Title:   'Til Death
Author:   Flynn
Date: 8/17/02
Website:   www.geocities.com/cratkinsonflynn/
E-mail:   flyn121@yahoo.com
Feedback:   Nourishes the soul and is good karma.
Distribution:  Leave address and headers, and drop me a line.
Rating: NC-17
Classification: Post-Ep, Vignette
Keywords:   MSR, SMUT
Spoiler warning: The Truth.
Disclaimer: I invented neither Mulder, Scully, 
nor the concept of sex.   
Scribbler's note: Speaking for myself, the ending 
was sort of .... incomplete. This just fills in 
around the edges a little.
Summary: Two lovers, reunited.




~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'Til Death
by Flynn
~~~~~~~~~~~~~



He slept the sleep of the dead and dreamed of better days. 

Genies. Crop circles. Fake teeth on very real vampires. 

302s. Expense reports. Arguing with his partner.

Good days. 

What could be better, though, than waking to the sight before 
him? Even with eyes stinging in protest against the cool 
morning air, he couldn't help but stare at her. At the 
glorious red hair, now subdued in the half-light of dawn. 
The long, arcing lashes. The fair skin, which would burn 
so easily in the brutal desert sun. She was going to 
suffer if they weren't very careful. A rush of protectiveness 
stabbed through him. Sunscreen, he thought. Strong stuff, 
and lots of it. A hat. Long sleeves, even on the hottest of 
days.

His heart throbbed in his chest as he studied her. It was 
real. They were on the run again, true .... but she was 
here. She was with him, and this time she wasn't going 
anywhere.

How he loved her. 

Carefully he turned his head for a look at the window. The 
shades were closed, but he could see the sun was just 
beginning to make its entrance in the east. Rain still 
pelted the window. They hadn't moved much during the 
night - neither willing even in sleep to lose this precious
contact after so long apart - but she'd pulled her arm free 
some time ago, allowing him to cradle her close. He sighed, 
and his arms tightened around her just a little. She 
accepted it without protest. Closer. Always just a little 
closer.

And why not? They could afford to rest for a while. The 
mineral in the hills would protect them. Besides, they were 
already dead, at least as far as the pilots of those black 
helicopters were concerned. Mission accomplished. 

Ironic, he mused. Only now that they were dead could they 
really begin to live.

A soft sound reached him as she sighed and moved just a 
little in his arms. His breath caught and he stared at her,
rapt, as her eyes fluttered and slowly opened. 

His world existed in those eyes. Jesus, how he'd missed them. 

Her blink was languid, her breath slow and deep. "Hey." 
It wasn't even a whisper. A breath, no more.

He actually found himself smiling a little. "Sorry I woke 
you."

She gave her head the barest of shakes. Her eyes held his, 
effortless. He saw many things in them. Relief. Gratitude. 
Love.

Voiceless sorrow. 

<Can't think of that right now,> he told himself, trying not 
to give in to the stab of self-loathing, trying not to think 
about where she could be right now if not for him. After all, 
if they'd never met, she would be practicing medicine right 
now, or teaching at the Academy, or running the Pathology 
department at any of the best medical schools in the country. 
She might even be married, and a mother. Colonization would 
still take place, but at least she'd have *had* something of 
a life. Not like this. Stripped of family, of her child, of 
her very identity, now consigned to living life as a fugitive; 
forever looking back over her shoulder, the future itself 
hanging over their heads like an execution. The date was set. 
There was no going back.

An inner voice silenced those thoughts. She was with him. If 
they were to die in colonization, then they would die together. 
Until then, that was how they would live.

It was the most natural thing in the world to kiss her. He meant 
it as a greeting, a salute, nothing more; but it grew with a 
life and a will of its own, and before he could even think to 
pull away, it was warm and deep and tender and hungry. She 
tilted her head, angling her mouth beneath his, and when their 
lips opened he felt a sigh escape her. 

How long he'd wanted this. Not just sex, he reasoned; sex was 
the strongest drive in the human's arsenal of instincts, true, 
but almost as strong was the need for love and comfort and 
acceptance. That connection was what he'd truly missed, and 
he told her so. Their kiss was communication which needed no 
words. <I need you. I missed you. Stay with me. Don't ever 
leave.>

<I won't.>

His free hand slipped down her side to her hip, drawing her 
close, molding her to him. Hers stroked up the bare skin of 
his arm and curled itself around his neck, her fingers 
sliding through his hair as her thumb traced the whorls of 
his ear. The kiss ended only to begin again, just a little 
deeper, a little more insistent. His fingers traced the 
contours of her ribs - how thin she'd gotten! -  then found 
their way up inside her robe and followed the curve of her 
spine. His nerves were singing, those in his fingertips and 
.... other places.

