It was snowing now, he could see it, plump white flakes floating
softly, silently to the ground just outside his window. By tomorrow
morning everything would be covered. Good thing he wasn't planning
on
going anywhere...
The phone rang, splitting his reverie like a ripe melon; he swiped at
it, finally snagging the receiver on his second try. "H'lo?"
"Mulder, it's me," came a familiar voice, slightly scratchy, distant.
"Just wanted to let you know I got in okay."
Scully. The one person he actually wanted to talk to tonight. "How was
your flight?"
"Long and bumpy, rained the whole time. El Nino's making its presence
felt, even out here in California. Anyway, I just wanted to touch
bases, make sure everything's all right."
He knew exactly what she meant; he tugged the blanket tighter around
him, fighting off a sudden icy finger wiggling down the back of his
neck.
"Mulder? You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, everything's fine," he mumbled. "Listen, you have fun
with your folks, take lots of pictures so you can tell me all about
it
when you get back—"
"Are you going to your mom's tomorrow?"
He knew she'd ask that, had steeled himself for it, but that still
didn't lessen the physical shock the actual sound of the words sent
rocketing through him. "Um, no, I...no, I decided against it."
"Mulder—"
"I talked to her, Scully, just this morning, and...after what happened,
after that confrontation we had a couple months ago, the accusations
I
made...if I could take them all back I would, but I can't. It's too
soon. A visit right now would do more harm than good."
She didn't reply right away; only her breath's soft, steady rhythm told
him she was still there. "You're probably right," she answered finally.
"Scully, d'you ever wish that things...I dunno, that they'd turned out
different? That you could go back in time and fix it, make everything
come out all right?"
"Mulder, why're you...what brought this on so suddenly?"
"Do you, Scully? Do you ever wish that?"
"I've wished...a lot of things," she said softly, wistfully. "Listen,
I
have to go, Tara's got dinner ready. See you soon, okay?"
"'Kay. Have a nice time."
"I will. G'night, Mulder. Merry Christmas."
He sat there for the longest time, still holding the receiver, finally
putting it back when it started emitting an annoying high-pitched
whine. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything
since that morning. Some soup sounded good...hot, steaming tomato soup,
warming him from the inside out...
But there wasn't a can to be found anywhere. No tomato, no vegetable,
not even his choice of last resort, chicken noodle. Oh, well, maybe
a
beer'd do the trick—
No beer. Not much in the fridge at all except for a couple apples, a
block of hairy-looking cheese—
And a bottle of wine. Red wine. The kind with a cork instead of a
screw-on top. Funny, but he didn't remember buying it; he must've
shoved it in the fridge a couple months ago and forgotten about it.
Grabbing a tumbler from the dish drainer, he rummaged in a drawer until
he found a corkscrew and wrestled the cork out of the bottle,
half-mangling it in the process, sloshing a couple ounces into the
glass, taking a hard-won sip.
To his surprise, it was good—smoky, smooth, gliding across his
tongue like melted chocolate, comfortable warmth curling in his
stomach. Just what he needed.
He snagged the bottle and headed back towards the couch, stopping at
the thermostat on the way, frowning when he saw the temperature
indicator still hovering in the mid-fifties; he could've sworn he'd
turned it on when he came in. Flicking it up to seventy-five, he held
his breath and waited, finally hearing the furnace's initial click
and
whirr, then the soft whoosh of heated air wafting up through the vent.
Rewrapping himself in his blanket's protective plaid wool cocoon, he
started flipping channels with the TV remote, slumping back on the
couch, sipping wine, zoning out. One of the classic movie channels
was
showing IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE—mercifully, not the colorized
version—and he stopped, watching Jimmy Stewart and his family
decorating their tree, smiling, singing, finally fading to black.
He flicked off the TV, tossing the remote on the table, sitting up to
pour himself more wine, gaze sweeping the apartment as he did so. No
tree, no decorations, no Christmas cards. Scully was the only one who'd
given him a card this year, and he'd left it taped to his computer
monitor at work. He had a fake tree and some ornaments his mother had
given him a few years ago, but somehow it'd just seemed like too much
trouble to drag it out of the closet. Besides, he remembered all the
decorations from when he was a kid, especially that pretty blue foil
angel Samantha'd liked so much...
He downed his wine in one gulp, poured himself some more. God, but he
wished Scully was here. Part of him resented the fact that she'd chosen
to spend this Christmas with Bill's family in San Diego, though
another part of him, the rational part, realized simultaneously how
selfish that wish was. He had no right to begrudge her this downtime,
especially when only a few weeks ago neither of them had thought she
would live to see another Christmas. He had her back now, his partner
and friend, safe and well. That was something to be grateful for.
Most of the time he was grateful enough just being alone; he liked the
quiet, even on those still-frequent nights of insomnia. But tonight
felt different...tonight it felt like the walls were closing in,
stifling him...
