Scopic Pulsion
by Mish
mish_rose@yahoo.com

Classification: MSR, slight angst
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Small one for Detour.
Summary: Sequel to "What Hands Do".  What happens when
you can't look away?

Distribution: Yes to Gossamer.  All others, just let
me know where, okay?

Disclaimer: The X-Files, Fox Mulder, and Dana Scully
are the property of Chris Carter and 1013 Productions.
This is just my little exercise in jealousy.

Thanks to Galia for her unceasing support and for
putting up with my 'title angst'.



Scopic Pulsion


Michelangelo Buonnaroti.  ‘Creation'.  Sure, it's one
of, if not *the* most famous work of art ever
produced.  And yes, there is absolutely nothing about
it that should be of any significance to me.  So what,
God creates Adam.  Big deal.

It should be nothing more to me than ceiling paint.

So why does my stomach lurch, my heart seize?  Why do
my hands smooth over the pages before me with a
reverence I've not felt since I was a child?  Hell, I
don't think I've ever been moved by anything so...
biblical.  The representation of this fresco is
stretched over two pages, with the two hands separated
by the gulf of the book binding.

Just like me and Scully.

I'd like to think we created a new universe in that
shell of a building in New Orleans.  The only problem
is, our hands haven't touched since then.

She's okay, I'm okay.  We're back to business as
usual.  Actually, I guess you could argue that we
haven't had much time to ourselves lately.  Our
workload has doubled.  What is it about fall that
brings out all the weirdness in this world? 
Halloween?  Maybe, maybe not.

I don't even remember why we're sitting here at 8:30
on Friday night, poring over art history.  That's how
tired I am.  Oh yeah, something about a ghost haunting
some museum in Connecticut.  Who cares?  Not even
Spooky Mulder can summon any enthusiasm for this
assignment.

Geez, I'm bored.  And what makes it worse is that
Scully is sitting across the table from me, ignoring
me completely.  The only benefit to her concentration
is that I can watch her all I want.

Here I go again.  The pictures in my mind blossom once
more.  Too much art going to my head.  Three hours of
'research' and I think I'm Fox W. Rembrandt.  In my
mind, anyway.

Those perfect, slender fingers are absently playing
with her pen. We're sitting in a library swarming with
students and serious researchers, and all I can think
about is Scully's hand.  All I can picture is her hand
moving over my arm.  Sliding over my palm.  Bestowing
a lover's kiss unlike any I've ever had.  It's driving
me crazy... this need to *know* what the real thing
would feel like.

I sometimes think she wonders, too.  I know she's
caught me staring at her hand, but I've never had the
pleasure of catching her in the same act.  Not that
she doesn't indulge.  On the contrary, I'm positive
that Scully is having the same fantasies.  She's just
better at hiding it.  Damn, I wish I weren't so
obvious.

Her hand releases the chain and quietly lays in the
valley of her neck.  I clear my throat and concentrate
on flipping through the book in front of me.  Shit. 
John William Waterhouse, 'My Sweet Rose'.  

You would know that I'd stop right on a portrait of a
beautiful red- haired woman, neck arched, her face
poised in pleasure, lips reflecting the pink of one
perfect rose.  The woman could be... no, stop it. 
Stop, stop, stop.  Don't look at it.  Think of
something else.  Think of....

Scully is nothing like the woman in the portrait. 
Nothing except for the red hair.  And maybe the
fingers.  Certainly not the nose.  Nope, there is no
similarity there.  And Scully's throat is nothing
like....

That perfect throat drives me up the wall.  White and
smooth, waiting for my lips.  Her nape has always
driven me to distraction.  For years I've gazed at her
back from the far reaches of my desk.  Her hair falls
away from the collar of her suit just so... revealing
the delicate bones of the top of her spine.  I've
grown quite used to admiring her nape.

But now, I seem to be fascinated with the hollow just
above the cross.  I think my mouth would fit just
right in that little valley.  My hand would cup the
back of her head and tilt it so that I may drink my
fill of that sweet space...


*********


Damn it, Mulder, quit staring at me.

I know what he's thinking.  After all, you don't work
with a guy for this long without developing a knack
for reading his mind.  Just as I'm sure he can do with
me.  But I think my poker face is a little better than
Mulder's.  At least I hope it is.

I told him in the hospital in New Orleans three months
ago that I wasn't sorry for what transpired between us
in that hellhole.  And I'm not.  It's just that I need
time.  Thankfully, Mulder has given me all the time
and space I've needed.  The only problem is, I can't
seem to free myself from his unceasing scrutiny. 
There are days when it infuriates me.  We're both
professionals; this constant lust - yes, lust - oozing
from him makes me very uncomfortable.

Then there are days when I welcome it; after all, I'm
not immune.  Mulder is a very sexual man, in my
opinion, even though I'm pretty sure he hasn't gotten
any for quite a while.  And to think that I'm the
object of his fantasies - well, it's flattering, to
say the least.

There are also days, like today, when I stand on the
cliff's edge overlooking the Sea of Mulder and pray
that he will say something, do something, *anything*
to nudge me over the edge.

I sometimes wish he would just seduce me and be done
with it.  But he would never do that.  It would be too
easy for me to blame him if it turned out to be the
biggest mistake of our lives.  My backup parachute, so
to speak.  Except he's not about to give me an out.

