the office." Boy, do I ever, she thought.
Mulder yawned, scratching his head in frustration. There was no reason, he thought, for
paperwork to be so tedious and boring. If he were in charge, things would be different.
He shot a glance towards the desk on the other side of the room, the desk where Scully
usually sat. It was as neat as it always was, a direct contrast to his own. And it was empty.
Mulder sighed and checked his watch for the zillionth time. It wasn't like Scully to
disappear for so long without telling him where she'd gone. Then again, she hadn't been acting
like herself all day. She'd been unusually terse with him, refusing to engage in their normal
banter. And for once, Mulder was hard pressed to figure out what he'd done to upset her. He
hadn't ditched her in weeks, leaving her only a cryptic message as a clue to his whereabouts. He
had stopped spitting sunflower seed shells into the trash can, gathering them instead in a piece of
scrap paper and throwing them away properly. He hadn't even worn any of his more offensive
ties lately.
Women, Mulder thought with exasperation. The simple word surprised him. It wasn't so
often that he thought of Scully as merely a woman, at least not in the traditional sense of the word.
Besides, there were so many other words that better described her. Doctor. Agent. Partner. And
those three words were like red flags intended to distract him from her other distinctly feminine
attributes.
Red flags that had the same effect on him that they did on a bull. They enraged him.
Infuriated him. Aroused him.
Yes, she was a doctor, a brilliant one. Yes, she was an agent, an excellent one. Yes, she
was his partner, the only person he trusted.
Rather than deter him, all of that only made him desire her more.
Sometimes Mulder wondered how much more of it he could stand. How many more days
he could watch her walk around in those short skirts and high heels, those tailored silk blouses that
tantalized him by what they hinted at but didn't reveal. How many more times he could refrain
from running his hands through her auburn hair, from touching her smooth porcelain skin. How
much longer he would have to wait before seeing her blue eyes gaze up at him, flooded with
desire.
The answer to that was forever. That much Mulder knew for certain. The enigmatic Dr.
Scully was all about business. That much had been clear to him from the very beginning, and
each day since had wrought no perceptible change in her professional demeanor.
Maybe it's just that she doesn't find you attractive, Mulder thought, emitting a loud groan
as the door to the office opened.
"Paperwork that bad?" Scully tried to keep her voice light, hoping that he couldn't hear the
tremors beneath the words. Just looking at him sitting at his desk had her heart pounding like a
bass drum. His brown hair was tousled, his tie loose around his neck. He offered her a lazy grin
by way of response.
"It wouldn't be so bad if you were here to help," he pointed out.
"I came back, didn't I?" she reminded him. "I could have left you here to sweat it out by
your lonesome."
"Ah," Mulder said, "but then I would have had to make you pay."
Scully could feel herself blush at the thought of exactly how he might have gone about that.
She took a deep breath and forced herself back to the matter at hand.
"I need to talk to you, Mulder. About something serious, and --"
He raised a quizzical eyebrow. "And?"
"And I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't interrupt me until I'm finished."
After a moment, he nodded. "Sure, Scully. Go ahead."
Now that she had the floor, Scully didn't quite know how to begin. She decided just to
plunge in, hoping that he would understand. "We've been partners for almost four years now,
Mulder, and... and I've really enjoyed working with you."
"You aren't telling me that you're quitting, are you?"
"No, no, nothing like that." Scully shook her head emphatically. She felt awkward
standing while he was sitting, so she walked over to her own desk and perched on its edge. "You
promised not to interrupt."
"I know, I'm sorry. Go ahead." He pushed his chair back from the desk and crossed his
legs in front of him. The way his trousers hugged his frame was almost her undoing and she
struggled to continue.
"We have a great partnership, and I meant it when I said I wouldn't change a thing.
Except... well, I mean... this is a business relationship, Mulder." Scully could see his expression
darken slightly, and she hastened to reassure him. "That doesn't mean we can't be friends, of
course. I mean, you *are* my friend. You know that."
Keeping to his promise, Mulder said nothing, allowing her to finish. Scully could feel her
face reddening further and suddenly wished he would say something, anything, but he was silent.
"What I'm trying to say, Mulder, is that sometimes, well, sometimes the way you treat
me..." She paused, looking for words. "Sometimes, it doesn't feel terribly professional. Not like
business. Not like... not like it should be."
Her words were like a splash of ice water, shocking him into painful awareness. Mulder felt a
dull ache beginning in his stomach, sweeping outward with each passing second. He couldn't
speak, couldn't move, couldn't do anything but stare at her where she sat, across the room from
him. Dear God, a dim part of his mind thought, she can't even stand to be *near* you any more.
Which was a pity, because Mulder thought he'd never seen her look quite this desirable.
Her cheeks were flushed and at the moment she was biting down on her lower lip, a nervous habit
that he found extremely alluring. Her jacket was unbuttoned and he could see the swell of her
breasts beneath her blouse, rising and falling with each of her agitated breaths.
She didn't say anything more, though Mulder waited, unwilling to interrupt her if she
wasn't through. When the silence continued, he ventured a hesitant comment. "I didn't realize,
Scully, that I'd done anything unprofessional. That was... that was never my intention." He
swallowed the lie like candy.
"I know that," she told him, and he couldn't help but wonder if she was lying as well.
"But the thing of it is, Mulder... our relationship. It's a platonic relationship. And it needs to be
that."
"What?"
"Platonic."
"It is."
"What?"
"Platonic."
"No, it isn't!" Her face was really red now, and Mulder could see that she knew it, and
that it was making her angry. "It isn't, not always. And that's the problem."
"I guess that depends on how you define platonic." Mulder knew he was being
deliberately obtuse, but he was getting angry himself, and didn't really care.
"There's only one way to define platonic."
"And that is?"
In answer, Scully leapt off the desk and made her way over to the reference books on the
far wall. Pulling the dictionary off of the shelf, she quickly flipped the pages, running her finger
down the page until she found the word she needed.
"Platonic," she read aloud. "Of, relating to, or characteristic of Plato or Platonism."
"Fine," Mulder answered. "That tells me less than nothing."
She glared at him, then continued reading. "Relating to or based on platonic love; also,
experiencing or professing platonic love."
"If you ask me," he remarked, "we're doing just fine as far as that is concerned."
Scully met his eyes again, flashing blue sparks his direction. Carrying the book, she
crossed the room until she was standing directly in front of him, just out of reach. Only then did
she finish reading the definition.
"Of, relating to, or being a relationship marked by the absence of romance or sex."
Suddenly Mulder could feel himself start to blush.
"Okay, Scully," he began, not sure what he was going to say next. "I still don't see where
we've broken that definition." The answer came to him and he taunted her with it. "Unless things
have happened between us that I'm unaware of."
To her credit, she held her ground. "It says 'the absence of romance or sex'. And what
that means to me, Mulder, is... is no more flirting."
"No more what?"
"You know *exactly* what I mean. No more sly double entendres, no more suggestive
remarks. And no more... no more touching."
Mulder felt his heart slide down into his shoes. She was wise to his tricks. How the hell
did she ever get wise to his tricks?
He didn't let it show, didn't let her know she'd shaken him. "No more touching?" he
asked, careful to lace the words with sarcasm, repeating them for emphasis. "No more touching,
Scully?"
"No more putting your hands on me, Mulder. You do it all the time, and I'm sick of it.
Sick and tired of it. It's going to stop, here and now."
God, she was beautiful when she was angry...
"Am I making myself clear, Mulder?"
"Crystal clear, Scully." Mulder swallowed as he watched her through narrow eyes. "I've
got the message."
"Good," she informed him, slamming the dictionary down on the desk beside him.
