In Darkness, Light
Kristel S. Oxley-Johns
kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com
Rating: NC-17 (language, graphic sex)  
Classification: SR  
Archive: Yes. (Redistribute with permission only)  
Spoilers: Requiem  
Keywords: Mulder/Scully Romance  
Summary: Scully's late-night ruminations about pregnancy and 
her relationship with Mulder.  I don't believe I make  
any references to Hegira in the story, but the events of Hegira 
are presumed, if for no other reason than it gives  
me a solid foundation on which to establish the MSR. Timeline: 
This story is based on a timeline I tried to deduce for the latter 
half of Season 7.  You can view it HERE. 
DISCLAIMER: If they were mine, David Duchovny wouldn't be 
bored playing Fox Mulder.  
  
He comes to me in the darkness, late at night as I lie in bed. 
He approaches silently, unwilling to wake me.  Little does he 
know that his entrance, his very presence, is enough to bring 
me out of a sound sleep. 
Not that my sleep has been very sound these days. 
Seven months now, I have had our child growing inside of me.  
Seven months, and I'm getting bigger by the day.  I can't 
imagine being any larger than I already am.  I feel huge.  I feel 
like the Goodyear blimp.  My fingers are swollen, my ankles are 
swollen, I have to pee every forty-five seconds, and my back 
really, really hurts. 
The lovely high-heeled shoes I used to indulge my secret 
passion for are collecting dust in the bottom of my closet, set 
aside in favor of soft, comfortable loafers.  So not only am I 
huge-headed-toward-gargantuan, I'm short as well.  My sleek 
black and white dress suits are hanging right above the shoes, 
replaced by frumpy black and white maternity suits.  I waddle 
down the corridors of the J. Edgar Hoover building these days 
looking like a damned penguin. 
I have pimples.  For the first time in fifteen years I have 
pimples.  And a big old, round moon-face.  A neighbor made a 
gushing comment over my "glow" this week and I thought I 
might assault her.  There are no fewer than seven pints of 
Haagen-Daz ice cream in varying flavors in the freezer, one for 
each day of the week, or to be more accurate, one for each 
mood of the day.  At the rate I'm going, they'll need a crane to 
heft me into the delivery room. 
And did I mention I'm just a tad irritable? 
And yet, as Mulder comes tiptoeing into the bedroom, none of 
that seems to matter much.  These days, his presence can do 
that to me--eradicate the foulest mood as though it never 
existed.  His extreme caution and consideration, trying not to 
wake me, are enough to make me smile in the darkness.  
Perhaps it's because I'm just so thrilled to have him here with 
me. 
In the dim light filtering in through the curtains, he attempts to 
undress.  Within seconds, a whispered curse follows a thump as 
he bumps into the bureau. 
I have mercy upon him and turn on the lamp on my nightstand.  
He straightens, his pants halfway down his legs, and looks at 
me guiltily. 
"Sorry, Scully," he mumbles, resuming his undressing. 
"Don't be," I reply drowsily.  "I wasn't really asleep yet anyway." 
It's late.  He had gotten so absorbed at the computer, reading up 
on a case I've been working on, that I barely received a 
distracted grunt of acknowledgement when I set my files aside 
and announced my attention to go to bed over an hour ago.  It's 
beginning to wear on him, not being cleared to go back to work 
yet.  It's been two months since he turned up as a John Doe at 
Legacy Emmanuel Hospital in Portland, Oregon.  I know the 
feeling; it seemed to be forever after I was returned from my 
abduction that I was allowed to come back to work.  As I'm 
doing, sharing the files with Mulder, he did for me, coming to 
visit and give me regular reports while I was home recuperating. 
As for him getting so engrossed that he barely acknowledged 
me as I went to bed, I don't mind.  The work is a part of us, and 
I'm as likely to tune him out as he is to tune me out.  And it's 
especially important that I keep him in the loop now, with my 
pregnancy nearing its end.  It's entirely possible that just as he's 
returning to work, I'll be beginning my maternity leave, provided 
I'm not yanked home for bed rest before that.  My doctor has 
been monitoring my blood pressure like a hawk these days. 
"You should be," he chides me gently.  He walks to the side of 
the bed and traces a finger along the curve of my cheekbone, 
just below the dark blotches that have taken up permanent 
residence around my eyes.  God, I look wretched! "You're 
tired." 
"Believe me, Mulder, I wish I was." 
