Freed

 

 

 

 

               I want you, Scully.  I can't remember a time

               when I haven't.  I want to crawl up your body, letting

               my tongue trail from the tips of your toes, sliding,

               slipping over your knees, thighs, searching and finding

               that center of burning heat that draws me, calls to me.

 

               I need you.  I need to feel your lips devour the salt

               lick taste of my own skin, my sex.  I'm not afraid any

               more -- not of what we can be, or can't be  -- no, not

               of that.

 

               I'm afraid of what we'll never be.

 

               If I don't shake loose this mental manacle -- this lock

               that seems to have forever manipulated my prospects at

               happiness then  -- then I know I will be lost to you and

               the concept of there ever being an *us*.

 

               And I want there to be an *us*.

 

               I look at you standing beside your motel

               window, surrounded by the night time

               darkness. You are a prism that captures

               the street lights and lamp lights, the curved

               finger of the moon light.

 

               Transfixed, I stand on the threshold of our connecting

               doorway, watching the colors of night pull and pool

               against your skin, illuminating your body.

 

               You make me breathless, causing me to shutter my eyes

               and snap this image of you into my memory.

 

               There's an ache. Did you know I can see it  -- watching

               as it bleeds, has bled, within you, doing so for such a

               long time that, now, you're afraid to expose yourself to me?

 

               I see this ache, it's a color that refuses to blend

               with the others, refuses to collect in the prism of your

               smile or the light of your eyes. It hangs on you,

               weighting you beside that window instead of where I

               want you to be  -- which is with me.

 

               But how can I fault you when the reason I even see this

               pain is because it vastly mirrors my own  -- it's the

               ache of unfulfilled want, the ache of a myraid of wants

               left lacking.

 

               Gossamer strands, diamond beaded because they can cut,

               and do cut, thread through what has become a

               labyrinth of our desire, connecting and piercing --

               bleeding us both.

 

               I watch as you clutch the window curtain, holding it

               back as you stare out into the endless night.

 

               I wonder what you're looking for, Scully and why haven't

               you found it here?

 

               Or have you?

 

               Being together  -- is the approaching possibility of an

               *us* not what you have anticipated, after all? I

               wouldn't be surprised if you found fault with me. I

               find fault with myself more times than I'd like.  It's

               hard for a man to face his shortcomings, but I try.

 

               But wait, I can't believe that. I won't.  I've seen the

               way you've looked at me, looking at you  -- the

               recalled image is enough to grip me into shudders.

 

               Suddenly I *am* shaking --shaking like an anxious

               teenager, nervous yet determined to embrace, not

               the prospect but the reality of grinding my soul,

               coupled with my body, against yours, with

               yours  -- no, in yours.

 

               I want to feel the clamp of your muscles, squeezing,

               teasing and disintegrating any concept I've known

               as, "fear".  I want to hold your heart within my hand

               and know that you hold mine.

 

               I think you can do that.

 

               No.  I think WE can do that  -- together.

 

               The question is whether we will.

 

               I silently sigh, rubbing my hand over my face.  A weak

               smile flits over my features as I continue to watch you,

               taking what seems like a collection of stolen moments

               to do so.

 

               I realize you must know I've watched you when you've

               slept, even when you've pretended to sleep  -- never

               acknowledging me but just as surely touching me with

               the silk of your nightscape sighs. Either way, it's

               another level to the game we play.

 

               You pretend and I pretend that we don't know the

               Grimms' tale that weaves us together  -- a tragic play

               penned by our own mythic insecurities.  And it is a

               tragedy  -- a tragedy of silence masked behind

               heat-ladened gazes and stolen glances.

 

               So, I've played a shadow  -- a shadow that crawls slowly,

               clinging to the walls   -- enmeshing myself within the

               woven rug of lies and half-truths that, together, we've

               threaded between us. But I don't want to be cast in that

               role any more.

 

               What has struck me now as I lean against this door jab,

               watching you -- what has released me from my self-imposed

               restraints, bringing me this far, is that, perhaps, by

               some miracle, I think you realize how close I've come toward

               you. I think you know that I'm standing here, a man divested,

               need-naked and waiting.

                

 

                                   XXXXXXX

                

 

               I can feel you, your gaze searing me, enveloping me

               like the scent that I identify as only yours.  You

               shatter my soul's sealed window, reaching in and pulling

               me toward you.  But you don't have to pull, not any

               more.  Time has tossed me through the gamut of

               emotions only to make me realize that there is no

               barrier between us that can't be broken  -- broken and

               forever abandoned.

 

               I want you, need you  -- perhaps more and longer than

               you will ever know.  I can hear you -- breathing as

               you stand, stilled, at the threshold of my room.

 

               I feel you watching me, but what I need you to see is

               more than justme standing at this window --

 

               I need you to see me waiting -- for you.

 

               I belt out a sigh filled with unspoken promises.  Finally,

               I drop the curtain from my hand, letting the thin

               material block my discarded fears  -- and there are

               and have been many.  The outside lights pick at the

               fabric and douse the room in a warm amber glow.

