Book 3
He’s in that half-awake state, that if you put your mind to it, you can still summon one last dream before the daylight invades, and Mulder decides to go for it.
He rolls onto his side, takes a deep breath and it’s summer on Assateague Island, and it’s all deserted beach, and wild ponies, and the wind whipping across a blue sky that reminds him of someone’s eyes. He’s naked, lying in a bed of sea grass bleached by the sun to ivory paleness, silky smooth like someone’s hands.
He spends what seems like an eternity drinking in the feel of that smoothness against his skin, the way it seems made to touch the back of his thighs, his shoulder blades, the nape of his neck. Desire in this dreamworld is a slow burn, and he wants to let it build. The wind starts to move, bends the grass, and the grass feels like fingers stroking his chest, his knees, his temples…then from a distance it seems like something moved, and the rustle of the grass sounds more like the rustle of bedding.
Part of him tries to get up but he wants to feel the fingers of grass caress his skin and so, back down he goes. Now it’s black velvet night, and the wind and the grass are still stroking him, and the sky is shot with stars. He’s mesmerized by the way he’s being touched, by the glow of the sky and then all of a sudden, the stars begin to swirl and rain down on him. Each point of light finds its way to a tender spot on his body and it’s warm, like a kiss. He can feel that warmth seeping into his skin. Some recess of his mind stirs, knowing he can feel all of that real time, in real life, and his dream starts to fade.
His daylight self is slow in coming. He knows what his waking body wants, but he’s still riddled with sleep, so he takes his time and lets himself breathe in the scent of her, of them, of the traces of sex on the sheets before he starts to move. The bed is still warm with their heat, so like a blind man, eyes still closed, Mulder lets touch and smell lead him to her. He’s surprised when he reaches for her and there’s nothing there. Now he’s awake.
He’s going to get up, find her and get her back in this bed, but not just to make love all the live long day, although that’s certainly center stage in his mind. She’s opened him to the core, and he wants to show her all those things he’s kept hidden, including his hunger to touch and be touched.
Mulder told himself he was too complicated, too macabre for something as basic, as necessary as that.
What he really thought was no one would ever love him.
As he hauls himself up and flings aside the covers, he’s hit with a feeling that was no more than a distant rumor until a couple of weeks ago.
Happiness. This is happiness. But he’s convinced it has to be made new each day, and he needs her in order to do it.
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He’s up and moving about the room., flexing his back and rolling his neck, popping vertebrae, blinking his eyes. He wills ‘Little Mulder’ back down from fully aroused to just happy-to be-alive. Using his finely honed investigative skills, he surveys the immediate environment.
Nice. Very Nice.
The bed is the first thing you encounter when you come through the doorway, he was really grateful about its location last night.
It’s large room, and the bed takes up a third of it, flanked on its far side by an armoire and chest of drawers. The armoire and the chest are carved in the same wood as the bed, which Mulder guesses is rosewood. There’s an obscenely large chaise flanked by end tables, all made of the same wood as the bed and covered in the same material as the comforter. Red Thai silk. Sumptuous. Mulder is impressed, his friends are doing very, very well. Above this little grouping of furniture is a skylight, which last night revealed enough of the moon and night sky to show them where ground zero was. In the corners of the room are torchiere lamps, which in any other circumstance would seem necessary, but he’s not planning on catching up on his reading.
Right now, the room is bathed with the soft evidence of morning, and he supposes it’s just the right glow to while away a day in bed, eating, drinking, and exploring the subtleties of sexing each other up. He plans on showing Scully every aspect of his morning-light theory, knowing what a stickler she is for rigorous research.
The far side of the room completes the suite, with a wall of books, an expensive, hi-tech entertainment center, and a fully stocked wet bar, just in case you can’t be bothered to leave the room. “Wouldn’t want to get dehydrated,” Mulder mumbles, as the corner of his mouth’s quirks into a grin.
At the farthest edge of the room are two heavy oak doors. He opens one and having guessed right, walks into the bathroom. Unbelievable. It’s all black granite, with a sunken tub, sauna, whirlpool, vanity, the whole nine yards of sybaritic delight. It’s stocked with toiletries, towels, as well as everything the pleasure seeker seeks. He relieves himself, washes his face, brushes his teeth, runs his hands through his hair. He’s still naked, but that really doesn’t seem like a problem.
He’s locked, cocked, and ready to stalk the wild Scully, wherever she may be.
