Aphrodisia VI - In the Wake of the Devil's Instant (1 of 5)
Kristel St. Johns
kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com

Rating: NC-17
Classification: SR
Archive: Yes. (Redistribute with permission only, and with 
headers and disclaimers intact.)
Spoilers: S7 through "Orison"
Timeframe: After "Orison"
Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance, Smut
Summary: The events of "Orison" affect Mulder and Scully's 
relationship and the developing D/s dynamic.

Author's Notes and Assorted Blatherings:

Thank you always to my betas and test-reading crew: Indi, 
Jennifer, Tiff, Shelba, Beth and Nancy.

DISCLAIMER: The characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, 
And The X-Files do not belong to me. They are the property 
Of FOX Television, 1013 Productions, Chris Carter, David 
Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. They are used here without 
permission.  No profit is being made by their use in this 
story. 

WARNING: This story contains graphic depiction of sexual 
activities between consenting adults, including BDSM-
related activities. It is in no way, shape, or form 
intended for younger readers. If you are under the age of 
17 or sensitive to this kind of material, do not proceed. 
Thank you. 

If you have questions about the subject matter contained 
herein, check out the resources page on my website, 
http://www.geocities.com/kristeljohns.  This story is part 
of a series and will make much more sense if you read the 
other parts first.  You can find those at my website as 
well.

Feedback is welcomed at kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com



APHRODISIA VI - In the Wake of the Devil's Instant

Too much of my life has been based on what-ifs.

What if Samantha had never been taken?

What if Scully had never been assigned to the X-Files?

What if I'd been just thirty seconds later reaching her 
apartment the night Donnie Pfaster came back for a return 
engagement?  What if I'd been thirty seconds earlier?  
Would anything have changed?

I don't know--Christ, I don't know.

Don't look any further, Mulder.

Yeah.  Right.

*     *     *     *     *

Scully stayed alone in her apartment Sunday night.  There 
was too much going on that day, and though we spent our 
nights together whenever possible, sometimes it just wasn't 
practical.  That was okay.

Monday morning, Donald Addius Pfaster escaped from prison.  
By Monday afternoon, Scully and I were on the investigation 
to find him again.

We didn't find him--he found us.  More precisely, on 
Wednesday, he found Scully.

I'm a fucking profiler and it took me precious hours to put 
together where he might go if he had no place else.  I can 
excuse it by saying I didn't want to get into his head.  I 
would have done anything to avoid it.  That's why, at the 
earliest opportunity, I bugged the hell out of there with 
Scully in tow.  I was in Donnie's head ever so briefly once 
before, and I didn't want to go there again.  What's more, 
I didn't want Pfaster to have a chance to make his way into 
Scully's mind again.  I could see it happening already--for 
whatever reason, when we'd investigated the Pfaster case 
the first time around, he'd gotten to her.  *No one* gets 
to Scully.  Call me a Neanderthal, but if anyone's allowed 
to penetrate the formidable fortress of her brain, it's me 
and no one else.  So even though the federal marshal was 
clueless, I didn't offer to stick around and help.  
Instead, I booked two tickets on the first flight available 
out of Chicago.

"I--um, I think I need to be alone tonight, Mulder," Scully 
said after I announced I was going to go home, ditch my 
dirty clothes, grab a suit for the next day and return to 
stay the night with her.

"Scully--" I wanted to argue.  She hadn't been herself 
since we'd gotten the call about Pfaster, and I couldn't 
blame her.  The horror of Pfaster's crimes had touched her 
personally, long before he ever got a hold of her and 
nearly made her his next victim.  That she was unsettled 
was natural and expected.  That I wanted to help her was 
also natural and expected--but in this case, not an option.

I wanted to get him out of her head, shield her from his 
intrusion into her psyche.  But the bottom line was Scully 
didn't want to be shielded.  She wanted to cope with it 
alone, as she so often does.  I didn't have to be happy 
about it--I just needed to respect her wishes.

"I know you want to be here for me, Mulder.  You want to 
comfort me and help me work through this, and I appreciate 
it, really I do.  But tonight, I need to pull *myself* 
together and decompress.  So go home, Mulder.  I'll call 
you later, okay?"

There was no way I could argue with her.  She'd already 
tolerated more protectiveness from me on this case than she 
would put up with normally.  She hadn't torn me a new 
asshole when I tried to convince her to go home the first 
time, even though we'd already had that discussion before 
leaving Washington.  She hadn't objected when I wrapped 
myself around her in the hotel in Illinois as though I 
would be her physical shield from the world and clung to 
her through the night like a newly sprouted 6'1" appendage.  
She hadn't protested when I told her there was no longer an 
X-File for us to investigate, so it was okay for us to go 
home, even though we both knew I'd hung around on cases 
where our help was less welcome for flimsier excuses.  She 
was making a simple request--to give her some time to work 
it out--and I couldn't deny her that.

So I dropped her off at her apartment--where she hadn't 
even kissed me good-bye--and went home alone.

I didn't stop worrying, though.  Not for an instant -- 
until I heard the song as I brushed my teeth.  That's when 
I finally let my mind drift.  At that point, I quit 
worrying and started wondering.

If I were Donald Addius Pfaster, where would I go?

I was a scavenger, not a predator.  I didn't hunt my 
victims--I started out taking them when they were already 
dead, or I lured them to me, or grabbed them when they 
chanced to pass by.  But I hated--oh, how I hated.  I hated 
that bitch who gave birth to me and her gaggle of bitch 
daughters who could never do any wrong, who teased me and 
taunted me as I grew up awkward and alone and frustrated.  
I hated the youngest of them, only 17 months older than I, 
when she screamed about cooties whenever I toddled across 
her path, and I hated the oldest of them when she called me 
a pervert when she caught me masturbating.  I would have 
hated my pussy-whipped father, except he was too pathetic 
to hate.  He just didn't know how to handle the girls, 
didn't know what to do to show them how worthless they 
really were.  He didn't know that if you took away their 
pretty hair and pretty nails, they were no better than us 
rough, clumsy creatures called men.

So now I'm free and I can take every last one of those 
girly-girls down a peg, one at a time.  I can show them 
what it feels like to be rough and ugly, show them how it 
feels to be humiliated.  But where do I begin?

And that's when it occurs to me--I begin with that uppity 
FBI girly-girl who landed me in prison because she just 
didn't know when she was supposed to die.  The one who had 
the audacity to sit there on the stand and plead for my 
life with her hair and nails perfectly neat and styled, 
looking across the courtroom at me with revulsion and pity 
co-mingled in her gaze.

I bolted out of bed and broke land-speed records on my way 
to Scully's apartment.

What if I hadn't allowed myself to profile Pfaster?  What 
if that stupid song hadn't tweaked me?  What if I'd been 
too late?  I'd spent the entire case in a state of denial, 
refusing to listen to what she was saying, wanting nothing 
more than to get the hell out of there and get her away 
from anything related to Pfaster.  What if my stubborn 
refusal to look any further had killed her?

Fuck.

*     *     *     *     *

"You've got to stop this, Scully," I said at last on 
Friday, after nine days in which she had done little but 
pace and sleep in my apartment, not returning to her own.  
She was sleeping too damned much, a sure sign of 
depression.  She was suspended until the shooting inquiry 
could be conducted and with her work taken from her, she 
had little to occupy her time.  But that didn't mean she 
should sleep it all away.  Not that I had any better 
suggestions for what she could do.  Besides, I rather liked 
knowing where she was every minute.

"Don't start," she warned me.  "I murdered a man, Mulder.  
I don't care how you want to dress it up for the board of 
inquiry, I killed him in cold blood, so don't try to 
comfort me, okay?"

"I'd hardly call it cold blood, Scully.  At the very worst, 
it was a result of the trauma of being attacked.  You'd 
just been through hell.  There's not a jury in this country 
that would convict you."

"That's because they don't *KNOW*!" she yelled, clenching 
her fists at her sides.  "Mulder, I know you don't want to 
believe it of me, but that shooting was one hundred percent 
premeditated.  As I crawled across the floor to get my gun, 
I wasn't thinking of getting away or saving my own life.  I 
was thinking about nothing else but putting Pfaster down.  
Don't tell me it was trauma or temporary insanity, because 
I was well aware that it would be wrong, that I could 
subdue him and cuff him and call the cops, or just get 
away, but *I DIDN'T CARE*.  I killed him, Mulder.  I 
planned it and I did it.  And what's bothering me isn't 
that I killed him, but the fact that it *isn't* bothering 
me.  So don't try to tell me it's all right, because I know 
right from wrong, and it just didn't matter then."

I stared at her a long moment, my jaw clenched in 
frustration.  She was right, of course, in a way.  By the 
letter of the law, she had committed murder.  And anyone 
who ever learned what had passed through her mind when she 
made her life-and-death struggle across her bedroom floor 
would see it.  Our only saving grace was that the board of 
inquiry was bending over backwards to justify the shooting.  
No one wanted to destroy a respected and highly qualified 
agent for taking down a piece of shit like Pfaster.  But if 
that made her evil, then what was I?

Her eyes widened and her head swiveled to stare at me.  
"What did you say?"

Realizing I'd said the last part aloud, I raised my voice 
and repeated, "If you hadn't done it, Scully, I probably 
would have.  What does that say about me?"

"You don't know that, Mulder."

"The hell I don't!"  I hissed as I crouched over, getting 
in her face as she glowered at me.  "There was no other 
thought in my head as I drove to your apartment that night 
but what I was going to do to that evil fuck if he had hurt 
you.  I wasn't planning justice, Scully, I was planning 
revenge.  Malice aforethought.  And when I saw you-- when I 
asked you if he had hurt you-- when I saw you *bleeding*-- 
I was ready to pull the trigger.  I would have done it, 
Scully, without batting an eye.  I had every intention of 
killing him--you just got there first.  Either way, the 
result would have been the same.  Donnie Pfaster would 
still be dead, and I wouldn't regret my actions any more 
than you do now."

"No, Mulder--no!"  She shook her head in adamant denial.

If I had seen fear or revulsion in her eyes, I don't think 
I could have borne it.  But I couldn't regret that I had 
fully intended to see Pfaster dead that night.  Not after 
what he had done, or almost done, to Scully.  If anything, 
I was less noble than she--her need to see Pfaster brought 
down, legally or no, was because of the horror of his 
crimes against all his victims.  Mine was fueled solely by 
my need to protect--or at the very least avenge--her.

And it wasn't the first time I'd planned to commit mayhem 
in retribution for harm done to Scully.  As she lay in a 
coma after being abducted, I'd sat in my darkened apartment 
waiting to ambush the men who'd taken her, to take my rage 
out on them.  I would have killed them, or been killed by 
them, for no more reason than I'd wanted to avenge the 
wrong done to the woman I loved.  If not for a timely 
intervention, I would have done it.

It was odd.  There had been moments over the years, when 
I'd faced someone like Krycek or Cancerman in the heat of 
the moment, wanting to kill them and yet I ended up walking 
away.  I'm not a loose cannon, not prone to shooting first 
and asking questions later.  I can contain my violent 
impulses.  Any time I've considered pulling the trigger in 
an instant of anger, I've been able to back down.  No, the 
only times I've been truly willing to kill were the times 
I've had a chance to think about it first and decide that 
the right and wrong just didn't matter.  When Scully was in 
that coma, I'd cornered C.G.B. Spender in his apartment and 
waved my gun in his face, but ultimately hadn't been able 
to kill him.  But when Scully was in the hospital dying 
with cancer, I'd faced Spender yet again and told him that 
if Scully died, I'd put him down--and meant it.

