************************************************* JUST SAY YES (4/10) jeylan@earthlink.net This story is rated R -- See part 1 for headers and warnings. *NO ARCHIVE* except by request. ************************************************* From her place on the couch with Mulder, Scully was dimly aware of the couples pairing off. Laurie and Jonathan were slow dancing, holding each other tenderly. Jonathan's head rested on Laurie's shoulder, and Laurie's cheek was nestled against Jonathan's hair. Their eyes were closed. Bradley and Justin drifted over hand in hand and picked up the pipe, and then retreated to some floor cushions on the other side of the room. Mulder was nuzzling his head against her, barely moving, and their clasped hands were caressing each other lightly. Almost as if they meant it. Almost intentional. Mulder's fingertips played with her fingertips, stroking the sensitive skin sheltered under the tips of her nails, and wiggling her fingernails lightly. Caressing the edge of his thumb into the hollow of her palm. The sensation was incredible. More potent than a kiss. Did he realize what he was doing? "Now, some they do and some they don't - "And some you just can't tell," Mulder murmured with the music, "And some they will and some they won't - "And some it's just as well -" And time seemed almost to stop, drawn out long and golden and fluttering. As if Mulder's stop-watches could have pricked out discrepancies. And for a long time, it went on like that, drifting on the music. Scully was overwhelmed by a feeling of energy, and on-ness, a feeling of connection which came welling up inside her, flooding out through her chest and her head. Mulder was smiling right down into her eyes, leaning very close. "What's happening, Mulder?" she whispered. "We're getting stoned," he whispered back, and rubbed his forehead back and forth across hers. "Relax and enjoy it." Their noses brushed in a rubbery Eskimo kiss. Scully swallowed dryly, tried to wet her lips. She thought dimly about kissing him. His lips were so near. Then, remembering the way he'd been dancing with Bradley, she was paralyzed again with confusion. Nose to nose, she looked into his single, huge, dark eye, and he looked back. Something was almost going to happen, she could feel it -- And then, just before it could happen, whatever it was -- the next song began -- a manic monotone thrumming, joined by electronic pulses skipping up and down inanely in a demented sort of scale. The room started moving -- Bradley jumped to his feet -- "Come on, Fox!" Laurie said. "This is your song!" He pulled Mulder, and Mulder pulled her. "Come on, Dana!" Mulder urged manicly, tugging at her -- But she couldn't move, she couldn't follow him, and to her horror she felt herself just rag-doll flopped there, staring up at him with eyes wide. "No, I -- I --" "Dana -- uh -- *Scully* -- " Mulder stammered, "Dana Scully, come dance!" He ended by sounding very stern. "God," she wailed soundlessly, "I can't, I can't!" He lost his grip on her wrist, and went without her. Laurie pulled him away from her, far, far, and she lay motionless on the couch, watching the rest of them dance, murmuring to herself, apologetically, "I'm too stoned -- I can't." Mulder danced with his eyes closed. The group drifted near each other, almost in a circle, swaying back from their hips -- And their eyes were closed -- Everyone chanting with the music -- "Four! - three! - two! - one! "Earth be-low us -- Drifting falling - "Floating weightless - "Calling - calling - ho-ome!" This was Mulder's song? Scully grinned a stoned grin. Tried to take it all in. She was on the outside looking in again, wanting to be on her feet, with them -- with Mulder -- but her body felt leaden, and she was helpless to move. She felt as if she were looking through a telescope tube from far away, as if her peripheral vision had shut down. Then Mulder was looking back at her through the tube. "Come on," he wheedled in an itsy-bitsy far-away voice. "Dance with me." "I can't. I can't move." It was scary how much she couldn't move, scary how much her whole body had abandoned her, how it sank like Atlantis into the cushions of the couch. "Sure you can," he said, louder and deeper. "Just look in my eyes. Don't stop looking in my eyes, you'll be fine." And she looked, and she half fell into his eyes, and as he moved away from her, looking in his eyes, it was easier to follow after him than to stop herself from falling with him -- easier to let him lift her up than to stay behind sitting and watching his eyes move farther away until the contact snapped. Mulder pulled her up to her feet. Holding her hands, and holding her eyes. "This one's slow enough," he said, "you'll be fine." The song was "Bette Davis Eyes" -- Mulder's eyes were heavy-lidded, watching her. He was biting his lip. The world moved strangely around Scully, but as long as Mulder held her with his eyes, everything was fine. Like he'd said it would be. Mulder was moving easy, nothing frantic. He crossed his wrists, palms forward, and began working his hands higher over his head, edging forward closer into her body, into her space. Getting so close she had to tip her head back to look up at him. He seemed lost in the music, but