Sweet Torture
by Jelyna
jelyna@aol.com
Rating: NC-17 -- there's sex ahead, folks, and it's MSR, to boot. If those
thoughts turn your stomach, turn back now.

Note for readers and archivists: This story contains the revised and
finished version of the story begun by "Writing It Down" and "Reading What
She Wrote"-- please, if you'd be so kind, replace those two on any archives
with this one. :-)

Well, folks, I'm already tired of wallowing in the angst of the end of
Season 4, so here's a nice piece of fluff for you.... yes, it's finished,
finally-- I'm *always* open to feedback...:-)

Disclaimer: Nope, don't own 'em. CC and his band of merry men do. I promise
to give them back when I'm done, but only if the season opener satisfies
me. So there. <g> 
"Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover" belongs to Sophie B.
Hawkins...
Classification: SR
Spoilers: Does "Never Again" still count? :-) If so, consider yourself
warned.
Summary: A 'women's survival seminar' sends Scully on a power trip....
***

Her shoes hit the floor with a thud as she laid back
on the couch. She had endured many things in her life;
she'd been shot at, abducted, and forced to look at
Mulder's ties, but never, ever, had she lived through
something as hideous as a "woman's survival seminar."
The pseudo-psychological crap that they had spewed as she
sat in that cold folding chair was nothing short of torture.
Dana Scully did *not* need to be told how to cook sensuous
meals, or how to keep yourself in shape at the office.
She'd half-expected to see Cosmo's name as one of the
sponsors of this load of bullshit.

But, she'd gone, and even smiled through it, because her
friend Chris had asked her to. It was the price of renewing
old friendships -- sometimes, she told herself, you have to
endure these things to keep the relationship alive. Dana had
too few relationships, outside of the one with Mulder, and she
was determined to make this one last.

As Mulder crossed her mind, one of the day's lectures played
in her head, unbidden. It was the gratuitous talk on sex,
causing titters and giggles across the auditorium. Dana and
Chris had both rolled their eyes through the whole thing, but
now, Dana remembered one of the tips the speaker had given.

"All of us have hidden desires, forbidden fantasies," the
woman had begun. "They can tear us apart, if we keep them
bottled up. It's much healthier to let them out ... if you
aren't comfortable telling anyone else, just write it down.
I guarantee, you'll feel much better."

Dana closed her eyes. "Forbidden fantasies"..... Oh, god,
did she have those. And she sure as hell wasn't going to
tell anyone else about them. As for writing them down, well,
she hadn't written anything more creative than an autopsy
report since her undergrad days, when she and Chris had written
a story as a lark. It had been a horrible, melodramatic thing,
but they'd had fun with it. She remembered that it *had* been
a good release for some of her tension as she waited for
acceptance to med school. Maybe, just maybe.....

She sat up, grabbing the legal pad and pen that lay on the table
next to her. She'd write it, then tear it up as soon as she
was done. It couldn't hurt anything, and might even help....
The pen began to scribble across the page, and what came out of
it was ... unbelievable...

***

I walk into the office in the morning, like I always do. He's
there before me, engrossed in some file or another. He doesn't
see me come in, so I take a moment to look at him. He's chewing
on his pen, eyes narrowed, in deep concentration. He has no
idea how sexy he looks.

The day is probably normal for him, but for me, it's torture.
Sweet torture, every time his hand brushes mine, or he stands
close enough for me to feel his breath on my face, or he bites
his bottom lip in annoyance. I shouldn't feel this kind of
desire for my partner. But I do. And it's killing me. Any
time I have the opportunity, my eyes take in his entire body.
I have seen him naked several times, but each time, he was sick,
injured, weak. I know full well he's not weak. I wonder what
his body looks like uninjured, fully upright, fully aroused ... just
the thought of it makes me ache.

At home, that night, I am alone, as usual. The tension that
tightens my muscles is making me restless. My last sexual
experience wasn't very fulfilling. I admit, Ed Jerse excited
me -- he was unknown, dangerous, everything I wasn't supposed
to want. But, I felt more pleasure getting the tattoo than
I did sleeping with him. I don't think it's bragging to say
that I gave him everything he wanted; I can still feel his body
shuddering as I sucked him dry. Having that power excited me
more than the actual act. As a matter of fact, looking back
on it now, I'm a little ill. I didn't get much out of it,
that's for sure -- his attempts to pleasure me were almost
laughable; finally, I faked it for him. The first sex I have
in five years, and I have to fake it.

But this night, my thoughts are of Mulder, and only Mulder.
My hand slips between my legs, pressing against the denim, as
I imagine his hand would do. I can almost feel a ghostly
whisper of his lips on my neck, nipping, teasing. I wonder
if he would have the power, or if I would. Could I ever arouse
him as much as he arouses me? He is such an enigma ... he'll
never give anything away.

