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Nothing Gold Can Stay
TITLE: NOTHING GOLD CAN STAY
AUTHOR: Bone Tree ()
CATEGORY: MSR, H, Parody
SPOILERS: Everything through Season 6.
KEYWORDS: Humor, Parody, MSR
SUMMARY: Months after the ordeal in “Goshen,” Mulder and Scully have a rainy night of Scrabble and deep thoughts.
ARCHIVE: Yes, but please keep my name attached and let me know where it’s going. Okay for Gossamer and Spookys.
FEEDBACK: Of course (does anyone say no?).
DISCLAIMER: The following is a work of fiction (depending on how loosely you can apply that term). The characters of Mulder, Scully, Melissa and Emily are the property of 1013 Productions, Chris Carter, and Fox. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from the use of these characters. The story itself is the uinntellectual property of the holder of the above AOL account. There are no Patsy Cline song lyrics anywhere in this piece. No animals were harmed in the making of this fanfiction. Stunt men and women were used for dangerous scenes.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Once, a friend and I were sitting on a mountainside in Lhasa, Tibet, staring at the clouds, the land below, considering the meaning of it all. Finally, she said to me, “Bone, you know, there are only three things I’ve never seen in a smut scene of X-Files fanfiction….a trampoline, a figure skating death spin, and a trapeze.” And a thought was formed….I could not, from that moment forward, tolerate this glaring gap in the canon…
Thanks to Beff, Squibs, Arwenia, Chicken, and Clauds. If they hadn’t been nagging me so hard for a new fanfiction, I wouldn’t have gotten affectionately annoyed at them and written this incredible piece of postmodern literature to quiet them. This is a sequel of sorts to my other fanfiction, “Goshen.” I spent some time poking fun at myself, too, just for good measure because, as we all know, if you can’t laugh at yourself, everyone else will…
And thanks, of course, to Robert Frost for the title. He’s spinning like a Taiwanese tin top as we speak.
14 OCTOBER, 1999
It was a dark and stormy night. Outside, lightning flashed across the city, illuminating the wet patinas of buildings, the slick streets of the city, running through the nerve center of a nation like big wet veins. Cars poked through them in lines, looking for all the world like red blood cells. Lights went from green to red and then back to green. In Dupont Circle, people milled around, sipping $4.00 cups of coffee and reading the Washington Post under dim Tiffany lamps, looking self-conscious and overly important. It was a normal night in the Nation’s Capital. Even with the rain.
A normal night in the townhouse of Special Agent Dana Scully, who was closing the door behind her and turning the lock. She shrugged out of her coat, hung it on the tasteful wooden rack beside the door, tossed her purse into the chair by the floor lamp she turned on, illuminating the room with a dim, otherworldly glow.
Behind her, a knock at the door.
She knew that knock. Shave and a Haircut. Two bits.
Just the same, she turned and looked through the fisheye lens set into the door. An eye stared back at her, wide and green/brown. Somewhere near hazel. But not quite. Someone once described it as the color of changing leaves, but she couldn’t remember who. Probably some terrible poet.
She smiled. Opened the door.
Fox Mulder stood in front of her, wearing a black turtleneck and leather jacket. Jeans that were just a touch too tight. She really needed to have that talk with him about how tight jeans adversely effected sperm production, but that would have to wait for another night. For now, she was enjoying the view. And plus that, she’d never had any problems with his sperm production before….
Not since that night, both of them half encased in plaster, after the terrible wreck on Afton Mountain, when they’d finally consummated their lurking, constant passion. Her leg propped up on a chair like the back end of a 1974 Pinto with a flat. God, just thinking about it sent shivers up her spine and made her lower back ache with memory.
“Hey.” His voice was the timber of molasses running up hill in January. She didn’t actually believe that was a sound, but it worked. She licked her lips.
“Hey yourself,” she replied, watched him enter the living room, and closed the door behind him. Now she turned both locks and put on the chain. No interruptions tonight. Not with him looking like that.
