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JUST SAY YES   (5/10) 
jeylan@earthlink.net  
This story is rated R  -- See part 1 for headers and warnings.
*NO ARCHIVE* except by request.
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Her mind reeled.  "Uh," she said, "uh."  She swallowed.  Her 
mouth felt very dry.  Too dry.  Cotton-mouth.  She tried to wet 
her lips, and Mulder made a very quiet sound like clearing his 
throat.  She stared at him.  Considered.  

"Mulder, how stoned are you?"

"Stoned enough," he said.  He looked at her closely.  "Not as 
stoned as you, probably."

She grimaced.  "OK, wise guy.  Twenty questions."

"OK."

"You have to tell the truth."

"Obviously."

She sort of knew what she really wanted to ask, but she couldn't 
just ask it right out like that.  Think, Scully, think.  It was 
really hard to think.  How was this even happening?  It was too 
unreal, too unlike anything she'd ever imagined.  Certainly not 
one of her fantasies.  She could still feel the adrenaline, from 
when he had joked about restraining her -- and the rising sense 
of panic -- the fear she'd felt at the prospect of seeing some 
face of Mulder she'd never seen before -- another face she'd 
never seen.  

"Aren't you scared?" she asked.  She was scared herself, and she 
wasn't even the one tied to the bed.

"I'm excited," he said.

"Is that a yes?"

"No."

"You're not scared?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm with you, Scully."  He said it like it was so 
obvious.  And he looked up at her with total trust, the 
blockhead.  With that same guileless openness that was always 
getting him hurt.  His whole life was one devolving fiasco of the 
beatings he took for his candor, and yet somehow he never seemed 
to develop any protective armor.  Not the way she did.  He just 
kept letting himself get hurt, and letting *her* be the one who 
always had to try to figure out how to protect him.  It made her 
furious.  

It made her want to kiss him. 

"Mulder, god damn you, I could walk right out and go back to the 
party and leave you lying here, you know!  I could go get a glass 
of ice water and pour it on your head!  I could --"  Strangely, 
he was laughing.  "You think that's *funny*?"

Mulder pulled a straight face.  "No," he said quickly, shaking 
his head.  "No, it's not funny."  But the smile began spreading 
across his face again anyway.  "It's not funny, it's -- Scully, 
if you could only see your face right now!  You won't do anything 
bad to me!  You couldn't hurt me if you tried, you don't have it 
in you.  I trust you *so much*.  God, Scully, do you have *any 
idea* what that means to me?"

She swallowed again.  Felt something lurch in her chest.  He was 
looking at her, and his eyes were dark.  Doting eyes.  She shook 
her head slightly, and made herself break the eye contact, glance 
away.  Before she fell in.  Before she gave away every secret in 
her soul.  

How could he lie here looking at her like this, when just a 
little while ago he'd been practically slow dancing with Bradley?  
When he'd kissed every man in the room?  When only this afternoon 
he'd been flirting with that Conwell bitch?  In fact, come right 
down to it, he'd been flirting pretty much non-stop since they 
started work that morning -- flirting with everything that moved, 
indiscriminately -- and now here he was, lying here in shackles, 
for crying out loud, looking at her like this.

"OK, so what is it with you and these guys?"  There it was.  The 
Question.  She blurted it out, and then almost held her breath.

"Huh?" he said.

"Mul-der!  You know what I mean!"

"No, I don't."

"Yes you do."

"Don't either.  Why don't you explain it to me?"

Oh shit.  He was baiting her.  Not making this easy.  Laughing at 
her, in fact.  Lying there, tied up, and yet still laughing at 
her just the way he always did.  "Damn you!" she said, and 
without stopping to think, she reached out and tickled him.  

"Aah!"  He almost screamed, tried to squirm away from her hands, 
and began giggling uncontrollably, and puffing, and turning red.  

This was fun.  She tumbled on top of him, falling down between 
his legs in her effort to get her hands on both sides of his rib 
cage at once, and Mulder was gasping, and giggling, and begging, 
and tossing underneath her.  "Stop, stop!  Oh, god, Scully, 
*please*!"

Oh shit, how totally unfair!  He couldn't tickle back, couldn't 
defend himself.  Instantly ashamed, Scully stopped, breathing 
heavy.  She picked herself up gingerly off his stomach, and 
lounged sideways, wrapping one knee over his knees, and resting 
her armpit against his opposite thigh.  "Now, are you gonna tell 
me what I want to know?" she panted.  

"Don't tickle me!  Don't tickle me!  Oh god!"  Mulder was still 
gasping, still red in the face, his face contorting.  She knew he 
was still flinching against the next attack -- the one that 
wasn't coming.