I pull back the covers and he eases into bed beside me, turning 
toward me and dragging the covers back up over us both.  He 
turns the bedside lamp off and presses against me, his skin 
warming me through the gigantic cotton pajama top I've taken 
to wearing to bed, a welcome change from the wintery chill of 
the room.  I flop gracelessly around, trying to get comfortable, 
feeling for all the world like a beached whale, and arch a little to 
try to ease the ache in my lumbar region.  Mulder props himself 
up on an elbow to study me. 
"Your back again?" 
"Mm hmm." 
I'm trying not to whine, really I am.  When I thought I couldn't 
have children, I'd become furious when I overheard a woman 
complaining about being pregnant.  I have nothing but contempt 
for whiners, especially when they're bitching about a blessing 
some of us would never know.  Never did I imagine the day 
would come when I would have to eat all those silent sneers. 
How can I possibly rationalize my ambivalence at this 
moment?  I once told my mother I didn't realize how much I 
wanted to have children until I knew I couldn't.  That was true.  It 
was completely illogical, but it was true.  I was in no way in any 
position to consider becoming a mother at that point in my life.  
What Mulder and I did--what we still do--is rife with chaos and 
danger, for us even more than for normal FBI agents.  It would 
have been sheer insanity to try to bring a child into the mix.  And 
yet... 
And yet having a child represented something beyond just the 
responsibility for another human being, beyond two a.m. 
feedings and first steps and report cards and soccer practice.  It 
represented peace.  It was the promise of the future, the reward 
Mulder and I would receive when we reached the journey's end 
and could at long last embark upon the "normal" life denied to 
us by the circumstances in which we lived.  I never doubted the 
child would be ours, that when the day was done, Mulder and I 
would be together.  We were wed long ago, in an ongoing 
ceremony of blood and fire and tears that spanned years of our 
lives, forging us into a single being stronger than either of us 
could ever have been alone. 
Amazingly, I've never felt a terrible need to be married to 
Mulder in the traditional manner.  That seems odd, given the 
significance of the church and my faith in my life, but I always 
felt that we had already received God's blessing.  It had not 
been bestowed upon us by a priest but rather by the fact that 
we were still together, even after all we had been through.  If 
God had not meant for us to be together, then somewhere 
along the way it would have fallen apart, and we would not have 
found the way back to each other after one of our many 
separations. 
Sex seemed an afterthought to that bond we shared, a 
consummation that would happen in its own due time, when the 
circumstances were right.  And when that time came, peace 
would descend and we could begin anew a life together free of 
the darkness and danger, filled with light and love...and a child 
who would begin to heal in our hearts the wounds left by the 
loved ones untimely torn from our lives. 
Having a child was not a goal so much as it was a symbol.  And 
the loss of that ability symbolized something else entirely--that 
there would never be an end.  That for the rest of our lives we 
would toil through the darkness and the fire and the strife 
without hope of a better future.  With my infertility I mourned the 
loss of the life I yearned to someday live. 
Eventually I became resigned to the fact that I would never 
have children.  As Mulder and I at long last became lovers in 
body as well as in spirit, I began to hope anew that we could 
share that life of peace and sanity, whether or not it included a 
progeny of our loins.  Then in one weekend of pain and 
confusion and guilt, when I encountered remnants of my life 
before Mulder, I was given a revelation about the dubious merits 
of resisting one's destiny.  I not only accepted but embraced the 
life I was meant to share with Mulder, as it presently existed, 
rather than longing for something that might or might not ever 
be. 
And in the midst of chaos I knew peace. 
Only when I stopped wishing for it was this hope of the future 
given to me, and then I felt I truly had been blessed.  I swore not 
a day of my life would pass when I wouldn't be grateful, and 
one doesn't.  So it's really quite foolish for me to be so put out 
over the petty, unpleasant details that are part and parcel of 
something I had wanted so badly.  Yet I can't seem to help 
myself. 
"Here, Scully, hold still," Mulder murmurs in my ear as I confirm 
the source of my discomfort.  I do so, lying on my side facing 
away from him, and he begins to knead my lower back, just 
above my hips.  I moan in relief. 
Ultimately, I think it's the lack of control that's distressing me the 
most.  I can't control the fact that the baby decides to do his 
calisthenics right on top of my bladder, preferably in the middle 
of the night.  I can't control the hormone shifts that have 
compelled me to buy my first tube of Clearasil since high 
school.  I can't control what the additional weight in front is doing 
to my back... 