A sharp knock on my door interrupts me. I know there is a
small wet stain on my crotch, and that my face is flushed, but
there is no time to compose myself, as the knock comes again,
more insistent. I walk to the door, peering through the hole
before opening it. It's Mulder. Dear god, it's Mulder. I
open the door carefully, and he stares down at me. I look up
at him before I realize my eyes still give all my recent
thoughts away. I see his eyes haze over, and he opens the door
wider so that he can step through.

His eyes say it all. I should have realized we wouldn't need
awkward words. My hand involuntarily slips between my legs
again, but he slams the door and pulls my arm up. "Mine," he
whispers roughly, and I only nod.

Then, without warning, his sensuous lips have smothered mine,
and I part my lips with a moan, inviting him in. He can put
whatever he wants in my mouth-- I just want him inside me. For
now, his tongue will have to do, but I can feel his erection
against my belly. Have I really managed to arouse him in just
a few seconds? Or, was he imagining this, like me, and arousing
himself? Any way you look at it, it was my doing, and I laugh
against his mouth.

At the sound, he pulls back, and once again I feel the sweet
torture of not having him touch me, only this time infinitely
worse. My nipples are swollen, and they chafe against my bra.
I pull off my shirt to give them some relief, and immediately
get the urge to pull his shirt off as well. I want to feel
his skin, see if it is as hot to the touch as mine. So, I do,
and the electricity sends a shock wave through me as I slowly
run my hands up his chest, stopping only to tease his nipples.
He inhales sharply, and I know I am in control. I like to be
in control.

***

The ringing of the phone jarred Dana to her core. She dropped
the pen, and stumbled before finally reaching the phone and
picking it up. It was Chris, calling to tell her she'd left
her jacket in her car.

Once the phone was back on its cradle, Dana stood still for a
long time, staring at the yellow legal pad laying on the couch.
Slowly, her hands shaking, she tore the pages she'd written on
out of the pad, and, for a moment, prepared to tear them into
tiny pieces. Something stopped her -- something in her head
that reminded her that this was the first time in ages she'd
been honest with herself. Those pages deserved better than that.
So, she carefully placed them in her briefcase. It was the only
way she knew that she'd have them with her constantly. She had
to keep them safe -- if anyone else read them, she'd die of
embarrassment. Tomorrow night, after she got home, she'd read
them again, and decide if they were to be torn up. She'd give
herself time to regain control of her mind from this passionate
specter that had taken over.


***


Torture. Sweet torture.

The words she had written played over and over in her mind
like a broken record throughout the morning. Her dreams at
night had been filled with continuations of her written fantasy,
each one wilder and more passionate than the one before. The
sensual being that had taken over her body was not willing to
give back the control. She couldn't look Mulder in the eye,
and when he noticed her tension and moved to rub her shoulders,
she jumped away from his touch as if she'd been burned.

After that, he looked at her strangely. "You okay, Scully?
You don't look like you're feeling well ... maybe you should go
home and take the rest of the day off."

She managed a weak smile. "Are you actually volunteering to
do the paperwork, Mulder?" The calmness of her own voice
amazed her.

"Yeah, the things I do for you," he joked. "Go on, you look
like you need some sleep."

Sleep is *not* what I need, something in her head insisted,
but she just shoved her papers back in her briefcase and said
something pleasant to Mulder. She didn't realize her hands
were shaking until she dropped the briefcase, scattering papers
everywhere. Her face blazed, and she shoved everything back
into the bag and hurried out as quickly as she could.

Everything except some folded up yellow legal paper, left lying
on the floor at Mulder's feet.

***
Mulder never thought his willpower could be tempted
by a few pieces of yellow legal paper. They sat on the
edge of his desk, taunting him, daring him to read them.
He was trying desperately to ignore them ... they'd
landed at his feet when Scully hurried out of room; her
normally neat handwriting was scrawled all over them.
He knew that they were none of his business. He'd just
put them on the edge of the desk, and leave them for her
to get tomorrow.

But, as he put them down, his eyes caught on one phrase.
"... I sucked him dry." He tried to ignore it ... tried
to explain it away ... but he could think of no innocuous
meaning to that phrase. He pushed the papers farther
away and turned to his computer to finish a long overdue
report for Skinner. They were personal papers, he told
himself, and not for his consumption.

But the imagery was *killing* him.

He tried berating himself. Those are *not* partnerly
thoughts, Mulder.... if she was writing a letter
describing her sex life, it had nothing to do with him,
much as he wanted it to. There was no reason to picture
her lips, parted in anticipation...

Stop it, he told himself firmly.

He went back to his computer. He even managed to write
a semi-coherent paragraph before he whirled his chair
around to face the desk again. He knew he shouldn't.
He knew she'd kill him. He knew she'd probably be
mortally embarrassed if she knew he'd read something that
personal.

Those reasons lasted him all of about a minute before
temptation won out. He unfolded the yellow paper with
only a small guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach.
She never had to know, he told himself...

... before he saw what was written.