And *her* fingers .... no longer content with teasing 
through the short hair at the nape of his neck, they instead 
were insinuating themselves up under *his* shirt, and he 
shivered as gooseflesh sprang to life under her touch. 

Time ceased to exist in a sequence of seconds. They measured 
it instead in movements. His shirt bunching up under his arms 
so she could touch and caress him. Her robe falling slack off 
her shoulder. The long slide of denim.

<I know this body,> he mused as he explored with lips and 
tongue the soft warmth of her throat, her neck, the sweep 
of her collarbone. He knew her breasts, though they seemed 
different now. He knew them even though he could count on 
one hand the times he'd been intimate with her .... before. 
Events from another lifetime now. Her breasts were a little 
fuller now, a little more pliant, the nipples larger and a 
darker shade of pink. He recalled that first night out of 
the hospital last May, and her shy uncertainty as she opened 
her robe before him for the first time so she could feed their 
son. He remembered how he'd felt, watching them. The awe and 
pride and blinding love. <We did this. We made this child.>

A long-familiar ache of regret and loss threatened to reduce 
him to tears. <Don't think about that now,> he told himself. 
<Exist now, in this moment. Show her how she completes you. 
Let her know you can't exist without her any more.>

Gently he bit and licked the curve of her reed-thin clavicle. 
She caught his head in her hands, guiding his ministrations 
instead to a breast, and a gasp escaped her as he obligingly 
suckled. Her fingers tightened in his hair and her head slowly 
rolled from side to side. *Good,* he wanted to say. *Good. 
Good. So good.*

Hands eventually tightened in his hair, drawing his head back. 
He winced in protest. "What -?"

"Shh." She touched a soft finger to his lips, silencing him. 
The rigid length of his erection pressed impatiently through 
the thin jersey of his shorts, and he flinched when her 
fingers deftly found their way in through the front opening. 
She looked up at him, her eyes luminous in the pre-dawn light, 
and he had no trouble seeing the emotions in them. God, it had 
been a long time. How many months he'd had to suffice with 
memories and his own familiar touch .... 

Anxiety plucked at him as she shimmied out of her satin 
underwear. "Wait ...." he whispered. She stopped, uncertainty 
quickly supplanting the determination in her eyes. He glanced 
down at his turgid penis and back at her again. "Do we .... I 
don't .... have any condoms. Shouldn't we, uh ...."

Her chin quivered as her eyes clouded with tears. For once, 
she didn't try to hide them from him. "It's okay," she murmured,
touching a fingertip to his lower lip. "I've had one miracle baby. 
There won't be any others."

Those simple words filled him with cold dread. He caught her hand 
and gave it a squeeze. "What do you mean? What aren't you telling 
me?" Fear splintered his heart and just about stop its beating. 
"You aren't .... "

"No, I'm okay." Her free hand rose and brushed the tears from her 
cheeks. "I'm perfectly healthy. You see, after .... I needed help 
regulating my cycle." The faintest blush of a smile warmed her 
eyes. "Well, I'm regular." She gave him a gentle squeeze that 
chased most of the thoughts from his head. Then a glow appeared 
in her eyes again, one that made him thank God all over again 
that he could call this woman his own. Skeptic? Hardly. "He *is* 
a miracle .... but lightning isn't going to strike twice." A sad 
little smile quirked the corner of her mouth. "Besides, I haven't 
taken a road trip with any strange men lately."

He allowed himself an answering smile. *Good  to know,* he thought 
to himself, rolling up onto his elbow and kicking his shorts off. 
His hand splayed wide over her belly, which still bore the telltale 
filigree of pale stretch marks. She caught his wrist, squeezing hard 
for a moment before guiding his hand downward. He traced the lines 
of her pelvis, and when she lifted her legs, he slipped two fingers 
inside her. Her eyes rolled back and closed for a moment, and he 
heard his name escape her on a sigh.

<I know this body,> he thought again, gently gathering and 
spreadingher moisture. Her warm hand was an anchor on his cock, 
sliding down and then up again in a slow, languid caress. A 
pearl of clear liquid appeared on the head, and he watched her 
smile grow as she gently spread it around.

He kissed her, long and deep, then rolled over her and gathered her 
up in one careful movement. She edged a hand between their bodies, 
helping him find the way. The first contact robbed them both of 
breath, and he drew back and held himself above her, determined 
not to let it end with a half-dozen plunges and an ignoble groan. 
