Water and Sun
By redprint
Chapter 11 (Rated M!)
**Pray for us**
FUSIO, SWITZERLAND
THURSDAY, AUGUST 11
15:07 HOURS
Life was not the same with Mulder at the HQ. She missed him during the day and kept her distance during the night. They talked before going to bed but neither wanted to venture into their feelings.
It's all been said and done, she told her mother the day after their split up.
"Are you sure about it, Dana?" Maggie asked her. There was that motherly concern in her voice.
She nodded, "As sure as I've ever been."
"Will you tell the others?" Maggie asked.
"No," she replied decisively, "I don't want to burden them. Nothing changes for the mission. We're still working together."
Maggie stepped closer and found her hand, gently squeezing it, "What about him?" She looked her with clear blue eyes.
"You mean Nicola?" Her voice flailed weakly.
"Of course," Maggie replied.
With eyes as raw as a stare could bare she looked at her mother, "I think he's immersed in the cause."
"Yes," her mother replied, "and in you as well. I see how he looks at you."
Scully sighed and sat down on the bed, "It doesn't feel right for many reasons."
"But?" Maggie insisted.
Scully looked at her, her voice on the verge of breaking, "But I want him. I just want him … and it has nothing to do with Mulder … which is very confusing."
Maggie nodded and sat down next to her. "Do you miss him when he's not around?"
"I miss both of them," she replied sincerely.
"I can't tell you what to do," her mother noted, "but I can tell you this: life is ever changing and so are our decisions."
"So, I should just drift into whatever life brings?" She gestured nervously with her hand.
"No, but you shouldn't feel burdened with decisions that aren't yours as well," Maggie pointed out. "Breaking or honoring the chastity vow is his decision alone as was your decision to break up with Mulder. The simple question is: do you want him in your life?"
Scully stared at her, her heart split open in two. Did she want him in her life? "I'm sorry. I can't." She got up hastily and reached for the door knob.
"Dana," he mother stood up, "it will get clearer in time. Just don't lose yourself in this."
She paused by the door and then left without saying anything.
FUSIO, SWITZERLAND
THURSDAY, AUGUST 12
20:27 HOURS
Evenings were her favorite part of the day. They all gathered together to eat and talk. Mulder was calm and focused, Paul had always something witty to say, Günther showed an emotional side that surprised them, Marco and Rosa were teasing each other, her mother told stories, and Nicola … Nicola was kind and unassuming, attentive and composed. One could bask in his energy.
But that particular August night was special. It was the last one spent together with her mother. The next day Maggie would leave with Jack Crawford and his son, and head back to the States. They threw a small goodbye party for her, careful not to draw too much attention in the neighborhood. It was cheerful and heartfelt. The risks and dangers were a distant echo no one wanted to pay attention to.
When they were alone at the kitchen counter, while other chatted and laughed at the table, Maggie turned to Scully and asked, "Will you tell him?"
Scully looked at her, "Don't ask me that."
"But you know the moment of truth will arrive eventually, don't you? For you, for him and for Mulder. And I'm not talking aliens here."
Scully closed her eyes and nodded, "I do."
"I love you, Dana," her mother said then. "You're an exceptional woman. You'll do fine when I'm gone."
Scully looked her in the eye, "Oh, mom." Scully turned to her and hugged her tightly.
Maggie smiled and patted her back, "We should return to the table now."
After dinner Scully approached Nicola outside the house. "You should be careful."
He was chopping some logs to use them in the kitchen's fireplace. Despite the summer season nights in Fusio were cold.
He turned to her and smiled, "I'm always careful."
"I brought you a cup of tea," she said and offered him a steaming mug.
He lowered the axe and took the mug in his hands. "It's hot," he winced.
There were seconds of silence between them. He sipped his tea while she sat down on a flat log.
"Do you think we'll make it?" she asked then.
He looked at her, unsure for a moment, "Stopping the cabal?"
She nodded.
He placed the mug down, "Mulder and Gino are making considerable progress. Paul is also hopeful."
"Hopeful and flustered," she added. "He's trying unsuccessfully to find a way to safely inject magnetite into the human bloodstream."
"I thought it was a given," Nicola replied.
"Not really. It's been tested on rats and rabbits so far. We know it can impart deleterious effects in humans, especially when they are exposed to high PM concentrations in polluted urban environments."
"So, no real breakthrough so far," Nicola commented.
"No, nothing of the sort," she replied. "What about you?"
"I think there's a chance if we try hard," he replied, and reached for the axe again. "Thanks for the tea."
"Sure," she stood up, suddenly aware that he might not want to spend time with her. Taking the mug, she hesitated for a moment.
He sensed her uneasiness and looked at her, the axe gripped firmly in his hands. Seeing the silent plea in her eyes, though not knowing what it meant, his eyes locked with hers.
It was like drifting into calm waters, like being called into existence. Millions of words flowed through them in that moment.
She felt her hands shake a little and gripped the mug more firmly.
He must have been taken by surprise as well. There was terror and hope in his eyes. He couldn't resist any longer but reached for her arm and pressed her to him, letting the axe fall to his feet. One arm went around her back while the other cradled the back of her head.
She squeezed her eyes, shaking in his arms, while he moved close to her cheek and whispered into her ear. All the noble efforts to maintain a friendly distance were gone in a single heartbeat.
She felt the desperation in his touch, the need in his voice, the feral reality of the moment. Her chest heaved with emotions that she knew better than to voice.
But he voiced them all. Even if it was all a whisper, a swirl of words that she barely understood, she felt them all.
Long seconds passed by and she finally regained control. "I have to help my mother with her stuff," she spoke into his chest, more sober now, but shaken nonetheless.