I would love to enter into a sexual relationship with
Mulder, but I'm going to have to be pushed, prodded in
some way.  I've analyzed, categorized, dissected, and
deliberated it, all in my mind.  Without any emotion
at all.  It's a dilemma that will have its resolution
when I finally lose control.  Like I did in New
Orleans.  Hell, the only reason I gave his hand...
well, a 'blow-job', actually... was because I thought
we'd never get out of there alive.  That, and a lump
on my head the size of a golf ball.  Tends to skew the
thinking a bit.

I keep telling myself that physical injury to the
brain in the form of a concussion has a way of messing
with your thought processes.  Yeah, that's it.  That's
the reason I did something so totally out of
character.

But even I know that it has nothing to do with my
continuing fantasies.  Oh, I'm still me, still Scully
- ever faithful, ever sure.  Still showing up for work
everyday like nothing happened between us;  sitting at
my desk sifting through case files and listening to
Mulder breathe behind me.

Except I'm not in control, not really.  The ability to
look away from him is gone forever.   I used to be
able to focus on the work, and not the man.  I've lost
track of the amount of times I've wanted to pounce on
Mulder like some sex-starved maniac.  It doesn't
matter where we are or what we're doing.  In the
basement, Skinner's office, the elevator, the car...
hell, once I even seriously contemplated the logistics
of a quickie in an airplane bathroom.  All because he
rolled up his shirt sleeves.

I allow myself the luxury of emotion at these moments.
Then I take a deep breath, remind myself that I can't
let my heart rule my head, and the moment is lost.

Concentrate, Dana.  Just concentrate on the book in
front of you, and clear your mind of all else
except....

Auguste Rodin.  "The Kiss."  Ill-fated lovers
Francesca and Paolo, captured in bronze, lips meeting,
breath mingling, arms entwined....

God, I love his arms.  I crave them around me, under
me.  I picture them in straining tension as he holds
himself above me....


**********


Her eyes have shifted from the page in front of her to
a spot somewhere beyond the notebook she's been
scribbling on.  The pen in her right hand slowly falls
away from her fingers.

I crane my neck as far as possible without arousing
suspicion.  Well, what do you know.  "The Kiss." 
Thank you, Jesus.

I do believe I'm witnessing a miracle.  My breath
stops and I hold myself perfectly still, unwilling to
break the spell she's fallen into.

You're feeling it, too, aren't you, Scully?

Are you picturing *us*, Scully?  Is the image of us
together in a passionate embrace threatening to
overwhelm you, like it does me?  Do you want to
alternately hold it close to you with pleasure-pain,
then thrust it away with howling frustration?

How does it feel, Scully?  I hope your mind is
creating havoc with your senses.  God dammit, I've
waited long enough.  Three fucking months of waiting
for you to tell me you're ready.  I know your body is
ready; why won't you let your mind go?

"Scully?" I whisper, reaching for her hand.  Please
respond, Scully.  Please give us what we both want.

Her eyes sharply regain focus and her breath hitches
as she jerks her hand away from mine.

Fuck.


**********


Mulder's face, so open moments before, closes with a
visible *snap*, his eyes darting away.  His golden
skin pales and his jaw clenches as he slams shut the
huge volume of art history, narrowly missing the
glasses he flung to the table moments before.

Shit.  What have I done?

"Mulder -" I begin, my voice husky with apology.

"Shut up, Scully," he growls, even now avoiding my
eyes.  I can see him fight to regain composure as his
hands scrub his face.  His head hangs in despair as
one hand falls to the table.  The other remains
clamped over his mouth when he finally raises accusing
eyes to mine.  We stare at each other for a few
seconds.  I silently plead for forgiveness with what I
hope is regret in my eyes.

"You promised me, Scully," he says when he drops his
hand from his mouth.

<Don't ever deny me the touch of your hand.>

Mulder's whispered plea from months ago hangs in the
air between us.

"I know I did, Mulder, and I'm sorry," I whisper, my
throat suddenly aching with unshed tears.  "Please
don't think that I did that on purpose."  I reach for
his hand impatiently, trying my best to meet his
reproachful glare.

He sighs and reaches across the expanse of frustration
between us to grasp my damp hand in his own.  "I know
you didn't."  He squeezes my fingers and continues,
his voice soft.

"Why do you keep yourself from me, Scully?"


**********


Ah, at last some fire behind that blank mask.

She sniffles away the unwanted tears and brings her
face up, a spark of indignation coloring her cheeks.

"I wasn't aware that I belonged to you, Mulder," she
replies coldly, her back straightening.  I tighten my
grip on her hand when she tries to tug it away.

"You don't," I say calmly, refusing to turn this into
an argument so she can justifiably fly out of here. 
"And that's not what I said.  I asked you why you
persist in denying yourself."  My thumb begins a slow
caress of the back of her hand.  "You realize that I
would do anything for you, be anything for you.  All
you have to do is ask.  In denying me, you deny
yourself."

I have to remain rational.  Scully and I are embarking
on the most important conversation of our lives, and I
don't want to screw it up.  If I get angry, she'll use
it to back away.  If I back down, we'll never speak of
it again.  God, I'd love to crack wise right now like
I normally do in these situations, but she'd never
take me seriously again.

