Title: A Spot
Author: Spock
Rating: NC-17
Category: Elements of S/O, MSR, this story is Mulder POV all the way,
although it seems at times it isn't. Bear with me!
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, CC owns 'em, had to drug 'im.
Spoilers: Well at least The Sixth Extinction: Amor Fati, Triangle
Summary: Scully and Mulder are in love, but only Mulder knows it
Author's note: I know the telepathy thing has probably been done to
death, but I couldn't resist. Dedicated to a special group of people,
you know who you are :) Me loves you! PS. In my next fic I'll use the
rest of you, buahahaaa...
Feedback: always appreciated at spockdaggoo@yahoo.co.uk
XXXXXXXXXXXX

"Oh, Christ, Scully..."

Mulder stood in the darkness of Scully's hallway murmuring her name,
his eyes closed and his mind totally tuned to hers. He had tried to
follow her line of thought for years and had longed to learn the
intricacies of her mind, but not like this.

He took a deep breath and fell into pace with her as she thought about
the two of them.

They were in her bath tub. He was rubbing lazy circles over her
abdomen, and she was teasing his erection with the wiggle of her
bottom, loving the way he felt, knowing she would soon feel him deep
inside her. She was already picturing how it would be, to have him
there, right behind her, nibbling on her shoulder, marking her for his
own, while his manhood slid in and out of her by the force of his
growing need.

He felt that growing need, sliding his key into the lock of her door,
he was practically invaded by it.

He knew she was just about to drift off into dreamland. Her daydream
was becoming elusive, difficult to follow. As he unlocked her door, he
knew she was already there.

He stepped inside her apartment. His key still in her lock he found
she had reached dreamsleep. Her dream started out a hazy blur, but
grew rapidly in intensity and clarity.

They were in a boat, languidly bobbing in a soothing oceanic caress.
She dreamt about the two of them, limbs entangled and tongues
entwined, naked in the hot, burning sun, sustaining each other,
quenching each other's thirsts with the passion of their mouths.

He closed his eyes, and stilled completely. Her dream was as intense
as her daydream, and he could see her dream, like it was his own,
could see the things that she was seeing, could feel the arousal she
felt. Her dream was intoxicating and it was reeling him in, drawing
him towards her.

His fingers shook as he pulled his key from her lock. The cold metal
of his and her keys jingled loudly in the empty livingroom. He stilled
his hand as best he could not to wake her up and draw attention to his
presence in her apartment.

He wanted this, wanted to dream with her, as he had done quite a few
nights now.

Quietly he had let himself into her apartment, knowing that she was
asleep giving him courage to trespass on his partner's life and
feelings.

He approached her bedroom door, every night he had wanted to enter her
bedroom, to watch her, but every night he had stopped himself. He
couldn't go to her, wake her up and make her dream reality. She would
deny her dream, deny herself his touch, he knew that about her.

He retreated, still shivering, afraid that by being there he'd somehow
ruin their mutual desire. He knew every time he did this, he risked
their love. They were in love, he told himself, only he was the only
one who knew it.

He sat down in her sofa and leaning back he looked up at her ceiling.
Its patterns had grown familiar to him, he followed the grooves of the
grained surface as he followed her mind. Meticulously, yet dreamily.

She was still dreaming. Her dream was beautiful, its images soothing
and agitating at the same time. She let go of all her restraints and
let him in, completely. Utterly. And he entered more than willingly.

He knew it tore at her very soul. 

She was a woman, yet she would never admit to womanly needs. Not to
him, and he could not force her to. He could only wait.

In sync with the images of her dream, he knew she longed for his
attention, attention she felt only he could give her. She dreamt about
him holding her down as he consumed her. He knew she wanted to feel
like a little droplet of water finding all-encompassing force in the
whirl of a wave, that she wanted to feel like a small, sizzling spark
that finds unstoppable strength in the most furious of fires, because
these were the thoughts that filled her senses. Night after night.

He would give her that, he vowed as he sat there and listened to her
unconsciously crying out for him.

His right hand, which had rested loosely on his  right thigh, slowly
found its way to the fly of his jeans.

Scolding himself for his lack of selfrestriction, he began soothing
his own ache, like he knew she was, too, because now she was awake
again, her dream having been so real, her unconscious release so
cleansing it had woken her up.

They had given and taken passion, and now she had once again
discovered that it had only been a dream, the realization always
rendering her raw and exposed, in need of corporeal satisfaction.

Only in her dreams would she ever attain real passion, she thought
sadly as she touched herself. Mulder shook his head and stopped the
movement of his hand.

No, she could have it, she could so easily have it all, if she just
admitted to him what it was she wanted. He would give it to her every
night, whenever she wanted it. He wanted nothing more than to please
her in every imaginable way. He would love her.

He closed his eyes. He would love her.

Scully was in pain, she instinctively reached out for his strong, lean
arm, his firm shoulder, but her searching, tiny palm fell into the
vast softness of her cool satin sheets. As always.

Biting back her angry frustration she sat up in the bed, clutching her
covers to her untouched chest. Her bed was empty.

Mulder swallowed. He wanted to go to her, he wanted to take away her
pain, to tear those covers off of her and make sure she'd never feel
the pain of loneliness again.

He couldn't stand to hear her think about how she wanted to feel a
part of something passionate, but that she was always alone in the
night, meak and pale, and that she would never have him. He hated how
she fought the urge to confess to him her need.

They both deserved fulfillment.

"Scully..."

He whispered her name as he buttoned up his fly. She wanted the love
of a man, whom she could never approach, she reasoned. She wanted his
love, but what would he say? How would he react? Laugh in her face?
Look at her with sad sympathy? Special Agent Dana Scully needed
something as mundane as a man in her life, and her partner at that?

He could hear her putting herself down, asking herself if she was
worthy of his love. He couldn't believe her, yet, these were her
thoughts.

"Scully..."

Suddenly her selfloathing turned to anger. It hit him full force. He
just sat there, incredulously following the path her mind was suddenly
taking.

She pushed away the covers violently, at the same time wanting to push
the selfdeprication away, baring her naked self in the semidarkness of
her quiet bedroom, knowing she herself was a reminder of what was not.
For a moment Mulder thought she might burst out of her bedroom and
discover him there, on her sofa. He got up, warily anticipating the
worst.

As he tuned into her thoughts, he knew she would stay in bed. 

If he could see her there, at that very moment, so exposed, what would
he think of her? Would he be aroused at the sight of her narrow waist
and the curve of her hips? Would he want to touch her slightly pointy
knees and muscular calves? Would he run his graceful fingers down the
length of her short thigh? Would he crawl up her body and suckle at
her nipples? Would he touch her puny breasts?

He sat back down in the next room, and he knew that she closed her
eyes. She was angry. She imagined him there, pushing her back onto the
sheets, hovering above her, debating whether to put her out of her
misery, looking at her as if she was a needy slut, an easy lay.