Grabbing her briefcase, she stormed towards the door, a red-haired whirlwind.
"Hey," he called after her, "where do you think you're going? What about the
paperwork?"
Scully paused in the doorway and flashed him a dark, wicked little smile. "I'm not in the
mood, Mulder. Sorry."
And with that she was gone.
Three days had passed since she had made her proclamation, and Scully had to admit that the
intended goal had been achieved. She and Mulder had worked together, side by side, the same as
always, but his acceptance of her words had been evident in the careful space he kept between
them. No flirting, not even very much banter. And certainly no touching, nothing that could be
construed even by the most desperate mind as inappropriate or unprofessional.
She had hated every minute of it.
Hate was a pretty strong word, she admitted. Though Mulder had seemed hesitant around
her for the first few hours, that had quickly dissipated as they had been drawn into their work, and
some of their usual camaraderie had returned. The problem was that Scully had expected to
become immersed in business, finally free to concentrate on what she was doing instead of where
her partner was standing.
*That* was the problem. If anything, she had found herself even *more* aware of
Mulder, acutely conscious of what he was doing and saying. She had found herself missing his
constant violation of her personal space, found herself missing those gentle taps and touches. She
had found herself missing him, which seemed ridiculous, since he was right by her side, just like
always. It didn't matter -- she had missed him nonetheless.
You did the right thing, she reminded herself. It had to come to a stop at some point, and it
was better now than later. But knowing the truth didn't make it any easier to swallow.
In her gloomy state of mind, she hadn't felt much like going to her friend Victoria's
bachelorette party, but she had already promised to attend, and backing out at the last minute
seemed like the wrong thing to do. All things considered, she'd had a pretty good time. Tory had
been a medical school classmate and favorite lab partner, and Scully liked her a great deal. The
other women at the party had been much like Tory -- bright and pretty and outgoing and fun, and
Scully had broken her fairly strict policy against drinking and joined them in a couple rounds of
margaritas. In the end, however, she'd fallen back into her pique of depression, wondering just
what it was she was doing so wrong, why it was she seemed to be the only person she knew
destined to play out her life alone.
At this point, all she could think about was bed. It was Friday night, and the weekend
loomed before her, a welcome respite from work. A respite from Mulder.
Scully entered her apartment and tossed her keys on the table by the door, pulling off her
coat and hanging it on the rack just inside. She yawned and debated whether or not to make some
tea before bed but decided against it, walking into the living room and flipping on the table lamp so
she could check her machine for messages.
The light from the lamp illuminated the room at a sharp angle, the table its point of focus,
leaving the rest of the furniture in varying degrees of shadow. She was about to hit the play button
when she noticed one of the shadows begin to move and a startled cry escaped her lips.
"You've been out late."
The sound of the voice, his voice, filled her with relief that vanished an instant later in a
spark of anger. "What are you doing here, Mulder?"
"Waiting for you."
His voice was different, darker, than the tone she was used to hearing. Scully couldn't
see his face and she took a few cautious, curious steps in his direction.
"Do you mind if I ask why?"
Mulder shrugged, a murky motion obscured by shadow. "We need to talk."
"About what?"
She was close enough now to see him, sitting in the floral armchair in the corner. He was
wearing a black turtleneck under that black leather jacket of his, which blended well with the
darkness of the room. His legs were clad in a pair of worn, faded jeans, extended in front of him
and crossed nonchalantly at the ankle.
It was the expression on his face that held her attention, though. His eyes were narrowed
and he gazed at her with a stare so pointed she could feel it against her skin. There was
something about his look that was unnerving, and his words did nothing to ease her tension.
"You had your turn, Scully. It's my turn now."
Her heart started to pound a little faster, nervous erratic thumps that made it hard to breathe.
Light, she thought. We need some more lights on in here. She turned away from him, moving
towards the switch to the ceiling light, but his words stopped her in her tracks.
"Sit down, Scully."
"I was just --"
"Have a seat."
The tone of his words brooked no argument and Scully was surprised to find herself
acceding to his request, sitting down on the edge of the couch. It was an automatic reaction,
dictated by shock. This wasn't the Mulder she knew. This was a different Mulder. A darker,
more dangerous Mulder.
He didn't say anything further, merely kept examining her with his eyes in a way that made
her feel incredibly vulnerable. The silence between them began to infuriate her and she crossed
her arms against her chest in defiance as she met his gaze.
"You came here to talk, Mulder. Go ahead, I'm listening." After a beat, she added, "And
make it quick. I haven't got all night."
That caused his mouth to quirk in the semblance of a smile, but it vanished before she
could be sure it had really been there. "You were pretty handy with the definitions the other day,"
he began, launching abruptly into conversation. "It made me realize I needed to catch up on my
reading."
For the first time, Scully noticed that there was a book lying beside him on the chair. He
picked it up and she realized that it was the worn dictionary from the office. Mulder casually
flipped it open, not moving his eyes away from hers, finding the marked down corner of one page
with an agile finger. "I did a little research of my own," he continued. "And you'd be surprised
what I came across."
"Oh, really?" She infused the two words with as much sarcasm as she dared.
Mulder nodded, raising the book so it was closer to his face. It's too dark to read over
there, she thought, the words idly dancing across her consciousness.
"I think so," he responded. "Underneath that definition of 'platonic', there's another
definition that I think you missed."
"Of what?"
" 'Platonic love'. It's described as a love conceived by Plato as ascending from passion for
the individual to the contemplation of the universal and ideal."
"I see." It felt awfully warm in the room, and Scully couldn't help wondering if she'd left
the heat on earlier. The phrase 'passion for the individual' was buzzing in her head and she
desperately wanted it to stop, suddenly regretting the margaritas she'd consumed. "Nice phrase,
Mulder. That and a quarter will buy you a phone call."
"I wouldn't dismiss it so lightly, Scully." Mulder got up from the chair and crossed to her
in three short strides, carrying the book with him. He crouched down so he was directly in front
of her, and she involuntarily sat further back against the cushions. "There's a lot of room for
interpretation in that statement."
He was closer to her now than he'd been in days. Close enough for her to touch the lock
of brown hair that had tumbled across his forehead, if she wanted to. Close enough for her to see
the dangerous spark in his hazel eyes. Scully tried to say something in response, but her mouth
merely opened and closed like that of a goldfish in search of dinner.
If he noticed her distress, Mulder gave no sign of it. Instead, he turned his gaze back to the
dictionary. "But we don't have to get into that just yet. There's more to the definition."
She managed to find her voice, but it sounded strangely weak to her ears. "Glad to hear
it."
"It goes on to say that platonic love is a close relationship between two persons in which
sexual desire is nonexistent --"
That was what she needed to hear. Scully grabbed onto the words with desperation.
"That's exactly my point, Mulder. A relationship where sexual desire is *nonexistent*. That's
exactly what I said the other day --"
She was babbling, and she knew it, and she knew that he knew it. But it still stunned her
when he cut her off by placing two fingers against her lips. Scully drew in a startled breath at his
touch, his hand like fire against her mouth.
Not her Mulder. A darker, more dangerous Mulder. An initial spark of arousal shot its
way up her spine.
"I wasn't finished," he scolded her, increasing the pressure of his fingers until she
acknowledged her interruption with a nod. Satisfied, he moved his hand away and resumed his
contemplation of the book.
"As I was saying," he continued, "platonic love is a close relationship between two persons
in which sexual desire is nonexistent...." His voice lowered, becoming a hoarse whisper that she
had to strain to hear. "...or has been suppressed or sublimated." Finished reading, he shut the
book, the sound of the pages slamming together echoing in the quiet room like a gunshot. "What
does *that* mean to you, Scully?"