Her body was soft and pale and receptive beneath him, her eyes 
burning and alive as they sought his. Carefully he nudged his way 
into her again, pressing little by little and then withdrawing, 
his dark length slowly appearing and disappearing into the white 
V of her thighs. Each time he emerged a little harder, a little 
slicker. 

Time slowed to a heartbeat. He could see the flutter of her pulse 
in her throat, in the minute dilations of her pupils, now enormous 
in the laser-blue irises. Sweat was pearling on her upper lip. A 
pale hand slid up to toy with a rosy pink nipple, and he groaned 
in frustration. Oh, to be just a little shorter, just enough that 
he could suckle those pink blossoms as he buried himself in the 
hot, wet crevice of her body. Withdrawals were becoming quicker, 
returns more staccato. Her fingers fluttered and strummed her 
breast, though her eyes never once left his.

Tenderness competed with masculine ferocity as he drove into her. 
Her eyes remained locked with his even when he kissed her. Oh 
heavens above, the warmth of her body where it received his vied 
with thewet warmth of her open mouth, her tongue a perfect 
counterpoint to his stroking penis. This act, the meeting of 
opposites, transmuted her to hot, wet velvet. It was wizardry. 
It was alchemy.

Talk about miracles.

Her arms slid around his torso, her fingers lacing behind his back 
as her legs rose and she linked her ankles behind him. He felt 
himself balloon inside her with the change in position, felt his 
testicles draw up tight and hot, and he knew if something didn't 
change fast, the show going to hit the metaphorical high note very 
soon. "You," he grunted, curling the fingers of one hand through 
her hair. The other gripped the flimsy wooden plank of the headboard 
so hard, his knuckles had gone white. Her only response was a long, 
low cry, a tightening of the muscles the length of her body, and he
knew without doubt that she was flying. 

Time. He counted it in breaths, in strokes, one growing rapid as 
the other slowed. She was a bowstring beneath him, taut and 
quivering. Physics was conspiring with nature to create the 
ultimate vacuum, and he groaned softly as he fought the inevitable. 
Slow, hard thrust .... her body gripped him, sucking and squeezing 
and milking him with that hot, sweet nethermouth. He was so close, 
close to exploding, close to spilling everything he had into her, 
but even more so he was close to *her*, as close as they could ever 
get to sharing one body, one consciousness, to being one soul, and 
he loved her he loved her he loved her so much his heart was going 
to split .... 

At the last instant he threw his head back, baring his throat to 
her as he let go, purging with a long, harsh cry all the loneliness 
and despair that had plagued him for the past year. Together they 
were together they were one .... 

Stars exploded behind his eyes as his body liquefied and then 
ignited.

Reality was slow to return. He could feel his heart galloping 
in his chest, could feel the familiar tingle in all his 
extremities that she once explained was the result of 
hyperventilation. His nose was pressed against the side of her 
neck; all he could see was the burnished red of her hair. Shit,
he'd collapsed on her. He hated it when he did that. It was 
so selfish, and yet she seemed to relish it. Slowly he gathered 
himself, drawing up an arm and a leg, and with a tortured groan 
pushed himself up and away. She gasped as he pulled free, and 
he could tell just from the state of his own body that there was 
going to be one hell of a wet spot.

"C'mere," he mumbled, using the arm still pinned beneath her to 
drag her close. She immediately complied, twining her legs with 
his and effectively sealing herself to him again. A wonderful 
smell permeated the room, sweat and sex and something that was 
indefinable yet undeniably *her*, and he couldn't help but smile 
as he crossed his arms possessively around her. She followed suit 
without hesitation, linking her arms around him and pressing her 
face into the hollow of his throat. They didn't move, didn't 
speak, and it wasn't long before he realized she was asleep. 

Out in the parking lot, a car radio was playing a little too 
loud for the early hour. Someone was singing. <That's just the 
way it is .... some things will never change .... that's just 
the way it is .... >

<.... Oh, but don't you believe it ....>

He found himself smiling again. <You said it, pal.>

It wouldn't last for long, and they both knew it. This was a 
stolen moment, and while they might be safe for a day or a 
week, it wouldn't be long before they'd be looking over their 
shoulders again. He'd take her to the Ranch, one of the places 
he'd hidden out with Gibson .... a place that just happened to 
have one of the highest concentrations of that mineral in the 
state .... and there they would think, and plan. The next week, 
the next month, the next year .... the next decade. He didn't 
know if there was anything anyone could do to prevent 
colonization. But he was sure as hell going to try. And she 
would be with him. 

Nothing would change that now.




~~~~~
end
~~~~~