[x-files] Fic: The Reading (RPF, DD/GA)
Title: The Reading
Author: icedteainthebag
Pairing: David Duchovny/Gillian Anderson
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 900
Author's Notes: RPF Warning! Don’t like it, don’t read it. Happy birthday, truemyth! You're a truly wonderful, beautiful person. I hope you will find this pairing to your liking. Now, let’s go suck down some Apollo. Mmmmmmmmm.
x x x x
It’s been years since she’s seen him in person, and she’s disappointed in herself that the only things she knows about him now are what she’s read in the gossip blogs to which she’s shamefully addicted. She knows there must be more to him than that, because David is approximately 10% surface-level, 90% depth.
Maybe she's too busy, maybe she doesn't care, maybe she doesn't want to think about him that much.
She arrives at LAX for the reading with Chris and Frank and she’s jet-lagged, utterly exhausted, and finds herself spending more time than really necessary checking herself out in her purse mirror as the car weaves through traffic down the 405.
-
She’s let into the house, a sprawling expanse of indulgence on the beach, visible coastline for miles, and her heels click down the marbled hallway as she’s led to the back room, the one with floor-to-ceiling windows and a sunken-in living area.
David’s sprawled in an oversized leather chair, his slender legs askew, his head tilted back, his eyes closed.
She looks up at him, her hands on his thighs, her lips wrapped around his cock, and their eyes meet for the first time since they started all this. It electrifies her and she starts to suck more intently, staring at him, and she feels herself start to throb as he bites his full lower lip, drawing it between his teeth, his hips thrusting gently against her mouth.
She’s determined to make him make a sound.
“Hey,” she says, walking over to the chair, tucking hair behind her ear. He doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t move, and she wonders for a split second if he’s asleep.
“Hey stranger,” he answers, his voice low, growly.
She smiles and gently sinks into the chair across from him. David’s lost some weight since she saw him last. Of course, that was years ago, she reminds herself. “You never call any more,” she teases.
“You changed your number,” he replies.
“What are you wearing?” he murmurs into the phone, and she giggles, clutching her cell phone to her ear. She settles back on her headboard, setting her book aside, and her hands start to fiddle with the tie of her robe.
“What are you wearing?” she counters as her fingers run over the flat plane of her abdomen.
“I asked you first.” The tone of his voice is gentle, yet demanding. She draws up her legs and tickles the insides of her thighs with light strokes of her fingers.
“Nothing,” she says, panting softly when she finds herself damp and hot between her legs.
“Me either,” he growls, and she closes her eyes and imagines his tongue swirling over her clit.
They sit in silence for a moment, and she wonders where Frank and Chris are anyway. She smiles at the thought that they’re probably in the adjoining room writing up a contract for each of them to sign that states that they will not divulge details of the script to anyone, anywhere, anyhow, upon penalty of death.
David's still sprawled with his eyes closed, and she crosses her legs, tapping her fingers against the arms of her chair. “You going to look at me?”
“Why would I want to do that?”
David enters her from behind, and this is how they’ve always done it since they both became otherwise involved. She lifts her hips to his thrust and moans as he fills her, over and over, and she presses her face against the pillow and listens to the wet slap of flesh against flesh, to his rough breath in the silent space that surrounds them.
“Fuck you,” she says immediately with a laugh. “You know, in general, when two people have a conversation, they look at each other, at least once in awhile.”
He languidly stretches his arms above his head. “Is that what we’re having? Conversation?” He actually yawns. She takes a deep breath, irritated at herself for feeling irritated at him. She knows better than to let him get to her.
“I know, it’s a novel concept.” She bites her tongue then, her stomach churning a little bit. She wonders for a moment why he’s being so aloof, why he’s so averse to look at her.
David’s head rises from the back of the chair and he opens his eyes, cocking his brow at her. He gives her a toothy smile. “Oh. Hey. For a minute there, I thought you were someone else.”
He says the wrong name when he comes. This is the first time, and the last time, she allows him to do so.
They gaze at each other, and she’s surprised at the immediate comfort it brings, even after all of the years apart, even after all the weird shit they’ve been through together and alone.
“I was always someone else to you, David.”
She sees him flinch, but he recovers quickly, and assumes his persona again, unaffected, casual. “Nice they’re finally making this movie. About fucking time.”
