i have found the haven i have been looking for :)
A place to read & post X Files fic. Oh thank you sweet, sweet mother. Hello, my name is Vega and I am an X Files addict. ;-) I found a 12 step program long ago, but in July I fell off the wagon and I am wondering what it was that I saw in sobriety.
So, because my mother taught me that it was impolite to show up to a party empty handed, I come bearing the first of a few fics that I shall post over the next couple of days.
The End of Her World
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: The X Files
Pairing: Mulder and Scully
Rating: R for adult situations.
Disclaimer: The X Files don’t belong to me. I couldn’t hope to claim any kind of ownership of the modern version of the bible. I do however hope that my use of these characters is worth of Chris Carter, Fox, et al. I make no money from this posting, but the satisfaction of writing this is worth more than gold.
A/N: This is my very first solo-X Files story. Ever. Criticism is welcomed. Maybe. ;-)
Summary: The apartment still smelled of his musk, the couch still bore the faint stain of that first time, when they hadn’t been able to even think to make it to the bedroom, when he’d kissed her but she’d led them to the finish line and straddled him, right where she now sat.
***
It always happened in snatches. Lost in dreams of her own conscious making, she’d wake, breathless, her body tingling with unfinished business and his name on her lips. Tonight was no different.
Shaking with desire, Dana Scully slowly pulled herself from bed and wrapped her comfortable terry robe around her shoulders. Padding barefoot across the cool wooden floorboards of her apartment, she let her way be guided by memory and moonlight as she went in search of some late night comfort that would ease her mind from its dream soaked mysteries.
A half-finished bottle of chardonnay beckoned to her and she obliged, taking the glass from the drain board and it and the bottle to the shadows of her living room. Leaving the light off, she sipped at her wine, allowing the cool tang of the fermented grapes to slide down her throat and warm her belly. With each sip, the dreams faded but in their place was her own voice, lecturing her on the cause for her dreams and her lack of action regarding them.
Him.
Somehow, these short weeks later, the apartment still smelled of his musk. The couch bore the faint stain of that first time, when they hadn’t been able to even think to make it to the bedroom, when he’d kissed her but she’d led them to the finish line and straddled him, right where she now sat. He’d called her name, her given name, as he came inside of her. She’d clung to him, trembling, so terrified of what they’d done that instead of pushing him away, she hadn’t argued when he hefted her in his arms and brought them to her bedroom where he’d made love to her three more time before leaving her to her thoughts and the rebuilding of her walls.
Love was fleeting and painful and to love him meant to risk losing him and even if it meant her heart would forever be tucked behind the wall they both loathed, it was better than having to face the inevitable loss that would come as a result of this cause they endured.
It had been this brand of wine they had sipped that night until abandoning in their glasses in favor of tasting each other. He’d whispered his words of love to her, and she’d responded as best she could and there were times, looking back at it, that she hated his acceptance and understanding of her needs. Was his backing off from her just the first sign? Why couldn’t he chase her like he chased those damned aliens? Was this her fate, then? To always be second to the sister he had lost and the cause he could never win?
It wasn’t fair, she told herself, to generalize him that way. He had risked losing everything for her, to keep her alive when she was dying, to find her when she was missing, to keep her from any harm he could. His feelings and devotion were in his eyes and his actions and the way he said her name in the mornings. But it was that very devotion she feared - she was more than a cause to be won or a mission to be accomplished. She was life and love and flesh and blood and she was frightened of his passion.
It was a passion she had felt so completely that one, precious night when he’d taken the wine glass from her hand and leaned across half-empty plates of pepperoni and olive pizza to taste the garlic and tomato sauce on her lips. When his trembling fingers had brushed the hair from her cheek even as he moved in again, his tongue begging entrance to her mouth and, sobbing, she’d granted it, desperate for his love to fill the gaping hole in her heart.
Was it fair to him, to demand that of him? That he be what she did not know she could herself provide? That he fill that empty, gaping part of her? Mulder deserved better than to become one of the men (so few, really) whom she loved because of her secret desires for strong, controlling male figures in her life. How many men had she broken? How many of them had broken her? Marriages ruined, lives changed forever, broken engagements and entanglements that left her pleading for something she could not voice. Lost, broken, hopeless; words ascribed to her by so many and yet internalized so deeply by herself.
A sigh, a sip of wine, and she realized she had exactly an hour to shake the lingering effects of the alcohol. In an hour her alarm would go off and, with the perfect rote of the ultimate military brat, she would march to the shower. She would dress perfectly - hair and makeup and hose and heels - and head to the desk that now served as her office. Once, long ago, she’d yearned for a desk in the same office as Mulder’s, now she just yearned for the office. For the privacy and the joking and the banter coming from the man who argued the same side as she did, but from a completely different direction. How long had it taken for her to realize they really were on the same side in all of this? A minute? Two? How long before she’d trusted him? A minute? Two?
