TITLE: Contradiction AUTHOR: Amanda Rex EMAIL: amanda_rex@yahoo.com FEEDBACK: Please. No really, please. If you'd rather send feedback anonymously, you can submit your comments at this URL: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Nova/6670/feedback.html DISTRIBUTION: Gossamer's okay. Anywhere else as long as my header info (this stuff) remains intact. I'd love a quick email if you'd like to archive it just so I know where to come and visit. SPOILERS: None RATING: NC-17 for explicit sexual content. Please don't read this if you are not of the age of consent. KEYWORDS: PWP (Plot? What Plot?), Fluff CLASSIFICATION: V,MSR DISCLAIMER: I don't own them. CC, 1013, Fox, et al own them. This is just my little smut tribute to them. WEBSITE: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Nova/6670/ SUMMARY: It may seem like there's a plot, but bear with me. I promise it has pretty much no bearing on the true meaning of this story at all. I wrote it to fulfill my personal smut quotient for the week. AUTHOR'S NOTES: Here is to willa, my Mulder geography logician, and also she who saves me from both coldness and over-sappiness. You really and truly just rule. And Willow belongs with Xander (which really has no bearing here). :) Contradiction by Amanda Rex May 1999 "Scully, I just need you to help me prepare for this," Mulder told her, already tired of the argument that had begun, it seemed, six years ago and had never truly ended. "I didn't come over here to argue. I came to get your help." "You are not going into this by yourself. You admitted, yourself, that it's probably a trap. If you let me back you up, maybe we can turn the tables on them. You'll never be able to do it on your own." Scully paced toward him, still reeling from everything he'd told her since he barged into her apartment just minutes ago. "Those aren't the terms, Scully. I was told this was non-negotiable," he said, coldly logical. His voice softened as he continued. "This could be our only chance. If we don't get this information, the invasion will happen unchecked. With it, we might have a chance to build up a defense. And we don't have time to argue. I have to be there in," he consulted his watch, "less than two hours." "Why you, Mulder? And why do you have to go alone? Have you thought of the total absence of logic to that -- " "It doesn't matter," he said, sternly. "I've been working toward this for so long, Scully. It's all I've wanted, all I've pursued -- " "Listen to yourself," Scully said, her voice raising, straining under her stress and annoyance. "I've been working...all I've wanted...all I've pursued. How dare you, Mulder? How dare you push me out and deny how important this is to me? You claim sole ownership of all that we've done..." she took a deep breath, feeling her concern for Mulder's safety turning to anger. "And you insult everything we've ever done together." "This isn't your fight, Scully," Mulder said, quietly. "When did it become 'not my fight'?" "It never was. I won't -- I can't -- deny I've needed your help. But this one's mine, Scully." He looked at her, his eyes darkening with seriousness. Trying to communicate with her. Leave this one alone, Scully. Her eyes found his, wildly darting, searching, with unadulterated anger. "Mulder, you're a selfish bastard. You're going to get yourself killed tonight. For nothing. And you just spent your last moments on Earth insulting the only person who cares about this as much as you do." She continued to look at him, challenging him. To say something. To realize. To reconsider. But he stood, silent, unmoving. "I'm going to follow you," she told him, stepping close -- too close -- to him, drawing herself up to hold her own against his imposing physical form. "I will be there," she added, deliberately trying to provoke him. Silence. "You can't deny me this, after everything I've been through. What I've given up, Mulder. Goddammit, I'm not just an innocent bystander!" she said, truly yelling now. Silence. Anger flowed within her, pulsing in her temples, twitching through her, filling every inch of her. White noise filled her mind, replacing any thoughts or tactics she'd originally intended to use in this situation, a situation she'd realized only moments ago she'd always regarded as inevitable. The energy of her rage built up in her, gathering together into a single intention borne of complete irrationality. She raised her arms, placing her palms against Mulder's chest, pushing against him with all her strength, all her frustration. He stumbled slightly backward in surprise before he could steel himself to it, stepping forward and regaining the ground he'd lost. Their eyes dueled, Mulder's stubbornness meeting her anger. She braced herself to push again, needing to do something to make him see, to make him capitulate to what she knew was right even if words had failed them. As she started to shift her weight again, he moved against her. It was stunning in its suddenness -- he'd been standing almost motionless, but now his strong, large hands captured her wrists easily, pulling them away from his chest. His grip was painfully tight, the look in his eyes now dangerously unreadable. He pushed her backward, first one step, then another. He loomed over her, casting a dark shadow over her face, and she lost his eyes in the darkness for a second. When she picked them up again, they'd changed. Hunger. Need. Intensity. She had only a moment to read his intention before he acted on