TITLE: If He Asked You AUTHOR: Narida Law E-MAIL ADDRESS: narida_law@hotmail.com WEBSITE: http://www.angelfire.com/ms/naridalaw/ RATING: NC-17 SPOILERS: None. KEYWORDS: Not telling. CATEGORY: SR or VR (The criteria is different everywhere so you decide!) DISTRIBUTION: Do not send to Gossamer; I'll send myself. Otherwise, okay for anywhere else as long as these headers remain intact. Telling me is sweet and would be much appreciated, but not obligatory. DISCLAIMER: I'm only borrowing. I'll return them once they've recovered. Or maybe I won't. Although, I have to say that Chris Carter and I are thinking with similar minds lately. Either that, or my shipper sisters and brothers have really lit the flame under his buns. FEEDBACK: I would love to hear from you. SUMMARY: A woman's lover wants a few questions answered. If He Asked You by Narida Law ~~~~~~~~ The whole thing began one afternoon when he caught you staring off into space. It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't been talking when you were doing it. He stopped speaking, and it took you several moments of silence to realize it. Looking at you speculatively, he crossed his arms. "You're thinking about him, aren't you?" Caught, you considered denying it, embarrassment already seeping into your cheeks. However, there was no point in lying about it, since your hand was in the proverbial cookie jar. So you answered truthfully. "Yes, I was." You were proud of the strong, steady sound of your voice. He ran a hand along his jaw, the rasp of his stubble loud in the small room. His eyes were fixed on you, unable to hide his curiosity. "Do you do it a lot?" You squirmed. "What's 'a lot'?" He fairly gaped at you, his gaze darkening, before they dropped, suddenly finding the floor fascinating. His voice dropped as well. "Is he better than me?" You were amused by this sudden show of insecurity and laughed, thinking he was teasing you. "Is he what?" "I want to know," he insisted, looking up again, his dark eyes earnest. You stared at him warily, wondering what he was trying to pull. He met your gaze steadily. He was serious? "What the hell are you talking about?" The request had thrown you off guard. You had thought it good-natured ribbing at first, and that was all right. But he seemed intent on getting a real answer from you, and that made you uneasy. Uncomfortable. In all your years together, he had never before asked anything quite so personal. "I need to know." His voice conveyed real uncertainty, and you found that, like with most matters, you couldn't refuse. Still, it wouldn't do to let him think you would capitulate to his whims without contemplation. So you chewed thoughtfully on your lip for a few moments, considering him, before answering. "All right." He smiled then, and you wondered if you'd been had. *** "I want to know what you would do with him." You understand what he wants, that this is why you are here. You sit across from one another on his bed, naked. Your legs are folded under you; your calves meet the backs of your thighs, and the soles of your feet cradle the soft skin of your ass. Your knees are parted, revealing the area of your body that has his current searing attention. For the past few moments, his gaze has fluctuated between your pussy and your breasts, and both areas are now tight with arousal. You want to know when this staring contest will end, but tonight it seems that he is calling the shots. It was planned this way. He is sitting in a similar manner as you, and his long, hard cock, rising up to meet his stomach, has your undivided attention. It is pulsing, dark red with blood, with desire for you. You know that it wants to be where his gaze currently resides, and you don't understand his reticence. Or perhaps that is the plan -- he wants you wanton and trembling in frustration. "I've started the camera," he rasps, and you automatically turn your head to look toward the video camera, mounted some distance away. Its one eye will be taking visual dictation of the night's events. "You don't mind, do you?" His tone is challenging. "You wouldn't mind if =he= did it." It's true; you wouldn't. So you shake your head, swallowing. You are a little nervous. You may not mind, but still, you have never been filmed before, and it makes you self- conscious. Suddenly, he crosses the distance between you, stretching one long arm out to reach between your legs. His touch, so long anticipated and hungered for, sends an intense wave of pleasure thrumming through your body. His fingers delving just below your mass of red curls is a sight of endless fascination. The intent here does not appear -- yet -- to be on pleasuring you. Instead, he seems merely to be collecting your moisture, his motions unhurried and thorough. The pleasure you feel at his touch is purely incidental. When he draws back, his fingers are sticky and wet with your excretions. He looks at his glistening digits, and you recognize the light of satisfaction in his eyes. Rising to his knees, he moves forward, closer to you. Your lungs cease to take in air, and your heart races in reply. You want to pull him near, so near that you can touch him and kiss him, but your hands remain at your sides. He wants it this way tonight ... and so do you. He rubs the creamy substance