From: Hiljean83@aol.com Date: 14 Jun 1999 14:22:33 -0700 Subject: xfc What Would Happen (1/1) TITLE: What Would Happen AUTHOR: Pennyroyal Tea, or Hiljean83@aol.com DISTRIBUTION: Xemplary, but NOPLACE ELSE unless you ask!! SPOILERS: FTF, "The Unnatural" RATING: PG-13 CLASSIFICARIONS: V, A, and it's dripping with UST SUMMARY: Our main characters ponder on THE KISS. DISCLAIMER: Okay, okay! I'll admit it: none of this is mine. `Pennyroyal Tea' is the name of a Nirvana song found on the album "In Utero". `What Would Happen' belongs to Meredith Brooks and can be found on the album "Blurring the Edges". Mulder belongs to Scully, Scully belongs to Mulder, the X Files belong to them, and the whole shebang belongs to Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox. I use `em cos I love `em and no infringement is intended. FEEDBACK: For the love of all things Spooky, yes!! You'd be my best friend forever and ever if you did! ============================================================= "What would happen if we kissed? Would your tongue slip past my lips? Would you run away? Would you stay? Or would I melt into you? Mouth to mouth, lust to lust, Spontaneously combust?" --Meredith Brooks, "What Would Happen" ============================================================= I have a special memory locked away in the recesses of my mind. I bring it out every once in a while-frequently-okay. All the time. Whenever I want to, I can recreate that dim hallway. I can feel his long fingers cup my face. The butterfly of his breath against my cheeks. The brush of his lips against mine. Even though I remember that moment whenever I can, it's been too long. The details are wilting like a flower that's been in a vase too long. I'd give almost anything to rejuvenate my flower of a memory. Or even better, a brand new flower- a REAL kiss. Unfortunately, he hasn't tried since then. I don't know why. The worst-case scenario that I've come up with is that he's forgotten. How could he forget? I haven't. I absolutely ache for the touch of his lips, and all I get are vague innuendoes. A hug. A quick grasp of my hand. His hands leading my hips through a baseball stance. We've had multiple opportunities, too. Another hallway. In the car. A nondescript hotel room. An elevator. And all we do is stand stiff, prim and proper and platonic. I stare straight ahead at these times, keeping up my facade, but inside I'm willing him. Hoping and praying, urging him to touch me, to kiss me, to do everything he's wanted to in the past six years. But I get nothing. Maybe if he knew what he did to me he'd put me out of my misery and kiss me. Until then, all I have is a fading memory. ********************** I have a little thought that I like to entertain. A lot. Whenever I can, I recreate the dank hallway outside my apartment. I feel her wet cheeks beneath my hands. Her every breath dancing across my face. Her warm lips touching mine in the ghost of a kiss. That's all I have. A fading memory. A deteriorating thought. It's been too long to keep it from disintegrating. I wish I could somehow refresh it, or replace it with the memory of a genuine kiss. I haven't tried since then because I don't know if she still wants to, and for all I know, she's forgotten by now. If she only knew how much I long to kiss her. If she only knew how hard it is to keep myself in check. Whenever we are alone-elevators, hallways, hotel rooms-I nearly go crazy trying to keep myself from wrapping my arms around her and kissing her senseless. Instead, I settle for innuendoes. Hugs, touching her lightly, her hands, her arms, her hips. Maybe if she knew what she did to me, she'd put me out of my misery and let me kiss her. Until then, all I have is a fading memory. END.