Her throat was too dry to answer. The words escaped her in a squeak. "Should it mean
something to me, Mulder?"
He shrugged, putting the book down beside him on the floor. "I think that it's a statement
that's worthy of a little discussion."
She hadn't thrown him out. Hadn't ordered him to leave in that professional, business-like voice
to which he had become accustomed.
He took that as a good omen.
That, and the outfit she was wearing. She didn't look like the Scully he knew. This was a
different Scully. A softer, much sexier Scully.
It wasn't just the trim black pants she wore, pants that gently caressed her curves and
tapered to a slim silhouette at her ankle, cut in a much more feminine style than her usual tailored
work trousers. It was really the violet blue top that had his heart racing, a short-sleeved number
that hugged her chest in a way that he envied. A top that was made out of some magical fabric, a
fabric that shimmered as she moved, that looked like velvet against her skin. It made her eyes
blaze with an ice-blue fire that soaked into him like a delicious poison.
Curled up against the couch, wearing that top, she was the very embodiment of those old-
style Hollywood dream girl pinups, an angora sex kitten, 100% girl from head to toe.
Just looking at her was almost more than he could bear.
"A discussion, Mulder?" Her voice was a delicate whisper that caressed his ears. That
urged him on to continue.
"I think so," he told her, slipping the leather jacket from his shoulders and allowing it to
pool on the floor beside him. He was warm, warm all over, but it didn't seem the appropriate
moment to shed his turtleneck. "After all, we want to be precise."
"Precise," she echoed. "Definitely.... we want to be precise."
Her words beckoned him onward. Reaching out with one hand, he took her right foot in
his grasp. It was clad in a black heeled loafer, the perfect compliment to her pants. "Let's examine
the definition, shall we?" At her slight nod, he continued. "Nonexistent is one thing. It basically
means, there's nothing there. Nothing to be examined, nothing to talk about."
Using just the tips of his fingers, he caressed the bare skin exposed above her shoe, feeling
her leg shift in his grasp. "Nonexistent is another word for nothing. As opposed to the word
suppressed, for example. That means a whole different thing."
"Does it?" The words escaped her in a whisper.
"Oh, yes," he assured her, his own voice a barely audible murmur. "To suppress.... from
what I remember, that word means 'to put down by authority or force'." He pulled off her loafer
in one rough motion, tossing it beside him on the floor. "It means 'to keep from public
knowledge, to keep secret'." For the first time since his university days, he gave silent thanks to
his eidetic memory.
Mulder allowed himself a furtive glance at his prey. Scully sat with her back pressed
against the cushions of the couch, her blue eyes luminous, fixed on his own. With gentle strokes,
he began to massage her foot.
"There's more," he told her, his words a tool of seduction. "It goes on to say that to
suppress is 'to stop or prohibit the publication or revelation' of something. What do you think that
means?"
"I'm not sure," she murmured, her lips parted on a sigh.
" 'To exclude from consciousness'," he told her. "From my experience, unconscious
things can be good." Her eyes slid shut as his fingers continued to move against her bare skin.
"Skipping a bit, I think that it said something about 'restraint from a usual course or action'. Are
you interested in restraint, Scully?"
Her eyes popped open again at that, looking at him with a wide-eyed stare that was soft
with arousal. "I don't think so," she muttered, but her expression told him differently.
Emboldened by her tacit permission, he raised her foot in both of his hands, drawing it
slowly towards his face, studying its finely drawn perfection. Locking his eyes with hers, he
brought her foot to his mouth and delicately touched it with his tongue, feeling her leg shiver in his
grasp. She didn't pull away, and he moved ahead, running his lips and tongue along the velvet
softness of her skin, caressing each of her toes with his mouth in turn.
Scully moaned, and the sound caused his groin to quiver. "Not the usual course of action,
is it, Scully?" Mulder pressed forward, taking each of her toes between his lips, one by one. Her
other foot danced restlessly against him and he pinned it between his legs as he knelt before her,
leaning in to better taste her sweetness.
"Mulder...." His name was soft on her lips. "What are you doing...."
"Research, Scully," he explained. "Aren't you the one who believes in empirical study?
I'm just doing my homework."
He could see her hands twitch, clutching the cushions of the couch on which she sat, her
body slowly moving, unconscious gyrations that were a direct result of his efforts. A wicked
smile crossed his face. This was more fun than he had imagined it would be.
She saw him smiling and a flush of shame overwhelmed her, causing her to pull her foot out of his
grasp. It was warm and damp, as warm and damp as she was starting to feel in places she was
loath to acknowledge. She moved her leg away from him and tucked it beneath her body, safely
away from his grasp.
"Mulder... I think you should go."
"But Scully," he chided her. "We're only just beginning."
The inherent promise in that statement made her tremble.
"Still," she told him, "I think you should leave."
"Not yet," he boldly replied. "Not until I'm finished."
No more, she thought. She knew she couldn't take much more of his ardent seduction. If
she couldn't get him to leave, at least she could turn the tables on him. If this was what he wanted,
two could play at this game.
"Fine," she answered, kicking off her other shoe as she slid off the couch in one fluid
motion, settling herself in his lap. His eyes widened in surprise and she fought off the urge to
chuckle. "What more did you have to say?"
If he was startled by her response, he overcame it quickly, raising his arms to run his
hands down the length of her back, his caresses sparking electric currents in each place his fingers
touched. "We haven't talked about what it means to 'sublimate'," he reminded her.
"Right," she whispered, bringing her lips close to his ear, allowing her breath to caress his
skin. "Why don't you tell me about that."
He fell silent again and a rush of power consumed her. She let her tongue to escape her
mouth and dance along the curve of his ear, feeling him shift beneath her. He tasted so good, like
sweat and heat and genuine Mulder and the sensation flooded her with need.
"Sublimate," he moaned. "That's another very good word...."
"What does it mean?" she breathed, unwilling to stop her seduction of this obviously
sensitive part of his anatomy. "I seem to have forgotten."
"Ummmmm......" Another moan escaped him, and she caressed his neck with her hand,
feeling his throat work as he fought for speech. "To sublimate...I think it said something on the
order of 'improving or refining as if by subliming'."
"That doesn't make any sense," she teased him, twining her fingers in his hair, drawing
him closer to her, but not close enough for her liking.
"There's more," he said, the words faint despite his nearness. "It means 'to divert the
expression of an instinctual desire or impulse from its primitive form...."
Scully smiled, enjoying herself beyond all reason, brushing her hand across his finely
stubbled cheek. "Instinctual desire... I like the sound of that."
She was driving him crazy. Absolutely mad. And that wasn't the point, not at all. Mulder
knew that he had to regain control of the situation, had to regain it now. Pulling back from her, he
grasped the hem of her top in both hands and gave it a firm yank. "You need to concentrate on the
primitive part, Scully," he hissed, pulling her shirt upward with a force that raised her arms. He
tugged the shirt over her shoulders and head, tossing it away and revealing more of her to his
hungry eyes.
She was wearing a lace trimmed brassiere in a color that matched the shirt, a shimmering
violet satin that made his heart pound faster. A dim part of his mind reminded him how long it had
been since he'd seen his partner like this, how long since he'd seen the curves of her body revealed
to him in this way. Not since their very first case. Mulder was too aroused to care, consumed
only by the desire to touch her naked skin with his hands. He indulged himself, savoring the
breathy gasps that filtered past her lips as he did so. "There's a lot to be said for primitive," he
announced, lowering his lips to the swell of her breast.
