Title: A Pleasure Place
Author: Spock

Rating: NC-17

Category: MSR, MPOV, yes, it's MPOV all the way, even if sometimes it
doesn't seem like it. Bear with me!

Spoilers: One Breath, FTF, Triangle, Biogenesis, The Sixth Extinction,
The Sixth Extinction: Amor Fati, Millennium

Summary: Mulder's arch nemesis missed a spot when he molested Mulder's
brain, and, consequently,  Mulder retained his telepathic skills.
However, this ability might be the mark of separation between him and
Scully.

Author's note: A Pleasure Place is a sequel to A Spot, so you might
want to read that one to understand this one, since this one begins
where that one left off.

This story is dedicated to a special group of people. You know who you
are! Me loves you! And can you spot the Wellers, girls? :)

Feedback: always appreciated at spockdaggoo@yahoo.co.uk

xxxxxxxxxx

Her bed creaked softly as they shifted closer to each other. He lifted
his hand to the swell of her left breast, reveling in her aroused
trepidation. She wanted to watch his index finger nudge her erect
nipple, but felt frustration as he decided to avoid it.

He trailed his fingers over her ribcage, not able to hide his smirk.
He knew what affect he had on her, and it aroused him to no end. He
could see it in her eyes and hear it in her thoughts. She had often
wondered what his fingers would feel like on her body, fingers that
didn't want to comfort or guide her through doors, but fingers that
wanted to please her, and now she was beginning to learn.

He knew she couldn't wait, couldn't wait for him to finally take her.
The languidness of his caress was torturing her. She closed her eyes,
already picturing him moving above her, already feeling the way he
stretched her vagina with his extraordinarily big shaft and suckled
her nipples with his marvellously lucious lips, already imagining him
doing those things she had dreamt he would do to her.

He walked his fingers down toward her belly button, deliberately
sluggishly. Her desire already had him further down, this reality
frustrating her to no end and titillating him beyond reason.

He reveled in his smug thoughts, but was interrupted by what he heard
suddenly, hissing warily underneath her thoughts of passion and
fulfillment. He stilled his fingers and listened.

What he could hear, if he listened carefully, was a distinct sadness,
looming within a darkened corner of her conscious. She wanted to know.
Knowing how she always needed to understand and categorize, he knew
she really needed to know.

Yes, he knew she was in love with him and was hungry for his body, but
she also wanted to gain insight into his conscious. She wanted, so
badly, to hear what he was thinking, the way he was hearing her
thoughts.

He could sense she struggled not to think about it, struggled to think
of only the imminent pleasure they would attain together, but her
rational mind needed confirmation.

He let his hand rest on her lower abdomen. He took a deep breath. She
implored him with her eyes and silent will that he not read her mind.
She fought so hard to hide this from him. She wanted to be with him,
more than anything, but could they be together for real when there was
so much they didn't share?

Mulder looked at her. She lay before him,  so open and vulnerable, and
he nodded at her, trying his damnest not to reveal his own bitterness
as he buried his face in her neck and whispered

"Tell me, Scully, tell me what you want to know"

He didn't really have to ask. He heard her trying to damp down her
hesitation. He heard the debate in her head. He knew her urgency, the
need in her unspoken words, knew that she wanted their naked proximity
to develop into complete intimacy, body and mind, but she thought it
would not work because they were not on the same page. Could he really
be wanting the same things as she was? Could he really love her the
way she loved him?

The questions plagued her, and Mulder wanted to shout his love for her
from the rooftops. But would it help? Would she believe him?

He nestled his face firmer against her warm neck, because she wanted
to have him there, as close as possible, so she could reach around him
with her arms to make sure he'd stay.

She had a hard time believing he was finally in her bed, naked, half
on top of her, ready to make love to her and cherish her. He couldn't
quite believe it either and nestled even closer.

They had both waited so long for this moment, thinking that they would
never see the day when their most inner desire would become sweet
reality. And now that they had finally reached this point, they were
both wary, they were both reconsidering.

He breathed her in, memorizing the scent of her lingering perfume,
mixed with her intoxicatingly genuine sweat. Her skin was so soft and
he had to touch her. He let his fingers rub lazy circles around her
navel. She prayed his fingers would find her nipples or venture
further south. She needed confirmation of his love. He pulled away and
looked at her.

It had been such a long time since she had had reason to smile. She
had had nothing to smile about. She had been miserable. Lonely. She
had cried in her painful loneliness for such a long time. She had
suffered when he had been taken away and carved into. She had suffered
when she had found him like that, half-dead on a that icy slab.
Suffered and cried for him, yet she had been utterly relieved that he
had been half-alive. And this night she had finally smiled, but her
smile had evaporated almost as soon as it had found its place on her
lips.

He heard and watched her sadness grow in intensity. Would she end up
losing him? She looked at his arm. She had almost lost him to those
zombies in that cold basement. Maybe this difference between them
would not matter, she forced herself to reason. Maybe his ability
would not drive them apart? She managed a wince as their eyes met
again. Something else would, but not this? Surely?

He pressed himself  to her bosom, swallowing bitter regret. Scully was
torn, still so pained, and he was the cause, wasn't he? He was always
the cause, and now they were both wavering between lust and
hesitation.

