TITLE: A Real Love (1/2) AUTHOR: Isahunter (Isahunter@aol.com) RATING: NC17 CATEGORY: S, MSR SPOILERS: Up to Triangle ARCHIVE: Yes, with my name and headers attached FEEDBACK: Yes, please! DISCLAIMER: These characters aren't mine...but if they were, they'd be doing this! However, they belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen, and Fox. No infringement intended. This was only written out of love. SUMMARY: After each realizing their true feelings, Mulder and Scully reveal themselves to each other... in more ways than one. For Diadem...I am humbled by your generosity and kindness, charmed by your wit and humor, and gifted with your friendship. How lucky can a person get? Special thanks also to Sharon, Shari, Heather, Mandy, Juliettt, Diana, Kelleigh, Jennifer, Susan, Laura, Melissa, Sherry, Annie, Nadia, Grace, Sandra, Barb, RM, and Michelle. NOTE: This is a sequel to A REAL MAN and A REAL WOMAN. Although I think they can all stand alone, you may want to read the other two first (shameless self- promotion). NC17. If you are under age, read no further. XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX This locomotive is one curve away from jumping its tracks. One of Dana Scully's curves, to be precise. My hand rests on the small of her back, but my fingers twitch with the need to drift--to the curve of her waist, the swell of her hip, but most of all, to the plump softness of her behind. Yes, I want to grab her ass. But I know she'd deck me if I tried. I can feel the smooth sway of her hips through every pore of my body, and I grow more restless with each step. Carrying her luggage, I escort her to the door and open it with my own key. The fact that I have a key to her apartment is too dangerous to contemplate. The temptation to use it has always been strong; to creep into her home under the cover of night, stealthily invading her privacy to--to what? It's a different scenario every time the thought enters my mind. Sometimes I merely watch her breath whisper from her lips in the grip of sleep. Other times, it is my own grip causing her to sigh so sweetly. I have to stop thinking like this. I fervently hope she doesn't notice the shaking of my hand as I slip the keys back into my pocket. As has become second nature, I make a cursory exploration of her home, quickly checking every room to see that everything is just as it should be. I am ever wary and vigilant, and she watches me in calm displeasure as I search for any sign of an intruder. I won't take any chances with my girl, ever again. When I'm certain all is clear, I tell her so and she steps away from the door. "I wish you wouldn't do that, Mulder," she tells me. "If anyone had been here, they would've shot you." "Better me than you." The look she gives me is stunning, to say the least. Haunting. And for a moment, I could swear I see tears in her eyes. But in the next instant, they're gone, as if they'd never been there in the first place. And they probably hadn't. I set her suitcase down on the couch, regretting once again that she hadn't taken me up on my offer. Of course, I had been just teasing when I asked her to join the Mile High Club, on our return flight to DC, and I knew she'd never agree--but I couldn't help but imagine what might've happened. I've always had a great imagination, and the thought of being trapped in a tight place with Dana Scully-- inside Dana Scully--promised to be one of my favorite fantasies. But, while I'm the spontaneous one, Scully is a careful planner. I know she would expect something more romantic, and I'd be more than willing to give it to her...if she'd only let me. I realize I've been just standing here staring at her, and I murmur some lame excuse about needing to get some sleep. She seems to blink, as if she too had been caught in some sort of freeze frame, and then nods slightly, her cheeks flushing the color of cherry blossoms. "I should probably get going. G'night, Scully." I step towards her, heading for the door, wishing to God or whomever is listening that she would ask me to stay. Beg me to stay. Plead with me to never leave again. She says nothing. I slip my hand around her waist, and lean in to kiss her on the cheek, allowing myself just this one forbidden luxury--but, at the last second, something inside me snaps. As if on auto-pilot, I change course, and aim directly for her lips instead. The stunned little jolt her body gives in my arms says more than words ever could. I've shocked the hell out of her. I can only wait to feel the solid contact of her fist against my face. XXXXX Fox Mulder is kissing me. A subtle brush of oh-so-soft lips I can feel all the way to my toes. A chaste sweeping of flesh, so innocent and tender, yet far more erotic and intimate than anything I've experienced in my life. This is the kiss of a couple who have known each other since the beginning of time...of lovers and spouses, but not of mere friends. It is the gentle rocking of my foundation that threatens to shatter every wall I've so carefully erected. A tidal wave of adrenaline, hormones, and longing that