He was sitting on her sofa, unnerved by the fact that her anger and
low self esteem had him aroused. He had to touch himself again. He
heard her imagine spreading her legs for him, awaiting his intimate
touch, his hot tongue delving into her, his passionate caress of her
breasts. She let a moan escape. He did too. And, still, he continued
listening to her wild, angry abandon.

She couldn't fight the sensations. She pounded at the pillow. She
couldn't fight the phantom of him. She licked her lips in frustrated
anticipation.

Now he finally entered her. She felt him all over, yet she couldn't
feel him at all. She ached for him. More of him. She was mumbling into
his ear how much she loved him, even though he didn't reciprocate. She
murmured his name, but he didn't reply, because he wasn't there. He
never was.

Frustrated tears fell from her sob sore eyes, and she tossed her head
from side to side in angry need. She called him names, screamed at him
and damned him all to hell as she finally found desperate release.

Her scream sliced through the very fabric of him. His soul was severed
from its root at the sound of Scully's desperate cry for him. And she
was just in the room at the end of the corridor. He stilled his hand
to await her next thoughts, afraid.

Still sobbing she opened her eyes to the darkness of the room and
dried her sticky fingers on the sheets, her anger slipping away, being
replaced by a new kind of resolve.

She told herself she was beautiful, only he had never seen her that
way, and therefore it was so easy for her to forget it, too. She
swallowed her lonely desperation as her breath calmed and her pulse
grew steady. She let her hand travel down to her taut abdomen and up
to her firm breasts.

She would not sleep alone one more night. 

Her bed would not be stained by her own efforts anymore. 

Her thoughts frightened him. He heard her vow to herself to not wait
for him anymore. She saw his face before her and she quietly told him
that she could not go on like this, that she had to find her release
elsewhere, that she had to forget him, because she was losing her
sanity.

The thought of Scully finding someone else dragged him down the path
of misery, and tears cloaked his eyes and he buried his tired mind in
the cradle of his palms.

He should have made her realize that her decision was a poor one and
that she would torture not only herself, but him as well. But to his
utter dismay Special Agent Dana Scully believed in resolve, and
wavering wasn't what she did. She was weighing her alternatives, and
her rational thinking would give her the answer she needed.

Her situation was getting unbearable. What the heart craved was
juxtaposed to what her body needed.

Mulder didn't want to hear the debate.

The outcome of it scared him. It terrified him. If she couldn't have
him, she'd have to settle. It was as simple as that, her mind
supplied, even though it ate away at her soul, stung within her like
filthy betrayal, she would pursue other avenues, and it scared him to
no end.

He crept out of her apartment. 

Had she known of the yearning within him, the burning passion that he
harbored for her, she wouldn't have needed to go this far, would she?
Had she discerned the passion in his eyes, had she realized he was
hungry for her the way she was hungry for him, she would not have had
to let her mind wander onto these other options. They could have lain
in each other's arms, now and many a night before this one. But she
wasn't aware of the fact that their hearts were beating in perfect
synchrony. Only he knew.

Christ.

What irony.

She didn't know, and when should he tell her? She was practically
dying in that bedroom, starving for his touch. Shouldn't he give it to
her? Shouldn't he finally give them both what they needed most?

She couldn't hear his heart over the lonely thump of her own. She
firmly believed that she was alone in her need. She firmly believed
that he saw her as nothing more than a friend and a confidante. What a
joke! His need equaled hers, but he knew why they were both denying
themselves this.

Fear. 

He heard the fear in her thoughts, felt its presence within her. She
feared that she would lose her professionalism if she bedded her
partner. She feared losing him if she admitted to him how she yearned
for him. Ironically, he shared her sentiment. He was scared to go to
her, afraid that he would mess everything up and never be able to
repair the damage he'd surely cause.

He thought that first moment, when he realized how much in love with
him she was, that it would be easy to admit his own feelings to her.
But it hadn't been. It had made honesty impossible. How would he
convey to her his inner feelings without breaking her? She took
everything he said to heart. She hung on his every word. His words
could ruin everything. Plus, he had waited too long. He should have
told her about the 'gift' They had bestowed upon him.

They had missed a spot, and here he was, reading his partner like an
open book, but he couldn't tell her.

He got into his car and breathed. Although he started his engine and
pulled out on her street, thinking of his own misery, his own thoughts
soon gave away to hers. She was again thinking of him, despite her
decision, and he could not stop her thoughts from flooding his mind.

She was still touching herself, he could hear her lingering in a
moment where she drowned in his embrace, and he spent her, wastefully
even.

She was on his couch now, enjoying being spent by him. She loved the
feeling of being consumed. She loved the images where she was being
used by him. He was taking her from behind. She loved it that way.

He felt his movement within her, felt with her her utter surrender.

But her reason was resisting, as every pore of her body screamed out
for him, every drop of blood inside her veins needed his attention,
her reason was hovering there, looming, trying to convince her that he
was not interested in her.

Every drop of his blood needed hers, he shouted silently to the
solitude of his car. As he heard himself invade her subconscious,
haunt her dreams and make her think of him all through her fantasy, he
knew he couldn't keep this up. The moments flashing before her eyes of
his long, slender fingers snaking around her, his hot mouth on her
graciously accomodating neck and his hot cum coating her inner walls
told him enough was enough.

Even now he knew she was waiting for him to moan into her ear with his
release, the sound of it being music to her, traveling from the shell
of her ear into her mind, it was slicing his eardrums, cutting into
what was left of his molested brain.

She thought of him like a contagion, and there was no antidote to
eradicate his presence within her. She didn't want to be cured from
this disease, yet her reason told her quietly that she needed
momentary reprieve.

She loved him, and it tore at her reason.

"Fuck" 

Mulder muttered to himself. How much more of this could he take?
Hearing her think of him in this way was torture.

He drove around, trying to keep from being within range of her
thoughts. If he put enough distance between them, he reasoned, he
might tune her out. But, no, he couldn't, he had to go back. He had to
drive back to her apartment building.

Quietly he entered her apartment yet again, and hovered at her bedroom
door, knowing that now she was fast asleep.

***

She awoke at daybreak. He had drifted off sometime during the night.
Scully hadn't dreamt, but the moment she was awake, her thoughts awoke
him.

He knew she was again clutching her pillow, imagining it was him. 

He got up and fought the urge to storm her bedroom. He quietly paced
her living-room floor. He shook his head in selfdeprication.

No. He couldn't go to her. He couldn't. What would become of them? How
would he hurt her? He was the worst kind of peeping tom, wasn't he?
Probing her mind the way he was, listening in on every intimate
detail. He had to get away, he had to clear his mind from hers. He was
in too deep. She would never forgive him. Never. He took his coat and
crept out of her apartment.

Her thoughts and sentiments followed him, however. Her lips felt
swollen, her eyes were sore. She lifted her hand to rub the dried
tears from her eyes, and the tangy scent of herself wafted into her
semi consciousness. A foul reminder of her sad routine, sordid
loneliness and desperate longing. He shook his head as she shook hers.
How long could they keep this up?

