From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Tue, 17 Oct 2000 22:02:00 -0500 Subject: Journey on the Wings of a Firefly (Part 1/2) by Gina Rain Source: direct Reply To: ginarain@aol.com Title: Journey on the Wings of a Firefly Author: Gina Rain Rating: R (sex, language) Category: MSR, UST, RST, A, H Spoilers: General season 7, nothing specific and a brief movie reference Feedback: ginarain@aol.com Archive: Feel free Summary: Sequel to Sweet and Sour Frustration, although it pretty much stands on it's own. Let's see. . . I would sum this story up by saying, the Rolling Stones may have been unable to get any satisfaction, but Mulder and Scully seem to have found a way. Notes: A great big thank you to my beta, Christina, who helped make this story complete. "Soon, Scully. Soon." The last leg of their journey wasn't supposed to be a long one. But it was. Scully was wet and miserable. The snow had reached over the edge of her boots and soaked the bottom of her jeans. She hated that feeling. All she wanted was to get home. To be with Mulder. Really be with Mulder. And there was not a cab in sight. She had a brief but satisfying fantasy of throwing herself on the snow and pounding the pavement with her fists, just as she had done when she was--oh, maybe two years of age. Was she ever that immature, she wondered. Probably not. Still, the fantasy felt good for a moment and eased some of the climbing tension. Once Scully had set her mind to something, it was very annoying for life to get in the way. When they finally did get a taxi, they shivered in their respective corners instead of huddling together to aid the rickety old heater in getting their body temperatures up. They each had last minute thoughts running through their minds. A few final moments to just be Mulder and Scully--in all their separate, complicated glory. A few moments still before they became Mulder and Scully: couple. The line had been crossed. The final line. On a Greyhound bus from New York to Washington, D.C. in the middle of a snowstorm. Silent longing had become stated desire. They had always known that once the intentions were clearly stated, there would be no going back. "Hey," he said, reaching his warm hand out to hers. "Hey, yourself." She interlaced her cold and somewhat shaky fingers with his. It would be fine. It had to be. As Mulder locked her apartment door behind them, she dropped her keys on the dining room table. They made a surprisingly jarring noise against the polished oak. Two pairs of wet boots plunked down on her hardwood floor. She quietly took Mulder's jacket from him, along with her own coat, into the bathroom. She carefully hung each one on a hanger, and left them dangling from the shower curtain rod. On her way out, she grabbed a towel to put under the pooling boots. She straightened up and took in a deep lung-full of air. She then began walking to her bedroom. "Do you want me to follow you, or stay out here?" Mulder asked, standing back a bit. Shit. She hadn't said one word to him during the last fifteen minutes. Not since their three-word exchange while they were still in the taxi. They were not exactly starting off in a Gone with the Wind type of way. They weren't even starting out in a letters to Penthouse type of way. "Come with me, please." Stiffly formal. Lovely. She could kick herself. But what else was there to say? They were finally going to the place they most wanted to be. And, finally, they were going together. That was all that mattered, wasn't it? She switched on one bedside lamp and turned to face him. Or, more accurately, face his chest. Barefoot, the height difference was more pronounced than ever. One more moment of avoiding his eyes. He was wearing a nice, soft pullover. She could reach out and touch him now, if she wanted. It was almost "legal." She couldn't. She just couldn't start. All she wanted was for the moment to be over. She wanted to pass over the awkwardness of it all. Just slap the label "lover" on both of them, and everything would be all right. They would work out the discomfort; make their relationship better physically, if there was a disappointing start. And, surely, with their unerring streak of luck, there would be. Then they could think of the thousand and one details that changing their relationship would surely involve. "Hey, Scully," he broke in to her thoughts. She finally looked up at him. "Have you heard rumors?" he asked with a decided gleam in his eye. What was he talking about? She couldn't find the voice to ask him. "You look like you're about to face the firing squad, Scully." She reached out her hand and touched his chest. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm nervous--I guess." He put his hand over hers. "So am I. We don't have to go through with this, you know. Not tonight. It's been a long, eventful day and we can wait." "No!" she blurted out, surprising even herself. God, no, she thought. Not one more hour of the nerves, performance anxiety, and consequence contemplation. And, most especially, not one more hour of that annoying teenaged Scully-voice that gave her an unflattering catalogue of her body parts. Sixty more minutes of that and she would begin to believe the little bugger. "I don't want to wait anymore, Mulder." She sucked up her courage and looked straight in his eyes. She probably looked exactly the way she felt. She could tell he understood--everything. Probably shared half of the fears. But, Mulder was Mulder. The man loved a good challenge and she just handed him the mother lode. His smile could be classified in the "no problem, Scully" category. Lord, he was a dangerous man when he was on a mission. Just get the deed done, Mulder. They'd work on the romance part of it later. Surely, they would have to work on the romance part of it later. "I don't want to wait anymore either, Scully," he said, his voice dripping smoke and leather. She trusted him enough to let him lead the way. He would have to. She could barely think. "Kiss me, Mulder," she said. "No." "No?" She couldn't hide her surprise. He sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out to grab her by the waist. "I already kissed you once today. Your turn." The softness in his voice eased a bit of the tension. "You called that a kiss?" She tried teasing back. "I didn't even know for sure if it was a kiss, or just some dust floating in the air." "Oh, Scully. You wound me. Now, come on." His eyes were warm and shining. The seriousness of what he was about to say somehow being emphasized with the increased pressure of his hands on her waist. "We're in this--as in everything we do, Scully. Together." His eyes dared her to look away from him. "Now--do you believe?" he asked, in a melodramatic manner. "In what?" "In the only damned thing that matters," he said simply. All pretense and joking gone. His eyes looked exactly the way they had in his hallway, before the bee incident. She fell straight into them that time, and only the sharp pain of the sting, and its physical manifestations broke the moment. She was falling into them now. No distractions. "I believe," she said softly. She stepped between his legs and lowered her face to his. She gave him the same whisper soft kiss he gave her in a Bronx motel room earlier in the day, and one she returned on the bus later. She was still a bit too nervous to manage more. "You call that a kiss?" he mocked, softly. "You think you can do better?" With that same sense of adventure in his eye, he did. His kisses were long and slow. He kissed her as if they were not holding back a dam filled with seven years of self-denial; as if they had never been thwarted in even their mildest attempts at intimacy in the past. He kissed her as if he had all the time in the world and nothing to do but concentrate on making it the most important kiss in the world. Scully had always had a difficult time fantasizing. She did it, but reality always got in the way. Thoughts of which sock Mulder might take off first detracted from the "main event." It had just been such a long, long wait for this moment. If reality always ruined fantasies that were ultimately under her control, she shuddered to think of what it could do in real life with its many variables. She watched, in almost an outsider's fascination, as her ice blue panties joined a pile of damp clothing previously topped by his hunter-green boxers, and felt a sadness overcome her. She wouldn't even be able to overcome her scientific detachment. She was being bogged down by details before they barely started. And then, he was all around her. They were standing again, but now it was flesh to flesh. He took her in his arms and she felt his warmth, power and gentleness--all at once. She leaned into his bare chest and smelled the faded scent of soap and the mild, clean scent of his sweat as it rose to the surface of his skin. She had never physically felt tinier but she knew that wasn't what he wanted her to feel. He wanted her to feel as tall as he was; as in control as he was. And, ultimately, as out of control as he would feel. She felt him waiting for her to look up at him. His hand was brushing back her hair, freeing her face for his unobstructed view. She looked up and he smiled reassuringly. "Come here," he said as he sat against the headboard of the bed. She climbed on top of him, straddling his legs. She could do this. She looked at him. One more minute before she'd find out if everything would still fall apart. He put his hands on her waist and coaxed her up until she was in a kneeling position--bringing them as close to a face-to-face position as possible. "Kiss me," he said. "Just kiss me." They'd be fine. As long as they kept moving