Ironically, they were so alike, even if they thought they were miles
apart. Should he tell her that? Should he tell her their minds were so
in sync it was ridiculous?

He wanted to be engulfed by her warmth, he wanted to crawl into her
never to emerge again. He knew she was counting his heartbeats, trying
to figure out how many she would experience before they would
ultimately decide to part ways. He wanted to cry out to her that that
would never come to pass, that he loved her and would never leave her
side.

He wanted to look at her tenderly, to sooth her agitation, but was
petrified by the fear within him.

What if Scully was right? What if his place wasn't in her warm
embrace?

As he found his resolve to look at her again and their eyes met, she
was communicating to him the importance of the moment. They had to
make sure that they would treasure this, because nothing would ever be
as important to her as their relationship. Nothing. He nodded at her,
sharing her sentiment completely. This meant everything to him.

"I won't jeopardise this"

He struggled to sound convincing, delivering his words as soothingly
as he could, and it seemed to ease her somewhat. He sighed with wary
relief, and gave her a quick kiss.

He would have to convince her of his passion for her. He would have to
let her know, there was nothing in this world that would ever sever
the bond between them. He would have to give her a thousand kisses and
love her forever.

They had journeyed together for seven years, he wasn't planning on
leaving her now. Nothing would drive them apart. Nothing. Not even his
mind.

She wanted him. She wanted him to finally take her, and he gladly
shifted to be able to look at her face from above. His heart felt
rejuvinated at the thoughts that radiated off of her now.

She loved being there, underneath him, under the influence of his
intense gaze, under the pressure of his big, warm body. She loved his
eyes, his mouth, the intense expression of his hedgehog hair.

He smirked at her, and she rolled her eyes, yet wanting his hedgehog
hair to tickle her breasts, sooner rather than later.

They could do this. They could make love and forget what had been done
to him, to both of them.

"Kiss me", she squeaked, letting her hands wander down to his
buttocks, beginning an exploring massage.

He had heard her silently beg for him to kiss her on New Year's, and
he would have kissed her even if she hadn't begged and he hadn't been
able to read her thoughts. It was the only thing to do in the
situation they had been. Sweet necessity.

He should have used tongue, he reasoned, suddenly remembering hearing
her mind spewing disappointment at him at the lack of tongue and the
exaggeration of chasteness his kiss had turned out to deliver. He had
mourned his ineptitude vehemently.

She had wanted more and he had been to chicken shit to give it to her
then. That was going to change now. He'd not only kiss, he'd wordship
her mouth with his tongue, make sure no crevice was neglected.

She squirmed underneath him, wanting to taste his tongue, yes, but
really needing him to go down on her.

"The lips say one thing, but the mind..."

He offered his words in a hoarse whisper, but regretted them as soon
as he perceived Scully's silent response. He had involuntarily managed
to remind her of the fact that he knew her mind when she didn't know
his. Yes, she thought his voice was the most erotic thing she had ever
heard, and knowing that he knew exactly what she wanted, was a huge
turn on for her, but at the same time it was chipping away at the
bridge uniting them.

She was loving being so exposed to him, she was an open book to him
and wanted to be read, cover to cover, every single word, but she also
wanted to be able to read him.

And could she ever be secretive and mysterious? She would never be
able to surprise him with a goofy gift, never be able to catch him off
guard the way lovers sometimes did, she would never be one hundred
percent sure they were on the same page.

She wanted him to enter, she wanted him inside of her, wanted him to
run his fingers over the ink of her skin, but she could never guard
her emotions or save herself from hurt.

Maybe she should settle for the vibrator she'd purchased at The
Pleasure Place on Connecticut Avenue? Maybe Big Bad Mama had been
right? <This'll replace any lover out there, Hon>.

He closed his eyes. He wanted to turn off the ability, but it wouldn't
budge. It was firmly infesting his brain tissue. He wanted to be rid
of his mindprobing skills, will them away, but he didn't succeed. If
it could upset her like this, their relationship would be doomed.

As he, involuntarily, listened to her sentiment, he knew she still
harbored insecurity, too,  and self doubt, still thought his heart
wasn't in it, that he didn't really love her, not the way that she
loved him. And a vibrator? He would never be replaced by a vibrator.
Because she wanted him. Right?

She thought about how they were too different, too far apart in the
way they thought, in the way they lived their lives, in the way they
looked. He was tall, she was short. All of those things she had
agonized over before the events of tonight were resurfacing.

She didn't expect foreplay or tender murmurs, didn't require those
things of him because she didn't really believe he could genuinely
love her, not the way she loved him.

"You'll be sore in the morning, Scully, in places you never dreamed
of", he growled as he attacked her ear with his tongue and teeth.

He wanted to let her know what she was doing to him. He would show her
tonight. He would start and he wasn't going to stop. He was going to
go as far as he could, for as long as he could. He was going to make
her understand that he was hers. Completely. He cupped her jaw and
made her look up into his eyes.