"It's all right, Mulder.  I'm sorry.  God, I'm really sorry.  
I'll untie you."

"Don't even *move*, Scully!"  His breath was hissing through his 
teeth.

She froze.  Giving him time to fight the tickle response back 
under control.  After a while, she said, "I'm not moving, Mulder.  
I won't do anything that tickles, I promise.  I'm just going to 
touch you.  All right?"  He gritted his teeth, and watched her 
warily through slitted eyes as she lowered the palm of her hand, 
and rested it on his solar plexus.  She pressed her hand on him 
firmly, the way her father and brothers used to do for her 
sometimes, when her tickle response got too high.  At the first 
touch he flinched again, and then she could feel him relax.  
"Better?" she asked.  

"Mmm."  The look in his eyes had changed.  But he was still 
watching her.  

"Do you want me to untie you now?"

"Not particularly."

Scully frowned.  "Enjoying this, are you?"  

"As long as you don't tickle me again."

This was dangerous territory.  Her hand was still on his solar 
plexus, and she was hyper-aware, suddenly, of the heat under her 
hand.  The rise and fall of his stomach muscles as he spoke.  And 
the heat of his thigh under her ribs.  It felt so good.  Maybe a 
couple more minutes wouldn't hurt anything.  Scully let herself 
relax a little.  She knew there'd been something she'd been 
trying to get out of him, before -- now what was it?  She was too 
fucked up to hold a train of thought.  Jeez.  "Answer my 
question, Mulder," she demanded.  It was a total bluff, banking 
on the likelihood that Mulder actually remembered what the 
question was.

"Me and the guys?" he said, with a nervous smile.

"Yep."  Bingo.  Mulder's memory was useful, even when he was 
stoned.

He shrugged, which was about the only movement he could make with 
his arms.  "They're my friends," he said.  

"You flirt with them."

"Well, yeah."  He said it in a tone like it went without saying.  
"I *like* to flirt, Scully."

"I've noticed," she said dryly. 

"I don't mean anything by it"

Ouch.  What did that mean?  She let it pass.  "You're close with 
them," she said.  And she wished it didn't have to come out 
sounding like an accusation.

"Yeah.  I love these guys.  I mean.  Scully --"  he tried to rear 
up on his elbows, gave up and flopped back down.  "Scully, try to 
understand.  I'm afraid I'm not going to explain this very well, 
but ... "  He bit his lip.  "There aren't all that many people I 
can really be myself with, Scully.  With straight men, it's 
always a competition.  They always have to prove something, show 
how macho they are -- 'cause if they feel like I've got one up on 
them, about *anything,* then that makes them feel little, because 
they know I'm weird.  People don't *think* I'm weird, Scully -- 
they *know* it.  And not very many red-blooded straight men are 
man enough to be friends with a nut-case like me, unless the 
lines are drawn excruciatingly clear -- with me always coming out 
on the bottom.  Even when nothing is said, it's still there.  Men 
size each other up --  I mean, who could take whom in a fight.  
Neanderthal shit.  You do know that, right?  It happens all the 
time, Scully.  And because I'm *weird*, I'm supposed to be low in 
the pecking order.  Can you understand what I'm saying?"

"God, Mulder."  She breathed out slowly, and had the sudden urge 
to hug him.  She massaged her hand against his abdomen instead. 

"And women --"  He cleared his throat.  "Well, you know how badly 
I can botch that up, if you give me half a chance.  I've got 
different problems with women, Scully.  I mean, sometimes I 
wonder why I can't be more -- confident -- I don't know.  Women 
can walk all over me, if I let them.  So I try not to let them.  
And with women, oh, god, you know how it is.  It's so hard to 
really be *friends* with a woman, because then all the other 
stuff ... comes up -- ah, comes into it, and --  That's why 
you're so important to me, Scully.  Because you're the best 
friend I've ever had.  Best female friend.  Best friend, period.  
You let me be so *open.*  I don't have to hide with you."  

"Thanks," she whispered.

"These guys?"  Mulder sounded musing, now.  "They don't put up 
with my crap.  They're like you in that way.  I need that.  I 
need people around me who can call me on my crap.  And believe 
me, they know *exactly* how 'weird' I am.  But there's no 
bullshit with them.  And they *never* get competitive.  Never try 
to put me in my place.  They don't have -- they don't have some 
blueprint in their heads that they expect me to live up to.  They 
know I'm weird, and they love me anyway.  That's why they're my 
friends, Scully.  Same reason you're my friend."

She took a second to digest that.  It rang true.  But not 
completely true.  The way they were so physical with him, the way 
he let them touch him.  The way he lit up when they touched 
him...  "Do you think Bradley's sexy?" she blurted, suddenly.