He loosened his grip, his lips almost touching the skin of her earlobe. His heart felt heavy, his nerves raw. "Sure."
She took a step back, unable to look at him. "I'll meet you inside."
He bit his lip, his gaze falling to the axe. "Yeah, sure."
FUSIO, SWITZERLAND
THURSDAY, AUGUST 18
9:56 HOURS
With her mother gone back to the States and Mulder scavenging into presumably new solid lids, Scully tried to fill her days with the research at the lab. She couldn't believe they were able to set up such a demanding facility in an old house in Switzerland. Level 3, state of the art equipment, and a brilliant scientist working beside her.
"I think you need a pause, Dana," Paul told her as she kept staring into the microscope.
She lifted her head, "Excuse me?"
Paul smiled. "You've been staring down that lenses for quite some time now. I think cell division has come and gone in that Petri dish."
She looked down at the microscope and closed her eyes, letting a small smile pass her cheeks. "I'm sorry. There's a lot on my mind."
"I know," he said in a reassuring tone. "It's a difficult time." His electric blue eyes looked into hers with honest care.
She sighed, "Maybe I do need a pause."
He stepped back to give her space. "I'm going to check the latest computer data regarding the testing of Oblivion1."
"The drug that's being researched at HQ to prevent the gestation of the virus?" she asked surprised.
"Precisely that one," Paul replied. "The research is promising. Very promising."
A ray of hope, she thought. "You'll have to bring me in on that."
"Sure," he nodded. "But take that brake now."
Once out of her lab clothes, she looked for Nicola. He'd be thrilled to know that the test drug showed promising results. She caught the axe with the corner of her eye when she passed the chopped logs in front of the house. Days had passed since that night when he hugged her right on that spot and whispered words into her ear that burned her soul. She hadn't see him around much since then and it wasn't like him to just vanish. Or was it? She pressed her lips together and ignored the question.
"Did anyone see Nicola?" she inquired when she stepped into the kitchen.
Marco and Rosa shook their heads before Günther could reply.
"He left yesterday," he answered while cleaning his gun.
Her eyebrows raised, "What do you mean he left?"
Marco seemed surprised as well.
Günther shrugged. "He didn't say much. I figured he had things to do."
"Where did he go?" Marco asked, his tone barely calm.
"No idea," Günther replied calmly. "I have no authority over him. He could be with Gino in Rome or with Leonardo in Berlin. It's not for us to know at this time."
She felt a pang of grief. It wasn't for her to know where he went? She looked at Marco for reassurance but she saw the same confusion and grief in his own eyes.
"Gino's in Rome?" Marco inquired further, not missing Scully's change in her demeanor. She was still angry at Gino how he managed her mother's arrival.
"Has been for the last two weeks," Günther confirmed.
"When will Nicola be back?" Rosa asked, her voice as gentle as ever.
Günther shrugged. "No idea."
Rosa sighed and looked at Marco. "He's an enigma, I give you that."
"Yeah," Marco agreed, his mind racing.
"Will you be with us?" Rosa asked Günther.
He nodded. "I was tasked to take care of your security now that Nicola's absent."
Scully's eyebrow arched, "Now that Nicola's absent?"
"Of course," Günther affirmed, "it was his task to keep you and Rosa safe."
Rosa looked at Scully. Saw her speechless, almost hurt. Something didn't add up.
She took a breath, "Anyway, Paul's waiting for me down at the lab. I should get back." She smiled politely and left.
FUSIO, SWITZERLAND
THURSDAY, AUGUST 24
10:07 HOURS
The thing about reckoning, as she saw it, was that it almost never occurred as one would expect or prefer. She waited for three weeks to bust Gino's ass about how he handled her mother's arrival and disappeared shortly after, how he galvanized and monopolized Mulder, and how blatantly indifferent he acted about it all.
"There's no reason to be upset," Gino said to Rosa as they sat at the kitchen table. "I promise I will protect you."
He came to visit them at last. But he was met with fire and fury from Rosa who now glared at him across the table. Her gentle demeanor was gone as she roasted him about his methods of work as he had called them and his indignant behavior.
"As you protected me? As you protected my mother?" Scully cut in, leaning against the counter behind Rosa.
"I wasn't protecting you," he replied calmly. He saw no reason for her to be that angry.
The nerve of that man. "Right. You were protecting yourself and your cause. You made her go through long-forgotten memories that didn't leave her unaffected and it suited you just perfectly to allow her visit. You'd do just about anything to cater to your own interests. Tell me, when you say forgive me, Father, do you actually mean it?"
That stung him. His Faith was above reproach as far as he was concerned. And no sinful soul, least that of a woman who didn't know the trials he had been through, had the right to question it.
"That's enough!" he snarled. "We are fighting a battle that no man has ever fought. It's beyond our comprehension!"
Rosa tensed but remained quiet.
Scully's eyes blazed at him. "You've been playing us unscrupulously since the day we met. You have no idea what you're dealing with. Mulder and I lost our jobs at the FBI over it and got almost killed one too many times."
He stared at her defiantly. "This is greater than us."
She gave him a wry smile. "I've heard that one before. And I've come to realize that the ones who aren't us live just fine without knowing the truth. So, you see, it is about us after all."
He set his jaw. Being a man of God, he knew he should have more restraint, more gentleness.
She eyed him. "You can do better than this," she added.
Rosa stood up then, "It's true, uncle Gino." She exuded that peaceful manner again that Scully admired. "We can't go on if you don't change your ways."
Gino looked at her. She was so young and innocent. So alike her mother in many ways, but her grit was her own. She fooled many with her peaceful attitude, but she was steel and oak when it came to decisions.
Rosa turned to Scully. "Marco's waiting for me in the yard." She squeezed Scully's arm gently and smiled. Her touch was feather-like.
