Work Text:
I'd kiss you if I dare
I want to, but I'm scared
I should have known
I've been alone too long
My lips are much too still
My arms have lost their skill
My charm has flown
I've been alone too long
It's been years since I have whispered
A foolish love word
And I'd be afraid, I'd sing you a faded song
But if you smile and then
Say "darling, try again"
I'll know you've known
I've been alone too long
***
They drove back with the quiet chatter of old friends and comfortable silences from time to time. He thought mainly about his son, taken from him, from his wife, from the world far too early and in the most horrific manner. He thought of having to let him go, releasing his ashes, leaving his now ex-wife the urn he had held onto for so long. He was illogically afraid he would forget if he didn’t have some sort of anchor.
“Do you want to go back on his birthday?” she asked at one point, without his telling her of the thoughts rolling through his head.
“Maybe,” he said, meaning yes.
Sometimes, though, he thought of what Barbara had said after looking up to the bluff where Monica stood, leaning against his truck, her head politely pointed away from the beach. “Good, John. I’m glad you brought her.”
He’d looked into her eyes, and he knew that she meant more than that. He knew that she was telling him it was ok to reach out to Monica, it was ok to let her into his life. He’d merely nodded then, but the words echoed in his mind the entire drive back down to Virginia.
They pulled up to his house at dusk. He turned off the truck, and they sat, not speaking. She knew that the longer the silence lasted, the more important it was, whatever he wanted to say. And she hoped that he wasn’t going to let this moment pass, not like before, not like the night she pegged him for a dog person and said all the things she wasn’t sure she’d be able to say until they came spilling out of her mouth. So now, she waited, not even unbuckling her seatbelt for fear that he would lose his train of thought and bow out again.
He took a long, deep breath and slowly let it out. “Do you want to stay the night?” he asked, looking straight ahead, his arms resting on the steering wheel. “I can’t promise much.” She didn’t answer immediately, and he was afraid to look at her.
It was far, far more than she’d expected, and now she found herself equally nervous, words failing her. She wished he would face her so she could merely nod her response. “Yes,” she managed to say when the silence grew too uncomfortable to sustain.
“Mon, it’s been a really long time for me. I… I’m not even sure I remember how to kiss, much less all the rest.” He finally turned to her with the look of a man who was sure he was disappointing her.
Releasing her seatbelt, she slid closer to him now, her face moving towards his, a tender hand on his cheek, striking terror in his heart, but it all vanished when her lips pressed against his in the most simple and unassuming of kisses.
“There,” she said in a near whisper, “that’s no longer something for you to worry about.” They sat a while longer, their hands clasped though neither could say who initiated it, as their hearts pounded in their chests.
He studied her face, so open, so beautiful, her eyes wide, waiting for him to speak. “It’s been years, more years than I should admit. So many years, I’m not entirely sure things still work down there, you know? You don’t deserve to be disappointed.”
“I can’t promise I won’t disappoint you. You know my history. You know I…” Her eyes dropped, but when she looked up again, they were apologetic, betraying her nerves and her own fears, and when she spoke, her voice was quieter and more subdued. “I run when things get awkward or uncomfortable. I can’t promise that I’ll stay.”
He weighed this statement, and knew it to be true, finally nodding in acknowledgment. He was willing to take that risk. “This has awkward and uncomfortable written all over it, doesn’t it?”
“Only a little bit.”
Inside his home, he threw some pot pies in the oven for dinner and retreated upstairs to have a moment to compose his thoughts. He pulled a small box of condoms out of his coat pocket and stood looking at it in his hands, before placing it in the nightstand – he’d bought it at a gas station in Maryland on the drive down, a bit of wishful thinking on his part.
She was sitting in the middle of the couch, completely absorbed in awaiting his return, her legs folded beneath her, when he came back downstairs. He sat down, his arm encircling her, and she gently nestled into him. Every few minutes, he would bravely touch a new patch of skin on her arm; when he stopped, she would lean into him more or let her own fingers trace short paths along his thighs. The timer’s buzz, forty-five minutes later, startled them both, for time had slowed down so much in the area of the couch in which they resided.