I can't control how I feel.  My ability for emotional self-regulation 
has been reduced to nil. I can't control what my appearance is 
doing to my self-image.  I look at my hand and notice my nails 
have not been tended for a very long time.  When was the last 
time I had a manicure?  Weeks?  Months?  I had started getting 
them four years ago, after I noticed Mulder staring at my hands 
one day with a glint of admiration in his eye.  Now my fingers 
are swollen, bearing little resemblance to the slender 
appendages he had once admired, and I have stopped caring 
for them.  I look in the mirror and see a woman who bears only 
the most marginal resemblance to the woman I was seven 
months ago.  Logically I realize that these changes to my body--
to my physical being--are transient, but even so I am frightened 
to realize that I have no ability to control or affect them. 
Now I understand why other women start to bitch in the final 
months of their pregnancy.  It's because they're afraid...they've 
passed the point of no return and there's nothing left to do but 
wait for these events happening to them to play out to their 
completion. 
They--we feel powerless. 
But then I think about that moment when I learned I was 
pregnant. 
I wasn't sure what to think about my fainting spells, or any 
number of odd symptoms.  A reoccurrence of my cancer was 
not out of the question.  I was so filled with fear that day, fear 
for Mulder in Oregon and fear for myself as the doctor in the 
emergency room where I had been transported by ambulance 
questioned me about what I had been experiencing...the 
dizziness...the chills...the slight nausea... 
"Is there any possibility you could be pregnant?" 
I winced.  "No," I replied tensely.  "I can't have children." 
"But you are sexually active?" 
Sigh.  "Yes." 
"I think we'll run a pregnancy test anyway, just to be on the safe 
side.  You never know...something may have been overlooked 
before." 
I glared at him, but he was oblivious.  It really wasn't his fault...it 
was possible that x-rays might be necessary and he'd get his 
ass handed to him if he didn't first eliminate the possibility of 
pregnancy in a woman with my very obvious symptoms.  Very 
obvious, that is, for any woman but me. 
I really didn't have it in me to tell him why or how I knew I was 
barren.  My personal physician knows my history, however 
dubious it might be, and I really didn't want to go into it all again 
with someone new.  But I hated him for a moment, with a 
vehemence that astounded me, for not realizing what it was 
going to do to me when he came back and told me the results 
of that futile test. 
Before he returned, I got the news of Mulder from the 
Gunmen.  God only knew how they had gotten it, considering 
Assistant Director Skinner's plane hadn't even landed yet.  I sat 
there, too stunned and shaken and frightened even to cry, 
thinking I absolutely had to get out of this hospital and back to 
Oregon as soon as possible.  That was when the doctor 
returned. 
What he told me was the single thing I never expected to hear.  
At first I got angry with him, thinking it must be a joke or a 
mistake, but he said they ran the test twice on my blood sample 
to be certain, given that I was supposedly infertile.  There was 
no question.  I was pregnant. 
And in the midst of sorrow I knew joy. 
Mulder starts in with his thumbs and I groan loudly, pulled back 
to the present by the pleasure of physical relief.  He's gotten 
very good at this recently--not that he was any slouch when it 
came to giving a backrub before.  Having him back has been 
an interesting experience.  He's been extremely solicitous and 
tries to be as involved with the pregnancy as he can be.  I think 
he's trying to make up for lost time. 
I wasn't sure what to expect when he was returned to me, when 
he regained consciousness.  My worry for his well-being, when I 
didn't know how things were going to turn out, was the first and 
foremost of my concerns, but following a close second was my 
nervousness over his reaction to seeing me there, looking very 
pregnant.  I expected shock.  I expected surprise.  I expected 
wonder. 
What I didn't expect was horror. 
Not horror that I was pregnant with our child, but that he had 
already missed well over half the experience.  Horror that he 
hadn't been there with me in that wondrous moment that I found 
out that together we had bucked the odds and accomplished the 
impossible.  Horror that I had been left alone in a time when I 
could desperately have used the support of the man I love.  He 
wept in my arms and actually apologized.  And since then, he 
has tried to be there every minute he possibly can, assuring 
himself of my--of our--safety and comfort. 
There are, admittedly, times when I just want him to leave me 
alone, but I allow him to coddle me because I know he needs it.  
He needs to do something to atone for the imaginary sin of not 
being there to hold my head through the morning sickness, or to 
hold his hand to my belly the first time the movements of the 
baby could be felt from without as well as within.  He needs to 
feel like he is a part of this pregnancy, not just a latecomer to 
the party.  He needs to bond with the baby, and he can only do 
that with me there, for the present at least.  So he massages my 
back, and performs a thousand other little tasks that I normally 
would not expect or even want, and I allow it.  I maybe even 
enjoy it, just a little. 
