#sorry i’m thinking about vi and her makeup routine again

[thebigqueer]

caitlyn has a 65-step skin care routine but only ever puts on mascara and concealer for makeup. vi has a 65-step makeup routine but literally just uses water to wash her face and calls it a night. and i think that’s beautiful

[miss-pearlescent]

Tag Team (I)

Chapter: I II IIIᴹ IV V VI VII VIII IX Xᴹ

“I’ve got a better idea.” You set down the tea cup and stood, pacing around the table where the map sat.

You stared at the island, knowing exactly how to infiltrate the party and get the answers your team needed.

Pointing at the helipad, you began elaborating on your plan. “Instead of Jongin risking his identity, I will go instead. He will drop me off on the island, and I will talk to the big head honcho face-to-face.”

Mr. Lee, the head honcho of your HQ, raised a grey eyebrow. “And how is Jongin supposed to drop you off on this remote island where guests are being flown in?”

You avoided the glare that you felt in the back of your head, the one that definitely belonged to your husband who was nursing his own cup of tea back on the couch. With a tight smile, you answered, “By parachuting me in, of course.”

A clang sounded behind you, and you braced yourself before turning back to face your husband’s dark gaze. But you didn’t allow him the chance to get frustrated just yet. You wanted to explain yourself because you knew what the dangers were, and you knew you’d get through it.

“Jongin, listen to me.” You rested a hand on his chest and you saw Joori, the tech assistant, turn back to her computer, pretending not to see anything. “I am not going to put you in danger by showing your face to the enemy again. Nobody there knows me and nobody will remember me. You know I’m right.”

Mr. Lee chimed in just as his phone rang. “We have one single invitation for this party and we need to use it wisely in order to crack the code to their hidden laboratory. The two of you are my best agents. I trust you to decide who to send.” He scrubbed a hand over his face as he left to take a call. “Meet me tomorrow evening at the helipad.”

The two of you watched as Joori scurried after Mr. Lee, obviously not wanting to be the third wheel in a room where there was awkward tension. You turned back to your husband, whose face was still hard.

You went on your tip toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Trust me, Jongin?”

There was a brief moment where you thought maybe he would say no.

But after years of being a tag team of spies, you knew him and he knew you.

Jongin’s hand came up to tilt your chin, pressing a deeper kiss to your lips. “I trust you, sweetheart.”

-

Jongin stuffed the last of his black uniform into his bag, zipped up all the pockets, and let it hit the ground with a heavy thud. Behind him, sitting in front of the vanity, was the love of his life. And in just a few hours, he would be escorting her into enemy territory.

His palms got sweaty just thinking about it.

Putting on a brave face, he turned around and walked to the mirror.

The air inside his lungs whooshed out.

Even after working with her for five years and being married to her for almost a year now, Jongin still got butterflies seeing his wife. Especially when she was dolled up.

She didn’t seem to notice as she concentrated on putting on her earrings, so he leaned in and kissed her on one bare shoulder. He knew she wouldn’t like it if he ruined her hair or her makeup, so he kept it innocent.

For now.

“Mm,” she moaned a little as he rubbed her arms and instantly, Jongin Jr. jumped up.

Sorry, little man. It’s going to have to wait.

Jongin was going to have to wait until morning before seeing his wife again, and he didn’t know if he was going to go insane or not. This wasn’t her going out to have a girls’ night. She was going into a mission and seducing information out of a rich and powerful man who would want her dead if he knew who she was.

That man already wanted Jongin dead.

Jongin caught his wife’s gaze in the mirror. “You look stunning,” he murmured out of nowhere. He wanted her to know because he knew she worked her best when she felt confident in her skin.

She beamed up at him, but he could see the blush creeping up her neck. “Thank you.”

He tamped down the need to sigh, the need to calm his nerves, as he turned to grab his bag.

“Jongin?”

He stopped and looked back.

His wife was watching him through the mirror, unsure.

“Sweetheart?” He swung his bag over his shoulder and sat down on the vanity bench next to her.

She wouldn’t turn to look at him, instead staring down at her hands.

He grasped her chin and tilted her face to him, wanting to kiss her freshly painted lips but knowing she wouldn’t like it if he mussed up her masterpiece.

Her face was indeed a masterpiece, and he could happily stare at it for the rest of his life.

“What is it?” he asked.