He ran to his car, got in and beat his fists on the steering wheel. 

Had she known he was jerking off at the very same moment as she was
having these thoughts, his sordidness overshadowing hers by
lightyears, that he had run to his car and was sitting there now,
calling out her name as he came, would she have discarded her plan?
Surely, but as fate would have it, she didn't know. Because he never
told her he loved her. She thought about the moment he had flippantly
told her he loved her. She had thought about that moment often. Why
could she not have believed him? Why had she insisted on rationalizing
that moment away? He knew she had, because she had been mulling it
over lately. Had he meant his words or not?

At Scully's next thoughts he groaned out loud. He had never told her
she was beautiful either. He had never looked at her like a man looks
at a woman when he is about to make her his own. His passion extended
only to the work, to his quest. She had witnessed the hunger in his
eyes, but the hunger had never been directed at her.

"Fucking Quest!", Mulder cried to himself.

He could see in his mind's eye how she with a shivering hand reached
out for her phone. Irrationally, she dialed his number, wanting to
hear his voice, wanting to know where he was and, possessively, if
someone was there with him. Maybe then she could do this, maybe then
she could follow through on her plan of taking a lover, without having
to feel guilty about it?

Mulder took out his mobile, ready to answer her call. His phone
chirped.

"Mulder"

He answered, trying to sound unaffected by his exertions from moments
ago.

Upon hearing him saying his name, his breath ragged despite his
efforts to appear calm, she imagined a limber, busty brunette lying
half underneath him in his bed. Mulder closed his eyes and shook his
head. Torturing herself she saw how he was still half-buried inside
the woman as he answered the phone. She imagined hearing the soft
thuds of intimate skin on intimate skin as he resumed his strokes
within her slickness, even if he was just shifting in the driver's
seat. His sweaty back was reddened by last night's fiery love-making,
her mind supplied.

She didn't say a word, but he could hear her loud and clear. She had
reached a decision.

She put down the phone and fought back the tears, only realizing that
they were cleansing her, of him.

She knew he could make or break her, crush her or save her, but her
fate had been in his hands for such a long time. Wasn't it time for
her to finally be that independent stalwart who went her own way? Was
she not slowly growing tired of being reduced to near-nothingness,
following in the shadows of his light? Hadn't she had enough of being
the moon to his fucking sun? Shouldn't she just ease her pain
somewhat? Let herself be touched by a man, the way she longed to be
touched, because she deserved it, fucking finally she deserved
passion?

He put away his cell phone and leaned back in the driver's seat. She
had reached her decision. She was going to take a lover and forget
him.

"Fuck", he said to himself as he wiped his dick. "Fuck", he said as he
pulled out into the street and drove towards the city.

***

All day he spent listening in on how she spent her day planning her
evening. She went shopping, called two grilfriends, changed her
bedsheets, bathed, dressed and made herself up. At 8 pm she called a
cab. She was ready, perfectly prepared. But it wasn't for him, and he
had to take action, he realized he had to come clean. Before it was
too late.

She stood a long while in front of the body-length mirror in her
bedroom. He could see her through her eyes. She involuntarily wished
he could see her now, and he laughed out loud, a mirtless laugh that
gave him the chills.

He wished he could see her through his own eyes instead of through
hers, wished he really stood behind her, the way she was imagining it.
She wanted him there behind her, his hands fingering her narrow,
rubber-clad waist, his nose buried in the curls of her hair, his soft
voice praising her appearance as their eyes met in their reflection.
He would praise her, he thought.

She saw herself being loved by his gaze, and he made her turn in his
warm embrace. He lowered his mouth to hers and she yielded. What else
could she do? Finally he had come to her, to make love and to cherish
her. What more could she ask for? What more would she ever need?

Their kiss went on forever. She let herself be unwrapped and unraveled
by him, invaded by him, over and over again, they way she was supposed
to. She moaned his name and slowly opened her eyes and turned to her
reflection in the mirror.

He could easily do those things, if she'd let him, he told her even
though she could not hear him. He could easily leave his hideout at
her building, and take her the way she wanted him to. But how would he
explain it to her? Hey, Scully, you know what? I know that you think
about me all the time, and that you want me, because I can read your
mind, and I have been eavesdropping on your thoughts for the past few
weeks, ever since that day in the hospital when you came  back from
Africa, darling, I have known of this little secret of yours.
 
No, he couldn't tell her. He'd just have to keep quiet about it.
Honesty wasn't the best policy. Not in their world at least. That had
been proven so many times, hadn't it?

No, he would wait for her to come to him, in her own time. Her plan to
bed a stranger would of course have to be diverted. She was up there,
alone, dressed like a fancy whore, well, judging by her own thoughts,
ready to paint the town red. He listened in once again.

She looked ridiculously out of place in her Feng Shui apartment. She
looked at her body draped in snug black rubber and shook her head.
Jesus, what had made her buy the outfit?

He was glad that she felt this way about her appearance, glad that she
still found time to linger in fantasies where they were together.
Maybe she would change her mind and stay at home?

However, Scully's next thoughts told him another story. Her slender
legs, toned arms, her narrow waist and her rounded hips were nicely
balanced by her curly shoulder-length hair, her dramatic make-up and
the fuck-me heels of her fuck-me black boots weren't half bad, her
mind supplied. The suit showed some impressive cleavage, too. Her dark
lipstick, the icing on her provocatice, whore-like cake threw her into
a fit of positive insanity. "I am Catwoman, here me roar!"

She knew her sense of self was lagging behind, miles behind, but she
didn't care about the fact that she had left Dana Scully in her
closet, conservative and alone. Did she even care about Dana Scully at
this point? Hadn't she crossed that line already when she had
purchased the skimpy leather underwear? Who was Special Agent Dana
Scully to dictate what Fancy Whore should or should not do? She
smiled.

Mulder shook his head in disbelief. He loved Dana Scully. He loved
her, warts and all, and despite the thoughts fed into his brain by her
mind, he firmly believed there were no warts.

She grabbed her black trench-length leather coat and her new leather
purse and left. Soon he would see her through his own eyes. He watched
her emerge from within the building.Would she have concealed her
attire more carefully had she known that he was waiting for her?

She was beautiful. He would have loved to have tasted her dramatic
lips and unwrapped her from the tight-fitting skin she was draped in.

As she climbed into the cab she thought she saw him huddling in the
shadows, his tall frame pressed up against the red-tile wall of her
apartment building. His sad smile was merely a hallucination, a trick
played by Dana Scully's heart on Dana Scully's reason, surely?

"Fuck, she thought she saw me", Mulder muttered to himself and crept
to his car, parked behind the corner. He quickly changed his shirt to
a tight-fitting black turtle neck. He would have to go into that club
and save her from herself.

He got into the driver's seat and pulled out onto the street. Scully
was still thinking about him.

