Authors' Note: A response to a challenge to imagine, in under 300 words, Mulder and Skinner's first kiss. My original attempt, plus Hal's gorgeous continuation. Her version, plus my continuation, is also archived here, see "Twist".

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He circled his aching shoulders and bent to the circle of lamplight again. Last casefile.

Scanning down the first page of notes, he heard a soft sound from the outer office and looked up. Mulder in the open doorway, rumpled and dark-eyed. His shirt looked as if he'd slept in it and his jaw was shaded with evening stubble. Skinner registered the familiar reflex of weariness and a skewering stab of something else... Mulder sloped up to the corner of the desk, his mouth masked with a long-fingered hand, looking... shy?

Skinner capped his pen and straightened,

"Was there something you wanted, Mulder?"

The hand dropped, revealed a flickering smile. Wistful, almost.

"I saw your light. Don't let me disturb you..."

He padded to the window at Skinner's back and began fiddling with the slats of the louvered blind. Skinner sighed and bent over his file again. Rustling from behind him. He ignored it and turned a page. A thump and a clink. Skinner made notations in the margin and turned another page. Breathing. Sighing. An indrawn breath and then silence. He was holding his own breath, waiting for...

No good. He slapped the buff folder closed and spun his chair round. Mulder was just watching him. One hand fingered the books and carafe on the lamp table, the other rubbed across curving lips. Distracting. Skinner frowned and turned back to duty. Bony hands on his shoulders, trying to... Shocked, he braced his legs and resisted the lure. Shrugged off the warm palms.

"What are you playing at, Mulder?"

Column of heat at his back, long body stepping up close. Panic like dry leaves rattling over his skin. Fate's low voice:

"No game, sir."

That mouth, on his bare scalp. Slow, warm, settling soft. Changing all the rules.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That bare scalp, under his mouth. Smooth, warm, curving hard. Something came loose in Mulder, a bird let out of a cage to fly dizzily around the house. Only a matter of time before it slammed into something.

The point of contact was hard to break, but a kiss on the top of the head has a natural length and in the end Mulder's mouth came free. He straightened up, took a step back. Wondered how fast he could raise the blinds, open the window, and jump out.

Mulder passed his fingers over his lips again, erasing, savouring -- he couldn't tell. He waited. For a moment, Skinner didn't move, except to tense the muscles in his back. Then he set down his pen, put his arms on the rests of the chair, and slowly began to turn around.

The silent tension brought a sudden flash of Darth Vader, helmet lowering over his scarred head as his seat turned him to face his subordinate. The reality was more unnerving. Eyes dark, Skinner looked at him for a grave moment before speaking.

"Why did you do that?"

Why? Mulder searched for the appropriate flip answer, the one that would let him leave alive. All that came to him was the truth, that body and subconscious mind had pulled him in here, spurred him to act, and now left him to face the consequences alone. So, the truth.

"I don't know."

Skinner continued to stare. Mulder wondered if he'd end up twitching on the ground, the last sound in his ears Skinner's "Apology accepted." Then he blinked and Skinner stood in front of him, gripping his shoulders painfully.

"I do," Skinner said. And kissed him. Somewhere in the crazy corners of Mulder's mind, Darth Vader opened the window and the bird flew out.

The kiss found its natural length. All night.

THE END

HOME | WHAT'S NEW | STORIES | SERIES | DRABBLES | HAIKU | PICTURES | WALLPAPERS | FICTION BY FRIENDS | LINKS | EMAIL