YULETIDE SATERNALIA 01

TITLE: Mona Lisa Smile
AUTHOR: Vyper
E-MAIL: vyper@populli.net
SERIES/SEQUEL: 1st story in the Yuletide Saternalia series
PAIRING: Mulder/CSM.
RATING: NC-17
SPOILERS: None. Takes place prior to Tooms (season 1)
SUMMARY: A video store encounter leads Mulder on an
incredible journey to a life without limits, without
boundaries.
ARCHIVE: Yes to WWOMB, CKoS, DitB, Slashing Mulder
WARNING: This story (and ones to follow) contains sexual
practices that may be considered unsafe by some. Remember
this is fiction/fantasy, therefore reality doesn't always
apply, especially if it gets in the way of a really hot sex
scene, so I've been told.<g> [waves to Jax]
DISCLAIMER: Bertina owns Starlight Studios and Ramrod
Stevens and graciously allowed me to use them. You can read
her fic, Porn Star, here:
https://www.squidge.org/~vyper/BertiesFics/PornStar.htm
CC & 1013 own anyone else you recognise. I own those you
don't.
NOTES: Many thanks to Bertina and Chad for putting the
initial idea for this series into my head. It turned out
vastly different from the smutty PWP I had in mind, but this
is where the boys insisted on going. Who am I to argue? <g>
Thanks also to Medusa for beta duties and Lukerqueen for her
very kind words and encouragement.
MORE NOTES: This story started life as just a very brief
flashback scene in a much longer fic. It kept nagging at me
to be expanded and even demanded its own title. So, for
better or worse, here it is.

All my stories can be found at:
https://www.squidge.org/~vyper/VyperFic/

***

MONA LISA SMILE
By Vyper

March, 1994

I remember the first time I saw Cupid as if it was
yesterday. I was leaving the Hoover building on my way to a
midday meeting with one of my anonymous contacts. Coming
into the lobby was a typical tour group comprising tourists
with cameras and Camcorders, family groups with frolicking
children, couples holding hands and a few singles.

One young man had drifted away from the group. He was down
on one knee as if in the act of proposing to his invisible
sweetheart. It wasn't til I passed him that I saw he was
tying a shoelace that had come loose. He wore an old black
leather jacket and faded blue jeans. The denim was so tight
it looked painted on. His head was bent over, longish dark
brown hair covering part of his face. I barely glanced at
him, not wanting to be late for my meeting. By the end of
the day I'd totally forgotten about him.

Or at least I *thought* I had.

That night, in the adult section of my local video store, I
met the man who totally and irrevocably changed my life. It
was the first time I had ventured into the gay section, my
usual haunt being amongst covers depicting surgically
enhanced peroxide blondes who looked as if they came
straight from the set of Baywatch and where the female of
the species outnumbered the men by at least three to one.

A cover showing a muscular and tanned twenty-something
kneeling between some stud's hairy legs had caught my eye,
attracting me like a magnet. He was naked except for a
studded leather collar around his throat. I could only see
him in profile, his face mostly obscured by damp, chestnut
brown hair, but he immediately reminded me of the good-
looking guy I had seen earlier that day.

The title, something corny and cliched like 'Ramrod Rims
Rio' was displayed at the top of the cover. Under it, in
scrawling neon pink, was 'starring Ramrod Stevens'.

I didn't notice that there was someone standing next to me
'til we both reached for the same case. Our fingers touched
and a jolt of static electricity and white-hot heat raced
from his fingertips straight to my cock. I had never felt
anything like it before. My pulse quickened, my temperature
soared and my whole body tingled.

I looked up at the tall stranger who had caused my instant
erection. His face, lined with age yet handsome, was calm
and relaxed, giving no hint of what effect, if any, I was
having on him. Full lips were parted slightly as if still
grasping the cigarette he held in his right hand.

Seemingly of its own free will, my gaze travelled downwards.
Immaculately tailored pants couldn't hide a rather
impressive bulge and my legs nearly turned to jello.

Neither of us wanted to relinquish our hold on the case as
it was the last copy available. After taking a long drag on
his cigarette, he peered down at me and said, "Seems like we
both want the same thing."

I stood stunned and speechless, breathing in the menthol-
scented smoke he slowly exhaled in a cloud around my head.
I'd given up smoking a couple of years previously and never
missed it but right then I craved a cigarette like a
starving man craves food.

