From: Rose Vanden Eynden To:X Whispers Fanfic Smut List Subject: [XFNC17ff] NEW: You Move (1/1) by Avalon Date: Friday, September 28, 2001 8:39 AM TITLE: You Move(1/1) AUTHOR: Avalon EMAIL: avalon@fuse.net RATING: NC-17 (if you're underage, please look elsewhere) SPOILERS: Not really. Takes place soon after Fight the Future. CATEGORY: VMSRA KEYWORDS: Mulder Scully romance DISCLAIMER: Of course they're not mine. No infringment intended. FEEDBACK: Welcomed and answered, thanks. ARCHIVES: Anywhere, but please let me know so I can come visit. SUMMARY: You move, together. WEBSITE: http://home.fuse.net/ktvanden/index.html AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is dark. But it begged to be written. More notes at the end. You Move (1/1) You answer the door, knowing it will be him. You knew all evening that his knock would come, and you resigned yourself to whatever follows after that. You felt his eyes on you through the window as the twilight hours stretched and deepened into night. You didn't move from your chair, letting him watch you, telegraphing to him that you, too, were waiting. Waiting for him, ready and willing to give him whatever it is he thinks he needs. He stands silent in the doorframe for a moment, his face nothing but shadows and stillness. He looks much bigger silhouetted like this, and you step back automatically. You have never been afraid of him, always comforted rather than intimidated by his size in the past. But tonight, the physical difference between the two of you only seems to heighten the gulf of feeling that has grown in the space there too. He moves forward and you move backward, a slow and purposeful dance across the floor of your apartment. He still wears his office clothes, although his tie is missing and his shirt collar is undone. As he passes the side table by the couch, he yanks the holster from his hip and lets it fall next to the lamp. In its light, his face looks older, more tired than you can ever remember seeing it. And as he turns his eyes to you, you feel his pull, the undeniable attraction of two opposite magnets locking together as nature intended. He is next to you then, and you feel the press of the wall beneath your shoulder blades. He reaches out and catches your wrist, plunging his fingers into the sleeve, sending icy shivers through the core of you. His skin grazes your cheek, cold and piercing, but his breath is hot, warmed by his desire and the tequila you know he has been drinking. You know that this is what has made him bold, the catalyst that has driven him finally to your door after so many tortured nights of silence and insomnia. You bless it and curse it all at once, knowing, too, that it has been his favorite anesthetic since you returned from Antarctica. His nearness is filling you up, pouring into you a heat that you trust will thaw you, one that will melt your pretenses and excuses and yes, even your lies. You have never lied to him, just to yourself. It has taken you so long to admit that you need him that the words to express it are lost, a forgotten vocabulary, a dead language. You will show him instead, giving to him the one thing that will seal him to you forever. He does not kiss you, pulling instead on the belt that holds your robe wrapped around you. It falls open, and his eyes sear your skin as he looks at you. He moves his palms across your collarbones and roughly cups your breasts, and your body responds, the nipples hardening at his touch. He rolls them both between his fingers and you bite back a cry, turning your head and watching as he drops his mouth to the tip of one. His suckling is far from gentle, but it sends electric jolts through you, stoking higher the fire within you. He fucks you standing up against the wall, your panties a dollop of pastel silk next to your feet. He thrusts hard inside you, every stroke burning deep into you, every movement marking you as his. He rakes his hands up and down your body, trying to memorize it. It's all you can do to keep him within you, your head slamming back against the aging plaster, your body splitting with the violence of his need. He tangles one fist into your hair, jerking your head toward him, your eyes snapping open to lock onto his. His gaze penetrates you deeper than his cock, dissecting and eviscerating your soul in its dark intensity. You see yourself in his eyes, starving and alone, and you want to touch him. But that's not what he needs right now. He brings his mouth close to yours, and you feel his lips move as he speaks. "You're mine," he growls between huffs of ragged breath. "Mine. You're mine." He pulls your hair and you whimper slightly, feeling a rush of desire trickle from between your legs. He feels it, too, and the smile that comes to his face is triumphant. "Say it." "I'm...I'm yours," you breathe, and the realization that the words are true brings you closer to the edge. He throws his head back, and his cock stiffens inside you. The coiling within you is almost sprung, and you latch onto his shoulders, digging your fingers into the fabric of his shirt. He anchors you to the wall and hitches one leg up over his knee, blindly pounding into your body with his. The friction sears through your center, your climax tearing through you with a rush like a freight train. You are dimly aware of his, his hoarse cries and the throbbing spasms of his cock skittering at the edges of your perception. The slowed panting from you both rattles above the quiet of the room. As your focus returns, you look at him, easing your fingers from their knot in his shirt. His head bows before you, his chin nearly touching his chest, resembling an exhausted child lost in sleep. His hair hangs in defeated wisps over his forehead, and you reach out to brush them back, a gesture colored with love and sweetness. But at your touch, his head jerks up and away, and the panicked look on his face is a blur as he pulls away from you. He stumbles back, fumbling with his pants, leaving you chilled against the wall. The air where he used to be ravages your skin, but you don't pull your robe shut. You bring your heels down to the floor, your hand frozen in mid-air between you. You say his name, your voice breaking the oppressive silence. He doesn't look at you, intent instead on his adjustments. You say it again, more insistently, and when he finally raises his eyes, they swim in tears. He takes a tentative step toward you and collapses to his knees. He gropes forward, his fingers scrabbling across the skin of your hips as he wraps his arms around you. His face burrows into your stomach, and you feel the wetness of his tears slip down the curve there. He shakes against you as he cries, and your hands find his hair this time, combing through the dark waves, a soothing motion you know he doesn't feel. His voice falters repeatedly as he tries to speak. "I thought...I thought I lost you." "You didn't," you say. You try to wrap your words around him, a warming comfort like an old quilt. "I thought you were dead." "I wasn't. You saved me." His head turns against you, the stubble of his beard scraping as he lays his other cheek against your abdomen. "You...you were going to leave me." "Not you. The F.B.I." You pause, your own emotion rising. "I...can't leave you." He looks up at you then, the moss-green of his eyes standing out in the redness that rims them. "I'm sorry, Scully." Another tear slips down his cheek, into his slack mouth. "I didn't mean...I didn't want it to be this way. I'm so sorry." He starts to drop his head again, but you catch it as you crouch down to his level. You cup his chin in your hand and hold his gaze with your own. "I'm not sorry, Mulder." You lean into him, your other hand behind his head, and kiss him softly, moving your lips tentatively on his. He tastes of alcohol and salt, but you don't mind. He is yours, and you are his. You move, together. ***End*** AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story was inspired by the song, "And I Moved," by the fantastic Pete Townshend. The song can be found on his album, "Empty Glass." No infringement is intended with that song, either. This was an experiment in the "you" voice for me. I hope it worked for you. Virtual hugs and lots of love to Revilo Witts and Shelby Parker for their keen eyes, suggestions, and encouragement. Thanks, ladies! Feedback always moves me! avalon@fuse.net. -- "...and she smiles because the world hasn't ended but it moves, oh, it moves." --Penumbra, Black Hole Season Like the X-Files? Check out my fanfiction page: http://home.fuse.net/ktvanden/index.html