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Epilogue
=========

I awaken in near total darkness, and for a moment I'm confused;
disoriented.  I think I've had a dream, but already the details are
fading ... slipping away ... gone.

Then I turn over in bed and I feel the unaccustomed ache in my muscles,
and I smile as I realize that one thing, at least, was not a dream. 
There's an indentation the size of his head on the other pillow, and his
scent still clings to the bedclothes.

Mulder was here.

The real question, of course, is whether he's still here.  Has he just
gotten up to go to the bathroom?  Is he, perhaps, suffering one of his
bouts of chronic insomnia?  Or did he awaken in the night, realize what
had happened, and flee from my bed, from the heightened degree of
intimacy implied by his presence here?

He's not gone, I decide.  Not only are we long past the stage in our
partnership where that might have happened, but I can see his clothes
still strewn carelessly around my bedroom, lying where we dropped them
in our haste to undress each other just a few short hours ago.  So he's
not gone; he hasn't run from me.  He's still here, somewhere in my
apartment.

But he doesn't seem to be coming back to bed, either.  I've been lying
awake for several minutes, now, waiting for him, and he's now been gone
long enough to rule out the possibility that he just got up to pee.  And
so without further thought or hesitation, I throw back the covers and
climb from my bed.  I pause long enough to pick up his dress shirt from
the floor and slip it on, and then I pad down the hall to the living room.

And he's there, as I had expected, clad only in boxers, looking out the
window at ... something.  Even before I can see the expression on his
face, I know that whatever he's seeing, it isn't what I will see when I
follow his gaze.

He knows I'm here, of course.  Even if I couldn't tell from the set of
his shoulders, Mulder always knows when I'm there, and watching him.  So
I'm confident it comes as no surprise to him when I move up behind him
and slip my arms around his waist.

For a long minute we just stand there together, my arms wrapped loosely
around him, the side of my head resting comfortably against his back.  I
could stand here forever, I think, inhaling his scent, listening to his
breathing, feeling his warm body pressed against mine -- and for just a
moment, I consider doing just that.

But then he moves slightly in my embrace, and I realize that it's not to
be.  Mulder is far too restless to remain still for long -- and to tell
the truth, so am I.

I realize, somehow, that we've reached a watershed in our relationship. 
I'd thought we'd reached it last night, when I finally took Mulder into
my arms and into my bed, but I was wrong.  That moment, as sweet and
wonderful and soothing to my soul as it was, also had a certain
inevitability to it.  And once we'd set the chain of events in motion,
of course our bodies knew what to do.

But this moment -- this moment is different.  There's no script for
this, no advance planning, no guaranteed outcome.  How each of us acts
in the next few minutes -- how we adjust to our first meeting in our new
status as lovers -- will affect the entire shape of our future
together.  It may even affect whether we *have* a future together. 
These are uncharted waters we're sailing through, and the only thing
more dangerous than forging ahead would be to try to turn around and go
back.

Mulder stirs again in my arms, straining and impatient.  He wants to
talk; he wants to say something.  He probably wants to apologize for
what he presumably sees as the failure of his lovemaking.  But I don't
want those things; not right now, anyway.  I don't think he really wants
them either; when we've tried to talk about important things in the
past, the results have not been encouraging.  In the long run, we will
have to face the myriad questions that have formed in both our minds. 
But for tonight, we'll be better off if we simply feel.

I allow my hands to flatten against his abdomen, and I smoothly and
quickly slide them downwards, until I reach his boxers, slung low on his
hips.  Even as I feel him tensing at my sudden motion, I've hooked my
thumbs into the waistband, and then I'm slowly but steadily moving them
down past his hips before finally allowing them to drop to the floor.

He barely has time to whisper my name before I'm reaching for his cock,
cupping his balls in one hand and gently grasping his shaft with the
other.  Already he's semi-erect, and his soft murmur turns to a groan as
I begin to slide my fingers up and down his length.  It's such a simple
act, and yet a transforming one.  It changes us from Scully and Mulder,
the work partners who must discuss everything and come to intellectual
agreement, into a man and a woman, who can find our compromises on
another playing field.

