Rating: NC-17 
Spoilers: Never Again, The Unnatural 
Summary: Equal parts verbose M/S banter, parody, humor,
angst, Mulder Torture, smut and, of course, da lurrrve. 
 
Part 1 of 4 
 
"Scully, do you believe in karma?" 
 
I squinted at the clock on my bedside table and groaned.
4:15 a.m. On a Sunday, no less. But things could be worse.
I stretched like a cat and slithered against my sheets. It
felt good to be lying in bed, knowing I didn't have to be
anywhere all day. I took a nice long bath last night,
slathered on lotion, slipped into my silk pajamas and let
my hair air-dry. It was a riot of red waves that made me
feel like I was twelve again - with braces and no worries
beyond tomorrow's homework. I grinned unselfconsciously
just thinking about what I must look like. To be honest, I
love these philosophical discussions of ours, no matter
what time of the day. 
 
"You know, Mulder, I may not subscribe to the doctrines of
Buddhism or Hinduism, but I think the concept that one's
state in this life is a result of actions in past
incarnations, and actions in this life can determine one's
destiny in future incarnations - it makes sense in a way. A
lot more sense than some of my own religion's beliefs,
but..." I stifled a yawn "it's too early on a Sunday morning
to start speaking heretically. Why do you ask?" 
 
He ignored my question and pressed on. "Leaving aside the
religious beliefs of other cultures, do you believe that
people get what they deserve? That one way or another, the
universe corrects injustices, that eventually people will
reap what they sow?" 
 
"What you're talking about is not exactly karma. Do you
mean 'what comes around goes around'?" I asked. 
 
"I mean, 'live by the sword, die by the sword,'" he
answered. 
 
"Certainly incentive to 'do unto others as you would have
done to you,'" I retorted. 
 
"Are we hurling cliches again? Because if so, I prefer to
'stand idly by' in person, Scully. And bring some real ice
cream this time, ok? None of that non-fat Tofutti crap." 
 
I grinned at the memory of that perfect Saturday and
murmured, "I scream, you scream..." 
 
I heard his breath catch and his whispered "In my dreams..."
but I chose to ignore the comment and get back to safer
territory. 
 
I cleared my throat and began, "Generally, I do believe in
that concept. I'd prefer not to wait until the next
incarnation for justice, though, as real karma suggests. I
guess I subscribe to the concept of comeuppance in this
lifetime." He chuckled softly at that. 
 
"But Mulder, I believe that we create our own consequences.
And sometimes it's not always in a form we would recognize
as chastisement, except in hindsight. It's like
Dostoyevsky's Crime and Punishment - if we aren't penalized
for the wrongs we commit, we create our own penance." 
 
I heard his deep sigh through the phone. "You see, Scully,
that is so like you. I wake you up in the middle of the
night to ask something totally out of left field, and you
give me an intelligent, respectful answer." I could hear
his voice breaking now. "Not like me. I make a joke out of
everything, even things so serious that to joke about them
would seem cruel. But the cruelty only occurs to me in
retrospect. I never meant to hurt you, Scully. Never." 
 
Okay. I sat up in bed. This was decidedly not going to be
one of our fun philosophical discussions. My sense of
luxurious Sunday morning ease faded quickly. 
 
"Mulder, what's going on? Are you all right?" 
 
He continued, definitely upset. "I am so sorry, Scully. I
am sorry I made light of your pain after Philadelphia. I
made a joke about the tattoo... I made a joke..." he said in an
anguished voice. 
 
I pursed my lips and tried to calm my rising alarm. The
last time Mulder was in such a state...I don't even want to
think about that time. "Are you at home, Mulder? I'll come
over right now." 
 
"No, Scully. No." He went on to say, "I'm okay. I just want
you to know I am truly sorry for the callous way I treated
you." 
 
"Oh, Mulder..." I sighed and rubbed my forehead with the heel
of my palm. "You don't need to apologize. I know you use
humor as a defense mechanism. And for every time your jokes
were insensitive to my distress, there were ten times your
humor lifted me, saved me." 
 
I heard him groan. "Sc..." he started to say something, then
stopped. "I don't deserve your kindness, or your
forgiveness." 
 
