Part I I was almost happy again. Not the gut-wrenching happiness that's so good it
almost hurts, the kind where you can't wipe the stupid smile off your face
and you feel that you could take anything they care to throw at you. Just
the average, run-of-the-mill, for-once-I'm-not-unhappy type of happiness. It
no longer hurt me to walk through the door of my apartment and find it
empty. I hadn't forgotten—I don't think I ever would have forgotten—but I
didn't have him at the front of my mind 24 hours a day. I didn't dream of
him every night. I thought I was beginning to cope.
I was wrong.
When I opened the envelope... God, it was like I'd been punched in the gut.
He hated having his picture taken... but that once I'd caught him off guard
and he was smiling at the camera. Except he wasn't. He was smiling through
the camera. He was smiling at me. And the look in his eyes... was it my
fault that I thought it would last forever? I wanted it to last forever.
I think maybe I loved him.
Hell. I know I loved him—still do. I believed that he loved me too, but
it turns out I wasn't as important to him as I'd allowed him to become to
me. Trust no one. But I trusted him, enough to put my soul in his hands and
watch as he turned away. He hurt me so much that I didn't I didn't think I
could survive it. I hated him for doing that to me. But I knew, even through
my hatred, that the second he turned back I would welcome him with open
arms.
I flipped through the rest of the photos, pausing a couple of times, each
new image sending a fresh jolt of pain through me... and then I came to the
last picture, and the pain and misery were so overwhelming that I couldn't
see, couldn't hear, could only feel as my body was wracked with the sobs I'd
been holding in for the year he'd been gone.
And it was just a picture of the stars.
"Shh... just trust me." The heat of his voice surrounds me and almost allows
me to forget about the silk scarf covering my eyes, the fact that I am
trusting myself to someone who betrayed me, killed my father, worked with
the men who were bent on destroying me... helped me, kissed me... the man I
love. But as I stumble and almost fall at some unseen obstacle, his arms
around me, his instant protection of me reminds me why I believe in him.
Cold air blows in my face and I wonder where we are that requires such a
long drive. My mind automatically tried to track the route from the turns we
took, but it wasn't long before I was hopelessly lost. We could be back at
the apartment for all I know. Except for the scent of fresh cut grass, and
flowers, and summer evenings...
But it doesn't matter where we are. Because as long as he's in front of me
and I can feel his strong fingers linked with mine, I have everything I
need. Everything I'll ever need. This past month I've been so happy... I'm
so scared that it won't last. Why would it? I'm me, and he's him, and
there's no possible reason to believe that it will have a chance of success.
Except that, even though we haven't said anything... well, I know how I
feel. And the expression in his eyes sometimes makes me wonder.
He lays me down and I can feel that there is tall grass surrounding us. It's
a warm night, and I can hear bats squeaking overhead and can smell the
flowers that must only just have closed. And after a moment I can feel him
as he lays down beside me and tenderly brushes the hair away from my
forehead, can feel his breath fanning across my face as he leans in to kiss
me. And I blindly respond, trying to tell him with my body what my eyes
can't. But he won't let me take control—and frustrated as I am, part of me
is glad of that. He forces my hands down beside me as I lay listening to his
ragged breathing calm, feeling his trembling hands slowly still. And no
matter how much I wish he would just rip my clothes off and slam into me I
know that this is his moment. So I wait.
He gently touches my face.
And we've touched before. We can barely keep our hands off each other. And
yet this is almost more erotic than anything he's ever done to me—these
feather-light touches that softly map my face, passing over my lips again
and again, until he replaces his fingers with his mouth. And his kiss is so
tender that I want to cry. I get the overwhelming feeling that this is it.
That he's saying goodbye.
And suddenly I need to see him, need to hear his voice, before something
comes and rips him away from me.
I reach up and tear the blindfold away from my eyes, in the last second
dreading that when I open them I'll be alone... but I calm as soon as I see
green eyes dyed silver by the moon, dappled light falling on a perfect body.
He starts to undress me, and every inch of skin that is revealed is
thoroughly explored by fingers and mouth until finally I am naked and
trembling so hard that I feel like I'll fall apart—not to mention more
turned on than I have ever been in my life.
And then he swoops down and bites my nipple. And I cry out at the
unbelievable sensations this produces in me. He plays with it for a while,
nipping and licking and sucking the sensitive flesh, before moving on to the
other one. I am incoherent as he moves lower... I hear the sounds coming
from my mouth but I am distanced from them, focussed completely inward on
the feelings he is arousing in me.
And then all the breath leaves my lungs as his tongue touches my cock. He
gently flutters his tongue along the vein on the underside before taking the
head into his mouth. God... I can't contain my moan as his warmth deserts
me, and it's all I can do not to grab his head and force it back to where it
was. But this is his moment. And I satisfy myself with running my hands
through his hair as he lets me taste myself in his mouth.
And words are no longer necessary. He prepares my cock and sinks down slowly
on it, the look of pure bliss on his face transfixing me with its feral
beauty.
And then all thoughts are driven from my head as he slowly starts to move.
The tight velvet heat gripping me and the sound of his moans as my cock hits
his prostate combine to bring me to the brink of orgasm—but I hold it off
as I pump his cock, wanting him to share this moment with me.
then his muscles contract and we tumble over the edge together. And as he
collapses onto my chest, I stare up at the beautiful stars that he brought
me so far from the city lights to see, and I tell him that I love him. But I
don't know if he hears me. The crying fit left me with a dull but insistent throbbing in my head and
eyes that felt like someone had rubbed grit in them. And I felt so
completely hopeless, because if this one simple memory could tear me apart
like this then how could I ever forget him? I don't want to forget him. I
wish that I didn't have to.
I woke up on the couch this morning and dragged myself into work; feeling
(and judging by Scully's reaction, looking) like hell. She tried to send me
home, but the thought of the silence that fills my apartment... I insisted
on staying, even working late to delay the inevitable.
She denied all knowledge of the film.
And as I walked into my apartment I got the strongest feeling that someone
had been there. You'd think, with the number of times my apartment had been
broken into, I'd be used to it by now. I should leave the door open to
prevent damage.
But if someone had been there, they'd been good at their job. There was no
physical evidence of their presence, just a feeling that until recently the
space had been filled. That maybe if I'd returned five minutes earlier, I
would have caught them. Caught him.
I got out my gun and searched the apartment, checking out the small amount
of possible hiding places with something like hope... until I realised what
I was doing.
And I collapsed onto my bed, the headache returned with renewed intensity as
I berated myself for what I was thinking. It wasn't him. It wasn't anything
but my hyperactive imagination projecting my insane wishes. I put my hand
over my eyes and fumbled for the lamp, hoping that the darkness would make
my headache lessen.
And now I lay on my back, my headache gone, and stare up at the glow-stars
that newly cover my ceiling, and consider that maybe I don't have to forget
anything. That maybe I can be happy again.
Glow-stars
by Beth
I'd forgotten about the film. It lay unnoticed in my camera for a year. I
could only guess that Scully stumbled across it and sent it off to be
developed.
"Where are we going?"
