TITLE:  Act of Acceptance 
SPOILER WARNING:  Fire; Duane Barry/Ascension; Irresistible; The End 
RATING:  NC-17, for explicit sex. 
CONTENT WARNING:  Male and female created He them.  Got it? 
CLASSIFICATION:  SRA; MSR 
SUMMARY:  Mulder finds himself in deep depression in the aftermath of a case, 
and Scully must find a way to comfort him. 
AUTHOR'S NOTE:  This is a companion piece to "Act of Faith".  I don't think you 
need to have read that one in order to get this one, but it would probably add 
some nuance.  All you really need to know is that M&S are already involved in a 
romantic relationship, which has been going on for several months now. 
DEDICATION:  To Shannon, who emailed me about "Acts of Faith", gave me the 
confidence to attempt this companion piece, and helped me work out what this 
story ought to be about. 
  
Act of Acceptance 
by Brandon D. Ray 
  
I've failed her. 
I'm her partner.  I'm supposed to watch her and cover her back.  She's supposed 
to be able to trust me, she's supposed to be able to depend on me to guard her 
and keep her safe.  And I've failed her. 
Again. 
I draw my knees up a little closer to my chest.  I am curled in a tight ball on 
the bed in our motel room.  The lights are out, and it's night, so the room is 
totally black.  Nothing to see.  Nothing to interfere with the images the 
continue to flash within my mind. 
It was supposed to be a routine investigation.  Another serial killer, this one 
stalking the streets of Des Moines.  Seven deaths in as many months, and always 
at the full moon.  We had been requested by the VCU -- me for my alleged 
profiling skills, and Scully for a reason which those bastards chose not to 
disclose to us.  Not that we would have refused if they had told us.  Scully's 
professional pride would not have allowed it. 
We arrived in Des Moines in late afternoon, and to save a little time we 
separated:  Scully to the motel to get us checked in, and me to the local 
sheriff's office, where the Bureau had established a temporary office. 
I remember exactly when I realized what they had done to us.  I was sitting in a 
rickety folding chair in the conference room which had been appropriated for our 
use, reviewing the case file.  I wasn't supposed to meet Scully for dinner for 
another hour yet, and so I had plenty of time.  I remember wondering for perhaps 
the hundredth time why they hadn't faxed this to us, or emailed it, but then I 
turned a page, and suddenly I knew. 
The son of a bitch liked redheads.  Petite, female redheads in their late 20s or 
early 30s.  I sat in that chair looking at the photographs of his seven victims, 
and every last one of them.... 
I felt my gut churning as I stared at the file, and I felt the panic rising in 
my chest.  Those motherfucking sons of bitches had really done it this time.  It 
didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what their plan was:  They wanted 
to use Scully as bait.  They wanted to put her on the street, apparently alone 
and unguarded, and wait for the next full moon. 
Which was tonight. 
The next thing I remember is holding my cell phone to my ear and listening to 
the ring ring ring at the other end.  Come on, Scully, pick up.  Pick up, 
dammit!  I have to talk to you, I have to hear your voice, I have to know you're 
okay.  Scully!  Pick up! 
Fuck! 
She could have been in the shower.  Her phone's battery could have died.  She 
could have been stuck in heavy traffic, unable to take her attention from the 
road. 
But in my heart, I knew. 
The drive to the motel is a blank to me.  I remember nothing, and I mean nothing 
-- that twenty minutes has simply been excised from my life.  One moment I was 
sitting in the conference room, listening to the ringing of her phone, and the 
next I was jamming on my brakes in the parking lot of the motel, hurling myself 
from the car, diving across the parking lot, slamming my shoulder against the 
door to our room, falling to my knees as it burst open.... 
And Scully was there.  Her clothes were torn, her beautiful face was bruised and 
blood trickled from the corner of her mouth as she lowered her weapon away from 
me. 
And for a timeless interval all that registered with me was that she was alive.  