responsive to every move she made. Scully had the odd sense that she could steer him with a look, a fingertip, a brush of her body against his, that whatever she did to him, he would yield. Except she seemed to have no will of her own right now -- only the force of the music -- only the needs that hovered uncertainly in the air between them, suspended in the communion between their eyes. She was adrift. Mulder *would* get off on a song like this. Scully thought a smile too deep for smiling. She let her own arms stretch up, over her head, and slowly wound them with his. She was dancing right against Mulder's body, luxuriating in the heat that rolled off him, loving the way he pulled in a ragged breath when she bumped him with her hips. Setting one hand at the nape of his neck, she pulled his head down and whispered in his ear, "Wha'duz it take to make a pro blush, Mulder?" He squirmed, gasped. And bit her neck. Just a grazing nip. It made her dizzy. She thought he might be giggling, but she wasn't sure. The next song started with a maddening little rhythm. It was irritating on her skin, and at first Scully wanted to sit down again, and get away from it, but her focus was still anchored to Mulder, and Mulder was still barely blinking, his eyes never leaving hers for a single heartbeat. And then the music softened, turned inside out, surrendered to a sighing voice, and she felt her spirit move up and back through her flesh and out the back of her neck, lifting with the music. The music owned her, and the dance owned her, and looking into Mulder's eyes like this ... this feeling owned her. She felt her eyes close. Laurie's arms snaked around Mulder from the side, pulling him away from her, and he went. And it didn't matter at all, because in Mulder's place was Justin -- Justin, stalking her right across the floor, mock sensual. Scully lifted her head and laughed out loud. She liked the way Justin moved. Hedonistic, and easy, like he knew what he wanted. He'd braided his own hair, and his long braid swung like a heavy rope behind him -- And it felt good. Just to be sensual like this. Just to move like this. She laid her hands on Justin's shoulders, and then let them roam, sliding slowly down -- Until Bradley came up behind Justin, and, butting him suggestively with his hips, wound his arms around the boy's body, groping and fondling. It was sexy to watch. Justin laughed, twisted around inside the circle of Bradley's arms. He reached back to grab his own braid, and then went after Bradley with it like a whip. Slow and sensual. Jonathan slid his arm around her shoulders, and she turned to him. Unsurprised. Danced with him. Unsmiling. Both of them equally into it, and, for the moment, not worrying about Mulder. She began not to notice or care who she danced with. Began to be lost in the music. Long, long since she'd last danced like this, but her body remembered. Oh, yes. Her body remembered. Fade out. And a slow song started. Laurie, who had been dancing with her, murmured, "Excuse me, love," and turned away into Jonathan's waiting arms. Scully just stood for a moment, perplexed, just feeling, just listening, expecting nothing. Thinking nothing. It was only for a second, or forever. It didn't worry her. And then Mulder was there. With her. Mulder's hands sliding around her, cradling her. She let herself move into his arms. Let her cheek rest on his chest. Let herself melt against him, let her mind stop. Just allowed it to happen, allowed her body to melt against his, allowed there to be no space between them. They moved as one person, thighs alternating between thighs, feet between feet. She hardly noticed the music, she was so lost in the feel of the dance. The words didn't seem important. The melody was familiar, but she didn't think about it. Pleasant melody, with a beautiful easy pulse running through it. Mulder was so tall, she had an odd temptation to stand on his feet and let him dance her, but everything felt too good the way it was. She just closed her eyes and flowed with it, letting him move for both of them. Letting herself drift weightless in his arms. After what seemed like a long, long time, the words began to impinge, and Scully stiffened. She tensed, pulling back. "I don't like this song," she muttered. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the other couples dancing slow and intimate, all deeply engrossed in each other -- "Sshh, just listen," Mulder said, soothing her head back down against his chest. He leaned her back slightly, and pivoted -- slow and sensual, so that she fell back against his arms, so that the world moved a little -- -- he kissed her forehead -- Oh shit, could Mulder be taking this shit seriously? Scully's heart was racing, suddenly, and she felt rigid and awkward in his arms. -- harshly, she shoved him away -- trying to breathe -- "I'm sorry," she gasped, and stepped out of his reach. "What is it? What?" He followed along after her anxiously. "Nothing, Mulder. I'm fine. I don't like that song. I'm fine. I have to pee." She stumbled down an endlessly long hallway, and spent what felt like about half an hour in the bathroom. One of those interminable trials of being stoned. No time perception. Rationally she understood what was going