Scully nodded and placed her hand amiably on hers. She admired the silent courage of Rosa's heart.
Gino exhaled loudly and looked at Scully as Rosa left. He wasn't going to apologize. "I did what I did to keep the ops going and everybody's morale up. Besides, your mother wanted to come. I thought that seeing her and hearing the story Mr Crawford had to tell, well, that it would give you a renewed sense of mission. You could've left with her but you didn't. This tells me that you want to be here."
She noted his fidgety fingers. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"
"We always have a choice," he replied calmly. "Usually, we just don't want to admit what our motivations are."
His words settled in her stomach. Did she trust her own motivations? "Why didn't you talk to me?" she insisted.
He looked at his hands as if there lay the reason why. He looked old, almost ancient. "I'm not good at it."
"He's telling you the truth."
Nicola suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the wooden frame with arms crossed.
Her eyes went to him as if pulled by a magnet and her pulse quickened. Their eyes locked instantly. She noticed he grew a three-day-stubble, and was barefoot. Why the hell was he barefoot? She suppressed a sudden titillation in her stomach. She hadn't seen him in more than a week. No word from him, no explanation.
"Coming from the lost son," Gino replied, and it made Scully wonder if he knew anything about the two of them.
Nicola smirked and looked at Scully, "Mulder's been trying to reach you."
"He can come and visit any time," she replied poignantly. "And where the hell is he, anyway?" She was used to his goose chases, but this time was completely different.
His eyes scanned her petite form. "I don't know. We didn't travel together," he replied with repressed anger laced around his words. There was that intensity again.
"Imagine that," she replied dryly while trying hard to ignore his fiery stare. The air between them was about to crackle.
Let it, she thought.
Gino eyed them, annoyed. "I'll let you two solve the enigma of a lost week." He got up, slowly put on his hat, and said goodbye. "And Mrs. Scully, I am sorry, but I am also convinced I did the right thing ... for more reasons than one."
She could swear the old monk knew something. "And the reasons being?"
He slowly got up and smiled. "I'll let you discover that for yourself."
The air in the kitchen tensed up again the moment he left. One could cut through it, peel it back with the wrong side of a knife. Temper rose and tugged in her chest.
She wasn't sure who moved first, but there was a commotion in the room because the kitchen door suddenly slammed shut, and he was standing right in front of her, gripping her left hand in the air. The hand that was about to slap him in the face.
He was holding her firmly and pinning her frame against the closed door. There was no gentleness in it. But even through the animosity and hurt, she could feel his warmth, the firmness of the muscles in his hand, the softness of his skin. "Let me go," she hissed.
"No," he seethed back. "Who are you fooling, Dana?" He stared into her eyes mercilessly.
She stared back into his fiercely. She wasn't going to succumb to the pull between them. He had no right to behave like that. But then she felt the might in her deflate, her arm offering less and less resistance to him. Her eyes finally closed in defeat. To resist was a futile feat. She sighed, her hand relaxed, and her body leaned weakly into his. "Damn it, Nicola."
He froze, but then his arms went around her.
She buried her head deep into his neck. "I missed you."
"I don't think I can make this right," he admitted with a heavy heart.
"No one can," she replied against his neck, pressing her lips into his collarbone.
The feel of her lips on his skin was electrifying. His body responded and pressed urgently into hers without thought of God. "I don't know what to do with all this love." He took her hand to his mouth and kissed the center of the palm. The heat of his lips nestled there, making her knees go weak.
She wanted to quiet him. He couldn't say things like that to her. And she shouldn't be pressing against his form that helplessly, either. But she was, and it was hopelessly exquisite. She wasn't tethered to anything anymore, except his overwhelming presence. She cupped his face and opened her eyes. "I want to feel you." It was a whisper, stolen from her lungs.
He tensed. Was she suggesting? He stared into her eyes. Raw, vulnerable, blue. His lips parted.
She smiled and caressed his cheeks with both hands. A feeling of desperation went through her heart. "I need to know," she said. She stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his. The pull was instant, illogical, irreversible. A call across the vast unknown.
He felt it as well. "Oh, Dana," he sighed into her lips.
She looked into those deep hazel eyes and closed her own, pressing her soft lips against his. Carefully, slowly. She felt him against her, gravitating into her every move. Her hands cradled his neck while her fingers grazed his hair. Small shudders shook him. His lips opened to hers, and she gasped unexpectedly. He hugged her close and let himself get lost in her mouth. They were expiring in each other's arms to a love that knew no ownership, no resistance, no promise.
A maddening pull into the other.
Panting and flushed, she broke the kiss. Their eyes met like two homeless souls in the middle of a fertile field.
"How far are you willing to go?" she was shocked herself that she asked him that. The words reverberated in her bones. How far was *she* willing to go?
He swallowed hard. The thought of all the things they could do to each other knifed sharply through his convictions of celibacy and chastity. He realized suddenly that his erection was pressing into her belly. He stepped back, and a feeling of mortification started to rise in his chest. What was he doing?
But she stopped him. Her hand found his and tugged gently. She guided him to her groin, lost in his eyes, and pressed his palm to her hot center. He gasped and stood in place. Afraid to move, afraid to speak. "I'm with you in this," she reassured him while trying hard not to collapse to her knees. He was probably doing it subconsciously, but his palm rubbed gently into her, making her thighs press together on their own and capturing his hand firmly between them.
He flinched and reluctantly retrieved his hand. This wasn't a casual fuck or an embarrassing midlife infatuation. His eyes bore into hers. "All the way," he replied. It felt like a long-held confession.
Oh, God. She feared both, hearing it and not hearing it.
He didn't lose any more time. He swept her up into his arms and looked at her. His glowet like amber.
