Title: Persuasion Author: Dreamshaper Feedback: is gratefully recieved by Dreamshpr@aol.com (who might have a solution to her mail eating mailbox problem--if you want to, send feedback to pensivedreamer@aol.com, that addy is more reliable. ) Archive: Certainly. Just tell me where, if we've never talked before. Rating: NC17 (by my standards--you may not agree ) Spoilers: UnNatural Summary: "I couldn't stay," I said wearily, barely able to deal with the combination of his touch, his words, my tangled thoughts and a night's worth of memories. "But you haven't lost me." Disclaimer: I make no claims on the XFiles, nor do I make any money Notes: Thanks to Shawne, even though she was *no help* in TitleFinding. She did revise this after she'd already revised the revision of the revised version, *and* she urged me to post it, so I suppose she deserves some gratitude. ```````````````````````````````````````````````````````` I sat at my kitchen table, staring down into a steaming cup of coffee and pretending that the haze over my eyes was steam and not tears, telling myself that I was fine, that I had done what I had needed to do. That the repercussions could be avoided, that I could hide in the cool, dim rooms of my apartment and think until I had worked everything out in my mind. But I knew I was lying to myself. There was no way I could have hidden from Mulder long enough to straighten myself out, not after what we-- Not after everything we had done. It wasn't supposed to happen like that, I told myself for the thousandth time. We were supposed to wait, until we were done searching, until the truth was there for all to see. Then we would reward ourselves for the seven, ten, perhaps even fifteen years of fighting. It'd be safer then, for both of us. And the waiting would have made it better. I considered letting my head fall hard, cracking it down on the table, needing to punish myself for being an idiot, for the little delusions I'd been trying to force on myself. We'd never have lasted fifteen years. And maybe we'd have been safer but I didn't think we could have been better. It still shouldn't have happened. Not so suddenly. And not without...good reason. Victory or another crushing defeat, those were the things I thought would draw us together. Not a simple, easy ballgame. Not a small, little bet. Certainly not a sudden kiss-- No matter how persuasive. "Ten pitches," he'd said to me, smiling and playful. "Winner hits the most balls, then buys the ice cream of their choice. And the loser has to eat it." It was a lighthearted challenge, and was so reminiscent of a childhood both of us remembered and longed for, a time of baseball games, winners and losers, and ice cream bets. So I took the bat from him with a smirk and watched while he meandered away, grinning evilly. Then I got ready for the first pitch, swung with all my might--and connected. It was completely foul, but it soared high and I was pleased enough to shoot Mulder a cocky grin. I couldn't really see into his eyes, he was too far away. But there was something in his stance, in the careful nonexpression on his face, something that caught my attention. I almost didn't manage to suppress the shudder that raced through me. I'm sure it was a visible shake, but I tried to mask it by turning back, taking my stance, painfully aware of every inch of my body. I missed the next pitch, unable to focus my attention ahead of me when I could practically *feel* Mulder breathing behind me. I was saved by instinct and my innate competitive streak. Missed that second ball, took a deep breath and pushed Mulder out of my mind, pretending I was ten again and trying to best Bill. That tactic worked. Seven more balls went the way of the stars and I was smugly pleased with myself. "Confession," I murmured as I handed Mulder the bat. "I used to play with Bill and his friends all the time, when we were little." His eyes were inscrutable, but his smile was bright as he looked down at me. "I know," he said before taking the bat and turning away. "Your mother told me stories." "Mulder, why did--if my mother told you, what was that whole 'lesson' all about?" Genuinely confused, I crossed my arms over my chest and scowled at his back. But he didn't answer me, just smiled over his shoulder, immune to my glare. So I headed off to the sidelines, and watched with decreasing smugness and burgeoning confusion as he sent eight consecutive balls deep into the outfield. He turned to me before the ninth pitch, grinning madly, a victorious little kid. His whoop of victory as that last ball went straight and high made me sigh, and almost made me smile. I wished I'd been able to hold onto that childlike image for the rest of the night. But the image of just how grown-up he'd looked as his body had moved smoothly to send the last ball arching high into the night, hips and hands and tall, lanky body all caught into the motions had seeped into my mind as he directed me to a little ice cream parlor. It stuck as I scanned the crowded, bustling little business, leery in the noisy crowd of teens and children with their parents. It was all I could see as he stood in the line for orders, shifting and restless, indulging in his typical, 'I've been forced to wait' routine of making himself as annoying as possible. Not even the delight in his eyes as he settled down with a huge cone full of banana nut ice cream could replace