TITLE:    The World DID End...
AUTHOR: Wylfcynne
SPOILERS: this is a post-ep for Millennium
RATING: NC-17
CLASSIFICATION: post-ep, MA, MT, MSR, LURIDfic
SUMMARY: hmmm... smutfic written to pacify the smut addicts at Believe the 
Truth; my penalty for inadvertantly double- and triple-posting...  Oh, you mean 
the story?  The World DID end...
DISCLAIMER: They certainly aren't mine; if they were, they'd be having more 
fun, and I wouldn't have to save up for vacations!  Mulder, Scully, Skinner and 
the rest belong to FOX Networks and 1013; I'm just borrowing them for a 
little fun and games.  I promise I'll bring them back on time and unharmed and they 
won't remember a thing.
DEDICATION: Overall, all my X Files work is dedicated to my writing partner, 
Ravenwald, without whom I would still be doing all this using a ballpoint pen, 
who introduced me to fandom on the Net, and awakened the Muse, who had been 
sleeping for a VERY long time.  This piece is for the Good Friends at Believe 
the Truth, who never let me get away with ANYthing.  :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


 
The World DID End...  By Wylfcynne


(In the basement of the Necromancer, just before midnight, December 31, 1999)

*click*

*click*

*click*

Crouched protectively over the supine form of Frank Black, Mulder heard the 
hammer of the big revolver snap down fruitlessly on another empty chamber, and 
felt a wave of utter terror sweep over him.

If he and Frank lost, and the fanatical Necromancer upstairs won, then this 
would be the End of the World.  As melodramatic as that sounded, he was sure 
that it was the truth.

(*Dammit, Scully, if the world is going to end, I wanted to be with you...!*)

The zombie snarled again and lurched toward them, and Mulder prepared to sell 
himself dearly.

*BLAM*

*BLAM*

*BLAM*

The zombie collapsed.  Stunned, for a moment he could only stare up at the 
amazing sight of Dana Scully standing at the top of the stairs, her SIG Sauer 
held professionally in both hands.  Backed by the light from the kitchen, her 
hair was a flame-colored halo, and for a moment Mulder thought wildly that she 
might actually be an angel, after all...

(*If the Archangel Michael has a sister, that's what she looks like!*)

He glanced down at Frank Black then, and their eyes met in a moment of 
perfect concord.

"It's over," Frank said softly, his usually low voice hushed with awe.  "It's 
really over..."

Hours of pain, fear and bloodloss caught up with Mulder quite suddenly, and 
he went to his knees hard, cradling his torn arm against his body, fighting not 
to drop the revolver.

"Mulder!"  Scully dashed down the stairs, holstering her weapon as she came.

Frank caught Mulder and kept him from collapsing completely.  He sat up, 
himself, and took the revolver from the other agent's weakening grasp.

"I'm all right.  I'm all right..."  Mulder insisted.

"You obviously aren't all right, Agent Mulder," Frank's voice rumbled.  "He's 
lost a lot of blood," he added, turning to glance at Scully as she dropped to 
her knees beside them and reached for her partner.

"I see that," Scully's practiced eye was judging the size of the blood stain 
on Mulder's shirt, the fine tremor that she could feel rather than see as her 
hands found his throat to judge his pulse.  It was racing, but then, so was 
hers.  "Mulder?  Are you cold?"

He chuckled and pushed far enough away from Black's hold to grin at her.  "Am 
I in shock?" he interpreted her question.  "Probably.  Aren't you?  We WON!  
We saved the world!"

Any other conversation seemed foolish in the face of that statement.  Black 
and Scully helped Mulder stand, and Frank helped him up the stairs.

Once they were safely above ground, Frank locked the basement behind them, 
and went to check on his prisoner.

Scully guided Mulder to a kitchen chair, where he sat down heavily and leaned 
on the table with his good arm.

"Mulder?  How long were you down there?"

Now he was visibly shivering.  "I don't know.  Too long.  I killed the first 
one, but the second one ripped my arm up and I lost my SIG.  I couldn't find 
it in the dark, so all I could do was make a circle of salt and hope it worked. 
I didn't know the spells, so I had to hope that the salt alone was enough.  
I guess it was."

"Salt?" she asked, carefully peeling his shredded jacket off him.  She could 
see that the bleeding had essentially stopped, except for an 
almost-insignificant trickle. 

"There was an empty fifty-pound bag of salt in the trash outside the gate.  
There was a handful left so I pocketed it."