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Having left the bedroom through the other remaining door, he sees that the rest of the rear annex was essentially a ground-level loft, an open space with groupings set aside for different leisure pursuits. This “little bar” is actually the size of a small warehouse. The first thing he passes is a gaming area with pinball machines, video games, and a professional-grade pool table.
Just past that is a large living area with black leather sofa, chairs; chrome and glass tables and lamps, and yet another entertainment complex, with a plasma screen suspended from the ceiling, and all the audio gadgetry any performer or listener could want.
At the far end of the space are black marble counters, cabinets, two marble-topped work islands, and a professional- grade stove and refrigerator. There are racks of dishes and glassware, and one redhead with wet, tangled hair– wrapped in a sheet, with her back to him, standing at the counter, apparently having just finished moving things from the refrigerator. Mulder creeps up on her, and wraps his arms around her waist, and starts nuzzling behind her ear.
She stops what she’s doing and bends her neck to the side so he can have better access. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
“It’s good now.” He breathes her in and smells sandalwood and skin. “But I can make it a lot better.”
“I was doing something, Mulder.”
“You can do something with me.”
“I think I’ve done plenty with you so far, if memory serves. I was hoping to make some breakfast. ”
He bites down lightly on the spot where her neck merges into her shoulder and she starts to giggle. “No, no, no, Agent Scully, no cooking.” He sees she’s loaded the counter with cheeses, croissants, jam, sweet butter, fruits of all kinds, tomatoes, basil, and eggs. Coffee’s already set up in a plunger pot. He spies an omelette pan pulled from the rack, a spatula and oven mitts.
Mulder wonders where the asbestos gear might be.
“Uh, Scully…here’s the thing…you can’t cook.”
She’s still pressed against him, but she’s put on that voice brimming with haughty pisseur that says, ‘Surely you must be mistaken, “Excuse me, but are you telling me I can’t make a simple omelette?”
“Yes, Agent Scully, yes I am. I believe that is exactly the point I’m trying to make.” He’s got his groin pressed against the small of her back, and he starts to slide back and forth, up and down.
Her arm has snaked its way backward to hold him by the waist, “Now see here, I’m a grown woman perfectly capable of feeding myself, and you too, for that matter.”
She knows that he’s most definitely the far better cook, having first sampled his cuisine during her convalescence after Fellig. He’s pulled together impromptu meals in the past, although she knows he has his favorite take-out menus memorized by heart.
“Nuking Lean Cuisine, and tearing open a bag of salad don’t qualify as actual culinary skills.” He nibbles on her earlobe and they both give a little shudder.
“Mulder, you’re not trying to piss me off, are you?” She wants to sound put out, but it comes out sounding turned on instead.
“Let me ask you something, partner. At your clan holiday gatherings, why do you think the family always has you bring the pie? The store bought brand they tell you they love?
She’s able to dredge up her best sanctimonious Scully, and lights into him. “I’m going to ignore what you’re trying to imply. ‘Granny’s Best Pumpkin Pie’ is a Scully family favorite, I’ll have you know. As to my qualifications…after seven years of everything you’ve dished out, I think I have enough skills to handle the complexities of meal preparation, thank you very much. Now unhand me and prepare to be amazed.” She wiggles her rump against his crotch to emphasize her point.
Time for the heavy artillery, he tells himself, time to play the trump card. “Scully, you’ve forced me to do this, but it’s for your own good. Think back. 1998. Late Winter. Your kitchen. The ‘Exploding Grilled Cheese Incident.’ Do I have to go any further?” He’s getting harder by the second, and her hips and her ass feel fantastic, but he’s going to stay on point.
Now she’s laughing that deep, rich laugh from somewhere in her belly. Hearing it makes him think that he’s found the philosopher’s stone, and in a way he has.
She’s let go of his waist and turned around to face him, most of her face is a mask of seriousness, but her eyes sparkle with sly mirth, “You promised never to speak of that again.”
“Desperate situations require desperate measures.” He remembers lying on her sofa on one of their first movie watching, date-non dates when she got up to make them something to eat. About fifteen minutes later, he ran into the kitchen, smoke alarm blaring, to find her hurling a lethal strand of expletives into the surrounding air space. The wall behind the stove was splattered with cheese, the slices of whole wheat bread, no more than cinders in the frying pan. When she saw he was on the scene, she tossed him a sponge and announced, ‘Spontaneous combustion, could be an X-File.” They both bit back a chortle. I guess it’s Thai food tonight. You call, I’ll pay…. once this is scraped up.’