And I *so* want her to hear me now.

Her face dissolves into a sketch of fear.  "We can't
do this, Mulder," she cries, much louder than she
wants to.  A gentleman seated three chairs to her left
fixes us with a glare and a hissing, "Shhh!"

I am so tempted to pull out my badge and gun and scare
the daylights out of the old bastard, but that would
involve letting go of Scully's hand.  Instead, I purse
my lips and glower back.  He soon gathers his material
and leaves quickly.  Guess I can look menacing when I
want to.

When I look back to Scully, she's red with
embarrassment, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

"I'm not asking you to take me to the microfiche room
and fuck me silly, Scully," I retort, then immediately
soften my voice.  "Although the idea does have some
appeal."  So what's one little joke?  Her lips twitch
with suppressed laughter, but she doesn't reply. 
Instead, I feel her hand relax in mine.

I seize the opportunity to take her other hand, and we
face each other across the mahogany expanse of the
table.

"It's okay to think about it, Scully.  I *want* you to
think about it, to picture it.  I want you to touch me
whenever you feel like it.  I want you to study me, to
imagine the possibilities.  I picture us all the
time."

Her brow raises at the last remark.  "You do?"  Like
she didn't know.

"Of course I do, Scully.  I do and I have.  Many times
- even before we let our fingers do the walking."  She
lets a breathy laugh escape her lips, then she returns
my handclasp for the first time, leaning forward in
her chair.

"What do you picture, Mulder?"  Shit, does she realize
what's she asking?  I certainly hope so.  She lowers
her voice to a whisper.

"Tell me, Mulder.  Tell me so I may learn.  So I can
imagine the possibilities."


**********


Mulder's eyes darken into twin pools of emerald
desire.  He leans forward until our faces are inches
apart, a shaky smile flitting across his features.

"You sure you want to hear this, Scully?" he asks, his
voice lowering until it flows over me like fine silk.

Oh, God.  I'm asking a man who shares videos with
Frohike to describe his sexual fantasies about me. 
Despite my sudden trepidation, I nod slowly.  "As long
as it doesn't involve me in a cheerleader outfit,
Mulder."

He grins just a bit, then lowers his eyes to stare at
our clasped hands.  "It doesn't, Scully," he says,
"The portrait of us in my mind puts the masters to
shame."  He clears his throat, then looks back up at
me, his eyes colored with the grey and green mixture
that is us.  Oh my, I see myself as Venus in that
canvas, rising from their stormy depths....

"Where shall I start?"

His husky question vibrates through our joined hands.

"How about where you left off in New Orleans?" I say,
remembering his description of our first kiss.  I
don't want to think about my rash interpretation that
followed.

"Oh, you mean our first kiss?" he asks innocently.

The imaginary hand at the small of my back nudges me
right over the edge.  I embrace the salty air rushing
over my face, grasping the cord of the parachute one
last time.  Damn, but the freefall is exhilarating.

I join the slow movement of his thumb across the back
of my hand with a similar caress of my own.  "Yeah," I
whisper, noting the way his eyes have dropped to study
my mouth.  "What comes next?"

Mulder continues without pausing in his contemplation
of my lips.  "I think I told you how you taste to me,
Scully, didn't I?"  He catches my nod out of the
corner of his eye.  "Well, I don't think I devoted
enough attention to it."

Sure you did, Mulder.  Get to the good stuff.

"Your cheek under my hand is warm, supple... I feel
the bones in your face under my fingers and marvel at
their strength while my lips move over yours."

He still hasn't looked up.

"I feel your jaw drop slightly before your mouth even
opens... I know you want me to deepen the kiss, so I
pull away slightly to draw a breath before I return to
you, this time intent on taking everything from you
that I can... your tongue meets mine eagerly, the
unspoken words lost between us for now..."

The movement of his lips has hypnotized me.

"Before we can speak, I glide my lips down to taste a
spot that's figured prominently in my daydreams of
late, Scully."  He gently disengages one of his hands
from mine and reaches to touch the hollow of my neck. 
My pulse leaps at his touch and he dips his thumb
there while the rest of his fingers curl under my
jawline around my neck.  "Right here."

Parachute?  Who needs a parachute?  It has become a
burden, so I fling it away from me and spread my arms
wide....


**********


When I lift my eyes to look at Scully, I'm amazed at
the sight.  Her mouth is slack, her breath sliding
through her lips with short puffs of arousal.  Her
pupils are dilated, almost erasing the vivid blue of
her irises.  So *this* is what I missed in New
Orleans.  I'm struck speechless when I realize her
heartbeat is hammering under my fingertips, echoing my
own.  A familiar tightening in my groin makes me shift
in my chair.

"Don't stop, Mulder," she whispers.  "Keep going."

I swallow the excitement burgeoning in my chest and
rub my thumb against her throat.  She hums her
pleasure and her eyes slip shut.

"I know you had decided on the office, Scully, but I
picture us in your apartment," I say.  She mumbles an
"Okay," but doesn't open her eyes, so I draw a deep
breath and continue, willing my erection to settle for
the moment.