She was alive.  She was alive. 
And the suspect was lying dead on the floor at her feet. 
The bastards' plan had worked.  It had almost worked too well.  Somehow the 
motherfucker had known we were coming.  He must have known.  He had picked us up 
at the airport and followed her here, and when she was alone he moved in.... 
And I failed her. 
I should have been there.  I should have been watching her, guarding her, doing 
my job as her partner, her friend, her lover. 
But I failed her. 
It's cold in this room.  So very, very cold.  So dark.  So lonely.  Like a 
morgue. 
I left her at the emergency room.  I couldn't stay; I couldn't stand it.  I 
couldn't be there while they examined her and treated her injuries, knowing that 
I was to blame for them.  And I knew I didn't dare be present when the ASAC 
finally caught up with us.  I knew that if I saw that man in my current state of 
mind, I would try to kill him. 
So I left her.  And yes, in so doing I failed her yet again. 
I hear the door to the outside open and close -- the door which through some 
miracle was not damaged when I forced it open two hours ago.  The door opens and 
closes, and I know she must be here.  My body tenses, lying there on the bed, 
and I wait in silent agony to see what she will do and say.  She has every right 
to be angry; she has every right to be furious and hurt and disappointed.  I 
have done nothing right today, and I deserve only her rage and her contempt and 
her pity. 
"Mulder?"  I hear a soft rustling noise, and then the bed creaks as she sits 
down on it next to me.  "Mulder?  It's me.  It's Scully."  Her voice is very 
soft, and if I were not so sure that she must hate me for what I've done, I 
might think that it was gentle.  But I know better.  I know better. 
"Mulder.  Mulder, please come out."  Come out and face the music.  Come out and 
accept your punishment.  Come out and take what you deserve. 
Something touches my cheek, soft as a feather, and I realize it's her hand.  I 
jerk my head away, rejecting her touch.  I am unclean, dirty, and I will not 
allow it to soil her.  I've done enough to her already. 
Silence falls in the darkened motel room.  If I listen carefully I can hear her 
breathing as she sits on the bed next to me.  I wish that she would yell at me; 
I wish that she would scream at me; I wish that she would punish me and hurt me. 
 But still she sits there, quietly breathing, not saying anything.  And so I 
wait. 
Her voice, when it comes, is still soft and gentle, and her words make my heart 
ache, even though I know that they're true.  "Mulder, this isn't going to work." 

I know that, Scully.  I know it isn't going to work.  I figured that out while I 
was lying here waiting for you to return.  It isn't going to work, and that's 
okay.  I thought I could be more than your partner, more than your friend.  I 
thought I could love you and let you love me.  But I should have known better.  
I shouldn't have exposed you to that.  Everyone who I have ever loved has wound 
up getting hurt, and now it's happened to you.  God, as if Duane Barry and 
Donnie Pfaster and all the others weren't enough of a warning.... 
She moves a little closer to me on the bed.  "No, Mulder.  I know what you're 
thinking, but that's not what I meant.  You are the only stability in my life; 
the only thing that keeps me going.  I love you, and I know you love me, and I'm 
not going to let you use this to hurt yourself.  That's what isn't going to 
work, Mulder.  That's what I meant." 
Dammit, Scully, don't do this to me!  Why can't you take the warning, accept the 
wake up call, and get out?  All I've ever brought you are fear and suffering and 
pain.  You've nearly died so many times in the past five years, and always 
because of me.  Always because of me.  Get out, Scully.  Get out and get the 
hell away:  Away from the Bureau, away from the fear, away from me.  Get out. 
I feel the mattress shift again, and now she's lying next to me and spooning 
herself around me from behind as she whispers softly in my ear.  "I'm not going 
anywhere, Mulder.  You're not getting rid of me this easily.  We've both been 
through too much, and we've waited too long to allow something like this to come 
between us.  I won't let you go, no matter what." 