She looked up, meeting his gaze under fluttery lashes. “I want to address the elephant in the room.”

Jongin let his heavy pack drop by his feet and rubbed his palms on his black cargo pants. “Let’s address it.”

She grabbed her jar of lotion, the last step in her routine, and twisted the lid open. “I know you think this is a bad idea. I know I’m stepping into dangerous territory. But I know what I’m doing, even if you don’t think it’s right.” Nervously, she twisted the cap of the lotion jar closed and set it on the vanity again. “I will go in, work my way through the party until I can talk to the man at the top, and then I will leave. I have my weapons with me and I will be back by the morning, I promise.”

Jongin shook his head and took the jar, opening the lid himself and dabbing his finger into the lavender scented lotion. The scent calmed his head a little as he pulled her dainty hand into his. “It’s not a bad idea. In fact, I agree with it.” He rubbed the lotion into her skin in small circles. He continued, even though he could tell she was a little surprised by his words. “Before we got married, many of your missions went down like this, so I know your an expert and you’ll get the job done.”

He moved onto the other hand while she watched.

“And before we got married, I didn’t like the idea of other men seeing you like this and I don’t like it now either. But it’s your weapon.” He raised her hand up to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “Do your thing, sweetheart. I’ll watch your back.”

He vowed to do so, because ever since he realized his feelings for her, he knew he had so much to lose.

---

Hello hello, friends! I am back again with another short story :) There will be two stories, actually. One prequel involving “Jongin” and then a main story with “Kai” hahaha I’d like to thank SM for giving me the freedom to play around like this LOL I apologize if the POV changes make things a little more difficult to read but I know you guys are used to me jumping around :’) There are just some stories that come to my mind in second person~ LOL

Anyway, please imagine this Jongin as the one with the man bun in the Jopping MV. You didn’t think I would see that man bun and NOT write a story about it right?!?!?! >:) I hope you guys enjoy reading this, and have a good weekend ^^

[artificialqueens]

Older (Biadore) 6/? - nellie

A/N: We’re finally at the point where everything starts going to hell (and the moment I’ve been looking forward to since I started writing this). Again, thank you so much for the lovely feedback. I was struggling with motivation to write this next part, but knowing people wanted to read this spurred me on and I think this is actually my favorite chapter so far. I also wrote this in a different program, so I’m hoping the formatting is okay. It looks fine right now, but who knows what will happen when  I press submit - apologies if not!

Meditation is hard.

Adore tries to focus on breathing in and out, but her mind keeps wandering - mostly to Bianca. She opens her eyes for a moment and her breath catches in her throat. Bianca is the very picture of calm and serene, and Adore is pretty sure she’s never looked hotter. But it’s rude to jump someone when they’ve offered to help make sure you don’t get so mad you kill a stranger, so she sighs and closes her eyes again instead of crawling over and burying her head between Bianca’s thighs.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Adore has to admit it’s sort of relaxing, even if she can only manage it for a couple of seconds at a time. It’s like the rest of the world doesn’t matter anymore. She doesn’t have to worry about anything except being in the moment. Adore always thought she was great at living in the moment, but now she’s not so sure.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in.

She doesn’t know why she gets so angry, but she’s tired of losing control all the time. Adore is surrounded by people who have a problem with her behavior, but Bianca is the first person who’s actually bothered to help her. Instead of lecturing Adore about the need to control herself she was here, teaching her meditation. Of course, if anyone else had offered to teach her to meditate Adore would have laughed in their face, so maybe the fact that it’s Bianca hasn’t hurt. But still. Bianca had told her they’d figure out a solution and Adore believes her. Adore doesn’t really trust anyone completely, but she trusts Bianca.

The alarm on Bianca’s phone sounds and Adore opens her eyes to see Bianca smiling back at her.

“How was it? Longest fifteen minutes of your life, right? It gets easier the more you practice.”

Adore chews on her bottom lip thoughtfully before answering. “It was… I don’t know. I do feel kind of relaxed now?”

Bianca gets to her feet in one fluid movement, like she’s a cat or a tiger or some other animal known for its strength and grace. She settles herself on the couch and holds her hand out to Adore, who goes willingly. It’s a familiar routine by now, Adore tucking her feet up and curling into Bianca. Bianca’s arm is wrapped around her shoulders, holding her close. It’s almost embarrassingly domestic but she secretly loves it. They fit together perfectly. Being with Bianca feels like being home.

