TITLE:   SECRETS 3
AUTHOR:  MADELEINE PARTOUS
E-MAIL:  partous@total.net 
RATING:  NC-17
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Mulder and Scully. Leyla Harrison
does. No, no -- just kidding. Everyone knows the Fox lawyers
own 'em. God bless lawyers. I love them so. I mean it.
MD1016@aol.com
http://members.aol.com/md1016/deny/denialand.htm
Rated: R - with a zest 
Gossamer: V for vignette
Summary: Please read Secrets I and II by Leyla Harrison and Madeline
Partous respectively first. Then you'll get this.

Category: M/S implied
Spoilers: Not really.
Keywords: M/S implied
Date completed: December 7th, 1997.
Acknowledgments and comments at the end.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Everybody has secrets.

Fear, shame and guilt build them, hide them so we can forget they even
exist.

They're our buried evils; unwanted bastards of our desires and needs. Oh,
yeah. They're the real us - when the rest of the crap is peeled away.

And I know some pretty crappy people.

In my line of work, it's unavoidable. Who am I? Nobody. Remember that. I'm
the Nobody who knows all your secrets. It's my job. God. I fucking hate my
job. One day, it'll kill me, I think. Fucking piece of shit that I am -
it's not like I've got anything really to live for. No wife, no kids. No life,
outside watching these two agents hump like dogs in heat. You ever feel
like everyone's got someone but you?

I've been watching them for a month or so, and at first glance, they looked
like pretty miserable people. Sure, she's hot and intelligent and classy,
but she had even less of a life than I do. I've got a camera in her bed room
and one focused on her couch and in the weeks I've been playing spy, she's only
masturbated five times, maybe. And even then it was under this thick
quilted blanket, like she was afraid someone would walk in. Yeah. What a joke. No
one ever walks in her place. The guy, he's a freak - believes in aliens and
ghosts and shit - heh heh, yeah, he's real good friends with his right
hand.

But he was always alone. They both were. It made me feel like I was back at
my mother's. God forbid. They'd come home from work and just stay home and
do NOTHING all fucking night! They drove me crazy I was so bored.

And then last week, in the middle of the night, when the Loser called her
it was something like one in the morning, but she answered it. Now, I gotta
tell you she'd been hot for something all that evening. Touching her self all
over while she was watching TV and doing the dishes and stuff. Candles lit all
over and that soft swaying music on low. Really sexy shit. So when she'd started
moaning in the dark of her bedroom, yeah, I turned the Night Brightness knob on 
the monitor up to full. Hey, I'm male. And I don't mind telling you that I 
thanked God that night `cause she was on top of that damn bedspread of hers,
and for once, I was getting to see something - a little tip for the hours
I'd been putting in, you know - and that Loser goes and calls her. Yeah, he'd
been pretty horny all night, too.

And they started talking, saying the normal stuff: Did I wake you? I was
up. What are you doing? It's a secret... She said that: IT'S A SECRET. That's
where things really got interesting. My ears perked up right away because,
as you know, I deal in secrets. Secrets is my middle name. So she says it's a
secret, and I lean in to the TV and my God, the chick is still going at it!

While she's on the phone with this guy! And he's her PARTNER! And I'm
thinking to myself that I've really missed something somewhere; these two
were never an item before and somehow I missed that there was anything there at
all...Oprah calls it sexual tension. Yeah, yeah. I'm a guy, I know. But I'm
not completely dense when it comes to these things, you know.

So, anyway, while she's busy going at it, this guy, he asks her what her
secret is, and she tells him. Can you believe that? She tells him that she's been
lying there, touching herself and thinking about him making love to her -
or fucking her - I can't remember the terminology she used. God, would I love
to make love to that woman! And then Loser said that he's just been thinking
the same thing, and I can tell you he had been, too. The guy's hung - I'll
leave it at that.

