Title: Unending
Author: RocketMan >lbontger@wmcstations.com<
Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully, even in this form, belong to CC, 1013,
and Fox. No fringe is intended.
Warning: Extreme UST ahead, along with some of it resolved, in a way.
This is probably PG-13.

~~~~~
Unending
~~~~~

I had this dream once, where a large dinosaur came rumbling up to me,
his tongue shooting out and licking me like my dog used to do.

I was laughing and petting his nose and then another dinosaur, some big
T-rex or velociraptor or something came up and took a huge hunk from the
first dino's side and the animal screamed.

I am fuzzy on the details of everything else, even on what the dinosaurs
looked like, where I was in the dream, and even what happened
afterwards.

But that scream.

That unholy howling of pure rage and fear and intense pain . . .that
stayed with me the entire night.

I had four other dreams that night, and I know I did because in each I
heard that scream.

Once from a little girl.

Then from a bird.

Then from Mulder.

I don't remember what the other dreams were about, only that scream.

It still haunts me.

I hear it sometimes, in the whisper of wind through the trees before a
storm, in the chiming of the clock when it hits twelve noon, the guitar
solo in Hotel California on my CD player.

A scream of pain, of death, of rage.

All directed at me.

Screaming . . . unendingly, forever, horrid.

That scream stays in the front of my memory.

Which has to be the explanation for why I heard it yesterday.

Why I heard it from the lips of a four year old boy.
~~~~~

"Scully?"

I snap back to his voice, staring I know, with my hands shaking a bit
and my lips refusing to say those magic words.

"Scully?"

And he's looking anxiously for those magic words, the ones that say I
will be all right, I will be *fine.*

"Scully!"

I shake my head. "That . . . little boy. . ."

Mulder hangs his head. "I. . .I. . ."

He can say nothing. It may not have been our fault, but that didn't
absolve us from the guilt.

He comes to sit on my desk, hands white and clutching the top, closing
his eyes slightly and leaning back.

The picture of a man in ecstasy, or a man in pain.

How odd that the two would be so similiar, so close to each other.

Pain and pleasure are two feelings so deeply rooted together that
sometimes they cause each other, grow off each other.

Feed on each other.

The man who murdered the little boy had no separation between the two,
no difference between hurt and love.

He showed he cared by carving up the boy's chest.

He showed he loved without end by killing the child.

"We should have stopped him." I say softly.

He nods. We are heavy in this guilt.

We knew the man, knew the identity of the boy's kidnapper, and we
waited, hoping to follow him to where he placed the boy.

"We lost him. We had him and we lost him." Mulder pounds the desk with a
large fist, then grinds his teeth together.

"It was a team effort," I say wearily.

He snorts at the thought of the entire FBI hostage team as they swarmed
the building, forcing entry and perhaps, maybe, being the trigger to set
off the kidnapper into a killer.

I want to find peace in this; I want to escape the horrible truth that I
am responsible for a little boy's death.

I can't though.

I shake my head at Mulder and grip his hand.

I want so bad for someone to hold me, to take me in their arms and say
it wasn't my fault, no matter how much I know it to be false.

Just for someone to hold me.
~~~~~

Mulder comes home with me and sinks into my couch as I grab the popcorn
from the microwave and salt it.

He grabs the belt loops on my suit jacket as I come to sit next to him,
then yanks me down into the couch roughly.

Such a fine line between pleasure and pain.

He flicks on the television and surfs until he comes to a movie we have
seen a few months ago, same sort of situation, except then, we weren't
responsible for the death of a child.

The black and white is grainy and it makes me think we are in a
different kind of world, a different place where things have not
happened at all and color has been leached from the joy of life.

The man onscreen is shouting at the woman, I think it was Grace Kelly,
or maybe that other one, Judy something.

The man is an unknown, but handsome, with dark regal hair that glistens
in the stage lights but doesn't seem greasy or dirty. His lips are
flared and thick and his nose is thin with a hint of freckles that I can
almost see.

I lean back into the couch, drifting in the world of swishing dresses
and greys and men with mustaches and a clever accent.

Mulder slips his arm around me, pulls me into his chest, then lowers his
chin to my head.

I wanted him to hold me, and this feels safe.

I am caught up in the movie again, needing to be away from my own world
for awhile, when I realize what he's doing.

Mulder's hands are roaming, smoothing my dress shirt over my stomach,
slipping his hands into my jacket, his thumbs barely running over the
sides of my breasts.

It sends an immediate rush of warmth all through me and I find it hard
to breathe right without opening my mouth.