"I love your apartment, Scully.  It suits you... you
look very happy amid the vivid blues of your bedroom."

She cracks one eye open and pins me with a sleepy yet
aware gaze.  "My bedroom?" she whispers.

The gentle insistence of my thumb makes that eyelid
close again.  "Yes, Scully," I murmur, "your bedroom. 
We stand so close to each other... only an inch or so
apart... our hands are busy... they slowly touch the
skin we hurriedly uncover.  Oh, Scully, you're so
beautiful..."

Her hand moves from the table to wrap around my wrist
and she begins a slow stroking of my bare arm, her
head leaning into my palm.

"Mulder?"

"Hmmm?"

"You're beautiful, too."

I can't help it.  My eyes refuse to stay open another
moment.  The library full of people fades into nothing
around us.

"You're so ready for me, Scully... I smile when my
hand travels from your waist to your hips, then lower
still...  God, Scully, you're so wet and warm..."

Jesus, this is *so* real.  I can see her in my mind so
clearly.  Naked and flushed, trembling yet confident
in my arms...

"You tell me you want me, Scully.  You tell me you
need me, you love me... you want to make love with me.
I can't stop kissing you, touching you.  With every
word you speak, I must take it from your lips with
mine, to hold them within me forever..."

"Mulderrr..."

"Yes, Scully, yes.  I tell you that I love you... I
want to give you everything you're asking for and
more..."  My words are rushing out now, faster and
faster.  "You lay upon those pretty flowered sheets -
my lovely girl in her bed of flowers - and I slowly
lower myself until we touch in every possible way."

God, I hope she's seeing this as I do.

"Your hands wrap around my back, your nails leave
marks, Scully... you've just made me yours... you
laugh when I tell you this..."

Even though my eyes are closed, I can feel her smile.

"Soon, though, we can't speak anymore, Scully... with
your last coherent thought you demand that I come
inside you now...*now*, you say... but I won't,
Scully, even though I want to badly."

God, how I want to.

"I slide down your bed, Scully, my mouth leaving a wet
trail of kisses down your belly... my God, Scully, you
feel so good under my mouth, you *smell* so good,
*taste* so good... like the smoothest, sweetest
honey... the tartest lemon... the richest white
chocolate...."

At her slight gasp, I drag my eyes open to look upon
her face.  She's crying.  Jesus, Scully's crying.  She
must sense my hesitancy, because her eyes open and she
burns me with her plea.

"Don't stop, Mulder.  Please don't...." Her voice
breaks on the last word.  I wish I could vault across
this table and hold her in my arms.  Instead, I bring
my other hand to her face and wipe away the tears,
holding her gaze with my own.  She nods, her hands
squeezing my wrists, urging me on.

"Scu-" Dammit, my voice decides to falter at the most
inopportune moment.  I clear my throat and charge on. 
"If I thought you were beautiful before, Scully,
you're absolutely *radiant* now... your head tosses
upon your pillow, my name pours from your lips... I
dip my tongue into you, Scully... into *you* - the
most beautiful part of you."

Her fingers are slowly clenching and releasing my
arms; her eyes hold mine.

"If I could speak, Scully, it would be your name.  If
I could see, it would be your face.  If I could hear,
it would be your sweet voice.  But I'm lost Scully,
lost in you.  My eyes cannot see, my ears cannot hear.
My mouth cannot speak... it serves only to give you
pleasure... I'm your slave, Scully.  You know this to
be true... your hands hold my head while I worship
you, Scully... your hips rise to meet my humble
offerings... I feel you getting tighter, Scully,
answering my prayers..."

"Library's closing in five minutes, folks."  The
slightly nasal voice intrudes, bursting the bubble
around us.  I jerk away from Scully, embarrassment
causing a flood of warmth to my cheeks.

The painting in my mind dissolves under a flood of
shame and guilt.  I can't believe I did this to her. 
Again.  God, I'm such an asshole.

"Sure, we'll be gone in a minute," I answer the old
biddy, searching for my glasses, my coat, anything to
keep from looking at Scully.

"Mulder -"

"I'm sorry, Scully, I shouldn't have done that.  Guess
I got carried away."  I rise from my chair and quickly
don my overcoat, hoping to cover my subsiding erection
before I make an even bigger fool out of myself.  I
take a quick look around; the library is almost
deserted.  I suppose anybody left to see our little
show bugged out long ago.

"Mulder, look at me."

I hang my head and face her with a sigh.  She's still
in the same position, her elbows on the table, hands
raised as if still touching me.  A final tear dangles
from the tip of her lashes.  She brushes it away and
rises from her chair, a picture of professionalism and
control.

"Help me with my coat, Mulder, please."

Damn, I don't know how I'll stand it, touching her. 
But I gather my resolve and round the table to stand
behind her.  She waits while I help her with one arm,
then the other.  My hands settle upon her shoulders
for a brief moment.  Just when I bring myself to break
away, her hands fall on mine.

"That was beautiful, Mulder," she whispers brokenly,
her fingers curling around mine.  "Thank you."

I feel myself moving closer to her; my lips are
tickled by her hair when I respond.  "Truer words were
never spoken, Scully."

She turns and brings a hand to my cheek, forcing me to
meet her eyes.  A slow smile lights up her face and I
feel like my heart will pound right out of my chest at
her next words.