What did that say about me, I wondered.

"Do you think I'm evil, Scully?"

"No, Mulder--" she reached out to me, a flash of tears in 
her eyes.  That was progress.  She'd dealt with this as she 
so often did with any trauma--she closed up shop 
emotionally until she could regain her equilibrium.  She'd 
been dry-eyed and stoic for over a week, unwilling to touch 
or be touched.  She'd showered several times a day, and her 
skin looked raw and dry.  "I'd never think that of you.  
You know that."

"Yeah," I muttered.  My resolve not to touch her, to let 
her proceed at her own pace, disintegrated.  I grabbed her 
by the hand she extended to me and pulled her close.  I 
clutched her to my chest and buried my face in her hair.  I 
did what I'd been wanting to do from the moment Donnie 
Pfaster went down for the final count but hadn't because 
she'd been so damned skittish--I held her like I would 
never release her again.  "I nearly lost you again, Scully.  
Do you have *any* idea what I would do to keep that from 
ever happening?  Nothing else matters to me.  Nothing at 
all."

"Oh, God, Mulder..." she whispered against my chest.  She 
clung to me, trembling slightly in my arms.  She gripped my 
upper arms tightly, not letting me go--as if I would leave 
if I could.

"I'm going to get past this," she finally said, her voice 
muffled in my shirt.  "I've got to.  I can't let that sick 
bastard have any more of my life."

"You will," I said softly, stroking her back.  "You're 
better than him, Scully.  That's what it boils down to--he 
was just a sick, evil fuck and you--you're an angel.  Well, 
an avenging angel, maybe, with a wicked right hook..."

I felt her chuckle and I relaxed, breathing a sigh of 
relief.  We were going to be okay.

"Hey, whaddya say we go back to your place tomorrow and 
start getting things cleaned up?  Your neighbors are going 
to bitch about the crime scene tape if we don't take it 
down soon."

She stiffened against me and drew a deep, shuddering 
breath.  It was a long moment before she replied.

"Yeah," she said at last.  "Yeah.  Let's do it."

*     *     *     *     *

I wasn't sure which was worse--the puddles of wax from 
candles that had burned obliviously in the bathroom long 
past the moment Pfaster went down for the count, or the 
slivers of glass covering the bedroom floor.  I didn't want 
Scully cleaning the glass--I'd seen the cuts all over her 
arms, legs, and belly.  If I had any say in the matter, I 
wasn't letting her near it.

She collected the globs of wax scattered throughout the 
bathroom while I took a broom to the bedroom.  It was a 
mess.  I damned my fertile imagination as I envisioned 
Scully dragging herself through the broken glass to her 
weapon, ignoring the pain and the blood as she fought for 
her life.  Shit.  What I wouldn't do to Pfaster if he 
weren't already dead...

The bookcase had gotten twisted in its fall and needed to 
be replaced.  It tottered precariously as I attempted to 
load books back onto the shelves.  Down below, there were 
tiny smears of dried blood on the hardwood from Scully's 
life-or-death struggle across the floor.  I grimaced and 
made my way to the kitchen to retrieve a wet towel and some 
detergent to try to remove the stains.  That was when I 
found her.

"Scully--God, Scully, stop.  I'll do that."  I grabbed her 
shoulders as she rocked back and forth, rubbing a ruined 
towel across the large dried bloodstain where Donnie 
Pfaster had lain.  We had consciously skirted it upon our 
arrival and had been diligently avoiding it since.  Until 
now.

"I know how squeamish you get, Mulder," Scully said 
tiredly, a hitch in her voice.  I could tell she meant it 
as a joke, but her heart wasn't in it.  Her head was bowed 
and I couldn't see her face, but I was willing to bet there 
were tears staining her cheeks.

"So what?  So I'll puke and have to clean that up too.  
Damn it, Scully, just stop, all right?" She roughly pulled 
away from my hands and threw the cloth on the floor.  
Browning smears of dried blood were streaked across her 
hands.

"I made the fucking mess, Mulder!  I can clean it up," she 
snapped.  She glared up at me and I stepped back, my hands 
held up in as non-threatening a manner as I could manage.  
It hurt to move away from her.  I was right--there were 
tears on her face.  Tears for that piece of shit, Pfaster.

"It's not going to come out," she muttered woodenly at last 
after several moments spent in futile scrubbing.  "The 
flooring will have to be stripped, maybe even replaced."

She was right, of course.  The stain had been setting into 
the hardwood planks for days.  The thick, coppery smell 
from her wetting the dried blood was nauseating even from 
where I stood, and Scully was sitting there in the thick of 
it.

"Come on, Scully, get up.  We'll call a cleaning service to 
take care of the rest of this and your super can handle 
getting a contractor in here for the floor.  This was a 
rotten idea--I thought it might help, but I was wrong.  We 
shouldn't have come here."

"No, Mulder, I needed to come back here.  This is my home, 
and I'm damned if I'll let that bastard ruin it for me," 
she shrugged tiredly.  "I thought maybe I'd sleep in my own 
bed tonight."

"Not tonight, but soon," I promised, extending a hand to 
her.  "Are you feeling too closed in at my place?  Want to 
get a room instead?  Someplace nice, with a fireplace and 
Jacuzzi and king-sized bed?" I gave an exaggerated leer in 
an attempt to make her smile.  "Someplace too classy for 
magic fingers?"

"No," she sighed, finally taking my hand and letting me 
pull her to her feet.  "I'd rather be at your place than 
anywhere."

I blinked, surprised by the admission.  I always thought 
she only tolerated my place because I was there.  We spent 
a lot of time there, yes, but I never thought Scully 
particularly liked my apartment, especially not after being 
assaulted in my foyer during the Padgett case.

"You know you can stay as long as you need to," I said 
finally.  Scully nodded and looked down at her bloodstained 
hands.  "Go wash up and I'll grab some clothes for you, 
okay?"

When I was done packing several days' worth of clothes for 
her, I found her in the bathroom, staring pensively at her 
bathtub.  The remnants of Pfaster's ceremonial candles were 
gone, but nothing could ever erase the memory of what he'd 
planned to do to Scully once he got her into that tub.

"I used to love taking baths," she murmured, staring 
blankly at the tile floor.  "Long, hot bubble baths that I 
could soak in for hours.  But I tried to take one the other 
day at your place while you were gone and I couldn't."

I didn't know what she wanted me to say, so I remained 
silent.  If she needed to talk, I was here to listen.  
Sometimes, my role wasn't to offer comfort or reassurance, 
but just to be a sounding board, as she so often was for 
me.

"After Tooms and Duane Barry broke into my apartment, I 
moved up here.  I loved this apartment building, but I 
didn't feel safe on the ground floor anymore, so when they 
had a unit open upstairs, I moved.  But it didn't help, 
Mulder.  They can still get to me.  Krycek and Luis 
Cardinal shot Melissa here.  Now Donnie Pfaster...I feel 
like if I give up the apartment I'll be admitting defeat, 
but I don't feel safe here anymore.  I don't know how I 
managed to live here so long."

I could understand that--I needed an abacus to keep track 
of the number of violations of my own apartment.  I, too, 
would be damned before I let them have that victory over 
me.

"Do you want to move in with me, Scully?" I asked before I 
even realized I intended to make the offer.  "Not that my 
apartment is any great shakes where security is concerned, 
but if you feel safer there..."

She shook her head, giving me a small smile.  "No.  Thank 
you, though.  Even if I thought we could do it, there's 
really not enough room."

"Someplace else, then.  We could buy Byers' house, maybe.  
It's not great, but we could afford it on two G-folk's 
salaries, and I've got some life insurance money left from 
my father."

Scully sighed, smiling fondly at me.  "I appreciate the 
offer, Mulder, but it's probably not a good idea right now.  
Thanks for trying, though."

I shrugged.  "I'm not just offering because I think I 
should, or because I think that's what you want, Scully.  
I'd be more than happy to do it.  All you have to do is say 
the word and I'm there."

She nodded, leaning wearily against the sink.  "I know you 
mean it.  I do.  But we do still have work to consider.  
Right now, it's easy to keep our relationship out from 
under the eyes of anyone who would question its effect on 
our work.  What you're proposing would change that."

I gave a discontented frown.  Within a two-minute 
conversation, I went from not even having considered moving 
in with Scully to proposing it to actually being 
disappointed when she refused.  "Makes you wonder if our 
priorities are out of whack," I muttered, turning away.  I 
picked up the bag I had packed for Scully and walked out of 
the bathroom without waiting for a reply, or even to see if 
she'd actually heard me.  "I'm ready to go when you are," I 
tossed back over my shoulder.

End of Aphrodisia VI, part One

Aphrodisia VI - In the Wake of the Devil's Instant (2 of 5)
Kristel S. Oxley-Johns
kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com

My comment about our priorities surprised me.  For all 
Scully's talk about getting out of the damned car, I was 
the one finding myself increasingly discontented with the 
direction of my life.  Once upon a time, I would have said 
there was nothing more important to me than my work.  Once 
upon a time, not long before Scully, I might have even 
meant it.  But that was long ago, and these days I wasn't 
sure I even recognized the man I was then.  I sure as hell 
didn't like him.

Let's face it--I'm not a hero.  My motivation has always 
been enlightened self-interest.  I wanted to know what had 
happened to my sister--if that meant unraveling an 
international conspiracy and revealing the government's 
duplicity to the public, great, but that was never my goal.  
I had a brief flirtation with self-imposed martyrdom around 
the time I learned the truth I'd been seeking was that 
extra-terrestrials were going to colonize the planet unless 
I stopped them.  At that time, I thought surely I would 
live and die for the cause of exposing the conspiracy and 
preventing the annihilation of the human race.  Eventually, 
I was appalled at my own egocentricity.  There was no way I 
was going to save the planet on my own, even with Scully's 
help.  We were there to set the wheels in motion, perhaps.  
It's an important task, but I was deluding myself if I 
envisioned my destiny as being the savior of mankind.

So now I was caught in the middle, between wanting the life 
so many others live in blissful oblivion and possessing the 
power to stop what I knew could be coming.  The knowledge I 
had would prevent me ever having the one, but denied me 
access to the other.  Scully and I did have a job to do, 
and it was an important job.  But that didn't mean we had 
to sacrifice everything that makes life worth living to do 
it.  I refused to feel guilty for wanting to seize some 
modicum of normalcy for myself.

Once we arrived back at my apartment, Scully nearly drove 
me out again with a stick.

"You've been hovering all week, Mulder," she pointed out 
when I argued.  "Go to the Y, play some basketball for a 
while, have some fun, would you?"

"Maybe I want a quiet afternoon at home with you," I 
replied, unwilling to leave her alone after what she'd been 
through.  I wasn't quite confident enough yet to venture a 
playful pout.

"And maybe I need some time to myself right now.  Don't 
worry--in case you didn't notice, Pfaster's dead," she said 
acerbically.  "It's not likely he'll come back from the 
grave to get me."

