TITLE: Flying Lessons AUTHOR: ArtemisX5 CATEGORY: SRA RATING: R SUMMARY: I'm tired of telling my heart to be still; tired of living without you. TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING. 'Theef' KEYWORDS: Scully POV, Mulder POV, angst, humor, first time DISCLAIMER: Just for fun. AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story was written expressly for my dear beta and friend, sallie. Happy birthday, hunnie! No one deserves fic gifts more. Thanks and praise to Shelba, Marybeth, and sallie who all did a magnificent job with beta and generalized cheerleading. Thanks ladies. Also, thanks to Shelba's husband for nipple lessons ;) ************************************* I don't know when it became habit, but it is simply part of her routine now. Flash credentials, find seat, stow carry-on in the overhead compartment. Unbutton jacket, sit, stow laptop under the seat in front of her, buckle seatbelt, sit back, close eyes and take my hand. Rational Dana Scully still cannot believe that a plane might make it safely off the ground. I pretend not to notice the sweat on her palms, and I never, ever say a word when she lets go. Sometimes she falls asleep, hand going slack in my grasp. I always cradle it, happy to have a moment of unguarded Scully-contact. If she doesn't fall asleep, she will take my hand again for the landing; never commenting, never apologizing. She had been quiet during the ride to the airport, and stood close to me during check-in. We've been at cruising altitude for almost an hour, and she still hasn't let go of my hand. Her posture is intensely casual, gaze fixed out the window. She has been thrumming with something unsaid, and I don't know if she's simply forgotten to let go in her distraction, or if she's been deliberately hanging on. I squeeze her hand and she turns to me, startled. "You okay?" "Mmm? Yeah." She looks back out the window. I let her remain in silent contemplation, while my own mind mulls the possibilities. Scully can be reticent to an infuriating degree, but lately she'd been a little more open; a little more extreme. I wonder how much our recent experiences are challenging her sense of self. She hasn't said anything, but I know what it must have meant for her to choose belief over skepticism on our last few cases. A few years ago, she would not have donned battle gear and chased me into a video game so quickly. She wouldn't have shown me a magic trick with such childish glee. She would have rationalized going blind. I decide to try a playful approach, so I dig a nickel out of my pocket and balance it carefully on her knee. "What's this?" she asks. "I figure your thoughts are worth at least five cents." She smirks. "Would you like something to drink?" The flight attendant startles us both. "Coffee, please. Black," I answer automatically. "And you, ma'am?" "Cranberry juice." The fresh-faced brunette serves up our drinks with a smile so big I suspect it hurts. She stretches across me to set Scully's drink on the tray, her grin widening to manic. When she straightens up, she props her hands on her hips and tips her head like a sparrow. "You two aren't honeymooners, are you?" "No," I give her a patient smile. "I heard a rumor we've got some honeymooners on board, and I thought it might be you!" She sounds like the host of a television show for toddlers. "Sorry, no," Scully says. "Well, I hope you flew with us on your own honeymoon! We know how to treat happy couples right!" Scully smiles wanly, letting go of my hand when the attendant is out of sight. My hand feels cool without her, so I trace a circle around the nickel still on her knee. "Am I gonna get my nickel's worth?" She covers the nickel and my fingertips with her hand. "I'm having a lot of thoughts." I nod. "I'll give you a penny for each of them." She smiles, looking down. "I'm wondering if I'm going to have nightmares about being blind now." Oh. I feel a familiar sorrow creep into my conscious mind. "We should get hazard pay for sleeping," I suggest, trying to lighten my own mood. She laughs, much to my relief. "Accounting would have a field day with that." "Better yet, we could get paid overtime if we slept together for back-up." I try to leer at her, but it's been harder to be lascivious with her lately. She narrows her eyes at me. "Are you trying to win the office pool, Mulder?" That's why. She keeps throwing my innuendoes back at me. I'm not sure how to handle this Scully. So I take a sip of my coffee, feigning innocence. She looks out the window again. We're silent for a long time. I watch the in-flight movie with no headphones, trying to glean the plot. Most movies are so heavy-handed with the imagery these days that I can tell what's happening without the dialogue. This