#unholiest chap 2

[deckyshep]

Unholiest - Chapter Two

Original story by R.D. Shepard. Read Chapter One Here.

Genre(s): Historical Fiction, Supernatural, Romance Content Warnings: HIV/AIDS diagnosis, homophobia, missing person, eating disorder, grief, suicide mention, drugging Author’s Notes: Thanks for reading! This is chapter two of the Unholiest novel I’ve been writing for over a year now. This novel was heavily inspired by a TTRPG series that I’ve been a huge fan of for a long time; with the uploading of each chapter, it’ll likely become apparent which TTRPG series it is, haha. Enjoy! Summary: Mac Whelan and Drew Kelly are a young, openly gay couple in the early 1980s, living in NYC and struggling to make ends meet. It’s hard enough being out of the closet in the midst of the AIDS crisis—but when Mac suddenly goes missing, Drew struggles with the grief of losing the first man he ever loved while also dealing with the existential dread of his own mortality. When he discovers what happened to his fiancé, though... heads will roll.

It had been six months since Mac had disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a vague note explaining why he had to leave.  It had been horrible the first four months, of course; Drew only left the apartment every few weeks to get coffee grounds and filters for the coffee pot, as that was the only thing he could stomach most of the time.  He’d lost a good amount of weight – not from sickness, of course, but from being too depressed to eat.

But Deloreah and her friends brought him to the grocery store after a few months, forcing him to pick up the things he needed to survive.  It was an intervention of sorts; he’d lost his job in his depressive spiral, and they were so terrified he was just going to off himself that they had to reel him back in.

He was feeling better—no, that was a lie.  His heart was still smashed into millions of painful little shards, and even in their broken form, they throbbed, ached with pain and longing, mourning for the love of his life.  He just wasn’t as suicidal as he had been only two months ago.  He knew he had to carry on, but he didn’t know how; all he knew was that he had to at least survive.

It had been six months since Mac left him to spare him of watching his fiancé die slowly of an incurable, untreatable illness... but it had only been a few weeks since Deloreah took him to the clinic to get tested for HIV.  He’d gotten a call to return to the clinic last week, and when he heard the news, it only confirmed what he already knew: he was HIV-positive.

Dr. Stannard had offered him an experimental treatment that was showing early signs of success in fighting the virus, but he’d declined politely and left.  He stayed in his apartment for a few days, eating only a bowl of bland cereal and drinking ungodly amounts of black coffee each day. He didn’t know what to do; was there a point in doing anything if he was going to die anyway?

He wanted to say he’d came to his senses and realized this was no way to live, gone back to the doctor and volunteered for that treatment.  But that didn’t happen.  That wasn’t the reason he’d left his apartment for the first time that week on Saturday night.

It was the cut-out newspaper listing that somebody slid under his door, circled in bright red pen, that got him out tonight.  It was titled, “So You’re Dying – So Are We.”  In italics underneath that, there was a small description: “Not everything has to end the moment we find out our lives will.  Dr. Goodfellow can help you come to terms with it without exacerbating your fears.”  Underneath that, in bold, all-capital letters, was an address for an office in downtown Manhattan, maybe five blocks away from his apartment.

There he walked, dressed in Mac’s patch-covered, punk leather jacket and his own skinny jeans and boots to keep out the cold of late autumn.  He finally stopped at a bus station, pulling the clipping out of his pocket to look at the address again, then glanced up at the building in front of him: it wasn’t the tallest building he’d ever seen, but it was rather grander than he expected. The first floor with practically undamaged concrete steps leading to the mirrored glass doors had a large, elegant neon sign above the doors, labeling it as the Goodfellow Charitable Art Gallery.  As he walked up the steps, he saw the directory sign posted beside the double doors.  It seemed that Goodfellow owned this entire building, as his name was plastered in the title of every business on each floor.  And his personal office was at the very top.

Taking a breath, Drew opened the doors, stepping inside.

Right away, he felt completely out of place.  The art gallery sat upon a marbled stone floor, the art-covered walls a similar shade of painted grey but bordered in gold-painted wooden trim along every corner.  If that hadn’t been enough, the patrons of the current gallery showing were all dressed like billionaires; every woman wore a fur-lined coat and expensive kitten heels, while every man wore a flawless three-piece suit, each looking like it was tailored by a Gucci designer.  He instantly received a few disgusted looks, but he ignored them the best he could, walking through the gallery to find the building’s elevator.

“Well, hello.” Someone caught his arm, and when he looked back, he saw the most intimidatingly beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life.  She was much taller than him, especially in her knee-high, green velvet boots and extremely short, body-con black dress.  Her strawberry blond hair was pinned into a bob atop her head, a few perfectly curled locks hanging down to frame her freckled, pale face.  Her makeup looked intentionally heavy, from her long, thick lashes to her glossy pink lips.  But the things that caught his attention the most were her eyes, as they nearly glowed an emerald green.  She grinned eagerly, softly squeezing his thin bicep in her hand.  “You don’t look like you belong here... but the most interesting people don’t.  What’s your name?”