I could argue that we'd seen precedents for precisely that 
event happening, but I wisely remained silent.  In the end, 
it was Scully's request that I leave her alone for a while 
that got me to go.  The irony did not escape me that I'd 
just been ejected from my own apartment by a woman who 
recently refused to move in with me.  I had to admit it was 
nice to burn off some of the excess energy that had 
accumulated for more than a week of watching over Scully.  
A couple of pick-up games later, I jogged home to find my 
apartment redolent with the smells of roast chicken.  
Scully peered out at me from the kitchen door and leaned 
against the archway, arms crossed over her chest as I 
kicked off my tennis shoes.

"I swear you are the only man on the planet who can make 
sweats look sexy," she announced after a moment.  I 
recognized that husky tone of voice well, but it was the 
last thing I expected to hear coming from Scully any time 
soon.  I stared at her a bit warily, unsure of how to 
react.  Getting horny seemed an inappropriate response in 
light of her present emotional struggle, though I was 
undeniably turned on by her tone of voice.

Checking my baser impulses, I gave an exaggerated sniff of 
the sweatshirt I had donned upon leaving the YMCA to keep 
me from freezing on the run home.  "You wouldn't be saying 
that if you were standing downwind."

"You're such a romantic.  You'll notice I'm wisely keeping 
my distance," she deadpanned. "Lest the reality of 
your...bouquet...shatter my delusions.  And if *you're* 
wise, you'll go shower.  Dinner's almost ready."

"Yes, Milady," I attempted to click my sock-clad heels 
together and gave a jerky bow.  I stripped my sweatshirt 
and tank top off as I made my way to the bathroom.

Underneath the shower's hot spray (no wussy low-flow 
showerheads in my older apartment building, thankfully) I 
pondered Scully's mood shift.  Once upon a time, I thought 
*I* was mercurial, but there were times Scully had mood 
changes that left my head spinning, especially when she was 
coming off an emotional upset.  By the time I emerged from 
the shower, it was entirely possible, likely even, that 
she'd be brooding once more.  I'd been on the roller 
coaster with her more than once, as she had with me.  The 
only thing to do was to hang on for the ride.

I was surprised by a burst of cold air and turned to see 
the shower curtain sliding open, revealing a very naked 
Scully stepping into the shower with me.  She arched an 
eloquent eyebrow at my look of consternation.

"Huh.  Betcha thought I was joking when I said you were 
sexy in sweats," she said without preamble, pressing me 
back against the tile wall and kissing her way across my 
chest.  I yelped as the cold ceramic touched my wet skin.

"I just didn't interpret the idle comment as an offer," I 
replied, my voice surprisingly steady considering the 
southerly course of her lips.

"You should know I don't tease, Mulder." Her tongue stroked 
the soft skin of my groin as she sank to her knees.

"Yeah, but there's a difference between flirting and 
teasing."  Christ, she was licking everywhere but my 
rapidly and painfully stiffening cock.

"Me?  I never flirt," she answered, batting her eyes 
coquettishly at me.

God, had it only been two weeks since we'd last had made 
love?  I was suddenly horny as a teenager.  Trying to be 
sensitive, though, I laid a hand on Scully's face to stop 
her.  "Scully, you don't--"

"Hush, Mulder," she said with a gentle smile.  "I'm 
concentrating."

Her mouth engulfed my cock, hot and wet, her tongue 
stroking firmly across the sensitive head.  I groaned, my 
head falling back and my eyes snapping shut.  I felt her 
hands on my thighs and knew I was utterly at her mercy.  
Perhaps that was the point.  I wondered if I should stop 
her, and if she'd be pissed off if I did.  If she needed to 
feel as though she was in control, this was a good way to 
do it, and perhaps it would be wrong to disrupt that.  Of 
course, it would also be wrong to take advantage of it, but 
there were certain parts of me demanding I at least give 
her the benefit of the doubt.

My hands fell on hers where they rested on my thighs and 
she laced her fingers intimately with mine, holding me 
while her mouth caressed me.  I could feel her eyes on me, 
watching my reactions.  I didn't make any particular effort 
to hold back, but instead let her lips and teeth and tongue 
work their magic on my senses.  I was reduced to guttural 
moans when she began humming, the vibrations running up my 
cock and through my body.  When I finally opened my eyes, 
hers were shut, her expression serene.  I let my head fall 
back and allowed the sensations to carry me away.

Several long moments later, I helped her to her feet and, 
clutching her close to my chest, moved us both back under 
the hot stream of the shower.  I kissed her, tasting my own 
salty ejaculate on her tongue, holding her tightly as the 
water cascaded around us.  I thanked the fates for old 
apartment buildings and inexhaustible quantities of boiler-
supplied hot water.  I washed her tenderly, my soapy hands 
running over her soft, slick skin and stood patiently while 
she returned the favor.

"What about dinner?" I asked, suddenly remembering that 
she'd been cooking.

"I turned the oven off.  It'll keep."

"You gonna be all right?"

"Of course.  I'll be fine."

"Uh-huh."

"Don't, Mulder."

"Scully--" I let my head fall back, squeezing my eyes in 
frustration and letting the water rush over my face.  After 
a long moment, I looked at her again.  "I don't want you to 
hide anything from me."

She smirked, glancing down at her nude body.  "Does it 
*look* like I'm hiding--" her voice trailed off and an odd 
expression crossed her face, freezing my next sentence in 
my throat unspoken.

"What?"  I asked when her lips twitched.

"Just--recollecting.  You said almost the exact same thing 
to me five years ago when we first encountered Donnie 
Pfaster, remember?"

*I don't want you to feel you have to hide anything from 
me,* the voice of the past whispered in my ear, soft and 
intimate, from a day in our relationship where every move 
was hesitant and threatened to disrupt the delicate balance 
we'd reached.  Scully was back from her abduction only a 
short time when suddenly we found ourselves in Minneapolis 
investigating a death fetishist.  I'd never forget that 
case--never forget how shaken Scully had been by the sheer 
horror and hatred that fueled those crimes.  I'd known it 
was bothering her, but I was at a loss as to how to help 
her without trampling her precious sense of independence.  
I'd never forget how it might have been Scully's coppery 
hair in Pfaster's pillow and her elegant, infinitely 
capable fingers in his icebox--or the moment her reserve 
had shattered and she'd cried in my arms.

I'd always remember how desperately I loved her in that 
moment of vulnerability, and how close I'd come to losing 
her again that night.

"I remember," I murmured, slicking my hair back from my 
face.  "But things are different now."

"Yes," she acknowledged.  "They are.  And I swear, I'm not 
trying to deflect you or repress the trauma or any of that.  
I just need to reclaim what's good in my life, Mulder.  
Pfaster can't have that; it's not allowed."

"Okay," I sighed with a nod of resignation.  I had to trust 
that if she needed my help, or my comfort, she'd let me 
know.  "But if there's anything you need--anything I can 
do..."

"I will, Mulder," she cut me off.  "I promise.  Now let's 
get out of here before dinner gets cold."

*     *     *     *     *

Later that night, Mulder and I lay spooned on the sofa, 
watching the late news.  For the first time since last 
Thursday, there was no mention of the shooting of escaped 
murderer Donald Pfaster.  We'd gotten numerous calls from 
reporters wanting to interview me, which I declined for 
obvious reasons.  Luckily, the media was painting me as the 
victim and heroine, not as a villain.  It was yet another 
reason why the board of inquiry investigating the shooting 
was anxious to exonerate me--anything else would look bad 
for the Bureau.  I wasn't sure how I felt about that, 
though.

We lay silently together through the weather forecast and 
sports news, and then the newscast went on to a human 
interest story.  Bored, I rolled so that I lay on my back 
in front of Mulder, looking up at him as he propped himself 
up on an elbow.

"You don't really think our priorities are out of whack, do 
you?" I asked, frowning.  His offhand comment had been 
nagging at me the entire day, perhaps more for the hint of 
anger it revealed than anything else.  Part of me had 
wanted to say yes to his proposal, and part of me was 
frightened by it.  There were too many uncertainties in our 
lives right now--I wasn't sure it would be wise to start 
making plans at this time.  Perhaps day-by-day was the only 
sane way to proceed with our lives.

He sighed.  "Honestly, Scully, sometimes I don't know.  
Sometimes it sure as hell does feel like maybe we've got 
our priorities wrong."

I watched silently as he collected his thoughts.  "When I--
when I was taken from the hospital, when I was operated on, 
I had--I don't know.  A dream, I guess.  Maybe a vision.  
Whatever it was, it was vivid, and it was very real.  And 
in that vision, I left everything behind--the X-files, the 
truth, even you...I abandoned everything and went after 
that elusive entity known as a normal life.  I think I 
didn't take you with me because I knew you'd never go, 
you'd never let me do it.  You're noble enough to make the 
sacrifice.  But it was wrong, Scully--everything was wrong.  
And eventually everything around me died--not just the 
people, but the whole world, and I knew that by giving up, 
*I* had caused it.  No doubt I have a terminal case of 
hubris to presume that what we do would have that sort of 
impact, or that it all rests on me, but I think it's 
apparent that what we're doing is right.  And I'm sure it's 
selfish to resent the fact that what we do demands a 
certain sacrifice--a sacrifice I'm *not* sure I'm willing 
to make, at least not entirely.  I don't think it's wrong 
to try to stake out some happiness for ourselves in the 
midst of everything."

I blinked, stunned by the admission.  This wasn't the Fox 
Mulder I'd grown used to over the years.  That Mulder had 
little room in his life for anything except the quest.  It 
was frightening now to be the singular focus of his 
attention.  "I don't know what to say, Mulder.  I don't 
believe it's hubris to think we serve a higher cause.  At 
the most basic, we're law enforcement officers.  We put our 
lives on the line to protect those who can't protect 
themselves and to see justice met.  That in itself 
qualifies as a higher cause.  Beyond that, well--I don't 
know anymore.  It probably is presumptuous to think the 
fate of the world rests on our actions.  In the final 
analysis, that's all we are--law enforcement officers.   
We've seen things that most law enforcement personnel don't 
see, we've trod on toes a little higher in the hierarchy 
than most investigators get to trample, but in the end, the 
concept is the same.  And I don't see that we're required 
to make any sacrifices beyond what any of our colleagues 
make.  They have normal lives, families, houses, dogs...and 
so could we, if we chose to."

"How can you say that after all you've lost in the course 
of the work?" he demanded, a little angrily.  "Are you 
saying any of this might have happened if you'd gone into 
private practice or taught at Quantico or gotten assigned 
to some field office somewhere?"

"Maybe.  Who's to say it wouldn't have happened, but for 
other reasons?" I sat up abruptly, swinging my legs around 
to hang off the sofa while his stomach pressed against my 
hips and back.  I raised my voice, agitated at being asked 
to second-guess the rather clear-cut course of our lives.  
Things were what they were; why did we need to question 
that?  "What's the use of dealing in abstracts?  There's no 
predicting these things, and there's damned sure not any 
way to look back and say 'this would never have happened if 
I'd done such-and-such,' because you *just don't know.*  I 
think if you're guilty of hubris, Mulder, it's in assuming 
responsibility for everything bad that has happened, to me 
and to you, over the last seven years.  You once told me 
that it was fate--who's to say that we wouldn't have been 
fated to endure the same trials if our lives had been 
different?"

He was silent.  There was no answer he could give me and he 
knew it.