"It saved your life," Black said as he joined them.

Mulder nodded.  "I guess."  He flinched when Scully started peeling away his 
shirt.  She found his tie looped around his upper arm in a fair attempt at a 
tourniquet.

"Nice job, Mulder.  You must have been listening during one of your first aid 
refreshers."

Scully turned to Black.  "My Gladstone is out in my car; would you get it for 
me, please?"  She dug her keys out of her pocket and handed them to him.  "In 
the trunk."

"Certainly."

"Thanks."

Unwilling to go any farther in treating her partner's injuries without her 
supplies, Scully looked around the room.  She saw a telephone mounted on the 
wall nearby.

"Oh, good!"

Mulder lifted his head off the table and watched her listen for a tone then 
dial a familiar number on the old-fashioned circular dial.  Talking took a lot 
of effort and he made no attempt to speak, conserving strength that seemed to 
be draining away.

"AD Skinner?  I found Mulder and Frank Black.  The situation has been 
resolved.  We have a prisoner: the Necromancer.  Mulder's hurt."  She listened 
briefly.  

"No, sir.  Mr Black and I are uninjured.  One of the... one of the deceased 
agents tore Mulder's  arm up pretty badly."  There was another pause, and she 
threw her partner a sly grin.

"Yes, sir.  But I believe we can recover the weapon easily; he lost it when 
he was attacked in the Necromancer's basement.  The weapon's still there.  We 
just haven't found it yet.  It's dark down there; I'd rather wait for 
daylight."  There was another pause as she listened to her supervisor.

Mulder felt a surge of irritation; he hated being harassed for losing his 
weapon.  He did not drop or otherwise lose his weapon any more than any other 
field agent, but both Scully and Skinner were constantly on his case about it.

"No, sir.  I don't believe air evacuation is necessary; I can patch him up 
well enough for him to survive the trip to the nearest hospital by car."  There 
followed a series of questions that she answered briefly in the affirmative.  
Then the conversation was plainly over; Scully's body language changed with 
her tone.  "Thank you, sir.  Happy New Year to you, too, sir.  From both of us."

Mulder froze.  (*Could she really think of us as 'us'?  We aren't a couple... 
But would she say 'both of us' like that if she was adverse to the idea?  I 
know she likes me.  We're bonded by common experience, belief, pain and grief. 
But could there be more...?*)

He knew he loved her desperately.  Was there any real possibility that she 
loved him?

There were several ways to find out; he had spent an unconscionable amount of 
time, over the years, fantasizing about ways to winnow that information out 
of her.  He started going through that well-worn list in his head.  
Preoccupied, he was startled when Scully's voice interrupted his cogitations.

"Mulder?  Mulder?"

He blinked at her and was startled to see that not only had Frank brought her 
Gladstone bag in from the car without him noticing, but she had actually laid 
out her supplies.  She was ready to start on his arm.

She was studying him, concern clear in her expression.  "Mulder, can you 
focus on me?"

"Yeah.  I think."

"Try.  You can sleep in the car."

"Promise?" he asked with a wan smile.

"Yes."

***

(In the car, shortly after midnight, January 1, 2000)

Scully decided that home, easily within reach under normal circumstances, was 
not a practical goal at the present time.  The roads were crowded with 
drunken revelers.  She and Mulder were both exhausted and Mulder was asleep in the 
passenger seat of her car.  She had asked the admissions nurse in the emergency 
room for a nearby hotel or motel and had received a hastily-sketched map.  
She had put Mulder into her car and was heading that way.

Her mind kept shifting from practical planning to reveling in the memory of 
the moment at midnight when everything had changed.

(*He kissed me!*) 

She was thrilled, excited, pleased, relieved... She was feeling so many 
different emotions that she really could not name them all and was too giddy to 
try.  

(*He kissed me!*)

Part of her was trying to calm her down, reminding her that a kiss at 
midnight on New Years Eve was de rigueur, that it meant nothing special.  One was 
expected to kiss one's companion at that time.  Her dad had kissed her on New 
Years when she was a child old enough to stay up that late.

The other part of her was so elated she could hardly think.  

(*He kissed me!*)

She glanced at him and felt a wave of tenderness.  He was sound asleep.  He 
had managed to function relatively well, saying goodbye to Frank Black and 
smiling indulgently at little Jordan Black's undisguised delight at seeing her dad 
again.  

