OVERLOVED By Jacquie LaVa MSR, R/NC-17 Spoilers: Milagro Disclaimers: Clones on Loan Dedication: A gift - to all of my dear friends who love this ep... this one's for you! Notes at end - Summary: 'It should never end, this amazing night...' *** "Overloved" Lord, I'm tired. Saturated with exhaustion. Wiped out, wrung out, dead-to-the-planet weary. I need sleep. I need to curl up in my comfy bed and sleep for about a year. Instead I'm fighting it. I'm forcing my eyes to stay open, willing my body to stay on alert. I can't give in to sleep. I won't. I can't afford to waste a single moment doing something as mundane as sleeping. Not now. Not yet. Not as long as my arms are full of soft, warm, naked woman. As long as my legs are tangled with hers, satin skin entwined all around me; as long as damp lips are pressed into my neck and fingers are threaded through my hair... I won't sleep. Won't even close my eyes. If I do I'll miss something, I know I will. I'll miss the way she feels when her breath sends those perfect breasts of hers surging gently against me. I'll miss seeing the glimmer in her blue eyes, miss hearing the throaty purr that rumbles in her throat every time I cup one of her firm little cheeks. I want this night to last a long time. I want it to last for days, weeks, months - eternity. It should never end, this amazing night. All the romantic poems will tell you that love like this happens only once, is something that everyone should have and no one should miss. I agree completely. Love like this has happened to us, finally. Once-first-time-perfection... of course there can only be one first time. Don't I know it. It's our first time and if I have anything to do with it, this first time, first night together will last far past just a night. Forever. That's how long it has to last, this first night. I thought she was dead, you see. I thought I'd lost her. Jesus, it was a nightmare. I'd never felt so fucking helpless, in my life. I saw her lying on the floor and there was blood all over her. Blood, red and wet, her blood... all over her white shirt. For one horrifyingly numbing and agonizing second she was dead and I was mad with grief and loss. When she opened her eyes it was the most profoundly relief-laden moment I'd ever experienced. I pulled her into my arms with such force I almost snapped her in two, pressed her body so close that she should have been absorbed into my very skin. My heart was pounding; so was hers. Her heart, still in her body, still pumping life into her. Pumping my life through her... for I swear if she'd died right then, I would have died, too. She clutched at me, ten fingers gouging into my flesh - and I welcomed the feel of those pinpoints of pain. It meant she was alive. I held her there for the longest time, whispering my thanks into her hair, tears slipping down my cheeks as the sound and fury of her sobs tore into my soul. I was almost too late. It scared the shit out of me, how close I'd come to being too late. One more minute and she'd have been dead. I knew this. It just about killed me to know it. In that exact moment I understood, as I kissed her hair and my hoarse whispers of reassurance echoed through my apartment. I knew. The love I'd carried for her, all this time - it erupted into one allencompassing truth: what I'd felt all this time was more than love. It was overlove. Beyond even being in love; this I knew. If there was such a thing as being more than in love, I was there. It poured through me so hot and so thick I couldn't breathe. It fired my own blood, whipped into my own heart, sent my pulse thundering through my body. It was almost more than I could handle. And hot on the heels of that knowledge was the absolute panic that if anything ever did happen to Dana Scully, I'd surely go insane. As I wrapped her even closer, I vowed then and there I'd never let anything happen to her, again. I'd protect her, watch her back, keep her as safe as she always tried to keep me... and I'd tell her how I felt about her. I wouldn't hold back, hold it in, any longer. And I didn't. I kept that vow. I held nothing back, the day I told her. It just took a little bit, before I did. And when I finally stumbled my way through the words, just a week or so after that horrible night... I discovered that she'd already known my feelings, had planned on saying those very words herself. It was as if her life had passed before not only her eyes, but mine as well - and each of us understood the stupidity of wasting one more minute apart. "I love you so much, Scully... please don't leave me..." "I won't. I couldn't, Mulder... never. I love you, too." Simple words. Heartfelt, uttered with passionate purpose. Spoken in awed, hushed voices, face to face in the dimness of her apartment one scant week after she'd lain in mine, bleeding from the unbelievable attempt of having her heart pulled from her chest. Seven days of recuperation, extra sleep and painkillers, of trying to find a way to write up a report that sounded like some bad novel. I'd purposely given her as much space as I could, though it killed me to stay away. I thought she needed time to gather herself. Time to compose and find her own way of reconciling what had happened to her. Actually, what she needed was me. She told me so herself, exactly one hour after she called me on the phone and asked me to come over. Seems as though she'd had her speech rehearsed, same as I did. I knew the words by heart; I'd been repeating them to myself on the drive to her place. Over and over in my head until my ears rang with them; in the car and in her elevator and down the hall, standing in front of her door as I rang her bell, I voiced those words to myself... "Scully, I love you. I'm in love with you. I love you with all of my heart, please say you feel the same, please stay with me, love me, never leave me, grow old with me, please, please..." Only after she laid a trembling palm against my jaw and murmured her love in return did I realize I'd spoken it all aloud, the very second she opened her door and I stared into her eyes. After that, it was easy. And hours later, it still is. I have lost count of how many times we've made love, of how many times I've been inside her - how many times her mouth has kissed me, encompassed me, loved me. How many times I've returned those kisses, deep and wet and delicious open-mouthed kisses that speak louder than