TITLE: Butterfly Dreams (2/?)
RATED NC-17 (Chapter 1) | | X-files M&S Angst
Author: Darshann 
Repost?: After complete, definitely, just keep it intact with all 
installments and with my name on it,please! 
Spoilers: Everything up to mid-Season 7 is fair game

Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully and the X-files are not mine, thank you 
so much CC for creating them. The rest of this story and it's 
characters belong to me However, if the people of the X-files 
should ever stumble upon this story and like it, take it and use 
it. Just let me bring GA some coffee between takes :)

Summary: M and S explore the world of dreams both individually and 
in reference to a case involving a series of strange deaths and 
discover some things about themselves they may not be ready to 
know.


>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>


[Chapter 1]


I feel the weight of his arm wrapped around me. The gentle 
warmth mingling with my own. Safe. Before my eyes even 
flutter open to glance at the clock; wondering how long 'til 
my daughter bounces into our room to rouse us from this 
silent Sunday reprieve; before this tender moment of waking 
in my husband's arms dissipates into the day's 
responsibilities; I swim lazily beneath the shelter of my 
eyelids in the half-awake world of shadows and sounds. 
Stretching back into the night's final dream. Drowsily 
retracing the half-remembered footsteps through the 
shimmering world I dance in before dawn.

I had been there again. The recurring dream where I exist 
without this safety that cradles me in this bed. Where my life 
is defined by a quest only half my own. The world filled with 
fear and suppressed longing. Where Emily is dead and I 
never truly knew her shining love. A nameless evil pressed 
forever under the skin at the nape of my neck.

Before there had even been dreams of myself in the hospital. 
Where I was dying because of this crusade. Dying for 
reasons I could not understand. Grappling with my own 
mortality. Letting no one in to comfort me, no one to hold 
me close. Not even him. Not even Fox. For he is always 
there too. But in the dreams it is different. He is my partner, 
my friend. It is his crusade that has become mine. But in the 
dream, I am afraid. Afraid of breaking rules, taking risks. 
Afraid to love him. Though I do love him. Deep down, 
underneath the charade of a strong independent woman who 
needs no one to make it through life. Under the thick ice that 
surrounds me, protects me. 

I wonder at the meaning of the dreams.

This last one was another crazy case that we investigated 
under the guise of Bureau business. The facts so utterly 
ridiculous, they again defy belief. I wonder if being a FBI 
agent is anything as interesting, exciting, terrifying, and 
maddening as it is in my dreams of being one. In the dreams, 
my medical expertise is only an aside. The weapon I bring to 
the game board. Strange. I think back on a moment in time 
when I met with a FBI recruitment team while I was in 
medical school. If these dreams are any indication, I am glad 
for the road I chose then. I am happy as a family doctor, even 
if some days are without the excitement of an ER or a 
forensic team on a murder case. I enjoy watching families 
grow up and helping them to remain healthy. 

I did not enjoy the dream with snakes that's for sure. 
Snakes. A case about snakes and the preachers who somehow 
controlled them. I shudder under the covers as I recall the 
feel of my hand touching the scales of a coiled rattler. The 
hot breathe of the fanatical preacher on the back of my neck 
as he presses me to the cages. My suppressed wonder mixed 
with fear and loathing as I realize the snake hasn't struck. Isn't 
going to strike. Wondering if this somehow marks me in the 
eyes of God. God. The only allowance for support I have in 
these dreams is my faith. A commonality with my true self. 
Though in the dream, it is only touched upon in moments. 
For I always feel I must be so strong. Super-human, in fact. 
Letting no one ever see me as vulnerable or fragile.

In this last dream, we had been looking for Samantha again. A 
constant theme that has always been present. His search for her, 
his major driving force, at least until now. Though I don't know 
why this would be in my dreams. Samantha has always seemed little 
more than a side thought in the Mulder family. She rarely visits 
or even calls. I would bet money Emily wouldn't even recognize her 
aunt. Fox often jokes that he has no sister, though we still 
receive the odd postcard. Always from some strange corner of the 
world.