"Nonsense. That was a difficult time for both of us. And
it's all in the past. Let it go, Mulder," I urged him. 
 
"I can't let it go. I tried, but I can't," he said. "You
could have died and I made light of it." I could hear him
sniffling and it broke my heart. 
 
"That does it, Mulder. Stay where you are. I'm coming
over." I leapt out of bed and started pulling panties and a
camisole out of my dresser. 
 
"Scully, before you do that, I have a confession to make. I
don't know how to explain this, but something happened to
me. I...I'm injured." 
 
I stopped dead in my tracks and my heart started pounding
in my chest upon hearing these words. 
 
"Mulder, how are you hurt?" 
 
"I don't know. I don't remember. I woke up yesterday
morning in pain all the way down my left torso and thigh.
Nothing seems to help it." 
 
"You have been in pain for nearly 24 hours and didn't call
sooner?" I tried to keep the anger and frustration out of
my voice. I could not focus on that right now. "Describe
the pain. And what have you tried to alleviate it?" 
 
"It burns and throbs. At first it itched, but now it just
feels like I am on fire. I showered and I put an ice pack
on it. Scully, there's something more I have to tell you..." 
 
"Save it for now, Mulder. I'm on my way." I was already
dressed in khakis and a white button-down shirt. "I'll be
there as soon as I can." 
 
"Scully...wait." 
 
"What is it, Mulder?" 
 
His voice broke again as he whispered, "Thank you for
always being there for me when I need you." 
 
"I'll be right over." 
 
"Not Exactly Karma" 
Part 2 of 4 
 
"Okay if I turn on the lights, Mulder?" I squinted into his
pitch-black apartment, eyes adjusting to the darkness. I
heard a grunt in the affirmative from the direction of the
couch. 
 
We gasped at the same time when the lamplight came on. I
can only imagine he was surprised to see me without make-up
and with curly hair. I did not have time to put on anything
but lipstick. I was shocked to see his eyelids swollen, his
nose red, and his face pale as a ghost. 
 
He was laying face down on the couch in gray sweatpants and
a navy blue t-shirt. The cordless phone lay on the floor
near his left hand, which was hanging limp. I knelt down on
the floor by his head and looked into his eyes. I felt his
forehead and ran my fingers through his hair. He was
clammy, but not feverish. No blood on him, as far as I
could tell. 
 
"What happened to you?" I whispered. He didn't reply. His
eyes just watered, then he turned his head and buried his
face in the pillow. 
 
I moved my hands over his left shoulder, down his left
ribs, but the moment I touched his waist he sucked in a
breath. I could tell the pain was intense. "I think we need
to get you to a hospital, Mulder. Let me call the
paramedics." 
 
He stilled my hand reaching for the phone. "I'm okay,
Scully." His words were slurred, his voice sounded weak. "I
just need a minute to regroup. The pain comes in waves
about every 20 minutes." 
 
"Where does it hurt the most?" I asked. "Your hip?" He
nodded weakly. I carefully lifted his t-shirt and gently
palpated his waist. "It looks red and feels inflamed. I can
see some bruising below your waistline, too. I need to move
you in order to lower these pants so I can examine you more
fully. Can you lift up for me a bit?" 
 
He turned his head to look at me and pleaded with his eyes,
"Wait, Scully. Just give me a minute." I looked down at my
lap, unable to bear seeing his pain so raw and exposed. 
 
I cupped his cheek with my hand and wiped his tears away
with my thumb. "Let me give you a shot of Morphine, Mulder.
I carry a syringe..." 
 
"No," he replied. "It is already beginning to fade. I can
feel it receding." His features slackened with the slowly
increasing relief from his pain. 
 
"Do you know how you got hurt?" I asked. He shook his head
and whispered, "Not exactly." 
 
All of a sudden, I realized that there was more than
physical pain emanating from in his eyes. "Mulder, you
aren't telling me everything. What aren't you telling me?" 
 
He paused for a moment, as if trying to decide where to
start. 
 
"Scully, I don't remember everything. I know that I went to
that little pub around the corner to meet an informant on
Friday night, after work. The informant turned out to be a
young woman. She invited me back to her place for a
birthday party and I went." 
 