(*He kissed me!*)

After that, however, he had accompanied her out to the car, but almost at 
once had succumbed to exhaustion of adrenaline on top of the suppression of his 
pain with the analgesic medications prescribed by the trauma specialist who had 
treated him.

She let him sleep while she drove to the hotel and got them a double room.  
She had no intention of leaving him alone for the foreseeable future.  She 
tried to convince herself that she was simply concerned with his medical and 
psychological condition.  She failed miserably.

(*He kissed me!*)

She managed to chivvy him out of the car and into the room without too much 
difficulty, though he really did not wake up very far.  She found herself 
immensely flattered, as always, that her voice alone had such influence on him that 
he would trust and obey without question when he could not function on his 
own behalf.

Once inside, the long-standing patterns of their common existence took over.  
Mulder looked around, realized groggily that he was in a hotel room, and 
limped tiredly into the bathroom.  Satisfied that he was managing, Scully went 
back out to the car to grab the overnight bags that they had each brought along 
on this mission.  They were both too accustomed to unexpected developments in 
investigations to have been certain that they could get home every night.  They 
each routinely brought a toiletry kit and several changes of clothes.  

When Scully came back into the hotel room, Mulder was in the nearer of the 
two beds and sound asleep, sprawled shirtless on his back, mostly under the 
blankets, his wounded arm cradled against his chest and held in place by the 
second pillow.  Smiling indulgently, Scully set his bag beside the bathroom door 
where he would see it the next time he got up, and took her own into the 
bathroom.

She emerged a few minutes later wearing the shorts and shirt of her favorite 
silk pajamas.  She yawned, surprising herself with how tired she really was.  
She paused at his bedside to check him, touching his forehead very lightly to 
check for fever, his throat for a pulse.

He opened his eyes and focused on her exhaustedly.  When he recognized her, 
he swallowed hard.

"Scully...?"

There was trepidation in his tone, and she caught her breath.  "Yes?"

"I can do better."

For a moment, she was totally at a loss to understand what he meant.  Then 
she smiled gently.  "You did fine, Mulder," she said softly.  

"I chickened."

She smiled.  "You're wounded and exhausted and drugged to the eyeballs.  You 
did fine."  She sat down on the edge of his bed, close beside him, and brushed 
his cheek with the backs of her fingers.  He turned his head into the caress 
and she shivered as his beard stubble scraped lightly against her skin.  She 
could not help but imagine how that stubble would feel when brushed against 
other parts of her body.

"Scully...?"  He was fighting exhaustion.

She leaned down and kissed him on the end of his nose.  "Go to sleep, Mulder. 
 We'll discuss this in the morning, when there's a hope you'll actually 
recall the dialogue later."

"Promise?"  He could not hide his relief and did not try.

She nodded solemnly.  "I promise.  Even if you forget this conversation, I 
won't forget, and we will not let this drop."

Satisfied, he stopped fighting to stay awake.  "Thanks, Scully," he murmured, 
letting his eyes fall shut.

"You're welcome, Mulder.  Sweet dreams."  She kissed him again, this time on 
his temple, and he smiled but did not open his eyes.

***
  
(In the hotel room, just before dawn, New Year's Day, 2000)

Scully came awake suddenly.  For a moment she was unsure what had disturbed 
her sleep.  Then she heard it.

Mulder was sobbing.

She rolled out of the other bed and hurried to his side.  

He was asleep, sprawled out across the entire bed, only partially covered, 
arms and legs akimbo.  The bandaging on his wounded arm was ragged and a little 
bloody, as if he had been clawing at it in his sleep.

She sat down beside him, reached for his blood-smeared wrist.  "Mulder?  
Mulder, wake up," she spoke softly.  "Mulder, wake up."

He heard her, and she was shocked at his response.  He froze and then lifted 
his chin as if offering his throat.  Tears were still running down his face.  

She touched his throat gently with her fingertips, acknowledging his offer 
without taking it.  "Mulder, wake up."  She had to repeat herself several more 
times before his eyes opened.

"Sss- Scully?"

"You were sobbing in your sleep," she explained.  "You tore your bandage."

He looked away.  "Thanks."

"What were you dreaming?"

He shuddered and pulled his wrist away from her.

"Mulder, please.  You... you were submitting to someone."  She could not hide 
how disturbed this made her feel.  

He lifted his good hand toward her; she leaned a little forward so he would 
not have to stretch.  He would not meet her eyes, however, as his fingertips 
brushed lightly over the bandage at her throat.