Scully shifted in his grasp, crying out as he caressed her with his mouth, the sound
spurring him on. He traced her curves with his lips, nipping at the tender skin with his teeth,
unable to stop himself from tasting her essence.
"Mulder...." She moaned, his name echoing in his head with a richness that thrilled him.
"That's what it says, Scully," he explained, unsure how he was still able to form words,
his mind having seemingly taken leave of its normal abilities. " 'The expression of an instinctual
desire....from its primitive form to one that is considered more socially or culturally acceptable'."
"I've forgotten the question...." Her voice trailed off in a gasp as he grasped her nipple
through the satiny violet fabric, twisting it firmly in his fingers.
With a growl, he answered her. "I haven't.... I haven't forgotten at all." Moving his
hands to her shoulders he pushed her back, away from him, following her with his body as he
forced her to the floor. He restrained her there with his left hand as he brought his right to his
waist, fumbling with the buckle to his belt. With a quick flick of his wrist, he tugged the belt loose
from its moorings, taking the length of it in his hands. She struggled beneath him but he trapped
her with his legs, holding her captive. In a deft motion that surprised even him, he looped the belt
around her wrists, pulling it tight, watching as the black leather puckered her pale skin, locking her
hands together in a noose of his own creation. She cried out at the sensation, her eyes pinning him
in accusation, but he ignored her as he twisted the loop firmly closed. Yanking her bound hands
up above her head, he threaded the remainder of the leather around the leg of the couch and knotted
it fast.
She lay there beneath him, helpless now against the hardwood floor, her chest rising and
falling with each of her deepening breaths. "What the hell do you think you're *doing*?" she
asked him, her eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and fear.
"Acting primitive," he answered, surprising himself. "Ignoring those things that are
'socially or culturally acceptable.' "
Suddenly, it wasn't a game anymore. She wanted it to stop, afraid of his actions. Afraid of her
own reactions. "Mulder.... don't....."
"Don't *what*, Scully?" he teased her. "I'm just looking for the truth. Isn't that my job?"
He was staring at her, his hazel eyes almost black now, filled with a hunger she had never
seen before. She writhed against her bonds, frightened by her own helplessness. "Mulder, let me
go, dammit! Stop playing around."
He grinned, and it was as predatory as it was arousing. "I would, Scully, if I believed that
was what you wanted."
She was chilled by the cold wood beneath her bare skin and arched her back in an
instinctive attempt to alleviate the sensation, angered by the excitement that blazed in his eyes as he
watched her body undulate before his gaze.
"Cold, Scully? Uncomfortable?"
Reaching behind him, he grabbed his jacket and bunched it up in his hand, roughly
pushing it beneath her head. It felt soft and good against her neck, enveloping her in the deep
sweet smell of leather mixed with Mulder's aftershave. Scully pulled again at the bindings that
held her so securely, uttering a silent prayer for release, but none was forthcoming.
Scully bit her bottom lip in frustration, welcoming the pain, surprised by the arousal that
drenched Mulder's features. She twisted her head in a vain attempt to escape his gaze, a lock of
hair stubbornly catching just below her left eye.
He reached out with a trembling hand and brushed the wayward strands aside. "Have I
ever told you that I think you're beautiful, Scully?"
The naked honesty in his voice scared her and she averted her eyes. "No," she told him,
"And you have no reason to."
"Oh yes I do," he responded, the rough words scraping against her heart.
He stood up then, moving away from her, though his eyes remained locked on her face.
"Where are you going?" she asked, the beginnings of panic setting in.
"Empirical experiment, remember?" he taunted her. "I have to test my theories." With
that, he moved away, leaving her to lie where she was and await his return.
It seemed as though he was gone forever, though her rational mind told her that barely a
minute had passed before he came back. In one hand Mulder carried a tumbler, though from the
angle where she lay she was unable to ascertain its contents.
Scully glared at him, unable to do much else. "I wish I'd never given you the keys to my
apartment."
He threw her a devilish smirk. "It's a little late to be having second thoughts about that."
"Mulder, don't try anything you'll regret," she scolded him, trying desperately to sound
fierce. "You don't want to make me angry."
"Oh, but Scully, you already made *me* angry," he reminded her. "You left me alone to
finish all of that paperwork. And I *did* promise to make you pay."
Fear made her shiver, and she despised her weakness, searching for a way to turn the odds
in her favor. "Fine," she acknowledged. "Maybe I did leave you with my share of the work. But
we're here now, and the game is different." Astonished by her own boldness, she continued.
"And I'm not going to play unless it's skin against skin."
Mulder looked at her lying there, the swell of her breasts enough to tempt him into devouring her
whole, and had to smile at her bravado. "Fine," he replied. "I can take anything you can dish
out."
"We'll see," she declared, and he found her brio arousing. Without moving his eyes from
hers, he crossed his arms in front of him and pulled the bottom edge of his turtleneck from his
jeans, tugging it quickly over his head and throwing it aside. He met her gaze again and saw her
eyes glittering with anticipation at this glimpse of his naked torso. The approval he saw there made
him flush with pleasure, and he cursed the power she wielded over him. No more, he vowed, no
more.
With her eyes still on him, he grabbed the tumbler that he had placed nearby and straddled
her with his body, lowering his elbows to the floor on either side of her breasts. "Okay, Scully,
you won that battle," he conceded. "But I think I'll be the one to win the war."
He reached into the tumbler with a shaking hand and extracted a piece of ice, holding it
between two fingers as though it were molten lava. He could see the tremors race through her
body as he lowered the frozen liquid to the hollow of her neck, heard her gasp as its cold surface
made contact with her skin.
"You see," he instructed, tracing a lazy pattern with the ice along her shoulderblades, "this
is but a test. By which I mean, if your desire for me is nonexistent, this game will have little
effect."
"Not true, Mulder," she whimpered, the words laced with anguish as he trailed the ice
along the curves of her body. "The sensation alone is.... enough to cause an effect."
"That may be true," he acknowledged. "But I still think I can tell the difference between
nonexistent desire and that which has been suppressed or sublimated." With that, he leaned
forward, his chest meeting the bare skin of her torso, a lightning shock setting his body on fire.
He rested the lower part of his body against her own, covering her completely, a sigh escaping his
lips as he found the place he fit against her best.
He was slowly driving her mad, and Scully silently cursed her traitorous body for succumbing to
his efforts. The ice was desperately cold against her heated skin, cold enough to burn, and he
followed its wet path with his lips, lapping up the liquid residue with an ardor that astonished her.
A small idle part of her mind wondered exactly who was seducing who.
Mulder moved the ice further down her body, tracing it along the lines of her brassiere, and
Scully moaned with reluctant pleasure at the sensation. "Ummmm, Scully, that didn't sound
terribly nonexistent to me." Though his hand was surprisingly steady in its motion, she could
hear the tremors beneath his words. "I think there's something that you've been suppressing."
"You're not making any sense," she chided him, amazed that she still had the strength to do
so. He shifted positions against her, sliding down a bit to run the ice across her stomach, and she
jumped in reaction, the leather belt chafing her wrists. "This is a.... ridiculous....test...."
Mulder didn't bother to respond. Instead, he lifted the piece of ice he held in his hand and
examined it closely. "I think this one's just about run out of steam," he announced, bringing it
close to her face. His eyes danced with a secret anticipation as he took the sliver of ice and slowly
ran it across her lips.
It tasted cold and good and Scully tilted her head back, her hair tickling her bare arms,
allowing him better access to her mouth. He maneuvered the piece of ice between her lips with
two careful fingers and she licked it with her tongue, drawing it into her mouth. Before he could
move his fingers away she caught them as well and sucked on them, hard, reveling in his startled
gasp. Mulder tried to pull his hand back but she fought him, suckling on his fingers with the
strength of a hungry newborn until his eyes closed in defeat. Satisfied, she released her grasp of
him, a smile creeping over her face.
