TITLE:   INVOCATION
AUTHOR:  THE PEN NAME
E-MAIL:  thepenname@aol.com

INVOCATION

Friendly, constructive criticism is welcomed and appreciated.
Sycophancy is grudgingly accepted.

Disclaimer:  Mulder and Scully are the property of Chris Carter and Ten-
Thirteen Productions. I use them without permission. No
copyright infringement is intended. This is a love story. But there
is sex . So call it NC17.
..........................................................................

The neon signs flicker and pulse across the street. The hotel room
is bathed in color - red and violet and blue. The colors spill across
the floor, over the blankets and sheets. Like sunlight through
stained glass.

I come in quietly, without knocking. Mulder is sitting on his bed.
The light from the window slants over his bare feet, his weary
shoulders. His chin is on his chest. His eyes do not move up to
meet me. He has not slept - we have not slept - for twenty-four
hours. He does not rest.

I am so tired. The tiles are cold on my bare feet. I move across
the floor and sit down next to Mulder. He doesn't look at me. He
gazes down at his hands, as if he expects to find something there,
as if he should be holding something. He shakes his head, smiles
weakly. Shrugs his shoulders. His face looks pale and blue in the
strange light. He doesn't move. I feel suddenly awkward. I speak
to cover the silence.

"I can't sleep."

I realize that I am waiting for him to move. He doesn't. The air is
heavy with his stillness, until I can't wait any longer. I raise my
hand toward his head. I half expect him to flinch from my touch.
But tonight he doesn't. I lay my palm gently on his hair. He doesn't
move. I slide my hand down onto his cheek. His skin is warm.

I look at his face. His eyes are hard, wild, lost. It has been two
hours, and his eyes have not changed. Something tugs in my chest.
I have seen him like this before. I have seen this look. But tonight
it is stronger. Tonight it hangs on him. Settles.

Tonight he believed. Tonight he believed.

His speaks, but I don't know if the words are meant for me. His
voice is so low that I can barely hear it.

"I thought you were dead."

I shut my eyes so that I don't have to see his face. I circle him with
my arms. He is still, his shoulders tight and hard. I don't know if
he can feel me here. I try to pull him close, but his body remains
stiff. A minute passes. The silence is stifling. I say his name
once, twice. I wait. Finally, finally, he bends a little, leans in
toward the left.

He lets his frame rest against me. I move my hand through his
hair. He is clean and just-dry. My forehead rests by his chin. He
is so tired that he hasn't shaved. Bristles of beard scrape against
my face. I smell his skin.

I look at him; he doesn't meet my gaze. I let my face touch his
face. I feel his skin against my skin.

His head begins to rock slightly, forward and back. He brushes
against me and I feel his breath on my cheek. I lock my fingers in
his warm soft hair. I need to know that he can feel me. I press my
face more closely against his. I move when he moves. I breathe
when he breathes.

The window lets in a gentle breeze. The curtains shift and scrape
in the colored light. The shadows flutter and play across our
bodies. I don't know how long we sit like this. Mulder looks
down. His eyes move over my face.

After a long time, I speak.

"I'm sorry, Mulder."

He looks at me as if I am a wraith. I shake my head. The meaning
of my words is lost to me. I am so tired.

The breeze strikes again, more harshly. I shiver slightly. Mulder
stiffens for a moment. Then I feel him relax, feel his weight shift.
He leans in and wraps himself around me. He is holding me, now.
He rocks me. He knows that I'm here. I lock my arms around him
and let him move me. He presses me close against his chest. I can
feel the heat of his body through his t-shirt. He is trembling.

I let him hold me. I let him rock me. I wonder if this is why I
came.

"I thought you were dead."

He looks down at me. His eyes frighten me with their wildness.
His voice frightens me.

"Scully... Do you know..."

He grows hoarse. His words fail him. His eyes beg me to show
him that I understand. But I know that there are no words. The
light shines in his lost eyes, in his wild eyes. I speak softly to him.

"I'm sorry, Mulder."

I don't know what I mean.

He cups my face with his hands. He presses his forehead close and
hard against mine. Something in his touch changes, grows urgent.
His hands move blindly over the contours of my face. His fingers
are rough in my hair. His breathing is deep, broken. I pull back to
look at him.

His wild face is half light, half shadow. His hands grasp my
shoulders, slide down my arms. He closes his fingers around my
wrists. I feel my pulse drumming against his skin. He is searching
for my heartbeat.

"Scully."

He brushes his forehead against mine.

"Scully."

His mouth slides across my cheek.

"Scully."

He breathes the word against my lips. A whisper. A test.

I shake my hands loose. Too quickly, too soon. I see his face
change. He stiffens and lowers his head. He pulls his hands
sharply away from mine. His shoulders harden. There is a sudden
space between us. I am cold.

"Mulder..."

I reach out my hand and stroke his hair. I lean into him, let my
body brush against him. I touch his chin and turn his face toward
mine. His eyes are wary, frozen.

I part my robe. I am bare before him.

"Scully."

His eyes take me in, see me whole. I take his hands and press
them against me. I need him to feel that I am here. He moves
slowly at first, reverently. He touches me as if I am a spirit.

