From: "Kirsten Kerkhof" <dreasa1@hotmail.com>
Date: Wed, 15 Nov 2006 22:48:45 +0100
Subject: New story submission -- "Control is over-rated" by Kirsten Kerkhof
Source: direct

TITLE: "Control is over-rated"
AUTHOR: Kirsten Kerkhof *
<tintagel1@hotmail.com>
CLASSIFICATION: MSR
KEYWORDS: S R
RATING: R -- the occasional bad word and adult situation,
but nothing graphic.
SPOILERS: None. Just enjoy! XD
SUMMARY: Holed up in her apartment because of the
weather, Scully prepares for some long-overdue cleaning,
with Mulder dropping by for some much-needed distraction.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Why would I be
the lucky one, huh? They belong to CC, DD,
GA, 1013 and Fox and no infringement is
intended.
ARCHIVING: Sure. I'll do Gossamer
myself, all others: you're welcome when
you tell me where it's going, 'kay?
FEEDBACK: Cherished and worshipped at
<tintagel1@hotmail.com>. Mulders on offer
for those who write!
NOTE: *Phew* A year and half between two stories -- how
about that for a writer's block, huh? LOL

XxXxXxXxX

I can't remember the last time it was this cold. The weather
forecast this morning was definitely pessimistic so I called
Mulder to tell him I wasn't coming in to work today, not
willing to risk life and limb for yet another day of dealing
with mountains of red tape.

Of course, being holed up in my apartment meant I had time
to get some long overdue cleaning done. I could've logged
onto the Bureau network to do some work, but decided
against it, knowing I wasn't going to miss much. After all,
what could there have been but some emails I didn't feel like
answering and Mulder bugging me, telling me lame jokes,
laced with the innuendo which I keep kidding myself I'm too
sensible to fall for, and basically making it clear he was bored
as well. And my bathroom could certainly do with some hard-
core cleaning.

I'd just gathered the necessary cleaning utensils when I heard
a distinctive knock on my door. I sighed, pulled off the rubber
gloves, and opened the door. Mulder. Of course.

"Shouldn't you be at work?" I asked.

"Shouldn't you?" he countered with a grin. "Can I come in?"

I moved aside to let him pass. "Sure. Want some coffee?"

"Thanks, it's freezing outside," he answered as he unbuttoned
his wintercoat and hung it in the closet. I was in the kitchen
when he spoke again. "Erm, am I interrupting something?"

I smiled though he couldn't see it. "I was going to clean my
bathroom," I answered, loud enough so he could hear me. The
coffee maker started its usual gurgling and I walked back into
my living room. He was sitting on the couch. "You had no
chores waiting?"

He grinned. "Plenty." Then his grin faded. "Look, if you're
busy, I can just go, you know."

I smiled. "You can stay. There's no hurry."

Silence fell as we looked at each other easily. In the kitchen
the coffee maker made its characteristic final gurgle and we
both rose simultaneously to get the coffee, then burst out
laughing.

"That was pretty uncanny," I said.

He smiled widely. "Let me."

I smiled and sat back down. "Be my guest."

"Well, technically speaking I am, aren't I?"

"Mrs Rosenblum from two doors down doesn't think so," I
said.

"She doesn't, huh?"

I shook my head. "She thinks you've moved in."

He bent over and brought our faces close. "Maybe we should
stop making her a liar then ..."

I think he never expected my reply. "Maybe we should."

His eyes went quite wide before he started laughing again.
"God, Scully, don't make it so hard!"

I smiled slyly. "I could make it a lot harder ..."

"You already have," he said in a low voice. Then he rose and
took a deep breath. "I think I'd better get the coffee."

"You still cold then?"

I doubt whether he wanted me to hear it, but I heard it
anyway, "Oh, not anymore."

XxXxX


It's five hours later now and the bathroom still hasn't been
cleaned. I should have known.

As though he has read my mind, he breaks the silence.

"Maybe I should go, I've wasted a lot of your time."

He's sitting next to me on the couch, his socked feet propped
up on the coffee table, making no moves to match his words.
I've pulled my legs up and I'm leaning into his side, my head
on his shoulder.