 

               Inhaling deeply, I turn around to face you.  My eyes

               meet and match the hunger in yours, latching us

               together within this ethereal ambiance.

 

               Freed, my thoughts rush to you, seeking and connecting

               through a cascading chain of breaths... from you... and

               from me.  I grab at this, our gossamer thread  -- a thread

               bespeckled by diamonds. I let the gemmed length cut

               into the glass of my skin, piercing the heart of my soul

               as I wrap the tendril around and around -- wrapping it

               against my palm, letting it cut and bleed me because

               it has to --

 

               because if I don't let it bleed me, it would finally

               destroy us both - destroy what we were, what we

               are -- what we *can* be.  There is no turning away, not

               now -- not ever again.

 

               I think you knew that. I think you knew that because

               instead of shattering this strand with an averted gaze

               or a step away, you're here, cresting the connecting

               doorway, wrapping your hand around your end of the

               thread and drawing the taut line upon your own skin,

               bleeding out against the pricking cut.

 

               It is a pain that will crack and release us both.

 

               I can hear your slow, steady steps against the carpet.

               I can feel an ache, your ache, because it's tethered

               to mine.  Our blood flows, collecting together and

               beginning to join, rising and forming a new bond

               between us.  I can almost see this new shade of red,

               the heat of our ache transforming  -- enveloping us

               as the last remnants of distance, literal and

               otherwise, evaporates with our tentative, yet

               determined strides.

                

 

               Desires have become naked, but it is *our desires*

               and not something we suffer through alone.

 

               I reach to touch you as you reach for me.  Our

               hands are raised and for the barest of moments,

               our collected ache impedes us, creating a red glass

               wall that cages us from one another as if asking,

               for a final time, if we are sure of our choice.

 

               Within this time-stoppered moment, I stare at you,

               feeling my blood warming. I am ensnared by the pull

               of a gaze  -- a gaze dipped in a pulsing haze of red.

 

               And it is with absolute faith that I know I have never

               been more sure in my entire life.

 

               A part of myself breaks off, sliding through your

               eye's window and slipping into your soul. Fusing, I

               refuse to leave and in that instant the red shatters

               between us into a sea of our disintegrating regrets,

               absorbed by the collecting shadows of night as our

               fingers touch and twine, pulling our bodies against

               one another.

 

               Our silence is broken -- we are freed.

 

               "How do you like to be kissed, Scully?" you ask,

               your voice desire-heavy and demanding. I tilt my

               head, smiling.

 

               "Let me show you," I answer back.

 

               Finally,

 

                              finally,

 

                                              finally.

                 

 

               My ears are bathed in the sounds of sighs and

               the murmur of moans as our lips touch and slick

               over each other, as our hands stroke and

               roam  -- confused and excited, discovering and

               exploring and not knowing where to begin touching

               and never wanting to stop.

 

               Never.

 

               My confusion clears as I still.

 

               You halt your seeking caresses upon my shoulders,

               a bit confused but pausing to watch my slightly

               shaky hands rise between us. I reach for you,

               silently asking you to allow me a moment and

               you do, waiting to see my intent.

 

               My palms sweep against and over your chin, feeling

               the soft bristles. My fingers slide over your

               cheeks, and submerge into the glossy brown silk of

               your hair.  I tangle and twist the strands around

               my fingers.

 

               "I have wanted to do this," I softly say.  You smile

               and oblige me  -- bending your head down, tilting it

               like a cat and luxuriating in my touch.

 

               The short strands tease against my fingers, licking

               against them and naturally curling, clinging to my

               skin as my palms brush through your hair.  Finally,

               I slide my hands around to cup the back of your neck.

               Your skin feels warm and pulsing against my own.

 

               You lift your head, linking my gaze to yours and

               transferring my once filed truth to meet with your

               own.  We are indeed exposed, naked and without

               artifice  -- studying one another while forever

               banishing any hint of past insecurities, doing so by

               the very intensity of our shared view.

 

               We have traveled a long way together, you and I, some

               of it without even lifting a limb.

 

               "What have *you* wanted to do?" I ask on a whisper,

               waiting and trying to discover your desires.

 

               "I'm already doing it," you say. My eyes moisten at

               your words. I blink, just barely succeeding in

               stoppering the wetness.

 

               I nod my head, gently biting my lip. You raise a

               palm to my mouth.  With the pad of your thumb, you

               release my bottom lip from my teeth before leaning in

               and brushing a soft kiss against it.

 

               Pulling back, I see your eyes are also moist, your

               lips tremulous.  I stare, bounded to you as your hands

               slide against my shoulders, riding upon my pajama top

               and moving up to mimic the position of my own hands.

               You clasp my neck in a mirrored embrace. I raise onto

               my toes and reach for your mouth as you lower,

               reaching for mine.