***

It had starting raining, which only made Dana's mood
worse. She curled up on her couch and stared out the
window. She'd lost the papers. When she got home that
afternoon, she'd reached into her briefcase to destroy
her writing of the night before, but they were gone.
She knew she'd probably lost them when she dropped her
briefcase in the office ... which meant Mulder might have
them. She turned bright red at the mere thought. What
if he read them? How would she explain it? How could
she ever face him? Her stomach twisted more and more,
until she was sure she'd sink into the floor with
embarrassment.

A knock on her door interrupted her. "Who's there?" she
called out, praying desperately that it wasn't him.

"Scully, it's me. Brought you some dinner."

She stood up with some effort. He sounded normal ...
maybe he hadn't even noticed it. She'd find it tomorrow
and tear it up into little pieces.

Mulder stood at her door, holding out a paper bag.
"Chicken soup, from the deli down the street. Cures
everything."

Dana had forgotten that she was supposed to be sick.
She managed a smile at him. "Thank you, Mulder..."

"Can I come in, or is your apartment full of germs?"

"I'm fine...come on in..."

She didn't realize she was trembling until she went to
sit down and felt her knees wobble. After spending the
afternoon imagining the worst, this seemed to be a
relief. He gave no indication that he'd read it. She
sighed, letting some of the tension ease from her
shoulders.

Mulder didn't stay long; she got up to use the bathroom,
and when she returned, he was gone.

It took her a minute to notice the yellow paper in the
middle of the couch.

Her heart leapt into her throat, and she was sure her
legs were going to give out. The part of her mind still
capable of rational thought suggested that she'd been
sitting on the paper, but she rejected that thought
immediately. She'd torn the room apart looking for it.
The only explanation was...Mulder. And he'd looked her
in the eye as if nothing was wrong. What in the hell
was going on?

She sat on the couch and picked up the paper gingerly.
Wait a minute, her mind registered -- there was one more
page here than there should be. She skimmed over her
own handwriting, until she came to what should have been
the end. There began Mulder's signature scrawl.

***

Control? You want control? You have no idea how much
control you have... If you ever decided to just grab me,
kiss me, tear off my clothes, whatever, I'd be putty in
your hands. Well, okay, not entirely putty. But I
could never initiate it. Can you say "sexual harassment"?
I can sit here and dream about fucking you until neither
of us can move, but in the end, it's your call.

Poor, poor Scully. Hasn't had an orgasm in god knows
how long (not by someone else's hand, anyway; I don't
know what you do on your own time), but is completely
oblivious to the fact that her partner sits across from
her and thinks horrible, unpartnerly thoughts about
putting his hand up her skirt to see if she'd be hot and
wet for him. I figured you'd probably smack the living
hell out of me if I even hinted at it, joked about it.
Guess I was wrong.

Have you ever thought about taking up a second career in
writing erotica? The only things I've touched are this
paper and pen, and yet I'm going to have a real hard time-
pun intended, thank you-standing up and walking out the
door. If you sold this kind of stuff, you'd probably
make enough to retire from the FBI and move to some
island with a bunch of male models to make sure you're
never left unsatisfied again. Which would be just great
for you, but I'd still be sitting here with an image of
a redhead between my legs.

***

She could almost hear his voice speaking the words,
which made the heat that enveloped her body ten times
worse. The response was so very Mulder -- nothing smooth,
or romantic, or seductive. Just the honest truth. She
laid her head on the back of the couch and looked at
the ceiling, hoping to see some kind of answer there.
What the hell was she going to do? She couldn't just ...
could she?

A flash of lightening illuminated the street outside
her window; a brief glimpse of the cars parked there
drew Dana's attention. She walked to the window and
peered down. Yes, she did see the car she thought she
did.

She picked up her phone and held it in her hand for a
moment. She could visualize the cell phone sitting on
the seat next to him ... he was probably willing it to
ring. It was her call to make.

Placing the phone back in its cradle, she felt her
stomach begin to slow its frantic cartwheels. If she
called him back up, she'd only prove that, despite what
he'd written, he had all the control in their relationship.
She wanted that control. Wanted it, and needed it like
she'd never needed anything. She'd never played female
games; the teasing and flirtation that women used to
exercise control had always seemed unfair and demeaning
to both partners. But this wasn't about flirtation, or
teasing, or fun and games of any sort. This was about
power.

Dana carefully laid the papers underneath the phone.
She knew Mulder would probably be out there most of
the night, and for a moment she felt a twinge of guilt.
Not for very long, though. He'd decided to play the game
when he read those papers.

Now he would play by her rules.

***

His eyes opened with some difficulty, and he immediately
wondered what the hell he was doing in his car at -- check
the clock radio-- 4:30 AM. A glance out the side window
showed Scully's apartment building, and he remembered.

That damned note. His cell phone was stubbornly silent,
and her windows were achingly dark. She had to have read
it ... he'd left it in plain view.

