You can send anonymous feedback about this story using our
Feedback form
The characters herein are the property of
1013, Fox and Chris Carter. No infringement on their
copyright is intended. Their usage here is for
entertainment purposes only.
RATING: NC-17 for explicit sexual content. Please don't
read this if you are not of the age of consent.
Author's notes: Here is to willa, my Mulder geography
logician, and also she who saves me from both coldness
and over-sappiness. You really and truly just rule. And
Willow belongs with Xander (which really has no bearing
here). :)
---
Contradiction by Amanda Rex
"Scully, I just need you to help me prepare for this,"
Mulder told her, already tired of the argument that had
begun, it seemed, six years ago and had never truly
ended. "I didn't come over here to argue. I came to get
your help."
"You are not going into this by yourself. You admitted,
yourself, that it's probably a trap. If you let me back
you up, maybe we can turn the tables on them. You'll
never be able to do it on your own." Scully paced
toward him, still reeling from everything he'd told her
since he barged into her apartment just minutes ago.
"Those aren't the terms, Scully. I was told this was
non-negotiable," he said, coldly logical. His voice
softened as he continued. "This could be our only
chance. If we don't get this information, the invasion
will happen unchecked. With it, we might have a chance
to build up a defense. And we don't have time to argue.
I have to be there in," he consulted his watch, "less
than two hours."
"Why you, Mulder? And why do you have to go alone? Have
you thought of the total absence of logic to that -- "
"It doesn't matter," he said, sternly. "I've been
working toward this for so long, Scully. It's all I've
wanted, all I've pursued -- "
"Listen to yourself," Scully said, her voice raising,
straining under her stress and annoyance. "I've been
working...all I've wanted...all I've pursued. How dare
you, Mulder? How dare you push me out and deny how
important this is to me? You claim sole ownership of
all that we've done..." she took a deep breath, feeling
her concern for Mulder's safety turning to anger. "And
you insult everything we've ever done together."
"This isn't your fight, Scully," Mulder said, quietly.
"When did it become 'not my fight'?"
"It never was. I won't -- I can't -- deny I've needed
your help. But this one's mine, Scully." He looked at
her, his eyes darkening with seriousness. Trying to
communicate with her. Leave this one alone, Scully. Her
eyes found his, wildly darting, searching, with
unadulterated anger.
"Mulder, you're a selfish bastard. You're going to get
yourself killed tonight. For nothing. And you just
spent your last moments on Earth insulting the only
person who cares about this as much as you do." She
continued to look at him, challenging him. To say
something. To realize. To reconsider.
But he stood, silent, unmoving.
"I'm going to follow you," she told him, stepping close
-- too close -- to him, drawing herself up to hold her
own against his imposing physical form. "I will be
there," she added, deliberately trying to provoke him.
Silence.
"You can't deny me this, after everything I've been
through. What I've given up, Mulder. Goddammit, I'm not
just an innocent bystander!" she said, truly yelling
now.
Silence.
Anger flowed within her, pulsing in her temples,
twitching through her, filling every inch of her. White
noise filled her mind, replacing any thoughts or
tactics she'd originally intended to use in this
situation, a situation she'd realized only moments ago
she'd always regarded as inevitable. The energy of her
rage built up in her, gathering together into a single
intention borne of complete irrationality.
She raised her arms, placing her palms against Mulder's
chest, pushing against him with all her strength, all
her frustration. He stumbled slightly backward in
surprise before he could steel himself to it, stepping
forward and regaining the ground he'd lost. Their eyes
dueled, Mulder's stubbornness meeting her anger.
She braced herself to push again, needing to do
something to make him see, to make him capitulate to
what she knew was right even if words had failed them.
As she started to shift her weight again, he moved
against her.
It was stunning in its suddenness -- he'd been standing
almost motionless, but now his strong, large hands
captured her wrists easily, pulling them away from his
chest. His grip was painfully tight, the look in his
eyes now dangerously unreadable. He pushed her
backward, first one step, then another. He loomed over
her, casting a dark shadow over her face, and she lost
his eyes in the darkness for a second. When she picked
them up again, they'd changed.
Hunger. Need. Intensity. She had only a moment to read
his intention before he acted on it.
"A man about to die gets one last request," Mulder told
her, his voice low and hoarse.
His mouth assaulted hers, invading her without
hesitation. She tried to pull away, her gasp of
surprise manifesting only as a sharp shock of air
before his lips found hers again. She wanted to be
angry with him, she needed to be angry with him. But
she needed this too, and the realization made her love
him and hate him all at the same time.