it. "A man about to die gets one last request," Mulder told her, his voice low and hoarse. His mouth assaulted hers, invading her without hesitation. She tried to pull away, her gasp of surprise manifesting only as a sharp shock of air before his lips found hers again. She wanted to be angry with him, she needed to be angry with him. But she needed this too, and the realization made her love him and hate him all at the same time. He pushed her again, forcing her to step backwards until she found the cold pressure of the wall against her back. He pushed her arms back to the wall, over her head, securing them there with his left hand. He trailed the kiss to her ear, whispering to her once more. "I know you better than you think I do, Scully. I know what you feel like beneath me, because it's happened in my mind a thousand times. Once -- just once -- it's not going to be a fantasy." His free hand moved to take her breast, brushing the nipple with the pad of his palm through the thin cotton of her shirt. His tongue caressed her earlobe, his lips soon closing around it and sending a shiver through her. He stepped closer, insinuating his knee between her legs, pressing against her as his mouth took hers again. He deepened the kiss, and she brought her tongue to his, only to find him pushing it away. She reeled, the dichotomy of being simultaneously drawn in and pushed away by him confused and excited her. His hand slid over her abdomen to the bottom hem of her shirt, slowly, his fingers splaying outward and stroking her as he went. His index finger rubbed gently along where the shirt had pulled away from the waistband of her jeans, her muscles twitching at the maddeningly intermittent contact. Finally he ventured underneath the shirt, now showing no trace of the teasing hesitance he'd tortured her with a moment ago. She arched her back for him, allowing him to find the clasp of her bra. She could feel it constricting her, containing her, and she longed to be free of it. Free of everything that had constricted and contained them for so long. He fumbled hungrily with the clasps, his dexterity worn away by mindless need. He released her wrists to use both hands, and a flare of temper lit in him as she reached for the clasp herself. He grabbed her wrists again, pushing her back into the wall. "No," he said, looking into her eyes, using the silence to tell her how much he needed this, how much he needed her to give herself to him without question. He watched as she stared into him, taking one, slow, deep breath, and then she relaxed against him. His hands released hers, and when her hands stayed where he'd put them, he began to undress her once more. He grasped the bottom of her shirt, pulling it slowly up, turning it inside out as he slid it over her body. His fingers relaxed, and it fell to the floor. He pulled at the clasp of her bra again, finally pulling the last hook free, and it soon joined her shirt. Her skin burned against the chill of the room, burned under the blinding heat of his touch, of his eyes. "Scully," he said, simply, as he bowed his head to take one nipple into his mouth. His tongue circled her, and then his teeth closed around her with a paradox of ferocity and gentleness. Soft, mournful noises came from deep within her throat, vibrating through them both. Mulder's right hand teased her other nipple, turning and feathering over her skin before abandoning her, sliding upwards, tracing the line of her throat, her chin, until he stopped at her mouth. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, the very tip of it brushing his fingers. His hand stiffened in response, freezing there long enough for her to capture his index finger between her opened lips. Her tongue stroked the pad of his finger, urging it further into her mouth. Her lips closed around him gently, resting there for a moment before tilting her head back, raking her teeth across the graceful length of his finger as she pulled away from it. When only the tip remained trapped by her lips, she moved forward, drawing it into her mouth again. The muscles in his hand twitched involuntarily -- the realization that she was affecting him shivered through her, erasing the worries and concerns of just moments ago from her mind. His mouth lifted away from her as he straightened, his eyes catching hers again. They were dark, his pupils nearly dilated, and his eyelids heavy with need, desire. She continued the rhythm she'd begun, slowly taking in his finger, pulling away from it. Her slow movements affected her even more as she could watch his reactions -- his eyes widening, the muscles in his jaw twitching -- each of them a tiny miracle, evidence of his desire for her. Abruptly, he pulled his finger away. Before she could even feel its loss, his mouth replaced it. Soft, rhythmic kisses that reached down into her, sharpening into a pressure building inside her, centering in her stomach and radiating outward in waves of the almost- pain of unrelieved tension. His hands, which had settled on her hips when he'd begun to kiss her again, began to move slowly up her body. Softly floating over her abdomen, resting at her breasts, caressing her, before continuing. Sliding along her collarbone, a finger reaching up to brush against her cheek quickly before he resumed his motion outwards, upwards, trailing slowly up her arms, accentuating the slight discomfort from their enforced position over her head. His hands stopped when he reached her forearms, hovering