 

               This time when our lips touch, it is with a soft,

               languid caress, our tongues coating and claiming the

               other in a minuet waltz of gliding warmth and beauty. My

               skin tingles with a racing excitement, sensitizing

               my whole body to your touch.

 

               Pulling me closer, your bare chest presses against

               my clothed body. I gasp at the shimmering rumble that

               tumbles my belly -- forcing me to press closer against

               you and annoyed that I can't feel the length of your

               skin against my own.

 

               Licks of heat from your touch, your breath, your

               everything, saturates me and stamps my soul with an

               aching mark that seems to tunnel through my bones,

               past my breast to clutch at my marathon heart.

 

               You release my neck.  Scavenging lower, your fingers

               trace down my throat, flitting against my chest until

               they latch onto the buttons of my silken pajama top.

               The fabric warms against my skin where your fingertips

               linger as the appendages free each eyelet.  The

               fleeting downward touch teases my chest and my

               stomach until every last button is free and the shirt is

               left hanging open and loose against my body.

 

               Gripping a freed edge of material, I gasp as you tug

               it off of one shoulder, exposing my skin, my breast -- to

               your view. I nearly cry out in grasping pleasure as

               your mouth latches onto the hardened, ultra sensitive

               nipple. Your bangs topple onto your forehead and

               brush against my skin as your tongue swirls and

               suckles, tasting me  -- pulling me and pooling me.  I

               clutch my arms around your head, clasping you too my

               body and convulsively squeezing you as you lave me

               with each deliciously wet and warm flick of your tongue.

               Releasing my hardened tip from your mouth, the

               contrast of temperature from your capturing lips and

               the cool room air, virtually undoes me.

 

               I near drown into senselessness... sensations

               burgeoning and destroying as your mouth moves,

               flutters up my body to now lick and lave at the crook

               of my neck. Your low, rumbling moan vibrates against

               my heightened feelings and obliterates any ability of

               maintaining coherency  --

 

               an ability I find I don't care to covet any more.

 

               My knees buckle and you grab me, hooking your arm

               around my waist, hugging and tugging me as I reach

               and clasp, grabbing onto you, demanding you stay

               against me and never leave me, not now, never now.

 

               You lead me backward, laying me down upon the bed.

 

               We are floating on waves of rolling tranquility.  It's

               our need that devastates us in rip tides, but it's

               our hearts that buffet us -- a gentle breeze ruffling

               the surface of a lazy-day lake  -- its depths bathing us

               in a comforting eternity.

 

               I will never give this up, you up, Mulder -- never.

                

 

                                 XXXXXXXX

                

 

               Savoring. That's what I'm doing  -- building a

               monument of memories to carry within me until the

               day I die.  There is no moment left lost, no touch

               forgotten.

 

               I won't allow it.

 

               I touch you and when I do, my chest constricts with the

               feel of a turning screw. Only, instead of an anticipated

               pain, it is with a choking joy that I revel in the feeling,

               adding  to it because with each prickling shot of

               sensation, you discover me further.

 

               I straddle your thighs, leaning over you and pressing

               my nose against your stomach, lifting the scent off

               your body and pocketing it into my mind. I pull your

               back up from the bed so that you are sitting between my

               knees.  Grabbing the other side of your pajama top, I

               expose your other breast.

 

               I watch in a type of mesmerized fascination as the

               nipple puckers and hardens with the gentlest breeze

               of my warmed breath, stirred with the cool air of the

               room.  I hear you gasp and look up to your face to see

               you have tossed your head back. You support your

               upper body with your arms braced behind you and your

               chest thrusted forward.

 

               I feel myself growing harder, tightening, at the trusted

               offer before me.  Leaning down to your chest, I lick and

               suck, massage and squeeze your nipples.  With each draw

               of your breast between my lips, I feel you sliding

               lower upon the bed, losing your grip against the

               bedspread.  I remedy that by wrapping my arm around

               your waist, anchoring the lower half of your body

               against my hips as I titillate and tantalize each

               nipple in alternating patterns.  Your skin is warm and

               flushed against my mouth, your breath labored and

               hitching.

 

               I grab the edge of your pajama bottoms and tug down,

               baring you as I kiss your salty skin.  The sounds you

               make, drill into my blood and suffuse me with a highly

               intense warmth, causing me to quiver.  Sweat beads my

               skin and dampens my hair line.

 

               Releasing you from between my lips, I take a second

               to sit back on my shins and look at you and the created

               frenzy with which your chest heaves and your back

               rocks to and fro upon the mattress. Your eyes are closed

               and clothed in sensuality as I watch your hands slide

               from my forearms and meander over your own stomach

               and chest, leaving your lower half waiting for only my

               touch.  My excitement grows as I register the almost

               unbelievable thought,

 

               'I did this to you.'

 

               I finally look down at myself and see my hardness

               that has been thrusting against my black cotton

               boxers -- my sleep wear of choice that I have yet <

               to be stripped of.  I look up again, staring at you

               as I reach down, stroking myself against the soft

               material and eliciting a jagged moan from my

               throat.  I feel myself swell even further.