Propped up in his arms, her right arm rested around his shoulder, and her hand gripped the back of his neck. She felt like a young girl, scared and curious.
"I'd stay with you through any storm," he told her and leaned his forehead against hers.
A tear streamed down her cheek. God knew how many storms she weathered alone. "You're making it harder, Nicola," she replied. "How are we ever going to say goodbye after all this?"
His brows furrowed. He didn't want to say goodbye to her. Couldn't she tell? Without a second thought, he circled his arms protectively around her body and took her to the room upstairs. He knew he was about to break his sacred vows. He knew he was about to betray a friend's trust. But he wanted her. Now.
She felt it in his every move. In the quiver of every muscle. In the stretch of every string. The intensity was overwhelming.
"I'm going to shake your intensity with mine," he said as he walked the stairs.
And her eyes widened. "You're scaring me," she replied. Her mind was hypersensitive at that point.
"I know," he replied and placed her down on her feet. The light in the room was dimmed. The heavy curtains were drawn together, allowing only a few sun rays to sip in and lit the linen bedding. "It's the way I am," he added. He had been told before that he was too intense or ardent or overwhelming. He grew accustomed to it.
There was gravity in the way she looked at him. He stared back at her. His eyes told a story she couldn't read. So she chose her own narrative. Standing in front of him, she reached for the hem of his washed–out jeans and pulled him toward her. His body collided softly against hers, and she grabbed his thin sweater and pulled it over his head with his undershirt, both piling on the hardwood floors beside the bed.
He stood in front of her with tousled hair and a naked chest. She sighed and ran her hands over it, making him twitch under her touch. He followed her hands with lips parted and eyes hooded. She slid over his abdomen and unzipped his jeans. He stopped breathing and looked at her, conflicted. It would have been easy for her to feel him through his boxers. But instead, she helped him out of his jeans and guided him to the bed.
He watched her as she climbed on the bed and tugged at his arm to follow her. She pulled off her red sweater and started to unzip her jeans when he stopped her. She gave him room, and his deft fingers pulled down the buttery zipper. She could feel him grazing her mound and gasped, closing her eyes.
He hooked his fingers in the elastic band of her panties and tugged them down with her jeans, discarding them on the floor. She lay naked in front of him now, feeling safe and vulnerable at the same time.
He swallowed hard.
That was life, unadulterated.
"Say something," she pleaded. Her heart pounded in her chest to a rhythm as ancient as time. Her breasts rose to hardened peaks.
He met her eyes. It was a storm of conflicting emotions and sincere devotion. "I never wanted anyone the way I want you." His hand ran across her right thigh gently, slowly, and rested on her sex.
Her eyes shut at the feeling. He wasn't pressing into her, only touching her, and it sent her insides on fire. Her breath was coming out in hot puffs. She stared at him. "I want you more," she admitted.
He stared back, unable to comprehend her words. How could she want him more? That was physically impossible.
She was trying hard to focus. His hand was doing wonders just by resting gently on her engorged sex. "Please."
Jesus, this wasn't planned in any way. He grasped her right hand and pulled her into his embrace. Their bodies melted together at the contact. She could feel every inch of him, and he could feel the tender heat of her. He sat on his bottom, making her land in his lap, and she circled her legs around him. They rested in each other's embrace—forehead against forehead. "I was wrong when I said that it'll pass," he said and kissed her tenderly on one cheek and then the other. "I prayed for it to stop, but God doesn't answer our prayers by just erasing our feelings." He grazed her lips and closed his eyes.
She pressed against them, demanding access, and he offered his mouth without resistance. She knew of those prayers.
"Is Nicola here?" she asked father Vincenzo one day when she paid a visit to the parsonage unannounced.
"He is," father Vincenzo replied and kindly invited her in. "He's been praying for a while now. I'll go get him for you."
She was about to thank him when he suddenly turned to her. "Actually," he said, "you can go get him yourself. He's in the church."
She smiled and took the opportunity. One of too many.
It was cool and quiet in the church that early day in October. The morning light sipped in through the stained glass, piercing the shadowy ecclesiastical atmosphere. He was seated in the front row of the nave, whispering the words of Hail Mary, the rosary in his hands. She sat quietly on the pew behind his row and joined him in prayer at the 'Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners ...' His neck tensed when he leaned into the sound of her voice, acknowledging her presence, but went on with the prayer, "... now, and at the hour of our death. Amen."
Even back then, she was acutely aware of the inexplicable attraction between them.
He turned back to her. "Good morning." The spark in his eyes was undeniable.
"Good morning," she greeted back with a cautious but crescent smile on her lips. The clandestine excitement was mutual.
Pray for us sinners.
Her hands circled his neck, drawing him deeper into the kiss. His hand went around her back and rested on the small of her back. He drew a lazy circle there. She gasped, breaking the kiss. "Lose your boxers," she commanded. She was beyond feeling ashamed or guilty.
He shifted back, and she disentangled her legs. It was ages since he had been with a woman. He felt exposed, a feeling he despised viscerally.
"Come closer," she said to him and offered her hand. He took it and shifted toward her. She sat in his lap, and their legs entangled again. The feeling of intimacy sent shivers up her spine. And she could tell it raked his bones as well. "You're like a Greek god," she whispered into his ear, eliciting a smile from his lips.
"That's blasphemy, you know," he replied facetiously and ran his hand through her hair. He placed a hot kiss on her neck. "I remember when I first saw you." He rained wet kisses down her throat. "I couldn't sleep that night." He stopped and looked at her breasts. He chose the right one, narrowed his head, and placed a tentative kiss on the soft skin. Her nails dented his shoulders, the smile on her lips gone now. He let his tongue trace its line to the hardened peak. He engulfed it with his mouth and sucked hard on it.