Mulder rubbed his eyes and yawned. He was due at the
office in three and a half hours. She was probably up
there sleeping -- how the hell could she sleep? His
weary mind couldn't comprehend why she hadn't called him.
He expected something-- an invitation back up, into her
arms; a warning that she had gotten more than she'd
bargained for; even a curse on his head for ever reading
her fantasy. This silence was eating him alive.

Reluctantly, he turned the key in the ignition. Maybe
sleep wasn't in the cards anymore, but he at least needed
a shower before he went into work. A cold one.


***


Dana had never been able to pull all-nighters, which was
once her one downfall in med school. Her brain just didn't
function on less than three hours of sleep a night.
However, when she looked at herself in the mirror, she
decided that she felt damned good for having no sleep.
There was only a slight tremble in her hands as she
dressed, and she knew that wasn't caused by lack of rest.

The morning was bright and sunny, and Dana found a bounce
work its way into her step as she made her way into the
office. Power was a heady thing, she
decided. Power over Mulder was even better.

He was already at his desk; his suit was rumpled, his hair
was still semi-wet and unruly, and his eyes were surrounded
by dark circles. Poor, poor Mulder, she silently echoed
his writing. Aloud, she said loudly, "Isn't it a
beautiful morning?"

He nearly jumped out of his seat. "Um ... yeah. Morning."

In her mind, she saw herself the night before -- she'd
probably been as jumpy and nervous as he was now. What
had his reaction been? Had he lazily enjoyed seeing her
squirm, as she was enjoying his reactions now? He'd see
who had control...

"What are you working on, Mulder?"

"What?"

"Working on...you know, work. What we come here every
day for." She sat on the edge of his desk, about a foot
away from him. "What are we doing today?"

"Um ... just writing a report on the Overkamp case..."

"Doing my work for me, Mulder? I'm touched..." She
grinned at him. "I owe you one."

"You look like you're feeling better," he observed,
watching her closely.

A million responses flew through her head before she chose
one. "Much. Thanks for bringing me the perfect cure." She
paused just long enough before saying. "That soup was
excellent. You'll have to take me to the place you got
it from."

His sigh was audible, and Dana resisted grinning again.
Instead, she pulled a chair up to the computer and said,
"Shall we get to work?"

***

Sweet torture.

The phrase from Scully's fantasy kept playing over and
over in Mulder's head as the day wore on. One moment,
he decided she hadn't read it at all, and things were
just normal for her. The next, he knew beyond a shadow
of a doubt that she was toying with him. She wasn't
touching him, wasn't looking at him any differently, wasn't
speaking any differently. But she was different. Finally,
he decided that 'sensual' was the word for it. Whether
that was his imagination or a real change in her, he
didn't know.

Once he regained his power of normal speech, they managed
to talk of mundane issues, if anything involving the X-Files
was mundane. The wording of reports, which details to
include, what order to put events in -- all were day-to-day
issues for them, but somehow Mulder found it to be a
verbal war between them, one that he was losing miserably.

"You can't say that, Mulder," she said patiently. "Skinner
will never accept a report that relies on a psychic's
predictions as an investigative technique."

"How else would we have found the mother's new address?"

"The phone book, maybe?"

"But we didn't. Lyra told us."

"So Lyra looked in the phone book."

He fell silent -- arguing with her was impossible. To
argue effectively would mean to look her in the eye while
he made his point, and his eyes had the treacherous
tendency to focus more on her full lips, stained dark
with some exotic lipstick shade. He wondered if it would
come off on him if he kissed her, or if it was that new
stuff that Cindy Crawford was constantly harping on TV.
Have Scully's lipstick on him wouldn't be all bad, he
decided. In fact, he wondered what her lipstick
tasted like.

"Earth to Mulder..."

He jumped again. "Sorry, Scully...just thinking."

"Penny for your thoughts?"

He half-imagined he felt a blush creeping on his cheeks.
"Trust me, they're not worth your hard-earned money."

She smiled, and whirled her chair around. "I'm going home,"
she announced. "It's a beautiful day, and I'm going to
enjoy it."

"I think I'll stick around here for a while..." He
trailed off as she bent over to retrieve her purse from
the floor. Nearly every inch of her leg showed from under
her skirt, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"You know what they say, Mulder...all work and no play
makes Jack a dull boy."

She walked towards the door without so much as a goodbye.
He closed his eyes and put his head down on the desk,
groaning softly.

Suddenly, he felt a whisper of breath near his ear. "You
know, Mulder, power is terribly intoxicating."

By the time he had the strength to lift his head, she was
gone again.


***


Dana didn't realize she was headed for Virginia until
she looked up at the freeway sign. She prepared to turn
around at the next exit until her keys jangled in the
ignition. A quick check revealed that yes, Mulder's
apartment key was there, as always. With a laugh, she
rolled down the car windows, turned Sophie B. Hawkins up
to ear-shattering levels, and sang along as she did 75
into Alexandria. "I am everything; tonight I'll be your
mother...I'll do such things to ease your pain, free your
mind and you won't feel ashamed..." Okay, so she was a
little off key. It was her car, she was allowed.