I want to pull away from her, I want to keep my distance so my filth won't get 
on her, but somehow I'm unable to move.  Her arms are wrapped around me, and 
she's gently stroking me, touching me, petting me.  I feel her breath against my 
neck, and it's familiar and friendly and comforting.  And slowly, so very slowly 
and gradually, I begin to relax, just a little. 
"That's right, Mulder," she says.  "That's right.  You need to relax.  You need 
to come down a little.  Just come down, Mulder; just come back to me.  Just let 
the tension go, just let me hold you for a little while.  Just for a little 
while, Mulder.  Just for a little while."  And her hands continue to stroke me, 
touch me, pet me, and I feel myself relaxing just a little bit more. 
And then without warning things just start bubbling up inside me.  All the pain, 
all the fear, all the guilt, everything I've been holding tightly down inside 
since I realized this afternoon what those bastards had done to us, everything 
just comes pouring up and out, and my body is wracked with sobs and spasms, and 
I'm jerking and heaving and cramping, and I can't stop it I can't stop it I 
can't stop it and the tears are hot, so hot they burn my eyes and my cheeks.... 
And Scully is still there, still holding on to me, even as my body spasms in her 
arms.  And she's talking to me, and her voice is so low, so soft, so loving.  I 
don't even hear the words, I don't know what she's saying, but the words don't 
matter, all that matters is the delicate, gentle tone, the warmth of her body, 
the comfort of her arms around my waist, holding me, loving me, grounding me.... 

Finally I run down.  I don't know how long that lasted; I have no concept of the 
passage of time.  But it doesn't really matter, because it's over now.  It's 
over, and Scully is still here with me, still holding me, still touching me, 
still talking to me. 
"It's okay, Mulder; it's okay.  It's over now, and I'm still here.  I'm not 
going anywhere; I think you know that by now.  I'll always be here; I'll always 
be with you.  Forever, Mulder.  Forever."  And her hands are still touching me, 
and her arms are still around me, and her breath is still soft and warm against 
the back of my neck as she whispers my name over and over and over.  And 
finally, at long, long last, I feel my body truly and completely relax, as I 
give up my battle against Scully, and allow her to begin to care for me and 
comfort me. 
"That's right, Mulder."  Her voice; her touch; her warmth.  "That's right.  Just 
relax and let me help you.  I want to help you; I want to take care of you, and 
make you better.  That's right.  Relax."  And now she's shifting her position on 
the bed, and with gentle, loving hands she's arranging my body, drawing me out 
of that tight little ball, stretching out my legs, rolling me onto my back, 
uncrossing my arms and laying them straight down at my sides.  And then she 
stretches out on top of me and rests her head against my chest, covering me like 
a warm, living blanket. 
#          #          # 
I must have drifted off for awhile, but whether it was to sleep or to some sort 
of fugue is impossible to say.  Now I am awake again, gradually becoming aware 
of my surroundings, and the first thing that impinges on my consciousness is 
that something has changed.  Something is different.  Something is missing.  I 
don't know what it is, but something is missing. 
Scully. 
My eyes fly open, and I struggle into a sitting position and look wildly around 
the room, but it's still dark and I'm unable to make out much of my 
surroundings.  The lost and terrified part of my mind, the part that knows how 
horribly pathetic and unworthy I truly am, is certain that she has finally come 
to her senses and has gone, and takes satisfaction in the fact that her apparent 
loving gentleness was only a ruse, a trick.  Now she's gone, gone for good, and 
at last I can be alone with myself, alone with the only person who deserves all 
the pain and suffering that seems to follow me everywhere I go. 
Alone. 
I'm finally alone. 
My body starts to shake, and even as the lost and terrified part of me exults in 
this new desolation, the other part of me, the part that always reaches out to 
Scully, is crushed and wounded and in despair.  Did I really think she loved me? 
