A Real Love Part I

By Isahunter
(Isahunter@aol.com)

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A REAL LOVE PART I

2

DISCLAIMER: These characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten-Thirteen, and Fox. No infringement intended. This was only written out of love.

FEEDBACK: Yes please!

NC17. IF YOU ARE UNDER AGE, READ NO FURTHER.

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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

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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

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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 autopilot, 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

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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 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, mindspinning 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

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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

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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."

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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 XFile...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?"

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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

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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

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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

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A REAL LOVE PART I

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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

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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.

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