Neither one finished their meal, both too on edge to eat. He smiled and shrugged, tossing the remains in the garbage. She hovered close to him, unsure of just how much he really could give her, afraid to push her luck and his limits. He was already forgetting how to touch her though, screaming at his hands to close the abyss between them, but they didn’t listen.
“Should we go to bed? Or stay on the couch?” she asked, after several failed attempts of her own to speak.
“Let’s go upstairs.”
She’d been in his bedroom only twice, when Shannon had been over. It looked so different to her now, now that she knew she would be sleeping in that bed soon. She excused herself to use the restroom and brush her teeth with the new toothbrush he’d set out for her earlier, and she fretted about the state of dress in which she should exit. Maybe he wasn’t ready for more. Maybe she could really expect nothing other than curling up with him in her jeans and t-shirt, and so ultimately, she chose to keep her clothes on. There was no need to put more pressure on him.
They sat side by side on the edge of his bed, their arms touching, her pinky linking with his and making it hard to breathe. “John, it’s ok that it’s been a long time.”
“You say that now,” he said, staring at his lap. “But you turn that off for long enough, and your body forgets how to turn it back on again.”
She took his hand in hers. “When was the last time?”
He didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want her to leave because of it.
“Before Luke died.”
“John,” she said, her voice full of compassion and concern. “Why? All these years… you shouldn’t have denied yourself.”
“It wasn’t that I was denying myself. I just couldn’t. I didn’t feel anything for a real long time, years. And when I did, I couldn’t bear the feeling, the desire, and so I learned to push it away. My marriage was long over by then anyway.”
She squeezed his hand, trying to tell him she was sorry for all that he’d suffered, wishing she could truly understand, but grateful that he was finally starting to explain some of what he’d been going through all these years. “And now?”
“I don’t know. I just… don’t know. I want to say that you being here makes it all go away, but I’ve forgotten how to let myself feel those things.”
“Have you talked to anyone about this? Your doctor?” She paused, careful about the next words. “A therapist?”
“Barbara and me, we went to grief counseling, marriage counseling, whatever it was, for a while. The lady told us it was natural, but she said that I’d be the one to bounce back first. But I never did.”
He half expected Monica to get up and leave at that point. Instead, she leaned over and began kissing him, this time not letting him go after just one, her lips lingering longer, her tongue seeking out his. Without words, she pulled away, slipping out of her t-shirt, noticing that even though he briefly looked away, his chest was rising and falling a little faster. She slid to the head of the bed, lying down, waiting until he kicked off his shoes and stretched out beside her.
He was acutely aware of the lack of sensation below the belt, but he held onto her all the same, touching her face and shoulders, occasionally letting his lips press against her exposed skin. Maybe it wasn’t desire per se, but it was some sort of need, and he clung to her as though letting go would mean losing the ability to breathe. When he realized that she had untucked his shirt, he relented and pulled it off.
I remember this , he thought as his hand slid up her bare side and cupped the breast her sheer bra did little to hide. It didn’t matter that his dick still seemed to be oblivious; what mattered was that some primal part of him needed contact with her. As before, they were beyond the reach of time, and neither was aware of how long they embraced one another, with lips and hands exploring cautiously. More articles of her clothing fell to the wayside – her bra, her jeans. She lay before him clad only in a pair of white panties, with a delicate lace trim that he was afraid to touch. In fact, he was afraid to touch her anywhere down there, afraid that it would make her want more than he could give her; he was still wearing his jeans, for he couldn’t stand the embarrassment of what wasn’t going on. Still, he couldn’t stop touching her, and his tongue and teeth proved that they knew exactly what they wanted, nipping at her neck, teasing her nipples, eliciting soft whimpers from her.
At some point, he started to slow down, drawing out his kisses, preparing her for the cessation of their intimacy for the night. He propped himself up on his elbow and brushed her hair back with his hand, looking into her wide open eyes, reading into them things that were not there.
He didn’t know that she was scared, that she was afraid they had made a terrible mistake, that agreeing to go to bed with him meant their friendship – and their partnership – was over. She was already imagining having to give up the X-files and return to New Orleans, that bayou town thick with humidity and a distinct lack of personal happiness. He didn’t know that her feelings for him were so strong that she wasn’t even thinking about the fact that they hadn’t had sex just then.