Perhaps it is my fear of not being able to cope or even 
survive losing Fox, losing Emily. Us both losing everyone we care 
about. My fear of being alone. Even my fear of Fox in pain. 
Helpless to take it away. And yet, in these dreams, I am alone and 
I am strong. A survivalist. Without my daughter or husband's love. 
I am, in fact, stronger in my solitude. An independent woman.

My lips press against my gums in a grimace. I feel relief 
wash over me with the knowledge that it doesn't matter. I am 
not alone. I have not lost anyone.

His arm shifts at my waist, leaving a strip of bare flesh 
exposed to the coolness of the room. I roll backward into 
him and turn my head to gaze at his face on the pillow next 
to mine. His short hair sticks up at odd angles, giving him 
that little boy look I adore. I reach up to touch his cheek and 
feel the warm softness of his skin beneath the contrasting 
coarseness of stubble. His eyes move under the lids in 
dreams of his own. What must he dream? Is he ever without 
me?

His body tenses next to me and then his eyes snap open. 
Green, flecked with brown and gold, wide with fear. They 
slowly soften as he focuses on my face. A relieved breath 
escapes his lips. His beautiful lips. 

He smiles and inches forward to kiss me lightly on the 
mouth. Sweet softness, wet and warm. Gentle excitement 
flickers within me and I am surprised at the spark he is still 
able to ignite with nothing more then a lazy morning kiss. I 
press into him and kiss back with less innocent intentions. 
Vaguely wondering if we have time to make love before 
Emily bursts in to demand our attention. We press our bodies 
together under the soft blankets. I feel the strength of him. 
His hard muscles rippling along his torso. The curve of his 
arm as it pulls me closer. His hand slips under my nightshirt, 
stroking the skin along my waist and hips. Sliding behind to 
the more sensitive areas. Then down to touch my wetness. I 
gasp into his mouth. Thinking only, "Oh God,........ Don't 
stop..." 

The door bursts open. "Mommy, Daddy! I wanna take Quee 
Queg to the park! Can I Daddy?!" I hear the tiny dog's happy 
bark follow our daughter into the room. And I envision them 
both bouncing with excitement just behind me. 

We break our embrace and I let out a tiny laugh as I bow my 
head into Fox's chest. "Sure Honey, after breakfast." Fox 
replies, his chin brushing across the top of my head. 

I feel Emily tugging the blanket wrapped around me.  
"Mommy?"

I turn to look at her standing at the edge of the bed and smile. 
Her tiny cherub's face looks up at me, framed with blonde 
hair just kissed with my red coloring. Her face all eyes. Our 
eyes. A perfect blend of Fox's hazel, my blue, stares up at 
me, unaware of the adult desire she has just interrupted. Her 
tiny red lips, touched with the moisture of youth, hang open. 
Her chubby little arms stretch up to me in a silent plea; she 
has no reason not to expect will be answered.  I smile and 
reach down to hoist her up into the bed, wondering for a 
second if we spoil her too much. 

Settling her in between us, she sighs her little baby sigh of 
happiness. I kiss her little forehead. My eyes slide up to meet 
Fox's, which shine with love. His mouth curls up in a silent 
promise to continue things later after a certain child is in bed. 
I feel the excited anticipation in my chest and know my 
answering smile crackles with seductiveness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The low grumble of the garbage truck thumps through the 
window as they perform their early morning routine, 
shattering the stillness of the morning. The image of the 
dream lingers in my mind's eye and I still feel a twinge of 
desire. Then the slow disappointment as it comes to me that 
it was a dream. 

A dream. So real, so wonderful. His body. My eyes snap 
open. Mulder. Emily. The pure joy I had in the dream still 
floating in my mind. I shift in the bed. That life. Married to 
Mulder, with a daughter. Emily so alive. I can still feel her 
tiny body squirming against mine. The fresh baby smell of 
her. The deeply arousing feel of Mulder touching me. I 
wonder if it would really feel that way. 

I shake the thought from my head. I smile to myself as I 
remember the thoughts this other me had about this life that I 
lead. I skirt the uncomfortable questions they flag in my 
mind. And instead state out loud: "How silly." I roll over and 
look at the clock. 

