From: "izzy pywacket" Date: Sun, 13 May 2001 01:09:19 -0000 Subject: xfc: --New--All The Time In The World By Pywacket (1 of 1) NC-17 Source: xfc Title: All the Time in the World Author: Pywacket Email: Pywacket1975@hotmail.com Classification: MSR. vignette Spoilers: None in particular. Archive: Go ahead Rating: NC-17 Feedback: Please scratch behind the kitty's ears. Disclaimer: They aren't mine. I'd certainly treat them better if they were. Most people live their lives as if they had all the time in the world. They spend minutes as if there was an unlimited supply, rushing past what they don't consider important. They grumble when the microwave doesn't heat their dinner fast enough. The bank's drive through line moves too slowly, and the few seconds it takes the computer to open a file seem like an eternity. She and Mulder are not like most people. They have few illusions these days. The awareness is always with them, that everything they hold dear could be lost in one tick of the clock. They have learned that minutes slip away like water through fingers and can never be recovered. Still, she wishes she could give him all the time in the world. He stands before her, head bowed, eyes closed. There is a weariness about him, as if his spirit remains merely out of habit. They had just closed the last of several horrific cases--long days filled with pain and exhaustion, especially for Mulder. She has arranged this weekend at a lakeside hotel in an effort to restore them both. She slides her hand along Mulder's arm, touching firm flesh under the starched fabric of his oxford shirt. He doesn't open his eyes, but she feels a tiny shudder pass through him. Her fingers glide over his shoulder and dip into the tiny notch at the base of his throat. His pulse is fast under the skin. She slips one tiny white button through the buttonhole. His head rolls back, as if too heavy for his neck. Her fingers work the next button and the next--slowly, patiently. It wouldn't't do to rush this. She savors the textures of soft cloth and smooth buttons. Gently parting the shirt, her hands skim over Mulder's chest. She leans in to inhale the scent of warm, clean skin. The room is silent, the only sound the rustle of cloth as she pushes the shirt off Mulder's shoulders and down his arms. Mulder doesn't move as she frees his hands from the shirtsleeves. The breeze off the lake stirs the gauzy white curtains, causing him to shiver just a little. She slides her hands over his ribs, teasing his nipples before skimming over his well-muscled abdomen. Outside this quiet room, people are rushing from place to place. They work at having fun with the same fevered pitch they bring to business. The buzz of a speedboat on the lake drifts through the open window. It seems jarring here, amid the peace of sky colored walls and white-washed furniture. He sighs deeply as she drops kisses over the surface of his chest. His nipples feel like tiny pencil points under her tongue. She watches his face as she unbuckles his belt; his eyes are open now, his expression unreadable. He tries to touch her but she stops him. "No," she says, her voice throaty as she captures his hand. "Just feel the sensations." She brings his hand to her lips, kissing the palm and then each of the fingers. She has always been fascinated with his beautiful hands: long, slender fingers, well-shaped nails. She would watch his hands fidget as he tapped pencils and tossed sunflower husks. At times, it seemed as if her whole world could fit into his broad palm. Kneeling before him, she lifts first one foot and then the other, gently removing his shoes and socks. He braces himself with a shaky hand on her shoulder. She slides her palms along the fabric of his slacks over his thighs and hips. He inhales sharply as her hands reach the waistband of his trousers. Slowly, carefully, she slides the zipper down over his straining cock. She draws both slacks and boxers down, his erection springing free, and he kicks the clothes aside. "I want to touch you," he says, his voice almost a whisper. "Soon. Right now, I want you to just accept the experience." "It's so hard." His hands twitch at his sides. "Oh, I know," she teases as she caresses the length of his cock. "Very, very hard." Sitting back on her heels, she drinks in the sight of him, as still and magnificent as Michelangelo's David. He has always been completely unaware of his own beauty. His gaze seems puzzled, as if asking what she sees when she looks at him. Rising, she circles him, trailing a hand along his skin. She stands behind him on tiptoe to rest cool fingers against the hot skin of his neck. So tense--his muscles are bunched like steel cords under the surface. She kneads the stiffness from his shoulders, strong fingers digging into his firm flesh. He makes a sound deep in his throat, somewhere between a groan and a sigh. Her hands travel down his spine, thumbs pressing hard to release the tension. Her hands rest at the rise of his buttocks, smoothing over the perfect globes. She presses a kiss between his shoulder blades. His muscles tense as her hands trace along the slightly concave sides of his firm ass. She takes his hand and leads him to the bed, pushing him back onto the crisp, fresh sheets. His skin looks golden against the bright white cotton. Her fingers tremble a little as she unbuttons her blouse and allows it to slip from her shoulders. She wants so much to please him, to make this afternoon perfect. She moves slowly, almost dancing as she removes each item of clothing. Fighting her natural reticence, she shakes her breasts free of her bra, allowing them to jiggle and bounce. Mulder grins, obviously appreciating her effort. She turns her back to