NOT WITHOUT YOU

Written for Maeve, on the happy occasion of her birthday.


After two weeks of lying in a hospital bed, you were finally released yesterday. I brought you clean clothes and helped you get changed, then drove you home to your lonely apartment. It actually looks more alive than it has the past few times I'd been there; I cleaned up a bit while you were in the hospital.

I cook dinner for you, since you've been suffering with hospital food for over a week. You looked almost pained when they said you were ready to back on solid food and forego the IV nutrients; I really can't blame you for that. So I roast some chicken and mash some potatoes and try to give you a little taste of something normal for a change.

I'm tempted to look for some candles, but that's not the message I want to send tonight. Hell, I'm not sure I ever want to send that message.

We eat in silence. The things we need to say can't be said while we chew. I can tell you want to say something, but I'm determined to get my piece out first.

Coffee is poured, and we sit on your couch. I fight the weak urge to scoot close to you, shrugging it off as a need to protect you. You don't need my protection anymore. We're still quiet.

Finally, I can't stand it anymore. It's time to get this off my shoulders.

"Why did you do it?"

I can see you're about to ask me to clarify, but then your eyes drop. You know perfectly well what I'm talking about.

"I hoped to save both of you. You know I had snipers there . . ."

I nod. "Yes, I know. But you still took the risk. Why would you risk the person you thought was your sister, the person you've spent your whole life searching for, why risk losing her again?"

You won't look at me. I hate that I had to bring this up. We probably could have gone through our lives very contently without ever discussing this.

But I have to know. Something inside me won't let this go.

Without my permission my hand reaches out and touches your shoulder, urging you to speak to me.

Finally, you speak. "Scully, I've lived nearly twenty-five years without my sister. It hasn't been fun—in fact, it's pretty much sucked—but at least I was living."

Your head comes up and you meet my eyes with a piercing stare. "But I barely survived three months without you. I was ready to leave the Bureau, go lie down in some mud somewhere and let the elements do with me what they would. It wasn't worth it, none of it, without you there."

I feel my throat tighten, and tears prick my eyes. I want to speak, but you're not finished yet.

"Yes, I was so happy when I thought I had my sister back. But when it came down to you or her . . . I can continue to live without her, Scully . . . but I can't live without you." Your eyes drop; now it's my turn to speak.

"I want to tell you you're crazy for feeling that way. That she's your sister, a blood relative, and I'm only your partner, and have been for just two years." Your shoulders drop a little bit. I continue. "But I can't tell you that, Mulder. Sitting by your bedside, wondering if you'd ever wake up again . . . I know it wasn't as long as you had to wait for me, but I can understand how you felt. The helplessness, wondering if we ever really had a shot in this huge game we're pawns in. And I would have given anything—anyone—to have you back and spitting sunflower seed shells all over the floor again."

You take a deep breath and turn your head to look at me again. Your face is straight, but I can see the smile in your eyes.

"Mulder, I was so happy when you woke up," I whisper.

"I know," you reply. Your hand reaches out and strokes my cheek. "You have a beautiful smile, Scully."

Curse of the redhead, I can feel the blush start at my toes and creep all the way to my hairline. You shouldn't say things like that, you know. It'll only give me ideas . . .

Your hand is still stroking my cheek, and it's beginning to tickle, so I cover it with my own. Our hands are warm from the coffee mugs.

The air shifts between us; I can feel that you've made a decision of sorts. You lean closer and whisper, "Scully, if I were to kiss you right now, would you sue me for sexual harassment?"

Despite the apparent seriousness of your question, I laugh. "Wouldn't that be something? They try to close us down every way possible, and nothing works . . . until you decide to hit on me. They should have thought of that sooner and just sent a busty brunette to debunk you instead of me."

Your face, which had been laughing with me, suddenly turns serious. "They would have failed again, Scully. I'd have seen that tactic a mile away then. Sending you was such a wonderful surprise . . ."

Before you can say another word, I lean forward and kiss you. I guess you're surprised. After all, you were the one making all the suggestive remarks. You never guessed that logical little Scully could be sexually aggressive, did you?

Believe it, pal.

I slide over onto your lap, which seems ready and willing to have me as an occupant. So far our kiss has been chaste, but I'm so hungry for you. My tongue probes at your lips, and you open them willingly with a groan; I slip inside your mouth and awaken the creature inside.

