|
Title: Time Between Moments Summary: Time exists between moments, shaping three lives. Author's Notes: This is intended to bridge the miserable, undefined gap between Existence and Nothing Important Happened Today. I'm taking all liberties here, despite what canon might be or how that gap has been interpreted. Deal. Many thanks to Marigold, my fabulous beta and even more fabulous friend. Existence Mulder can feel his heart beating in his chest, his blood racing through his body like he's just run several miles, yet all he's done is tell her how he feels, what he knows is the truth. There were times in the past when those inches between them felt like miles, but now he breaches them so easily when all their defenses are finally down. He leans in and the disbelief on her face fades to hope. Her lips are soft and she's still for a moment, her eyes fluttering closed, before opening her mouth to his kiss. And there's that feeling he's been so desperate for over the past few months. Completion, a chapter finally closed. "So what does this mean?" She pulls away from him, searching his eyes. "I think it means I'll be changing a lot of diapers." He nuzzles his nose against hers, needy again for the touch of her lips. She kisses him softly, once, and smiles. "You might as well start now," she says. It's late in the evening and William has gone down for his three-hour nap between meals--three hours if they're lucky. Mulder's nervous, though he tries to hide it by distracting himself with arranging various items around the living room. He doesn't want her to think he expects anything; he knows the doctor's rules, he knows what she's been through. He's an expert at masking how much he wants to touch her, to be close to her. He's done that for years. But Scully pulls him to the couch and kisses him full on the mouth, her hands on his cheeks, the tip of her tongue teasing. He kisses her back as their hands reacquaint with familiar territory. Her palms smooth down his broad shoulders and rub his chest. "We're making out, Scully," he whispers in her ear, his hand sliding up her pajama shirt. Warm, soft skin, all the way up to the firmness of her breast. She gasps a little and it sends a chill down his spine. "Does it turn you on?" She leans in to kiss his neck. He breathes out slowly. "Probably too much." He knows that's true, blood rushing to certain parts of his body he'd rather not acknowledge right now. "Scully, I know we can't do too much, but...I want to kiss you all over. Just kiss you." "I think I can handle that," she says, kissing his forehead. They're quiet in the bedroom, moving by the light from the cracked bathroom door. Scully turns her back to him while she unbuttons her white silk pajama top, pushing it down her shoulders. He unhooks her bra and slides the straps down, then pulls her back against his bare chest. It feels new; it feels exactly like his dreams. "I look different," she says. "Different from before." Mulder rubs her stomach in gentle circles. "You're beautiful." "You haven't seen my stretch marks yet." She lets out a small moan when his hands reach her breasts. He feels the hair rise on the back of his neck. "Turn around and show me then," he says. Scully faces him, meeting his eyes expectantly. He looks down at her stomach and raises his eyebrows. "I don't see any." "Look closer." Her toes are twiddling as he crouches down, his eyes wandering along her abdomen, fingers following heated skin along the waistband of her panties. She shivers. "Nope, nothing. Oh, wait." He presses his cheek against her stomach. "Is that...you mean that little thing?" He smiles and looks up at her and she's got tears in her eyes. He stands up and hugs her. She melts into him. "I'm not going to let you go," he says with the softest laugh he can manage. "You and your silly stretch marks." Hungry Larval Lepidoptera Mulder's belongings migrated to her apartment an overnight bag at a time as he built a nest for himself there. It's completely surreal to him: Scully as a mom, him being a dad, having a baby. Their baby. It almost feels too good to sit on the couch, just the three of them, while she reads The Very Hungry Caterpillar aloud because "it's never too early to read to your child." William kicks and gazes and drools. That afternoon he finally convinces her to take William for a walk around the neighborhood. She breathes in deeply, the first time she's been out in days, the late spring air fresh and inviting. The sun warms their shoulders. He pushes the stroller and her hand slides around his arm. "This feels nice," she says. It's the first time he's heard her say that. Girls Like Him The knock on the door is unexpected. Scully leaves William on the floor on his blanket and peers through the peephole, concern turning into a smile. She opens the door to Skinner, a baby-blue wrapped gift tiny in his large hands. "Agent Scully. I was just in the area and thought I'd drop this by." Her smile widens as he awkwardly holds the gift out to her. She blushes as he does and moves aside for him. "Come in. William's awake." "Thanks," he says, walking in and making his way to