Date sent:        Wed, 20 Aug 1997 19:28:23 -0400 (EDT)
From:             Duffsan@aol.com
Subject:          He Has Decided to Have Me (1/1) NC-17 Sk/Sc by Medina


TITLE: He Has Decided to Have Me (1/1) NC-17 Sk/Sc
AUTHOR: Medina, written August 1997
E-MAIL ADDRESS: duffsan@aol.com
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Please forward to ATXC.
Archive at Gossamer. Attach my name if archived elsewhere.
SPOILERS: None
RATING: NC-17
CONTENT WARNING: sexual content
LENGTH: 20 kb
SUMMARY: Skinner seduces Agent Scully. A continuation of "If I 
Decide to Have Her".

DISCLAIMER: The characters and situations of the television 
program "The X-Files" are the creations and property of Chris 
Carter, Fox Broadcasting, and Ten-Thirteen Productions, and have 
been used without permission. No copyright infringement is 
intended.

AUTHOR'S THANKS: To MA who still hasn't laughed. The value 
of her insightful questions, encouragement and support is 
immeasurable. Domo arigato, Sensei.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is the continuation of "If I Decide to 
Have Her". It is not necessary to have read "If I Decide ..." to 
follow this piece.

FEEDBACK: please send to duffsan@aol.com

*******************************************

He Has Decided to Have Me (1/1) 


I accepted his invitation to go sailing. We both understand it is not 
all we will do yet for most of the day, sail is what we will do.

He initiated this seduction months ago. It was an erotic and public 
pursuit that no one ever noticed. Mulder, who was present for a 
good portion of it, remained completely unaware. He never 
considered it a possibility, therefore the evidence was summarily 
overlooked.

The first time I noticed him staring at me we were two of ten 
people surrounding a boardroom table. I was standing at the front 
of the room giving a presentation. As my view traveled the 
audience, I made eye contact with him. He met my gaze, 
unblinking. I had a strange feeling that he was looking, not at me 
but in me - seeing who I am, not what I am. He did not move a 
muscle. I averted my eyes, not wishing to stare. The instant stayed 
with me.  I became preoccupied, wanting to check if he was still 
looking at me or if his expression had changed. I avoided him as 
long as I could but inevitably, I glanced back at him. The desire I 
thought I saw in his eyes had intensified. I was unsettled. In the 
coming months this feeling became a constant companion.

I see in him a man who is accustomed to solitude, living a life 
apart from the rest of us. He guards his territory fiercely; 
trespassers beware. I also see in him a patient, deliberate nature. 
He does not act hastily but confidently with expectation of success. 

To me, he is at once an enigma and an open book. The specifics of 
his past remain a mystery to me; the generalities of the military - 
concepts of discipline, honour and obedience - connect us in ways 
outsiders can neither understand nor bridge. We are akin in many 
other respects; we are both pragmatic and not given to wild swings 
of emotion. Unique among the men I know, he extends to me the 
courtesy of genuine equality - not of rank but of humanity. He 
treats my opinions with a respect and consideration that I do not 
always receive from Mulder. Unlike my partner, he never degrades 
me with meaningless tasks nor does he take kindly to anyone who 
does.

I had, from that first moment of awareness, the distinct impression 
that he had intentions for us. Until then, my attraction to him had 
been a latent, unexplored idea. His wordlessly expressed desire 
prompted me to consciously consider possibilities. I wondered for 
a time if it was my imagination and soon I had convinced myself 
of it. Then it happened again.

The second time I realized he was looking at me, Mulder and I 
were in his office. He was leaning in front of his desk with ankles 
crossed and palms curved over the edge. Mulder's head was bent as 
he read aloud from our report. I looked up and witnessed his 
unwavering focus on me. He did not alter his expression, simply 
let the weight of his stare settle on me to accept or reject as I 
pleased. Once again, I glanced away, then had the instant desire to 
know if he was still watching and if the message had changed. The 
urge to check haunted me until I finally succumbed. The hazel 
eyes had not wavered and I felt a flush of blood surge through my 
core. He continued to watch me unabashed. Then almost 
imperceptibly his trunk muscles flexed and his hips tilted forward 
and up to the minutest degree. I had no notion where to fix my 
gaze. A pinkness coloured my cheeks. His intent was clear. A 
question from Mulder broke into the moment and he addressed my 
partner normally, as if nothing has transpired between us. 

