WHEN YOU LOVE A WOMAN
By Char Chaffin
MSR, some angst, AU, Strong R
Spoilers:  Cancer Arc

DEDICATION:  For my Darling Sallie!  Written with love and presented
for no other reason than to bring a smile to her lovely face!

Thanks to Tess, Carol, Shelba and Robin for read-through, beta,
enthusiasm - and friendship above and beyond.  Love you all!

Summary:   'Nothing in his life has ever meant so much to him...'

"When You Love a Woman"

The bed is rumpled.  A single lamp glows in the corner; a pile of
discarded clothing forms a lump next to the nightstand.  Silence, but
for a moan, a gasp - a rustle of sheets.

The love they make is quiet, intense, achingly tender.  They want it
to last a very long time.

In her arms he shivers and trembles.  If she knew the power she has
over his heart... but he thinks she does.  She must by now, for he
laid it bare at her feet the moment he carried her into the bedroom
and placed her on the bed.  He never said a word but everything he
felt, all the emotion pounding through him, was in his eyes as he
stared at her.

He would have kissed her cheek and tucked her in, murmuring a soft
goodnight into her silky hair.  He would have walked away but given
in to the temptation to glance over his shoulder longingly, one final
time; would have sent her a lopsided little smile and then made it to
the front door without splintering into a thousand pieces.  He would
have locked up behind him, pretending to leave her in peace.  And he
would have camped out on her doorstep all night, guarding her.  He
would have.

But as he looked over his shoulder, gearing up to send her that
lopsided smile... she held out a hand toward him.  One thin, pale
hand.  Her eyes filled and her lips parted and her voice came out in
a shaky little pleading rush.  She'd never pleaded before, not in all
this time during these past dark days and weeks.  Never, until now.
Just a few words, uttered in a voice he scarcely recognized - but her
tone was all too familiar, for it echoed his own feelings so closely.

"Don't go.  Stay with me... please."

He almost dropped to his knees in reaction to the way those few
words clutched at him.

He walked back to the bed - carefully - as if within a few steps of
her, she might change her mind.  Her outstretched hand never wavered.
Her eyes never left his.  Large eyes, glistening, melting him from
the inside - her gaze was what pulled him step by step, until he was
kneeling on the bed next to her and his fingers clasped at hers.  

He opened his mouth but couldn't form intelligible words.  Her hand
was quivering, cold, a little clammy.  Nerves.  She was nervous.
Hell, so was he.  In fact, he didn't think the word nervous could
even be enough to apply in this instance. They remained frozen in
place for long seconds, holding hands, eyes locked on each other.
The silence in the room grew thick and tense; both of them were
afraid to speak, afraid the moment would be lost in verbalization;
fearing that talk would kill the spontaneity of that moment.

Then she smiled... and the sun broke over him, banishing the doubt,
eradicating any worry that he was reading too much into her gesture,
or too little.  She smiled - for the first time in months - and his
heart pounded as he leaned in and gently kissed that smile.

**************

He has known her for years, but he's never really known her, not the
way he's about to learn.  

Yes, learning her; every soft and slender part of her; every inch of
her skin, all of the pulse points on her body that thrum against his
lips.  And he's a very eager student.  He brushes his mouth along her
neck, trails it over her shoulder, refusing to acknowledge the weight
she has lost; instead rejoicing in the need she exhibits.  Need for
him, for his touch. Needing him as a man and not just a friend or a
sounding board.  Wanting him as a lover.  Wanting him even though her
body is not strong enough for that want... perhaps that may be the
most incredible gift of all.

She's weakened but so very powerful in her need.  And it's all for
him.  Nothing in his life has ever meant so much to him.

Their lips cling moistly to each other's, tongues entwined in a
tender dance, open and seeking and honest.  Their palms cup and
stroke; they teach along the way, what feels good, absorbing what
each loves best.  So far every kiss has been beyond priceless and
every heartfelt sigh and moan has been swallowed gratefully.  She's
weak but she wants this so badly that it's made her stronger than
she's ever been.  Stronger than when she was healthy and whole.

"Tell me... how to touch you.  Where to touch you."   

