TITLE: Rhythms of Life AUTHOR: Dreamshaper EMAIL: Dreamshpr@aol.com RATING: Um, 1&2 are pg, 3 is nc17 CATEGORY: S,MSR SUMMARY: Rhythms calm...and arouse... DISCLAIMER: They're mine, all mine, and no one else can have them, not even to play with, ever! Bwahahaha! Oh, sorry. Shoulda told you I was gonna do my CC impersonation...anyway, theyre CC's, but I'll trade him 2 cats,2 horses, a bearded dragon and a cocker spaniel... SPOILERS: Tithonius, generally all... ARCHIVE: Anywhere and everywhere-- if I dont know you, drop me a line first though... FEEDBACK: DUH! Do I look stupid to you? Don't answer that, just send feedback, ok? NOTES: It's late. I've had the weekend from Hell...so this is a pretty nutty story (imho)...this story has 3 distinct styles, no plot and barely any character stuff...but it does have sex! So it's all good! Right? RIGHT? `````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` His eyes were glued to her sleeping form, his entire body was caught in the soothing rhythm of life that flowed from her into the darkest corners of his soul. Each time her lungs inhaled slowly and deeply, his own filled with air. The faint, faint rise and fall of the scratchy hotel comforter above her heart seemed to fuel his own pulse. When she sighed or turned, he froze, afraid that she would wake and he would die, unable to breathe, heart still and empty in his chest. This was a new thing with him, a new habit. One developed after years of harsh trial and cold betrayal, born of a love rivaled by nothing in his life, nothing. Not his search for his sister, or even his search for the Truth that had been so important to him so long ago -- a search that was still important but that was now fueled by that love that kept him going. Only a few short months ago, she had been hospitalized, shot by her green "partner" on a case in New York. He had sat by her bed for days, silent and unmoving -- his life revolved then around the beeping machinery that aided her return to life...a return that had been mercifully allowed and in return had kept him alive. It was then that this need began to build within him, a need to count her breaths, to watch her pulse flutter her fragile skin. For some reason, Death had not seemed nearly as close when she had her cancer, nor had he felt it's taint when she had been abducted...there had always been a way to fight those battles -- what could he do against a bullet shot by a rookie? He had tried, really tried, to stop himself from sneaking into her home or motel rooms...but this need demanded to be assuaged. One night he had finally given in, stealthily entered her home and sat in the delicate chair in her room, watching her with wild, haunted eyes for hours...till the fear inside him began to ebb and he began to feel a sense of peace that he rarely felt anymore -- only when he was in her arms, recieving the comfort that she always gave to him so easily. Or when he held her, cherishing her with hands that felt suddenly stronger by the defense of her life or her heart. He had left before the moon and stars finished their dance across the heavens, had left with such a feeling of internal lightness that he had fallen asleep almost immediately upon arrival in his own apartment. Fallen with a sigh and a slight smile on his world weary face, an ease to his time -- and battle -- scarred body. A need was nurtured and an obsession born in those quiet night hours. So now he watched her, had watched her in countless anonymous rooms and cars...had slipped into her home and left hours later, no trace of his presence left behind to betray his new behavior to her. Or so he hoped. He had grown a little less cautious with each late night visit, though he was hardly aware of it. Now he sighed and shifted unconciously, pulled the motel chair or the chair in her room closer to her bed...occassionally he reached out one long, narrow hand and brushed the bright hair from her sleeping face. The last time he had done this, his departure had been preceded by a soft, gentle press of his lips to her smooth cheek. He was bound to be caught sooner or later, and part of him knew it. Part of him wanted to show her how pathetic he was, how dependent. Part of him longed to show her how much she meant to him, how much her every breath affected him. Part of him wanted her to hold her arms wide so he could crawl into them and never crawl out. But the superstition, the premonition that with her awareness came her repulsion and his death...it kept him at least partially in check. Usually. But he grew wearier with each night that he denied himself the resolution offered by her knowledge of his actions...and with weariness came a breakdown of his self erected barriers. On this night, he knelt by the bed, heedless of the wear on his knees,feeling like a penitent kneeling before an altar of worship. The temptation to drop his head down and sleep was intense and he gave in for a moment, gently dropping his head onto the hard mattress next to her head, closing his eyes as her warm breath caressed his face. Breathing her in. Basking in her. ,he told himself over and over then, < Don't fall asleep, or she'll find you out. You'll never know the comfort she can bring you again...don't fall asleep.