Date sent: Sun, 25 Jan 1998 19:34:06 +0000 From: Corey Heimke Title: Breaking the Silence Author: Corey Rating: NC-17 Classification: MSR Posting date: Jan. 25, 1998 Archive and distribution: Wherever you want, as long as the story remains intact with my name, e-mail, and disclaimer. Summary: A backrub turns into much more. UST and angst, a little more UST and angst, then finally MSR. Spoilers: Nothing crucial Timeline: fifth season, no mention of cancer Disclaimer: The characters depicted in this story do not belong to me. They belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions, and are used without permission. However, I'm sure they are much happier as a result. Author1s notes: This is my first posting, in fact the first piece of fictional material I've written, though I wrote plenty of non-fiction in graduate school. I've just recently discovered X-Files fanfic and am amazed at the talent of some of the authors. I can't believe there are others out there as obsessed about this kind of stuff as I am! So anyway, I hope you like this, and I hope this posts alright. Please send feedback to my e-mail address above. I am craving it....... Breaking the Silence (NC-17) by Corey I start a bit at the knock on my door, its sound echoing through my lonely apartment. For a second, I pause to consider how quiet it has become in the rooms, causing the knocking to sound almost like gunshots in the silence. I am hit by a twinge of sadness as I realize what a prominent position the silence has found in my life over the past few years, but my reflection is rudely interrupted by the pounding again on the door. Slowly rising from the floor where I've been sitting, I inwardly balk at having to open the door, for as starved for human contact as I sometimes get, it is difficult to constantly monitor how close I am allowing myself to come to people. Nevertheless, I reach up to look out the peephole, and a sigh of relief courses through my body when I see that it is Mulder banging incessantly at the door. Reluctantly, I allow myself to grin a bit as I open it to him, knowing that with that action I am opening myself up as well. He mumbles something about needing to go over some files with me and I nod. Even though he actually has the paperwork in his hand, I somehow know that it is only a pretense, that he has really come over just to be with me, to try and abate some of his own loneliness by sharing the evening with me. As contradictory as it would seem given the nature of our jobs, we have too much silence in our lives. Mulder is able to open himself up and let me see this when he needs to, but we both know that I constantly struggle with it. I'm closer to him than to anyone, yet I still can not let him see my vulnerable side without feeling completely exposed. But, I can at least relax with him, and right now, I welcome the opportunity to spend some time away from the stillness. "Sit down, Mulder," I offer, "I'll make us some tea." As I walk into the kitchen, I can feel his quiet eyes on me, following me through my motions. I know that Mulder feels something for me, and I can even admit that I reciprocate those feelings, but right now, I can't let myself explore the thought any further, its implications both exciting and terrifying me to the core. Instead I simply let myself enjoy his admiration of me. It is comforting to feel his gaze, and it secretly makes my heart rate quicken to know he finds me attractive. I even go so far as to gently push my hair behind my ear and slowly lick my lips as I pour the hot water, somehow knowing that those actions will affect him. As I walk back toward the couch, Mulder's eyes quickly drop back to the files he still holds in his fist. He is in a serious mood tonight, or maybe he is just tired, but I don't mind, since it matches my own sullenness so well. It's funny, or perhaps more fateful, how even our emotions seem to mesh lately. The longer our lives coincide, the more in tune to each other we become. I'm frightened by such a deep connection, but I also have to admit that it gives me a small thrill to feel that close to a man, even if it a man I know I probably should not allow myself to become any closer to. My breath catches as I suddenly feel Mulder's fingers brush against my cheek, "Hey Scully, are you with me?" I can feel the heat rising throughout my face in embarrassment of my daydreaming. I know the flush is also a result of the soft caress on my skin, but I quickly quench the thought. "Sorry, just thinking. So, what are we working on?" I ask, turning towards my tea, hoping he hasn't seen my pink cheeks. "I was wondering if you could look these over." I reach for the papers and again catch my breath as Mulder's fingers touch mine in the transfer. A slight shiver runs through my body as I can feel his eyes on me, trying to gauge my reaction to the touch. I attempt to calm myself, knowing that he is trying to pull me down to mingle with his own weaknesses. Just get to work and don't let this get too complicated, I tell myself. My practical, although