"It was you."

She was startled when he answered her.  He was rarely willing to talk about 
his nightmares, and since she was rarely inclined to share her own, she usually 
did not insist.  "What was me?"

"The fourth zombie.  The Fourth Horseman.  It was you in the basement.  I 
knew what I had to do... and I couldn't...  I couldn't...  It was you..."  He 
rolled to bury his face in the pillow, and Scully realized he was crying again.

Scully hugged herself, shivering.  He had dreamed that he had lost her, and 
his own inability to deal with her - as - undead had made him derelict in his 
duty, and responsible for the success of the group's effort to bring on 
Armageddon.

He was blaming himself for letting the end of the world happen.

"Mulder, it was just a dream.  I'm right here, I'm okay, you're okay, and 
that's how I wanted this to end!"

"I'm sorry..."  

He was still crying; she wondered if he had even heard her.  "Mulder.  
Mulder, stop.  Stop.  Look at me!"  She
pushed his good shoulder, rolling him onto his back again so she could see 
him.  

He made no attempt to dissuade her, but simply allowed himself to be 
manipulated.  

"Mulder, do you have any idea how flattering that is?" she paused for 
reaction but she did not get one; she clearly was not making any sense to him, so she 
made shift to explain.  "According to that nightmare, subconsciously you 
value me above yourself, your honor, your call to duty... even above the existence 
of our species.  How can I not be awestruck?  My God, Mulder!  Why didn't you 
ever tell me?"

He was trying to regain some self-control as the nightmare faded.  "I have 
told you," he said dully.  "You just didn't believe me.  Or you pretended not to 
believe rather than use the cliches like wanting to stay friends or not 
ruining our partnership.  That was uncharacteristically cruel of you; it let me 
pretend I still had a chance..."

She could only stare at him.  "What are you talking about?"

He wilted completely.  "You don't even remember.  Fine.  Thanks, Scully."  He 
started to roll the other way over, to turn his back on her, and stopped 
abruptly when his motion pinned his wounded arm underneath him.  Reluctantly, 
moving very carefully, he relaxed back onto his back.  "I'll be fine; it was just 
a nightmare.  Ignore it.  I plan to."

He shut his eyes, hoping she would take the hint and leave him alone.  But 
she was not moving, and he really did not know what else he could do or say that 
would not make this horrible situation even worse.

The silence continued to drag on and grew uncomfortable.  Finally unable to 
stand it any longer, he opened his eyes to look.

She was crying.

She was sitting on the edge of his bed, her hands wringing one another 
desperately and tears ran down a  face twisted with emotion he was afraid to label.  
Without any conscious decision on his part, his hands went out to hers and he 
held her hands with both of his and made her stop the mindless wringing 
before she tore that so-soft skin.

She flinched at his touch and he nearly let go, thinking he had offended or 
angered her.  But she did not pull away, so he held on.  He did not really know 
why: he had been rejected by professionals but none had hurt as much as this 
amateur effort.

The silence was getting awkward again but he did not know what to say.  She 
had managed to regain some of her self-control, and she had let go of his hands 
so she could use some of the tissues from the box on the nightstand.

"I don't know what else I can say."  He finally gave up searching for the 
right thing to say and admitted it.  "Why are you so upset?"

"Do you remember midnight?"

Now he was totally confused and glanced at the clock on the nightstand for 
the time.  2:57am clicked over to 2:58am as he watched.  He looked back at her.  
"Three hours ago?  I guess not.  I remember the zombie ripping my arm up."

"You killed one then, Frank killed one, you killed the third after Frank went 
down, and then I arrived and took out the last one..."  She paused after each 
phrase, hoping each would prompt his memory.

"I remember threatening that doctor's future reproductive effectiveness 
unless he waited for the local to actually start working before he started poking 
around in my arm."

"And do you remember seeing Jordan Black?"

He frowned, visibly concentrating.  "Frank's kid?"

She could tell that he did not even recall the child's gender.  "Frank took 
his daughter and left."

He still looked puzzled, clearly not understanding where she was going.  
"Okay.  What then?"

"We watched the New Year's ball drop, Mulder."

He sighed.  "So we can't party like it's 1999?"

But she was shaking her head.  "No.  We defeated the Millennium Group, 
Mulder... but at midnight the world changed anyway."

He swallowed hard.  "Scully, c'mon!  I don't remember any of this...!"