He smiles against her delicate collarbone as she breathes the demand
into his hair.  She's already touching him in the very best way,
already doing it with hands so talented he can't help but wonder if
he'll survive the sweet torture.  Her fingers encircle his girth, rub
his length; they knead him, enflame him.   His trembling increases
with each stroke and he fights the overwhelming urge to flip her onto
her back, move between her thighs, press himself home.  Instead, he
lets his body's response tell her she's perfect, she's doing
everything he adores, providing him with all he craves.

And yet... it's as if he's never been held before, never been
stroked, cupped, before.  It's new and thrilling and mind-numbing.
Because it's her.  And because it's love.

When her hands and then her lips take him too close to the edge;
when he knows she has to stop, or he'll embarrass himself... he
gently pulls away.  It's his turn to kiss and to stroke.  His turn,
to ease her on her back, lean over her and gulp in the utter beauty
of her.  Skin damp and flushed, eyes a sparkling ocean blue.  Hair a
flaming riot of mussed and tangled silk, covering the white
pillowcase.  

Amazing.

She's shivering, and he knows it has to be more than desire.  She
can't handle this much exertion.  But he also understands the urgency
she has, to feel alive.  To feel sexy, to feel good about herself.
To feel like any other woman in love.  Most importantly, to not feel
sick, not right now.  

But still... it's his turn, and he can give her everything she wants
as she rests, and regroups.

He's dying to do just that.

His mouth takes a small nipple, lips opening around it, tongue
flicking at the tight nub, pulling it a little, one palm supporting
the rounded weight of her breast.  Her back arches and a purring sigh
escapes her throat as he divides his attention between both soft
mounds.  The taste of her is so sweet, the flesh between especially
delicious.  He lingers there, pleasing her, with all the time in the
world to love her.

Down along her ribs, each one precious because they act as
protective sentinels over her heart.  The skin there flutters on his
tongue; it delights him.  He sends a wet, warm swipe around her
navel, trails it lower, until the silky hair between her legs fills
his senses as it feathers against his cheeks.

Here, the very heartbeat of her; the darker flavor, the deeper
pulse.  There, the pink, slippery-tender folds; the dew of her,
musky and clean and good.  He parts her carefully, opens her gently,
touches her ardently... drinks her in, greedily.  And it's so much
more than he has ever experienced, loving a woman this intimately.
Yes, of course he's had woman in just this manner, in his past.  But
he's never had this one.  He's never loved a woman with this kind of
passion.  And that makes the giving all the more genuine and real.
He'll never love another like this.  He knows it, and that knowledge
fuels his passion as nothing else could do.

She's gasping and writhing in his grip, her hands buried in his hair
as he thrusts his tongue deep inside her, as deep as he can, the same
way he's aching to thrust himself.  His thumb circles her hard little
clit, taking her higher and higher, wanting to know what she tastes
like when she comes, how those convulsions will feel in his mouth.
Likewise, he's desperate to feel her tremors against his flesh when
it's buried so far inside her that he can touch her heart.  He knows
her body can't handle more than one orgasm; she's just too weak.  But
the one she has...

It'll be magnificent.  He'll make sure of it.

His heated gaze sears her as he raises his eyes to hers, mouth still
pressing into her, his hands curved underneath her slim hips.  How
utterly sensual it is to watch the expression on her face as she
reacts to his lips and tongue.  He swears he can see her heart
beating madly inside her small body; for certain, he can hear it.  He
can taste the pulse of it, right where his lips cover her, where his
fingers now stroke at her.

He doesn't want to stop.  He has to stop.  If he stops it will cause
him actual pain... if he doesn't he'll never make it inside her,
where he needs to be, has to be.  With a lingering tug at her
sensitive flesh he releases her, sliding his damp lips up her body
until he can reach her mouth and kiss her, deeply.  Her hands clutch
at him, her nails dig into his arms; her legs enclose him... her cry
is high and sweet against his tongue when he aligns and probes and
joins himself to her.

The reaction they share is a tremor and a shudder, soft moans that
echo in the still air and a bliss neither thought they'd ever find in
their combined lifetimes.

Gently.  Softly.  Achingly slow and tender, deep.  He slips in,
eases out, circles his hips. His muscles quake with the effort of
remaining controlled and careful with her, knowing she can't
withstand an impassioned and powerful bout of intercourse.  Not now.
He doesn't want to hurt her, can't afford to wear her down, any more
than she has already been wearied by her illness.  It's costing him
dearly but he ruthlessly subjugates his own desire, his own potent
need.

