From SVDF49E@prodigy.com Fri Oct 11 09:46:00 1996 Another Point of View by Parrotfish (svdf49e@prodigy.com) Rating: 17+ Category: S (story), R (Mulder-Scully romance) Note: This is a sequel to "Point of View," which should be read first, and which is being reposted simultaneously. This is pure relationship smut. Enjoy! Another note: This story was in part inspired by Karen Rasch's "Early Morning Words," one of the prettiest pieces of erotica I've ever read. Summary: With the first rush of passion over, morning finds Mulder and Scully behaving like lovers. Disclaimer: If I owned the X-Files, I would be rich. I would be famous. David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson would work for me. So would all those wonderful writers. And Mark Snow. And lots of other talented people. And I would be free to make Mulder and Scully screw like bunnies, or pine away and die for each other, or fall in love with other inane TV characters. (How about Mulder and the Nanny? Scully and Mr. Burns? Skinner and Moesha?) But one thing's for sure -- I wouldn't be sending relationship smut over the Internet! In other words: The characters and situations of the television program "The X Files" are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, and Ten-Thirteen Productions, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. This work is not to be forwarded or distributed to any newsgroup, FTP, or WWW site without the permission of the author. _________________________________ *Oh my god. What have I done?* The thought rose unbidden, like the morning sun that was just doing the same outside my bedroom window. I had done something I had spent years telling myself I must never, ever do. Why had I done that? *Done what -- spent all that time telling myself not to do it, or finally done it?* I was just realizing how sleepy I must be to make so little sense, when I felt it. Felt him. His hardness sought and found entry, uninvited -- but not unwelcome. I smiled, my eyes still closed. The physical contact brought all the rest of it back in a rush: the clarity with which I had seen our relationship the previous night as our bodies joined -- him inside me inside him inside me, an infinite merging of difference into sameness. Why had I done it? Because he needed me, and I would have done anything within my power for him. Would he do the same for me? This was, after all, the man with the infuriating habit of running off into danger and leaving me behind, of hurting me most with his efforts to spare me pain. Yet I knew damn well he would do anything within his power for me -- the operative phrase being, 'within his power.' He did not have the power suddenly to become a different animal, an open, trusting, warm, happy man. Just as I did not have the power suddenly to become a fervent believer in all things incredible. I could offer him only the willingness to cross the dreadful gulf that yawned between us, to let him know that he was no longer alone. Which was exactly what he would have done -- had often done -- would always do for me. That's why I had let it happen. He'd needed intimacy the previous night, when memories of brutal murders held his consciousness hostage, terrorizing him with images of a mutilated boy he'd -- we'd -- been too late to save. Face it. I'd needed the same thing for the same reason. And in intimacy, we'd found love. Not very surprising, really, considering that on some level we'd both known it was there, just waiting to be found. Kind of like opening a mailbox and finding mail. You may not know exactly what it will look like, or what it will say, but you know it's going to be there when you look for it. And now, the morning after, here he was. Pushing gently, slowly, erotically into me. "Good morning," I heard him whisper. "Yes. It is," I said. This morning, it was different. It wasn't a desperate, hungry need for contact. This was softer, quieter, richer. He entered me ever so slowly, touching me nowhere but at my sleep-warmed passage. I opened my eyes and found his gaze locked on my face, his long body supported by arms on either side of me. When he had filled me completely, he stopped moving, just kept staring at me. The look in his eyes was fascinating and complicated: intense but relaxed; passionate but playful; not sad but not happy; either. Full of contradictions, like fine wine. I could feel the effect of those eyes everywhere. It was a physical sensation that filled me with desire, made my vagina twitch with excitement. He smiled. "I felt that." I did it again, this time on purpose. He drew his breath in with a sharp little whistle of pleasure. I raised my hands to his shoulders and pulled him slowly down to me so that his chest pressed against my breasts and the tip of his nose touched mine. Still he stared into my eyes. It was as though we were attached more by our gazes than by our bodies. Slowly, slowly, I felt him withdraw, then slide into me again and stop. "Shall I tell you what that feels like?" he whispered. "Tell me." "It feels like coming home." "Mulder, your home is a filthy mess." He grinned, stroking out and in again, and then again, setting up a slow, easy rhythm. "That's my apartment, Scully. Not my home. This is my home." "Oh, Mulder..." I didn't know what to say. It was just as well that he brought his lips softly to mine at that moment. God, it was intoxicating. How many times had I watched Mulder walk through a public place, every female head (and some male ones) turning to follow his progress? It was odd that he seemed to be aware of the kind of attention he attracted, but was unimpressed by it. I, on the other hand, had always been impressed. Well, maybe that's not the right word. Aware? Disconcerted? Disgusted? Jealous? I'd often wondered how frequently Mulder took someone up on one of those unspoken advances. Did he frequently take advantage of the fact that his long, graceful body had the power to summon a wide variety of mates? Or were those porn videos