From bower2@juno.com Tue Apr 08 12:31:03 1997 Subject: *NEW* Into Each Other Sinking NC-17 US4 Spoilers From: bower2@juno.com (L. B. Bower) -------- I'm baaack! Sorry it's taken me so long--small case of writer's block to deal with. When in doubt, go with smut. This little piece of mind candy takes place within the universe I created in Dance Without Sleeping, though you can certainly read this without having read that. Just know that Scully is dealing with her cancer and she and Mulder have become lovers. I anticipate doing a whole slew of these over a long period of time, hence the secondary title on this one. Feedback would be nice. :) Hey, Charli? Your turn..... Also, this is dedicated to a wonderful, highly talented lady named Kathy Cox. It was her superb Beauty and the Beast series "Small Seductions" that inspired this one. Disclaimer: Guess what? They don't belong to me. It was CC who thought them up and he and 1013, along with Fox, own them. I just like to take them out and play with them. I don't mean anything by it; really I don't. Enjoy! Into Each Other Sinking I Liquid by Lydia Bower Classification: V, MSR Rating: NC-17. Um hum. Yep. One of those. Summary: Set within the "Dance Without Sleeping" universe. Scully takes a bath and gets some help--along with a story--from Mulder. XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX The Lovers Look how each becomes gift and giver: their veins with nothing but spirit flow. Look how their forms like axles quiver, round which revolving raptures glow. Thirsters, and straight there are draughts for their drinking; wakers, and look, they are sated with sight. Let them, into each other sinking, rise, surviving each other's might. Ranier Maria Rilke XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX Scully loves to take baths. Long ones. With lots of bath oil. She sits in a fragrant cloud of steam and unwinds. She'll pin her hair carelessly atop her head and scrub her face clean of make-up first and then climb in. After awhile the bathroom will get warm enough that it draws tiny beads of sweat from her exposed skin. She'll dip a thick wash cloth into the water and squeeze it out over herself, the water trickling in small streams down her body to rejoin the sea she floats in. Scully is beautiful when she's wet. I try to leave her alone when she's soaking. I know how important her time to herself is--and I've given her precious little of it lately. Both Scully and I lived solitary lives before the cancer. Now we can hardly stand to be apart. But there are times when we get on each other's nerves. We just went through one of those times. So from Friday after work through the weekend, she stayed here alone. We both needed the time apart. Until a few minutes ago I was sitting in the living room, trying to watch a movie and fidgeting instead. She's been in there for over half an hour now and I just heard the faucet come back on. She's warming up the water in the tub again. I'm trying to make up an excuse to bother her, to enter the private sanctuary that is the bathroom when Scully is soaking. It doesn't seem right to barge in on her for no other reason than because I like to look at her when she's relaxing in the tub. Well, truth be told, that's not the only reason. She's also necessarily naked when she's in there--and it was a very long weekend away from her. I shut off the TV and put in a Marvin Gaye CD, grab a random file off the dining room table and approach the bathroom door. Lifting my hand, I knock lightly with the backs of my fingers. "Hey, Scully? Can I come in?" There is a long pause and I hear her through the door. "That depends on what you want, Mulder." I smile and tip my forehead against the door. "Let me come in and I'll tell you." I hear water sloshing and then, "Okay, but I'm not talking work." A flick of my wrist and the file lands on the table in the hall. I open the door and step into a cocoon of warmth and fragrance. Ah. Bubbles tonight. Another reason why water keeps getting added to the tub. Her pinned up hair is a bright spot of color upon a sea of white foam. She's sunk low in the tub, her back to the door. I can see the soft, pale skin of her neck and the faint scar from the implant. Dark red toenails peek up from the bubbles at the other end of the tub. I always knew Scully was the type of woman to paint her toenails red--her shoes are a dead give-away. The room is filled with steam and it fogs the mirror and window. Three steps take me to the tub and I fold myself down on the bathmat beside it. Scully's eyes are covered by a washcloth and about all I can see of her face are her bee-stung lips and her tiny chin. Only the tops of her creamy shoulders are visible above the bubbles. Her voice interrupts my appreciative gazing. "What is it, Mulder?" "Um. Nothing," I admit. "I just got lonely." Her mouth curves up in a knowing smile. "I've only been in here for a little while." "Yeah, I know." She shifts a little and a kneecap emerges from the water. I can't resist. I reach out and lay my hand on it. I watch as she pulls her bottom lip into her mouth and gently bites it. "Do you want me to leave you alone?" I ask. "No." The word comes out slowly. "You don't have to." If I didn't know what to listen for, I probably would have missed the wistful inflection in her voice that tells me she's been thinking too much; thinking about the turn her life has taken since her diagnoses. It doesn't matter that she's decided to fight this thing tooth and nail. It doesn't matter that we've stepped beyond the boundaries we once set for ourselves and become lovers. The sadness still weighs heavily on her from time to time. I willingly take up my share of the weight when that happens. How can I not? I rise from the floor and grab the book of matches from the shelf where she keeps the towels. The scratch and flare of the match goes unheard, masked by the soulful sounds of Marvin Gaye. I light the fat candles placed here and there and then shut off the light. A warm glow fills the room. Much better. I get back to the tub just as Scully reaches for the washcloth covering her eyes and asks, "What are you doing, Mulder?" My hand shoots out to stop hers. "No. Leave it there." I've lit the candles for my own sake. Scully remains in a darkness of her own making and I want to keep it that way. At least for now. I reach across the tub and grab another washcloth before settling back down on the floor. "I want you to lay back and relax, Scully," I tell her. I keep my voice soft and low. "I want you to leave it all up to me." I dip the cloth into the water and watch her shoulders rise and fall as she quietly sighs. "Mulder, I've been thinking." "I know you have. And I want you to stop it. Right now. No thinking allowed." A sad smile lifts the corners of her mouth. "Then what am I supposed to do?" "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. All I want you to do is feel. And listen. I'm going to tell you a story." "No little gray men, okay?" "No little gray men, I promise." I grab the bar of soap and lather up the washcloth. Scooting down to one end of the tub, I take one of her small feet in my hands and begin to wash it. "Once upon a time," I start. Scully giggles. "Isn't that the way all stories begin?" I ask. "It's not that, Mulder. You're tickling me." I tug on her big toe. "This little piggy...." She jerks her foot away and it disappears under the water. "Hey! Bring that back here. I'm not done yet." "Leave my toes alone." "Deal. Now, do you want to hear my story or not?" The foot rises and I hold it out of the water, one hand cradling the back of her slim ankle as the washcloth skims across the top of her foot and moves up her calf. "Once upon a time there was a man who was obsessed with finding the truth--" "Gee, I wonder who that was." "Are you going to keep interrupting me, or are you going to shut up and listen?" "I'm sorry. Go on, Mulder." I wash her leg up to the knee and gently settle it back into the water, reaching for the other one. "Once upon a time there was a man who was obsessed with finding the truth." "I've heard this part before." I come up on my knees and silence her with my mouth. It's nice that I can do that now. She tastes of honey-sweetened tea and ripe apples. I deepen the kiss and brush my tongue across hers before pulling slightly away. "Shut up, Scully." "Not if you're going to keep kissing me like that when I interrupt you." "You'll get your kisses; don't worry." I retrieve her leg and begin to gently soap it, the washcloth sinking forgotten to the bottom of the tub. Yes, hands are much better than cloth. Her skin is slick with soap and so very soft. "Anyway, this man was alone," I continue. "It doesn't really matter if he chose to be that way or not--although he probably did. What matters is that he was so used to it that when a certain woman came into his life he saw it as a threat to him and his obsession." "Tell me about this woman." I let the interruption pass without comment and finish the leg, moving on to the arm closest to me. "She was sent to spy on him and expose him as the nutcase those in power believed him to be. He didn't want to trust her; couldn't trust her--not in the beginning. But then something happened." My hands are cupping her arm, sliding up to her shoulder and back