He wanted to let her know she was his now and that he was giving
himself to her, even though she had owned him for more than five
years. Ever since she had been returned by the bastards that had taken
her, he had wanted to be the one to protect her and love her. And now
he wanted to be the one to do the taking. And she lay there, wanting
to be taken by him, trying her best to will her insecurity away,
trying her best to forget what he was doing with his mind and fully
focusing on what his body felt like on top of hers.

It was time.

He grabbed her hand and brought it to his pounding heart. He was going
to wear his heart on a sleeve, plain and visible to her, he vowed. No
secrets. He was going to be as open to her as she was to him.

She looked away. She didn't believe. What could he do? What could he
say that would convince her?

"You won't be able to walk once I'm through with you" , he hissed, and
he knew her breath caught in her throat. Her head snapped back and he
knew he had managed to startle her with the tone of his voice and the
straightforwardness of his remark. Her mind was suddenly void of
coherent thought. Good, he thought, she was slightly dazed, her body
awaiting sensation, her insecurities chased away. It was now or never.

Was it cruel irony then, so bitterly fitting, that when he let his
fingers wander down to his place of worship to test her arousal he was
overcome by a sense of shame?

Had he managed to reduce his partner, his Scully, to a mere object?
Was he happy now that he had managed to make her forget to think and
reflect? Was he happy to see her void of thought? Had he ever really
thought about the possibility that her surrendering herself in this
way would perhaps gnaw at her? Maybe it would change who she was, make
her more susceptible to hurt?

He hadn't thought of it, and the reality of it tasted bitter.

She had been violated so completely. The savages had rendered her
barren, they had given her a fatal disease that had almost served its
purpose, and the mental anguish of not remembering the ordeal had
carved at her reason. Now she lay here, wanting to be taken, spreading
her legs wider, searching for his cock with her palm, licking her lips
with her concentration to guide him, feeling frustration at the fact
that he retracted his fingers and his hips weren't moving.

He wanted to make all her fantasies come true, but he didn't want to
take advantage of her, didn't want to take her just because he knew
she was more than willing.

Dana Scully deserved more respect than that. She deserved to be on
equal footing with her lover. And they weren't on equal footing. She
was at a disadvantage, and he couldn't bring himself to take advantage
of that.

He was almost glad that she stopped the movement of her hand over his
shaft as she began to wonder about his thoughts. He knew she was
thinking about his silence.

She couldn't wrap her brain around him, not the way she wrapped her
palm around his flesh, and it agonized her. What did he really want
from her? She couldn't read his mind, the way he read hers. He could
sense the frustration within her stirring up again. She could only
gauge his gaze, study his expression, analyze the pulse she could see
pounding at his jugular, measure his love by the rod in her hand. Was
it love? Was it merely lust? Was it convenience? Opportunity?

What did he want from her? This wasn't just about her wants and needs,
was it? They were in this together, surely? He would help her cope
with it, wouldn't he? They weren't going to let his ability to read
her thoughts separate them, would they? This wasn't going to be
another obstacle bertween them, was it? This wasn't going to drive
them apart before they even had had the chance to be together, was it?

She let go of him, stifling a sob and looking away, pained.
Unfortunately, it was a pain Mulder shared.

It wasn't going to work.

He pulled away from her. And she turned away from him, trying to hide
her emotions and her shame. He didn't know what to say. He sat himself
on the edge of her bed, his face in his palms.

"God..."

He heard the agony in her voice. It matched the agony he felt. They
were both too fragile to make this work. Too insecure, too vulnerable.
He knew it as he read her mind.

She was watching him now, thinking about the rift their enemies had
managed to bestow on their relationship. She looked so small lying
there naked on her bed. The wheels in her brain were turning. Maybe
They had planned this all along? Planned to let Mulder keep the
ability to read thoughts, only to make sure she would never hold him
in her arms? To make her misery complete?

Her bosom ached for his warmth. She wanted him. She would never stop
wanting him. She would never stop loving him. And he shared those
sentiments with her. As he got up and walked towards her livingroom,
he shared her tears of disbelief.

"Scully, just...keep loving me", he whispered as he reached her
livingroom.

"Just keep loving me...", he croaked through his tears as he pulled up
his boxers.

He reached for his jeans, feeling nothing but numbness. He knew she
was crying in the bedroom, feeling she was to blame. He brushed away
his own tears, quickly buttoned his jeans and put on his turtleneck.
He had to let this one go. He had to let Scully go?

He shook his head, not believing that he was actually going to leave
her place, to leave Her.

He turned the doorknob and her emotions flooded his senses, pouring
into his brain and heart with the kind of force only complete
devastation can germ.

She was again clutching her pillow, cramplike, sobbing,  pretending
the white softness was his warm torso. What had she done wrong? What
had he wanted?

Should she have done something differently? Had she hesitated too
much? Did he have fantasies that needed fulfilling? Couldn't she
fulfill those? Wasn't she enough? He had seen her now, so bared, and
decided she would not fill the empty spot in his life?

"No...", he whispered, tears clogging his throat.

He opened the door to let himself out.

"No!", he heard her shout, and he froze. She came pounding into the
livingroom determined to make him stay. The bedcovers she was
clutching to her fell to the floor as she threw herself at him, and he
managed to close the door so no one would see her so bared.