sometimes practical inner voice, pulls me from the sinking hole his eyes are burning into my cheek and returns me to my serious mood as I feign looking over Mulder's reports. Without realizing I'm doing it though, I unconsciously watch him from the corner of my eye. As much as I don't want to even notice such things, I am aware of how handsome, even sexy, he looks. As he leans back against the sofa, his V-neck sweater drapes over his broad chest, almost molding itself to his muscular contours. The material of his jeans stretches tightly over his thighs, and for a second, I can picture myself reaching my hand across the few millimeters that separates our knees and lightly caressing the denim-clad flesh. Even his mood is getting to me tonight. Though I usually enjoy the humor and the bantering we share, this silent watchfulness of his is almost sensual in its intensity. It excites me to think that this man could be mine if I only would say the word, and I even entertain that possibility for a moment, before again focusing on the situation at hand. I feel his eyes wandering over my body, leaving a trail of honey wherever they touch, and I glance down to see what I'm wearing, allowing myself to hope that it is something at least a little feminine. I inwardly smile when I remember slipping on leggings and my black V-neck cardigan, a very flattering outfit, I must say. The shirt clings to my curves in all the right places. I've even wondered, when I've worn it in the past, if it is a little too revealing. Maybe I was right to wonder, I think, as I see that the black lace of my bra is visible at the bottom of the "V". My heart suddenly races to think that Mulder's eyes have been on that lace, and on the soft flesh underneath the lace, and I almost let myself look over to see if that's where he's gazing this second. Fortunately, my practical side once again gains control. I sadly relinquish the fantasy and quickly adjust the shirt, admonishing myself for even letting my thoughts wander down that path. But my ears are not lost to the small sigh emitted from Mulder's lips as I smooth my small hands over the fabric of the sweater. This is getting too hard, I moan to myself as I lean to rest my elbows on my knees and pretend to shuffle through the papers. We're both so lonely; why can't I let him in when he so obviously is ready to take that next step? But I know in my mind that it's too dangerous for me to make that ultimate connection, even though my heart is practically aching for his comfort. I'm coaxed out of my reverie as Mulder leans to the floor to retrieve a dropped pencil. I realize that the room has developed a deafening silence as we've both been left to our own thoughts, and though it feels as if we've been holding a conversation simply with our movements and presence, the closeness of this scares me. I struggle for some lightening words to break the spell. As if his thoughts have merged with my own, be suddenly forges though the stillness with a low moan of pain as he reaches under the couch for his pencil. "Mulder, what is it?" I try to hide the worry that I know has emerged with my words. Funny how I find myself more concerned about his health than my own lately. Another painful sound as he straightens back up. "Mulder...?" I question again, searching out his eyes, knowing that if I can just make that connection, I will know what is going on. He winces as he attempts to find a comfortable position, then quietly groans, "My back. I really wrenched it during that last case, and now I think I just pulled it again." I breath a sigh of relief that it's not more serious, but my brow furrows as I see how much pain he seems to be in. Looking back to the paperwork, I attempt to ignore the pull in my stomach, the pull that urges me to reach out and comfort him, to massage his injured muscles. I notice that surprisingly, Mulder isn't being overly obvious in his pain. He instead appears to be trying to hide his discomfort, seeming to understand the need I have to let this sit for a few minutes. I struggle with myself, knowing I should be strong enough to be able to offer this comfort to him, but at the same time worrying how my attempt at a "friendly" back rub may be construed. The very prospect of touching his body is suddenly making the entire surface of my skin erupt in a warm tingle, and I realize now that my real strength is not going to be in being able to him comfort, but in myself from offering him comfort. Another muffled grimace from Mulder and I resignedly (or is it willingly?) give in. I turn back to face him, knowing already that his eyes will be on me, hold my breath, and tentatively reach out my hands, anticipating...what? The repercussions from a completely platonic back rub will be minor, I tell myself. But I know this is a lie, and I can't help feeling guilty for giving in to my weakness, because racing though my head are scenarios which would have plenty of repercussions. But these thoughts have now become inconsequential, for my hands have already taken the