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JUST SAY YES   (9/10) 
jeylan@earthlink.net  
This story is rated R  -- See part 1 for headers and warnings.
*NO ARCHIVE* except by request.
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Why wasn't he reaching for her?  Couldn't he feel her 
anticipation?  A sick chill settled down through her gut.  What 
if he didn't actually want her?  What if he'd kissed her only 
because he was horny and stoned, and nothing happening tonight 
meant anything by daylight?  What if she touched him, and he let 
her, and then it fucked everything up?

Scully breathed out, long and slow, counseling herself not to 
panic, and concentrating instead on Mulder's huge feet flung out 
in front of them.  They were very nice feet.  In fact, the more 
she looked at them the more she wished she could crawl right down 
and wrap her arms around his legs and lay her cheek against those 
feet.  She was going to do just that, she was just getting ready 
to do that, and then Mulder rubbed his crossed ankles one against 
the other, and all she could do was stare, transfixed.  

There was something very significant about the shape of his feet, 
in his black dress socks.  How had she never noticed before the 
exquisite rising curve of his instep?  Warm stockinged man feet, 
hardwood floor, candle light.  Jazz.  Something indefinable and 
profound, slipping stealthily in between the cracks of reality.  
Wood.  What an amazing thing, wood...when you stop to think about 
it.  And music.  A single pure phrase of music carried her up so 
sweet she forgot everything else and just rose up with it like 
flying.  

Lifting the pipe to her lips again, and grinning like an idiot to 
herself, sharing the secret of the gold, gold shimmering 
shininess of that one lucid note until the phrase fell down into 
dusky purple, and silken grey, she knew with clarity that Mulder 
could feel it too.  Mulder could hear the secrets between the 
notes.  She was sure of it. He'd let his head fall back, and his 
eyes had drifted closed, so she looked up at his face.  She 
shifted her focus slowly, letting her eyes drag along his body as 
she went.  Hip bone, the place where thigh met hip.  That was 
nice.  The rise and fall of his breath.  The shape of his ribs.  

And then she came to the long curve of his throat, and the pulse 
at the base of his neck, and she was captivated.  She studied it.  
Salty soft place, very kissable.  Hungrily, she kept very still, 
and watched it flutter.  She could see the light resting on his 
skin like a radiance, a clinging halo, and slowly she understood 
that there was light *inside* his skin, also.  If you knew how to 
look.  In fact, if she looked very patiently she could see the 
hidden whispering of his cells as they vibrated together, telling 
each other the mysteries of his body, the enigma of his soul.  He 
was alive.  She could watch the pulse of his blood through his 
veins, and the firing of his nerves.  

And she was in awe.

It was as if all the veils were drawn away, and she really saw 
him for the first time.  Saw him for himself, for what he 
actually was.  A living being.  *Mulder.*  He was animate, and 
brimming with passion -- aware of the world around him and the 
stars overhead and all manner of things arcane and hidden.  
Mortal, yet unafraid to storm the halls of heaven.  Not just a 
body, but a being -- with thoughts in his head, worlds in his 
mind, his brain wracked and bubbling over with dreams and 
nightmares and mysteries and monsters.  And love.  And 
compassion.  And all the kindly gentle-hearted things that make 
up a Human being.  

She stared, and stared, and the certainty of it hit her hard 
between the eyes, half bowled her over.  Migod, why had she never 
noticed before?  It was so obvious!  

*Mulder was god.*  

His face was only a mask, a vessel for cosmic light.  What was it 
Carl Sagan used to say?  We are star-stuff.  We are the 
Universe's way of looking at itself.  All the gods in all the 
books were only fossilized, deceptive, decaying excuses for 
divinity, next to this, next to the pureness of the light that 
poured out of Mulder.  Even in repose he was burning, on, 
radiantly intense.  Overflowing and pulsing and defiant with 
life.  She could see it in his skin, and in the shimmering breath 
that moved in and out of him.  He was better than a god. 

Because he was breathing, and that made the difference.  Breath 
is the real essence of divinity, when you think about it.  Breath 
is a remnant of infinity.  Gods are only ideas that turned 
stagnant.  Mulder had ideas of his own.  And Mulder had free 
will.

She looked at him.  And blinked.  And realized she was seeing his 
soul -- the part of him that was eternal, and she felt dizzy, 
felt she might fall in -- 

"Oh, god, I think I'm really stoned," she muttered, not noticing 
she spoke aloud.

Mulder turned his head.  Opened his eyes.  "What?" he asked, 
softly.  

"Fox," she said, "migod, Fox."  And he did that thing he did, 
that nervous, shivery thing, and his eyes focused differently.  
And she understood briefly that however much he may have 
protested, he'd actually been waiting for her to call him by his 
real name.  Which was too bad, really, because she liked calling 
him Mulder better, and she didn't even know why she said Fox in 
the first place, but this wasn't the time to think about it.  It 
was just a slip, and her mind left it quickly behind, racing on, 
stumbling and rushing.  