He tossed the blanket off, suddenly warm—too warm. The furnace had
kicked in with a vengeance, and between that and the wine, he was
actually starting to sweat. It felt good, though...he took another
sip,
savoring the sensation of tiny fingers tickling all the way down into
his belly, fresh waves of heat radiating everywhere, leaving him
pleasantly foggy-brained, drifting toward sleep...
Drifting, but not quite there yet. He scooped up the remote again,
flicking the TV back on, idly toying with the idea of popping a tape
in
the VCR, but somehow the thought of watching porn on Christmas Eve
left
a sour taste in his mouth. Flipping channels, he finally stopped at
the
last one at the top of the band, the one that showed a burning yule
log
all night on Christmas Eve. If this didn't bore him to sleep, nothing
would.
He tossed back the last of the wine in his glass, then set the glass
aside, eyes floating shut, listening to the faint crackle of flame
coming from his TV, lulling his breathing to a slow, steady rhythm.
If
he just let himself go with it he could almost convince himself it
was
real, that he was lying here on a thick red carpet in front of a stone
fireplace, soft gold painting spiky patterns beneath his eyelids. Yeah,
maybe if he just kept breathing like this, kept his eyes closed, maybe
he'd convince himself that those fingertips trailing up his arm and
shoulder, brushing the hair from the nape of his neck belonged to—
"Guess you liked my present, huh?" came a voice close to his ear, low,
breathy, familiar—
Too damn familiar. "Jesus!" he cried, rolling onto his back, staring
up
into deep green eyes. "What the hell're you doing here?"
"Kissing you, or trying to. You didn't seem to be minding a second
ago—"
"Get out of here, Alex. Now."
"Mulder..."
"Get out before I smash your face in."
"Is that any way to talk to someone who's only trying to make your
Christmas wish come true?"
That almost made him laugh. Almost. "I never wished for this."
"Really? So what was all that you were saying to Scully, about going
back in time, putting everything right?" Another angry reply hung on
his lips, but Alex laid two gentle fingers there, and the words faded
away. "We never got a chance to spend Christmas together, Mulder. I
regret that, and I, um...think you do too."
He jerked back, poised to jump to his feet when something suddenly
caught his eye, something colorful, flickering in the background—
A tree, covered in flashing lights, colored balls, silver and gold
tinsel garlands—a real one, he could smell the sharp, spicy scent
of
pine halfway across the room. And sitting there at the very top, a
shiny blue angel. Samantha's angel.
His fingers brushed the plush red carpet beneath him, eyes following,
staring, seeing, not believing. Heat licked at his back, too immediate
and intense to be coming from the furnace. A fireplace, right where
his
TV'd been. Just like he'd imagined a few minutes ago...
"Hope you don't mind me taking the liberty of redecorating," Alex
murmured.
"H-how'd you do all this?"
"You made a wish, and you drank the gift I left you." He nodded at the
wine bottle. "It's a magic elixir. Makes anything you want tonight
possible."
"Oh, gimme a break, Alex—"
"You believe in UFO's, lake monsters and the Fiji mermaid, but not
this? Mulder, sometimes you really disappoint me."
Jesus, he was drunk, completely shit-faced, he had to be. Flopping back
on the rug, he rubbed at his eyelids, sucking in deep, ragged breaths.
Alex wasn't really here; he was a dream, a wine-soaked hallucination.
When he opened his eyes again he'd be alone on the couch with the
blanket back over him—
He wouldn't see Alex's face, Alex's sea-green eyes looking down at him,
hovering over him with serious intent, that tiny space between his
eyebrows crinkled with concern. "You okay?"
"Oh, God...oh, Jesus..." he breathed, reaching up, fingertips making
contact with warm, silky skin. "Th-this is real...you're real..."
"I told you."
"But...you still haven't explained how—"
"Don't fight it, Mulder. It's what we both want. Isn't that enough?"
"Alex, I don't...please..." He'd intended it as a protest, but Alex's
mouth coming down on his turned it into a full-throated moan. Stray
memories flitted at the edges of his mind, dissipating like morning
fog
as Alex's tongue swept gently, insistently between his lips, a hot
burst of mingled flavor and sensation ripping through him, sweet and
stinging and bitter all at once—
He was sure he'd pass out before they finally broke apart, chests
heaving, mouths still scant millimeters from touching, close enough
to
taste Alex's breath, feel it feathering his own skin, soft and warm.
"I won't be here when you wake up tomorrow morning," Alex whispered,
fingertips softly combing through the hair at Mulder's temple, lips
dusting his cheek, his forehead. "The magic only lasts one night. Let's
not waste it."
