From: susanf34@comcast.net   
      
   *NO ARCHIVE*   
      
      
      
   Title: Slow Burn   
   Author: Susan   
   E-mail: susanf34@comcast.net   
      
   Classification: story   
   Keyword: angst   
   Rating: PG   
   Spoilers: One Son, brief references to Tithonus,   
   Pilot, Fight the Future, The End, Two Fathers   
      
   Archive: No archive without permission.   
   Disclaimer: On paper, they're not mine. In my   
   head, they are.   
      
   Author's notes at the end.   
      
   Summary: There's really only one thing she wants   
   from him, one thing she needs, no matter how   
   painful it may be.   
   *********************************************************   
      
   Slow Burn (2/2)   
   by Susan   
   ~~~~   
      
   She's flying.   
      
   No, she's soaring and she's dizzy and her knees   
   feel weak her cheeks warm and every nerve in her   
   body is sizzling.   
      
   Mulder is kissing her and she's kissing him back   
   and though she knows she should stop before things   
   go too far she can't stop and she doesn't want   
   him to stop either and just how did his hand get   
   up underneath her blouse anyway?   
      
   "Mul...der..." she says, trying to stay on her   
   feet and breathe at the same time.   
      
   Completely ignoring her half-hearted attempt at   
   saying his name, he nips at the side of her neck,   
   slides his hand dangerously close to her breasts.   
      
   "We...need to...stop..." she says in between his   
   kisses, trying to be the rational level-headed   
   partner when what she really wants is to be the   
   impulsive reckless one.   
      
   "I can't," he gasps, letting his fingers trickle   
   down her bare back. "I can't...stop," he says   
   again, kissing her chin, her neck, the sensitive   
   spot behind her ear.   
      
   And she can't stop either, and so they don't,   
   their hands touching their mouths tasting as   
   they awkwardly make their way to the bedroom.   
      
   Once inside, she feels even dizzier and even   
   more unsteady on her feet, but she doesn't care   
   and she doesn't want to stop.   
      
   She just wants him.   
      
   Despite his past, despite her fears, despite the   
   fact that this will change everything between   
   them, she wants him.   
      
   "Are you sure about this?" he asks, moving her   
   across the room and unbuttoning her blouse at   
   the same time.   
      
   She touches his cheek, brushes her fingers across   
   his lips. "Yes."   
      
   He pulls her blouse off her shoulders then, lets   
   it fall to the floor. His mouth drops open, his   
   breathing quickens. "Wow..." he says, gently   
   touching her arms, the lace trim on her bra, the   
   scar on her stomach.   
      
   "Does it hurt?" he asks, the hungry look in his   
   eyes suddenly replaced with guilt and regret.   
      
   "It's not your fault, Mulder," she answers,   
   knowing how his mind works, knowing that he's   
   thinking now about how he should've been at   
   Fellig's apartment that night, and how if anyone   
   had to take a bullet in the stomach it should've   
   been him.   
      
   "Does it hurt?" he asks again, tentatively tracing   
   around the bright red scar with his finger.   
      
   "Sometimes," she replies, lifting his hand away   
   from her stomach and bringing it up to her lips.   
   She kisses it, then pulls him into her arms.   
   "But not now," she says, burying her head into   
   his chest.   
      
   "I should've been there, Scully." He strokes her   
   hair, rubs her back. "I should've gotten there   
   in time."   
      
   And she should've called for backup instead of   
   going inside Fellig's apartment alone that night,   
   but after all she'd seen and heard, she just had   
   to know if what he was saying about living all   
   those years was true.   
      
   She remembers telling him that most people want   
   to live forever and that there's too much to   
   learn and experience in life to want to throw   
   it all away.   
      
   And she remembers asking him about love.   
      
   "Love lasts 75 years, if you're lucky. You don't   
   want to be around if it's gone," he'd told her.   
   At the time, she didn't believe him, and standing   
   here with Mulder's arms around her, she didn't   
   believe it now.   
      
   Love could last forever, she was certain of it.   
      
   "I'm sorry, Scully," he says, still stroking her   
   hair, his chest warm and smooth against her cheek.   
   "I didn't mean to..."   
      
   "It's okay, Mulder," she says, interrupting him   
   before he can heap even more guilt upon himself.   
   "*I'm* okay."   
      
   She steps back from his embrace, looks up at him.   
   "And I'm okay with this," she says, sliding her   
   hands under his shirt and slowly lifting it up   
   over his head.   
      
   She feels his body tremble at the intimacy of her   
   touch, feels the heat from his skin burning the   
   tips of her fingers.   
      
   And she quickly feels her own body begin to hum,   
   not with the urgent desire to have sex, but with   
   a quiet contentment she's never known before.   
      
   Is this what it feels like to let herself love   
   someone completely?   
      
   She used to wonder, but now she thinks she knows.   
      
   Meeting his lips in a kiss, she slips her hand   
   into his and follows him to bed.   
      
   ~~~~   
      
   When she wakes up, she doesn't know where she is.   
      
   Lazily rolling onto her left side the way she   
   does every morning, she blinks her eyes, looks   
   over at the unfamiliar clock radio on the night   
   stand, then down at the comforter covering her   
   legs.   
      
   It's not her bed.   
      
   Her eyes trying to adjust to the darkness, she   
   sees that it's a little after 3:00, and then she   
   sees him.   
      
   Mulder.   
      
   Her friend, her partner, her protector.   
      
   And now, her lover.   
      
   He's sitting in the chair across the room, staring   
   out the window, and though her first instinct is   
   to get out of bed and go to him, she doesn't.   
      
   Instead, she simply watches him.   
      
   She's seen him like this before, off in a faraway   
   place where no one can touch him, but unlike the   
   other times, she can also see that it's not the   
   same dark place he usually goes to.   
      
   No, this time it's different because she's right   
   there with him.   
      
   Sliding her hand over the curves of his hips.   
   Kissing his chest, his neck, the inside of his   
   left thigh. Arching her back as he weaves a trail   
   of kisses between her breasts, over her scar,   
   then down down down until she feels the most   
   exquisite release.   
      
   It was what she thought it'd be like the first   
   time, connecting with him in the most intimate   
   of ways and though she'd been unsure of her   
   place in his life when the night first began,   
   there is no question in her mind about what her   
   place is now.   
      
   She is his, and he is hers.   
      
   It's so simple, really, and yet their lives   
   outside this room couldn't be more complicated   
   right now.   
      
   So, what happens next?   
      
   She doesn't know, but lying here in his bed, his   
   comforter covering her legs, his scent covering   
   her everywhere else, she doesn't want to think   
   about it.   
      
   She just wants him.   
      
   And so she climbs out of bed, slips one of his   
   t-shirts on, and goes to him.   
      
   "Hey," she says, putting her hands on his shoulders   
   from behind, then sliding them onto his chest as   
   she leans down closer to his ear. "Are you going   
   to come back to bed, or am I going to have to drag   
   you there?" she gently teases.   
      
   He takes hold of her hands, rubs his cheek against   
   hers. "Do I have a choice?"   
      
   "Maybe..." She nuzzles his neck, kisses it. "You   
   okay?"   
      
   Letting go of her hands, he grabs her right arm   
   and swings her around the chair and in front of   
   him so she's standing in between his legs.   
      
   And then he touches her, moving his fingers   
   underneath the hem of the shirt, over her panties,   
   and up under the swell of her breast.   
      
   And she lets him.   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
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