leap and are resting on either of Mulder's broad shoulders. He tenses for just a second, acknowledging my intentions, then murmurs, "Scully, you don't have to..." "Mulder, you're in pain," I plead. Please don't give me the option of backing out of this, Mulder. I've already struggled to make the decision as it is. But then, feeling the moment, the silence, become too intense, I add, "I got sick of watching you grimace and writhe over here!" I find it easier to superficially joke with him than to admit to the heat that has risen on my neck and the faint trembling beneath my skin. The innocent touch of my hands on his shoulders has sent a jolt of electricity through me, beginning in my fingertips and traveling rapidly throughout my body, finally settling in my heart, which is beating so wildly I hold my breath in hopes that Mulder can't hear it. My parted lips tremble and my eyes silently plead with him to turn around and let me proceed. Holding my gaze for a moment longer, Mulder finally complies and shifts his body so that his back is to me. I close my eyes and mentally shake myself until I can calmly come back to reality; the pounding of my heart momentarily subsides as I begin kneading the taut muscles. I am timid with my touch at first, my fingers moving gingerly over his back, partly in fear of hurting him further and partly in fear of what a stronger touch would be committing myself to. But I can feel him beginning to relax under my ministrations, and that seems to give me the permission need to relax. I tentatively increase the pressure of my caresses, working on the tendons between his shoulders and his neck. His head slowly drops forward and his shoulders slump in relaxation. I can feel the weight of his torso as he allows himself to lean into my movements. He sighs softly, and the sound catches me in the pit of my stomach, creating a soothing warmth that spreads through my body. The idea that my touch could affect him like this, as normal as his reactions are, terrifies, but completely electrifies, me. I begin focusing on his body, on the feel of his hard muscles under the thin sweater. He is now completely limp, and I revel in how I can mold him, how he lets me raise his shoulders with my kneading, how his body rocks as I push my fingers against him. I concentrate on the area around his neck, reading from his reactions that this is where he hurts the most. I stroke and massage the muscles, and he suddenly interrupts the sounds of our breathing with a low moan. I first think it is a cry of pain, but realize as he emits another moan that it is a sound of pleasure, God, I think, as my breath quickens and I imagine hearing that same moan in an even more intimate context. What is happening here? Why am I letting this happen? But I surprise myself by pushing the doubting voice down, and focusing again on what exactly happening. My fingers have traveled on their own volition up to his neck. I delight in the sensation as they pass from the rough texture of his sweater to the smooth heat of his skin. I shudder when I hear his breath catch, and my own breath turns more ragged as I continue my exploration of his neck. The skin is so soft, I have to fight not to lean forward and rub my cheek against it. He rolls his head slightly back and to the side, and I know that he is following the sensation of my light caresses. I can see that his eyes are closed and his mouth slightly open. allowing for the gasping breaths that have begun to seep from his lips. One of my hands begins to stray across his beck to brush the stubble of his cheek, and he gasps at the light touch, turning his face into the palm of my hand. Continuing to stroke his neck with my other hand, I realize he has shifted even more so that the tips of my fingers are now resting against his full lower lip. I still for a moment, listening to our breathing, which is becoming increasingly more labored each second. I can feel the air brushing across my fingers and I suddenly long to feel those breaths on other parts of my body. I realize abruptly that I feel very far away from him with both of my feet still resting on the floor. I desperately need more contact, to feel his body against mine, and I reposition myself so that my legs are now wrapped around his waist, my feet alongside his knees. God, I've never imagined it could feel so good to touch him, to feel the weight and heat of his body so close to my own. I moan softly and let my head fall to rest my cheek against his back, my fingers regretfully leaving the softness of his lips, but finding new territory as they travel back across his shoulders, down his arms, molding and kneading and engulfing the flesh. Whimpering slightly at the loss of my light caress on his face, Mulder's pain is immediately dismissed as I press my entire body against his back, slowly rubbing my breasts against him in time to the languid rhythm of my massage. Mulder fairly growls in response, and I throw my head back, almost laughing in ecstasy at the feeling of my hardened nipples brushing against