Teaser Fic for yendrie
How about a little RPF?
Title: All Our Times Together (RPF)
Rating: R
Warnings: This is real person fiction
Disclaimer: I am not Gillian Anderson or David Duchovny.
Word count: 373 words.
i. the beginning
There’s always a first time. They’re no different.
The first time, weeks in filming the first season, a night of drinking, a bar near where Gillian’s living. Before she’s with her first husband, before he has a steady girlfriend.
“To The X-Files,” Gillian says, raising her glass. It’s the second round of drinks.
“To The X-Files,” David echoes.
They clink glasses, down their drinks. Order another round and another. After several rounds they stumble back to her apartment, walking the three blocks. It’s raining despite it being July, a light rain that doesn’t refresh at all. They’re tipsy and soon they’re inside her apartment before. Then their lips are colliding, hands all over the other’s body.
The bed is soft when they fall into it. Clothing slips from bodies and soon they’re naked and soon he’s pushing into her. Sweat-slicked bodies move together.
That’s the first time.
ii. the in-between
It happens occasionally. There’s no rhythm or rhyme to it. It, they, just happen, like things often do.
They fit together, in an odd way. They can pick up where they left easily, their lips meeting and their bodies moving together. It never affects their working relationship, their on-screen chemistry always there.
“Don’t stop,” Gillian moans quietly during one of their times.
“I won’t.”
Although he will. They always stop in the end. There’s nothing permanent about them and that’s how it’ll always be. That’s just how it is it seems.
It’s raining outside and he can hear the pelting rain. They’re in his trailer, it’s late afternoon, and they have a long night ahead of them.
This is how they are. Their meetings are random, not frequent, just enough.
It is what it is.
iii. the end
As with everything, there’s an end.
They both seem to sense it as they move together in the hotel room they’ve rented. The sheets are cheaper than he’s used to, scratching sensitive skin.
Their pace is slow, unhurried. Lips meet lips, touch bare skin, hands trace skin.
“I…” Gillian starts to say.
“I know,” David says.
They kiss again and exchange no more words. Their bodies move together smoothly, leisurely. The room is pale with gray light.
And that’s the last time.
Title: All Our Times Together (RPF)
Rating: R
Warnings: This is real person fiction
Disclaimer: I am not Gillian Anderson or David Duchovny.
Word count: 373 words.
i. the beginning
There’s always a first time. They’re no different.
The first time, weeks in filming the first season, a night of drinking, a bar near where Gillian’s living. Before she’s with her first husband, before he has a steady girlfriend.
“To The X-Files,” Gillian says, raising her glass. It’s the second round of drinks.
“To The X-Files,” David echoes.
They clink glasses, down their drinks. Order another round and another. After several rounds they stumble back to her apartment, walking the three blocks. It’s raining despite it being July, a light rain that doesn’t refresh at all. They’re tipsy and soon they’re inside her apartment before. Then their lips are colliding, hands all over the other’s body.
The bed is soft when they fall into it. Clothing slips from bodies and soon they’re naked and soon he’s pushing into her. Sweat-slicked bodies move together.
That’s the first time.
ii. the in-between
It happens occasionally. There’s no rhythm or rhyme to it. It, they, just happen, like things often do.
They fit together, in an odd way. They can pick up where they left easily, their lips meeting and their bodies moving together. It never affects their working relationship, their on-screen chemistry always there.
“Don’t stop,” Gillian moans quietly during one of their times.
“I won’t.”
Although he will. They always stop in the end. There’s nothing permanent about them and that’s how it’ll always be. That’s just how it is it seems.
It’s raining outside and he can hear the pelting rain. They’re in his trailer, it’s late afternoon, and they have a long night ahead of them.
This is how they are. Their meetings are random, not frequent, just enough.
It is what it is.
iii. the end
As with everything, there’s an end.
They both seem to sense it as they move together in the hotel room they’ve rented. The sheets are cheaper than he’s used to, scratching sensitive skin.
Their pace is slow, unhurried. Lips meet lips, touch bare skin, hands trace skin.
“I…” Gillian starts to say.
“I know,” David says.
They kiss again and exchange no more words. Their bodies move together smoothly, leisurely. The room is pale with gray light.
And that’s the last time.