 Did I really think she would stay with me, be with me, care for me?  Did I 
think she would even be able to stand the sight of me after all the things I've 
done to her?  Could I really have been that stupid and gullible?  And I draw my 
knees up and bury my face against them, but I don't allow myself to cry.  Crying 
might be cathartic.  Crying might ease my pain, and I cannot allow that to 
happen.  I cannot. 
And then I feel the bed shift, and once again her arms are sliding around my 
waist, and I suddenly realize that I'm no longer wearing any clothes, Scully 
must have undressed me while I was asleep, and now I feel the warmth of her bare 
skin against mine as she gently guides me back down onto the bed, all the while 
whispering to me as her hands stroke and caress and touch my arms and chest and 
shoulders. 
"It's okay, Mulder; it's okay.  I'm still here.  I didn't leave you; I would 
never leave you.  You were asleep, you were resting, and I just needed to get up 
for a minute and use the bathroom.  It was just for a minute, but I'm sorry.  I 
shouldn't have done it.  I should have realized that you'd notice I was gone and 
wake up again.  I'm sorry, Mulder; I'm so sorry."  And her hands continue to 
touch and stroke and pet me, but even as I feel my body start to relax again, 
even as the warmth of her body starts to seep into mine, the other part of me, 
the haunted part, is watching her, wary and defensive, waiting for the next sign 
of her true feelings. 
"We'll take all the time we need, Mulder," she says.  "We'll take all the time 
we need.  I'm here, and I'm not going to leave you.  I know I made a mistake 
just now, I know I hurt you by not being here when you woke up, but that's all 
it was -- a mistake.  Just a mistake, Mulder; just a mistake.  I love you and 
I'm committed to you.  I made that decision a long time ago, and nothing can 
make me take it back.  Not even you can make me take it back, Mulder; not even 
you." 
I feel myself -- not just my body, but myself -- relaxing further, as she 
continues to touch and caress me with her hands and her words and her presence.  
And Scully moves closer to me on the bed, and now her body is pressed against 
mine from head to toe, bare skin to bare skin.  She's so soft and warm, and her 
hands tracing patterns across my chest and shoulders are so gentle and tender. 
I can't believe this is happening; no one has ever been like this to me; the 
mere presence of another human being has never been this comforting, this 
calming.  Scully has cast a spell over me; she truly has.  And although a small 
part of me continues to quake in terror at the implications of that, the rest of 
me is reveling in it, bathing in her warmth and love and concern.  If I can just 
surround myself by her, if I can just get all the way inside her, then maybe I 
can finally be clean.  Maybe I can finally wash off all the accumulated filth 
and grime.  Maybe...maybe...maybe.... 
"Mulder," she says, and her voice is still so very soft.  "Mulder, I'd like to 
do something for you.  I'd like to do something that will make you feel better.  
I'd like to bathe you.  Will you let me do that for you?  Will you allow me to 
do that?" 
I feel tears forming in my eyes as the meaning of her words filters through.  
She wants to care for me.  She really, really wants to care for me.  I don't 
know if I can accept that, although dear God I want to.  I've wanted this, 
needed this, needed someone to care for me for so very long.  So very long.  But 
I don't dare accept it; I can't possibly accept it.  I don't deserve it; I'm not 
worth it.  I'm broken, and all the care in the world can't fix me.  Nothing can 
fix me.  But I'm so selfish, so very selfish, that I want her to try.  Please, 
God, let her try. 
She must be reading my emotions on my face; somehow, even in the dark, she can 
tell what I'm thinking.  Because the next thing she says is, "Okay, Mulder.  
Okay.  I have to get up for just a minute, but I'm only going to get the things 
I need for your bath.  I'll be right back."  And she moves on top of me for a 
moment and presses her lips against mine in a chaste, gentle kiss. 
And then she's gone, but somehow I'm not quite so alone as I was before.  I'm 
distantly aware of the light coming on in the bathroom, and then I hear water 
running, and before I really have time to miss her she's back, and she's sitting 
down on the edge of the bed next to me again.  And for just a moment the room is 
quiet, still and dark. 