"At midnight you kissed me, Mulder."

Stunned, his jaw dropped.  Horror began to bubble up into his throat.  "Oh, 
my God.  Scully, I'm sorry.  It must have been a spur-of-the-moment impulse.  
It's kinda traditional right then, right?  I--"

She stopped him with a finger to his lips.  The touch surprised him... but 
parts of him were more than just surprised.

"Mulder, you don't need to apologize.  You did that already."

He forced himself to relax.  She was being understanding; she might let him 
live.

"I promise, Scully: it will never happen again..."

She was leaning awfully close and he found himself wishing that he was not 
caught flat on his back in bed.  He was pretty effectively trapped here: with an 
injury on one side and Scully sitting on the other side, he could not escape 
her.

==I never thought I'd want to escape from her...==

Her hands came to rest on either side of his head and he felt her lean 
against his body.  Then her lips brushed his.

"I didn't say I didn't like it," she pointed out gently.  She leaned down 
again, this time pressing a real kiss onto his mouth and backing again.  "In 
fact, you promised me you could do better and I'm not letting you off that hook.  
Kiss me, Mulder."

He was holding himself still with control so ironclad it surprised him.  
"Don't play with me; I can't be casual about this with you.  I love you, Scully.  
I don't want to play games and I don't want a one-time pity fuck.  You don't 
love me: you've made that abundantly clear.  I thought you at least respected 
me."

She sat up, shocked.  "Mulder!"

"What?"  He was tired of the tension and the sparring and the tiptoeing 
around that had marked their partnership for so long, but just now he was too weary 
to continue the dance.

She paused, visibly collecting her thoughts.  "Mulder, I promised you, after 
the kiss, that we would talk about our relationship after you'd slept off some 
of the medications.  You were too chemically-readjusted to handle a real 
conversation but not so far gone that you didn't realize it.

"I was quite startled when you kissed me.  It was sweet and chaste... and 
afterwards, once we got here, you promised me you could do better.  Listen to me, 
Mulder.  Ever since the first touch of your lips I have been fantasizing 
about what that better kiss would be like, what might go with it...  You're the 
only man in my life, Mulder, and you have been pretty much since the Boggs case. 
From the moment I heard that gunshot out on the dock I knew I couldn't ever 
bear losing you.  I compare every man I meet to you and they all come up 
short.  I can't even imagine a date with anyone else, much less anything more than 
that."

He was shocked speechless, staring at her.

"I'm not a wordsmith like you are," she continued without a pause.  "I can't 
make the language sing.  And your obsessions rule your life: Samantha and the 
X Files.  I never suspected there was room in your life for anyone else, so I 
kept quiet."

He swallowed hard, lifted one hand to touch the tears on her face.  "I 
thought I was pretty blatant about my feelings," he said softly.  "I handed my 
sister over to a Bounty Hunter to get you back safe.  Agent Bocks told me I was 
wearing my heart on my sleeve while we were driving out to Donnie Pfaster's place 
to rescue you.  Skinner and the Gunmen have certainly told you how 
dysfunctional I was when you were abducted..."

She shook her head.  "I never asked," she admitted.  "I didn't want to reveal 
myself that much... and I didn't think I could handle it if they told me that 
you were just angry, or maybe that you were okay."

"I wasn't in the same time zone as okay," he assured her.  "The only person I 
could talk to was your mother, because I knew she was hurting as much as I 
was."

"She tried to tell me you were in love with me," Scully nodded.  "But she's 
been trying to match me up with every eligible man in my life or in hers since 
I turned twenty-one.  I hardly listen any more."

He sighed.  "So much pain, Scully.  And we could have avoided it all if we'd 
ever just talked."

She smiled tremulously.  "This is the closest we've ever come to a personal 
conversation."

"I said the words," he said wistfully.  "Can you?"

"I love you, Mulder," she said at once.  "I don't know why it was so hard to 
say it before."

"Neither do I," he grinned.  "But now we've said it."

"Now, where was I when I was so rudely interrupted...?" she murmured, bending 
over him again.

This time he relaxed and gave her what she wanted.  This time the kiss was 
anything but chaste; when she pressed her mouth to his he opened and sucked her 
in.  She moaned and slid her hands across his bared chest.  His arms came up 
and wrapped around her to pull her closer.  

The motion tugged at his stitches and he winced, but he refused to let such 
an insignificant discomfort interfere.