words. The loving has been a heady mix of word and deed, of tenderness and pounding fury, of tender caresses and greedy grasping. Both of us had been celibate for so long, we had a lot stored up -and we let loose with all of it, all the pent-up emotion and the need, the bottomless desire. I was a teenager again, touching my first-time lover with hands rendered shaky and unsure, wondering if I was placing them on her body in such a way as to afford her the most pleasure. That first kiss, how new and pure and so very right... lips wide and seeking, tongues heated and wet and homing in on each other. Eyes half open, we had to watch, had to see the awareness that slammed us, when that initial bolt struck us blind. The sound of her moan, the vibration of it in my throat - the taste of her saliva and the damp clutch of her fingers on my skin. As far as I'm concerned she is the first woman I've ever touched, and will be the last. My long-term memory has been branded by the utter rightness of her in my arms. When I am very old I'll remember this night and my smile will be as tremulous then as it feels this moment, staring down into eyes gone deep blue, eyes that tell me as loudly as words what she's thinking. "Why did we wait so long, Mulder?" Good question. Why, indeed? Maybe we waited out of nothing more than basic idiocy. I'd like to think that's all it was. Maybe a year ago, two years, we'd never have been capable of this level of commitment. It's just so hard to say. I've certainly been consumed with my own driven quests; both of us have. Together we've fought it all, and in that fight I know the last thing either of us considered was taking on a romance, a relationship - whatever we'd like to call it. Taking on love... never the easiest of events in a life lived with some form of day-today normalcy. And Christ knows our lives have been anything close to normal, for too long. But this time, this moment, this year - life seems so damned short. And it's come together at last; right now we're a normal man and woman, in love and making love and hoping the night never ends. Beneath me on the mussed bed sheets, Scully's body is damp and smooth and silky-hot, trembling and taut and eager. Our hands clasp together tightly, palm to palm; our eyes are locked, hazel to blue. Slender legs wind themselves around my waist and hips arch up to me as I bury myself, again, again - broken gasps and hoarse moans anoint my ears with each explosion of breath from her open mouth. Cheeks flushed, hair tangled and tossed about on the pillow, my God she's beyond gorgeous, far beyond magical... and mine. Mine. "Mine..." I growl it into her neck, nip that fragile skin, redden it with my teeth and soothe it with my tongue. I take her again as I have taken her several times already this night - as she has taken me. I am shaky with need and holding onto whatever shards of control I can retain, because I want her to come with me, I want to push one more climax, feel one more convulsion deep within her, rocking my world. I'm a greedy man, I admit it. With each grinding thrust I affirm it, the greed that makes me want it all, over again. It's the first time we've made love and it's lasted all night; daylight is encroaching on our little bedroom world and I don't want to stop. I don't want her to stop. "Don't stop..." I don't know who groaned those words out. Doesn't matter. I'm never going to stop. I lower my head and loosen our clasped fingers and feel the clutch of her hands around my neck as they pull me down, her mouth taking my lips, kissing me deeply. Her body clings, tightens, her inner walls swell and tug at me, demand of me... and when I shudder and shout her name she's right there with me, coming with me, God right with me... With me. The morning shadows lengthen in the room as we cradle each other in her bed. My hand trails over the delicate ridge of her spine, my fingers run through her tangled hair. Her sigh is warm on my chest; her body feels wonderful as it rests against mine. If the world ended at this very moment I'd pass from it with a smile on my face, knowing I'd finally had it all. Of course, I'm happy as can be that the world as we know it seems a halfway stable place, because I'm sure not ready to give up any of this. And I'm sure as hell not ready to leave this bed and face the day. As if reading my thoughts, Scully stirs a little and her mouth presses my neck in a sleepy, sweet kiss. Her voice is equally sleepy, husky and thick. "We have to get up soon, Mulder. We've got so much work to do." I don't want to think about work. Don't want to think about anything but regaining enough strength to start loving her, all over again. I guess she really can read my mind, because without me saying a word she knows my thoughts, and her chuckle is warm against my shoulder. "You're truly insatiable, Mulder. How can you have even a drop left? Do you even know how many times we made love, last night?" Oh, yes. I do. With a grin, I move her up and over my body, loving the feel of her covering me like a silky, living blanket. She stares down into my face, this red-haired woman with bright blue eyes and damp, soft skin; this lover of mine. I slip my palms over her back, curve them around her hips, press her down on my eager flesh, feeling that new surge of renewal and of need. I'm hard and pulsing and the exhaustion drains away as she smiles at me, straddles me, settles herself and then takes me, deep. And as I'm absorbed, as she soaks me in, clinging hotly, moving slowly, so damn slowly, I answer her in a groaning rasp, with what little breath I have remaining and with all of the love surging through my heart. "Once, baby. We've made love, once; it's just lasted all night. All night and all of today and all of forever..." Through half-open eyes I see her smile and nod. I hear her murmur her agreement, words wisping away on the sigh that floats above my head as she moves faster, arches into the hands I cup over her breasts. It's one long, drawn-out marathon of lovemaking that has been quite a while in development and finally in the execution stages... Overlove. That's what I know this is. That's what I pray will always remain, with us. End *** Notes: I have written many "first-time" stories. But I've never written one that tags onto "Milagro" as a first-time MSR. Until now. And somehow it makes sense to me. I hope it did to you, as well. ### The End ###