that he gathered from between your legs onto your nipples, and you close your eyes at the exquisite sensation of his rough, wet fingers. "Like hot fudge on ice cream," he murmurs. Then, bending down, he sucks one taut peak into his mouth. You moan because it is so unexpectedly hot in there, and feels so good. You love the way his tongue knows just what to do to make you think that your nipple is the most cherished area on earth. Your hands come to rest on his shoulders, clutching the smooth muscle there, giving him an impromptu massage. He laps up the rest your essence from your breast and moves to give the same attention to the other. Though it is aware of what its twin has just been through, the sensations are nevertheless, electric. You watch him because it turns you on to see him suckling at you like a baby, his gorgeous full lips working the pebbled tip in his mouth. His eyes are closed in concentration, and you know it is because he can enjoy what he's doing more that way. The awareness that you are giving him enjoyment, that you are letting him kiss and lick and suck at your breast, and he's =grateful= for it, causes a new tide of wetness to gush between your legs, replenishing the moisture he so recently pilfered. When he's about through with his task, he opens his eyes and your gazes meet. His eyes tell you that he can smell your arousal, and you shiver as your nipple leaves his mouth with a wet pop. He licks his lips, resembling a wolf with a particularly tasty meal. He draws back slowly, sitting on the mattress, parting his legs. His hands rest on the covers behind him, and his pose is deceptively casual. His head shifts to one side as he considers you, this woman flushed with arousal, her panting breaths exhaled from an open mouth, her nipples damp and marked with his teeth, her fingers twitching where they are resting on her thighs -- she wants to touch herself but won't. You devour his erection with your eyes, pinpointing the object of your hunger, that strong muscle you so desperately want to take into your body, and hope that you don't start to drool. To help this cause, you close your mouth. "Come fuck me," he suggests, and you hurry to comply. Your legs protest as you free them from the uncomfortable position they have been in for the past few minutes, but you ignore the slight twinge of pain. There is a greater ache to be soothed. Moving forward, you straddle him while he watches with dark eyes lit with lust. You fling your arms around his neck, and he abandons his casual posture, his arms wrapping around you, his palms flat against your back. His lips are so close to your own that you can't resist, and soon the two of you are kissing with the ferocity of lovers who have been apart for far too long. By your count, it has been a few days since your last mating, and you have missed one another. It's no wonder you can't get enough of kissing him, of feeling your tongues push and rub and slide together, happy to be reunited. Somewhere in your mind, you recognize that there is an insistent erection prodding against your stomach. Better take care of that, you think, before it gets messy, the way he keeps rubbing against you like that. Breaking the kiss, you allow yourself a few moments to gulp down some air. He's apparently superhuman and has no such weaknesses -- with the loss of your mouth, he immediately begins to nibble on your earlobes, your shoulders, your collarbone. You lift up a little and then lower yourself onto him, his hardness penetrating your soft folds easily. He's not wearing a condom, he never does, and you gasp at the flesh- on-flesh contact. He's distracted from all the kissing he's doing by your current activities. You want to take it slow because you're tight and you need time to adjust to his size, but he is impatient and pulls you down emphatically, making you take every inch of him in one long thrust. Now, you and he throb in unison. His hands move from your back to your waist as you bury your face against his neck. You latch onto him, sucking at his neck, taking his skin between your teeth, tasting the saltiness there, and want desperately to swallow him whole. He's preoccupied with fucking you, lifting you up and down on him in slow, languid strokes until you catch his rhythm and move on your own. When that happens, he draws away from your vampiric impressions and lies down on the bed, his hands threaded behind his head. You can see his perfect torso this way, and bite your lip to keep from telling him how beautiful he is. You move on him, bracing your hands on his chest. You lean forward so that his penis brushes against your aching clit on every stroke. "Would you masturbate in front of him?" he wants to know. The sudden introduction of conversation throws you a bit, but after a moment, you nod. Your hands move to your center, the fingers of one hand parting your folds while the other immediately goes to the bundle of nerves that is throbbing in delight with each movement of his body in yours. You find the demanding little button, then throw your head back as you begin to rub around in circles, continuing to fuck him. With every revolution, the tip of your finger brushes against the hardness moving inside you. Unable to control your natural responses, your orgasm