NEWLYWEDS: a drabble

By Sergeeva (Nov.1998)

 

Safe in his arms, I am carried up the long flight of steps to our new home.

His immaculately shaven cheek rests against my hair, the curve of his bicep supports my back, his broad chest pillows my body.

I look up into his tender, serious face and remove a piece of confetti from the lens of his wirerims.

We reach the doorway and he's barely out of breath.

As we cross the threshold and he sets me gently on my feet, I hear his dark, amused voice:

"Lucky for you, Mulder, we decided you would be the bride."

 

THE END

 

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