He shook his head, this time with no danger of either of them
interpreting it as a protest. The past was just that, shunted aside,
forgotten, at least for tonight. He'd deal with any residual qualms
in
the morning. Right now the need between them was too strong, too
urgent.
Alex grinned, leaning down for another kiss, languid and drugging, one
hand drifting down to the waistband of Mulder's jeans, tugging his
t-shirt free. "Lift up" was all he said, and Mulder obeyed, sitting
up
briefly to let Alex drag the shirt over his head. But when he tried
doing the same for Alex, Alex scooted away. "Hey, not fair..."
"Take it easy, you'll get your turn," Alex said, grabbing the wine
bottle, pouring some into Mulder's tumbler, taking a long sip. "S'good.
Want some more?" Off his nod, Alex stretched out beside him, propped
on
his elbow, dipping two fingers in the tumbler, slowly, tantalizingly
anointing Mulder's lips with fat ruby droplets, taking another sip
himself—
Swooping down to claim Mulder's mouth again, deep and rough this time,
tongues dueling, dancing a breathless, insane tango, tasting their
own
tastes coupled with the wine, all musk and honey, sharp and smooth
as a
shiny new knife—
Alex rolled on top of him, taking his weight on both hands, calmer,
gentler now, raining soft butterfly kisses on his eyelids, tracing
the
bridge of his nose with the tip of his tongue, nipping, licking at
the
corners of Mulder's mouth, lapping at the last traces of wine lingering
there like a greedy kitten with a bowl of cream. "You like?" he asked
with a lazy smile, rotating his hips against Mulder's belly.
God, they were both hard as steel already, and all they'd done was
kiss. "Wh-what d'you think?" he groaned with a tiny upward push of
his
own hips, just to make sure Alex didn't mistake his meaning.
He didn't, if his widening grin was any indication. "I think I want
you
naked." He was up on his knees in the next second, fingers fumbling
with Mulder's fly button, popping it loose, easing the zipper down
over
Mulder's straining erection, hooking both thumbs in his waistband,
yanking the rough denim down over his hips along with his boxers—
He wasn't sure if it was passion or the shock of his stiffened flesh
springing free that made him gasp, but the latter passed swiftly
enough, the fire's warmth soothing, enveloping him better than any
blanket. He let one hand drift downward, grasping, gently stroking
himself, gazes locking as Alex skinned his jeans down and off, green
eyes sparkling, issuing a wordless dare—
Mulder's fingers flew to the hem of Alex's t-shirt, tugging it from
his
jeans, pulling it up as far as he could without help, Alex taking it
from there, fingertips brushing, colliding, almost ripping the thin
grey cotton at the seam, one sleeve tangling around Alex's arm, finally
tossing the shirt aside. Then, sitting back on his heels, a dreamy
half-smile curving his lips, he waited, letting Mulder look his fill.
Firelight painted his skin smooth and golden, accenting every delicate
ripple in his musculature, like a Renaissance sculpture suddenly sprung
to life. Mulder couldn't help leaning forward, touching one tentative
hand to Alex's chest, skimming over the crisp dark hair right there
in
the center, tracing its path downward, all the way down to the
waistband of his jeans—
And stopped, one arm wound about Alex's waist, fingers pressed to his
belly, lips following, tasting, savoring his skin's warm silkiness
and
the soft, sweet tremor welling inside him, his own body responding
in
kind, part fear, part anticipation—
They tumbled to the floor in the next second, Mulder rolling on top
this time, pinning Alex beneath him, letting him twist and flail in
vain for a few seconds, finally quelling his struggles with another
heart-stopping kiss. "My turn now," he said with a smug grin, spying
the tumbler of wine sitting on the edge of the table, reaching for
it—
Tipping it over Alex's chest, dribbling a few stray drops onto his
skin, bending down to lick at it, the tip of his tongue grazing one
bronze nipple as he did so, Alex squirming under him, writhing, back
arching—
"You like?"
"Jesus, Mulder—"
"What's the matter, can't take a taste of your own torture?"
"Finish it."
"Unh-uh, not yet."
"C'mon, Mulder, I'm dying here..."
"Thought you said this was my Christmas present," he teased, falling
to his task again, following the splattered reddish-purple trail down
to Alex's navel, tracing the soft puckered rim, darting his tongue
inside, lapping up the wine that had pooled there, grinning at Alex's
strangled moan—
Moving lower, fingers at Alex's fly, freeing him, peeling his jeans
down and off, Alex grabbing them before he could fling them aside,
fumbling in one pocket, pulling out a slim tube and some shiny foil
packets.
"You thought of everything," he murmured, leaning down to plant a soft
kiss on Alex's belly, doodling a wet, squiggly stripe all the way
across with his tongue. "How sweet."
"Oh, for Chrissakes, come on..." Alex groaned, voice smoky, ragged,
all but gone. In his entire life he'd never heard anything half as
erotic. "Just do it, Mulder."