“You have to stop getting so angry.”

It’s nothing Adore hasn’t heard a thousand times before, but coming from Bianca it feels like concern instead of judgement. She can’t exactly argue. She still remembers how it felt to punch that guy, her entire body tingling with adrenaline and flooded with rage. Adore likes to think she does a pretty good job of ignoring how shitty her life has been, but obviously she’s still mad at the world. She always feels like she’s seconds away from exploding and the worst part is how good it feels to really let go like that. Later, there are always consequences and complications, but in the moment she’s flying. She’s free.

But she doesn’t know how to put that into words. “I’m always angry.” It’s not what she means to say, but it’s honest.

“You’re letting them win, baby.” Bianca’s voice is quiet and she shifts their position so she can start to play with Adore’s hair. “Don’t let everyone else win.”

Adore smiles at the term of endearment even if she doesn’t really understand what Bianca is saying. Isn’t the whole point of fighting that she wins? She’s pretty sure the asshole from last night is going to think twice before he tries to coerce a girl into sex again so doesn’t that mean Adore has won? She lets her eyes drift closed as Bianca keeps playing with her hair. Bianca’s fingers catch in a knot and Adore bites back a gasp. Suddenly, it’s a little hard to focus on the conversation.

“I never let them win.”

Bianca laughs and it should be patronising, but it feels more like she’s letting Adore in on the joke. “I guess you don’t.” She tugs on Adore’s hair in a way that has to be deliberate and Adore holds her breath, waiting to see which way things will go.

She’s a little disappointed when said things don’t lead to sex.

“Every time you lose it, you’re giving away your power. You’re basically handing it to the other person and letting them know they can control you. You’re better than that. There’s more strength in keeping your power than there is in beating the shit out of someone.”

It seems so obvious the way Bianca phrases it, but Adore has never considered it before. She frowns, mulling over Bianca’s words in her head. Of course she’s heard people say that just walking away is a sign of strength, but she’s never really believed it. At least, not until now.

Her phone, which is lying on the ground where she left it, lights up with a notification. Adore considers ignoring it, but she’s a millennial at heart and she reluctantly drags herself from Bianca’s warmth to pick it up. There are three missed texts from Violet, each getting increasingly more worried and abusive, and Adore winces as she reads them.

“Something wrong?” Bianca has stretched herself out along the length of the couch and she’s watching Adore with an amused grin.

Adore shakes her head. “I ditched Violet last night when I called you. She’s just worried I’m dead.” She fires back a quick text to Violet, reassuring her that she’s still alive and breathing and then catches sight of the time. “Fuck. I’m so late for class. Can I shower here?”

“Of course.” Bianca gets to her feet and stretches her arms over her head. “I’ll find you some clothes, too. You’ll need to change.”

Adore glances down at the oversized t-shirt she slept in, not understanding what Bianca means. Of course she’ll need to change, she can’t wear… oh. She thinks back to the previous night’s outfit; a short leather skirt that barely covers her ass, a black crop top and an oversized flannel shirt. She’s very familiar with her school’s dress code and none of those things are on it. Bianca has a point. She follows Bianca into the bedroom, obediently taking the clothes that are handed to her before heading to the bathroom.

She’s briefly tempted to ask Bianca to join her, but she’s already so late and shower sex, while amazing, won’t help the situation. So she showers quickly, washing away all physical evidence of the night before. The emotional might take a little longer to move past, she thinks.

The clothes Bianca’s given her turn out to be basic - a pair of jeans which surprisingly fit her almost perfectly, and a black t-shirt which Adore immediately knots at her midriff. She looks critically at her reflection, wishing she had even a little makeup with her. She hates how young she looks without her usual dark eyeliner. But at least she won’t get sent home for being inappropriately dressed, and she can probably deal with looking like a kid for a day. She twists her hair up into a messy bun, strands immediately falling down and framing her face. It’s acceptable. Not great, but acceptable..

She’s standing in the doorway between the bedroom and living area when her phone lights up with another notification. Bianca’s sitting back on the couch and Adore shoots her a grin as she strikes a pose against the door frame, one leg lifting in the air in a deranged kind of arabesque. “Hey, pass me my phone? That’ll be Vi telling me she hates me.”