Now fully erect, Mulder turns within my embrace, and looks down at me
with those liquid, hazel eyes, as I continue to stroke and caress him. 
I look back at him just as steadily, and I know he sees the same passion
and longing in my gaze as I find pouring down at me from his.  In
another time we might have found this connection, this completed
circuit, to be too powerful, too overwhelming, and we might have looked
away.  But now, tonight, it's just right, and only gives us strength.

I find myself rising on my toes just as he bends towards me, and then
our lips meet, our mouths wide open, our tongues probing and tasting,
loving and exploring.  I feel his hands on my shoulders, pushing back
the cloth of his shirt, and I let go of him only long enough for the
garment to slip down my arms and whisper to the floor.  Then my hands
return to their place and resume their ministrations.

The kiss increases in passion and in urgency, and I feel my own arousal
building within me.  Kissing has always been an intimate act for me, and
tonight those effects seem to be multipled a thousand fold.  Mulder has
barely touched me; his hands still rest lightly on my shoulders, but
already I feel the familiar aching need deep within my body.  A need
that can only be filled in one way, and only by this man.

Abruptly, Mulder breaks the kiss, and for a moment he rests his forehead
against mine, eyes closed, apparently trying to catch his breath.  Then
his eyes flicker open again, and he looks down at me and smiles.

It's a beautiful smile, a lovely smile, and it's also quite possibly the
most erotic thing I've ever seen in my life.  I'm mesmerized by this
smile; completely absorbed and fascinated by it.  The ache of need
inside me has now become a dull throbbing as he drops his head and his
mouth finds one of my breasts --

Oh.  God.

This was good last night, when we first made love; now ... now, somehow,
it's even better.  His lips enclose my nipple, the same nipple that his
tongue is lightly caressing, moving in slow, intimate circles.  His
large, warm hands have slipped around me, and now they cup my buttocks
-- which is a good thing, since that's all that's keeping me from
collapsing on the floor.

I also seem to have let go of him, something which becomes obvious only
when he drops to his knees in front of me, forcing me to stoop slightly
to keep his mouth on my breast.  My hands grip his shoulders, and my
fingernails dig into his flesh as he continues to lick and suckle at
me.  I'm breathing through my mouth, now, in short, sharp gasps, and his
fingers are massaging my ass.

His mouth suddenly leaves its place at my breast, and I cry out in
disappointment -- but then I feel his tongue, tracing the outline of my
ribs, moving slowly, slowly downward.  And I realize what his
destination must be.

Oh, but he takes his time in getting there.  This man .... my man, my
Mulder ... he can work magic with his mouth.  I've suspected it for
years, and now these last few hours I've had all the confirmation I
could ever need.

But not all that I could ever want.

Yesssssssssssss .... At last, Mulder's mouth reaches its goal.  His
tongue slips easily into and between my folds, and I feel ripples of
heat lightning racing through my body.  His hands grip my behind more
tightly as he pulls my hips closer to him -- and my own fingers are
tangling in his hair, grasping his head and holding it in place, as I
reflexively open my thighs in my quest for even more contact with his
wonderful tongue.

I don't know if I can do this standing up, but I am so unwilling for it
to stop, even for an instant.  Mulder's lips and tongue are everywhere,
licking me, teasing me, driving me higher and ever higher.  I hear
myself gasping his name, and he moans his response, and never once does
he stop, nor even slow down.  I am so close ... so very, very close ....

And I'm there.  I can feel it all through my body as I teeter on the
edge.  It will only take a few more firm strokes of that wonderful
tongue to send me crashing over -- and that is unacceptable.  I don't
want it to be over this soon, and I don't want it to end this way.

I want it to end with us together.