the very adult image of him I had stuck in my mind. I went through the peanut butter fudge ripple he'd brought me, topped with strawberry sauce and whipped cream, but I couldn't seem to stop looking at him. I couldn't seem to make myself turn away, instead watching him chase banana nut dribbles around the edge of the cone, obviously enjoying himself immensely. We still might have been ok, just eaten our ice cream and gone our separate ways, if he hadn't looked up and caught me watching him. I tried to hide my expression from him, my face as smooth and blank as I could make it for the whole second I dared to look back. Then I couldn't handle it anymore, not with the remembered feel of his arms wrapped around me and his hips moving with mine, and I looked back down at the Formica table. But his hands wrapped around my chin, cool and a little sticky, and I found myself looking into his eyes again, completely unable to hide my surprise. Especially after he rose from his seat a little, leaning across the table to press a light, delicate kiss to my lips, then a second, deeper kiss as I sat still, taken by surprise. That didn't last long. In seconds, the coolness of his mouth, the taste of him tempered by the sweetness of the ice cream, and the years of waiting all combined and I was done in. We both were, breathing hard and flushed when we separated, panting, licking our lips and watching each other. "Come home with me," he whispered, eyes deep and fathomless, intent on mine, persuasive. "Please, Scully." I was entranced--falling into his eyes was almost like dreaming. So I followed him through the crowds of strangers that I just *knew* could feel our tension, out to my car, and I let him drive to his apartment. I let myself fall into his bed without...waking. Without pulling myself from the trance. But when I *did* come out of it...I was lying in his bed, surrounded by him, breathing in the mingled scents of us and sex, and it was 3 am. I stared up at his ceiling, mottled with moonlight, and I panicked. We had resolved nothing, said nothing. There had been no discussing, no planning, no moments of eloquent speech. Just touch, and taste and heat. But he would still know my little secrets when he woke, the ones I've had to hide just to get through the last six years. I couldn't deal with that. Too much, too soon. So I fled, carefully and quietly, without waking him. I went back to my apartment and showered, sliding into a comfortable, oversize sweatshirt and jeans. I made coffee, took out the plate of croissants, and sat down at the kitchen table to berate myself. And then, as I sat there hours later hunched over my cup thinking the night over second by second and knowing exactly where I'd gone wrong, I heard a key scrape in my lock. There was nothing I could do but sit, and wait, and hope that when I saw him, the world would go back to the way it had been just a few days ago when we were working together, semiprofessional, in our long established roles. And I knew it wouldn't happen. Desperate as I was, I knew deep down that things had changed and would not be the same, could not. And despite hours of thinking, I still didn't have a clue what to do about it. The sound of footsteps across the floors made me tense, shortened my breath though I fought to keep it even. It was worse when they stopped and I knew he stood before me. I kept my eyes on the steam swirling over my cup, and pretended I was alone. Hoping to give myself a little more time to recover, just a few seconds more that could be used to strengthen my defenses and figure myself out, I concentrated on slow, steady breathing. "Scully." Just my name, without inflection, and it was as compelling as any emotional outpouring. I couldn't help but raise my eyes, look up to see him silhouetted by the sun streaming through the windows in my living room. Tall and dark, surrounded by lazily floating dust particles, he was an imposing figure. And when he stepped closer, out of the light, it was worse. His eyes on mine were bleak and uncertain, his mouth set harshly, his shoulders so straight and stiff I hurt just looking at him. I gestured with my coffee cup. "Sit down, Mulder," I said quietly. "Have some coffee. Try a croissant." He looked at me with disbelief but did as I asked, pouring a cup of coffee and taking a seat across from me. I followed his movements as he took a flaky, perfect croissant from the plate in the middle of the table, watched as he took a bite and chewed as if it had the consistency of leather and half the taste. "Happy?" he asked, putting both cup and croissant back on the table. I nodded, looked back down into the steam, wishing I could rise and dissipate the same way and avoid...the rest of my life, basically. "Perfectly happy, Mulder." Silence flowed between us for a while, unbroken but bending like it was filled with whispers. Accusations. Denials, sweet nothings, demands, dreams. Mulder sliced through it first, pushing back his chair and rising, all the little sounds of his motions amplified and resounding in my ears. Resolute, I didn't look at him again--until he was beside me, pulling me out of my chair, putting his hand on my cheek so I *had* to look at him. He searched my eyes carefully until I couldn't take it anymore and shifted my gaze over his shoulder, to stare at the patch of sunlight filtering in from the windows that had so recently served to