In Between | R | The X Files/The Addams Family
Title: In Between
Prompt: rose thorns and headless dolls
Challenge: 100 Fic Challenge (#11)
Fandom: Dana Scully/Morticia Addams, The X Files/The Addams Family
Requested by: kitnkabootle
Rating: R
Word Count: 1367
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I was having a bit of a dark day and wanted to write through it, so I literally started at the top of my request list and chose the first prompt that would allow for angsty-times. This is it. This turned out a bit darker than I had originally anticipated, but I hope it is an enjoyable read nonetheless. This is an unconventional pairing, but how could I resist my two biggest childhood crushes? This is set around "Momento Mori" in Season 4. Let me know what you think!
-
Dana Scully is not a stranger to death. She's witnessed the last moments of life before it departs the body. She's seen the remnants of it, the shells of people left behind as they lie on cold metal slabs. She has been responsible for causing the deaths of others. There are evils in the world that she cannot deny, but she can never reconcile with having taken away the lives of others. One minute they're there, the next they're not. It's a simple fact: life and death exist. There is no in between.
Scully generally thrives on science, relies on it. When her faith wavers, science is there. It is comforting in that way. It's a constant upon which she can depend. But there are times when science has let her down, where the questions outweigh and often renegotiate the facts. Her own life challenges what science steadfastly promotes: there is life and there is death and there is nothing in between.
Scully is in between. She bears the contradiction within her very veins. Her body is alive though the cancer fights hard in its intent to introduce her to her own mortality. Words like terminal repeat in her mind. They flash before her eyes, burn into each synapse and remind her of her fate: "I can't call you terminal at three o'clock, Mom, because I terminal have an appointment with my doctor terminal terminal terminal."
There are days when Scully is not sure that she's still alive. She will wake up, check her own pulse, press her hand to her chest to feel her heartbeat. She walks a hazy line between living and dead, constantly wondering when the moment will come in which she simply ceases to exist.
Is today the day? Is it tomorrow? Was it yesterday?
Mulder searches relentlessly for a cure, but she cannot ignore the scientific fact that what exists inside of her is untreatable. Each day brings her closer to her own demise.
She tries to put on a brave face for Mulder. She wants to show him that she is strong, that she can endure. She works, she performs pointless tasks like picking up dry cleaning and scrubbing her bathtub, she partakes in exhausting conversations with Mulder about conspiracies and the cigarette man. She drifts. She wants to anchor herself in the scientific fact that she is still alive, but she sinks further into the darkness.
There are times when Scully feels so caught up in the in between that she needs to relocate herself with others in the same place. She longs for Mulder, aches for him to understand how it feels to be straddling existence and oblivion, but he doesn't. She knows it's selfish to wish for him to have that level of empathy and when that happens, when she realizes that she's just wished for him to be terminal like her, she disappears. She finds solace elsewhere. It is for the good of them both.
Guilt should stop her from soliciting help from anyone but Mulder. She feels each time that she steps foot within the Addams house that she is betraying him. On some cosmic level she is, but this is about more than infidelity. It's about staying in between.
Gomez and Morticia Addams are a source of Mulder's. Scully has oft wondered why the bizarre family is not an X-file themselves but appreciates the assistance they often give on decidedly more puzzling cases. Though they are careful in their vague, sparse tips, the agents are never led astray.
Morticia has become more than a source. She has an uncanny ability to see beneath the flesh of a person, to ascertain one's disposition simply by reading them. She recognized something in Scully before even Scully herself did.
This dark beauty mystifies Scully. She is her sister in between these two planes of existence. Morticia, more than anyone, can understand the constant dark struggle that consumes Scully every single day. Morticia delights in walking this fine line. She toys with it, pushes the boundaries far past their breaking points. She is, it seems, completely at peace with being daily torn asunder.
Morticia makes her forget. Morticia, with her translucently pale skin, magnificently red lips, and endlessly long limbs, taps into what is both alive and dead within Scully.
Scully always hopes that each time will be the last, that she will either fight the darkness on her own or simply give in to it, but she always returns and Morticia always welcomes her without question. Scully almost never speaks when they meet: Morticia simply sees what she needs and provides it.
Today, Scully is tied to Morticia's bed. The stretch in her arms causes them to ache dully. She does not try to resist her bonds and simply holds onto the coarse rope. Her wrists may have burned against the rope at one point, but Scully is numb to it now. She's already forgotten the feeling.
Morticia is sitting on top of her, straddling Scully's bare hips. Morticia is naked as well. Her black hair falls on each side of her neck, blanketing each of her breasts. Scully watches in rapt attention when Morticia moves, enjoying the sight of black on white and pink. When she catches a glimpse of Morticia's nipples -- one of the few sparse spots of color on the woman's body -- her pupils dilate and her throat goes dry.