How long would it take until she trusted herself?
Moving a bit unsteadily back to the kitchen, she deposited the now empty glass and bottle in the sink - the glass would be washed with the breakfast dishes, the bottle rinsed and dropped into the small recycling bin in her kitchen pantry. Unconsciously, she pushed the button on the coffee machine and the pre-set pot gurgled to life.
For just a moment, she imagined what it would be like to live impulsively. To laugh and play and not need to give in to loneliness in order to be with the man she loved. For the briefest of seconds, she envied her sister’s ability to throw caution to the winds and laugh in the face of the obstacles before her. She’d been full of love and mirth and had never been frightened of anything in her life. Melissa would have fallen into Mulder’s bed long ago and loved him wholeheartedly. Dana Scully’s secret desire - to be just like her older sister.
Logically, it made sense to move to the shower, but her head was swimming with fatigue and wine and so she curled up into her bed, pulling the covers up around her shoulders. In just a couple of hours she would have to face yet another day at a desk across from him, watch his long fingers move across the keyboard, listen to his soft voice as he talked on the phone. She would get to see the beginnings of an idea take form in his mind and be witness to the coiling of his body as it went from brainstorm to idea to plan. He’d wink at her and sneak to the basement and find some way to piss off Spender and Kersch and she knew she would scowl and shake her head and then meet him on their bench at the Lincoln Memorial and together they’d discuss the latest X File they weren’t supposed to be investigating. He’d touch her at some point, place a hand on her knee or stroke back her hair and she’d want to lean in to him and capture his lips with her own, but instead, she knew, they would stare at each other until the awkward silence drove them back to their desks and their phone calls. He would pursue the X File. She would cover his ass. Their dance would continue.
But for now, she cuddled up under the blanket and let her thoughts turn to the night, the one night, when she’d let her guard down. When, after they’d romped on her couch, he’d lifted her in his arms and brought her into the bedroom, and made sweet, slow love to her. When he’d let his teeth nip at her neck and his fingers pinch at her nipples. She’d surrendered to him that night; to him, his desires, and most definitely, her heart.
Now if only she could allow herself to learn the lesson. She trusted him with her life and her soul, but she wasn’t ready yet to trust him with her heart.
Or really, was it that she wasn’t ready for him to entrust his to her?
She didn’t know. She wasn’t sure she ever would.
So, because my mother taught me that it was impolite to show up to a party empty handed, I come bearing the first of a few fics that I shall post over the next couple of days.
The End of Her World
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: The X Files
Pairing: Mulder and Scully
Rating: R for adult situations.
Disclaimer: The X Files don’t belong to me. I couldn’t hope to claim any kind of ownership of the modern version of the bible. I do however hope that my use of these characters is worth of Chris Carter, Fox, et al. I make no money from this posting, but the satisfaction of writing this is worth more than gold.
A/N: This is my very first solo-X Files story. Ever. Criticism is welcomed. Maybe. ;-)
Summary: The apartment still smelled of his musk, the couch still bore the faint stain of that first time, when they hadn’t been able to even think to make it to the bedroom, when he’d kissed her but she’d led them to the finish line and straddled him, right where she now sat.
***
It always happened in snatches. Lost in dreams of her own conscious making, she’d wake, breathless, her body tingling with unfinished business and his name on her lips. Tonight was no different.
Shaking with desire, Dana Scully slowly pulled herself from bed and wrapped her comfortable terry robe around her shoulders. Padding barefoot across the cool wooden floorboards of her apartment, she let her way be guided by memory and moonlight as she went in search of some late night comfort that would ease her mind from its dream soaked mysteries.
A half-finished bottle of chardonnay beckoned to her and she obliged, taking the glass from the drain board and it and the bottle to the shadows of her living room. Leaving the light off, she sipped at her wine, allowing the cool tang of the fermented grapes to slide down her throat and warm her belly. With each sip, the dreams faded but in their place was her own voice, lecturing her on the cause for her dreams and her lack of action regarding them.
Him.
Somehow, these short weeks later, the apartment still smelled of his musk. The couch bore the faint stain of that first time, when they hadn’t been able to even think to make it to the bedroom, when he’d kissed her but she’d led them to the finish line and straddled him, right where she now sat. He’d called her name, her given name, as he came inside of her. She’d clung to him, trembling, so terrified of what they’d done that instead of pushing him away, she hadn’t argued when he hefted her in his arms and brought them to her bedroom where he’d made love to her three more time before leaving her to her thoughts and the rebuilding of her walls.