What would he say if he actually knew her plans for the evening? Would
he even try to dissuade her? Would he ever go as far as to halt the
cab, grab her arm and pull her out of the cab and into his arms? A
meak sense of female pride insisted that she'd keep her plan. He had
to be the one to make the first move. If he didn't, well, then they
weren't meant for each other. She couldn't wait forever, and she felt
like she had already waited long enough. Painful years of lusting for
a man, secretely loving him and not getting him was slowly but surely
killing her.

She had resolve. She would forget love. Love was too slow. The thought
was harsh, but she let herself think it anyway, and Mulder winced at
it.

He had to make the first move? Yes, he had to, and he would tonight.
Come what may. He'd have to finally bury himself inside her, so deep
that she'd forget her fears and he could forget his.

The cab driver turned to inquire about her desired destination. She
noticed the appreciative look he gave her as he caught sight of her
rubber-clad thigh. She told him the name of the club. The Spot, right
around the corner from the Hoover Building.  She felt like laughing.
The old man liked the way she looked in her Catwoman attire. Mulder
shook his head as he read the man's mind, a pervert through and
through, he thought disgustedly. Scully took the lingering gaze of the
cabdriver as a confirmation that she would succeed in her plan.

Mulder's stomach gave a lurch.

Would she have done that, had she known that he was following her in
his car, his palms sweaty with nervous worry? That although he had
stood out in the chill of January for two hours, thinking about her
and ways to make her his own, he was hot and bothered? Surely she
wouldn't. But she didn't know. Tonight he had to tell her.

He followed her cab. Soon they were downtown. The cab stopped outside
the club. He had never been to it, but he had heard of the place. The
Spot was a fancy dance club, and it being Saturday the place would
surely be packed. Single men would line the bar- a smorgasbord for the
likes of Scully.

Mulder wanted to regurgitate his lunch. 

He watched her get out of the cab, and she soon realized that she had
been noticed. She began thinking of the suggestive looks that were
given and received. She felt beautiful, no one had ever looked at her,
not the way these people were eyeing her up and down, enjoying the
view. She was on a high, pushing her hesitation out of her way as she
was given access to enter.

She disappeared into the club, waved through easily. The doormen
obviously also liked the way she looked. She had been a little
surprised at the treatment she was given. Mulder wasn't. He followed
her, amazingly he, too, was waved through almost immediately. One of
the doormen was gay, he realized. The muscular piece of meat at the
door thought his hands were beautiful. Yikes.

It was a regular meat market, and to his relief, she found herself
hesitant again. Looking around she finally caught sight of her two
girl friends, Belyn and Karen. They were sitting in a snug little
booth on the farside of the dance floor. She checked the bounce of her
curls and walked over to them. The both of them always insisted on
wearing hats. She had never understood the hat thing.

She noticed men and women turn to look at her and her hesitancy weaned
again. Maybe this wasn't all for naught? At this stage of the evening
she wouldn't return the looks she was given. She needed to gain more
confidence, and the looks she was receiving were supplying her with
it.

"Belyn, Karen" she greeted her friends. As they caught sight of her,
they both gasped. "Dana?" She realized by the way they sounded that
they had almost not recognized her and she wasn't suprised. When had
she last met with them? When she had felt compelled to hide in her
ugly, unwomanly suits just to pretend to be a boy among boys in the
all boys' club? Dana 'Drab and Dull' Scully. He had never thought of
her as drab and dull, Mulder fumed inwardly as he followed her line of
thought.

She chuckled and joined her friends, already convinced that she was
the one of them who would attract most attention tonight. She was
right, he agreed. Three men at a table nearby were already talking
about her, it seemed. Egging each other on. Encouraging each other to
go and talk to the woman dressed as a fancy call girl. She would be
easy. Mulder winced. She shouldn't have dressed like that, he thought
conservatively. She belonged to him.

She turned to her friends and smiled, answering their questions,
asking them questions, trying to appear at least a little interested
in socializing with them. She was of course only using them for her
own purposes, summoning them there to serve as her table mates while
she was hunting for a man to substitute her partner. Little did they
know.

Mulder chuckled. "Little do YOU know, Scully", he murmured where he
sat, now observing her.

She was looking out onto the dance floor. Sexily dressed men and women
were winding their bodies to the music. She thought about the fact
that she wasn't a very good dancer.  Her eye wandered to the hubbub of
the bar. Good-looking bartenders were pouring drinks, receiving flirty
looks from horny customers. She stood up and told her friends that she
was going to get herself a drink. She felt the gazes of the three men
at the table nearby burn her backside as she left for the noisy
confusion. She almost enjoyed the feeling. She wished it was him
gazing at her. Mulder felt renewed hope when Scully briefly thought
about returning home. Maybe she wouldn't go through with her plan?
Maybe she would go home alone? She, however, quickly brushed off those
kinds of thoughts. She would not go home now to pine for him and
wallow in self pity. He wished she would. If everything else failed he
would go to her and tell her was gazing at her backside, because he
was always gazing at her, her beautiful body, her beautiful eyes,
lips, her mind.

He watched her elbow her way to an empty spot at the bar and
immediately she caught the eye of one of the handsome bartenders.
Without giving her action a thought, she lifted her fingers to her
wavy hair. It felt unruly under her palm and she was pleased. She
watched the bartender approach her, his black hair billowing ominously
around his forehead. She noticed she couldn't distinguish the color of
his eyes. She let her gaze travel downward to his hands, which were
graceful the way he handled the bottles and glasses with ease.

"What'll it be, love?" 

His Australian accent threw her off in a way that unsettled Mulder to
his core. She had always imagined Australian men blonde and sun-burned
with dry lips. She wet her own once more before she spoke.

"What would you recommend?"

Her reply was husky in tone, and the smile she gave the bartender was
coy. When he returned her smile, she realized she was flirting with
the man.

"Here you go, beautiful", he said, matching her breathiness and handed
over a drink. It was blue. She held the drink in her hand and looked
at him. "What is this?", she asked. "A surprise", he quipped. 'A
surprise?' she mouthed and let out an involuntary giggle.

"You have a beautiful laughter, beautiful." 

She was mesmerized by the color of her drink, and the compliments the
bartender was brazenly giving her rendered her slightly dazed.
"Beautiful...", she breathed and lifted the glass to the overhead
light of the bar.

"Just like your eyes", the Australian said and touched her cheek. 

She snapped out of her sudden haze at the contact and looked at him.
His touch had been real, corporeal, not a hallucinatory effect, not a
vivid dream. "Excuse me", he mumbled and went to the other end of the
bar to wait on someone else. She found herself following him with her
gaze.

When was the last time a man had told her she was beautiful? She
lifted the glass to her lips and tasted the azure blue drink. Sweet
yet fresh. When was the last time a man had touched her?

She wasn't really considering this brute of an Australian, was she? He
had to stop this before it went too far, because this was torture he
couldn't possibly endure, hearing her interests shift to another
target was not in the cards. He'd make sure of that.