She settles back in the chair, tilts her head back and closes her eyes. “About fucking time.”
Author: icedteainthebag
Pairing: David Duchovny/Gillian Anderson
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 900
Author's Notes: RPF Warning! Don’t like it, don’t read it. Happy birthday, truemyth! You're a truly wonderful, beautiful person. I hope you will find this pairing to your liking. Now, let’s go suck down some Apollo. Mmmmmmmmm.
x x x x
It’s been years since she’s seen him in person, and she’s disappointed in herself that the only things she knows about him now are what she’s read in the gossip blogs to which she’s shamefully addicted. She knows there must be more to him than that, because David is approximately 10% surface-level, 90% depth.
Maybe she's too busy, maybe she doesn't care, maybe she doesn't want to think about him that much.
She arrives at LAX for the reading with Chris and Frank and she’s jet-lagged, utterly exhausted, and finds herself spending more time than really necessary checking herself out in her purse mirror as the car weaves through traffic down the 405.
-
She’s let into the house, a sprawling expanse of indulgence on the beach, visible coastline for miles, and her heels click down the marbled hallway as she’s led to the back room, the one with floor-to-ceiling windows and a sunken-in living area.
David’s sprawled in an oversized leather chair, his slender legs askew, his head tilted back, his eyes closed.
She looks up at him, her hands on his thighs, her lips wrapped around his cock, and their eyes meet for the first time since they started all this. It electrifies her and she starts to suck more intently, staring at him, and she feels herself start to throb as he bites his full lower lip, drawing it between his teeth, his hips thrusting gently against her mouth.
She’s determined to make him make a sound.
“Hey,” she says, walking over to the chair, tucking hair behind her ear. He doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t move, and she wonders for a split second if he’s asleep.
“Hey stranger,” he answers, his voice low, growly.
She smiles and gently sinks into the chair across from him. David’s lost some weight since she saw him last. Of course, that was years ago, she reminds herself. “You never call any more,” she teases.
“You changed your number,” he replies.
“What are you wearing?” he murmurs into the phone, and she giggles, clutching her cell phone to her ear. She settles back on her headboard, setting her book aside, and her hands start to fiddle with the tie of her robe.
“What are you wearing?” she counters as her fingers run over the flat plane of her abdomen.
“I asked you first.” The tone of his voice is gentle, yet demanding. She draws up her legs and tickles the insides of her thighs with light strokes of her fingers.
“Nothing,” she says, panting softly when she finds herself damp and hot between her legs.
“Me either,” he growls, and she closes her eyes and imagines his tongue swirling over her clit.
They sit in silence for a moment, and she wonders where Frank and Chris are anyway. She smiles at the thought that they’re probably in the adjoining room writing up a contract for each of them to sign that states that they will not divulge details of the script to anyone, anywhere, anyhow, upon penalty of death.
David's still sprawled with his eyes closed, and she crosses her legs, tapping her fingers against the arms of her chair. “You going to look at me?”
“Why would I want to do that?”
David enters her from behind, and this is how they’ve always done it since they both became otherwise involved. She lifts her hips to his thrust and moans as he fills her, over and over, and she presses her face against the pillow and listens to the wet slap of flesh against flesh, to his rough breath in the silent space that surrounds them.
“Fuck you,” she says immediately with a laugh. “You know, in general, when two people have a conversation, they look at each other, at least once in awhile.”
He languidly stretches his arms above his head. “Is that what we’re having? Conversation?” He actually yawns. She takes a deep breath, irritated at herself for feeling irritated at him. She knows better than to let him get to her.
“I know, it’s a novel concept.” She bites her tongue then, her stomach churning a little bit. She wonders for a moment why he’s being so aloof, why he’s so averse to look at her.
David’s head rises from the back of the chair and he opens his eyes, cocking his brow at her. He gives her a toothy smile. “Oh. Hey. For a minute there, I thought you were someone else.”
He says the wrong name when he comes. This is the first time, and the last time, she allows him to do so.
They gaze at each other, and she’s surprised at the immediate comfort it brings, even after all of the years apart, even after all the weird shit they’ve been through together and alone.
“I was always someone else to you, David.”
She sees him flinch, but he recovers quickly, and assumes his persona again, unaffected, casual. “Nice they’re finally making this movie. About fucking time.”
She settles back in the chair, tilts her head back and closes her eyes. “About fucking time.”