one seems to be a Western remake. Seems like a lot of slapstick. I don't think I'm missing much without the benefit of the soundtrack. "Where are we?" I ask finally. She leans closer to the window, looking down. "It's too cloudy. I can't see the ground." I look at my watch. "Probably over the Rockies; maybe into the plains already." "Have we ever been to Colorado?" she asks. "No." "I can't remember anymore." Her face is wistful. "Every airport looks the same; every town, every morgue. Sometimes I think even the bad guys look the same." ******************************************** In truth I could map the United States with memories: Bellefleur - lost 9 minutes; New York City - shot in stomach; Florida - delivered baby in a hurricane; Kroner, KA - switch flicked... "Is this the 'Get out of the car' speech again?" He cannot hide the concern in his voice. "No," I assure him. "Sometime I just can't believe how much time has gone by." I adjust my hand to dovetail our fingers together, the nickel pressed between our palms. I am not sure why I need to keep touching Mulder today, but I feel bereft without him. Yesterday, when I was plunged into that infinite darkness, I only wanted Mulder's hand. I knew he would take hold and never let go, and I would never feel so helpless again. The plane suddenly lifts and drops. The seatbelt light flickers to life and a faint 'bong' heralds the captain's voice. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're passing through some cloud cover right now, and we may be experiencing some turbulence. I've put the 'fasten seatbelts' sign on, and we'd ask that you keep your tray tables up and locked. The flight attendants will be coming around to collect any leftover beverage materials you may have." I slam my eyes shut before he is even done talking, letting Mulder collect our empty cups, and put my tray table up. He does it all one-handed since I will not let him go. I hate the sweaty feeling of my palm against his, because I know he can feel it, too. His shoulder presses into mine as he leans close to speak to me. "Tell me about clouds, Scully." He wants to distract me, calm me, and I love him for it, but this 'turbulence' feels more like God's wrath. I shake my head, "I don't want to." He lifts our joined hands and then I feel him press a kiss to my fingers, one-by-one. The plane hoists and rolls for I-don't-know-how-long; a long time. I try to breathe slow and evenly, willing my adrenal glands to stop being so damn productive. I can tell Mulder is watching me, but I don't mind. He taps our clasped hands against his lips, making the nickel jump in the space our hands make. Another 'bong' announces the captain. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're going to try to climb out of this system. Please stand by. Flight attendants, please return to your seats." The weight of our bodies presses into the seats, as the plane angles toward clearer skies. "Where are we now?" I ask, thinking only of landing safely at home. He doesn't answer right away; he must be checking his watch. "Ohio." I can't hold back a sigh of disappointment. "It's not much longer," he says. I open one eye a slit to check him for honesty. "You still owe me four thoughts," he reminds me, shaking the nickel. "I think I should start taking the train," I say. He laughs. "Three more." "I hate Southern California." "You're from Southern California." "Well, I don't like it anymore. And I'm from Virginia." "I wish you had a Southern accent." I crack my eye open again, and raise my eyebrow. He grins and I shut my eye. "You'd be like Jodie Foster in 'Silence of the Lambs.'" "Bite me, Mulder." It's the only response I can come up with. "Two more thoughts." "I don't wanna play anymore." "Come on, Scully. Indulge me." "I'm wondering who feeds your fish when we go on these trips." "Byers. One more." "I know what you're trying to do." "Is it working?" "No." "Are you sure?" "Have I opened my eyes?" "Where do you think we are now, Scully?" "I don't know." "Why don't you check?" "Nice try. I'm not falling for it." "Scully, need I remind you that as a scientist and former physicist, you - of all people - should know that a plane is very unlikely to crash mid-flight?" "Mulder, shut up." "Then may I at least appeal to your adult sense of reason?" "No." The plane levels and the ride is immediately smoother. I open my eyes in surprise. "I thought I'd never see them again." He pulls my hand with his own to rub a knuckle along my cheekbone. I lower lashes at him, even as blood thrills through my face. His touches have been so much more intimate lately. One of these times I'm not going to have it in me to resist anymore. "One more thought," he says in a low voice. I consider honesty, but an image of Mulder throwing me over his shoulder, and carrying me into the bathroom to have his way with me, keeps me in the shallow end of the pool. "Where are we now?" "You're awfully impatient today, Scully." He checks his watch again. "Maybe Pennsylvania." I look out the window, but the cloud cover is still too thick. "One more thought," he prompts. I meet his eyes, staring into them with curiosity and hesitation. "I'm wondering how many pennies I can earn this way." He looks amused, possibly pleased, as he checks his pocket again. He pulls out two dimes, three pennies and a quarter. "Forty-eight thoughts." I roll my eyes. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're about to begin out descent into Dulles, Washington D.C. We'd like to thank you for flying with us, and on behalf of the entire crew and myself, I hope we'll see you on a future flight." "I hate that," Mulder sighs. "What?" "'On behalf of the entire crew and myself.' You can't be on behalf of yourself." I smirk. "Nobody likes a grammar geek, Mulder." "That's math geeks you're thinking of." "Mmm." I add this exchange to my mental list of obtuse references to our New Year's Eve kiss. He mentions it about once a week. As the plane passes through the cloud cover, the turbulence returns with a vengeance. I wrap my free hand around the armrest, eyes squeezed shut again. ***************************************** White spots are slowly appearing on Scully's knuckles. I know we're done talking until we touch down now, so I sit back. She hates the landings more than anything. I close my eyes in sympathy, memorizing the feel of her warm fingers woven through mine. It really was a waste to give her the window seat, I realize, looking past her to the rapidly approaching horizon. On the ground I have the unparalleled pleasure of watching Scully scowl her way to the head of the line of passengers deplaning. She never has to say a word, and so far, she's never flashed her gun, but somehow we're always off the plane just behind the first class passengers. We've learned from years of experience not to check any luggage, so within minutes we're headed toward the short-term parking structure. I take unnatural pleasure in billing the Bureau for the higher rates in short-term parking. We're rarely gone more than three days, so the Bureau can't really complain, but I suspect that more than one accountant has an ulcer with my name on it. She drove this time since the flight was out of Dulles. I always want to laugh when she gets in the car, and has to tug the lever below to move the seat closer to the steering wheel. When she drives my car, she has to sit so close that she can't get out again without moving the seat back. I love reminders of her tiny stature. On the road to Alexandria, she asks, "Where do you want to eat?" What? Her tone implies that this question is an everyday occurrence. Expected. I look at her, waiting for the punch line. When none comes, I have to ask, "What?" "Aren't you hungry? It's nearly seven." "Well, yeah." "So, what do you want to eat?" She's not looking at me, I notice. "What if I said I wanted sushi?" "I'd eat California rolls, and pray you don't get worms." She is more paranoid of sushi than of crashing in a plane. I love exploring her few irrationalities. "I don't want sushi." "Okay." She twists, checking her blind spot, but still manages avoid my eyes. "I feel like a meatball sub." "You don't look like one." She maintains a bored expression, but I sense a hint of the Scully who played baseball with me last year. I decide to ignore her comment. Suddenly, she chooses an exit, rocking me into the passenger window. I watch the familiar streets of Alexandria blur by the window as she guides the car to an unknown destination. She pulls up in front of a local restaurant, and gives me a bright smile. "Ready?" I nod; hoping suspicion isn't evident on my face. She deliberates over a sandwich for a length of time I would have thought sufficient to choose a new car, finally settling on seafood salad. I elect not to point out her strange love of seafood while simultaneously loathing sushi. We sit at a tall cafe table, eating in comfortable silence. I watch in fascination as her little pink tongue emerges time after time to catch mayo from the corners of her mouth. She smiles at me with a straw between her lips and my mouth goes dry. She seems content. It's making me nervous. "Why are you so perky?" I finally ask, hoping to rile her to normalcy with my word choice. She sighs with no trace of her usual exasperation, and takes her time balling up the wrapper from her sandwich. I feel a slight kick in the shin and I realize she's swinging her feet under the table like a child. "I think I'm ready." My mind sorts through