MY NOTES: Just had to write *something* after watching
a disheveled
Mulder and Scully open the door to da boss. But I kept it
on my hard drive for months until I decided to post it.

SPECIAL THANKS: to Sue for running an IM beta to me
one morn' and for arranging a nine hour layover in SF so
I could play with her.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own them, dammit. *sniff*
I'm just borrowing them because the grand high
sci-fiction genius Chris Carter invented them
and I'm horribly envious. All regards to 1013, FOX,
and such.
 

Offerings

by Terma99
 
 

This is the part where his heart begins to break.

The room is so still, all he can hear is the buzz of the
aquarium pump. The room is so close the only thing he
feels is the soft thump of her neck pulsing against his ear
where she's molded herself around his fallen head.

His beautiful mind, for all she loves it, only knows this
sense of peace when it begins to slip away from him into
the madness of grief or rage. She catches is
consciousness deftly and holds it for him until he can
take it up again. He'll need her to hold on longer this
time.

Hairspray, raw silk and perfumed powder are what he
breathes into him as the blood rushes to his head,
beating painfully in his ears. His eyes see nothing where
they sit burning in his skull, dark and shut-down.

He found himself settling gradually into her soft fragrant
space--there were emotions to shed and mindless
phrases to speak. But this ticket-holding ride is used up,
the paper torn. Exhausted now, he has nothing left to
give to make her stay. The wetness that has become
absorbed by her shoulder grows colder as he begins to
shift to ease the pain in his back. He has worn thin his
welcome. He sits up now, breathing slowly and her eyes
rise to his--giving, hopeful. Her fingers touch his chin.
She is waiting.

She is waiting for him to tell her he'll be fine--they'll be
fine, and tomorrow he will try harder to forget what it
was like to feel close to her, to feel accepted and
understood. He will have to hold on to this tenderness
given him through hours of long highway miles and wide,
cold hotel beds.

It won't be enough this time. He doesn't care what it's
supposed to mean--he leans forward, dipping four
fingers into the red wave of her hair. His eyes smolder
shut and their mouths touch once and cling like they had
at the birth of the millennium. A sticky salve formed
from tears keeps his bottom lip sealed to hers--it tugs
possessively as he pulls away. She follows it and licks the
binding free.

He watches her face to prepare himself for the moment
when that expression of light and wonder shuts down
and refolds itself into a opaque cocoon. Time has
forgotten to walk or he would swear he could see her
pulling an inner eyelid across the crystal windows by
now.

She stays, her fingers now in his hair, touching him as he
touches her--palm to cheek to cheek. They face one
another seeing the lights heading for them where they
stand at the edge of the desert highway, but neither
moves to save themselves. Instead, they draw forward
and kiss.

###

A hand on his bared abdomen, she presses. He feels her
touch small and warm. It stays--constant, firm. The
touch fights his tension and wins as her hand moves off,
leaving a pink reminder lingering on his skin. His head is
back on the pillow and she has risen over him, a naked
thigh on either side of his legs.

She leans forward, her pale pointed breasts swing as her
palms connect to his shoulders, throwing her slight
weight forward, lowering her head like a bull, sending
pressure into his collarbones. She pauses and releases
and he feels the weight fly off him. She brushes the
invisible threads away between the rubbing of her hands.

His eyes are closed, but he finds her and pulls her close,
surrounding her with his limbs, pressing the rest of her
body naked against his. Her hip bone connects to his and
her hair falls across his nose. She lays against him
quietly, breathing under his nape as she brings up his
hand to kiss the tips of his fingers one by one by one.

###

He sleeps restlessly under the sheets, waking to reset his
mind once again to the reality that she is still here, lying
close, skin to skin. Her pubic hair touches his bottom
and her knees have found the backs of his thighs. Her
arm is around his hip, her face in the curve of his spine,
founding a moistening canal as she breathes, steady and
shallow like a newborn.

He is welcomed and comforted by the long night's
memories of gentle touches--closed-mouth kisses on his
nose and eyelids, her hair falling over his chest, her
sweet breath in his ear, the heels of her hands pressing
into the small of his back, the tip of her thumb circling
the wet head of his penis, her nose journeying along the
bump of his ribs.

They are like virgin children reaching for one another
during a hard storm. She comforts--he receives. She
caresses--he drifts. They smell of one another and the
bed is warmed from their travels. They have gone
nowhere and everywhere at once and forever.

He sleeps now, content. His heart will wait until morning,
where they will meet again, dressed and disheveled. It is
facing her in the daylight that will cause it to crack and
break; seal and move on. This time, the offerings given
will last him a very long time.
 

**********************************

Just a little thought. Some pretty words, not much else
to say. I'm still alive, and three chapters from finishing
my casefile novel that's taking forever. Hang in there...I
promise it will be worth the wait.

Come say hi at: Terma99@aol.com