"*What?*"  

"Are you attracted to men, Mulder?  I -- I think maybe I already 
know the answer.  I just need to hear it, all right?"

Oddly, he started laughing again.  A nervous laugh, this time.  
"Scully, no," he said.  "You've got it wrong.  These guys --  
We --" he cast his eyes around the corners of the ceiling.  "We 
goof around, that's all.  No, Scully, I promise you.  I'm *not* 
attracted to men."

She raised her eyebrow, and stared him down.

"Well, hardly at all," he said.

"Was it sexy for you when you were dancing with Bradley?"  She 
searched eyes for the truth, daring him to look away.  

He swallowed.  She could hear it.

"Define 'sexy'," he said cagily.

"Did it turn you on?" 

Now he looked a little panicky, and the muscles of his jaw were 
working.  "Scully, god, I am so stoned.  I'm so stoned 
*everything* turns me on.  And I'm so scared if I talk about 
this, I'm going to explain it wrong, and you're going to get the 
wrong idea, and --"

"Did it turn you on?"

Mulder took a deep breath.  "Yeah," he said.  "Yeah, OK.  It 
turned me on.  I love dancing, Scully.  Bradley's a good dancer.  
And he -- he --" He cleared his throat.  "He's not afraid to show 
me that he finds me ... attractive.  And I enjoy that, all right?  
I'm a Human being, and I enjoy it.  I like being looked at.  Can 
you understand that?  Scully?"  His voice had dropped very soft, 
and husky.  She nodded, ever so slightly, holding his eyes.  "And 
you know what else turned me on, Scully?" he continued in the 
bedroom voice.  "It turned me on that you were watching us.  Did 
you realize that?"  He bit his lip.  "Dancing with Bradley is ... 
a turn on.  Yeah.  Sure.  Of course it's a turn on.  But do I 
find it *sexy*?  No."  

She studied his eyes, and found them clear.  Innocent.  Dilated.

"You wanna know what's sexy for me, Dana?"  His voice was almost 
a whisper.  She didn't blink.  Just stared at him.  "This is 
sexy," he said.  His breathing had speeded up.  

She felt that sick twisting starting up in her stomach again.  
"You like being tied up, Mulder?"  She could feel her lip curling 
when she said it.  Flinching away.  Not wanting to deal with 
this.  "After knowing what it feels like to be tied up for real, 
*this* is your idea of sexy?"

He chuckled.  "Hell, no.  I don't give a fuck about it, one way 
or the other.  It's talking with you that's sexy."  

She gasped, and saw him notice.  Saw the way his eyes flashed, 
looking at her.  

"Dana, you can tie me up any time you want, if that's what it 
takes to get your whole attention."

"Oh!"  She could feel the blush rushing up in her cheeks.  And 
there it was again, that goofy infuriating grin, stretching 
across his face.  Breathless at the edges this time.  "Goddam it, 
Mulder, don't tease me!"  Her hand shot out suddenly and jabbed 
at his ribs.  Fast tickle.  Mulder responded with a whoop, 
flinching away from her touch, gurgling deep in his throat, and 
pinkening.  His lips were stretched back off his teeth in a grin, 
and his eyes were shut. 

She could see the play of his muscles under his T-shirt, could 
feel the restrained strength of him tensing under her.  She could 
feel the electrical way his skin responded, the way he 
anticipated her touch.  And her eyes raked over his body, and 
stopped at the fullness between his legs.  

Shit.  Was he hard?  

Her own body was aroused, why shouldn't his be?  Maybe it was 
just the position that made the front of his jeans look so full.  
Or, if he *was* hard, maybe it was just from the weed.  Should 
she ask him?  Did she dare?  Or should she just reach out her 
hand ...?  Her heart beat faster at the thought.  She could touch 
him.  Anywhere she wanted.  Any way she wanted.  Mulder couldn't 
stop her.  He'd probably enjoy it.  He might even want it.  

For a few short seconds, the idea tempted her, and then she 
looked back up at his eyes.  His eyes were open, now.  He was 
watching her every move.  Trustful eyes, full of curiosity.  He 
was watching her blush, watching her stare at his crotch.  And 
maybe it was just because she was so stoned, but there seemed to 
be heat in his eyes.  

And she knew with sudden, absolute, and unshakable clarity, that 
this wasn't the way she wanted things to be between them.  This 
was nauseating.  She didn't want Mulder to be helpless under her 
hands.  Mulder, strapped motionless.  She wanted him moving.  
Wanted to watch him dance.  She wanted his hands, reaching for 
her.

"I'm going to untie you," she said flatly.