My robe falls around me. I lie back against it. I lie in a pool of
light. Mulder's eyes do not leave me. His breathing changes. I
call to him with my hands. He falls on me, covers me. His hands
are not gentle, now. They clutch at my hair, my breasts. His teeth
scrape across my shoulder and over my neck. His face comes in to
kiss me. He parts my lips, moves across my teeth. His breath
pushes hard and warm into my body. I taste my name on his
tongue.

I slide my hands under his t-shirt and run my fingers over his skin.
So smooth. So warm. I lift his arms, tug at the shirt, and he is
free. I move my lips against him. He shifts his body, pushes away
his sweatpants. I feel the scratch of his legs against my bareness. I
feel the cool of his fingertips as they flicker across my breasts, as
they move through my hair. He rests his body against me. I feel
the press of his skin against my stomach. It is hard to breathe. He
whispers my name.

His hands move over my arms, my chest, my hips. His touch is
rough, desperate. His head nuzzles and rocks against my chest.
His legs press on me, stroke me. I feel the tension in his body as
he moves on top of me. I hear his breathing grow ragged. He
tastes me, feels me, pulls the air from my lungs. He breathes my
name.

His voice is strangled, now, deep with need. I shift my body for
him; I part my legs. He sinks down between them, and I rock my
hips so that he can feel me against him. He clutches madly at my
hands, locks his fingers around mine. He rests his head against my
chest and strokes himself against me. His movements are harsh,
rhythmic, frantic. I cry out once, when he clenches my hand in his
fist. He does not let go.

"Scully."

His voice is wild, lost. I cannot bear it. I thrust up against him.
Once. Twice.

"Scully."

He presses hard against me. The force of his body pushes me back
in the bed. He moves too quickly. I am a stranger to him. He
grinds into me. I whimper once. I hold my breath, bite my lip. He
fills me.

"Scully."

He is inside me. He is so tight. So warm. I breathe.

"Scully."

He rocks and pulls inside me. His hands push and flutter between
us. They move, slide up my sides, down my back. They are damp
against my skin. He clutches at my hips, pulls me closer to him.
He raises himself and pushes hard between my legs. I struggle to
take him in. I press and shove my body against him. I can't pull
him deep enough.

"Scully."

His breath falls on my chest. His voice is ragged, desperate. His
teeth graze my skin. His mouth moves over my breast. His tongue
caresses me.

"Scully."

He tilts my chin, forces me to look at him. He is bathed in warm
red light. His eyes are desperate as they roam over my face. I kiss
him. His hands move up to tangle in my hair. His fingernails
scratch lightly at my scalp. He moans and rocks against me. God.
I can't get close enough. There is still air between us. There is
still skin. I lock my arms around his neck and hold him against
me. I clutch at his hair. I taste the salt of his sweat. He pushes at
me. It is hard to breathe.

I feel him tense. I hear the change in his breathing. I move for
him. I tighten myself around him like a fist. I wait. I hold my
breath and clutch him inside me.

He gives out with a shudder. His body jerks. I feel his muscles go
slack. He falls against me. His warmth fills me. I exhale.

His breath is heavy on my chest, hot and damp. I look at his face.
His mouth opens, but he is mute. His lips form my name, but no
sound comes out. His eyes pierce mine. His eyes fill me.

He rests on me for a long time. He is still, now, spent. His lips are
on my breastbone. I stroke my face against his hair. So soft. His
body is warm and heavy. He tries to pull up, to lift his weight off
me. But I am not ready to let him go. I clutch at him, press my
hands down on his back to hold him in place. He falls back
against me with a sigh.

My fingers trace his back. His skin is damp with sweat. I run my
hands over his ribs. They rise with each inhalation. His breathing
has slowed, become even. I lie still and feel him breathe.

After a long time, he speaks. His voice is deep and low. It shakes
with feeling. He breathes my name against my skin. It is an
incantation.

"Scully."

I run my hands through his hair. I press my lips against his head.

"I'm here."

It is what he needs me to say. I feel him break. His shoulders
begin to tremble. I feel the warmth of tears on my chest. I lean
down to kiss his face. I taste the salt of his tears. My tears. They
are the same.

His voice shudders, whispers my name. It is a prayer. He prays
for me.

"Scully."

He prays to me.

I think it is always the same prayer. A simple prayer. That I
breathe. That my heart beats.

"I'm sorry, Mulder."

I have no promises for him.

His tears roll over my chest, run down my sides. His face is
cradled in my hand. I kiss him once. Twice. His body is nestled
tight in mine. I spread my fingers and take in the hard, smooth feel
of him. The light from the window slants across his back,
illuminating every scar. Only skin. Only flesh. He is so fragile.
We are so fragile.

He needs me. I am only blood and bone.

"Scully."

He prays for it to be otherwise.

The curtains twist in the wind. The neon light flickers across us,
then grows still. Mulder lies silent on my body. I feel his eyes
close against my skin. We are twined together. We breathe. Our
bodies are shadow and rich color. We are lit like angels.



End