explodes in short, sharp bursts of pleasure, your movements on him sloppy. Your body is quivering with the white-hot intensity of orgasm, and your only thought is of making it last. He doesn't seem to mind being used like this, and watches you with a small smile playing on his lips. You feel too good to be embarrassed, and don't put up a fight when he rises, lifting you up and off of him. His voice grates in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Would you let him fuck you from behind? Would it turn you on to know that he can see you, but you can't see him? Would you give that to him?" he asks, and you know these aren't rhetorical questions. Despite the fact that you're still trembling from your orgasm, you obediently get onto your hands and knees, sliding forward onto your arms so that your ass is high in the air. "Open yourself up for me," he demands in a soft voice. "You would for him." Your face now lying against the bed sheets, your arms move around to the backs of your thighs, then in between. You can see his face with the eye that's not blocked by the sheets, and he's watching your movements with enthrallment and dilated pupils. You spread your folds for him, inviting him in. He grasps his cock with one hand and moves so that you can feel the tip of him brushing against your entrance. He squeezes just the head of himself inside, then drapes himself over you. Your skin and his are both damp with perspiration, but still it feels good to be rubbing against him like this. When he's positioned just as he likes, he whispers, "Ready?" You whimper an affirmative answer, and one powerful movement of his hips later, he's sliding all the way inside you, opening up your vaginal walls, staking his claim. He rains open-mouthed kisses all over your back, your shoulders, and the nape of your neck, and the feel of his hot, wet tongue darting out to meet your sensitized skin, combined with the stroking of his cock inside you, makes you moan. You think on some intellectual level that perhaps it wasn't such a good idea to let him videotape this; it will probably be extraordinarily embarrassing later to watch yourself gasping and moaning, grinding against him like a particularly feisty porn queen. For now, however, the idea that every second of this is being caught on film is making you hotter and wetter. The thought that the two of you may yet view these events at a later time, together, engorges your clitoris with blood, bringing your arousal to an almost painful intensity. Your nerve endings are sparking blue electricity, your heartbeat pounds like a jackhammer in your veins. You feel alive, desired, lustful, wanton, like a goddess. Your arms are getting tired, so you stop holding yourself open for him -- not like he needs the guidance now, anyway -- and bring them back around, stretching in front of you. That ache soon subsides, and the only sensation you feel is the insistent drag of his hardness deep inside your body. He shifts a little, and suddenly you're crying out repeatedly and can't seem to stop yourself. He's hit just the right spot in there and he knows it, moving his hips faster and faster, driving against you with purpose. You dimly realize once more that you sound like a whore moaning like this, but it doesn't bother you, it excites you, because you =are= a whore, a whore for him. Without warning his rhythm stops, and he pulls out and away. You feel like screaming in frustration, in disappointment. "Do you fuck him like this?" he asks, and disoriented, you don't understand the question. You sit up and turn around. He is on his knees, his erection straining toward you. You notice that he is shaking slightly; he isn't quite as calm as he'd like you to believe. You regain your bearings and answer, "You know I do." An indefinable emotion crosses his face. "I want you to fuck me like you would fuck him," he states, brooking no argument. At your nod, he asks casually, "Would you take him in your mouth after he's been inside you?" You give your lover a long, considering look before licking your lips and leaning forward. He looks down, and you meet his gaze as you take the head of his penis between your lips. You grasp the base of his cock in one hand, and it is slick and slippery with you. He groans and closes his eyes, grabbing fistfuls of your hair in his hands. You begin to lick him all over, tasting yourself on him, and the heady mix of his flavor and yours causes your head to swim. Your tongue seems to have a mind of its own, swirling here, lapping there, sometimes placing itself flat against him, other times using only the tip to taste. You enjoy hearing his hoarse cries; you like making him crazy for you. One of your hands comes up to cup his balls; they're tight and firm in the cradle of your palm. You knead them gently as you continue to suck his dick with almost religious fervor, concentrating on the head, the most sensitive area of his penis. He pulls you away from him, and he leaves your mouth with a long, wet, sliding suction. He's breathing shallowly, and his eyes are drunk with desire. You know that he's close. You look at him, asking silently if you can help take the edge off of his immediate need. He can do this himself, but you want to do it. He acquiesces, visibly trying to