down. Scully sighs and sinks deeper into the water as my fingers twine with hers for a moment before moving back up. I release her and shift positions until I am kneeling behind her. I stretch over her and lift her other arm out of the water. "What happened, Mulder?" I've given up on keeping her quiet. That's all right--she's entitled to talk, too. "Little by little, somehow, she found a way to ooch past all the barriers he'd thrown up against her and settled into a place in his heart. He began to trust her as he had trusted no other." Her arm finished, I move my hands to her shoulders and upper chest, staying above the line of foamy water that divides what can be seen from what I have begun to imagine. Scully shifts again and my breath catches at the sight of one pink, perfect nipple peeking through her gown of bubbles. My hands come up loosely around her neck and my fingers settle under her chin as I tilt her head back for another kiss. My clothes have become restrictive and I fight the urge to shed them. This is for Scully. I break the kiss and bring my hands down again. They move over her chest and slide beneath the water, carefully cupping and squeezing the small weight of her breasts. Scully arches her back and pushes her flesh deeper into my hands. I can feel the hard tightness of her nipples against my palms. I pull away and catch her breathy moan. I move again; back to the side of the tub. "And with that trust came something else. Something he was totally unprepared for." "What?" Scully again reaches for the cloth that covers her eyes. Again, I stop her. "He began to need her. In ways that were very unpartnerly. Ways that would have gotten them both into big trouble if anyone were to find out about them. But he'd always been very good at hiding his feelings--even from himself. You might even say he was an expert. He was kind of a smart-ass you see, and he was good at hiding behind his humor." As I talk, Scully moves again. This time she bends her knees and braces both feet flat against the bottom of the tub. Several inches of leg emerge, creating my next target. My hands slides down the front of one thigh and moves up over her belly to cup a breast. My thumb lazily circles the hardened nub there. Her face is relaxed and her mouth opens on a sigh. I smile at her, knowing she can't see me. She's so beautiful. And I'm so lucky. I still haven't figured out exactly what I've done to deserve her--I don't think I ever will. My hand moves to her other breast and teases the peak there. "But after a while it got harder and harder to hide his feelings from himself. And those feelings began to move closer and closer to the surface. He began to dream about her." "What did he dream?" I fold one arm across the edge of the tub and drop my hand back to her knee. Slowly I begin to stroke up the inside of her thigh using just the pads of my fingers. Scully's head tips back and her hips raise just a little. "Oh, he dreamt about a lot of things. The deep blue of her eyes. The fullness of her mouth. Lots of dreams about her mouth. He'd kiss her in these dreams. Long kisses. Slow kisses. Kisses that set them both on fire. Would you like me to show you?" "Yes." Her reply is soft and low. I lean forward and cover with mouth with mine. I take my time, tracing the richness of her lips with my tongue and teeth before exploring her mouth slowly and with great care. Our tongues tangle and slide, one across the other. My fingers curl around her upper thigh and my palm lies flat against her now. As if of its own volition, my hand moves up those last few inches to the juncture of her legs and I slip a single finger inside the warmth of her. She is moist and tight and I feel her inner muscles clinch around my finger. I capture her groan of pleasure in my mouth. Scully pulls slightly away and takes my bottom lip between her teeth, gently tugging at it. I pull it loose and remove the washcloth from her eyes. "Look at me, Scully." Her eyes come slowly open, as though she has to force them. They are heavy and soft and dark with her desire. It takes her a moment to focus on me. I feel my mouth curl up in a smile. My finger moves in and out of her; slowly, carefully. "He dreamt about other things, too. Do you want me to go on?" "Oh, yes. Don't stop now, Mulder." Her eyes slip shut again. My finger leaves her and turns, trailing the short distance up to the small bundle of nerves that top the silky folds of her sex. I lay my fingers flat against her and begin to move them in tiny circles there. Her arm leaves the water and her hand lands at the curve of my shoulder, moving up to caress my face and weave her fingers through my hair. "He dreamt about the way she smelled; about the way she moved and the way she smiled. He imagined what it would be like to take her in his arms and hold her close. He dreamt of slowly undressing her, exposing each part of her a little at a time. He imagined how beautiful she would look standing naked before him. He just knew somehow that her breasts would fit perfectly in his hands, that her nipples would be tight and hard and would beg for his mouth, his tongue, his teeth." I dip my head and take a nipple in my mouth, showing her with actions instead of words. Scully strains against me and I can feel my erection begin to throb in perfect counterpoint to the beating of my heart. Scully has begun to murmur quietly. "Please, Mulder. Please." She begins to tug at my shirt, trying to pull it up, to reach the bare skin of my chest and back. I leave off my suckling and quickly shed the t-shirt. Her fingers dance across my skin before she grabs my arm and urges me closer. Her pleading continues, her eyes pinning mine. "Please, Mulder." "But I'm not finished with the story." "Finish it in here with me. Please." I study her face. She is flushed and breathing in tiny, shallow pants. Her eyes glimmer and her lips are open and moist. Her tongue darts out across them. "Okay, Scully." I stand and unbutton my jeans, hurriedly peeling them off. The rough fabric of the denim being pulled across my skin creates a friction that is almost painful in its intensity. My skin is super-sensitive, my nerves spark and dance. I catch the wicked gleam in her eye when she sees that I'm not wearing anything under the jeans. My erection springs up, tight and ready. "Turn around." She shifts until she's kneeling and her back is to the faucet. The bubbles that still remain slide slowly down her chest as she comes up out of the water, tracing a slow path over her breasts and down her flat belly. Scully is my water baby. I step into the tub and gasp at the contrast between the heat of my skin and the now-cooling water. I lower myself down so I am facing her, my legs stretched out before me as far as the tub will allow. Scully wastes no time moving forward and straddling me. She grasps my shoulders and tries to sink down onto me. I stop her. "No. Not yet. I have to finish the story first." I settle her down until she rests on my upper thighs. Before I can stop her she has reached down between us and taken me in hand. And now I don't want to stop her. She strokes me, her fingers first tightening and then relaxing; over and over, as she pulls at me, milking me. My eyes slip shut and a chuckle escapes me--half gratitude and half shock. I am too close. Too close. I stop her hand. "Uh uh. Wait." Scully raises an elegant eyebrow. "For what?" "Don't rush me, Scully. I've got a story to tell." She swoops in for a kiss. Pulls slightly away and rests her forehead against mine. "Make it snappy." We grin at each other. "Where was I?" "The man was dreaming about making love to the woman." "Oh, yeah. Okay." I take a deep breath as my hands stray to her breasts. I watch her as she raises up on her knees a little and throws her head back, grasping onto the edges of the tub. She is so beautiful. "One day, this man's dreams become a reality. After years of knowing her and trusting her and loving her, he finally realizes that she loves him right back. And trusts him. And wants him." My hands move to circle her hips as I pull her towards me and stop her downward movement just as she attempts to impale herself on me. She is so close I can feel the heat of her sex hovering just above me. It is sweet agony. "And when they finally come together it's unlike anything he's ever experienced. She makes him whole and makes him strong. She awes him with her courage and her faith and her patience." The tiniest pressure of my hands on Scully's hips gives her permission and she slowly sinks down to envelope me. I force my hips to be still, knowing that any thrust I make might well be my first and last. We lock eyes and hold our breath until I am fully sheathed by her. And we are one again. I love this moment. There is nothing else on earth like it--and there never will be. We simultaneously release heavy, shuddering sighs. Scully leans forward and dots my chest with butterfly kisses. "Is that the end of the story, Mulder?" "No. Oh, no. There is no end, Scully. You see, this man--who all his life had been searching for the truth--discovered something with this woman." She begins to rock against me and all thought leaves my head. I force myself to focus on something else, anything else, before I am lost. Not yet. Not yet. I struggle to finish the story. I struggle