He barely had time to turn before she was on him, her arms going underneath the leather jacket, feeling the thick bands of muscle that stretched across his shoulders, digging in with her nails as she kissed him, kissed him with everything she had, her tongue chasing his around his mouth like two dogs in the front yard on a fall day.
He was taut with surprise at first, then relaxed into the kiss, his arms going around her, caressing the ubiquitous Armani black coat she wore, his hands smoothing over the front, tracing the hole in the abdomen that gave him easy access to her belly. Thank GOD she’d been shot in this, twice, because he didn’t think he could stand working the buttons just yet. And that place where the Stranger had tried to rip out her heart? Yummy. He thanked God for dry cleaning…
Her belly was as soft as that of a cat that had just been shaved to be spayed. Moaning, he kissed her back. He kissed her hard.
Finally, they separated, gasping for breath.
“I want you, Mulder,” she breathed against his throat, nuzzling him like a chimp, her hands going down, into the waist of his jeans, teasing the thick elastic of his J. Crew heather gray boxer briefs.
“How do you want me, Scully? Tell me.” His eyes bore into hers like an oil rig into the bottom of the ocean. He wanted her that bad.
“Every way. Every way we can.” She reached around the front now, working on the button of his jeans, feeling the red hot heft of him straining against the zipper. After a kiss like that, he was already at three quarters mast and GOD was she saluting.
Looking at her, his mouth quirked up in a half-smile. Even that looked goofy on him but she didn’t care. “EVERY way?”
“Uh huh,” she breathed, and took his hand, leading him into the bedroom. She flicked on a light beside the bed.
“Mulder, you’re wearing too many clothes,” she murmured huskily. Turning towards him and peeling out of her black coat, then working on the buttons of her white shirt, one by one.
“God, I love it when you say that to me,” he replied, pulling off his coat and tossing it out the door. There was the sound of glass breaking, but she didn’t care.
“I’m glad, since one of us says it almost every time we do this,” she whispered, out of the shirt now. She unpopped the button on her black pants. To Mulder it was the sound of bottle of expensive champagne on New Year’s Eve. Or even a cheap bottle. He figured they made about the same sound.
He was pulling his turtleneck over his head quickly, not wanting to miss a MINUTE of her disrobing. It was like the first time every time he saw her creamy skin exposed to him. He couldn’t stand to miss an instant of it. She had the pants down, around her ankles, and was toeing off her heels now, pushing the pants off with a seductive WHISH. He grabbed his pants, already open, and pushed them down roughly, taking his underwear with them. He’d forgotten to take his boots off, of course, so he had to pull them back up as he tugged the laces one by one. Finally, his shoes and socks off, his pants were able to slide over this huge feet. He was naked. Gloriously so.
For her part, Scully had gotten her underwear off and was working on her bra.
“No, let me,” he said quickly, coming towards her, his flaming member bobbing up and down like one of those birds that you put in front of a glass of water that wears a pilgrim hat. As he came towards her, it was tapping softly against his abdomen like a child politely trying to get his attention. It had all of his attention as he stood in front of her, his fingers deftly opening the clasp on the front of her bra. It popped open and she was FREE. Gloriously free. She moaned.
“God, Mulder, that thing has been killing me all day. Thank you….” She leaned up and kissed him again, her tongue twining with his. He pushed the soft fabric over her shoulders and away, his hands going to her breasts, squeezing, squeezing, kneading her like pizza dough. Her nipples were hard enough to crack an egg on and he’d barely started touching her yet. He was amazed and impressed with himself. As usual.
“Tell me what you want,” he moaned into her ear, nearly deafening her. “I’ll give it all to you. All of it. Everything I’ve got.”
“Yes….” she groaned in reply, drawing the word out as her hands went to his throbbing manhood. “Oh God, Mulder…..” Her hand traced the length of him, her thumb swirling the little dot of moisture that appeared unbidden as she did so. This soon and she thought he might be ready to pop. His dick was empurpled, straining. Like someone had put a rubber band over the base and twisted it tighter and tighter….