She looked briefly towards the booth where her friends were sitting,
some men had joined them, it seemed. She really wanted to sit at the
bar. As fate would have it a couple moved away and left two empty
stools. She immediately occupied one of them. Tasting her drink,
looking at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar, she unwound,
much to Mulder's dismay.

The cool liquid running smoothly down her throat eased her senses. She
watched her bartender mix, shake and stir. Mulder couldn't believe she
was already thinking of the man as HER bartender. She found his
fingers deft and able. He was smooth and quick. How would those hands
feel like on her body, she found herself wondering.

As Mulder read the thoughts racing through the bartender's mind, he
knew he had to do something. The Australian was going to take her home
and take her. The brute thought she was an easy target.

She lapped at her drink. The bartender noticed her still there, and
she returned his warm smile. Was she really flirting with the man?
Suddenly the Australian bartender stopped in front of her. "You like
my drink, beautiful?" She smiled coyly over the brim of her glass and
nodded. As he moved to take the order of a woman sitting to her right,
she noticed how he discretely placed a card underneath her coaster.

She swallowed nervously. 

The bartender didn't look her way. She carefully lifted her glass and
retrieved the card from underneath the coaster. There was a first name
and a phone number.

"You gonna call him?" 

She dropped the card at the sound of his voice. The beige card fell
silently from her grasp, and she could have sworn she heard the bang
as the card met with the hardwood floor. He could have sworn he heard
it, too. He watched her close her eyes, letting the beat of the
vivacious music lull her away from this, something she thought was a
hallucination.

He was there, reminding her that what she was doing was not in her
character, that she was not being herself. Why couldn't he leave her
alone? Why did she have to be reminded of him?  She imagined herself
looking down at the card where it lay, at the foot of her stool, where
it would go unnoticed if she didn't retrieve it, or ignored it. She
swallowed, an unyielding sense of shame had begun to take form and was
slowly taking her over. Mulder found a perverted kind of relief in
hearing those thoughts.

She opened her eyes and saw him in the reflection of the bar mirror.
She saw his familiar form there, sitting on the stool next to hers,
looking at her intently. She swallowed once more and turned to face
her demon. Was he her demon? Did she really think that?

"So, _beautiful_, you gonna call him?" 

She was muted by the leer in his voice, and he regretted the way he
had leered, but it had hurt him to witness this. His heart was on the
line here, and judging by the way the bartender was thinking of her
body, so was her safety.

She lowered her face and realized what she was wearing. She looked up
aghast and noticed his eyes travel up her body, lingering at her
cleavage. He didn't want to linger, but he had to. She was an
intoxicating sight.

"Everything OK? Is he bothering you?"

She gasped at the words of the bartender. He was hovering on the other
side of the counter, ready to spring into action. Fuck off, Mulder
wanted to say, but restrained himself.

"No, I'm f-fine" she managed, mustering as much calm as she could,
failing miserably in her attempt, however. The vividity of Mulder's
features, the smell of his cologne were not tricks of the mind play.
Mulder really was there. He was sitting on the stool next to hers,
chuckling at her, leering at her and her choice of evening wear.
Mulder swallowed his bitter mirth.

She grabbed her drink hastily, spilling some of the azure liquid onto
her rubber-clad thigh and left the bar, needing to distance herself
from his scrutiny.

He followed her with his mind as her questions attacked her senses.
What the hell was Mulder doing in a place like The Spot? Was he here
often? Did he meet women here? The questions were plaguing her,
agonizing her, weakening her resolve, with every step she took to get
away from him, her plan was dying. Her heart was slowly but surely
killing it and dying. Mulder knew he had succeeded. Her pain was his
reprieve.

"Dana!" Belyn exclaimed. "Meet Jacobo and Adam". "Hi." she said and
sat down her drink on the table. "Sit down, there's plenty of room",
one of the men said, offering her a seat next to his. She complied,
trying her best not to look over to the bar, not succeeding, however.
The stool he had occupied was empty. She envisioned him somewhere in
the club, nuzzling the slender neck of some woman, kissing her lips
with fervor and passionate intensity. He was going to take that woman
home, not because she was smart and witty, but because she was
beautiful and sexy and because her hair and stature matched his.

She swallowed tears. 

"Scully, you're so wrong...", Mulder mumbled to himself where he
hovered behind a pillar.

She damned her partner for having shoved his nose into this. This
wasn't something he could stop. This was her choice, her life, and if
she chose to live it this way, who was he to stop her?

She winced and felt the tangy taste of heraldic, blue betrayal. She
pushed away her drink. She cursed his name, but couldn't push aside
her want, her need for him. Clutching her purse, she slipped
discretely away from her vocal company. She headed for the ladies'
room. She didn't need to go, she needed to think. She needed to be
alone. She needed to clear her mind from him, his intense scrutiny and
lingering scent. Mulder hadn't realized he had a special scent.

Finding a clean enough booth, she locked herself in and sat down on
the lid of the toilet seat. What was the use? Why was she putting
herself through this? Had he followed her? Or had he just stumbled
upon her, by accident? Where had he gone? Why couldn't he leave her
alone? Why did she have to obsess about him? Why did he push himself
into her consciousness every waking moment? Why did he insinuate
himself into her every dream? Where was he now?

"Please, just come to me, Scully", Mulder muttered as he stepped out
into the coolness of the January evening.

She sat in that booth for a long while, trying to find her way back to
her decision, the one that had brought her to The Spot, the one that
dictated she'd find a bed mate, someone to make her forget about the
love of her life. Jesus. What the fuck was she doing?! She wanted
nothing more than to shed the ugly, filthy skin she was wearing, wash
the sordid make-up off her face and burn the black boots for good
measure and plead with her partner to not leer at her, beg him to
respect her again, as he had always done.

The way he had said the word chilled her. 'Beautiful'. There had been
no warmth, no honesty or passion in his voice. He had delivered it
icily and lovelessly. It wasn't his own word. He had only quoted the
bartender. It wasn't really directed at her. She could do without
that, couldn't she? She wasn't looking for a cold shoulder and
reproach, was she? She would bloody well go back out there and follow
through on her plan.

"Scully, don't...", Mulder leaned back against the concrete wall. She
was still in that booth, contemplating his rudeness and reproaching
tone. Why had he ruined everything? He wanted to cry at his crude
stupidity.

Unlocking the door with her renewed resolve, she managed a few steps
towards the bar area. She stopped dead in her tracks as she saw the
Australian walk in her direction. 'Bob' it had said on the card, her
memory cleverly supplied. She quickly pressed herself against the wall
and watched him pass her and enter the men’s room. She didn't
think twice about it, a single thought was enough. She saw herself
following the stranger into one of the stalls in a vivid flash of
possibility. He took her roughly up against the wall of the men's
room, the slapping sounds echoing in the confined space of the
porcelain bowl directly below.

"Please, don't, Scully" Mulder whispered, closing his eyes, feeling
that any second his world would crumble.