his back, our layers of clothing doing little to diminish the sensation. But instead a slow sigh emerges, and I collapse back against his body, letting my weight press against him as I continue to massage his forearms. Until this point, Mulder has not touched me, though I know he wants to. His breath is coming in hard gasps and he is rocking his body against mine fervently. I am momentarily in paradise. Just the knowledge that I am doing this to him causes a fire to flow through my body that I haven't felt in years, arousing me beyond belief in anticipation of his touch. Seeming to read my mind, or perhaps going out of mind with lust, he finally relents and grasps the only part of my body he can reach. His hands feverishly smooth over my legs, kneading and massaging and caressing my inner thighs, and as much as I am aching for the touch, I suddenly freeze, realizing what is happening. Sensing my hesitation, Mulder opens his eyes and slows his fingers, waiting for the inevitable bomb to drop. "Oh my god, Mulder, what are we doing, what am doing?" I barely whisper as I withdraw my legs from beneath his hands and fold them in front of my chest. By forehead drops to my knees and my hair falls forward, creating a barrier between us. I try to tell myself that this barrier is exactly what we need, but I know it is what we both want the least. I begin rocking, back and forth, back and forth, a silent battle waging in my mind. His delicate touch jolted me to the core, and I saw for a brief moment the deep connection that lays waiting, if only I can allow myself to accept it. I want it desperately, but leaving the comfortable cocoon I have woven seems impossible. I know, though, that this is no way to live. Years of distancing myself from others has created a world full of silence, silence from emotions, silence from connection, and silence from fulfillment. Now, as I sit mere inches away from that fulfillment, I realize I have found a reason to break free, and I fight for a way out. Date sent: Mon, 2 Mar 1998 19:36:38 -0500 (EST) From: cheimke@mindspring.com (Corey Heimke) Subject: Fanfic posting Title: Breaking the Silence, Part II Author: Corey Rating: NC-17 Classification: MSR Posting date: March 2, 1998 Archive and distribution: Wherever you want, as long as the story remains intact with my name, e-mail, and disclaimer. Summary: A backrub turns into much more. UST and angst, a little more UST and angst, then finally MSR. Spoilers: Nothing crucial Timeline: fifth season, no mention of cancer Disclaimer: The characters depicted in this story do not belong to me. They belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions, and are used without permission. However, I'm sure they are much happier as a result. Author's notes: When I first posted this, it got cut off halfway through, so now I'm posting the second half as Part II. Hope you all are still interested enough to read what else happens to our favorite FBI agents. If you haven't read Part I, it should be on Gossamer, or you can email me for it. This is my first posting, in fact the first piece of fictional material I've written, though I wrote plenty of non-fiction in graduate school. I've just recently discovered X-Files fanfic and am amazed at the talent of some of the authors. I can't believe there are others out there as obsessed about this kind of stuff as I am! So anyway, I hope you like this, and I hope this posts alright. Please send feedback to my e-mail address above. I am craving it....... "Breaking the Silence, Part II" (NC-17) by Corey I begin rocking, back and forth, back and forth, a silent battle waging in my mind. His delicate touch jolted me to the core, and I saw for a brief moment the deep connection that lays waiting, if only I can allow myself to accept it. I want it desperately, but leaving the comfortable cocoon I have woven seems impossible. I know, though, that this is no way to live. Years of distancing myself from others has created a world full of silence, silence from emotions, silence from connection, and silence from fulfillment. Now, as I sit mere inches away from that fulfillment, I realize I have found a reason to break free, and I fight for a way out. Mulder turns toward me, painfully watching my anguish, and he gives me that way out. Placing his hands softly upon my shoulders, he cuts through the silence and murmurs against my ear, "Dana, turn around." The way he says my name, so lovingly, sends a white-hot light down my spine, and I turn to look deeply into his eyes. I let him turn my body on the couch. He now faces my back, our forms mirroring the scene from only a few minutes ago. He leans toward me, resting his cheek against the back of my neck, his mouth near my ear, and begins filling the quiet void with his words. "You don't ever have to be afraid, Dana. I will hold you in your pain, kiss away the demons, and fill the emptiness in your life, just as you have done for me. You'll probably never realize how you have fulfilled me, simply through the sweetness of your existence, and