 

               At the lack of my touch and the moan tripping

               from my mouth, you open your eyes and catch me

               stroking.  The voyeur in you flares your

               eyes in undisguised excitement as you watch my

               hands repeated actions against me.  I watch you

                watching me as I continue to build my pleasure.

 

               Sooner than later, it is not enough for you to

               just observe. Reaching, you remove my hand from

               my still clothed hardness, kissing the inside of my

               palm with an added lick that sends a set of tremors

               through me.  Sitting up, your hands begin to litter

               over my skin in a smoothing, electrifying field of

               touches. Nails pinch and scratch, tweak and rub

               against my own nipples as you return my favor

               of earlier.

 

               I find myself wrapping my arms around you, enveloping

               you as your mouth lingers and lounges against my

               salty skin.  Each little lick of yours provokes a

               rising response from me.  My arms tighten around

               your shoulders as my fingers stroke your upper arms

               with varying points of pressure.

 

               Through with my chest, you snake your hands lower,

               slithering against my muscled abdomen and cresting

               the elastic of my boxers.  I feel your finger hook

               into the waistband, tugging and causing me to go

               nearly insane as the pressure of the material rubs

               against my erection.

 

               This will not be the first time, nor the last that I

               am nearly dazed by the reality of this release between

               us.  Each touch we give one another is filled with a

               tenderness that speaks of a thousand more such

               moments to come and I promise myself, right here

               and now, that they will  -- they most certainly will...

 

               I am pulled down, away from the intrusion of thoughts

               as jagged breaths emanate from us both  -- mine

               racing in expectation and yours  -- I smile  -- yours

               doing exactly the same as you lay back, pulling me on

               top of you while hooking one hand further beneath the

               elastic of my boxers.

 

               You slide another hand down my body, this time

               reaching to cup me through the black material and

               stroking me into a devastating intensity that I do

               not believe I could ever have achieved on my own.

 

               I cry out, gripping your hand and pulling it away

               from my erection. The bed is shaking as the arm

               that holds me above you trembles, seriously threatening

               collapse.

 

               I unclench my eyes and find your gaze upon me,

               magnetizing my view to encompass yours.  We cloth

               each other with the intensity of a stare.  Feeling both

               of your hands hook beneath the elastic ban of my

               boxers, you slowly begin to slide them down my body.

 

               The cotton catches against my hardness, the friction

               speeding the pace of my heart and quickening the

               rate of my breath.  You pause there and I am caught

               by the taut stretch of material.

 

               Suddenly your leg rises between mine and I feel

               your knee brush against me, sending a snapping

               whip of need to lash out against my senses.

 

               "Scully!" I gasp, desperately. A shudder begins

               to shower my insides with the calling claim of

               your name.

 

               Your knee nudges against me once more, slowly,

               sliding away to let your shin trail over my erection

               until your toes cup upon my hardness, rubbing and

               cradling me in a swaying naptime motion that will

               never invoke sleep.  Your knee presses against your

               chest, bent between our bodies.

 

               I am gasping and the bed is shaking once again

               as my strength begins to desert my arms with each

               passing caress you give. Finally, your toes hook

               onto the front of the elastic and I realize why

               you've raised your leg in the first place.

 

               You can't reach low enough to debrief me

               completely.  Your toes slide inside my boxers and

               graze me. I jump and moan, yet by a barely contained

               effort of will, I remain hovering above you as your

               foot pulls the cotton over my erection and down my

               legs, finally freeing me of my first and last strip

               of clothing, coupled with nearly my final shred

               of control.

 

               The bed reduces its earthquake tremors as I

               recuperate from your deliciously scalding caress.

               I fear you will stimulate me beyond the bounds of

               control and have me spent before we even get the

               chance to truly begin.

 

               That cannot happen.

 

               As you lower your leg, I kick my boxers off the

               rest of the way and am now poised and ready above

               you.  I take this time to trip my fingers against

               your thighs, avoiding the furnace that you want so

               much for me to stoke with my fingertips.

 

               I avoid it, saving that pleasure for a later exploration.

 

               We are both bared, of our clothes and defenses.  There

               is now, no room for the veil of battling wits, or

               clever comebacks.  What room there is, is only

               enough for the smell of our bodies, the heat of our

               skin and the truth of our hearts  -- hearts that grasp

               upon no shield, not now, and hopefully, never again.

 

               My hand hooks around the edge of your waist and I

               roll to the side of you, collapsing onto the bed and

               pulling you against me.  We lay chest to back, spooning,

               my arm encircling you and my hand splaying against

               your stomach, stroking it in lazy, light circles.

 

               Scully.   It is a single word, the only word, that

               canvases my thoughts yet carries a galaxy of

               meaning to me -- the simplest of which merely being

               a name.