It sent a shockwave through her body, making her pelvic bone arch into his groin, thrusting his breast deeper into his mouth. He groaned loudly and pushed his thighs against her. She moaned and clutched his shoulders. He leveled his head with hers and kissed her deeply, stealing her breath. He broke the kiss and went back to her nipple, sucking and licking generously. She was moaning continuously now. "You do know you have two breasts, right?" he asked in between his ministrations.
What ...? She couldn't focus. Her mind was collapsing into sudden heaps and bouts of pleasure. He smiled to himself and moved to the other breast. Finally, it dawned on her. The anticipation made her legs tighten around his waist, making him gasp in return. He went right after her nipple, but he didn't suck on it as she expected him to. Instead, he played with it, circling it between her lips and tongue. He hummed against it, sending tiny vibrations through the hardened bud. She started to feel something deep inside her womb. A build-up she couldn't control. Her hands gripped his neck, her hips bucked into him, her head fell back. He knew what was coming. He grabbed her hips and pressed hard into her, biting the erect nipple and sucking mercilessly on it.
She came. A wave of heat engulfed her limbs and flushed over her like a summer storm in August. Heavy, wet, hot. He helped her ride it and pampered her with kisses and soft whispers. She breathed erratically, coming slowly down from the rush. "You," she sounded accusatory, "how did you pull this off?" She stared at him in utter disbelief. Her eyes hooded and cheeks a crimson red.
He smiled. His love was evident. "I believe you did it. Maybe I pushed and pulled just a little," he joked and gently flicked her left nipple. She squirmed and looked at him. "I never ... not like this." It was then that she felt the wetness sticking to her sensitive skin. Oh God, she squirted all over him. Embarrassment started to creep up on her. "I'm all wet," she blurted out.
He chuckled and french-kissed her. She responded with abandon in her limbs. "I should hope so," he replied when he loudly broke the kiss to ease the edge of emotions. His hand slid between them and found her silky engorged folds. Two fingers stroked over them, and she whimpered helplessly. "Jesus, Nicola. You're killing me."
He smiled. "You're beautiful." He looked into her eyes, oceans of sea-green hidden behind his irises. And then his face grew grave, unapologetic. "You need to stop the fight, Dana."
Why was he going there now? She didn't want to talk about it. Conflict set in her eyes. How does one just stop when he had been running his whole life?
He looked at her with innate compassion. "By admitting that the path had ran out and allowing life to happen. You deserve to be loved the way you are without rush or hesitance."
His words tore through her the way a tailor tears an old fabric. She covered her face. Tears spilled down her cheeks.
He watched her silently, with no judgment or advice. His hands held her gently, and his fingers drew short, uneven lines across her skin to soothe her pain. As her tears subsided, she started to relax into his touch again. She looked at him with teary blue eyes, and he wiped her cheeks with his own hands. "You're a strong woman, Dana," his tone bore the conviction of his beliefs.
She looked at him. He loved her profoundly. There was no doubt about it. "It's so strange to love without expectations, but I do," she said and gasped at her own words. "I'm sorry, this is hard for me."
His lips turned into a heartfelt smile, "I wouldn't want to love you in any other way," he said with warmth in his tone. He took her hand and helped her lay down on her side. He lay on his so that he could face her. His leg found its way between her knees, and he grabbed her right leg and mounted it over his left hip. She moaned when his thigh pressed against her sex.
He suppressed a groan and placed his hand on her hip. He propped himself on his elbow and gazed at her. He had trouble believing it all. "We made a beautiful mess out of this love, didn't we?"
She breathed out. "I don't deserve you, Nicola," she replied and looked him in the eye. She was afraid of her own shortcomings when it came to romantic relationships.
His fingers played across her hip and moved up to the side of her breast. He caressed the tender skin with his knuckles making her skin erupt into goosebumps. "It's not about that. We love because we do. There's no merit in that." He trailed up to her shoulder, and she relaxed even more. "I love you, Dana. I just do."
She looked into his eyes. She touched his lips with her fingers, lightly tracing the white roll. This was unexpected for her just as much as it was for him. She shifted, and before he could react, she locked lips with him. She wasn't going to hold back. Not anymore. The kiss was fervent. Fiery, almost. She pressed into his body, and he groaned loudly. His hands grabbed her ass and squeezed the firm buttocks.
He broke the kiss, feeling lightheaded and breathless. He thrust lightly against her opening, and she moaned loudly in return. He had to be sure. "Dana?" he asked tentatively, eyes heavy with desire.
She pulled back her disheveled hair and looked at him. There was a pause, and he was sure she was going to withdraw. But her body had her way with him. She shifted her hips, and the next moment he was sliding inside her. He was taken off guard, but the feeling was exquisite. He groaned without any control and buried his face in the crook of her neck. She moaned into his ear and turned on her back, taking him with her. He was now lying atop of her, buried inside her. "Oh, shit," he panted, "I wasn't expecting that. Jesus, Dana." She bucked below him at his words, and it fired multiple shocks up his spine. "Don't move, don't move," he pleaded with her.
She let him rest on top of her body, trying herself to regain some control. His organ pulsed inside her, touching places she didn't know existed. She held his firm biceps, her breath labored. Her body ached in a million places, ready to burst into a blossoming spiral of pleasure. But she didn't want to rush things. "Take your time," she reassured him.
He felt strong, hard, alive. And utterly without any self-control. "Oh, my God," he said in disbelief, gasping and cringing. Dammit, he had better control than this. He pulled almost all the way out of her and paused. "I have to make a better first impression," he joked, but there was truth in it as well.
She burst laughing, but the laughter died in her throat when she felt him fill her up again. "Oh," she gasped.