"Thanks, Mulder. That was good," she cooed, knowing that she'd just scored another
point.
He opened his eyes and glared at her but she saw no malice in his gaze. Only desire. His
desire for her.
He reached into the tumbler and pulled out another large piece of ice and she shook her
head as he brought it towards her. "I think you've proved your point," she told him, a sudden
dizziness threatening to overtake her.
"Not yet," he disagreed. "We're only just getting started."
Mulder began to play with the ice again and Scully did her best to lie still, but her body kept
betraying her, much to her chagrin. The alternating hot and cold of the ice and his lips were slowly
making her crazy, and she undulated her hips beneath him, unable to stop moving.
A slight frown crossed Mulder's face and he brought his free hand up to touch her
brassiere. "I've had just about enough of this," he announced. He slid his hand beneath her back
as though to fumble for the clasp, but he stopped before unfastening it.
Watching him, Scully suddenly realized the source of his consternation and couldn't stifle a
laugh. "You're not getting it off of me, Mulder, unless you untie me. I guess that's the end of
that," she finished smugly.
Mulder paused, and then that devilish expression returned to his face. "Don't forget, I was
a Boy Scout, Scully. I'm prepared for any emergency."
He dropped the piece of ice back into the tumbler and raised himself off of her, crouching
above her, his legs bent on either side of hers. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled
out a shiny red Swiss Army knife, and Scully's eyes widened as she realized his intent.
"Mulder, you wouldn't dare...."
"I'm a very determined guy."
"You're insane."
"Insane.... hmmmm." Mulder rolled the word around on his tongue as he flipped open
the knife, exposing one of the blades. "Now *that* word has possibilities. You know, Scully, if
you are declared insane, you can't be held legally responsible for criminal or civil misdeeds."
Clenching the knife in his hand, he leaned back over her. "I'd hold still, Scully, if I were you."
She was too petrified to do much else. For some strange reason the phrase "trust no one"
kept repeating in her brain. Trust no one, she thought, especially not your crazy knife wielding
partner.
Mulder lifted up the left strap to her brassiere with one hand and slid the blade beneath it
with the other, the dull side of its steel surface pressing into her skin. Scully didn't dare even draw
a breath, equal parts horrified and aroused by his actions. With one smooth stroke he sliced the
satin strap in two, allowing the fabric to fall gently downward. He didn't say anything as he
moved to the other side and repeated the motion, but she could see little beads of sweat gathering
along his brow.
That task accomplished, Mulder tucked the closed knife back into the pocket of his jeans,
then reached beneath her to finish what he'd started, unfastening the clasp to her brassiere and then
tossing the ruined satin mess aside.
"That wasn't so hard," he informed her, his words laced with satisfaction.
Scully barely heard his words, focused only on the fact that her upper body now lay bare
before him, her last claim to modesty having been stripped away.
And he was staring at her. Staring at her as though he'd stumbled across an ocean in the
middle of the desert.
This isn't happening, she told herself. This is just some crazy dream, and any minute now
you'll wake up and get ready for work.
But it wasn't a dream -- that became brutally clear when Mulder brought a piece of ice to
rest against her naked breast. She cried out when the frozen water touched her nipple, dancing
gently against its surface before rotating in a lazy arc around the edge of her aureole. In keeping
with the previous pattern, Mulder's lips followed a moment later, nipping and biting the sensitive
skin before easing off into a more gentle caress.
Scully didn't know how much more of this she could take. She writhed beneath him,
tugging at the restraints that held her so securely to the couch, desperate to get away. Her bare
feet thrashed against the cold wood floor but she couldn't get any leverage, his lower body caging
hers completely.
Mulder was relentless at his pursuit of her torso, alternating from side to side, fondling
each breast with his hands, teasing them with the ice and with his lips. A meaningless stream of
words issued from her lips, pleas mixed with murmured protests, none of which had any effect on
his actions. She shifted beneath him again, acutely conscious of his heavy weight against her
thighs, his erection pressed hard against that most sensitive portion of her anatomy.
"Enough, Mulder.... enough," she cried, but it wasn't enough for him. She couldn't help
but wonder if it would ever be enough for him, or if she would be caught forever in this endless
limbo, writhing helplessly in his grasp, an unwilling victim to his torture.
But she wasn't really unwilling, which was the crux of her problem. The motions of his
hands and lips stirred her to a place that she had heretofore only imagined, carrying her inexorably
towards a site of forbidden pleasure.
Scully felt him take her nipple between his teeth, tugging and teasing, his breath warm and
heavy against her skin, and she groaned, her body propelled by his actions closer and closer to the
edge. Insane, she thought. Insane, this is insane.... the words hammering in her head with a
force that stunned her. And yet she was powerless to resist, forced to succumb to temptation,
sliding ever closer to that great abyss....
Mulder redoubled his efforts, watching her closely, savoring the flush that bloomed across her
features. Her eyes were closed now, her fine lashes gracing the edge of her cheeks, her breath
coming in little tortured pants that were driving him insane.
The erotic picture before him had adrenalin coursing through his system like rocket fuel.
Her fair skin, its creamy perfection accentuated by the black that surrounded her. Those tight black
pants wrapped around her curves from her waist to her ankles. His black leather jacket,
cushioning the fragile bend of her neck. His black leather belt, twined sinuously around her tiny
wrists. And the colors, God, the colors. That flaming auburn hair, those rosy lips, those pink
nipples...
"Scully, oh Scully, oh Scully...." He chanted her name like a mantra, willing her closer,
drawing her nearer to him with every passing second. He could feel her pulsing beneath him and
it made him crazy, made him want her in a way that he had never wanted anything, made him need
her like he needed air and water and life itself, made him desperate to please her, to make her
happy, to make her cry, to push her over the edge.
His prayers were finally answered as she screamed his name, her body shuddering below
him with astonishing force. He clung to her tightly, relishing every tremor, a rush of satisfaction
tumbling through him, making him want to shout with the sheer pleasure of pleasing her.
All too soon it was over, and she lay still beneath him, save her still labored breaths.
Mulder brushed his lips across her forehead, smoothing away the tangled strands of auburn hair
with a shaky hand. Reaching above her, he untied the knot that held her fast to the couch,
loosening her hands from the confines of the belt.
She didn't say anything, her eyes still closed, and he waited until her breathing steadied,
until her trembling subsided. "Scully.... " he finally asked. "Scully, are you okay?"
She opened her eyes then and she stared at him with a look that he couldn't identify. He'd
never seen her like this before, it was all so different, so new, so strange. She rolled out from
underneath him, pulling her legs nearly up to her chest, and Mulder could see that she was
shaking. He was suddenly concerned for her, afraid that he'd pushed her too far, too fast.
"Scully?"
After a moment, she sat up, alternately rubbing each wrist in an attempt to ease the irritation
the belt had caused.
"I'm fine, Mulder," she told him, but said nothing more, and the silence almost killed him.
"Are you sure? Did I --"
"Take them off." She bit out the words.
"What?" The request confused him.
"Your pants. Take them off," she demanded, shifting so that her back rested against the
couch.
Mulder didn't hesitate. There was something in her tone that dictated he obey. Rising to
his feet, he kicked off his shoes and then unbuttoned the fastenings to his jeans. Pulling them off,
he carelessly tossed them to the floor.
"Now lie down," she instructed. "On your stomach."
