TITLE: Bodysurfing AUTHOR: Perelandra (pen_phile@hotmail.com) RATING: NC-17 CATEGORY: V/R/A, MSR SPOILERS: US season 6 SUMMARY: Free the mind, and the body will follow. DISCLAIMER: They're not mine, even though I begged and begged Santa... AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was inspired by the unique experience of bodysurfing on the beach on Christmas Eve. Man, I love Florida. One of life's many transcendent experiences. Thanks to Kat and Claudia13 for their great beta comments. For a friend. ------------------------ She had been silent all day. Silent, not mute; in business and matters of course, she made all the necessary noises in that deep brandywine voice, ordering data and making pronouncements with all the efficiency of a well- oiled machine. A machine. Noisy, but silent. Walking, talking, but dying inside. She felt the stagnation of her life in her hollowed-out chest, looked down at her empty hands as she picked up another handful of sand and watched the grains, one by one, fly away in the twilight breeze. Her life, her purpose, was being swept away like sands of spent time; the hollowness her -- their -- quest had become was the broken hourglass through which the sand spilled through to nothingness. She was supposed to be somewhere; she knew that as her sense of duty tugged at her, urged her to turn back to the car and head for the station. But there was something about the Key West sunset, the golds and reds of the sky dancing over brilliant blue waves, that kept her feet rooted to the spot where she stood, the sand languidly enveloping her bare toes. Memories filled her mind as her heart sank like an anchor, keeping her by her beloved sea. And she knew. //This is not my life.// Not a life without purpose, without hope. The pointless stakeouts, the routine checks, the endless ennui of expense reports, the monotonous transcriptions that transformed her working life into a shell of its former self whose discomfiture jabbed at her with a physical pain. She knew its pressure like the hands holding her back from the path she saw before her, the path she needed, knew she must take to make her existence worthwhile. And it was making her empty inside. Kersh knew, but he didn't care; rather, he seemed like an all-too- willing participant in the systematic destruction of her spirit. Mulder knew, and he tried -- God, he tried -- but somehow all his promises, his passion, his words of encouragement, stolen side trips, his whispers in a darkened room, failed to fully banish the traps that caged her soul. //When is enough?// she quietly asked herself. An all-too-familiar trill rang out over the noise of the waves. "Scully." "Scully...where are you? I thought you were back at the hotel." "I was, but...I had to get out." "Are you okay?" "Yeah, I just...need some time." She could almost see him nod, eyes downcast, face softening in the visage of compassion in which she always knew she could take comfort. "I'll see you later, Scully." "Thanks." A push of the button, and he was gone. She sighed, and watched the last vestiges of the sun's orange disc slip under the undulating horizon. **** He hung up the phone with a sense of futility whispering its damning words into his ear; the way it had been haunting him so much of late. This last "evening walk" of hers worried him; she was starting to put her own personal problems ahead of her work, something cool, competent Scully had never done before. //Then again, we had always had more interesting work.// He knew what it was doing to her, could feel her slipping away. The brilliant light within her was growing fainter by the day; mired in the new "routine," the faithless, pointless grunt work that composed their new burden. Futility, to hopelessness, to anger. He wanted to shake their proverbial chains, to shout to the heavens, the shadows, the powers that be and demand to take their work back. He wanted to put each and every one of the responsible parties at the business end of his weapon, and unleash vengeance like the world had never seen. He wanted their life back. With its dangers, its risks, its headlong dive into madness; anything, anything was preferable to this empty existence. He wanted to help her. The wild goose chases, the clandestine side trips were a good idea; even protocol-fearing Scully took secret pleasure in slipping under Kersh's radar. There was the thrill of the delinquent; they had felt young, like teenagers on a midnight booze run. But even that was too little, too late. He knew it in the weariness of her eyes. Her drooping posture. The lines that were slowly forming around the edges of her exquisite features. The unshed tears of frustration that raged beneath her stoic gaze. He had known, that quiet night in a darkened motel room, that he needed to help her to save himself. He had thought, when he kissed the tears she shed and finally took her in his arms, that it would be enough. And yet, she was still fading away. //When is enough, Scully?