Okay, this piece is rated NC-17. If it is forbidden on any list I'm
posting it to, I'm sorry, then I overlooked it.
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Close to the Deadline (3/7)NC-17
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I masturbated all afternoon.
When I came home after I had lunch with Mulder,
I slammed the door and sank down on the floor,
exhausted.
Exhausted from looking at him, listening to him,
being touched by him-all the while knowing that
it won't be much longer.
It could be over by tomorrow.
Oh please, Mulder, please make that
step before we are separated. Please.
Make love to me. Oh please, do it, even if it's
only one time, then I can save that one time forever,
the memory of you and me entwined
together; the one thing I need so desperately.
One more thing, just to make me lose my fear of dying.
Knowing that we have had a physical bond together,
knowingthat you, too, will revel in the faint memory
of my touch, that you always will keep me inside of you.
That I will continue living in some deep, intimate part
of you.
*Oh, please*...
My tears were already running down my cheeks then,
wetting my face, my neck, running into my hair,
rushing over all the places where he touched me.
It was like my own tears washed away his scent,
the warm feeling left of him, the memory of his skin on
mine, were washed away by my own tears, and that made me
cry even more until I was lying curled up against the door,
sobbing and shaking. I felt miserable, unworthy, not even
able to appreciate his touches, and not worth of him.
No, certainly not. Someone like me--lying on the floor and
drowning in their own pity-someone like me is not worth his
love. His love, nor his touch.
His *touch*...
His *caress*...
His *kiss*...
I closed my eyes, still wet from the tears, but drying
steadily at my new trail of thoughts, and imagined.
How he would plant a kiss on my mouth, as light and
soft as a feather, pressing those lips on mine, transferring
their heat onto my sensitive skin...
*those lips*
I imagined him caressing the corners of my mouth with his
lower lip, the one I find myself staring at so often,
nibbling,exploring further, kissing harder, his tongue
entering my mouth, licking, moving around...
I sat on the floor, eyes closed, breathing heavily, as I
continued my fantasy.
In my mind, I could see him, no, almost *feel* him leaving
my mouth to let his tongue wander further down, along the
curveof my neck, nibbling softly at the hollow where my neck
meets my shoulder, licking, teeth scratching oh so softly.
Simultaneously, he was moving his hands around my hips, kneading,
fingers digging into flesh, moving downwards, cupping my
buttocks in his hands and, all of a sudden, gripping hard,
never stopping the invasion of his mouth on me.
By now, I had decided to get up from the floor and was lying
on my bed, jacket and shoes shed somewhere in a corner, the
top three buttons of my blouse open. My hands were following
every move he made in my dream, one tracing the curve of my
right breast, the other wandering slowly but steadily downwards
over my belly to my already throbbing and aching center.
The fantasy Mulder now had suceeded in freeing me of my
business clothes, the ones I seem to have become so used to
that I even wearthem in my dreams, and I was standing in front
of him wearing only a coral blue bra and matching panties
--in my fantasies, I only wear the finest in underwear for him.
He looked at me, at my body, admiring, lust written in his eyes,
his breathing harsh with desire, wanton pouring from his every
movement. Then he made one step toward me, reached behind me and
unhooked my bra, then stepped backwards again. His hands reached
out and cupped the rounded flesh, touching, testing their weight,
kneading softly.
In my bed, I imitated his every move, now flicking a nipple,
then back downwards, opening buttons, sliding down waistbands,
further down, pulling softly at the curls, parting the soft flesh,
slipping inside...
*Mulder...*
In my dream, my panties were now off, and his head was between my legs,
planting kisses on the insides of my upper thighs, his lips wandering
slowly upwards, towards my very core, stopping there, not moving,
heightening my excitement, and then...
By now, my fingers were working between my legs rapidly, giving me the
pleasure I imagined he'd be giving me, pretending what I craved so
badly,
all the while dreaming, lost in passionate fantasy...
*then... *
then his tongue touched me for the first time. Soft, light touch,
making me scream, making my hips buck into his face, lips closing,
then tongue darting out, touching the red pulsating bud, licking,
circling, leaving, over to the lips, lapping, all of a sudden back
on my clit, sucking hard...
*Oh god... *
Now, I am quite familiar with the female body, and not only because
of my medical background I know how to bring my body the ultimate
pleasure-- intensive, whole, yet meaningless. And so I brought myself
over the edge
again and again, until I was lying there, spent, conscious thoughts
beginning to form in my mind again.
And I felt dirty.
Guilty.
Egoistic.
Abusing his image for my self-destructive, pointless satiation...
*God Dana, how were you able to get that far?*
I found myself crying again, then, feeling desperate, getting up
from my lonely bed, and in the next moment I found myself digging
in a drawer and pulling out a few things of Mulderīs spare clothes
he keeps at my place for the rare occasions when he stays at night
after working on a case report too long...
I held his shirt in my hand, fumbled with his sweatpants, then
grabbed for a black turtleneck and clutched at it, bringing it to
my nose and breathed in his scent, his *unique* scent...
He smells of fine cologne, musky, male, singular...
Mulderscent.
I reveled in the sweet fragrance of his clothes, holding them close
to me, touching them, feeling the soft fabric, for I don't know how
long, until...
Until I felt moisture on the cotton I held pressed against my nose.
I looked at it and was knocked out of my fantasy world harshly by the
immediate realization.
Blood. There were drops of blood on Mulderīs shirt. I instinctively
touched my face. The wetness had left a trail from my nose to my
upper lip. I found myself biting back a sob.
Just another thing to remind me that I'm dying.
Only one more aspect to show me that I'm almost gone.
Then I couldn't hold back the tears anymore and let myself go, once
again surrending to my weakness, clutching desperately at the shirt
that belonged to Mulder, that was my reminder of him, holding it close
to my chest, crying, murmuring under the tears, then screaming,
screaming to heavens...
I want to live.
I'm not ready yet.