She has other ideas, it would seem.

"Mulder, please... I won't break... please..."  Hips pushing up
against him in demand, arms clamping him tightly; she has the
strength and power on her side, though her limbs are unsteady.  Her
eyes are fierce as they shine up at him - and he can't resist, can't
stop his own body from responding the way it's been dying to.  He
needs her too much.

His hands lift her hips into him.  The angle sends him deeper, his
thrusts more intense now; harder.  Faster.  Pounding through them
both like a thudding heartbeat, they make the love they've always
wanted to make together, and for the magical length of time they
spend inside each other's souls the passion is perfect.  It doesn't
last very long but it goes on forever, past the point of sobbing
climax for her and shouting release for him.

And when his sated body shudders one final time and he tries his
best not to collapse upon her, she tugs at him, wanting the weight of
him. She hums in pleasure as his body covers her and he presses her
into the tangled sheets.

The room is warm with their labored breaths, dim with the
lengthening shadows on the walls.  He carefully moves to the side and
winds his arms around her, cuddling close.  A sigh and a sweet kiss
at the side of his mouth; a murmured, "Love you", and she allows
exhaustion to take her over.  She'll most likely ache tomorrow...

He hopes if she does, she'll think the ache was worth it.

He stays at her side until she's asleep, adoring how her body feels
against him.  They fit so perfectly; he knows they were meant to be
together, in just this way.  It may have taken them years to
understand it - and at this time in both their lives it's unwise as
can be - but he won't question it and refuses to deny it.  Never
again.

Not as long as they have the capability of loving, living, being -
together.

With a whisper of his own vow of love in her ear and a tender kiss
to her temple, he slips out of bed, moving silently across the room.
He hates to leave her, even for a minute.  He glances back at her,
sleeping in the exact middle of the bed, soft and petite and more
woman than he's ever met in his life.  Precious.  His.  For as long
as the Fates, God, whomever, allows it... his.  If he's lucky it'll
be forever.

He closes the bedroom door quietly.
 
************

"Hello."

"Mrs. Scully, it's Fox."

"Oh, Fox!  I'm so glad you called, dear.  How is she?"

"She's... okay.  Sleeping right now.  I'm staying over.  I'll check
on her a couple of times through the night, make sure she takes her
pills."

"Thank you, so much!  I'll be over first thing in the morning, and
sit with her so you can have some time to yourself.  Is that all
right with you?"

"Yes, thanks, Mrs. Scully.  I'll need to go to our office and take
care of a few things.  And thanks, too... for understanding that I
needed to care for Dana, her first night home.  It was very...
important... to me.  To both of us."

"Fox, please... call me Maggie.  And I know, my dear.  I know what
she means to you. What you mean to her.  These past few months
have been terrible, for all of us - but I know they've especially
hit you hard.  It's as if you were losing a part of yourself, am I
right?"

"Exactly right.  I was losing my other half.  I was losing my mind -
my life, Mrs - um - Maggie."

"Yes, of that I have no doubt.  But you stay with her, Fox - you
take care of her, and let her find some small way to return the
favor, and care for you.  Try to rest, get some sleep, too.  I'll
call you in the morning, let you know when I'm on my way.  Oh, and
Fox..."

"Yes?"

"She's really going to make it, isn't she?  She's really in
remission... isn't she?  Out of danger?  I need to hear it from you.
If I hear it from you I know I can believe..."

"Yes.  She really is.  And I'm going to do everything in
my power to see she stays that way.  I promise you.  I love her, you
see.  And when you love a woman that way, nothing can possibly stand
against it.  I won't let it...  I won't let anything else attempt to
take her from me.  From us."

"I know you won't, Fox.  Goodnight, my dear."

"Goodnight, Maggie."

End
 

Additional Note for Sallie:  Dearest, I hope you like this small
offering.  Writing first-time fic is always a pleasure for me, I am
sure you know that.  Writing it especially for you is an honor and a
privilege.  

It's my fervent hope that your recovery is swift and that you emerge
stronger than ever.  Love you!