I wonder how many women on this planet are blessed with the 
knowledge that they are everything, and I mean absolutely 
everything in the world, to the man they love?  How many know 
what it is to be loved that way? 
I think again how fitting it is that he was returned to me on 
Christmas Eve.  And then I stop thinking, period. 
Mulder wraps one arm around the bulge of my belly, holding me 
still while he digs into the muscles right alongside my spine and 
continues to rub.  It hurts, and instinctively I try to arch away, 
hence the arm around me.  It hurts, but it's a good hurt.  It's a 
transient pain that signifies the relief I will soon experience. 
Our child chooses that moment, when his father's arm is 
pressing against his nesting place, to start kick-boxing just 
above my navel, and we gasp in unison.  Mulder chuckles 
breathlessly in my ear and I can't help but smile. 
"No wonder you're not getting any sleep, if that's going on all 
night." 
"Only...half the night...that feels good...yeah, right there..." The 
thumbs are still digging brutally into my lower back, and for the 
first time since rising to my feet this morning, the ache has 
abated. 
Two months now, Mulder's been back, and I'm forgetting what it 
was like to be without him.  We've never been separated for so 
long, not since the day we first met, and just as I can no longer 
remember what my life was like before meeting him, I have a 
hard time recalling what it was like while he was away.  It's as 
though those times without him are insignificant, no longer 
worthy of my attention now that I have him to focus on.  In a 
matter of weeks, he has once more become the length and 
breadth and depth of my existence. 
How many women on this earth know what it is to love this 
completely, to the point that at some moments, a single person 
comprises to whole of your entire universe? 
The baby, oblivious to the tender bent of my mental 
wanderings, has decided it's time to play, drawing a few 
discomfited grunts and gasps from me.  I wonder if there is 
some way to teach the kid the difference between daytime and 
nighttime in utero. 
"Hey, you in there," Mulder leans over and speaks to my belly, 
his voice a low rumble.  I crane my neck to look back at him, 
entranced--this is the first time he's done anything like this.  His 
becoming comfortable with my pregnancy, and the child inside 
me, has been a gradual process.  "Give it a rest, would you?  
Your mom needs some sleep." 
Astoundingly, the activity calms.  Not completely, but no longer 
is the baby moving with the frenzied energy of a moment 
before.  While I'm still wondering, Mulder sighs and lays his 
head on the side of my abdomen, just above my hip, and 
snuggles against me, his chest against my rump, his waist 
against my thighs, his legs folded behind mine. 
"I'm not going to ask how you did that," I mutter finally with a 
sigh. 
"Guess I've got the touch," he murmurs, his breath warming me 
through the cotton of my nightshirt.  He brings his hand up to 
stroke my belly and comes into contact with bare skin where 
my nightshirt hitched up amidst my tossing and turning since 
coming to bed. 
The contact is electrifying. 
Our sex life since Mulder was returned to me has been very 
difficult to resume.  At first, he was very ill and it took him 
weeks to regain his strength.  Then there was the added fact 
that we had been separated for four months, almost as long as 
we had been lovers before he was taken, and there was a sort 
of mental and emotional comfort level we had to re-establish.  
Our relationship has always been emotional before physical, 
and until we could reclaim that emotional closeness we couldn't 
rebuild the physical bond. 
And then there was me. 
I had only just started to really show my pregnancy when 
Mulder came back.  By the time the aforementioned criteria 
had been met, however, I had undergone some significant 
physical changes, none of which I was completely comfortable 
with.  Nor have I been comfortable with the fact that Mulder 
hasn't truly seen this new body of mine since his return.  I 
haven't wanted him to see, and have taken great pains to 
prevent him seeing.  He didn't witness the transformation taking 
place, and therefore I guess I worry, somewhere in the back of 
my hormone-riddled mind, that it will be too off-putting for him.  
That he'll no longer be attracted to me, as silly as that sounds.  
And God love him, he's been waiting patiently for me to give the 
sign that I'm ready, as he has always done. 
Even now I am torn.  Do I want him?  God yes.  It has been six 
long months of aching emptiness and endless yearning for him.  
And though I know my worries are groundless and illogical, I 
cannot entirely dismiss them.  But, oh, for the reassurance the 
look of desire in his eyes would bring me... 
His fingers stroke the taut skin of my belly softly and he sighs 
heavily against my hip.  I can feel his body reacting, his erection 
burgeoning against my leg.  A shudder runs through me.  My 
pulse quickens, my breath grows lighter and more rapid.  Heat 
begins to spread through my body, emanating from the point 
between my legs where my muscles begin to tighten, clenching 
and unclenching spasmodically. 
