From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 15 Dec 2002 03:42:41 -0000
Subject: NEW: According to Thy Fear by philiater
Source: direct

Reply To: philiater1@yahoo.com


Title: According to Thy Fear
Author: Philiater
Category: Skinner/Scully; Scully angst
Rating: NC-17
Timeline: Season 5 and events surrounding Biogenesis. Missing scene. 
Vignette.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never were. They belong to Chris Carter and 
Company.
Summary: How far can power or fear take you?

Thanks once again to my great beta Keleka.
My fanfic can be found at: www.philiater1.com

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ps 90:11 -
Who knoweth the power of thine anger? even 
according to thy fear, so is 
thy wrath

Job 24:22
He draweth also the mighty with his power: he 
riseth up, and no man is 
sure of life.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He is an iceberg, she thinks. Large, cold, ominous, with so much more
lurking deep beneath the frozen sea of his exterior. He is to be
feared, mistrusted and avoided at all costs.

But she's here to find out what happened to Mulder; find out what that
bitch Fowley is pumping into his veins to make him jittery as a
rattlesnake. Since she came back from Africa, nothing is what it
appears to be.

Her hand shakes a little when she raises it to knock.  She's come here
to do a job, to get what she wants.

And she will get what she wants.

She has to knock a second time before sensing movement on the other
side. The sound of large, impatient footsteps lumber heavily toward
the closed door. When he opens it, she is given the rare sight of a
surprised Walter Skinner.

He's dressed in black jeans and t-shirt;  decidedly un-Assistant
Director-like attire. She swallows convulsively as he leans on the
white doorframe. He towers over her, using his size to intimidate.

"Agent Scully, is there some reason you decided to drop by without
phoning first?"

He sounds irritated, and this makes her angry.

"If I'd have called you first, half of the FBI would have known too."  
Her voice is soft, but contains an ugly fury when she says it.

He snaps his head back like she's struck him, and there's satisfaction
in that. She starts forward to move past him, but he stands firm.

"What do you want, Agent Scully?" His voice is soft, dangerous,
powerful. She's hidden in the shadow he makes as he looms over her.  
And he's close; so close she can smell his musky heat.

Blue eyes flicker over his.  "I want Mulder back."

It isn't a particularly startling thing to say, but she says it with
venom. He pauses over it long enough for her to brush by him.

His apartment is austere and impersonal.  The furniture is expensive
and likely picked out by someone who does such things for a living.  
Everything is well-ordered, tasteful, and bleak. She wonders what he
would think of her cluttered home.

She sits on his black leather couch without being invited. An
impatient sigh accompanies him as he walks to stand behind her. He
doesn't move, doesn't speak.  He waits.

He waits for her to make the next move, to say the next line.  This is
her show now, and she feels powerful.

"Just how do you plan to get Mulder back?"

His voice is millimeters from her ear; hot breath caressing her neck
as she realizes he's bent over behind her.  When she turns reflexively
he's too close. Backing away from him is also out of the question; a
large muscular arm across her back is pinning her in place.

"I..." she startles. The heat of him is sucking her breath away,
making her air hungry. Suddenly she is afraid of more than him.  She
is afraid of herself.

A large hand winds its way into her hair, keeping her close,
vulnerable.

"You didn't answer my question, Agent Scully.  What are you going to
do to get Mulder back?" Controlled anger edges his voice. He jerks her
head for emphasis.

"I-- I don't know."

"You don't know?" His voice is softly incredulous. "You came here to
see me and don't know what you're going to do?"

Before she can think, or act, he pulls her into a punishing kiss.
She's drowning; helpless in the face of his assault.  Despite the
force he uses, there is a coaxing restraint as the kiss changes into
something else.

She's lifted up like a rag doll, and hauled over the back of his sofa.  
The leather protests weakly at the body that is dragged over it.  
Skinner crushes her up against him, making his meaning clear even if
she can't.

His solid heat envelops her when one arm moves under her bottom and
the other brushes along her spine to join it. Her head is free now,
but she continues let him kiss her anyway. Arms twine around his thick
neck in supplication. It's good, so good to feel like *this* instead
of like the dead body she'd become.

He breaks from her first and looks into her eyes for a sign of
objection. She has no objection to give him, only a terrible longing
to continue as before.

He gives her a tolerant half-smile before reaching up to cup her
breast. A rough thumb brushes the thin fabric of her tank shirt, and
it feels like he's rubbing it between her legs.

Glittering eyes watch her reaction as the caress becomes stronger,
more intimate and his hand reaches inside. The strap of her shirt and
bra are pulled away.  His mouth closes over one nipple making her
moan.  Looking down at his head she has a moment of clarity.

This is why she came. For this, and only this.  She couldn't face it
before, because it would have carried the stench of guilt and
complicity.  Now she can indulge in it without fear or blame. They
both know who she's doing it for.

He carries her upstairs to his bed. It's large and firm like its
owner.  She's laid carefully in the middle like a fragile gift. It
makes her frown.  She doesn't want tenderness from him.  Gentleness
will only muddy the situation. This is about sex and want, not caring.  
She does not want to care about him.

On impulse she sits up and attacks the buttons of his pants. She
shoves his jeans and briefs down to release his straining erection.
His grunt of approval is all she needs to hear before she takes him in
her mouth.

Fellatio is about power, but not the man's.  If done right, the woman
performing it can make a man lose his mind.  And she wants Skinner to
lose his mind.

But before that steely control is shattered in her mouth, he rolls her
under him.  The rest of their clothes are tossed away before he enters
her slowly.

Later she will think he took advantage of her;  that he used his
position of authority to blackmail her into bed. But now, as he
thrusts into her, again it's good, so good.

When he comes, she expects him to roll over and fall asleep.  Instead
he stays inside her and reaches between them to stroke her. He watches
her face as she feels the spark of pleasure begin, and then suffuse
through her like rain when she comes. The orgasm is sweet, and awful
in its beauty.

It's so awful it makes her cry.  This is horrible, she thinks. It
isn't what she wanted at all. A quick fuck and she'd be able to go
without leaving anything of herself behind.

Now, instead of leaving her, Skinner kisses the tears away and murmurs
in her ear.  She was wrong, so terribly wrong about him. He doesn't
want sex or power as she thought; he wants her.  And he made sure he'd
have her even if Mulder was given back to her.

"No, no, no," she babbles uselessly. It's already too late. He knows
it, and so does she.

He'll never let her go now.

And he knows she'll never leave.

Her rage and fear have been made useless in his hands. The love she
thought would win Mulder's freedom has entrapped her.

"I love you," he says and then she knows they're both lost.

End

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