He glanced at her, but she didn't look up at him. It was almost as though the order was
automatic, and he hastened to comply. Dressed now only in his boxer shorts, he realized for the
first time just how truly cold and hard the wood floor was. He tucked his arms beneath his face as
a cushion and lay as still as he possibly could, waiting.
A few moments passed, and then his patience was rewarded. Mulder heard Scully moving
behind him, but didn't dare raise his head to look. He groaned as he felt her straddle him, the
rough fabric of her pants rubbing against the bare skin of his legs.
"You've been enjoying yourself, Mulder," she observed. "Do you need me to define that
for you? The word 'enjoy'?"
"No," he answered, keeping his words soft. "I think I know what it means."
"Good," she told him. Mulder heard the sound of something scraping against the floor and
his heart began to thump in his chest as he realized that it was the sound of the buckle on his belt.
"Now it's my turn," she announced.
Scully shifted against him and then Mulder heard a loud snapping sound that echoed in his
ears. "You hear that, Mulder?" He had indeed heard it and acknowledged her question with a
nod.
"That's the sound of your belt, Mulder," she informed him. "Right now I'm wondering
just what I should do with it."
"Be nice?" He offered the hopeful suggestion, only to hear her laugh, a hoarse low
chuckle that tantalized him.
"Nice?" she questioned. "I thought we were being primitive."
With that, she drew the edge of the belt down the length of his bare back, tracing a crude
path with the metal buckle. Mulder moaned and bucked beneath her, fighting the temptation to flip
over and pin her beneath him once more.
"Is that what you want, Scully?" he asked her, daring to cross the line. "Is that what you
like?"
"No, Mulder. The question is, is that what *you* like?"
Before he could answer, Mulder felt her hand against the elastic of his boxers, tugging the
thin fabric down in a single quick motion. He felt cool air against the bare skin of his buttocks
and groaned, anticipating her next move.
He wasn't wrong in his guess, for merely a second later came the slap of the leather strap
against his bare skin, causing him to cry out, a strangled mix of ecstasy and pain.
"Do you like that, Mulder?" she asked him again. "Does that feel good?"
Mulder could feel his erection growing, pressing against the floor through the cloth that still
covered it, and he shifted his body slightly to ease the tension.
"I didn't say that you could move," she taunted him, bringing the belt down to bear against
his skin once more, a groan escaping his lips as she did so.
"Scully...." He had intended to say more, but the words escaped him as she hit him again.
And again. And again. Each slap sharp and hard and quick.
Five strokes and his ass was throbbing with a delicious pain. He cried out as she shifted
against him. She slid forward and he felt her bare breasts caress his back.
"What, Mulder?" She lay fully across him now, her lips level with his ear. "Did you want
to say something to me?" She slid her hands beneath him, wrapping her arms securely around his
neck, molding her body to his. "Is there something wrong?"
"No.... nothing wrong.... nothing....Scully, I...." He had completely lost the power of
speech.
Mulder felt her lips against his back, soft and cool, and he squirmed, silently suffering
under her tender touch. She slowly worked her way down his back until she gave him what he
craved -- the feel of her sweet lips on his raw, tender ass.
She continued to lave him with kisses, soothing away the hurt, as he moaned with
pleasure. "Scully, oh Scully... that feels... so good...."
Still clinging tightly to him, Scully rolled onto her side, bringing him along for the ride.
He felt her teeth against his ear, nibbling at the lobe with little tiny bites that drove him wild. He
squirmed out of her grasp and turned so that he was facing her, eye to eye, nose to nose, chin to
chin. Her breath caressed his face and he drank it in hungrily. "Scully, please, I...."
"Why don't you stop talking and shut up and kiss me, Mulder." She smiled, one of those
rare, breathtaking, all-encompassing Scully smiles that she so rarely bestowed upon him. "That's
what all this is about, isn't it? Go ahead and kiss me."
Her lips lay before him, full and ripe and red, and Mulder felt like an idiot for not having
taken advantage of the opportunity earlier. He leaned in towards her slowly, wanting to commit
everything to memory. The way she looked, her blue eyes sparkling wickedly. The way she
smelled, like sweat and soap and a faint hint of perfume. The way she felt, her bare skin so soft
against his own. Leaning in, he captured her lower lip between his teeth and pulled her towards
him, tantalized by this first glorious taste. She met him head on, parting her mouth beneath his,
her tongue colliding with his in this new warm sweet space between them and Mulder rued the fact
that he had allowed so many days to pass without tasting the honeyed sensuality of her lips.
It seemed as though the kiss lasted forever, their dueling tongues battling for control, each
breath endlessly shared between them. He couldn't get enough of her, couldn't draw her far
enough inside himself to satisfy him. He ran his tongue along the smooth lines of her teeth, he
nibbled at her lips, he kissed and suckled and bit and moaned until he thought that he would die
from the mere bliss of knowing her in this intimate and wonderful way.
He was kissing her now, and that made it real, that made everything okay in a way that she hadn't
realized that she'd needed it to be before she felt the touch of his lips against her own. She was
drowning in his kisses, his sweet sweet real kisses, tasting him, feeling him in a way that she had
only imagined in dreams.
He was holding her now, caressing her breasts, making her moan, and she knew without a
doubt that this was happening between them. That there was no turning back, no more pretending.
This was real, and it was happening, and there could be no more hiding from the truth.
She loved him. God, she loved him.
Not that she would tell him. At least, not yet.
But that didn't mean she couldn't show him.
Fueled by desire, Scully pulled her mouth away from his, breaking off their kiss. She
applied her lips to his neck, licking and tasting the hollow of his throat. He moaned her name and
reached for her with his hands, but he could not deter her from her task.
Slowly, running her lips over each inch of his body, she worked her way down his torso,
toying with the tiny sprinkles of hair in the middle of his chest. She could almost taste his
muscles, his strength, and the feel of him against her mouth was incredibly wild. More, she
wanted more, and she knew how to get it.
Scully could feel Mulder twisting against her and it brought a smile to her face as she
reached her destination. She pulled his boxers down the rest of the way, and he helped her by
kicking them off when she reached the bottom. He was sighing now, air escaping from between
his teeth in frantic whistles as she reached out and cupped his balls with one trembling hand,
caressing them gently before allowing their weight to rest comfortably in her palm. She moved
her mouth in position and delicately ran her tongue along the length of his shaft as though
measuring its rigid hardness.
"Scully, no..." It sounded as though he was pleading with her, but she couldn't have
cared less. At this point, nothing less than an act of God was going to make her stop.
Parting her lips just enough, she guided him into her mouth, relaxing her throat to swallow
him whole. Mulder shivered and groaned and she felt a flood of wetness stain the crotch of her
pants. Reaching behind him, she grasped his ass in both of her hands and squeezed.
"Scully..."
She loved the sound of her name on his lips.
Relishing her control, she toyed with him, guiding him in and out of her mouth, nibbling
and biting and tasting and teasing his erection, sucking gently to milk a few salty drops from its
tip.
"You have to... stop... Scully... please...."
She didn't listen. Couldn't listen. Wouldn't listen. Scully focused all of her energy on
him, matching the motions of her lips to the unconscious thrusts of his hips, holding his ass tight
in her grip. She felt his hands twine their way into the length of her hair, holding her close.
His cry reached her ears just as his hips thrust against her face, hard, and Scully braced
herself for his release, opening her throat and swallowing his essence as it emptied into her mouth.
When he was finished, she licked him clean, sucking him off before slowly moving her mouth
away.
