Sunrise - Requested by spiritedballroomdancer - January 16th, 2019
Season 7 - Morning Sex
There is no greater allusion to rebirth and new beginnings as the connotations of a sunrise. Authors run out of pages before the figure out how to perfectly describe the beauty, painters can mix until their brushes break and they will never have enough colors for an accurate portrait, poets stress line by line over
how does one portray
the nothingness of night
being shattered by the light of a new day,
the beauty rekindling the will to fight
that the darkness had almost snuffed away
No elementary rhyme could remind someone how the fragility of something so absolutely gorgeous that it has the tendency to steal the very breath out of the lungs as the body freezes, awe-struck by appreciation.
Only the unimaginable could be reminiscent of the unimaginable.
Nowadays, every morning he felt her leg slide over his, spreading her warmth throughout his body. Just like that very first time she had when he thought he'd never feel anything other than the empty comfort of his own hand and the bittersweet taste of we're just partners on his tongue. Even the words I love you couldn't keep him from the clutches of night assuring him that surely it can't happen again. That something so inspiring and meaningful couldn't possibly be a cyclical nonoccurence.
There was always nothing that became something when he saw that first strand of auburn flit over his face. It was always accompanied by hues of a similar passion; the crimson of flushed cheeks, the scarlet of bitten lips, the pink of swollen sex, the fading vermilion of tight grasps on skin, trying to keep the moment from turning into a memory.
It started off soft until all he could look at was the sight above him, kindling of something great, of more to come that made him feel like he was about to burst. If he took his eyes off her, the darkness of night would still linger in the room, it would never fully disappear. but when he looked at her and felt what made him feel, nothing else mattered.
Their breaths would falter as their bodies froze, shuddering at experiencing something so spectacular. Every cell in their bodies awake and tingling, the beating of their hearts aligning into a complimentary song that could rival the singling of birds.
The alarm going off would point out to him that it was morning. The sun was bright, the day had begun, Scully was out of bed and he'd need to follow soon.
For the rest of the day, he'd remember that hazy sliver of time where only what was important mattered, and he'd spend all night hoping he could ever feel so alive again.
He hoped it would come again tomorrow.
It always would.