promises to knock me on my ass. I feel a shudder rip through me, strong enough to make me gasp--but without nearly the force to make me pull away. If anything, I lean even closer. My eyelids close, lashes fluttering as rapidly as my pulse. God, could this really be happening? I hear myself moan, but the sound is distant...like a sonic boom you don't hear until long after what's caused it is gone. But he's still kissing me. Not daring to move, his lips frozen against mine as if waiting for some sort of permission. His hands are gripping my waist so tightly, to keep me from slipping away. Doesn't he have any idea that I don't want to flee? My hands curl up in his sweater, pulling him closer, and in an instant, that innocent kiss changes. Quicksilver. In one fluid motion, he slants his lips over mine, and every little cell in my body jumps to attention. My heart and lungs trip over each other, struggling to fuel my need. His lips are warm and slippery against mine, sliding over my mouth and momentarily satisfying my hunger like a juicy pear. Firm and plump, with just the right amount of give. But even that much leaves me starving for more. He doesn't rush me, doesn't violate my mouth like an over-eager teenager. I almost wish he would. XXXXX She's not stopping me. I expected her to knee me in the balls by now...instead, she's rubbing up against me like a kitten. Hell, she's practically even purring. The notion is damned startling. Thrilling. Like the 'Stones said, Wild horses couldn't drag me away. Her acceptance is a drug, injected straight in my bloodstream, a heady, mind-spinning whirl that gives me the courage to step into the abyss. I suckle her candy lips, drawing upon them and delving inside. The heat coming from her mouth is intense, pulling me in, making me growl deep in my throat. She meets my tongue with a hesitant sweep of her own, but the innocence doesn't last. It's not long before she's matching my movements, stroke for stroke. Frantic little whimpers reach my ears, and I know I'd love that sound...if it didn't scare me half to death. Pulling away from her is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. My eyes focus on her face, with unmistakable difficulty, and I'm surprised by what I see. Tears. She opens her eyes to look at me, the pale blue having darkened to vivid sapphire, and the movement only causes more moisture to spill over those spiky lashes. Oh God, don't do that. Don't look at me that way. Just ignore the crashing, shattering, jaggedly-ripping sound of my heart. She licks her swollen lips, surely bruised from my none- too-gentle attack. The corners turn up slightly, and suddenly it's there...the confused, unsure smile she gave me just seconds before I moved to kiss her in the hallway, all those months ago. The look I couldn't get out of my mind, no matter how hard I tried. Now I know why. I never really wanted to banish the memory, I only wanted to alter it. Just like this. Maybe more. Damn it, what am I contemplating here? Dragging her into the bedroom, stripping her naked, and devouring her like a lion, a little voice in my head shouts. But I chose to ignore it. She deserves better, much better. And with the way she's looking at me, I can't even tell what she's thinking. That's a first. I've become so good at reading her every expression, that it's almost second nature to respond to her before she even asks a question. But this time--I've never seen this look on her face before. It's as new and blindingly beautiful as this entire moment. XXXXX The way he's staring at me, his gaze a deep green portrait of profound hunger, is enough to make me duck my head. I nestle my forehead against the strong column of his throat, just below his chin, and I can feel his Adam's apple jerk as he swallows. "You kissed me," I tell him, as if he didn't know. The words leave my mouth in a pathetic whisper, barely recognizable to my own ears. "But the question is, did you mean to?" He is silent for a moment, his chest swelling below my hands. I can feel his palm smooth up my back, and ordinarily the gesture would've been comforting. Right now, it just makes me tense. When he finally speaks, I can feel the words leaving his throat. "What do you mean, 'did I mean to?'" I close my eyes. Like the many other times I've asked myself this question, my chest tightens unbearably. Did you mean it when you called me Dana for the first time? Did you mean it when you asked me to marry you, over the phone, during my vacation in Maine? Did you mean it when you told me you loved me, after your stupid jaunt to the Bermuda Triangle? Did you mean it when you kissed me just now, or were you just-- "Were you teasing me?" He grabs my shoulders and pushes me back from him, forcing me to meet his gaze. He's angry. I know that look instantly from the narrowing of his eyes, the furrowing of his brow, the taut line of his lips, and the scorched gaze he has directed on me. "I have never, ever, been more serious in my life." I nearly choke on my next breath. It comes out on a harsh sob, turning my cheeks a blazing shade of red. As