She kissed him again, led him to the bed. The ceiling fan spun lazily above them. She stood with him right under it, glanced up.
“Mulder, have you ever wondered why my ceiling fan has three pulls?” He looked up dutifully, noticing for the first time, that yes, there were in fact three pulls. One small one for the light, one for the fan, and a third, with a frilly red pull on it.
“Um…it has an extra set of speeds?”
She shook her head, bit her bottom lip, looking at him mischievously. “Uh uh.” She moaned. The sound was like having a drop of water dripped on his forehead over and over. He shifted from foot to foot eagerly, like the floor was too hot to stand on. He didn’t know what her game was but he wanted to go ahead and let her win so he could get into her lush warm softness as soon as possible.
“Did you also ever wonder what the hinged door was over my bed?”
He looked up. Sure enough. There was a hinged door there. He shook his head dumbly.
“Autoerotic asphyxiation harness assembly?” he guessed, slightly hopeful.
“No, honey, that’s your area,” she replied. She nodded to the pull. “Go on. Pull it.”
He smiled, licked his lips, then reached up, tugged the rope obediently. The hinged door opened and out dropped a trapeze, swinging softly over the bed with a hypnotic “come hither” rhythm. There were tassels on the sides, red ones, like the ones he’d had on his bicycle handle bars back at the Vineyard. It hung close to the ceiling, bolted in place. Reaching down with one foot, Scully slid a small, round trampoline from underneath the bed. He looked at her, his eyes wide.
“You want to….?” He was aghast. He didn’t think she went in for this sort of thing.
“Uh huh,” she murmured huskily. “Barnum & Bailey me, baby,” She nodded towards the trapeze. And though he hadn’t done this sort of thing since Oxford, he nodded dumbly. He’d never been more turned on in his life.
She went to the nighttable, pulled out the drawer. It was filled with gymnast chalk. By God he loved her. She thought of everything. He went to it and dipped both hands in, then turned and clapped them together, sending out little clouds of dust all around them.
“You ready for me?” he asked, waggling an eyebrow.
“You know it.” He looked at her body hungrily, noting with a mixture of amazement and horror the puddle at her feet. Then he climbed on the bed, grabbing hold of the bar, and swiveling himself up, hooking his legs over it. When he was sure he had a good grip with the backs of his knees, he let go with his hands, swinging his body forward to start the trapeze swinging. Once he had a good rhythm going, he nodded to her.
“You ready?” she asked, standing on the trampoline now, beginning to bounce a bit, getting up some height.
“You bet.” He watched her get closer and then further away, closer than further away. It made him a bit ill. But he was too turned on to pay any attention…
“Okay, here I come!” Timing it just right, she bounced, higher and higher, then, just as he was near her she leapt towards him, spinning in the air, a double twisting half gainer, and landed on him upside down, his throbbing manhood sliding into her like a key into a Master deadbolt lock. Two swings, a few thrusts, and she launched herself off of him, dropping to the bed, bouncing, hitting the trampoline again, then backflipping back towards him. He whooped a cheer as she came hurtling towards him again. She was good at this….and he should know. He’d been with the best….
A 69 for a few swings….
Her holding the ropes of the trapeze, straddling him upright….
Then both of them sitting up on the trapeze….
A misland, her struggling off the trampoline, limping, pointing to her ankle. He was about to stop and go to her, but then she was up on the trampoline again (God, he loved her — such PLUCK) and she bounced again, off balance, ended up landing on his face…but no one was complaining. She held on like the creature from those Alien movies, shrieking. Who cared if the neighbors heard!
He didn’t know how much longer he could last like this. He hoped it was a long time.
Finally, his knees gave out and they collapsed, exhausted on to the bed. Neither of them had reached that pinnacle of pleasure just yet. But they were laughing. Laughing like the day they were born, laughing!
Once they’d stopped, Mulder moved down in between her legs, nudging them apart with his knees. Kneeling, he looked at her menacingly.
“You ready to get serious?” he asked dangerously.