to remember my name. "What does he discover, Mulder?" Scully whispers in my ear and takes the lobe between sharp little teeth. My hands slide up and down her soap-slickened back. "That the truth within is just as important as the truth without." I speak through clenched teeth, hissing the words. "That this woman means more to him than anything else." Scully pulls back and studies me. Her face is a contrast of emotions. Desire. Love. Anticipation. And a question. An anxious waiting and wondering. "More than the truth?" she asks me. I grab her face in my hands and devour her mouth as she increases the speed and pressure of her thrusts. I break the kiss and tell her, "Aw, Scully. Don't you know? You *are* my truth." I watch, entranced, as a single tear breaks free and slips down her cheek. I lap it up with my tongue. "I love you, Mulder." "Aw God. Scuh-lee." I am lost. Gone. Past the point of no return. I give myself over to sensation and let go of all restraint. My vision blurs and goes fuzzy and my eyes snap shut only to open again seconds later. And now all is sharp and there is a clarity of sight that takes hold and defines everything around me and within me. I watch my Scully as she clinches me tighter within her and surrenders to the orgasm that floods her body. All softness leaves me and I am transformed to steel. Every muscle, every fiber of my body, stiffens and freezes. I let go. Scully rides the contractions with me, urges me, answers my calling out to her with words that echo my own. You are my salvation. My strength. My passion and pleasure and pain. My promise. My truth. As quickly as it overcame me, the steel leaves; replaced by a shaky lassitude that envelopes us both, leaving us shuddering and panting, Scully leaning heavily against me. Muscles loosen and relax, becoming soft and pliable again. We are melting together, one with the other. We become liquid. Scully places a gentle kiss on my mouth and twists away from me. I tip my head back against the edge of the tub and brace my arms atop the sides. The drain is opened and I can feel the cool water swirling around me as it begins to empty out. But not all the way--just enough. I leave Scully to her business. She is the expert at the proper mix of hot and cold. The tub slowly refills, the water warm and soothing. Once she's finished, I pull Scully back to me and wrap her tightly in my arms. We float in a sea of contentment; into each other sinking. XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX The End Subject: *NEW* IEOS 2--Storm by Lydia Bower NC-17 US4 Spoilers From: bower2@juno.com (L. B. Bower) Author's notes: This is the second in a series of vignettes that take place within the universe I created in Dance Without Sleeping, though you don't have to read that first to understand this one. Just know that Scully is dealing with her cancer and she and Mulder have become lovers. Feedback is always welcome. Enjoy! :) Disclaimer: They aren't mine and never will be. Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting. I mean no disrespect or infringement upon their rights. I'm simply doing this as a way of maintaining my last thread of sanity. Into Each Other Sinking 2--Storm by Lydia Bower Classification: V,A, MSR Rating: NC-17 for sexual content Spoilers: Yep. Up to and including Memento Mori Summary: Mulder and Scully find a way to ride out a late-night storm. Into Each Other Sinking 2 Storm by Lydia Bower XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX The Lovers Look how each becomes gift and giver: their veins with nothing but spirit flow. Look how their forms like axles quiver, round which revolving raptures glow. Thirsters, and straight there are draughts for their drinking; wakers, and look, they are sated with sight. Let them, into each other sinking, rise, surviving each other's might. Ranier Maria Rilke XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX In the end it all comes down to this. These quiet moments. This sense of peace and fulfillment. It is the simple pleasures that make a life worth living. Awakened by I dream I cannot remember, I rise from my bed. Perhaps it is the coming storm, with its flickering spears of lightning, that draw me to the window. A twist of the bar opens the blinds, the meager light of the street lamp eagerly falling through them to paint the room behind me in silvery stripes. A cool breeze whispers through the open window and dances across my bare arms. I turn to the chair beside the window, reaching for my robe, and catch sight of the bed. I stop short, frozen by a sight earlier denied me by the dark Mulder lies sleeping in my bed, the bars of light falling softly across his body. He is on his back, his arms flung carelessly above his head, his face turned towards me. His restless legs have kicked all but a corner of the top sheet down to the foot of the bed. The soft cotton is wound and bunched around his waist, leaving one bent leg exposed from the thigh down. I smile with secret pleasure and perch on the edge of the chair, watching Mulder sleep. He has no idea I do this. It wouldn't have been possible a few short months ago--when an extended study of him would have yanked him from sleep in an unconscious, instinctive response to possible danger. He no longer startles awake at the least sound or movement, his eyes wide and empty, his arms flailing for purchase. His sleep is now largely untroubled by the nightmares that use to plague him. He's more rested, and the dark circles are gone from beneath his eyes. My nightmares have faded as well. But my dreams are often still vivid enough to wake me, urging me from the bed until I've regained a sense of myself. It is these nights when I take the opportunity to study him. To slowly turn the blinds and watch the meager light play across his body. To illuminate a face so beautiful it stuns me still. Mulder is a handsome man. But it is the innocent he becomes in slumber that has enchanted me. Another streak of lightning flashes across the sky. And this time I can hear the distant rumble of thunder that follows several seconds later. And then another flash. I watch as the blue-tinted light flicks across his features like a lover's tongue. It throws his face into sharp relief, highlighting the curve of his cheek and the emphasizing the deep hollows of his eyes. He shifts a little and one arm drops down by his side. His hand ends up resting on his stomach, the fingers splayed wide against the flat expanse of skin. I watch as they flex and curl. And then his hand moves again in tiny rubbing motions, up and down, before it ceases. I wonder what causes him to do this; if he is perhaps comforting himself in sleep. Did his mother ever do this when he was a small child? Did she soothe his dreams with a gentle hand stroking up and down his chest or his back? Somehow, I think not. His lips are slightly parted and it is quiet enough within the room that I hear the sigh escape him. What does he dream? Is his slumber filled with memories of his life, playing like some old movie flickering against the screen of his mind? Does he relive moments both awful and wonderful? Does he still dream of me? I woke one morning to find him turned away from me, clutching his pillow as he would a lover. I roused him from sleep with feather-soft kisses against the back of his neck and opened my arms as he turned and settled into them, the pillow forgotten. He'd wrapped his arms tightly around me and murmured against my breast, "I'd forgotten, Scully. I was dreaming of you and I'd forgotten." "What?" I whispered against his hair. "That you were really here. That it wasn't just a dream anymore." I think about all the nights that lay in the future. I wonder if the time might come when he will be forced to make do with a pillow instead of the warmth of my body. Will I once again become nothing more than a dream? The lightning flashes more intensely now, and less time passes between it and the growing rumble of thunder. It's loud enough this time to bring Mulder to the edge of waking. Not yet, I silently plead. I'm not finished. I'm not sure what I'm asking for. More time to study Mulder without his knowing? Or more time to live my life? I am helpless to stop the downward turn of my thoughts--as impotent against them as I am the power of the storm. I cannot stop either. I feel the sting of tears and scrub my eyes like a tired child. I drop my hands and tip my head against the back of the chair, my eyes closing of their own accord. It's easy to forget in the bright and noisy daylight, busy with the work and the details both mundane and fantastic, that I'm dying. Darkness that was once my escape has become my tormentor. It brings forth all the truths that hide so well in the glaring light of day. "Scully?" His voice is low and velvet-soft in the shadowed confines of the bedroom. "Hmm." I open my eyes and find him looking over at me. He's on his side, propped up on an elbow. His hair is tousled and locks of it fall onto his brow. His eyes are small and sleep-fogged. "You okay?" The response is automatic. "Yeah, Mulder. I'm fi--" I can't finish the word. He's heard it too much and is just as unconvinced by it as I am. "I just couldn't sleep," I tell him. "There's a storm coming." My announcement is accompanied by a bright streak of lightning. It's