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2hrs2nevada · 5 years

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a short story i wrote!

Vrediteli

The air of the new village was hot and thick with insects. To avoid getting bitten, because they knew that the midges carried deadly diseases, the villagers covered their bodies from head to toe and draped cheesecloths soaked in callicarpa juice over their faces. Even still, the bugs slurped on Zala’s blood as if it were a foreign feast.

The air in the new house was hotter still. The wood was swollen, making opening and closing doors a frustrating feat. Tall trees surrounded its walls, shielding it from the harsh August sun, but even in the shade the village was dreadful.

Zala missed her old house. In the winter her old town was blanketed with snow, and even in the summer an occasional cool mountain breeze would make the heat bearable. But her mother’s new husband lived down the mountain and across the Witches Woods, so that was where they moved to, much to her dismay. Here dogs panted, whimpered, and died. Birds twitted lazily as their offspring whined, unwilling to venture out of their familiar nests.

Zala tried to miss her father, but she hated him more. She thought he was an idiot for taking the family out in the wagon on such a stormy day, and on such a treacherous path. What was the point-- to go to the market? As if they needed more skins and wool. Stupid, stupid, stupid. It was his fault, not hers.

The memory made her shudder. The rain, the mud, the heart-stopping snap of the wheel, the clamber of flesh; the shove; the scream. She clenched her teeth. Stupid, stupid.

Even still, a sickening, timid wave of relief would always accompany the recounting. She rubbed her wrist, where the ghosts of deep bruises still haunted her. She regretted it. She did not regret it. She wanted to vomit. A mosquito landed on her leg, and she flicked it away.

The first few days in the new house were suffocating and slow. Zala spent most of her time in the garden-- it was hotter inside the house than out, and she liked to watch the bees through the purple-stained grid of her cheesecloth mask. Her old clothes were far too heavy for the new climate, so she was put to work sewing and hemming, sitting in the shade of the beech trees with a basket of organdy and linen. The routine became tolerable, unlike the constellations of stings on her hands, where her skin was exposed to the elements. Her mother would slather them with salve every night before she went to bed, but the effort was in vain, and all night long Zala was plagued with an incurable itch.

One day, when she had just finished sewing herself a long white skirt that one could see right through in a certain light, something caught Zala’s eye from across the garden. A quivering mass of brown fur was hiding behind a clump of carrot greens. She stood up slowly-- it was a rabbit, she realized with a grin. She hadn’t seen one since the move. The sight was oddly comforting. She stayed stock-still, mimicking the creature’s behavior. Its black eyes blinked and its whiskers twitched. Eventually, when Zala smacked a mosquito dead on her hand, the rabbit bolted, its hind legs flashing white as it disappeared into the brush.

“Mother, do you know what I saw in the garden today?” Zala asked that evening, blowing on her bowl of painfully hot shkembe.

Her mother did not answer. She was talking to her new husband about the state of the floorboards.

“I saw a rabbit, Mother. Can you believe that?”

No answer. Zala sighed and stirred her soup. She never liked tripe much, but it was better where they used to live.

***

The next day, the rabbit was back. Zala decided to name it Tsveta because of a white patch on its hide that was shaped like a flower. She watched it hop among the vegetable beds, nibbling on the fresh shoots. She figured she should probably shoo it away, but for some reason the thought of doing so made her very sad, so she let it feast on her mother’s crops without intervention.

The day after, much to Zala’s delight, another rabbit appeared in the garden. She named this one Rositsa for no reason in particular. It was bigger than Tsveta, and much bolder.

“Where do you come from?” she asked Rositsa, when it hopped close enough to be in what Zala assumed was earshot. The rabbit looked at her silently.

“I’m from the mountains.” She pointed upward, but the trees blocked the view, so she let her arm fall. “You would like it up there.”

Rositsa wiggled her nose and blinked.

“Maybe I’ll take you there someday. You could meet my friends and eat all the carrot greens you wanted.” She was talking more to herself than the rabbit.

By the end of that week there were eight rabbits that Zala could identify. Besides Tsveta and Rositsa, there was Ivan, Rabil, Zornitsa, Yasen, Anna, and Gavrail. Around halfway through, Zala had decided to name them after her old friends.

When the eighth rabbit showed up was when Zala’s mother finally began to take notice. “Vrediteli,” she grumbled. Pests. “Look what they’ve done to my carrots!”