                

 

                               XXXXXXXXXX

 

               Your stomach warms my back as you press against me,

               both of us lying on our sides, your left arm lying

               against my hip as your fingers strum against my

               belly.  Even that, the barest of touches, elicits

               a stifled moan from my lips. I feel your warm, moist

               breath against my shoulder and neck.  I feel it stirring

               my hair which tickles my skin, causing me to shiver.

 

               "Cold?" you ask, leaning closer to whisper the question

               against my ear as your hand moves from my stomach,

               creeping lower and lower and causing me to shiver once

               more.

 

               "No," I answer in a stilted whisper, trying to prepare

               for your impending caresses.

 

               "Are you sure, Scully?" you ask between gentle kisses

               against my earlobe, my exposed neck, and my shoulder.

               As I begin to respond, your fingers cross into the

               thatch of curling hairs, sliding even lower.

 

               "mmmMMMmm hmmm," I answer, no longer sure what

               I am answering to.

 

               Your fingers flit and flutter against my moist

               desire, causing a riotous sea of quivers to storm

               over me.

 

               Suddenly, you pull me atop of you, leaving us back to

               chest.  I can feel your erection as you rock your hips

               against my backside. I return the pressure, pushing

               against you while your hand pilfers deeper, drawing out

               a myriad of scorching tingles for me to concentrate on

               and be absorbed by.

 

               Your free hand rises to cup my breast and I partner

               you by clasping the other, moaning as you dessert me

               of my senses and ignite me with your roaming,

               seeking  -- discovering touch.

 

               I buck against you, crying out as a hail storm of

               need is released within me. Almost with a slow

               precision, you tool around, switching instruments

               of device to hold me up to the light of ecstasy.

 

               My head falls back against your collar bone, rubbing

               back and forth as my body shivers, quivers with

               the monsoon of unearthed and exposed sensations that

               continue to rock me as your hips do, as my hips

               do  -- as they both are now driven to do.

 

               I am fastly becoming beyond thought and sinking

               into the terrain composed of exposed need, want and

               demand. I cry out, feeling your mouth lick and suck

               my shoulder, sending sizzles across my body from

               another epicenter  -- your mouth.

 

               I am mudslide slick and streaming against you as

               your hand cuts through the ravaging waves, daring

               to push further through the torrential need that

               wildly buffets me.

 

               "Mulder!" I cry out, arching my back, my breasts

               stabbing at the air as your hand delves and deliberates,

               defines and decimates the remaining vestiges of

               coherent thought.

 

               I am a writhing, slipping, slippery collection of

               nerve endings.   You press, and push and knead and

               stimulate me until I find myself screaming

               free -- thrashing against you, atop you, pillowedd

               upon your hard length of chest and much more.

 

               I close my eyes and roll with the waves, swaying and

               swaying and submerging  -- being dunked over and over

               until I am nothing but gasps... gasps of pleasure and

               air and everything in between  -- then nothing at all.

                

 

               Silence.

                

 

               When I finally come to, reopening my eyes, I find

               we have switched positions.  My breasts press

               against the bed, the tips aching and throbbing, humming

               with the rest of my luxuriating body.  And you, Mulder,

               you are on top of me, kissing your way across my back,

               cradling my boneless form between the cave of your

               arms and legs.

 

               "Welcome back," you whisper and I bury my face

               against the rumpled covers, suddenly shy.

 

               I hear a satisfied chuckle and find my own lips

               turning up, not so much in humor but in sheer

               amazement and languid pleasure.  You are everything

               to me and everything I had hoped and wanted for you

               to be.

 

               I feel like I could sink through this bed, but by

               the mere tugging of your lips, you hold me up above

               the quicksand of my shattered and raw sensations.

 

               I know what you're doing  -- memorizing my shoulder

               blades with your lips, your tongue -- tasting and

               sketching each indent and valley to be found on my

               back so that your eidetic memory can recall this

               moment to the last detail.

 

               I don't think I have ever been more jealous of you.

 

               I gasp. Your tongue sends tendrils of heat, slow at

               first but building steadily.  I can feel my strength

               filtering back into my limbs and as it does so, I know

               that I will be showing you the same mind-blowing

               terrain that you've given me the tour of.

                

                

 

                                  XXXXXXXX

                

 

               You are beautiful and completely erotic and tuned

               into the intricate chords of my touch.  You came and

               came and came again, watering me and planting the

               need to see you like this beyond the count of days.

 

               I love the expanse of your back, your skin and delicate

               bones. The rise of your backside and the beautiful

               clefted dimples that fit nicely against the texture

               of my tongue. You are a vision and as such will be

               forever imprinted beneath the veil of my eyes.

 

               "Mulder," you sigh. I can see you've returned to

               yourself, and having arrived,  you want your turn

               to steer.

                

 

               I relinquish the wheel.

                

 

               Falling next to you upon my back, you turn over and

               place a kiss against my chest before reaching up and

               brushing our lips together, our noses nuzzling while

               our tongues stroke and taste each other.