William. He crouches down and lets William wrap his tiny fist around his finger. "Hey there, partner." Mulder walks in through the kitchen at the sound of Skinner's voice; his hair is still damp from his shower and he's barefoot. "Hey, Uncle Walter. What brings you by?" Mulder notices Skinner startle a bit; the man rises and recovers quickly from the shock. "Agent Mulder. Mulder. I just brought..." He motions to the gift Scully's holding in her lap on the couch. "I brought that. I should be going." "Well, let me open it with you here," Scully says. "I've got somewhere to be," Skinner replies, shifting on his feet. "She's got quick hands. Mulder arches an eyebrow. "For unwrapping gifts." Scully gives him a quick glare and pulls the paper off the box. Mulder walks over to William and sits next to him, grabbing a colorful plush ball from the coffee table and dangling it in front of his face. Scully opens the box and laughs. Mulder looks at her and then at Skinner, who has turned a slight shade of red. She holds up a blue onesie, beaming. "'Chicks dig me,'" Mulder reads outloud. "Do those come in an extra-large?" Skinner smiles, self-conscious. "My assistant picked it out. I might have had final approval. There's a gift card in there too. Whole Foods. Some organic grocery store she goes to all the time." Mulder sees her struggle to hold back her tears as she smiles. "That's wonderful. I love that store." She shakes the onesie. "And I love this too." "Good," Skinner says, his voice a bit gruff, his sensitive moment apparently over. "Well, I'll look forward to seeing you back in a few months, Agent Scully. And Mulder, next week, right? Stop by my office when you get back." "See you then," Mulder says, his eyes on his son. Sleep When the Baby Sleeps The Monday morning sun rises and she stretches her toes like a cat, her hand tangled in his hair. They're both enjoying the relatively new feeling of a workweek sans work. Despite the stresses of new parenthood--sleep deprivation, diaper changes, William's random inconsolable crying fits--there's been a good amount of time in bed together. They take her mother's advice, sleeping when the baby sleeps, curling around each other, enjoying the feeling of fingers exploring ridges of muscles and ticklish spots. "Have I ever told you that I think you're pretty cute?" He cuddles against her side, nuzzling her neck. "Are you coming on to me, Mulder?" She lazily traces circles on his back. He kisses her earlobe. "Maybe." "I'm in my maternity underwear. And I haven't showered in two days." "Way to take it down a notch, Scully." He rolls over, turning his back to her. He smiles and waits. "I'm sorry. You know what, Mulder?" He feels the bed shift under her movement. "I'm not sure I want to know any more." "I think you're pretty cute too," she says, sliding an arm around his waist, her bare breasts against his back. She kisses the nape of his neck and he closes his eyes to the tingle of her lips on his skin. The Eventful Return from the Market Mulder comes home from the market with eighteen out of twenty items on her list and finds her crying in front of the fridge. Scully looks at him and laughs a little, then lets out a sob. "Scully, what's wrong?" He drops her canvas shopping bags on the floor, hopes the eggs didn't break, and pulls her into his arms. "Mulder, everything's so different." She pushes her forehead against his chest. "I look horrible. I don't even put makeup on anymore. I'm hungry but I don't know what to eat. I'm so exhausted, my uterus hurts, my breasts weigh three pounds each and feel like lead weights...and don't you dare crack a joke or I'll hurt you." And she's crying and sniffling into his shirt and he knows this is some kind of normal post-partum behavior, but he's still not quite sure what to do or say. "You don't look horrible," he finally says. "Mulder, don't lie to me." Another sob escapes her. Wrong answer, he thinks. "Scully, I...here. Can you sit on the couch?" Mulder leads her to the sofa and grabs some tissues from the coffee table. She buries her face in them and he strokes her hair. "I'm so tired, Mulder." She blows her nose. "Scully, go sleep," he says, rubbing her shoulders. "But he...needs...me." The tears start up again. "Scully, William's asleep. He doesn't need you right now." "But you need me." He pulls her head to his chest with a deep sigh. She shakes in his arms, slowly calming. "Scully, you need rest. I'll get up with William. There's pumped milk in the fridge. Now I'm going to tuck you in, and I expect you to stay in bed, all right?" He lifts her chin and she nods, wiping tears away. Mulder's in the living room dozing off when he hears William start to fuss. At first he thinks it's part of a dream he's started, in which William is one of three kids, the other two running around in a spring green field while he and Scully sit on a wooden porch, watching at ease. He walks into the bedroom and lifts William from the bassinet, rubbing his back. "You got it?" Her voice is muffled by her pillow. "Yep. Sleep." The boys make their way to the kitchen, where Mulder drops a bottle of breastmilk into