Scully pushed herself away and sat up.  

He looked up at her, noting her heaving breast and flushed skin, her eyes 
already gone dark with passion.  "What?"

"Mulder, can you do this right now?  You're exhausted and your blood supply 
is sub-par.  Plus those meds..."

He sighed.  "Do you ever not think like a doctor?" 

"Do you ever not think like a profiler?" she countered.  "I'm not backing 
down, I promise.  I want this; I want you.  But I'm exhausted just from the 
conversation we just had."

He slid his hands under the fine silk of her top, and she smiled as she felt 
his hands moving against her.

"That doesn't mean that you have to wait, you know."  His voice was a low 
rumble that she could feel rolling over her skin.  "There's more than one way to 
skin a cat and I'm fairly creative in some areas of endeavor..."

She smiled and reached for the bottom button of her pajama top and unbuttoned 
it.  His hands rested on her hips and his eyes were on her hands and on the 
pale soft skin she was revealing.   The second button came open and then the 
third.  She pushed the fabric aside and he accepted the invitation.  He ran his 
hands lightly up her ribs and cupped her breasts, rubbing her nipples gently 
with his thumbs.  

She threw her head back and arched her spine, pushing her breasts against his 
hands.  Her hips wanted to rock against him and it felt so good that she did 
not try to control herself.

He groaned.  "God, Scully...  You're overdressed."

She took a deep breath and pulled herself away from him long enough to shove 
the pajama bottoms off and kick them aside.  She stood beside the bed and took 
hold of the blankets still covering him.

"Your turn," she grinned, tugging the blanket away and dropping it on the 
floor.  Then she gasped.

He had been sleeping nude.  Exposed now, he shivered a little.  "C'mon back 
up here," he rumbled, his voice so low that she thought she could feel it 
through her bones more than she could hear it.  She felt her center go soft and 
liquid and trembled with anticipation.

"Scully...?" he pushed himself up onto his good arm, frowning a little at her 
hesitation.

"Sorry," she smiled quickly.  "I didn't realize you weren't wearing 
anything... and the tower of power there startled me."

He laughed at the silly euphemism.  "It's not meant to be just stared at," he 
reminded her.  "C'mon back up here."

With malice aforethought, she climbed up by his feet and crawled up his body. 
Her eyes riveted on his, despite the formidable obstruction between them, 
she licked and nipped and kissed her leisurely way up the insides of his thighs 
until she was nuzzling through the thick dark hair of his groin like a cat 
with catnip.

Mulder's eyes were squeezed closed, his teeth gritted and his hands fisted 
tightly in the bedclothes.  When he heard her hum her approval he moaned.

"Oh...  God...  Oh...  God...  Ohhh..."

She licked him once from base to tip and his entire body reacted, lurching 
upward.

"Scully, be careful!" he pleaded.  "I'm way too close to coming!"

"Hmmm..." she hummed again.  "I can tell.  What's your pleasure, Mulder?  
Top?  Bottom?  Trapeze?"

He laughed shakily.  "You've been doing just fine, Scully.  I'm a guy; I'm 
not too picky.  Do what you want.  If you squick me I'll tell you."

She cocked her head to one side and he felt her hair brush against the 
sensitive skin of his inner thigh.

"'Squick'?" she asked.

"Do something I can't handle," he defined the word.

She rubbed the side of her face against his erection like a cat claiming a 
scratching post, and he moaned again.

"C'mon, Scully!  You're killin' me, here!"

She moved slowly to straddle his chest, and his body came up to meet her.

She chuckled.  "You don't have to just lie there and take what I dish out..."

"You're doing fine," he assured her again, his voice a little breathless.

"I think it's your turn, actually."

He focused on her.  "You need a hand?"

"Or a tongue," she nodded.  "Or a cock, or some combination; preferably 
yours."

Straddling his body as she was, she was open and accessible.  His hands moved 
up off the mattress, stroked her thighs briefly, then her hips, then both 
went into the shadows there.  While one hand anointed itself with her copious 
wetness, the other hand's thumb moved gently against her clit.

"Ohhhhhh..."  Her entire body shuddered as she rubbed against that cautious 
touch.  Her hands came up to cup her breasts and worry her nipples.

He pulled his dry hand away and laid it flat on the small of her back, right 
on his spot.  His slickened thumb  moved freely against her clit, and the 
fingers tickled her outer labia, making her hips rock in response.  When she 
rocked against his hand just right he rammed two fingers up inside her hard.