"Migod, Mulder, I think you're god."  She barely whispered the 
words, just the slightest sub-vocalized friction of sounds.  She 
went on staring at him, just stared and stared. "You're god," she 
said more distinctly.  

His eyes were wide, dilated, dark and made up.  Focused on her.  
He was impossibly real, more than three dimensional.  The makeup 
and skin and Mulder-name were only trivialities, transitory 
shadows laid over the liquid, burning potency of what he was.  

"What?"  He frowned and smiled and chuckled, all at the same 
time.  "What did you say?"

With an effort, in a husky voice, she said, "Migod, Mulder, you 
have the most innocent eyes I ever saw.  Do you know that?  Did 
anyone ever tell you that, huh?  I don't think I ever knew anyone 
so innocent.  Your eyes scare me sometimes."  

"Scare you?  Why?"

"Your soul is in your eyes.  Adults aren't like this, Mulder.  
They're not, they're not.  You can't just go around like this!  
Other people don't let their soul pour out their eyes, not like 
you do.  Why do you do this, huh?  Don't you know they can hurt 
you if you do this?  God, I look in your eyes, and I don't know 
how you face the world every day.  How do you look out through 
those eyes?  Aren't you scared, huh?  God, god, I look in your 
eyes, and all I want to do is to hold you really tight, and 
protect you from everything because you are so fucking innocent, 
and ..."

"Hey, hey."  Mulder reached for her hand, and she pulled it away.  
"Innocent?" he asked, watching her withdrawn hand.  "What are you 
talking about, innocent?"

Scully looked down, too.  And stopped and stared open-mouthed at 
the air.  The air between them was moving, shifting, wiggling.  
All the little air-energies were very busy connecting everything, 
like ligaments.  Like nerves.  Drawing everything together into a 
single collusion, weaving a weft that included her and him and 
the rest of the Universe all into the same thing, the same fabric 
of energy.  The same conspiracy.  All breathing together.  And 
the air was glowing, just slightly.  

Oh, great.  First Mulder in the role of god, and now she was 
seeing the little energy beings that live invisible in the air.  
And they were glowing.  Very animate.  

"Mul-der," she breathed out nervously, raptly.  "Do you see?"  
She was watching the way the air lit up, near his hand.  Reaching 
out, carefully, tentatively, she combed her fingers through the 
glow, and swirled it around her fingers, and let it clot on her 
hand.

Mulder was watching her carefully.  He smiled.  Then he raked his 
own hand through the air.  The energy collected on it in a 
shimmering haze, and, reaching out, Mulder smeared it like a 
tickle over the skin of her arm, and Scully gasped.

"Can you feel that?" he whispered.  He wasn't touching her.

"Yes," she moaned, softly.

"Lay back," he said.  And he waited, watching hotly, while she 
settled deeper into the pillows.  He helped her tug a pillow more 
comfortably under her neck, and tucked the corner of another 
pillow to support her shoulder.  

She watched him.  His eyes were very dark and focused.  He 
smoothed his palms dryly against each other, and then soothed his 
hands through the air, gathering energy glimmer like static on 
his skin.  "Ready?" he murmured.

And he leaned forward, and cupped the crown of her head with his 
hands.  He didn't actually touch her, just held his hands near 
enough to let the energy between his palms radiate into her 
scalp.  She gasped, and closed her eyes.  

He hovered his hands there for a long time, touching her not at 
all, or just grazing her hair with his hands, and the pulse of 
brilliant energy grew in her head.  Then he slid his hands down, 
crossing one hand over the other, palm against back of hand, 
focusing above her forehead, between her brows.  The light glowed 
between her eyes, filling her.  Scully had never imagined 
anything like this.  Then one finger strayed down the slope of 
her nose, tickling the air above the tip, and the pulse of light 
moved there.  It felt silly, and sensual.  "What are you doing?" 
she breathed.

"Sshh.  Jin Shin," he said.  "Just relax."

"Jin Shin?"

"Energy balancing.  I've been wanting to try it."

"Oh."  

The energy tickled down over her lips, her chin.  And then his 
hands rested again, floating over her throat.  She could feel the 
heat radiating from his skin, and she ached for him to touch her.  
But, at the same time, she could feel the energy itself, the 
pureness of it, flowing into her, through her.  Like being washed 
through with light.  And from her throat, it flowed up into her 
head, and down into her heart.

Mulder's hands followed the buzzing flow of energy, as if by 
instinct or some sixth sense, down to the center of her chest, 
between her breasts.  "Mul-der," she protested again.

"Does this feel good?"  He was speaking very softly, breathing a 
little fast.  His hands shook as he permitted them a brief 
detour, suggesting the shape of her breasts in the air, still 
without touching her.  

She gasped.  Felt her nipples stand tight.  "Yes," she hissed.

His hands moved lower.  Solar plexus.  He was starting to lose 
his resolve, now, breaking from his system and beginning instead 
to smear the radiant air all over her, into the hollows beneath 
her breasts, and above her hips, sliding one hand far up to 
caress the air at the curve of her neck.  He never actually 
touched her, but with her eyes closed she could feel everything.  
She squirmed slightly.