This is Mulder--my partner, my lover, my mate.  Every cell in 
my body cries out to bring him to me, that he may complete me 
once more.  He loves me and he would find me beautiful no 
matter what, and logically I know this for truth.  I see him look at 
me during the day, his eyes full of admiration and longing, and 
drawing a deep breath, I grasp that certainty and force my 
insecurities aside. 
Mulder misinterprets my prolonged silence to his touch and my 
loud inhalation and begins to withdraw his hand.  Desperately, I 
clutch it and pull it back to me, setting it against the bulge of my 
abdomen once more and pressing it to me.  I stroke the back of 
his hand with my fingers. 
He releases a shuddering breath, and I can feel the tremor run 
through his body. 
"Scully?" 
That single word, my name, his name for me, carries more 
questions and doubts than I would have thought possible in two 
short syllables.  There is only one answer I can give. 
"Make love to me, Mulder." 
He releases a low, desperate groan and begins to move up the 
bed as I roll to face him.  He leans over me, bracing himself on 
an elbow beside my head, his face mere inches from mine.  His 
breath carries the minty scent of toothpaste as his eyes probe 
mine in the darkness, illuminated only by the streetlights 
outside.  An eternity passes while we stare at each other, 
picking up from one another that synchronicity we shared those 
many months ago and lost hold of during our separation.  Then 
he moves in and his lips brush mine softly. 
We've kissed before this in the two months since he's been 
back, but nothing terribly passionate.  Light affectionate pecks, 
mostly.  We just weren't back to the point of intimacy yet, and 
didn't want to arouse something we weren't ready for.  Oddly, 
despite that, there was no question of sleeping apart.  Perhaps 
we knew that if we did that, we would be drawing further from 
each other, rather than making the effort to get closer.  We 
couldn't allow that kind of inertia.  And so we bided our time until 
this moment arrived. 
This kiss is almost like that first one we shared, only a little over 
a year ago.  Chaste, questioning, undemanding.  We breathe 
each other's air, our sighs mingling.  He pulls back and our eyes 
meet once more. 
"I thought you'd never ask," he breathes, and kisses me again. 
There is nothing chaste about this kiss.  It's filled with fire and 
hunger.  His lips part mine, his tongue seeking entrance to my 
mouth, demanding a response.  It is given, freely and without 
reservation, as I open to him.  My tongue greets his as the 
homecoming this kiss truly is, warm and welcoming.  His hand 
is trembling as it cups my cheek, his fingers sliding into my hair, 
which has been growing out of control since I became 
pregnant.  This kiss might be spanning minutes or hours for all I 
am aware.  There is no rush here, despite the interminable 
separation we have suffered.  All that matters now is that we 
are together, that we have found each other once more, and 
that nothing will ever separate us again. 
At long last we part, breathless, panting, our hearts pounding a 
frantic beat within our chests.  Mulder strokes my face and 
neck softly, igniting nerve endings under every inch of skin he 
touches.  His fingers come to rest at the collar of my pajama 
top, and his eyes seek mine again. 
"I want to look at you," he rasps, and I give a small nod of 
assent, swallowing back the fresh tide of senseless insecurity 
that threatens to wash over me. 
His fingers are clumsy and inefficient at unbuttoning the shirt, so 
badly are his hands shaking, but eventually the task is 
accomplished.  I rise up and let Mulder draw it off my arms.  He 
drops it beside the bed takes a moment to prop a pillow behind 
my torso, so that I am half-sitting against the headboard.  Then 
he moves to kneel before me, between my legs.  There's 
something shockingly erotic about sitting up, looking at him 
there.  Usually I'm laying back when he's between my legs, and 
while I can see him, I don't get the entire tableau.  Now, lying on 
my back is out of the question, and I can see the whole picture; 
Mulder's long, gorgeous body before me, his hands on me, my 
thighs framing him.  My physical reaction to the sight is 
profound. 
As I watch, his eyes slowly, painstakingly begin to wander 
across my body. 
He stares at me raptly, taking in every tiny detail.  His fingers 
brush lightly over my skin as though seeking to memorize me 
by touch as well as sight.  I am glad the light is not on, though I 
am sure Mulder considered it.  The light filtering in through the 
windows is softer, more forgiving than that of an incandescent 
bulb and it offers me enough security to lie quietly beneath his 
perusal. 
His hands run slowly over my breasts, the nature of the touch 
not really sexual so much as studious.  They are larger and 
softer than when last he touched them, and infinitely more 
sensitive.  Even his light touch is enough to give me a jolt.  It 
brings to mind all the sensations I missed on the many nights 
over those long months apart when I stroked myself, trying 
ineffectually to replicate the feel of his fingers against my flesh. 