“That wasn’t serious?” she asked meekly, staring at his huge member, slightly afraid. Had it gotten bigger since the last time they’d done this? Or had what they’d just done stretched it like a piece of salt water taffy? She didn’t know, but if it were going to be a flavor, it would be that grape, for certain. He was about to explode.
“Uh uh,” he grunted, reaching around her hips and jerking her lower body roughly towards him. “That was the opening act. This is for real now, baby.”
Reaching down, he grasped himself in one fist and maneuvered himself inside her lush warm soft soft softness. She moaned as he did so, feeling suddenly full. Feeling like she’d been empty her entire life until she met him, like her entire body were a sock puppet and he was the hand….
The thought made her tear up. Missy had had a sock puppet…. And she was going to give it to Emily….
“You’re crying,” he asked quickly. He was horny as hell, but he wasn’t an indifferent bastard. He could hold on for a few seconds. “Am I hurting you?”
“No, no…” She turned her face into the pillow. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
It sounded a little thin, but at this point, who cared? He was right where he wanted to be and she’d forget about what was bothering her soon enough. And besides. He’d asked. That had to count for something. It always had before when she’d responded with that. How many times had he heard that response from her and just let things be? Why should tonight be any different?
With this in mind, he grasped her hips and began to swivel her around against him, and sure enough, she was making this incredible high pitched noise like a kid on the Scrambler in no time flat.
“Oh, God, that’s SOOOOO good….” she moaned. Emboldened, he went for more turn on the motion, until he was ACTUALLY turning her over on the bed, face up, face down, face up, face down, her legs spinning around in front of his face. The feeling was incredible. His penis was getting more crimps in it than a corkscrew, turning with a tension that he could barely stand….
They’d been at it for hours. The swiveling, her screeching like a hoot owl, the tension on him as he turned her, turned her.
Then, lost in the pleasure that was him and forgetting himself for an instant, he let go of her, and was horrified when the tension reversed itself, his penis unwinding, spinning her around on the bed at lightening speed! She looked like an ice skater finishing off a perfect routine with one of those death spins that the homosexual sportscaster on ABC sports loved so much! It was amazing to watch. A scream tore from her, partly muffled by the bed each time she spun face down…
He couldn’t believe it. The woman was insatiable!
He grabbed her suddenly — he knew she was close — and swung her tiny body up over his head, swinging in a long wide circle like a lasso, then let her go, her arching her body perfectly like a boomerang and she flew across the room, her body a dim shape against the city skyline as she arched back towards him, landing perfectly, straddled over him, his member sliding into her perfectly again, like the grooves in two Lincoln Logs…
Then she was COMING, COMING, her soft soft soft inner muscles contracting around him like fists sqwunching up a long piece of clay into a rope as she shrieked one long note, holding it out so long that the glass in the windows actually SHATTERED with the sound. That was it. He couldn’t hold back anymore…..
Releasing a low, wrenching groan, he pulled out of her, since he’d watched so much porn that he’d never figured out that he could actually STAY inside her and find his sweet release, and his pleasure crested. She opened her eyes to watch and was AMAZED to find his precious life seed squirting up into the room, just like fireworks on the Fourth of July, blasting off in different colors, lighting up the room with its iridescence. She was happy for the display, happy that something good had come out of that whole black oil experience in Russia, even if the radiation would kill him someday….
But for now, she didn’t care! The greens! The blues! The final flurry of it as his body jerked as though he’d shoved his finger in an electrical socket! It was amazing! The wind whipped the cool fall rain in around them, drenching the room through the broken windows…..
He collapsed onto her sweat pouring out of him. The room was dripping all around them…
“Oh I love you, Scully, I love you so much. You’re my heart’s blood. My little turtle, my baby burro. It’s never been like this. Not with anyone…” He was mumbling all this to her breasts.
“And I love you too, my Lone Ranger, my Tonto, my Aqua Man…”
He was limp in her arms now, sleep overtaking him as it always did. Limp. Like a doll. Like a rag doll.
She teared up. Missy had had a rag doll. She was going to give it to Emily. But it was too late…too late……
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