"You have what I want," he continued in a deep, rumbling
voice. He brushed his fingers across my cheek. The
smoldering tip of his cigarette hovered just below my eye,
so close that I stopped breathing out of concern that any
voluntary movement would bring it in contact with my flesh.
However, I couldn't stop the involuntary movement associated
with protecting such a vital organ. My eyes closed of their
own accord, lashes resting against skin that was getting
hotter by the second.

My whole body trembled, whether from fear or excitement or
both, I don't know and I could feel tiny droplets of
perspiration forming on my brow. I was scared but not
terrified as I probably should have been, given my life-long
pyrophobia. Deep inside, I knew this mysterious stranger
wasn't going to burn me. I knew it like you know your own
name and birthday. He was testing me, determining that I
really did have what he wanted.

To an outsider it must have looked like an act of sadism.
But I knew different. He wasn't a cruel person. Any cruelty
was totally unintentional on his part. There was no way he
could have known that I hated fire, was scared to death of
it. Would he have still done it had he known? I can't say
for sure, but I'm almost certain the answer would have been
yes. My fear of fire would have been the icing on the cake,
taking a simple test of my pain threshold to a much higher,
much more dangerous level.

Would I reveal my phobia to him? That question I can answer
without hesitation, without doubt. Yes, I would. And I did,
just minutes after he had taken my virginity. I looked
forward to telling him with almost child-like anticipation.
More than anything, I wanted to experience what he would do
with the knowledge.

We've been together three months now and he hasn't done
anything yet. Maybe he never will. I can't and won't ask. I
can only accept that he will do what he wants when he wants
without any consultation with me. He has proven time and
again that he knows what's best for me and I trust him. I
trust him with my life. Have done since the moment we met,
even if I wasn't aware of it then.

A whimper escaped my clenched lips. My hands had curled into
fists, nails digging painfully into the soft flesh of my
palms. My cock had gone completely limp, my arousal
extinguished like flames dowsed with water. My left cheek
felt like it was on fire. I swear I could smell singed hair
and scorched skin. Through it all, he was there, petting me,
calming me with soft caresses and even softer whispers.

"Shhhh, baby, it's okay. I'm here." And "Shhhh, it hurts, I
know." And "Shhhh, just a little longer, a few more
seconds." And "Shhhh, endure it for me, baby, just for me."

His thumb traced my mouth, firm flesh pressed against my
quivering lips. Pressing until I could deny him no longer,
pressing until I parted them just enough to allow him to
slip the tip of his thumb inside. I suckled on it, taking
the little bit of comfort he was offering. It didn't
distract me from the rapidly escalating warmth covering
half my face. In fact, the very act of suckling brought my
cheek momentarily closer to the burning tip. I was an active
participant in my very own trial by fire, but I couldn't
have stopped even if I had wanted to. The instinct to suckle
when distressed is one of the oldest of man's primitive
reflexes.

I doubt that anything could have numbed the pain, but it was
confirmation that, though he had no qualms about inflicting
pain, he would never leave me to deal with it alone. He
alone would hurt me, mark me and make me scream and he alone
would soothe me while I cried, tend my wounds as I healed
and hold me as I drifted off to sleep. He would instigate my
nightmares then comfort me with body massages and blowjobs.
He would flog my bare back raw and bloody with the thorn-
covered branch of a rosebush, then carry me to his bed and
lay me down amongst the richly scented petals for hours of
long, slow lovemaking.

Okay, maybe that last one was just a little melodramatic but
you get the idea.

A second after discomfort transformed into genuine pain, the
searing heat disappeared, replaced with moist coolness. He
kissed each eyelid, licking away the tears that had filled
my eyes with gentle sweeps of his tongue.

"Very impressive. Good control. Not perfect, but we can work
on that." His words were spoken so quietly, so matter-of-
factly, that I wondered if I had imagined them or perhaps
was hearing the audio from one of the many TV screens dotted
around the store. No, I'm positive I heard them. My brain,
confused and dazed by all that was happening couldn't, or
wouldn't, process the meaning of them. They were just
sounds, as unintelligible to me as Latin is to a first-
grader. In time, I would come to understand them, though it
would take me many months and many painful lessons to grasp
their true meanings and the ultimate consequences of what
was set in motion by a simple z-grade porn flick.

His thumb slipped from my mouth as he slid his hand down
towards my throat.

I opened my eyes but kept them downcast, my focus fixed on
the grimy floor in front his feet. Don't know why. It just
felt right.
 