I so long to do the same for you. Please allow me the opportunity to give you this gift..." His loving words caress my aching soul as his gentle hands do the same to my body, running gently through my hair, reaching around and brushing across my face. I gladly accept him, leaning back to rest my body against his chest. He gently pushes my hair aside, exposing the pale skin below my ear, and I feel his soft lips lay feather light kisses across the surface. The heat begins to reemerge as his lips travel slowly to the base of my neck, causing me to tremble with relief. He is moving slowly, allowing me time to grasp the meaning of what is happening. I am grateful for his hesitation, but at the same time, the more slowly he moves, the more aroused I become. The knowledge that he is holding back for me affects me to no end, and I feel myself becoming restless, awaiting his next move, the icy fear of a few minutes ago beginning to melt away. I gasp as his tongue darts out to trace along my hairline, and before I have time to react, my senses are again assaulted with the gentle caress of his hands at my waist. I suck in my breath as I feel warm fingertips sliding beneath my sweater and brushing across the skin at the small of my back. A voice in the back of my mind tells me that he is acknowledging the red ink in my skin, but I push those memories away and concentrate only on his touch. My breath releases itself in a gasp as his fingertips softly trace around the band of my leggings to dance across my belly. I arch my back, pushing against him so that the back of my head lays on his shoulder, my eyes closed at the sensation of his touch. The pads of his fingers barely graze over my skin as they roam, tracing circles around my navel, teasingly following the lines of my ribcage to meet below my breasts, then sliding back down to stroke along the edge of my leggings. I moan, and he pulls me closer against his body. Shuddering, I react with a flood of wetness to the feeling of his hardness against my bottom. God, how can he be aroused already?, I wonder. I'm not even touching him. Realizing that it is just my presence to which he is reacting, I whimper against his ear, finding myself fighting tears at the happiness of that realization. I reach my hand back to cup his cheek, to let him know I understand, but halfway up I forget my intentions. Reaching only to his chin, my hand quickly drops back down as I feel his fingers sliding their way towards my breasts. My breath stops somewhere between my lungs and my lips, and I wait. I tilt my head forward slightly to watch his hands, but then realize they are covered by my shirt. Somehow this seems even more erotic though, and I stare at the movements beneath the fabric. My breasts, which were heaving with labored breaths only moments ago, are now perfectly still, small soft mounds aching to be touched. The fabric is shifting slightly, moving across his hands as his hands move across my skin. I hear his ragged breaths and simultaneously hear both of our moans as his knuckles rise beneath the material and his palms cup my softness. My own moan continues and I lay my head once again on his shoulder, arching against his hands to increase the sensation. He squeezes slightly and lifts his palms in order to feel the fullness and weight of my flesh. Bringing his fingers slowly up the sides of my breasts, he traces along the lace of my bra until his fingertips meet in the middle. I know that if I were to look back down I could probably see those fingers at the neckline of my sweater, but I seem not to be able to even breath under his gentle ministrations. I realize that he is fingering the front clasp of my bra and seemingly waiting for me to grant him permission to continue. "Mulder," I sigh, caring for him even more at his unspoken question. "Scully, are you sure?" he whispers huskily against my ear, his lips barely brushing the lobe. In response, I reach beneath my sweater and press my hands against his own for a moment. I then unclasp the bra, letting it fall to the sides, and take his hands, sliding them to cover my trembling skin. He drops his forehead to my shoulder, letting out a slow sigh, then gently begins rotating his thumbs. I cry out and my nipples grow hard under his caresses. He alternates between angel soft touches to the very tips of my nipples and gentle twists and tugs. I rock my head against his shoulder, my eyes closed and lips parted, low whimpers escaping from my throat. I squirm and shift, trying somehow to press my back against his chest but also to press my breasts more firmly against his hands. He is slowly driving me insane with his touches. "Do you like this, Scully?" he murmurs softly against my throat, pressing his lips to my racing pulse. "God, Mulder, yes..." I moan, pushing away the voice telling me I am getting too close, too close. "Dana, you're so soft, so beautiful. You deserve to be touched like this." Continuing to brush the knuckles of one hand against my sensitized nipples, Mulder trails his other hand down to