Welcome To The Harem
High by Heather Stone
Summary: Mulder/Fowley, Fowley POV.
Archivist's note: Email bounced. If you're the author and would like to formalise consent or have the story removed, please drop me a line.
From: Heather Stone firstname.lastname@example.org
Date: Sat, 18 Mar 2000 03:33:43 GMT
Subject: New: "High" (1/1) by Heather Stone
Title: High (1/1)
Author: Heather Stone
Category/Keywords: V, M/Fowley, Fowley POV
Spoilers/Timeline: No explicit spoilers, but let's say all the
Diana episodes up to the end of Season 6 just to be safe. Set
sometime before Biogenesis.
Feedback: Please! It's been a while since I've written fanfic,
and this fic was written on a sick little impulse of mine...
I'm not quite sure what to think of it myself.
Archive: Do not archive at Gossamer. Ephemeral and Spooky
awards okay. Anywhere else, if you want it, you can probably
have it, but please ask first.
Disclaimer: Let's see if I remember how to do this... it's
been a looooong time since I've posted anything. None of the
characters in the story belong to me. They are the property of
Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and 20th Century Fox. The
title and end quote are taken from "High" by Sarah Slean,
which I do not own either.
Author's notes at the end.
"High" by Heather Stone
He never looks at me when we make love. From the moment his
breath quickens in desire, his eyes squeeze shut. He can feel
my body on him, in him, surrounding him, but he doesn't want
to see it. Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose.
I kiss his chest, his face contorts. I feel his moan, thick
with a mixture of pain and desire, even before I hear it. God,
this power is intoxicating. I kiss him again, just hear the
effect I have on him.
Lord forgive me for what I am doing. I prey on his weaknesses.
I could kill him right now, tear him apart, and it would be
I reach down. I stroke him, caress him. It's too much for him
to take. Any chance that he could have resisted me is gone
now. He's high with his desire, his need. She gives him almost
everything he wants, everything he needs, but she apparently
does not give him this. For this, he comes to me.
I purr his name, his first name, so he remembers where he is,
and just who it is touching him right now. A whimper escapes
his lips, and he turns his head towards the wall. He doesn't
like it when I remind him who is making love to him.
He's afraid of me, afraid of all of this. He should be. I
could undo him, bring him crashing down in an instant now if I
wanted to. He may think he trusts me, that may be what he
tells her, and himself, but I can see the his fear in these
moments. There is so much that I could do to him, so many ways
I could use his fragility against him.
It still amazes me what he risks sacrificing for these
fleeting little moments we have together. I know all that he
has done for her. He clings to her desperately, as if his own
survival depends upon it.
What would she think of you if she knew about this? Would she
still stand at your side if she could see us right now? Would
she still look up at you with love in her eyes?
My hands trail upwards, nails raking lightly across his torso,
past his neck. I grasp his face gently, but firmly, and turn
it back towards me. He may not want to see my face, but I
definitely want to watch his.
It doesn't have to be this way, Fox.
We could have the kind of relationship now that we used to
have, where every word between us was sacred, every touch
magical. You used to say that the world changed when we were
together. Always so romantic, so trite with your pillow talk.
Of course, you don't say those things to me anymore, do you?
Open your eyes and look at me, Fox. I could change your world
for you again. I could be everything for you that you think
I could be more.
I run my fingers over his lips before brushing them with my
own mouth. He kisses me back, feverishly. I chuckle softly
into his mouth. He's a willing participant now, it's not all
my fault anymore. He is weak. Despite all his better
judgements, he wants this, he wants me, and I cannot be blamed
for his weakness.
When he first started coming to me like this, late at night,
yearning for something-- knowledge, understanding, compassion,
affection, what exactly I don't know-- I used maintain an air
of indifference to the whole affair. I would offer him a
drink, he would always accept. I would let his hand linger a
little too long over mine. My hand to his cheek, gentle
murmurs or concern on my tongue. Lean in just a little too
close, make him think that the first kiss was his idea...
Undress slowly and methodically, first myself, then him...
Fall to the floor before we could make it to the bedroom... I
let him inside me quietly, without protest, without
encouragement... And most importantly, pretend not to notice
the fact that he cannot look me while all of it is
happening... or the obvious guilt in his eyes when it is over.
I didn't think he would come back, at least not so soon. I had
not figured I could get him addicted so quickly. It was just a
little over a week before he returned. I played the game much
as I had the first time, pretending I wasn't expecting him to
kiss me, letting the evening play out as if I had no control
over the situation.
The game changed slowly, not all at once. It took several
encounters to get to where we are tonight, in my bed, his body
pinned under mine.
His hands are on me now, across my ass, along my breasts,
everywhere. He's ready now, ready to be in me, to let go, and
he does not really care if I am ready now or not.
I poise over him now, he thrusts up towards me, but I keep for
distance for the moment. "I love you," I whisper to him. He
doesn't reply, only grunts in return. I try again. "I love
"Mmm, love you too. Love you," he moans. He's gone now,
everything else, everyone else, forgotten. Nothing else
matters to him at this moment except the high. He would say
anything to me right now.
I lower myself, take him into me. He is still murmuring
nonsense about love in my direction. It won't be long now for
either of us. He'll come hard and fast with tears down his
cheeks. His fall back to earth will be hard and fast too. He
will lie beside me, and there will be no more fevered kisses,
no more talk of love. He'll be gone from my bed long before
But this will not be his last visit. I've given, and taken
away, too much for him to break away from me now. I hold power
God, what a high.
"Always wonder why your eyes are closed;
Don't you want to see me closing mine?
Heaven help me, I'll devour him.
See me drawing out his spine."
-- Sarah Slean "High"
Author's notes: This story was inspired by, and borrows
heavily from, the songs "High" and "Habit" by the fabulous
Sarah Slean. If you want to read the lyrics, or listen to the
songs, visit www.sarahslean.com/home.htm .
Big thanks beta reader and all around sweet person, Annie
Sewell-Jennings for encouraging me with this, even though she
is a rabid shipper. :) Hell, so am I; this fic came as a
surprise to me too. This story is for my bestest buddy, and
fellow Sarah Slean fanatic, Sarah the Flying Squirrel, because
she is extremly cool and she encouraged me to post this.