Title: Unlovely (1/1) 
Author: fran58 
Email: fran58@fran58.net
http://www.fran58.net/authorspgs/fran58/fran58.htm
or
http://www.fran58.net
Category: V 
Rating: PG-13
Distribution: Wherever - just let me know.
Spoilers: Slight for William, The Truth
Disclaimer: Characters owned by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen
Productions and 20th Century Fox.  I own a black dog, 4 toads, 5
newts, fish, two rats and a lots of dust bunnies.
Summary: Mulder may not be in all his glory, but we all know that
beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
                                   
Author's Note: Many thanks to addicted2fanfic and
FabulousMonster for beta help.

Unlovely

Mulder is unlovely in the morning.  There is no getting around it. 
Dark, scratchy stubble covers his face.  His hair, which sticks out in
more directions than a porcupine's quills, usually needs washing.  A
really good washing.  Don't even get me started on his breath.  His
face is generally splotchy and the other day, he was loudly snoring
with his mouth hanging open and I half expected those proverbial
flies to discover his gaping orifice.

He looks damn good cleaned up in a suit, but the crack of dawn is
not his time of day.

Yesterday I awoke to the sound of snuffling in my ear and tingling
in my leg.  Mulder, of course.  He had buried his face in my neck
and his lower body was draped across my right leg, cutting off
blood circulation and making things generally uncomfortable.  I
poked him in the ribs a few times, trying to make him move.  He
made mumbling noises that sounded compliant, but he still
wouldn't shift.  It took me several minutes to extricate myself from
his dead weight and  sleepy embrace.  I may have said some
uncomplimentary things as I disengaged myself from him.

Still, he can be sweet in those early morning hours, in his Mulder
sort of way.   He nuzzles my neck and murmurs how the morning
light makes my skin look translucent, like that of a fairy tale; I wish
it were true and that I could return the compliment.  He strokes my
belly and whispers that maybe we will have another child, someday,
when things are better.  He presses himself to my back and trails his
hand down my arm and tickles my ribs.  His hand caresses my hip
and hovers there momentarily.  ‘I love this curve', he says.
                                        
Sometimes, I pretend to be asleep and lie still while he maps my
body with his fingers, relishing the slip and slide of his skin against
mine.  Other times I turn to him – with his horrible hair and
morning crumpled face and kiss him softly, bad breath be damned. 
Sometimes, this wins me a sleepy smile and the suggestion that we
get breakfast.  Other times his eyes grow dark and he brushes his
stubbled face on my shoulder while sliding down my torso.  He
places a kiss on the slight mound of my stomach, or maybe each
hip.  He may not get that far, stopping at breast level instead.  The
hitch in my breathing is all the encouragement he needs.  Soon, he
covers my body with his in all his unlovely grandeur, eyes wide,
body tense, ready.       
                    
I tangle my fingers in his spiky hair and rest my cheek against his
crumpled face, arching my body towards him.  He presses back and
together we begin the ancient rhythm.  I can feel him tremble and
shake, and when he whispers he loves me, I know that he is
beautiful.