the edge of my leggings, slowly running his finger back and forth across the fabric. I shudder as I feel that hand reach further down and gently cup me through the material. Instinctively, I thrust my hips against his hand and am amazed to feel him do the same against my bottom. "God, Scully, you have no idea what you're doing to me..." he groans. "Oh Mulder," I whisper, attempting to tell him through my tone just what he, too, is doing to me. His hand leaves its spot from between my legs, and I whimper my disappointment, but am pleasantly surprised to find him back at my waist, sliding a finger beneath my leggings. I gasp as I feel his warm hand slip between the fabric of my underwear and my skin and rest against my lower belly. Both of our breaths are coming in short, hard gasps as he pushes his fingers further to tangle in my damp curls. Surprising myself, I suddenly shift, lifting my hips up and pushing my leggings down to my knees so that I can see his hand; for some reason, it has become essential for me to see what he is doing. Mulder bucks into my hip, groaning, and leans his body back, pulling me with him. My back is now pressed fully against his chest and I can feel his throbbing hardness at my waist. Sighing, I lean my head back to rest on his chest and slowly rotate my hips in order to stimulate his erection. "Oh god...," he moans and begins rocking his own hips against my back. Already, I am beginning to learn the sounds he utters, and I love the intimacy that implies. There is no fear in my mind as his fingers once again resume their journey. In fact, I lift my hips to meet his hand. He slides his fingers across my wetness, and we both groan at the sensation. I reach my hands up to play across his face and hair as he begins a slow massage of my clitoris. I undulate my entire body in response, and he lets his body pick up my rhythm, gently thrusting himself against me. His fingers speed up, drawing small circles around my desire, and I grind myself against his hand. I realize I am moaning almost constantly, the waves of pleasure radiating throughout my body, engulfing me. "God, Scully, you are so wet...oh, sweetheart," Mulder whispers as he pushes a finger inside my opening. His other hand reaches back up to play with my nipples, and at that extra stimulation, I almost lose control, crying out and bucking my hips. "God...Mulder...Mulder...," I moan at each thrust of his finger, his thumb stroking furiously at my most sensitive piece of flesh. Both of us are now writhing against each other on the couch, and I begin to feel the tension building. I frantically stroke at his face, begging him with my fingers to slow down. I can feel him becoming harder and harder against my back, and suddenly I have an urgent need for to bring me to orgasm, not his fingers. I need to be able to look in his eyes, to be fully aware of this gigantic step that we're taking, and know that it is what we both want. "Mulder, please...I want inside me...please...," I beg. He slows, pulling his finger from my warm embrace, and I choke down a sob, overcome by emotion. I feel a sudden emptiness in my loins, but at the same time, I feel more fulfilled than I've ever thought possible, knowing that he understood my request. We lay still for several moments; our ragged breaths, one answering the other's, the only sound in the otherwise silent room. Mulder gently strokes my belly and up and down my arms, causing my already tingling body to practically melt. For a second, I let myself bask in the sensation, but then I realize that Mulder is waiting for me to make the next move, waiting for me to make this decision that could completely alter both of our futures. I can feel the familiar terror just beneath the surface, but try as I might, I cannot grasp onto it. The fear of connection that has filled my life with silence for so long is out of reach, and I begin to feel panicked because I can no longer find it. But suddenly, a sense of calm envelopes me as I come to a slow realization. Lying here with Mulder, so close to making that final, ultimate connection, I listen to our breathing. In and out, in and out, inhale, exhale, and slowly I realize that I can no longer distinguish between my own and Mulder's breaths. We are breathing as one, one body, one heart, ...one soul.... I can barely tell where one of us leaves off and the other begins, and the idea thrills me. I now understand that my fear is not of being connected to someone, but of having that connection. I can't grasp onto that terror because it is not longer there; the man beneath me - the wonderful, caring, , man beneath me - has banished it. Not being able to keep the smile off my face, I turn in order to look at him, to seal this connection. I place my hands on his thighs and push myself back into a sitting position. Seeing that my pants are still around my knees, I quickly push them to the floor, and turn my body to kneel in front of him. He, too, pushes himself back up, and we find each other's eyes. For what seems an eternity, but is actually