frame him. "You left. I woke up this morning, and you were gone." The words were said as my name had been, without inflection, without even undertones, and they hurt more than a shout in the vibrant air between us. An explanation needs to be given, I thought desperately. It's too damn bad I'm not the one capable of giving it. I swallowed, determined to muddle through...some kind of response, but still avoiding his eyes. "I didn't go anywhere you wouldn't be able to find me." "But that's not the same as staying, is it? I thought I had lost you." "No, it's not the same as staying. But you haven't lost me, Mulder. I just needed time to myself. Time to think." His harshly set lips curved in a faint smile. "Time to tell yourself it was all a mistake, one that wouldn't be made again? That we could go on like it had never happened?" I wanted to deny his assertion, but he was right. Completely right, and we both knew it. "I couldn't stay," I said wearily, barely able to deal with the combination of his touch, his words, my tangled thoughts and a night's worth of memories. "But you haven't lost me." His hand slid down, fingers spreading easily from my collarbone to my jawline, curling around my neck and warming my skin. "At one point or another, Scully, I've lost everything to this search of mine. Everything. From self-respect to suits, and all the way back to dignity. But I've never lost you--why do you stay?" His smile disappeared entirely as his hand gripped me tighter, gentle but implacable. "Do you even know why you stay?" There are so many reasons why I've stayed, I thought. But so many of them are dangerous. Too personal for me to discuss without lowering my defenses almost completely--and I wasn't ready to do that again, the way I had during the night. Even though discussing why I have stayed was less frightening than explaining why I had left. "Because," I whispered, covering his hand with mine as I gave him the easy answers. "I stay because it isn't just your search, Mulder, but mine, too. I stay because it isn't even *ours*, really. Because what we're doing is what needs to be done." I closed my eyes, swallowed. "Because I need to do it. What else...could I do?" Mulder laughed, the sound soft and husky, resonating around us. "What else could you do? I don't know...solve normal crimes, start your medical career over again? Go write a book? Lead the free world, start your own religion? You're an enterprising woman, Scully. You could figure something out. Be whatever you want to be, and all that." He moved closer, I could *see* him moving even with my eyes closed. I know his motions, his body language so well that I could have diagrammed his stance, the way his lanky body was hovering over and around my still form. His voice, when he spoke again, brushed heat across my cheekbone, stirred my hair. "You know all that too. Those reasons...they're all good, Scully, excellent reasons to stay. But there's more, right? I realized it last night, when I looked at you and you were watching me. Again, when I touched you and you were ready for me. And when I fell asleep, with you in my bed, relaxed and dreaming already. You can't deny it for long." It was a fight for me to shake my head in denial as he dragged us both back to last night. His voice was having almost a hypnotic effect, the pressure of his hand focusing my attention completely. It was deliberate, a goad, and I knew it. Knowing there is danger here will protect you, I told myself. Just keep steady, don't let him rattle your defenses. More than he already has, anyway-- The advice I had for myself would have done me a lot more good if I had been trying to hide from anyone but Mulder. He's always had a disturbing ability to knock through my walls--it's almost instinctive with him. Like some part of him deep inside knows where my defenses are weak, brittle, more fragile than the thinnest panes of glass. In typical Mulder fashion, he rolled right over my objection. pt 2 "It's true," he said, wrapping his free hand around my shoulder, kneading my tight muscles, soothing even as he tried to pierce the walls I had erected against him. "It has to be. Those reasons--Arthur Dales could have stated those same reasons you're always giving me. It wasn't just his search, people need the truth, what else could he do? But what happened to him? Did he continue fighting, did he go on?" I opened my eyes. "No, he didn't," I said, meeting his gaze. "Because he wasn't me. Wasn't us." Mulder's intensity was a palpable force, in his body, his hands--his touch alone could have pulled the answers from me. His eyes searching my face were injury added to insult, bruising in their determination. But he backed away from me a bit, sitting back on my kitchen table. I was pulled between his long, sprawled legs and caught there. It was a relief--I had almost enough room to draw a deep breath, and he was easier to handle when he wasn't *looming* over me. "Us. Implying that there still is an us, right?" Both his voice and his eyes cooled with the words, became analytical. "Right?" I didn't respond. Quite frankly, I couldn't have. He might have lost some of the intensity, but when he got collected and logical he just reminded me of some kind of predator...very patient, very dangerous, and I was knocked off balance. "As I see it," he continued when I said nothing, "*us* is a concept almost lost these last few