He answered her silent plea and lifted her off the floor into his lap.
Her short bob bounced desperately around her teary face, and he wanted
to touch it, but had to hold her and steady himself where he stood,
her straddling his lap in midair, kissing his face for all she was
worth.

She felt wild and wanted to touch him all over. He walked back into
the bedroom with her, letting her mouth free reign of his face, and
her fingers roam his back where they could reach.

She could not get enough of him. She needed to have him tonight. Even
if it was just for one night. Surely they could manage a night
together? Surely they could forget about his ability for one night?
Surely they could let their bodies do the talking?

He carried her to the bed and lay her down, gently this time. He
reversed his actions from moments ago and undressed.

There was no need for quiet reflection, no need for thought. Thoughts
and second thoughts came second to their desire.

She lay on her bed, watching him. She felt wild and wanted to
surrender to him completely.  He walked to the edge of the bed and put
one knee on the silk softness of the sheets. She let her left leg fall
to the side, and he reached out to touch her cheek as he positioned
himself between her spread legs. She reached for him.

His cock was in her grasp, and he was flooded by her thoughts, as if
the corporeal contact forced the mental connection.

She communicated to him how her breasts were aching to be touched,
and, automatically, he looked down at their rosy attention. She looked
away. He knew why.

She still couldn't believe that she was enough for him. She still
thought she was inadequate. He couldn't believe her. She was the most
perfect woman he had ever known. She was his dreams come true.

"You won't be able to wear a bra tomorrow", he breathed.

Her head snapped back, and he leaned over her, his gaze attacking her
mouth, deciding her nipples would get their just award a little later.

She looked at his mouth. She didn't want a chaste kiss, she had never
wanted chaste kisses from him. He nodded at her reminding him.

She eagerly licked her lips and opened her mouth to him. A few minutes
ago, on the sofa, they had shared their first intimate kisses, but now
Mulder planned to kiss her with intent.

They were finally going to become lovers. They were going to show each
other how much they loved one another, and these kisses would reflect
that, he vowed.

Scully's soft, satin sheets hissed quietly as he lay down on top of
her, resting on his elbows so as not to crush her ribcage. This was
their most defining moment, where past lovers would be forgotten
forever and the only lover who would ever matter would be invited in.

He gyrated his hips a little to cause friction between her fingers and
his aching cock. She lifted her left arm above her head. She gasped in
anticipation underneath his loving gaze.

She wanted his lips now. His lips were so soft and fit so perfectly
with hers, her short term memory served.

The bedroom was scented with heavy anticipation of pleasure. Even the
hum of the radiators was erotic. They both felt the vibrancy of the
room. It came from them.

He was on top of her, his arms around her, his aching cock above her
lower abdomen, firmly ensconed by the hot fingers of her right hand.
Their mouths were so close now they could taste each other's breaths.

He loved her breath already. The few tastes of her tongue had made him
a junkie. She thought his breath was addictive, and Mulder wanted to
tell her of the similarity of their thoughts, yet he knew his intimate
knowledge of her mind was not what she really wanted to be reminded
of.

She lifted her left hand to the nape of his neck and pulled him down
to her face.

Their tongues met first.

Scully's thoughts became unintelligible as his mind grew lax. He
succumbed completely to the softness of her warm, slick tongue. Her
saliva, the taste of her lips and teeth was reeling him deeper and
deeper into her.

He pushed his tongue as far into her as he could, licking her soft
palate. Her mouth was yielding and molded itself perfectly to his.

She was showing him, with her mouth, how much she craved him. And he
craved her, wanted more.

He moaned because she took a firmer hold of his dick. Her tiny thumb
was teasing the tip, and he had to pull away from her mouth to gasp.
Strings of saliva united the tips of their tongues as they pulled
apart.

She wanted him inside her. Her need pulsed from her. Her will was fed
into his flesh, and into his brain. Her mind grew determined now, and
he had to tune in.

She was deliberately dictating to him. Using his ability to get what
she wanted. She was tossing aside her pride, surrendering to her fate
to be read so easily by him, and at the same time using it to her
advantage. She was smart, knew how to turn surrender into victory, he
mused. His Scully.

"Mulder...you know what I want...give it to me"

She didn't care if they weren't on the same page, all that mattered
now was that they were in the same bed. Her body craved release. She
had pined for his touch for too long, and she could have him now
because he was there now, naked and willing, in her bed, just like she
had dreamt. She wanted him. God, she couldn't wait any longer. She
wouldn't wait anymore.

Her thoughts were so clear to him. He pushed his dick further into her
grasp, knowing she'd take good care of it.

"Come on, lover...", she breathed, all powerful, feeling him grow even
harder as she squeezed him more tightly.

"Tell me, Scully, feed me, baby...", he murmured his response and
sucked on her chin.

She closed her eyes and licked her lips. Mulder waited, and then her
demands flooded his receptive mind. Sweet dictation.

She wanted his mouth on her. It was the desire which pestered her most
assertively right now. She wanted to feel that talented tongue on her.
He hummed, wanting to make a funny remark about her neediness, but
decided in the last second it would ruin the mood,  and gave her a
sloppy kiss on the lips instead, hastily deepening it because her
breath was intoxicating.