That afternoon, Zala tearfully watched her mother throw handfuls of black pepper across the garden. “Moya lyubov,” her stepfather crowed.“You sadden the child.” Zala just glared.

But that night a storm swept over the village, and the rain washed the pepper away. The next day, Zala counted ten rabbits, slurping on the raindrops that had collected on the leaves of the cabbage. She named the new ones Neli and Hristo.

Zala’s mother mixed blood meal in with the pepper that night, and sprinkled it so generously that the vegetables were the same color as the soil. “Velika, dear, will that not ruin the taste?” her husband whined, but she paid him no attention. Zala shut herself in her room.

That night a tornado blew across the town. Every window in the house rattled as the wind shook the foundations. In the morning, the plants were clean as day, and fifteen rabbits munched happily on their leaves. Zala was delighted. Her mother marched into town to buy more blood meal and rabbit traps. Storms racked the village every night, and the sun shone hot and bright on the closed, empty traps every morning.

Finally, no more than a week later, Zala could no longer keep track of all the rabbits that inhabited her garden. She had stopped counting at thirty, and at least ten more had shown up since then. She had to start naming them after close acquaintances, and eventually teachers and relatives.

Biljana, a plump young rabbit with one floppy ear, was Zala’s favorite. She was brave but gentle, coming close enough to Zala that she could touch her, only to curl up by her feet and go to sleep. Zala would pet her softly, and her mother would yell from the kitchen, “Don’t touch those things, skŭpotsenna. They’ll make you ill!” Zala paid her no mind. She loved Biljana. She loved every one of her little rabbit friends.

One evening, when Zala was finishing up a red linen frock, she noticed one of the shyer rabbits hopping warily towards her. The sun was setting, but even in the dim light she could see it was Zornitsa-- she had a scar on her nose that was easily recognizable.

Zala held her hand out. “Come here, sladurche!” she whispered. Zornitsa inched closer.

And suddenly, before Zala knew what was happening, the rabbit’s teeth were around her wrist and then it was bounding away, Zala’s hand in its mouth.

Zala wailed. Blood spurted from her stump and peppered the newly sewn linen frock on her lap. Her mother rushed outside at the noise and screeched when her eyes fell upon her daughter. “Bozhe moĭ, Zala, what happened?” she cried, rushing to tend to the wound. Zala could only sob. The rabbits had fled. Blood was dripping onto the dirt below her.

She slept with the stump of her arm wrapped in bandages that night. The next day, she did not dare go outside, but when she peeked out the window, Zornitsa was nowhere to be found. She breathed a sigh of relief-- or, at least, that was what it was meant to be. Biljana sat by the window, looking lost. Zala pressed her good hand to the glass.

That night Zala went to bed early, her stomach full of her mother’s Güveç. She had begun to grow accustomed to having one hand. She thought, maybe this isn’t so bad.

The next morning she woke up missing a foot. Bloody paw prints snaked across the floor from her bed to the kitchen and out of the house. Her sheets were soaked a dark purple-red. Her mother put her in a chair and fastened pieces of cloth to the bottoms of the legs so it could be easily pushed around. Zala spent the morning fashioning a floral-patterned bandage wrap for the stump of her leg, and the afternoon sitting by the window, her left calf swaddled in blue and purple cloth stained with burgundy. Gavrail was gone, and the pawprints trailing out of the house that her mother was busy scrubbing away were uneven. Gavrail had a limp.

Zala cried herself to sleep that night. She had not been outside in two days, and the sweltering house smelled of blood and salve. Her bloodstained sheets flowed and flapped on the clothesline outside her window. Another storm was coming to wash away the repellent. Zala wished the sky would let her rest.

She woke up one-legged, and was barely surprised. Anna was gone, and so was Ivan. My leg must have been heavy, Zala thought bitterly as she hoisted herself out of bed and into the chair. Suddenly an explosion of pain shot through her bloody hip-stump, and she fainted, falling to the floor with a sickening thud. She woke up to her mother waving smelling salts under her nose, the pain still there.

Her mother brought her to the village doctor. He asked if she had been around any witches recently. She said no, she hadn’t. He asked if she had done anything to warrant a curse. She said no, of course not. No. Of course she hadn’t. Bile crept up her throat, but she held it down. “Bŭdi vnimatelen, child,” he warned. He gave her an ointment made from the sap of a local tree and told her to get lots of rest.