> But nature takes it's toll, and Mulder was tired...so tired...the mantra faded from his mind and all he heard was the lullaby of her breath... And he slept. `````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` Scully awoke slowly, with a rustle of sheets and a quiet groan. She smiled to herself as she opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling above her head, she could smell Mulder in the air in her room, a familiar scent, one that comforted her. She rolled onto her side and froze, eyes wide open in uncharacteristic shock as she found the source of that smell sleeping beside her, on his knees next to her bed. Automatically she opened her mouth to blast him awake, but she reconsidered...he looked so tired, yet so contented...but she was certain, deadly certain, that calamity had struck during the night, or he was having one of his fits of guilt and despair... Tender, nearly motherly affection flowed through her and she had the urge to kiss him gently, to hold him to her and defend him from whatever it was inside that was currently tearing him apart -- as something surely was, for she could think of no other reason for him to have invaded her space, trespassed into her room. Nothing less than disaster brought Fox Mulder to his knees, nothing less than tragedy provoked him to seek out comfort. But she restrained those maternal urges as well as she could, waking him with a quiet "Mulder...wake up, Mulder." He jerked awake, meeting her eyes with a terrified gaze that led immediately to his attempting to push himself up and away from the bed, trying to flee into the dark, safe haven of his own room. His abused knees spoiled the escape however, and crumpled beneath him. He collapsed onto the mattress with an exclamation and a grunt. Scully held her silence as Mulder attempted again to rise, them threw one bare, lean arm across his eyes. He turned his face from hers, still mouthing those silent obscenities. But as soon as he sighed resignedly, she pushed him. "Mulder? What are you doing sleeping in my room at -- " she checked the clock glowing on the scarred bedside table " -- at 4:30 in the morning? What happened?" Her tone was calm and soothing, and one hazel eye peered out from beneath the arm, fearful but somehow cocky. She frowned gently at the eye, still convinced tragedy had befallen him. "Would you believe," he murmured scratchily, " that I was abducted by aliens and left here by accident? " Scully bit back the laugh that wanted to ease out, and raised one pale, well trained brow instead. " Only, Mulder, if you could provide proof." He rolled to his side, faced her directly and met her eyes head on now, silently beseeching that she see inside him and spare him the awkwardness of explanation...but it must have been too early in the morning, for her internal Mulder-gaze-translator was ineffective and she didn't understand, merely shook her head, tossing bright copper hair and frowning into his eyes. So with a groan, Fox Mulder began the explanation that would either result in his life being saved...or the slow death of his soul, a death he was surprised had not already occurred...he had feared so deeply the moment that she awoke to him -- the lack of immediate disaster was a tremendous surprise... But not too great a relief. After all, in Fox Mulder's happy world, a horrific fate was expected and secretly believed to be deserved. < Be eloquent, > he warned himself,< and be as vague as possible...try to alleviate the damage done to the only thing that means a half a shit to you...be careful!> And the first words that escaped his brilliant mind to fall free of his lips were, " Scully, I need to know you're breathing...or I can't breathe. " Both their mouths fell open in shock and he groaned. < Very eloquent -- Fox Mulder, welcome to the end of your life...