She briskly walked over the dance floor to her friends and announced
that she was leaving, that she didn't feel well. Mulder sighed with
relief, and called a cab. Belyn and Karen were having such a good time
that they barely noticed her departure. She felt relief, one which
Mulder shared with her. She didn't have the energy or the desire to
explain why she was leaving early, besides, what would she say? That
she was there to find a man to bed, but that the man she was really in
love with had managed to screw everything up by showing up? Too
difficult, too fucked up, her heart told her.

She retrieved her coat, and a vacant cab was conveniently stationed
outside. Maybe it was there just for her. She got in. "Whereto, miss?"
The cabdriver's voice brought her back. "To George..." She was
interrupted by the door opening.

"Can we share?" 

He was pleading with her, and she turned away, clutching the lapels of
her coat, not wanting him to see her in the attire. She thought he was
going to reprimand her, but he would never do that. He could never do
that, he loved her too much. He put his hand on her cheek and a soft
plea into his voice, trying his best to make her forget about his
blunder from before.

"Please, Scully?"

The cabdriver was waiting for her answer. He was waiting for her
answer. She closed her eyes. Had her decision been an easier one, had
she known that he had planned this? That he had parked his car around
the corner, that the instant he had known she would leave, he had
called this cab and had ordered the driver to wait for her? Thank God
she didn't know that, he suddenly realized. Agent Scully was not to be
maneuvred in any way. "Miss?" the cabdriver asked, his impatience
growing. Her choice was 'yes', he knew it before she scooted further
into the backseat. He got in beside her.

"Whe..." 

"Georgetown", he said.

She looked out the window, at the passing lights of the inner city,
and she felt him shift on the seat beside her. He knew she wanted to
look at him, but she couldn't bear to look him in the eye. Firmly she
was telling herself that she had no reason to feel shame or guilt, but
she felt those things anyway. They were eating away at her, burning
through her skin until there was nothing left but a gaping hole where
she used to be.

Mulder listened in on the thoughts wreaking havoc inside her beautiful
head, and it was one hell of a way to gain insight into the way she
was feeling, now that she was so close her thoughts seemed even
clearer.

She felt ashamed of having dressed up like an expensive hooker, and
she had intentionally ripped her heart out of her chest before
entering the club. She had tried to ignore love, and it had come back
to haunt her. Having him so close to her, she knew she could never
betray her heart, but she also knew, she'd never be strong enough to
tell him the truth. She thought about how everything was so hard, how
she could never live without him, not a complete and fulfilling life.
Everything was so clear, yet not. The lights got hazier and she
realized that there were tears in her eyes.

He couldn't just sit here and let her suffer like this, could he? To
his relief she didn't mind him inching closer to her, in fact she
welcomed it. She knew he cared about her, and he had consoled her
before. She knew those signs. She looked down into her lap and felt
his arm round her shoulders. She watched his other arm, in front of
her. She felt herself being pulled into his embrace, and she couldn't
stop him. She fell up against his chest and felt so tired, too tired
to conceal her tears. He welcomed them.

She let them flow freely onto the lapels of his overcoat. She put her
arms around his waist and let herself be consumed by her need to find
solace in his arms. He was, after all, the only one who could console
her.

While her tears were cathartic, she was still so confused.What was he
doing in the cab with her? Why had he appeared out of the blue? Was it
his secret mission to save her from herself? To stop her from making
foolish mistakes? When had the tables been turned? When had they
switched scripts? Her questions were overwhelming him, he
couldn’t say anything, couldn't reassure her. But why couldn't
he?

She felt his hands rub soothing circles on her back, felt his cheek
against hers. Her heart pounded away in her chest. Her heart, the one
she had ripped out, seemed to have insinuated itself back into her. It
observed how he was sharing her pain by sharing the wetness of her
tears. She pulled back and found his somber face just a few scant
inches away. Enough was enough, he thought.

"No more tears, Scully"

She wanted nothing more than to cry her eyes out. She was certain he
didn't know what kind of pain she was struggling to endure. Every day,
every night he haunted her, made her cry with lonely need. Dana Scully
was merely a human being after all. She wasn't a perfect, independent
woman, she was weepy, needy, a woman in love, plain and simple. But he
knew, and he vowed to himself that tonight he would tell her that he
knew.

Suddenly she pressed her lips to his. It startled him. She had
obviously not planned the move. Startled at her own action she pulled
back, wanting to erase the last few seconds from his mind. What must
he be thinking? He was smiling, but it was an irrational smile,
surely? He held her fast, his smile turning into a grin, and she
wanted to die, wither away right there. He was amused. Fitting. The
last scraps of her dignity were gone.

"C'mere", he murmured. Finally they were getting somewhere.

She looked up at him. She needed to know. He needed to tell her.

"Do you think I'm beautiful?" 

His answer would make or break her, crush her or save her, she knew,
but she had to finally know how he saw her, if she was the kind of
woman he could see himself with, share his bed with. If she was a
woman that he could love.

His fingers were shivering, he was afraid he would ruin the moment,
afraid he would say the wrong thing. He knew what she wanted him to
say, but he didn't want that to affect him. He wanted to be honest,
because for so long he had kept his secret from her.

He gently cupped her face and ran his thumbs over her cheeks, brushing
away her tears. Her heart stopped beating, but the rest of her body
was alert. She was waiting. His answer could so easily pull her under,
but it could also lift her from the fearsome waves threatening to
drown her. Scully had always been such a poet, he thought, as he was
looking for his voice.

His eyes were dark, ominously so, and she wanted to pull away from
their intent inquiry, yet she couldn't. His hands wandered to her
neck. Flippantly she found herself thinking that he would strangle
her, let her out of her obvious desperation and misery, that he didn't
want her and by killing her, he would ease her pain. He winced at her
thought. He could never hurt her, let alone kill her, for godsakes. He
loved her, and the only way he would kill her was if he'd love her to
death.

His fingers didn't break her, they searched the pores of her skin,
felt the soft bulge of her veins and the faint pulse within. Her heart
was beginning to beat again, and encouraged by the heave of her chest
and the way his mouth was closing in on her neck, she closed her eyes,
in anticipation, trembling as never before.

His lips were soft, yet firmer than she had imagined. His tongue
burned her skin, but it was pleasureable pain, because it was a pain
inflicted on her by him. The rest of the world did not exist.

He knew she opened her eyes to discern more, to fully understand what
was happening between them. She was watching him intently as he pulled
back and she heard his ragged breathing. Her hands traveled up his
chest, shaking with the enormous implications of their action.

Only a few weeks ago she had found him all but dead on a slab, his
brain carved into and his mind violated. She had found him and had
felt the pain of a thousand knives at the sight of him lying so
helplessly on the cold metal surface of the operating table.

God, she loved him, she concluded silently, and it melted his heart
all over again to hear that sentiment.

God, how she hated the monsters who had done those horrific things to
him.