on, but emotionally that didn't help much. The panic kept trying to rise up. She looked at her watch at least three times, to make sure that she wasn't missing time. Washing her hands seemed to take more than nine minutes, and the light was too bright. The room was too quiet. She could hear herself breathing. That was weird. Her breathing was weird. Her eyes in the mirror were dilated and bloodshot, with huge black pupils, and pink around the edges like she'd been crying. Great. Very sexy. Forgetting about her makeup, she splashed water on her face, and felt a little better. She wiggled around a little, posing for herself in the mirror, contemplating her reflection. On sudden impulse she reached up under her T-shirt, and unhooked her bra. One arm at a time, she pulled her elbows into the sleeves of her shirt, threaded her fists through the bra straps, and then stuck her arms back out again. With satisfaction, she drew the hated bra out from under her shirt, and then stood there staring at it, blankly. What to do with it now? What to do, what to do. Finally, satisfied and braless, she pointed her feet into the hall, and towards the long walk back to the living room. Part way down the hall, though, she was brought up short by a shocking glimpse of the bed through the bedroom door. Leaning against the doorjamb, she stayed and stared. The room was tidy, with tasteful decor, and a neatly made bed with leather shackles mounted by steel chains to the corners of the bed frame. The sight set off alarm bells in her head -- *danger!* Her first instinct was to run -- to find Mulder, and get him out of here. But even in this hazy state of mind, she knew there was something wrong with that picture. They weren't in danger, they were with Mulder's friends. Stupidly, she stood there, rooted to the spot, struggling to work it out in her head. He came up behind her, and breathed down the back of her neck. "What'cha doin'?" he inquired softly. She had already lived three different realities since pushing him away at the end of that stupid song, so she didn't remember to be awkward with him. Instead, she leaned back against him, and whispered urgently, "Mulder, look at the bed." "Mmm? What about it?" He was rubbing her elbow with the flat of his palm. "Why are those things on the bed?" "Those *things?* Well, I don't know, but they look rather like bondage restraints to me. Wanna check 'em out?" "Mul-der!" He chuckled. "Come on, Scully, you've seen stuff like this before, right?" "Uh ... uh ..." He craned his neck to look at her face. "Haven't you?" He sounded curious now, and he was watching her face, watching her stammer. "You really haven't, have you?" he said, slowly. "OK, come on. I'll show you." Mulder put his hand in its familiar place on her back, pushing her into the bedroom. "They won't mind," he said, and shut the door behind them. The room got quieter. Pulling her across the room by one wrist, he went to the head of the bed, picked up one of the restraints, and offered it to her. "You really haven't seen one of these before?" he asked again, incredulously. "But you obviously have." Her voice was tight. Mulder just smiled, standing there half stooping with the restraint in his hand, and looking at her like she wasn't real. "God, Mulder, it's creepy! Put it down." She felt a sort of paranoia starting in her lungs, the kind of feeling she really didn't want to feel right now, not in this state of mind. She took a couple of deep, deliberate breaths, looked at Mulder's feet, and told herself sternly, Her mantra. She realized Mulder still hadn't moved. Looking up at him, she saw that his eyes were sparkling mischievously. "Mulder, put that down!" she snapped. "Why?" he asked innocently. "Aren't you even curious? Just a little?" "Are you fucking serious! Put it down." Mulder sat on the edge of the bed. "Look," he said. "It's nothing to be scared of. It's just leather and lamb's wool. Look how soft it is inside, see? See how soft it would be on your wrist?" One of his thumbs was caressing the wool lining of the restraint -- his other thumb, she realized with a sudden chilling lurch in her stomach, was caressing her wrist. She jerked her arm away. "Lamb's wool?! Mulder, it's a shackle! What the fuck does it matter what it's made of?! It *IS* what it is! It's the *idea*!" She looked at him, expecting to see understanding in his eyes, and found amusement there, instead. His patronizing face. "Idea? But this thing doesn't *have* any ideas, Scully. It's just a thing. You and I are the only ones here with ideas." "I don't like this, Mulder! You're scaring me!" But she could feel herself blushing. His eyes on her face made her blush, and the way he was looking at her like he'd never seen her before, the way his eyes slipped down to her breasts, just for one moment. "Does this really scare you, Dana? Are you sure? Or does it excite you?" She gasped. A cold, dizzy vertigo went through her, like the floor had shifted under her feet. "How can you *say* a thing like that?! *Excite* me?! I know what it feels like, remember? It's inHuman, Mulder. It's one of the worst feelings in the world! How can people play *games* with -- with -- *Your friends* Mulder, I can't believe *your friends* would have something like this mounted to their bed! It -- it -- Mulder, it's *sick*! This is sick!" "Whoa, whoa, steady! Slow down! It's not the thing itself, it's the idea, right? *Right?