I tried to keep my face impassive, but I felt a stab of
jealousy in my heart. He continued, "We had a few drinks.
She was hilarious. We were talking about extraterrestrials.
That's all I remember. The next morning, I woke up here, on
my couch, in severe pain." 
 
I raised one eyebrow, and motioned for him to elaborate.
His voice seemed to be getting stronger. He managed to lift
up on one elbow and turn to speak with me. 
 
"As soon as the pain subsided a bit, I got up and took a
shower. I was rancid with alcohol, vomit and sweat." He
winced when he noticed my lips twitch. "Sorry, Scully." 
 
I smirked as I realized he was getting back to his usual
self. 
 
"Don't spare me the gory details. I want to hear
everything. Were you fully dressed when you woke up?" I
asked as nonchalantly as I could. 
 
"Of course! It wasn't like that." At my doubtful look, he
insisted, "Come on! I would know if I had been sexually
active, consensual or not. And I would tell you." I looked
away, my silence meaningful. 
 
"Anyway, it was so painful that I could barely stand in the
shower, and the drops of water rolling down my back - they
felt like icebergs eroding the bottom of the sea, deepening
fjords." 
 
Leave it to Mulder to be so poetic in his manner of
describing pain. 
 
"When I got out of the shower, I saw it for the first
time." He dropped his head back to the pillow then and
sighed. 
 
"What? You saw what, Mulder?" 
 
"The tattoo." 
 
"What tattoo?" I asked, not quite following. 
 
"The one of an alien head. On my left asscheek." 
 
I stared at him dumbly for a full five seconds. Finally, I
closed my eyes and looked down at my lap. My lips were
pursed very tightly. 
 
"Please tell me you're not laughing at my misfortune,
Scully." I opened my mouth and stretched my jaw to hide a
smile. 
 
"To make matters worse, it says 'The Truth Is Out Their' -
spelled t-h-e-i-r. A typo!" he exclaimed. 
 
At this, the first crack in the dam emerged. I discreetly
brought a hand up to cover my mouth. 
 
"And the worst part is the alien is green. Green, Scully!
Any genuine abductee would know that aliens are grey," he
wailed. 
 
That did it. The dam burst and I started to giggle. 
 
"That woman, Sybil...I should have known she was up to no
good when she couldn't take her eyes and her hands off my
butt all night," he muttered. I sat back on my heels and
held onto my stomach. 
 
"I tried going back there yesterday, to ask her what the
hell she did to me, but the place was all boarded up. A
sign on the front door said 'Moved to new digs. In the
meantime, check out the Haven Retreat.' I think it's some
kind of code. She mentioned that she hangs out with a
little-known, but well-funded, quasi-militant cult called
the Duckies." 
 
After a second or two of silence, he said, "All right
Scully, you can stop laughing now. This is a serious
matter. A federal officer has been attacked with a
misspelled, incorrectly colored, alien head tattoo!" 
 
"On his left butt cheek," I added. 
 
We both dissolved in laughter.

"Not Exactly Karma" 
Part 3 of 4 
 
Our mirth lasted only a minute before his pain returned in
agonizing waves. I heard his gasp and saw him break out in
a cold sweat again. 
 
"Mulder, I need to get a look at this tattoo. I'll take a
small sample of your skin if it's already peeling and some
blood for analysis. We'll go from there." He agreed with a
grim nod. 
 
As I reached into my bag to get a specimen case and a swab,
I continued, "Frankly, I have never heard of spontaneously
developing symptoms like this, but it is conceivable that
you are having an allergic reaction to the tattoo ink, or
that there is some rare ingredient adulterating the dye."
My thoughts drifted to Ed Jerse. I felt a shudder of fear
and regret. 
 
"I remember reading reports of people with tattoos or
permanent makeup who experienced swelling and burning in
the affected areas when they underwent magnetic resonance
imaging. There also have been reports of tattoo pigments
interfering with the quality of the MRI image. The theory
is that it has something to do with the metallic dyes used
to create vibrant hues in tattoo ink interacting with the
magnetic force fields. Green dyes usually contain chromium
oxide, chromium sesquioxide, or copper salt derivatives," I
commented. 
 