 

               I watch the rainbow shades of red slide around your

               face, your hair dipping to touch my skin as you lower

               your mouth to my chest.  I can feel the crimson strands

               stroking my skin, dragonfly soft and flickering against

               me as your head sways, canvasing my chest.

 

               I shudder, feeling the ice cream lick of your tongue

               over my nipples, against my chest hair  -- twirling

               and saturating in a zinging warmth that sails

               through my skin and squeezes my senses,

               manipulating me into voicing a low timbered

               moan.

 

               You answer my ragged sound; I can feel the humming

               groan against my stomach as your mouth moves over

               me.  You mark and mask my body in a drop cloth of

               flames  -- from your hair, your touch and your rippling

               need -- a need chorused with my own. <

 

               My stomach sucks in against the trailing nails that hop

               and skip and slide against my skin.  I want so

               desperately to touch you but you rebuff me, clasping my

               hand within your palm only to place it against my nipple,

               forcing me to stroke the pebbled skin as you

               trek lower.

 

               A repeated softness thrums in my ears, at first I

               am confused until the thrushing sound begins to

               intensify, enabling me to recognize my own labored

               breath.

 

               Your hand releases my circling palm to trail down and

               join with your the other.  You rear up before me, and

               I am without breath.  I cannot stop studying you.   My

               gaze breaks from the chain of yours as my view skips

               over your throat narrowing lower to become fascinated

               by your cross as it sways against your throat.

 

               I reach up for it, sucking it between my lips. I warm

               the metal against my tongue, gently tugging until the

               gold, wet, slips out of my mouth and falls against your

               skin. I smile up at you and reach to claim your mouth

               which you give to me, over and over and over again.

 

               Pulling back, I find myself sucking in my lower lip,

               focusing upon the gentle sway of your breasts above

               me.  Your hands grip my bent knees, pushing them

               down as they stroll across my hair-covered thighs, the

               progress excruciatingly slow as you reach closer and

               closer to where I want you most to be, to feel -- to

               clasp -- enveloping me within your varied warmths..

 

               I am stuck in a silent stutter of yes and yes and yes

               as you touch me.  I throw my head back against the

               pillow, feeling your palm finally... finally clasping.

 

               Choking out a cry, I feel your other hand,

               manipulating all of me. My fists pound against

               the bed and I scrunch my face up in another

               strangled groan of pleasure -- this one breathless

               and shuddering.

 

               I feel my soul rattling and my heart slamming

               against my breastbone, demanding to be freed with

               a rapid staccato of beats.  My moan accompanies the

               rapidly increasing decibels of demand.

 

               Clutching the sheets into twisted knots at my side, I

               undress the mattress with the anchoring grip of my fists.

 

               I can't take any more. I just can't. I feel myself

               building to completion and I don't want to end this

               night that way.

 

               I refuse it.

 

               Suddenly, I sit up and grab you by the shoulders,

               pulling you off me in a wet gasp.

 

               Our lips twine as you climb up me and as I pull you

               up, my hand seeking your breast and squeezing,

               caressing, as my mouth plunders yours with the crazed

               intensity of one pushed over the edge or very near it.

 

               I feel your nails scraping my scalp and clutching

               my hair. You pull hard, forcing my neck back so that

               you can suck at my chin, my throat, clamping upon

               my ear and driving me out of my mind while you

               undulate your hips against me, teasing, tantalizing.

 

               And I love this new intensity, surprised at your

               forceful demands, yet giving and getting at every

               moment.

 

               I grip your arms, pulling you back. Your labored

               gasps drench me, your eyes ravenous and

               dilated -- staring at places you have yet to

               taste. You lean forward to touch me again, but

               I hold you away.

 

               "No more waiting, Scully."

 

               I see your eyes widen, then narrow as your lips

               turn up into a smile and your chest starts to

               move with more rapid breaths.

 

               You are so determined, as you are in everything.  I

               match that determination.

 

               Pushing you away from me, I come to my knees

               and crawl behind you.  The sheets and bedspread

               are in tangled piles.  We maneuver around the bed,

               seeking our best positions.

 

               Finally, I pull you back in a kneeling spoon against

               my chest.  We face the cracked motel wall. Your

               shins slide outside of my own, pressed against them

               upon the twisted covers as I feel you pushing back

               against my hardness.  You taunt and tempt me with

               the velvet smoothness of your skin.

 

               I am nearly lost, so very nearly lost -- but not yet.

                

 

                                  XXXXXXX

 

               My lips slide open, and a need-soaked moan, low

               and bursting with heat, fills the air, the modulated

               tones -- sultry -- dip to rise, to meet then fall and

               stir with your own.

 

               You are against me, both of us sweat-soaked. Your

               chest hair brushes upon my overheated skin, your

               hardness pushing against my backside, seeking without

               instruction as your strong arms wrap around me,

               cradling and curtaining me as our play progresses

               into a new stage. I tremble with unsurpassed

               anticipation.  There is no need to hide anything

               any more and I wouldn't dare take away the joy of my

               responses as you coax them out of me.