"Mulder, we chose this life.  We chose to make the 
sacrifices, to take the risks.  Not that I don't imagine 
we're discussing more than our living arrangements here, 
but let's just stick with that metaphor.  Sure, we could 
move in together--but at what cost?  Do we *want* to take 
the chance that we'll be separated and reassigned at work?  
Do we want to go back to doing background checks and 
wiretap surveillance?  Now maybe, if we were other agents, 
we'd be able to get away with setting up house together 
without being separated, but the fact is, you and I tend to 
be under a lot more scrutiny than other agents, and we've 
got some black marks against us.  But we could still do it-
-if we chose to.  I just don't think that's what we want."

"Sometimes I don't know what I want, Scully," he mumbled, 
covering his face with his hands and rubbing his eyes 
wearily.  "I want you, I know that.  I want you safe, I 
want you happy...And sometimes I think, yeah, I think maybe 
I'd be willing to give up the work for that.  I'm not like 
you.  You got into this because you believed in truth, 
justice, and the American way.  I got in it because I 
wanted to find the truth about my sister.  Frankly, my 
motivation is a little easier to let go of and not feel 
like a heel."

I blew out a frustrated breath.  "Don't do that, Mulder.  
Don't put me on a pedestal.  I didn't join the FBI for some 
high ideal--I joined because I wanted to do something 
*other* than what was expected of me, because I wanted to 
upset the nice, tidy apple cart of who Dana Scully was.  
And it's not up to you to ensure my safety or happiness," I 
said firmly, a little annoyed that he would presume to take 
on that duty.  "That's my responsibility.  And I choose to 
do what I'm doing.  It's the right thing to do.  And 
whether or not you acknowledge it, when it comes down to 
the wire, you always choose to do what's right, no matter 
what your initial inclination is."

Suddenly my ire fled.  If something was rubbing me the 
wrong way, it wasn't Mulder's fault and I had no right 
taking it out on him.  I leaned over him where he lay 
propped up on his elbow and gave him a teasing smile.  "I'm 
afraid, Agent Mulder, you're not quite the selfish pig you 
like to tell yourself you are."

Suddenly, he rolled over onto his back and pulled me down 
on top of him.  I stretched my legs until I lay flush atop 
his body, my chin resting on my hands on his chest.  We sat 
there a long while simply staring at each other.  "I don't 
think our priorities are a problem," I said finally, 
decisively.  "We're together--that's certainly number one.  
And we've got our work.  We've managed to find a 
satisfactory balance between the two; so I guess if it's 
not broke..."

"Hmm," he nodded in acknowledgment, if not acceptance.  
"Perhaps I was just greedy enough to want more, to want it 
all, no negotiating, no sacrifices."

There was no way I could answer that, so I didn't try.  We 
sat silently for a moment.  Morose thoughts, however, were 
quickly being replaced by something else as I felt the 
tension of his body beneath mine.

He placed his hands on either side of my skull, threading 
his fingers through my hair as he drew my face toward his 
and grazed my lips in the lightest of kisses.  "You know, 
you're wrong about one thing," he commented, whispering 
against my cheek as his lips caressed my skin.

"What's that?"

"I *am* a selfish pig.  I look at you, and I want to keep 
you all to myself.  I don't want to share you--not with the 
Bureau, or the work, or anything."

"Ooh, testosterone poisoning.  Next thing I know, you'll be 
grunting, Mulder," I chuckled.

"No, I draw the line at grunting.  I might oink, but I 
don't grunt."

"Oh yeah?" I shifted my weight so that my hips pressed hard 
against his groin.

"Uh!" the sound escaped him before he could control it.  
"Okay, point taken--I have been known to grunt with the 
proper stimulus."

I smirked, content I'd made my point.  Soon, it became 
apparent that my lying atop him was having an effect.

"Better get off me before I forget I'm a gentleman," he 
warned me.

"Who needs a gentleman?"

"Scully--"

"Mulder, has anyone ever told you that you worry too much?"

"Actually, no," he replied ironically.  "As a matter of 
fact, I can remember a number of times you've admonished me 
for not worrying enough."

"Oh.  Well then..." I pursed my lips thoughtfully.  Finally 
I rocked back, bringing my legs beneath me and straddling 
his hips.  My bottom pressed against his burgeoning 
erection.  "Ah, screw it," I declared.  "Mulder, take me to 
bed and make love to me.  Now."

I rocked again, causing him to groan softly, before I 
dismounted and sashayed toward the bedroom.  At bedroom 
door, I paused to look back at him where he lay rubbing a 
hand over his erection through his pajama bottoms.

"You coming?" I asked haughtily, stripping off my tank top 
and hooking my thumbs in the waistband of the boxers I'd 
appropriated from his drawer.

"No doubt sooner than expected," he answered, unable to 
resist the too-obvious double-entendre as he heaved himself 
off the sofa and ambled after me into the bedroom.

End of Aphrodisia VI, Part Two

Aphrodisia VI - In the Wake of the Devil's Instant (3 of 5)
Kristel S. Oxley-Johns
kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com

By the time I reached the doorway, she was bent over, 
sliding the boxers down her hips, her positively gorgeous 
bottom in full view.

"Allow me," I murmured, sinking to my knees behind her.  I 
placed a tender kiss to the small of her back and ran my 
tongue over that erogenous zone until she moaned softly, 
then I took over the task of easing the shorts and her 
underwear down her legs.  I nipped her buttock as she 
stepped out of the boxers, carefully helping her keep her 
balance as I held her waist in my hands.  I nuzzled her hip 
and the soft mound of her derriere, stroking her fine skin 
with my bristly face, licking, tasting the sweetness of her 
flesh.

She hummed softly in pleasure, a small shiver rippling 
through her body.  My hands traveled upwards from her waist 
to cup her breasts, kneading gently, while my tongue 
trailed over the crease where her thigh met her buttock.  I 
nipped again, a little harder, at the soft, fleshy 
underside of one cheek and was rewarded by hearing her 
gasp.

"Talk to me, Scully," I entreated as I kissed and licked my 
way up her spine.

"What do you want me to say?"

I let go of her breasts to run my hands down her arms, 
starting at her shoulders and caressing downward until our 
fingers laced together.  I wrapped all our collective arms 
around her torso and held her tightly with them as I began 
to kiss her neck.  Her head fell to the side, baring the 
graceful arch of her throat to my teeth.  They grazed over 
the artery where her pulse fluttered, working upward until 
I reached her ear.  I pulled the lobe between my lips, 
sucking lightly, then finally releasing it to answer her 
question.

"Tell me how to touch you.  Tell me what you want me to 
do."

My tongue dipped into her ear and she shuddered, her 
fingers clenching around mine.  She slumped against me as 
her knees went weak.

"You're doing pretty well on your own, Mulder."

"I want to know what you want, how you want it.  I want to 
know what you need."

"Then touch my breasts again, hold them."

"Like this?" I released her hands and engulfed the flesh in 
my hands, supporting their weight.  Her nipples were warm, 
firm nubs in the center of my palms.  

"Yes.  But gently--I'm tender."

"Bruises?" I asked, uncertain of whether I should be 
touching her if she was bruised.  It had been over a week, 
and I hadn't seen any in the shower, but then, I was 
looking from overhead--who knew what damage lingered on the 
soft underside of her breasts.

"No, hormones," she answered with a hint of impatience.  
"Don't be so paranoid, Mulder."

"Oh, sorry," I muttered.  Granted, we hadn't been lovers 
long, but certainly long enough for me to know by now that 
her breasts got very sore in the days leading up to her 
period.  I hadn't witnessed her taking off her bra while I 
was in the shower, or I might have noticed her grimace, or 
heard her soft hiss, as gravity took hold of the sensitive 
flesh.

"Touch me--" she prompted.

I refocused on the task literally at hand and, adhering to 
her instructions, palmed her breasts gently, cupping the 
soft--and presently sore--undersides in my hands.  The skin 
of her shoulders was silky and cool against my bare chest, 
her hair fragrant against my nose.  She allowed herself to 
lean back on me, letting me support her as my erection 
prodded the small of her back.

"Yes--keep doing what you were doing to my neck."  I went 
back to laving her neck with my tongue, listening to each 
gasp and hitch of her breath.  She'd probably throttle me 
for thinking it, but I was afraid to touch her, afraid she 
was too fragile, emotionally and physically, for me to 
handle.  I could feel the rough patches on her skin where 
half-healed cuts lingered.  On the back of her neck was one 
particularly nasty specimen from when Pfaster had slammed 
her into the dresser mirror.  I needed the reassurance of 
her voice, and the guarantee that if I followed her 
instructions, I could be sure everything I did was 
something she was all right with.  I didn't trust myself to 
guess.

I sucked on the tendon between her neck and shoulder and 
she shuddered, her weight pressing against me even more as 
her knees buckled for a second.  It was only an instant, 
though, before she regained her balance and stood upright, 
pulling away from me.  She walked over to the bed and sat 
down on the edge, looking at me expectantly.

I approached her slowly, sinking to my knees once more as I 
reached the edge of the bed.  She bent over and kissed me, 
softly and yet with passion, her lips parting mine, her 
tongue stroking my teeth and the inner recesses of my 
mouth.  I let her explore, let her lead the kiss, 
responding but not taking over.  This was about Scully--
what she needed to do to feel good, to heal, to feel in 
control of her life once more.  She lifted my hands from 
where they rested on the outsides of her thighs and brought 
them to her breasts once more, massaging lightly.  I picked 
up the motion and rhythm from her and she let her own hands 
fall away, taking my face between them and holding me still 
with her lips on mine.

She sighed into my mouth before pulling back and arching, 
pressing her breasts toward my face.  I took my cue as she 
very gently pulled my head to her chest and softly took one 
nipple into my mouth.  Keeping in mind her tender state, I 
didn't suck, but squeezed it gently between my lips, laving 
it with my tongue before changing sides.  She gave a quiet 
whimper of pleasure that was amplified in her chest so that 
it rang in my ears.

Suddenly I was overwhelmed by emotion.  I removed my mouth 
from her breast and pressed my ear between them instead, 
listening to the steady drumming of her heart.  Still 
beating, still alive...My throat tightened and I had to 
trap a muffled sob before it escaped my chest as I 
considered how close we'd come once again to that not being 
the case.  My arms closed around her back and I pulled her 
to me, clutching her desperately as I concentrated on that 
reassuring rhythm that was the beating of her heart.  I 
felt a tear slide off my face and splash onto her breast.

Shit.  No, not tonight.  This wasn't about me.  It wasn't 
about my needs or my comfort or my fear, but it was too 
late.  A second tear followed the first, and then a third.  
They were silent tears, not accompanied by sobs or other 
histrionics, for which I was grateful.  I just held her 
tightly and shuddered within the arms twined around my 
shoulders while the tears squeezed out from between tightly 
closed eyelids.  After several long moments, I heard a 
sniffle and looked up to see glistening tracks of moisture 
on Scully's cheeks as well.

"It's okay," she whispered, her voice shaking.  I reached 
up, cradling her face, wiping her cheeks with my thumbs as 
one pair of wet eyes gazed worshipfully up into another.  
"*I'm* okay.  We're gonna be okay."

I nodded slowly, composing myself internally as I continued 
to stare at her.  I had never in my life felt this brand of 
tenderness and protectiveness toward a woman, never known 
what it was like to love so completely that the beloved 
person became a part of your soul.  Unthinking, we moved in 
tandem, I rising and she descending until our lips clashed 
desperately.  There was a mad moment when we tried to 
devour each other, slowly cooling in increments until our 
lips clung tenderly one to the other.  Our mouths mated, 
our tongues twined, our hands stroked the bare skin of one 
another's backs.