if that weren't bad enough, I can feel the tears welling again. Damn him. I extricate myself from his grasp, with no help on his part, and move a few steps away. The further away I am, the better I feel...but I could be on the other side of the world, and it wouldn't be far enough. I wipe the tears from my face, disgusted at myself, and spin to face him as I hear him approach. "Don't, Mulder--please." He stops, his nostrils flaring with the effort it takes to hold his ground. "What do you want me to do, Scully? What do I have to say?" I'm not even sure what he's talking about anymore. My mind is perched precariously on the edge of a vast chasm, and it seems as if one little move will send it teetering over the cliff. What is happening here? What sent this rocket ride into motion? Our trip to Nebraska hadn't been any different than any of the other excursions we've been on lately... except, maybe, for the boredom. What started as a normal investigation ended just as routine and mundane as it began. No X-File...nothing. But maybe that was it. Maybe my partner is just bored, and wants to stir up a little trouble. As much as my wildly-beating heart is urging me to go along, my mind balks at the notion. If he wants to play around, he can just go find someone else. Damn it...why does that thought have to hurt so much? "Why?" It is a simple question, but he looks at me as if I asked him a riddle. "Do you even have to ask?" "Do you have to answer every question with a question?" He shakes his head, looking like he wants to scream. "I kissed you because I wanted to. Because I want you." "For how long, Mulder? Until you're finished, or until tomorrow morning?" "I know what you're doing, Scully." That's funny, because I sure don't. "What am I doing?" "You're pushing me away. You think I'm going to hurt you, and you'd rather hurt me instead." I close my eyes. "I would NEVER hurt you." "You just did." I can only stare at him, my mouth hanging open as I stupidly try to think of what to say. "Do you have so little faith in me? Do you really think I'd use you and just walk away...maybe greet you with a slap on the ass in the office on Monday?" "No, I--" "But that's what you said. Damn it, who the hell do you think I am? Ed Jerse?" That comment cut. "That's not fair, Mulder." "Who said any of this was fair? I have wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you, but I stood back and let some other man have you...do you think that's fair? I have loved you for years, all the while knowing that I could never claim you, because I'd probably ruin the one good thing in my life...is that fair? Or how about the fact that every single day you're close enough to touch, but I never dare, because I know I wouldn't be able to stop...is that fair?" "Stop it, Mulder." But he won't stop. The words just keep pouring out of his mouth in a torturous litany, cracking my rigid composure, breaking my heart, a little bit more with each syllable. "I look at you, and I see the only person who has ever had the guts to make me see myself for what I am...the only person who has stood by me, even knowing what an asshole I can be...and I know that nothing I could do would ever make her as happy as she's made me. Is that fair? I--" "Mulder, shut up!" I cannot control my sobbing now. I don't even try. My legs are shaking, violently trembling as I cross the space between us, and I grab his face, that beautiful, beloved face of his, and stop any further words from leaving his mouth...smothering them with my own lips. He shudders against me, his entire body wracked with a spasm that makes an earthquake feel tame. He wraps his arms around me and crushes me in his embrace. I have found my home at last. The kiss that follows is wild and mindless, consuming in its intensity, crushing and bruising, a tiny spark burst into a mighty blaze. I can barely keep up with his passion, his need, but I don't care. His grip on me is almost painful, or it would be if I could feel anything but sheer bliss. He holds me so tightly against his chest that my feet don't even reach the floor. My hands tangle in his hair, the silky strands wrapping around my fingers like lovers entwined. I want him, I need him, I have to have him. So, naturally, I nearly cry aloud when he abruptly stops. He pulls back to look at me, his breath coming harsh and fast in little bursts against my face. His pupils are wildly dilated, until there is almost no color left. "Tell me," he says, roughly. "Tell me to go or tell me stay. Tell me to go to hell, if that's what you want. Just tell me what to do next...while I still have the will to stop." I'll tell him, all right. "I love you...don't ever stop." XXXXX As the words come out of her mouth, a forceful whisper that shakes me to the core, I feel a stinging pain in my eyes. Burning, boiling, spilling like molten lava. No, not lava. Scalding-hot salt water. Jesus, the woman just made me cry. I'm sure I'd feel hopelessly pathetic, like a complete ass for telling her all those things she wasn't supposed to hear...if I wasn't so damned happy. Suddenly, my