"Take me home, Mulder."


End part one

Scopic Pulsion
Part two
Disclaimers, etc. in part one



We walk slowly through my hallway, Mulder a few steps
behind me, distancing himself more and more with every
moment that passes.  Not a word was said between us on
the ride here, and that worries me.  Did he mistake my
words?  I thought I'd made myself clear.

<Take me home, Mulder.>

In those four short words, I thought I'd spoken my
true feelings.  Take me into your arms, Mulder.  Take
my body, my heart, and my soul.

Screw my fears, my unnatural obsession with control. 
Take me.

Let our hearts create a masterpiece.

He didn't touch me, talk to me, or spare more than a
few glances my way.  He even went so far as to open
his window to let the early November air into the car.
Was he hoping to cool his desire, or mine?  I could
see the passion for me in his eyes, feel it
surrounding us like a warm blanket back there in that
library.  He asked me then why I've kept myself from
him.  Doesn't he realize he's now doing the same?

When the lock gives way on my front door, I turn to
reassure myself he hasn't bolted.  "Mulder?" I ask,
hoping he can see my fear.

Finally, a response.  "Scully, maybe we should wait." 
He stands there, shoulders hunched, those beautiful
hands hidden in the pockets of his overcoat.

"Come in, Mulder," I urge.  "Please?  We'll talk
inside.  I promise I won't jump you."

He smirks at that, and the tension between us ebbs a
bit.  "Okay, Scully.  Only if you promise."

Like I promised I wouldn't turn away from him?  "I
promise, Mulder."  This time I mean it.

"Then after you, Scully."  He gestures for me to
enter.

I decide it would be unwise to force the glaring
overhead light on us, instead opting to turn on the
lamp by the window, bathing us in a muted glow.  At
least he's inside, though just barely.  He stands in
the shadows of the foyer, his body stiff and his face
grim.

"Scully, I don't want to rush you.  I don't think
you're ready for this.  If I hadn't done what I did
tonight -"

"I would never have made up my mind, Mulder," I finish
for him, shedding my coat and taking a tentative step
toward him.

He steps further back into the dimness , the torment
he's going through etched deeply in the lines around
his mouth.  "Scully, I basically *seduced* you with
words.  No, let me finish," he says when I open my
mouth to protest.  "We both know when you've had time
to think this over, you'll change your mind.  I don't
want you to do something you'll regret in the
morning."  He sighs.  "I've waited this long.  I can
wait a little longer.  It won't kill me."

"But it will kill *me*, Mulder."  I close the distance
between us, daring him to look away.  Thankfully, he
just slowly melts under my gaze.  "I've not been
truthful with you, Mulder.  Or myself.  Since New
Orleans, I've imagined what it would be like between
us.  Actually, since before New Orleans."

"You have?"  He swallows and his eyes brighten.

"Oh, yeah," I reply, reaching for his coat.  He jerks
slightly when my hands fall upon his shoulders, and
his eyes narrow with the effort to remain open.  "And
I can't look away from it.  I don't know that I even
want to anymore."

So I promised I wouldn't jump him.  This is not
jumping, it's... seducing.  I never thought I'd
actually seduce Mulder.  I like it.

God, I hope I can pull it off.

His coat falls in a heap on the floor, followed by his
suit jacket.  "Remember the flight home from Seattle
last week?"  My voice drops into a husky imitation of
its former strength.

"Mmm-mmm."

My fingers disappear under the crisp cotton of his
rolled up sleeves.  "The moment you rolled up your
sleeves, I wanted to drag you into the restroom and
'fuck you silly'."  I give him back his words of an
hour ago, and he smiles.

"You did?"  His hands rest lightly upon my waist, the
fingers squeezing slowly, as if afraid to break me.

"Yes, Mulder, I did."  His arms relax under my fingers
like the softest clay.  "You see us in oil, Mulder. 
Would you like to know how I see us?"

A mute nod.  His face, deprived of lamplight, is cast
in parchment and shades of black.

"I see us in marble, Mulder.  Or bronze.  Not
colorless, not at all," I quickly amend.  "But so much
more than paper or canvas.  We're permanent, Mulder. 
Strong, invincible, untouchable by the world around
us.  Like 'The Kiss' - unaware of life beyond.  Naked
only to each other.  Warmed by only each other."

I pull him into the light.  "Only when our lips
touch... we become flesh."  The warmth of him
surrounds me, embraces me.  "Warm, red blood and
imperfect shades of ivory skin... nervous laughter and
coffee breath... the skeptic and the believer, made
one."

Mulder's hands slide to my hips, pulling me closer. 
"Scully?"

"Yes?"

"You coming on to me?"

Well, praise the saints, I think I'm seducing Mulder.

"Well, Mulder, if you have to ask, then I must not be
doing it right."

"Oh, you're doing it right, all right."  He settles me
against him and the evidence of my success presses
insistently into my abdomen. 

"You can kiss me now if you'd like, Mulder."  Please,
kiss me.

"Scully, I've kissed you and made love to you a
thousand times in my mind.  It's enough."