But this last bit of information kinda freaked the woman out. I don't know
why. You'd think a chick would like it when a guy is thinking what she's
thinking. But then, who can think like a woman? And so, she sat up in the
bed and told him not to come over, or not to think about her or something, I
don't really remember. But she did hang up on him and they both just sat there
for a minute or so before they went back to doing what they were doing before the
call. He came first.

And no, that wasn't the end of it.

Loser grabbed his phone and a towel and tried to clean up the mess he'd
made, while he listened to her phone ring. Something like eight or nine times.
She wasn't going to answer it. I could see it in the way she was just laying
there, breathing in the dark. Staring up at me. Smoke detectors are great
places for hiding surveillance equipment. Now you know a secret.

God, I love the way she looked at me, licking her lips, satisfied and
anxious, listening to the phone ring and ring and ring. And when it stopped, 
she looked at it like she was shocked that the guy hung up after ten minutes of
listening to her line jingle. Of course, she didn't know that he'd left his own 
place at that point. Only I knew that. It's my job to know.

So when the phone started ringing again, she grabbed it right away, like
she was afraid it was going to run outta the room. Wait. I think this was when
she told him not to come over. I think he said he was in the car and they
needed to talk, or maybe he said he needed to see her. I'm getting old. I
can't remember a fucking thing.

So, when she hung up again, she laid back down on the bedspread - this part
I remember - because she started taking off all her clothes. Real slow.
Staring right at me like she knew I was there, and sliding her nighty up over her
head and her panties down over her hips. The woman's a goddess incarnate. She
must work out. And she reached down, over her breasts, over her belly, and ran
her fingers through the hair at her legs.

And Christ, if she didn't moan my name. Right then, looking right at me,
fingering herself so fast I could hear the slick smacks, she said, "I've
got a secret."

Oh, yeah, baby. You've got me. Hard and breathless, and right where I wanna
be.

And I'm so close to the TV, I can see the individual grains of her. And she
doesn't stop looking at me when Loser finally makes it into the room. He's
huffing and rubbing his thighs, and Goddamn it, the guy's ready for another
go! Un-fucking-believable! And he doesn't wait for her to invite him in, he
just climbs on the bed and settles his shoulders between her legs and gives her
what I wanted to. And she's moaning and grunting and clawing at his head, and
the guy, he's getting even more turned on by it. By the taste of her. Shit.
Even I could smell her, and I was in the apartment above Loser's place.

Jesus, the screaming that went on that night! He got her right to the edge,
and I know she was there, too: bucking and screaming and pulling his hair.
But he didn't push her over. Oh, no, Loser is too slick for that. He knelt
between her wet thighs, spread so far apart it looked like she was doing
the splits for me, and he tore off his clothes. Well, nothing actually ripped,
but I've never in my life seen anyone strip that fast. And then he laid down on
top of her and fucked her. Hard. From the angle I was at, all I could see
was her knees hugging his back and her ankles crossed and her fingers carving
white lines on his neck. Man, were they going at it!

This time she came first. Oh, yeah.

And you know what she was whispering when he finally rolled off of her?
What her beautiful lips were chanting when she finally closed her eyes?

My name. Not his. Mine.

He may have possessed her physically, but I know her secrets. I've seen
them. Lived them. I own them.

The End

Acknowledgments:

About a week ago, Madeline and Leyla sent me their stories, Secrets I and
II. I loved them and instantly they sparked yet another image in my head.
Basically, that's what you've just read. Each of the stories is told from a
different point of view; telling the truth as each has chosen to see it.
Heh heh heh...can you relate?

It gives me great pleasure to contribute with two writers whose work I have
enjoyed repeatedly over the several years that I've been online. These two
women, like the countless other fan fic writers, have remained true to the
show, even when the actors, producers, and writers have dismissed and
denounced us. To all of those fan fic writers, Madeline and Leyla, and everyone who
sees this piece and appreciates it for what it is - an extension of my love for
The Show - I dedicate this work.

MD1016@aol.com
http://members.aol.com/md1016/deny/denialand.htm