> `````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` Silence. Nothing but silence. He had expected the wrath of God -- worse, the wrath of Dana Katherine Scully -- to rain down on his head. He at least expected a derisive comment. But all he got for his admission was silence. A carefully blank glance at her sleep flushed face catalogued shock and disbelief...curiousity and inner debate. < What the hell...can't get worse. Maybe... > So he leaned over and kissed her. And it didn't get worse. The world straightened off the crooked axis it had whirled around for decades, the deep hatred of self was forgotten and the desperation of love unrequited was pushed aside for the desperation of desire returned. His mouth was tender and fierce, hot on hers, and Scully responded with a heat that surprised herself. Her mind whirled and her hands reached for something solid, something sturdy in a world suddenly filled with flaring need. And all she could find to hold onto was her partner.So hold on she did, as this first kiss between them soared higher and higher, bringing them closer and closer to joy. Mulder slid warm hands under the loose top she wore and caressed the smooth skin that covered her ribcage, darting closer and closer to her breasts with each pass. He delighted in her as she arched up to meet him, rejoiced in the moment as she slid her hands under his t-shirt to scratch across his back. When one strong, capable hand tugged lightly on his nipple he broke free of her mouth to tuck his head into the curve of her neck. His last doubt was erased as she cuddled into him, whispering his name. He sighed into her skin and kissed her again, finally rasping his palms against her nipples just as he dipped his tongue into her mouth, causing her to arch and sigh her pleasure into the warm confines of his mouth. Her sharp tug at his nipples sent a shiver coursing down his spine, and she did it again and again till he retaliated by pulling her shirt off over her head and fastening himself to one taut nipple. She arched her back and he smiled against her skin as he suckled her. But amusement was forgotten as he registered the warmth of her in his mouth and was suddenly voracious. He slid his hot mouth across the valley between her breasts repeatedly, and paid equal attention to each begging nipple, then slid down her silky torso and abdomen, feeding on the richness of her skin. He ignored her attempts to manuever his mouth where she wanted it, pursuing instead his own need to memorize every muscle and sinew, every pulse and flutter of her body. He could feel her heartbeat in every centimeter of her, and it alternately aroused and soothed him. How could anything be wrong in the world, in himself, if she was allowing him to measure her heartbeat in the minute thump of her pulse just beneath her skin, measure her breath in the smooth jerk of her tummy under his tongue? How could he maintain control? He simply couldn't. So he drew the pajama pants she wore off her gently twisting body and threw them to the floor, followed by her panties. And he settled between her strong, elegant legs and explored her softness. Mulder could feel the pulse here too, in this most vulnerable area. He delighted in the changes he wrought, even as she pulled at him, wanting to please him... She finally gave up on persuasion and simply flipped him over, was on him in a half of one of the heartbeats he was determined to count. Her mouth explored the minutae of him as he had so recently -- and pleasurably -- explored hers, and she shivered as he groaned her name, deep in his throat. She was lost to the heat of what they were doing, and when he finally halted her journey she went willingly, met his mouth with her own. This final kiss before he slid into the welcoming heat of her body tasted of their skin, and of love unacknowledged but no longer repressed. It was the most glorious, tender kiss of their lives, and when their eyes met after...it was so easy to slide into one another, to be lost and found, to be celebrated and loved...and the physical slide into each other was just as easy. And just as binding. Their rhythm echoed their pounding hearts, and the climax that resulted from their union was slow and long, draining their bodies and filling their souls. < That was the end of my life...> he thought when he could, when the ecstasy was all stored away to be drawn on later when it was needed, when it felt like the world was falling in on him. < That was the end of my life, and the beginning of ours.> He settled his head onto her chest and smiled as she cradled him there. He could hear her heartbeat... he realized that a new vitality suffused that beat, realized that that same vitality now coursed through him, a testament to newfound strength, completion and joy... And all he'd had to do to find this was fall asleep to the lullaby of her body... he thought as he carefully cradled her to him. And then a smile crossed his face and he pressed a kiss to her belly before closing his eyes.< Then again, maybe it is.> `````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` `````````````````````````````````` END!!! I know, I know, you're all sitting at your computers going "yeah,that was a good one! In fact, it was excellent! Wow, that author is a genius, even if she had next to no plot, character development or cohesion of style!!!" Just try not to overwhelm me with the feedback. ;) Dreamshaper (Dreamshpr@aol.com)