"Don't go."

"What about your bathroom?" he asks.

"It can wait."

"Okay."

Silence falls again.

This time, however, I'm the one who breaks it.

"Mulder."

"Mm-mm."

"Why did you come over?"

"Got bored at work."

"And?"

I know he smiles at this comment. "And ... I really didn't
want to be alone."

"Why?"

"Dunno. The idea just didn't appeal to me at all."

"That's weird," I say, turning my face up to look at him. He
looks back. "You always liked being by yourself."

He shrugs half-heartedly and smiles. "Yeah, well, things have
changed, I guess."

"What things?"

"You."

"Me?"

"Yeah ... And me. Guess we have both changed."

I nod. "We have."

"We've been through a lot. It's only natural we should have
changed," he says softly.

"And yet, here we are."

"Yeah, sometimes it kinda amazes me, but here we are."

I meet his eyes again. "Why are you amazed?"

He doesn't answer right away, instead looks ahead of him for
a little while before he replies. "Because I never thought I had
it in me, I guess."

"Had what in you?"

"Staying with a person for so long, despite all the traumatic
things we've experienced. It doesn't make sense."

"I think that living through the trauma was essential to our
staying together. Even though I could've done without a few
of them," I add matter-of-factly. He chuckles softly and nods.
I go on. "It's been the cement that bonded us."

"Would you have ..."

"What?"

He looks down. "Are you regretting it?"

I frown. "No, of course not."

"There's nothing 'of course' about it, you know."

I smile a little. "Why are we always having these weird
conversations?"

He chuckles and meets my eyes. "Because that's basically
what we are. Well, according to just about everybody else.
Weird ..."

I think for a moment. "And we're not giving them any reason
to change their minds."

"Do you want to?"

I need another moment to think before I can answer. I look at
my hands. "Maybe. I'm getting tired of keeping up a facade.
Of pretending that I feel what I don't, that I want to do what
I'd rather avoid."

I can feel his eyes on me, waiting for me to continue.

"Some things have got to stop," I say very very softly, "and
other things should have begun so long ago ..."

"Are you ...," he begins, but he doesn't seem able, or willing,
to continue.

I sigh, silently frustrated with our inability to just get on with
business. It's now or never, I tell myself, there will never be
that 'perfect' time anyway, so why could this not be it? I pull
myself onto my knees and sit in his lap. "Push me away if you
don't want this," I say, nanoseconds before I kiss him.

He doesn't push me away. I didn't expect him to, but I'm glad
nonetheless. It gives me the courage to deepen our kiss, which
started quite safe and sweet -- in a way just kissing him was
enough of a risk already -- and  feel what I want to feel.

"You're not stopping me," I murmur between two kisses.

He chuckles. "Hell no." Then we're back at kissing. Man, if
I'd known this was so nice I would have done it ages ago!

Then, slowly, we move apart, and I can't help but smile. His
hands are on my waist -- if he realises it, he can find out just
how ticklish I am -- and I have my arms loosely around his
neck.

"What caused this?" he asks softly.

"Why? You didn't like it?"

He huffs. "Are you kidding me?"

I laugh softly and rub my nose against his, eskimo-style.
"No."

"So, why this?"

I take a deep breath. "Maybe it was time."

He freezes. "Was it wrong?" he says very softly.

I shake my head. "No, no, not as far as I'm concerned," I say.
Then I smile. "But I do think you're sweet to ask."

He grins lop-sidedly. "Oh great, that's all I ever wanted to be:
'sweet'."

I laugh and softly swat his arm. "You know what I mean!"

He joins me in laughter. "Yeah." Then our eyes meet and the
smiles fade. I cut a quick look at his lips just before we kiss
again. I'm clinging onto him like there's no tomorrow, unable
to let go even the slightest bit.

It's a long time before we break the kiss -- and when we
finally do so, we both realised things have changed forever.

It's scaring me. And he sees it.

"Don't be afraid," he says very softly. He's looking me
straight in the eyes, his gaze dark, hot and yet anxious all at
the same time.