My eyes are fastened to the screen as I try to think exactly this has
happened, how exactly we have gotten to this point and how I have let
it.

I am leaning into him, my head now on his chest, he leaning against the
armrest, and the entire atmosphere so very alluring.

I want to let him keep touching me, but I can't.

"I'm going to get something to drink. Want anything?" 

I stand suddenly, feeling my heart hitching in my chest as he looks up
at me.

He gives me a sort of grin or maybe it was the look of a hunter enjoying
the game, and shakes his head slowly.

I stumble into the kitchen and nearly drop my glass as I take it from
the cupboard, then spill ice all over the floor as I grab a few pieces.

The water sliding down my throat does nothing to cool me off, only makes
me think of how silky his touch was, how soft it slipped up my stomach
and brushed my breasts.

I feel a hand on my elbow and I jump, the touch so matching the one I
was fantasizing about that it freaks me out.

"Don't freak out yet," he murmurs.

I think he's said this to me before. Maybe that's why this iss making me
shiver.

I turn, trying to conjure up something to say that would make this all
turn around, somehow.

I've never had anyone make me so nervous that my hands are shaking.

He grabs my waist and pushes the glass of water onto the sink, then lets
his forehead meet mine.

I am shivering, closing my eyes, when his hand reaches out and brushes
my cheek, then he chuckles.

"Open your eyes."

I do and the force of his gaze makes me feel weak and all I can think
is, this isn't me doing this. He can't be making me this weak, this
helpless.

"Let's go watch the movie, Scully."

I sigh in relief and, maybe just a bit, in disappointment.

He pulls me to the couch and then into his arms and I close my eyes and
tried to get my own courage back.

He may not have ravaged me in the kitchen, but he's doing a good job if
it now, or trying to at least.

His hands seem to be on a different level than the rest of him. Looking
at his eyes, he seems involved in the moive, but of course, how involved
could he be with his hands slding up my shirt and the fact that we've
seen this movie before?

His eyes slide and meet mine and he gives me a knowing grin that would
have infuriated me, had I strength or the emotional reserve to be angry.

I simply want to melt.

I close my eyes and forget everything, forget how silly and needy I must
seem by staying in his arms and letting him do this, because all that's
in my head is the way this feels.

The way this feels.

Plesaure pain so close to the line that it makes me forget I am
responsible for the death of a little boy.

Unending pleasure unfurling from the very center of me, making my breath
come fast, then slow, sometimes not at all.

He wants to do this, I want him to do this.

My eyes flash open when his lips follow his fingers.

My body twists shamelessly and hot flush creeps up my cheeks.

"Mulder. . ."

He lets his hair brush my bareed stomach, then reaches for my jacket,
slipping his hands under my back.

This has quickly gone from arousing to urging, needing.

"Mulder, we can't do this."

He doesn't seem to be listening to me anymore.

That's what breaks me from the addiction of his touch. I pull myself up
into a ball, making his eyes raise to mine and his heda tilt.

I reach out to touch him, knowing that I have to say this so he doesn't
think . . . whatever it is he thinks.

"Mulder, if we did this now, it wouldn't be right, the same. We both
feel bad about the little boy . . . this would only be something to
regret later on."

His eyes are suddenly closed down, emotionally cold to me again.

I make a noise in my throat and clench his shirt tighter.

Doesn't this ever end? Are we ever going to be able to simply love each
other without all this . . . this crap between us?

"Not like that Mulder. I meant. . .oh hell, I probably would regret it.
Not because it's you, but because of the reasons why."

He seems confused, but not willing to stick around to figure it out.

But as he moves, I grab him, yank him back into the couch.

"I do love you, Mulder. But this needs to be something we do because
it's coming from that love, not from our guilt."

I think I've made him understand, but he simply shakes his head and
pulls away from me.

He stands and kisses my forehead, then walks to the door.

I rush forward, catch him just as he turns to leave, and close my eyes,
mounting as much courage as I can.

I pull him to me and kiss his mouth, forcefully, asserting the claim
that he is mine, and no one else's.

The cry he makes is that same, unending scream of pleasure pain.

He shoves me to the wall and presses himself fully against me, more lust
and desire than anything, and firmly brands me with a quick kiss.

"You'd better just let me walk out," he whispers and slips out the door
quickly.

I sink to the floor, the feel of his body everywhere on me.

We have said nothing about anything, but everything about most things.

Without any words at all.

Just a searing, unending kiss promising more in the future.

Unending.

I can feel him even now.

There's no way I'm falling asleep now.
~~~~~

end
adios
RM