The Victorian Garden

8:00 P.M.

Dana Scully lay in her warm bed, between her beloved Wonder Woman sheets, drowsing as she held the small vial of jasmine-scented oil to her nose and inhaled. She dreamed she was in a large garden, full of sweet flowers and cool fountains, far, far away, from Mulder, the FBI, her cancer...

She felt as if she were a Victorian maid, in her long necked dark blue dress and sapphire earrings, pacing back and forth wringing a handkerchief nervously. She knew it was wrong to be here, to be waiting for this man. He had no rank, no prestige, no prospects for a husband. Just a servant boy, really. But under the long, proper dress, her body thrummed with arousal, sang with anticipation. And the thought that she might get caught, that Mulder might be hiding under that rose bush, or behind that statue only made her more excited.

Then she heard footsteps on the stairs and turned. She froze as she as she saw the animal glare of his jade-colored eyes, like a wild Siberian tiger. As he pulled her to him and kissed her, no, possessed her, his tongue penetrating her mouth, the smell of leather and sweat and maleness pouring off of him in waves, every cell of her body pulsated in waves of red light, of heat and wetness, pulsating, churning, beating, gasping.

This liar and this murderer forced her down on the stone bench, his hands ripping off her dress like she was nothing to him, just another woman in a string of many. Forcing her legs open, ripping the hundred-dollar silk underwear to shreds. She cried softly for him to let her go, but that only encouraged him, with an animal howl he pinned her motionless and entered her. Man and woman, joined together, as they have been every night since their creation.....

<Ok, I think our Scully has been reading too many romance novels. Let's move on.>

12:00 MIDNIGHT

Fox Mulder tossed his suit jacket over the chair and slumped down on the couch. His eyes closed, then opened again as he sighed in exhaustion. In Kansas, three murders had been committed, the bodies found covered with a thin green film. Tomorrow he'd ask Skinner for a travel authorization and he and Scully would go check it out.

Scully...

He smiled, softly imaging his partner, standing before him, dressed in white, her face like that of a Raphael Madonna. He saw her as he had once seen his mother, beautiful and beloved and above him, as the sun is above the earth, and yet devoted enough to let him revolve around her, to stand at his side, through thick and thin. Patient and sweet and he didn't deserve her...

It was true he had left her, as a child may stray to explore the big world, but he had always returned to her. It was true that hundreds of unnamed women had paraded across his television screen, but he could never love any of them. It was always her, his tiny sweet redheaded sanctuary whom he loved with all his heart.

<Um, Mulder, this is supposed to be an NC-17 piece, but thanks for sharing.>

2:00 A.M.

Alex Krycek stumbled half-asleep into the crumby little hole he currently resided in. He took off his leather jacket and flung it, not looking to see where it landed. He sat down on the military- issue cot and pulled the bottle of vodka out of the brown paper bag. He took a drink, then lay down and closed his eyes, the dark lashes fluttering against his tanned skin.

He hated his job. He hated his life. His mind softly imagined a vision from before his career had gone to hell. Mulder bringing him into the autopsy bay to meet Scully, him smiling at her in adoration. Her smiling back at Mulder and frostily ignoring him. A latex clothed Artemis in her stainless steel throne room.

Now, Mulder was different. Fox, indeed. Mulder was a rabbit. The very moment he had met him, he had smelled blood on him. A sweet copper sensation of vulnerability.

And never had the smell been so strong when he had kissed him, his cheek flinching slightly under his lips, the sweat glistening on his skin so suddenly, the combined bewilderment and sexual arousal apparent in his eyes, the picture of a man who has found that he has feelings for another man and is scared that he is not now the picture of authority that he feels he has to be as an American male.

In other words, Mulder had lost his feeling of power over him. But Alex was not satisfied at this. He lusted for more. He wanted to rub in Mulder's face, assert it in Mulder's skin.

And so he dreamed now of lying Mulder down on one of the stone benches, dreamed of rubbing his golden head over Mulder's pale, bare back, Mulder moaning in humiliation,but at the same time arching his back and encouraging him farther and farther....

The Bible speaks of the promised land as a land flowing with milk and honey. And now honey flows into milk, under the sweet scented apple branches, and it as sweet as promised, and as Alex runs his hands over Mulder's own genitals, he lets a soft sweet howl..and Alex smiles because he knows he is enjoying it, and...

<Beautiful, beautiful, Alex, but I can't write anymore.>

What?

<It's midnight, handsome. I'm going to bed. We'll play with Mulder another day.>

After all that beautiful poetry we shared? Well, here. For warm hearts and sweet dreams.

He holds the bottle of Stoli to my lips like he is feeding an infant, and his warm amber fire slides down my throat, and I sigh and slip into a warm and deep sleep.