legs won't support me anymore, and I collapse onto the couch behind me, taking her with me. Settling down astride my thighs, she gazes at me with her patented Dr. Scully concern. She reaches up to dry my face, her thumbs making sweeping movements across my cheeks as she cradles my jaw in her hands. I turn my head and kiss first one palm and then the other. She smiles softly at me, once again blowing my mind with that mysterious little grin I can't quite figure out. Or maybe I can. I think she really means it. I think she really loves me. For a moment, I feel like asking her when hell froze over. Instead, I say, "This is real, isn't it?" She nods shyly, biting her lip. "You love me?" I sound surprised, even to my own ears. She lowers her gaze, fidgeted with the collar of my sweater. "I can't remember a time when I didn't." Ah, gawd. She resumes nibbling at her lip, searching my eyes with uncertainty. If the eyes are truly mirrors to the soul, I know she can clearly see all the answers she needs. I smooth a finger over her mouth, unable to watch her damage those lovely lips. She kisses the finger that touches her, opening her mouth to taste it with her tongue. Hell, there's a new one--Scully the wanton. Not that I'm complaining. "I've been such a fool, wasted so much time. What the hell's wrong with me?" Her laughter is watery, but unabashed. I kiss her mouth briefly, not wanting to bruise it anymore than I already have, before allowing my lips to wander. Over the delicate arch of her cheekbone, around the graceful shell of her ear, down the slender column of her neck, onto the just-visible curve of her collar bone. Pushing the fabric of her blouse aside with my chin, I cannot help but run the tip of my tongue up the length of her satin throat. I can taste the precious tears she shed in my honor. She tips her head back and moans, the sound rich with pleasure. The most beautiful music I've ever heard. "I want to make love to you, Scully. If it's too soon--" She doesn't even let me finish the sentence. "Too soon? God, Mulder, we've waited six years. How much longer do you expect me to wait?" I can feel a wicked grin curling my mouth. "Not a second more." End part one. TITLE: A Real Love (2/2) AUTHOR: Isahunter (Isahunter@aol.com) XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX When the hell did I get so blessed? I'm holding this ethereal creature on my lap, as naturally as if I'd been doing it all my life, and the only thing I can think of at this moment is that I'm the luckiest son of a bitch alive. There is nowhere I'd rather be, no one I'd rather be with...and if aliens landed on her doorstep right now, I'd ignore them. Maybe. Yeah, I'm pretty damned sure I would. "Do you have any idea..." I can't even finish the thought. "Yes, I know." Her fiery hair is mussed, from one-too-many passes of my fingers. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are sparkling, her lips are kiss-swollen, and I've never seen her look more beautiful...then again...as her fingers move up to the buttons of her blouse, and she begins sliding them free from their holes, I have to re-phrase. NOW she's at her most beautiful. Her living room is shrouded in darkness, the only light drifting in from the nearby kitchen. Shadows play over her curves, in a titillating hiding game. Her golden cross shimmers against bare skin, the chain twisting on itself and unraveling again with her movements. She shrugs her suit jacket off her shoulders, and continues with the buttons on her shirt until every little one is undone. I can barely swallow over the huge knot in my throat. Having the right to touch her--a mere hand on her back or kiss on the forehead--is more than I ever deserved. But this...this is how man must have felt when given the gift of fire. Powerful, invincible, and completely terrified. When she is through, she leaves the halves of her blouse closed...waiting for me to take the next move. And that's the problem. I can't move. I can't breathe. I'm not even sure if my heart is still beating. The crimson fabric of her shirt slips open a bit, giving a tantalizing glimpse of flesh with her every breath, before falling closed once more. I am mesmerized. I can see Dana Scully's bra. I almost laugh aloud at the thought. I feel like a thirteen-year-old, getting ready to feel up his first girl. "Mulder?" I meet her gaze. She is looking at me expectantly. With a deep breath, I relieve my hand from its attentive guard on her knee, and take what she so cordially offered. My hand slips inside, under the fabric, and curves around her waist. Compared to her skin, the silk is unmistakably rough against my flesh. My left hand joins the other at her side, and the movement causes her blouse to fall open loosely. With another deep breath, I just stare at her. If this were a contest, I think, I'd be losing poorly... but then I notice her breathing is just as erratic as mine. Her hands are no more steady as she places them on my forearms. My eyes are probably no more glazed, either. Shit. That's not the only noticeable effect I'm having on her. Through