only a few seconds, we hold the gaze, my eyes asking questions to which the answers are already known, and Mulder responding. I reach out my hand and slide it slowly from his temple to his chin, delighting in the flushed tone of his skin and in the soft gasps that are escaping his parted lips. My own breath has not broken with his yet, and I hear myself also gasping. I realize as I explore his face - his beautiful eyes, strong nose, full lips - that through all that has happened, we have not yet kissed, and tears come to my eyes at the wonder of it. Mulder's brow furrows in concern, and he lifts his hand to cup my cheek. I smile at him and lower my head. Leaning in, I brush my lips against his, and am amazed at the sweet sensation of it. His lips are so soft and full, and though he had not been expecting it, he purses his lips slightly to try and mold them to my own. Releasing a small sigh and closing my eyes in a smile, I sit for a minute, trying to memorize every last detail of that kiss. But I'm not allowed the luxury as Mulder grasps the back of my head and pulls my lips against his. He devours me, opening his mouth wide to slide his tongue between my lips and exploring every inch of the inside, and outside, of my mouth. I easily respond to his hunger, circling my arms behind his head and thrusting my tongue against his own. I pull his lower lip between my teeth and suck on the soft flesh, running my tongue along the length and biting down slightly. Mulder responds by growling and slipping his arms around my back to pull me against him. I spread my legs to straddle his hips and am reminded that I am naked from the waist down as my still-throbbing sex rests against his groin. "Oh god," I gasp into his mouth and grind myself against him. "Sculleeee...," Mulder groans as he throws his head back. "Oh, so now I've found something that you like, hmmm?" I whisper against his cheek, amazed at my boldness. I dip out my tongue to trace a line along his jawbone and down his throat, all the while lightly scratching my fingers over his chest. Reaching down, I find the hem of his sweater and pull it up and over his head, throwing it on the floor, suddenly angry at it as I see the marvel it has been hiding from me. Still not quite believing what is happening, I lean down and smooth my hands along his belly, placing light kisses across his chest. paying special attention to the scar on one shoulder. I caress his abdomen and trail my fingers up to brush over his small nipples. He shudders, but then pulls me up and begins to suckle my earlobe, running his tongue along the bottom and dipping inside. "Thanks for trying to return the favor, Scully, but I wasn't quite finished with you yet." I allow my eyes to drift shut as he strokes my hair, seeming to be in awe of its texture. Slowly, I feel his fingers lightly following my spine down to the small of my back. His mouth, meanwhile, is forging its own path, along the curve of my jaw and into the hollow of my throat, nibbling and licking and kissing. My breath quickens as his tongue traces the neckline of my sweater to the bottom of the "V" between my breasts. I glance down and can see my nipples poking through the thin material, awaiting the sensations I know he can bring. I see his eyes widen as he, too, notices my hardened tips, and his hands sweep around my body to rest on the soft mounds. As he begins kneading my flesh, I drop my head back and arch my back toward his touch, allowing a low moan to escape my lips. His fingers brush across my nipples, and I moan again. "That's right, sweetheart. Tell me what you want me to do." "Muldeerrrr...," I beg as he continues to rub my breasts, teasing my nipples through the sweater, "please..." Finally giving in to my pleas, he cups my right breast and lifts it to his mouth, pulling the fabric-covered flesh between his hard lips and sucking. "Ohhh god," I can feel myself literally melting, and I let my body fall limp. Mulder presses my chest more firmly against his mouth with a strong hand between my shoulder blades. I am grateful for the support, because as his tongue flicks across my nipple, I know there is nothing I can do to hold myself up. I become aware that he is lifting my sweater, and I manage to raise my arms so that he can finish undressing me. Surprisingly, I revel in this sensation, of me feeling dependent upon him to perform the simple task of undressing me. It ironically gives us both power, for I suddenly have the power to let go of my fears and allow myself to give in to my vulnerability. I want him, need him, to take care of me,so that I can in turn take care of him. This understanding intoxicates me almost as much as the feeling of Mulder's tongue upon my bare flesh. He flicks the wetness across my hard nipples, making me dizzy with lust. I gasp, and before thinking about it, I murmur to myself, "This is Mulder doing this to you... Mulder... Mulder... Mulder..." I say this as a chant, a mantra, and he responds to the words I do not realize I have said aloud, "Oh Dana, sweetheart, it's