From: Dreamshpr@aol.com TITLE: Before Dawn AUTHOR: Dreamshaper FEEDBACK: is impatiently awaited--and eventually responded to--by dreamshpr@aol.com ARCHIVING: If you want--but you know the drill, ask first if we haven't spoken before. CATEGORY: MSR RATING: NC17 SPOILERS:Tithonius SUMMARY: Mulder takes a chance--finally. DISCLAIMER: Not mine, just borrowing, will return ;) NOTES: This is kind of experimental for me--I'm trying to improve my third person skills ;) And, while I was fiddling with that, I also fiddled with making my version of smut just a *little* bit more vivid. So, consider this a short, experimental smut biscuit, and enjoy! ******************************************************** Pale limbs sprawled haphazardly across the blue sheets, their pearly curves highlighted and set in sharp relief by the darkness of the fabric lucky enough to be entwined with them. Red hair, wildly tossed and yet still sleek, lay across her face and the pillow she held clutched under her cheek. Her mouth, full and darkened by kisses, lay partly open, allowing the man who sat on the bed beside her to remember its sweetness, though he doubted he could have forgotten. Mulder doubted anything about Scully could be forgotten. Not by him, in any case. He had loved her too long, and too well. But all the memories seemed especially vivid now, as he watched her sleep, and all the tastes of her were heightened in his remembrance by the sight of that mouth. Smiling, he traced a finger along its lower curve, wanting to taste it again. Knowing that he would. Shifting to tug the sheets down, he leaned over and gently began to press featherlight kisses down the long, smooth column, lingering on the scars that marred it top and base. One marked her abduction and eventual return and he found it more by feel and memory than by sight. The other marked another man's mistake, and a time that made Mulder aware of the fact that he too was making an error. His mistake was in letting the feelings he had lie dormant when it was too painfully obvious that they had no guarantees. There were no promises made to them by anyone in control of the strings of Fate and Time, no promises other than Fate is inescapable and the downfall of Time inevitable. Brushing aside the introspection, Mulder savored the play of skin and muscle, the light shiver she gave in her sleep as he traced her tattoo with a light, questing tongue. But reluctant to wake her, he sighed against her skin and rose, gently covering her back up and watching her sleep for only another second. With a shiver for the sudden chill that coursed through him without the touch of her skin, he slid gently from the bed, padding softly to the bathroom. Turning on the light with an anticipatory wince for the brightness of the light after the moonlit bedroom, he shut the door quietly behind him. A few minutes later he washed his hands in the sink, eying his reflection in the mirror critically. Stubble marked his skin with dark shadow and he couldn't help but regret the damage he was sure it had done to that pale skin, and contemplated shaving. But all her razors were delicate, fragile looking, and pink, so he resigned himself to it and turned out the light. Shuffling back to the bedroom, he paused, leaned against the wall. She had moved since he had left, rolling onto her back and sprawling her arms, face turned to 'his' side of the bed and frowning, puzzled. He wondered if she was looking for him in her sleep, and found the idea soothing. He had certainly searched for her often enough in dreams, fought to find the solace her presence could bring. And now that they had allowed themselves the glory and the promise of intimacy, he found himself awake whenever she left the bed if they were together, and dreaming of sleeping beside her when he wasn't. It was reassuring to know that she had the same need. Almost more than knowing she had the same feelings. It made his dependence on her seem less pathetic, more natural, more normal. He didn't know much about normality. Scully was the closest he came to it, and in her eyes applying the word normal to her was skewing its meaning. And perhaps that was true, because he could not imagine any other woman on the planet living through what she had and emerging as beautiful. That was a word he was certain applied to her, in all its various connotations. Physically, mentally, even emotionally, though she felt herself cold. He had never felt the chill she felt in herself, not even in times she had been at her angriest. Mulder had only ever felt the heat of her, the fire of her loyalty and her strength, the gentle warmth of the care and regard she had presented him with long ago, the searing burn of her grief. The tentative, licking flame of attraction. Smiling at her, all flame and fragility in the moonlight, he recalled the first time he had warmed himself completely with that particular heat. She had been back on duty a week, wan and tired looking but far too strong and stubborn to rest a moment longer. Sitting in the bullpen with a phone in her hand and a gleam of determination in her eye, she had dared him to approach, to make her rest as he had done while she was recuperating. Calmly, he had held his hands out palms up and stayed behind his own desk, watchful but letting her be. That night, he had driven her back to her apartment, following her calmly up the stairs despite her assertions that he did not need to. And once there, he had settled himself in for a while, sitting on the couch with her remote in hand but his focus on her as she sat carefully in her armchair. For a long time, they had sat in silence, Scully looking out the window and Mulder looking at her, till her eyes turned back to his. "This isn't what I need right now, Mulder. Your hovering." He hadn't replied, had just watched her eyes with a calmness born of certainty. Finally, frustrated with his silence, Scully had nearly growled, pushed herself carefully up out of the chair. "I'm *fine*, Mulder! It's been weeks since I got out, weeks of therapy and rest and patience, and I can't deal with it anymore." The frustration in her had spilled into her voice, her movements as she paced past him, and he ached for it, but kept his silence. "I can't take much more of this silent, guilty knight in tarnished armor routine of yours. I don't need a knight, and I never have." "It seems to me," he had finally replied laconically. "That you certainly did need a knight up in New York. Or at least someone who could have watched over you better." With a slashing motion of her hand, she had turned back to him. "I haven't needed someone to watch out for me since I was little. And while I appreciate everything you did for me while I was recovering, I am obviously fine now and definitely don't need to be watched