He pushed her again, forcing her to step backwards
until she found the cold pressure of the wall against
her back. He pushed her arms back to the wall, over her
head, securing them there with his left hand. He
trailed the kiss to her ear, whispering to her once
more.
"I know you better than you think I do, Scully. I know
what you feel like beneath me, because it's happened in
my mind a thousand times. Once -- just once -- it's not
going to be a fantasy."
His free hand moved to take her breast, brushing the
nipple with the pad of his palm through the thin cotton
of her shirt. His tongue caressed her earlobe, his lips
soon closing around it and sending a shiver through
her. He stepped closer, insinuating his knee between
her legs, pressing against her as his mouth took hers
again.
He deepened the kiss, and she brought her tongue to
his, only to find him pushing it away. She reeled, the
dichotomy of being simultaneously drawn in and pushed
away by him confused and excited her.
His hand slid over her abdomen to the bottom hem of her
shirt, slowly, his fingers splaying outward and
stroking her as he went. His index finger rubbed gently
along where the shirt had pulled away from the
waistband of her jeans, her muscles twitching at the
maddeningly intermittent contact.
Finally he ventured underneath the shirt, now showing
no trace of the teasing hesitance he'd tortured her
with a moment ago. She arched her back for him,
allowing him to find the clasp of her bra. She could
feel it constricting her, containing her, and she
longed to be free of it. Free of everything that had
constricted and contained them for so long.
He fumbled hungrily with the clasps, his dexterity worn
away by mindless need. He released her wrists to use
both hands, and a flare of temper lit in him as she
reached for the clasp herself.
He grabbed her wrists again, pushing her back into the
wall.
"No," he said, looking into her eyes, using the silence
to tell her how much he needed this, how much he needed
her to give herself to him without question. He watched
as she stared into him, taking one, slow, deep breath,
and then she relaxed against him.
His hands released hers, and when her hands stayed
where he'd put them, he began to undress her once more.
He grasped the bottom of her shirt, pulling it slowly
up, turning it inside out as he slid it over her body.
His fingers relaxed, and it fell to the floor.
He pulled at the clasp of her bra again, finally
pulling the last hook free, and it soon joined her
shirt. Her skin burned against the chill of the room,
burned under the blinding heat of his touch, of his
eyes.
"Scully," he said, simply, as he bowed his head to take
one nipple into his mouth. His tongue circled her, and
then his teeth closed around her with a paradox of
ferocity and gentleness. Soft, mournful noises came
from deep within her throat, vibrating through them
both. Mulder's right hand teased her other nipple,
turning and feathering over her skin before abandoning
her, sliding upwards, tracing the line of her throat,
her chin, until he stopped at her mouth.
Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, the very tip of
it brushing his fingers. His hand stiffened in
response, freezing there long enough for her to capture
his index finger between her opened lips. Her tongue
stroked the pad of his finger, urging it further into
her mouth. Her lips closed around him gently, resting
there for a moment before tilting her head back, raking
her teeth across the graceful length of his finger as
she pulled away from it. When only the tip remained
trapped by her lips, she moved forward, drawing it into
her mouth again. The muscles in his hand twitched
involuntarily -- the realization that she was affecting
him shivered through her, erasing the worries and
concerns of just moments ago from her mind.
His mouth lifted away from her as he straightened, his
eyes catching hers again. They were dark, his pupils
nearly dilated, and his eyelids heavy with need,
desire. She continued the rhythm she'd begun, slowly
taking in his finger, pulling away from it. Her slow
movements affected her even more as she could watch his
reactions -- his eyes widening, the muscles in his jaw
twitching -- each of them a tiny miracle, evidence of
his desire for her.
Abruptly, he pulled his finger away. Before she could
even feel its loss, his mouth replaced it. Soft,
rhythmic kisses that reached down into her, sharpening
into a pressure building inside her, centering in her
stomach and radiating outward in waves of the almost-
pain of unrelieved tension. His hands, which had
settled on her hips when he'd begun to kiss her again,
began to move slowly up her body. Softly floating over
her abdomen, resting at her breasts, caressing her,
before continuing. Sliding along her collarbone, a
finger reaching up to brush against her cheek quickly
before he resumed his motion outwards, upwards,
trailing slowly up her arms, accentuating the slight
discomfort from their enforced position over her head.
His hands stopped when he reached her forearms,
hovering gently on her skin, and began slowly tracing a
long, torturous line, up and down over the toned
muscles of her arms. She longed to pull her hands away
from the wall to touch him, but the delicious torture
of not being able to touch him intrigued her more.