His fingers were on either side of my Adam's Apple, resting
lightly over the two pulse points. With barely any pressure
at all, he could constrict my breathing. Fingers that only
moments ago had stroked me so tenderly could crush my
windpipe in an instant. I knew he was capable but would he?
And why did the thought of him doing it excite me so much?

Before I could stop it, my imagination took control. I could
see and feel what would happen so clearly it was like it was
really happening.

His grip slowly tightened, digging into the soft tissue
until I couldn't breathe. I didn't panic. I didn't struggle.
I stood perfectly still as a feeling of total contentment
washed over me.

"Look at me, baby."

My instant obedience was rewarded by the loosening of his
fingers, just enough to allow me to take the shallowest of
breaths. I didn't take one. I looked into his eyes. Hazel
eyes so much like my own, even down to the tiny specks of
gold and green, that it was like looking into a mirror at an
older version of myself. One of his eye-brows twitched in
surprise at my refusal to draw breath. I saw the look of
pride that lit up his features even as he once again
squeezed his fingers around my throat. Tighter this time, so
tight I was sure I was going to pass out.

*Don't panic. He won't want you if you panic.*

*That's right, Fox.*

Not even my thoughts were my own. He had access to and
ownership of my mind. Soon that would ext-

*Yes, Fox. First your brilliant, beautiful mind, then your
sweet, young body.*

Before I could even think the words, he was confirming them.

I kept my gaze locked on his face, his eyes, concentrated on
his scent, Old Spice, menthol and nicotine. I watched him do
what I couldn't. The rhythmic movements of his broad chest,
the quiet whooshing of life-sustaining oxygen being inhaled
and toxic carbon dioxide being exhaled. In, out. In, out.
In, out. They calmed me, forcing my panic back into a deep
sleep.

*I can do this,* I thought. *I want to do this. I need to do
this.*

I didn´t notice that my left hand had risen towards my
throat til I felt the fingers curl around his wrist. Panic
flared like a wild animal when I thought he might stop. That
was the last thing I wanted.

*Don't let go! Please, don't let go!*
 
He smiled down at me with such joy that I would have gladly
submitted myself to this a thousand times a day. Would have
willingly let him squeeze every last breath out of my body.

At the same as I uncurled my fingers from his wrist and
lowered my arm to my side, he delivered one last savage
contraction of his fingers, so brutal that I heard the
cartilage of my windpipe grate and grind, felt it crack and
crumble.

Consciousness was rapidly slipping away. I didn't have much
time left to show my gratitude.

"Thank you," I mouthed as darkness rushed toward me like a
winter storm. It didn't seem enough but it was all I had to
give him.

And then I died, with a smile on my face and the mother-of-
all hard-ons in my jeans. I hung limp and lifeless in his
strong arms as he traced the bruises on my throat, first
with his fingers and then with his lips. His sharp teeth
punctured my carotid artery and he suckled, draining all the
blood from my body. He placed bloodstained lips against my
cold, blue ones and french-kissed me for what seemed like
hours. When he was finally done, he lowered my corpse gently
to the floor and walked away.

"Yes, very impressive, indeed." His voice intruded into my
fantasy. His hand on my crotch shattered it.

I came out of the trance lightheaded, out of breath and
struggling to stay upright. I drew in great lungfulls of
air, fighting with all my might not to draw attention to us.

Fuck, that felt so fucking real, it was amazing. It was so
amazing that I didn't want to spoil things by analyzing it
to death, so I didn't.

While I was fantasizing about erotic asphyxiation, vampirism
and necrophilia, his hand had travelled from my throat to my
groin. Carnal contact lasted only a couple of seconds, but
it was so reminiscent of his hand squeezing my throat that I
nearly came right then and there. But I remained silent and
passive as he fondled me. My eyes, though filled with tears,
were once more locked on his.

This time, he didn't talk to me or attempt to soothe me. He
just stood there watching me with a weird Mona Lisa sort of
smile that was both cheery and menacing at the same time. It
scared me more than the burning cigarette.

He brushed his lips across mine, a fleeting moment of bliss,
a tantalizing promise of things to come. I tasted blood and
wondered if my fantasy was coming to life.

I sighed, exhausted beyond belief. Physically and
emotionally drained with absolutely nothing left in the
tank. Worse still, I knew there was a long, difficult
journey ahead of me. I also knew that rewards of
indescribable pleasure awaited along the way as well.