He kissed her lips and moved inside her. She didn't know what she felt, but she felt it throughout her whole body. "You feel so good," she whispered, completely far gone. Her hips bucked helplessly in between his thrusts. He searched for her eyes but couldn't bear her gaze for too long. There was an infinite universe hidden in there that mesmerized him to a point where he could forget the physical world and get lost in the stardust of her soul. He buried his head in the side of her neck while his back curved over her body with each new move. He could feel every thread of her being, hear her every ragged breath, taste her hot flushed skin. It was beautiful, and then it was over.
He didn't know who came first. They were both so entangled in each other that there was no way of telling. She spasmed hard against him, and he emptied himself into her without any warning. They were both trying to catch their breath. He looked at her with teary eyes. She rocked him gently between her legs, holding him in between her arms. Her fingers went through his hair, and she smiled at him in that loving way that made hearts weep. Neither of them dared to express all they felt.
"Where have you been for the last week?" she asked after he came to his senses. She had to know.
He hesitated for a moment. "I took some time away from it all. I needed to clear my thoughts."
"Was it about me?" She wanted the truth. Her blue eyes bore into his.
"You were in my thoughts all the time," he admitted.
Oh, all the time.
"Yes," he affirmed and kissed her neck.
The feel of his lips on her skin was, with each fluttering touch, more intoxicating.
"Did you ...," damn he was good with his lips, "come ...," shit, she was losing it again. She grasped his shoulders.
"Did I come?" he joked and nibbled her left ear.
She was panting now. "No," she protested. Damn, he knew how to touch her. "Did you come to any conclusion?"
"Fuck, yes, I did," he replied nonchalantly and made her laugh. "I swore I wouldn't let myself be drawn to you. Ever again. Not after you rejected me."
She stopped moving. "When did I reject you?"
"The last time we saw each other," he pointed out. "I was chopping woods and you brought me tea."
"I didn't reject you!" she exclaimed. "I was too overwhelmed by it all."
"By me telling you what I wanted?" he asked, masking well his insecurity.
"No," she shook her head. "I broke up with Mulder. It's only fair I tell you."
He stared at her in disbelief. "When? Why?"
"A few weeks ago," she replied. "It was a long time coming."
"I see, I'm sorry."
She chuckled, "You're sorry? Really?"
"Well, yeah, in a way," he replied, almost embarrassed.
She smiled, "What made you change your mind? Why did you come back to me?"
He sighed, "I came back to all of you. But I found you, arguing with Gino. It took only an instant and I knew that there's no amount of crying or praying I could do for you. You'll always be the one I love."
She stared at him. This was going to end in heartbreak, she thought—his and hers. One couldn't love this much and just go on as if nothing happened.
"You're probably right," he replied and enjoyed the feeling of being still sheathed inside her. He could see how it still confused her that he could read into her thoughts. "We'll take each day as it comes." He made small moves inside her, and she responded in kind. They weren't naive about life, but their love brought such hopefulness with it that it made them forget about all the tomorrows to come. The warm, affable rhythm coming from her hips brought him to life again. She could feel him rise inside her. "Again?" she asked.
He made a tiny move and got himself a moan from her. "Are you okay with that?"
Only he could ask such a thing. "If you let me sit in your lap again."
He grinned and grabbed her hips. "I like that, too." He shifted her up and onto his lap, staying inside her and circling his legs around her bottom. She couldn't get over how good it felt. The sense of intimacy and connection was profound and uncompromising.
"I feel it, too," he said quietly.
She looked at him in surprise again. She never got a grip of his ability. How could he just know? "Don't do that," she reprimanded him gently.
He slowly moved his hips under her, making slight undulations that evoked the gradually rising sea within her. "Why not?" he asked and playfully tilted his head. There was no reason for him to stop.
She squeezed her legs around him tightly. It felt like he was imprinting her with his love. Oh, God, the feeling of spilling waters was there again. "I find it invading sometimes," she panted.
Really, he thought, invading. "I see," he replied and thrust his hips into her. He'll give her invading. She gasped and gripped her arms around his shoulders. "It is also a sign of care," he emphasized his words with another two quick thrusts. Her body had its own language, and he could read it to the letter. His hands left her hips and squeezed her ass firmly. She moaned and bucked in response. He reached further down and sneaked one hand between her ass cheeks to caress the sensitive skin. She gasped and kissed him hard in response. Heat was enveloping her womb. "You're reading me right now, aren't you?" she asked with little breath left in her. His moves were so finely attuned to her because he wanted them to be. It was his doing.
He smiled to himself. "Yes, I am," he admitted and reached between them to her hot sex. He slid his fingers through her folds and pressed hard on the engorged bud.
It sent her nerves into overdrive. She felt crazed for a few moments. Her insides were gushing out, and her heart was racing wildly. Her hips thrust hard against him, and he grabbed them firmly. She was about to come the third time from his maddening little moves. But then he stopped.
No. She was screaming inside. "Keep moving," she made it sound almost like an order. Her eyes were hooded with the impending orgasm. Her whole body was aching, pulsing, twitching. She tried to finish herself, reaching with her hand between their bodies. But he stopped her. She whimpered desperately. "I'd like to see you touch yourself very much," he spoke softly, "but not now. I have something else in mind." He took her hand, "Breathe, Dana. Let the arousal pass." She obeyed reluctantly, and he placed her hand on his heart and looked into her desperate blue eyes. "Feel."
She closed her eyes and let herself feel his pulsing heart. It felt dear to her. Thump, thump, thump. Her body relaxed into it. Her breathing grew even, and he sought her chest to place his hand over her own heart. She opened her eyes when she felt his warm touch over her left breast. They locked eyes and stayed like that, listening, feeling. "It's me talking to you," he said and smiled lovingly at her.