She usually saw Mulder's apartment in the dark, she
realized; with the windows open and sunlight streaming in,
it was actually kind of homey. Until she looked in the
refrigerator to find he hadn't been grocery shopping in
weeks. She picked up a half-used bottle of whipped
cream and eyed it speculatively until a fit of the giggles
forced her to lean against the counter.

Hmm ... what to do, what to do. She had no idea when he'd
be home, and she'd be damned if she'd give him the
satisfaction of calling to tell him she was there. Let
him stew for a while.

Maybe a bath, she thought, wandering into the bathroom.
Two dirty towels lay on the floor; his razor was soaking
in the sink, flecks of toothpaste decorated the mirror,
and the bathtub had developed traction. Okay, so that
wasn't such a good idea.

His bedroom was a bizarre sight ... she was surprised to
see that the bed actually had clean linen on it, and a
bedspread that kind of matched; however, it was probably
clean because it was used as a glorified laundry table --
piles of sweatshirts, sweatpants, jeans, and other clothing
were strewn from head to foot. His dresser was nearly
bare, except for a couple of well-read science fiction
books. His closet was the one truly neat place in the room.
At least he knew where the drycleaners was when it came
to his business suits.

She felt rather wicked for creeping through his personal
space without permission. The apartment was so very
Mulder, though, that it felt like it belonged to her. "So,
he belongs to you, does he?" she wondered aloud, and
laughed at the sound of her own voice. That he does,
she silently answered herself.

Boredom quickly settled in, though, as she restlessly
walked the apartment in search of something to do. He'd
better come home soon, she decided, or she'd find out if
it was truly possible to die of anticipation. Finally,
after several circuits of the rooms, her eyes fell upon
a videotape laying on top of the VCR. "Oh, no, you're not,"
she told herself out loud when she saw the cover-- a nude
woman in the arms of a 'vampire' wearing nothing but a
leather g-string. She peered closer. "Damn, is that
guy stuffing himself or what??" The back of the tape
detailed the movie's meager plot -- beautiful woman get
captured by a gang of randy vampires. Ooh, boy.

She laid the movie back down, but two seconds later, she
picked it back up again. She had nothing better to do...
"I can't believe I'm doing this..."

With the movie in the VCR, she curled up on the couch and
waited expectantly. The beginning had more of a plot than
she'd expected -- no sex until a full 20 minutes into it.
But then, of course, there was plenty ... male, female,
these people didn't care whose tongue was where on their
bodies, just as long as they were being licked. It was
actually kind of fun, once she told the Catholic girl
in her head to go say a few rosaries for her. The sexual
creature that had been plaguing her since she wrote that
little fantasy was finally slightly appeased ... she would
have been a lot happier if Mulder had been there to
demonstrate some of those incredible positions to her,
though. Her hand between her legs was just not doing the
job.

Never again would she tease Mulder about these videos, she
decided. They may be cheesy, and if she looked at it in
a certain way, she could make the argument about degradation
of women ... but damn, in the right mood, they were hot.

She unbuttoned her blouse to get some air to her skin as
her fingers pressed harder against the damp material of
her panties. She was completely unaware of her surroundings --
only thinking of a mixture of the movie and her own erotic
fantasies -- until a strangled, vaguely male sound
drifted in from the doorway.


***



He'd tried to get some work done. Really, he had.

The files were open, the computer was on, but no one was
home. Scully's last comment had echoed in his ears until
he couldn't stand it any more. "You know, Mulder, power
is terribly intoxicating."

No mistaking that meaning. She'd been playing with him
all day, making him squirm as he wondered whether she'd
read what he wrote. A small, guilty thought crossed his
mind -- maybe this is what she'd felt like when you dropped
by last night. He was frustrated, he was hot, and by god,
if he didn't get a piece of her soon, he was going to
explode.

Finally, he'd decided to go home. Take a cold shower,
find a tape that featured a redhead, and pretend it was
Scully. That would be much, much safer than racing to
her place and finding creative things to do with his
handcuffs. Less satisfying, maybe, but much safer.

That was before he'd opened the door to find her sitting
on his couch, masturbating to one of his porn tapes.

He heard the sound that escaped his lips, and knew it
sounded less than human, but he'd had enough. If he
hadn't been leaning against the doorframe, he would have
collapsed on the floor.

She looked up, her eyes flooding with shock for a moment,
before the look was replaced by a heavy-lidded gaze that
melted him. "For gods sakes, Mulder, close the door...
I'm not putting on a show for the building."

He complied automatically, and somehow moved towards the
couch. The power of speech finally returned, and he
motioned to her open blouse. "Hot in here?"

"Very," she purred. Scully, *purring*? That's it, he
knew he was having another dream. She moved away from the
corner of the couch and patted the vacant space she left.
"Come on, sit down..."

He collapsed against the armrest, and before he could
react, she had pushed one of his legs aside and leaned
back between his legs, her head resting against his chest.
"Let's watch... I think we're getting to the good part..."