She couldn't wait. She let go of his cock. She needed to feel his hot
breath on her. Down there. She pushed at his shoulders.

He hummed at her sentiment, wanting to quip, but deciding to do as
told, he kissed a path down to her clavicle.

Change of plans. She held on to his head, now with both hands, her
nails digging into his scalp she directed his face to her left breast.
She deftly avoided the scars from the surgery not able to forgive
herself if she ever hurt him physically. Mulder looked up at her at
these thoughts.

Her thought was soon forgotten, because now she told him to suckle
her. He could hear her silent order perfectly and he followed it. She
wanted him to bite her and she groaned and arched her back as he did.

Without being told to do so he moved to her right nipple, and he knew
she was pleased to see him take the inititative. He was a good slave.
He momentarily stopped his tasty task.

"Does it turn you on, Scully?"

She didn't know what he was talking about, too concentrated on
sensation, massaging his scalp as tenderly as she could so as not to
hurt him.

"To think of me as your slave?", he clarified and returned to suckling
her left nipple. She arched her back further and moaned as he bit her.

She loved the idea. It aroused her to no end to be able to control
him, to be able to tell him what he was supposed to do. He groaned at
her thoughts.

Good, he mused. At work he was doing the dictating most of the time,
wasn't he? It was time she had some say, wasn't it? Grinning into her
skin, he knew she'd kick his ass if she knew he thought this.

He sat up then, leaving her nipples wet and sore. He looked down at
her panting. He smoothed his hands over her silky thighs and he heard
her sigh and watched her spread her legs further.

He did it again, and she hummed, licking her lips. Could he see her
glisten, she wondered. He didn't answer, instead he said nonchalantly

"So, Scully, tell me what you want now, or maybe you still want me to
eat you out?"

He looked at her swollen clit, sticking out towards his erection. She
wanted to be kissed on the mouth again, however, even though her
arousal was getting painful. He was a little surprised at this, but
obeyed nonetheless.

He crawled up her body and looked down into her eyes. She couldn't
breathe. She wanted to cry. His gaze was smoldering her, melting her
insides, pooling at her juncture, welling up in her eyes.

"Oh, Scully..."

He brought his left knee to her wet juncture, pressing it intimately
against her swollen clit. She moaned in the back of her throat and
couldn't help but start gyrating her hips against him.

She reached out for his shoulders, and he let her pull at him. She
wanted him to blanket her entirely. He lay down on top of her, resting
his weigth on his elbows on both sides of her face. His knee now
replaced by his thigh. She put her arms around him, and her nails
tickled his lower spine before boring into his ass cheeks. She wanted
to taste his lips and she wanted him to take the initiative.

He nodded and captured her upper lip between his, vowing never to
release it again because she silently begged him not to. She lapped on
his lower lip for long moments.

Soft moans escaped as their lips lost contact. His hands roamed her
cheeks, eyes gazed into eyes and Scully didn't want to stop. She could
lie like this forever, her place was right here, underneath him.

He groaned and pushed his tongue between her lips. At work they had
always argued, always been on oposite sides of equations, but now that
eloquent tongue he had known for seven years could deliver a mighty
critique felt so yielding in his mouth, so agreeable, so fitting. She
wasn't using it to argue with him now, she totally convinced him now.
He could never win this debate.

He gladly lost to her, lost everything to her. His freedom, too,
because now he was her slave.

He knew this night wouldn't be the last. It was her. The other half of
his whole. The meaning of his life. The answer to all his questions.
Love.

Telepathy be damned!

She sighed vehemently then, ending their moment of silent reflection.
He looked down at her, suddenly recognizing the anxiety from earlier.
Was this goodbye, Mulder? A sweet kiss goodbye? She was not yet
convinced of his love for her. All he could do was to stare at her
incredulously.

He brought his right hand to her temple, having to make sure she knew
exactly what he was thinking. He brought his right thumb to her chin
and lifted it before he pressed her lips apart with his tongue and
tasted hers again.

He pulled away from her mouth and touched her neck, felt her pulse and
leaned in to suck on the creamy expanse of skin all the while running
his fingers around her left nipple. She moaned then and he pulled away
from her neck, looking down at her body, smelling her need, aching to
show her it wasn't for nought that her body reacted this way.

He loved the way her hips curved, the way her buttocks were rounded
and met her toned thighs. He wanted to touch her everywhere, but
rested his hand on her hip, massaging her languidly. It was heavenly,
because she was so sexy. So lovable.

He looked at the love of his life and felt another surge to his
manhood. Love and desire went hand in hand, yet Scully wasn't
conviced, and her fears were so strong it made his own resurface.

When would he wake up from the dream? Maybe they were still at The
Spot? Maybe she was really being raped by that sleazy bartender? Maybe
she was still missing? Maybe she was still dying of cancer? Maybe he
was still on the slab, being lobotomized?

He swallowed and took a deep breath. He took her hands in his, their
fingers automatically lacing and finding the most perfect of unions.

"Wait..."

Their eyes met. And they looked at one another. Perhaps for the first
time they really looked at one another.They even blinked
simultaneously. A few even breaths and it was as if their gazes
settled on something elusive, yet so corporeal.

