Ficlet: Summer Solstice
author: liliesonmars, who is really dorasolo
summary: Pre-IWTB, post-series, Mulder and Scully share a storm.
characters: Scully, Mulder MSR
genre: fluff
ratings/warnings: PG
word count: 790
author's note: For adinfinitum. The prompts are "Scully laughing," "board games," and "Mulder's taste in music." I, being the douchebag hipster that I am, chose The National. The song is "The Geese of Beverly Road" off of 2005's Alligator. I fiddled with the timeline to use the song, so this is June 2005.
The first hot night in Virginia, summer solstice, Mulder insists on opening every window in the house and piling the comforter and top sheet on the floor in front of the bed. He lights a candle, fiddles with the stereo, grins at her and tells her to lie down with him. He sprawls onto the bed in a worn pair of black basketball shorts, holding out a hand. She crosses her arms over her chest and arches an eyebrow at him, rolling her eyes heavenward in a gesture reminiscent of a Scully past, muttering about letting bugs into the house, and isn't he afraid of bugs?
Mulder tells her, in his monotonous lecturer mode, that many cultures celebrate various winter and summer solstices, the equinoxes, and the midpoints between them, leading to various holidays arising around these events.
"Solstice" he continues, ignoring her pursed lips, "is derived from two Latin words: "sol" meaning sun, and "sistere," to cause to stand still. This is because, as the summer solstice approaches, the noonday sun rises higher and higher in the sky on each successive day. On the day of the solstice, it rises an imperceptible amount, compared to the day before. In this sense, it "stands still.""
"I'll tell you what stands still, Mulder, this air," she says, fanning herself with her hands, a thin sheen of sweat and the moonlight causing her skin to look alabaster, luminescent.
The baritone voice of the singer from Mulder's newest purchase resonates with Scully as he mumbles along to music that plucks delicately at her heartstrings.
Hey, love, we'll get away with it
We'll run like we're awesome, totally genius
Mulder pats the bed and waggles his eyebrows. "Get over here, Scully," he commands, laughing, his voice thick like a summer night on a baseball field, seven years ago. It is 2005, but she can almost smell the air and hear the "hips before hands" before she comes back to earth and decides to play along, refusing to smile or uncross her arms in a direct challenge.
He laughs harder, warmth in his hooded eyes, and nods at the bed. "C'mon Scully. All those brothers of yours, you had to have stargazed at some point as a child."
We won't be disappointed
We'll fight like girls for our place at the table
She glances at the ceiling and rock-hops from the heels to the balls of her feet and back. "I don't know how to tell you this, Mulder," she says, skeptically, "but there aren't any stars here to gaze at because we're inside the house."
"Semantics," he poo-poohs, patting the bed again. "Besides, even if we were outside, there wouldn't be any stars. It's cloudy. It's going to storm."
She glances behind her at the big window of the bedroom and nods. "More reason for us to close the windows, Mulder. I know we don't have many belongings, but the ones we do have, we might want to keep dry."
As soon as she says this, it begins to pour, the scent of the heavy rain immediately filling her nostrils. The leaves on the tree outside gleam in the false brightness of the rain.
We're the heirs to the glimmering world
"Scully."
"Mulder."
There is electricity in the air, but she is of the belief that it comes from inside the room as opposed to an incoming storm system. Mulder's grin is electric, his teeth glinting in the candlelight. She knows he wants to believe, and believe he does -- in aliens, ghosts, monsters, starlight, love -- and she is sure at that second, that precious golden second, that he loves her more than any of the rest. Scully feels lucky because her living mystery is a gift, sitting in bed grinning like the Cheshire cat as the rain makes its way indoors. She finally flings herself onto the bed, laughing, allowing herself a moment to feel drunk on possibility.
We're drunk and sparking, our legs are open
Our hands are covered in cake
But I swear we didn't have any
She rolls towards him and attempts levity, briefly, before the inevitable seduction, sweet as sugar, unique to their relationship, unfolds.
"We could play a board game," she suggests, hoping he will at least close the windows, knowing he will not play Scrabble.
He shakes his head at the spoken and unspoken suggestions. "Scully," he declares, looking at the open heavens, "underneath this sky, there will be no board games."
