by Julie E.
Title: Sunday Morning
Author: Julie E.
Feedback to: email@example.com
Date Archived: 04/08/02
Permission to Archive: Scully_Reyes, and any other slash-friendly place!
Series or Sequel/Prequel:
Notes: .Dedicated to Victoria, who inspires me ;-)
Disclaimer: Obviously, the author acknowledges that Dana Scully, Monica Reyes and all characters associated with "The X-Files" belong exclusively to FOX, Chris Carter and 1013 productions. I'm just a poor, poor writer.
Summary: A short little vignette about a morning for two women in love.
Sunday morning, 6 a.m. How is it that I have come to be with this woman? My head fits so perfectly against her chest, her body molds so perfectly to mine. Opening my eyes, the gold sunlight shimmers on her skin where our sheets have been pushed aside. She is smooth and warm under my touch, an amber jewel beneath my fingers. It seems at times as though I have always known her.
I have been hugging her in our sleep, but now I slide my hand down from her ribs to rest on her warm belly, firm yet yielding. She is still asleep. Her breath moves like an ocean, my palm rising and falling with the tide, jumping ever so slightly with the rush of her pulse. Her heart beat is the only music I hear as I lay with her hear. I draw slow circles on her skin with the pads of my fingers.
The arm that cradles me moves up my back to my arm and squeezes ever so softly, reassuringly. I look up at her contented smile; her eyes are sill closed. Smiling back against her velvet skin and snuggling closer into her right side, I ease my thigh up onto hers and hold her closer. In this nether world between dreams and wakefulness, every sensation increases so unexpectedly, every touch is so electric. Every detail of her body becomes so clear to me, even the slight roughness of the hair on her legs. I smile again, knowing she will shave before work on Monday, but that here with me now, she is so natural and comfortable. I breathe in her scent and drift.
When I open my eyes again, my hand has moved down off her belly onto the soft curls between her legs. She is warmer here, and my hand relaxes even more. I bury my fingers into her hair. She inhales deeply, holding it for a moment before releasing it in a lingering sigh. Heat radiates off of her body like steam, like a mirage of water dancing on the road ahead. Lazy, lazy days. With my left hand pressed between us, I find my own sex. How many nights did I touch myself, wishing it were her with me? Innumerable. Painful. Exquisite nights of longing, all leading to this.
Easing two of my fingers through my damp folds, I slide my right hand downward and touch her in the same way. We are equally warm, charged, soft and hard. Slowly, I begin the rhythmic circling that I mastered during all those years alone... clockwise, around and around. Two circles for each breath. My breath plays a base harmony to the melody of my touch. She spreads her legs ever so slightly and squeezes me even tighter, prompting me to gently kiss her chest and shoulders, drawing lazy figure eights with my tongue.
Her breath comes quicker now, as does mine, and the movement of my hands follows course. I never realized I could be this ambidextrous. Still, it is increasingly difficult to concentrate on my own pleasure while touching her in this way. Her breathing and soft, chirping moans are amazingly distracting. My own masturbation becomes the drone to her song. I dip lower into her, encircling her with wetness. Nearing the edge, her hips begin to move, as do mine, in time with the massage of my fingers. It is slow and fiery and exquisite. When I can stand it no more, I inch up and snuggle into her neck, tasting her salt with my lips. This contact nudges her over the edge, and she instantly quivers all around me, bucking just once and then pressing herself down into the mattress.
She is holding her breath.
With her climax, I come too, jerking my hips into her and against my own hand, burying my face into her neck. I shudder again. And then float. Her far arm comes around me and wraps around my shoulders as she turns into me, lifting my chin. My lids are heavy when I open them and look into her blurry eyes. They are as soft and beautiful as she is herself. A slight smile flits across her lips.
"I love you, Dana" she says.
I close my eyes again, and open them. She is still there.
"I love you, too." I say, before leaning in to kiss her softly.
With a contented sigh, she rolls toward me a bit, and I roll away from her, so that I am cradled fully in her arms. Gradually, the early morning light in the room disappears, and I drift back into my dreams.
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