Bianca laughs and grabs Adore’s phone, glancing at the screen as she does. Her face changes to something Adore can’t read and she doesn’t make any move to get up or even throw the phone in Adore’s direction. “It’s your mom. She wants to remind you to leave a note if you’ll be out all night.”

Adore feels the pit of her stomach drop and time freezes for a second. Think, Adore. Think. “Oh. Yeah. I kind of lied about the roommate thing. It’s embarrassing, you know? Living with your mom at my age.” She tries to keep her voice light, but she has the sinking feeling that Bianca isn’t buying it.

“Tell me again where you go to college.” There’s a coldness in Bianca’s voice that Adore has never heard before and it makes her shiver. Bianca isn’t stupid and it’s obvious that she’s piecing everything together - all the half-truths and outright lies Adore has told her since they met.

“It’s just community college Bea, you know this.” Adore can hear how desperate she sounds, but Bianca’s still not looking at her and she can feel everything in her life beginning to unravel. She just needs to keep it together. Bianca doesn’t actually know anything yet and plenty of 22 year olds still live with their parents. She can bluff her way through this, can’t she?

When Bianca turns to face her, Adore can’t help but gasp. Her gaze is like ice and Adore has never been so intimidated and terrified of someone in her life. She knows Bianca isn’t going to hurt her - not physically, anyway - but she still feels her heart literally stop in her chest for a moment. Her hands are numb and sweaty at the same time and there’s a lump in her throat that makes swallowing difficult.

And then Bianca delivers the final blow. “How old are you, Adore? And don’t fucking lie to me.”

Adore winces. “Seventeen.”

There’s silence. It stretches out for what feels like several lifetimes. Bianca is still staring at her with that same cold expression and Adore wishes she’d say something, anything. She wants to explain, but the words catch in her throat - and anyway, it’s not like Bianca would want to hear them. What kind of explanation can there be? I’m sorry I deliberately lied to you for weeks and weeks about the fact that I’m 14 years younger than you, but it’s okay, I only did it because I really really like you? No.

“Get. The fuck. Out. Of. My. Apartment.” Bianca enunciates each word carefully, her voice low and a little threatening. She throws Adore’s phone in her direction before getting to her feet and walking to the window, ignoring Adore entirely.

Adore swallows hard. Her mind is racing and blank at the same time and she can’t do anything but react, quickly gathering her things together. She pauses when she gets to Bianca’s door, wondering if she should say something. Sorry? But Bianca doesn’t acknowledge her and Adore shakes her head, slipping out quietly still dressed in her borrowed outfit.

There’s no way she’s making it to school today.

***

She doesn’t leave her bed for the next three days. She gives her mom some bullshit excuse about being sick and locks herself in her room. She’s too numb to even cry and she thinks there’s probably some kind of irony in the fact that she’s finally managed to keep control of her emotions. But the reality is that it’s just too much. She’s dealing with the heartbreak of losing Bianca, coupled with the extreme self loathing she feels for getting herself caught in this situation in the first place and her brain can’t process any of it. Her life has fallen apart and she only has herself to blame. Adore always knew she was a colossal fuck up after all. It was about time she proved herself. Why had she ever thought she could possibly be good enough for Bianca? She’s a kid, a fucking little girl trying to pretend she’s oh so grown up. And now her games haven’t just hurt her, they’ve hurt Bianca as well. Why the fuck hadn’t she come clean that first night? How else had she expected this whole thing to go?

Eventually, of course, she has to go back to school. She wears the outfit Bianca gave her (gave, she thinks, because it’s not like she can return it now) in a display of masochism that surprises even her. She sits in class and stares at the board and doesn’t write anything down. Her body is at school but her mind had checked out and she doesn’t have the energy to do anything about it.

By the time she reaches lunch period she hasn’t spoken a word all day and it feels almost comforting in a way.

Violet’s waiting for her in their usual spot. She looks annoyed, but Adore doesn’t immediately take that personally. Violet often looks annoyed about something.

“Bitch, what the fuck? I haven’t heard from you in days.”

Oh. So she is annoyed at Adore.

“Sorry.” It’s the first word Adore’s said in over 24 hours and the word feels foreign in her mouth. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah, well, you look like shit.” Never one to beat around the bush, Violet is someone who believes tact is for other people. Adore usually likes it, but then she also usually doesn’t feel like her heart has been cut up into tiny pieces and run through a blender.

