Mona Lisa Smile

by Vyper

TITLE: Mona Lisa Smile



SERIES/SEQUEL: 1st story in the Yuletide Saternalia series



SPOILERS: None. Takes place prior to Tooms (season 1)

SUMMARY: A video store encounter leads Mulder on an incredible journey to a life without limits, without boundaries.

ARCHIVE: Yes to WWOMB, CKoS, DitB, Slashing Mulder

WARNING: This story (and ones to follow) contains sexual practices that may be considered unsafe by some. Remember this is fiction/fantasy, therefore reality doesn't always apply, especially if it gets in the way of a really hot sex scene, so I've been told.<g> [waves to Jax]

DISCLAIMER: Bertina owns Starlight Studios and Ramrod Stevens and graciously allowed me to use them. You can read her fic, Porn Star, here: CC & 1013 own anyone else you recognise. I own those you don't.

NOTES: Many thanks to Bertina and Chad for putting the initial idea for this series into my head. It turned out vastly different from the smutty PWP I had in mind, but this is where the boys insisted on going. Who am I to argue? <g> Thanks also to Medusa for beta duties and Lukerqueen for her very kind words and encouragement.

MORE NOTES: This story started life as just a very brief flashback scene in a much longer fic. It kept nagging at me to be expanded and even demanded its own title. So, for better or worse, here it is.

All my stories can be found at:

By Vyper

March, 1994

I remember the first time I saw Cupid as if it was yesterday. I was leaving the Hoover building on my way to a midday meeting with one of my anonymous contacts. Coming into the lobby was a typical tour group comprising tourists with cameras and Camcorders, family groups with frolicking children, couples holding hands and a few singles.

One young man had drifted away from the group. He was down on one knee as if in the act of proposing to his invisible sweetheart. It wasn't til I passed him that I saw he was tying a shoelace that had come loose. He wore an old black leather jacket and faded blue jeans. The denim was so tight it looked painted on. His head was bent over, longish dark brown hair covering part of his face. I barely glanced at him, not wanting to be late for my meeting. By the end of the day I'd totally forgotten about him.

Or at least I thought I had.

That night, in the adult section of my local video store, I met the man who totally and irrevocably changed my life. It was the first time I had ventured into the gay section, my usual haunt being amongst covers depicting surgically enhanced peroxide blondes who looked as if they came straight from the set of Baywatch and where the female of the species outnumbered the men by at least three to one.

A cover showing a muscular and tanned twenty-something kneeling between some stud's hairy legs had caught my eye, attracting me like a magnet. He was naked except for a studded leather collar around his throat. I could only see him in profile, his face mostly obscured by damp, chestnut brown hair, but he immediately reminded me of the good-looking guy I had seen earlier that day.

The title, something corny and cliched like 'Ramrod Rims Rio' was displayed at the top of the cover. Under it, in scrawling neon pink, was 'starring Ramrod Stevens'.

I didn't notice that there was someone standing next to me 'til we both reached for the same case. Our fingers touched and a jolt of static electricity and white-hot heat raced from his fingertips straight to my cock. I had never felt anything like it before. My pulse quickened, my temperature soared and my whole body tingled.

I looked up at the tall stranger who had caused my instant erection. His face, lined with age yet handsome, was calm and relaxed, giving no hint of what effect, if any, I was having on him. Full lips were parted slightly as if still grasping the cigarette he held in his right hand.

Seemingly of its own free will, my gaze travelled downwards. Immaculately tailored pants couldn't hide a rather impressive bulge and my legs nearly turned to jello.

Neither of us wanted to relinquish our hold on the case as it was the last copy available. After taking a long drag on his cigarette, he peered down at me and said, "Seems like we both want the same thing."

I stood stunned and speechless, breathing in the menthol-scented smoke he slowly exhaled in a cloud around my head. I'd given up smoking a couple of years previously and never missed it but right then I craved a cigarette like a starving man craves food.

"You have what I want," he continued in a deep, rumbling voice. He brushed his fingers across my cheek. The smoldering tip of his cigarette hovered just below my eye, so close that I stopped breathing out of concern that any voluntary movement would bring it in contact with my flesh. However, I couldn't stop the involuntary movement associated with protecting such a vital organ. My eyes closed of their own accord, lashes resting against skin that was getting hotter by the second.