He stopped kissing her to speak, his voice so darkened
with want she almost didn't recognize him.
"Stay there," he said, as he pulled his body away from
hers. He bent, almost kneeling in front of her, his
sliding down her throat, brushing the sides of her
breasts, finally landing on the waistband of her jeans.
His fingers brushed her skin as he worked at
unfastening the button, then smoothly pulled at the
zipper. He grasped the denim over her hips, tugging
downward as she tried to shift to help him. The fabric
slid over her, catching, working free, until finally
she could lift her feet out of her shoes, away from her
jeans, one by one, ridding herself of these unnecessary
coverings.
Mulder gazed at the one remaining barrier covering her,
his fingers brushing over the silky satin almost
reverently. His thumbs hooked under the lace covering
her hips, brushing the skin underneath. She looked down
at him, watching as he watched the movements of his
hands, entranced at the concentration that colored his
features.
She was shocked a second later, because his face had
given away no hint of the action he'd planned. He
tugged roughly at the fabric under his hands, meeting
with enough resistance that Scully was jerked forward.
Instinctively, she pulled her arms away from the wall,
finding Mulder's shoulders to steady herself. She felt
the ruined satin fall away from her as he stood again.
Wordlessly, he found her wrists with his hands, pulling
them behind her back, holding them there. He kissed her
again, stepping as close to her as was possible, his
leg finding its way between hers again. Her nipples
brushed against the cotton of his shirt as his hips
shifted forward, closer toward her, pressing against
her and sending a shock of awareness through her. His
right hand abandoned her wrists, snaking around her,
following the line of his leg toward her. She sucked in
a breath and held it, waiting for him to find her,
touch her. She felt the muscles in her back tense,
followed by her stomach and abdomen. Her every action
and reaction built up into the anticipation of a single
moment, a single caress which seemed both just moments
and an eternity away.
He teased her, brushing her inner thigh, pulling away
just when she could feel the warmth of his hand
approaching her body. His touch had somehow become both
a promise and a threat, and it would soon become a
moment of fulfillment and incontrovertible change. It
was the leap of faith they'd hovered near for so long,
the inevitable and the impossible. Just as she wondered
if he'd ever reach her, he closed the distance.
Part of him was inside her -- the words played over and
over in her mind as his hand moved against her, his
thumb circling her clitoris as two fingers entered her,
starting a rhythm he wordlessly promised to continue as
his eyes locked onto hers. His right hand left her
wrists, tugging at her hands as he left, as if giving
her permission to move, to touch him. She did not
intend to waste the opportunity.
When his head bent to kiss her, her hands found the
back of his head and held him there, trapping him in a
deep kiss, breaking it only when the sensations of his
movements against her threatened to overwhelm her. She
felt the climax coming, wanting so much to give in to
it, but managed to fight it off by shifting her hips
slightly away from his hand. Somehow, he understood,
pulling away and resting his hands on her hips.
Not yet, she thought. Not now. Not until he felt just
as helpless under her power as she felt under his.
Her hands slid down his chest, playing over the muscles
there, then moving downwards again until she found his
belt. She quickly unfastened it, working just as
rapidly at the button and zipper of his pants until
she'd succeeded in her task. He stepped out of his
pants, abandoning his shoes as well. She began to work
on the buttons of his shirt, fumbling in relation to
the movements of Mulder's hands. She finally managed to
finish her work, then moved downwards to push his
boxers off his hips and toward the floor.
She rested her hands on his naked hips, lightly moving
in circles over his skin, and she thrilled as she felt
his body tense as hers had, so recently, in
anticipation of his touch. She pulled her body away
from his hands, concentrating on the energy building up
in Mulder's body, the slight quivers she could feel
traveling through him.
She pushed his shirt from his shoulders, letting her
fingers fall down his chest, hesitating at his waist
before curling around his back, her hands finally
landing on the backs of his legs. Slowly, she pulled
them upward again, resting on his ass. She squeezed her
hands, pulling him closer, feeling him hard against her
stomach. A noise rumbled from deep within his throat,
perhaps her only warning...
Suddenly, she found one arm behind her knees, the other
supporting her shoulders, and she was floating. He
carried her through the hallway toward her bedroom,
opening the door with a sharp kick of his foot. He
placed her on the bed, holding her there with a glance
before he disappeared, returning moments later with his
belt.
He came to the bed, lying next to her and kissing her,
caressing her breasts until he felt the distraction of
her hands closing around him, pulling softly, up and
down, reveling in the feel of him, the heat of him,
against her skin.