With a supreme act of will, I manage to pull Mulder's head away from
me.  He looks up at me for a moment, his gaze a breathless mingling of
disappointment and desire.  And then I lightly caress his face as I drop
to my knees in front of him and take him in my arms once again,
capturing his lips with mine.

The flavor of his mouth is different, now, of course -- different
because the aftertaste of my passion is mingled with his own sharp
tang.  The combination of the two -- the essence of what we are together
-- is driving me wild.  I just can't get enough of it, and I plunge my
tongue deep, deep into his mouth, seeking more, as I wrap my arms
tightly around his neck, pulling his body close against mine.

And I simply can't wait any longer.  Gently, urgently, needily, I pull
Mulder down to the floor, never breaking the kiss.  He willingly follows
my lead, and allows me to move him onto his back ... and then I straddle
his hips and impale myself on his cock, all in one smooth motion ....

*This* is the moment I live for.  This first instant of union, as
Mulder's pelvis rises to meet my downward thrust, in an act so new to
the two of us, and yet somehow so very familiar -- if all I ever had was
this, it would be enough.

Fortunately, I don't have to settle for that.  Already, I'm beginning to
slide against him, automatically adjusting the angle of my movements so
as to maximize pleasure and stimulation.  Sometime in the last few
seconds I broke our latest kiss, and now my hands are braced against my
lover's chest, while his tightly grip my waist, his thumbs grinding
against my hip bones as he thrusts upwards in time to my own, rhythmic
motions.  My eyes are locked on his, and what I see there is everything
I ever hoped to find:  love, desire, passion, need ....

And I reach an epiphany.  I suddenly know why Mulder was crying last
night, after the first time we made love.  The memory of those tears has
been hovering in the back of my mind ever since I awakened, but I've
avoided thinking about them consciously.  Now, however, as I hover over
him, watching as his face contorts in a mask of pleasure, it all becomes
clear.

Mulder was afraid.  As impossible as it may seem, he was afraid.

He was not afraid of me, or even of our relationship -- not as such.  He
was afraid of himself.  Of the adult within him.  The little boy who
lost his sister has ruled him for so long, for so many years, and that
inner child -- sad and lonely and hurting -- was terrified of the man
who has been struggling to break out for as long as I've known him.

But that was last night, and now, somehow, some way, something has
changed.  As I raise and lower myself, giving myself to Mulder more
fully and completely than I've ever given myself to any man, I can see
it in his eyes.  Something has changed.

For the better.

Mulder and I keep on moving, building towards our mutual release.  And I
realize, as I feel the waves finally washing over me, and as Mulder
shudders and empties himself into me, that this is our true first time. 
Last night we were children, but now, in the early morning darkness, we
are finally adults, and we are finally together.

Some long, blissful time later, I find myself lying curled on top of
Mulder, my head resting against his chest, my fingers tangled loosely in
his hair.  I'm listening to his breathing, so slow and soft and steady,
and the only way I know he's awake is from the gentle movement of his
fingers against the small of my back.

And suddenly, I remember; I remember it all.  I remember learning to
fly, meeting the Lost Boys, the beauty of Neverland and all the other
strange and wonderful things I saw and did there.  And of course, I also
remember the bad parts:  the pirates, the rebels, Donnie and Alex and
Diana -- all the monsters, both human and otherwise.  Those were part of
it, too, I remind myself.

But most of all I remember the boy.  The boy who took me away from my
parents' home and dared me to face all those things -- things that I
would never have sought on my own -- and who finally defied his own
fears and grew up into a man so that he could love me.  This man, the
one now lying beneath me and sharing his warmth and strength and love
with me.  My man.  My Mulder.

I lift my head from his chest and look into his eyes -- and I'm
unsurprised to find that he's smiling at me in a warm, sleepy way that's
impossible for me to misinterpret.  He remembers, too.

"Second star to the right, Scully," he murmurs, sliding one hand up my
back so that he can cup my head and draw it towards him.

I return his smile, and as I lower my lips to his, I whisper my
response: "And straight on 'til morning."

================THE END OF THE WHOLE STORY================