the bottle warmer and makes his way to the living room. He lays William on the couch and changes his diaper amid kicking legs and impatient warnings. They settle on the couch with the bottle. William protests at first before accepting the bottle with a reluctant suck. "I know it's not your mom, but it's the best I can do," Mulder says. He pulls William snug against him. "I hope you don't mind me talking while you're eating, but...we've gotta have a man-to-man here. And this is the only time we can do it. So here it goes." William sucks hungrily on his bottle and Mulder chews on his cheek. "Your mom is an amazing woman and you might not realize that for a few years--it might take a few years to sink in, how truly amazing she is--but you're lucky to have her and she's more than lucky to have you." William seems transfixed, his blue eyes focusing on his father's face. "Sometimes she gets a little cranky, like when the barista shorts her on sugar-free hazelnut syrup in her latte, but we take the good with the bad. You'll learn that about women." Mulder looks away, thinking about what to say next. He knows that this makes no sense to the kid but feels an urge to tell him how he feels. That maybe he'll remember the look in his eyes more than the words from his mouth. He meets William's eyes again. "There are going to be times when mom looks sad, but that's usually because of me, so don't think it's your fault. Your mom's been through some really bad shi-- really bad stuff. But I think we've turned a corner here, just between me and you." William finishes his bottle and Mulder picks him up, placing him on his shoulder. He pats his back, waiting for the burp, and is surprised at how loud it is when it comes. "That's the Scully in you," he murmurs into the boy's hair. "Don't tell your mom I said that." Turning the Corner "Kersh says my life's in danger, by the same people who threatened him." They're standing in the living room. He watches her slow meltdown. She glances around the room like she's searching for spies. "Do we know who these people are? Their motivation?" "No, we don't." He shuffles his feet, runs his hand through his hair. He can feel the frustration building around her. He'd known how she'd react--he'd been nauseated the entire ride home thinking about telling her about the latest shit to hit the fan. "Well...how can we possibly...Mulder, I can't believe it. I won't," she says, glaring at him. "Scully, we've got to take this seriously." She throws her hands in the air and turns around, walking toward the window. "You know, I knew things were too good. I knew I was too happy. I should have known better. Mulder, I am so tired of building up our ivory tower just to have it knocked down again." "I'm sorry." "It's not your fault," she says, running her finger over the desk, checking it for dust. He takes a deep breath. "Scully, I...it's been suggested that I might be a danger to you and William. If I stay here." She turns around, her eyes narrowed. "Mulder." He stares at her. He knows better not to look away. "You're not leaving me again." She squares her hips toward him, assuming the stance she takes when she wants to appear larger, more intimidating, to knock him down a little. It works and he rubs the back of his neck. "Scully, I need to find out who's behind these threats. And it's not safe for you or William with me here." "That is exactly why you're not leaving me again, Mulder. It's not just me any more. You left me behind when you went to Bellefleur--" "You told me I could go to Oregon." "Did I have a choice? Do I ever?" He breaks their gaze at last, eyes shifting to her bedroom doorway. The biting anger in her hushed voice throws him back decades to the quiet fury he could barely make out, ear pressed against the heating vent in his bedroom, his parents downstairs hissing and repressing, hiding and concealing. "And now you've made a decision already that you're going to leave me again. Do you even care how that feels? I know..." She pauses, her shoulders falling forward a bit. "I know I come second, after the quest. I always have. But William, Mulder." Second to the quest. The words hit him painfully hard. "This is not about a quest." "Yes, it is. It's your quest for the truth. Listen to me. That truth is right there in my bedroom. Your son. You can stop looking for other miracles to fill the void." He sighs, a notch too loud for their surroundings. "Scully, what void? Is there some emptiness you're seeing in me you care to tell me about? I wouldn't leave...I'm not leaving because I need something more. I'm leaving to preserve what we have." "What will we have? We aren't whole without you here." He feels the little crack in his heart expand a little more. "I'll come back, Scully, and we'll be whole again." "Mulder..." She shakes her head, as if tossing away the bits of concession that have begun clinging to her. Her hand meets her hip as he approaches. "You don't know why you put up with me, do you?" he asks. He tucks her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek. "I gave up trying to answer that question about five years ago," she