months. And even with what happened last night and with what you did after--" Instinctively, I tried to jerk away, unwilling--unable--to be so near that confrontation again. "Let go," I hissed, wishing I had nails to dig into the back of the hand I had caught under mine, infuriated because he held me easily. "Damnit Mulder, just *let go*!" Mulder's eyes were soft and sad on my face. "I can't let go," he said calmly, firmly, with a melancholy smile. "I can't let go again. And now...I guess I don't think you could really leave." I froze, held my breath for a second as I looked into his eyes. Defiance and adrenaline coursed through me as I felt inevitability settle over me, a heavy cloak draped over my shoulders. "I could let go," I told him, desperate to convince myself. "You could do the leaving." Mulder drew my head down, till my forehead rested lightly on his, bringing back memories of the night so many months ago that could have changed everything if we hadn't been interrupted, and memories of the night before. I sucked in a harsh breath, surprised by how affected I was, and he tightened his hand on the back of my neck, sighing heavily. "What's going on with you?" I asked, certain I wasn't ready for the answer but unable to hold the question back. "I still don't understand where all of this came from so suddenly." His whole body shuddered with a sigh. "Last night, when we were playing, I thought we were going to take all of that and go a step beyond. Deeper into *friendship*, maybe a little more. And I hoped...that maybe I was knocking down a few old walls while we were at it. Like the one you hid behind whenever I touched you." "I don't know what you're talking about." "I'm talking about how I can feel you go still inside when I touch you, like you're some kind of woodland creature I've intruded upon and threatened. Like you might leap into flight if I so much as breathe. How I can practically see you draw all the errant bits of yourself inside and lock them up whenever I get too close. I'm *talking* about the fact that I want more from you than the occasional comforting word or touch." He paused, drew back, and looked into me. Then he smiled again, hazel eyes gleaming, apparently satisfied with my mute shock. "I want much more from you than comfort," he murmured, a thousand shades of emotion in his voice. "I wanted to show you that last night. And maybe it got a little out of hand, because I didn't mean to do this..." And then he kissed me. I was still trying to connect my partner with a man who had intentions I hadn't expected, and didn't respond. It was just his lips, warm and soft on mine, and nearly platonic, sweet with memories that I was still frantically trying to puzzle out. Then his tongue slipped out to trace the seam of my lips, delicate, persuasive, urging me to relax. I jerked aside but it was seconds too late, and I was already feeling something molten settling inside me. I remembered his mouth, the taste of it, the things he had done with it... "Mulder--" His smile was more assured, confident. The sadness had changed, become arousal, and I shivered. "Stop me, Scully," Mulder murmured, "stop me right now, and we'll go back. Back to trying to be friends again, back to pretending there's nothing more between us than the Truth, partnership, and a determination to see through our fight. Back to innuendo and conspiracy and being alone even when we're together..." I couldn't say anything. I rested my hands on his shoulders, feeling them tense and taut despite his easy smile and smooth voice, and tried to form a coherent sentence. I didn't have much of a chance. Mulder kissed me again, this time taking my lower lip between his teeth and nipping at it before caressing the inside with his tongue, his eyes on mine the whole time--until I couldn't take it anymore and slid my lashes down, blocking his gaze-- And intensifying the power of the kiss. This time he was the one to pull away, right after I hitched in a shuddering breath. "I love you," he said before pressing a light kiss to my cheek. "Last night, when you were in my arms, moving with me, I imagined that I would make love with you, sleep with you. Wake with you. Stop me now...and I'll pretend I never wanted any of that to happen..." I could hear my heart pounding in my chest, hear air rattling around in my lungs, hear a small part of my mind screeching all the old excuses about rules and dignity and destroying a friendship. But more than those things, I heard his voice and remembered all the moments and all the needs. Mulder kissed me again, this time more completely, coaxing me into letting him inside my mouth. I lost myself in the flavors of caffeine and pastry blended with an intoxicating taste that could only have been Mulder, and I didn't even notice when his hands slid off my face and shoulder, down my back, to my hips. I barely noticed when I sighed into his mouth and rested my hands on his upper arms, wrapping tight to hide the fact that I was almost shaking. But I definitely noticed when he drew me deeper between his legs and I was pressed tight against him. He drew back again, breathing heavily, almost killing me by licking his lips. "Scully. Just tell me if you want me to stop this and go home, let you go back to your empty bed. I won't kiss you again if you ask me not to. I won't touch you. I'll forget all about the time that I told you I love you, and