Notes: It had to happen sooner or later.
I've danced around the issue long enough. Here it is,
well over a year after my fanfic debut: Lynn's initial foray into the realm of pure SMUT. I'm
still blushing. Noromos, persons under age 17 and those who are offended by graphic depictions
of loving unmarried adults engaging in consensual sexual acts should bail now. You were warned.
Into the Darkness
by Lynn Gregg
He came under cover
of darkness, slipping wraithlike through the two unlocked connecting doors
that separated her room from his. Picking his way carefully as a cat across the preternaturally neat
expanse of motel floor, he arrived to stand by the side of her bed, silent, watchful. The minutes
ticked by in blood-colored light on the face of the travel alarm set atop the cheap veneered night
stand: 1:01, 1:02, 1:03... The weak glow of sodium-vapor streetlamps in the parking lot slitted
through the dusty venetian blinds, striping the no-color rug, banding her sleeping form in shadow
and light. Her face was turned towards him, lax and innocent in repose, hair a carnelian stain on
the pillowcase, its flame only slightly muted by the gloom. The sounds of traffic came faintly from
without, but over the distant hum he could still hear her breathing: deep, soft, comforting.
there was a word. How often had he done precisely this, invade her
privacy, unknown and uninvited, simply for the comfort of her presence--the sight and the sounds,
the very scent of her? When had just the simple reassurance of her continued existence, her
unwitting proximity, become sufficient to banish all the demons and hold his nightmares at bay?
These were the questions
he pondered, along late on these endless nights after he had returned
to his own domain following one of his furtive forays into her sleeping world. When had he ceased
to see partner and friend and started to see instead a savior, a lifeline? His eidetic memory stuttered
and stopped upon that threshold, refusing to return him even for a moment to the before time.
There had never been anything before this. There would never be anything beyond this. Only her
small silent form, wrapped up in the night, as close as the length of his stride and as distant as the
He stepped close,
closer still, close as he dared, dropping to his knees at her bedside.
This too was
part of the ritual, a new element added one dark night as she lay dying and he contemplated
bargaining with the Devil with the last pitiful shreds of his soul. In the end, that bargain was made
by another, but still he performed the obeisance, a lone worshipper at a shrouded shrine--but to Whom
did he pray? Sometimes, in the dark, it seemed there could be no power greater than this curious bond
that twined his life with hers, pulled him as inexorably as the moon ordered the tides, returned him to
her side against all fate and all reason. And so he knelt, at her bedside, and rested his forehead against
the cool threadbare sheet.
And felt a touch, insubstantial as a whisper, pass over his bowed head.
His name came to
him as a soft expulsion of breath, borne to him on a sleepy sigh.
dared look up, her eyes were upon him, somber and gray and uncomprehending. She spoke his
name again, more firmly this time, and he shuddered, suddenly somehow so cold and bereft and
She turned the coverlet
back, exposing a welcoming expanse of warmed and waiting bed. Her
small hand smoothed over it invitingly, and wordlessly he scrambled up and in, drawing the covers
tightly around them, closing out the cold and the night and all that stood between them. He
turned to her, ready to plunge, to risk it all in that hour. Hoping she would catch him.
Knowing she would catch him.
she murmured, drawing him closer, nestling up against him. She was
her skin burned his where it touched. He burrowed into her, absorbing her heat, his face buried in
the hollow at the base of her throat. It seemed only natural to place a reverent kiss there, in that
soft inviting spot. She started as though singed, then flowed back into him, quicksilver melding to
the planes and dips of his body.
"So cold," he whispered into her skin. "So cold, for so long. I don't want to be cold anymore."
Her arms tightened
around him, and then she was raining kisses upon him, a blessed spring
rain following an interminable winter blight. Her soft lips, slightly swollen, traced drowsily over
the lines of his face, placed benedictions upon his closed eyelids, skated along the jut of his nose
and finally--after eternities had passed and the world ceased its orbit--came to rest lingeringly,
longingly, lovingly upon his own.
The Rubicon had
been bridged. Sliding his hand down to entwine her fingers with his,
crossed the River of Jordan effortlessly, the last shreds of doubt dispersed like smoke. When the
slight press of her lips relaxed he pushed forward, reclaiming her mouth, breathing through her.
Their joined hands came to rest upon the protrusion of his hipbone, and then her hand freed
itself and began a solitary journey, down and around, fingers cupping the firm globe of one
buttock. He pressed back hard into her palm, increasing the pressure of his mouth, tongue
snaking out to glide lightly over her full lower lip. She moaned softly and with her hand still
on his ass urged him closer.
"Scully," he mumbled, tongue feeling thick and alien as it tried to shape her name. "Scully."
here." She pulled back, just enough to lock her level gaze onto his
"I've always been here, Mulder."
"Touch me," he insisted, part command and part plea. "I need you to touch me."