"OK."

She unbuckled his left wrist, and his hand went at once to her 
face.  Caressed her cheek.  Blushing furiously, she avoided his 
eyes, and reached for the other restraint.  The moment he was 
free, he grabbed her in a bear hug, and rolled her over.  She was 
too surprised to react, except for giggling, and the contact felt 
too delicious.  The strong sensuality of the high only served to 
heighten her usual, already very physical, response to Mulder.  
And she could feel his erection pressing against her hip.  

"Now it's your turn," he murmured in her ear.  

His breath was hot against her skin, and she froze.  This felt 
too incredible, she felt powerless to stop him -- to stop 
*anything* he wanted to do -- but the thought of the restraints 
made her rising excitement sour into fear.  

"No!" she whispered.  And the trance was broken, and she started 
struggling against him.  "No way!  Let me go!" she said, sharply.

He didn't.  What he did instead was to utter the very worst two 
words of Scully's life.  "You scared?" he whispered, lightly 
mocking, with his mouth still next to her ear.  And the fight 
went out of her. <You scared.>  The words which had haunted her, 
goaded her, dogged her footsteps.  <You scared.>  The two words 
that got her in worse trouble than any others.  The words her 
brothers had used to taunt her with when they were kids, until 
they realized that Dana Katherine Scully would not be caught dead 
being *scared* of anything.  And after they understood their 
power, they'd played it to even better effect.

"No, I'm not scared!" she snapped.  Feeling twelve years old.

"OK, then."

As if from outside her body, she watched Mulder lift her left 
wrist.  Bind it.  And then the right.  He did it with a far-away, 
mesmerized look in his eyes.  She could feel her heart thumping 
very hard, her breath choking in her throat.  Suddenly she was 
gasping, in danger of hyperventilating.  She couldn't breathe, 
but wouldn't let herself cry uncle.  

She didn't have to say anything.  Instantly, Mulder was holding 
her.  Enfolding her.  Cradling her tenderly, more tenderly than 
she would have thought possible, for him.  And he was stroking 
her hair, her face.  Cooing to her.  "Hey, hey, relax.  Dana, are 
you all right?  Relax, sweetie.  It's just me, here, remember?"  
And his body felt warm and good against hers.  And she *hated* it 
that she couldn't put her arms around him, even though some tiny 
little honest voice in the back of her mind informed her that if 
she could have, she wouldn't've anyway.  But it felt amazing for 
him to hold her like this.  To be held by Mulder, and not 
responsible for anything.  Just to be helpless, with Mulder 
holding her.  She started to breathe again.

"Better?" he asked, lifting his head up to look at her.  "You 
going to be OK, now?  Just for -- five minutes?  Or do you want 
me to let you go right now?"

"Five minutes is OK," she mumbled, trying very hard to sound like 
it was no big deal.  

"Good."  He sat up, and she realized suddenly that he was 
actually sitting on her.  He was kneeling, so that part of his 
weight was on his own knees and heels, and part was across her 
pelvis.  His inner thighs were warm against either side of her 
ribs.  Weird and intimate to lie here, looking up at Mulder, with 
her arms spread out like this, wondering what he was planning to 
do.  Knowing she couldn't begin to predict what that head of his 
might dream up.  She looked up at him, and knew he saw the fear 
in her eyes.  Tried to hide it.  Knew she wasn't succeeding. 

She might have expected him to gloat, or tease.  She certainly 
would have expected he'd be enjoying himself, that he'd be 
getting off on this situation.  But to her surprise he didn't 
seem to be enjoying it at all.  In fact, he looked distressed.  
He was watching her very carefully.  "This feels really weird," 
he whispered in a choking voice, sounding like he was almost 
going to cry.  "It feels weird to see you like this."

She snorted.  "Tell me about it."

Mulder put his hand on her stomach, stroking in the curve of her 
side, near her hip.  A slow, rhythmic, soothing caress, just 
smoothing his fingers.  "You gonna be all right?" he asked, 
pitifully.  

And all at once she *was* all right.  Mulder wouldn't hurt her.  
She knew that.  God, of course she knew that.  "Yeah, I'm fine.  
It's -- it's not you, Mulder.  It's -- this just brings back 
memories, you know?  I mean, this isn't a trust thing.  I trust 
you.  It's not that.  It's really just a -- a physical reaction.  
I just don't like it, that's all."

"I'll let you go."  His voice sounded so deflated.

"No, I'm all right," Scully heard herself saying.  "Really.  Five 
minutes, remember?"  They looked at each other.  Mulder seemed to 
be hesitating.  "Bad time to turn back, Mulder.  It's better to 
face things."  Scully's own decision surprised her, but it came 
rising up from deep inside, and she trusted it.    