My whole body trembled, whether from fear or excitement or both, I don't know and I could feel tiny droplets of perspiration forming on my brow. I was scared but not terrified as I probably should have been, given my life-long pyrophobia. Deep inside, I knew this mysterious stranger wasn't going to burn me. I knew it like you know your own name and birthday. He was testing me, determining that I really did have what he wanted.

To an outsider it must have looked like an act of sadism. But I knew different. He wasn't a cruel person. Any cruelty was totally unintentional on his part. There was no way he could have known that I hated fire, was scared to death of it. Would he have still done it had he known? I can't say for sure, but I'm almost certain the answer would have been yes. My fear of fire would have been the icing on the cake, taking a simple test of my pain threshold to a much higher, much more dangerous level.

Would I reveal my phobia to him? That question I can answer without hesitation, without doubt. Yes, I would. And I did, just minutes after he had taken my virginity. I looked forward to telling him with almost child-like anticipation. More than anything, I wanted to experience what he would do with the knowledge.

We've been together three months now and he hasn't done anything yet. Maybe he never will. I can't and won't ask. I can only accept that he will do what he wants when he wants without any consultation with me. He has proven time and again that he knows what's best for me and I trust him. I trust him with my life. Have done since the moment we met, even if I wasn't aware of it then.

A whimper escaped my clenched lips. My hands had curled into fists, nails digging painfully into the soft flesh of my palms. My cock had gone completely limp, my arousal extinguished like flames dowsed with water. My left cheek felt like it was on fire. I swear I could smell singed hair and scorched skin. Through it all, he was there, petting me, calming me with soft caresses and even softer whispers.

"Shhhh, baby, it's okay. I'm here." And "Shhhh, it hurts, I know." And "Shhhh, just a little longer, a few more seconds." And "Shhhh, endure it for me, baby, just for me."

His thumb traced my mouth, firm flesh pressed against my quivering lips. Pressing until I could deny him no longer, pressing until I parted them just enough to allow him to slip the tip of his thumb inside. I suckled on it, taking the little bit of comfort he was offering. It didn't distract me from the rapidly escalating warmth covering half my face. In fact, the very act of suckling brought my cheek momentarily closer to the burning tip. I was an active participant in my very own trial by fire, but I couldn't have stopped even if I had wanted to. The instinct to suckle when distressed is one of the oldest of man's primitive reflexes.

I doubt that anything could have numbed the pain, but it was confirmation that, though he had no qualms about inflicting pain, he would never leave me to deal with it alone. He alone would hurt me, mark me and make me scream and he alone would soothe me while I cried, tend my wounds as I healed and hold me as I drifted off to sleep. He would instigate my nightmares then comfort me with body massages and blowjobs. He would flog my bare back raw and bloody with the thorn-covered branch of a rosebush, then carry me to his bed and lay me down amongst the richly scented petals for hours of long, slow lovemaking.

Okay, maybe that last one was just a little melodramatic but you get the idea.

A second after discomfort transformed into genuine pain, the searing heat disappeared, replaced with moist coolness. He kissed each eyelid, licking away the tears that had filled my eyes with gentle sweeps of his tongue.

"Very impressive. Good control. Not perfect, but we can work on that." His words were spoken so quietly, so matter-of-factly, that I wondered if I had imagined them or perhaps was hearing the audio from one of the many TV screens dotted around the store. No, I'm positive I heard them. My brain, confused and dazed by all that was happening couldn't, or wouldn't, process the meaning of them. They were just sounds, as unintelligible to me as Latin is to a first-grader. In time, I would come to understand them, though it would take me many months and many painful lessons to grasp their true meanings and the ultimate consequences of what was set in motion by a simple z-grade porn flick.

His thumb slipped from my mouth as he slid his hand down towards my throat.

I opened my eyes but kept them downcast, my focus fixed on the grimy floor in front his feet. Don't know why. It just felt right.

His fingers were on either side of my Adam's Apple, resting lightly over the two pulse points. With barely any pressure at all, he could constrict my breathing. Fingers that only moments ago had stroked me so tenderly could crush my windpipe in an instant. I knew he was capable but would he? And why did the thought of him doing it excite me so much?

