A Brief Someday Moment
Summary: Seduction begins in the mind.
Disclaimer: 1013 owns them.
In a brief someday moment, I will kiss your lips for the first time. I
will taste the physical essence of the soul I have known so well for
these years. I’ll enjoy it, the lazy someday time when there will be no
more secrets, mind to mind, soul to soul and the final delayed joining
For now, there is desire so palpable it rises in waves. Your desire as
well as mine, suffused with passion, but not the simple romantic
passion of our someday. Instead, it’s the passion with which you live,
bound to your quest, your heavy and dangerous desire to damn the
critics and the falling sky, to expose the truth and let it burn us
all, cauterizing the filthy wounds that fester with our comfortable
blind lies. That passion is what drew me to you forever, beyond
anything else. Your beauty will fade, your mind is brilliant but
secondary next to you, that essential you that holds me in thrall.
That desire, your living soul, is fire and manna in my life, but there
are other concerns. I can’t help but dream of that coming moment, when
the seduction we began with eyes and banter stops as a shadow play. I
can see it so clearly, as though it’s already happened and all we’re
waiting for is the arrival of the moment.
I see it so well, but that’s not enough. I taste it, the salty taste of
skin and perhaps a hint of cologne and lunch, I hear your voice, not
the words but the tone and cadence, sweltering and teasing, raising all
the hairs on the back of my neck in arousal. Such a slow, rhythmic
seducing voice, but it’s lying. My fingertips will graze your neck oh-
so-lightly and I will know that your blood is running as feverishly as
mine, as my fingertips and lips and nose become aware of the peculiar
texture of skin that is ours now and forever.
The waiting for our someday moment is slowly growing unbearable, as
though I had an unscratchable itch or a hopeless ache of need. I think
my stare is burning your neck right now; now, before what’s coming
happens, you look up guilelessly and smile quickly at me.
I try to think of why I want it to happen so much. I try to dissuade
myself, chanting a litany of your sins like rosary beads. I’ve been
left behind and let down, and how long have you maintained this
distance? But my mind drifts back to the sensation of your hands on my
skin, making me shiver in anticipation.
Unconventional you, you won’t try any of the obvious ways to send me
swooning. No, you kneel, no, you recline against the bed or couch or
whatever it is, and now I loom over you uncomfortably, anxiously
anticipating your next move.
Nothing. You’ll smile up at me, murmuring a few sweet nothings that
don’t register on my brain. Please now, I can’t stop with this short
beginning seduction. You, you’ll raise up on one elbow and trace every
curve of my body with your wicked eyes. No words are exchanged; they
I’ll play it your way. Slowly, each item of clothing comes off, but
you’re not looking at the exposed skin. It’s all in the eyes with us,
as ever. I step out of my underthings at last, and I ask the same
privilege you’ve received, this complete vulnerability to the other.
I don’t survey you either as you strip; we’ll play it your way, a
contest of wills, held in audible silence and moving toward an ecstatic
Finally (thank the Lord in heaven, hallelujah!) we’re both naked. After
all these years, we’ll reach our someday moment. You scoot back to make
room for me as I finally tangle in your arms and discover that you are
so close to the breaking point. I laugh, falling into your arms at
last, that slow and impossible friction between us giving off sparks
that have, at last, started a fire.
I have to stand up, get out of this office immediately. It’s now, and
my clothes weigh too damn much when you’re cheerfully attacking my
breast and my sanity with your mouth in our inevitable future. My slip
is tangled around my legs, taunting my overstimulated nerves, and I
ache, tingle, whatever– my daydreams are too real. I have to escape
I rise from my desk as my dream-hands search for wings, trying to coax
your divine secret from your shoulder blades, because no mortal man can
be so many places at once. Your mouth is busy survey the hollow of my
throat, lapping at it like a kitten. One of your hands is is rappelling
down from the outward swell of my breast to the gentle rise of my hip,
while the other strokes my inner thigh, driving me absolutely mad.
You’ve actually left me writhing in delight, like one of those bosom-
heaving women in a romance novel, while I currently blush in the throes
of guilty anticipation. Even my skin is too heavy and swollen to be
You have to notice my distraction, this potentially humiliating
situation. I can feel and almost smell the heady mix of desire and pain
swirling around me. But you don’t look up, thank God, so I beat a path
to the restroom, the lack of your presence only adding fuel to the
Blessmefatherforihavesinned– I’ve sinned terribly, I realize,
splashing my face with cold water. Every time I’ve run my tongue over
my lips, dreaming of those kisses, those lips– I have sinned. Each
feather-soft touch down my throat, up my arm– I have transgressed.
When my hand gently esteems the curve of my breast and the swell of my
thighs with no other thought than of reaching a taste of that
inevitable someday moment, I have dug myself a pit. And when my
restraint and control have slipped with my hand between my thighs, I
have committed wrong, such wretched sins.
I’ve been terribly selfish. Your hands, your mouth, your cock have all
been with me as I’ve found release. My very own phantom of delight,
because of the real you, my own dark angel, whom I can trust even in my
most uninhibited dreams–
You, my protector.
You, my truest friend.
You, my otherself.
You, my compliment, the missing part. You let me discover what I’ve
really wanted, the life I craved, the dangerous freedom that I had
always been ashamed to want.
My sin is not the desire, not that at all. It’s covetousness. I’ve kept
all of this passion locked away, precious gems that belong to both of
us hoarded away for me. It must be shared.
My face stares back at me from the looking-glass. I look ready to burst
into flames. My pupils are dilated, my cheeks damp and rosy, and my
hair slightly dishevelled. The madness of a seduced woman, her
heartbeat deliberate and elevated, her breathing ragged. My madness.
Tempus fugit. The madness has always been there, the longing, the ache,
and now I’m bursting with it. This is the part where you must make love
to me, you must send me tumbling over the last barriers of madness to
cure it, no more games, no more of this anticipation. Someday isn’t
enough any more.
Back. I stumble back to where you’re waiting, in dreams waiting for me
to give the last yes, for the last niggling distinction between today
and lover to be washed away. And like Molly Bloom, my heart racing and
my entire body exposed and vulnerable to your naked form, yes, I’ll
tell you, yes and my pulse will be going like mad and yes, I’ll say,
yes I will and finally it’ll be real, your body in mine, anticipation
crumbling into the sensation of feverish and portentous reality, yes I
love you I want you, yes–
There can’t be any more waiting.
I’ve waited almost too long, and my whole self, body and soul, burns in
that peculiar agony of desire. It must be now.
“Scully, are you all–”
A brief someday moment, and I kiss your lips for the first time,
savoring their texture, stunned by the heat and salty stale taste of
your mouth. Stunned that it’s real. Stunned that it’s now.
I break the kiss finally, needing to see your eyes, to judge your
reaction. I pull back and sate up at you, and discover how your eyes
sparkle with the same feverish desire I know gleams in mine.
“Yes,” I whisper, my fingertips gently discovering your pulse, the
undeniable race of blood. “Oh, yes, yes.”
This is madness.
This is heaven.
This is someday.
And I surrender gladly.