Her hand--the same
small, capable hand that had soothed him so often through their years
together--left the curve of his cheek to begin a ministration of a quite different sort, back down
and around to grip him through the wash-worn cotton of his sweatpants. Muttering, he
pushed his cock into her hand, even as he tucked his face into the side of her neck, leaving a
trail of heated moisture there. Emboldened, she hooked a finger into his waistband and
thrust her hand within, closing it around his bare engorged flesh.
Biting back a groan
he shifted positions, rolling her onto her back and trying with numb
fingers to free the buttons of her pajama top. She continued to stroke him all the while,
testing the weight, the length of his erection. Her other hand came up to caress along the
side of his face, to stroke through the thick dark hair. Despite these sweet distractions, he
eventually succeeded in releasing all the buttons; slowly, cautiously, he opened her silky shirt,
laying her chest bare to his gaze. The roseate points of her nipples puckered immediately at
the cool air, an effect that inexplicably delighted him.
He moved to lower
his mouth to them, but she stopped him; confused, he looked to her
face and found she was smiling at him, shaking her head.
"Not yet," she said,
lifting her hips and wriggling easily out of her pajama pants. "All
me, Mulder. I want you to take all of me."
All. All of
her, just as she had had all of him, all along. His burning eyes
traveled the length
of her--the firm, small breasts, the flat musculature of her belly, the riot of auburn coils where
her strong slim thighs met, the curvature of her calves, her narrow high-arched feet. Beautiful.
His strong, beautiful Scully--all of her, no barriers, no pretenses. He wanted to weep.
But instead, he
reached out for her, letting his hands read the Braille of her skin--hearing,
absurdly, in his mind a snippet from Donne as he did so: "License my roving hands, and let them
go before, behind, between, above, below..." He touched her everywhere, seeing her with
calloused fingertips, learning her in a new way, memorizing her.
Her cool fingertips
brushed over his chest, over his nipples, feeling them begin to prickle
tighten. Languidly she played with the wiry dark hairs between the slight rises of his pectorals
as his hands moved lower, over her hips, along the planes of her hard thighs, skimming between
them tantalizingly. Her breath caught as one finger darted between her lower lips, skating over
the erect nub concealed there, dipping back to where the moisture was beginning to gather. A
little guttural noise escaping her, she lifted her hips from the mattress, straining up to increase
"Do you like that,
Scully?" he asked, low, urgent. "Tell me how you like it. Tell
me how you
want me to touch you."
"Harder," she gritted, in a voice not quite her own. "God, yes, there. Harder, Mulder."
No longer gentle,
her hand grasped his cock, squeezing and stroking in rhythm with his
motions. She reached down, massaging his sac, before plunging one finger beneath it to
glide along the secret soft expanse at the edge of his perineum. At the contact he bucked,
closing his mouth over her shoulderblade, teeth digging into the soft white flesh. With a
laugh she urged him closer, tugging lightly but insistently at his erection, rolling on to her
side to rub up against him catlike. He tried to still her, wanting to prolong the agony, but
to no avail.
She pushed him onto
his back and straddled him, grinning wickedly. "I think five years
foreplay is enough, don't you?"
She settled down,
knees gripping firmly either side of his lean hips. Bending low over
her tongue played lightly over his lips, even as her distended nipples brushed against his chest
and her slick folds rubbed teasingly against the engorged tip of his shaft. He bumped up
towards her, blindly seeking entry; and, taking him in hand once more, she led him to the
center and drew him in, sighing against his mouth as she enfolded him at last.
For a time they
remained so, Scully stretched full length upon him, not moving, not speaking.
In that silent space the tension built anew until it became unbearable and she began to shift
restlessly, starting a slight slow friction that grew steadily as a flame. Raising herself above him,
her weight supported on her hands planted squarely on his shoulders, she began to rock, sliding
up the length of him till only the head of his cock remained within, then descending upon him
again with agonizing slowness. Frustrated, close to the edge, he caught one nipple between his
teeth and sucked at it roughly, gentleness fled, countering her rises with short hard thrusts. She
seemed to catch the fever that gripped him and speeded up her motions, slamming down hard
against his pubic bone. Wrenching his eyes open he could see with unearthly clarity the beads of
sweat gathering along her hairline, the furrows of concentration etched into her forehead, the
set of her lips as she bit back her response.
"Come on, Scully,"
he urged, arching into her. "Come for me. I need to feel it.
Give it to me,
He thrust up again,
again; and she gave way all of a rush, a dam breaking, going rigid upon
him before collapsing, crying out, almost sobbing with the force of the spasms that wracked
her. The sensation of her muscles contracting, wave after wave shuddering through her,
gripping him, milking him, was more than Mulder could bear and he followed her, willingly,
into the abyss.
After the storm
subsided and he lay sated, still within her, feeling the warm solidity
all around him, Mulder marvelled at his fortune. And for once, he wished he could hold off
the approach of dawn.