Carpe Diem Allie Reardon WickdZoot@aol.com Disclaimer: They certainly aren't mine. If they were mine, or even yours, I'd still like them a lot better. Rating: Very definitely NC-17. Smut warning ahead. If you aren't 18, close this file and run away. Summary: Post Tithonus Carpe Diem She came to me tonight, long out of the hospital, long back from New York. It's been nearly a month since I've caught more than a glimpse of her here, driving past her apartment to try and feed my need to see her. We talk on the phone every day, though, the usual tone, the one we use at the office. We're friends. We joke. We gibe gently at each other, or sometimes more harshly. We don't speak in the hushed, intimate tone of lovers. She used her key to get in the building, but some trace of diffidence made her knock at the door, I opened it and caught my breath, seeing something in her eyes that I had never seen before, some vulnerability that she had kept hidden from me. What could I do? I let my own walls down, looked at her for a long silent moment, letting her see into me, through me. They say women can do that anyway, but Scully, ah, my Scully, her gaze has the sharp edge of those scalpels she wields in her profession, and only now do I realize that there is no need for me to feel fear. I held out my hand. She took it and I tugged her into my arms. If it were up to me, she wouldn't ever leave them, a foolish lover's notion for a man who doesn't quite know how to be a lover. I held her for a long time, heedless of the open door. She was thinner, she felt more fragile, more delicate. I pushed away the knowledge that she could have died, pushed away my deep rage at the man who had nearly killed her. Finally, she shifted, gave a sigh that held no sorrow; I kicked the damn door shut, leaned back enough to tilt her face up for a kiss. A gentle kiss. A beginner's kiss. Learning her lips in a way I never had. But her hand came up, curved around the back of my neck, she didn't want gentle. It took a moment, but I understood, she wanted to forget, wanted only to remember that she was still alive, still needed, still desirable. Maybe she wanted to know that she was loved. I was afraid to break the moment with clumsy words. I did what I've imagined before, I bent slightly and turned her, put my arm under her legs and lifted her. Our mouths were still welded together, and she gasped into my mouth, wrapped her arms around my shoulders. I carried her into the bedroom, straight back, no safe stop for the sofa. We've been moving toward this day for years now. No words, no clumsiness, I didn't dare take the chance. Not at first. I undressed her slowly, standing by the bed, giving each bit of newly bared flesh its due. First her shoulders, creamy skin warm under my lips; I marked it, nipping and sucking, my hands finding the clasp that freed her breasts. Her nipples came to life under my tongue, and her hands imprisoned me, holding me there while I pleasured her. I moved between one and the other, sitting on the edge of the bed, trapping her between my legs. I worked her jeans down, found a scrap of lace beneath that didn't deserve to be called panties, felt my body throb in response. Slipped a finger inside, felt her wetness and spread it, looked up to see her head thrown back, her expression taut with pleasure and abandon. God, so fucking beautiful, when she let down her guard, her control, she was--inhumanly beautiful. Sexual. Alive. Mine. Maybe. I left the scrap of lace where it was, rose and guided her to the mirror on the back of the bedroom door, pulled her against me. "Open your eyes, Scully." Softly. "Look how beautiful you are." She opened her eyes, but her gaze held mine. "Show me." Her head turned, she rose on her toes and nipped my jawline. Not a passive woman. Never that. Who wants one? That's what most men don't realize, you don't have to be in charge. I'm not in charge here, she is, and there isn't anything hotter on the face of the planet. I cupped one firm breast and thumbed the nipple, felt it peak under my touch and groaned, bent and nipped the curve between her shoulder and neck. Slid my fingers inside the lace and found the small swollen nub of flesh, stroked it. She arched up and I pulled her against me, pressed my hips against her. "You have too many clothes on," fretful voice. "Take them off, it's not fair." I nuzzled her. "Shhhh, not yet." Stroked her more ruthlessly and folded my arm around her, let her grip it. Her hips rolled back and forward again, maddening pressure against my groin. I found her earlobe, nipped it, breathing harshly into her ear. "Let go, Scully. I want you, to." She whimpered and I pulled her up a little higher, just barely on her toes again, let her balance herself on my arm. "Yes, you can do it." Too hoarse to be a murmur, too heated to be a command, and she whimpered again, tilted her head back against my shoulder and pushed her sex into my fingers, Christ, I was so hard I was afraid I was going to come like a goddamned teenager. Scent of sex and aroused woman.. She tossed her head against my shoulder, I rubbed my cheek against her hair, felt the silken strands catch on a day's worth of beard and then she went wild in my arms, thrashing and crying out, hips bucking so hard I groaned again. Hot and hard in my trousers, and wanting her so badly..... It either lasted forever or she came more than once, I watched her face in the mirror, hardly able to breathe, watched Dana Scully let go off all control and let herself feel the pleasure I gave her. If there's anything more erotic than that, I don't know what it is. Forget leather and props, just one smallish woman wearing a scrap of lace and trusting completely and I was so turned on I think my brain melted down. "Now," she demanded, "Give it to me now." Well, greedy vixen that she was, she forgot that the height disparity is a bit of a problem--but I improvised. I tugged the bit of lace down, freed myself of clothing and sank to my knees, pulled her back onto me carefully. She watched in the mirror as I penetrated her, wanton and puffy-lipped, eyes half-closed, pushed down impatient of my care and Christ, I nearly lost control myself, had to bite my lip and hold her hips hard to keep her from bringing things to a premature conclusion. In the back of my mind, though, I couldn't stop thinking, couldn't stop rejoicing. Carpe Diem, I thought distantly, seize the day, Scully. Celebrate life and living, and by God, I'll do my best.... God, she felt like hot, wet silk, I thrust in when I could be sure of myself, one hand stroking her, the other arm bracing her for more comfort. "Jesus," I muttered, licked her throat, nipped it. "You're so goddamned beautiful, Scully." More of a groan than words, and her flesh clenched on me, she made a noise in her throat and tossed her head again. Worked herself on me, I hardly had to move. She was wild with need and desire, it enflamed me, unlocked my own rigid armor and I let her have her way, let her move however she wanted, drowning in pleasure, drowning in *her* pleasure each time it peaked, moving at her command until I could feel the lightning approaching, I could feel it strike--I know I tightened my arm around her, I know I cried out wordlessly. My hips moved without my control, thrusting mindlessly as she ground herself into me, God, the scent of her, I felt like my entire body had just been set on fire, let's not even talk about my cock. The usual gasping as we both came back down from it, and I nuzzled the tender nape of her neck, pushing her hair out of the way, lips grazing, tongue finding just a bit of whatever perfume she'd worn, acrid taste, but sweet smelling. Smelling of her. I rocked her a little in my arms, against my chest, my traitor flesh too quickly shrinking inside her, deserting her. She leaned back against me, still panting a little. "God." A soft whisper, almost a prayer. If there is a God. I nuzzled her again, tasted sweat at the curve of her neck. "Come on," I whispered and shifted, managed somehow to get both of us up. Still sweaty and sticky with sex, and I tumbled her into my pristine bed. Drew the bedclothes over us. We didn't sleep long. Carpe Diem. If I remembered my Latin, I would remember the right tense. We seized the day. She's alive. And here with me, still lying half-dozing in the wreckage of the bed. Head pillowed on my shoulder, one arm across my chest, her fingers laced with mine. Firm and warm and lovely and.....and alive. Thank God, if there is one, she's alive. Next time, I'll tell her how I feel. Finis