regain control, and you quickly place your thumb just under the head of his cock and your index finger on the other side, then squeeze, holding that position for a good five seconds while the wildness fades a little from his eyes. When he's ready, he grabs your wrist and pulls your hand away. He runs his thumb over your lower lip, clearly intent on something. "Now -- all the way," he requests harshly. Again, you know what he wants, and, trying to show less eagerness than you're feeling, merely incline your head. He lies down on his side so that this task can be more easily accomplished, and you follow him down, his impressive erection right in front of your face. Taking him in your mouth again, you give him one more swirl of your tongue, then relax your throat. You move him slowly past the back of your throat, and he's patient; doesn't move at all as he allows you to keep your own pace and adjust to his girth, to the invading foreign object. In a few moments, you have taken all of him in, your nose pressing against the soft skin just under his navel. Only then does he begin to move gently, in and out, and you shut your eyes to better concentrate on keeping your throat relaxed. You enjoy doing this for him and don't want to have to stop if your gag reflex kicks in. After a few moments, he stops his movements but doesn't pull out. He's breathing with effort, and you understand that he is getting himself under control; he doesn't want to come this way, even though you wouldn't mind. Finally, his respiratory process seems to get back to a fairly even rhythm, and he pulls out of your throat, out of your mouth. He gets up again, pulling you to your knees -- not an easy feat since your legs feel like jello -- and moves you so that you're facing the bed's headboard. His hands bring yours up until you're holding onto it, the wood smooth and hard under your hands. He spreads your legs apart, and as you're eager for the second orgasm that had been postponed for oral enjoyment, your limbs are compliant and enthusiastic to do his bidding. You feel his erection press wetly against the crease of your ass, and he keeps it there for just a moment, before he moves into position to penetrate you once again. The anticipation is torture. Fortunately, he doesn't make you wait too long. His hands force your hips down just as his lower body slams upward into you, and the collision makes your teeth rattle. If you weren't holding on to the headboard, the two of you would have gone flying backwards. He starts moving in a hard, fast cadence, and his hands join yours on the headboard. The feel of him, thick, hard, and hot inside you, is incredible, and you begin to make the inevitable mewling sounds that tells him you're loving it. Every time he slams into you there's a moment when your knees rise off the bed, and you aren't sure if you'll shatter at that point and never make it back down. The bed creaks in protest from the workout it's getting -- and you can certainly empathize. The sensations build and build until your orgasm explodes directly from the pounding at your center, shooting with lightning speed out to every cell in your body. The force propels you hard against him, your hands unable to keep their purchase on the headboard. His grip is still firm, however, so he serves as a solid wall to absorb your flailing movements. He doesn't wait for your body to stop shuddering before he flips you over and hoists your legs over his shoulders. Thrusting in short, rapid strokes, leaning so far forward your knees practically touch your ears, he grinds his hips hard into the backs of your thighs, trying to push himself even deeper into you. The pressure causes his erection, stiffening to even greater strength and size, to rub roughly against your clit, the blessed friction creating aftershock upon aftershock of pleasure. "Oh GOD!" you cry, and three words are running amok in your mind, more feeling than thought, colliding, then separating, then fusing in a universal chaos that actually makes sense. I love you ... you I love ... love you ... loveyouloveyou ... IloveyouIloveyouIlove. And it's possible that these words have spilled from your heart into the open air, too powerful to be contained, but it doesn't matter because you want to sharethemsharethemIloveyou. "Jesus," he groans. When he comes, he digs his knees hard into the mattress, shoving deeply, his balls hitting your aching flesh over and over again in time with his uneven strokes. You feel his hot come rush into you, bathing your inner walls, and you moan, turning your head from side to side, grabbing his ass, willing him to keep coming. You want every last drop he has to give. A century later when the two of you have somewhat recovered, he pulls out and rolls off of you. You try to contain a grimace, even as you think about how uncomfortable you are going to be tomorrow. He plumps up a pillow, laying it against the headboard, and falls against it, pulling you into his arms so that you're lying with your back on top of him. He arranges you so that not an inch of you hangs off of him, supporting your entire weight. You're both stickily covered in sweat and other bodily fluids, but cleanup will come later. For now, you just want to bask in the afterglow of really satisfying