a short list of possible contexts for this statement, but I come up dry. "For what?" She rolls her eyes, smiling. I must have an utterly blank expression, because she elaborates, "I think *we're* ready, Mulder." One context comes to mind, but it's impossible. I try to fit my face into an expression of casual curiosity. "Done?" she asks, gesturing to my balled up trash and empty cup. I can only nod. "Let's go." She sweeps all the wrappings onto the tray; and carries it to the garbage while I stare in wonder. Just what does she mean? In the car again, she scans the radio stations. I fight the urge to knock her hand away and demand answers. Thankfully, my apartment is only five minutes away. She is out of the car before I even have my door open and I find her at the trunk engaged in a mighty struggle with my suitcase. I shove her bag to one side, freeing mine. It slides out suddenly and easily, nearly knocking Scully to the ground. She recovers, setting it heavily on the street. I lead the way into Hegel Place, using every ounce of self-control to stop myself from checking her for evidence of alien replacement. She moves easily in my apartment, lifting the lid on the fish tank and tapping in a few flakes of food. I drag my carry-on into the bedroom, wondering if she'll still be in the living room when I get back. She is. She's curled up on the couch, flipping through Omni. Her shoes are on the floor, and she doesn't even look up when I sit near her. I wait for her to speak, but she seems happy reading. "What's up?" I ask, hoping to sound breezy. She looks up, closing the magazine. A little smile curves her mouth. "How do you feel about me, Mulder?" This is too direct. This is not my Scully. I hear my voice sputtering for words. "Never mind," she says, leaning on one hand to be close to me. "Has anything changed the way you feel about me in the last few years?" I consider this time, recalling anger and laughter, love and lust, joy and sorrow. Slowly, I shake my head. "I just feel it more." She blushes. I want to touch the colored apples of her cheeks. "How will you feel tomorrow? Is there anything I could do to change how you feel?" "Are you going to shoot me again?" She flashes a naughty grin. "I wasn't planning on it." "Then no." "That's what I thought." "So?" I prompt when she falls into silence again. She sets Omni on the coffee table and looks me in the eyes. "For a long time now, I've resisted..." she hesitates. "...just resisted because I thought there would be no forgetting if I gave in. There would be no romantic stories to be told about my scars, no escape from the memories, no lying about my nightmares." I cock my head, trying to follow her reasoning. She leans closer still. "You know everything about me. We have no secrets. I can't hide anything from you." I beg to differ, but I decide not to call her 'Houdini' right now. "But then it occurred to me that I like my life. I like my stories. And, Mulder, I think you're the only person who'd believe me at this point." I know that feeling. "What are you saying?" "I thought I should want someone else, because I thought I needed an escape from this life of ours. But there is no escape, and I don't want one anymore. I'm starting to believe in extreme possibilities." "Scully..." She shakes her head. "Mulder...it's time." My heart has climbed into my throat, and I'm not sure I'll be able to talk around it. It is a rare moment that finds me at a loss for words, and Scully has managed to create two of those moments within the last two minutes. I am overwhelmed. Joy and shock are battling for dominance within me. Finally, I choke out, "You settling for me?" She laughs. "I don't consider it 'settling,' Mulder. Don't you understand? I've been looking so hard for something different, separate, that I missed what was here all along. It's time to trust my feelings. You are my perfect soul-mate, and I'm tired of telling my heart to be still; tired of living without you." I never thought she'd crack first. I slide closer on the couch, almost touching her. If she wants to talk about being honest, I have to tell her one thing: "If we start this, I can't stop." She nods. "Neither can I." "A long time ago, I accepted that my life is wrapped up in you. I can't work without you. I can't sleep without you. If we do this, I won't be able to live without you." She covers my hands with hers. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me." "Why now? Why today?" That's right Mulder, pick at the scab. "You said I keep you guessing, and I realized I've been doing the same thing to myself. All this time I've worked so hard at staying in control, that I controlled myself out of happiness." I can't help smiling. "If I'd known what it took, I would have said that years ago." She laughs. "Oh,really?" "I'd do anything for you." "I know you would." She squeezes my hands. "No one else has ever gone to Antarctica for me." I smile, looking down at our hands, joined again while we're safe on the ground. "I'm dangerously in love with you." Her eyes widen. "So we're going to do this?" "If you'll have me." I rest my forehead against hers. "Are you aware that the warranty on me expired in the late '70s?" She laughs again. "I'll take you 'as is.'" Her palms cup my cheeks and she meets my gaze with wet eyes. "So do I get to kiss you now?" I ask. She nods, but doesn't wait for me to do the honors. Her lips are soft and a little dry. I slip a hand to the nape of her neck, tugging her close. She tips her head, parting her lips beneath mine. I trace the opening with the tip of my tongue and she opens further to meet me with her own tongue. The velvet feel of her in my mouth, makes me want to weep with joy. She gropes for my shoulders, easing closer. The leather squeaks beneath us. I pull away, pressing kisses to her cheeks, neck and jaw. She sighs contentedly, returning kisses wherever she can reach. She catches my earlobe with her teeth and I shiver. "I love you," she murmurs with a smile. My heart clenches, falling out of my throat in a dead faint. Dana Scully loves me. "I have to stop," I gasp. "Why?" she ignores me, trailing wet lips down my neck. "My point of no return is a lot closer than it used to be. Unnnnh-" She interrupts me with a bite on a cord of muscle near my shoulder. "I'm gonna want everything if we go any further." She sits back, reaching for the first button on her blouse. "What's wrong with everything?" I stare, mouth hanging open at the smooth curves of skin she reveals. "You don't want to take this slowly?" "Isn't six years enough foreplay?" she asks, letting the gap in her blouse show off a pale pink bra of shiny satin. "Are you sure?" I have to keep checking. This is too valuable to mess up. An open-mouth kiss is her only reply. "Then you're mine." I run one fingertip down her breastbone. She bites her lower lip, eyes fluttering shut. I stand, holding out my hands for her. She rises to stand before me. I can't help laughing when she toes off her shoes, and sinks a good three inches below my chin in her stocking feet. She steps into my arms, entreating me to embrace her and I can't deny her. She feels like an angel come to earth; all light, passion, and warmth. She leans back to start on my tie, but I want to make everything perfect for her. "Wait." I still her hands and press kisses to her knuckles. "Just a second." I hurry down the hall to my bedroom, and I can hear her trailing behind me. Just as I suspected, I have once again only put on one pillowcase. I go back into the hall to retrieve another and Scully stands behind me, staring at the contents of my linen closet. "What are you doing?" "I thought you might want a pillowcase." Her laughter is wind chimes in the quiet hall, and I can't help smiling. "I'm honored," she says, following me to the bedroom. She watches me shake the spare pillow into a white case. Then she watches me shuck my shoes and loosen my tie. She's starting to look nervous, but I want her too badly at this point. I crook a finger at her, beckoning. She comes, slowly and stands before me with a blush spreading over her exposed decolletage. I trail reverent hands down her arms. "My God, look at you," I whisper. "You are so lovely." I kiss her again, already addicted to the feeling. She tilts her face up, offering better access; more of herself. I follow her jawline with my fingertips, trace her throat and fan my fingers out along her collar bone. She strains forward, trying to meet my palms with her breasts, but I move again, tracing her bra straps down to the place where they disappear under her shirt. I bring my fingers together in the middle to slip the remaining buttons free of their holes. Her hands flutter up to stop me for a second, but then she runs her palms along my forearms, grasping tightly for support. Our kisses continue, languid, perfect like an expensive chocolate. When her shirt is hanging loose around her frame, I let my hands roam over her ribs and try to span her waist. She gasps at the pressure, but her kisses grow more desperate. I abandon her mouth to leave kisses like breadcrumbs, as I explore her throat and shoulders. Her hands move stealthily down my body, gripping my hips and dancing over my back. I reach back for one of her hands, and tug it to her side, so I can slip her shirt off that shoulder, and get her arm free. She presses her bared arm across her torso as if cold, and I wonder if she is embarrassed. I guide her shirt off completely, and stroke flat palms over her