And then I feel something warm and wet touch my shoulder.  I jerk reflexively, 
but then I realize it's just Scully.  Just Scully and a washcloth.  Just Scully. 
 And the washcloth begins to move, tenderly, gently, methodically, grazing 
across my shoulders, working first down one arm and then up the other one.  
Moving between my fingers, caressing my wrists and elbows, and finally coming 
back to my shoulders again. 
Then it's gone, and I hear a gentle splashing noise.  And then the washcloth 
returns, and this time it's caressing my chest, and it's neither too damp nor 
too dry, neither too warm nor too cold.  It's perfect; everything is perfect.  
It's just what I need, and somehow Scully knew.  Somehow she knew. 
The washcloth moves down onto my abdomen, moving in soft, gentle circles, going 
lower and lower with each pass, and despite myself I feel my muscles tense.  
This is not about sex; it can't be about sex.  God, Scully, don't let it be 
about sex; I couldn't take a pity fuck, not from you.  Please, Scully, not from 
you. 
But I should have realized she would know better than that.  The washcloth 
continues on its downward spiral, and finally reaches my groin.  This is where 
it could go bad; this is where everything could fall apart, and trying to do too 
little is just as dangerous as trying to do too much.  But Scully knows what 
she's doing, and she washes my thighs and penis and testicles carefully and 
thoroughly, and then moves on down my legs.  I never thought it would be a 
relief to have a woman touch me there and not become erect, but as she moves 
away I feel myself sag down into the mattress giving silent thanks to God and to 
Scully that we've passed that hurdle successfully. 
The washcloth moves on down my legs, bathing my knees and shins and finally 
arriving at my feet.  She spends a great deal of time on my feet, working the 
washcloth between my toes and drawing it across my soles, using just enough 
pressure so that it doesn't tickle.  And then at last she's done, and the 
washcloth is gone and she's moving up against me again, wrapping her arms around 
me and pressing her body against mine. 
And I'm clean.  I'm really clean.  For the first time in years, I'm really, 
truly clean. 
The knowledge hits me like a hammer blow, and suddenly I find myself short of 
breath.  This is impossible; this can't be happening.  I don't get clean; it 
just isn't something that's possible for me.  I shower and wash off the sweat 
and dirt of the day, but nothing can remove the stains that cover me, permeate 
me, pervade me.  Nothing can do that. 
But something has.  Someone has.  Scully has.  Scully. 
Scully. 
And again she's been reading my thoughts.  "Mulder, I love you so.  I've wanted 
to do that for you for so long, but I've never known how to start.  And now that 
I've done it for you, I want to do it again, and again, every day, for the rest 
of both our lives.  I want to bathe you and care for you and keep you clean.  I 
want you to know that you're clean and loved and cared for.  I want you always 
to know that, Mulder.  Always."  And she moves up slightly on the bed, and now 
her face is hovering above mine, and I can feel her gaze in the darkness as she 
looks down at me and whispers, "But I'm not quite done.  I haven't washed your 
face yet." 
And then I feel something warm and wet rasping against my forehead, and a 
shudder ripples through my body as I realize it's her tongue.  Scully's tongue.  
She's licking me and caressing me, she's bathing my face, working across my 
forehead to my temple, then slowly and thoroughly starting on my cheek. 
If the washcloth was intense and intimate, this is just off the scale.  No one 
has ever done anything remotely like this for me.  No one.  Ever.  I have never 
even dreamed that something like this might happen to me, that anyone would care 
enough to give me this.  I'm stunned, in shock; it's just not part of my world, 
but it's so right, so perfect, and she's still doing it, she's going on and on 
and on, and dear God I love her so much. 
And now she's working on my chin and moving down my jaw to my ears and neck, 
licking me gently but firmly, cleaning every square centimeter of my flesh.  