“I’m sorry,” he said, defeated.
Her eyebrows scrunched up. “Why?” she asked in a whisper, fearing that this was it, that he was going to tell her she should go because it was a mistake, his letting her into his bed.
“I can’t… you know… get it up.” He fell onto his back, a failure, too ashamed to face her, this woman that he loved so much that he was willing to expose himself to such a degree.
She curled up beside him, resting in the crook of his arm, her fingers delicately tracing paths through his chest hair, their touch echoing through his skin and nerves. “I don’t care. I know that you probably don’t believe me, that you’re more likely to believe in aliens and past lives than you are to believe that statement. But John, I honestly don’t care.”
“Yet. Give it a few days, and you’ll start to care.”
He was right, of course, but they weren’t there yet. And he didn’t want to hear her say that, to confirm his suspicions that his problem would indeed make things awkward and uncomfortable, and that she probably didn’t have the patience to be with someone who couldn’t make love to her.
But she also wasn’t ready to give up on him, and this she did say out loud.
He kissed her for it. “We should get some shut eye. Do you need anything? A t-shirt to sleep in?”
With a slight laugh, she shook her head. “This is more than I usually sleep in. You?”
“T-shirt, pajama pants.”
Another laugh escaped, making him feel a little embarrassed, even though he knew it was good natured. “That’s overkill. You think you could make an exception for me? At least get rid of the jeans?”
He conceded, though reluctantly, stripping them off as quickly as possible before sliding under the covers. She smiled kindly, and after divesting herself of her panties, burrowed into the curve of his body. “I’m glad you asked me to stay.” She felt him nod against her head, and they spoke no more.
He awoke a few hours later, after a very graphic dream involving the woman who was still sleeping in his arms. When he’d told her that he wasn’t sure if everything was in working order, he hadn’t been entirely truthful with her. Though his conscious mind would not allow him to indulge in sexual feelings, there was nothing he could do about his unconscious mind. He dreamt frequently of sex, often of her, and like a teenage boy, awoke more than once to the aftereffects of a wet dream or a painful erection that would fade if he tried to take care of it.
Right now, he felt hard, his dick straining against the confines of his underwear. He moved his body away from her, ever so slightly, and with a curious hand, reached down, touching himself. Just as he feared, a stab of guilt tore at his chest, and he pulled his hand away, looking towards the clock – it was nearly 4 in the morning – and then down at her, conflicted over whether to wake her and try to do for her what he should or give in to his usual pattern of behavior by dwelling on the sorrows of his life. She shifted in his arm and his cock jumped at the change of pressure and the sensation of his skin being touched by another person. The feel of a lock of her hair falling into the crook of his elbow made his arm jump, and she opened her eyes, smiling sweetly and sleepily at him.
“Are you having trouble sleeping?” she asked. “Is your arm ok?”
“I…” he started to say, and then swallowed. He didn’t know what to do, but he hadn’t felt such pressure and immediacy in those parts in so long; he was pretty sure he would not be able to ignore it, not as long as she was there, and especially not as long as she was awake.
“What is it?” she asked with care, raising herself up to see his face better.
He tried to smile, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t pulling that facial expression off. He was uncomfortable, on so many levels, and now he was frozen with panic, wanting to plow into her without hesitation. Unable to do so, he pulled her face to his and kissed her fiercely, moving her body just so far onto his that she could not fail to notice why he was awake. Her lips tightened into a smile as she kissed him, and she quickly made her way down his neck and chest, her fingers clutching the band of his underwear, finally pulling them down, releasing him. As soon as her hands touched his cock, a forgotten sensation enveloped him, setting every nerve in his body alight, yet somehow he remembered to reach over and grab the box of condoms from the nightstand. Before he could open them though, her tongue began circling the head of his throbbing dick, sliding further down as she took more of him into her mouth, leaving him supine, his fingers clasping the box hard enough to crunch it, his brain no longer aware of its existence. A few distorted “Oh god”s came from his mouth, as she continued to go down on him, her hands deftly moving in unison with her mouth, reminding him of how utterly sublime that sensation felt, until her tongue and lips made thinking impossible.