There was an interruption from his secretary. The meeting halted 
momentarily. I needed to stand and stretch and see if I could settle 
the sudden heat I felt. The air in the room seemed lacking. I found 
it difficult to concentrate. When we resumed, I could no longer sit 
squarely on the chair and rested farther back on my tailbone. 

He is a man who is accustomed to having what he desires; who has 
a way of inciting action. Nothing is careless or accidental about 
him. He distills into everything he does into moments of absolute 
purpose. If he is walking, every foot falls where he intends it. If he 
is staring, every message is the one he wishes to send. 

I realized he desired me. His pursuit was relentlessly 
inconspicuous while simultaneously creating in me a hyper-
awareness of his most minute gesture. I also knew that he left it to 
me to accept or reject him. He would not push himself upon me. I 
did not feel threatened. If I chose to ignore him, he would accept 
my choice and he would not punish me for it. He is, above all, a 
man of honour. On this single venture, he was willing to risk an 
attempt without assurance of success. If this were base detached 
lust, I would not have been granted the freedom to decide.

My awareness of him was my undoing. Where most men seduce by 
physical action alone, he first seduced my mind. He had no greater 
influence than the one he let me create for him. With a discrete 
expression, a few slight movements and a haunting stillness, he 
dominated every thought I had in his presence. Then, one day, 
while discussing an issue of complete inconsequence, he fixed his 
hazel eyes upon me and said quietly, "You are not my only choice. 
I have asked you because you and I are alike. You are the only one 
I trust." At that moment I realized that, whatever his desires, I 
could not resist him.

And so, once we made our tacit agreement, he continued his 
seduction of my mind in languid fashion. We were content to meet 
formally and communicate silently. He gave me the freedom to 
think, to mull it over, to fantasize about making love. I created 
thoughts and suppressed only my actions. For a while, it was 
enough.

The distance - the physical one - heightened my awareness until I 
found my skin alive with the need for contact. I began to crave a 
connection with him. He was resolute and would not make the first 
to move so I exploited the narrow margins of unobtrusive action to 
close this gap between us. I used the space between him and 
Mulder, claiming it as my own. There was not much room, 
however I filled it to my advantage. My blazers were frequently 
discarded revealing thin blouses and the angle of my shoulders 
straightened. I wanted him to notice me. He did. Yet he still 
waited.

The first time he touched me, we were walking out of the 
boardroom. I had taken to being close by when he walked through 
doorways. He invariably took a step aside to allow me the right of 
way. This time, there was congestion - we had run overtime and 
people had arrived for the next meeting. There was a simultaneous 
advance both in and out. I hesitated, avoiding other agents. Then 
his hand opened across the small of my back, guiding me onward. 
He did not linger. I felt a stirring discontentment when his touch 
disappeared.

I did not see him for another two weeks and I used all my powers 
of recollection to relive that single moment. Closing my eyes, I 
created a fantasy around the memory of that one touch. It was 
adolescent and foolish yet I was helpless to stop myself. Mulder 
dismissed my preoccupation as moodiness.

When we next met, I had created too many daydreams to 
adequately concentrate on anything but him. He had a stillness that 
beckoned to be disturbed. He sat across from me, leaning back in 
the leather chair with one hand extended. Under his starched cuff, 
a glint of gold watch caught the light. His fingers touched down on 
the table and I could see the tawny hair on the back of his hand. I 
wanted to brush my fingertips over his hand, to feel the warmth of 
his flesh and the bristled resistance of the hair at his wrist. 

We left the meeting together and I stopped short, missing the door 
handle. He overstepped and I felt the full heat of his body through 
my sheer blouse. This time, he lingered. His hips were flush 
against me. His leg ran the length of my own. Then his hand was 
there, propelling me forward. He held the door for me as I gazed 
back at him. His expression of desire had not changed. Now mine 
mirrored it.

As soon as I received the invitation, I knew his intentions. As soon 
as he received my reply, he knew mine.



I dress deliberately; ignoring a bra and selecting a thong instead of 
panties. Both choices, I hope, will be met with approval. They also 
have an effect on me; they change my demeanor and the way I 
walk. Socks are inconsequential on a sailboat and will be awkward 
to remove. I stay barefoot in deck shoes.