Drew plucked her hand off his arm gently, giving a tight but polite smile.  “Drew Kelly.  But I’m... Sorry, I'm not here for the gallery.  Do you know where the elevator to the doctor’s office is?”

Her eyes seemed to glint in curiosity.  “You’re here to see Goodfellow? Interesting.” She glanced over his leather jacket, amused by the sheer number of patches sewn into it.  “Goodfellow put that advertisement in the paper after his daughter was diagnosed with leukemia.  I don’t know if he’s in his office, but...”  Her vivid eyes returned to gaze into his, tilting her head with another smile.  “If someone like you has the boldness to march into this gallery just to see him, what is stopping the rest of us?”  Drew furrowed his brow in response, and she giggled, pointing a long finger behind her, where a hallway hid behind one of the separated gallery walls.  “The elevator is down that hallway.  Would you mind if I joined you, Drew?”

He stared at her, trying to determine her motive for a few seconds before he sighed.  “That’s... fine, I guess.”

“Wonderful.”  She turned, elegantly shuffling past other patrons toward the hallway, and he followed cautiously but closely behind.

The elevator at the end of the hallway was a stark difference in aesthetic compared to the gallery – it was a simple metal elevator with two buttons with arrows on them, one pointing up and the other pointing down.  She pressed her thumb into the button pointing upward, and it glowed faintly red as the elevator doors opened.  They both stepped inside the small elevator, and the woman quickly looked over the several buttons lining the side, all numbered in order, pressing the top button – the tenth floor.  The doors shut, and the elevator began its ascent, a soft instrumental tune playing over the speakers in the ceiling.

The woman turned to him with a sudden gasp.  “Oh, how absolutely rude of me! I never introduced myself.”  She brushed her perfect hair away from her eyes with a few fingers; Drew noticed she had a simple, gold wedding band on her left ring finger.  “My name is Professor Lana Bixby.  I am the curator of tonight’s gallery showing.”

Drew felt his throat go cotton dry.  ���I-- It’s, ah, nice to meet you, Lana.”

“Please, I prefer Lane.” She smiled, absently looking over the walls of the elevator.  “‘Drew Kelly’ sounds awfully familiar as a name.  I feel like I’ve heard it recently.”

Drew’s gaze lowered to the floor.  “You might be thinking of Drew Carey.  That’s what my friends nicknamed me.”

Lane raised an eyebrow at him, glancing over for just a second before she returned her eyes to the elevator’s progress above the doors.  They’d made it to the fifth floor already.  “I’m sure that’s a common misattribution.  But that’s not who I’m thinking of... Why, I’m certain I heard someone mention a Drew Kelly at some point.” Drew suddenly looked over at her with narrowed eyes, examining her face, as though he would try to read her mind through her expression.  Yet she was smiling curiously as she watched each floor number glow atop the elevator doors. “Oh well.  Perhaps it’ll come to me later.”

She was toying with him. But why?

The elevator suddenly beeped loudly, and the elevator doors opened, revealing a long red-painted hallway adorned with gold frames holding paintings of many kinds.  Several expensive-looking, matching rugs covered the grey, marbled tile floor between several heavy-looking doors lining the walls directly across from each other.  At the end of the hallway, maybe fifty feet forward, was another heavy wooden door with a metal plaque at eye level that read “Dr. Cyrus Goodfellow” in engraved cursive.

Drew felt his heart start to pound, but Lane nonchalantly made her way toward the door, glancing back at him as she walked.  “Oh, Drew. Don’t tell me you’re scared, now. Goodfellow’s a good fellow.”  She winked, turning back to the door and stopping in front of it.  He swallowed hard but quickly followed, standing beside her with his fingers nervously twitching in his jacket’s pockets.  As soon as she sensed his presence next to her, she knocked her fist against the door. “Cyrus, darling.  I’m sorry to bother, but there’s a young man here to see you.”

There was a moment of silence... and then he heard a deep voice muffled behind the door.  “Bring him in.”

Lane smiled at Drew, motioning toward the door.  “After you, lovely.”

Drew took a deep breath, twisting the doorknob and opening the door.  The first thing he saw was a dark office, only dimly lit by a green and gold string lamp atop a desk, where an older white man, possibly in his forties and with golden hair slicked back by gel, sat in a rich leather desk chair, a curious look on his face.

The last thing he saw was a delicate, pale hand reaching up to his face from behind him, holding a soaked paper towel that was subsequently forced against his nose.