sex. He rubs your stomach, which you adore after a session of lovemaking. You purr like an eager kitten in his arms, and he chuckles into your ear. For some reason, he then leans over and pulls open a drawer from the nightstand next to the bed. He reaches in and pulls out a small black box you recognize has to be from an expensive jewelry store. Bemused, you watch as he flips it open and takes out the small glinting object from where it's nestled in its satin bed. If you weren't surrounded by a cloud of post-coital bliss, you might be paying more attention. But as it dawns on you what he's holding, you can hardly see it because your heart is in your throat and what you know to be tears are blocking your vision. For a long time he just holds the ring between his thumb and index finger, twisting it and causing the light to hit the small cluster of diamonds from different angles. You're mesmerized. It glitters like nothing you have ever seen, and you wonder if you could possibly be mistaken, if your brain is sending out the right information. Staring straight ahead, you try not to shiver when you feel his warm, dry lips against your ear. When he finally speaks, his soft whisper is a deep rumble of sound that travels in a lazy tingle from your ear to your toes. "Would you marry him if he asked?" "Mulder ... " You twist around because you want to see his face, and you get a fleeting glimpse of hazel before he closes his eyes, shutting you out. You realize he doesn't want you to look at him, so you turn and face forward again. "Would you?" His voice is feather-light, but delicately layered with the weight of undertone. He holds the ring out in front of you, and you know you have never seen anything so beautiful in your life ... save, perhaps, the man who is offering it to you. The tears have traveled from your eyes to your throat (your heart is back where it belongs and has swelled to gargantuan proportions), and it takes you a moment to respond, although the answer to his query wants to jump off of your tongue. You can feel his heart thumping madly against your back, and finally you find your voice again. "Yes, I would marry him if he asked." His chest expands sharply, lifting you up with a long intake of breath. He has stopped twisting the ring in his fingers, but says nothing for long moments. "Okay," he says at last, his tone uneven. You swear that his long, gentle fingers are trembling as he takes your left hand and slips the ring onto the proper finger. "It fits perfectly," he says, a note of pleased surprise in his voice. "Like it was made for me," you agree. You don't quite believe that this is happening. "It's very pretty." You wish your voice wouldn't quaver like that ... and while you're making wishes, you might as well wish you hadn't uttered such a gross understatement. "I wanted -- " He stops, hesitating. He takes your hand, newly ringed, and holds it in his palm, admiring the way it looks. "It made me think of you," he mutters. At this point, you vow that nothing will ever be able to pry this ring from your finger. In fact, you have a good mind to go on a chocolate cheesecake diet so that your hands will get fat and swell up, and no amount of butter or soap will be able to get this small piece of jewelry off of your chubby digit. Turning to thank him, he preempts your movement and places his warm mouth on yours. You melt, tugging his lips in between your teeth, then release them so that you can slide your tongue against his, which is criminally soft. To your disappointment, he ends the kiss, looking at you with eyes shaded in colors of love and desire. They're also crinkling at the corners in laughter. "Think of what your mom will say about the engagement video," he murmurs. "That video," you say, certain death in your voice, "will never leave this room." "I guess I shouldn't have had it broadcast on satellite, then ... " You think this is not worth a response, and turn back around because you're getting a crick in your neck, anyway. He gives you a quick kiss on the cheek and nuzzles his nose into the side of your neck, then caresses your stomach until you fall asleep. =End= AUTHOR'S NOTES: The truth will out. I am a sap. I'd like to thank all the nice people who have written, encouraging me to keep writing. Months of silence from me, and this little piece is all I have to share? I'm afraid not. :-) I'm currently working on two stories, both of which have to be revamped -- one due to technical problems, the other, an AU, due to the events of Requiem (which I absolutely loved, so I'm not =too= resentful -- I want a little boy!). I think I needed some stress relief! The narration style was an experimentation, and critique is happily received. My kudos goes out to all the writers who have played with narrating in the second person. All my gratitude goes to the following people: Brandon, who, though we fight like cats and dogs at times, always provides thoughtful and extremely helpful comments and critiques; Diana, whose friendship and skills as a beta reader I have done too long without; and Trixie, an invaluable friend and beta reader who has taught me that sometimes, sanity is not all it's cracked up to be. :-) She also helped me with the title. This story is dedicated to her!! Thank you for reading!