He blinks and shifts back to the matter at hand, waving his finger in front of her as a negatory, “Icks-nay on the Ooking-kay, Scully. Innocent people could get hurt.” He squints at her to show he means business.
“I’m going to have to step back from this one, right?” He’s playing with her damp hair, and she doesn’t really feel like toiling over a hot stove.
“Scully, make one move for that spatula and I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
She makes a lunge for the counter as if she was trying to snatch the aforementioned cooking utensil. He’s on her like wet on water and before she knows it, he’s hefted her up and slung her over his shoulder, depositing her on one of the islands. He’s roaring with laughter, she’s almost crying, she’s laughing so hard, and it seems a little crazy when he starts kissing her senseless.
She wonders how ridiculous they look, naked in someone else’s kitchen, fumbling and fondling–smothered laughter and sloppy kisses and realizes she doesn’t care. This goes on for a while, and the laughing winds down and they’re both out of breath. Scully pulls away and Mulder clutches a hand to his chest–a set-piece of his melodramatic repertoire. In a delivery worthy of an Oscar contender, he rasps in a labored, heaving breath, “God, you’re evil….” They take each other in for a minute, a pause between rounds.
After a miraculous recovery, she posits this wily question, “So that’s why you’ve practically pushed me out of the way any time I’ve tried to cook lately?” The bell must have rung and it must be her move, because she takes
his index finger and wraps her lips around it, swirling her tongue over the tip. He groans in response and she feels a hot, wet, jolt between her legs and her eyes shut at the sensation.
His eyes drift shut, too. “Self preservation is a powerful motivator, a basic human instinct.”
“Hmmmm…any other instinct you’d like to act on?”
“I sense another one kicking into drive…Oh yeah, there it is.”
His eyes open and his hands have found their way to where she’s tucked the sheet to hold it in place. He bends his head and kisses the round swell of her breast that peeks over the soft fabric. Then he yanks the sheet away, taking in her creamy skin, the way her breasts sit high on her chest, the flex of her strong thighs, the tangle of auburn hair that spans her mons. Her head lolls forward just slightly, but her eyes are open now, too— clouded, languid, the pupils dilated.
He licks his lower lip, “Mmmmmm. I feel hungry now.”
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He’s grabs the sheet from where it fell on the floor and spreads it behind her on the island. Cradling her head between his hands, he kisses her deeply, and she drinks in his tongue, breathes in his warm breath. She’s vaguely aware of slowly being lowered her until she’s lying flat. His hips are even with the edge of the island. She wraps her legs around his back, sliding toward him and pulling him down, down. His cock is taut and hard against her inner thigh.
He’s her whole field of vision, he’s everywhere, everything. His hands slide to rest on the hard marble on either side of her head. He stops kissing her and raises up long enough to confess, “I have to taste you, Scully…can’t get enough.” He feels the blood rushing through him, he could easily slide into her and ride her to the hilt, but he’s not lying about how much he wants his mouth on her clit, her slick folds. He wants to wet his lips with her, drink her, savor her. And so he moves south to Mecca.
Teasing his way down her jawline, nuzzling the tender underside, he finds a spot near a tendon running the length of her supple throat. He feels the moan working its way free, and he bites down when he once again reaches the place where her throat and neck meet. She shudders again, long and hard, and she feels a molten pulse low in her belly, feels her body flush, knows he feels it too.
His hands have moved to her arms at her side and he grips her forearms. She shifts it around so that she’s helping to hold him up, her strong hands gripping tightly. He’s biting her shoulder, then tonguing the length of her ribcage, then stroking upward until he finds her breasts. He sweeps his open mouth across one nipple–then the other, back and forth, back and forth. He feels crazed as they harden, almost delirious as he pulls on them lightly with his teeth.
“So good…Scully…so good.” His breath is coming in short bursts, and it vaguely registers in his mind that her breath is as labored as his.
“Mulder…you have to….please….I want you to…” She’s a loop turning in on itself, white hot and the words are swirling in her head. His head between her legs is all she wants, all she can think of. Language is fading fast.
But he understands this half-spoken message, it’s also what he desperately wants. To prove it, he begin the long drag down, rubbing his face against her his open mouth licking and kissing the flat of her stomach, her navel, the soft rise covered with springy, crisp hair. His stubble sends shards of sparks all through the lower half of her body. He pulls his arms away, and her legs slide to loosely rest on his hips. Now his hands stroke each thigh, until he can see her open all the way for him.
“My, my,” he murmurs, “look at what I’ve got.”