Oh, come, come be my waitress and serve me tonight
Serve me the sky tonight
Oh, come, come be my waitress and serve me tonight
serve me the sky with a big slice of lemon
summary: Pre-IWTB, post-series, Mulder and Scully share a storm.
characters: Scully, Mulder MSR
genre: fluff
ratings/warnings: PG
word count: 790
author's note: For adinfinitum. The prompts are "Scully laughing," "board games," and "Mulder's taste in music." I, being the douchebag hipster that I am, chose The National. The song is "The Geese of Beverly Road" off of 2005's Alligator. I fiddled with the timeline to use the song, so this is June 2005.
The first hot night in Virginia, summer solstice, Mulder insists on opening every window in the house and piling the comforter and top sheet on the floor in front of the bed. He lights a candle, fiddles with the stereo, grins at her and tells her to lie down with him. He sprawls onto the bed in a worn pair of black basketball shorts, holding out a hand. She crosses her arms over her chest and arches an eyebrow at him, rolling her eyes heavenward in a gesture reminiscent of a Scully past, muttering about letting bugs into the house, and isn't he afraid of bugs?
Mulder tells her, in his monotonous lecturer mode, that many cultures celebrate various winter and summer solstices, the equinoxes, and the midpoints between them, leading to various holidays arising around these events.
"Solstice" he continues, ignoring her pursed lips, "is derived from two Latin words: "sol" meaning sun, and "sistere," to cause to stand still. This is because, as the summer solstice approaches, the noonday sun rises higher and higher in the sky on each successive day. On the day of the solstice, it rises an imperceptible amount, compared to the day before. In this sense, it "stands still.""
"I'll tell you what stands still, Mulder, this air," she says, fanning herself with her hands, a thin sheen of sweat and the moonlight causing her skin to look alabaster, luminescent.
The baritone voice of the singer from Mulder's newest purchase resonates with Scully as he mumbles along to music that plucks delicately at her heartstrings.
Hey, love, we'll get away with it
We'll run like we're awesome, totally genius
Mulder pats the bed and waggles his eyebrows. "Get over here, Scully," he commands, laughing, his voice thick like a summer night on a baseball field, seven years ago. It is 2005, but she can almost smell the air and hear the "hips before hands" before she comes back to earth and decides to play along, refusing to smile or uncross her arms in a direct challenge.
He laughs harder, warmth in his hooded eyes, and nods at the bed. "C'mon Scully. All those brothers of yours, you had to have stargazed at some point as a child."
We won't be disappointed
We'll fight like girls for our place at the table
She glances at the ceiling and rock-hops from the heels to the balls of her feet and back. "I don't know how to tell you this, Mulder," she says, skeptically, "but there aren't any stars here to gaze at because we're inside the house."
"Semantics," he poo-poohs, patting the bed again. "Besides, even if we were outside, there wouldn't be any stars. It's cloudy. It's going to storm."
She glances behind her at the big window of the bedroom and nods. "More reason for us to close the windows, Mulder. I know we don't have many belongings, but the ones we do have, we might want to keep dry."
As soon as she says this, it begins to pour, the scent of the heavy rain immediately filling her nostrils. The leaves on the tree outside gleam in the false brightness of the rain.
We're the heirs to the glimmering world
"Scully."
"Mulder."
There is electricity in the air, but she is of the belief that it comes from inside the room as opposed to an incoming storm system. Mulder's grin is electric, his teeth glinting in the candlelight. She knows he wants to believe, and believe he does -- in aliens, ghosts, monsters, starlight, love -- and she is sure at that second, that precious golden second, that he loves her more than any of the rest. Scully feels lucky because her living mystery is a gift, sitting in bed grinning like the Cheshire cat as the rain makes its way indoors. She finally flings herself onto the bed, laughing, allowing herself a moment to feel drunk on possibility.
We're drunk and sparking, our legs are open
Our hands are covered in cake
But I swear we didn't have any
She rolls towards him and attempts levity, briefly, before the inevitable seduction, sweet as sugar, unique to their relationship, unfolds.
"We could play a board game," she suggests, hoping he will at least close the windows, knowing he will not play Scrabble.
He shakes his head at the spoken and unspoken suggestions. "Scully," he declares, looking at the open heavens, "underneath this sky, there will be no board games."
Oh, come, come be my waitress and serve me tonight
Serve me the sky tonight
Oh, come, come be my waitress and serve me tonight
serve me the sky with a big slice of lemon