Disclaimer: These are not my characters, I just took them out to play. I'm not making any money off this. Please don't sue me.
It's her secret. Dirty little secret, she'd say, but God, with the way the government and and the cults and even Mulder gets their filthy grasping fingers poked into every corner of her life, sometimes this is the only thing left that feels clean.
She longs for that. Longs, too, for someone to look in her eyes and just see her. Her life's become an endless string of Rube Goldberg contraption conspiracies, one springing from another like Russian nesting dolls until she's sure that everyone who looks at her only sees a cog. To some a defective cog, to others expendable, to yet others valuable and to some even priceless and perhaps even lovable, but still a cog and sometimes she catches herself thinking this way too.
But when Alex looks at her, all she sees is Dana.
They don't get much time together, their jobs are their lives and their schedules don't overlap. But when they do...Dana's pace increases, her high heels clicking impatiently against the motel lobby floor.
She gets off at the fourth floor and heads to the number Alex told her. The door's been left ajar just an inch, far too careless for a good city cop like Alex, so Dana knows it's been done on purpose, and she smiles at its invitation: Come and get me.
She is happy to oblige.
The door creaks open (her hand on her gun out of force of habit) and she sees Alex, lying back on the bed in the dim half-light (but not entirely relaxed, her gun is within easy reach on the bedside table—habits do die hard), dusk-darkened golden hair fanning out against the pillow.
Alex smiles, and it sparkles in her eyes. "Hey there."
Dana smiles back without thinking. "Hey."
They stand like that for awhile, with their oh-there-you-are grins, until Alex stretches langorously and asks, "You aren't going to make me get up, are you?"
"The world would spin the other direction the day I made you do something you didn't want to do." Dana makes her way to the bed, lies down on the cream-colored blanket. Curls towards Alex and runs her hand down the blonde woman's arm, savoring the firmness of her biceps, the coiled strength.
Alex wraps her legs around Dana and nips lightly at her neck. "You're one to talk, Red," she breaths against her skin, and Scully's pulse jumps like lightning.
Alex is blunt and forthright with her kisses, honest and unyielding in her desire in a way that she thinks hides the tenderness that creeps in at the corners. She tastes salty and a little sweet at the same time, and if Dana could tear herself away from that woman's mouth she knows she'd see a pile of candy wrappers on the television stand. Eames can never help raiding the motel vending machine while she waits.
But then Alex's hands are undoing the buttons on Dana's blouse, and her little fingers are skittering cold (slowly warming) across the tops of Dana's breasts, and Alex's hot and teasing mouth is moving down to join them, and it's all Dana can do to keep touching her lover, touching and touching and touching the softness of her hair and the high planes of her face and the swells of her breasts and hips. And Alex's hand slides into Dana's pants, and it's not fair because she wanted to get Alex naked first but then Alex is kissing the side of her neck, kissing her right there in that perfect sweet spot, and her fingers are moving and she's whispering nonsense words against Dana's skin...
And it's just them, there, in this space they've made of touches and whispers and tangled sheets, moving together and making a world with no mess and no pain. And it's clean and it's theirs, amber eyes and blue and they see nothing but each other.
And God's in his heaven, all's right with the world.