***

By the end of the week, Zala had lost all her limbs to the rabbits. Her mother was relieved that the garden was nearly rid of vermin, but Zala was miserable.

Her torso had to be taken in two trips, and then Zala was just a head, her mother having propped her up on the mantle so she could still feel like part of everything. When her mother and stepfather left the room, Zala would sob, tears dripping down her face, down the stub of her neck, and fall four feet until they hit the floor. She missed her body. She missed her heart. She missed her father.

That night, unable to sleep, she watched the door creak open, a sliver of moonlight bathing the house. A tiny creature hopped silently across the living room and climbed onto the mantle with surprising haste. Zala let out a choked cry. “Biljana,” she whispered. “Please. Ostavi me na mira.” Leave me be. Biljana blinked, and Zala stared deep into her beady eyes with a pleading, tearful gaze. The rabbit chomped down on her hair and hopped down from the mantle in a single leap, letting Zala’s head thump against the floor. Zala screamed and cried as Biljana dragged her out of the house, across the garden, through the Witches Woods, and towards the mountains. Thump, thump, thump, went Zala’s head, bouncing on the cold nighttime grass, and then soil, then stone.

Suddenly her blood went cold. “Biljana,” she choked, “where are we going?” The landscape was becoming horribly familiar.

The rain, the mud, the heart-stopping snap of the wheel, the clamber of flesh; the shove; the scream. The memory was fresh and raw in Zala’s mind. It was her fault. She pushed her father out of the wagon and off the cliff. It wasn’t an accident. She knew that now; she had known all along. The road grew closer. She could picture a ghostly image: the wagon beginning to fall, her father next to her in the back, and then dangling over the edge as she scrambled to safety, and then…

Even as her head was slammed against the ground, Zala could see what was ahead, the moonlight illuminating the road clinging to the side of the muddy precipice. Rain began to pepper the ground. Beyond the cliff was the mountain on which Zala used to live with her mother and father. She thought of her friends: Yasen, and Anna, and Zornitsa and Gavrail. She wondered if they missed her.

Something caught her eye on the edge of the thin road-- at first she thought it was a person, standing stock-still, but then…

Zala’s mouth went dry. Her eyes went wide. If she had legs, they would have given out. If she had a heart, it would have frozen. If she had a stomach, she would have been sick.

For she did not have a stomach because it was here, right in front of her, along with all the rest of the organs and appendages she had lost throughout the week, all mashed and lumped together into the oozing, grotesque shape of a girl. A strip of her nightdress, soaked through with old blood, was draped over the headless torso of the hideous figure. Between its legs was a gaping hole. Bright red thread was stitched through its skin to attach the parts to one another. Zala recognized it as the thread she had been using the day Zornitsa ripped off her hand. It was sewn with the handiwork of a child, or an inexperienced man.

The thing was propped up on a tall wooden stake, and looked like it was meant to be looking over the cliff into the valley, but Zala couldn’t tell which way it was facing. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t breathe. She could only stare as Biljana hopped towards the beast, her jaw still clamped firmly on Zala’s hair. A wolf howled somewhere closeby. The trees rustled in the warm, spitting rain.

Biljana scaled the creature on the stake and placed Zala’s head on its shoulders. From there, Zala could see that the landscape was teeming with rabbits, surrounding her in quivering, blinking waves. She sobbed a prayer to the gray-blue sky. “Otche nash, Ti, koĭto si na nebeto…” She was barely a believer. The rabbits hopped closer still.

WHAT HAPPENED HERE? A terrible voice whispered, louder than a gong. It came from everywhere and nowhere. Zala shut her eyes and whimpered.

UBIETS. The voice grew louder, sending an awful chill across Zala’s scalp. KILLER. KILLER. KILLER. WHAT HAPPENED HERE, ZALA?

Now Zala was screaming the prayer into the night. It caught in her throat and she gagged. “Otche nash…” It was the only one she knew. The rabbits were forming a great circle around the stake upon which she was propped. “Zashtoto Tvoe e tsarstvoto, i silata, i slavata voveki…”

HERE IS WHERE YOU KILLED YOUR FATHER. HERE YOU WILL STAY. Zala could feel the voice, deep in her ear canals, flowing across the mountains. Biljana was on the ground in front of her. She was facing away from the cliff, but she knew what she would see if she weren’t; her father’s body, still and misshapen at the bottom of the valley, lying next to a splintered wooden wheel. She had seen it before.