[ms31x129]

@xfpornbattle @muldermakesmehorny @cultureisdarkbeer @season4mulder @peacenik0  @today-in-fic @sarie-fairy @kikocrystalball @improlificinsarcasm @baronessblixen @therobbinsnest @hurricanescully

#61 Somehow Mulder has to pretend to go down on Scully. He teases her until neither of them can take it anymore.

Chapter 1: AO3 HERE... Or Tumblr HERE.

Chapter 2: AO3 HERE.

Inner Sanctum: Shadow Play - Chapter 2

The music of Scully’s sighs and moans a melody he thought he’d never hear. Mulder was abruptly brought out of his almost hypnotic state when the booming voice echoed all around the chamber.

"Hey Supercock leave them titties alone now! My wife wants to give the next instructions... Don't you my pet."

“No Honey,  you’re doing sooo splendidly - you know I love when you’re soooo forceful … I’ll …. Ooooo…. I’ll wait… mmm…”

“Turned on are you Darling? Is your snatch getting wet? How about Red, Supercock? Take a sniff, do you smell any of that pussy ambrosia yet? I think it’s time to find out. Head south like a good chap. Make her scream for you.”

How was he going to manage this? Especially when it sounded like a good idea to him. “Trust me,” Mulder mumbled against her skin, goose flesh rising in the wake of his lips, hands following, as they traveled in a meandering path down to her hip. Her upper thigh. 

Scully’s breathing was labored and despite her attempts more sighs and moans escaped her. She tried biting her lip, but it turned into nibbling. She tried covering her eyes with the back of her hand, but the effects of Mulder’s lips on her skin just made her hyper-sensitive.

Did she look like she was swooning? 

Her small giggle turned into a moan when a vision of her in an antebellum ball gown invaded her consciousness. Mulder a snowy white cravatt at his neck. Kissing her, walking her backwards. One of her hands steadying her suddenly wobbly body on the chaise arm.

Mulder kneeling, reaching under her voluminous skirt, his fingertips walking up her legs until the crinoline she had on dropped to the floor. His eyes held hers the entire time and she could feel those hands now cupping her buttocks, squeezing. He stood grabbed her leg in one fluid motion and hooked it over his hip. Grinding into her, tipping her back. 

Back… Back onto that chaise.

It was indecent, wanton, and she reveled in it... More… more…

Body sprawled across the chaise, legs apart, the skirt quickly tossed up and over her head. She felt everything. Saw nothing - but diffuse light penetrating the fabric of her dress. Only felt his head as it moved down, travelling over her stomach and further. Her hyper-sensitive skin reading every feature on his face like braille.

Mulder reaches his tongue inside her to taste the unholiest of holy’s, his nose lines up perfectly with her clit. The anticipated touch and then the reality force her to lift her hips and grip the cushions. Her neck elongates as she gasps for breath, her nose incapable of handling her necessity for oxygen. Skin too hot not to wriggle as the flames scorch up inside her.

“Mulder,” she begged as pleasure coiled and her insides flexed around his tongue. It was a plea, one of fear to withstand, and another of need for release. 

“Mulder,” she cried before plunging into the abyss. The pleasure so severe her nerve endings reverberated in unison with waves of tension and sparks swarming her body - behind her eyelids basking in his light.

“Hey Red! Don’t keep the man waiting spread your legs ... let him get to that pussy!”

And just like that the fantasy faded… but not the tingles running through Scully’s body.

Mulder straddled the end of the chaise. Pulled her quivering legs apart - bent one and nipped the inside of her knee. His cock was hard and pressed painfully against the denim of his jeans. He envisioned the permanent button marks he’d find imprinted there later today.

“Oooohhhh Huu-nnnyyy this is the best birthday gift you have ever given me… I wish I had your cock in me right now.”

“I do too Sara, darling… I feel I’m ‘bout to spurt in my pants like the randy lad I once was…”

The couple’s conversation faded. 

Unable to stop herself, Scully’s hands landed on Mulder’s head, her fingers combed through his hair - fingernails teasingly scratching against his scalp. Mulder groaned, his breath invisible, but hot and humid against her inner thighs. His hands - slightly rough - roved from outer leg to inner, thumbs grazed the tender skin in the crease so close to the fleshy lips of her labia.

She was so aroused - had this ever happened before? Without, kissing, mutual caressing - being naked - skin to skin? She was on assignment. This was work. How in the hell could she be enjoying this? Where had that fantasy come from?

Oh my God! …  He wouldn’t, would he? … Was he ‘sniffing’ her? 

Scully felt a wet hot pressure in a slow upward pass over the crotch of her panties, before Mulder turned his face and nipped her inner thigh, mumbled, “Scully...” All her focus centered on her throbbing clit.

“Okay Supercock enough pussy pie. Fuck her. We want to hear her moan.”

“Oooh hunny tell him to take those jeans off. I want to see the outline of that cock.”

“You heard my wife Supercock. Take out that dick and fuck her. Your balls have got to be about ready to bust! We could see you grinding away.”