She pulled back and hissed as my hand found a large bruise 
on her back that hadn't yet disappeared and I murmured an 
apology, which she dismissed with a shake of her head.  
Trustingly she allowed me to lay her down on the bed, 
rising to lean over her from where I knelt between her 
legs.  My lips traversed her torso, pressing hot, 
openmouthed kisses all over her body, over her shoulders 
and breasts and stomach.  My tongue flicked out, tasting 
her skin.  Nuzzling her with my nose, I sank farther 
downward until my mouth brushed lightly over the wet lips 
between her thighs.  My tongue parted them as I would the 
lips of her mouth in a gentle kiss, gently delving between.  
Her musky flavor and scent filled my senses--rich, heady, a 
little sweet, a little tangy.  It was as though all of 
Scully could be summed up in that vital essence.

Her soft gasps and shuddering sighs rang in my ears, her 
thighs quivered where they bracketed my head as I continued 
the intimate kiss.  My tongue dipped into her moist sex and 
then withdrew to stroke the engorged knot of nerves above--
teasing, flicking, sucking.  Her fingers dove into my hair 
and held me to her while her hips rose and fell in a gentle 
rhythm that matched the thrusts of my tongue.

It was a long while before I ceased that caress, unwilling 
to relinquish this opportunity to pleasure her, to savor 
her.  But her whispered entreaty and the insistent pulling 
of her hands on my head brought me up from the floor as she 
slid further back onto the bed and lay waiting for me as I 
took off my pajama bottoms and boxer briefs.  I knelt on 
the mattress between her thighs and leaned forward, bracing 
my weight on my arms on either side of her shoulders.  She 
brought her knees up and reached for me, taking my cock in 
her hand and guiding me home.

We moaned in unison, softly, as her flesh yielded to mine.  
I gave a couple of gentle experimental thrusts, changing 
angles, watching her reaction to try to discover what was 
working best for her.  Moving slowly in and out, I sank 
down above her, capturing her lips and finding a rhythm to 
settle into.  All that existed in that moment was the 
pleasure of her tight, hot flesh surrounding me, the 
hitching sound of her gasps, the small shudders that ran 
through her when something felt just right.  I kissed her, 
my mouth melding with hers, our tongues dueling.  When her 
hands grasped my ass, pulling me deeper into her, I 
increased the pace.

In an instant, everything changed.  One moment she was 
gasping in pleasure, and the next a wheeze of fear had 
entered the sound.  She began hyperventilating, bringing 
her hands up to push with sudden desperation at my 
shoulders.  Her eyes were wide with panic.  "Get off me!  
Now!"

The urgency in her voice penetrated the fog of passion 
enshrouding my mind and I rolled away in an instant.  I sat 
up, torn between the need to assist her and the instinctive 
knowledge that she needed me to keep a distance while she 
panted in fear, a white-knuckled fist clenched and pressed 
between her breasts, over her heart.

"I'm sorry," she said breathlessly after a moment.  "I 
just...felt a little claustrophobic all of a sudden.  I 
couldn't breathe..."

"Shh, it's okay," I reached out to pat her back 
reassuringly, and found myself the one reassured when she 
didn't flinch or pull away.  It was to be expected that she 
would have some post-traumatic reactions from her ordeal.  
I couldn't help feeling we had moved too fast, done too 
much for her to handle.  I kicked myself for not arguing 
harder when she'd stated her desire.  I should have known 
she wasn't ready...

"Come here," she murmured after a long moment, extending 
her arms to me.

I looked at her questioningly, uncertain that approaching 
her would be a good idea.  If she needed space, I could 
give her space, as long as I knew she was all right.  The 
ache in my groin didn't even signify.

"It's okay, Mulder, seriously.  I'm all right now.  Please, 
just come here."

Hesitating only for another instant, I obeyed, crawling 
slowly to close the small distance between us.  She wrapped 
her arms around my shoulders and settled her head against 
my chest.  Her warm breath wafted across my skin.  After a 
moment, I cautiously returned the embrace, placing my arms 
gingerly around her and stroking her hair.

"I'm sorry," she said again, softly.

"Don't be.  Scully--anything you need, just tell me.  It 
was too soon, we pushed too fast...I should have realized 
it wasn't a good idea."

"It wasn't the sex, Mulder, that's not the problem."

"Then talk to me, Scully.  What was the problem?"

"I just--I've never been really fond of tight spaces, even 
when I was young.  But recently--"

Frowning, she leaned back and began to tick off incidents 
on her fingers.  "There was the trunk of my car with Duane 
Barry, our first encounter with Donnie Pfaster, the people 
in Dudley, Arkansas, Gerry Schnauz, Antarctica, and now 
Pfaster again.  Hell, I don't even think that's all of 
them.  I hear some people can go their whole lives without 
riding in the trunk of a car or getting crammed into a 
closet; I practically do it once a year.  So, I'm not 
terribly fond of small spaces.  I just--I just felt 
suffocated for a moment, closed in.  My face was covered, 
my breath blocked, and I panicked."

"You don't have to explain to me.  It's okay..."

"No, it's not okay.  What I'm trying to explain to you is 
that I want to try to pick up where we left off.  It wasn't 
the sex that got to me, and I don't want to give up on it 
just because I had a moment of panic," she sighed with 
frustration.  "I'd like to continue making love, if that's 
all right with you."

"You don't have anything to prove, Scully," I said, shaking 
my head.  "It's all right for us to take our time.  There's 
tomorrow, or there's next week, or next month or next year.  
The only thing that matters to me is that you're okay."

"And what matters to *me* is taking my life back, Mulder.  
I told you, Pfaster can't have this.  I won't allow it.  I 
want to make love with you.  Please--I need you."

Her words stopped me cold.  I don't know that I'd ever 
actually heard them from Scully.  I certainly knew that I'd 
never be able to deny her anything she asked for when she 
finally did speak them.

Her hand trailed down my chest to encircle my rather wilted 
erection.  The first touch caused a violent shudder to run 
through my body and I watched as Scully pulled her bottom 
lip between her teeth, her expression almost studious as 
she slowly and skillfully brought me to a fully erect state 
once more.

I sat there silently, waiting for her direction.

"Here--lay back," she instructed quietly.  Without 
hesitation, I slid up on the bed until I was lying in the 
center.  She straddled my thighs and carefully lowered 
herself onto me.

Another mutual sigh filled the room.  Bending over to kiss 
me gently, she began to move with agonizing slowness, 
raising and lowering herself at an easy pace.  Her soft 
breasts swayed enticingly with each movement, and I reached 
up to hold them, then slid my hands around her waist to her 
back.

I worked on kneading the muscles of her back with my hands 
as she rose and fell, working away the tension.  We took 
our time, moving slowly, until Scully went still.

"Sit up," she murmured.  "I want to feel you against me."

We maneuvered carefully until I was sitting upright against 
the headboard, a pillow cushioning my back.  Scully, still 
astride me, leaned forward to claim my mouth in a 
passionate kiss and began to move again.  Her exquisitely 
soft breasts rubbed intimately against my chest.

It was of her doing that we were face to face, breathing 
each other's breath, as she pressed herself against me and 
kissed me over and over.  I moved my efforts at a backrub 
to her shoulders and upper spine for as long as I could, 
before the feeling of being inside her became too much to 
allow for anything other than existing in the sensation.

Our movements became faster and less restrained, and 
uncontrollably I began to move upward to meet her thrusts.  
The sighs of pleasure became rapid pants of passion, and 
she tore her mouth from mine, throwing her head back and 
giving a ragged moan of pleasure.  She leaned backward, 
holding my shoulders and meeting my eyes, her heavy-lidded 
gaze glassy.

Simultaneously, we grabbed each other's faces, our fingers 
threading into the other's hair, staring intently at one 
another as we approached our peaks.  Her lips were swollen 
and her mouth hanging open as she gasped and moaned.  I 
felt the start of her orgasm in the fluttering of her 
sheath around my cock a few seconds before she fell 
forward, kissing me desperately while I swallowed her 
cries.  My own climax followed just a moment later, leaving 
me shuddering and groaning in her arms.

As I came back to myself, Scully and I were twined around 
one another, rocking slowly.  Her face was pressed into the 
curve of my neck and she was murmuring to me.  Her words 
were muffled, but I think I picked up a "thank you."

"My pleasure," I chuckled softly.

She lifted herself off me and padded into the bathroom to 
clean up while I folded back the bedcovers.  By the time 
she returned, I was lying on my back on my side of the bed 
in the darkened room, my arms folded behind my head as I 
gazed pensively up at the ceiling.

"What are you thinking?" she asked quietly, slipping under 
the covers beside me.  She propped herself up on her elbow 
as I turned my head to face her.

"I'm wondering how many more hits we can take before 
something has to give."

"We take as many as we have to, Mulder.  But we should try 
to choose our battles whenever possible.  That's something 
we've never been very good at."

"You mean that's something I've never been good at," I 
corrected her, grimacing.  Most of what had happened to 
Scully had not been of her own creation, but circumstances 
which happened to her.  Me, I tended to go running after 
trouble.  That had stopped, though, a little over a year 
and a half before.  It had stopped after my insistence on 
pursuing a case nearly got her killed and led me on a chase 
to the bottom of the world to bring her back.

"It's a partnership, Mulder," she sighed.  "I'm not going 
to try to separate virtues and vices or attempt to assign 
blame."

"I wish you'd leave, Scully.  I wish you'd get out before 
anything else happens to you."

"Then who would hang around to save your sorry ass?" she 
replied with dry laugh.  "No.  For better or worse, I'm in 
this, too.  And for better or worse, it's where I want to 
be, no matter how grumpy I get about it sometimes."

I let the common phrase from the traditional wedding vows 
pass without comment, even though we both knew it had been 
a deliberate choice of wording on her part.  "Whatever 
happened to getting out of the damned car, or grabbing life 
by the testes?"

"God, you still remember that car remark?" She sighed as 
she considered the question.  "That was--a different time.  
It was right after Dallas and Antarctica, and not even a 
year had passed since Emily... we weren't accomplishing 
anything then, and we were on Kersh's manure patrol.  It 
just--wasn't a good time.  I don't feel that way anymore."

Notably missing from the list of grievances which haunted 
that time in her life was how I'd professed my faith in 
Diana Fowley despite Scully's reservations.

"As for the testes comment--" she tossed me a saucy grin. 
"I had one very specific pair of testes in mind at the 
time, but they--or at least their owner--seemed to be 
oblivious."

"Believe me, I was *not* oblivious."

"You're getting me off track," she said primly.  "My point 
is, we're no longer spinning our wheels.  After what I saw 
in Africa, I feel like we have a purpose again.  I don't 
want to give up, Mulder.  I'm right where I should be."

And that was the end of that, I supposed.  There wasn't 
really anything left to say.  I extended my arm and she 
slid closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder while 
her leg stretched across my groin and her hand came to rest 
in the middle of my chest.  I gave a sigh as she snuggled 
in, then closed my eyes to rest.

"It was Saturday today, you know," she muttered drowsily.

It only took a second before I caught on to the 
significance of her remark.  "It doesn't matter.  It's not 
important."