Before touching him, I attempted to assess his pain level.
Normally, my partner had a very high threshold of pain
tolerance. Today was different. I swallowed, trying to tamp
down my fear. Stick to the science, I told myself. I had to
focus. He needs me to be strong. 
 
"You haven't been exposed to any high powered magnets since
you got this tattoo, have you?" 
 
"Not unless I was abducted by actual aliens after the
tattooing, which wouldn't surprise me in the least. Nothing
could surprise me anymore, at this point," he muttered. 
 
I paused for a moment while deciding how to go about
divesting Mulder of his pants. I chose to lift his torso by
sliding my left hand under his stomach while using my right
hand to pull down his waistband. His abs tightened under my
palm and he groaned with something akin to pain. Then I
repeated the procedure to get his pants all the way down to
his thighs. 
 
I repressed an audible sigh as I realized that he wasn't
wearing anything under his sweats. His bare bottom lay
exposed to me in all its tight, muscular glory as he lay
prone on the couch. His skin was smooth and taut over the
rounded globes of his butt, which I could just picture my
hands grasping as I urged him to pump into me deeper,
harder and faster until he screamed, I screamed, we all
screamed for... 
 
What the hell? I snapped myself out of this shameful,
lustful reverie. My poor partner lay before me in massive
pain and here I was fantasizing about his ass. My God. 
 
His skin was marred by an angry red swollen area the size
of an outstretched palm. In the left upper outer quadrant
of his buttock, there was a three-inch long green alien
head sporting a big toothy grin. The words "The Truth Is
Out Their" were written below it in black typewriter font.
I had to smile despite myself. Poor Mulder. 
 
"I can see what appears to be a little peeling in the upper
right corner of the tattoo, Mulder." I leaned in to get a
closer look. I pulled at his buttock gently with my hand as
I lifted the corner of peeling skin with a swab. I could
see my breath disturbing the tiny hairs on his skin and
goosebumps forming on his backside. His skin was a mere
inch from my lips. 
 
"I'm surprised it hasn't started peeling more. Are you sure
this is already day two?" I asked. He didn't answer. His
eyes looked glazed. "Mulder?" I shook him. He looked
startled, then gritted his teeth and said, "I'm okay. Just
get this over with, Scully." 
 
I grabbed some surgical forceps and pulled gently at the
corner of his tattoo. This time more skin pulled off. I
lifted the loosened piece of skin for closer inspection.
Odd. It looked synthetic. 
 
I carefully placed it in the specimen container and looked
at the area from which it came. There was no pigment left. 
 
"Wait. Mulder, why is there no pigment left when I peel off
the top layer of skin?" 
 
"What do you mean there is no pigment left?" he asked in a
groggy voice. 
 
"I mean there is nothing but your clear skin underneath
this tattoo. It is peeling clean off," I said. "In fact," I
continued as I dropped the forceps and swabbed a little
more vigorously at the spot, "it almost looks like a fake
tattoo. The kind you get free inside a cereal box." 
 
He didn't react with pain, so I picked at the tattoo with
my nail and sure enough - it came off in little flakes. The
reddish color of his skin was rapidly receding before my
eyes and the swelling seemed to have disappeared
miraculously. 
 
Mulder lifted up on one elbow and twisted around to have a
look. His gaze shifted repeatedly from his ass to my eyes
and back again. 
 
"It's fake?" he squeaked out in a disbelieving voice. 
 
"My medical opinion? Yes." I looked at him with a raised
eyebrow, waiting for his next move. 
 
"Then how do you explain...?" he asked, still looking
perplexed. 
 
"I don't know, Mulder. Temporary tattoos containing p-
phenylenediamine have been known to cause contact
dermatitis, but nothing of this nature. Regardless, I
recommend we get this fake tattoo off as soon as possible."
He merely nodded in befuddled agreement. 
 
"Do you have any baby oil and a loofah?" I asked next, when
it became apparent that I could not just lift the whole
tattoo off like a band-aid. 
 