"This is balancing my energy?"   Her voice was rough and 
breathless.  She was becoming almost agonizingly aroused.

"Well ... uh ...  Do you want me to stop?"

She made a gurgling noise in her throat.  "No!" she said thickly.  
Mulder grinned a goofy grin.

"OK," he murmured.  "I won't stop."

And his hands slipped lower again, coaxing flame into her belly.  

Scully moaned.  It was a low, animal moan, and the sound of it 
made Mulder gasp.  

He gave up entirely on the protocols of Jin Shin, and began to 
rub frankly and steadily at the flaming fire of her aura, 
directing every hot vital vibration he could summon right down 
through his own hands, through the soul-space of air that 
separated them, and into her body.  Scully began to writhe.  
Slowly.  Sweetly.  Very prettily.

"D'ya like that, Scully?  Like that?  Huh?"

Deep and throaty, she groaned.  

A heat was rising up in her, up and up.  Her whole body was on 
fire, intensified by the elixir in her blood.  Her conscious mind 
slipped its grip, and her body began to soar, to throb, to wiggle 
of its own volition in response to Mulder's hands, and to the 
thought of Mulder -- and her hips rose up, bucking in slow 
motion, seeking the heat that hovered tantalizingly close, 
without touching.  It was as if ... as if...

Oh god!  The first spasms of her climax caught her off guard, the 
orgasm floating through her in rising waves, rising and rising, 
better and better -- Scully lost her head completely, and began 
to sob out loud.

Mulder watched her, wide eyed and rapt.  He wasn't touching her.   
Wasn't doing any of the many things he so much wanted to do.  He 
was only *thinking* his caresses, really, and yet she was 
responding as if ...  He gulped.  As if he were really making 
love to her.  She was crying out under his hands.  She had 
forgotten herself, forgotten the other people in the room.  Her 
head was thrown back, her mouth open, her hair a wild red riot 
fanned out across the pillows.  She was radiantly beautiful, 
sobbing her pleasure into the air as if they were alone in the 
room.  "Mulder!  God!  Mulder!" 

And the sensations just kept rising ... rising ...  Oh god, 
another orgasm --  Scully screamed, and Mulder clapped his hand 
over her mouth.  She sucked violently on his palm, and moaned, 
and bit, and he was quickly losing his grip, slipping his tenuous 
control.

"Scul-lee," he gritted through his teeth, pleading.  He wasn't 
sure what to do.

Scully, dimly, with some residual presence of mind, realized that 
although she had peaked again, if she didn't find some way to 
break this cycle she would rise to another orgasm, and another 
after that.  And this wasn't the right time.  In desperation, she 
grabbed blindly for Mulder's hand, caught it, and slapped his 
palm down hard between her legs.  Holding his hand there, she 
sighed and went limp.  

Mulder was electrified.  The heat and pulsing of her sex streamed 
right through his blood, hitting his groin with a force that 
threatened to make him cream his jeans, and the damp, hot 
intimacy of the contact unhinged something in his mind, in his 
heart.  But Scully was quiet, now, relaxed under his hand.  She 
was grounded by his touch -- until, reflexively, he squeezed her.  
He squeezed her hard, and she moaned, arched up against his 
fingers.  Her eyes flicked, half opened and half rolled up again, 
and she slapped at his hand, pressing it firm and still against 
her body.  "Wait," she breathed out shakily, "wait."

Mulder's breath was ragged, but he made his fingers relax their 
grip.  Scully's body loosened, and laid back.  She was still 
breathing hard.  Then, slowly, she looked at him, dark eyed and 
electric, and he moaned and started to lean towards her.  

He caught himself.  "Scully, what the hell happened?" he asked, 
plaintively, in a rough whisper.

"I had an orgasm," she whispered back.

"You --"  Mulder's voice squeaked. "You --"

"In fact, I had *two*."

"Wow!  Scully, I ...  *Wow.*"

"I told you, Mulder, you're god."

"Oh, I am, am I?"  His voice was shaking.  "That's pretty cool.  
Will I still be god tomorrow, Scully?"  

She pulled him down on beside her, and snuggled into the hollow 
of his neck.  "I doubt it."

"Oh.  Oh well.  I guess that means I better make love to you 
tonight, huh?"  He sounded hopeful.  And shy.

Scully felt a pulse of pure, electrical joy, and her heart raced.  
"Yep.  I guess that's what it means," she said, in a small voice.  

"Deal?"

"Deal." 

They hugged each other, protectively.  

"But not on the floor like this, OK?"  She cracked a lazy eye, 
contemplating the situation on the couch.  Bradley and Justin 
were snuggling innocently and talking, and she noticed that they 
were very carefully looking the other direction. 

"Mmmm," he agreed, nuzzling his face in her hair.  

Then for a long time, it seemed like hours, they just rested 
there quietly, tangled up with each other, listening to jazz, and 
the music of each other's hearts. 




... end of part 9