“Bianca found out how old I am. It, um…” Adore trails off, biting her lip hard to stave off the tears she can feel forming in the corner of her eyes. “Didn’t go well.” She releases a shaky breath, counting backwards from ten in her head. Back to numb. Back to avoiding all the emotions she’s not ready to confront yet.

Violet’s eyes soften in a way that could almost be mistaken for sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” Adore waits for the inevitable ‘I told you so’ but it doesn’t come. Instead, Violet reaches out to squeeze Adore’s hand briefly, bringing Adore one step closer to tears yet again. “Look, can we just… never talk about Bianca again? Please?”

“Of course.” Violet gives Adore a too-bright smile. “You’ll never guess what Pearl was wearing today. I almost fucking died.”

Adore’s never been much of an actress, but she’s grateful for the moment of forced normality that Violet’s offering her. They’re both ignoring how not-okay she is and pretending everything is fine. She feels a sudden rush of affection for Violet, who’s always been a much better friend than Adore deserves.

“Be honest, that’s what you say about everything I wear, isn’t it?”

Violet laughs in a way that almost sounds natural. “You have your own sense of style. This, though, this is a choice.” She gestures at Adore’s outfit with a raised eyebrow.

Adore feels herself flush. She knows it’s not exactly her usual style, but she really wishes Violet hadn’t pointed that out. “Bianca lent it to me,” she says softly, feeling another solid punch of guilt in her stomach at the thought. She shouldn’t be wearing it.

Violet sighs. “Adore, don’t take this the wrong way, but you have to grow the fuck up.”

Adore wants to argue. She’s only seventeen, she’s meant to be making dumb mistakes. It’s normal to run around breaking hearts and fucking up. But she suddenly feels far, far older than her age and she knows Violet’s right. She doesn’t want to be an immature fuckup anymore. She can be more than that. Bianca thought she was more than that, and maybe she won’t always get it right but isn’t it time she at least tried?

“Yeah,” is all she says though, plucking a blade of grass from the ground and twisting it between her fingers. “Yeah.”

[snickerl]

Elixir Vitae

AU fanfic set around the time of IWTB.

A/N: Feel free to leave a comment.It’s what keeps my little fanfiction writer’s motor running...

Find previous chapters here: Chapter I / Chapter II / Chapter III / Chapter IV / Chapter V

Chapter VI

She asked me to take her home the other day.

Well, first she asked me where our home was and what it was like, then she told me that the doctors had cleared her to leave the clinic on condition that she make an appointment with a local psychiatrist for an ambulant treatment.

So we're approaching our house now, stirring up the dirt on the gravel road behind us. It hasn't rained in weeks and the soil is dry. She threw me a questioning look every time I took a turn further away from the city and farther out into the countryside. She furrowed her brows when I opened the gate to our premises and she's staring at our unremarkable house which comes into sight now that we've climbed the little hill that keeps it from view from the street.

"It's kinda rural, isn't it?" she states the obvious.

"We like it that way," I simply tell her. Now is not the time to explain what brought us here.

I steer the car directly in front of the porch and kill the engine. We sit in silence for a moment. Scully leans forward and peeks through the windshield at the house. She doesn't move and I can't say why. Maybe she expected something completely different. Maybe she's waiting for the memories to appear. Maybe she's afraid to take this next step toward her old life, a life she still knows so little about.

Eventually, I decide to make her take it. So I get out of the car, walk around the back in order not to block her view, open the passenger door and hold my hand out to her. When she takes it, I pull her out of the car and up the few steps onto the porch. Holding her hand, I keep the screen open with my hip and fumble the keys out of my pocket. I open the front door and step inside, but she remains rooted to the doorstep. It feels like a jab into the stomach to realize that she's apprehensive to enter her own house.

"Come on, Scully. No need to worry, I cleaned up," I coax her, and she smiles.

She lets me pull her inside, letting go of my hand when she's three steps from the front door. She puts her hands in her pants pockets, looks around, takes in the surroundings. She looks like someone on a house viewing, asking herself whether she could feel comfortable living in this house. Then, to my immense relief, she says, "I like it."

"You do?"

"Yes, it's homey."

"I hoped you'd say that."

She stretches her hand out to me. "Care to give me a tour?"

