TITLE:   STEAL
AUTHOR:  EMMA BAKER
E-MAIL:  emmalanna@aol.com 
RATING:  Somewhere between "Strong R" and NC-17
DISCLAIMER: The characters herein are the property of Fox
Broadcasting and 1013 Productions. The situation into which I have
placed them are mine.
ARCHIVING: Please archive at Gossamer. Contact me before placing on
specialty archives. Do NOT forward to ATXC.
SUMMARY: Scully and Mulder, a chaise longue, and a dream.
SPOILERS: None. This belongs in the same universe as my
vignette "Burn", though it takes place a few months before that
story.

Feedback is greatly appreciated and I respond to all mail.

(NOTE: I have borrowed a line from "Bachelorette" by Bjork, though
I've not directly annotated it in the story so it will not
be distracting. The complete line is, "i'm a fountain of blood / in
the shape of a girl.")

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I watch him from head to toe.



He lays on his stomach. Naked. A warm sea breeze whispers over his

skin. His body responds to it, burrowing down in the vinyl straps of

the chaise longue. I sit, naked, on the chaise next to him. Inches

away. My soul inside of his already.



I let my eyes roam over him. I begin at the tips of his toes, which

curl up into themselves. The backs of his legs, all sinewy and

muscular. The soft roundness of the cheeks of his behind. The

smoothness of his back and shoulders. I love his back I love how it

glows like honey in the late afternoon sunlight.



His face is turned toward me. Mulder is asleep. All the guilt and

turmoil and focus flow out of his face as he sleeps. He is reduced to

his basic elements of cells and blood and muscle, all of them lying

out for me to see.



Voices float over the balcony railing. This deck is high enough off

the ground that passersby wouldn't see us, but I still love the small

thrill I receive from being so exposed and yet so secreted. We've

finally taken advantage of our frequent flyer miles. When we checked

our accounts, we discovered we could have flown to Tahiti on them, but

we chose Guayama, Puerto Rico, for a long weekend. You know, a few

months ago I would have said my idea of a vacation would be to just

lay around my apartment for a week. But now that Mulder and I are

lovers, we need to get away just for ourselves -- not on the clock,

and not surrounded by familiar fixtures. Someplace only we can visit.



Someplace only a couple hours' drive from Arecibo and the SETI

complex. This *is* Mulder, after all. He says he wants to go back

for sentimental reasons, but I think he still believes he might find

something -- some evidence left behind. I don't share his confidence,

but I go along with him anyway. I'm not here to always agree with

him, I'm here to support him. And if he needs support, by God he will

get it from me. Every ounce of support he needs.



He still sleeps. His eyes flutter under the onionskin lids. I wish I

could step inside of his dreams, inside of his head. See what he

hides from me. Reconcile that with what he chooses to reveal.



I pull my chaise over next to his, flush against each other. We've

learned to lie together like this, just touching. Just being

together. Those are some of my favorite moments, when we can soak up

each other's presence. I soak up his. I decide he's been asleep far

too long. I need him more than do his dreams.



The sun reflects off his skin. I reach out my arm and run it along

his back. The skin of my palm is nearly seared from the contact. The

breeze picks up and soothes it. His skin is burning, toasting in the

sun. I reach down and grab my bottle of suntan lotion. I squeeze a

generous amount onto my palms then scoot over closer to him, tucking

my legs up under me in lotus position.



My hands flutter over his skin slowly at first, dabbing little bits of

lotion over his back. I began to move them in lazy patterns, watching

the white cream disappear into his skin, absorbed into it. He

stirs, awakened, but does not move. I tilt my head a little bit so

that I might get a better glimpse of his face. Bliss rests there.

My hands increase their pressure slightly, exercising the power

they've just realized.



"Thank you." His voice murmurs softly, mingling with the breeze.



"Just trying to help." Mulder's eyes are still closed, so my smile

does not find a target. "You're lucky that you don't burn, but I

didn't want to take any chances. I have plans for that back."



