You Hold My Heart In Your Hands
Title: You Hold My Heart in Your Hands
Rating: G or R depending on how you read it.
Spoilers: Tiny Milagro reference
Feedback: Chalcedony.1@hotmail.com
He wasn't sure if he was dreaming or awake. He was lying
on a cool metal table. There was a white light overheard,
and outlined within it, several bobble-headed aliens were
looking down at him.
"Are you ready to observe?" purred a familiar voice. Dr.
Dana Scully snapped on her latex gloves and repositioned
her glasses.
There was a general murmur of agreement, and before Mulder
could object to what was happening, she climbed up onto the
table and straddled him. She unbuttoned his shirt and
positioned the scalpel over his chest. He could feel her
warm breath as she leaned down to whisper in his ear, "This
might sting a little."
She cut through the skin like she was gutting a fish,
sliding the razor edge from collar bone to belly. As she
slipped her fingers inside his chest cavity, she turned her
head politely to the side to cough. Fireflies flew up from
his abdomen. The aliens "ooh-ed" and "ahh-ed."
"Did you see that?" he asked.
"See what?" she answered coolly, already slipping an icy
metal retractor in place.
She spread his ribs apart like she was cracking open a
pinata before a greedy crowd of children, and a general
noise of approval arose as she assessed his perfect,
throbbing, pulsing heart.
In that moment he began to panic. He felt vulnerable. But
when she slipped her hands inside, his fears began to
subside. Her fingers were firm and smooth and cool. They
slid comfortably over and around the warm pulsating
wetness. It felt so good, he wondered why they hadn't
done this before. He felt certain he would never want to do
this with anyone else but her, ever again.
He gazed at her mouth, and imagined pressing his lips
against that soft silken warmth. He looked into her eyes
and saw himself reflected there. She held him firmly and
began to squeeze, setting up a rhythm with her hand. It
was a slow torture. He closed his eyes and gritted his
teeth and tried to control his breathing, hoping that he'd
be able to hang on.
"Are you with me?" She asked.
"Yes," he gasped out.
"We're almost there." She pumped harder, until he was
moaning and writhing in pain. "I can feel it," she said.
And indeed, pain cut through his chest like a shard of
glass, sharp and burning.
Suddenly, she stopped.
He felt her draw something out, hard and serrated.
A key.
Mulder awoke on his couch, heart pounding erratically. The
gray light of morning seeped in at the windows and the
clicking sounds of sliding metal registered in his brain.
Scully had inserted her key in his lock--the tumblers
slipped and she turned the handle. She poked her head
around the corner and he met her eyes with his startled
gaze.
"Bad dream?" she asked. She walked over and sat
comfortably down beside him.
He rubbed his chest ruminatively and reached out for one of
her hands, examining her fingers for signs of psychic
surgery.. "No....not bad. Just different."
Notes: Thanks to on_her_horizon for the icon. Andy Warhol didn't deisgn the Campbell's soup label and I didn't make up Mulder and Scully, and most of this fic is a sub-par plagiarization of Barbra Jacksha's "The Way to a Man's Heart."