From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: 17 Jul 2001 04:43:12 -0000 Subject: Mosaic by Abra Elliott Source: direct Reply To: xilerui@hotmail.com TITLE: Mosaic AUTHOR: Abra Elliott CLASSIFICATION: MSR; post-ep for "all things" SPOILERS: through "all things DESCRIPTION: my take on the missing hours...not too different from everyone else's take, but please read anyway... RATING: NC-17 (although, really, in the grand scheme of things, I write a comparatively chaste smutfic...) DISCLAIMER: All characters are borrowed from Team Carter; they're not mine, and if they were, I wouldn't have given one of them a silly brain disease. So he certainly doesn't have one here. FEEDBACK: Love it but I'm completely remiss at responding in a timely manner...however, I'm grateful for what I receive, and recommendations make my day! Any and all feedback can be sent to xilerui@hotmail.com ARCHIVE: Wherever - just let me know so I can visit! NOTES: my fanfic is now housed at: www.geocities.com/xilerui/abra - do drop in! ***** As Mulder's drowsy voice muses, she dozes beside him. ***** She dreams; vivid visions of a shallow sleep. In the temple, it was scenes from her life...her mother, father...Melissa and Emily...Daniel...and, yes, Mulder. Now it's only Mulder, and images of him swirl around her. Frustrated and foiled, glaring up at the night sky and willing answers from the silent stars. Accusatory and sullen...refusing to hear reason in his dogged loyalty to an uncertain past. Broken. Crying hot tears for a mother who never loved enough, for a phantom sister, always just out of reach. Pained by her pain; always there to comfort and soothe her aching heart, diminished body, or stumbling spirit. Playful...his soul shining over her in sunny beams, coaxing her own from its hiding place and enticing her with promises of something better than what they have, than what they are. Hints of love that she's always denied. His eyes softened by sweet, small pleasures. His mouth, grinning in moments of unexpected happiness...bruised and bitten in times of trouble and fear. Tasting hers...once...and she doesn't know what it means. Until now. In her dream, Mulder dances around her in fragments, pieces, and they seem to make a pattern. She thinks she can make it out...she strains to see the truth they paint, but these Mulders are elusive and there's only one way to catch them. ***** In sleep, he feels his mattress bend below him. He opens his eyes. She sits beside him, watching. Her jacket is gone, and her legs are bare. Her eyes...are unrecognizable, at first. He's seen himself reflected there in so many ways: tinged with disappointment, with affection, with fear and relief. But he's never seen this look - at once bold and frightened, touched with tentative love. He lies there quietly as she looks, his own eyes meeting hers. Her small hand reaches out...hesitates...before sliding through his hair. She wants to brush an unruly lock from his forehead - a fantasy long imagined but little acknowledged - but, once again, he's transformed his hair into spiky needles, and all she can do is flatten them under her soft palm. His eyes close as her fingers slip to his wrinkled brow, smoothing over its worried lines even as she struggles to erase her own. Her fingers tremble slightly as the realization of her actions sinks in. Sensitive, in his blindness, to her touch, he covers her hand with his own and guides it to his cheek. She cradles his face for long moments until, emboldened by his acceptance of her touch, her fingers slide over his swollen lips. She's been here before, so close she could almost taste him; but it wasn't the right time, and she wasn't the same woman she is tonight. Then, she left him with a touch. Tonight, as his eyes meet hers in wide-eyed wonder, she leans close and brings her lips to his. Their hands clasp and dance slowly, his fingers interwoven with hers, as she allows herself the long-denied luxury of feasting on his mouth. The sound of his throaty sighs sends shivers through her body, awakening nerves that only he can play, devastating any hope of escaping the inevitable. When their lips finally part, her eyes open to find Mulder watching her with dark desire. His mouth is bruised, wet and waiting for more; he licks her taste from his lips and impatiently waits for her to continue. She touches her fingers to her own swollen lips, finds that they still throb under the remembered weight of his mouth. Hungry, her fingers reach out to his chest...two hands sliding over the thin gray t-shirt that contains his fiery flesh. He sits up, now, as her hands slip under this much-loved bit of material for the first time, coaxing it up and over his head. He waits; if this is to happen, it must happen on her terms. But she's not going anywhere. As he holds his breath, hopelessly sinking into an abyss of long-denied love and longing under her ravenous gaze, she leans in close once again; this time, it's serious. Her pouting lips suckle at his neck...his taut nipples...his strong arms. His hands slide over the soft cashmere of her sweater, tugging gently at it as her mouth does things he's only ever dreamed of. She pauses long enough to help him remove it, and her skirt - their hands clasped together over the tiny zipper, slowly easing it down over her smooth, round hip. His hand is distracted by the feel of her flesh, and he places his palm against her flat belly, his fingers spread over her abdomen. She covers it with her own hand, and guides it to her aching breasts. She kneels beside him, her legs tucked under her as his slender fingers brush against the thin fabric of her bra. Her nipples respond to his electric touch, straining against this last barrier. He brings his lips to hers again, easing her back onto his bed; when his eyes open, they are met by the vision of her hair spread over his white pillow, rumpled and wild. He gasps softly as her chest heaves in silent sighs, her breasts spilling from their confinement as he unclasps her bra with fingers that themselves tremble. Her hands rise to caress his face, and she tries to imprint his feel on her fingers. His eyes caress her, reflecting the beauty he finds before him, wordlessly confessing feelings hidden for too many years. He brings his full lips to her sensitive nipples, his tongue lapping at them as she bathes him in breathy sighs. This is all the foreplay they need. The past seven years have been an intricate dance of propriety and play, all leading to this moment. They have enticed and invited each other for so long...coming together like this seems almost an afterthought. Yet now, as he fills her, she knows that this is no afterthought; rather, it's a culmination. An end, perhaps...but perhaps, also, a beginning. Each of their experiences together - the good, but also the bad, the painful, the hurtful - have led to this very moment. She never takes his eyes from his, and their combined memories speak volumes. No words...and his beauty brings tears to her eyes. His gently insistent strokes coax her reluctant pleasure; her eyes close and she arches her back. Strong spasms ripple through her; he spills into her, and their voices commingle in a cry of bittersweet pleasure. She opens her eyes while he still remains buried deep inside her trembling folds. One hand strokes her damp hair as he gazes at her flushed body. His forehead wrinkles slightly as his eyes fill...his thumb slides over her swollen lips. He whispers, one word. "Beautiful." ***** She dreams; vivid visions of a shallow sleep. Colors dance before her eyes, glittering in the pale light of a waxing moon. Angry reds...fearful yellows...fresh greens. The peaceful blue of tranquil nights...splashes of a passionate purple flickering within this kaleidoscope. She senses a pattern and leans closer to the shimmering hues. She slowly recognizes her life with Mulder. Taken alone, each of these colors suggests a mood, a whim, a certain status quo; together, they are a mosaic, alive and ever- changing, but complete and whole in their variety. She feels her eyes fill with tears even as she sleeps. A voice, and she doesn't know if it's hers or his. One word, and it speaks the truth. *Beautiful* She is saddened even as she longs to wrap herself in this sparkling rainbow. Its individual fragments seem fragile, sewn together by a gossamer thread. A tentative brush of her fingers across its smooth surface. Colors flicker around her, bathing her in their iridescent light. She closes her eyes and breathes them in; but she steps away from their warmth, afraid to shatter their seemingly fragile coherence. She can't yet see that the mosaic is diamond-hard, bound by golden threads of steel. ***** In the morning, she's gone. ***** ~finis~