"Scully?"

"Don't talk, Mulder," she ordered in her best no-nonsense
voice. For emphasis, she shoved her hips back farther into
him; he swore he heard her giggle under her breath when
she felt his erection.

The people on the TV screen were having the orgy of their
lives, but Mulder found it much more interesting to watch
his partner's face as she watched. She began with that
same heavy-lidded stare that had enticed him inside, but
soon closed her eyes entirely and let the moans and groans
tell her what was going on. Her skirt was hiked up to her
hips, and he noticed she was wearing thigh-high nylons and
white lace panties that now seemed to be plastered to her
skin by sweat and other moisture. He couldn't
help it -- the sight made him groan loudly.

She turned her head. "Didn't I tell you to be quiet?"

"You just said not to talk." He finally figured out what
to do with his hands as he began to stroke her inner
thighs gently.

She swatted his hands away. "Well, now I'm telling you
to be quiet. Until *I* say you can make noise."

The sly grin that tugged at the corners of her mouth
made him laugh. A mistake, he found, because her hand
immediately clapped against his mouth. "Am I going to
have to gag you, Mulder?"

He opened his mouth against her fingers and found that
they tasted of the juice from between her legs. Her grin
widened as he pried her hand away from his face and put
her fingers in his mouth. "Hmm ... as long as you're not
making any noise, this could have some possibilities..."
she mused.

As he concentrated on her fingers, her heart was beating
in triple time. She wasn't sure why she'd issued the no
sound ultimatum -- nothing had ever sounded more erotic
to her than his voice when he'd entered the room. It was
the power issue, she decided. This was her show, and
he'd play by her rules.

However, letting him suck on her fingers was going to
erode her self-control fast. The lazy look in his eye
was guaranteed to have her stripping his clothes off
faster than she could say 'fuck me.' She settled for
removing her hand from his mouth and slowly pulling
the tie from around his neck. "Hmm...this could make a
nice gag..." she mused aloud, enjoying the semi-panicked
look that the comment evoked. "Nah..." His sigh of relief
made her giggle. "But if you make any noise, I'll reconsider."

Someone on the TV shrieked "Fuck me hard, fast, now!!!!"
and Mulder raised his eyebrows at her. She closed her eyes
at the mental image of his body over hers, filling her,
driving into her... At this rate, she'd never keep her
self-control long enough to have any fun.


***


Mulder grinned as he saw the raw desire flit across her
face. God, she had to be the most sensual woman he'd ever
seen; when she let emotions come out, her face was so
expressive. She looked at him again as she tore her gaze
away from the TV, and her eyes narrowed. "Careful who
you laugh at, Mulder, or I may find other creative uses
for this tie. Or, maybe I'll find out if you have your
handcuffs around here somewhere..."

He bit his lip ... the thousand responses he could give to
that were held back by her stern gaze.

Satisfied that he was quiet, she turned back around and
snuggled against him again. Once again, she spread her
legs and played with the damp material of her panties.
The material was chafing against the ultra-sensitive
skin between her legs ... finally, she just yanked them
off and dropped them on the floor. She noticed Mulder's
hand resting on the side of the couch -- he was being good
and keeping his hands off. But, her self control had
eroded far enough that she wanted -- no, needed -- to have
him touch her in some way. Glancing down at her legs,
she found the solution.

"Mulder." She turned and waited for an acknowledgment.
"Take off my nylons."

She scooted away from him and offered one of her legs.
He gave the slightest grin as he tugged on the upper
band of one of the stocking, then moved his head so that
it was level with the hand under the stocking. Oh, bad
move, Dana, she scolded herself; the stockings came up
to her upper thigh, and she could now feel his breath
on her. Slowly, too slowly, he pulled the stocking off
her leg, letting his fingers linger on every inch of
skin. When he moved up to start the other one, the heat
of his mouth just inches away from her core made her
drop her head back and moan softly.

God, he wanted to bury his face in her, make her come,
make her scream his name. He could sense her carefully
constructed control slipping away from her ... for a
moment, he thought of her written fantasy, which had
revealed the sorry state of her last sexual encounter.
'Ripe' was probably a good word to describe her ... she
was overly ready for this, for him.

"Mulder..." Her voice held the barest tremble. "Just
take off the other one and get back."

He smiled and obeyed.

The movie had ended without either of them noticing.
Without the background noise, Dana felt slightly self-conscious ...
she stood up and began an inspection of the
area around the TV. "That was fun...come on, Mulder, you've
got to have another one around here somewhere."

He reached under the couch and pulled out a couple of
tapes. She smiled. "Which one do you recommend?"

He inspected them for a second, then held one out without
speaking. She took it and inspected the cover. "Ooh, this
one doesn't even promise a plot ... just ... domination."
She looked closer at one of the leather-clad women. A
smaller redhead ... if she squinted, it looked kind of
like, well, her. Shaking that thought off, she popped
the tape in the VCR and turned back to the couch.

