TITLE: Our Dance AUTHOR: aRcaDIaNFall$ FEEDBACK: arcadianfalls@yahoo.com.au RATING: PG-13 SPOILERS: Per Manum CLASSIFICATION: UST, A SUMMARY: Aftermath of Scully's last revelation to Mulder. --> http://www.geocities.com/arcadianfalls/ Our Dance by aRcaDIaNFall$ His forehead resting against mine as easily as his hand fell to my back. There was something so intense and sensual in the intimacy, something desperate but slow, every breath and caress and whisper another step in the dance. Our dance. Never give up on a miracle. I felt such absolute, overwhelming love for him, for his passion and his mind. If I could hold him so close to me forever it still would feel too inadequate an expression. We're so close, connected beyond the physical. We're perfectly attuned. I love you. I love you too. It's that simple. It's not doubted, not denied. I touch his face, drawing closer, kissing the very corner of his mouth as though to kiss his lips would be some sort of sacrilige. I kiss his neck, my cheek grazing against his jaw. Every move is so intensified, and yet I'm on a cloud. The intensity between us is born of our grief, of that infinite trust we share. I never knew what an ultimately powerful thing trust could be. I wrap my arms around him, both of them, holding him tightly. We're so close, our curves melding, but it's not enough. I still feel that edge of loneliness. I feel it because I know sooner or later he'll let me go, and he'll leave me here alone. I can't bear that. Not tonight. "Please don't let go," I whisper, my lips against his jacket. "Please don't ever let go." "You know I won't." I've been standing on tiptoes and I loosen my hug to stand flat on the ground, pressing my face against his chest. This time he has both his arms around me. The comforter. Protector. Lover. Mulder. He's waiting for me to sob, to grieve over this last lost chance, but in his arms my tears are silent and few. I want to feel beyond the aching pain, to embrace the warmth that Mulder offers me. "Make love to me." His fingertips caress my downward face, tip my chin up. He lays an exquisite kiss on my forehead, and I close my eyes for a second as I feel his breath lightly on my skin. But then he stops, pulling back a little, regretful. He shakes his head. "I can't." "I want you to." "It's not right." I open my mouth to protest but he silences me, a finger on my lips. I see how grave his eyes are, how he's hurting too from the news. He watched me swallow the meds. He took me there for the procedure. He talked to the doctor. This was his loss, too. I bow my head in acknowledgement. He has his hands on my arms, now, rubbing gently. I long for the feel of his warm skin against mine, for the purity of the contact, the intimacy and comfort. I silently put my hands over his, easing myself out of his grip. He watches me, warning, uncertain, his eyes pleading with me. Don't make me choose between what I want and what you need. "I need you right now." He gazes at me, then at his hand as I take it. I lead him out of the living room, into my bedroom. It's dark. I leave it that way. I drop his hand and take the hem of his sweater between my fingers. He's still as a statue as I ease it up and off over his head. His t-shirt is thin and as it rests against his chest I can see the flutter of his heartbeat. I shrug off my jacket and begin to unbutton my shirt. I'm looking at him. He's looking back at me, right into my eyes. There's a resigned uncertainty in those hazel depths. He's afraid of this coming between us. It won't. We won't let it. My shirt is unbuttoned but I leave it on, for the moment. His t-shirt is a higher priority. I rest my hands on his hips, my fingertips against his warm skin under the hem of the t-shirt. I slowly slide my hands up, over every muscle. So tactile, so warm. I ease it off over his head, but instead of returning to his chest I touch his face, his rough cheeks. This isn't wrong, I promise. I only need to touch, to hold, to feel you. I move to his jeans, carefully unbuttoning, sliding them down over his hips. They're worn, comfortable, a second skin. He kicks off his shoes and then the jeans. His jaw is set as he stands there, in boxers and socks. He doesn't like where I'm going, not because he doesn't want it but because he's afraid that I don't, that I'm not thinking straight. He doesn't want that, not now. I shed my shirt, silently, then my slacks and shoes. We stand there in the darkness of the bedroom, barely two feet apart, only in our underwear. I strip naked and move over to the bed, pulling back the covers, and I climb in, curling up on my side, feeling a dull sort of pain at my actions, as if this is something I have to go through, some sort of punishment. He stands, staring, wondering. How far does he let me go, he wonders. He slowly, deliberately, moves across to the other side of the bed, pulling his socks off as he goes. My back is turned, but I hear a swish of silk as his boxers fall to the ground, before he lifts the covers and slides in beside me. His fingers are cold against the skin of my back. He is so cautious, only the fingertips first, then the whole palm on my back, a gentle pressure. I reach, touching the back of his hand. His fingers lock into mine and he lifts them to his mouth, his lips grazing my knuckles. I stare ahead in the darkness, sudden grief overcoming me. This man has so much love to give. More than enough for me. And as completely as we love each other, we're unfinished. We needed that child; a confirmation, a unification. My hand has gone limp in his. He releases it, wriggling closer against me. I can feel his skin against mine. So warm. "Scully?" I begin to cry. We could have made a child together. A little hazel-eyed boy with a love of baseball and basketball and an integrity to outshine his peers. "I'm here, honey." He whispers the words, hushing me, his touch firmer as he slides his arms around me. The role of comforter is one he's more familiar with. That we're naked is of little consequence. We're both hurting. We do what we can to comfort. We lay there. My tears slow and I lie aware only of his presence, of his warm body pressed against mine so closely as if it is a balm to my soul, of his steady breathing above my head, of his arms wrapped around me, his forearms pressed against my stomach and breasts, rough hands gently caressing, so strong, so safe. Stay here with me. Please. I will, my love. fin. =====