5:58am

My alarm will go off in 2 minutes. I sigh. God, I hate that. I 
reach out my hand and switch the alarm off and then swing 
my legs out of bed. I run my hand through my too short hair, 
recalling with disdain my foolishness at trying out a new 
hairdresser. One Mulder had recommended, no less. I'll never 
do that again. I slip my feet into my ugly slippers and 
stumble off to the bathroom to shower.

.............................................................


An electric guitar pierces the silence of the bedroom. 

Damn. That was such a good dream. 

I feel a familiar tightness around my groin and peer down at 
the hill created by my half-mast erection. With a grunt I slap 
the snooze button on the clock radio and close my eyes 
again. I have learned, with some practice, to return to dreams 
once awakened, if I act quickly. This time I am not too late 
and I drift back into the dream. 

My arms tight around her, I gaze into the shocking blue of 
her eyes. Her hot skin naked against mine, I feel the silkiness 
of her touching me. Red hair frames her face like a mad fire 
dancing out of control, just like my desire. I move in to kiss 
her and she moves to meet me, eager with desire. Our lips 
lock in heated passion; the kiss is deep and long. Her silky 
tongue slides into mine. I suck at her wet mouth and 
playfully bite the sweet softness of her. Our hands explore 
each other with unchecked abandon. I run mine over her 
buttocks and feel her shiver beneath me. Then I reach down 
and graze her wetness gently. Her hand encircles my full 
erection and -

Mick Jagger screams in my ear and the dream quickly fades. 

Damn. Damn. Damn.

I sigh. My hand slides down my torso to feel the condition of 
my groin. As I suspected, it's worse than before. There is 
only one thing to do now. I sit up in bed and switch off the 
radio. And then throw the blankets off my body. I laugh at 
myself standing at attention for a figment of my imagination. 

"You are a sick puppy, Mulder."

The only action you get is in dreams. Dreams about a woman 
you have never even kissed. I remember New Years. Really 
kissed. The perfect moment and you chicken out with a this-
doesn't-have-to-mean-anything peck on the lips. My kisses 
had clearer intentions in the fifth grade. God, if only I had the 
balls. I shake my head knowing I don't, and get up to make 
my way to the shower. It's so much cleaner if I handle this in 
there. Then there isn't any chance she'll walk in or call, and 
catch me in action. God, that one time. I laugh out loud. That 
was too close. I never should have given her a key.

I turn on the water. Who am I kidding? I gave her those keys 
because in some small way it made me feel more intimate 
with her. As if she were mine. Pathetic. What a loser.  I step 
into the warm stream of water as it hiccups to life, and 
shudder with pleasure as it hits my engorged flesh. I let the 
water run over my body, seeping into my skin. 

I suck tiny droplets into my mouth and envision the wetness 
of her. The taste of her tongue against mine. The feel of her 
little red curls against my groin. I imagine her eyes on me. 
Those eyes that snap with fire, burning me with ecstasy. Even 
when she is angry. God, is she sexy when she's angry. 

I imagine pressing her against the desk in our office. Her 
eyes smoldering with surprise and excitement. I cup her head 
in my hand and kiss her hard. She responds with equal vigor. 
The sheer power of all the years of suppressing the urge 
funneled into this moment. Already so aroused by this vision, 
I skip through the foreplay and imagine my hand reaching up 
her skirt to find her wet. No underwear. She moans and 
opens her legs to me. I unzip myself and enter her. Feeling 
the sweet hot wetness engulf me. I fill her and she wraps her 
legs around me, grabbing my ass, pulling me deeper inside. 

I brace myself against the shower wall as I release with a rush 
of mind-blowing pleasure. Feeling the spasm spread from 
deep down inside out to the ends of each and every hair. I sag 
against the wall and feel myself go limp. My breathing and 
heartbeat slows.

Scully. 

I breathe the steamy air in deeply and then let it out in a long 
exhale. I shake the thoughts from my head. Time to get ready 
for work. Compose thyself, O' Pathetic Loser, you have a 
long day ahead of you avoiding looking into her eyes. I grab 
the soap and start washing.

[End of Chapter 1] 

Return to http://www.starlyght.com/me/Xfiles.html for Chapter 2

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