I show her around and I see her smile at little things, like the vase with fresh flowers I put on the dining room table or the painting on the wall we got at the local flea market. When she sees the pencils stuck in the ceiling of my office, she throws me a puzzled look but doesn't say anything. Shit, I should've taken them down!

Another tricky moment is when I show her our bedroom. Her eyes rest a bit too long on the bed for me to let it pass without comment. "You'll have the bed to yourself. I, uh...I will sleep downstairs on the couch."

"You don't have to," she says contrary to my expectations. "I mean, it's a big bed, and we're married. If you promise not to try anything, I guess we can give it a shot, don't you think?"

Oh yes, baby, we can!

I've been sleeping alone in this bed for too long. Although it will be difficult to keep my hands off her, not to spoon her and pull her close until her back warms my chest, but I'm more than willing to pretend I'm a monk, so "Sure!" is all I croak.

She moves forward and takes a look at the bathroom.

"Aww, a tub! Wonderful!"

"You insisted we'd get a tub. There wasn't one when we bought the house."

"I only had a shower at the clinic. I so wanted to take a bath every now and then," she tells me.

"Why don't you draw one right away? Take your time and relax a little. I get your things up here."

"Oh, I'd love to!"

"Go ahead then! You find your clothes in the closet over there," I point to an antique piece of furniture we bought in a little shop a few miles down the road, "your underwear is in the bottom drawer."

My last remark makes her blush which is so cute but also a bit sad. I can't believe we're at a point where me speaking of her underwear causes a reaction of uneasiness.

I open the cabinet under the sink and hand her a bottle of bath foam. "Here, this is your favorite."

She takes it from me, her fingers grazing mine shortly.

"Thank you, Fox. You're really sweet."

When she comes down after her bath I'm preparing dinner. She found her clothes obviously. She's dressed in a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, her hair is put together in a ponytail. Her face is cleared of all the makeup and I can see the freckles I've always loved. They make her look so pure and raw, so charmingly girlish.

She's beautiful. The mole on her upper lip is drawing me in. It's the appealing sensual counterpart to the innocent freckles. I never understood why she covered it up. I find it very sexy.

"Hey," she says, "you cook? It seems I've found myself the perfect husband."

I could tell her that I had enough time to practice cooking when I still had to hide and couldn't leave the house, but I don't. It's our first evening at home together, and I don't want to spoil it with tales of government conspiracies.

"I made chicken salad with low-fat dressing and pasta primavera. And before you ask, you like it," I say with a grin.

"You know my favorites better than I do."

I think I know where the slight sad ring to her voice is coming from. It must feel awkward to have someone else tell you what you like and what you don't.

"It'll all come back to you, Scully. I'm sure of it."

She shoots me a weak but thankful smile.

We have our dinner mostly in silence. It's a comfortable silence, one that settles easily as we're both enjoying our time together. She compliments me on the food and I talk her into having some ice cream for dessert, that's mostly it. When the table is cleared and the dishes are done, I pour us two glasses of wine and ask her to come outside and sit with me on the porch swing to watch the sunset.

"Don't tell me that this is my favorite spot of the house, Fox, even if it is. Please," she begs.

I can hear how unsettled she is, that feeling like a stranger in her own house is taking its toll on her.

"Actually, it's mine," I reply, and it's the truth. I've always loved the moments we spent out here, her body leaned against mine or her feet on my lap, watching the sun setting slowly behind the little hill. We spent many nights out here, wrapped in a blanket, staring up the starry sky.

"Sit with me, Scully," I encourage her, and she places herself next to me. I hand her the wine, she takes a tiny sip, then sets the glass down on the porch without saying a word. We both stare at the horizon, waiting for the sun to finally set. The temperature falls a few degrees as soon as the sun is gone, but it's still agreeably warm outside.

I wouldn't mind sitting like this for hours with her beside me. We could talk about the constellations in the night sky or about some other harmless topic, peacefully concluding this day that marks a significant step back to our original daily routine. I can sense her exhaustion, though. She leans herself heavily against my torso, her hands rest on her lap, and her short legs dangle limply off the swing.

"You're tired," I declare.

"I am," she admits. "I took my medication before I came out. It always makes me drowsy."

I didn't know. I was never around for her nightly routine as long as she was in the clinic, had always left before she started getting ready for bed.