“Da doĭde Tvoeto tsarstvo; da bŭde Tvoyata volya, kakto na nebeto, tŭĭ i na zemyata…” She blubbered the prayer out as if the empty words would make the animals disappear. The moon was growing low in the sky, and she thought she could see a sliver of sunlight peeking over the horizon.

GOODBYE, ZALA, the voice whispered, and she could have sworn it was the voice of her father, bidding her farewell like he did so many times before.

“Wait,” she cried, “where are you going? Let me down! LET ME DOWN!”

The rabbits began to retreat. The voice was gone.

“Let me down,” Zala wept, but she was alone on the edge of the mountain, the sun beginning to rise, the rain ceasing. Sensation began to creep into her limbs, sliding down her spine like trickling blood. She screamed, then fainted. When she came to, the sun was blazing above her. Birds warbled and snakes murmured from the woods. Every contorted muscle in Zala’s body was taut with agony. “Otche nash, Ti, koĭto si na nebeto…”

***

“Wait here, detsa,” Gavrail urged his children as he began to make his way down the mountain. The old road had been blocked off for decades, ever since the accident-- it was deemed unsafe for travel, so he had to descend the mountain on foot. In his hand was a small wicker basket. It was his wife’s birthday, and he wanted to collect the berries she liked and give them to her as a gift. The only place to find them was the entrance to the Witches Woods.

As he reached the foot of the mountain, a sound reached his ears that made him freeze on the spot. A voice was wailing the Our Father from somewhere closeby. A chill snaked down his spine-- it was a horrible voice, a familiar voice, but he couldn’t place who it belonged to. It continued to howl the prayer, over and over, skipping the amin in every repetition.

Gavrail turned and clambered back up the mountain as fast as his legs would carry him. His children asked him where the berries were; he told them he couldn’t find any, that they would have to come up with another gift. They complied with twin smiles.

#sorry this is so long #writers of tumblr #short story

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crescentmoon223 · 5 years

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Two Worlds Collide - Chapter 4

Chapter 4

“So, did you guys plan this, or…?” Mulder grinned, sweeping his hand dramatically between Stella and Scully, gesturing to their nearly identical outfits.

Stella had just come from the morgue, where she’d stood over Alissa Pine’s tiny body while the medical examiner told her in gruesome detail every disgusting thing that had been done to the girl. She was running on fumes, and her patience for Mulder’s humor was running extremely thin. Her left eye twitched. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

His jaw gaped open for a moment while Scully pressed a hand over her eyes in embarrassment. How did she put up with him day after day? Six years of this, of listening to him mouth off about monsters and aliens, cracking stupid jokes in his ill-fitting suits.

“Tomorrow, I thought I might dye my hair blonde,” Scully deadpanned, glancing from Mulder to Stella. “See if you could tell us apart.”

Stella clenched her jaw against the completely irrational urge to laugh. She glared at Scully before spinning on her heel to walk to her office. She shut the door behind her for effect, sinking into her chair. For a moment, she just sat there, fingertips pressed against her brow, rubbing at the headache pulsing there.

Alissa’s body swam across her vision, and tears pricked at the backs of her eyes. Later that afternoon, she and Chen would question the girl’s stepfather. She could hardly wait to sink her teeth into the sonofabitch, metaphorically speaking, of course, but first, she had to prepare. She drew in a deep breath and pushed it out, blinking her composure into place.

Then she turned to her computer and got to work. She reviewed every detail of the Pine case, making careful notes about the holes in the stepfather’s alibi, his prior conviction for child pornography, and the as yet unidentified fibers on Alissa’s bare legs. She had no idea how much time had passed when she heard a knock at the door to her office. “Come in.”

The door opened, and Scully stood there, a bright smile on her face that was in such contradiction to the darkness in Stella’s mind she almost growled at her for having the nerve to look so happy. But she’d already dropped into the guest chair, still wearing that skirt that looked so ridiculously like Stella’s. Scully’s emphasized the hourglass swell of her figure and made Stella’s fingers clench against the urge to touch her.

“Chen told me you hadn’t eaten.” Scully set a white paper bag and an insolated coffee cup on the desk between them, still with that smile that made Stella want to scream at her or kiss her. One of the two.

“I missed lunch.” She sounded harsh even to her own ears. “Busy,” she added, purposefully softening her tone.

“I’ll get out of your hair, then.” Unphased, Scully stood, turning toward the door.

Stella blew out a slow breath. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Scully told her. “I always wished someone would bring me a sandwich when I was having a day like this. So…”

Stella gave her a grateful smile.

“Anyway, I’m headed back to the hotel for the evening. I might do a little sightseeing…playing it by ear.” She raised her eyebrows just slightly, enough to make sure Stella caught her meaning.

“Noted.” She took another breath, pushing back the desire that had barreled through her at the thought of seeing Scully again later. Don’t do it, a little voice inside her warned. She was already far too taken with Scully for her own good. But then again, tomorrow she would fly back to America, so there was no real danger in Stella allowing herself this one night. “Where’s Mulder?”

“At the airport. He’s flying home early.”

“I see.”

Scully smiled again, ducking her head. “I’ll, ah…see you later. Or not. You’ve got my number.”

Stella nodded, and Scully walked to the door, pulling it open.

“Dana.”

“Yes?” She turned, blue eyes as bright as cornflowers.

“I’ll see you later.”

***

The first thing Scully did when she got back to her room was change. She’d joked about the matching outfits, but truthfully, it was awkward. If she saw Stella again later, she didn’t want to look like a less-glamorous version of her. Besides, office clothes were for the office. She put on a floor-length black knit skirt with the blue top her mom had given her for her birthday.

It brought out the blue in her eyes, or so Maggie said. Right before she reminded Scully that thirty-three was almost mid-thirties, and had she thought about at least testing the dating pool? She’d never get married if she didn’t date.

Well, here she was in London, wearing the shirt and going on a date, even if it was with the least likely person in the whole world to someday marry her. If Stella had one thing in common with Mulder, it was that they were both married to the job, dedicated to the pursuit of justice to the detriment of their own well-being.

Scully had always thought she’d settle down someday and start a family. Even after she’d learned she couldn’t bear children of her own, she’d thought of adoption. Emily’s face flitted across her vision, and she gasped at the pain that gripped her chest, blinking back tears. Pressing a hand against her ribs, she sat on the bed, pulling herself back together.

These were thoughts, fears, and tears for another day. Right now, she had a city to see. So, she stuffed a few things into the pockets of her coat and headed out, frustrated to find London as cold, gray, and wet as it had been this time yesterday. Well, no matter. She’d spent enough hours standing outside in the cold rain at crime scenes. She’d hardly even notice it under these relatively happy circumstances.

She rode the tube to Green Park and walked to Buckingham Palace to watch the changing of the guard, before touring Westminster Abbey. And if she geeked out in front of the rows of ancient texts in its library, well, nobody needed to know about that but herself.

Darkness had fallen outside when she left the abbey. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, but she was hesitant to eat, hoping Stella would call. Her heart beat faster every time she so much as thought of her, let alone saw her. Could they possibly top the magic of last night? The one thing Scully was sure of was that she at least deserved the chance to try. She so rarely allowed herself to do something like this, to seek a night of pleasure just because it was something she wanted. But when she decided to cut loose, she was all in.

No regrets, no matter how tonight played out.

Since the rain had stopped, she set off at a brisk walk, deciding to see where her feet carried her. She needed the exercise after the stress and frustration of the day. Eventually, she walked past a market, multi-colored tents boasting a variety of food and treats. Led by her empty stomach, Scully wandered between the stalls. Ten minutes later, she walked back out with a bag of fudge in her hand, a morsel of salted caramel already melting in her mouth. She’d gotten a sampling of flavors, hoping she might have someone to share it with later.

As if on cue, her phone rang. The number was long and foreign-looking, and her stomach tingled in anticipation. Cursing herself for having a mouthful of fudge, she connected the call. “Hello?”

“Dana?”

She almost choked on the fudge at the sound of Stella’s voice. Quickly, she swallowed. “Yes.”

“Still want company tonight?”

“Yes.” She didn’t even care how eager she sounded, because she had earned this night, dammit.

“Where are you?”

“Um.” She looked around for street signs. “I don’t know exactly. I was walking, and I found this market, and—”

“Camden?” Stella asked.

“Maybe?”

“Are you lost, Agent Scully?”

She could hear the smile in Stella’s voice, and her own lips stretched in response. “Yes, but I can see a sign for the Underground up ahead, so I won’t be lost for long. Where should I meet you?”

“How do you feel about room service?”

“It sounds perfect,” she answered honestly. “And I just bought us dessert.”

“I thought you were dessert,” Stella said throatily, causing Scully to trip over her own feet. “I’ll meet you at your hotel.”

Scully hurried toward the Underground station. She bought a ticket and fidgeted with her skirt as she waited for the train to carry her across town to her hotel…and to Stella. Except, as it turned out, she had to change trains—twice—to get where she needed to go. It took almost forty-five minutes all told, and she was about to jump out of her own skin from a combination of nerves and anticipation by the time she made it into the lobby.

Was Stella here already? Scully didn’t see her anywhere, so she rode the elevator to the fifth floor, heart jumping into her throat as she spotted Stella in the hallway outside her room, one hip against the wall, arms folded across her chest in a way that managed to make her look both aloof and commanding.

“Took you long enough,” she said, her gaze sliding over Scully.

She felt it like a physical touch, shivering slightly as she stepped forward, tugging at Stella’s arm, undoing her carefully composed poise so she could kiss her. “Sorry,” she murmured against her lips.

“Thought you might be properly lost after all.” Stella kissed her back, her mouth hot and demanding against Scully’s.

“No, but the Underground is slow.” She fumbled with her keycard as Stella wound an arm around her waist, lips diverting their way down Scully’s neck as she unlocked the door and swung it open. They stumbled inside, arms interlaced, kissing whatever skin was within easy reach.

“You changed.” Stella tugged at the waistband of Scully’s skirt.

“Mm.” She undid the top button of Stella’s blouse. “If there had been a ‘who wore it better,’ you would have won.”

“I disagree. Your hips in that skirt.” Stella slid her fingers over the thin knit fabric covering Scully’s hips. “Absolute torture not being able to touch you.”

“And you look like you just stepped off a fashion runway, which is pretty unfair, considering I know you only got about two hours sleep last night and worked a twelve-hour day catching serial killers.”

“You energize me.” Stella dug her fingers into Scully’s hips, drawing her flush against her body.

This close, though, Scully could see the shadows beneath her eyes, the worry lines between her brows, the pink mark on her bottom lip where she must have bitten it in stress or frustration. Scully sucked it between her own lips, soothing the spot with her tongue as Stella exhaled deeply, the rigid set of her spine softening beneath Scully’s fingers.

She’d heard one of the other officers talking about a little girl found in a dumpster, and now she knew what had caused the haunted look in Stella’s eyes last night when she’d come to Scully’s room, seeking comfort from a near stranger. If she could help replace those images with something warm, something solid, something good, even for a few hours, then it was time well spent.

Especially if it meant another orgasm like the one Stella had given her last night. Maybe even more than one, because right now, the night ahead loomed large and endless before them.

“Did you stop at home after you left here this morning?” she asked as she stepped Stella backward toward the bed, unbuttoning her blouse as she went.

“No.” Stella gasped as Scully trailed a finger over her exposed collarbone, dipping between her breasts, covered tonight in a pink lace bra, just a shade darker than her skin. “I keep a change of clothes at the office.”

“Convenient.” Scully tongued her nipple through the fabric, then gave her a gentle shove.

“Yes.” Stella fell backward onto the bed, blouse open, skirt slightly bunched at the hips, and Scully felt her throat go dry. Surely nothing had ever been more beautiful than the way Stella looked in that moment, cheeks slightly flushed, eyes so vividly blue they seemed to be lit from within.

“I want to taste every inch of you.” Scully crawled on top of her, intent on doing just that, but the next thing she knew, she was flat on her back, Stella’s weight pressing her to the bed as she kissed every last rational thought from her head. Stella nudged a thigh between her legs, and Scully opened to her, grateful for the loose knit fabric of her skirt.

“You taste like caramel,” Stella murmured, one of her hands wandering down Scully’s body, pushing up her shirt.

“Fudge.” She waved a hand in the general direction of the bag she’d dropped just inside the door.

“I like it.” She kissed Scully again, tongue diving into her mouth, hands diving everywhere else, tugging at fabric, removing clothes. Scully shifted this way and that, helping Stella to undress her until finally she lay naked beneath her.

Stella sucked briefly at the mark she’d left on Scully’s neck last night before trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her chest. One of her hands slid between Scully’s thighs, stroking her as she sucked her nipple into her mouth.

“Fuck,” Scully breathed, back arching as the restless desire that had been throbbing inside her since she’d caught sight of Stella outside her door blazed out of control.

“Yes,” Stella murmured, continuing to work her way down Scully’s body, tongue winging its way around her navel and over her belly.

Realizing where she was headed, Scully tensed in anticipation, thighs clamping around Stella’s hand, and she looked up, her eyes questioning. “Is this all right?” she asked softly.

Scully looked down at her, blonde hair hanging loosely over Scully’s thighs, kindness in her eyes and sin on her tongue. “Yes,” she whispered, allowing her knees to fall open as Stella settled herself between them.

And Stella replaced her fingers with her tongue, beginning with one long, slow lick through Scully’s folds that had her head dropping against the pillow and a decidedly unladylike noise coming from her lips. Stella licked all the way to Scully’s clit, teasing it with the tip of her tongue, making her whole body shiver and tremble.

A vague image formed in her mind of the echocardiogram in the hospital, the way the needle would jump when the patient was stimulated. Hers would be leaping off the paper right now. She’d break the fucking machine.

Stella’s tongue retreated, licking and swirling before jabbing inside her, causing her to arch off the bed.

“Oh,” she gasped, reaching down to palm her own breasts.

“Yes,” Stella said against her wet skin. “Do that. Do whatever feels good.”

“You feel good,” she moaned, hips thrusting impatiently against Stella’s mouth. “So good.”

In response, Stella closed her mouth over Scully’s clit and sucked as she pushed two fingers inside her.

“Yes,” Scully gasped. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”

And she didn’t. She kept a gentle suction with her mouth as her tongue swirled over Scully’s clit, licking and flicking while her fingers pumped in and out, and Scully was writhing against the bedspread, grinding herself against Stella’s mouth as the pressure built inside her, winding hotter and tighter until she thought she might burst from it.

“Jesus Christ,” she gasped as she broke. “Stella…”

***

Stella lay beside Scully, toying with a lock of her hair to keep her hands occupied while Scully regained her senses. Stella steadied her breathing, attempting to quell the desire throbbing inside her, already mentally talking her way back out the door before Scully could finish undressing her. Last night, it had been dark. Tonight, the lights were on, and Scully would see her.

Scully would want to return the favor. Hell, she’d already been the first to ask.

“I want to taste every inch of you,” she’d said, as sincere as she was enthusiastic, tossing Stella to the bed.

She sat up now, straddling Stella’s hips, red hair mussed and gleaming nearly as bright as the light in her eyes. She rocked her hips against Stella, and she couldn’t help the way her breath hitched, the need pulsing wickedly inside her. Maybe she could still salvage this.

“Touch me,” she demanded, guiding Scully’s hand beneath her skirt, and she did. Her fingers pushed aside the lace of Stella’s underwear, brushing through her wetness, making her pant.

Yes. Fuck, yes.

She tilted her hips, increasing the pressure of Scully’s hand, silently urging her on. Scully slid down, straddling Stella’s thigh as she lowered herself to kiss her breast, fingers working their magic, and fuck, she needed this. She needed it so badly she felt slightly desperate, and that was not a feeling she enjoyed.

She sucked in a deep breath, steadying herself, grounding herself to the feel of Scully’s fingers, the rhythm she’d set, not quite hard or fast enough to Stella’s liking. And then Scully bent her head, kissing Stella through the fabric of her skirt. The heat of her mouth, even diluted by various layers, still brought Stella gasping up off the mattress.

“Can I?” Scully asked, looking up at Stella. “Please? I want to taste you. I’ve wanted to since last night.”

Yes. But she couldn’t say it out loud. Her whole body stiffened beneath Scully’s as the word lodged in her throat. Their gazes held, unspoken words passing between them as Scully sensed her discomfort. And Stella hated herself for the shame that heated her cheeks as she thought of Scully seeing her, really seeing her. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, breathing past it, focusing on the need still burning inside her and the pleasure Scully could bring.

The truth was, she’d never done this, never let anyone get this close to her scars. She’d fucked on tables, on desks, behind bars, in grungy public bathrooms, and in the backseat of a patrol car, but she’d never bared herself to any of her partners, not the way she was dangerously close to baring herself to Scully. Most men were relieved, glad even, when she refused their feeble attempts at going down on her. But Scully was different. She genuinely wanted to do this, wanted to please her, and she would understand. Stella knew she would.

If there was ever a moment for Stella to let go, a partner to grant this level of trust, it was now, this woman, this night.

Now or never, Stella.

She’d never been one to back down from a challenge, especially the self-imposed kind.

“It’s okay,” Scully said, sliding up to press a kiss against Stella’s lips.