gently on her skin, and began slowly tracing a long, torturous line, up and down over the toned muscles of her arms. She longed to pull her hands away from the wall to touch him, but the delicious torture of not being able to touch him intrigued her more. He stopped kissing her to speak, his voice so darkened with want she almost didn't recognize him. "Stay there," he said, as he pulled his body away from hers. He bent, almost kneeling in front of her, his sliding down her throat, brushing the sides of her breasts, finally landing on the waistband of her jeans. His fingers brushed her skin as he worked at unfastening the button, then smoothly pulled at the zipper. He grasped the denim over her hips, tugging downward as she tried to shift to help him. The fabric slid over her, catching, working free, until finally she could lift her feet out of her shoes, away from her jeans, one by one, ridding herself of these unnecessary coverings. Mulder gazed at the one remaining barrier covering her, his fingers brushing over the silky satin almost reverently. His thumbs hooked under the lace covering her hips, brushing the skin underneath. She looked down at him, watching as he watched the movements of his hands, entranced at the concentration that colored his features. She was shocked a second later, because his face had given away no hint of the action he'd planned. He tugged roughly at the fabric under his hands, meeting with enough resistance that Scully was jerked forward. Instinctively, she pulled her arms away from the wall, finding Mulder's shoulders to steady herself. She felt the ruined satin fall away from her as he stood again. Wordlessly, he found her wrists with his hands, pulling them behind her back, holding them there. He kissed her again, stepping as close to her as was possible, his leg finding its way between hers again. Her nipples brushed against the cotton of his shirt as his hips shifted forward, closer toward her, pressing against her and sending a shock of awareness through her. His right hand abandoned her wrists, snaking around her, following the line of his leg toward her. She sucked in a breath and held it, waiting for him to find her, touch her. She felt the muscles in her back tense, followed by her stomach and abdomen. Her every action and reaction built up into the anticipation of a single moment, a single caress which seemed both just moments and an eternity away. He teased her, brushing her inner thigh, pulling away just when she could feel the warmth of his hand approaching her body. His touch had somehow become both a promise and a threat, and it would soon become a moment of fulfillment and incontrovertible change. It was the leap of faith they'd hovered near for so long, the inevitable and the impossible. Just as she wondered if he'd ever reach her, he closed the distance. Part of him was inside her -- the words played over and over in her mind as his hand moved against her, his thumb circling her clitoris as two fingers entered her, starting a rhythm he wordlessly promised to continue as his eyes locked onto hers. His right hand left her wrists, tugging at her hands as he left, as if giving her permission to move, to touch him. She did not intend to waste the opportunity. When his head bent to kiss her, her hands found the back of his head and held him there, trapping him in a deep kiss, breaking it only when the sensations of his movements against her threatened to overwhelm her. She felt the climax coming, wanting so much to give in to it, but managed to fight it off by shifting her hips slightly away from his hand. Somehow, he understood, pulling away and resting his hands on her hips. Not yet, she thought. Not now. Not until he felt just as helpless under her power as she felt under his. Her hands slid down his chest, playing over the muscles there, then moving downwards again until she found his belt. She quickly unfastened it, working just as rapidly at the button and zipper of his pants until she'd succeeded in her task. He stepped out of his pants, abandoning his shoes as well. She began to work on the buttons of his shirt, fumbling in relation to the movements of Mulder's hands. She finally managed to finish her work, then moved downwards to push his boxers off his hips and toward the floor. She rested her hands on his naked hips, lightly moving in circles over his skin, and she thrilled as she felt his body tense as hers had, so recently, in anticipation of his touch. She pulled her body away from his hands, concentrating on the energy building up in Mulder's body, the slight quivers she could feel traveling through him. She pushed his shirt from his shoulders, letting her fingers fall down his chest, hesitating at his waist before curling around his back, her hands finally landing on the backs of his legs. Slowly, she pulled them upward again, resting on his ass. She squeezed her hands, pulling him closer, feeling him hard against her stomach. A noise rumbled from deep within his throat, perhaps her only warning... Suddenly, she found one arm behind her knees, the other supporting her shoulders, and she was floating. He carried her through the hallway toward her bedroom, opening the door with a sharp kick of his foot. He placed her on the bed, holding her there with a glance before he disappeared, returning moments later with his belt. He came to the bed, lying next to her and kissing her, caressing her breasts until he felt the distraction of her hands closing around