This is so like the touch of a lover, but so different as well.  In another 
context it would be incredibly arousing, but Scully seems to know just how to do 
it, just how to apply each stroke of her tongue so as to convey comfort and only 
comfort. 
Now she's down to the base of my neck, and I think finally it's over, the bath 
is finally finished.  I'm so totally calm and relaxed now, and so totally 
comfortable, just having her hold me in her arms.  And Scully raises her head 
from my neck and looks down into my eyes, and for a moment she just looks at me 
and strokes my hair gently with her hand.  I can tell that she's thinking about 
something, but I have no idea what it might be.  And so I just wait for her to 
decide what to say. 
"Mulder," she says at last, with just the slightest bit of doubt in her voice.  
"I have one more thing I'd like for you to let me give you.  Just one more 
thing.  Can you accept one more gift from me tonight?  Just one more?"  She 
searches my face, and there are question marks in her eyes. 
I want to speak, I want to tell her that what she's already given me is more 
than enough; it's enough to last me a lifetime, and I intend to do whatever I 
have to do to make it happen again and again and again.  I want to tell her how 
much I love her, and that I'll accept anything she wants to give me.  But I 
can't speak; I just can find any words, and so I try to project my feelings with 
my eyes. 
Finally she smiles, and then she nods, very slightly.  "Okay, Mulder.  Okay.  I 
have one more gift for you, but I don't want you to misunderstand."  And she 
leans down and kisses me gently on the mouth, briefly but thoroughly, and a 
premonition of what may lie ahead sweeps through me.  This could be very, very 
good, or it could be very, very bad.  If she's going to do what I think she's 
going to do, it would be so easy to make a mistake, so easy to step on one of 
the many, many unexploded bombs which lie hidden in my mind. 
All in an instant my anxiety comes charging back.  I want to warn her; I want to 
tell her no; I want to protect her.  Please, Scully, don't do this; everything 
is so nice, so comfortable, but if you try to do this I'll screw it up, I know I 
will.  I just can't avoid screwing up, it's part of who I am, and you know that. 
 Surely you know that.  You're the only one who really knows me, the only one, 
and you must know that I can't do this. 
"Shhh."  Another kiss on my lips.  "Shhh.  It's okay, Mulder; it's okay."  And 
for just one relieved moment I think maybe she's changed her mind, come to her 
senses.  "It's really, really okay.  We can do this; we can make it work.  You 
know I don't do pity sex, Mulder; I know you know that.  I have too much 
self-respect for that; I respect YOU too much for that.  I would never, ever 
make love to you because I felt sorry for you.  You know that." 
Another kiss, this one longer and more intimate than the others, and her tongue 
swirls briefly into my mouth and then is gone again.  "But this isn't pity sex, 
Mulder; it just isn't.  It's comfort sex.  It's comfort sex, Mulder, and that's 
completely and totally different.  We can do this, Mulder; I know we can.  
Because I love you, and I know that you love me."  And she kisses me again, and 
I finally feel myself begin to respond. 
After a timeless interval our lips separate, and she continues, her voice barely 
above a whisper, "This is for you, Mulder.  Tonight is for you; just for you.  
Just this once, you need to accept without giving."  And then she smiles, and 
there's mischief in her eyes.  "Tomorrow morning, though, I fully expect you to 
fuck my brains out, okay?" 
Incredibly, I'm able to nod, just a little bit, and even smile.  I'm actually 
able to give consent for this.  And she kisses me one more time, and then starts 
to trace a path down my chest with her tongue, and the full force of my anxiety 
comes racing back once again. 
God, I didn't realize this was what she meant.  I've never let her do this to 
me; I've never allowed her to put her mouth on me.  I never even imagined that 
she would really want to, I can't imagine that ANY woman would ever want to.  