He pulled her hands away, putting them through separate
openings in the headboard, then threaded the belt
around them. It seemed like an eternity before he
seemed to decide he was finished securing her there.
He slid down her body, kissing her as he went.
Forehead. Lips. Breast. Stomach. Scully tensed as he
moved, unconsciously resisting him as he tried to
settle between her legs. Without a word, Mulder kept
kissing her, softly brushing his lips against her
belly, giving her the time she needed to relax.
As her initial panic began to subside, she softened
under the touch of his kiss, opening to him, not only
physically, but with her trust, her soul, as well. By
the moment he found his way to her, playing gently over
her with the soft skin of his lips, she'd released
every last trace of misplaced modesty.
As sanity-shattering as the movements of his hand had
been earlier, they paled in comparison to this. His
tongue passed over her, stroking her clitoris before
teasing downward, almost inside her, before retreating
again. Over and over, he journeyed, shattering her self
control as the sensations overtook her. She struggled
to stay still for him, so he could continue what he'd
so expertly begun, but she grew impatient as he denied
her the pleasure of feeling him inside her.
She strained underneath him, and he reached upward,
grasping her hips to still her. And he held her there,
motionless, repeating what was so dangerously close to
what she needed, repeating it until she heard herself
begging him in fragmented gasps of words to enter her,
to take what she wanted so much to give him.
As softly and tentatively as he'd begun, she felt his
tongue dipping into her. Her restrained hands grasped
the headboard, gripping it for support. Moaning, noises
that sounded nothing like her own voice, escaped her
throat, urging Mulder on, faster, deeper. Her breathing
found and imitated the rhythm he'd settled into,
desperately trying to sync with him in any way she
could.
"Mulder," she said, her voice almost too breathy to be
distinguishable, "please, I need you."
He shifted to cover her, sucking in a breath as he felt
her legs close around him. He shifted his hips, finding
her eyes, their shared gaze holding them, binding them,
before he entered her, then pausing after he'd filled
her completely. Each of them closed their eyes,
experiencing their own, new, sensations before they
looked at each other again, now sharing the experience
together. She expected him to move slowly at first,
perhaps out of some concern not to hurt her. When he
did begin to move, she tensed with the pleasurable
surprise of the immediate and unrelenting deepness and
speed of his movements.
Again and again, he thrust within her, mercilessly,
with all the intensity, attraction, conflict, respect,
and love that had grown within them. As she fought to
meet his movements, she knew, somehow, that this was
the wordless culmination of everything they'd become to
each other.
But she sensed something behind that. She struggled to
concentrate on it, to place what it was. He stopped
pulling all the way out of her, moving slightly,
staying deep within her, grinding against her in a way
that sent her rapidly toward the orgasm she'd pushed
away earlier. As the sensations gathered and grew, she
nearly forgot about what she'd sensed just seconds ago.
Some part of her managed to remember, to hold on to the
minor curiosity as her climax approached. She could
hear her own breathing became ragged as she tried to
form his name -- she fought the approaching torrent of
sensation as her mind struggled to find some coherence,
the pleasure wracking over her in waves only when she
relented. The orgasm held, torturing her as he moved
into her faster and faster, finding his own climax just
as he found her eyes again.
And she was afraid.
She finally understood what she'd seen in him, but
couldn't name. He was saying good-bye, not just to her,
but to the entire world that had toyed with and
tortured him for so long.
"Don't, Mulder," she whispered to him. "Don't go," she
said, remembering the intentions he'd spoken to her
just after he'd invaded her apartment earlier that
evening. "Don't do this."
He looked at her, brushing her hair gently away from
her eyes. "I love you, Scully."
He stood from the bed, and she pulled impotently
against the belt that held her in place. He pulled the
quilt over her, looking at her one more time before he
disappeared from the room.
"Mulder!" she yelled, knowing he could still hear her,
knowing he had to hear her if she was going to save him
from himself. "This is suicide. There's nothing noble
about this!" Tears began to form in the corners of her
eyes, finally realizing what he'd come here to do, that
she'd just given him the help he needed to steel
himself for his ill-fated mission -- they'd consummated
what they'd both wanted for so long, and then he'd bid
her farewell.
She still allowed herself to hope until she heard her
apartment door open and shut. She started, feverishly,
to work on the bindings around her wrists, knowing she
could eventually work herself free.
Eventually. But not quickly enough. She'd never find
him in time, and she knew he'd known that.
"Mulder. You fucking son of a bitch."
-------
end
You can send anonymous feedback about this story using our
Feedback form
May 1999