It seems wrong to her that she should need this so much. Mulder would never understand. Perhaps that's why she does it -- she is constantly the one in the dark when he seeks the truth and it is only fair that he has his turn. Morticia, whose skin is so pale that Scully can see the spidery branches of blue veins beneath, resembles someone she should encounter in the morgue. She is cold to the touch. But there's something about her, something that is so lifelessly vibrant.
Morticia curls a long-stemmed rose in her fingers, spinning it until the blood-red petals whir together in a dizzy haze of color. They both watch it. The flower will not have long before it too dies, starved for water and nourishment. They both seem to focus on its ephemeral lifespan: Morticia wants to end it and Scully wants to absorb its remaining life for herself.
Instead, the dark-haired woman teases the rose along Scully's bound arms, calling forth shiver after shiver. Scully feels her flesh begin to goosepimple and tingle. Morticia caresses the rose over every inch of exposed skin. Her movements are lethargic, unhurried. It's as if they have eternity.
Morticia tilts her head to the side, her mouth quirking slightly as she rests the flower in the valley between Scully's breasts. Two minds share a thought: the image of Scully in her final resting place, holding a bundle of flowers in her forcibly clasped hands. It terrifies Scully to see this so vividly that she wonders if she perhaps is dead after all.
The other woman's hand comes to rest over the rose, right upon her flesh. She presses the flat of her palm down, the rose's thorns biting into her skin. Scully feels nothing and then: ba-thump ba-thump ba-thump. Scully focuses on her breath, imagines two plush, pink pillows expanding with each inhalation. She imagines that she can hear the rush of blood in her veins. She sees, when Morticia takes away the rose, that she is bleeding.
Morticia smirks as if to acknowledge the train of Scully's thoughts. Perhaps she can hear them; there is plenty about this mysterious woman that Scully does not know and is unlikely ever to learn.
Scully shifts her legs when Morticia moves and lowers between them. That scarlet mouth begins to consume her completely. Scully arches into each swipe of her tongue.
Her wrists burn. Her shoulders are sore. Her skin cries beneath each thorn-pricked wound. Her body responds wholly to Morticia's ministrations. The cancer, for once, is not in control.
When Scully climaxes, her open mouth issuing a silent scream, she is reminded why she continues to visit Morticia Addams: as long as she remains in between life and death, she is still alive.
---
Prompt: rose thorns and headless dolls
Challenge: 100 Fic Challenge (#11)
Fandom: Dana Scully/Morticia Addams, The X Files/The Addams Family
Requested by: kitnkabootle
Rating: R
Word Count: 1367
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I was having a bit of a dark day and wanted to write through it, so I literally started at the top of my request list and chose the first prompt that would allow for angsty-times. This is it. This turned out a bit darker than I had originally anticipated, but I hope it is an enjoyable read nonetheless. This is an unconventional pairing, but how could I resist my two biggest childhood crushes? This is set around "Momento Mori" in Season 4. Let me know what you think!
-
Dana Scully is not a stranger to death. She's witnessed the last moments of life before it departs the body. She's seen the remnants of it, the shells of people left behind as they lie on cold metal slabs. She has been responsible for causing the deaths of others. There are evils in the world that she cannot deny, but she can never reconcile with having taken away the lives of others. One minute they're there, the next they're not. It's a simple fact: life and death exist. There is no in between.
Scully generally thrives on science, relies on it. When her faith wavers, science is there. It is comforting in that way. It's a constant upon which she can depend. But there are times when science has let her down, where the questions outweigh and often renegotiate the facts. Her own life challenges what science steadfastly promotes: there is life and there is death and there is nothing in between.
Scully is in between. She bears the contradiction within her very veins. Her body is alive though the cancer fights hard in its intent to introduce her to her own mortality. Words like terminal repeat in her mind. They flash before her eyes, burn into each synapse and remind her of her fate: "I can't call you terminal at three o'clock, Mom, because I terminal have an appointment with my doctor terminal terminal terminal."
There are days when Scully is not sure that she's still alive. She will wake up, check her own pulse, press her hand to her chest to feel her heartbeat. She walks a hazy line between living and dead, constantly wondering when the moment will come in which she simply ceases to exist.
Is today the day? Is it tomorrow? Was it yesterday?
Mulder searches relentlessly for a cure, but she cannot ignore the scientific fact that what exists inside of her is untreatable. Each day brings her closer to her own demise.
She tries to put on a brave face for Mulder. She wants to show him that she is strong, that she can endure. She works, she performs pointless tasks like picking up dry cleaning and scrubbing her bathtub, she partakes in exhausting conversations with Mulder about conspiracies and the cigarette man. She drifts. She wants to anchor herself in the scientific fact that she is still alive, but she sinks further into the darkness.