"I don't know what a loofah is, but I have scented massage
oil, I think." At my quizzical look he stated rather
defensively, "What? It's left over from a date ten years
ago. I'm sure it's still under the sink in my bathroom." 
 
I rose to get the massage oil and a washcloth from his
bathroom. I returned to find him in exactly the same
position I left him, head in hands, laying prone on the
couch with his pants down around his thighs, like some
perverted schoolboy tableau of corporal punishment. 
 
"Scully," he started, "I don't know whether to be relieved
or dismayed, but I am definitely ashamed." 
 
"Shush, Mulder. Let me get the whole thing off and make
sure you are all right before you start analyzing your
reaction. There very well may be a physiological component
to your symptoms." 
 
As the last sentence left my mouth, I realized it revealed
to Mulder what I was really thinking: that his extreme pain
was probably a psychosomatic reaction to the temporary
tattoo, the circumstances surrounding it, and his
overwhelming guilt over the way he handled the Ed Jerse
incident. I did not want him to think that I was
invalidating his genuine emotional response, if that was
indeed what it was, so I hastened to add, "The fact is we
know nothing yet. I want you to tell me the minute you
start feeling any pain return." 
 
"It's gone, Scully. You and I both know the crisis is
over," he said into the pillow, his head still in hands.
"In fact, you can leave now if you want. Thank you for
helping me, but there is no reason I can't get in the
shower and scrub the tattoo off myself." 
 
Somehow the thought of leaving him now seemed wrong to me. 
 
"I want to make sure it is completely removed Mulder. Also,
I may as well examine you for other possible etiologies of
the pain. Did you notice any needle punctures or other
unusual marks on your body?" 
 
"No," he replied. "I showered again last night and really
looked. I found nothing of the sort." 
 
"Regardless," I commented as I opened the bottle of massage
oil and poured some in my hands, "I'd feel better if I
examined you. I know what to look for in a body." 
 
I began rubbing the oil into his left buttock, rubbing
deeply into the area of the tattoo with my thumbs. He felt
wonderfully firm. Again, the image of my hands on his ass,
urging him home as I begged him to enter me, to fill me
up...it almost took my breath away. I shifted my legs and
felt a throbbing wetness between my thighs. 
 
In a tight, gravelly voice, he said, "I'm not dead,
Scully." 
 
"What?" I asked absentmindedly, lost in intensely sexual
musings. 
 
He turned his head towards me. "You're used to looking for
needle puncture marks and signs of foul play during
autopsies. If you keep this up and insist on examining me,
it won't be anything like a post-mortem. I am very, very
much alive," he said, his eyes burning into mine. 
 
He looked down at my tongue as it peeked out to lick at my
lower lip, which all of a sudden felt very dry. When he
looked back up to meet my gaze, I had to turn away from the
stark hunger I saw 
 
"Not Exactly Karma" 
Part 4 of 4 
 
I said nothing as I continued to rub the oil into his
buttocks. The temporary tattoo was lifting in bits and
pieces, falling away like my rational defenses. I wanted
Mulder with a deep carnal desire I can't remember ever
feeling for any man before. 
 
The washcloth rubbed away the last of the ink, leaving
nothing but a warm, red mark where my hands had been
pressing into his skin. I began pushing his pants the rest
of the way down his legs when I felt his hand grab my wrist
firmly. "Stop, Scully" he pleaded with me through gritted
teeth. I wouldn't meet his eyes. 
 
"Be still. I need to look at the rest of your skin, just
for a moment, to ascertain there are no other marks,
Mulder." I loosened my wrist from his hand and began to
gently palpate the skin on his thighs and behind his knees.
I pushed his pants all the way off and dropped them to the
floor as I looked closely at his calves, and ankles. Then I
carefully explored his feet, noting nothing out of the
ordinary. His skin tensed everywhere I touched him and he
was so warm that I began to wonder if he was running a
fever. 
 
I scooted back up to his waist, still on my knees by the
couch, and lifted his t-shirt to examine his back. As I
leaned over to inspect the small red spot I thought I saw
to the right of his spine, my breasts rubbed against his
back. I could feel his body heat through both my white
cotton shirt and my silky camisole. It felt exquisitely
sensual. I wondered if he could feel my nipples harden at
that moment. He squirmed against the couch and said "Jesus,
this is torture" under his breath. I heard it, as well as
his accompanying groan. 
 