She looked at him with defeated eyes. Something inside her gave in, and she tried to hide impending tears. She wanted to thank him, but her lips quivered. She looked him in the eye and tried to convey her feelings beyond words.
"I love you, too," he responded and smiled.
She wasn't sure when was the first time it happened, but she could distinctly remember one early evening in December. They were alone at his house. Mulder was away. Nicola was going through some church forms and certificates in his room while she read in the small living room. It was cold outside, and the fire burned in the fireplace. A feeling of domesticity went through her, and she sighed, putting down her glasses. She adjusted her hair and set aside the book. She couldn't remind herself when was the last time she felt that calm and content. She exhaled softly and decided it was time for her to retire to bed. When she stood up, she turned instinctively toward his room and saw him standing there in its doorway, looking fondly at her. His eyes glowed like amber in the suffused light. She returned the smile, and for the first time, they gazed at each other for a moment too long. He removed his glasses and walked to her.
"It's nice to be comprehended in the silence of the heart," he said as he stepped near her. She became very aware of his proximity. He reached for the book she had been reading. "Really?" he asked as he saw the title and turned to her. "I love this book."
"It is nice," she agreed with discreet affection. She took it back. "And don't tell me you read biographies of medical doctors."
"There's nothing I don't read," he looked her in the eye, and his lips curved into a smile.
Little did she know then how that affection would have grown into a love that could be conveyed only beyond words.
The beating of his heart anchored her, and she pressed her hand more firmly into his chest. Her back arched slightly, and she grasped his hand resting on her chest. The feeling of connection was overwhelming. "I love you, Nicola," she whispered and moved against him. He grasped her and stilled her. She stared into his eyes and moved again, "I need release, please." He didn't lose any more time. She came in his lap moments later. Hard. Her muscles spasming, eyes rolling back. She collapsed against his chest while he groaned desperately into her hair.
She lay with her cheek to his chest, trying to calm her breathing. Her body was spent, her nerves in recovery, the muscles in her body malleable. The rise and fall of his chest made her seek his eyes. "Hi," she said to him.
He smiled back gently, "I think I know you."
"Now you certainly do," she replied and leaned in to kiss him on the lips. He tasted of something exotic, inebriating. "You taste of summer."
He smirked, and she slapped him lightly on his shoulder. He laughed and pulled out of her, making her gasp and moan. He shot her an amused look.
"Oh, stop it. You know very well what you do to me," she admonished him.
He raised his eyebrows. "Actually, I don't," he replied calmly. "Why don't you tell me?" He ran his finger over her breast, making the little bud hard again.
He had to be joking. The thought of telling him made her blush. "Why don't you read my mind?"
He tilted his head to one side. "Oh, now you'd like that," he replied in the same calm tone. "Unfortunately, it doesn't work like that. But I can tell you what you do to me. The frustration, the utter love, and joy, the need to care for you and protect you from harm. And then the feeling of abandon and want. You make me lose sleep, thinking of you."
She gulped. He was good at this. Very good.
He continued gently caressing her breast. It mesmerized him that he was able to touch her so intimately. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable for being without restraint when we are together. Your body communicates beautifully."
She was enjoying his little ministrations immensely. And the fact that he was lying naked in front of her did tricks on her mind. "I'd like to touch you," she said suddenly, "just touch you."
He nodded. "Go on."
She swallowed. This was more intimate than sex. "Lie down next to me." He obeyed and lay on his side, placing his head a few inches from hers. She smiled and reached for his cheek, feeling the stubble beneath her fingers. It felt sharp and stirring. She followed the line of his defined lips and trailed down to his neck. "You're beautiful." He was looking at her with eyes full of silent devotion. She grazed the skin on his chest, feeling the soft prickle of his chest hairs. She smiled playfully to herself and ran her thumb over his taught nipple. His breath quickened while she grazed the other one. She planted a tiny kiss on it and retrieved. She didn't want to incite him too much. And then she slowly ran her fingers over the scar on the left side.
"Tell me about it," she demanded, feeling the healed edges.
He sighed and spoke reluctantly, "We were on a surveillance mission during the Nagorno-Karabakh War, 1991. We got caught in a cross-fire. Three of my colleagues were dead on site. I managed to escape and ended up somewhere in the northern part of the Murovdag ridge, separating the Republic of Artsakh from Azerbaijan. An Armenian family living in the mountains offered me shelter. They were proud people and supporters of the independence movement. But they had no idea their oldest son bore unimaginable hatred toward the Americans. He didn't distinguish the Brits from the Yanks. That night he entered my room and stabbed me in my sleep. It was a mess. His father had him locked in the barn as a punishment. I think the boy realized his mistake, and on the third day, he managed to escape from the barn and brought back the local priest. Father Davit Roben. I had lost blood, my wound festered. I was unable to reach any MI5 contact in the field. His father didn't want to call anyone for fear of being jailed or killed. Father Roben happened to be also a folk medicine practitioner. He cured me with prayers, ointments, and herbs from the mountains. I went through fevers, visions, and states of deep sleep. It was exhausting and mind-bending. But I survived. On the last day of my stay, father Roben approached me with a note in his hand. It was the Prayer to Saint Michael, hand-written in Latin. I still have it. He also told me that I would meet a foreigner that would change my life. I asked how he knew. He replied that it came to me in one of my visions. I explained I had broken up with my fiancé and probably saw her, but he shook his head. I remember his words to this day: 'It's in your future ... this woman ... . and she will come to you as a trusted friend and later your lover. You will be conflicted about her, but you'll love her, and she will love you back. You also saw a child that you will love dearly. You will love many people.' I had no idea what he was talking about. I never remembered the visions. A year after, I left MI5 and went to Rome to study theology and history. Gino was there the whole time to guide me and help me. He knew about Nagorno-Karabakh and the stabbing. When I told him about the vision, he fell silent and then told me that only love deserves love." He paused and brushed his forehead. "I think you are the woman I saw, and the child is Marco." He fell silent as he pondered all the odds. His lips quivered, and he looked away.