says. She turns her face away from his fingers, biting her lip. "I need a moment." She walks down the hallway to the guest bedroom and closes the door. Mulder sits down on the couch and closes his eyes, his mind tired of searching for a way to keep the tower from crumbling. Mulder gives her fifteen minutes before he knocks on the door of the guest bedroom. "Scully, open the door." "You need to respect my privacy, Mulder." "Scully, open the door." He knows raising his voice a few decibels will get her attention. She yanks it open. "You wake that baby, you're breastfeeding him yourself," she hisses. She doesn't look at him, her eyes glassy and cheeks reddened. He enters the room and scans the moonlit landscape. Large boxes with their contents displayed colorfully on the sides--a high chair, a bouncer, a baby swing--all of them piled into a corner. She has a blue layette in her hand and she tosses it to the bed. A few stuffed animals are scattered across the white quilt, and in between the pillows at the head of the bed, an heirloom doll with black yarn curls lies snug in its niche. He gently pulls her to him. Scully presses her cheek against his chest. He shuts his eyes and focuses on breathing her in, feeling the wetness of her tears. "I can't do this alone," she whispers, her voice cracking. He draws her closer, one arm around her back, the other around her shoulders. He kisses her hair. "Scully, if there's one thing I have faith in, it's your strength." "Mulder...I'm tired of being strong." She sniffles against his chest. "I'm exhausted by it. You have no idea what it's like..." She stops and her body tenses in his arms. She's holding back sobs. It takes her whole body to do it. He does know, but he doesn't remind her. There was the gold cross glinting from his fingers as he stared across an expanse of roaring coastline. The feeling of loss as he looked into the pitch black sky on Skyland Mountain, knowing she was up there somewhere, enveloped in the same darkness that had an icy grip on his heart. When he watched the respirator jerk her body, supporting her fragile life in front of him. He knows what it takes to think you've lost everything yet keep trudging on, in hopes for the final break, the clouds beyond the storm. "Ssshh, Scully." His fingers stroke her hair, rough on silk. Her arms tighten around his waist. "I'm sorry." The Second Set of Last Hours Together She watches him with William on her hip as he packs the last of the bags. Nearly every piece of him he'd carted over to her apartment during the past weeks is tucked away in her matching black luggage. "Can I take these with me?" He's twirling a pair of her panties around his finger, red lace. She arches an eyebrow with a smile. "Don't get caught wearing them." "Don't worry. They'll be safe and sound under my pillow." She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Maybe it's a good thing he's leaving," she tells William. 7 p.m. They sit at her kitchen table across from each other, an unusual change from traditional on-couch dining. The scent of vanilla candles mingles with the spice of Indian food, carefully removed from its Styrofoam carriages and onto her plates. It almost looks like they've made it at home. Mulder watches Scully as she works through her chicken tikka masala, chewing slowly. Sometimes her eyes close with enjoyment. He loses all interest in what will probably be his last decent meal for a long time. She notices. "Mulder, why are you staring at me? I thought you liked curry." "I do, Scully. Just thinking." He digs in to show her, an appreciative forkful. She isn't buying. "About?" She takes a sip of water. "About how beautiful you are," he says. She pushes the food around on her plate, eying him. "As often as you say that, do you ever think about anything else?" He sticks his fork in his rice. "Of course I do, Scully. Like...basketball, baseball, Internet porn, life in general...and your breasts. In ascending order of importance." "My breasts rank over life in general?" "Yes. Yes, they do." She looks down at her chest and tries not to smile. "If you say so." 10 p.m. They're lying on the couch, her head on his chest. He holds her close and watches firelight play over the smooth, pale skin of her back. "There's a bank account in both of our names at Bank of the Northeast. I left the information in your top desk drawer." His fingers trace her spine. "Mulder, you need that money for yourself." "There's plenty there for both of us." The fire crackles and he closes his eyes, tilting his head back against the arm of the couch. His neck crackles in relief. The weight of her body puts him a little more at ease. He rubs his bare foot against hers. "My life insurance policy is there, too." He feels her chin push into his chest. "Please don't." Her voice is soft, a little desperate. "Scully, we have to think about these things. Just in case." "I don't want to think," she says, her cheek pressed against him again. "I want to listen to your heart beating." 