Scully could see Mulder was struggling. “It’s okay,” she whispered. A nod of acknowledgement in Scully's  direction and he got onto his knees. Perfect silhouette position accomplished he unbuttoned and pushed his jeans over his hips. Scully gasped his erection long and thick rising unhindered by confining denim and buttons.

“He does have an enormous cock doesn’t he hunny.”

“He does at that my pet. Just yank the crotch of those panties to the side or rip them off. Get moving Supercock and fuck her till she can’t walk tommorrow.”

“I can’t do this,” Mulder hissed faintly, then, “Bend your leg, Scully.” Bending both her legs, she watched as a drop of precum appeared on the tip of his penis. He groaned when Scully unconsciously licked her lips. In an almost magical move he’d tucked his erection back in his jeans and his hips now rested in the cradle formed by her bent knees. The grunt Scully emitted wasn’t an act - her arms clutched at Mulder’s back when he set up a slow grind.

Hooking her ankles around his waist she reciprocated raising her own hips, greedily meeting Mulder’s angle and downward thrust. The non-direct friction against her clit was sublime. Mulder dropped his head beside hers. One hand grabbed above her ass on an upstroke and picked up the pace.

She was so close. Mulder stiffened and groaned it was deep and gutterel. His hot breath stirred her own sweat soaked hair behind her ear and she felt the pulse of the climax he’d just had. Her own body was still thrumming, though - unfulfilled - she gently massaged the tension from his neck.

Was he embarrassed?

“Agents Mulder? Scully?”

They both froze. Complete awareness flooded both of them. They had been so focused on one another - everything else had faded away. Now they could hear the couple talking. The woman was sniffing and the husband soothed her. They sounded normal not at all like the brash couple giving sexual orders moments ago.

Agent Barber stuck his head in the chamber. “Agents? We caught the perp followed him right from here, it was the attendant. We knew it was an inside job.” Mulder sat hunched over with elbows on his knees and Scully was beside him.  “We appreciate your assistance with this case. We’ll need your notes as soon as possible.”

Mulder and Scully both nodded and Agent Barber left the room. The shadow play lights went out and they both blinked, their eyes adjusting to the sudden change.

They were alone. One thought in both of their heads. Lips met in a clash of wills, give and take. Mulder pulled away first, Scully’s lips still pursed and searching for his. Her head spun as she found herself flat on her back, legs spread, panties torn off and Mulder’s tongue circling her clit furiously.

“Mul… de …” The things coming out of her mouth weren’t making any sense. Especially when he got on his knees and gripped her ass - she was almost vertical most of her weight on her upper back - and he pulled her firmly against his face. His lips fastened on her swollen clit and with a few tugs and tiny graze of his teeth she was gone. She felt the flat of his tongue not moving just resting against her pink flesh as the spasms continued. A few seconds he gently licked her, humming his enjoyment before he lowered her body to the chaise and crawled up to share the taste of her on his lips.

“I couldn’t take it anymore, Scully… the teasing. I couldn’t take it anymore and I don’t think you could either.”

“No… I couldn’t… We have to go.”

“Yes, but not before … another kiss.” 

“Okay,” Scully smiles softly as their lips meet again in a searching kiss.

The End ... 

....Or read on for the Epilogue I wrote - pick your ending....

Mulder’s Apartment

Ugh, the thought of peeling his still damp jeans off, was the first thought in his mind after entering his apartment. It felt like a gallon of fluid had pumped out of his cock, he'd been so primed. And then Scully. Just the thought had him hard in seconds. He sat on his couch, his cock was in his hand moments later.

Replaying everything in his mind he pumped slowly. There was a knock on his door and then the sound of a key he didn’t notice too entranced with the images looping repeatedly within his memory. His eyes were closed and he heard.

“Move your hands Mulder.” Obeying the command he released the grip on his cock. “Open your eyes Mulder.”

Is he dreaming? Scully raised her skirt and placed first one knee and then the other, kneeling on his couch she straddled his legs. Her hands were soft and cool touching him, making him harder. She held him in position and sank down… down.. all the way…

His hands went to her hips, guiding her as she rode him. “Scully…don’t tease. I can’t take it.”

“I don’t know...oh, Mulder… your cock - your - Supercock … feels soooo good.” Scully laughed at Mulder’s expression, before he returned the smile. “I’ll show you Supercock - Red - he has some tricks.”

Mulder grabbed Scully’s ass and stood, she gave a squeal that turned into multiple and mutual groans as he carried her into his bedroom. “Are you taking me to your bed?" Scully gasped when Mulder stopped and braced her against the wall, thrusting several times. "Y, y yeeesss," he moaned out. Finally they were on the bed, Mulder braced above her, she unwound her arms and raised them high over her head in a sultry stretch.

"Show me what you got! Supercock.”