TITLE: At The End of The Night
AUTHOR: JLB (Amory20@aol.com )
CLASSIFICATION: V, MSR
RATING: PG-13, implied sexual situations
SPOILERS: None really
DISCLAIMER: I don't own them -- CC and 1013 do but if they don't start
treating them better, we might just have to do something about that. :)
SUMMARY: Bedtime for Mulder and Scully
FEEDBACK: I'm just addicted to feedback, so come on -- feed my habit. :)
Amory20@aol.com
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, this is just a little fluff piece I wrote today while
trapped in a tedious meeting. (yes, my priorities are perfectly in order. :)
I guess this is my vision of how things would be for Mulder and Scully if CC
ever lets them share a bed. Here's hoping! Enjoy.


At The End of The Night (1/1) by JLB (Amory20@aol.com)


It ends almost in direct contrast to how it began. We're quiet,
still, clinging to one another but gently, softly. He lays his
head on my breast, the way a child might, and I stroke his hair,
just as a mother would. We breath together, almost as if there
is only one breath between us, just as moments ago, we moved
together as if we were one body, one entity. The desire, passion,
desperate longing are all still there, but they're abated for now,
satisfied temporarily, quieted, lying just below the surface of
our skin, until it boils over again, and we can't ignore it anymore,
until we have to give in once again.

I used to tell myself that we didn't need this, that what we had
together, what existed between us, transcended our bodies, the
corporeal world, that we didn't need the physical expression
because it was more than that -- what we feel, who we are
to each other. But when I feel him inside me, when I feel his
burning skin pressed up against mine, it seems to signify our
bond in a way nothing else has, in a way nothing else ever could.
He needs to know that I want him. He needs to feel my need for
him. And I need to know that he's with me -- all of him, not just
some piece of him that wears designer suits and values my
scientific opinion. I need to feel his trust and faith in me. And
this -- touching one another, burning each other with lips and
tongues, openly giving into the waves of pleasure together -- it
conveys all of those things and more. All the things that words
and glances and longing silences cannot get across.

He has a difficult time falling asleep. Always. Even after
particularly frantic, frenzied encounters that leave me
breathless, drained, exhausted, he rarely drifts off right
away. I don't know if this is true but I imagine that he watches
me sleep. That he studies my face, tries to tell if I'm in the
throes of a dream, hoping that it's a happy one, that it includes
him in some way. I know that he feels responsible even for my
sleeping hours -- he wants to make me happy when I'm conscious,
when I'm unconscious.

Sometimes when I wake up, his eyes are the first thing I see.
He'll be beside me, propped up on his elbow, just focusing all
his energy on me. In the beginning, it made me feel self-conscious,
like I was under close scrutiny for any defects or flaws. But then
I came to understand why he does it. Not to judge, I know he's not
judging. So now when I enter the waking world and see those glowing
hazel eyes beckoning back to reality, I feel something no other person
has ever made me feel my entire adult life -- I feel safe.

Tonight I will not leave to battle sleeplessness alone. I will lie here
with him, as long as he needs me to, enjoying the night with him. His
breath is warm on my breast, and I feel myself becoming aroused again.
But that's not what this is about. I play with his hair to distract myself,
delighting in its thick, silky feel. He sighs softly against me, and I can't
control my laugh.

He lifts his head to look at me. "What?" he asks simply.

"That just tickled," I explain, urging his head back to its resting place.

"Okay." He smiles and lays his head back on my breast. I feel, rather than
see, him yawn.

I stroke his back gently, and pull the blankets up to his shoulders. "Tired,
Mulder?"

"Hmmm, I guess so. You were quite demanding tonight," he laughs and places
a soft kiss between my breasts.

"Well if you can't stand the heat..." I smile and poke him gently
in the ribs.

"Oh, I can stand it. But I think you know that," he lifts his head, and
smiles at me smugly. "You just have to be gentle with me. I'm not
the young stud I used to be, Scully." He pulls my body closer to him,
and yawns again.

"I'll keep that in mind. Now, come on, Mulder. Sleep."

"Okay. Do you want me to move?" I can hear the pout in his voice.

"No, you're fine where you are." I begin stroking his back again, trying
to lull him to sleep.

"I like using you as a pillow, Scully. I sleep better like this." He smiles
against my breast, and rubs my stomach.

"Good night Mulder."

"Yeah," he yawns softly, "Hey, Scully?"

"Yes?" I move my hand to his hair, running my finger across his scalp.
I close my eyes.

"Sweet dreams." His hand stills on my waist.

"You too Mulder." I drop my hands to his back, and leave them there.

He drifts off a few moments later, his breathing slow and even. I join
him shortly, somehow aware that he's in my arms, even while I'm
asleep.


the end.