It's always seemed so impersonal; so degrading, and as her tongue continues to 
move down my chest and onto my abdomen, I flash back and recall: 
Erica Matthess, my high school sweetheart, who did this because it was a way to 
avoid fucking me; 
Phoebe Greene, who did this to keep her distance while maintaining the fiction 
that she cared for me; 
Diana Fowley, who did this and pretended to like it because she thought it would 
keep me from leaving her; 
The one prostitute I hired, all those years ago in Miami, who did this because 
it was a quick way to make fifty dollars; 
All those women in my videos, who did this because it was in a script and 
someone was paying them. 
And then her lips are closing around me, and I swear I hadn't even noticed that 
I'd become erect.  And her mouth slides down over me, down and down and down, 
and finally I'm all the way in, and she just rests there for a moment, holding 
me in her mouth, and her tongue is licking and swirling around me. 
I feel a shudder race through my body, and then another, and I am shocked to 
discover that I am actually enjoying this.  This is good, so very, very good, 
and even as the thought forms in my mind it gets better, as Scully's head starts 
to bob up and down, up and down, up and down, her lips sliding gently along my 
shaft, her teeth scraping ever so gently, and her tongue licking, caressing, 
exploring. 
God....this is so intimate; it's so wonderful.  How could I ever have thought 
that this was degrading and impersonal?  But I already know the answer to that 
question:  It's because this is Scully who's doing this; that's why it's 
special.  Because it's Scully; only Scully; never anyone but Scully.  Scully who 
loves me and cares for me and would never hurt me or leave me.  She's not like 
the others; she's not someone outside, not someone with her own agenda.  She's 
part of me, she's essential to me, she completes me and makes me a whole person. 

She's Scully. 
She continues to minister to me, and now she adjusts her position slightly, and 
increases her pace, sliding her arms around my thighs and clutching my buttocks, 
touching and squeezing and caressing them.  This is not going to last very long; 
already I can feel my orgasm building in my groin, growing stronger and 
stronger, escalating towards the inevitable explosion.... 
....and she's still going, she's still moving her lips over me, taking my cock 
in her mouth, making love to me with her lips and tongue, and I just don't 
believe this, my breath is coming now in short, sharp gasps, and my pulse is 
pounding in my cock, throbbing and pulsing, and every nerve ending in my body is 
totally alive, totally aware.... 
....and now she's brought one hand back around and she's cupping my balls, 
holding them, touching them, caressing them, and rubbing one finger gently 
against my perineum, while her other hand continues to squeeze and caress my 
buttocks, and dear God what she's continuing to do to me with her mouth I can't 
believe it I can't believe it I can't believe it.... 
....and it's building and building and building, only a few more seconds now, 
only a few more strokes, and she seems to know it and it's affecting her, too, 
because she's moaning and growling but never once stopping or even slowing down 
and I hear someone calling her name, yelling her name, screaming her name, and I 
realize it's me.... 
....and then I'm there and it's happening and I'm coming and oh God it's so good 
so damned good and she's staying with me as my hips jerk and buck uncontrollably 
she's staying with me and still holding me in her mouth and now she's sucking 
and sucking and sucking, taking it all, draining me dry.... 
....and I collapse on the bed, spent, exhausted, and for another moment Scully 
continues to suck on my cock as it rapidly softens, licking it, caressing it, 
cleaning it.... 
                                                 ....cleaning me.... 
#          #          # 
I gradually return to full awareness.  It's dark, but I'm not cold anymore.  I'm 
lying in the bed, and Scully is with me, her arms around my waist from behind, 
spooning me and holding me and loving me.  At some point she pulled the blankets 
up over us, and now its as if we were wrapped up together in a warm, intimate 
cocoon. 
I want to tell her how much that meant to me; I want to tell her how good it was 
and how much I love her.  And I will; I swear I will.  But right this moment I'm 
feeling just too damned content and comfortable to move or speak or even think 
very much. 
God, I love her so much.  So very, very much. 
And she loves me.  There is no longer any possible doubt about that. 
And she's humming. 
  
  
Fini