Work Text:
Fox Mulder was torn between two emotions, satisfaction at the fact that he’d proved Dana Scully wrong—aliens did exist and here they both were, in an alien spaceship—and fear. The two agents, after all, were strapped down to a table, naked with their legs spread, and the being who stood above them looked clinical, unkind.
“Please,” Mulder tried to say, more, he thought, for Scully’s sake than his own.
It really was his fault that they were here.
But of course his mouth was bound shut, and whatever it was that was looking at him couldn’t speak English anyway.
As the clawed hand moved toward his genitals, prodding and examining him as if he was some scientific specimen, all he could do was close his eyes and hope he and Scully made it out of this alive.