"It's okay. It's in the past," she reassured him and placed her hand over the scar. Even if it was her and Marco in his visions, it didn't shock or matter to her. She loved him, and everything else was a moot point. She looked at him with calm decisiveness. "I'm here, and I'm with you. No Armenian or Azerbaijani nor American is going to change that."
He stared at her. No Armenian. Or Azerbaijani. Nor American. Did she mean what he thought she meant?
"Yes," she replied. "I mean it. I'm here willingly. There will be consequences, and I will face them."
He looked dumbfounded. Where did she draw all that strength from?
She saw his predicament. "You're quite unbelievable. Do you know that?"
He didn't know what to say.
She traced her finger down his linea alba, making the muscles in his abdomen twitch involuntarily under her touch. "I know what's at stake: your calling, my relationship with Mulder, and probably the future of us all. I'm not saying I'm above it. I'm just saying I won't run from it." She ran her hand over his hip, feeling the smooth skin, wondering at how good it felt again and again. "And it's very telling that you don't like to be read," she added.
He was speechless.
She moved to his right thigh and toward his crotch. He was starting to pant in anticipation. She grazed the skin of his lower belly and looked him in the eye.
He swallowed hard. "I don't want to lose you," his voice was strained, almost weak.
She felt the need to shield him, but she knew better. "I know," she replied and slid a finger over the head of his penis.
His lips parted.
She traced single lines over his organ until she felt the need to feel him fully in her hand. He gasped as she rubbed him, slowly, languidly. He grew semi-erect under her touch, and then she shifted, pushed him on his back, and reached for his right foot. Few men had such beautiful feet. She rubbed the sole and the arch. He groaned in approval, and she gave him a wicked eye that caught him off guard. What was she up to? Oh, shit. She took his big toe in her mouth and sucked hard on it. His body bolted up; his right knee jerked, and a cry left his mouth. She held him firmly. The suction resonated through his foot muscles, traveling too far up. His erection sprung to life as if on invisible command. She sucked more, alternating the intensity while looking at him all the time. He was on edge, she could see. His eyes had a wild pleading quality in them. She placed his foot down and scooted near him. She kept looking him in the eye and grabbed his erection with her hand. Firmly. His throat bobbed. And she started to ... massage him? He was surprised at first. But as she kept going with the slow strokes, he began to relax more and more. It wasn't a race to orgasm. He lay back on the cushion and let himself enjoy the strangeness of the feeling while she watched him watch her. He couldn't quite describe the feeling of her hands on his erection as she stroked him evenly. Warm, firm, heavenly? The bodily sensations he was experiencing were somehow tied to his emotional brain. He felt something inside him start to crumble. Slowly, and then rapidly. Finally, he burst into tears and shook hard. He covered his face and muffled his cries. What the fuck was going on?
She reached for his hands and uncovered his face. "Don't hide. Not from me," she said gently. "And don't ever be ashamed of your tears." She held his hands and kissed his cheek lightly.
"What was this?" he asked and wiped his cheek. He couldn't help but hiccup.
"Are you okay?" she asked him.
"Strangely so. Yes, I am," he replied. "Still a little embarrassed."
"Well," she said, dragging the syllables. "You did come all over me. But I was asking for it." That wicked glint again in her eye.
"You kinda were," he chuckled back. "But it was different from any other orgasm I ever had."
Jesus, the way he said 'orgasm' was enough to excite her. She grabbed a towel on the nightstand and cleaned him thoroughly. When she finished, he grabbed her and pinned her underneath him.
"You don't play fair. You are fiercely alive when you allow yourself." He pressed into her, and she swallowed a moan.
He was right in a way. Years of catholic upbringing and her high moral standards neutralized any inappropriate behavior. But she wasn't going to take his bait. She stared at him defiantly and thrust her hips against him. "Didn't you want me out of control? What were you expecting? Some good old fucking and a few tears shed in loving intimacy?"
He stared back. He got hard as a rock at her harsh words. "I wanted you wild and free. Now I realize that I wasn't that wild and free, either."
She softened her gaze. The way he could dismantle himself in front of her made her forgive him anything. "So ... what do we do with all this love now?" she asked and ground herself against him.
He looked at her, "We make it count."
She came another two times beneath him, melting and succumbing like a pliant soul enveloped in exquisite mating warmth.
She kissed him on his mouth when he lay spent beside her, and he nestled into her embrace. Reaching for the duvet, she covered them both. Their bodies intermingled on their own, and slumber set in.
Hail Mary, pray for us all.
TO BE CONTINUED.
"I choose to love you in silence…
For in silence I find no rejection,
I choose to love you in loneliness…
For in loneliness no one owns you but me,
I choose to adore you from a distance…
For distance will shield me from pain,
I choose to kiss you in the wind…
For the wind is gentler than my lips,
I choose to hold you in my dreams…
For in my dreams, you have no end."
― Rumi
"And she comes to his hand
But she's not really tame
She longs to be lost
He longs for the same ..."
― Leonard Cohen
Sancte Michael Archangele,
defende nos in proelio;
contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium.
Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur:
tuque, Princeps militiae caelestis,
Satanam aliosque spiritus malignos,
qui ad perditionem animarum pervagantur in mundo,
divina virtute, in infernum detrude.
Amen.
― Prayer to Saint Michael in Latin