Chronicles of
the Avalonverse
Skin
Written by Jack
Caynon Jcaynon@aol.com
Edited by
Charlie Schone Schone23666@yahoo.com
Summary:
Mulder’s midnight fantasy about his partner treads dangerous ground.
Is it a warning from his subconscious that something isn’t right with
Scully?
Spoilers:
The X-files episodes Pilot and Ice
This story is
rated for Mature Readers.
Disclaimers:
Buffy
the Vampire Slayer: All rights and properties belong to Joss Whedon, Fox Studios
and Mutant Enemy, etc.
The X-Files: All
rights and properties belong to Chris Carter and Fox Studios.
The Avalonverse
is the creation of Jack Caynon and Charlie Schone.
Any characters, whose names and
descriptions are used, are the property of their original owners, and no
copyright infringement is intended or meant.
No money can be made from this story. It may be distributed freely so long as it
is kept in its entirety, with all notices and copyright information remaining
intact.
***
Skin
The dream had been always
the same; it had ever since that first night.
However, tonight, it was different.
****
Once again, Mulder found himself swallowed by darkness.
He was back in the storage room on Icy Cape, crouched against the wall
that cocooned him from the arctic cold.
He shivered forcefully and drew his arms tight against his body, though his
discomfort had nothing to do with the frigid temperatures outside.
Inexorably, just the same as the nights he laid awake on his stiff leather couch
at home, his musings turned to the object of his witching hour fantasies when,
at the beginning of their partnership, she’d pounded on his motel room’s
door and came in from the rain.
Scully.
"I want you to look at something," she'd said.
The urgency in her voice had bewitched him, clear as crystal in the oppressive
silence of the arctic station's improvised prison.
Slowly, he relived the scene in his mind's eye, never degrading it by
re-imagining it into an outlet for his pornographic fetishes.
As always, he cherished her purity and was content to relish each morsel
as if they were manna from heaven above. He drank in the contrast of her
alabaster skin alongside the crimson of her terry cloth robe and the scarlet of
her slightly dampened hair. He recalled his breathless anticipation when
her fingers had trembled while she’d untied the knot of her sash, had turned
and allowed the garment to slip down and away from her creamy shoulders.
He marveled at how the light from his candle had caressed her soft and supple
curves and how well candlelight suited her. He remembered how relieved he
was that the bumps had posed no danger to her. But the thing he’d
treasured the most was the memory of her silky skin as his fingertips glided
across it and the way her petite, yet curvaceous form pressed fiercely against
him when she’d thrown herself into his waiting arms.
RATCH!
Suddenly, his reverie of that first night ended when the railcar-like door
opened in front of him and she stepped inside as the blinding light from the
hallway illuminated her body like a halo.
She stood there, right in
front of him, his Goddess of Truth and he longed to hold her.
Mulder jumped to his feet and shielded his eyes from the harsh glare.
"Is it just you?"
"Yes," she breathed as the door slammed shut behind her. Seconds
later, she switched on the overhead light and it shown brightly against her
fiery hair. But something was
wrong.
Her flannel shirt was gone. Now she
stood before him dressed in something he’d never seen before.
She was garbed in an ebony skin-tight body suit that attracted the
room’s meager light to it like a black hole in space. It covered her
body from the top of her neck down to the tip of her toes.
It seemed to beg for him to touch it and he almost complied.
Then his gaze hardened and he narrowed his eyes at her.
"It's one of them," he said like before.
"No one's been killed since you've been in here."
"So?"
We found a way to kill it. Two worms in one host will kill each other."