TITLE: FULL MOON
DISTRIBUTION: Gossamer and anyone else who wants it, let me know, though, so I can visit my fic and feed it.
CLASSIFICATION: V, A, R, Mulder POV
SPOILERS: Alpha, although I don’t think the episode is spoiled, the story does rise from the events of the episode.
SUMMARY: Bathed in the light of a full moon, Mulder discovers that we are all animals under our thin skins.
RATING: NC-17 for sexual content, slightly disturbing imagery
COVER ART: bugs
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Thanks to Janet, again, and Branwell as well, for the great beta work.
Under moon shadows
A tall boy flashes knife and
Slices star bright ice.
–- Etheridge Knight
It was a full moon that night, a huge ivory orb swimming in a navy blue, late evening sky. I didn’t give it more than a glance as I dragged myself up the stairs into my apartment building. My eyes stung from the beating headache behind them, coupled with the effort of holding my depression-weighted lids open. I was afraid the bright light would draw long-subdued tears to the surface.
I wanted to get into my dark apartment, pull my fly down and whack off. Not the actions of a well-adjusted individual, I must admit, but then maybe I could get a few hours of sleep before I woke to watch the mocking shadows move across the walls until dawn. I had suffered from a low-grade fever of sexual frustration for so long, I can’t remember when it began. It had been at least five or six years, I’d stopped marking my calendar. It was just there, constant, like a toothache, only less pleasant.
I came through the door with my suit jacket off, my tie in the pocket. I tossed the coat on the hook by the door and as I moved into the living room, pulled my shirt off over my head and threw it onto the couch.
My movements became more frantic as I fumbled at my belt. My cock was already half-erect with a pathetic, eager anticipation. I set my gun on my desk. My hand was lingering on it, still warm from my body, when I sensed a presence in the room.
Something was in the dark behind me. I turned and squinted into the shadows. Through the blinds over the desk, shafts of sharp, chalk-white moonlight cut across the room. Silver, unblinking orbs caught in the stark illumination shifted down to watch me clutch the gun tighter.
Before I could speak, a low, throbbing voice said, “Mulder, it’s me.” It was a command, spoken with a snap like a closing trap. I took my hand off the gun.
I could smell her. Her eau de toilet had worn off by mid-morning and her soap slipped away by 5 o’clock. All that was left was pure, base Scully.
She stepped out of the shadows and approached me. She was nude. I realized I had lost my mind. If these were the ridiculous visions to visit my dark hours, I was completely and utterly insane.
I did the only thing that made any sense under the circumstances. I began to pull my few remaining clothes off. If I had lost my mind, I wanted to explore the situation fully.
As she paced slowly towards me, the deep shadows, like ravens’ wings, stroked her shimmering dove-gray skin. My darting glances discovered the slope of a breast, the curve of a hip, the slight swell of her belly, then the branches of darkness hid her form again.
The light caught on the glint of moisture within the fine tangled web of hair between her strong limbs as she strode towards me, but I forced my hungry gaze up to look into her pale eyes. They were as clear and blank as glass, windows that I wanted to climb through to search her shadowy spaces, like some feral hunter.
As she stopped in front of me, I felt as though I was the one who had crossed the room, completing a long, arduous migration to this cool oasis. I was suddenly dying of thirst; I had to drink. I bent my head down to her black, wet mouth.
She shifted her head away from my pathetic, seeking lips. Instead, she reached up to grip the back of my neck and pull my shoulders towards her. I saw her lips part and the flash of bright, shiny teeth before I felt the bite to the bulging tendons under my clenched jaw. She bit down hard on my quivering throat until there was the sudden, bright flare of stars before my eyes.
The throbbing pain became erotic. The thumping pulse under her tongue traveled down to beat in my cock. My blood swirled through my constricting veins, confused. I could feel the capillaries burst under my skin. I was paralyzed, unable to move, fearing that if I did, she would rip my neck open.
She let go of my tender flesh and said the last word she would speak all night: “Mine.”
Before I could recover, she darted away into the darkness. It was not a flight; it was a lure to engage in a hunt. I paused for only a moment before I plunged among the shadows to follow my prey.