Her folds are silvery wet, rosy, and her clit is a tight bud. She feels a sharp, exquisite slice of pleasure and pain, right there, in her ready flesh.
Bending at the waist, he lowers himself to the feast, his hands now kneading her thighs. She can hear him moan in the second it takes for his mouth to find her. He takes the flat of his tongue and strokes long and slow, then and swirls and swirls with the very tip, and it gets all starry in her head.
She can’t make a sound; all her energy, all her essence is being pulled to one spot, waiting to be released. He suckles her, pulling her clit slowly between his teeth,
With greedy satisfaction he pushes her body to feel more. He loves it, loves how she moves with it, loves how she tastes–smoky, honeyed, like sea, like sky. He loves her smell, too–musk heavy, sharp. Real. And he loves that he can do this to her, give this to her, and he wants only one thing right now, to make her come, to bury his mouth in her when she does.
His hands are still firmly planted on her thighs when he starts to feel the muscles tense and he knows it won’t be long. A subtle tremor, getting stronger beneath his hands and a millisecond later he feels her transform into a riptide, her body liquid—legs, arms, belly, all her muscles contracting, releasing, and he’s lost in the pull of her undertow. His mouth stays with her, tonguing her clit all the way through it.
She feels as wild as the sea on his lips, rushing into his mouth. Her moan’s a siren’s call, he can’t resist her, he’ll never resist her. She’ll beckon him the rest of his life–her body, her brilliant mind, the ocean’s depth of her soul. And he’ll gladly let the waters fill him, cover him, carry him away.
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He raises up slowly, licking his lips, sampling and tasting, and it takes minute for him to reach his full height. She still manages to clasp him around the waist with her legs, although she’s shaky. He bows her arms gently above her head, strokes her shoulder. Her eyes are closed and she’s breathing shallow, rapid breaths. She can feel the pads of his fingers drag across her cheek and him smoothing away a strand of hair from the corner of her mouth. He thinks he’ll see if she’s returned to the world of the living. “Scully,” his voice soft and low. “Hi.”
Her mouth parts slightly and she chews her bottom lip and draws in a breath to speak. The rest of her body’s completely stilled now. Movement and speech are coming on-line slowly.
First, there’s a sultry smile of the recently undone, then one eye lolls open, “Who’s…Scully?” She hears the rumble of his laughter and decides he’s earned it. She also decides to open both eyes.
“Feeling fantastic?” He’s waggling his head back and forth, looking pleased as all get out, proud as hell.
She’s fairly proud of him herself. “Uh…huh…” He’s earned the singular honor of being the only man on earth to tongue the retort right out of her.
“Monosyllabic responses, eh? Something must have adversely affected your language center…”
“Not. Adversely. Happy now?”
“Ah, she comes back to herself.” He’s bent himself over her, leaning into her face. “Couldn’t have had a better breakfast…I suppose I should help you up.” His arms find their way underneath her and she responds by slipping hers around his neck. She adjusts her legs to a snugger fit, instead of letting them fall away. He scoots her to the edge of their little ‘workbench,’ and tries to scoop her up when he feels her dead weight settling back down.
“Uh uh.” She shakes her head and purses her lips.
“Uh uh?” He looks her dead in the eye, and feels his heart drumming a little faster. “As in ‘no,’ we’re not going anywhere?” He wanted to get her back in bed and spear her to the mattress, but maybe she really wanted to actually have a meal. He thought he could reel himself in, but he was geode hard, ‘god-I-want-to-fuck-you-so-bad, fuck-you-’til-the-cows-come-home’ hard. He sighed, and her arms tightened around his neck, and she began to nudge him closer with her heels at the small of his back.
“I mean ‘no,’ as in this…” She gives him a party-girl smile, one she must’ve buried away in some unknown recess until now. He gets what ‘no’ means. ‘No’ in this case means another of his lonely bachelor fantasies is about to be fulfilled.
Even though she’s still perched on the marble edge, she leans back and as she does, one of her hand reaches for his cock, tugging him gently to her. In one move, she’s on her back again, and her hand is making him very happy, sliding the tip of his cock inside her. He balances himself with his hands again on either side of her head. With one swift, strong, slick thrust, he’s in her up to his balls, his thighs feeling the chill as he presses against cold stone, but every other part that matters is hot, hot, hot.
It’s time for her to work her witchy ways, and she clenches and releases him, tightens around him, and slowly, slowly lets him go. “Mulder,” she breathes, talk to me.”