over." Considering, he had tilted his head, risen and approached her, careful and slow as if she was young and skittish. When he got close enough, he had reached out, held her chin, asking for her eyes to meet his and he just tried to see past the impatience. And he was successful. Satisfaction had rushed through him, breaking his carefully blank mask and releasing itself in a small, knowing smile. "You *are* recovered," he murmured as he dropped his head slowly, knowing that Fate had handed him another time and another chance to take this risk, and he would take it. Nothing earthshaking happened. No bombs dropped but no lights swirled. No hearts were broken or instantaneously healed. Pulses did not stop or pound, quickening only moderately in the wake of the kiss. And they didn't speak of love. But that night, the first of many nights he had spent in her bed, he had watched her, absorbing the feel of her silken wetness into his skin, basking in the sight of her, arching above him, taking him in and making him whole. And he had laughed when it was over, expressing his joy in small kisses rained down upon her, knowing in his heart that he had finally rectified a mistake left too long to simmer. In the moonlight, Mulder shifted away from the door, amused and aroused by the memories. A glance at the clock assured him that there were still hours before the dawn, and longer still before her morning appointment for church and brunch with her mother. He crossed the soft carpet, steps making no sound, and slipped the covers from her completely. She frowned in her sleep, reaching for the sheets and mumbling something that might have been his name. Grinning, he crawled onto the bed, settling himself between her thighs immediately, knowing from experience that she did not wake quickly but would climb dizzily and reluctantly from dreams. If he was going to wake her, he knew it would have to be with something distracting. His first kiss to her skin had her sighing. He nuzzled her gently with his stubbly face, continuing a path of kisses down the center of her chin, down her neck, closing lips and teeth delicately around a nipple only long enough to pebble it before giving the other equal treatment. When they were sufficiently red and gleaming, he continued his leisurely, methodical trail down the center of her body, pausing to nip and kiss her ribs and her navel, run his tongue along the base of her belly. And then, with a satisfied sigh, he buried his lips in her center. This was his favorite place to linger, his favorite texture, favorite taste. And he delighted in it as he woke her by slow degrees, toying with teeth and tongue and fingers till she finally broke the surface of sleep with a gasp. And when her surprised moan filled the otherwise silent night air, he pressed a sudden assault against her senses, sending her flying in seconds. Her moan, the harsh intake of breath that followed it, and the slow exhale that she allowed herself when she was sliding from her peak, they all were signals and signs he knew well now, and when he judged by her breathing that the moment was right he rose back over her body. A kiss, pressed lightly to her parted lips, was savored and treasured as his now fumbling hands positioned himself. And their mutual groan was a taste on the air as well when he began a long, slow penetration. Rocking gently, braced above her, he bit his lip but kept his eyes open. He loved to watch her when she was like this, when they were like this, lazy and gentle. She betrayed her vulnerability, her tenderness, the emotion she had not yet laid claim to, and he felt his heart break with each stroke. Remembering the fragility of the body, he reassured himself of its strength as well with each stroke, reminded himself that the heart and soul were far stronger and longer lasting. And as he followed her into a deep, endless climax he felt the bonds of heart and soul that he knew would be eternal, and he felt them tighten. After, she pushed gently at his shoulder. "Mulder," she murmured as he just pulled her closer. "Let go." "Can't." He murmured against her temple, already three quarters of the way back to sleep. "I just have to go to the bathroom." Scully said, amusement in her tone and tenderness in her touch. He opened his arms enough for her to wriggle free, listened as she headed for the bathroom, waited for her return. And he grinned as she paused in the same place he had not so long ago, as she regarded him with deep eyes hidden in the shadows, wondering and somehow knowing she was recalling the same things he had relived. And with deep contentment, he felt her settle back beside him, and curled himself around her. One hand swept over her to close around her hip, the other rested under her pillow, and he buried his nose in the curve of her neck with a nuzzling sigh. Curving the fingers of her hand into those of the hand that rested under her pillow, Scully echoed his sigh, answering his contentment. "I love you." Mulder whispered the words into the wisps near her ear, just before he was certain she'd be asleep, and he waited with bated breath to see if she had heard. "I love you, too." She finally whispered in return, a smile in her voice. "That's the only reason I'd let you stand around and gawk at me while you thought I was sleeping." And with a startled laugh rumbling through his chest and into her back, she fell back to sleep, and he allowed his eyes to close and followed her down. End ******************************************************** It's been a while since I posted anything--a week and a half, I think, maybe more. For me, that's a long time! I was having fun recovering from the worst sunburn of my life--cripy-fried in 5 hours, despite 30 SPF sunblock applied every hour. I've decided to become a vampire and never venture into the sun again. Well, until it gets hot again and the call of the lake 3 feet from my new front door gets too intense ;) Anyway, tell me what you thought, I am always eager to know what's going on. Especially when I've been playing mad scientist. Dreamshaper dreamshpr@aol.com --------------------------- ONElist Sponsor ---------------------------- ONElist now has T-SHIRTS! http://www.onelist.com Check out homepage for details. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The X-Files Creative Mailing List Archived at http://www.xemplary.com To subscribe, go to http://www.onelist.com/subscribe/xfc To unsubscribe, go to http://www.onelist.com and click on the Member Center button ---------------------------------- Imported to ATXC courtesy of NewsGuy news service http://newsguy.com Respond to (Dreamshpr@aol.com) Previous: "Midnight Angel VI: Shadows Of The Night" by Isahunter (1/1)Recommend Before Dawn (1 of 1) By Dreamshaper (NC17) Next: Hum (1/1) by D. Agnew (H, UST)