me, and it will always be me, from now on." The arousal courses through me once again at his tender words, and somewhere I find the strength to sit back up and lean over him. Regretfully, I pull his mouth from its suckling at my breast. I groan as his wet tongue leaves my nipple, but I replace the hardened nub with my own mouth, kissing him as passionately as I know how, trying to use my lips and tongue to tell him how much this means to me. I hold his jaw in my hands, but soon that in not enough. Our mouths are gliding across each others' faces, exploring and tasting, and I need to feel the rest of his body as well. My hands roam his torso, looking for places that make him gasp and moan. His fingers once again find my breasts and his touch makes me rock against him. I can feel the hard bulge in his pants, pushing towards me, and he reaches around to cup my bare bottom, squeezing it, then thrusting me against him. We moan into each other's mouths, and I take his not-so-subtle hint. I reach down and frantically begin unbuttoning his jeans, all the while sucking on his lower lip and rocking myself against him. I unzip the zipper and slide myself back a little bit in order to continue. His erection is straining against the material of his cotton boxers, and I push both those and his jeans past his hips. He reaches down to pull them off, and I am already grasping him . He is so hard, so hot, so silky, I look down and am amazed by his beauty. In the past, I don't know that I ever even felt confident enough to actually look at a man's penis, let alone gaze at its beauty, but with Mulder, I could look and touch forever. I slowly begin to stroke along its length, delighting in its slight bobs and quivers. He groans, and I whisper huskily, "Mulder, you are so beautiful...tell me what you want." "My darling Scully, don't you know? I want you," he whispers back to me, then reaches back down between my legs to begin stroking. I am lost for a moment, forcing myself to comprehend his words, and basking in their meaning. Mulder pulls me back to reality when he pushes two fingers inside me, almost sending me over the edge. It is exquisite torture, and I want to give him the same pleasure. I squeeze his cock in retaliation and begin pulling his flesh from the base to the tip, following the rhythm he has set with his movements. I thrust my hips forward as he rubs me and he does the same, our hands and hips bumping against each other. He speeds up his fingers, and I grind myself against him. I can't help myself; it feels so good. My hand increases its stroking, and I can feel him become even more rigid. A drip of wetness appears at his tip and I slide it around the head of his penis. We are writhing against each other, our chests rubbing, our genitals colliding, our breaths heaving, our lips and tongues devouring as we thrust against each other. His hand is becoming a blur against me, and I can feel myself getting close. My fingers tingle, and my legs are tense. "Mulder," I cry, "now...please...now!" He stills his movements and I can hear our mutual gasps. He leans toward me and lays me back on the couch. I look inside of him, into his eyes, as he props himself above me. Is this really happening?, I ask him with my gaze, is this what you want? In response, he closes his eyes, gives me the softest, most gentle kiss across my lips and then slides inside of me. My own eyes flutter shut at the sensation. I suddenly feel so fulfilled, so complete, so whole. He slowly begins rocking, and I bring my legs up to wrap around his waist. He pulls out slightly, then thrusts back in. With each thrust, I try to pull him in further, further into my body, further into my life, further into my soul. We move in tandem, increasing, increasing, until we are now slamming against each other, our bodies drenched in sweat and our cries continuous. Our hands are frantically stroking, our lips sucking, our teeth biting. I don't think, no, I , that it has never felt like this before, so loving, so caressing, so fulfilling, and I realize that my years of silence have all been in anticipation of this moment. I have lived my whole life in order to reach this point. His body slams against me, his face holds an expression of utter bliss, he calls out my name, "Scully... Scully... I love you..." I feel his seed flood inside me, and I explode. "Mulder!," I cry, and tears stream down my face. I slowly come back, wrapping my arms around his heavy body. I press my lips to his ear and whisper, "I love you, too, sweet Mulder." As he places a kiss on my shoulder and pulls me even closer to him, I feel our hearts beating together, beating the rhythm of our future, of our lives, of Mulder and me, of us. The drumbeat fills my ears, overpowering any other sound in the room, thump-thump... thump-thump... thump-thump..., and I realize at long last that the silence has finally been broken. The end. Please, please send feedback to I am considering writing another version of this story from Mulder's POV. Please let me know what you think.