His eyes rove her face, her body, coming to rest where they are joined together. His gaze is liquid, voluptuous. “Ohhhhhhhhhh,” he groans through gritted teeth, “Evil.”
She wonders if he knows one of her fantasies just came true, “Look who can’t talk now.”
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It’s hours later and they’re ensconced in that big boat of a chaise back in the bedroom. Scully made him lug two trayloads of food back there, although not much haranguing was required, and they’ve just spent the better part of the morning brunching.
They’re sitting side by side with the much-used sheet now both covering them up and serving as the world’s largest napkin. Their new level of cardiovascular training requires them to take in additional sustenance, to say the least. Mulder shifts so that he’s on his hip, leaning toward her. He regards her thoughtfully, munching on the strawberry she’s smeared with brie for him. He starts cajoling her to finish her second croissant, which he’s slathered with blackberry jam and butter. He’s glad she opted to shelve sensible and well-balanced for some other time.
“Eat, Scully, eat…” He’s had four, plus an assortment of cheeses, a pint of strawberries, a pear, a banana, and coffee. She starts to shakes her head, but he breaks off a piece and waves it close to her mouth.
“Luscious, fat-laden food…sapid, unctuous, rich… You know you want it…Whoa, there!”
She grabs his wrists with both hands, lunges at the proffered treat, getting all of it in one bite, and gives his fingers a nip in the process.
There’s a speck of jam on her upper lip. “Mmmm… Mulder.” She’s chewing away, mouth full, so that’s at least that’s what he thinks she saying. A gigantic swallow later, “Yummy.” She licks the jam away, reaches for her coffee from the tray and drains the last of it. She’s up for a second, just enough time to deposit the remains of their little buffet on the farthest table. Before he can say anything she’s back under the sheet and in his arms. He draws her close so that she can curl into him and settles her head on his chest and drapes his arms around her, holding her loosely in place. Resting his chin on the crown of her head, all is right in the world. Granted, it’s a limited world with a short life-span, but it’s good enough for him, and he’s fairly sure it’s good enough for her, too. The long, sweet pull of her breathing tells him so. It’s a simple confirmation of what he’s been given and he’s categorized it as miracle, despite his official atheist standing.
On the surface, this trip was just a lucky escape from boredom and the bullpen. He knows that there’s another life out there–that sooner or later their world will darken–that it’ll be time to run the razor’s edge. But today is not that time. Blood and tears shed years ago paid for this impermanent paradise and he’s not about to let anything rob him of a single second. The fact that Scully is now softly humming in her horrible off-key way must mean that she concurs with his summation.
Time is golden right now and there’s no hurry to do anything but be.
She has no idea how long she’s been next to him, partially because she’s so sated, and partially because she’s slowly been trying to screw her courage to the sticking place. There’s something she’s wanted to ask him since she got up, thinking she could bring him some breakfast and ask then, but his ambush very nicely delayed her request. I’m going to do this, I am, she tells herself.
“Mulder?”
From directly over her head, “That would be me.”
“I was thinking of changing some things at home. You know, maybe getting some different furniture, maybe getting rid of the dining room set.” Subtle approach, working my way to it, is her inner chant.
“That’s…good…I guess.” She’s thinking about decorating? He wonders how in the hell she’s hidden her inner Martha Stewart for so long. Is it a Scully family trait? Whatever. He was definitely going to break her of that one. He starts trailing a single digit down her spine. Time to move on before she starts going over the grocery list.
She knows his fingers are talented, but she’s not going to get sidetracked here. “You know, I’m getting the distinct impression you’re trying to change the subject.”
“Well, let’s see…I ‘m here with you, and we’ve managed to do a host of things that frankly I thought I’d only have a chance to watch on 16 millimeter film. On top of which, I’m stuffed, feeling generally lazy and…oh, hell Scully, let’s just kick back. No work, mental or otherwise… how ’bout it?”
Scully hasn’t budged from her curled up position, convinced that if she moves and tries to look at him, she’ll cave in. Given her history, what’s happened in the last couple of weeks has morphed her into somebody she almost doesn’t recognize. She’s now an emotional base jumper. Stepping onto the ledge, she readies herself for a big plunge, hoping she doesn’t slam into the side of the building.
All she needs to do is say it, say it, say it.
She’s been quiet for a while since he made his plea for a boycott on busy. He’s not convinced that the kicking back has actually kicked in, however.
“I can hear the gears turning in that beautiful head…”
“Move in with me.” It’s almost inaudible. Despite that, she must be freefalling, judging by the fact that she just heard him gasp.