"I'm not afraid," I lie.

He blinks slowly and sighs. "Yes, you are. But that's all
right."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

He sighs again, this time deeper and infinitely more sad. "You
can be afraid, I know I'd be afraid of me."

My frown worsens into complete bewilderment. "What?
Mulder, you're not a person anyone needs to be afraid of!"

"Thank you, but I know the truth, and your reaction doesn't
surprise me at all." He sighs yet again and looks down. "After
all, I scare myself," he continues in a voice so soft I can
barely hear it.

I close my eyes and shake my head. He's kicking himself
again and I can't let him. Very gently I tip his face up with my
hand until he can't but meet my eyes.

"Okay, I was afraid," I say softly, "but only of myself. Of my
own reactions, of the way my body and mind reacted to that
kiss ..." I stroke his hair away from his brow. "Of how badly
I realised I wanted this and ..." I lean my forehead against his
and close my eyes. "... and then I realised how incredibly
much I want more ... So much more ..."

I open my eyes and find him looking straight at me. "More?"
he asks, his voice layered with emotions I have never heard
before and which he seems to have barely any control over.

I nod almost imperceptively.

"Why did that scare you?" he asks, lightly stroking my hair.

"Because I've never felt that way before," I confess. "I never
let my emotions run away with me like that, it's never
happened."

He turns his head so that his cheek is on mine and his mouth
is next to my ear. "Maybe you should let it happen."

I nod slightly. God, I should, I should so let this all happen ...
"I want to," I whisper. "I need to."

I wrap my arms tightly around him, hugging him as tightly as
I can for comfort. He feels so warm, so solid, I could cling on
to him forever and he'd let nothing happen to me. He's rather
die.

I feel his strong arms heavy on my back, one hand tangled in
my hair, stroking lightly. I can smell him, a heady mix of a
remnant of deodorant, some sweat, a good amount of that
killer aftershave he uses, and a lot of what is truly himself. In
short: I smell a man.

My long-starved libido immediately picks up on the scent and
jumps to life, giving me a swift kick in the butt and telling me
to get a move on: I'm clinging on to a man who very clearly,
very undeniably loves the living daylights out of me, who
would and has gone to the ends of the earth for my sake -- and
who, no doubt, would be all too willing to make this night
worth my while -- and ... I'm deliberating?

What is so scary about this situation? I'm such a moron.

Of course, I'm not the only one who is scared and we both
know it.

"But how about you?" I say softly, still holding him close.
"Are you afraid?"

"Of you? No, not in this respect," he replies enigmatically.

I frown though he can't see it. I originally meant something
else, but this has me puzzled enough to want to know more. "I
don't understand."

I feel his sigh and sense a smile in his voice. "You'd never
hurt me knowingly." He strokes my hair some more before he
continues. "And I just don't know whether you'd let yourself
go enough to be able to hurt me ..."

I loosen our embrace enough to see his eyes. What the ...

He smiles a bit and closes his eyes for a moment before he
meets my eyes again. "That was ... I didn't mean to ... I mean
..." He takes a deep breath and I watch the colour of his eyes
turn to hazel-green and become infinitely deep. I could drown
in those eyes. "Have you ever really let go, Scully? Could
you?"

I feel a blush rise to my face -- stupid Irish skin -- and I can't
answer straight away. Have I ever really let go? No, never.
But could I do it? I don't know, I've never tried.

I never had to. Never wanted to.

But, damn it, I want it now. With him. Shit, I want it so badly.

"I never have," I answer, looking straight at him. I want him
to read the truth of my words in my eyes. They're the mirror
of the soul, people say. Well, he's welcome to read my soul
any day, I have nothing to hide now. I shake my head slightly.
"I never have," I repeat very softly, "but I want to let go so
much."

His eyes are still swirling with colour and his lips curl in a
fine smile. "With me?"

I can't help it, the surprise in these words make me let out a
soft short laugh. "Of course." Then my smile fades. "No one
but you."

"But I don't have the control you have," he says softly, almost
apologetically. "I don't know if ..."