exposed back. Her skin is smooth and soft. It breaks my heart to think I've never touched it all before. I wrap my arms around her, gathering her small frame against my chest, and absorbing the feel of this moment. Behind me, her hands have started working my shirt free of my waistband, so I quickly unbutton the cuffs. She pulls away to untuck the rest of my shirt. She gets the first three buttons loose before I grow impatient, and tug the shirt over my head, along with the white T-shirt underneath. "Mulder," she murmurs, pressing kisses to the scar her bullet left in my shoulder. It is a strange sensation, the small scar is still numb, but I can feel her moist lips all around that center of dullness. I find the ragged exit scar left by Peyton Ritter on her back. There is no need for stories. We both know what happened. Her skin against mine is the finest sensation I've ever known. I hug her to me, kissing her lips once more. I run my hands over her hips, and set to work on the slide-hook button combo that holds her skirt closed. When the zipper is down, she lets the garment pool at her feet. I step back to look at her, but she follows, keeping herself out of view. "I want to look at you," I whisper, kissing her ear. "No," she protests, "not yet." "Scully, I could sculpt you from memory. I remember every moment; every inch of you that I have been privileged to see. I was there when you were naked in the green slime in Antarctica. Don't be afraid." "You're going to laugh," she mumbles, face pressed into my shoulder. "Scully. Why would I laugh?" She doesn't answer at first, clinging to my waist so I can't back up for a look. "It's my underwear." I want to laugh right then. "I won't laugh. I promise." She looks up at me suspiciously, but I reassure her with warm kisses. I step back then, but the top of her hosiery is too opaque to see through. I look up at her and find she is blushing furiously. Reluctantly, she eases the pantyhose over her hips, revealing pink satin panties that match her bra. Near her left hip in black thread is embroidered "Dana." I don't laugh. I do smile, though. "Is this so you don't get them mixed up with the other girls' at slumber parties?" I ask. She covers her face with one hand, and the embroidery with the other. "Tara got it done as a gag gift for Christmas. She wanted to see Bill's face when he watched me open up panties." I drop to my knees, and pry her fingers away from the writing. She looks down at me as I lean forward to kiss her name. I steer her hips toward the bed, easing her to sit on the edge. I guide her pantyhose off, finding her legs beneath to be infinitely smoother than her hosiery. She wiggles her toes when they are free, a dainty little gesture I could get used to. I stand then and tug my belt open. She reaches forward and undoes my pants. They drop cleanly to the floor as well-tailored pants should, and she grins at my boxers; navy blue with stars and planets. She reaches for me then, but I lower myself to the floor. I lift one small foot and press a kiss to the arch, then work my way around her delicate ankle bones, and start a path of kisses up her calf. She giggles when I hit a certain spot near her knee, and I catalogue that fact for future reference. When I start up her inner thigh, I can smell her arousal. My own has been evident for some time, but the scent of her ratchets me up a notch. I look up at my angel, leaning back on her elbows, watching me with a mixture of fascination and anxiety, and I want to give her pleasure like she has never known before. I spread a flattened palm over her soft belly and stroke softly at the undersides of her breasts through her bra. Her pupils dilate, and I can see her chest start to rise and fall more quickly. I continue on my kissing quest, touching the tip of my tongue to the hollow where her thigh meets her pelvis. She startles, gasping. I make a path across her panties, leaving a wet mark just below her name. Back on her heated flesh I trace a heart with my tongue. "Mulder," she hisses. "Hmm?" I'm busy, nipping at the edge of her panties, focusing on what lies beneath, and don't want to be distracted. "Please. Come," she pauses on a sharp breath when I stretch forward and slip my tongue into her navel. "Up. Here." I take my time complying, kissing a path up her belly and between her breasts. The scent there is like a drug, and my eyes roll back a little. Poised above her, I dip my head for another kiss that turns my brain to soup. Her small, confident hands roam my body, warming my shoulders, and electrifying my abdomen. Then suddenly one slips south and she grasps my erection. I can barely see and my elbows buckle, nearly toppling me onto her lithe form. "I want--" she breathes, closing her