How did I get so lucky?  Or unlucky, as the case may
be.  Mulder is the only man I've ever known that would
try to talk himself out of sex because he thinks the
woman he loves isn't *ready*.  He would willingly wait
forever for me.

My hands slip from his arms and imprison his face in
their greedy little grasp.  "Mulder, what you did
tonight... that made me realize what I've been
missing.  I've always wanted you.  I've always needed
you.  I've always loved you."  A sheen of tears
transform his eyes into glowing orbs.  "And it's not
enough.  Not anymore.  Not for me, and not for you."

I slide my arms around his neck and bury my face into
his chest.  "Now - are you going to take me to bed, or
do I have to rape you on my living room floor?"


**********


"Scully."  I crush her to me, her name escaping my
lips with a ragged moan.  I breathe in the perfume of
her skin, finding the shell of her ear to whisper the
words she's now ready to hear.  "I love you, Scully."

"Is that a yes?" she murmurs into my throat, her hands
making short work of my tie and buttons.

"Yes, Scully, yes."

She pulls away, holding on to my hands in her backward
trek to the bedroom.  My shirt is half undone and my
erection is threatening to rip my pants open.  Must be
a pretty sight - her eyes roam over me like I'm
covered in chocolate.  She licks her lips and gives me
a Mona Lisa smile.

I can't believe this is happening.  My legs stumble
through her hallway - God, I hope I don't fall.  That
would be so embarrassing.  Not to mention painful. 
I'm not about to do damage to myself when I'm moments
away from making love to Scully.

Jesus, we haven't even kissed yet.  A fact I will
remedy shortly.

She quickly flicks the bedside lamp on and kicks her
shoes off, followed by her jacket.  I can do nothing
but stand here with my mouth hanging to the floor.

"What?"  She pauses in the act of unbuttoning her silk
blouse.

"C'mere, Scully."  I hold out my hands.  "I want to
kiss you.  I want you to kiss me."  Is that my voice
that sounds so steady?  Can't be - my lungs are
starving for air.  I shouldn't even be able to speak.

Scully's hips swing in a dance as old as time as she
approaches me.

Okay, I just lost what little breath I had left.

"Here?" she asks, planting an open-mouthed kiss into
my palm.  My cock leaps at the touch of her tongue. 
"Here?"  She stands on tiptoe to slide her lips along
my jaw.  God, she's tinier than I thought.  "You have
to tell me, Mulder.  Here?"  My eyelids close as I
feel her breath upon my face, her nose giving mine an
Eskimo kiss.

"Or here?"  She brushes the words across my lips.

"Yes... here, Scully," I groan before slanting my
mouth across hers.

Damn, this is better than anything our hands or minds
ever imagined.

We surge against each other, as I always knew we
would, our tongues dueling for dominance.  Little
moans bubble up from her throat and mine... we push
into each other... my breath becomes hers, hers
becomes mine.  I can no longer tell where I end and
she begins.  This is the way we were meant to be -
fused into one glorious being radiating heat and light
and fury.  Neither of us are willing to part, but lack
of oxygen makes us split apart the atom we've become.

Her hands tremble as she strokes my back.  Mine
actually shake as they pass over her hair, her back,
wherever I can reach.

"You okay?" I finally gasp, cradling her head against
my shoulder.

"Yeah," she whispers, her cheek absorbing the drumbeat
of my heart.  "You?"

"Oh, yeah."  So now we're reduced to monosyllables. 
That's okay.  There's not much to say in the aftermath
of an earthquake.


**********


If Mulder wasn't holding me up right now, I'm sure I'd
be a mass of jelly at his feet.  My heart slows just a
bit, but my stomach is still somewhere in the vicinity
of my knees.

His hands have nothing on his lips.

Any semblance of control I had left just flew right
out the window.  Mulder is just as affected; he's
shaking like a leaf in my arms.  I tilt my head and
press a kiss to the skin above his undershirt.

"Scully?"  He swallows against my lips.

"Yes?"

"Anything you want, anything.  Just tell me, I'll do
it."

Oh, Mulder, if you only knew.  You could have me on my
knees with just a nod of your head.

"Just stand there, Mulder.  I want to touch you."

My hands move to his shirt.  I have it off in seconds,
as well as his undershirt.  God, but he's glorious,
all muscle and sinew.  I don't know where to begin.

His eyes follow my every move.  His face is tense,
slightly damp with a fine covering of sweat, as is his
torso.  I run my fingers through his hair, restoring
it to a pretense of its former spiky disarray.

"Don't close your eyes, Mulder," I whisper when I see
the lids droop.  "Watch me look at you."

It's an effort for him, but he complies, blinking and
taking a deep breath.

"You're beautiful, Mulder.  I think I told you that
already, didn't I?"  He gives me a shaky laugh, his
hands busy on the buttons of my blouse.  "But my
imagination couldn't have prepared me for the real
thing.  You amaze me... you blind me... you take my
breath away..."

A slight reddening of his face betrays his
embarrassment.  "No, don't look away," I continue,
"look at yourself in my eyes."  His eyes dart to and
fro, trying to capture his image in mine.

I slowly pull him to the bed, where I gently push him
to sit.  He moves to divest me of my blouse, and I let
it fall away.  Before he can reach for my bra, I fall
to the carpet before him.