Before I could stop it, my imagination took control. I could see and feel what would happen so clearly it was like it was really happening.

His grip slowly tightened, digging into the soft tissue until I couldn't breathe. I didn't panic. I didn't struggle. I stood perfectly still as a feeling of total contentment washed over me.

"Look at me, baby."

My instant obedience was rewarded by the loosening of his fingers, just enough to allow me to take the shallowest of breaths. I didn't take one. I looked into his eyes. Hazel eyes so much like my own, even down to the tiny specks of gold and green, that it was like looking into a mirror at an older version of myself. One of his eye-brows twitched in surprise at my refusal to draw breath. I saw the look of pride that lit up his features even as he once again squeezed his fingers around my throat. Tighter this time, so tight I was sure I was going to pass out.

Don't panic. He won't want you if you panic.

That's right, Fox.

Not even my thoughts were my own. He had access to and ownership of my mind. Soon that would ext-

Yes, Fox. First your brilliant, beautiful mind, then your sweet, young body.

Before I could even think the words, he was confirming them.

I kept my gaze locked on his face, his eyes, concentrated on his scent, Old Spice, menthol and nicotine. I watched him do what I couldn't. The rhythmic movements of his broad chest, the quiet whooshing of life-sustaining oxygen being inhaled and toxic carbon dioxide being exhaled. In, out. In, out. In, out. They calmed me, forcing my panic back into a deep sleep.

I can do this, I thought. I want to do this. I need to do this.

I didn't notice that my left hand had risen towards my throat til I felt the fingers curl around his wrist. Panic flared like a wild animal when I thought he might stop. That was the last thing I wanted.

Don't let go! Please, don't let go!

He smiled down at me with such joy that I would have gladly submitted myself to this a thousand times a day. Would have willingly let him squeeze every last breath out of my body.

At the same as I uncurled my fingers from his wrist and lowered my arm to my side, he delivered one last savage contraction of his fingers, so brutal that I heard the cartilage of my windpipe grate and grind, felt it crack and crumble.

Consciousness was rapidly slipping away. I didn't have much time left to show my gratitude.

"Thank you," I mouthed as darkness rushed toward me like a winter storm. It didn't seem enough but it was all I had to give him.

And then I died, with a smile on my face and the mother-of-all hard-ons in my jeans. I hung limp and lifeless in his strong arms as he traced the bruises on my throat, first with his fingers and then with his lips. His sharp teeth punctured my carotid artery and he suckled, draining all the blood from my body. He placed bloodstained lips against my cold, blue ones and french-kissed me for what seemed like hours. When he was finally done, he lowered my corpse gently to the floor and walked away.

"Yes, very impressive, indeed." His voice intruded into my fantasy. His hand on my crotch shattered it.

I came out of the trance lightheaded, out of breath and struggling to stay upright. I drew in great lungfulls of air, fighting with all my might not to draw attention to us.

Fuck, that felt so fucking real, it was amazing. It was so amazing that I didn't want to spoil things by analyzing it to death, so I didn't.

While I was fantasizing about erotic asphyxiation, vampirism and necrophilia, his hand had travelled from my throat to my groin. Carnal contact lasted only a couple of seconds, but it was so reminiscent of his hand squeezing my throat that I nearly came right then and there. But I remained silent and passive as he fondled me. My eyes, though filled with tears, were once more locked on his.

This time, he didn't talk to me or attempt to soothe me. He just stood there watching me with a weird Mona Lisa sort of smile that was both cheery and menacing at the same time. It scared me more than the burning cigarette.

He brushed his lips across mine, a fleeting moment of bliss, a tantalizing promise of things to come. I tasted blood and wondered if my fantasy was coming to life.

I sighed, exhausted beyond belief. Physically and emotionally drained with absolutely nothing left in the tank. Worse still, I knew there was a long, difficult journey ahead of me. I also knew that rewards of indescribable pleasure awaited along the way as well.

