ACCELERATED HEARTBEAT By Char Chaffin MSR, NC-17 Vignette For Haven's 'First Passionate Kiss' Challenge. Of course, I had to take it further, hence the NC-17 rating - Disclaimer: Clones on Loan Spoilers: various Season Seven It begins slowly, hesitantly, with a small smile of apology, a 'pardon-me-for-wanting-to-do-this,' and a bit of 'no-that's-fine-go- right-ahead.' It begins that way. It starts with a hand, three fingers, to be exact, touching a shoulder, sliding down an arm to clasp another hand. Just a simple touch, a common-enough gesture, from someone who has shared life, death, the highs and utter lows of experience, agony, ecstasy, some giggles and grins; some tears and assorted wounds. It starts with a hand but it ends with much more. XXXX This is natural, she thinks, as he leans in, takes her hand, offers that curiously lopsided smile that no one else in the world could quite imitate. This is right, he thinks, as she tilts her head to the right just a little, presses forward just enough to reach him when he touches the corner of her mouth with his bottom lip. A rub, just a rub. Nothing serious, nothing scary, no pressure, no expectations, no, nothing like that. A rub, soft and sweet, a touch of innocence and a stroke of sensuality. It's all in the lip, he thinks. All in the lip. XXXX He remembers another kiss, when he thought she was someone else. He recalls an almost-kiss, when she thought someone else was him. And he wondered, wondered, when it would happen for real, when she held very still and let him kiss her...he wondered what she'd feel. Not disappointment. Not resignation. Not lust, but not indifference. Almost like conducting an experiment. That's a fair description. Then again, he was injured, sore all over, light-headed from the medication he'd been given. It's hard to be Mr. Romance when you have just gone ten rounds with the Flesh-Hungry-Dead. XXXX No excuses, this time. Nothing but them. They're alone, the drapes are drawn; the lights are low. It's quiet in the room, warm in the room, comfortable in the room. The sofa is worn and wide, plenty of space to stretch out if they'd like to. Oh, he'd like to. He's always wanted to. Each time he sat beside her, listening to that matter-of-fact purr of hers, the touch of culture, the trace of sexy husk in a voice that poured forth from full, rosy lips. He'd have to fight massive inner battles to keep his eyes focused on hers, when all he wanted was to watch those lips moving. Well, that, and catching those lips with his, of course. Always, that. And stretching out on his sofa with her up against him...when had he NOT wanted to do that? It's the main reason he kept the old sofa when he could have easily afforded a new one: these loose, sagging cushions would have held their combined weight so perfectly. This sofa was made for spooning. In either direction. But for now, they sit, not quite side by side, almost face to face. His kiss is soft and moist at the corner of her mouth and she only has to turn her head a little, just a little, for full on-lip contact. There's heat running under her skin; he can feel it. Maybe a blush? Probably. Her breathing has sped up. So has his. When he lets his mouth curve into a smile, and murmurs her name into that enticing corner...she turns her head. Just a little. It's enough. XXXX It's amazing, the way something so soft and hesitant can flare into something so powerful, mind-numbing. His mouth. God, his mouth. She's been kissed by men of power; by men young and intense, men wild and untamed, men staid and dignified. She's had her share of frenchie, over the years. Done her share of instigating, initiating, participating. Mulder's mouth leaves them all in the dust. His tongue, reaching for hers, touching, sliding, caressing, seducing. He swallows her gasp, her moan, her sigh. His lips are relentless and thorough; she can't breathe, she can't think. His hands have winnowed into her hair and the pads of his fingers press into her scalp, holding her to him...as if she'd think of pulling away. Scully wants to look at him, wants to watch him as he kisses her. She's never watched before, has always left her eyes closed, because it seemed a bit silly to kiss with eyes open. But this time, with this man, she wants to see. She opens her eyes, just a little. Just enough to see through her lashes... His are open, intently watching her. A glaze of heat stroking her, tangible as a touch on her face, those eyes. The jolt of it forces another moan from her throat, and her hands slide around him; her fingers dig into the muscles of his back. Suddenly they're on the sofa, full-length, taking advantage of those old, sagging cushions, the well-worn cup of leather holding them together. The kiss is endless, now rough and biting, now tender and supplicating. He finds himself cradled in the soft notch of her thighs and it's right, it's natural, it's about damned time. "Want you." Her voice is thin and breathy. "Need you." His rasp shudders straight through the kiss and lodges itself to her pounding heart. He presses down just as she surges up, and two groans of want/need blend together and erupt from lips that have to disengage, long enough for lungs to suck in air. Their centers align urgently, and the feeling defies description. "Oh, God..." One of them tugs at buttons and the other yanks on a zipper. What began as a simple, almost apologetic kiss has exploded into so much more. Yet they feel no worry, no urge to slow down, no need for words to describe and dissect what they feel, what they know to be right for them. Seven years of subtle foreplay has definitely done the trick. XXXX In the soft, low light her body is pale and slender, rounded. Silk hair and pearl flesh, dainty, dainty. Thin bones, narrow ribcage, rose nipples. A fast pulse in the base of her throat; he can see her heart race. For him. Her heart races, for him. How strong that makes him feel. He touches, everywhere. Kisses, all over. She stares at him through half-open eyes, waiting, barely breathing. She knows where he's going and the shudders are impossible to control when his hands slip beneath her hips and hold her high and open. A pause, and she can feel the tremor in his fingers as his eyes lock on hers, as he drinks from her, the taste hot, potent. He can feel the pulse here, as well, just as strongly. Throbbing and rapid. XXXX Against her now, covering like a living blanket of flesh. Muscle and tanned skin, smooth-rough-satin pressing on her body, surrounding her as she wraps her arms and legs around him. Their lips cling, their bodies merge. He's long, steely. He slides into hot- tight-wet. The friction is perfect, not too much, not too little. She never wants him to let her go. "Don't let go." She pants it into his mouth, and feels him nod frantically as his body moves with her, within her. Did he ever feel like this with any other woman? No. Hell, no. Deeper. Faster. Harder. More intense, each thrust. More of everything, the slap of flesh to flesh, the clean sweat of lovemaking, the kiss and the bite, the moan and the cry of fulfillment. More, more. "More..." It doesn't matter who said it. All that matters right now, right here, is the pound of heart against heart. As they fall back into those soft cushions, as their skins shudder and then cool; as they rest against each other, all that matters can be counted in the beat of heart to heart. XXXX It started with a hand, three fingers, to be exact, touching a shoulder, sliding down an arm to clasp another hand. Just a simple touch... that accelerated into a need that pumped up into a desire and a consummation seven years in the making. About time, he thinks, as he holds her closely, still joined to her. Another day, another hour, would have no doubt killed him. In his arms she's soft and damp, warm and precious. In his arms she's all. Everything. "Scully?" "Hmm." He has to let her know. "About damned time." Eyes closed, she smiles against his neck. "Mmm." End Thanks for reading! Love to hear from you; email me sometime! Char@chaffin.com My website: http://char.chaffin.com