Réveillé
By Shoshana

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July 12, 1999, Scully's apartment
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Sunlight filters through the blinds, illuminating, engulfing the
small bedroom. Two figures sleep on, oblivious to the dawn, lost in
that state between dreams and wakefulness. The larger one partially
obscures his bedmate, tanned leg flung over her tiny hip, long arm
stretching around to grasp at her softly rounded belly.

They slumber on, the brilliance no incentive to full consciousness,
no motivation to splinter away from the gentle warmth of their
companion. The topsheet, the comforter lay discarded around their
ankles, rejected earlier, as room temperature rose in correspondence
with daybreak.

The slighter figure stirs, clutching his hand, smoothing its
surfaces as it clings to the plane of her abdomen. Fleshy thighs
behind her, intimately aligned with her curves, press closely to her
cotton covered bottom. Broad lips connect with the delicate skin
above her collar, swiping lightly, tickling, teasing her to gasp,
then giggle at the delicate sensation.

In retaliation, she traverses his arm, sowing small kisses from
elbow to wrist, concentrating on his palm, rubbing her face against
its rough softness. She feels him catch his breath, a slight sound,
a small sound, barely audible between them.

He smooths his free hand over her hip, slowly, seductively, enjoying
the friction of the cotton against the heated lines of his palm,
moving lower to savor the tender skin of her thigh, just below the
hem of her pajamas.

She extends one leg behind her, rubbing her small foot up and down
the limb which embraces her. Sinuously, she travels its length
several times, elicting a sigh beside her.

She slips out of his grasp, rotating fully, facing him now. Her
right hand combs up his chest, leaving a vague trail, disturbing grey
matte fabric, en route to the strength of his jaw, stubbly, uneven to
her touch. She strokes his cheek, watching him, asking for him with
her sleepy, expressive eyes.

He lifts his hand to her slumber tossed hair, slipping long fingers
through it, lovingly pressing it to one side. He returns her gaze,
rapt with attention, then advances upon her mouth, innocent lust for
pink, moistened lips, offered up to him with chaste abandon.

Their lips meet, bodies straining closer, hands tangling in hair,
hands sweeping down, sliding down strong back muscles. Arms
embracing, pulling them flush, holding them close. Not daring to let
go, not breaking their passion, with rapid breaths and sighs of
delight.

They laugh in unison, smiling at their joy, moving impossibly
closer, raining kisses down cheeks. They caress each other's throats,
using lips, eyes, noses, teeth to imprint themselves, claim one
another. Their lips meet again, tongues exploring, absorbing,
imbibing. Eagerly bonded, they commit sight, smell, taste to memory,
never wanting to live without this pleasure again.

He pulls her onto his body, pulls her onto the flat, muscular
expanse of his stomach, brings her back down for one more kiss. She
lifts up slowly, seductively, and collects his hands, guiding them to
the buttons of her top. He looks up at her, not questioning, just
admiring, amazed at her beauty, her flushed face, bruised lips,
liquid, dilated eyes, irises so blue.

With adoration, he manipulates the buttonholes, displaying her
breasts to him for the first time; they are aroused, blushed with
desire, charming him with their simplicity, their unadorned beauty.
He gazes up at her, permission already granted, wishing to see every
reaction, every smile on her face. He gently caresses her, examines
her, as artless as a child.

He strokes her softly, weighing her in his hands, running his thumbs
across her nipples, exerting gentle pressure to excite her, inflame
him. She closes her eyes, lifts her body skyward, quietly moaning
with exquisite ecstacy. She places her own hands around his,
bringing them to her bottom, urging him to pull her closer, nearer to
his mouth.

She slides closer, as he grasps her, pulls her, across his chest
still clad in cotton. He takes one breast in his swollen lips,
licking at it, nipping at it, savoring its taste. Her gasps
encourage him, provoke him, his hips move involuntarily, wanting her,
wanting to be inside her.

Her breath labors in response, and she emits small sounds, sounds
almost forgotten, almost erased from her erotic vocabulary. He
continues to imbibe of her, astonished at her response, joyously
eliciting more sweet moans of pleasure. His hands caress her back,
keeping her close, bringing her down to his willing mouth, again and
again.

She combs over his head, fondling, adoring him. She moves strong
hands up and down his arms, as he nestles himself between her
breasts, immobilized, caught in a rapturous feeling of love, safety,
tranquility. She strokes him softly, kisses his forehead, rests her
head onto his. They breath softly, slowly now, incapable of
movement, breathless in response to one another.

A sound invades their peace. It persists and persists and he lifts
his head and meets her eyes, laughing at the irony of it all. She
smiles back, resigned to the interruption, sliding to his right,
leaning back against the bed pillows. He snakes a long arm to the
nightstand, grabs the offending item and answers it, "Mulder...Hello
sir...yes sir...alright sir...yes sir...you're absolutely correct
sir...goodbye sir."

With a shake of his head and a noticeable shudder through his bones,
he looks over at her with a wistful grimace.

"What? What does he want at 5:50 in the morning?" She sounds almost
as pissed that Skinner has called before her alarm as she is by the
cessation of their lovemaking.

He clears his throat, and speaks slowly, "Well, there's an emergency
hostage situation. He needs us there as soon as possible, preferably
within the hour. He asked me to notify you also." He pauses, and
there seems to be one more noteworthy item.

"And?"

"And...he told me to take more care in answering cell phones in the
morning...particularly when they're not mine..."

She laughs, an uproarious laugh that he's only heard occasionally,
when she'd had a few drinks, when she'd been among her closest family
or friends.

"Mulder, we are either truly cursed or truly blessed to have a boss
like Skinner. Come on, loverboy, I want something to last me all
day..."

She startles him out of his complacence by straddling him once
again, attacking his lips with fervor, making the most of the moment.
With great hesitation, they finally part, smile thoughtfully at one
another, and take on the rest of the day.

fin

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