forward, they'd be fine. She kissed him deeply, slowly--feeling the moment completely. Something changed. She was no longer in a rush to get this over with. She pulled her lips away from his, and one hand gripped his shoulder as she positioned herself over him and slowly lowered herself. She accepted about half of him in her, reveling in the feel of him. He gently pulled her closer to him, steadying her and allowing her to completely dictate the pace of their intitial joining. She leaned her head back and groaned at the feel of him, as he buried his head between her breasts. She knew that every breath he took was a study of self-control. She felt the increased tension of his fingers gripping her waist and heard her own breath hitch in her throat as she completed her descent and wrapped her arms around his head. She clutched at him--kissing him anywhere her lips would reach. The fingers at her waist were almost painfully gripping her as he still waited until she was ready to move. She tentatively rocked forward and once again gasped at the sensation. He moved his head back to look in her eyes. She saw a massive look of relief cross his features as he read her unspoken signal and from then on, all she would later remember would be a blur of intense feeling. The feel of his hands spanning her middle as she moved on him; his hips slowly joining and matching her rhythm; wet kisses and warm breath tickling her ear, urging her on. "Let it go, let it go, let it go," he whispered over and over until she finally did, latching on to him like a life preserver in her own highly stormy sea. She would remember his patience as he held her as she spasmed around him. Then, her world turned upside down as she suddenly was on her back, watching as her newly labelled lover threw away his self-imposed restraints and moved within her seeking his own pleasure. She heard the sound of his voice as it yelled out a strained version of her name. She felt the warmth of his love spilling into her for the first time. Journey on the Wings of a Firefly (Part 2/2) by Gina Rain What a very strange time to suddenly remember a Bible passage, she thought. Was that all it took? Allowing herself a few quiet moments to wonder what his voice would sound like in the stillness of her bedroom--embracing the thought, instead of pushing it away? Was that why she now had her answer? Her vision was clearing as he tried to lift himself off of her. He was muttering things in her ear that she was totally incapable of hearing over the sound of her calming, but still accelerated, respiration. Whatever he was trying to say, it sounded inviting. She drew her hands up into his hair and tangled her fingers in the sable strands. She pulled down hard enough so he fell flat on top of her again. "Scuh-lee," he said, in a tone of mock reprimand. "Shhhhh," she said. "I'm going to crush you. Just--I just need to roll over and--" "No. I want you to stay exactly the way you are right this very second." She saw him trying to glance down at himself, but she didn't give him much room to maneuver. "Well, you know, Dr. Scully," Just because he couldn't visually accessorize his joke, didn't mean he was going to pass up telling it, "The male anatomy has a pretty strange habit of being rendered pretty much useless after--" She giggled in his ear. "Yes, Mulder. I am aware of that little glitch. But how can you begrudge rest to something that was so useful a few seconds before?" She put her lips right next to his ear. "Sleep for a while, Mulder. Relax." "Sleep? Like this?" She closed her eyes and smiled. "Just like this." She would have expected him to be completely exhausted. Aside from the physical rigors involved in the solving of their case that afternoon, she knew he had been well aware of her somewhat dismal expectations of this evening. She knew that every single ounce of concentration went into demonstrating his feelings for her physically. He had been so successful that she had been able to forget all her concerns and do the same for him. But, Mulder being Mulder, she also knew that he couldn't "de-agitate" even after something as wonderful as their first sexual encounter. She had de-agitated just fine. She felt as if her limbs, muscles and assorted parts in between had been bathed in warm, scented rainwater. "Scully. I can't sleep this way. I'm too big." "That you are, Mulder. But you don't hear me complaining." Instead of a laugh, a smart-ass remark or a smirk, she felt him grunting a bit as he tried to lift himself up on his elbows. She tightened the grip of her fingers. "Uh--Scully?" "Hmmmmm?" "What is it with the death grip on my hair?" "I like your hair." "Good. I'm glad. Looks like you'll be having handfuls of it to put in your hope chest before the night is out." She smiled into his collarbone. "Hmmmmm." "Scully--don't fade out on me. I'm the one who's