He felt her heart beating in unison with the one in his chest, but he
wanted to see the simultaneity and so he looked for it and found
something hovering between them. Was it her soul? Was it his?

"Can you...?"

Through the haze their eyes met again, and they both felt it.

Time was pacing itself.

In the perfect unity of their breathing, they began a slow and
measured closing of their eyelids.

No hurry.

No need to rush.

Perfect synchronicity.

Trust me.

And there it was, so effortlessly found.

The moment of clarity.

Mulder saw Scully's thoughts race for his mind, saw her sentiment
seeking shelter in his heart, and she knew he would grant her that
shelter, because his thoughts and sentiments were coursing through her
veins.

Their lives were intertwined, their bodies entangled and their souls
integrated.

Their minds were emerged. They breathed for each other.

Their eyes remained closed. Not a blind spot in sight.

"What do you see?"

"Everything"

Mulder opened his eyes and looked down at Scully. He knew she had
fallen asleep. Her eyelids were fluttering and her breathing was deep
and measured.

He reached for the comforter and pulled it over them, burrowing
himself to her side, his arm over her sleeping form, resting his head
on her pillow. She turned towards him in her sleep, and their naked
bodies were now pressed together. His cock was still aching for
release, but the warmth of their bodies soothed him somewhat.

Mulder hugged the love of his life to him. He wanted to protect her
from hurt, especially the hurt he would inflict on her. But maybe he
wouldn't hurt her? Something of import had just taken place here, on
this bed. Maybe they had been saved?

He kissed her forehead and at the contact her subconscious called for
him.

She was dreaming.

She sat on the plane. Seat 13A, a window seat. A tight grip on the
armrest, she leaned towards the small window to her left and looked
down at the blueness of the Atlantic. It seemed calm from her
altitude. Squinting her eyes she saw white streaks tear the dark blue
canvas. Foamy white crests, her deductive mind supplied. They looked
motionless. No vibrancy to the naked eye. Still.

As his wild stare had been, framed by the wild face of a near madman.

She tried to relax her shoulders and leaned back in her seat. The
thoughts came to her in an instant. She could do nothing to stop them.
She could already be too late. She was on this plane, traveling
further and further away from him. You're helping him, she told
herself, but couldn't quite convince herself that leaving him had been
the best course of action. Closing her eyes, she knew her mind would
conjer up the image of Mulder beating his head against the padded
walls of his cell.

She knew.

Nothing was the same. Not after realizisation had hit her with the
force of a tornadic gale. She had loved the feeling of being swept
away. She had never felt like this, never felt so helplessly moved
before. She opened her soul to it, embraced it completely, loving
every moment, relishing in the utter surrender of her heart.

He was the one.

She had suspected it for a long time, but never admitted it to
herself, had wondered and thought about the possibility, never really
daring to go quite there, to fully consider the option. Now at the
darkest of moments she finally understood. And she flew.

His life depended on her finding answers.

The oceanic breeze was feathering her face, and she regarded the
unnatural object in the soft sands of this amazingly beautiful African
beach. Within her grasp was the truth they had both been searching for
for so many years. She wanted to cry when she looked at the silvery
surface.

Why aren't you here to share this moment with me?

She wanted to feel his hand in hers, his fingers intertwined with
hers. Together they would study and theorize, discern and conclude.
She missed his brilliance and tenacious stubborness. She wanted
nothing more than to be able to roll her eyes at him and question his
every word, as long as he was there with her.

But he wasn't.

Why was he ill? What had the object done to him? Why had he been so
affected by it? Why couldn't they just forget the evil and be
together? Prayers, would prayers help?

There was a silent prayer on her lips, it was not a conscious prayer,
it was just there. She stood on that beach, clutching the hem of her
dress and feeling the strong pull of the retreating wave. Maybe it was
a sign? Maybe God was listening to her then? Please, God, let him get
through this, let him know that I love him, she implored. Please, God,
don't take him away from me. She fought to understand it all. She
touched the object. It was silken and ethereal under her palm.

Beautifully ornate, like his mind used to be.

Touching the intricate patterns carved into the object instantly made
her see him. After he had told her he loved her everything within her
had been stirred. It hadn't helped, yet it had. There hadn't really
been another choice, had there? Hadn't he tried to tell her that?
Hadn't he been trying to tell her that they were meant for each other,
in his own endearing ways?

Somehow she had always known that he was going to be the one she would
ultimately choose when the time came. She had ignored, had brushed off
and laughed at his endearing comments. But the wall around her heart
had crumbled into a thousand tiny pieces since then, because she no
longer wanted it there. She didn't want to be closed off from him
anymore. She wanted to share her space with him.

Had the realization come too late? She cried, her sobs drowned out by
the roar of the dark, crashing ocean, her tears falling into the
saltiness of the vast sea. Maybe her tears would be transported home?
Maybe the would finally reach him? Maybe he would come to know how she
felt?

She fought so desperately, against despair and its treacherous pull.
Why was there a vast ocean between them when she was finally ready to
tell him? Why?

She should think only of his recovery, but it was so hard. The future
would bring a change if she was brave anough to embrace it. She was
going to have to boldy go where no one had gone before. His heart. She
knew that his heart had been untouched for a long time. He had not
allowed anyone in, not since Samantha had disappeared.

