Six Keys by Politic X

Author:Politic X
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: X-Files, Completed, FanFiction, M. Reyes, D. Scully
Publisher: www.fanfiction.net
Published: 2011-08-26T16:00:00+00:00

5. Chapter 5

"I..."

"Not tonight," she says again, more firmly this time.

"I'm not sure this is what I want." My voice is hardly there. I can't look at her.

The hand that's on my back begins rubbing circles. I should leave because this is out of control. She was flirting with all three of us this evening, I remind myself. All three of us.

"Look at me," she says quietly.

I do, but only briefly, because what I see in her eyes is too much, because what I see is more than lust.

She tilts my face to force me to look at her and then slides her fingers through my hair, cupping my head. I hear the ticking of a clock nearby, sounding loud suddenly. Monica leans down, her lips touching mine lightly once... and again. Sweet, soft kisses, gentler than I've ever felt. They become wet, her tongue licking my lips insistently, until I open up and let her inside, a mistake if I plan to leave tonight, I realize as soon as her tongue touches mine. A rush floods my body, leaving me absolutely soaked. My knees weaken, and she wraps her arms around me, practically holding me up.

We kiss like this until I grow dizzy and Monica pulls away, also needing air. "See?" she says shakily, grinning. "Nothing to be afraid of." She gazes at me for what seems like a very long time, and I try forcing myself to stare back at her, but it's difficult. Her eyes slip to my mouth and she bends again to kiss me.

I grip her biceps, my purse banging against her arm. I'm on tiptoe, and both of her hands are on my back, pulling me up to her, and there isn't a sound for a long time but the wet smacking of our mouths, our heavy breathing and the ticking of the clock. I'm losing myself, my reserve, my calm.

One of her hands slips beneath my jacket, and the other follows, rubbing my back. I become so acutely aware of her hands, of how large her palms are on my back, of the length of her fingers as they trace my spine, that the sensations her tongue makes become secondary.

Her mouth breaks away, kisses my temple, my cheek, my ear. "I just want to touch you," she breathes, and to demonstrate, she gradually tugs my blouse from the waistband of my skirt. I rest my forehead on her chest, trying to slow my breathing, to think, to simply think for a moment. Everything is happening so quickly.

Her shirt smells like flowers and eucalyptus and honey. I breathe her in deeply. Detergent, deodorant, cologne, I realize, but these rational thoughts disintegrate when she succeeds with my shirt, and her fingers touch skin. Monica moans, and her mouth is on mine again.

She kisses me until my lips feel swollen, her hand trailing over my back, making patterns slowly and so softly I can't think. I've never felt weaker or more powerless in my life than at this moment.

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