supposed to fall asleep, not you." She opened one eye and planted a poorly aimed, open-mouthed kiss on his ear lobe. He smelled so good. He tasted so good. "So--who is stopping you?" she murmured. He let out an exasperated sigh. "You are. You are, Scully. Don't forget, I can feel you. You haven't taken one full breath since we stopped. You can't underneath me. I can't possibly sleep like this. The guilt will kill me. All I keep picturing in my mind is waking up in the morning and finding you as squished as one of those dead hedgehogs on the I-95." "Mulder. Remind me to get you a book of Shakespearean sonnets. Now, I'm not a fussy woman but, in general, it's nicer to say something like, "shall I compare thee to a summer's day." It's a bit more romantic than slush and road kill comparisons." He slumped back down and buried his face in her neck. "Mulder?" "What?" It sounded like a muffled groan. He had been a completely unselfish lover. It was her turn, now. Besides, she was beginning to get a small rush of energy and she suddenly felt a need to talk. It would be easier if she could actually breathe as well. She smiled to herself. Talking. Isn't that what every man looked forward to the most in the aftermath of sex? "Let's sit up for a minute, okay?" She removed her hands from his hair, and he sat up quickly before she could change her mind. She placed a pile of pillows behind her and gestured for him to sit in front of them. He did, and she swung around and sat lotus-style between his legs, facing him and holding his shoulders. "Better?" "Much. I like this position." His smile was relaxed again, and the mischievious gleam was back in his eye. He ran his fingers through her bed-mussed hair."You worried me, Scully." "Why?" "Because I thought you might be a lot kinkier than I ever imagined. I'm not sure I'm young enough for all of that and besides, I'm on too tight a budget to add in monthly payments to the Hair Club for Men." She lifted her hand and smoothed his hair. "Poor baby," she said, her eyes warm and loving. He leaned forward and kissed her gently. Green. His eyes looked green in the light of her bedroom. A bonus question answered for her. "We did it, Scully." There was a spark among the green. If they had flown to the moon on the wings of a firefly, his eyes could not reflect more of a sense of wonder. Her eyes felt the sharp sting of emerging tears, but she no longer felt the need to tamp them down. They could emerge and flow if they wanted to, or they could be replaced with any of the hundred or so emotions flowing freely through her at the moment. "We did, Mulder." She laid her head on his chest and he held her to him for a moment. This was what she wanted when she was gripping him to her a few moments before. She wanted her sparkling moment of afterglow. She heard herself laughing softly. "Mulder?" "Hmmmm?" "I think we should open another x-file. I seem to be channeling Barbara Cartland in my thoughts." "Barbara who?" "Never mind." She snuggled closer, closing her eyes. "You want to go to sleep, Scully?" His hand stroked her back silently. She moved back slightly. "Mulder? I can touch you anywhere I want now, can't I?" She could see him gulp a bit. "Technically, I don't think I ever would have stopped you from touching me anywhere you wanted to--ever. But, yes. Feel free." "Good. There is a part of you I have always wanted to touch." "Scully,I know we both got carried away, but I'm pretty sure I remember you--covering that area." She ignored him and pulled him forward a bit. She snuck her hands around him and ran her fingers down until they reached the small of his back. Then she quietly moved her hands back and forth on the thin skin above the fleshier curve of his buttocks. "Is it as good for you as it always has been for me?" he asked with a smile. "It's wonderful, Mulder." The burning in her eyes returned but she doubted any tears would fall. From the very beginning, his touch there had held the promise of more. When things between them seemed to stagnate, it was a silent reassurance that they would eventually find their way. Mulder slid down on the bed and she lay down facing him, her arms still around his waist--her fingers still lightly stroking the small of his back. She had been waiting for him to get his second wind, knowing exactly how tired he was. She didn't want him to think that she didn't want to do this again. . .and again. . .and again. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was definitely-- not as young as it used to be. For both of them. She closed her eyes "for a minute, just for a minute," even as she felt his body relax against hers. His touch had always been a covenant. A promise. One that endured beyond all reason. She comfortably fell asleep knowing that her touch was now the same to him. They could resume their flight tomorrow. The End