the delicate eyelet lace of her white bra, I can clearly see that my partner's nipples are erect. Scully is aroused. And not just a little bit. Her chest is flushed, rising and falling rapidly to keep up with her lungs, and I can literally see the eager throb of her pulse shaking her flesh. She's practically quaking. I lick my lips, sliding my hands up until they rest just below the underwire of her bra. And with a simple flick of my thumbs, I shove the fabric up and away, filling my palms with her heavy breasts. She gasps, amazed I've done something so brazen. What she doesn't know is that this is something I've wanted to do for years. I'm just not wasting any more time. "Mulder, you know--there is a clasp on this bra." I merely smirk at her, not wanting to move my hands for a second. Luckily, she guesses my intentions and flips the catch for me. The cups fall away, lying forgotten, much like her blouse, against her sides. She quivers like a bird in my hands, so incredibly soft that I don't ever want to stop touching her. My thumbs rub in slow circles over her nipples, drawing an exquisite little moan out of her mouth. "Do you like that?" "Mmm...yes." "Do you want more?" "So much more." I lean forward, closer and closer, watching her eyes slip closed. My breath moves across her skin, causing her to shiver. Her breasts jiggle against my nose, and it almost tickles. I place a whisper of a kiss on the underside of her breast, and she flinches against the touch. Her fingers clench hard in my hair, drawing me closer, demanding more. How much more will it take? In my sick little fantasies, Scully can come with little more than the brush of my hand. I don't fool myself into thinking that will actually happen. But it does make me wonder. Just what does it take to give her pleasure? Where do I need to touch her, how often, how hard or soft, how slow or fast? What will my name sound like, when screamed from her lips? God, it's a good thing I'm not wearing jeans or I'd be seriously handicapped by now. As it is, I'm almost certain I'm going to have to get rid of these slacks, and quickly. But it can wait, a moment or two... The touch of my tongue against her hot skin is delicious. She tastes better than I imagined. I trace my tongue around the slope of her breast, slipping back and forth against the plump surface, before finally gliding round the pebbled texture of her nipple. She squirms on my lap, and I suck in a sharp breath. Glorious torture. I can feel her hips shifting, rocking back and forth against my leg, and I cannot stop from sliding down further on the couch cushion, bringing my straining erection in perfect contact with her grinding pelvis. "Uhhhnnn--" The guttural groan escapes my mouth, causing her to open her eyes and stare at me. An evil little smile twitches at her mouth. She rolls her hips again, harder, slower, and I lift my own hips to meet her. This time we both gasp. "Oh, hell yes." She is nearly panting now, staring at me through heavy- lidded eyes as I continue to kiss and lick her. And when I take her excited nipple into my mouth, sucking strong, she nearly rips every last hair out of my head. XXXXX Oh, god, that mouth! I have stared at Mulder's mouth for years, noting the way his lips barely move when he's murmuring so low that only I can hear. I know the shape of his lips by heart, as if I traced them with my fingers like a blind person. But I never touched. I never knew just what a find I had in that pouty lower lip he uses so well to his advantage. I never knew those lips could do this...could send tickling electrical currents shooting through my entire body. Could make me want to cry and laugh at the same time, because it feels so damned good. The naughty things he's doing to me almost have the ability to make me forget I'm sitting here half-naked in my living room...with Mulder. Who ever would've thought this could happen? I release my brutal grip on his hair, surely taking dozens of the strands with me, and he gazes up at me through his lashes. Why do men always have those incredibly long lashes that women would kill for? Ooh, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore. Nothing but him. I have always dreamed of those beautiful hands touching me. At first, I thought I had to be desperately lonely to get such a thrill from just the most brief of touches against my cheek. But now I know that's not true. He has always done this to me, has always moved me with just glance, just a whisper, the mere smile in my direction. No other man has ever held the power that he does. Could it be so surprising then that feeling his hands on me is enough to make me weak, that his mouth on me is enough to short- circuit my brain? He returns his mouth to mine once more, as if he cannot get enough of these kisses. Neither can I. All the days and nights of longing, of looking but never touching, of hoping but never knowing, have come down to this very moment...passing in an instant. This final realization of love is worth all the suffering I've ever felt. I would give my life for this man, would