"We should call it a night, Scully. It's been a long day for you. Do you still intend to share the bed? I wouldn't mind sleeping on the couch, really."

She contemplates for a moment. "I'd actually appreciate if I didn't have to sleep alone. I think I could use some caring tonight."

"No problem, I have a lot of caring to give." I smile at her and she smiles back. "I'll give you a head start to the bathroom and join you in a bit. I'll just finish my wine."

When I'm at the threshold to our bedroom about twenty minutes later, I have to steady myself against the doorframe, taking in the wonderful sight that's offered to me.

The space on the side of the bed which was empty and cold for months is filled again with the tiny body I missed so much. Scully is lying at her side of the bed with her back to me. She can't see I'm watching her, so I can take my time. I wonder whether it's a coincidence she actually chose her side. Her robe is thrown over the backrest of the chair in the corner, there's a glass of water on her nightstand, and the comforter is folded back like she has always folded it back...everything is like it used to be, how it's supposed to be, and I'm indescribably happy.

I know I'm not allowed to make love to her tonight. She asked for comfort, not for passion. I will give her comfort. It won't be easy to keep my desires in check, but I'll give her what she needs. What she needs the most is time, and I can wait. I waited seven years for us to stand by our feelings, I waited three months for her to be returned to me, I can wait however long it takes for her to feel safe enough with me to let me love her again.

"How much longer are you going to stand there?" she mumbles sleepily. "Come to bed."

I clear my throat, can't help feeling caught. I'm not even sure whether I thought what I just thought or whether I actually voiced it.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you awake."

"You're not keeping me awake, but I need you in here. Get changed and come to bed," she demands silently but with determination, and I am thrilled.

I hurry into the bathroom, brush my teeth, splash some cold water on my face, put on some flannel pajama pants and a fresh t-shirt, and return to the bedroom. I slip under the covers and are greeted by a warmth inexperienced during the past months, a warmth only the body of the female you love can provide. Not that I didn't try surrogates - hot-water bottle, heating pad, thermal blanket - but nothing worked.

I don't know how close she wants me, so I lie on my back and position myself right next to her without touching her. Close enough to feel the body heat she radiates and close enough to hopefully offer her the kind of protection and comfort she was looking for when she invited me in, but also far enough not to intimidate her. I learned my lesson from the frenzied first kiss and the story of Skinner catching us in the act.

Suddenly, I notice she's reaching behind, searching for me. I offer her my hand and she grabs it. She pulls it toward her, taking me with it, and before I know it, I am spooned behind her, my front perfectly aligned with her back. I'm in heaven. I feel my body melting into hers, clinging to it as if my life depended on it.

And then I feel something building up in my groin and I curse myself. I instantly direct my thoughts to dirty laundry and greasy pizza cartons in an effort to cool down, to keep my arousal low-key, but it's fruitless. Eventually, I pull my pelvis back a little, to prevent my erection from poking into her backside, but it's too late.

"It's alright, Fox," she mumbles, already half-asleep, "it's a natural reaction. Where there is a stimulus, there is a response. When certain receptors are sensorily or mentally stimulated, the brain sends signals to trigger a hormonal response. Neurons convey the message through the central nervous system and cause a reaction, there's not so much one can do about it. The male erection is nothing but a biochemical reaction."

Well, hello there, Science-Scully!

"I feel honored to be a stimulus to your central nervous system, Fox, given the condition I'm in."

What? A stimulus to my central nervous system?

My arousal doesn't feel like a simple sober textbook biochemical reaction. Not at all! It feels like a divine force capturing my body. I know that seeing me as a receptor of external stimuli and my body as a conveyor of neuronal messages helps her to deal with the situation. Her wounded soul tells her she wants me near but her head cannot really cope with my reaction to the nearness. By allowing me to be so close, it's impossible for her to overlook my love and devotion, and being unable to reciprocate my feelings, chalking them up to a biochemical reaction is her coping mechanism toward finding her inner equilibrium. I totally understand, even if it's almost physically painful to suppress my bodily reaction.

I brush a gentle kiss on her cheek close to the corner of her mouth. I can feel it rise into a slight smile.

"Go to sleep, Scully. I'm gonna get this under control, I promise." I'll have to help myself getting rid of the tension probably. Later, when she's asleep.

"I know. I trust you," she says, and pulls me close again, "good night, Fox."

"Good night, Scully."

to be continued