// **** He found her on the beach several minutes after sunset. The tourist crowd that gathered at sunset had evaporated quickly after the light was gone, leaving the beach practically empty save a few stragglers, the lights of the pier, and her. She was sitting on the beach, staring at the darkening sea and watching the stars come out one by one on the far horizon. The tide came in gentle rushes, barely teasing her bare toes. Her hair was slightly windblown and rumpled, like her jacket and shoes tossed carelessly on the sand beside her. The rare picture of a reflective, vulnerable, beautiful Scully. The welcome image flooded and drowned out haunting reminders of Mulder's last visit to the ocean; a radiant, seafoam Scully banishing visions of a dead man from his memory. He stood a respectful distance behind her, head bent, lightly teasing a stray conch with his polished shoes. She knew his presence, acknowledged it silently, and for several minutes they watched the sea turn a deep indigo, settled in companionable, pain-filled silence. "I always loved Key West." Her voice rose like the incoming tide. He stepped closer and sat down beside her; aching to touch her but instead running ever-light fingers through her deep auburn hair. "When Dad was stationed in Florida we...we always used to come here. This was our favorite beach." The world-weary corners of her mouth turned up at the memory. "Melissa.." -- the tears welled up in her eyes and the heat rose in her ears -- "Melissa and I used to play in the surf, gathering the prettiest conch shells to display in our room." The tide washed over the shore more noisily, insistent. "Here's where my father taught us to bodysurf." Mulder let loose a small chuckle, and Scully smiled faintly in reply. "I still remember what he said to me. Swim with the wave, then just glide with the motion of the sea. It's at that point when you become one with the tide." She picked up a handful of wet sand,and filtered it through strong, work-weathered fingers. She closed her eyes and raised her face to heaven, absorbing the sea-rich air. "'Starbuck,' he said, 'Free your mind and the body will follow.'" Mulder's hand came to rest on the curve of her long neck. She opened her eyes then, the emotions swirling inside her, battling for control. Nostalgia and pain. Love and regret. The tide swelled to a roar as the water swirled around their ankles. She smiled at the cold touch of the water, and clarity began to infuse itself like light bathing her cool blue eyes, the plateau of her heart. She repeated her father's words to herself. //Free your mind and the body will follow.// She turned to Mulder and flashed him a smile. A girlish, playful smile that seemed to light up his entire universe. She got up and headed for the surf. "Scully? Where are you going?" His voice was choked, surprised. She did not answer him. **** He stood and tried to watch her in the darkening water, occasionally catching sight of her white blouse as she plunged into the waves. Enchanted, entranced, he tried to track her progress as the stars exploded into light in the sky above him and the land and sea darkened into shadow realms. The sea-foam rose and fell as the waves pounded the shore, and often he caught a glance of her; her small yet powerful arms propelling her body farther beneath the waves. It was a sight to behold; and Mulder's breath caught in his throat as he watched her. Before long, waves came and went; but combined with the intensifying tide and the looming darkness of the night time, Mulder lost track of Scully's progress through the water. Suddenly, he lost sight of her altogether; and, panicked, throwing his jacket to the sand, he jumped to his feet and scanned the shoreline, fearing the worst. The blood pounded through his veins and a lump rose to his throat as he considered the possibility that she may indeed be lost; and that she had wanted it to be so. //Please, God,// he prayed to a deity he didn't know he believed in. An enormous wave flexed its long, curving crest along the shoreline, and then he saw her. Visions of sea sirens or goddesses rising from the sea-foam could not have been more beautiful to Mulder than the vision of this woman; head thrown back, arms at her sides, an expression of pure ecstasy on her face as she rode the wave all the way to shore. In that moment Mulder realized that to Dana Scully, the sea was her home; and in turn, the sea infused her with the spirit of life she so recently lacked. In an instant she was younger, fuller, more at peace than he'd ever seen her. It was beautiful. And when the wave broke upon the shore, he ran to her. **** The grace with which she had ridden the wave evaporated suddenly as she hit the shore; she came up spluttering and coughing, startled by the force of the breaking wave. Mulder ran to her, his legs getting bogged down by the water when he hit the water line, arms flailing for balance as he attempted to help her to her feet. The scene was undeniably comic as, after several attempts, they finally found their unsteady balance. She looked at him then with wild, playful eyes. It was a different Dana Scully that held Mulder's gaze with her sapphire brilliance; not the world-weary, years-weary scientist he knew, but the real, honest, brilliant, passionate woman he loved. The smile she had flashed him earlier once again lit up his universe, and she laughed; not her usual appreciative chuckle, but a full-throated laugh that filled him with warmth and longing; the memories of a long-ago rainy night in Oregon brightening his face. The adrenaline rush that started with the rise and fall of the sea built into a wave that enveloped them both; and breathless, they collapsed into a kiss. She tasted of salt, and fresh Florida air. Her skin was cool in the evening breeze as he caressed it with rough fingertips. His left hand tangled in the wet mass of her hair as he crushed her to him in an embrace of mirth, need, and love. Her translucent blouse clung to her body, filling him with excruciating excitement. He longed to taste her saline skin, sampling her marine essence as his tongue trailed down her chin, her neck, her collarbone. She gasped as he found her ear and the sensitive spots beneath, sampling the taste of the sunset on her exquisite face. She held him tightly, wanting to crawl up every inch of him, her breathing quickening