She thought about the moment when she had stood in his doorway,
wanting to let him know, wanting so badly to open her heart to him,
wanting to bare her soul to him. She had been too overwhelmed,
however, and couldn't. Looking at him now she saw a smile playing on
his lips, a glint in his eye and he looked relaxed and happy, even if
his head was a gigantic medical ground zero. Why was there a smile on
those beautiful lips?

Because I can still read your mind, Scully, he wanted to say.

They sat in silence, just looking at each other. Mulder's love for his
partner grew by the second, because she was thinking of her love for
him. It went beyond love. It was the Truth they had both been looking
for, her mind told him, and he accepted it without a scent of
hesitation.

Soon they were driving down her street, past her favourite café, her
favourite Italian restaurant. Mulder registered these facts. They
might be useful in the future, but he was slightly amused that she
didn't even reflect on how the cab driver knew where she lived. She
was too tired, too emotionally drained. Who knew attempted betrayal
was so laborious. Mulder was glad that she didn't question the driver
about it. Her inquisitive mind was tuned in on emotions tonight.

She rested her head on his chest. God, she had almost lost him. Well,
he thought, he had almost lost her tonight. He would never be able to
do without her. Ever.

When it was time to exit the cab, she refused to budge from his
embrace. She had dozed off.

He carried her inside.

Having settled her onto her sofa, he discarded his coat and shoes and
reclined on the sofa, facing her sleeping form. She woke up at this,
him snuggling so close. She wanted this closeness, but she couldn't
find the words to express the utter happiness of feeling their bodies
touching. She was extremely happy about the snugness of her sofa, too,
which made him smile. Had he known, he would have done this ages ago,
he thought and pulled her closer still.

She felt his hot breath descend on her neck and she was lost as he
made contact. She felt her eyes well up and she snaked her arms around
his neck, pulling him close to her heart. The smell of antisceptics
and the roughness of his still crusty stitches against her cheek
didn't disturb her, it was the feel of his fingers finding the space
between her shoulder blades that subdued her, made her dizzy.

He was here. The love of her life was in her arms. And he wanted
nothing more than to melt into her. He shared her sentiment so
completely.

The love she had been too cowardly to embrace was in her embrace,
touching her. She melted into his touches, molded herself to fit them
perfectly. She would never let him go. She would love him always. If
only he would help her with the godawful rubber jumpsuit.

His mouth stilled and left the tender skin of her neck. She stopped
breathing. Would he leave? Was he disappointed? Didn't he want more?
She swallowed and felt a few hot tears fall onto the cushions. He had
to smile at her and inched close enough to kiss away her tears. She
closed her eyes and lay down on her back. She begged silently that he
would stay and that he would kiss her lips. She silently told him to
stay and love her. She needed him.

She heard him clear his throat. She opened her eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere", he murmured. Maybe it was time to sooth her
senses? She was suffering, and he could not stand it.

A warmth too precious to describe gushed into her at his words. She
smiled at his tousled expression. His cheeks were flushed and his nose
was slightly red, too. The scars on his head made his hair stick up at
odd angles. He looked funny. He smiled at her then, no grinned, she
mused. She wanted to kiss that grin away. Now he was smirking at her.
He was like a court jester. And she felt like a queen.

She could feel his need to quip and joke just bubbling underneath the
surface. Was he losing his mind, she suddenly was gripped by fear. Was
he really losing his mind? Had he lost his senses and had come here to
have sex with her, in some kind of post-traumatic haze, not really
wanting her at all? Was he driven by insanity and not love, they HAD
carved at his brain.

"God, Scully! No!"

She looked at his tormented expression and she wanted to push him
away.

"I'm not insane, well, if I am, it's only for you", he said, inching
closer until he came to lie half atop her. She heard his words, but
couldn't quite believe them.

"Mulde..." His lips descended on hers, effectively shutting her up,
muting her senses.

He was kissing her. Sweet and slow kisses that were so perfect that
her fears and suspicions were forgotten in a dreamy instant.

I love you, I love you, I love you, was all her mind could supply at
the feel of his hot breath mixing with her own and his body pressing
her into the sofa cushions. She pulled him down towards her, wanting
to feel crushed by him. To her relief he complied, letting her feel
more of his weight. It was as if he knew what she wanted. And she was
loving every second of this newfound intimacy. He felt so perfect in
her arms. She wanted to wake up to his caress, from now on she would
insist on it. She had almost lost him. She loved him, perhaps beyond
reason and rationalism.

He pulled back, overwhelmed by her thoughts. 

"What is it?", she asked, breathless from their exertions of the past
few minutes. She felt fear again, fear that he was already regretting
it? What was he thinking?

"Scully, can I stay the night?", he asked, momentarily looking like a
frightened little puppy being taken away from its mother, and her
heart melted. She wanted to cry again, and as she kept gazing into his
eyes, she did. Didn't he know how much she loved him?

He was waiting for her answer, and she had to finally tell him. Right?
She loved the feel of his fingers framing her cheeks, his thumbs
brushing away her errant tears, and she licked her lips. He had to
hear the words out loud, even if he already knew the answer.

"Yes", she said, her own words barely audible to herself. He settled
more firmly on top of her and captured her nose between his lips.

"Your nose is red, too", he quipped. She stared up at him. He stared
right back Both in disbelief.

Oh, shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Mulder realized he was in deep shit.

Scully was squirming underneath him, wondering whether he could read
her mind. She had put two and two together in an instant. His partner
was very smart, he mused.

He could hear her mind reeling. She wanted desperately to clear her
mind from any and all thoughts. But the more she tried, the more
thoughts came to her and she looked up into his eyes, pleading
silently for him to do something.

"Scully, it's okay", he said softly, smiling down at her. She wanted
to scream at him that it wasn't okay, that if she couldn't hide a
single thought from him, then....then she couldn't lie to him, or...

"Scully, take it easy, will you", he implored softly, rubbing her
temples in languid, cicular motions.

She couldn't take it easy, could she? She was like an open book to
him. She loved him and now he knew? And...and....she hadn't even told
him...

"Don't you trust me?", he asked. She looked up at him.

"You already know my answer, Mulder", she managed quite steadily. He
chuckled at her, and she felt furious. He had lied to her about his
ability to read minds. She thought he couldn't do it, but now, it
turned out, he could, and he could use it against her, and...

"I would never use it against you, Scully", he said with an intense
expression. She regretted thinking that he would. She felt shame at
having thought so little of him. She wanted to hug him closer still
and she was relieved when he buried his face in her neck.

"You know I love you", she croaked into his ear. She felt him nod.
"..so desperately", she went on. He murmured his response. "You tell
me all the time, Scully, and I love hearing you think about us
together." Her breath hitched, and the proper Dana Scully willed away
those kinds of mental pictures.

She felt suddenly envious of his ability, which surprised him. It was
terrible to hear others' thoughts. It gave you an advantage, but it
also required a sense of self. Knowing what people thought about you
was daunting, especially if you happened to be Spooky Mulder.