I raised his shirt further to examine his shoulders and
neck. He lifted his arms, allowing me to pull it all the
way off, without being asked. So I did. 
 
I sat back on my heels for a moment, admiring Mulder's
muscular naked form lying face down on the black leather
couch. He wasn't even lifting his head anymore. He just
laid there, forehead resting on his arms, trying hard to
control his breathing. 
 
As I reached out to touch his lower back, he bucked into
the couch instinctively. I wasn't sure if the instinct in
question was to avoid my touch or to bury himself into the
softness of the couch. Somehow I suspected it was the
latter and smiled at the thought. 
 
A flush of feminine pride and power filled me suddenly.
Nothing was more arousing than knowing Mulder wants me so
badly that he can barely control his body, but his mind
holds me in such esteem that he would never dream of making
a move, no matter what I do to provoke him. The man's
willpower was amazing. He loves me and respects me, I
thought to myself. 
 
I was playing with fire, but I felt completely safe. 
 
I ran my hands over his strong shoulders and sinewy biceps,
feeling for bumps and ridges. When I drew my fingers up his
nape, into his hair and over his scalp, he sighed heavily.
I could feel his pulse pounding in his carotid arteries
when I palpated his neck and collarbones. I brushed my
fingertips over his earlobes as I examined the area behind
his ears. He shivered and whispered, "I don't know how much
more of this I can take, Scully." 
 
"Turn over, Mulder," I murmured into his ear in a husky
voice. 
 
He twisted his head slowly to give me a look of pained
disbelief. "No way, Scully. I, uh..." he cleared his throat
and said, "I really think I'm fine now." 
 
"I have to make sure there aren't any other etiological
factors present," I reasoned, trying to give him my most
professional, detached facial expression. I'm certain my
dilated pupils, parted lips and flushed skin gave me away,
though. 
 
"You don't know what you're asking, Scully. I don't think
you realize. I don't deserve..." his voice cut off with a
grunt as I leaned in and whispered in his left ear again.
"Hush. Just turn over, Mulder." 
 
I touched his hip and back as I tried to help him turn.
Suddenly he snapped. He sat up on the couch, pulling me off
the floor and up against him. Eyes wide, I stared into his
furious gaze as he crushed me to his chest. We were limb to
limb in an awkward position, so I spread my legs and
scooted up to straddle him. All the fury melted out of him
as I touched my forehead to his and moaned almost directly
into his mouth at the pleasure and heat of our first full
body contact. I tried to crush my mouth against his, but he
was having none of that. He pulled back after touching my
open lips only briefly with his mouth. Then he brushed my
tongue with his own in one quick, but intensely erotic
motion. I felt an electric charge go through me, igniting
me like a brush fire through drought-ridden hills. 
 
I moaned and squirmed in frustration, wanting more, a lock
of red curls falling over one of my eyes. Still, he held me
away from him, studying me with a look of pure animal
possessiveness and determined masculine desire through
those slitted hazel eyes. 
 
How the hell did he turn the tables on me so quickly? I
wondered. This was supposed to be my teasing seduction! How
typical of our relationship on every level, this struggle
for dominance between two equally formidable sides of one
coin. Even in sex, we bantered playfully, trying to bend
the other to our will, but secretly pleased when taken by
surprise at the strength of the other's position. It was
time for me to wrest back control of this sybaritic
battleground. 
 
His eyes widened as I leaned back to slip off my shoes and
throw them to the floor. I unbuttoned my shirt slowly,
shrugged it off, and dropped it at his feet. Then I stood
up, unzipped and slid off my khakis, leaning forward
suggestively and dropping my head low to brush his naked
thighs with my hair as I stepped out of the pants. Then I
flipped my hair back up and climbed onto his lap wearing
nothing but my matching white camisole and panty set. I sat
on his thighs, careful not to come into contact with his
penis yet, and raised my arms to brush my hair back. I
licked my lips and looked at him, like he was an expensive
chocolate truffle I wasn't sure where to taste first. 
 