followed only seconds later by the muffled roar of thunder. And by a feeling within me that I can't quite define. "So I see," Mulder says. "Why don't you come back to bed?" I watch as he yawns and stretches an arm above his head. "In a minute." I know that all I have to do is crawl back in beside him. I know that he'll pull me close and soothe my unspoken fears. It's such a simple thing to do. So why can't I? Mulder studies me for several seconds, his face relaxed but for the slight furrow of his brow. He pulls himself up and leans against the headboard, absently scratching his bare chest. The silence stretches on, and I can almost hear him thinking. Trying to figure out what's going on in my mind. If anyone can do it, it's Mulder. It still bothers me, sometimes, that he knows me so well. Some small part of me wishes to remain a mystery to him--to everyone. There's a certain safety in remaining enigmatic. But Mulder's keen mind is like the darkness: it uncovers truths that hide in the light. "Talk to me, Scully." It is both request and command. I shake my head. "It's nothing." How can I explain when I don't know myself? "You're lying to me." There is no accusation behind his words. Only a touch of humorous resignation. I am suddenly blinded by a tremendous bolt of lightning as it streaks across the night sky. I startle in my chair, the air filling my lungs in a sharp gasp. The thunder comes only a second or two later; ear-splittingly loud and echoing through the room--and through my body, as well. I feel the violence and the power of it in my bones and I draw my legs up to my chest, hugging them. "Scully?" The words leave my mouth before I've had a chance to consider them. And hearing them shocks me. "I'm scared, Mulder." I wonder where that came from. And is it really fright I feel? Or is it helplessness? Mulder starts to untangle himself from the sheets, one foot dropping to the floor. But I stop him, lifting my hand like a signal. He goes still for long moments and then settles back again. "What are you scared of?" His voice is low, soothing. And then the sky opens up and the rain comes down in sheets. It beats against the windows and bounces through the screen to pepper my arms and back, soaking through the thin t-shirt I'm wearing. "I'm afraid of not knowing," I blurt, and wait to see if he'll challenge me. But he says nothing, his silence asking what he won't voice. "I'm afraid of not knowing what's going to happen to me. And to you, if I should die. I'm frightened that with everything going on around me, I'm going to end up missing something important. Something that might show us what needs to be done. I'm afraid--" I swallow down the tears and confess, "I'm afraid I won't be strong enough. And that whether I live or die, I won't do a good enough job of it." His eyes drift from mine and close in a slow blink. I watch his chest rise and fall. Finally he speaks. "We've never been closer to finding the answers that'll save you, Scully. You know that." This is Mulder's way. He approaches any discussion of my illness by first declaring that I will survive this cancer. It's only then that he'll allow himself to speak of the what-ifs and the myriad other possibilities inherent with my disease. I used to find myself wondering how a man could continue to be so optimistic about finding the sister lost to him after almost a quarter of a century had passed. Now I'm grateful for that facet of his personality. I know he'll never give up. If the cancer ends up taking me, Mulder will be fighting for my last breath right along with me. That's not what I want for him. I don't want him to lose this battle, too. But what he says is true. What we are finding out, in dribbles and spurts, may be the information we need to save my life. Tonight, though, that fact isn't enough. I tell him so. "Scully," he says, and shakes his head. His face holds a measure of wistful amusement. "You can't control everything. And you can't always have the answers you want." I reach behind me and close the window. The storm carries on unabated. I unfold my legs and lean forward, my elbows braced on my knees. "You're a fine one to talk." He shrugs and smiles at me, just one corner of his mouth lifting. "I can be practical if I have to. Beneath this seething exterior of insanity beats the heart of a rational man." He shifts and turns to face me, sitting cross-legged, the sheet across his lap. "I learned to let go a long time ago." My brow wrinkles in question. "Let go of what?" "Control. Or the belief that I have any. And choices. The ones that were never mine to make." I take this bit of information and weigh it against what I've come to know about Mulder. It almost seems a contradiction of everything he is. And yet it doesn't. It's Mulder who deserves the label of enigmatic. "So, it's still about fate?" I ask. He shrugs again. "Maybe." I can't help but crack a smile. "You don't have to be so emphatic about it, Mulder." He grins at me and I can see the waking sparkle in his eyes. He drops his eyes and fiddles with the edge of the sheet. He's still looking down when he speaks again. "I don't believe it was fate that Samantha was taken. Not after everything I've learned. But I think it's fate that I wound up working on the X-Files. As a means of finding the truth. And I think it's fate that you came into my life." "And my cancer?" I ask quietly. There is a long silence and I've begun to wonder if he heard me over the raging of the storm. Finally, his eyes lift and meet mine. "I don't know, Scully. I think I'm too close to make an objective judgment." His shoulder rise and fall in a heavy sigh. "Part of me says it's fate--that everything was set in motion when you were assigned as my partner. And that there wasn't a damn thing either one of us could've done to prevent what's happened to you." "And the other part?" I already know the answer. I don't know why I've asked. Do I need to hear him say the words? Mulder says matter-of-factly, "The other part of me is heavily into self-flagellation and crippling doses of guilt." I'm instantly ashamed of myself for asking. I rise from the chair and kneel down by the bed. Mulder watches warily as I scoot closer and lay my cheek against his knee. "I'm sorry, Mulder. That wasn't fair." Long moments pass before I feel his fingers begin to weave through my hair, brushing it away from my face. "Well," he says. "It could have been worse. You could've brought up Melissa, too." My head snaps up and our eyes lock. I look for any sign of bitterness or self-reproach in his face--anything that didn't translate in his tone. And then he adds, "Or Queequeg." His deadpan expression breaks into a mischievous grin. "Bastard," I breath. But I don't mean it. Tit for tat. I lay my head back on his knee and listen as he snickers quietly. His hand slides down my neck and under my t-shirt, softly rubbing a spot between my shoulder blades. His hand is warm and slightly rough against my skin. "You worry too much, Scully. You need to learn to let go of the things you can't control. It's not good for you to dwell on the shit you can't change; you know that." "And you?" "Hey, I'm great at giving advice. That doesn't mean I'm so good at taking it, y'know?" "How do you do it, Mulder?" He leans over me and runs his hand lower down my back, to the flare of my hips. He pulls back, dragging his stiff fingers up along my spine. Up and down, in firm but gentle movements. It's almost hypnotic. It's also very sensual. I sigh and nuzzle the soft hair above the fold of his knee; feel it tickling my nose. "Do what, Dana?" he asks. Dana. Strange how the use of my first name has become so embedded with meaning. It signals warmth and vulnerability and love. A bond that runs too deep to fathom. "How do you keep picking yourself up and going on?" I lift my cheek and gaze up at him. His eyes are dark and hooded. His hand slips around my waist and plays its way up my ribs. "I don't mean to dwell on the failures, Mulder, but we've had so many of them. Losing evidence. Losing leads." "Losing my sister," he adds. "And yours." His voice is saying one thing but his hand is saying another. It's slipped around to cup my breast. My hardening nipple is wedged in the webbed fold between two fingers. His hand goes still. He's just holding me. "I don't understand how you do it. You're always being criticized and whispered about. You've been pushed to the limit more than any other person I know. And yet you keep coming back for more." "I'm the human version of a Timex watch, Scully," he whispers in my ear. His hand slips out of the shirt, leaving my breast missing its warm. He reaches both arms over my back and grabs the bottom of the t-shirt, swiftly pulling it over my head. He unfolds his legs and pulls me up into the space between his thighs, my back against his chest. Mulder brushes the hair away from my neck. I gasp as I feel his mouth land there. His lips are soft and warm as they move down the curve of my neck. "Takes a licking and keeps on ticking." "Mmm." I love it when he kisses me like this. I can feel the goosebumps rise on my skin as his hands cover my breasts and his mouth continues its sweet torture. Some part of me knows he's only doing this to distract me. But is that such a bad thing? You worry too much, Scully. "How do you do