I caught her just as we hit the solid, confining wall. We were at the edge of my cage and could go no further. Our ragged panting echoed in the empty rooms. I grabbed her, and at first her flesh had the cold burn of mercury. Then, under the haze of moonlight, she shone bright white as a swan’s breast, and my fingers sank into her soft, warm down.
She wouldn’t let me turn her. Instead she slid against my body, swimming in the sweat that suddenly rose to my flushed flesh. Her strong hands reached back and grasped for my sides. Her nails dug into my flanks and tore my skin, and it felt like the lashes of a scorpion’s sting. I groaned with forbidden delight.
I seized her head and twisted her neck so that I could finally plunder her mouth. My fingers were caught in the snare of the strands of her hair, as dark as dried blood in the blackness. Our mouths were still too far apart to meet for anything but the lightest of grazes. I whimpered in frustration.
She grasped the back of my neck and began to pull herself up my slick body. I understood, slid my hands between her hot thighs to grab the edges of the taut ligaments of her legs, and lifted her up, light as a butterfly, to my mouth.
As our tongues fought for superiority, I tried to keep a grip on her slippery legs. She slung them around the outside of my hips and gripped my thighs tightly, nestling closer to me, pressing my hard cock against my belly.
I groaned again and she hissed like a snake. The sound was like a lightning strike to my dick. Wrapping my arms tightly around her, I pulled her against my chest to reach for some sense of domination.
She answered my challenge by gripping my needy cock between the tight, slick cheeks of her ass and beginning to squeeze it rhythmically.
I couldn’t go on like this. I was growing weak from frustration and leaned us against the wall. She let go of my body and put her hands on the wall, spreading her fingers wide like pale bird’s claws.
Her thighs still clung to the outside of my hips and her upper body was tilted away from me, her head and shoulders swallowed by the heavy shadow sliding down the wall. I could sense the pulse beating out of her slick, hidden heat. She was offering herself to me, without saying a word.
As I lifted her hips to find the proper angle, her back stretched before me, ash white overlaid with gray stripes of moonlight. I found her entry and slipped in, seeking her warmth and shelter instinctively.
Her head turned to the side and from the darkness, she pierced me with her unblinking, quicksilver stare again. I had to look away or I knew I would falter. I stared up at the ceiling and watched the dark flames of the shadows dance to our rhythm.
I was pushing myself through a rushing river, the water whirling and rippling around my waist. I could barely keep my balance, and I felt the panic of the fear of drowning. I found the strength to surge against the current, and dapples of moonlight shimmered on the black water of her torso.
Her haunches gripped my shaking legs tightly and her strong calves twined around the back of my knees. My fingers had grown around her white breasts, holding her up in flight. She pushed herself down off the wall against the rhythm of my thrusts. Any miscue, and we would fall from the edge of the cliff where we were balanced. But I was no longer afraid.
Exhilarated, I found the confidence to bend down and lick her back with long, even strokes, soothing her, calming my racing heart. My tongue picked up the fine hairs that covered her body and then smoothed them back in place. I bit gently at her flesh- I couldn’t bear to mar it.
I ran my hands down the sharp edges of her small ribcage, and back up the front of her body to lift her tight breasts. I kept one hand on a fluttering breast and slipped the other hand down under the web of coiled curls at the junction of our bodies. Cradling her against me, I helped her balance so that she could stretch away from me again, her muscles rippling with the undulating grace of a fleeing gazelle.
I reached down further. With my index finger I sought and found her clitoris, surging out of her oiled waves. My cock plunged behind it, trying to catch an elusive prey. As I gently stroked the firm, slick surface of her clit, it felt as I imagined a dolphin’s flashing back would. I had always wanted to touch a dolphin.
With a low growl, she reached back frantically and I pulled her up against me again. I saw the glint of her sharp nails before she gripped my neck with one tight hand and ripped long scratches in my skin again. The blood trickling down my collarbone cooled my scorched flesh.
I was losing my strength rapidly and pushed her against the wall to support our weight. Our shallow, harsh gasps resonated off of the stained surface. Suddenly, we tensed together. Something was out there. Her head turned to search the darkness with bright, alert eyes, her breathing so rapid now I couldn’t keep up.