Inevitably, however, his attention focuses on my belly.  His 
large hands splay open across it, rubbing lightly.  His gaze is 
intense, his eyes black in the dimly lit room.  But what catches 
me unprepared is that I hear his breathing grow louder and 
faster. 
"Would it surprise you," he begins, his voice somewhat gravelly, 
"to know I have a bit of a pregnancy fetish?" 
At first his words don't absorb.  My mind catches on the simple 
fact that already we are falling into the habits we had so 
recently established before he was taken from me, the quiet 
bedroom talk during lovemaking that ranged every imaginable 
topic, from our day on the job to our wildest sexual fantasies.  
Sometimes I think the sound of his voice alone in those 
moments might be enough to bring me to climax. 
Then I consider his question, and an amused smile breaks out 
on my face.  He's so incredibly sweet, telling me just what I 
need to hear.  "Since when?" I challenge the preposterous 
statement. 
"Since that afternoon in Home, Pennsylvania when I first began 
to think of you being a mother."  His eyes are black and glittery 
in the darkness of the room as he stares at me. 
Dear God, he's deadly serious, I realize suddenly.  I can feel 
moisture spreading between my legs, the cotton of my 
maternity briefs growing damp.  Conversely, my mouth has 
gone dry as sawdust. 
"The idea of seeing you like this, seeing your beautiful, 
wonderful body bearing our child, feeling it nestled within you, 
kept me awake more nights than I can count," he whispers, 
caressing my stomach with his open hands.  He bends and 
kisses my skin, just above my navel where our baby had kicked 
me earlier.  The kiss was tender and reverent.  He pauses and 
looks up at me, his chin resting ever so lightly on the spot his 
lips had touched a moment ago.  The breeze of his satisfied 
exhalation brushes across my skin.  Then he kisses me again, 
and nuzzles his face against the bulge of my belly.  His tongue 
strokes me lightly. 
Sweet merciful Jesus.  I'm either going to cry or come.  It's 
gonna be one or both and it's gonna be soon... 
"Do you realize there are whole series of videos that cater just 
to such predilections?" This time there's a naughty smile on his 
face. 
"Yes, Mulder, actually I do." I have to congratulate myself on 
managing not to sound as breathless as I feel at his confession. 
What I really want to do is toss him down and lick all the color 
off him.  His voice pours over me like warm honey, sensual and 
relaxing and hypnotic.  Mulder can bring me to a state of 
desperate arousal just by talking to me as he is now.  It just 
hasn't happened in so long, I had forgotten what it feels like. 
"And I watched many of them and dreamed of you...round and 
luscious and fecund...looking like a goddess out of a Botticelli 
masterpiece."  His voice is the huskiest of murmurs, drifting up 
to me from above my hips. 
OhGodohGodohGodohGodohGod!  Is it actually possible that 
just moments ago I felt like I might be anything less than 
stunningly beautiful in this man's eyes? 
His hands are so close...my pelvis shifts restlessly, my body 
instinctively seeking his touch where I crave it most. 
"...and then I had to stop, when I thought there wasn't a 
chance...it wasn't fair to either of us for me to yearn so much 
for what would never be..." 
Now he sounds like he might be near tears, and I think his eyes 
are glistening with moisture as they seek out mine once more.  
He leans forward and braces himself with his hands on either 
side of me, careful not to rest his weight upon me.  Time is 
suspended as he presses his forehead against mine and we 
share a moment of silent sorrow for the pain of the past and joy 
for the miracle of the present.  Then his lips claim mine once 
more, and any hint of grief is forgotten.  The kiss we share 
brands itself into my mind and soul, filled with so many 
emotions I couldn't begin to catalogue them all.  Eventually, his 
mouth moves away from mine, travelling across my face, 
dwelling for a long moment at my ear, pressing fiery kisses 
down my neck... 
"Christ, I love you, Scully!"  His voice is a hoarse gasp against 
my skin, and a split second later his lips close over my nipple. 
I cry out, nearly arching off the bed, clasping my hands to his 
head and holding him to me.  God, the feel of him suckling at 
my breast is so good, and I am so very sensitive...pleasure rips 
through my body from my breast to my groin.  Loud, 
involuntary moans and whimpers issue forth from my throat 
with a will of their own.  His teeth lightly stroke my flesh before 
the suction begins once more.  He draws my nipple into his 
mouth, running his tongue over the peak firmly.  He switches 
sides and the abandoned nipple puckers and tightens as the chill 
air settles across the wet skin. 