 

               I feel your nose sliding against my back bone, moving

               up, up into my hair, and against my neck. I feel the

               heat of your breath toasting my skin and tangling

               within the strands of my hair as you flick your

               tongue out. I shudder, feeling the wetness trace

               over and over and over upon the scar that marks

               the back of my neck.

 

               You worship the spot with just your mouth and I

               am destroyed and combined again.  I will not cry

               because you feel the need to concentrate on this

               spot of my body, bathing me in tenderness.  I have

               cried enough tears for the atrocities inflicted upon

               me. I will not cry for this, not now -- but I will

               respond to your gentle touch.

 

               Reaching up behind me, I cradle the back of your

               neck beneath my palm, pulling your face forward to

               hover over my shoulder so I can kiss your salty lips.

 

               You taste of sex and need and. . . and love -- a combination

               that I must taste like as well.

 

               "Mulder, "I moan, pulling my lips from yours, my

               eyes caught in the autumn browns and greens reflected

               in your steady gaze.

 

               Read my heart, I silently tell you.

 

               "I already have," you answer in a graveled whisper of

               truth. I feel a tear or two sneak down my cheeks and

               I smile  --  I can cry for that.

 

               You touch my face and wipe the scattered drops away.

 

               "Shh," you whisper, tender, against my ear as your

               hand begins to glide down my backbone, tracing the

               vertebrae, until it crests over my backside, strolling

               lower to grip my thigh. I feel your palm clasp my leg

               and slide it further apart from my other one.  I shiver

               feeling renewed anticipation avalanche through me as

               you slowly spread my legs further.

 

               You push against me and our knees slide up the

               mattress a bit as you position me exactly where you

               want me to be -- exactly where *I* want to be.

 

               I feel a return of intense, animalistic desire wolf

               through my blood and by the sudden clipped yet tender

               movements and touches from you -- I can feel you

               answering that response.

 

               Gripping my hands from the pressured stroking of

               your hips, you pull them off of your body.  I feel

               my blood pumping in a free fall of intensity because

               I know  -- no,  I realize what you intend.

 

               With a lick against my ear, and a low timbered voice

               of command that has me biting my lip, you growl the

               whispered order I find myself quivering for,

 

               "Grab the headboard, Scully."

 

               My breath blocks in my chest as you raise my arms

               and place my hands around the wooden knobs of the

               headboard, arching me into position and keeping my

               legs spread.

 

               I hold on, tossing my head back, my arms shaking,

               my whole body trembling in anticipation.

 

               I am vulnerable, opened, and ready for you -- vulnerable

               and yet at my most powerful and desired.  Seconds tick

               by as I wait to feel you return against me  -- to feel

               you, finally, deep within me.

 

               Waiting.

 

                          Waiting.

 

                                    Waiting --

                

 

                                                  No more.

 

               Just as I am about to turn my head back to search

               you out, your hands grip my hips and I feel your

               hardness slide against my sex, lubricating and searching

               before penetrating.

 

               My hands squeeze the bedposts, preparing. And when

               you fill me, I realize that I could never have been

               prepared.  I scream out in wracking tremors of pleasure,

               not daring to let go of the headboard as I feel you begin

               to retract and then slide in again, deeper, pulling my

               very essence apart and sewing it, me, back together

               with each thrust.

 

               Again

 

                          and Again

 

                                          and Again.

 

               A rough tenderness pushing me, stroking me, dizzying

               and demanding. I arch, I cry  -- clawing at the wooden

               headboard. Glorying in every second.

 

               I gasp, releasing the headboard, unable to stop myself

               from reaching behind me. You catch my hands,

               wrapping my arms, with yours, around my chest,

               embracing, stroking, and squeezing as we kneel upon

               the bed.

 

               You tease me with your speed, building so very

               slowly that I find myself demanding more of you,

               yet still you control, pressing into me and creating

               the beginning rise of waves that have yet to crash

               against my senses  -- just hovering and threatening

               as I feel you all around me, not just within me.

 

               I breath the air from your lips as your mouth finds

               mine, your tongue dancing with my own as you push,

               push, pushing me slightly forward with each thrust.

 

               You anchor me into position as our hips tilt and

               meet, tilt and meet from behind, causing each union

               to build a keening in the back of my throat.  You

               swallow the sound, before releasing my mouth.

 

               My breath is catching, gasping in rising excitement.

               I can feel the fluttering zenith upon the horizon of

               my nerve endings reaching, replacing the cutting

               diamonds of the sky with the diamond tapestry of

               fulfillment, its brilliance covering us both.

 

               I am shuddering against you as you lower one hand

               from my breast and have it crawl down my stomach and

               into the slicked curling waves of my sex, stroking the

               boiling wetness into a steam that fills the air with a

               stuttering moan from my mouth.  You continue to press

               your fingers against me, thrusting from the front while

               our hips tilt to join us deeper and deeper from behind.

 

               I am shaking from the inside-out as my eyelids flicker

               of their own volition while we push, and push and push.