"Scully -"

Whatever he was going to say is lost when I quickly
pull off his shoes and socks.  My fingers curl around
his feet, then up his pants legs to rub his calves.

"I want you to keep your eyes open, Mulder.  No more
fantasies.  I'm real, you're real."  My hands slip out
from under his trousers to settle upon his thighs.  He
meets me halfway when I raise my head for a kiss. 
This one is slow, lingering, wanting.  I playfully nip
at his lower lip before pulling away to continue.  "I
want to see what you look like when you come.  That's
the only thing I could never fully imagine."

When my hands move to his belt, he stops me with a
hand on my cheek.  "Me too, Scully," he says.  "It's
something I thought I'd never experience.  Will you
keep your eyes open for me as well?"

"Always, Mulder."  The time for such talk, however, is
over.  I get to my feet, swaying slightly under the
emotional onslaught.  Mulder's brow furrows.

"You okay, Scully?"  He steadies me, his thumbs
drawing slow circles on the skin above the waistband
of my skirt.

"Oh, yeah, Mulder.  Just fine."  I pull him up to
stand before me, and resume my foray into his
trousers.

"Geez, Scully, slowly, okay?"  He sucks in a ragged
breath when my knuckles graze the front of his boxers.
"We don't want this over before it's begun."

"It won't be," I whisper as his pleated pants fall to
the floor.  He's magnificent, his athlete's body clad
only in a pair of tight grey cotton boxers, his hips
already rocking slightly toward me, seeking out my wet
heat.

"I need to see you, Scully."  His hands fumble with
the back of my bra while I run mine under the elastic
of his boxers to cup his flexing cheeks.  God, he
feels so good.

"Front, Mulder," I murmur into his chest, my tongue
trailing a path along the narrow band of silky hair
that leads me like a treasure map to a pot of gold.

"Front, she says.  You're making me look bad, Scully."


"Sorry."  No, I'm not, not really.  It's nice to see
us muddle around with each other.  Paintings are so
perfect, so inanimate.  I don't want us perfect... I
want us human.

He stops my treacherous meandering with a slight push.

"My turn, Scully."


**********


The dainty cups of her lace-covered bra unfold under
my fingers.  I can't stop touching her.  I brush my
thumbs over the little nubs of her nipples, and she
answers me with a breathy, "Yesss."

I'd love to take it slow, but my hands have other
ideas.  They quickly find the side zipper of her
skirt, taking her pantyhose along for the ride when I
slip it down her legs.  An agile two-step, and she
stands before me in nothing but a brief wisp of satin
and a smile.

"Well, Mulder, it appears we're even."  Little minx.

"Not for long," I growl, and the panties go the way of
the rest of her clothes.

I recall my words of a while ago.  White chocolate. 
She's that and so much more.  I skim shaky fingers
over her belly, marveling at the smooth expanse of
skin.  We watch together as they disappear in the wiry
red curls.

"Oh - oh, yes, Mulder, there..."  Her lids sink to
half-mast and she grips my arms, searching for
purchase.

"Uh - uh, Scully.  Keep your eyes open.  Watch me."

Jesus, she's so tight.  If my fingers are this tight
in her....

"Don't worry about it, Mulder," she gasps, "it'll be
okay."

She's more than ready for me.  I slip my fingers from
her, ignoring her mewling protest, and turn to ready
the bed.  I can't help the little smile - a thousand
blue periwinkles wave up at me from the sheets.  It
seems my every dream is coming true.

Scully's arms surround me from behind and she inhales
deeply.  "You hit it dead-on, Mr. Profiler.  Once
again, I'm amazed."

"My job is a joy when I can be right about things like
this, Scully."  She squeals when I turn and maneuver
her onto the pillows in a flash.  "You think my
profiling skills are good, Scully?"

"Oh, yeah."  She reaches for my boxers and removes
them in one swift pull.  I loom over her and feel them
sail past my head.

"Have you ever seen my wrestling skills?  I made the
all-star team in high school, you know...."  The
sentence ends in a groan when she takes my erection in
her hot little hands.


**********


"I thought you didn't like to wrestle, Mulder," I
reply, gauging the breadth of him in a heartbeat.  I
drop my eyes from his pleasure-filled face to my
hands.  Jesus, he's huge.  I mean, I've seen him naked
before, but naked and *aroused* is totally different. 
I gulp back my moment of hesitation and watch him
settle inches above me.

"I never said... Jesus, Scully, that feels good...
that I didn't like to wrestle."  His hips begin a
countermove in time with my strokes.  "You just caught
me at a... bad time.  Keep going, Scully, please...."

He begins exactly where he said he would, at the
hollow of my throat, his lips breathing my name into
my skin.  His portrait of us begins to take shape as
his mouth paints a swirl of hot color on my breasts. 
If I listen carefully, I can hear the welcome crack of
marble as my sculpture of stone shatters into a shower
of diamonds.

Suddenly, he reaches a hand between us to stop my
torture.  "I want to taste you, Scully."  The fire in
his eyes threatens to consume me.

"We've done that already, Mulder, remember?"  The last
word is choked off by the insistent probe of his thumb
into my folds.  "Later, Mulder.  I want you inside me.
Now."  Guess I just fulfilled another of his
fantasies.