I'll ignore the fact that I realized you love me too...if you stop me now..." I tilted my head back, sucking in great gulps of oxygen as I tried to fight through the myriad impulses inside me. Run, stay, forget, pretend...continue...I knew what I wanted, and I knew what I should do--but I couldn't reconcile the two. Until Mulder took the opportunity I unconsciously offered and bent his head, pressed a kiss to the hollow of my throat before slowly tracing his tongue up to the curve of my ear. "We could both turn back," he said, hot breath sending goosebumps racing over my skin. "Turn back, forget...but why?" I didn't have an answer. "Mulder..." "Hmm?" I brought my head back down, looked into his eyes, and shuddered. I'd always known he was very sexual, but he'd never just let me see, let me feel *all* the emotion and desire inside of him. He'd kept himself in check for a long time, even during-- I aligned our mouths, and I kissed him. He let me inside his mouth easily, held himself very still while I rediscovered his taste and got used to the idea that I was kissing him, my partner, friend, lover. And as I did, I felt the trust that I thought had been broken between us, that I had feared was lost to us forever when I fled while he was sleeping. Lust came with his hands sliding gently up my body, into my hair to cradle my head, with the sigh and rumbling hum of pleasure he gave when I pressed myself more fully into his body. And love shuddered just underneath, shattering my heart only to rebuild it when he whispered my name. I broke the kiss when my knees started to go weak, and pressed my cheek to his rougher one. For a second, tenderness flowed in the air around us, then Mulder slid his hands down, and up again under my sweatshirt, enjoying my braless state before coaxing me to raise my arms so he could draw the shirt off. I almost backed away then. As cool air washed over my skin, I worried as I had been for hours before he came to me, fearing the changes we were making. Then he drifted his fingers down my ribcage, over the scar spread across my abdomen, his mouth latched onto my nipple, nibbling and sucking strongly, and concern was driven from my mind. I was panting by the time he made it to the other breast, bracing my hands on his thighs to keep upright. Noticing my plight, he wrapped his strong hands around my hips, holding me up and keeping our lower bodies close while he explored my torso. When he jerked his hands and mouth away for a few brief moments so he could strip off his own shirt, I almost cried, both from the loss of support and the loss of sensation. But he came back to me with bare skin and his belly slid against mine, sleek and smooth, so I forgave him the small indiscretion in the wash of pure fire that followed. I forgave him everything when he raised his head and smiled at me, mouth swollen and wet, eyes heavy and dark. Forgave him for being insensitive, and absurdly driven, and for not trusting me, and a thousand other things. And I asked for forgiveness by kissing him again, so sweetly I could barely break away. And then he was moving, stripping off my jeans and panties and pressing me back onto the table, reaching for the snap of his jeans and dealing with them far more slowly, eyes intensely on mine the whole time. I bit my lip in an attempt to stifle the urge to coax him but couldn't stop myself from murmuring something when he stopped and grinned, coming over me for only a split second before lifting away. He didn't give me a chance to touch him, but he managed to rub his chest and belly against mine again, as well as grind his still jean-clad pelvis into me, driving me mad. "Gotta clear the table," he whispered devilishly before twisting to dump the plate of croissants and the cups of chilling coffee on the nearest available counter. Then he was back, fiddling with the tab of his jeans, eyes burning trails across my skin as he looked at me. "Where was I again?" I couldn't take the teasing. Surprising us both with my aggressiveness, I sat up and reached for his zipper, undoing it with dangerous speed and pushing at his jeans and boxer briefs before he could do more than make a motion to protect what I could have damaged. And then I wrapped my legs around his hips, clamped my hands back on his arms, and drew him closer, lying back. He braced himself above me on one hand and pulled the other arm free, using that hand to guide himself, rubbing against me very slowly and lightly. I surprised us both again by being ready, so ready that even the lightest pressure nearly set me off. "I'd like to make this last forever," he whispered, drawing my gaze from where we were so close to joining and up to his dark gaze. "But I won't have to...if we can have forever later, to try it again." Unbearably touched, I smiled, slid a hand up to touch his cheek. And then I tightened my thighs, hard, and he slid inside unexpectedly, making us both moan. Mulder continued the motion slowly-- And we set up a rhythm that was like forever. ```````````````````````````````````````````````````````` I've almost forgotten how to post. But I *haven't* forgotten how to make puppy-dog eyes and beg for feedback! If you've got an urge, anyway--and I know you do, how could you not after the display of pure sap that is my final sentence? . I loooove sap... Anyway. Thanks for reading! Dreamshaper (dreamshpr@aol.com or pensivedreamer@aol.com)