11 p.m. "What are we going to do?" Scully kisses him after asking what, for most people, would be a simple question. They're clinging to each other on the bed. It seems safe there, a place where everything seems to slow down just enough to feel the inkling of hope beyond hurt. "Right now?" His hand travels to her bottom. "No. What are we going to do after you've stopped running? If you stop running?" Mulder had dreamed up about a dozen possible answers to that question, ranging from cattle ranching in Colorado to living on a houseboat in Tahiti. Those two were the least likely, but dreams nonetheless. "What do you want to do?" "I want a little house." His heart aches. He kisses the top of her head. "I want a little white house in the middle of nowhere, where I can feel everything." "Okay." "Can I have it, Mulder?" Her arms tighten around his neck. He's desperate for actions to be easier than words and tries to sound convincing, sure of himself. "Yes." 12 a.m. A quiet cry rouses them from a hazy, restless entanglement of limbs. "He's got my appetite," Mulder murmurs against her hair. "I don't think he's asking for pizza," she breathes, kissing his chest and rolling away. He turns on his side, memorizing the lines of shadows on her bare back as she swiftly changes fussy, hungry baby. She brings William to the bed, lays him down, the back of his soft cotton pajamas against Mulder's chest. William is squirming, rooting as Scully lies on her side, guiding her nipple to his eager mouth. He latches on, she breathes out, and his wiggling stops as a tiny fist lands on the soft skin of her breast. "I'm next in line." Mulder watches and doesn't try to hide his amazement at mother nourishing baby, this little piece of them. He meets her eyes, knows there's a laugh in there somewhere. Her cheek is smooth and cool under his fingertips, her lips warm against his palm. 3:05 a.m. "I'm going to tell them I told you to go." Her voice is soft from the other side of the bed. He's been staring at the ceiling for eons. "Who's them?" "Skinner. Agent Doggett. My family." "Why?" Mulder turns on his side and sees she's been staring at the ceiling too. He wishes they could see past the roof, into the stars. He runs his fingers down her arm and slides his palm against hers, threading their fingers together. "Because I don't want them to think less of you for leaving. As a father. As..." She falters and he squeezes her hand. There is no labeling what he is to her, what they are to each other. They just exist together, the left and right chamber of the same heart. "Scully, we've never cared what anyone thought." "Mulder." She turns to him with a small smile. "You never cared. And then there was me, cleaning up the messes, rebuilding bridges, answering the questions you left in your wake." "My little FEMA Scully." They lie in silence, her hand on his chest. "I'm going to miss you like hell." He barely hears her, her voice is so soft. His brow knits and he feels a pull in his chest, tight and deep. "Me too," he says, craning his neck to meet her lips in a slow kiss. She's soft, gentle, and it reminds him of the first time they kissed, the nervous butterflies in his stomach, wings beating change. She lingers on his bottom lip, her eyes closed. Later. He knows she's still awake. Her breathing is shallow, impatient, her body wedged against his in stillness. The clock stopped having meaning several hours ago; he refuses to give it that power, knowing time will dictate them too strongly in the morning. Right now they are floating in ephemeral moments. "I'm thinking about Bellefleur, when you came to my room, shaky and sick. How I held you just like this, and I was aching to give you everything you've missed, everything you've ever wanted. And Scully, it blows my mind that inside you already, that spark of life had begun. That you were carrying our son and we didn't even know. It blows my mind." "I know." She pushes her back into him as they struggle to get closer. "Are you afraid?" He's not sure he wants to know, but he needs to know. "Are you?" "I asked you first." He knows it's hard to come up with words to describe their fears. They don't usually talk about them--most are too real or too overwhelming to face. She takes her time answering. "I'm afraid you won't come back, that something will happen and you'll be lost again, and this time there won't be any answers. No miracles. Just me waiting and wondering what to tell him about what happened to you." He presses her lips against her ear. "I'll do everything I can to make sure I come back." "I know." It's quiet. He knows what's coming. "Are you afraid?" she asks. "I'm worried something will happen while I'm gone. I'm worried that I can't protect the two of you while I'm not here." She grasps his hand and works her fingers into his fist. "We'll be okay." 6 a.m. "Is that the sun?" "No." She buries her face in his neck. "You going to shower with me this morning?" He feels her breath against his skin, giving him goosebumps. "Mmmm. William's going to be up any minute. I'd better not." "Scully, I miss you all soapy and naked." "Mulder...I miss you already." He leaves the warmth of their bed for the cool tile of the bathroom. He dries off and wraps a towel around his waist, anxious