He was dreaming. That was the only possible explanation. It couldn't be possible that his
practical, skeptical partner had just sucked him off in a way that he had only imagined in his
wildest fantasies. It couldn't be possible that she was sliding her lithe body back up to meet his
lips with her own, kissing him so that he could taste himself in her mouth. It couldn't be possible.
And yet, it was.
"Scully, my God..." For the first time in a long time, Mulder was at a loss for words.
"Still having fun, Mulder?" Little teasing moans slipped in between her kisses.
"You bet," he answered, devouring her with his tongue.
"Good," she replied. "Because I'm not finished."
Before he was ready, she broke off the kiss and moved away from him, rising to her feet
on unsteady legs. She reached out a hand to him and he took it, allowing her to pull him to his
feet. "Come on," she told him, and he followed obligingly. As though he had any choice in the
matter.
Scully led him into her bedroom and Mulder hesitated for a moment in the doorway. In the
four years of their partnership, he could count the times he'd been inside this inner sanctum on the
fingers of one hand. Even after all that had happened so far between them, he was strangely shy
about proceeding any further.
As though she could read his mind, Scully turned and smiled at him, another one of those
beauty queen smiles that twisted his heart into knots. "Get on the bed, Mulder," she ordered, and
he hastened to comply. He climbed onto the bed and sat with his back against the pillows piled
along the headboard, watching her.
As though she knew what he wanted, she allowed her smile to blossom further,
illuminating her face with its wicked radiance. She moved forward so that she was standing closer
to the bed and then brought her hand to the waistband of her pants, finding the side zipper and
pulling it down. The pants were tight and fit her body snugly, and Mulder thought he might die
just watching her gently shake her hips from side to side as she wriggled them off. The panties
she was wearing matched the bra that he'd destroyed and she pinched the fabric between two
fingers, a rueful expression crossing her face.
"Guess I won't be needing these anymore," Scully remarked, pulling them off and tossing
them aside.
She stood there naked before him then, unashamed. Naked and proud and beautiful, and
Mulder felt another erection coming on, just watching her.
Scully tilted her head at him, a questioning sort of glance, and Mulder smiled at her,
throwing the full weight of his approval into the twist of his lips. It seemed to satisfy her, and she
climbed up onto the bed, kneeling with her parted legs on either side of his own.
"I've got another definition for you," she informed him.
"Oh?" He was surprised that he could still speak. "And what would that be?"
"Technique," she answered.
"Technique?" he echoed, unable to say more.
"Uh-huh," she nodded, raising one wicked auburn eyebrow. "It's crucial, at times like
these, to understand the concept of technique."
"Why don't you show me," he replied, wanting nothing more.
The wicked arched eyebrow now had a matching grin. "I thought you'd never ask,
Mulder." Scully ran her tongue along her lips, moistening them in preparation for her
explanation, and Mulder's breath caught in his throat.
" 'Technique'," she slowly explained, "is defined as 'the ability to treat technical details
or... to use basic physical movements'. At least, that's what I've been told." With one small
hand, she began to fondle her breasts, running her fingers from one side to the other with slow,
gentle strokes. "Some people have it, and others don't."
"I see," Mulder murmured, watching transfixed as her hand moved past her breasts and
caressed her torso, roaming along the smooth rounded curve of her belly.
Watching him watching her, Scully suddenly felt powerful, indomitable, unstoppable. She felt
like she could do anything, like she held the secret to life in the palm of her hand. Rich with this
forbidden knowledge, she brought her hand down and ran it across the thatch of auburn hair
between her legs, enjoying the touch as she never had before.
"It's important to do these things the right way," she continued, knowing she was rambling
but past the point of caring, intoxicated by the look on his face.
"I understand," he answered, his chest rising and falling with his rapid breaths.
Scully slipped two of her own fingers between her folds, her head falling back at the
sensation, luxuriating in it. "I hope you do," she murmured, stroking herself slowly.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mulder rising to his own knees, noticed that his
erection had bloomed again. He moved towards her, snaking one hand around her naked back.
"Oh, I do, Scully," he told her. "I do."
Mulder pulled her hand away from its task and took her damp wet fingers into his mouth,
suckling hard, forcing a cry from her lips. He smiled at her and said, "Maybe it's time to test my
technique."
"Maybe," she nodded, giving him approval to continue.
As though he was copying her motions, Mulder ran one hand along the curves of her body,
still holding her close to him with the other. His free hand fondled each breast in turn and then
made its way down her torso, tickling gently. "How am I doing so far?" he asked.
"So far, so good," she murmured, leaning forward and placing a kiss on his neck.
"Good," he replied, moving his hand lower still until he was touching the damp hair at her
entrance. He slipped one finger inside her, then a second, followed by his thumb, penetrating her
with a force that rocked her. She leaned back in his grasp but he held her steady, a small chuckle
escaping him as he stroked her, pinched her, squeezed her.
"I hope you don't mind if I make some revisions to the standard technique," he declared,
just before he captured her lips with his own, plunging his tongue deep inside her mouth so that
she was unable to answer.
He held her there, his tongue filling her mouth and his fingers filling her womb, probing
and exploring her at both ends, trapping her body against his with one strong arm. She couldn't
have moved away, couldn't have protested his actions even if she'd wanted to, and she certainly
didn't want to. She wanted to stay like this, suspended forever, a prisoner of his tender caresses.
Mulder pulled his lips away long enough to bring his mouth to her ear. Whispering gently,
he said, "There's another part to the definition of 'technique', just so you know. It's also 'a
method of accomplishing a desired aim'."
"Ummmm....." She couldn't form words to answer.
"That's what I've got, Scully," he told her, kissing her cheek gently. "A desired aim, a
goal. I want to make you scream again, Scully. I want to make you come, and I want to hear you
shout my name when you do."
She didn't respond. She didn't have to -- he could read her like a book, and she loved it.
Loved the fact that he knew exactly what she wanted. Loved the fact that he wanted it too.
Scully felt him pressing against her, rocking her back and pressing her towards the bed,
and she didn't resist, allowing him to lower her to the cool sheets that covered its surface. Her
head hit the foot of the bed and she felt her hair dangle over the edge. His mouth never stopped
devouring her own, and she moaned as she chased his tongue with hers.
His hand was busy down below, stimulating her with quick erotic touches and long
smooth strokes. She pressed herself against his hand, seeking deeper, further contact, the
sensations absolutely wonderful and yet not quite enough. Not what she needed, not yet what she
craved with a fearsome desire.
In between kisses, he whispered to her, soft aching words full of need. "You know,
Scully, I lied to you the other day. I told you that I never touch you on purpose. But I do -- I
can't get enough of touching you." He took her bottom lip between his teeth and bit her gently and
then ran his tongue across the tender surface. "I'll never get enough of touching you. Not now,
not ever."
Mulder pulled his lips away from hers for good at the same time that he moved his hand,
causing her to groan with the pain of his absence. His low chuckle scratched against her ears as he
shifted his position, grabbing her legs with both hands and draping them over his shoulders,
allowing her feet to touch his back. "Don't worry, Scully, I'm not going anywhere," he assured
her.
Her legs were spread open, making her completely vulnerable to him now. Scully shivered
with anticipation as she waited, holding her breath until she felt his mouth against her most private
place, his tongue parting her and caressing her intimately. "Oh, Mulder...." The words escaped
her on a sigh and she twisted against him with pleasure. She felt his hands reaching for her own
and she embraced him, twining her fingers in his, holding on tight for the ride that awaited her.
She wasn't disappointed. As with everything he did, Mulder was extremely thorough,
licking and biting and tasting every inch of her, working her over with the prowess of a master.