But hadn't he opened the door for her in that hospital room after his
Bermuda adventure? She hadn't believed him then and she couldn't
believe that she was letting him invade her in this way now. He was
such a tortured soul, abandoned and unloved by his family, by women in
his past. But she would cradle him in her love. No obstacles would
hinder her in this, she vowed, not an ocean, not a past lover.

She had never told him, though, how she felt about him, had always
managed to hide her heart from him. That would change. She was up
late, sweating away in that scorching make-shift lab of a tent. She
was fighting for him. Trying to stop her heart from shattering. She
fought until she couldn't fight any longer. In the dead of night she
had to fight the loneliness, the images of him crying out for her, his
face contorted and his fingers clutching at his face. Her heart told
her that something was wrong. She had to get to him. She didn't know
what she had discovered. She needed him to make sense of it. Only he
would be able to understand.

She felt her heart beating in her chest, perhaps for the first time
since she boarded the plane bound for Africa. She was almost there.
Nothing would stop her now, nothing. She was finally going to tell
him. Everything she had, he had. Everywhere she went, she wanted him
to join her.

He didn't stir, and she wanted to break down completely. She had news,
but he didn't hear her.

Silently she told him how much she wanted him to wake up. How she
thought only of him, all the time. She told him that she had finally
realized how much she loved him. But he was lost to her because of his
illness. He didn't react to her, and she wanted to die. He was so far
from her.

Everything was a blur. She was lost. Fighting demons. The love of her
life was slowly being consumed by an illness she couldn't treat. She
was a doctor and she couldn't help him. No one had give her a syringe,
no one had given her the means to save him, like he had when she had
been infected. She was helpless. Please, God, save him, because I will
be lost without him. She clutched the hands of Albert Hosteen, hoping
against hope that his beliefs would help her love.

Where was he? Had she lost him completely now? Had he awoken and
decided to leave her behind? She didn't know what was going on? Left
alone in the darkness, she fought to survive the storm, but it was so
difficult.

She found him all but dead on a slab, his brain carved into and his
mind violated. She found him and felt the pain of a thousand knives at
the sight of him lying so helplessly on the cold metal surface of the
operating table. God, she loved him. God, how she hated the monsters
who had done these horrific things to him. She wanted to tell him
then, wanted so badly to open her heart to him right then and there.
She wanted to bare her soul to him. She was too overwhelmed, however,
and couldn't. She feared that she was too late, but then he opened his
eyes. Then he spoke to her.

She walked slowly towards his door. He was at his place. He was safe.
She knocked on his door and she looked at him in his doorway. This
tortured man who had had somekind of lobotomy performed on him, but
was still determined to go on, was standing so chipper and ready to
continue on the path that he had chosen. She was amazed by his
resilience, awed by his determination.

In a few words they told each other that they relied on each other,
needed each other to find a sense of balance. She wanted to say so
much more, wanted to do so much more than to pull at his tie. She
wanted to step over the threshold.  She felt so ready to fall into his
arms, but he was still weak. She felt he should rest. The doctor in
her insisted on it, ordered him to stay at home, when all the woman in
her really wanted to do was to stay with him and do what everyone else
did, share space with the person they loved most.

As she walked away from his door, towards the elevator, she thought
about how peculiar their relationship was. She had almost told him,
but she had changed her mind at the very last second. Maybe it had
been her last chance?

She heard him close his door.

She was so tired, still overcome by the sense of relief she had
experienced the day before. He was doing fine. She could entertain the
thought of continuing on the path that she had chosen 6 years ago.
They would still be working together. Working together. He was safe.

A few weeks later she thought she had her need under control, yet,
there she was, at The Pleasure Place, buying relief, being informed of
the greatness of batteries when it came to sexual gratification. She
had made herself believe the Canadian drawl of 'Big Bad Mama' and had
bought self-help.  A few days later, she was at The Spot, sitting at
the bar, talking to an Australian bartender. Dressed the way she was,
ready to find release in the arms of another man.

She shook her head. No.

She smiled at the Australian. She knew he wanted sex. She smiled and
shook her head, pointing at the empty stool beside the one she was
occupying.

"I'm waiting for someone", she told him.

"I know he'll be here soon", she went on.

"How do you know?", the bartender asked her in his nasal Australian
voice.

"Because I know him", she breathed and hummed contentedly, not needing
to look around the place to know her love was on his way.

Mulder's heart flip-flopped in his chest at the revised bar scene
playing out in Scully's dream.

He felt her stir in his embrace. She opened her eyes and stretched her
body, a smile playing on her lips, and he awaited her apology.

"Sorry, I dozed off, Mulder"

He smiled.

"It's okay"

"Where were we?", she asked with a sheepish grin.

"Oh, I was just going to nibble, suck, kiss, pinch, cherish, take,
pet, pat and please you", he answered nonchalantly as he resumed his
position above her.

"Oh, while you're at it, could you love me, too?"

He needed no words to give her his answer. He told her he loved her by
claiming her mouth. She moaned appreciatively, and together they
guided him toward her entrance.