Poor Mulder. Mute with shock, I thought mischievously. He
was huge and hard as a rock, so turned on that a small drop
of liquid was already glistening on the tip of his penis.
Let's see what else I can do to blow his mind. 
 
Ever so softly, I kissed him open-mouthed on his Adam's
apple. His head fell back against the couch in ecstasy. I
reached for him with my hands and slowly spread his pre-cum
all over the tip of his penis as I rubbed my hot, aching
center against his thigh. All my agendas of dominance fell
by the wayside, as I felt his hands grab hold of my hips
and then slide under my camisole to cup my aching breasts.
When he flicked both thumbs over my nipples, I felt a
tremor of pleasure run down from their nerve endings to my
center, in a V-formation as instinctive and natural as
migratory bird patterns. I bit back an impassioned cry
against his neck and nearly nicked him with my teeth. 
 
I wish I had taken my panties off along with my pants. I
wish they would magically melt away so that I could fill
myself up with his hardness. I was so ready for him. I
wanted to sink down over him and ride him like a wild
stallion that needed to be broken. Then I wanted him to
flip me around, grab me by the hips and pound into me from
behind while staring at the tattoo of the ouroboros that
started this whole madness. The tattoo that was more about
him than I will ever admit. I told Ed Jerse it was about
the repeating cyclic patterns I perceived in my life, but
in retrospect I think it was more about recognition that I
had finally found the one with whom I could break the
cycle. 
 
Mulder was different. I knew it from the start. We were
equals. That was what scared me. As much as I wanted to
cease the repeating pattern, it was familiar and
comfortable. The prospect of something real struck fear in
my heart, as it was unfamiliar territory. I rebelled out of
habit, not stopping to ask what I was rebelling for. Now I
want Mulder to own it. Own the meaning of that tattoo like
you own me, Mulder. 
 
This seduction was driving me slowly mad. As if sensing my
rising desperation, he reached behind my hips and ran his
middle finger lightly over my soaking panties from back to
front and back again. I gasped, arched my back and ground
my hips into his hand, straining for more contact, but he
continued to tease me with his light touch back and forth
over my clitoris. 
 
With my arms braced against the back of the leather couch,
my mouth on his neck, and my hips writhing in the air as he
tormented my aching center, I felt powerfully feminine in
an almost exhibitionistic sense. I reveled in the rising
tension of pleasure like an animal in heat. The contrast
between our normally cool intellectual intercourse and this
portrait of debauchery was stunning. 
 
As my lips and tongue caressed the thyroid cartilage of his
laryngeal prominence, it bobbed up and down. When he moaned
my name, I felt the vibration from his larynx directly on
my lips. For some reason this sensation was incredibly
arousing. It pushed me over the edge. I felt the tremors of
my first orgasm take me over and surrendered to it, unaware
that I was gasping his name and God's. 
 
Mulder leaned back and stared at me, quaking with pleasure
in his arms, absolute reverential adoration shining in his
eyes. After a moment he said, "My God, Scully. You are so
incredibly beautiful. Is this really happening or am I
dreaming again?" 
 
My hooded eyelids lifted and I raised an eyebrow playfully.
"You've dreamed of having sex with me on your couch,
Mulder?" 
 
He glanced down at my throat and held my cross pendant for
a moment before looking back into my eyes. 
 
"You are the embodiment of every good dream I have ever
experienced, Scully. Every square inch of my being
resonates with love for you." 
 
He continued unabashed, "This couch, my bed, your bed, the
office, some nameless government per diem motel, yes. But I
dream of so much more than making love to you. Museums,
mountaintops, Bavarian castles, Egyptian pyramids, Roman
coliseums, and churches...always churches...always holding your
hand. I dream of so much more with you than I can ever
express in words." 
 
Tears filled both of our eyes at the heartfelt sincerity of
his unexpected admission. 
 
For all the honorable, dutiful, and self-sacrificing things
I have ever done in my life, or in any past life, I still
don't know how I could have possibly deserved this man's
love. In the final analysis, I guess some things do not
need to be understood in order to be believed. Among them
faith, true love, and this thing we call "not exactly
karma." 
 
* * *