it?" I ask again. He slides his hands down and softly nudges first one of my thighs and then the other apart, until they're draped over his and spread wide. His fingers play along the lace edge of my panties before once more capturing my breasts. He pulls gently at my erect nipples. Intense waves of warmth blossom and spread through me, centered in my core. I lean more fully against him. I can feel the growing heat and length of his erection pressing into my lower back. He nibbles at the tender skin below my ear and a whimper escapes me. "I don't have a choice," he tells me between nips. "I do what I have to do; just like you." "Fate, then," I decide. "I dunno," he says as his hand comes up to cup my jaw and turn my face towards his. His lips dance close to mine. "This, though.... You and me. Like this. It's fate." My reply is stopped by his mouth. As his inquisitive tongue slips between my lips, I try to turn within the circle of his arms. He easily stops me and holds me still as he explores my mouth. His kiss is deep and hot, his tongue flicking hungrily against mine. Mulder pulls away from the kiss and drags his moistened lips across my cheek and back to my neck. "So you're saying I have no choice in this; that what we have is meant to be?" He mumbles something unintelligible against the top of my shoulder; hesitant to lift his mouth from its work. One hand is back at my breast, the other running slowly up and down my thigh. "Which means it's something I can't control," I continue. There is a slight tremor in my voice. And a growing heat in my belly. My arms lift above me and back, my fingers tangling in the short, silky strands of his hair. He kneads one breast and then the other, my arched back pushing them deeper into his hand. "Which means.... Oh." I lose my train of thought as his hand slips under my panties. His fingers thread through the coarse hair covering my sex and he lightly cups me. Then his fingers curl slightly and one slips inside and flutters against the wall of muscle surrounding it. I lick dry lips and release a ragged sigh. Somehow I regain my senses enough to finish my thought. But not until I allow my head to tip back and rest against his shoulder. "Which means I should just let go." Mulder takes advantage of the skin presented him and attacks the hollow of my throat, nipping and kissing his way up to my chin. His upper body is draped around me like a blanket. His erection is pressing eagerly into my back. I feel small, safe. And loved. Infinitely loved. "Is that what you're saying, Mulder?" "That's what I'm saying, Scully." His finger moves out of me and slides up to tease my clitoris. "Just let go." Oh, how I want to. His caresses steal my voice and banish more of the darkness. The last vestiges of my control are slipping away. I ask only for one more assurance from him. "You'll catch me?" I ask him as he takes hold of my shoulders and turns me. He falls to the bed, carrying me with him. "Always," he promises. A hand shoots up to curl around the back of my neck. He pulls my mouth down to his and draws me into a deep kiss. The lightning continues to streak down from heavy-bellied thunderclouds. It catches moments of our loving-making in snapshot flashes, burning the images in my mind. Panties and boxers quickly shed and tossed carelessly away. Mulder's mouth at first one breast and then the other. The flicking of a tongue giving way to urgent suckling that pulls the thread still tighter within me. His hands grasping and kneading my thighs, the cheeks of my ass. My tongue licking the salty, tangy sweat from his belly and moving downward. Drawing him into mouth, his hands tangling in my hair. The sweet sound of his low chuckle as he pulls me back up to him. Flat on my back, my wrists held gently but firmly above my head. Mulder kneeling beside me and running his mouth down my body, whispering about tongue baths and the dessert he didn't get after supper. Rolling away from him as his fingers leave my breasts and he mischievously pokes my ribs, causing startled laughter to burst from me. Finding myself on the brink of falling off the bed. And Mulder grabbing me. Pulling me back. Wrapping himself tightly around me and settling between my open thighs. Watching his face as his eyes slip shut and he buries himself deep within me. Hearing his senseless whispers as he drops his head and rests his face at the join of my neck and shoulder. His lips and teeth against the tender skin. The colors that dance and melt together behind my lids when my own eyes close. The sensations of our joining heightened by the darkness I now gladly embrace. The rollercoaster ride of his body slapping against mine, pumping into me with the same drive and determination he puts into everything. His hand slipping between us and his fingers circling my clitoris. The awkward bucking of my hips as I find the sweet edge of my release and step off the precipice. And always, always Mulder. There to catch me. Bringing me gently down and turning his attention inward, urged toward his own release by my whispered pleadings. The low, guttural moan as he comes and the sound of it echoing through my body. Setting off tremors within me that are both his and mine. And I am there to catch him. Afterward we lay in a tangle of arms and legs, our labored breathing winding down to heavy sighs and low hums of contentment. Mulder slowly twists around and lays his head on my belly. He slips an arm around my waist. My hand drops to play in his hair. It only takes a moment to close my eyes and send a prayer of thanks heavenward. Because I know with perfect clarity that I'd already be dead if it wasn't for Mulder. Or I'd wish I was. I used to believe my strength lay in my independence and my unflinching ability to ignore the heart of Dana Scully--and in ignoring her need to love and be loved in the most basic of ways. I wanted to be appreciated for what my mind could contribute instead. Somewhere along the line I forgot to listen to the other half of me. Fears and needs were shoved aside, boxed into a hidden place I very rarely visited. Had it not been for Mulder and his relentless pounding away at my defenses, I'm convinced my emotional isolation would have stolen even more of whatever time I have remaining. We all die alone. But I don't want to live that way. And now I don't have to. Slowly, hesitantly, I've learned to share my fears and needs with Mulder. They gather like dark, foreboding clouds; with great strength and threat of violence. And Mulder's love is their release. He is my storm. Wind and rain. Sound and fury. "Mulder." "Hmm?" "Listen." He lifts his head from my stomach and turns it first one way and then the other. Then he peers up at me. "I don't hear anything," he says, and lays his head back down. "The storm has passed." He tightens his arm around my waist. "Another one under our belts. We're getting pretty good at riding them out, aren't we?" "Yes," I agree; gratified he's understood the deeper meaning of my words. "Yes, we are." I stroke the back of his neck and reach for him. "Come here." He groans his desire to stay put, but slowly works his way up the bed until he's holding me in his arms. I rest my head on his chest, my ear pressed against his heart. The rhythmic, steady beat lulls me toward sleep. I blindly raise my hand and cup his cheek. Mulder turns his face and presses a kiss on the palm of my hand. "I'm not afraid anymore, Mulder." My words are blurry with sleep. "Good," he murmurs. "Sleep, Scully. Dream. And don't worry. I'm right here." My last awareness is of the single kiss he presses against my forehead. I dream of flying effortlessly, my backdrop a brilliant morning sky. Standing below me is Mulder, his head tipped up to watch. He's smiling as I soar and swoop with utter confidence. Knowing he'll catch me if I fall. XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX The End Date: Thu, 10 Jul 1997 20:56:57 -0500 From: Lydia Bower Subject: *NEW* IEOS3--Mirror 1/2 by Lydia Bower NC-17 US4 Spoilers Author's notes: This story takes place within the universe I created in Dance Without Sleeping. It's not necessary to read that first, though I'd like it if you would. :) Just know that Scully is dealing with her cancer and she and Mulder have become lovers. My faithful readers may find this installment a bit more light-hearted than the first two. Blame it on Mulder and Scully. They're just like me--they can only take so much angst. Feedback is always welcome. Please note my new email address. Enjoy! Uh, Charli? This makes it three and oh. You better get busy! Into Each Other Sinking 3 Mirror by Lydia Bower Classification: S, MSR, A, H Rating: NC-17 for sexual content Spoilers: Fourth season. Up to and including Memento Mori. Summary: What do we see when we look in a mirror? Mulder and Scully find out. Disclaimer: Nope. Not mine. Never will be. All rights to The X-Files belong to Surfer Boy, 1013 Productions and Fox Broadcasting. Mulder and Scully, however, belong to David and Gillian. Anybody want to argue with me about that? Didn't think so. Into Each Other Sinking 3 Mirror By Lydia Bower XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX The Lovers Look how each becomes gift and giver: their veins with nothing but spirit flow. Look how their forms like axles quiver, round which