She squirmed and writhed and moaned and bucked and still he held her, trapping her with his
mouth, controlling her actions, her every thought, her every breath. She squeezed his hands as
tightly as she dared, fearing that she might break his fingers and yet not really caring, wanting him
to know how much he was making her suffer. Wanting him to share it with her, this agonizing
bliss, this harrowing ecstasy.
Just when she feared that she might lose consciousness, carried away on a tide of pure
sensation, the orgasm engulfed her, drowning her completely, sending her skyward without a
parachute. She floated forever, catapulted beyond herself, the blood rushing through her veins a
thundering accompaniment to her complete weightlessness.
At long last, Scully felt herself drifting back, became conscious once more of his hands
twined in her own, of the weight of his body against hers, of his throbbing erection hot against her
leg. She felt his lips on her mouth and responded to his kiss with dizzy, lazy motions. "Stay with
me, Scully," he pleaded, kissing her gently, and she called upon the depleted reserves of her
strength and opened her eyes.
Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him, her expression soft with need. At last, he was
seeing it. He was seeing her blue eyes gaze up at him, flooded with desire. He had thought he'd
have to wait forever.
Forever had just arrived.
Unable to wait any longer, Mulder shifted so that the tip of his erection rested against her
entrance, pressing against her soft curls. Kissing her once more, he slid into her slowly, inch by
inch, relishing the hot tight wet feel of her body parting to accommodate his own. Her eyes
widened and the spaces between her breaths became shorter and then slipped away entirely as he
filled her, her hands moving up to encircle his back, pulling him close.
Heaven. This had to be heaven.
Mulder rocked against her gently, encouraging her to raise her legs and wrap them around
his waist, allowing him to sink further inside her. The sensation was almost too much and more
than anything he wanted to let go but he held himself back, knowing that he had within him the
power to push her beyond herself once more. Just once more....
He slipped his arms beneath her and pulled her tightly against him, then he rose once again
to his knees, carrying her with him. She slid further down his shaft and he groaned with the sheer
pleasure of it, pumping his hips to deepen the penetration. She was closer to him now than she'd
ever been, every inch of her naked skin pressed tightly against his own. He could feel her every
breath, could hear every sound she made as though it came from inside him. He didn't think he
had ever been so completely content in the whole of his life.
Scully's head arched back as a loud cry escaped her lips, shaking Mulder with its raw
intensity. She looped her arms around his neck and rode him hard, the new position having
awakened a raw need inside her that had to be quenched. He collapsed under the force of her
strength, falling on his back, his head cushioned by the pillows at the head of the bed. She
dominated him now, and Mulder did his best to keep up with her, straining with everything he
possessed to hang on, to maintain control. Looking at her made it desperately hard, yet he
couldn't tear his eyes away from her slender form, draped across his own, her breasts quivering
above him, her thighs gripping him tight. Her face was vivid, rapturous, her cheeks ripe and
flushed. He knew that if he lived to be a hundred years old, he would never forget how
bewitching she was at this moment.
He possessed her totally, his hands dancing across her shoulderblades as his arms steadied her
waist. Unbelievably, Scully felt her body readying once again to take that incredible journey, and
she fought the sensation, afraid that to tempt fate one last time would be a fatal mistake. Sensation
overruled her and she undulated her hips against him, rising off of him only to slide back down,
repeating the motion faster and faster, shaking with the joy of it. His kisses robbed her of her
sanity, turning her insides to jelly. She was conscious of nothing else but him, of his touch and
his kiss and the feel of him inside her.
Dear God, she thought. Not again, not again, please....
There was nothing she could do. He had pushed her to the edge once again and she could
do nothing but tumble over and pray that he would follow. So she did, allowing her body to
shatter into a million tiny pieces, her mind to splinter into endless fragments of consciousness. It
was too much, too much, and yet finally just enough. A scream wrenched from her lips, his
name, the two-syllable word stretched to its absolute limits.
With the dim part of her mind that remained to her, Scully felt Mulder twist under her,
flipping her over onto her back so that he totally covered her once more. The sheets were cool
beneath her and he was hot and heavy above her and she groaned, unable to do more, her womb
on fire, throbbing with each of his frantic plunges.
Scully fought the dizziness and forced her eyes open, watching at him as he hovered above
her, grinding his lower body into hers with the strength of a madman. He met her gaze and they
shared a look that transcended time, that transcended space, and at that moment all that mattered, all
that existed, was the two of them. Forever.
She heard him shout her name and then felt him shaking against her as he emptied himself
inside her, collapsing against her, his body shuddering violently with the force of his release.
Exhausted now, completely spent, Mulder lay atop her for a long moment, unable to move, barely
able to breathe. Several minutes passed before he was able to muster the strength to pull out of
her, the moan that escaped her lips as he did almost enough for him to reconsider his actions.
Instead, he turned on his side, taking her with him so that they were still pressed close,
cheek to cheek, his arms around her, holding her tightly against him.
For a time, words were more than he could bear and he remained silent, content to listen to
her breathe against him, to feel her body against his own. Finally, he found the courage to ask,
"You okay?"
"Fine," she answered, a little giggle the punctuation. "More than fine, I think."
"Good," he told her, stroking her hair gently with his fingers.
She spoke next. "I guess we need to redefine our relationship."
"Oh?" A simple word, yet his very soul rode upon it.
"I think so," Scully answered. "I don't think 'platonic' particularly applies anymore."
"No," he concurred, "I guess not." He took a breath then asked, "Any suggestions?"
A small smile crept across her features. "I think that 'passionate' might work," she said.
Mulder nodded. " 'Passionate' works. I think that 'sexual' is good too -- and may be
more descriptive."
"Ummmmmm," she replied, nuzzling her face against his own. "Yes," she admitted,
"that's right. I might also classify this relationship as 'dangerous'."
"Really?" Suddenly he was afraid.
"Definitely," she assured him, her smile suddenly a tad more wicked. "But that's okay.
I'm not afraid of danger." She hesitated, then added, "Especially not when you're with me."
Mulder smiled at that and Scully felt better, glad that she hadn't scared him off. He leaned in
towards her and pressed his lips to hers in a slow, sensuous kiss, and it brought another word to
mind.
"I think we could also use the word 'tender'," she told him.
"I like the sound of that," he replied, kissing her again.
She felt so warm and safe laying there in his arms, completely satisfied in a way that she
had previously only imagined. So happy, truly happy, perhaps for the first time ever.
Now, Scully thought. This is the time to tell him.
" 'Loving'," she said quietly. "We could say that too."
He pulled back from her slightly and Scully felt a twinge of anxiety rush through her.
Perhaps she'd been wrong -- perhaps this wasn't what she thought it was. Perhaps it was nothing
more than a game, an amplified version of their constant teasing banter.
Taking a closer look at him, she saw tears in his hazel eyes, her own eyes growing moist at
the sight.
"Oh, Scully," he murmured, "it always has been. Always."
His words sang inside her and she twined her arms around his neck, pulling him close,
caressing his lips with her own, answering him with a deep and gentle kiss.
"Always," she echoed, secure in the knowledge that their bond had been defined at last.
Well, I think that's just about the end of that!! Time for me to take my dictionary and go home....
by the way, I feel compelled to thank all of the excellent erotica writers on the newsgroup who
inspired me to try my hand at this. And I should also give a salute to the Martini Man, whose habit
of wandering the halls with his Webster's in hand muttering, "There are a lot of good words in
here," makes me laugh and makes me think.
One more definition before I go -- feedback is 'the transmission of evaluative or corrective
information to the original or controlling source'. In other words, comments are *always*
welcome at Blueswirl@aol.com. ;)
= The Blueswirl Stories =
Revolving Satellites
Platonic
Chiaroscuro
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