Facets of Want by Leigh Alexander leigh_xf@geocities.com First posted: August 9th, 1997 RATING: PG CATEGORY: VA SPOILERS: None KEYWORDS: MSR SUMMARY: Primal desires push Mulder and Scully together. But is it the right thing? DISCLAIMERS: 1) Dana and Fox belong to Chris and Ten Thirteen Productions and the other Fox. Absolutely *no* copyright infringement is intended - I'm not doing this for money, I'm doing it for love. I *love* these characters, I wouldn't want to hurt them! :) 2) OK to archive, but if it's going anywhere other than Gossamer, please drop me a line just so I can keep track. 3) Feel free to distribute and discuss this, as long as my name and addy remain attached. INTRO: This isn't your most straight-forward MSR, and I don't want you to think that I've abandoned the 'shipper-hood. I've just been persuaded to examine things from a slightly different angle... Oh, and this hasn't been edited, so forgive its roughness! DEDICATION: This one's for Kim, who's going to laugh at the thought that an MSR's for her. I think this is my attempt at having my cake and eating it too. :) --------------------------------------------------------------- Facets of Want --------------------------------------------------------------- She stepped into the apartment, the rap of her heel echoing in the silence. He was behind her. So close... He closed the door and instantly she felt the tension escalate. It wasn't possible, but it was happening. It was going to happen. Part of her had shut down while another part - the deepest, most inaccessible part - was slowly leaking from her, encircling her with a cloying mist. How had she reached this point? She no longer knew. His fingers fell lightly on her shoulder and she remained still, unable to move. Thought deserted her. Her coat was gently peeled from her body and she lowered her lids and breathed deeply through her mouth. The sleeves slid down her arms and the backs of his hands grazed the fine hairs that grew there. She had to keep her eyes closed; she was in a world of purely sensual delights - a state so fragile that it would shatter around her the instant she allowed visual reality to enter. No, this was solely feelings, sensations, emotions and desire. All human sentiments. All necessary elements in any life. But until now, closed off and secreted away. Doused with words, arguments and logic. She knew this was wrong. Not wrong in the normal sense - they were breaking no laws, no rules, neither defined nor unspoken - but wrong in the very core of her being. Was she in love with him? She didn't know. She wasn't doing this for love. She was doing this because she knew it was there: that attraction, that spark which zapped between them all the time. And she needed to be sated just as much as he. She heard the soft crumple of fabric as the coat was tossed aside. The liberation had begun. The distinct texture of the flat of his fingernail crept along her neck. She shivered, incapable of controlling the reflex. She knew it would bring a smile to his lips. Those lips that must have fascinated many a woman with their sensual curves. But not her; in her mind, those lips had always been the starting point of their debates, their conversations, his pleas, his jokes. Lips were the source of words. And words were the root of their problems. So she didn't want to think about his lips. Not now. Not until they had fallen into the zone of pure pleasure, where thought had no place. Where everything was defined by touch alone. Her necklace skittered slightly as his hand brushed against it. The cross bounced lightly on her skin. She was more aware of its movement only because it shielded her mind from absorbing the other movement. Even as the gilded emblem settled back into place, his grasp had reached her far shoulder and she knew what was coming next. Both of her shoulders were soon covered with his hands, with one arm traversing her collarbone. With a gentle twist, he turned her body so that she faced him. Eyes still closed. Breathing deeply. So deeply - it was as though she needed to suck in mouthfuls of air to keep herself upright, to focus her mind purely on the touches, the gestures. Anything but the thoughts. Thoughts would send her plummenting back into Scully. Right now she didn't want Scully... couldn't *be* Scully. If she were to accept these events as Agent Scully the repurcussions would become too frightening. She would be daunted into fear, pushed back into that role not only by a badge and a gun, but more importantly, by the attitude. Look at me, he pleaded without rancour. It wasn't said plaintively, nor arrogantly, nor demandingly. Just simply. No subtext, no games. Pure, simple and raw. One hand lifted from her shoulder and she suddenly feared that she would next feel it resting below her chin, pulling her head up. If that happened, she would snap. The tenuous balance would be slit in a second. But it didn't happen. Nothing happened for a few seconds. Until his lips were against her neck. Below her ear. Next to her hairline. All the air that she'd been gulping in so desperately was exhaled in a long, hard breath. Her head lolled to the side, losing its ability to support itself as his sensitive touch poured through her veins. Liquid arousal fed her vital organs; her blood was on fire. It wasn't until he'd pulled his mouth from her skin that her eyes finally opened; slowly, as if she'd just awoken. Her head lifted, but she took her time in reaching his gaze. Her mouth was open, her eyes questioning, as she finally looked at him. Which was a mistake. His face so familiar, brushed with an expression so primal and strange. Want displayed openly. Desire, lust and need painted across his visage. Giving weight to feelings that had elusively swum through her head. The reality that she had kept so far at bay now threatened entry. This couldn't be right. But it couldn't be wrong. He started caressing her again; threading a hand through her hair, stroking her arm. Her lids shut once more and she absorbed his warmth and gentleness. She felt herself drift back into her previous state of precarious ignorance. Lifting her own hand for the first time, she felt her way up his arm: his shoulder, his neck, his face. All passed under the tentative brush of her fingers. She slid her palm down his cheek and behind the back of his neck. The subtle pressure was the signal for him to bend his face towards hers. Her lids snapped up and her gaze locked on his. It was with full awareness that she kissed him. If want could be separated into carefully delineated partitions of meaning, it would make it so much easier to define what it was that she was now feeling. But the facets of want were so casual with their edges that the physical and emotional blurred together like an abstract painting. How much was physical? How much was emotional? Right now she didn't know. She knew that they would regret this. In a day, in a month, in a year - it didn't matter when. But not just yet. Regret, shame, chagrin... that would all come later. For the moment, she allowed the heat that filled her to be her guide. They moved without words to his bedroom. And afterwords they lay facing each other, legs curled, knees brushing together. Not talking, just looking. They knew each other more completely now, but that just meant that they had more problems to overcome. Yet, sexually, they were resolved. ~ THE END ~ --------------------------------------------------------------- "... time has again been allocated to dreams, although still in accordance with rules established years ago. For, if you do not place limits on your daydreaming or if you ever forget that these are games of fancy and fantasy, the dreams will absorb you, become your master, rather than the other way round. In fact, it is these very rules that give the dreams their power: for a prescribed period of time, you can be whoever you want, doing whatever you please, because you know none of it is true, and in ten or twenty or thirty minutes the pleasure will be over, and life will reclaim you once more. Of course, there's nothing preventing you from returning to a particularly appealing scene, tomorrow, next week, even next year, but by then you will have had ample time with battle-scarred reality, to keep the dreams in perspective..." - Andrea Goldsmith, "Modern Interiors" Thanks for reading my daydreams. :) Comments are welcome. leigh_xf@geocities.com