Frankly, I couldn't envision ever going there again, ever 
setting aside my protective instincts enough to be 
demanding with her.  I suppose it was good we became lovers 
when we did--if this redux with Pfaster had happened before 
I accosted her in her apartment that night, I might never 
have been secure enough in the knowledge of her well-being 
to do it.  I could only be thankful that we'd had a few 
months respite, a brief period of time for us to enjoy our 
love unblemished before the grim reality of our lives set 
in once more.

"Yes it is important," she replied in a sleepy murmur.  "It 
is to me.  But I just need to take my time.  Soon, though--
"

"Take all the time you need, Scully.  I'll still be here 
when we're both ready again."

"'Kay," I barely heard the mumbled answer.  "'Night."

I turned my head and kissed the top of hers.  "'Night, 
Scully."

End of Aphrodisia VI, Part Three

Aphrodisia VI - In the Wake of the Devil's Instant (4 of 5)
Kristel S. Oxley-Johns
kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com

The board of inquiry was almost absurdly pleased to 
exonerate me and I was absurdly distressed by their 
willingness to do so.  It didn't matter that I tried to 
take ownership of my crime, tried to explain to them what 
had really happened.  They didn't want to know; I had put 
down a sleaze who would have kept killing in the most 
horrific manner imaginable if I hadn't stopped him and they 
weren't going to fault me for that.  After a few weeks' 
mental health leave and a thorough psych evaluation, I 
would return to work on the X-Files.  The truth would 
remain forever between me and Mulder and my confessor, if I 
ever managed to force myself to go to confession.

I didn't think I was pushing it when nearly a month later, 
I asked Mulder if we could resume our Saturday play-dates.  
He was uncertain, that much was apparent.  His first 
reaction was a knee-jerk refusal, but I convinced him it 
was all right.  Had I been in a frame of mind to question 
my actions, I might have recognized there was a problem 
with me essentially seducing him into agreeing.  But what 
was important to me was proving I had regained control of 
my life--and what better way to do that than getting right 
back in the saddle in everything I did?  I was doing all 
right, and I made Mulder believe it.

I even believed it myself; I wasn't just putting up a 
front.  The nightmares were slowly becoming less frequent 
and I wasn't nearly as moody as I had been immediately 
after the incident.  In fact, most of my days I would 
classify as good, cheerful even.  We had resumed a healthy, 
if somewhat less frantic and more tender, sex life.  I had 
all of a sudden become the aggressor, with Mulder hanging 
back to let me decide what I wanted before I came to him.  
And I went to him frequently, because in his arms was the 
only place I could forget for a while.  I thought we were 
well on the road to recovery and I very deliberately 
ignored the voice inside me that told me I was faking it, 
putting a happy face on everything in an attempt to make it 
all right again.  I thought surely what I was doing was 
better than all the times in the past when I pushed Mulder 
away while I was hurting.  I plunged forward, determined to 
reclaim my life.

He started out slowly during that first play session, with 
an emphasis on sensation and eroticism rather than any 
intense bondage or rough sex, touching me softly, 
sensually, setting nerve endings ablaze and driving me out 
of my mind.  He handled me with care, conscientious of my 
healing emotional state, and if I objected to being treated 
as if I was fragile, I had the sense to recognize that it 
wasn't my place to question his judgment in this arena.

He had changed things in the house we were borrowing from 
Byers since our last time there.  He'd moved the futon into 
the living room so that it was before the fireplace and 
when we entered, he had me turn on the natural gas flame 
around the faux logs that had been added there.  I wondered 
if that was his addition, or Byers'.  At any rate, it was 
certainly a good choice, considering I would have had to 
build and tend the fire if the fireplace hadn't been 
updated.

I sank down onto the futon as he kissed me, facing the 
fireplace and feeling the warmth upon my body.

"Lay down.  Put your hands up over your head," he 
instructed me in that sensuous voice that went straight to 
the pit of my belly.  I obeyed while he stroked me slowly, 
seductively, his fingers feather-light across my skin.  

"Spread your legs." At this command he nudged my knees 
farther apart until I was wide open and exposed to him.  
Then he gently drew a hand over my eyes.  "Close your eyes, 
now, and keep them closed."

I did as I was instructed, letting myself float on his 
voice; that calm, caressing voice that normally left me 
feeling like I was drowning in warm honey.  When I felt it 
wasn't working, I tried harder to focus on it and let it 
take me to that peaceful, contented place I went when we 
played.  I needed to go there--it was a safe, gentle place 
where I felt cherished and protected.  "You said something 
to me the last time we were together, Kat.  You told me you 
sometimes felt like you were pretending when you called me 
Master.  But you also told me you wanted that fact to be 
reality, and so that's what we're going to work on today.  
This isn't real until you believe it's real."

A kiss, whisper-soft across my lips, and then his breath 
came warm next to my ear.  I was unbearably wet already and 
we had hardly begun.  My heart pounded in my chest.  "As of 
this moment, Kat, you are bound.  Not by ropes or cuffs or 
chains, but by your submission.  You are bound by my 
command.  Your hands," he ran his long fingers up my arms 
to stroke my wrists where they rested above my head, "are 
anchored here cannot move from this spot.  Your feet are 
tied, spread far apart, so that you're open for me to use 
as I see fit.  Your eyes are blindfolded and cannot open, 
and your mouth," this he whispered against my trembling 
lips, "has been gagged so you cannot speak or cry out."

He returned to stroking me, allowing me to adjust to the 
idea that I couldn't move despite the fact I had all the 
freedom in the world to do so if I chose.  Somehow the heat 
of the fire seemed more intense now that I could only feel 
it rather than look at the flames.  Sounds were exaggerated 
in my ears.  My eyes kept wanting to blink open, if just 
for a moment to see what he was doing, but I was forbidden.  
"If you succeed in remaining still and silent, except for 
such sounds as could normally escape a gag, and keep your 
eyes closed, you will be rewarded.  If you fail, you will 
be punished.  The only thought that should be in your head 
is how being bound like this is every bit as real as if I 
had tied you."

I nodded silently, squeezing my eyelids shut.  Surely this 
couldn't be that hard--with the one rather spectacular 
exception of the time I had fought him, I'd had no problems 
obeying him in the past.  I wanted to obey him, so it 
wasn't a difficulty.

I felt something soft and silky running over my belly and 
thought he must be using his fur mitt.  The first test of 
my mental bondage came when that diabolical bit of fur 
moved from my belly and breasts to the sides of my ribs.  
That tickled, and I went rigid in an effort to avoid 
wriggling.  My body quivered with tension, which only made 
the sensation of being tickled that much worse.  I gasped 
aloud when it reached my armpit, then clamped my lips 
lightly together, appalled that I had erred so soon.

"That's right, Kat--it's not so easy.  In the past, you've 
always had the ability to speak and move actually taken 
away from you, so you didn't have the option of doing it.  
Now, you are fully able to move, or look, or speak--
physically.  But anyone could bind your body, Kat.  Anyone 
can subjugate another person and force that person to their 
will.  What I want is your surrender, your acceptance of my 
ownership, to the point where no ropes are necessary to 
bind you.  I want you to be mine in your own mind."

My heart did a sickening somersault in my chest and a spasm 
of fear ran through me.  My mind.  He wanted my mind.  I'd 
given him my body happily, and my heart with only slight 
hesitation, but he wanted more.  He wanted the very essence 
of me, and suddenly I wasn't so sure I could give him that.  
Wasn't that what I had fought against my entire adult life?  
Suddenly I was afraid.

The tickling was unbearable and unrelenting, ceasing only 
long enough to move to the other side of my ribcage.  I bit 
my lip hard in an effort to offset the sensation, clenching 
my fists so that my nails gouged my palms, and still it 
persisted.  I wanted to put my arms down, wanted to protect 
my ticklish flesh from the unyielding assault.  I even 
began to pull them down and stopped only when I was 
surprised to discover I was not meeting with any resistance 
in my efforts to move them.  No pull of ropes or cuffs 
signified the limit of my range of motion, though I had 
fully expected to find myself so restrained.

"Kat." His voice was low and ominous as I sat with my arms 
suspended half way above me.  "Put them down.  Now."

Slowly, cautiously I inched my hands back into their 
position above my head.  "The tickling will only stop when 
you stop resisting it," my Master said firmly.  "You're 
prolonging your own discomfort.  If you surrendered to it, 
it wouldn't bother you anymore."

Surrender.  Right.  Fat fucking chance, I thought 
rebelliously.  As if he would surrender if our roles were 
reversed.  I gritted my teeth tightly, trying to outwait 
the torment, but it was no use.  When one side became 
acclimated to what he was doing, he'd change sides, change 
pressure--whatever it took to keep my nerve endings alert 
with the sensations he inflicted.  There was no escaping, 
though I wriggled as best I could within the confines of my 
"bindings."  Finally, with a sigh, I forced myself to be 
still and to relax as best I could.  If that was the price 
for making it stop, then I would do it.

And yet it didn't stop.  He continued long after I made the 
decision to quit struggling and I found myself growing 
angry.  Another pass of the glove over my armpit and upper 
arm and I bolted upright, snarling, "Flukeman!"

He immediately sat back and placed the mitt in his lap, 
waiting for me to tell him what the problem was.  I 
glowered at him, rubbing my ribs as if I could wipe away 
the phantom sensations.  "You promised you'd stop," I said 
finally, hating the petulance in my voice but unable to 
stop it.

"I promised the torment would end once you surrendered to 
it.  You didn't do that."

"I did!  I laid there, laid still, accepting it, but you 
didn't stop!"

"Why did you accept it, Kat?  Were there conditions to that 
acceptance?" he fixed me with an uncompromising stare.  "Of 
course there were.  You only accepted it to make it stop, 
which isn't acceptance at all.  You have to accept that it 
will continue as long as I choose for it to continue, and 
surrender to that fact.  That's when you'll be able to stop 
resisting and simply accept it for what it is--my way of 
exercising my authority over you, my *rights* over you.  
The rights that *you* gave me.  And that's when it will 
stop tormenting you, even if the physical act causing the 
torment doesn't cease."

I blinked, staring at him for a long moment, feeling my 
expression change to incredulity.  Forget that my inner 
thighs were now desperately wet with the fluids of arousal 
seeping from my body--he was crazy if he thought anyone 
could possibly do what he was asking.  Wasn't he?  That 
sort of willing acquiescence to something one would most 
certainly find patently unpleasant--real people just didn't 
do that.  It was great in a book or a fantasy, but we were 
talking about what the human body and mind were actually 
capable of dealing with.

"You need to trust me, Kat."

"Don't bring trust into this!" I snapped, irrationally 
angry all of a sudden.  Worse, I felt my eyes prickling and 
was mortified to discover I felt like crying.  I turned my 
head away quickly, refusing to face him.  "It has nothing 
to do with trust!  And don't call me Kat--I used my safe-
word, dammit."

"It has everything to do with trust," he replied in that 
too-reasonable voice.  "You trusted me enough to tell me 
your fantasy, your darkest and most secret desires, but you 
don't trust me to fulfill them for you--not completely.  
You'll let me play the role you want me to play for you, 
but only to a point--so at the end of everything, you can 
look back and say 'I was just pretending.'  But you don't 
want that, and you know it.  You've admitted as much; now 
you just need to let go of it."