The voice of hesitation he had heard was gone. He paused for a moment
to discern more, but he couldn't hear it.

"Mulder?"

He looked down at her.

"What is it?"

"I just figured out a way of turning my ability off"

"Oh?"

"I just have to focus on my...other ability"

"What ability is that?"

He pushed his hips forward, letting his cock rub against her swollen,
wet folds, and she had let go of him with a surprised gasp.

"Oh..."

She buried her nails in his upper arms, bracing herself. He was
torturing her. She lifted her hips, wiggling herself to catch the tip
of him with her tunnel.

"What do you want next, Scully?", he breathed raggedly and continued
rubbing the length of his dick over her core, keeping her hips in
place with his firm grip.

She squirmed in anticipation, not really able to muster a coherent
line of thought, but managed to tell him how good he already felt, and
that she wanted him to take charge.

He grunted as he took a hold of himself and pressed his shaft further
into her folds, lengthwise, coating himself completely in her essence.

"Aghh..."

He closed his eyes, concentrating fully on not shooting his load
prematurely at the thoughts flooding her mind. She wanted him to bury
himself to the hilt inside her. She wanted him like she had wanted no
other man. She loved him. She loved what his body was doing to her,
and she couldn't wait for more of him. He couldn't wait either.

They were so close to consummating their love, he was at awe.

Enter me now, her mind dictated, and he had to comply.

"Awhh...", she managed as he drove into her.

He looked down at her scrunched up face and knew he wasn't hurting
her. She was moaning her pleasure.

He retreated and waited a second or two, hearing her silent cry for
his re-entry and following her plea.

"Amm..."

She wanted more. She wanted faster. She felt so good around him,
tighter than a fist, a perfect fit, like they both had hoped they
would be. He gyrated his hips, augmenting her tunnel to what he had
planned next.

He lifted her into his lap and managed to maneuver them to the
headboard of her bed, grabbing a pillow to put behind her back.

He wanted to take her when they were eye level. He wanted them to be
on the same page when they made love. He didn't want to subdue her in
any way, even though her thoughts dictated he'd do that.

"Hey,...I didn't ask for...this", she managed as he finished settling
her against the headboard. Her sentiments changed instantly as he
retreated from her depths and instantly drove into her anew.

"Sorry", he mumbled into her ear and heard how she chuckled softly
into his.

She didn't mind. He was so deep. He felt so good inside her. She liked
this position. She sank down on him so sweetly, so deep. He felt so
right. And he was right there. She could hold him close to her heart
this way. The right man in the right place.

"I'd sure hope so...", he managed and rested his head on her shoulder,
his hands holding her waist, pulling her down on him as he drove up
into her. He measured his speed, not too slow and not too fast. He
wanted it to last but she was so close already, her inner walls were
preparing to clamp down on his throbbing cock.

He could feel it, and her mind supplied him with the information. She
thought she would faint soon, of pleasure and sheer joy.

He could see what she saw. His own face through the tears in her line
of vision. He was glad she was enjoying it. More than glad. Perhaps a
little afraid he wouldn't be able to hold on, however. He had almost
reached that place, where lightning strikes behind one's eyes and all
is blissful oblivion.

"Mmmm..."

Void of thought they moaned in unison, save for the scant few moments
when they gave each other quick, wet kisses. He wanted her to come so
badly he almost lost control of his own release. She was seconds away
from flying into pleasure land, and when she finally did, blinded by
ecstacy, he picked up a speed he had thought he'd never be able to
reach.

He howled as he came, and she surpressed a giggle.

"What's so funny, Scully?", he muttered as soon as his breath calmed,
knowing exactly what her answer would be.

"Oh, didn't know you were so vocal in bed", she stated softly, trying
not to succumb to a fit of laughter just bubbling underneath.

"Do you want me here or do you want your Pleasure Place toy to replace
me?", he huffed indignantly.

He shouldn't have said the words so harshly. She was thinking of ways
to apologize to him, scared to death that she had hurt him for real,
already envisioning him leaving her, already imagining returning to
clutching her pillows in lonely desperation, soothing her ache with
her own hand.

He pressed his lips to hers and massaged her temple with his right
hand.

"I can't leave you", he reassured her.

"Not when I haven't even tasted you yet"

She groaned her response and went limp in his embrace, the prospect of
his tongue on her invading her. He saw what she saw, his tongue moving
over her, lapping at her, his lips enclosing her clit, his nose buried
between her folds as he drank her juices.

"God", they groaned in unison and looked at each other.

"Jesus, Scully", he whispered, withdrawing his flaccid penis from
within her.

She missed him acutely and tried to hold on to his hips.

"I'll be right there", he murmured pointing toward the vicinity of her
lap. She wanted to clean up first, however, thought dreamily about
taking a bath. He looked up at her.

"You want to take a bath, do you?", he said smugly, remembering her
dream, how she had dreamt of him taking her from behind while they
were in the tub. He felt his cock stir at the thought and he saw her
smile sheepishly.

"I'm in for a chore here, aren't I? Me and my friend here?", he
glanced down at himself.

"Nibble, suck, kiss, pinch, cherish, take, pet, pat and please", she
listed and added 'love' silently.

"With pleasure"


end