From: Silver Fox Date: 24 May 1998 03:02:44 GMT Subject: New: Ecstasy 1/1 VA Title: Ecstasy Author: Kathleen Brown Class: VA Rating: R? Summary: Mulder's having a little too much fun at the office this evening. Note: I'm posting this immediately after seeing "Playing God" for the first time, though I wrote it a few days ago. I realize now that this is the way I wanna go on this topic. More to come following this thread, but probably not continuing from this incident. hehehe.... ;) *~*~*~*~* Ecstasy *~*~*~*~* Sweet _Jesus_. Ecstasy. Coursing through my veins a million miles an hour. Sweet oblivion rising as I fall to the floor in a heap. It's late, no one here to witness my lapse of will, my silent fall into ecstasy. I lay, half curled, my blood boiling in my veins, my mind racing yet perfectly still. I needed this. The stress melts away from my body, rising in waves like heat off an Oklahoma highway. The panhandle. Like the Texas panhandle. There are beaches in Texas. Ironic, isn't it? Kennedy was shot there. He died. I didn't die when I was shot. I lived. Kennedy didn't. JFK. JFK. Not really a word, is it? My first... letters? Grab ahold of yourself, Foxy. Don't think. Just ride it. Ride it before it's over. Ride it like an orgasm should be ridden. Hold it. Feel it. _Experience_ it. Don't do anything. Just feel. Don't feel the cold tile against your face, or the cotton shirt or the silken Garcia tie. Feel _it_. Feel the beautiful pink clouds in the white sky, and the soft white birds. What are you, some kind of sissy fag? Dad. Oh, Jesus. Go back, Fox. Get away from it. Don't let him ruin this for you. Feel it. Ride it. Don't think about him. Or her. Get away, Sam! Leave me here! This is my mind, this is my time, this is my escape! Get away!!! You can hear it, can't you, Fox? You can hear the tape playing in the other room, as someone else is just reaching the same high you're coming down off. That's it? Over so soon? Two hours? That's all that was? Sweet ecstasy is only two hours long? I must be losing my edge. Sweet ecstasy has never been sweeter. There it is. Coming back to me, rocking my body in beautiful waves. I want to go swimming. Where did I put my suit? Oh. At home. I should go home. Too late at the office again, Mulder. Sorry, Scully, I got hung up. Boy, I'll say. I swear to God if anybody ever found me right now. I would be _so_ fired. They wouldn't even have to say it, I'd just pack up my files and my posters and set up shop in my apartment. I'd need someone to be in cahoots with me, though. A man on the inside. Or a woman. Scully? Think she'd go for that? Oh, damn it, I think I'm going to be sick. The pleasure is always carefully doled out with pain on its heels. I've gone and laid here too long, I'm wrinkling my good dove gray suit. My scuffed brown shoes are marking up the floor and the cabinets as I use them as my leverage to turn onto my belly. No good ending up like Hendrix on the floor of the Bureau's basement men's room. That would be good for no one. Particularly me. With my luck I'd end up haunting this place forever. Doomed to watch Scully towel away nosebleeds and pull tampons out of the box in the cabinet there. She doesn't know I know about that. I don't know if she knows about the magazine I keep in the manila envelope beside that, though, so I guess we're even. Oh, sweet, another surge of pleasure. Will it never end? Oh, it will. It always does. And I always come begging back for more. Lying on my back again, staring with wide eyes at _everything_ all around me. Look at my hips. Almost a foot off the ground. Shit, this is better than masturbating... this is pure heaven. There's no coming down off this for as far as the eye can see. Not very far, though. I think I left my glasses on the counter up there. Too far to reach. Why does it even matter? I don't want to see. I just want to feel. I close my eyes and let the light dance across, around, inside of me. Beautiful. Ecstasy. Ten minutes pass and I still lay on the tile floor, my body coated in a thin sheen of sweat, my body lax and trembling. I want to sleep. I want to work. I want to eat, I want to throw up. I want to die, I want to make love. I want to be a Daddy. I want to throw myself off the roof and scream. I don't want to do this anymore. I want to do it again. I want Scully to help me. I want to be left alone. I pull my pathetic self off the floor and let the world steady. I lean against the counter and try to collect myself as best I can. I catch a glance of myself in the mirror. Flushed bright pink with blood and sweating. My eyes are wild and my pupils are dilated so large the dim lights hurt me. I struggle to buckle my belt with my long, uncoordinated fingers, though I don't remember unbuckling them. I button my shirt around my tank top and straighten my long-loosened tie. My sleeves remain rolled up to my elbows, and I take a long drink straight from the faucet. Liquid heaven. I didn't know I was so thirsty until I began drinking and now I can hardly stop myself. I splash the cool, clean water onto my face and listen, uninterested, in the low moans in the other room. My tape is almost over. I want to go watch the couple sleep, but I have things here to take care of first. I need to destroy my evidence. I reach under the counter for a bottle of Windex. I spray it across the mirror, wiping away the remains of the white powder. I pick up the straight razor and look at it for long moments, contemplating, as always, whether now is the time to end it. Now is not the time. I drop the razor into the same small soft plastic case as the mirror, then I wipe the entire counter with the Windex and a rough brown paper towel. That goes down the toilet. I unroll my dollar and slip it into the billfold beside the slim mirror. I drop it into my back right pocket, the leather warm against my backside whenever I sit. A crutch, a reminder that it's there, it's comfortable, it's waiting for me. I have no more left. I am always careful in the building and in the car. Even in my house it doesn't leave my bed table except as I carry it into the bathroom. I have to be so careful. I'm scared of getting caught. Tonight I'm almost paranoid. I know no one comes down here. I know that if anyone bugged the place I would have been caught long ago, so I know I shouldn't logically worry here. But I still am. I'm always scared. Some days I don't think it's worth it, but then I start my daily routine and I know I could never live without it. I can't live without it. I stumble into the office and run my hands through my hair. It's late, I've gotta get home. I need a shower and a shave and a change of clothes. Shit. Tomorrow's Saturday. That means today's Friday. Double shit. Scully's going to call. She's gonna get worried when I don't answer the phone in my apartment. Did she call while I was out? Did I not hear her? Jesus, what if something happened to her? I've gotta get home. It's not a long drive, it'll be okay. I'll be okay. I need to calm down. This isn't the first time I've stayed so late at the office like this. But I've got to get home. Got to make sure Scully's okay. Got to get home before she comes here looking for me. Get home before she finds me late at work again. Get home before she sees my pupils almost wider than their hazel irises. Gotta get home. Can't let Scully know what I've been doing. I grab my tailored trench, my files, my tape. Toss that into the bottom drawer of my desk. Lights out, door locked. Go home, Fox. Home. It's time to go to sleep. Time for the weekend to come and claim you. Time for the agony. No more Ecstasy. Copyright Kathleen Brown, May 20, 1998. It's not about Sex!!!! -- "Hell hath no fury like a small gay man." *~*~*~*~* [ kathyb@raven.cybercomm.net ] Member ~~ SPCDD Bachelors, the College of Fox Mulder, X F U. [ http://www.sqx.simplenet.com/kb ]