Mulder sucked his lower lip, and nodded.  "Yeah, good for you," 
he said.  "I think you're right.  OK.  I'll make this easy.  One 
question."

"Shoot."

"What did you feel when you saw me dancing with Bradley?"

Shit.  "Hell of a question, Mulder."

His face relaxed back into a smile, and he reached out to smooth 
her hair away from her cheek.  "My specialty," he whispered, 
trailing his fingers down her face, around behind her ear, on 
down the side of her neck.  His touch was hot, arousing, and very 
distracting.  His dark eyes were gentle, now.  She heard him 
swallow.  "Come on, Dana.  I told you stuff."

The scene with Mulder and Bradley dancing was playing already, on 
her internal eye.  Had been playing there more or less 
continuously, in fact, on some sort of track-two repeating loop, 
ever since the event itself.  She didn't even have to close her 
eyes to see it, to see the way Mulder's hips swayed at counter 
point to Bradley's, the seductive way they moved, brushing 
lightly against each other's bodies, swaying with the music.  
Like they were connected by some invisible energy that moved 
through both of them.  Like they were alone in the world.  Like 
she was nothing, and no one.  

Her eyes closed, trying to blot it out -- but she came up against 
the image again inside her eyelids.  "I hated it," she whispered, 
dryly.

Mulder was silent for a second.  "What you felt was -- hate?" he 
asked in a studiously neutral tone.  A damn psychologist's 
question -- don't think she didn't notice.  

"No," she said carefully.  "I felt -- it was so sexy to watch, 
Mulder, you have no idea, but it made me so jealous I hurt."  
Mulder breathed in deep through his nose, and she saw his chest 
lift, his pecs fill out.  Something in his eyes grew darker and 
hotter.  "Is that disgusting of me?  Mulder?"

"Of course not!"

"Then why do I feel so disgusted with myself?"

"I have no idea.  But I know if I saw you dancing like that with 
a woman, I'd feel -- probably about the same way.  So don't worry 
about it."

She thought of his porn.  "You like watching women together, 
Mulder?  Does that turn you on?"

"Yeah, sure it does.  Don't you enjoy watching men together?"

"I don't know.  I think I haven't decided yet."

All the while they'd been talking, he'd been continuing to stroke 
her hair, her shoulders, her waist.  She was starting to feel 
relaxed.  Starting to not mind this so much.  His body was warm 
and heavy across her pelvis, and she felt protected between his 
thighs.  Right now, his hand was on her ribcage, near her left 
breast.  Not quite near enough ...  

It was such an easy thing.  Before she was quite aware of what 
she did, it was already done.  So simple just to shift the angle 
of her torso very slightly so that the underside of her breast 
bumped lightly against Mulder's roving hand.  She knew it would 
happen, but the contact still surprised her.  They both froze.  

Slowly, deliberately, he looked directly down at her breasts.  
One corner of his mouth quirked in a smile, and Scully held her 
breath.  Ever so slightly, he bumped the edge of his hand against 
her breast again.  On purpose.  Not much.  But enough to let her 
know he knew.  He knew it hadn't been an accident, that she'd 
wiggled because she wanted to.  And he also knew she wasn't 
wearing her bra.  He knew.  She was sure he knew. 

Scully blushed, and felt her breath grow quick.

"OK, you've answered my question," Mulder said, slowly.  

There was a dangerous sparkle in his eye.  "I wonder if I should 
let you up now?  Or not?  What do you think?  Maybe I should 
tickle you first -- turn about *is* fair play you know."  He made 
as if he meant to tickle her, and she gasped.  

"Oh, please don't!"

"You tickled me!"

"That was different!"

Mulder laughed.  "It always is, Dana," he said.  "It always is."  
Then he just looked at her, very long, and strangely, and he 
swallowed.  Was he blushing?  "I better let you go," he mumbled.  
Leaning forward, he reached for one of the restraints.  Scully 
felt a wash of emotions, so strong they were almost physical 
sensations.  A weird, heady mix of relief and disappointment, and 
an overwhelming sensuality.  A desire to be touched.  Despite 
herself, she almost moaned.  Everything in her that had been 
damped down, like a claustrophobic drawing inwards to make it 
through an elevator ride, was now surging up again.  She felt 
almost giddy as he reached for her wrist, and almost ready to 
cry.  

Mulder slid the strap from the buckle that secured it, but 
stopped just short of unhooking the pin.  "On the other hand ..." 
he murmured, throatily.  "While the advantage is still mine ..."

And he leaned nearer, and put his tongue in her ear.   




... end of part 5