revolving raptures glow. Thirsters, and straight there are draughts for their drinking; wakers, and look, they are sated with sight. Let them, into each other sinking, rise, surviving each other's might. Ranier Maria Rilke XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOX It's been said that the eyes are the windows of the soul. But they are also a mirror, reflecting how we see ourselves. Studies have shown that infants learn about their place and importance in the world by reflecting the expressions on the faces of their parents and caregivers. That babies greeted with joy and open, smiling faces are happier and healthier than those confronted by frowns and saddened visages. If we are looked upon favorably, we tend to feel good about ourselves. If the opposite is true, it can set up a lifetime struggle with self-esteem and our own sense of worth. This cause and effect follows us throughout our lives. We look to parents and teachers to tell us how well we're doing at navigating life. We look to friends to discover our worthiness. We look to lovers to reflect back our importance in their lives. A single look from a loved one can either lift us to heights never before imagined or throw us down into a dark pit of despair. But what about what we see when we gaze at our own reflection. How much of what we see is truth and how much is perception? If a beautiful woman gazes at herself in a mirror and sees only ugliness, does it become truth? Does her perception change the way the world views her? Ask the woman and you'll get one answer. Ask the man who loves her and you'll get another. I find Scully in the bedroom, standing in front of the full-length mirror, a hair brush in her hand. Her eyes are cast downward. Her expression is somber and thoughtful. It's a look I've seen far too often lately. This latest round of treatments has taken a huge toll on her. It's sapped her energy and her appetite. No more twelve hour days for her. No more meals eaten on the fly with little attention paid to what she's putting in her mouth. Meals are carefully planned and timed; bland and tasteless so as not to set off another bout of retching and heaving that will leave her drained and weak. I stop in the bedroom doorway and take in the scene before me. "Scully, you okay?" The words are automatic and useless. I can see that she's not. A wry involuntary smile crosses my face at her answer. It's as habitual as my question. "I'm fine, Mulder." I cross the room to stand behind her and glance at our reflections in the mirror. Her eyes remain downcast. I keep my tone light and attempt humor. "You looking for a way to step through to the other side?" There is no response. I try again. "Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?" Nothing. "Scully?" "Look," she says. I follow her line of sight and finally discover what's mesmerized her. One hand is holding the brush, the other a handful of her hair. A large handful. Another quip is born and dies before it reaches my tongue. "My hair is falling out," she flatly tells me. My hands move to her shoulders and down, caressing her arms in easy strokes. "Your doctor said this might happen." That's good, Mulder. Tell her something she already knows. I wonder if this will ever get any easier. If I'll ever come up with the words to ease her pain. Ask me to explain the latest theory on the existence of extraterrestrial life and I can quote you chapter and verse. Present me with the challenge of reassuring Scully and helping her cope with her fears and I'm reduced to platitudes. "It'll grow back," I assure her. More platitudes. How pathetic. "It's not just that," she murmurs. Her eyes finally lift and meet mine in the mirror. "Look at me, Mulder. I'm disappearing. I look at myself and I don't even recognize the person I see." Her voice rises in poorly hidden panic. "What's happening to me?" "It's just the chemo, Scully. You're still the same woman you've always been." "How can you say that?" she asks. There is a tinge of anger in her words. My hands drop away from her in response to it. I watch as she jams the wad of hair back into the brush and carelessly tosses it towards the bed. The brush bounces on the edge and falls soundlessly to the floor. Scully grabs the t-shirt of mine she's wearing in both hands, pulling the extra material tight behind her back. Her ribs and hipbones stand out in sharp relief against the thin fabric covering her. "Just look at me," she demands. "I'm wasting away. I'm beginning to look like the survivor of a goddamn concentration camp." "Scully...." "And look at my face, Mulder." My eyes obediently travel upward from the reflection of her small body to her face. "I don't have any color anymore. If it wasn't for make-up, I'd look like a corpse. I can't get rid of the circles under my eyes. My cheekbones and chin are sharp enough to cut glass." She continues to study herself, ticking off her perceived imperfections like a laundry list of points not open for debate. "My skin is dry. My eyes aren't as clear anymore. My hair is dull and lifeless. I look like I'm sixty years old. I look like shit," she declares. It's not that I can't see what she sees, if I look for it. I can. It's just that I see so much more than that. "You're beautiful, Scully." It's the truth. Her laughter is bitter. "No, I'm not. Not anymore. I'm sick. I look sick." She drops her hands and the shirt billows around her. Hiding the body that carries the invader. Hiding the evidence of what this latest assault on her cancer has done to her. Scully has never been a vain woman. She's not the type to be overly fussy about her appearance. We've been knee deep in everything from pig shit to green hybrid blood too often for her to worry much about how she looks. But that's not to say she doesn't care. Scully is the consummate professional. Always polished, always as close to perfection as she can manage. But she does it for the world outside this apartment more than for herself, or for me. Her appearance is a shield that protects her. With make-up carefully applied, every hair in place, suit well-cut and attractive, she becomes less vulnerable to the pitfalls inherent when a woman is doing work once reserved for men. It protects her. It gives her a measure of control. Which is why her admission puzzles me, coming now. Here, where we are. She doesn't have to prove herself to me. She hasn't had to for a long time. And she certainly has nothing to prove to anyone outside this room. Not tonight. Not when we're away from the work. It's just me and Scully. And then it occurs to me that this time around, her concern might be for me and how I'm viewing her now. That instead of how the world may view her in light of her illness, it's my opinion that matters most to her. I can tell her she's beautiful until I'm blue in the face, but it won't convince her. Her need runs much deeper than simple words can satisfy. I take a step closer to her and watch in the mirror as I bend over her and my arms go around her. One slung high, just below the hollow of her throat. The other around her waist. I pull her tight against my chest, resting my chin on her shoulder. Waiting for her eyes to lift and meet mine. "Well," I murmur close to her ear, "I'll admit there's not quite as much of you as there used to be, Scully. But what's there is still incredible." Her eyes have drifted from mine. She issues a quiet snort of disbelief. If I'm not mistaken--and I don't think I am--there was more than a hint of "prove it" in the sound. My overactive imagination instantly creates several scenarios for possible ways to do just that. Most of them based on proof physical rather than cerebral. What can I say? I'm a hands-on kind of guy. "I can, you know," I tell her. "You can what, Mulder?" "Prove it to you." Her gaze shoots up, locking with mine. "I didn't say you had--" "I know you didn't. But I'm going to anyway. Because I want to." I've got her curious now. I hold her eyes easily, a tiny leer pulling up one corner of my mouth. I see the spark of realization flare in her eyes. Feel the instinctual awareness between us rise a notch or two. A sweet tension swells, filling the room with a low thrumming that's felt instead of heard. Scully's eyebrow slowly rises and she cocks her head just a bit. There is amused trepidation in her voice. "Mulder...." I turn my face until my lips brush against her neck. "Yeah, Scully?" "What exactly do you have in mind?" I chuckle against her skin. I can't answer her because I'm not really sure myself. I'm flying by the seat of my pants. Not for the first time, either. I've managed to make it to thirty-six with an awful lot of airborne miles under my belt. I must be pretty good at it. Or just lucky. Okay, Mulder, old boy. Prove it to her. There is only a moment's hesitation before I release her and step away. "I'll show you." It takes mere seconds to yank my t-shirt over my head and slip off my jeans and boxers. I face Scully, naked as a jay bird. She crosses her arms and gives me the once-over. "Mulder, I already know how much you like to take off your clothes. You're a born exhibitionist. What's your point?" Only Dana Scully could confront a naked man with such aplomb. A little voice in my head is whispering that I'm about to make a fool of myself. Fortunately (or not) I've learned how to cut that particular voice off quickly. Still, it's with a little bit of sheepishness that I join her back in front of the mirror. I take a spot beside her and turn her so both our eyes are focused on my reflection. "What do you see when you look at me, Scully?" I ask her. "Do you want to know what I see? Well, I'm gonna tell you." I take a good long look at myself. I try to see myself objectively, as someone else might. Someone who wasn't busy calling for the men in the white coats to take away the crazy naked guy. "I see a large nose and a little chin. And a bottom lip so big it flaps in the breeze. I see a guy whose eyes are so droopy he looks like he's stoned half the time." A smile has begun to play at the corners of Scully's mouth. I continue my honest assessment. "The phrase 'tall and lanky' seems to fit. Don't you think? I'll never be Arnold Schwarzenegger, that's for damn sure." I poke at my chest. "Though I do have more hair on my chest than he does. 