My hands push at the shirt you're wearing, trying desperately to find your skin underneath. Two weeks ago your skin was pale from sickness, and now that it's healthy again, I have to see it, feel it.

Both of us have shirts that must be removed over the head, so when our oxygen runs out we break apart and peel off our outer layers at the same moment; you're down to just your bare chest, while I'm still in a bra.

Oh, not for long though . . . while your tongue explores my pitiful cleavage, your hands snake around my back and expertly unhook the offending garment. I slip the straps off my shoulders, and I am bared to you. I usually hate this moment with a man, especially the first time, but not with you. You don't make me feel inadequate at all, not with that lusty look in your eye. I'd kiss you, but that would require you to stop teasing your tongue across my left nipple . . .

My back arches with pleasure, my crotch pushes into yours. I can feel the heat of you even through two layers of denim; I wonder if you can smell my arousal yet.

Reluctantly, I pull away and stand up, quickly cold without your warm body against mine. I gracelessly strip out of my jeans and underwear, then help you do the same. I don't let you stand up, because I want to be on top for this. I'm the one who brought the subject up in the first place, I'm going to be the one to see this through to the end.

That sounds so cold, and even though I didn't say it aloud, I feel I have to apologize for it. I gently push you backwards so you're reclining on your couch. You look like you're sitting back, watching a Knicks game, except you're naked and so very aroused, and I've never known Patrick Ewing to play that well before.

I'm on my knees, hovering over you now. Our mouths meet again, and our bare chests meet, warming each other again. Your hand comes down and presses into my folds, testing my readiness. I grin as you grunt with surprise; I'm dripping wet, more than ready to take you in. Briefly the thought of using some sort of protection floats in my head, but I push it aside. You just got out of the hospital, so I know you're clean, and I know my cycle well enough to be 99% sure that I won't get pregnant tonight.

So I reach between us and grip your cock, getting it into the perfect angle so there will be as little resistance as possible. I pull my head back, releasing your lips with a moan; I don't want to stop kissing you, but I have to watch your face as I let you in this first time . . .

. . . and I don't regret it. Your face is full of pleasure and awe, and I'm sure mine's a mirror image. You stretch me to my limits, and the slight pain is just that much more pleasurable to me. You fit perfectly, as though we were made for each other, molded from the same clay. I might believe it, even.

For an endless moment we just sit together, watching each other breathe. Your eyes close briefly, and it's that moment that I choose to begin moving. I pull up quickly, and a cry rips from your throat as your cock is left out in the cold air again. So slowly . . . I slip . . . back down . . . enveloping you again.

The pattern repeats.

Again.

And again.

And soon it's not enough to tease you . . . instinct begins to take over, and a natural rhythm develops. My clit hits your pubic bone on every down stroke, and I'm steadily climbing higher, faster than I've ever climbed before. Your hands grip my hips, adjusting our angle every so often until you find one that works just perfectly for both of us. 

Your head falls back and rolls helplessly back and forth on the back of the couch. I take advantage of your bared neck and nip at the juncture of your head and collarbone. Your hips jerk. I nip again. Twitch. My hand reaches for your nipple; I flick it and pinch it until it's hard like mine are. Your hips twitch some more.

I'm so close now . . . somehow you sense this and lean your head down and trace your tongue along the shell of my ear. I don't know how you knew . . . I'm suddenly at the edge . . . peering over the side . . . one leg in the air . . .

You lick my ear again, and I'm gone. My muscles grip and release you in a quick pattern, and you groan at the feeling. Spent, I collapse against you, letting you take over from here.

You lean me back so my back and shoulders and head are on the coffee table, while my butt hangs freely in the air. You scoot to the edge of the sofa and pump into me hard. Thrust . . . thrust . . . thrust . . . thr-- and you're gone; I feel you spilling into me, and for just the briefest of moments I think about getting pregnant again. It's not an unattractive thought.

You pull me to your chest, then lie down on the couch, covering us with the blanket that somehow stayed perched across the back of the cushions. You're still inside me, limp, as we fall asleep.

My last conscious thought is that we were utterly silent. Neither of us screamed out the other's name, there were no declarations of love. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.

But falling asleep in your arms . . . that's a good thing.

End.

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