he collected the extent of his promiscuity? I'd never found out the answer to that one. Still, it all came down to this moment -- Mulder telling me that being with me was like coming home. The rest didn't matter. I had custody. I wasn't going to worry too much about other parties’ visitation rights. Well, maybe I’d come back to that question. Later. I watched his face as the heat built from his long, steady strokes. His eyes were clear and sharp. His full lower lip was wet from my kiss and shone red like a ripe, exotic fruit. His nostrils flared slightly, betraying the tension building in the rest of his body. Drawing back slightly, he snaked one arm under my lower back and lifted me, drawing a pillow underneath my ass. Then he slid his hands down along my sides and legs until his hands grasped the insides of my bent knees. In one sudden, quick movement, he pushed my legs up so my knees almost touched my shoulders, at the same time thrusting hard into me. The unexpected depth of his penetration forced a deep moan from me. He held me there and kept pumping hard. And still, his eyes were locked on mine. "How does it feel, Scully?" "Oh, god, Mulder. It's...I...it's amazing..." "You're amazing, Scully. This is amazing." His voice was hoarse, his words struggling to be heard around gasping breaths. Sliding my legs up so they rested on his shoulders, Mulder reached down to grasp my breasts, cupping the weight of them in his palms, massaging them with a gentle, rolling movement in contrast to the firm thrusting of his hips against my ass. His fingertips found my nipples and squeezed, his thumbs brushing across the hardened tips. It was too much. Too much. My eyes slipped closed in an effort to minimize sensory input -- a kind of mental protective reflex triggered by sensory overload. "No, Scully," I heard him rasp. "Open your eyes. I want you to see me." I forced my eyelids apart. An observer might have thought I was the one in the vulnerable pose -- spread wide open, my legs resting on my lover's shoulders. But at that moment, I knew better. I saw it in his eyes. He was the wide-open one; he was the one in the vulnerable position. He was handing everything to me -- his trust, his fear, his hope. His love. His love. The thought raised my already fever-pitched passion another notch. "Mulder ... I love you so much ..." I barely managed the words before his next stroke exploded into a bright starburst of orgasmic sensation. With some small part of my mind that retained control, I saw him still watching me in fascination. As my heartbeat slowed from a frantic race to a steady thumping, I lowered my legs and wrapped them around his waist. "Let go, Mulder. It's okay. Let it happen." For the first time since he'd entered me, his eyes slid shut. He resumed pumping his hips, erratically now, abandoning rhythm for speed. Moments later I felt him stiffen inside me. He whimpered, a sound a child might make in a moment of fear or pain. Wide open. He collapsed onto me, burying his face in my neck. "Yes. Yes, that's right. It's okay," I cooed mindlessly, stroking his hair, feeling his hot, ragged breath on my sweaty skin. We lay like that as the minutes passed, wrapped up in each other, acutely sensitized to each other, sharing breaths, heartbeats, thoughts, sensations, memories. Eventually, he rolled to the side and disposed of the condom he'd been wearing, then rolled back and took me in his arms. "We have to go to work," I said. "Mmmm-hmmm. I can't believe we have to go into the office like it was just another morning," he replied. "It is just another morning," I said. "Is that what it is to you?" "It is and it isn't." "How do you figure?" "Well, it's different than any previous morning. But it's just the first of a new kind of morning we'll have a lot of from now on. Unless of course you were thinking of this as a one-night stand." I meant it jokingly, but he only met me halfway. "Maybe it should be." "Oh, Mulder -- please tell me your kidding." "No...yes...no. I mean, that's not what I want, but I'm not kidding, either. Christ, Scully. How can I inflict myself on you?" "Too late, pal." He chuckled. "Look, Mulder," I went on, "I know there are problems. I know nothing is going to be easy for us. I know we’re taking chances. We’ve both avoided becoming intimate for a long time, and not without reason. But what happened to, 'How much worse can it get?' Isn't that the argument you gave me last night when I said I was afraid?" "Well, y'know, a guy will say anything to get laid..." I think he was expecting me to hit him for that one. So I bit his shoulder instead, just to keep him on his toes. "Ow! Since when do you fight like a girl?" "I do a lot of things like a girl, Mulder. Or weren't you paying attention?" He gripped me tighter and pulled me on top of his long, naked body. "Oh, I was definitely paying attention." We were both silent a while, thinking. "Mulder?" "Hmm?" "You know how much I want this, right? How much I want you?" No answer. "Mulder?" "Part of me knows," he said after a long pause. "And part of me refuses to believe." "There's a switch. Listen, Mulder. Last night I told you I was afraid of losing you. This morning, to be honest, I'm more afraid of that than ever. But the last thing I want to do is walk away from you for fear of losing you. I guess that means you're stuck with me. And you may as well believe it, because that's the way it is." He didn't say anything -- just tightened his arms around me and hugged me to his chest. "We'd better get going, Mulder," I said when I felt his grasp ease. I remember that day at the office so clearly. Outwardly, the routine was as it always had been. We filed two expense reports, revised a case report, reviewed and rejected six potential X-files, requested a lab test, and went out on a field consult for VCS. But Mulder kept throwing these hungry looks my way that made my face hot and sent shivers to my core. Just another day. The first of many that were to come. *END*