“I want you inside of me,” she said, but it was only after she had taken the box of condoms from him that he was able to process her words. With ease, she popped open the box single handedly, her other hand making sure that he stayed hard. The condoms were soon dumped out on the bed beside her, and she chose one, holding the edge of the plastic wrapper in her teeth and tearing it open in one swift movement. Had he seen that, he would have been even more dismayed at how woefully out of practice he was in comparison to her. She had him sheathed in mere seconds.
“Is this ok? Are you sure?” she asked one more time, still incredulous that this was about to happen.
“God, yes,” he said in a husky whisper, his hands reaching up for her breasts. Her eyes fluttered close as he took her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, before sitting up enough to get his mouth on them, the blood surging again in his cock. One hand reached down, between her legs, touching her clit for the first time, feeling the wetness, letting the tip of a finger slip into her opening.
She bent down, taking his mouth with hers again, fierce and predatory. She nipped at his lips with her teeth, letting him explore her with his rough, clumsy thumb and fingers, giving him a chance to find his rhythm. “I need to feel you inside me,” she said again, mindful that they were probably operating on borrowed time, and he nodded. Delicately holding him with her fingers, she slowly slid down onto him. His head fell back on the pillow and his mouth grew slack – this was so much more amazing than he remembered. The tightness, the warmth, the slickness, all encompassing, he just wanted to savor it, and dug his fingers unapologetically into the soft flesh of her hips, holding her still when she tried to move.
He opened his eyes and looked at her in the dim lights. He already knew he wasn’t going to last long, but he also knew that it was at least going to happen, and for the first time in years, he wanted it to happen. Lust took over entirely, and he grabbed hold of her, flipping positions, pushing into her harder and deeper as she cried out. His arms could not wrap around her tightly enough, and he buried his face into her neck.
Between the move to D.C. and realizing that there was finally something going on between herself and John, Monica had not slept with anyone in over a year, which was a particularly long dry spell for her. She missed this sensation, and she especially missed the first time after a long time, the stretching and the probing and the usage of muscles that were only noticed during sex. Yes, she thought with delight, she was going to be sore tomorrow. As he pounded away at her, forcing sounds from her throat that few lovers had before, she wrapped her legs around him, linking her ankles together above his ass, begging him to go as deep as he could.
Her nails dug into the skin of his back. The pain shot through his body and straight to his dick. Her voice was hot in his ear, repeating again and again to not stop, but though he knew she was close, he could not hold back what had already started to happen. He pumped into her several more times, straining and grunting as he came, finally collapsing on top of her.
They lay there for a full minute – John stunned and Monica just trying to catch her breath and take it all in. Finally, he pulled out and fell heavily onto his back, tossing the condom carelessly to the ground. He reached for her hand, interlocking his fingers with hers. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I know that was a letdown for you.”
“On what planet would that be considered a letdown?”
“On the planet where a man lasts longer than…” he turned to look at the clock, “five minutes. That didn’t take very long and I’m sorry.”
“Those might just have been the best five minutes of my life.”
He met her eyes again, thinking she must be trying to crack a joke, but nothing on her face suggested humor.
“Even without… you know?”
"Yes." There was that damned smile of hers, the sincere one that made his stomach flip every time. “You can get me the next go around.”
He was afraid to think about the next round, afraid that this was a fluke, that having one success would put too much pressure on him, or would make him feel more guilt. “You were so close.”
“Yeah, I was,” she smirked. “But it’s fine, leaving me wanting more.” Her fingers were back on his chest, playing with his chest hair, “accidentally” brushing against his nipples as though she could awaken him again.
There was still heat radiating from her body, an energy flowing out of her that kept the sexual tension in the room alive. John felt depleted, emptied of everything, scared that was all he was going to be able to do.
“Let me…” he started to say, but then didn’t want to continue. Didn’t want to even voice aloud the next thing he was also terribly out of practice at, the other thing that might leave her unsatisfied. She was looking at him hard, a hint of confusion in her eyes, but when he started to slink a little lower, she understood, shimmying quickly up to the top corner of the bed, her legs spreading for his already waiting mouth and tongue.