He wasn't playing by the rules--he was supposed to take my 
control away, rather than making me exercise it.  That 
wasn't what we had agreed to.

"Can't you just tie me up?" I asked plaintively, 
disheartened, still struggling with the tightness in my 
throat, the tears I refused to let fall.  Jesus, why was I 
suddenly so emotional?  This was just a sex game, it was 
nothing to get weepy over.

"No, I can't just bind you.  If we're going to do this--if 
we're going to make it real, the way you said you want it, 
then you have to let go and let it be real.  You have to 
surrender."

God, his voice!  I wanted to sink into it, let it wash over 
me and surround me.  I wanted to wrap it around me like a 
safe, warm blanket I could hide under for as long as I 
needed to--but I couldn't.

"Shit!" I hissed when I realized two rogue tears had 
escaped and were making their way down my face.  I wiped 
them away hastily, knowing it was pointless to hope Mulder 
hadn't noticed.  Now he would fret and be all solicitous 
and worried...

"Hey--" a hand on my face, forcing me to meet his concerned 
eyes.  "Let's go home, Scully.  This wasn't a good idea 
today.  You need more time."

Can I call it or what?

"I don't want to go home, Mulder," I said, hating how 
choked my voice sounded.  "I want to be here.  I don't know 
why I'm acting this way--"

I gave a low groan of frustration and stood from the futon, 
intent on crossing the room to don the dress I wore that 
morning, but Mulder caught me with his hands on my waist 
and pulled me down into his lap.

"Dammit, Mulder, let me go!" I wriggled and pulled, trying 
to jerk away, but his arms were locked in a death-grip 
around me.

"No, I don't think I will," he murmured, clutching me to 
his chest.  I could have broken free of his grasp if I'd 
tried, but why?  He wasn't going to hurt me; he just wanted 
to hold me.  And whether I wanted to acknowledge it or not, 
I wanted to be held.  "When we're here, in this place, 
you're mine to take care of.  And I don't give a damn whose 
feminist mentality that offends, or if it upsets your 
precious sense of independence, or any of that.  I try to 
give you all the space you need out there, but not in here.  
That's the way it's got to be or we're not doing this 
anymore.  We can't; it wouldn't be safe."

I ceased struggling, but I couldn't relax into his embrace.  
Perhaps it had been a bad idea to come here, to try to do 
this again.  Something drastic had changed for me over the 
last month and the things that had suited my emotional 
state then weren't what I needed now.

After a long moment, he spoke again, in a soothing tone 
that chafed against my mood.  I didn't want to be soothed, 
or comforted, or have things made better.  "Now, if you say 
you don't want to go home, that you want to be here, I 
believe you.  But things are different from the last time 
we did this, and I think we need to reevaluate what we want 
out of this in light of those changes.  You said you need 
this, but I need you to be more precise.  What do you 
need?"

"I don't know," I answered, frustrated.  "I just started to 
feel panicked when you spoke of getting into my mind.  I 
know that's what I said I wanted, but that was then--that 
was before..." I couldn't say it.  I couldn't say his name.  
The last time I'd spoken Donnie Pfaster's name was at the 
hearing held by the board of inquiry into the shooting.  
After that, I'd sworn I'd never speak it again.  "I don't 
know if I can give you that, Mulder.  Maybe I could have, 
once, but not now."

"Why?"

I growled in annoyance, trying to pull away from him again.  
"You're the goddamned psychologist.  You tell me why!"

"You're afraid."  It wasn't a question, and though there 
was no contempt or blame in the words, I bristled 
nonetheless, automatically defensive.  It took several 
moments for me to prevent myself from snapping back in 
anger.  He continued, "When we started all this, it had 
been some time since our last crisis.  We were getting 
comfortable, starting to feel secure once more, and now 
that's gone.  Without that sense of security, you can't let 
go.  You're afraid and you're taking it out on me because 
it's pissing you off."

"I'm not afraid," I said at last, firmly.  We both knew it 
was bullshit, but I was compelled to say it anyway.  I 
couldn't admit to being afraid; admitting it made me feel 
somehow weaker.  Still, I tried to tone down the anger.  He 
was right that I was taking it out on him, and knowing 
Mulder, he'd just keep taking it as long as I dished it 
out.  I didn't want to do that to him.  "I wanted to come 
here because when we do this, when I'm here with you, I 
feel safe."

"You *used* to feel safe here."

"Quit it, Mulder."

"Quit what?"

"Quit trying to make this about Pfaster.  I don't--I don't 
want him in this.  He has no place here with us."

"Too late, Scully.  Like it or not, what happened with 
Pfaster is going to affect every part of your life.  You 
can't escape it; you just have to deal with it.  I've 
watched you for a month now, trying to cut yourself off 
from what's happened, and I'm sorry to say it's not going 
to work."

My head was starting to ache with my tension and when I 
noticed Mulder's arms had relaxed around me, I pulled away 
from him and sat on the futon beside him, pulling my knees 
protectively to my bare chest and wrapping the blanket over 
my shoulders.  "That's not what I come here for, Mulder.  I 
come here to get away from all that."

Even as I spoke the words, I knew if that was the case, my 
reasons were all wrong.  What was I here for?  When we 
first started this whole thing, it had been because I found 
the fantasy of submission to be a huge turn-on.  But 
somewhere along the way, I'd found an emotional need I 
wasn't even aware of was being fulfilled.  A need to be 
protected and sheltered, to let myself relinquish the 
crushing sense of duty and obligation and responsibility 
under which I found myself so often laboring.  When I 
submitted to him, I felt free.

But that was the problem, wasn't it?  Before, I had been 
able to relinquish those things to Mulder because I felt 
safe doing so.  I didn't have to be strong when we played.  
But now, I couldn't release my personal control enough to 
successfully do this with Mulder, and that annoyed me.  I 
hated the idea that there was something I *couldn't* do.

I wanted the sexual and psychological release submission 
provided me with, but I wasn't prepared to risk what was 
necessary to achieve it.  Not now.

"Maybe you're right," I muttered after a long moment, 
rising and crossing the room to my clothes, the blanket 
wrapped protectively around me.  "Maybe this was a bad 
idea.  Let's go home."

"Are you sure that's what you want?" his eyes were dark and 
solemn as he studied me from where he sat on the futon.

I gave a low growl of incredulous anger.  "Let it go, 
Mulder, okay?  Let's just get out of here."  I dropped the 
blanket and pulled the dress over my head.

"Why do you want to leave?"

"Because obviously this isn't working!"

"Why isn't it working?"

"I don't know!  Dammit!  Quit playing twenty questions, all 
right?  I'm not in the mood."

"We came here because you requested it.  Obviously, you 
felt there was something here you wanted or needed, and I 
need to know what that is or I can't give it to you."

He was like a fucking bulldog with a bone in his teeth!  "I 
wanted sex, Mulder, okay?  I wanted to get a little kinky, 
because it's been a while.  Now, apparently that's not 
going to happen, so let's go."

In retrospect, I had to wonder how long he'd been waiting 
for an opening like that.  He pounced on it.  "Just like 
you've wanted sex practically every night for the last 
month?" he asked dangerously, unfolding his long form as he 
rose from the futon.  He began to stalk me across the empty 
living room.  "Is that why you've jumped me every time you 
find you have five minutes to analyze what's going on in 
your head?  Hate to tell you this, Scully, but I didn't get 
into this relationship so you can use me to run away from 
your feelings."

I saw red for a moment and felt my face flush angrily.  
He'd struck a nerve--I'd been using him for weeks to get 
away from my own thoughts, and I should have known he'd see 
it.  "Go to hell," I snarled, feeling something ugly and 
cruel rear up inside me.  "I didn't exactly notice you 
protesting whenever I decided I wanted to fuck you."

"That's because I trusted you to know what's best for you.  
Now I'm not so sure."

I realized I was walking backward, trying to get away from 
his implacable approach.  "Oh, well that's just great, 
Mulder.  Hate to tell *you*, but I didn't get into this 
relationship so you could decide what is and isn't best for 
me!"

"Well maybe someone should, because you sure as hell can't 
seem to do it for yourself!"

"Fuck you, Mulder.  That's not your call to make," I said 
coldly, crossing my arms over my breasts.  Somewhere 
inside, I cringed at my own words and behavior--Mulder 
hadn't done anything to deserve this, but I was beyond 
controlling it.  This was getting ugly; *I* was getting 
ugly.

If he even heard the progressively more hurtful words I 
hurled at him, he gave no indication.

"Then whose call is it?" he demanded.  I stood my ground as 
he finally reached me, getting in my face.  "Who better 
than someone who loves you?  Someone who's been with you 
during every step of this process and would cut off his 
right arm to help you if you just gave me the first 
goddamned clue as to what's going on inside your head.  I'm 
tired of guessing what you're thinking, Scully, and I'm 
tired of waiting for the moment you decide you're ready to 
let me in."

"What the hell do you want from me?" I demanded heatedly.  
Even through my rage I could feel tears pricking the back 
of my eyelids, and it only served to make me more irate.  
He had no right to put me through this.  It didn't matter 
that it was true--he knew I wouldn't be willing to have 
this discussion.  "I've given you more than I've ever given 
anyone.  What more do you want?"

"I want everything," he growled, his voice low.  "The only 
thing I asked from you going into this relationship was 
that you don't hold back on me.  It was an all or nothing 
proposition, and we both knew it.  Now it's time for you to 
do your share."

"Are you giving me an ultimatum, Mulder?"

End of Aphrodisia VI, Part Four

Aphrodisia VI - In the Wake of the Devil's Instant (5 of 5)
Kristel S. Oxley-Johns
kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com


"Are you giving me an ultimatum, Mulder?" I asked, 
dangerous rage roiling within me.  I clenched my teeth in 
an effort to suppress it.  We both knew what had happened 
the last time I got this angry with someone.

"Oh, no," he shook his head in a brusque gesture.  "I'm not 
going to let you blackmail your way out of this discussion 
with the threat that you'll walk away from everything if I 
don't drop it.  It was all or nothing and we chose all.  
We're in, and it doesn't matter how pissed off we get, 
there's no going back.  We chose to be in this 
relationship.  I'm demanding you live up to that choice."

"Which means what?" I inquired sarcastically.  He was 
right--unless I was honestly willing to walk away from him, 
I couldn't play that card, and I wasn't willing to do that.  
I'd be damned if I let our relationship fall apart because 
of that piece of slime, Pfaster.  Nonetheless, I wasn't 
willing to yield to his insistence, either.  "You get to 
badger me until I do things to your satisfaction?  Until 
you're convinced I'm dealing with things properly?"

"I'd be satisfied for you to deal with things at all rather 
than running away from them," he replied calmly.  He wasn't 
irritated anymore, and I wonder if he'd been irritated at 
all earlier, or if it had been an act to provoke me.  Now 
he was frighteningly composed, his words and motions 
deliberate.  He stepped forward until he was pressing me 
back against the wall, pinning me.  At his physical 
proximity, as I realized my inability to move, my heart 
began to pound in my chest and my breath came faster.

"Get back, Mulder.  Now."  I'd like to think I sounded 
ominous and threatening, but the truth was I probably 
sounded as panicked and desperate as I felt.

His blank expression seemed cold, cruel.  "Why should I, 
Scully?  Are you afraid?" he taunted.