gladly give up eternity just to please him. But I know he would rather die than ask. Newly invigorated, I feel him wrap his arms around me and hold on tight. He slides to the edge of the couch and stands, lifting me once more against his chest, carrying me into the sanctuary of my bedroom. Of all the places I ever imagined us making love, this was the last I ever expected. On his couch, on a motel bed, in a parked car, in an elevator...I even imagined doing it on the ground, in the forest in Florida. I always thought that if we ever succumbed to this urge, it would be a dangerously impulsive and rash decision. I have never been so glad to be wrong. Releasing me, he lets me slide down the length of his body until my knees come to a rest on the comforter. He doesn't stop touching me, not once. His fingers glide up my sides, tickling, barely skimming, until he reaches my shoulders. He pushed the fabric of my blouse down my arms, his fingers blazing a fiery trail of pleasure everywhere they go. As I kneel before him,naked from the waist up, he drops my blouse and bra to the floor. "Oh, God...Scully, you're so beautiful," he murmurs, the words broken and harsh. My name on his lips is so precious. It is a name reserved for him only, andhe always manages to turn it into a caress. I reach for the bottom of his sweater, tugging, and he lifts his arms to help me remove it. Inch by inch, his torso is bared, delectably sprinkled with hair. Hard, dark, and powerful. As I release his sweater, letting it fall where it will, he pulls me closer and presses my chest to his. I gasp, burying my face against his shoulder and cupping his triceps in my hands. His chest hairs tickle, but that is not what startles me. It is the most intense of sensations...chest to chest, breath to breath, heart to heart. I can feel his pulse pounding through him, his breath raggedly shuddering in his lungs. He presses his lips to my hair and takes a deep breath. It is not long before I am lulled by his rhythm. He breathes out as I breathe in. He inhales as I exhale. I can feel him, hard against my stomach, and my desire pools hot and wet within. His hands slide down to cup my bottom, his fingertips mercilessly teasing the middle seam of my slacks. I wonder if he can feel me shaking. He pulls back a bit and meets my gaze. There is no need for words. We both know exactly what we want...why is it only now that we finally admit it? XXXXX Her eyes hold a heavy-lidded sensuality that I've never seen before. Not on Scully, or anyone. It makes my heart pound hard and heavy, in my chest, and everywhere else. Especially in my groin. I know she can clearly sense how much I want her. If she can't see it in my eyes, surely she can feel it. Quickly dispensing with my shoes and socks, I lean down to remove her shoes as well. She waits patiently, content to watch me, kneeling on her bed in partial nudity like a pagan goddess. I want to say something, but words have escaped me. Nothing I could say would ever adequately express just what I'm feeling. Nothing would do her justice. "Lie down," I murmur, wanting her to be comfortable. As she reluctantly complies, her movements spilling her copper hair over the bedspread like a peacock's tail, I can only stare at her. This is how she looked in my most obscene of fantasies, and in my sweetest of dreams. I can't decide which one I'd rather have come true. Lucky for me, I think she's willing to give me both. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I reach for the buckle on her slacks and remove the belt. My eyes never leave hers as I open the slacks and slide them off of her body. She gives a sudden look of embarrassment at the pantyhose revealed underneath, but I can see nothing for her to be ashamed of. Those silky hose only serve to showcase a great pair of legs. "You should wear skirts more often." "I didn't think you noticed." "You'd be surprised what I notice, Scully." Her words are shaky leaving her mouth. "Oh, like what?" Sliding the pantyhose down her legs, I grin at her. "Like the fact that you bite your lip when you want something really badly." She abruptly releases her lip and frowns. "I do not." "You do. Especially when it's a dessert you don't think you should have." Tossing the delicate hose over a nearby chair, I smirk in satisfaction. "Or me, I've just noticed." This earns me a feigned glare. "What else?" Running my fingers up the inside of her calf, I see her flinch. "I've noticed that you're ticklish." "I'm not the only one." This surprises me. I had no idea she knew that. But why should I be amazed? She knows me better than I know myself. "No, you're not." "Especially your ears." I can feel myself turning red. "And right here," she continues, tracing her fingers over the sensitive flesh of my stomach. Even that little touch is enough to make me laugh. I grab her hand, kissing her fingertips to stop her torture. Her voices lowers to a husky whisper. "I never knew you were so vulnerable, Fox Mulder." "Always, where you're concerned." Lying there, in only a skimpy pair of panties, she looks positively