"Oh, do you?" He opens his eyes this time, just for a moment, and I

settle myself within them. We remain silent for a while, my hands

still moving over the now fluid softness of his back, toward the rich

curves a little lower, down the backs of his thighs. My fingers begin

to loosely trace over him, just enough to make him shiver. My fingers

begin to tingle as they pass over the slow vibration of his back as he

speaks. "What are your plans, Scully?"



"Well, after I ravish you right on this deck chair, I plan to take you

into town and feed you fresh Gulf shrimp at some little restaurant.

Sound good?"



"Yeah," he pauses, with a darker note creeping into his voice. "But

I mean your plans, for the future."



I am taken aback. I don't quite know what to say. For us, the future

has always been an intangible. We live for the present. We don't

have the luxury of forever. He looks at me again. I feel luxurious.



"Well, I really haven't given it much thought." I stay silent for a

few moments, lost in contemplation. He allows me the silence, and

turns over on the chaise so he is lying on his back. As my eyes sweep

over his body, I see my future right there.



It's not just a physical thing, I promise. It's not just the gold of

his skin, or the lithe muscles it covers, or the way the planes of his

body seem to meld into one another like bronze. It's not in the way

his eyes capture mine and probe within, or his lashes reach out for

me, or the curves of his face beg for my hands.



It's so much more than that.



My future is in the way I can look at him every day and find something

new to love. It's in the way I can mold my body into his like a

living and breathing sculpture. It's in the way we have the power to

create something together, both tangible and elusive. But even more

simply, it's in the way his entire body cries out with love for me.

It floats over his skin, like an aura.



Imagine that. Mulder has made me believe in an aura. He makes me

believe in so many things. I want to give him forever, to make me

believe in more.



But first, I have to tell him.



"I see us growing old together." It's as simple as that -- possibly

the only thing in our lives that *is* simple. "I want you to keep

challenging me, making me feel special. I just want you in my life.

That's all I need."



He reaches out, takes my hand. "Me too."



Nothing he could have said would have been more beautiful than that.



I uncurl my legs from under me and scoot over onto his chaise. I pull

myself up on my knees and straddle him, settling myself back down on

his stomach. He brings his hands up, lightly traces my sides. I feel

his penis twitch against my tailbone. We sit very still for a few

minutes, listening to the soft sounds of seagulls and children in the

sand floating up toward us. We smile at each other. It rivals the

radiance of the sunset.



Mulder finally speaks. "So, earlier you said something about

ravishing me?"



I bring my right hand up to my chin, pretending to consider the

proposition. "Yeah, I think I did."



"Right on this deck chair?"



"Right on this deck chair."



He grins quickly, then also feigns a thoughtful expression. "What

does 'ravish' mean, anyway?"



"Well...." I bring my finger up to trace the creases the vinyl straps

of the chaise have left on his chest. I let them tangle in the wiry

hair of his chest, then circle his flat nipple. I shift my hips ever

so slightly, rubbing the insides of my thighs and my core against his

belly. I hear him gasp softly. His penis twitches harder this time,

with an increasing pressure on my tailbone. "It means to steal

something violently."



"Does it?"



"Yeah."



"So, if you were to ravish me, what else would you steal?" His eyes

dance, the orange light of the sunset reflecting off his perfect

pupils.



"What else?" I repeat, puzzled, but I get the feeling he's playing

with me.



"Well, Scully, you've already stolen my heart, my life."



After a few moments, I remember to breathe. I remember to smile. I

remember how much I love this man beneath me, how much I need him. I

brace my hands on the metal frame of the chaise, then swoop down to

steal his mouth. My head instinctively tilts into the position where

our faces perfectly fit. My tongue curls around his, craving the

metallic taste of his saliva, his palate. We kiss each other as if

this were all we needed in life. But it's not. We need more.



I pull away and sit back up, scooting a little further down on his

hips as I do. He brings his knees up and I lean back on them. I

extend my legs down the sides of the chaise, opening myself to him.

He rests his hands on my knees and looks at me with heavy lids.

Mulder begins to speak.



"When you woke me up, I was having a dream."



"Oh? Lots of people have dreams, Mulder."



"Yeah, yeah...." His hands move up my thighs and hips, then slowly

cover my belly. My breathing quickens. "It was about you, about us."