"Dammit, get away from me!" I yelled hoarsely, my rising 
hysteria audible.  How could he do this to me?  There was 
no question in my mind that he fully intended the effect he 
was having.  I'd never seen Mulder act so coldly, with such 
calculation, except perhaps on a case.  I began to 
hyperventilate, shoving at his shoulders.  He leaned his 
weight into me, pressing me harder against the wall.  
Scalding tears spilled down my cheeks, but I was oblivious 
to them in my need to escape him.

I tried to lift a knee to catch him in the groin, but he'd 
positioned himself so that I hit his hip instead.  He 
grunted in surprised pain, but didn't back off.  He was too 
heavy; pushing him away was no use.  Frantic, I began to 
strike out, hitting, clawing, elbowing...When he caught my 
hands, I tried to bite.

*Too big...too strong...can't get away!*  A voice chanted 
desperately in my head.  I hated him for being stronger, 
hated my weakness, hated my inability to get free...Amidst 
the thrashing of my head as I tried to reach him with my 
teeth, animalistic screams issued from my throat.

"Scully!" he snapped, releasing my hands to catch my face 
before I succeeded in biting him.  "Scully, stop!  Look at 
me, Scully!  Damn you, look at me!"

My head held immobile by his large hands, I had no choice 
but to look up at him--and see only Mulder standing there, 
with an expression of fear and concern.  Mulder, who would 
never harm me, looking sad and worried as I tried my 
damnedest to hurt him.  Mulder, who loved me more than 
anything on earth, standing immobile as I made him the 
target of my desperate, murderous rage...

"Oh, God!" I gasped, horror filling me.  I couldn't do 
this, couldn't get this angry with Mulder--couldn't let 
myself hurt him.  My knees sagged and I began to slide down 
the wall.  Mulder went down with me, holding me as I began 
to sob.

"I'm sorry," I whimpered between racking, gulping gasps for 
air.  "Oh, God, Mulder, I'm sorry!"

"Shh, it's okay," he whispered against my hair.  "It's 
okay, Scully.  Let me help you."

"I hated him, Mulder!" I cried, choking on my sobs.  "He 
got the drop on me and I couldn't fight him, couldn't get 
away from him!  It didn't matter how much training I had--I 
wasn't strong enough to fight him.  He made me feel weak 
and I hated him for it!  I hated him and I killed him!"

"I know, Scully.  It's okay..."

"No," I said mournfully, "it's not.  For just a moment just 
now, when you trapped me and I couldn't get away, I hated 
you too, Mulder.  It was the same; the weakness, and the 
fury..."

"No, Scully, no.  It's not the same at all.  You wouldn't 
have hurt me.  I know that."

"*I* don't even know that!  I would have said once that I 
knew I wouldn't gun down an unarmed man no matter how much 
I hated him, Mulder, but it's not true.  I feel like I 
don't know myself anymore, don't know what I'm capable of 
doing--" My voice hitched on a sob again and I could feel 
the tears chilling in wet tracks down my face, but it 
seemed like too much trouble to reach up and wipe them 
away.  It didn't matter; Mulder had already seen them, seen 
me at my weakest.

I'd been unable to yield to him earlier because I couldn't 
bring myself to be weak again.  The last time I'd been 
weak, Pfaster had gotten the drop on me and nearly killed 
me.  I'd ended up murdering him instead.  I'd wound up so 
far beyond reason, beyond control, that I had unthinkingly 
pulled the trigger on an unarmed man already in Mulder's 
custody.

If I didn't get past this--*really* get past this, not just 
pretend--Pfaster really was going to win.  I couldn't force 
myself to be sorry he was dead, and that was what bothered 
me.  I hadn't gone to confession since killing him, because 
in order to receive absolution, I'd need to repent of what 
I had done and I couldn't bring myself to repent at all.  
Pfaster deserved to die, and I didn't know how to reconcile 
that with the person I knew myself to be.

I hadn't allowed myself to feel sorrow, because Pfaster 
hadn't deserved any, but neither had I allowed myself to 
feel joy, because it would have been inappropriate to be 
happy when I had murdered someone.  I hadn't allowed myself 
to consider how terrified I was, not just that I could have 
been killed, but that everything could have been taken away 
from me in an instant if it had been decided the shooting 
was unjustified.  But most of all, I hadn't let myself feel 
my own rage; rage that a monster like Donnie Pfaster 
existed on this earth to hurt people, that he'd hurt me, 
that he'd stripped away my personal control, violated my 
home, and made me feel weak.

"You wouldn't have hurt me, Scully," Mulder reiterated 
after a moment.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because you're stronger than that," he replied simply.  
Simple emotional exhaustion caught up with me at that 
point.  I was barely aware when moments later, he lifted me 
and carried me to the futon.  I thought of protesting that 
I didn't need to be carried, but decided against it.  
Mulder already knew that; he was carrying me because he 
wanted to.  Besides I was tired, and it was just Mulder.  I 
could be independent tomorrow.

*     *     *     *     *

At some point toward the evening, I awoke to find Mulder 
lying on his back behind me, my back pressed to his side.  
I rolled over to snuggle against his chest, my head 
pillowed by his shoulder and my leg thrown across his 
groin.  He hummed, nuzzling the top of my head.

"You okay?" he murmured sleepily.

"Yeah," I said, meaning it for the first time in a month.  
Mulder let out a satisfied sigh.  I lifted my head.  
"Though if you ever speak to me like you did this afternoon 
again, I'll have to kick your ass."

"Hey, whatever works, I say," I felt him shrug beneath my 
head.  "I had to get through to you somehow."

That was true.  Who knows how long I would have carried on 
if he hadn't?

"You're not weak, Scully," he said after a contemplative 
pause.  "I don't need to tell you that, I know, but it's 
true.  You have more guts than I do, that's for certain."

"I wouldn't go that far..."

"No, seriously, Scully.  I mean, just think about the 
reason we're here.  I know I've said it before, but it 
takes courage to turn yourself over to someone like that, 
to give up control even for a little while.  But you've 
done it and you continue to do it."

"I didn't quite pull it off today," I murmured, grimacing 
as I remembered how extraordinarily horrid I was to Mulder, 
and the hateful, hurtful things I'd said to him.

"So?  I'd say there were enough extenuating circumstances 
to make that understandable.  I can't even bring myself to 
think about giving up control that way, even to you, 
Scully."

I looked at him sharply.  "I didn't realize you'd given 
that idea any thought."

"I haven't.  I can't.  It scares the shit out of me.  You 
made a joke about it last time and I practically panicked.  
I'm asking you to do something I can't even contemplate 
doing myself," Mulder said discontentedly.

"You've never really spoken about what happened when you 
were with Phoebe," I said softly.  "I didn't want to pry, 
but I have to assume she's the reason.  It doesn't matter 
anyway; it's not like it's something I have any great 
interest in doing."

"In other words, I've been holding out while demanding 
complete openness from you.  You should have called me on 
that sooner, Scully," he sighed heavily.  I didn't bother 
protesting his overly harsh self-assessment, but let him go 
on.  "I ask myself now why I stayed, why I didn't get out 
when I saw what was happening.  I allowed her to abuse me, 
physically and emotionally, for almost two years.  I know 
that what happened with her is not what it's all about.  
That's not what most submissives experience, or no one 
would ever do it.  Why would they want to?

"I didn't stay in the relationship because of what happened 
when we played.  I didn't stay because I got off on pain or 
humiliation or even the sex--though I won't deny sometimes 
all those things felt pretty good, depending on when and 
how.  I stayed because of what happened between all that.  
As worthless as she made me feel when she was 'topping' me, 
if you want to call it that, when we weren't in the scene 
she made me feel good about myself.  Praised me, flattered 
me, told me how great I was--everything I needed to hear at 
exactly the time in my life I needed to hear it most.  What 
took me so long to realize was that she didn't mean any of 
it--she only said it to get me to play her game.  Whether 
all those good things were true or not, I couldn't believe 
it because she didn't mean them."

I squeezed him tightly.  "You don't have to explain this to 
me.  We both know she was wrong in how she treated you, and 
I'm not surprised it affects how you regard things now.  I 
can only be grateful that even after all that, you haven't 
made it your model for how we relate when we do this.  You 
make me feel good *during*, Mulder, as well as afterwards.  
You make me feel like I'm doing something incredible, and 
doing it well, when I let you take over.  We've already 
hashed this out, so you know how I feel.  And just because 
we had a setback today doesn't mean I want to give up."

"Me, either," he said quietly, kissing the top of my head.  
"I just want you to know that I don't see it as being weak, 
and just because I can't bring myself to do what you do 
doesn't mean I think any less of it.  In fact, I think more 
of it, because it means you're strong and brave and of all 
the fucking amazing things, you've decided to trust me with 
that."

I smiled.  "Well, it's not all that amazing that I trust 
you to do it.  It is a huge turn-on, after all.  And you 
are pretty damned sexy."

"You coming on to me, Scully?"

"Actually, no," I chuckled as my stomach growled.  We'd 
slept through lunch and were overdue for dinner.  Besides, 
his comments about my using him to get away from dealing 
with my feelings were far too accurate.  I had things I 
needed to settle in my own head, first.  "About the only 
thing I'm coming on to is a plate of chicken parmesan at 
DeNicola's.  My treat.  Let's go."

I rose from the futon, only then realizing I was in one of 
the easily removed dresses we'd gotten for Saturdays, sans 
bra or panties.  It was a cotton floral print, long-sleeved 
with a row of buttons down the front.  In some ways, it 
looked like the sort of soft, feminine, Bohemian thing 
Melissa would have worn.  Only she'd had the legs for it 
and I didn't.  It had been exciting to wear something in 
public that left me so accessible.  No matter where we 
were, all that was required was a few buttons undone, or a 
skirt lifted, for Mulder to have any part of me he wanted.

The dress itself really wasn't in bad shape for having been 
slept in, and DeNicola's ranged from casual to formal, but 
as for the lack of underwear, going out really wasn't an 
option.

"We have to swing by home first, so I can pick up some 
underwear," I said, walking to the closet to retrieve our 
coats while Mulder rose and stretched.

"No," he said, and his voice had taken on the tone that 
sent shivers down my spine.  "I'd like you to go just as 
you are."

I turned to him, my eyes wide.  I thought we'd dropped the 
idea of playing today, but there he was going all dominant 
on me.  My body reacted with a rush of arousal, my nipples 
getting hard beneath the cotton of the dress, even as my 
mind spun to catch up.

Mulder looked at me calmly, a little bit of a challenge in 
his eyes.  Maybe we weren't up to actually physically going 
back to where we had been, but we could go there mentally, 
still.  A little cerebral foreplay to prepare for the day 
we were ready to pick up where we left off.  But in order 
to do it, I needed to release my mind enough to let him 
take over and make the decisions for me.  I needed to 
accept that if he didn't want me to wear a bra or panties 
to the restaurant, then I wouldn't, because it was his 
call.

I would sit in the restaurant the entire time, bare beneath 
my dress, a delicious secret that only he and I knew.  I 
would glance at the other patrons and wonder if they could 
see the extra sway of my flesh as I moved.  I'd feel the 
wetness on my thighs and wonder if anyone suspected...

"Okay.  Let's go," I murmured, donning my long winter coat.  
With a secretive smile, I slipped on my shoes and preceded 
him out of the house.


END of Aphrodisia VI