               My breath becomes louder, bouncing off the walls of the

               motel room and slapping against my ears, our ears,

               encouraging our movements to intensify and they do,

               Oh God, they do.

 

               I feel and hear your moan mingle against my hair, it's

               tone graveled.  So close, so close, so very close.

 

               Our cries of building release begin to weave together

               as we press against one another over and over again. I

               buck against you, sinking and soaring, as shudders

               start to overtake my body.

 

               Suddenly, I am caught, frozen in a tangle of electric

               sensation, griped in a vice and twisted for the final

               time until releasing me back into the solid feel of

               your arms.  Your body stiffens as well and I gasp as

               I feel you fill me, your teeth sinking into my shoulder

               as you growl your release.

 

               Some time later, time lossing most of its signifcance,

               I feel your tongue lave my shoulder, soothing

               the area, unleashing a hidden tremor to ripple

               through me. Laying upon the bed now, I turn

               off my stomach to rest my head against your

               hair-matted chest.

 

               I shiver once more, this time from the chill in the motel

               room. Sitting up, I reach for the clump of bedding

               at the end of the bed.  I snicker, feeling the

               stitching of the bare mattress beneath me.

 

               "We should remake this bed before we leave here," I

               say, having a bit of a struggle untangling the covers

               before I spread them over us.

 

               "And deprive house cleaning of this noteworthy

               site?" you ask, stroking my back as I settle down

               against you once more.

 

               "Mulder, you're assuming this establishment employs

               a cleaning service," I reply, my eyes looking around the

               less than stellar motel room.

 

               "Well, you know what assu-"

 

               "Don't even say it," I interrupt, squeezing your

               lips closed with my thumb and forefinger.

 

               "Scmmmully," you mutter between your captured lips

               before poking your tongue through and licking my

               fingers.

 

               "Hey, you cheat!" I laugh, wiping my hand on your

               chest, while maintaining a mock look of disgust.

 

               You grip my palm with yours, holding it tightly against

               your heart.   The levity slips away from me as I stare

               at my small hand held and pressed against the warmth

               of your chest.  I turn my leveled gaze to meet your

               serious one.

 

               We stare at one another, each of us reflecting on  our

               flashbulb memories of moments ago.

 

               My breath catches in my throat as you raise yourself

               onto your elbow.  You reach for my lips with almost

               a quiet desperation and I find myself  matching it.

               Together, we seal each other with a promise that

               reassures us of the choice we've made here tonight.

 

               Our lips slowly release and I smile, laying back down

               and tucking my head against your chest once more, never

               moving my hand from your heart.

 

               I sigh with a sense of complete contentment --

               something I haven't felt in a long, long time.

                

                

 

                                 XXXXXXX

                

 

               The weight of you against me tends to blow my mind,

               particularly now that I'm able to think about it.  It

               is with you tonight, that I've come to realize that

               my years of searching have ended and it's a search

               I didn't even know I was on.

 

               It was a search to find myself again.  Unbeknownst

               to me,  the passing years seemed to have crusted

               the walls of my soul, intombing me with a quest that

               slowly but surely, completely overtook my life -- and

               even yours.

 

               Don't misunderstand me.  I am not now, nor will I

               ever be less committed to the battles we wage together,

               but I've come to realize that they don't have to be

               the only ones.  Maybe I've been slow to catch on to

               this concept, but at least I finally have.

 

               Right now what I think, is that I've won back a part

               of myself that I never would have if not for you.

               Because with a staggering abundance of faith, you

               joined me, taking the chance on the prospect of an

               *us* and in so doing, you've helped to fill an

               emptiness within my fragmented soul.

 

               Now, as I raise my lips to yours, I have hope

               that the pain that blinded me, us, will never

               return  -- will never hold my heart as an

               uknowning prisoner again.

 

               We, neither of us now, walk alone.

 

               With you, because of you, I've been shown that

               lonliness is not a choice.  It has been an

               affliction that I think we've both needlessly

               suffered through.

 

               Together, I have great hope that we will be able

               to confront and banish fears that are sure to come,

               doubts that will inevitably be raised, and wants

               that may fall into the habit of the unspoken.

 

               We hold the key to the manacles of our insecurities.

               We've already turned it once, letting the largest pair

               of locks drop to the floor.

 

               And as much as I want to, I can't tell myself that we

               will never be chained again -- if anything, both of

               us know that *never* is a word that rarely rings

               true.  We can only hope.

 

               And hope is good.

 

               What we've done here tonight is taken the first

               steps toward being free -- free to love  -- and I

               do love you -- free to accept and free to embrace

               the concept of us.

 

               No, not just free -- Freed.

                

 

                                        F   I   N   I   S

                

                

 

               F E E D B A C K                  A P P R E C I A T E D

                

 

               AUTHOR'S NOTES: I want to give my undying thanks

               to my beta supreme, Paige Caldwell.  Her writing and

               friendship has been a brilliance I will and do treasure always.