as his hands found her breasts beneath the sea-soaked blouse. All sense of up, down, past or present vanished and their world became one of pure sensation. She ran her hands over his well-muscled body, feeling every muscle of his finely sculpted torso through his damp shirt. Unleashed, unbound, her wilder self had come to shore; and he was there to catch her, to be her anchor in friendly and unfriendly harbors. And she was his siren, rare smiles and laughter reeling him in, her fervent, sea-fevered kisses capturing him in the spell. She clung to him, and they rocked with the motion of the sea. **** It began with sound. The sunset revelers had long abandoned the beach for the loud inland pleasures of Duval Street, and the yachts had long ago departed for their romantic night cruises. There was nothing but the simple, pristine sound of the ocean, and the occasional creak of wooden boards as more ambulatory lovers strolled the boardwalk under which they found refuge. And escape. The walk to Dana Scully's childhood hiding place was excruciating; breaths came labored, impatient as she led him to the little spot under the boardwalk where, long ago, she had sought more innocent pleasures. The place where her child-self sat alone and let the sea be her lullaby. This night, it was to be her symphony. They stood close to one another, breathing each other in, forehead to forehead in that years-old, friendly gesture. They stayed that way for a long time; not moving, paying silent tribute to the five years of companionship, trial, and trust that had led them to these times, these moments that had become so much more. He began with sound, breathing the words that he knew could come so often, so easily. Terms of friendship, of love; more recently of comfort, touches, and strained, desperate release in a darkened room. This night...this night was sincerity, and he hoped it would be enough. "I love you, Scully," Fox Mulder breathed, and he meant it. It continued with touch. With a small cry, she fell into him, to the circle of his arms; wanting, tasting, needing him with hands, lips, and tongue. They kissed boldly, hungrily; his tongue plunged insistently into the depths of her mouth and mingled with her nimble tongue, while his strong, lush lips caressed hers with the passion that drove them both to different heights. They fell to the sand, and his hands were on her; caressing, kneading her skin as he started to peel the wet clothes from her salt-stained body, tasting every inch of his revelation. The cool air upon her skin tingled with each touch of hot Mulder tongue, winding her entire body into a tight electric coil. The peaks of her cool, exposed nipples were like lightning rods to the stormy passion of Mulder's lovemaking as he nipped and sucked with strong, sinfully skilled lips; and she cried out with pain and pleasure. She undid his shirt and tie with shaking, frantic fingers and tossed them aside; she groaned at the contact as his warm, slightly damp body pressed upon her, skin against skin, and slid languidly downwards as his Samsonesque lips traveled south. Her hands sought his perfectly sculpted shoulder muscles and traced them, kneaded them with growing intensity as he peeled off the wet clothes that covered her lower body, and tasted her. She arched her back and gasped, breath caught in her throat as he nuzzled her burning clit with the cool, firm surface of his nose. She burned hot, burned slow as he took her in gracefully, skillfully, and worshipped her with lips, teeth, and tongue; tasting the sea with the exquisite taste of her. One hand ran over the smooth, sand-swept landscape of her leg, while the other rapidly rid himself of the rest of his clothing. A flushed, gasping tangle they became; a symphony of skin as he drank her in, tongue lapping in and out until the tidal wave of pleasure claimed her, and she came. No sooner had the waves of climax broken upon her moaning, shaking body when, insistent and powerful, Scully rolled Mulder onto his back and lowered herself upon him, his rock-hard length pushing into her, filling her. Together, they began the age-old dance, their undulating rhythm harmonious with the sound of the breaking waves. Mulder opened his eyes, and watched her. She was a vision of ecstasy. Head raised to heaven, eyes closed, back arched, legs spread and opened to him, she rode him like a wave, losing herself in the sensations of *him*. Of *them*. Of the fused, singular consciousness they had become at the instant they joined lives, minds, and bodies. He moved under her like the sea, and at the instant the wave came to claim their release, she opened her eyes, and their gazes locked. Her eyes were as clear and as deep as twin oceans as she spoke to him. //He is my life.// "I love you," Dana Scully breathed as they came, and she meant it. **** They lay together for a long time afterwards under that boardwalk, locked and bound together; not as partners, not as questers, but simply as man and woman, bonded by purpose and united in love. They didn't know what was to come tomorrow. The future was as liquid, fickle, and deadly as the sea. The future could break them; the future could crush their spirits. The future could tear them apart, snuffing out their lives like communion candles at Mass's end. The future could make them win against the odds, fulfilling beyond imagination all their hopes and dreams. It didn't matter. For in that hidden spot under a Key West boardwalk, for a few stolen hours among the conches, they had truly lived, loved, and let go. And it was enough. It was enough. ================================== The End "Bodysurfing" (1/1) by Perelandra (pen_phile@hotmail.com)