Another sigh was accompanied by a peculiar sense of ...
something. Not quite the sense of some hole or space inside
me being filled but close. Not exactly the sense of slowly
dissolving into absolute nothingness but that was there too.
It took me a while to identify the myriad of feelings
coursing through my mind and my heart and when I finally
did, they hit me like a sledgehammer between the eyes. At
the same time, it was as if a huge weight had been lifted
from my shoulders.

Realization.

He wanted me.

Acceptance.

I needed him.

Acquiescence.

Submission without protest.

I belonged with him. I had no say, no choice in the matter.
Fate or destiny or God or the Devil had already decided for
me. I wondered if the bride in an arranged marriage felt the
same way upon meeting her betrothed for the first time on
their wedding day.

*Do you take this man?* He escorts me down the aisle and I
float.

*In sickness and in health.* He guides me to my knees and I
tremble.

*For richer or poorer.* He holds my hand and I smile.

*To cherish and to keep.* He slips a ring of gold and
platinum onto my finger and I rejoice.

*Till death do us part.* He takes me in his arms and kisses
me and I weep.

I closed my eyes. I wanted to look at him, wanted to burn
his image forever on my retinas but I couldn't, I just
couldn't. I had this awful feeling that the very second I
said the words I had to say he would vanish, leaving me
totally alone and defenceless like a newborn baby in a harsh
cruel world.

"I'm yours." It was a statement of fact, simple and
undeniable. Saying it out loud didn't make it any less
terrifying.

He cupped my chin in his hand, drawing my head up and
backwards. "Open your eyes, baby."

Because this was real life and not fantasy, I struggled to
obey his command. Not because I didn't want to, but because
my eyelids were so heavy as if skin had somehow transformed
into steel.

"Open them."

It look the last little bit of energy I had but I finally
managed to comply. Our eyes met, our gazes locked. In that
instant I knew that what I both desired and feared was true.
Not only did I belong with him, I belonged to him. I was
his, in body, mind and soul and every other sense of the
word.

His hand moved behind my head, cradling it, as his long
fingers ruffled my hair. He placed a final, loving kiss in
the middle of my forehead. "Yes, you are. And, yes, I want
you. I have w-" His voice broke, revealing a tiny glimpse of
the lonely old man he was inside. When he resumed, his voice
was as strong as ever but still barely more than a whisper.
His confession was for my ears only. This touched me more
than all his kisses and caresses combined. "I have wanted
you all my life."

I wanted to kiss him, to take him in my arms and soothe his
hurts and fears as he had done for me, but I never got the
chance. He stepped back out of my reach, rejecting my touch,
rejecting me.

It wasn't til the bubble burst that I realized there had
even been one to begin with. It had surrounded us since our
fingers first touched, creating a universe for two, silent
and invisible to everyone else in the video store. Now, all
the people of the outside world came rushing back in.
Families and couples and singles, gays, bi's and straights,
voyeurs and bigots filled the store and the space around us.

"And, yes. I do have what you need." He took the video out
of my unresisting fingers, turned and strolled casually
towards the front of the store.

I remained where I was. The bizarre encounter had lasted no
more than thirty seconds. I still wasn't really sure what
had just happened. Was it a dream? A hallucination? Was it
real? Was he real? I didn't know. What I did know was that
I was so fucking aroused it was painful.

It was as if a maddening itch had overtaken my entire body
and he was the only one who could scratch it. As if he had
exuded some mysterious drug, something without taste, scent
or color. A drug that was instantly addictive and one that I
would do anything, pay any price, to get another fix.

I felt as helpless as a fish on a hook. I could struggle and
fight all I liked but it would do me no good. A trap had
been set. I had taken the bait.

From that moment on, the cigarette-smoking stranger held my
life in his nicotine-stained hands. They were large and
powerful yet amazingly soft and gentle, capable of
delivering pain and punishment as well as bestowing
incredible pleasure and kindness.

It didn't matter that I had never been with a man before or
that I had never even been slightly attracted to one of my
own gender before. It didn't matter that my mysterious
lover-to-be was easily old enough to be my father or that he
wasn't particularly physically attractive. He wasn't ugly
but he wasn't an Adonis either.

What did matter was that he owned me. I belonged to him now.
That was the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the
truth. So help me, God.

"What's your name?" he called out from the counter.

"Fox," I replied without hesitating in a loud confident
voice. There wasn't even the embarrassment I usually felt
about my first name. Hell, just last night I told Scully
that I even made my parents call me Mulder. She thought I
was joking. I wasn't. And there I was proudly shouting it
across a video store filled with strangers.

Oh Christ. He had me. He had me good.

THE END