Mulder's hand slides into the elastic band of my underwear and 
begins sliding them off my hips, inch by inch at a time, one side 
after the other, his mouth never leaving my breasts.  His breath 
is harsh and ragged as he lavishes attention upon on breast and 
then the other, changing back and forth at intervals.  The hand 
that is not supporting him blindly frees me of my underwear as I 
shift and raise my hips off the bed to assist him and soon the 
dampened garment is gone.  Then there is only my flesh and 
his fingers as they explore the slick folds of skin between my 
thighs.  They stroke my clitoris delicately, teasing at times, firm 
at others, spreading my own moisture to heighten the 
sensation.  Then his fingers delve into my core and another loud 
cry of pleasure is torn from my lips as he finds just the right spot 
and begins stroking. 
"Oh God! Mulder...Mulder!" His name tumbles from my lips 
between incoherent pants and moans.  I writhe uncontrollably 
beneath his ministrations, and he pulls his mouth from my 
breast with a loud sucking sound to gasp at me: 
"Be still, Scully...Just let me..." 
And then his lips are sliding down my body, pressing fervent 
kisses to my belly before moving lower and joining the dance of 
his fingers between my legs.  His lips and tongue stroke my 
engorged clit and his fingers move in and out of my body and 
after only a few moments I am lost.  I am coming, and coming, 
so hard and furiously I think I might die of pleasure.  I am 
sobbing and crying out his name with all the breath in my body 
as the white-hot intensity of my orgasm lashes through me.  
And when I finally come to myself again, he is still there with his 
head between my legs, resting against one thigh, his tongue 
occasionally stroking my tender flesh as his hands caress my 
hips and belly and breasts softly. 
"I'd...say...you've definitely...got the touch..." I chuckle weakly 
and I can feel his soft laughter against the skin of my thigh.  
Dear God in heaven, how could I have waited so long to take 
him back to me like this? 
I can feel his body vibrating with restrained need and within me 
stirs the desire to see that need met and sated. 
"Mulder," I murmur as he starts to draw away from me. 
"Yeah?" 
"I want you inside me." 
"Scully--" 
"It's okay, Mulder," I can't resist an ironic grin.  "If you watched 
those videos you should certainly know that." 
"Yeah, but that's--" 
"Mulder.  Trust me.  I'm a doctor--I know these things." 
He emits another desperate groan, similar to the one he made 
when I first asked him to make love to me, and a violent 
shudder runs through his body.  Then he is moving up the bed, 
shucking off his Calvin Klein boxers.  He lies on his side next to 
me, running softly over my skin with hands that tremble with 
desire.  I reach down and take his cock in my hand, stroking 
slowly, sometimes with the lightest of butterfly touches, 
sometimes harder, evoking any number of sighs and murmurs 
and moans from him.  The knowledge that all this desire from 
this magnificent man is for me is heady and empowering.  The 
muscles of my vagina contract with eagerness. 
"Now, Mulder.  Please--I need you." 
I can feel his shaft quivering and throbbing in my hand, a drop 
of fluid rising to the tip, which I spread around with my thumb.  
He freezes, closing his hand over mine to still my movements. 
"Scully."  It's practically a growl, harsh beside my ear. 
"Yeah?" 
"Your wish is my command, but this is going to be over before 
it's begun if you don't stop." 
Reluctantly, I release my hold on his cock, but not without one 
last squeeze. 
Finding a good position takes a bit of arranging.  Either Mulder's 
really creative or those videos were really instructive, but he 
turns me from him and props a pillow behind my back like a 
wedge, so that I am lying at a forty-five degree angle, not on my 
side, but not on my back either.  Lying on his side behind me 
still, he lifts one of my knees and brings it back across his hip as 
he slides forward.  One of his legs slips beneath my other, and 
his remaining leg comes to rest above it, bent slightly at the 
knee.  He moves his torso back away from mine so that our 
bodies are crossing at angles and guides himself to my 
opening.  A breathless pause, and then he slides home. 
I don't know who moans loudest or first, only that our voices 
mingle in the joint exclamation.  It's been so long...so long...And 
he feels so very wonderful, filling me once more.  This truly is a 
homecoming, I think with a sigh as he shifts a little and begins to 
move slowly. 