to find her. She's standing in the living room with William on her shoulder. Her eyes are set on the luggage waiting for its departure. He kisses William on the head, her on the lips. "What do you want for breakfast?" she asks. William lets out a tiny cry. "Not you. I know what you want." "I'll have what he's having." She laughs. It's been too long since he's heard her laugh. "God. Mulder, food. Solid food." "Pancakes?" Scully always puts honey on her pancakes instead of syrup, despite her understandable aversion to bees and bee products. It makes them deliciously sticky. The last time they'd had pancakes they had to shower afterward. "I can do pancakes. But you'll have to wait until he's done. Squeaky wheel gets the grease." Mulder kisses her again. "Scully, I love you." "See that? All that time, all I had to do was make you pancakes." The smile that he wishes could last forever stays in place for a few more minutes than usual. They're at the table with their pancakes and honey. Mulder's got William in a football hold on his forearm while he eats the pieces she cut for him. "When's the train leave?" She takes another bite and sits back in her chair. "11:07." She glances at the clock. 8:30. "You need to leave soon." "The cab'll be here at 9:30." He takes a drink of vanilla soy milk and hastily eats another piece of pancake. Her jaw tenses, her holding-it-back look. She blinks once. "Okay." She takes the gift card from Skinner out of the pocket of her robe and pushes it across the table to him. "Scully, you--" "Mulder. Don't argue with me. Just take it. It's the only way I can make sure you get fed." He's lying down on the floor with William, who wiggles on a blue blanket speckled with planets and stars. He's got a white bunny with long ears suspended over his son, talking about farmers and carrots and "What's up, Doc?" in a tiny voice he's never used before but seems appropriate for rabbits. She sits on the couch, her legs folded under her, staring off into space. He's aware of her stillness, her mind whirring away at possibilities, her coping mechanisms in overdrive. Time passes, unrelenting, when moments like this should stretch over eternity, over pain, over loneliness. Mulder uses his bunny voice and baby listens, imprinting, he hopes. He has a lot of hopes. "Do you think I'm a bad father for leaving?" He lowers his voice and shakes the bunny at William as he says it. "Are you asking him or me?" He looks at her. "You. For now." She breathes out, pulling her hair behind her ear. Then she meets his eyes. "No." She breaks their gaze after a few seconds, focusing instead on something too far away to see. His luggage--her luggage--is loaded up in the taxi he's taking to the train station. He's tipped the cabbie for an extra moment and takes the stairs two at a time. He finds her in the bedroom, watching over the bassinet. Mulder runs his fingers over the sleeping baby's chest, feather light, afraid to wake him. Then he pulls on Scully's hand and leads her to the apartment door. He can feel her resisting a little and he turns to her. She looks down at her toes and he clenches his jaw, trying to recall all of the beautiful things he'd planned to say at this moment. "I'm gonna come back...Scully, look at me." She looks up at him and loses her first tear. He feels the pressing need to continue, in case he can say the one word, the one turn of phrase that will put her at ease. He presses his mouth against her ear, holding her close. "I'm gonna come back and we're going to have that little house that's just big enough for the three of us, an hour from the ocean and an hour from the mountains. As soon as he's walking I'll teach him how to throw a baseball. We're gonna have to go to the Little League World Series in Japan to watch him pitch and we'll have popcorn with no butter, and you'll stand up and scream at the ump for a bad call or two. We've never been to Japan, Scully, can you believe that? And when he's not pitching fastballs, you're going to teach him how to read JAMA and play Operation." "I hate that goddamned game," she whispers. "Scrabble. You'll teach him how to play Scr--" She's on her tiptoes and moves her head to catch the rest of the words with her lips, pulling his head down and sliding her tongue into his mouth. She nudges against him and he smoothes his hands up her back, closing his eyes, his mind frantically working to categorize the smell of her skin, every taste, the texture of her tongue and her teeth, her urgency. Classify it and store it for later, on those nights when he feels like he's the only person left in the world. In that dark, wood-paneled motel room where no one will come knocking yet he lies awake expecting. She will be there, tucked neatly away. He tries to pull away but she holds fast with a whimper into his mouth, fingers threaded through the back of his hair. Even breaths against his skin, her lips caressing, translating secrets between then for safe keeping. She holds him there, taking in her memories as his hands slide over the rigid muscles of her back. Their foreheads meet. "Go," she breathes. They breathe. The End
|