Mulder had taken the opportunity to watch her as she
moved around the TV. Aside from the underclothing they
had removed, she was still fully clothed. Her skirt was
bunched around her hips, showing more leg than ever
would have been visible at the FBI. The rosy skin of her
belly and chest was interrupted only by the white lace
of her bra ... he could see her hardened nipples pressing
against the material for release. When she finally
faced him again, he looked her straight in the eye, trying
to tempt her to do something besides tease.

His gaze was too intense for her ... she found herself
staring at his mouth instead. She realized she hadn't
even kissed him yet, and suddenly, that was all she wanted
to do. She'd sat in that office for so long, watching
his mouth as he spouted his usual theories, wishing she
could quiet the flood of words by simply covering his
mouth with hers. Before she knew it, she was sitting on
top of him, straddling his legs. "Sit on your hands," she
ordered. At his quizzical glance, she amended, "Just do
something with them, 'cause you can't use them." When
he'd finally found a place for his hands, she took a deep
breath, leaned closer, and claimed his mouth.

Second mistake, Dana, she immediately decided, before
coherent thought left her. She'd always thought kissing
was somewhat overrated -- it was nice foreplay, but in
and of itself, it wasn't all that satisfying. This,
however, was pure, exquisite passion, pouring between
their mouths. She tangled her fingers in his hair and
held him against her as his tongue slowly worked its way
around her mouth. Had she written about "sweet torture"?
Dear lord, the sweet taste of him could drive a woman
completely, utterly insane.


**

She got some measure of satisfaction when she pulled
back and saw her own disheveled state of mind mirrored
in his eyes. However, his silence was unnerving ... it
took her a minute before she remembered she'd ordered
him to be quiet. "You can talk now," she murmured
distractedly.

"Thank you," he said with amusement. "What about my hands?"

"Keep them there, for now." Sitting back, she rethought
her strategy, and another intense need popped into her
head. "Mulder ... what are you thinking?"

"Thinking? You mean, besides the fact that we're both
wearing too damn many pieces of clothing?"

It wasn't the answer she was looking for, but then again,
she didn't quite know *what* she'd been fishing for, anyway.

He spoke again, this time a bit softer. "Did you... I mean,
have you really not ... what you wrote, about Jerse..."

"About Jerse? Did I blow him? Yes... Have I not had an
orgasm? Not with someone else, not for too damned long..."

Dana surprised herself with the blunt honesty. Writing it
was one thing, but coming out and saying it was another.
She met his eyes once again, and something there prompted
her to continue. "Do you want to hear about it, Mulder? I'll
tell you... I *enjoyed* blowing Ed, and it had very little
to do with the act itself. It was all about power ... at
that time, it was the only power I felt I had in my life.
I was still pissed off at you for dictating to me ... but
there wasn't a real sexual attraction there." A slow,
slightly ironic grin spread across her face. "There was a
good portion of me imagining that it was you writhing under
me, just so that I could have that power over you."

Mulder's eyes narrowed. "Is that what this is all about?
Just power, nothing more?"

"Do you think I'd be telling you this if it was? I'm not
going to *take* power from you, Mulder... I want you to give
it to me willingly."

He looked deep into her eyes, searching for the meaning to
her words. "Do you want *me*, Scully, or just the power?"

"Mulder ... do you know how many times you've made me come?
You've just never been here to enjoy it..." Her smile was
almost embarrassed, as she paused to form her words. "The
act of sex is always about power, in one way or another ...
but the desire is for you. It always has been..."

She held her breath, waiting. He stared at her for what
seemed like eternity before he opened his mouth. "Are you
going to make me sit on my hands all night, Scully?"

She exhaled. "Well, that depends ... do you have a good
idea of what to do with them?"

"Oh, I have a couple..."

"Such as?"

"Such as ... tearing that piece of white lace off your
body, so I can look at you..."

"Oh, I can do that myself..." she said, shrugging her
shirt off and reaching for the clasp of her bra. After
it was on the floor, she looked down at her skirt. "Might
as well get rid of this, too..." When she straddled him
again, she was completely naked.

Mulder's eyes wouldn't go in enough directions to take
all of her in at once. Finally, he gave up trying to control
himself and brought his hands up to run his fingers down her
back lightly until they rested on her buttocks.

She shivered. "Mmmm... I think that's definitely a good
use for your hands..."

He brought one hand back up, and put one finger on her neck.
Slowly he ran it down her skin...between her breasts ... over
her belly ... through the curls, where it snaked between her
legs to sample the juice left there. She inhaled sharply as
he applied pressure to *just* the right spot. "Oh, god, Mulder..."

"Trade places with me, Scully, will you?"

"What?"

"Please ... let me..."

After a moment, she moved off his legs in silent agreement,
and he gently guided her to a half-sitting, half-reclining
position on the couch. Spreading her legs and kneeling
between them, he touched her face. "Tell me what you
want ... you've told me what to do all evening; don't stop
now."

She looked up just as he licked his lips. "Your mouth..."
came her response.