I smooth my hands down my front, setting off a shiver that leaves 
me breathless. For months, I have imagined his hands instead of 
mine. When he finally touches me, I know it will different; 
electrifying, full of heat and intensity that only waiting can create.

At the boat, the first thing I notice is that he is sockless in 
docksiders. He knows something amuses me but is satisfied to 
have it unspoken.

We set sail and soon have the shore fading behind us. He is not 
content to simply linger in the harbour. We have agreed to a day of 
sailing and a day of sailing we shall have. He has aggressive plans 
for this trip. I enjoy the chance to have more than a safe, 
predictable cruise. He is an excellent sailor and does not patronize 
me with needless direction. He expects me to be a competent 
crewman. I do not disappoint him.

The wind is favorable and the day filled with sun and blue sky. We 
are out to sea, skimming alone on the waters. He is more relaxed 
here than I have ever seen him. His windbreaker flaps out behind 
him as he keeps one hand on the wheel and uses the other to point 
out distant landmarks. 

I draw to his side, resting over the rail for a better look. I turn and 
lean backwards facing him. He notices my unfettered breasts. His 
expression of mild amusement pleases me. Despite our confined 
space, he makes no advance towards me except to occasionally 
look.

During the afternoon, we alternate conversation with silence. The 
quiet times are comfortable and I use them to gaze at him 
uninterrupted. He knows I am staring yet it does not make him 
self-conscious. He is content and has no need to hide from me. In 
this one afternoon he has stripped away his protective layers, 
revealing all that is his natural self. I wonder if is another who has 
had this privilege.

I have found to my delight, a nickname for him. I use it once, 
tentatively. It makes him laugh and I feel my heart lift - he is not 
easily moved to humour. An ability to amuse him is a precious gift, 
not something readily achieved. He is not long finding a suitable 
name for me.

After dinner, we sit outside. He sits with his elbows looped over 
the rails and his legs outstretched, sockless ankles crossed. It is an 
arrangement that forces my eyes to his hips. I have a fleeting 
impulse to straddle him but instead, I step over his shins and sit 
close by so that if he chooses, I will be near enough to embrace. 
He has not fully overcome his aloofness yet I see that he has 
started to become aroused. He knows I have noticed. He shifts his 
position. I move away.

We both know how this evening will end yet we are strangely 
hesitant to begin. He and I are still playing, creating tensions and 
teasing. We are testing the tensile strength of our resistance, as if 
purposely measuring how close we can be and still be apart. In this 
brief distance, no more than a breath away now, there is a desire so 
strong it threatens to consume us both. 

I stand at the stern, staring at the sunset. The wind is in my ears 
and I do not hear him until his is right behind me. His feet are 
placed just on the outside of mine. His hands smooth over my 
shoulders then around my front and under my top. He lifts my 
breasts with the span between his thumb and forefinger then cups 
my flesh with his hands. I can feel my nipples harden against his 
palms as he kisses the top of my head. His touch is hot and I lean 
back, dizzy with anticipation. I can feel his erection pressing 
against me and I turn, forcing him to release his hold on me. 
Staring into his eyes, I am rendered mute and cannot tell him how 
much I want him. 

He leads me by the hand to our cabin. Once indoors, we walk out 
of our shoes to the small space by the berth. Briefly, we do nothing 
more than stare and then he reaches out to touch my face. The 
moment we connect, the final distance between us disappears. I am 
drawn into him with a hungry force. His mouth covers mine and he 
forces his tongue in deeply, willfully. It startles me. On instinct, I 
pull back with a gasp. He freezes.

He is breathing harshly, through his mouth. His ribs expand on the 
inhale, pulling in as much air as his lungs can handle. His hands 
grip the back of my clothing and my collar pulls tightly against my 
throat. His hard groin presses into me. His eyes have gone dark and 
he stares at me unblinking. Except for his laboured breathing, he is 
absolutely still. 

I can hear water lap against the side of the boat. The cabin sways 
to and fro, urging him against me. It is not his rhythm but the 
rhythm of the sea. Then, very deliberately, he takes a step back. 
When he breaks free, I feel a vital piece of me has been ripped 
away. I pursue him with my hands but he captures my wrists and 
stops me abruptly.