lips against what she wants. I know what I want, so I bring one hand to the clasp of her bra. I make a mental note to thank her for wearing a front-closure. Later. The cups part and slide away, revealing every decadent inch of her lily-colored breasts. Her rosy nipples harden under my gaze, and I know I have to taste one. She makes the most incredible sound when I suck one nipple into my mouth. It is a quiet, wordless sound that I want to hear again and again. She draws one foot onto the bed and tilts her pelvis up to me, pleading for contact. An insistent squeeze from her hand convinces me to drop my hips into the waiting cradle of her spread thighs. The contact takes the breath from both of us, and I know I won't survive much more foreplay. There will be time for tasting and teasing later; the second time. Scully's hands scuffle with her panties, trying to urge me up high enough to rid herself of them. I rock onto one hip beside her, tugging my boxers down clumsily. Free now, she reaches for me, pulling at my hip. I have just enough sense to slide my arm beneath her, and haul us both fully onto the mattress. I don't want her feet on the floor the first time. I want her to know the feeling of flying. She reaches for me again, and I let her guide me back to her waiting body. Our hands tangle between us as we both try to position my erection at her entrance. Partners, even in this. I pause to look up into her eyes. The blue is merely a ring around black wells, which hold one million secrets. She looks more beautiful than I have ever seen her, flushed and open, her expression soft. I press into her. *************************************** "Muh--" The one silly syllable leaves my lips and I can't speak anymore. Stars are being born and dying within me. "Scully," Mulder sighs into my neck. Tears flood my eyes as the rest of my body becomes aware of the universe inside. My hands are shaking when I wrap my arms around my lover, electrified by nerves I had long forgotten. He starts to move, but I still him, hooking my heels behind his thighs. I cannot comprehend all of this sensation, how can I possible live if he moves? He raises his head to look at me, and I see my tears mirrored in his eyes. He cups my face, his thumb passing through the damp trails on my cheeks. "Okay?" he whispers. "Yes." My inner muscles contract around him, adjusting to the welcome invasion. He shudders. "So good." "Yes." Slowly, my body relaxes and I let my legs drop wide around his. He begins a slow pattern of thrusting, each of us drawing shaky breaths. My body is alive, thrumming with sensation and rhythm. Mulder finds his way back to my lips, and we share kisses that imitate our joined bodies. The heat of his body, the texture of his skin. I am lost. This is nirvana. This is truth. We cling to each other pouring our souls into this act too long delayed. I never knew I wasn't whole until Mulder completed me. The ecstasy is unbearable, building an intricate web in my belly. My breathing is wild, and I grope for a tighter hold on Mulder's shoulders. Our kisses cease in a confusion of passion, when I cannot seem to pull him tight enough to my body, tilt my hips up far enough, or draw him deep enough inside me. The delicate web shatters, and I am falling. "Mulder!" I gasp while my body is ravaged by the pleasure he has wrought. He strains above me once more, hips pressed tight to mine. "Scully!" he calls out when his body reaches critical mass, then collapses into my arms, breathing raggedly and shuddering. We drift for a while in a haze of release. Eventually, Mulder rolls to one side, situating me in his arms. I fight to keep my eyes open for a while, but it's too much and I close them, breathing in everything that is Mulder. After a while, he seems to recover and leaves a few kisses along my hairline. "You okay?" "Mmm, yeah." I kiss his collarbone, conveniently located in front of my mouth. "You do keep me guessing, Scully." "Why do you say that?" "I always thought you'd taste like mocha." "And?" "You taste like vanilla." "Are you disappointed?" "Not at all," he purrs. I turn in his embrace, spooning up with him. I could really get used to sleeping like this. The digital clock on the nightstand tells me it's a little after nine. "It's early, Mulder. I shouldn't be so sleepy." "Rest." He kisses the top of my head. "You're gonna need it." "Oh really?" I can't help smiling. "Mmm hmm. You might want to start carbo-loading, too." I giggle, and the feel of it in my throat is rusty, but welcome. "Why is that?" "Because I'm addicted now." He nuzzles through my hair to kiss my neck wetly. "And you know what I can be like when I really want something." "That I do." Thank God. ******************************************** fin.