"Do what?"
"You know."
"Say it."
"Wh-what?"
"You told me I could have anything I wanted tonight. I want to hear
you
say it. I want to hear you beg for it."
"Y-you fucking bastard..."
"Say it." He waited a few seconds for a reply, but when none seemed
forthcoming he picked up where he left off, alternately kissing and
nipping a trail down to the sweet indentation where belly joined thigh,
one hand wandering, grasping Alex's hard shaft, beginning a slow,
gentle stroking. "Say it, Alex."
"You know I want it as much as you do...why d'you have to—"
"Say it or you can finish this yourself." It was cruel, what he was
doing; he could feel it, Alex's flesh twitching and throbbing under
his
fingers, so red and swollen he knew it had to be hurting him. He
skimmed his thumb along the thick vein leading up to the rosy mushroom
crown, smiling at the milky droplet pearling there, lapping at it with
the edge of his tongue, salty and bitter, yet sweet too, just like
the
wine. "Say the magic words."
"F-fuck me."
"What was that?"
Huge limpid irises glinted back at him, jade flecked with gold, rimming
deep inky blackness. "Fuck me...please."
"See? All you had to do was ask nicely," he grinned, moving back up
to
give Alex a soft, wet kiss on the lips, reaching for the condoms and
lube at the same time. His fingers were trembling, so he tore the
packet open with his teeth, raising himself up on his knees to roll
it
on, taking his time, giving Alex a good long eyeful, then grabbing
the
lubricant, squeezing a cool, slippery blob onto his fingers, sliding
his hand under Alex, between round, downy-soft cheeks, searching,
probing gently.
He was satiny-smooth inside, hot and tight as a clenched fist, though
he opened easily under the pressure of Mulder's fingers. It took all
Mulder's willpower to go slow, working the lube deep inside him with
steady, fluid strokes, Alex finally thrusting back, impaling himself,
letting him know he was ready.
He shifted a little, lifting Alex so that he could wrap his legs around
his waist, then, using one hand, positioned himself, giving a tiny
push, then another, relief flooding him as he felt the gentle pop of
entry, sliding the rest of the way in with no resistance, slick,
pulsating heat enveloping, engulfing him—
He stopped, gasping, eyes screwed shut, feeling suddenly as if he'd
plunged headlong into a pit of live coals. God, it was good, better
than good, but it'd been so damn long for him, he wasn't sure he could
last. He would, though. He had to...
"Hey." He heard a voice, felt a gentle touch brushing his wrist and
looked down, down at Alex lying there beneath him, lips parted, stray
wisps of hair spilling over forehead and cheeks, clinging to
sweat-sheened skin. "You okay?"
There it was, that low, breathy tone that sent fresh bursts of lust
snaking up his spine, lodging at the back of his brain like a steel
spike. Slowly, carefully, he started moving, rocking, sliding both
hands under Alex's sweet, tight ass, cupping and stroking him, holding
him for deeper, harder thrusts—
He felt it before he saw it, felt Alex clenching around him, muscles
rippling up and down the length of him, milking, squeezing, heard him
groaning, whimpering, hot, silky white jets spurting all over his
belly, dimly realizing he was screaming too, convulsing, sweat pouring
into his eyes, slicing through his skin like a million tiny knives,
ripping, flaying him, every star in the universe going nova in his
head
at the same time—
He rolled to the floor, onto his side, boneless, wrung out, curling
around Alex, softly kissing his shoulder.
Smiling, Alex bent his head back so their mouths could touch, sweet
and
wet and deep. "Get everything you wanted?"
His only response was to snuggle closer, bestowing another kiss. He
didn't want to talk, just to lie here, afloat in the hazy warmth of
afterglow. The rest of the world didn't exist, at least for now.
He let his eyes drift shut, pressing his lips to Alex's throat, skin
still salty-moist from their coupling, savoring the solid feel of their
bodies spooned together, the steady thump of Alex's heart, his warm,
clean flavor, smoke mingled with honey, just like his voice.
Funny, but he'd never known what magic tasted like before. And now he
knew...
Now he knew.
END
"...all is silent and the snow falls
Settling soft and slow
The evening deepens and the grey
Folds closer earth and sky
The world seems shrouded, far away.
Its noises sleep, and I as secret as
Yon buried stream plod dumbly on...and dream...
And dream..."
"Snow," Loreena McKennitt, 1987
Wishes—A Christmas Tale
by Sugar Rush
His apartment was dark and cold, had been ever since he got home from
work. He'd turned on the lamp and heater and took a steaming shower,
but that'd only eased the chill for a little while. Even slumped here
on the couch fully-dressed and with a blanket tucked up under his chin,
he still felt frozen all the way to the bone.