"Where?"

"Everywhere..." she sighed, pulling him down to meet her
lips. He lingered there for only a moment, before moving
down to taste her burning skin.

The sensations shocked her ... she was almost sure she'd find
burn marks the next morning, everywhere he kissed. The hollow
of her throat ... each nipple, slowly worked at until they felt
like they'd pop off her skin entirely... a trail on her stomach
and hips, where he first scraped his teeth across her flesh,
then went back over the area with his tongue soothingly. Then,
finally, he made his way to her inner thighs -- she'd thrown
her head back and moaned with pleasure before his mouth even
met her skin.

She felt his chuckle vibrate against her skin. "Is this what
you want, Scully?"

"Yes...oh, yes..."

Her pleading tone ended any thoughts he may have had about
teasing her, and he buried his face in her without another
word.

The sound that escaped from Dana's throat resembled a shriek;
never in her wildest fantasies had she imagined it would feel
this good. His tongue, his lips, his teeth ... she buried her
hands in his hair and rocked her hips to the rhythm he created.
The waves of pleasure that crashed over her body only intensified
the more insistent he was. A female voice -- hers -- spoke
incomprehensible words over and over again; an occasional moan
was heard from between her legs. Finally, the last thread of
sanity broke inside of her, and she screamed with the release.

Honey. The only coherent thought that passed through Mulder's
mind was that she tasted like honey. Slowly, as he regained
his composure, his tongue found every drop of moisture and
cleaned it, as a cat would clean her kittens. Her body still
shuddered slightly each time he encountered skin, and he could
hear her ragged breathing from above. When he shifted his own
body to a semi-upright position, he saw her eyes closed, her
cheeks flushed, and her hands clutching the cushion of the couch.
He touched her face. "You okay?"

She opened her eyes and reached for him. "Come here, Mulder."

He moved up and wrapped his arms around her. It took them a
minute to find a comfortable position, but finally he ended
up on his back, cradling her against his chest. Her warm, damp
body slid against his still fully clothed one, and he laughed
silently to himself. When he walked into the apartment, he'd
wondered how long he was going to last before his self-control
gave out. Never would he have thought he could last this long...

As he began to think of himself again, he felt a stirring in
his groin, which didn't escape Dana's notice. She lifted her
head and smiled at him. "You've lasted longer than any other
man I've ever known..."

"Well, you needed that more than I did at that moment."

"Hmm..." She began to unbutton his shirt. "I think that kind
of selflessness deserves a reward or two..."

"Really? What did you have in mind?" As she finished with the
buttons, he shrugged his shirt to the floor.

She scooted down to his legs to unbutton and unzip his pants.
As she slid her fingers under the waistbands of his remaining
articles of clothing, she leaned over and placed a kiss on his
stomach. She could feel another fire begin to glow between
her legs, and she marveled at her body's recovery time. It
was past time to have him inside of her...

He was finally stripped of his remaining clothes, and Dana sat
back to take a look. He was hard and quite ready; she ran two
fingers along his shaft and was delighted to hear her name
escape his lips as a sigh. "How beautiful..." she murmured
in approval.

Then, she moved, and their lips met again. Her hands pressed
against his chest, while his rested lightly on her hips,
grasping her, but stopping short of pulling her down to
claim him. His entire body trembled in anticipation.

Dana broke off the kiss and hovered over him for a moment.
Smiling, she placed a quick kiss on his nose before thrusting
her hips to take him deep inside her.

She was warm ... she was tight ... she was *his*. Mulder
hung on to her hips for dear life and watched her through
half-closed eyes. Her slow, rhythmic movements drove him
mad; "Faster, more...please, Scully..." he begged.

She complied slowly, leaning over to suck on his neck as
her pelvic gyrations increased speed. Grabbing her hair,
he pulled her head back up to face him -- he wanted to see
her, every inch of her. Smiling, she removed his hand
and twined her fingers with his. They brought their clasped
hands down to the couch.

"Come on, Scully..." he whispered. He was more than ready
to spill inside of her, but he could tell by her face that
she was just a few seconds away from her own climax. "Come
again for me, Scully, come on..."

Her shudders were less intense this time, but Mulder took
an inordinate amount of pleasure in watching her face
contort and in feeling her contract around him. Finally,
seeing her release, he let himself go, thrusting up
inside of her and moaning as it happened.

He filled her up...every inch of her, every fiber of
her being felt his orgasm. Her movements slowed as she
squeezed every drop out of him; when she finally felt him
relax again, she moved and sat back, taking one more
look at his body, flushed and glistening with sweat, just
as hers did.

"Is there a word to describe what just happened?" Mulder
finally found his voice to ask. He looked up at her,
taking in her shining eyes and Cheshire Cat grin.

"I think so," she murmured as she crawled up to rest
in his arms once again. Of course there was a word...
"Powerful."

END

Comments, etc., to Jelyna@rocket.com... this is where I end it, but if you
want to continue anything, just let me know. :-)