I felt a primal urge and followed it blindly. I threw my head back and howled from the depths of my soul.
Through a haze of suddenly clouded eyes, I saw her back shine with the reflection of the moon. The crystal orb in front of me glowed and cracked with white heat, then split into two crescents. The sharp slivers pierced my flesh, causing the now familiar pleasurable pain.
An artery was cut and my blood gushed from me, draining me. I became light-headed from the loss. I was destroyed. I had traveled to the dark side of the moon.
I couldn’t hold us up any longer. We slipped to the carpet and I curled my larger body around hers, protecting her against the encroaching cold. Despite my efforts, her body cooled rapidly. I pulled her against me tighter and tighter, but the moon had gone behind a cloud and the room was plunged into icy blackness. Her slippery silver shape was dissolving with the moonlight.
Frantically, I gripped tighter and tighter. I could feel nothing now but the sharp edges of her bones and a cold, dry epidermis pulled taut over the frame. Desperate, at last I bit down hard on the back of her neck, hoping the pain would bring her back to me.
Her arid flesh turned to bitter ashes in my mouth, the fire long gone. Overwhelmed by the loss, I continued to pull my body inward, until my bony knees were under my chin. I slept with the drugged sleep of the depressed, disregarding the hard floor.
I woke the next morning, stiff, shaking with cold. It took me a while to orient myself to my situation and then I was overcome with self-loathing. I was nude and sticky with the residue from my actions the previous evening. My clothes were scattered around the room haphazardly. The wall was smudged with sweaty palm marks where I had humped the surface like a dog who’d been chained up in the yard too long.
I quickly threw myself into my shower. I winced as the soap stung the places I had scratched myself, acts that I could only assume were the beginning of developing sadomasochistic tendencies. I dressed without looking in the mirror, too afraid the horror would be overwhelming and I would never make it to work.
I dreaded seeing Scully. Would she sense my guilt, smell the filth I could not wash from my skin? I knew I wouldn’t be able to act as though nothing had happened in the night.
Sure enough, I dipped my head in shame as soon as I walked in the office and she averted her gaze. The morning dragged on, with neither of us showing much interest in putting together a case to pursue. I spent a lot of time staring at my replacement poster and musing on the dark irony of the statement written across it.
The scratches on my neck began to burn, and I had to go to the rest room to put some ointment on them. In front of the mirror, I undid my tie, avoiding looking into my own bleak eyes. But when I pulled my collar open to minister to my injuries, something caught my eye.
A bright red, painful bite on my neck. There was no way I could have done that to myself. I reflected on the possibilities for the briefest of moments and then hurried back to the office.
I crept up behind Scully at her desk, moving with the stealth of a cat. Her head was bend over as she read a file and her shining white neck was revealed as the collar of her blouse pulled away from her skin. I allowed my gaze to slide down the fine points of her vertebrae as I sauntered past.
I could not afford to tarry. She sensed my presence and straightened up quickly, defensive, her blouse back in place.
She wasn’t fast enough. I had spotted what I needed to see. The faint red mark of my teeth at the base of her neck.
I moved to the bookcase. “Scully, have you seen my Farmer’s Almanac?” I asked casually.
She was suspicious. “No, why?”
I pulled the volume out from its place on the shelf. “I want to see when the next full moon is.”
Behind me, her chair to squeak loudly with the protest of a rusty trap opening, caused by her sudden, startled movement.
I continued to flip through the book. I bared my teeth and growled a promise low in the back of my throat. “Mine.”
Author’s End Notes: This vignette came out of my pronouncement after viewing Alpha, “That bitch has to mark her territory.” Apparently, Trixie thought the same thing. I read her fic, Territorial, written before I wrote this piece, and noticed our stories have some similarities, but by then I was committed. (In more ways than one.) Respond to
Downloaded from x-libris.xf-redux.com
This file contains work/s of X-Files FAN FICTION and FAN ART which are not affiliated with Ten-Thirteen or The Fox Network. No income is generated from these works. They are created with love and shared purely for the enjoyment of fans and are not to be sold in any format.
The X-Files remain the property of Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen and Fox, unfortunately. The original stories and art remain the property of their talented creators. No copyright infringement is intended. Any copyright concerns can be addressed to .