'Course, that's not saying much." "Mulder." "Hush up. I'm not done yet." The rebuke is gentled by my eyes meeting hers in the mirror. I twist around and study the reflection of my backside. "I guess the ass is okay. Seems to catch quite a few eyes." I have to hide my delight when Scully cracks, "Of both sexes, I might add." She's getting into the spirit of things. "Thank you, Agent Scully, for your informative but wholly unnecessary contribution. May I go on?" She gestures with an open hand. "Be my guest." I drop my eyes below my waist. We'll skip that part for now. "Okay. The legs, Scully. Granted they can get me from one place to another rather quickly, but they're definite chicken legs." She bites off a startled laugh and slaps a hand over her mouth. "What?" She looks up at me in the mirror and I watch her face shift to serious mode. "I'm sorry, Mulder, but it's true. You do have bird legs. Her glance drops. "And your feet...." What's wrong with my feet? I ask her. "What's wrong with my feet?" "Nothing, really." I'm not convinced. She looks back down at them. So do I. "They're just so...big. Especially attached to those legs." We look back up at the same time and nod at our reflections. We're both grinning. I watch, and feel it, as Scully's arm slips around my waist, her hand coming to rest low on my hip. "Big nose, big feet," I tell her. "Big hands. You know what they say, Scully." I pause for effect. "Which lead us to the next item on display." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ end part 1/2 Summary and disclaimer can be found in part 1. This is nothing but story. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Sometimes humor is the only way to get through a potentially embarrassing situation. I watch as Scully's eyes drop to my crotch. She's gotten a good handle on the situation. Maybe too good. I turn on my best game show host voice. "Tell our lucky contestants about the next item up for bid, Rod." I switch to announcer. "Well, Bob, today we have a nice one-owner set of genitals." I venture a peek at Scully. She's biting her bottom lip. Hard. Her face is flushed with the struggle to hold back her laughter. Good. I happen to glance down and make a discovery. This situation seems to be having an effect on the item in question. Scully has noticed this as well. Sometimes I wonder if I own my penis or if it owns me. It doesn't much seem to care as it continues to twitch and swell under Scully's scrutiny. I clear my throat but my voice still comes out rough. Scully's fingers are playing along my hip, dancing in feather-light and ever-widening circles. "It looks to be a nice package, Bob. Not too big and not too small. Just right. And not to toot my own horn, so to speak, but I have had my fair share of compliments on Sparky." I freeze, my mouth and eyes simultaneously snapping shut as I realize what I've said. Oh shit. Please let her pretend she didn't hear that. "Sparky?!" You just wait, Scully. I'll get you back for this one. I know what's coming. Shit. A slip of the tongue and all my advantage just went flying out the window. I have to have it back. I reach for her shirt, tugging it up. "Your turn, Scully. Time to get naked." "Sparky?" she repeats. She passively allows me to remove one of the two items of clothing she's wearing. The white t-shirt drops to the floor. She's left with only her panties. Bikinis. Pale pink. Lace. Nice. I turn her back to the mirror and step beside her. She is watching me, a content smirk on her face. I shoot her a look that roughly translates to "Make something of it. I dare you." "Sparky," she mouths. "Shut up, Scully." I kneel down and swiftly peel off her panties. "Yes, I named it Sparky," I tell her, looking up at her reflection from my crouch. "So now you know. The Great Mystery revealed. You breath a word of it to another soul and I'll shoot you, Scully; swear to God." "You don't believe in God, Mulder." "I will if he'll erase the last thirty seconds." "It doesn't work that way," she tells me as I straighten up. "Fine. It doesn't work that way. Now, can we get back to what we were doing?" "What *were* we doing?" Her attention has refocused below my waist. "Stop it, Scully." "Stop what?" "Stop looking at me there." "If you didn't want me to look, Mulder, you shouldn't have taken your clothes off." We trade glances in the mirror. "Besides, I'm finding this really fascinating. I mean, I've seen an erection a time or two, but there's just something about actually watching the process...." "Jesus Christ, Scully. Will you shut up?" "What would you like me to do instead?" I take her head in my hands and point her eyes forward. "Look at yourself." "What?" I huff impatiently. "*Look* at yourself. That's what I want you to do." Her eyes close in a slow blink and open up to meet mine. "I don't want to." The change is subtle but remarkable. All the teasing notes are gone from her voice. Serious Scully has made an appearance. And people call *me* mercurial. "You have to," I tell her. "Why?" My hand drops down, my fingers lacing with hers. My voice is pitched low and gentle. A quiet urging. "Because that's the way this works. You got your chance to tell me what you see when you look at yourself--now it's my turn." There is a small silence before I continue. "I want you to see what I see when I look at you." I watch as she drops her chin and sighs. "Mulder. You don't have to do this. I'm okay. Really. I'm just feeling sorry for myself. It'll pass." "You're not going to quit on me now, are you, Scully?" Her eyes fly up to the mirror and lock onto mine. They track me as I step behind her and lay my hands on her shoulders. They rise and fall in another sigh. I watch as her perfect mouth tightens almost imperceptibly. Challenge issued and accepted. I slowly nod my head in acknowledgment. Sliding my hands down her arms, I link her fingers in mine. Giving them a little squeeze, I move back up. Scully closes her eyes as my hands begin to roam over her. And that's okay. She needs time to gather herself. Truth be told, so do I. Although I try to stay far enough away from her, my erection bobs with the beating of my heart and nudges against her lower back. I try to focus on what Scully might be feeling instead of the awareness of my growing need for her. I keep my touch as impersonal and non-sexual as I can. I concentrate on her slim arms and strong legs. The supple curve of her back. I merely glance over the peak of her ass and the flat of her belly. I completely avoid her breasts, though my hands ache to hold them. I stroke and knead, mimicking the movements of a masseuse. After a few short minutes I'm beginning to feel her relax under my hands. She softens and becomes pliable, swaying slightly on her feet. Easy. I'm watching her in the mirror the entire time. Watching my hands moving over her. Watching her features shift. Translating each tiny change and adjusting the pressure of my hands to fit. I love to watch her face when she's relaxed like this. The lift of her eyebrow. A twitch of her mouth. The slow stretch of her neck as she allows her head to tip back just the littlest bit. Her face and body speak a language as familiar to me as breathing. My arousal has mellowed to a languid awareness. I come up off my haunches and slide my arms around her. My hands come to rest splayed out against her belly. I peer over her shoulder and down at the peaks of her rounded breasts. After a few seconds I smugly chuckle and whisper to her, "Hey, Scully. Open your eyes. I want you to take a look at something." She does; and her eyes are soft and unfocused pools of blue. She blinks a few times and then follows my eyes down to her breasts. "See? I can do it, too. All I have to do is look at your nipples and they start to get hard." I glance up at her. She is watching; seemingly as fascinated as I am by my new-found skill. "Let's see if I can speed this up a little," I tell her. I purse my lips and blow softly against one coral-pink nubbin and then the other. Her nipples continue to pucker and harden. "Sure enough." My hands move up without conscious thought and cup her breasts gently. My palms curl under the heavy flesh and lift them. Scully's tongue flicks over her lips as she watches us in the mirror. Her full mouth glistens in the low light of the bedroom. The dull, pleasant ache in my groin