He's so enraptured by the moment my reference to our
earlier conversation in the library flies right over
his head.  "I don't want to hurt you, Scully...."  His
teeth catch at his bottom lip when I guide the tip of
him to me, my foot gliding up the length of his leg.

"You won't, Mulder.  Trust me."

He pulls one of the pillows from behind me and uses
his hand to lift my backside, sliding the pillow under
it.  "Comfortable?"

"Oh, yeah..."  This is the most comfortable I've been
in years.  He finally quits resisting and eases into
me slowly.

My breath catches at the fullness, my inner walls
stretching to accommodate him.  There is no pain,
although he senses my slight discomfort immediately. 
"Scully?"

"Don't stop, Mulder, please...."  I place my hands on
the small of his back, urging him on.  He grunts with
frustration; I know he'd like nothing better than to
slam into me, but he's taking it easy for my sake.

At last, I feel the tip of him touch my womb, and he
lowers his body until we have contact at every
possible place, his lips brushing over my forehead, my
eyes, my cheeks.  "This okay?"  His voice is rough. 
It sends goose bumps over my skin.

"Feels like I knew it would, Mulder.  Like heaven."  I
raise my mouth to his, and we kiss.  The joining is
complete.

He breaks away with a moan.  "Scully... I have to...
move...."

"Yes, Mulder.  Move."  My hands do some moving of
their own as he starts thrusting slowly in and out of
me.  I slide my palms over his ribs, his chest,
finally resting them on the tendons in his neck.

"Scully -" he breaks off as an intense wave makes him
grimace.  Oh, I have to try that little clench of my
inner muscles again.  "Can you... come... this way?" 
His arms strain to hold him above me, his hands flat
on the bed.  He picks up speed, his pelvic bone now
hitting my clit on every stroke.

I wrap my legs around him, searching for just the
right angle.... "Oh, yeah, Mulder... right...
there..." I break off as I feel the first stirring of
orgasm ripple through me.


**********


Jesus, she's too tight, too wet.  I feel like I may
explode at any moment now.  Gotta make her come....

When I feel her legs wrap around me, I know I've done
something right.  Her inner walls start contracting,
pulling on my cock with hundreds of tiny fingers.

"That's it, baby..." I squeeze from my throat.  "Come
for me... come..."

Her mouth falls open in a silent scream, her eyes
slipping shut.  I manage to stop thrusting long enough
to slide my hand between us, giving her clit a little
brush.  "Open your eyes, Scully..."

A rosy blush begins from her chest and travels up her
neck.  She drags her eyes open and arches from the
bed, her hands vise-like on my shoulders, trembling
with the force of her orgasm.  Her eyes never leave
mine, dilated as they are with passion, her lips
giving my name to me over and over again.

"Mulder... Mulder... Mulderrr...."

I move my hand away from her folds and pound into her,
unable to stop now.  The familiar rush of heat surges
from my balls into my cock, and I bring my hands under
her to cradle her head, the sting of tears making it
almost impossible to see.

"Love you, Scully... love..."  One more thrust and I'm
home, the spasms washing over me like a tidal wave. 
My hips jerkily ride out the storm, slowing to a
gentle stop as I collapse onto her breast.

"I love you, too, Mulder," she whispers into my
sweat-soaked hair.


**********


My muscles protest just a bit when Mulder rolls away
from me.  So does my mouth.  "No, don't...."

"Shhh, Scully.  I'm too heavy."  He settles in beside
me, and reaches for the sheet to cover our cooling
bodies.  Our hands entwine in the space between us.

For long moments we have nothing to say.  I watch the
silent, murky gaze move over my face.  With his free
hand, Mulder continues his exploration of me, touching
the places his eyes have grazed.  My jaw, my brow, my
cheeks.

"Scully?"

"Yes?"

"I wasn't exactly truthful with you before... before
we..."

Oh, God, what now?

"Mulder, what is it?"  My free hand mirrors his,
soothing the worry on his face.

"I never wrestled in high school."  His cheek moves
under my hand in an impish grin.

"Why, you -" My words a cut off by his mouth.  My
anger dies as quickly as it came to life.  "That was
mean, Mulder," I gasp when he lets me go.

"Yeah, but I got you good, didn't I?"

"You certainly did, Mulder."  In more ways than one. 
"Mulder?"

"Yeah?" The hand in mine tenses.  He waits for my
revenge.  Funny, but I don't feel particularly
vengeful at this moment. 

"Is that how you pictured us?"

I hold my breath while he ponders the question. 
Naturally, he answers with a question of his own.  "Is
it how *you* pictured us, Scully?"

"I asked you first."

He chuckles into my hair, planting a row of kisses
down the side of my face.  "My imagination pales in
comparison to the real thing, Scully."

Ain't that the truth.

"I'll never look away, Mulder," I vow as he gathers me
close.

"I couldn't even if I wanted to, Scully," he pledges
right back.



END

Scopic pulsion - an irresistable urge to look.

I don't know as much as I'd like about art, so please
excuse any blundering of mine.  As for the title, I
found it in an art dictionary.  I have a feeling it
means so much more than just those five words... what
can I say - I like it!

Feedback is deeply appreciated at mish_rose@yahoo.com