From: juliettt@aol.com (Juliettt) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: New: "The Last of the Chambord" -- a Marriage story -- by Juliettt Date: 28 Jan 1996 07:59:46 -0500 "The Last of the Chambord" by Juliettt@aol.com (January 23, 1996) This is a short Marriage story, and I would have to describe it as "horribly romantic." Not that I think it's horrible -- at least, I hope not! -- but it is unabashedly romantic and fraught with meaning and all the things the non-Relationshippers on this newsgroup hate. Consider yourself warned on that point. Oh, yes -- and it's highly suggestive and, I hope, erotic, without being at all explicit. I guess I'd rate it PG-13. It is set during Scully and Mulder's wedding night, and thus falls between "Wonders Wrought" and "Waking" in the Marriage series. Flashbacks are to an earlier story called "Once in a Blue Moon," set some years earlier. As always, Dana Scully (Mulder) and Fox Mulder belong to CC, 1013, FOX, GA, and DD. If you don't know what all these letters and numbers mean, you should. I am borrowing them (the characters) without permission but intend only Good Things toward Scully and Mulder and promise to return them relatively undamaged when I'm done. This story as well as the alternate universe in which it is set is mine. *********************************** "The Last of the Chambord" by Juliettt@aol.com *********************************** The candles had burned very low but there was still enough dim light to cast soft, flickering shadows across the two bodies entwined on the bed. Scully lay in Mulder's arms, her cheek against his chest, feeling the rapid pounding of his heart slow and his breathing even out. Over the faint smell of Mulder and sweat she caught the sharper scent of melted candlewax and the faint aroma of wood smoke on their discarded clothing from the fireplace in the other room. She smiled and pressed another kiss against the hair and damp skin beneath her face, shivering slightly as his fingertips traced lazy patterns on her naked back. She lifted her head languidly and rested her chin against his chest. He was smiling at her, his eyes soft and his entire body relaxed and replete, his face glowing with love and satiety. His fingers slid up her neck and around to her throat, tracing the curve of her cheek where luminous white skin met the velvet dark of the room, then up and back through her hair, savoring the feel of warm silk slipping through his fingers. She smiled again and pressed a kiss against his inner wrist, feeling his pulse there as well. His fingers dropped to her lips so that he felt rather than saw her whisper, "I love you." The air in the room was heavy and warm, an almost perceptible weight against their sensitized skin, and the feel of the crisp cotton sheet against her back as she slid up to kiss him raised goosebumps on her flesh. "I love you," he whispered into her kiss, "so much." The kiss deepened, languid and liquid and slow. It had the opposite effect on their blood, and now he shivered despite the sudden heat that rushed through his veins at the simplest touch of this woman, his wife. Finally she pulled away and looked at him. "I have something to share with you," she said, her eyes warm. He raised his eyebrows. She had already given him everything -- had given him herself, her heart, her mind, and, tonight, her body. What else was left to give? She turned over and reached for something on the bedside table that she must have placed there earlier and which he had not noticed. Of course, after she had come back into the living room and he had glanced up to find her standing there wearing that creamy silk gown and robe he had noticed nothing else but her, nothing but the living fire of her hair that, to him, rivalled the flames on the hearth, the deep blue of her eyes, the warm curves of her milky skin, the heat of her hands and mouth on his. . . . He shivered again, then sat up against the headboard and waited. She turned back around with an object in either hand. He glanced down. One was a round, almost spherical bottle with a minute amount of a dark liquid in the bottom and the other was a small glass. He glanced up and caught the look in her eyes and then he remembered. And smiled. She smiled back and handed him the empty glass while she worked with the intricate fastenings of the bottle. It was always a production to open the bottle of Chambord, but the results were quite worth the wait. "You remember," she said, and he nodded. "Our first Blue Moon Night." Both of them thought back to that night on the beach, celebrating the rarity of a blue moon, when she had first pulled out this bottle and shared a drink and a story with him, the story of this bottle and the important role it had played in the special times in her life. "I told you that night that I saved this bottle only for special occasions," she reminded him, and he nodded. "And that I was saving the last drink of it for the most important moment of my life." He nodded again. She took the glass from him. "What I *didn't* tell you, Fox Mulder," she continued softly, "was that I already knew what that last, most momentous occasion would be." He watched, mesmerized, as she carefully tipped the bottle and poured the precious dark red liquid into the glass. And then she turned the bottle upside down and allowed the last few drops to trickle out. He looked up into her eyes. And then he knew. She turned away long enough to set the bottle on the bedside table, then faced him again, the glass held between them. "I had already decided that I would save the last of this bottle for the night I gave myself to you." Her voice was almost a whisper. "This night." She lifted the glass slightly in a silent toast and then sipped, her eyes never leaving his. Then she handed him the glass and he took it, his fingers wrapping around hers for a moment before she released it. He brought it to his lips and tilted it back, his nose catching the scent of raspberries a split second before the cool, sweet liquid poured over his tongue and down his throat. He smiled and handed it back to her. She looked down. The very last of this special liqueur was pooled at the bottom of the small glass. Carefully, she tipped it back and then set the glass next to the bottle on the bedside table. Then she reached for him. He came to her willingly, his mouth melding with hers in a deep kiss. He was somehow unsurprised to feel a faint trickle of the liquid enter his mouth, the precious liqueur made even sweeter by her lips. She pushed him back and bent over him, her mouth warm on his. When she finally pulled away for breath he smiled. "You were pretty sure of yourself, weren't you." It wasn't a question but she answered with a nod anyway. "What if. . . ?" He couldn't finish his sentence. It was too awful to consider. She smiled. "It never would have been drunk." Then she shook her head and her smile deepened. "But that was never really an option," she whispered, bending over him once more. He closed his eyes, feeling the sensation of heavy warmth creep over him again as her mouth caressed his throat and chest. The most incredible night of his life -- of their lives. A night, indeed, for the last of the Chambord. *End* The Marriage Series: "Longing" "Epithalamion" "Wonders Wrought" (2 parts) "The Last of the Chambord" "Waking" "On the Road" "Girls' Day Out" "Old Habits Die Hard" "Watching the Storm" "The Madness of an Hour" [*] "Life Changes" (2 parts) "Mother's Day" [*] "Success" "Nursemaid" [*] "Cherish" [*] "Childhood Lullabies" [*] "Everything I Want for Christmas" [*] "Lullaby For a New Generation" "Room Service" [*] [*] These stories are still in the editing process; the others may be found on the world wide web and ftp sites. Juliettt@mail.aol.com Troupe Leader, Dragon Posse, Lone Gunwoman #7, Eden Agent, Clan McBride, Wolfpack, DDEB 3, WWtBJLSWWGU, TFOSG charter celebrant, SKKS co-founder, BBTG!