begins to build again. Vibrating throughout my body before gathering low and tight in my belly. We watch as my thumbs slide up and over her taut nipples. And then back down. Lightly. Tauntingly. Again and again. Scully leans into me, her head swaying back to rest against my chest. "Look at how beautiful you are, Scully," I urge her. Her eyes open behind heavy lids. Her hips have begun a slow, easy thrusting against me. "You have such a perfect body. So small but so strong. This is the body of a fighter. A survivor. That's what I see when I look at you." My hands leave her breasts and stroke across her belly. Up and down her ribs. Tracing the flare of her hips and the curve of her waist. "Do you know what it means to me, to see you like this? Do you have any idea how special it makes me feel? Knowing you trust me enough to stand before me naked and completely vulnerable." I want to taste her. I need to taste her. My mouth drops to the top her shoulder. I kiss my way across the flesh and bone to the graceful line of her neck. I flick my tongue out and taste the tangy sweetness of the skin below her ear. Scully's small moan urges me on. Her hands have moved back to grip my hips and pull me tighter against her. I drape myself over her and pull my hands up and down her body, caressing every part of her but the one place we're both craving my touch the most. "I look at you and I understand how lucky I am, Scully. That someone as remarkable as you could ever love a man like me." "I do love you, Mulder." "I know you do." My arms go tight around her. I hold her against me with one arm around her waist and drop my free hand to the dark copper curls at the apex of her thighs. "I can see that you do. Your body tells me everything I need to know. All I have to do is look." My hand brushes down against her and back up, my fingers threading through the coarse curls and lifting them away from her sex. "Look with me. See what I see." She watches as I spread my fingers and open her silken folds. They're dusky pink and swollen; moist with the proof of her desire. The small nub of her clitoris beckons my touch. "You're never more beautiful to me than you are right now, Scully." My mouth is dry, my throat tight. "When you give yourself to me like this, you make me beautiful, too. You share that with me." My arousal is so sharp it's almost painful. And yet my eyes sting with unshed tears. I'm frustrated by my inability to express to this woman what she means to me. Words are not enough. They never will be. But maybe if I'm lucky, my hands and my meager words will tell her what she needs to know. And God--if he exists--God willing, we'll have many years to perfect this rare communication we share. Mind and body. Heart and soul. I love you, Scully. My hand slides down over her clitoris and she hisses between clenched teeth. A gasp follows as I slip two fingers inside her. She is hot and tight and ready. My teeth tug at the lobe of her ear. I glance at the mirror and lock my eyes onto our reflection. Yes. Scully is seeing what I see. Her eyes are moving, studying. >From the hand that's gone up to cup and knead her breasts to the one that slowly pumps between her legs. I catch her eye and hold it. She is gasping quietly. Watching me. Waiting. "Do you see, Scully?" I ask her. "Do you see how beautiful we are together?" This is elemental. Instinctual. Scully and me at our most basic and unguarded. We share a primal sympathy nothing can destroy. My brave and beautiful Scully. The white knight to my dark prince. "Yes," she breathes quietly. "I see." My fingers slip out of her silken core and find her clit. She groans and sags against me, her knees giving way. I slowly lower us to the floor. We end up kneeling with Scully between my open thighs. My erection pushes urgently at her lower back and the swell of her ass, seeking entrance to her body. I thrust against her and feel the answering push of her hips as she folds at the waist and drapes her upper body over the arm secured around her waist. My hand has become a blur between her legs. "Please, Mulder," she gasps. "Now. Please." She moans in disappointment as my hand stops its work and comes up to cup her shoulder, pulling back up against me. I watch her face in the mirror. Absorbing the image of her tousled hair and flushed cheeks. Her mouth open and working to pull in breath. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut. God, she's exquisite. Beautiful. So beautiful. "Kiss me, Scully." My words are little more than growls in my throat; unintelligible. But she knows. She hears me and twists her head around enough to reach my mouth with hers. And it is Scully who forces my lips open with her tongue. She enters me and begins a thorough exploration of my mouth. Her tongues dances against mine. Darts up to my teeth and gums. Grazes over the soft skin on the insides of my cheeks. I nip playfully at her tongue and pull away from her. There is a moment when we breathe each other's air before I become the conqueror, now ravaging her mouth the way she has mine. Scully reaches back between us and roughly grabs my cock in her tiny hand, squeezing and stroking in short, abrupt movements. I grunt into her mouth and push harder into her hand. I experience a moment of perfect clarity. Through my arousal-fogged brain runs the thought that this isn't going to take long at all. I have no control. None. And though these are only the first seconds of the direct contact of her hand around my cock, she may as well have been doing this all along. Another few seconds and I'm going to embarrass myself. She amazes me yet again when she breaks the kiss and abruptly ceases stroking me, asking, "Mulder?" Understanding is instantaneous. Now, If I can just make the words. "I'm gonna... I can't... It's now or never, Scully." Her eyes sparkle like jewels and she flashes me a thousand watt smile. "Now," she tell me and pulls free of my hold on her. And then she's on her knees in front of me. Her head resting on her folded arms. Her knees spread wide to encompass my thighs. Her sweet ass sticking up in the air, her sex open and inviting. "Now." I look up and catch our reflection in the mirror. I'm dazedly amused by the mixture of sublime pleasure and painful arousal on my face. My cock is straining hot and angry behind the curve of her backside. I throw my reflection a self-satisfied grin, take myself in hand and bury myself inside her in one quick thrust. Scully's back arches and her head comes up from the pillow of her arms. I pump into her furiously, watching as her right arm snakes under her. And then I feel her fingers slide around the base of my cock for a fleeting moment before they move up to her clit, stroking and rubbing in a frenzy of desire. "Look at me, Scully," I demand as I feel her inner muscles begin to pulse around me. "Look at me!" Her eyes lift to meet mine in the mirror and we explode together. I watch as her face contorts with her orgasm. Watch her as she sees the same change come over my face. I have to force my eyes to stay open. To allow her to see me seeing her. Sharing this as we've come to share everything in our lives. And we are beautiful together. I continue to pump into her in jerky, graceless thrusts, emptying myself deep in her depths. She twitches around me and finally closes her eyes, resting her face against the floor. I drape my body across her back, my elbows bent and holding most of my weight. Resting my cheek against hers, we take deep, cleansing breaths. "Wow," Scully says after a few minutes. "Yep. My thoughts exactly." She laughs quietly. Groaning, I slowly straighten up, planting kisses down her spine as I go. Scully follows me up and we take a second to smile at each other in the mirror. I stand and indulge in a huge stretch, moaning gratefully as various parts of me pop and creak back into place. I offer Scully my hand and pull her to her feet, frowning at her smirk. "What?" "It's hell getting old, isn't it, Mulder?" "Next time we move to the bed," I agree. "Speaking of which, is it bedtime yet?" "Nope," she tells me. "I have plans for you." "Do tell." "You're going to make me something to eat while I take a shower. I'm starving." I gaze down at her open, lovely face. "Really?" "Yes, really. I could eat an entire cow right now." A pleased chuckle escapes me. She hasn't acted this hungry in a long time. Maybe the worst of the effects of the chemo are passing. Maybe we've finally made it over the hump. And maybe, just maybe, this time will be the time that it all works. I kiss her soundly and suggest, "Why don't we start with a nice cheese omelet instead; just to be on the safe side. If you're a good girl and you clean your plate, I'll buy you an ice cream cone." "I have a better idea." "I'm all ears." I tuck her up against me and nuzzle against her neck. "After we eat, let's see if Sparky can come out and play." Scully lets out a startled yelp as my hand connects soundly with her ass. She dances away from me and heads for the bathroom, laughing under her breath. Chuckling, I turn back to the mirror. "Well, Sparky, you heard the lady. Think you're up to it?" If I'm not mistaken, that was a fairly enthusiastic twitch. "Atta boy." I give my reflection a knowing wink and head for the kitchen. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End