He swallows hard. “What?” He wants to be sure this is happening.
“You heard me.” Now her voice is clearer. And from some secret reserve of ballsiness, she pulls back, looks him in the eye, a faint smile on her lips.
“Let me put it another way, ‘Come live with me …’ ”
He jumps in, ” ‘…and be my love, and we will all the pleasures prove.” He takes one of her hands, and kisses the knuckles, turns it over and kisses her wrist. “Yes.” His lips move up the inside of her arm, sprinkling dozens of kisses in a lazy trail, “Yes, Scully, yes.”
He feels her body relax against him and the fullness of her sighs. He keeps working his way up her arm, until he stops abruptly and starts speaking into her shoulder, “What about ‘plausible deniability,’ ‘keeping a low-profile?’ ”
She ruffles his hair, “Screw it. ” It’s taken her the better part of her charmed and cursed life to come this far and she’s not about to back down. “We’re not getting any younger. Besides, it’s not like we have sterling reputations to protect anymore.”
“Speak for yourself, sister. I have a mystique to maintain.” This earns him a playful smack upside his head, and he hears her snort.
“Ouch. OK, then. Back to what I was doing.” He resumes the kissing until he’s at the hollow of her throat, he hears the low hum of satisfaction there. Again, another stop and another question spoken into her skin, “So, think I could talk you into leaving today?”
“Tired of this already, eh?”
“Tired of Hegal Place and paying rent in the world’s largest closet. Tired of anything that isn’t about building a life with you.” That last one came out a mix of longing, regret and anticipation.
She gets up, and holds out her hand, “C’mon.” She leads him back to the bed and crawls in, beckoning him with a nod of her head.
He leans toward her, still standing, “We’re not leaving, then?”
“In a little while. Get in bed.”
“What about sorting, packing, throwing things away? Unless I’m mistaken, that usually constitutes moving preparations. Getting horizontal would seem to be counterproductive.”
“Mulder, when does Kersh expect us back?” She’s smoothing the sheets, and the bed is starting to look more tempting by the minute. The fact that she’s naked in it doesn’t hurt either.
“Um…he said take a couple of days if we needed to.” He started out standing about a foot from the bed, but he’s slowly inching his way toward her.
“Let’s see… today’s Thursday…I’m sure there’s something you’ll tell Kersh we needed to investigate that required us to stay until Friday…So, let’s say we leave later today, that gives us better than three days to start readying for the big exodus. Happy?”
“Ecstatic.” He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, marveling at how he’s ending up with Scully cajoling him into bed.
“Then. Get. In. Here.”
In a flash, he’s under the sheets and generally fumbling to get a grip on her–she’s sort of wrestling with him and he’s going along with it. They’re creating general chaos, sheets twisting, pillows punched down and shoved around. Choking back their laughter, they’re a fraction away from losing it when she stops.
“Glad I could get you to see my point.” She’s let him capture her now, and she’s lying on top of him.
“Well, now that I’m here…what exactly were you thinking of doing?” He’s beaming at her, and can’t wait to hear her answer.
“Shhhh…” She pulls herself up so that she’s sitting on his thighs. “Shhhh.” And she leans forward, begins lightly touching his forehead, brow, and temples. She moves slowly to the bridge of his nose, dawdling around the edge of his mouth. Her touch is feather light, the tips of her fingers dappling his skin. She gives his jaw, the beautiful arch of his throat the same treatment, her movements, slow, hypnotic. There is nothing hurried or frantic about this. It just is.
His eyes can’t help closing against the sensation. He feels the brush of her touch over his Adam’s apple, along the cord of muscle that runs the length of his neck. That touch, rippling, waving, like grass in the wind. He sees the beach at Assategue again in his mind’s eye, but he’s not dreaming. He goes to reach for her, but as he does, she stops him with a hand to the chest and gently pushes him back down. “Scully, ” he murmurs.
“Shhh.” Her fingers trail along his ribcage, his chest, and she circles around and around his stomach. Following the outer crest of his hip, she comes to his thighs, dragging the very tips of her thumbs up and down the sides. It is intensely sensual, but she makes no move to arouse him in a more active way.
She never stops making contact with him, never stops the gentle stroking. She looks down at him, and he’s a wonder to her, her own. One arm rests across his stomach and she reaches for his hand, lacing her fingers in his, “Love you.”
He wants to tell her about this morning, about Assatague, what it means. “Scully, I had this dream…”
“I know,” she says, “I know.”
End