Another sigh was accompanied by a peculiar sense of ... something. Not quite the sense of some hole or space inside me being filled but close. Not exactly the sense of slowly dissolving into absolute nothingness but that was there too. It took me a while to identify the myriad of feelings coursing through my mind and my heart and when I finally did, they hit me like a sledgehammer between the eyes. At the same time, it was as if a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders.


He wanted me.


I needed him.


Submission without protest.

I belonged with him. I had no say, no choice in the matter. Fate or destiny or God or the Devil had already decided for me. I wondered if the bride in an arranged marriage felt the same way upon meeting her betrothed for the first time on their wedding day.

Do you take this man? He escorts me down the aisle and I float.

In sickness and in health. He guides me to my knees and I tremble.

For richer or poorer. He holds my hand and I smile.

To cherish and to keep. He slips a ring of gold and platinum onto my finger and I rejoice.

Till death do us part. He takes me in his arms and kisses me and I weep.

I closed my eyes. I wanted to look at him, wanted to burn his image forever on my retinas but I couldn't, I just couldn't. I had this awful feeling that the very second I said the words I had to say he would vanish, leaving me totally alone and defenceless like a newborn baby in a harsh cruel world.

"I'm yours." It was a statement of fact, simple and undeniable. Saying it out loud didn't make it any less terrifying.

He cupped my chin in his hand, drawing my head up and backwards. "Open your eyes, baby."

Because this was real life and not fantasy, I struggled to obey his command. Not because I didn't want to, but because my eyelids were so heavy as if skin had somehow transformed into steel.

"Open them."

It look the last little bit of energy I had but I finally managed to comply. Our eyes met, our gazes locked. In that instant I knew that what I both desired and feared was true. Not only did I belong with him, I belonged to him. I was his, in body, mind and soul and every other sense of the word.

His hand moved behind my head, cradling it, as his long fingers ruffled my hair. He placed a final, loving kiss in the middle of my forehead. "Yes, you are. And, yes, I want you. I have w-" His voice broke, revealing a tiny glimpse of the lonely old man he was inside. When he resumed, his voice was as strong as ever but still barely more than a whisper. His confession was for my ears only. This touched me more than all his kisses and caresses combined. "I have wanted you all my life."

I wanted to kiss him, to take him in my arms and soothe his hurts and fears as he had done for me, but I never got the chance. He stepped back out of my reach, rejecting my touch, rejecting me.

It wasn't til the bubble burst that I realized there had even been one to begin with. It had surrounded us since our fingers first touched, creating a universe for two, silent and invisible to everyone else in the video store. Now, all the people of the outside world came rushing back in. Families and couples and singles, gays, bi's and straights, voyeurs and bigots filled the store and the space around us.

"And, yes. I do have what you need." He took the video out of my unresisting fingers, turned and strolled casually towards the front of the store.

I remained where I was. The bizarre encounter had lasted no more than thirty seconds. I still wasn't really sure what had just happened. Was it a dream? A hallucination? Was it real? Was he real? I didn't know. What I did know was that I was so fucking aroused it was painful.

It was as if a maddening itch had overtaken my entire body and he was the only one who could scratch it. As if he had exuded some mysterious drug, something without taste, scent or color. A drug that was instantly addictive and one that I would do anything, pay any price, to get another fix.

I felt as helpless as a fish on a hook. I could struggle and fight all I liked but it would do me no good. A trap had been set. I had taken the bait.

From that moment on, the cigarette-smoking stranger held my life in his nicotine-stained hands. They were large and powerful yet amazingly soft and gentle, capable of delivering pain and punishment as well as bestowing incredible pleasure and kindness.

It didn't matter that I had never been with a man before or that I had never even been slightly attracted to one of my own gender before. It didn't matter that my mysterious lover-to-be was easily old enough to be my father or that he wasn't particularly physically attractive. He wasn't ugly but he wasn't an Adonis either.

What did matter was that he owned me. I belonged to him now. That was the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. So help me, God.

"What's your name?" he called out from the counter.

"Fox," I replied without hesitating in a loud confident voice. There wasn't even the embarrassment I usually felt about my first name. Hell, just last night I told Scully that I even made my parents call me Mulder. She thought I was joking. I wasn't. And there I was proudly shouting it across a video store filled with strangers.

Oh Christ. He had me. He had me good.


If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Vyper