TITLE: Five Senses: Sight
AUTHOR: Susanne Barringer
E-MAIL: sbarringer@usa.net
ARCHIVE: Anywhere okay w/ these headers attached.
CLASSIFICATION: VR
CONTENT WARNING: MSR
SPOILERS: none
RATING: PG
SUMMARY: Third in a series of Scully's reflections on Mulder.
DISCLAIMER: These characters happen to belong to Chris Carter, 1013,
and Fox. No infringement intended.
___________
Five Senses: Sight
by Susanne Barringer
From where I lie on the bed, I can see him through the bathroom doorway.
He is shaving. I watch the surprisingly elegant movement of his body, of
his arms, as he slides the razor down his cheek, then lowers his arm to rinse
the razor under the faucet. There is a distinct rhythm to his movement,
never abrupt or erratic. Smoothly, up to his face, a glide over his skin,
down to the sink, then back again.
His torso twists slightly each time he lowers his arm, re-centering after the
slight lean to the left or right depending on which side of his face the razor
strokes. I am amazed at how engaging this sight is. Mulder shaving.
Mulder shaving in front of me. It now happens on a regular basis, but the
thrill that runs through me as I watch is as unexpected as the first time.
He wears only a damp blue towel wrapped around his waist, slung
teasingly across his hips and coiled in a knot just below his belly. A few
droplets of water glisten on his skin, errant reminders of the shower he has
just completed. I am hypnotized by his hand, rising and falling, caressing
his face with the steel blade, as gently as he caresses mine in love. He is
nearing completion, I can tell, as he raises his chin to stroke the blade
upwards along his jaw. He arches his neck and I watch as the blade slips
over the contours of his neck, slowly across his Adam's apple, stopping just
short of his mouth. Wisps of shaving cream remain as his arm makes the
final descent to rinse the razor. He shakes it dry and I watch his body
ripple with the movement.
He turns his back to me to dry his face on a towel. I study the muscles in
his back. He has an exquisite back--firm, strong, lean, sculpted by an artist.
His soft skin stretches across the expanse of muscles like an endless prairie.
I have felt those muscles many times as he lies above me, making love to
me. I know their feel intimately. For now I am content to look.
I am reminded of anatomy in medical school, memorizing all the muscle
names from charts and illustrations. We cut into cadavers to study the way
the muscles fit together, to note the striations of different muscle groups, to
get a sense of their purpose. That is nothing like watching the muscles
move in a living, breathing man. The fact that he is living and breathing in
*my* bathroom only adds to the attraction. I study the muscles in him
more diligently than I ever did in school. How they move, how they slide
against each other, how they oscillate under his skin. He is tidying up the
bathroom, hanging the towels over the rack, putting his stuff back in the
medicine cabinet. Every movement teaches me something. His body, his
gracefulness, his power all converge in the muscles of his back.
I have been watching him for years, long before this intimacy. The way he
strides across the office I know as well as I know my own face. The way
he unfolds his long legs when getting out of the car. The way he sits at his
desk, one leg propped on the opposing knee, face resting on palm, elbow
resting on desk. His lean proportions take time to scan--head to foot. My
eyes have roamed that path many times, straying often to examine his lips,
hands, curves and rises. I have seen him at his strongest and at the edge of
fragmentation. I wonder if he knows how often I have attended to him
with my eyes, how often I have doctored him with my gaze. It is the way I
have reminded myself every day for the past five years of who he is, and
what he means to me. It is the way I have willed him to life.
He has finished organizing his things in the bathroom and finally turns
toward me. He hesitates, stopping his turn upon seeing me looking at him.
He holds my gaze, smiles slightly. I think I see a faint blush rise; a boyish
look illuminates his face. He knows I have been watching him. He is
beautiful.
END
_______________
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sbarringer@usa.net
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