She wanted to hear what he was thinking, too, wanted to know if he
thought about her in those terms, and he knew he had to tell her.

"I think about the way you complete me, Scully, the way you make me a
whole person. And I've told you that already, come to think of it"

His soft chuckle reverberated through to her soul, and he knew she
felt a warmth grow inside her. "But you want to hear more", he
whispered. She realized now she didn't really have to speak, he could
do all the talking, and she so loved his beautiful velvety voice. She
could listen to him forever.

"'Velvety', Scully?"

She slapped his buttocks, which he enticingly pressed further into the
cradle of her thighs. He smiled a warm smile at her then. She blushed
because she knew that he knew that she felt something hard right about
at that moment and was enjoying that particular feel. This was bad,
really bad, bad, bad...Poor Scully, I'll help you out there soon
enough, Mulder thought joyously.

"Scully, I think about you all the time", he went on, looking briefly
down at her body. She gulped audibly. She was in for a big treat,
wasn't she? As soon as she had thought that particular thought, she
regretted it. He refrained from commenting on that particular thought,
he didn't want to torture her more then she was already being
tortured.

"I think about the way you always know those difficult medical terms,
and I can't help but admire those little grey cells of yours. I love
them, Scully", he kissed her forehead gently, and she closed her eyes,
trying to vacuum her brain from thoughts, but it was wholly futile.
She was already in the bedroom, shedding her clothes and watching his
naked body in eager anticipatory pose on her bed. Jesus. She had to
control those thoughts. He was probably grinning at her now. She
chanced a quick peek. He was gazing at her with such tenderness it
blew her mind. Thank God, he could check his banter, he thought.

She lifted her head towards his and managed to place a sloppy kiss on
his mouth. She let her head fall back down on the sofa. God, she felt
useless. Or maybe she felt a little too exposed to his mind probes. It
was frightening to be so open to someone else. He was almost like a
peeping tom, wasn't he? A voyeur of the mind? He totally agreed with
her on that.

"I think about all the times you've saved me, Scully, all the times I
thought for sure I was a goner, but you always rescued me, from my own
stupidity", he returned her sloppy kiss, and she had to chuckle at
that.

They were on equal footing, he was trying to tell her that. She wanted
more, however. She wanted to surrender her body to him. She had
already surrendered her soul, her mind. He nodded at her. Briefly she
wondered why he was nodding at her. Oh, yeah, he could read her mind.

They chuckled out loud together.

She let her palms roam up and down his back, down to his hips and onto
his buttocks. She loved the tautness of them. He was in excellent
shape.

"I've been working out", he quipped as he lifted off of her. She felt
the loss of his body heat acutely.

"Still not going anywhere, baby", he rasped and crossed his arms to
remove his turtle neck. Oh, he was having a field day, wasn't he, she
thought helplessly. She couldn't keep anything from him. Nobody could.
He was like Superman, only more powerful. He could see right through
to her soul, he could know everyone's heart, the ultimate voyeur.
Mulder grinned inside his turtleneck. Superman, well that was the only
hero she hadn't yet compared him to.

"I only hear you", he said, looking down at her once he emerged from
the black garment. Was it something Scully would find endearing? That
he chose to listen to her, blocking everyone else out?

She was struggling to understand it all. Had he managed to hold on to
her thoughts, or had they programmed him to hear only her? She was
thinking about the impossible. Where was Special Agent Dana Scully,
the scientist? Where was her reason?

"I know, Scully", he said and began unzipping her rubber attire. Her
thoughts trailed off as his hands cupped her breasts. Consumed by
sensation she arched off the sofa cushions, reveling in the languid
massage he was giving her. She was so vulnerable to him now, her mind
was his, and now she was silently begging him to lick her nipples. The
world was going crazy. Dana Scully was horny as hell and lusted for
her partner. Well, okay, she had been that for a while, but the fact
that he now knew, and intimately so, was slightly overwhelming.

She felt his hands stop their languid massage of her breasts. She
looked up at him and saw how concentrated he was on her left nipple.
He was licking his lips, and she moaned at the sight. Please, Mulder,
she pleaded with her hazed mind and she thought he heard him mumble
something.

"I said, 'okay, baby'" 

He practically attacked her left nipple with his hot mouth, suckling
at it for all he was worth. It felt so good, and she let her hands
wander into his hair, pull him closer was all she could think. He felt
so fantastic, his raspy tongue was doing wonders to her sensitive
skin. Just like she had imagined it would be, only a thousand times
better.

"Mmmm...", she let out, trying not to be entirely consumed by his
wonderful assault. He briefly left her breast and looked up at her.
She was still on cloud nineteen, licking her lips, hoping to god he
would give her other nipple the same attention.

"You know I know that you want to be consumed", he rasped and attacked
her other breast. The puckered pebble in his starving mouth tasted
sweet. He let his tongue play around it until he heard her think she
would die if he didn't suckle soon. She was still fighting her own
thoughts, thinking she was too vulnerable and exposed. He suckled and
she forgot what she had worried about. He marveled at the way his
touch could subdue her in this way. She was cleansing herself from her
fears. She wanted to feel his advances more fully, and by forgetting
about her hesitation, about her half-brained desire to protect her
professionalism, she opened her soul to enjoy him.

He heard her moan out loud. Pure sensation. He couldn't discern a
single thought behind it.

He removed her suit and her leather underwear. Take me, take me, take
me, was the mantra playing in her head. She was completely bared to
him now, and he discarded his pants and boxer shorts. He was a little
afraid of what her thoughts on his equipment would be. Love me, love
me, my love. Her will was accompanied by a smile he thought would melt
him.

"I will", he breathed as he took a hold of her and carried her into
the bedroom. She liked his strong arms and she wanted to be kissed
again.

"Scully, I can't see where I'm going if I kiss you now"

She swatted his chest and attacked his neck with her needy lips.

"OK, Scully, whatever", he mustered and managed to maneuver them to
her bed, despite the eel sucking on his skin as if her life depended
on it.

She left a hickey on his neck, which made her feel really powerful.

"Feeling you're in charge?", he said with mock indignation as he
practically dumped her on the bed and jumped her bones. He crawled up
her body, finding the spot where he would be as close as possible,
without crushing her. He looked up at her face and saw the nod he
already knew was there.

"So, Scully, tell me what you want"

He watched her lick her lips. She wanted everything. She wanted to be
nibbled at, sucked, kissed, pinched, cherished, taken, petted, patted
and pleased.

"Tall order, Scully, you've got all night?"

She had all night, she had the rest of her life. She could throw away
her career, if only he would love her senseless now.

"I will, Scully", he murmured into her ear. He felt tremendous elation
at the perfect happiness that he knew coursed through her at his
words.

He wished she could share this intimate knowledge with him. 

He wished she could hear and feel the happiness he was experiencing. 

As if on cue, she thought the exact same thing.



end