She wailed and her hands clenched on her own breasts, leaving the flesh 
reddened.  Panting, she kept rocking, peripherally aware that it was his free hand 
behind her that was making this so intense: he was pulling her toward him, 
onto his other hand.  His hand was so big that he could easily be deep inside her 
with his fingers without ever stopping his ruthless assault on her clit.

"Ohh...  Harder...  Harder...  Please...!"

He could feel her inner walls trembling against his invasion, knew she was 
nearly there.  He added a third finger and closed his hand, curling those three 
inward to find the G-spot as his thumb clamped down on her clit, pinning it 
against her pubic bone.  She was sobbing, wailing as she moved desperately once, 
twice, thrice...

...and she detonated.  Ecstacy roared up her body until she had to scream to 
let it out.

He watched her body convulse in his hands, her arms outstretched and her head 
thrown back in a dance he knew he would never tire of watching.  He was ready 
when she collapsed onto his chest, panting.  He pulled his hand out, smiling 
when she mewled a wordless protest.  He cuddled her close.  

She was still trying to catch her breath when she felt herself rolled onto 
her back.  Her knees fell open of their own accord and when she felt him settle 
into the cradle of her hips she wrapped herself around him longingly.  His 
mouth sealed itself over hers and as his tongue insinuated itself into her mouth, 
squirming and rubbing and taking the time to make her feel every millimeter 
of slow, teasing advance, so his cock made entry into her body slowly.  His 
weight held her body pinned: she could not move against him enough to hurry him 
and she whined with frustration even as her inner muscles were forced to 
stretch to accept the invader.

He maintained that double penetration, keeping tongue and cock synchronized 
as he withdrew very slowly, letting her bite and clutch and tear at him trying 
to keep him inside.  Then he plunged deep again harshly, forcing his way 
inside until he could go no farther.  He paused there for only a moment, and then 
began the slow, inexorable withdrawal again, followed by another powerful, 
almost brutal thrust home.  Another agonizingly slow withdrawal, but this time, 
since she was braced for the hammer, this time he came back in more gently, 
settled into a rhythm that made her moan in appreciation.

When he plunged in deep and hard one more time and rested within her, 
panting, she wrapped herself around  him, trying to move him.  When he backed slowly 
out she braced herself, but his return overpowered her as he came back;  her 
head snapped back and she began to claw at his body.  She tightened her grip on 
him and tried to hold him inside, but he was stronger, and he pulled out.

Up on all fours above her, he bent to kiss her briefly, gently.  "I love you 
so much..." he whispered.  Then he moved her unresisting body, rolling her 
over.  He flattened his hand on her belly and pushed upward a bit; she took the 
hint and went up on all fours, herself.

He moved over her, so much bigger than her that she seemed to disappear into 
his shadow.  He plunged back inside and she thrust herself back against him as 
hard as she could.  He needed to hold her; one hand went between her legs so 
that his thrusts would push her clit against his hand.  She began to howl in 
time to his thrusts.  His other arm held her body against his own, his hand 
tight on one breast.  Thrusting hard and steady, he needed still more contact, 
some way to make her wail even louder.  Animal inspiration made him grab at the 
back of her neck with his teeth.  She shuddered violently, and he felt his 
climax hit him like a train.  He straightened with a roar, pulling her down 
savagely as he thrust up into her.  She screamed as she came again, shuddering 
against the rock hard body that held her so tightly, so helpless.

She went limp against his hold, and he collapsed on top of her, still buried 
deep inside; that final stroke wrung another spasm out of her.  Panting, he 
pulled her close, tucked her underneath him, spooned tightly against her and 
held her, unwilling to let her go.

They drifted on the edge of sleep for some time, until their breathing evened 
out and their hearts calmed, till the sweat on their skin turned cool and 
they found themselves snuggling together for warmth.  He moved, finally, to 
retrieve the blanket, then came back to her, reclaimed his place and covered them 
both.

When they woke up, it was to an entirely new world.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Blessed Be With Peace!
Linda

Technically, the "reason for the season" is axial tilt.

"The Prohibitionist must always be a person of no moral character; 
for he cannot even conceive of the possibility of a man capable of resisting 
temptation."
---Aleister Crowley 
(in THE GREEN GODDESS, a treatise on absinthe)

"A government big enough to give you everything you want is a government big 
enough to take from you everything you have." 
--- Gerald R. Ford