There are times when Scully feels so caught up in the in between that she needs to relocate herself with others in the same place. She longs for Mulder, aches for him to understand how it feels to be straddling existence and oblivion, but he doesn't. She knows it's selfish to wish for him to have that level of empathy and when that happens, when she realizes that she's just wished for him to be terminal like her, she disappears. She finds solace elsewhere. It is for the good of them both.
Guilt should stop her from soliciting help from anyone but Mulder. She feels each time that she steps foot within the Addams house that she is betraying him. On some cosmic level she is, but this is about more than infidelity. It's about staying in between.
Gomez and Morticia Addams are a source of Mulder's. Scully has oft wondered why the bizarre family is not an X-file themselves but appreciates the assistance they often give on decidedly more puzzling cases. Though they are careful in their vague, sparse tips, the agents are never led astray.
Morticia has become more than a source. She has an uncanny ability to see beneath the flesh of a person, to ascertain one's disposition simply by reading them. She recognized something in Scully before even Scully herself did.
This dark beauty mystifies Scully. She is her sister in between these two planes of existence. Morticia, more than anyone, can understand the constant dark struggle that consumes Scully every single day. Morticia delights in walking this fine line. She toys with it, pushes the boundaries far past their breaking points. She is, it seems, completely at peace with being daily torn asunder.
Morticia makes her forget. Morticia, with her translucently pale skin, magnificently red lips, and endlessly long limbs, taps into what is both alive and dead within Scully.
Scully always hopes that each time will be the last, that she will either fight the darkness on her own or simply give in to it, but she always returns and Morticia always welcomes her without question. Scully almost never speaks when they meet: Morticia simply sees what she needs and provides it.
Today, Scully is tied to Morticia's bed. The stretch in her arms causes them to ache dully. She does not try to resist her bonds and simply holds onto the coarse rope. Her wrists may have burned against the rope at one point, but Scully is numb to it now. She's already forgotten the feeling.
Morticia is sitting on top of her, straddling Scully's bare hips. Morticia is naked as well. Her black hair falls on each side of her neck, blanketing each of her breasts. Scully watches in rapt attention when Morticia moves, enjoying the sight of black on white and pink. When she catches a glimpse of Morticia's nipples -- one of the few sparse spots of color on the woman's body -- her pupils dilate and her throat goes dry.
It seems wrong to her that she should need this so much. Mulder would never understand. Perhaps that's why she does it -- she is constantly the one in the dark when he seeks the truth and it is only fair that he has his turn. Morticia, whose skin is so pale that Scully can see the spidery branches of blue veins beneath, resembles someone she should encounter in the morgue. She is cold to the touch. But there's something about her, something that is so lifelessly vibrant.
Morticia curls a long-stemmed rose in her fingers, spinning it until the blood-red petals whir together in a dizzy haze of color. They both watch it. The flower will not have long before it too dies, starved for water and nourishment. They both seem to focus on its ephemeral lifespan: Morticia wants to end it and Scully wants to absorb its remaining life for herself.
Instead, the dark-haired woman teases the rose along Scully's bound arms, calling forth shiver after shiver. Scully feels her flesh begin to goosepimple and tingle. Morticia caresses the rose over every inch of exposed skin. Her movements are lethargic, unhurried. It's as if they have eternity.
Morticia tilts her head to the side, her mouth quirking slightly as she rests the flower in the valley between Scully's breasts. Two minds share a thought: the image of Scully in her final resting place, holding a bundle of flowers in her forcibly clasped hands. It terrifies Scully to see this so vividly that she wonders if she perhaps is dead after all.
The other woman's hand comes to rest over the rose, right upon her flesh. She presses the flat of her palm down, the rose's thorns biting into her skin. Scully feels nothing and then: ba-thump ba-thump ba-thump. Scully focuses on her breath, imagines two plush, pink pillows expanding with each inhalation. She imagines that she can hear the rush of blood in her veins. She sees, when Morticia takes away the rose, that she is bleeding.
Morticia smirks as if to acknowledge the train of Scully's thoughts. Perhaps she can hear them; there is plenty about this mysterious woman that Scully does not know and is unlikely ever to learn.
Scully shifts her legs when Morticia moves and lowers between them. That scarlet mouth begins to consume her completely. Scully arches into each swipe of her tongue.
Her wrists burn. Her shoulders are sore. Her skin cries beneath each thorn-pricked wound. Her body responds wholly to Morticia's ministrations. The cancer, for once, is not in control.
When Scully climaxes, her open mouth issuing a silent scream, she is reminded why she continues to visit Morticia Addams: as long as she remains in between life and death, she is still alive.
---