Prompt! There was no bee... how does that go down?
She’s falling andfalling. It’s fluid and gentle and she knows if she spreads her wings she’d fly.There is so much light behind her eyes, behind his, dazzling but welcoming. Pullingher in, spreading its warm welcome. She can’t resist it. Fate, destiny, karma.A dozen other words, each with a subtle difference, but short of a third-partyintervention, this moment has been predestined since that fateful day in thebasement office.
His arms have been around her beforebut this urgency, this pressure, is electric. Everything is condensed into thenow, his touch, her breathing. Their lips meet and his are cooler than sheexpected, but soft. She tries to commit the feeling to memory but she’s sweptaway, literally and figuratively, because her next conscious thought is of himclosing the door behind them.
At the sound, she opens her eyes andsees the way he’s looking down at her. There is fear, there is fury, there isdesire but there is hope. He’s on the verge of tears, his lips parted, wearing aslight frown; as though he’s trying to work out what to say. It’s almostcomical, this passion of theirs. The way they’ve tamped it down for years,hidden it behind cutting comments and wry self-deprecation. Perhaps, she thinks,the more you shove something so intense aside, the bigger and more furious itgrows.
She presses a finger to his lips,and his face falls to hers. She’s pressed against the door and his hand cups herchin, strokes the side of her face, falls to the buttons of her shirt and he’sundoing it, her. They’re in his living room, her legs against his couch. Hishardness against her tummy.
“Mulder, something’s wrong.”
He pulls back and there’s confusionin the lines across his forehead. Guilt flashes in his eyes and he lets out agentle sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m having lacinating pain…in mychest.”
He takes her arms and bends at hisknees, lays her on the couch. “Scully?”
“My motor functions are beingaffected.” She’s grasping his tee-shirt into her fists and his hand is caughtinside her unbuttoned blouse. His stubble rasps against her neck. “My pulse is thready…Ihave a funny taste at the back of my mouth.”
He’s over her and under her and allaround her, a sensory overload that only Mulder could create in her. “My legsare weak and my brain is sparking…mini shocks…”
Peppering kisses over her face andchest, he’s unzipping skirt and pulling it down. “What can I do to ease thepain, Scully?”
She lifts one of his hands, placesit over her breast and allows herself to fall back into the dazzling light.