strip off her slacks and panties, swaying her hips and looking at him over her shoulder. Climbing onto the bed, she kneels beside him. She slides a hand along his thigh, tickling his soft hair. He reaches for her breasts, and this time, she doesn't push his hands away. He cups her breasts, sliding a thumb over one nipple, and she arches her back in pleasure. His hands travel over her body, palms a little rough against her skin. She swings a leg over to straddle him, and presses tiny kisses over his face. Her kisses feather at his eyebrows and along his nose. His jaw feels rough under her lips as she nuzzles the stubble there. She brushes her lips over his, gently at first, then more vigorously. He moans into her mouth as she wriggles her hips, pressing his hard cock against his stomach. His hands stroke over her back, along her arms, and finally lace into her hair. People hardly ever take the time these days that kissing deserves. They rush through a few open mouth passes of the tongue before moving on to the main event. She won't hurry this, she thinks, as she gently tugs his lower lip between her teeth. His mouth was made for kissing, and she mourns the years she neglected it. Somewhere in the distance a radio is playing, tinny and faint. She tries to make out the song as she explores his sweet mouth. Finally, the words become clear: "If I could save time in a bottle The first thing that I'd like to do Is to save every day Till eternity passes away Just to spend them with you." How fucking appropriate, she thinks, as she begins to slide down his body, dropping kisses like breadcrumbs to mark her way. She wants to freeze time, to save this afternoon, perfect and cool and languid. She wants to hoard the minutes and hold them tight in her arms. He gasps as she takes his cock in her mouth, raising his hips off the bed. He is so hot, so hard; she imagines his cock as a shaft of burning steel wrapped in the smoothest silk. She traces the ridged veins with her tongue, circling the head before taking as much of his length as she can into her throat. She alternates hard sucking with teasing licks and swirls, enjoying his moans and gasps. She raises her eyes to see his head toss from side to side, and his hands clutch the snowy sheets. Her mouth releases his cock, and she watches it bob free, dark red and glistening. She smiles at his groan, vowing to remove any disappointment from his mind. He draws her up, onto his body, with a whispered plea. His hands reach up to bracket her face, the expression in his eyes one of pure love. His hands drift down to caress her breasts, rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger. She arches her back, pushing her breasts more firmly into his hands. She settles herself over him, sliding her slick folds along the length of his cock as it lays against his stomach. She wants to prolong the moment, stretching the fiber of time to its limits. Her body betrays her, need winning over the desire to hold onto each second. The urge to take him deep within her core is too strong to resist. Rising up slightly, she reaches between their bodies to guide his shaft to her center. She poises above him in readiness before gradually impaling herself on his hard cock. She feels deliciously stretched and pauses for a moment, awash with the sensation of fullness. She wants to prolong this moment, but the desire to move is too strong, and she begins to slowly ride him. Rocking forward, she arches her back to increase the friction between his pelvis and her throbbing clit. Her breasts bounce gently over his face with each movement, and he takes one nipple between his lips. His mouth feels warm as he sucks at her breast. He releases one breast to latch onto the other, the air cool against the abandoned wet nipple She wants to keep her movements slow, but her body has other Ideas, and her hips begin to bounce eagerly. Mulder's fingers dig into her flesh, encouraging her to move harder, faster. He begins to buck beneath her, digging with his heels to gain purchase, and pitching her forward with his movement. He cries out with release, burying his face between her breasts. She grinds her clit against him, rubbing furiously until she explodes in orgasm, and collapses over him. His hands skim over her, stroking her back and sides, finally settling on her curve of her ass. "I think I saw God for a minute there. He looked a lot like Colonel Sanders," he mumbles into her hair. She laughs against his neck, draped over him, almost boneless. He rolls, dislodging her onto her side. His arms remain around her, warm and secure. They lay amid the white sheets in the cool room, dozing and holding each other. She wonders what would happen if they just stayed here, far from their everyday lives. They could walk by the lake each morning and make love all afternoon. Every night, they would sit on the dock above the dark water and count the stars. Through the open window, she hears a phone ring. It isn't their phone, but that really doesn't matter. Its intrusion reminds her of work and the obligations and danger waiting for them. Beyond this cool, blue room, a bullet could be nestled in the barrel of a gun, waiting for one of them. A driver might be downing one too many whiskeys, preparing to swerve his car into Mulder's path; a tiny clump of cells may await some secret signal to grow out of control within her. In a world rattling along like a runaway train, there is no safety, no protection. She can do nothing to keep the dark at bay, so she does the only thing she can. She tries to memorize every second of this beautiful afternoon. Laying her head on Mulder's chest, she listens to the sound of his heart as it beats a steady rhythm. End.