"Yes or no?" He will do as I command him. If I tell him no, he will 
stop. If I tell him yes, how will he continue?

"Slowly."

He needs no elaboration. The change in him is immediate. He 
takes me in his arms once more and works his persistent kisses 
into me gradually. His tongue is in me, stealing my breath away. 
For a moment, he returns to his bold pursuit then, as if reminded, 
he releases the tension and slows. He keeps his erection from me 
as his hands seek out my flesh and quickly insist on the shedding 
of my top. I help and kick away my slacks.  He pauses to pull off 
his sweater. For the few moments when he is tangled in his glasses, 
I smooth my palms over his lean muscled chest, my thumbs 
playing across his aroused nipples, then back down over his hips. 
The sweater and glasses are gone before I can reach his fly and he 
draws my hands away. All at once, I am swept into his arms and 
gently laid onto the bunk. His hands caress and roam over my 
breasts and stomach, then, smoothing his hands further downward,  
he curls his fingers under the straps of my thong and removes it in 
a rough sweep. 

He cannot continue until he strips away the last of his clothing. He 
is not shy and faces me as he removes his briefs and trousers in 
one motion. His erection grows in the freedom.

He is on top of me quickly and we resume our heated passion. I 
splay my legs invitingly, suddenly regretting my request for him to 
slow. He lowers himself, his penis just touching my entry. I am 
electrified and ache to have him press down. He is kissing me, 
using his tongue to swirl and tease me. I can taste the sea and musk 
on his skin; I must have more of him. He is above me, resting on 
his elbows. I run my palms over his flexed biceps and pull his 
shoulders toward me. He inhales tightly. His body tenses. He does 
not press down. He kisses me, starting forcefully then softening 
until his lips lightly brush against mine. He does not press down. I 
move my hands over his back toward his hips. I am stopped 
midway. He takes hold of my forearms, pinning them down by my 
shoulders. He does not press down. I want him inside me and 
strain to meet him. He keeps himself perfectly matched to any 
motion I create. The distance between us remains constant. The 
need for friction is excruciating. I am wild with it. Finally, I buck 
as hard as I can and soar upwards. He soars with me. When I fall 
back, his hips do not return to me. My body, brain and voice 
scream with the sudden loss of him.

I fix my gaze upon him as he hovers above me, silently waiting and 
watching. He has obeyed, and in doing so, has intensified my 
desire for him to a white hot heat. This ache is like nothing I have 
ever known. I cannot bear it and he will not continue unless 
invited.

I can hardly draw in the breath it takes to speak. It is softer than a 
whisper and so desperate. "Please."

With a feather touch, he strokes me from neck to groin, lingering 
over my breasts and tracing a line across my stomach. Slowly he 
descends and presses into me, widening the walls of my slick 
aching core. Then he begins to rock and rock and rock until I am 
powerless to do anything but arch my back and moan. My body 
contracts around him and I am released from all tension. I look 
into his eyes and know that he is not yet free.

All of this has been for me. Since the very beginning, this 
seduction has been for me, but now instead of giving, he takes. His 
eyes change. His breathing changes into raspy gulps. He shifts to a 
faster and deeper stroke. He will have all that is left of me; we 
have become all I have imagined. My body convulses around him 
as he comes and he collapses on top of me.

All at once, we are motionless. His full weight is on me and I shift 
in search of  relief. Very slowly, he slides away from me, and I feel 
my walls seal the sudden emptiness. He lies on his back, his torso 
and arms forming a T. He is still panting. His eyes are shut and he 
moves a hand over his face. He has withdrawn to a solitary world 
of his own. He suddenly inhales and expands his chest to its fullest 
then sighs in a forced rush of air. His breathing slows. I watch 
serenely as he emerges from his distant place. 

Gradually, he realizes that he is without me. He reaches out and 
runs his fingers through my hair. Slipping a hand under my neck, 
he rolls towards me and kisses me tenderly on the lips, his tongue 
delicately playing with my mouth. Gradually, he folds me into his 
embrace and lies on his back, drawing me with him. I am wrapped 
tightly against him and close my eyes, resting my head on his 
shoulder. 

A blanket covers us. The water laps against the side of the boat. 
The cabin sways and rocks us to sleep.

FINIS