Love was fleeting and painful and to love him meant to risk losing him and even if it meant her heart would forever be tucked behind the wall they both loathed, it was better than having to face the inevitable loss that would come as a result of this cause they endured.
It had been this brand of wine they had sipped that night until abandoning in their glasses in favor of tasting each other. He’d whispered his words of love to her, and she’d responded as best she could and there were times, looking back at it, that she hated his acceptance and understanding of her needs. Was his backing off from her just the first sign? Why couldn’t he chase her like he chased those damned aliens? Was this her fate, then? To always be second to the sister he had lost and the cause he could never win?
It wasn’t fair, she told herself, to generalize him that way. He had risked losing everything for her, to keep her alive when she was dying, to find her when she was missing, to keep her from any harm he could. His feelings and devotion were in his eyes and his actions and the way he said her name in the mornings. But it was that very devotion she feared - she was more than a cause to be won or a mission to be accomplished. She was life and love and flesh and blood and she was frightened of his passion.
It was a passion she had felt so completely that one, precious night when he’d taken the wine glass from her hand and leaned across half-empty plates of pepperoni and olive pizza to taste the garlic and tomato sauce on her lips. When his trembling fingers had brushed the hair from her cheek even as he moved in again, his tongue begging entrance to her mouth and, sobbing, she’d granted it, desperate for his love to fill the gaping hole in her heart.
Was it fair to him, to demand that of him? That he be what she did not know she could herself provide? That he fill that empty, gaping part of her? Mulder deserved better than to become one of the men (so few, really) whom she loved because of her secret desires for strong, controlling male figures in her life. How many men had she broken? How many of them had broken her? Marriages ruined, lives changed forever, broken engagements and entanglements that left her pleading for something she could not voice. Lost, broken, hopeless; words ascribed to her by so many and yet internalized so deeply by herself.
A sigh, a sip of wine, and she realized she had exactly an hour to shake the lingering effects of the alcohol. In an hour her alarm would go off and, with the perfect rote of the ultimate military brat, she would march to the shower. She would dress perfectly - hair and makeup and hose and heels - and head to the desk that now served as her office. Once, long ago, she’d yearned for a desk in the same office as Mulder’s, now she just yearned for the office. For the privacy and the joking and the banter coming from the man who argued the same side as she did, but from a completely different direction. How long had it taken for her to realize they really were on the same side in all of this? A minute? Two? How long before she’d trusted him? A minute? Two?
How long would it take until she trusted herself?
Moving a bit unsteadily back to the kitchen, she deposited the now empty glass and bottle in the sink - the glass would be washed with the breakfast dishes, the bottle rinsed and dropped into the small recycling bin in her kitchen pantry. Unconsciously, she pushed the button on the coffee machine and the pre-set pot gurgled to life.
For just a moment, she imagined what it would be like to live impulsively. To laugh and play and not need to give in to loneliness in order to be with the man she loved. For the briefest of seconds, she envied her sister’s ability to throw caution to the winds and laugh in the face of the obstacles before her. She’d been full of love and mirth and had never been frightened of anything in her life. Melissa would have fallen into Mulder’s bed long ago and loved him wholeheartedly. Dana Scully’s secret desire - to be just like her older sister.
Logically, it made sense to move to the shower, but her head was swimming with fatigue and wine and so she curled up into her bed, pulling the covers up around her shoulders. In just a couple of hours she would have to face yet another day at a desk across from him, watch his long fingers move across the keyboard, listen to his soft voice as he talked on the phone. She would get to see the beginnings of an idea take form in his mind and be witness to the coiling of his body as it went from brainstorm to idea to plan. He’d wink at her and sneak to the basement and find some way to piss off Spender and Kersch and she knew she would scowl and shake her head and then meet him on their bench at the Lincoln Memorial and together they’d discuss the latest X File they weren’t supposed to be investigating. He’d touch her at some point, place a hand on her knee or stroke back her hair and she’d want to lean in to him and capture his lips with her own, but instead, she knew, they would stare at each other until the awkward silence drove them back to their desks and their phone calls. He would pursue the X File. She would cover his ass. Their dance would continue.
But for now, she cuddled up under the blanket and let her thoughts turn to the night, the one night, when she’d let her guard down. When, after they’d romped on her couch, he’d lifted her in his arms and brought her into the bedroom, and made sweet, slow love to her. When he’d let his teeth nip at her neck and his fingers pinch at her nipples. She’d surrendered to him that night; to him, his desires, and most definitely, her heart.
Now if only she could allow herself to learn the lesson. She trusted him with her life and her soul, but she wasn’t ready yet to trust him with her heart.
Or really, was it that she wasn’t ready for him to entrust his to her?
She didn’t know. She wasn’t sure she ever would.