It had been even longer, he was sure, since he’d given this a go. He breathed her in as his tongue nervously reacquainted itself with female anatomy, but he felt lost and uncertain. Had he ever been good at this? “Monica,” he started, a hint of fear in his voice, “I’m not sure what–” but before he could finish, she shushed him as she looked down on him with the warmest smile.
“You don’t have to start off so strong, or at the source. Just… take your time. Tease. Less is more, until I start asking for more.”
He didn’t feel any more at ease, but she pushed his head back down, giving only the simple direction of “lips and teeth.” He kissed her thighs, allowing a little nip here and there, pleased when the smallest sounds began to escape her mouth. As he shifted to the other thigh, he paused briefly, kissing her soft mound, letting his warm breath add to the heat between her legs.
“Touch me,” she instructed, her hand pushing away one of his that held onto her hip.
He let his thumb brush gently against her clit, making her jump, moving it slowly to her opening, but he didn’t enter her, instead going back up to see just how slight a touch he could use to make her moan with desire.
“Please, more, more of that,” she said again, her voice thick with insistence and yearning. After stronger strokes with his fingers, he held her labia open, and with the tip of his tongue, he gently flicked her clit before pulling it in with his lips, repeating this again and again, the light suction causing her whimpers to grow.
They weren’t the only thing growing. Her smell, her taste, her cries - the switch he was so used to throwing to quiet down his needs seemed to be broken… and he only felt relief. Maybe he would be ok.
“I want you inside me,” she begged, as she had before, but he knew this time she meant his fingers, and he complied. With two fingers, he pushed inside her, going after her clit even harder, feeling his cock jerk with every thrust. Her hands reached for his head, fingers twisting in his hair, and she begged him to keep going, to not stop. But he slowed his rhythm instead, backing away from the intensity, and with his free hand, he reached up to where the remaining condoms were scattered, fumbling around until he found one.
She looked down at him confused, her mouth parted and her breathing heavy, and then her face softened with understanding. He struggled to open the foil wrapper with wet hands, growing frustrated with himself, panic gnawing at him as his dick began to wilt. Instantly, she was kneeling before him, one hand at his head, pulling him close, kissing him hungrily, while her other hand traveled south, jolting him out of his gloom. He moaned as she played with his balls, letting her wrist rub against his half stiff dick, and then cried out when she pressed the side of her finger against a spot just behind his balls, a switch he hadn’t known existed, a switch that brought him back to life in one pulse. He could feel the corners of her mouth ride up as she hit it over and over.
She took the slippery condom wrapper from him and tossed it aside, handing him another one from the now dwindling pile, and with a grin, reminded him to wipe his hands off first. Once open though, he hesitated putting it on. He wanted her to do it again, afraid to touch himself, afraid to drain the life out of his erection. But she shared none of his hesitation, her body warm, alive, insistent, and she lay back, the smile lighting up her face her most genuine.
He was powerless to resist her and followed her down, his naked cock a little too close for her comfort, and she quickly grabbed the hand that held the condom. “I love you, bu–” She caught herself too late, her smile vanished, shock visible on her face. “I still need you to wear that,” she managed to continue in a hushed voice, before biting her lip and searching his face. She’d wanted to make a lighthearted quip to keep things from becoming tense but had failed to think it through. She hadn’t meant to be the first one to say it.
The look John gave her was the same look he’d given her the night she’d said too much, when she’d told him that she couldn't imagine him disappointing anyone - equal parts surprised and amused, before narrowing his eyes. He’d understood then, yet he’d still walked away, and he clearly understood now. She braced herself for the worst, as the tension she was trying to avoid had magnified.
“Dropping the l-word on me already? Well, you sure know how to up the ante on a guy, don’t you?” he asked playfully, for the tension she felt was one-sided.
There was no smile returned. Instead, she started right into an embarrassed apology, but he cut her off before she could really begin, his face and voice softening with the same care and concern that usually came from her.
“Uh-uh. No apologizing. Listen to me, I wouldn’t be here with you right now if I wasn’t in love with you. You understand that, don't you?”
A million emotions flitted across her face, and he had no choice but to kiss her. Something about saying it out loud made him want her even more, which he didn’t think was possible. With his free hand, he went to work on himself. For the time being, the mental block that had kept him from any sexual gratification for nearly a decade was out of reach. It was still there, but distant and opaque, no longer looming heavily over him.