I remain silent, waiting for him. The husky depth of the sunset air

mirrors the opalescent gravity I feel from his words. He inches his

hands up my stomach until his fingers probe the crease where my

breasts meet my ribs, then slowly traces the arcs. "We were laying

together, on the beach. Just laying there. Naked."



I smile at him. My fingers count his ribs, seeing how many contain

his heart. Thinking they are not nearly strong enough to keep me out,

nor him inside. He flicks his wrists around so his hands are cupping

my breasts. His fingers splay and his thumbs brush across my nipples

as his eyes watch. Those eyes shoot out sparks of ecstasy which

blossom in my breasts and bloom through my body.



I somehow find my voice through the dusky redness. "Tell me more."



"We had just made love. I could see through your belly. It was clear

and iridescent. I watched --" His brow furrows into tiny rivulets,

then the creases melt away into bliss. His hands still stroke my

breasts. His voice slows, dissolving into honey. "I watched a life

being created. Just like that. It was amazing. And your stomach,

which was still covered with sticky sand, slowly began to swell before

my eyes. I put my hand on it. I could feel it moving."



He grins up at me with simple, pure joy on his lips. I feel faint. "I

know we don't really want children -- at least, not for a good long

while -- but it was just so beautiful. You were just so beautiful.

WE were beautiful."



I don't know what to say. I try to summon words, thoughts -- but they

have lodged themselves down in my heart, refusing to move.



I don't have a chance to speak.



His hands drop down to the humid spot where my legs lay open for him.

They twist around to cup me, then one finger slips inside, moving

along my hard, unbudging muscles, igniting the cells. As his thumb

brushes against my clitoris, I lean my head back as far as it can go,

my hair brushing against his legs. The crimson light of the sunset

melts into the capillaries of my eyelids. My hands fly around limply

at his sides as his fingers increase their pressure and speed. His

other hand grabs mine, entwining our fingers together. My blood

rushes to where his fingers meet me, are inside me. I am a

fountain of blood in the shape of a woman.



The world explodes.



I open my eyes and see blood. The passionate colors of the sunset --

red, orange, gold -- staining the blue of the sky. Mulder's hands

anchor me to him, resting on my hips as they quiver, still settling

from the explosion of beauty. He steals so much from me -- love,

trust, amazing pleasure -- then gives me the same from him.



As my breathing slowly returns to normal, the sea air flows over my

arms. I scarcely notice the heat, except that of his erection along my

spine. I shiver. He begins to speak again. His voice is low and

steady, fighting with his heart for control..



"When you were gone, I had another dream. I've had it quite a few

times since then. I dreamed they were doing," he pauses, licks his

lips. My heart cries out for him more than for myself. "... horrible

things to you. You were in a white room, just laying there. They put

something on your stomach that seemed to inflate it. Make it big.

You were unconscious. You didn't notice. The bastards didn't even

wake you, so you would know what awful things they were doing to you."





Through my tears, he shimmers under me.



"But the dream I just had...." His voice fades and wavers, a flame

caught in the sea breeze. "The roundness was from me, from us. And

it filled me with joy. I don't necessarily want the reality of it,

but I love the idea."



I look at him. "Me too. I love the idea."



We are creators without creating anything. I brace my legs on the

chaise frame and raise my hips until I'm nearly standing. I struggle

for balance as my hand reaches down between us and guides him toward

me. I lower myself onto him, then sit quietly as we adjust to each

other. He absorbs me into him. I do the same. We slowly move,

create a friction. The sticky-sweet smell of our bodies floats up

toward me. I feel heady, delirious. We move until we can feel our

limbs no longer -- all sensation is concentrated into the place where

I am inside him and he inside me. It is his turn to explode. He

graciously invites me along for the ride.



I believe in ecstasy.



I believe in communion.



I believe in love.



And as we lay together on the rickety chaise longue, I believe in him.





********

END (1/1)





~~~~~ Emma Baker, emmalanna@aol.com ~~~~~

www.concentric.net/~alanna

"All you need for a movie is a girl and a gun."

(and preferably, the girl is holding the gun)

--Jean-Luc Godard