decadent. Tempting and sinful. Painfully erotic...and yet--yet absolutely heavenly. Divine. As if I've been given the key to paradise. I kiss her navel, her hips, the softness of her thighs, the delicate arches of her tiny feet. Feeling every little texture and committing it to memory. She lets her eyes close, savoring the sensation, and when I tell her not to fall asleep, she giggles. As if to say the thought is utterly absurd. The gentle amber light from the nearby lamp casts her body in a golden aura. Her hair shimmers, her skin glows. And as I slip my fingers inside her lacy panties and pull them down her legs, my mouth goes dry. Her brow furrows, and she knows I am gazing at her in total nudity, total surrender. Her uncertainty would be endearing if it wasn't such a blatantly uncalled for reaction. She is gorgeous. My hand smoothes up her body from her hip to her heart. "So beautiful." She opens her eyes to look at me, and covers my hand with her own. "I love you, Mulder." "I love you, too." "Kiss me?" "Definitely." I move up to her side, lying next to her, and she rolls to face me. She takes my face in her hands, kissing me with every bit of passion she has bottled up inside her. Without stopping, she reaches down and unzips my pants. Her hand slips inside, caressing through the fabric of my boxers, making me gasp into her mouth. I do not hesitate to return the favor. It is not long before we have managed to lose both my slacks and my boxers over the side of the bed. Wriggling frantically against each other, we build the friction so high I'm certain sparks are flying from us. I have always loved to touch her, but I've found an even greater thrill--her hands on me. She is not shy in her explorations, but rather roams over my super-heated flesh with deft purpose. I doubt she even realizes it, but every brush of her hand, every scrape of her fingernails, is perfectly timed and placed. She follows the sounds of my moans, using their frequency to judge just where to move next. If I'm not mistaken, I am learning to play her strings just as quickly. The vibrato sighs coaxed from deep in her throat, originating from a far deeper and more secret part of her body, are music to my ears. She likes to be touched and stroked, every bit as much as I like touching her. If only I'd known that sooner. XXXXX I don't know how much longer I can wait. He has had me on the edge of insanity for what seems like forever now. I don't need any more foreplay. Six years was long enough. Now, I only want him. Grasping his shoulders, I lift my hips and slide myself against him, telling him unmistakably what I need. With a low growl, he readily complies. Lifting my thigh over his hip, he slides his fingers through the hair between my legs and opens me--finally, at long last, delving inside. So this is what it feels like to have the man you love inside you. After more than six long years of abstinence, of waiting only for him--yes, you heard me correctly-- joining my body with his is not as easy as it sounds. I am undeniably aroused, but it doesn't stop the twinge of pain that makes me gasp. He stops his gentle plundering and holds my gaze. "Are you all right?" I can only nod. I'm more than all right. It is perfect. I am filled by him, completed, just as he once said so eloquently. We are lying passionately entwined, and I can only marvel at how perfect it is. Side by side as partners, and now side by side as lovers. Mates, in more than one sense of the word. He slowly begins to move, establishing a rhythm I strive to meet. Working together as one. As always. Blending in blessed harmony. My eyes never leave his, his never abandon mine. Not even when the squall of pleasure crashes in to claim him. If anything, he even stares at me more intensely, reaching down to the depths of my soul. With the stroke of his hand over my sensitive flesh, insistent and consuming, he pulls me in the deep end to join him. Drowning in ecstasy. All the while, holding my other hand. Reality slips back in slowly, like sunrise after finding sleep for the first time in years. Heartbeats slow, breathing returns to normal. But his gaze never leaves mine. He kisses me softly, blurring my vision of the moisture in his eyes. So this is real love. I have never been happier in my life. XXXXX I hold her until the morning comes, and long after that. Unwilling to let go. Unable to relinquish my prize. She loves me. Of everything I've ever lost, all that I hold dear, and all I ever hoped to gain, that is the most precious gift of all. END (2/2) XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Comments appreciated: Isahunter@aol.com You're honey child to a swarm of bees Gonna blow right through you like a breeze Give me one last chance We'll slide down the surface of things You're the real thing, yeah, the real thing You're the real thing Even better than the real thing --"Even Better Than The Real Thing" by U2. (Lyrics used without permission. No infringement intended. The song belongs to U2 and Island Records, Inc.) XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX