From: "Anna Karrennina" Date: Wed, 19 Nov 2003 16:46:48 +0000 Subject: Touch But Never Dare To Speak by annaK Source: direct Title: Touch But Never Dare To Speak Author: annaK Rating: R for strong language and sexual situations. Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. Category: V, A, S/O, MSR, Cancer-arc Archive: Just let me know where. Spoilers: None. Summary: It's okay. It's love. Or something close enough. Many, many thanks to xdks. ** Touch But Never Dare To Speak by annaK ** I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root: It is what you fear. I do not fear it: I have been there. ~ Sylvia Plath, 'Elm' ** *chase away the enigma* The man on her balcony is all kinds of surprises. He is blue eyes and golden hair, strong arms and long legs. He is clumsy, ungraceful. He calls her Dana. The man on her balcony is simple. He chases away the enigma. ** *take me into the night* There is a truth that she learned a while ago; monsters come out at night. Human and inhuman, evil and good, all monsters show their face after dark. She has learned the midnight world, knows its contours and its taste. Just like she knows the taste of blood. Her blood as she bites her lip. Mulder's blood as she bites into his shoulder, marking him, as she is crushed against the wall. They reflect in the mirror, both bleeding, both with faces contorted in ecstasy; she'd never before realized how much pleasure looks like pain. The man who sits across from her is blue eyes and golden hair, he is strong hands that have bruised her thighs. ** *bite my lip, drink from me* She remembers tenderness. The caress of a calloused finger on her cheek, the warmth of heavy, sated palms on her stomach. She remembers hands in her hair, soothing, loving, then pulling. Pain welcomed, her mouth and throat filled with him, drowning with him. She remembers him above her, eyes squeezed shut, breath offered against her neck in heavy pants. Remembers the wet, warm slide of sweat and blood beneath her hands as her fingernails broke the skin. The man above her now is blue eyes and golden hair, is strong fingers that wrap around her wrists, holding them above her head as he moves within her with a heat that brands. The man above her now is invisible. She sees only brown hair and hazel eyes. ** *touch but never dare to speak* She has acquired a taste for the cigarettes that she once abhorred. The bitter residue of smoke in her mouth, the knowledge that this will kill her if she's not already walking dead, if she's not shot or abducted or burned. If a psycho doesn't slit her throat or if she doesn't drown in a fucking waterfall of tears. The man at her side is pastel shades and warm flesh. The man beneath her skin is angles and words and more words, he is one with the cancer invading her body, part of the cells that leech off her mind. He is red and black and solid and painful. He is killing her, but it's okay. It's love. The man at her side is hands that won't touch her with softness, won't wound her with gentle tenderness. The man at her side won't whisper promises he can't keep. ** *bruise me, break my soul* Her world here is temporary. The crash of waves below, the scratch of unfamiliar stubble across her breasts, the burn of alcohol down her throat. All is temporary. Her real world, the one she must return to, is fragmented. Doctors, tests, pity. Smears of blood by her nose, ridges in her back where the bathroom tiles marked her skin as he pressed her into the wall, as he drove his pain into her beneath the shower's spray. Her real world is a world that forces her to her knees. Whether held at gunpoint and waiting for that final 'bang,' listening to Mulder talk, talk, talk beside her, or feeling the cold tiles chilling her bones as she takes him into her mouth; either way, she is on her knees. Her real world is one of pity fucks, of angry fucks, of mind fucks. Scratches on his back and bruises on her wrists, carpet burn on her hands as he takes her from behind. Her real world is broken glass. ** *blurring world and blurring pain* Before, she would wait days before allowing the tears to come. An angry word, a bitter fight, a gruesome case or a stinging loss; all would be brushed aside until she was ready for the tears to fall. Before, he would be there with a warm embrace, a gentle presence. She relied on his strength. Now, they use each other. They forget. Bodies, not words, do the talking; pain, not comfort, is the cure. Before, the tears would come. Now, her eyes are dry, the smoke that makes them water her only release, the scotch in her hands her only painkiller. Ice rattles in the glass, moving round and round, stirring the amber liquid as the sunset seems to stir the sea. The world is liquid. ** *you said you loved me* The last time, he had broken the rules. Strong hands had turned gentle, kisses had turned soft. He'd entered her slowly, so slowly, moving within her with infinite tenderness. He'd kept his eyes open. He'd watched her. And, as he came, he told her he loved her. She'd left. The last time, she'd forgotten her coat, her purse, was barely dressed, but she left. The last time, he broke the rules. ** *breathe my breath, tell me lies* The man in her bed is golden hair and slackened lips, is gentle snores and silent peace. He will tell her beautiful lies. He won't hurt her with truths. The man who will meet her at the airport will take her bag, take her hand. He will say he missed her. He will take her home, see the bruises, smell the smoke, taste the bitterness. He will mark her, claim her once more. He will consume her. Then he'll tell her he loves her. He will consume her. Then he'll kiss her. He will consume her. And there will be nothing left. ** *touch my flesh, I'm dead within* Her apartment is cold. The body sprawled over her is hot. The man she left behind was golden hair and bright blue eyes. The man who cried when she told him that her cancer had metastasized is charcoal pain. She'd told him with cold clipped clarity what she'd done, who she'd done. He'd cried. The body sprawled over her is hot, but she only feels the cold. ** *don't look back* Remission. Light seeping through, veins gradually warmed. The man beside her bed holds her hand. He smiles. The man with brown hair and hazel eyes. She bears his mark, smells of him. She has felt him at every depth, felt him pulsing within her, pulsing with her heartbeat. She knows his angles, knows his taste. Just as she knows the taste of blood. It is a flavor she will treasure. Theirs is a love of pain, a union of agony. They will not know this daylight world, will not learn its contours. Gentle hands and simple words. They will forget and never look back. It's okay. It's love. Or something close enough. ** End Feedback is lovingly received at annakarrennina@hotmail.com Visit my fic at: http://www.geocities.com/annaK1013/fanficindex