Though I miss the closeness of his body to mine, the position is 
delightful and I wonder why we didn't try it before.  By grasping 
the thigh of his upper leg and pulling it to my chest or moving it 
away I can alter the angle of his pelvis and thus his strokes, 
steering him somewhat to the perfect position.  I prefer to keep 
his knee close to my chest.  Not only does it work the best for 
his motions inside of me, it creates a slight friction against my 
clitoris, and I can feel pleasure beginning to bloom within me 
once more. 
"Where'd you pick up this one, Mulder?" I gasp. 
"I did...my homework..." he replies in ragged pants.  "The Joy of 
Sex...has a whole section...on pregnancy..." 
I can't help but smile.  Leave it to Mulder... 
"You know what else, Scuh...Scully?" 
"What?" 
He stops moving for a moment and draws close to me, 
speaking in my conspiratorially.  "It's called the 'X' position." 
I burst into laughter.  I can't help myself.  I lay there with his 
arms around me and his cock penetrating me and laugh until 
tears roll down my face.  Mulder's laughing too, his face 
pressed into my neck, his penis jerking slightly inside me with 
his chuckles.  Our baby is getting restless, not quite sure what to 
make of all the commotion. 
"God, I've missed you, Mulder," I gasp finally. 
His only response is a low growl, which I take to mean that he 
missed me as well.  He pulls back away from me, leaving my 
skin chilled where his chest had been only a moment before.  
He slides back until our bodies truly do form an X, the 
intersection being our hips, where we are so intimately joined. 
He begins to move slowly and purposefully inside me, and 
though I really wasn't expecting it, I feel my pleasure starting to 
crescendo again, climbing inexorably toward another climax.  I 
reach a hand behind me, fumbling across the tangled sheets for 
his, and our fingers intertwine.  Perspiration is dampening his 
skin where his thigh slides between mine, and I can tell by the 
trembling racking his body that it won't be long now.  His moans 
and pants are getting louder and more desperate. 
"Jesus...Scully...!" 
"Let it go, Mulder," I murmur.  "Let it go." 
He's holding back, trying to be gentle, but I know what he 
needs, I know what we both need.  He can't possibly hurt me, 
and I tell him so. 
"It's all right--Come for me." 
"Agh! God!" The breathless sob is torn from his throat and his 
thrusts pick up pace, sliding faster into and out of my body.  I 
clutch his thigh close to my chest, and as the force of his 
motion increases, so do the waves of pleasure. 
"Do it, Mulder!" I moan desperately, riding his thigh, grinding it 
against me.  "Please, dear God!  Do it now!" 
The shock-wave of my second climax overtakes me as I feel 
his cock spasm within me and his essence pour into me, his 
body shuddering with the jerking motions inside me.  His cry is 
one of raw pleasure, and it rings within my ears like a blessing. 
The room is unearthly still as we lay here intertwined, 
conjoined.  Small shivers and sighs are the only movement or 
sound for that single moment that stretches out between us.  
Then gradually Mulder moves, withdraws from me, rearranges 
himself on the bed, cuddling me to him with one arm while the 
other finds the covers and drags them up around us, shielding 
us from the chill pervading the room. 
"You are so, so beautiful," he whispers in my ear and with ever 
fiber of my being I believe his words. 
His hand comes to rest once more on the mound where our 
child nestles.  Though not moving with the restless energy of 
before, the baby does twitch unexpectedly at intervals. 
"What is that?" Mulder murmurs, kissing my hairline. 
"Hiccoughs," I answer ruefully, familiar by now with this little 
phenomenon.  This triggers another bout of laughter from each 
of us, and jokes about getting the kid a glass of water, or 
instructing him to hold his breath, or doing something to startle 
him. 
"Mulder..." I gasp weakly, breathless from giggling.  "If your 
performance just now didn't startle him, I don't think anything 
will!" 
Eventually, the laughter eases and we lie there together, our 
pulses gradually slowing, our bodies melding together in the 
bliss we have rediscovered.  We welcome each other home. 
Mulder's breath evens out and he slips into slumber, his hand 
still covering my belly, where even our child seems to have 
picked up on our contentment and settled in to sleep.  I am 
relaxed in a way that I haven't been for months, and I know that 
sleep is not far off for me either.  I allow my eyes to drift shut, 
happiness pervading my being until finally I rest. 
And in the midst of the darkness I know light. 
THE END 
NOTE:  I had been uncertain about where I saw the "X" position 
when I originally posted this story to the mailing lists and 
newsgroup, but thanks to Triton (http:// 
www.geocities.com/triton-x/) I can say with certainty that it was 
indeed found in The Joy of Sex.  Triton even wrote a story 
about it.  
  
HOME  
   
  
Please feed the author!
kjohns@chaos.x-philes.com