* Well, what do you think Laurie and Jonathan's idea was when they put these here?" "I -- I don't know." "I can tell you what their idea *wasn't*, Scully. Their idea wasn't to hurt each other. Wasn't to humiliate each other. Come on, you've met them. You can see what they're like. Can't you see that they love each other? You know, they've been together since Laurie and I were in our second year -- it was Michaelmas term. I remember that. I was there when they met -- they fell head over heels. Love at first sight, Dana, and they've been inseparable ever since. They're two of the luckiest people I know." He was speaking very softly, and he'd picked up her hand again, between both of his. He was stroking her fingers, her wrists. It felt good. So good, she had a hard time concentrating on what he was saying. The sensation of his hands on her hand was running right up her arm in waves of heat, reaching for her heart. "Forget work," he said. "We're not at work. We've met some pretty sick people, I realize that. But those people aren't here right now. This is a different thing, Dana. Just you and me. Nothing to be scared of." "What the fuck are you talking about?!" "I dare you, Scully. I double dare you." "Dare me *what*?" It came out in a squeak. "Let me put these on you -- oh, god, I can't believe I said that!" His face broke in a giggly grin. "Now she's gonna be mad! Sometimes I just love it when you're mad, Scully, I mean not when you're *really* mad, and I know that's fucked up of me. But what'd'ya say, huh?" His voice was breathless. Scully frowned. Her heart was racing. She worked hard to level her voice. "Why?" she said flatly. "'Why', what?" "Why are you bringing this up?" "*I'm* not bringing this up, *you're* the one who was standing there staring." "I wasn't!" Mulder just wiggled his eyebrows at her, tauntingly. He was flushed. She tried again. "I mean, I wasn't staring because I -- I -- because I *wanted*, I mean --" "You sure about that?" While she stood gaping at him, he held her eyes. And he smiled. A slow, wolfish smile. "It might be fun. Who knows, maybe you'll like it." And then, very, very gently, he said, "I'm not Duane Barry, Scully." She tried to pull her hand away, but he didn't let her. He just kept sitting there, knees loosely apart, looking up hypnotically into her eyes. "This is just me, here, Dana. Remember?" And she was still hyperaware of his touch, his hands on hers. His eyes. And he was Mulder, her friend, her partner, who she knew and trusted. And at the same time, he wasn't. "I'm not scared," she whispered defiantly. "OK," Mulder agreed. His voice was very smooth. "I know you're not scared. Why would you be? But you're having a strong reaction of some kind. Look at you. You're blushing, you're breathing fast. Are you *excited,* Scully? Maybe you're afraid to do this because you're afraid it might turn you on, is that it?" "No! It wouldn't turn me on! Let go of me!" But she didn't back away. Mulder laughed. "OK," he said agreeably. "Then you do it to me." He picked up the restraint again, and let go of her hand. "See?" he said, "I'll let you." And while she watched in horrified fascination, he wrapped the leather around his own wrist, threading the strap "See how this works?" he was saying, "Soft against my skin. Nothing to chafe. See, how the buckle should be nice and tight?" He buckled it securely. She just stared at it stupidly, his shackled wrist. It was a sight she loathed. She had nightmares about this, about Mulder being bound and helpless. A lump rose up in the back of her throat. "You'll have to do the other one, Scully, I can't reach," he went on, still speaking in the same quiet, soothing voice. Suddenly she was angry. How *dare* he joke around with crap like this! "Fine!" she said, and pushed him hard. Mulder laughed, and rolled obligingly back up into the center of the bed. "You want me to tie you up? Fine, I'll tie you up! You're fucking crazy, Mulder! *Damn* you." She crawled over him roughly, went down on one shoulder with her ass in the air, fishing around near the floor for the other restraint. Mulder was laughing harder, the damn idiot. "Damn you, Mulder!" she said again. Then the shackle was in her hand, and without letting herself stop to think, she grabbed his wrist. He didn't resist at all. She slid the cuff around his wrist, and pulled the strap tight. Buckled it. Sat back on her heels and looked at Mulder. She was breathing hard. He wasn't. He was just looking at her, watching her face with quiet, rapt attention. That look again. It unnerved her. "My god, you actually did it!" he said reverently. And he smiled. "Happy?" she snapped. "Well, I don't know yet. What are you planning to do with me?" Scully's throat knotted. "Oh my god," she muttered under her breath, and stared at him. Mulder. Lying there on the bed, with his arms spread-eagled. Helpless. Bound. Smiling at her. It was just like one of her nightmares, except for the smile. And the hot, vulnerable look in his eyes. "I'm in your hands," he said, very softly. "Do with me what you will." ... end of part 4