Once hard, he rolled the condom down. Her hands were pulling at his arms, his chest, his ass, whatever she could touch, begging him to come closer. He held himself before her, rubbing his cock against her clit, between her folds, prodding her opening but not yet entering, not until she finally spoke, breathlessly calling his name. He pushed into her in one movement and closed the gap between them.
His guiding thought was Monica’s pleasure, while keeping a check on his own. He wasn’t going to disappoint her again, not tonight at least, and he eagerly began demonstrating everything he’d figured out so far. Fingers lightly tracing the side of her breast, that one spot at the base of her neck that made her shudder every time he kissed it, his hands trying to touch every part of her, and most importantly, pouring every ounce of love he had for her through his eyes. There would be no more hiding that.
He needed to see what else she liked, to make sure he was doing his all. He moved to a seated position and took note of how much more she writhed in his lap when he greedily sucked at her nipples or grabbed her ass and rocked her harder against his cock. His hands on her back made her shiver and drove little cries from her throat; he wanted to take her from behind, feel his chest against her back, kiss her shoulders and the nape of her neck, to see how she would react.
Instead, she pressed him down onto the mattress. His hands ran up her thighs as she sat atop him, and at the pinnacle, he stroked her clit with just the right amount of pressure. Suddenly, she folded her upper body against his, the intensity making it clear she was close. Her mouth was on his, then his neck, his shoulder, and without warning, without his understanding how, she had her finger pressed to that magical spot behind his balls again. His hands grabbed her hips and rammed her into him, increasing the pace. Her voice rang out as she came, the sound sending him over the edge, and he drove into her with long, deep thrusts until he was truly, utterly spent.
They took longer this time to come to their senses. She gently rolled off of him and stretched her legs out, removing the condom for him before leaving her hand to rest just below his navel. As soon as he could he brought her mouth to his and kissed her. Her face was flushed, her nostrils slightly flared as she caught her breath, and though she looked happy, her smile was still cautious. He tucked her hair behind her ear, taking his time and trailing a finger down her neck. What could he possibly say to her to erase so many years of his not being ready for this?
Outside his window, a bird began chirping its announcement that dawn had arrived. John looked over at the clock. “Did better than five minutes this time.”
She let out the laugh that always made him feel better. “I think those last five minutes might just have beaten the first.”
“So quality over quantity, that’s what I’m hearing,” he quipped.
“Oh, I don’t know, I do enjoy quantity too,” she remarked as she ran her finger down his dick.
For a while, it was just quiet as the birds sang and light began to fill the room. They let their fingers lazily graze across each other’s body, sometimes sharing soft kisses.
She wanted to ask him how it was, if he thought things would be ok now, if she had somehow broken the spell, but mostly, she wanted to say that she loved him; it all felt too heavy for the moment though. The kid gloves she’d worn around him for the last nine years were hard to take off.
“I’m thinking I might make an appointment to see someone,” he said, as though reading her mind. “A headshrinker, just to help me nip this thing in the bud for good.”
“I think that’s a good idea.”
“I’m still gonna have bad days. There’s gonna be times when it’ll just be too much, and I won’t be able to do for you what I should.”
“That’s ok. I’ll still be here,” she replied, feeling for the first time that such a promise was well within her reach.
He smiled and nodded, and she could see in his eyes only happiness in that moment. She returned the smile automatically, and he played with her hair, just soaking her whole being in. “You know how much I love you?” he asked, a little unrestrained joy mixed in with his sincerity.
“As much as I love you, I hope.”
“Oh, definitely more than that,” he said, a sparkle in his eye.
“Impossible.”
He took another moment to marvel at her before tipping her chin towards him with his finger, leaving a tender kiss on her lips. There was a softness to his face, his eyes full of something unspoken.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
“That I wish I hadn’t waited so long.”
“You waited until you were ready. I respect that, John. And honestly, I feel pretty special that I’m the first person you invited back into your bed.”
“You’re the only person I want here, and I think maybe… maybe you’ll be the last,” he said, and she knew, as he stroked her face with his thumb, that he wasn’t implying a lifetime of celibacy, but instead a lifetime with her, and that there was no maybe about it.