A Valentine's Memory for a Shy Guy by Rev. Anna
Written for KristenK2
Jeffrey saw the card on his desk as soon as he opened the door. A big red heart with frilly pink and white lace along its edges was taped to the desk lamp and swung gently in the draft of the open door.
He hurried around to his seat and pried the heart carefully from the lamp. His eyes skimmed over the words neatly laid out in a beautiful, handwritten script:
"That day was no X-File, Shy Guy - K.C."
He bit his lip and smiled in spite of himself as memory conjured up her warm smile and her quick laugh and the rhythm of friendship that beat in his heart that day.
He had gone to the annual J. Edgar Hoover Memorial Picnic and learned he had been paired with Kim Cook for the three legged race.
Her hips
disarmingly clad in denim shorts pressed against his covered in Madras
plaid. Her hand firm and familiar had found its way around his waist and
with a laugh she had pulled him close to her, the
light scent of lavender tickled his nose.
"I've had my eye on you all day," she said.
Too stunned to say no, he said okay. A warm tingle crept between his legs as AD Skinner tied their ankles together.
"Oooo," she had said, looking down to the front of his shorts. "And here I thought you were a shy guy."
He had glanced down and saw the bulge that had caught her eye. Embarrassment rushed over his ears and down his entire body, enlarging the bulge even more.
The pistol went off and she pulled him easily along with her. Their stride beat a rhythm that warmed his heart and he found himself smiling, marveling at their oneness and enjoying her closeness even more.
They didn't win the race and she presented him with the ribbon that had bound them together as a consolation prize.
"For being such a good sport. Thanks for indulging me."
Her smile was real and her gaze warm and friendly. It felt so good it was painful. He accepted it with a smile then quickly went off alone before anyone saw him cry.
Grateful for once that no one would miss him, he had made it to the edge of a field and sat down, sobbing against a tree. He bit his fist hard to keep his cries from echoing through the crisp clear air back to the picnic ground.
He didn't
make friends easily. Truth be told, he didn't make friends at all. All
his life he was and continued to be the object of scorn and ridicule because
of his absentee father and crazy abducted by
aliens mother. Only once, in his entire life did he know what it was like
to be liked. That summer he spent with Sam at -the April Air Force Base.
When she disappeared, he never knew acceptance again. Not in college.
Not at Quantico. Not here in the Bureau.
And especially not now in the X-Files. But that day, at the picnic, he
experienced it in that three-legged race and in Kim's gentle jibe.
Her lavender scent reached him before she did. Without a word she sat next to him and before he could move, her left hand was behind his neck, pulling him into a warm, welcoming kiss while her right hand brought his right hand to her chest, and encouraged it to pick up the rhythm they had set in the race.
Their tongues
fell in step to the palpating pressure of his fingers against her breast.
His left arm grasped her around the waist and he pulled her onto his lap,
holding her tight against him as she rocked
in time against the ache in his crotch.
Both her arms hung around his neck as she pulled him down on top of her, arching up to keep crotch and groin connected.
He slid both his hands to her waist and pushed her shorts and panties out of the way. Her hands came from around his neck and freed his penis from their Madras prison.
Her grip
on his member was firm and insistent, pulling him toward her as his hands
on her ass pulled her toward him. He slid into her hole and hissed at
the tight strangely familiar fit, a fit he had been
searching for his whole life and now had finally found. The words of an
old song he heard eons ago on some Late Late Show movie chorused through
his head and his heart:
You were
meant for me
I was meant for you
As if she could hear it too, her muscles clamped around him in agreement as the rhythm of the race was now the rhythm of their love making.
A tear fell from his eye as with unexpected joy he realized they were making love. Not pity fucking. Not horny humping. But making wonderful, soul deep,spirit-uniting love.
Gone was
all his anger, all his defensiveness, all his superior can't be touched
veneer. Gone was the mantle of humiliation he seemed to have inherited
with the X-Files. All gone. Like flash paper to a flame.
Like a message erased from a white board. His Mount Rushmore exterior
crumbled as their coupling continued long after the gold of the midday
sun yielded to the amber of early afternoon.
Finished,
they lay under that tree in each other's arms, warmed by the sun and cushioned
by the grass. Between sighs and soft kisses, Jeffrey Spender lost himself
in the wonder that was Kim Cook, never
questioning for an instant the genuineness of this moment or her motivation
in seeking it and him out.
Without a word she kissed him, gently and sweetly, then left him on his back, eyes closed and smiling.
They never mentioned it again nor acted upon it since. But it peeked at them every now and again whenever they made eye contact in AD Skinner's outer office.
He had almost come to think it was a dream. But this unexpected token brought back the intermingling scents of lavender and grass and sweat with startling clarity.
He opened the card and looked at the words again: That day was no X-File shy guy - K.C.
He smiled. No that day hadn't been an X-File. But it had been a sweet affirmation of what was possible and the sweetness of that memory was more than enough.
End