I bring our faces closer. "That's exactly what I need," I
whisper, suddenly needy for contact. "I have plenty of control
in me, and it's hindered me all through my personal life. I
don't need it." I touch my lips to his very lightly, not kissing,
just touching. "No control, no boundaries. Just feeling, just
loving, just ... us. A man and a woman. As we should be."

I feel his lips smile under mine. "Oh yeah ..." he just says
before he kisses me again, truly, deeply, like there's no
tomorrow. And for all I care, there really could be none.

I'm waiting for him to push me down onto my couch, but he
isn't. Guess he's being a gentleman -- and I don't want him to
be. With my arms wound round his neck, I gently pull him
down with me, never breaking our kiss. I want to feel him, his
weight, his shape, all of him, on top of me, pressing me into
the cushions of my couch. His fingers are tangled in my hair,
alternating between stroking and just holding my head close
enough not to have to let go. I have one hand on his back,
pulling him into me, the other one is on the back of his neck,
my fingers combing through the hairs there. He should get a
haircut, my mind throws in unrequestedly.

The hand that was on his back slowly moves down and slips
under his sweater, stroking the skin on his lower back. It
seems like he was waiting for me to do this because
immediately he pushes the hem of the skinny shirt I'm
wearing up and wraps his large hands around my bare waist,
then round to my back, and with one hand on the small of my
back and the other one almost between my shoulder blades, he
pulls me into his body. I feel his erection pressing against my
stomach and moan softly into our kiss.

He slowly pulls away and looks at me. His face is flushed and
his eyes are dark with arousal.

He pants heavily. "Are we ... are we taking this where  ..."
He shakes his head. "If you want to stop, tell me so now,
Scully, or I won't be able to."

I smile what I hope is a gentle smile. "I don't want to stop, not
to mention that you really could never stop now."

He frowns. "Yes, I could if I had to. I'm not some kind of
adolescent boy, unable to control his feelings."

I reach up and kiss him softly and lingeringly, but pull away
just before he can answer it in kind. "I know," I say softly.
"Thank God no one's asking you to stop."

He smiles now too. "Let's move this party to your bedroom,"
he says.

I raise a playful eyebrow. "You don't want to do it here on the
couch?"

He chuckles. "As many wonderful memories I have of your
couch, I would much rather do this properly." Then his eyes
take on a sensually dangerous glint. "But we can take our own
sweet time christening my leather couch very soon indeed if
you like ..."

I smile widely, pictures of us naked on his couch flitting
through my mind, the sensation of the cool black leather
against our heated skins doing marvellous things to my
imagination. "Oh God, yes ..." I whisper.

With adorable difficulty he gets off me and I whimper at the
loss of his body heat. It's insane, I've gone without it for
about a decade, yet it nearly kills me now. He holds out his
hand and pulls me up. My jelly-like legs are no match for the
force of gravity and I fall against him, making him smile.

"Carry me?" I ask, my voice light and teasing.

He sighs with a grin. "Why not?" and picks me up, carrying
me into my bedroom.

I shudder lightly, feeling the anticipation. For so many years
I've slept in this room, and yet, it feels like a whole new
experience.

XxXxX

He's spooning me from behind and I want to purr like a
kitten. His arms are around my waist, keeping me close, and
his lips are showering the nape of my neck in thousands of
little butterfly kisses.

"You're so gorgeous," he whispers between two kisses and I
chuckle.

"Will you stop saying that?" I protest gently, "you're making
me shy."

I hear him chuckle as well. "Nope. I've been telling you
before and I'm gonna keep on telling you." I feel his hand
move downwards and I moan softly. "Besides: you, shy?"

I let out a sigh and close my eyes as he starts teasing me
again. I feel him harden against my back and my arousal
rachets up some more. My mouth is open in an attempt to
draw in more air and I'm reaching behind me to pull him
closer to me.

My inability to answer makes him grin, I know it. "The
weather is going to get worse, they say," he says in a very low
voice.

I smile and just manage a reply before I turn around and claim
his mouth for my own. "You know, that's the best news I've
had in a long time ..."

THE END

Kirsten Kerkhof
The Netherlands, 12 November 2006


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