him, pulling softly, up and down, reveling in the feel of him, the heat of him, against her skin. He pulled her hands away, putting them through separate openings in the headboard, then threaded the belt around them. It seemed like an eternity before he seemed to decide he was finished securing her there. He slid down her body, kissing her as he went. Forehead. Lips. Breast. Stomach. Scully tensed as he moved, unconsciously resisting him as he tried to settle between her legs. Without a word, Mulder kept kissing her, softly brushing his lips against her belly, giving her the time she needed to relax. As her initial panic began to subside, she softened under the touch of his kiss, opening to him, not only physically, but with her trust, her soul, as well. By the moment he found his way to her, playing gently over her with the soft skin of his lips, she'd released every last trace of misplaced modesty. As sanity-shattering as the movements of his hand had been earlier, they paled in comparison to this. His tongue passed over her, stroking her clitoris before teasing downward, almost inside her, before retreating again. Over and over, he journeyed, shattering her self control as the sensations overtook her. She struggled to stay still for him, so he could continue what he'd so expertly begun, but she grew impatient as he denied her the pleasure of feeling him inside her. She strained underneath him, and he reached upward, grasping her hips to still her. And he held her there, motionless, repeating what was so dangerously close to what she needed, repeating it until she heard herself begging him in fragmented gasps of words to enter her, to take what she wanted so much to give him. As softly and tentatively as he'd begun, she felt his tongue dipping into her. Her restrained hands grasped the headboard, gripping it for support. Moaning, noises that sounded nothing like her own voice, escaped her throat, urging Mulder on, faster, deeper. Her breathing found and imitated the rhythm he'd settled into, desperately trying to sync with him in any way she could. "Mulder," she said, her voice almost too breathy to be distinguishable, "please, I need you." He shifted to cover her, sucking in a breath as he felt her legs close around him. He shifted his hips, finding her eyes, their shared gaze holding them, binding them, before he entered her, then pausing after he'd filled her completely. Each of them closed their eyes, experiencing their own, new, sensations before they looked at each other again, now sharing the experience together. She expected him to move slowly at first, perhaps out of some concern not to hurt her. When he did begin to move, she tensed with the pleasurable surprise of the immediate and unrelenting deepness and speed of his movements. Again and again, he thrust within her, mercilessly, with all the intensity, attraction, conflict, respect, and love that had grown within them. As she fought to meet his movements, she knew, somehow, that this was the wordless culmination of everything they'd become to each other. But she sensed something behind that. She struggled to concentrate on it, to place what it was. He stopped pulling all the way out of her, moving slightly, staying deep within her, grinding against her in a way that sent her rapidly toward the orgasm she'd pushed away earlier. As the sensations gathered and grew, she nearly forgot about what she'd sensed just seconds ago. Some part of her managed to remember, to hold on to the minor curiosity as her climax approached. She could hear her own breathing became ragged as she tried to form his name -- she fought the approaching torrent of sensation as her mind struggled to find some coherence, the pleasure wracking over her in waves only when she relented. The orgasm held, torturing her as he moved into her faster and faster, finding his own climax just as he found her eyes again. And she was afraid. She finally understood what she'd seen in him, but couldn't name. He was saying good-bye, not just to her, but to the entire world that had toyed with and tortured him for so long. "Don't, Mulder," she whispered to him. "Don't go," she said, remembering the intentions he'd spoken to her just after he'd invaded her apartment earlier that evening. "Don't do this." He looked at her, brushing her hair gently away from her eyes. "I love you, Scully." He stood from the bed, and she pulled impotently against the belt that held her in place. He pulled the quilt over her, looking at her one more time before he disappeared from the room. "Mulder!" she yelled, knowing he could still hear her, knowing he had to hear her if she was going to save him from himself. "This is suicide. There's nothing noble about this!" Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes, finally realizing what he'd come here to do, that she'd just given him the help he needed to steel himself for his ill-fated mission -- they'd consummated what they'd both wanted for so long, and then he'd bid her farewell. She still allowed herself to hope until she heard her apartment door open and shut. She started, feverishly, to work on the bindings around her wrists, knowing she could eventually work herself free. Eventually. But not quickly enough. She'd never find him in time, and she knew he'd known that. "Mulder. You fucking son of a bitch." ------- end === Visit willa and Amanda's XF Fan Fiction at: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Nova/6670/ We want to know what you think.