“No,” Stella said, opening her eyes, staring into Scully’s. “I do. I want you to.”

“Are you sure?” Scully asked, brows wrinkled in concern.

“Yes.”

“I could turn the light off,” Scully offered.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Once she’d committed to something, there was no going back. She was all in, or she might as well button her shirt and go home right fucking now.

Still Scully hesitated, and Stella shifted restlessly beneath her. She pushed at Scully’s shoulders, guiding her where she wanted her. “Dana, please.”

“Okay,” Scully whispered. She started with Stella’s bra, fingers snaking beneath her back to unhook it, sliding it and her blouse over her shoulders and tossing them aside. She focused her mouth on Stella’s bare breast, nipping and sucking as her fingers sought the zipper at the back of her skirt, distracting Stella with the pulses of pleasure that pinged through her blood at the skim of Scully’s teeth, the heat of her tongue.

The promise of feeling that heat, that pleasure on her clit…her body burned in anticipation. She’d always wondered what it would feel like, hadn’t been sure she’d be able to let go of herself enough to find out. But Scully was safe, as safe a partner as she would ever get.

She arched her hips, allowing Scully to slide the skirt down her legs, leaving her in nothing but her thong. And the blinding heat, the need pulsing inside her cooled slightly as she waited for Scully to see, waited for understanding to dawn in her eyes. She saw the moment it happened, saw her blink as the scars came into view.

Stella didn’t make a habit of feeling weak, refused to feel it now, even as discomfort crawled over her skin like an unwelcome layer of clothing, thick and hot, smotheringly so.

“Oh,” Scully breathed, and then she dipped her head, pressing her lips against Stella’s scarred skin, tracing each line with her tongue gingerly, almost reverently, as if they were a mark of beauty, not pain. Stella had thought them to be dead, devoid of feeling, but she’d never been more aware of anything in her entire life than the play of Scully’s mouth over her damaged skin.

By the time she’d reached the inner crease of Stella’s thigh, the highest scar—the oldest, the original scar—Stella had forgotten everything but the heat and pleasure of her tongue. Scully kissed her through the lace of her underwear, and Stella forgot how to breathe.

Then Scully was moving, climbing her body to bring their mouths together, telling Stella everything she needed to know in the fiery press of her lips. I understand. You’re beautiful. Thank you for sharing yourself with me.

All without saying a word.

Tears leaked from Stella’s eyes, dripping into her hair.

Scully hooked her fingers beneath the band of lace stretched over her hip, looking up and meeting Stella’s eyes as she sought her permission. Stella nodded, and Scully stripped the underwear away, dropping them to the floor with the rest of her clothes.

She scooted down the bed, placing a hot kiss against Stella’s inner thigh, licking and teasing her there until Stella was squirming, panting, overcome with the need to feel Scully’s tongue where she ached for her. And then Scully looked up. Their eyes locked as she moved to place the heat of her mouth directly over Stella’s clit. She hissed out a breath, eyes squeezed shut, relief and arousal barreling through her in equal measure. It was the most overwhelmingly erotic thing she’d ever felt.

She was torn between the desire to grind herself against Scully’s mouth, to relieve the pressure building inside her or hold herself perfectly still and try to make this moment last forever. Scully’s tongue swiped back and forth against her, and Stella thought she might be having an out of body experience.

Her fingers grasped the blanket beneath her, gripping, clenching as Scully slid her tongue down to Stella’s entrance before plunging inside her. She gasped, wondering briefly if she was even going to survive this. White dots burst behind her eyelids as Scully returned to her clit, sucking fiercely as she pushed two fingers inside her.

“Fuck,” she rasped, grounding herself by sliding one hand into Scully’s hair, holding loosely in those soft, silky strands as Scully performed magic with her mouth, fingers filling her, taking Stella to places she’d never been, to heights of pleasure she’d never known possible.

And then she broke, coming against Scully’s tongue in a hot rush of sensation. She heard herself gasping, moaning, hips moving desperately against Scully’s mouth as she came and came and came. When it was over, she lay on the bed for a long moment, just breathing, her body limp and buzzing with relief.

She pulled Scully up to kiss her, tasting herself on her lips, seeing her pleasure reflected in Scully’s eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered, not even bothering to hide the tears that spilled from her lids. “Thank you.”

#Two Worlds Collide #Stella and Scully #Stella x Scully #scullyxstella #scully/stella #fanfic

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