Messenger IV --
- Summary: Byers past haunts his new relationship.
- Rating: NC17
- Keyword: Lone Gunmen
- Disclaimer: Byers is the creative property of 1013 and Chris Carter.
CC, if you kill him, I'll hunt you down like the mad dog you are.
- Lyrics from "Hello, Again" used without permission. Becca
is mine, and no, she's not me, you can use her if you don't kill her.
- Please read "The Messenger" I-III first, get to know this
mystery that is Byers.
- This is for Martha , who has an island in her kitchen and Gunmen Lust
in her heart.
- Don't show this to my mom.
- Thank you for flying gizzie net. If you love me, let me know:
- Messenger IV -- Hello, Again
- "Jesus, Jeff, I had a root canal I enjoyed more than that. Only
Mulder could ruin an evening at Lisa and Jake's."
- We've just left Mulder and Scully in the parking lot of the popular
little bistro that has become our favorite hangout. We've met here every
other week or so, for the past several months, the food is terrrific,
they have an astonishing variety of imported beers, and we like the blue
jean casual atmosphere, so hard to find in the tight-assed suburbs of Washington,
DC. Lisa, the co-owner, flirts outrageously with Mulder, and Mulder uses
it to our advantage to procure a prime table, even on a busy Friday night
like this one. Becca and Scully likes the entertainment provided by Jake,
the deceptively masculine nick-named co-owner, a doe-eyed young woman
who plays acoustic guitar and sings of misty mornings, lost loves and
impossible dreams. Half the time, Becca ends up on stage with Jake, lilting
an impressively warbling soprano to Jake's warm, rich contralto. Lisa
usually ends up serving us herself, any excuse to lean over Mulder, and
Mulder kids and teases her into bringing us extra fried cheese sticks and
cutting the check.
- But tonight had been bad from the time we walked in the door, finding
Mulder in one of his stone-faced, mono-voiced funks, and Scully glassy-eyed
over too much paper work and too little support from the asshole that is
her partner. Her health has considerably slipped, too, I'm shocked to
see her wan and hollow cheeked; she looks like she's lost ten pounds since
we saw her last. They spend the entire dinner snarling at each other,
circling and snapping like rabid dogs. When Mulder makes a rude remark
to Lisa about the origination of the appetizer we ordered , I want to knock
him out of the chair, but Lisa retaliates by slaming his draft Guiness
in front of him so hard, the foam flys up and catches him in the eye.
We finally pack it in when Becca and Scully return from the ladies room,
Scully pasty-faced and shaky, Becca tight-lipped and silent. I know immediatly
what has happened.
- And now, we're in my car, heading for her apartment, she's distractedly
rummaging through my tape case, looking for the folksy-pop music she keeps
trying to push on me.
- "She had a nose bleed in the ladies room, she made me promise
not to tell, how could he NOT see she's in trouble, Christ, has he always
treated her like that, 'hang up my jacket, Scully, hand me the menu, Scully,
cut my MEAT, Scully, waah, waah, waah, Jesus, what a jerk, he...."
- "OK, OK, I get the picture.." I cut in. She's hyper, even
for Becca. If there's anything I've learned in the couple of monthes we've
been together, it's that Rebecca Foster is not wishy-washy about ANYTHING,
she burns with firey passion about everything from her job, to the animal
shelter where she walks dogs two evenings a week. We have an intensely
cerebral relationship and have spent many evenings at her apartment or
mine, talking over mugs of hot chocolate and pistachio nuts, or watching
the old romantic musicals that she loves and I love to make fun of. We've
walked a shakily crooked path around our physicality. Undiscussed, but
nevertheless there, I'm reluctant to make that final step that would harken
us more than mere friends, and she, despite her smart mouth, is puzzingly
coy, shrinking away when I get too familiar with my hands. We've had
junior-high, second base make out sessions, tongue-kissing and clothes-covered
touchy-feely, where we've parted for the night sweaty and aching, and I
know at least one of us has resorted to alternative relief. And still,
we play together, an infinite pleasure, but a puzzle, even to ourselves.
- Becca finds a tape to her liking, pops it into my deck, and contemplates
my profile as the first strains of "Longfellow Serenade" begin.
- "I know he's your friend, but....you don't think he's an idiot?"
- "I think he was on edge tonight, they both were."
- "You'll defend him 'till the end, won't you"
- I run an exasperated hand through my hair. "I'll concede he was
a bit of an asshole, but..."
- "A BIT!! He nearly took Lisa's head off over the stupid potato
skins. She fixed his ass"
- "You liked that, didn't you?"
- She grins nastily "I always like it when a dickhead gets his."
- "I thought you liked Mulder."
- "I said I think he's drop-dead gorgeous...I never said I *liked*
- "God, you're shallow"
- "Thank you"
- I think about Mulder and his uncharacteristic behavior. Since the
night of the break-in at the fertility clinic, when I'd told him the awful
story of my late wife and lost child, we've grown close. There's a
sense of comradity that was not there before, and when he is with us at
the office of The Lone Gunmen, I feel llike part of the goings on, and
not an observer. He'd shown up at my apartment several weeks ago, drunk
and emotionally shaken. He and Scully had gotten home from a puzzling
case that afternoon, he slurred out a story about wraiths and double
sightings and blondes, totally confusing me. I'd ended up sitting on the
arm of his chair, awkwardly rubbing his back while he sobbed about Scully
and her not trusting him, he made little to no sense. He'd passed out
and spent the night on my couch, awakening the next morning embarrased
and disoriented. This was when I first suspected Mulder may be heading
for a breakdown. Tonights performance solidifies my suspicion.
- "I'm... not real sure Mulder is well, Bec. You don't know him.
He's got a lot on his mind right now."
- "And SHE doesn't? It's pretty obvious to me she's going down
- "Yeah" It's pretty obvious to me, too. I don't want to
talk about it...or think about it. It's twistedly ironic that Scully's
illness is what has indirectly brought me the closest relationships I
have had in years, Mulder and, again indirectly, Becca. It was my gut-spilling
cleansing to Mulder that had begun the healing of my battered emotional
psyche. I'd met Becca shortly after, and for the first time in five years,
let myself care, just a little, for someone else. And Scully's illness
is the awful catalyst.
- I sigh, try to find some way to justify Mulder's behavior. "I
can't defend his actions tonight. I just know that he would do anything
- "Yeah, except let her drive. How come you never let me drive
- "Can you drive a stick?"
- She slides across the seat and breathes into my ear "You'd be
surprised what I can do with a stick"
- "Hey," I reach down and fumble under my seat, "I almost
forgot...I got you a present."
- "Go 'head, Byers, change the subject," she smirks, and looks
in the bag I've handed her, reaches in with a whoop "Oh, man, Neil
Diamond's 'Jazz Singer'! I LOVE this movie! Oh, J.D, are you staying,
can we watch it tonight, can we,huh, can we, please, I'll be good and quiet
throught the whole thing and...."
- "All right, all right , " I'm laughing as I park the car,
and when we get out, I reach into the back seat and hand her a bottle
"Here...surprise number two."
- "Oh, my god, BallatorÈ." She swings the door open
of her apartment and rubs my thigh as I pass her "Byers, you may get
lucky yet tonight."
- "I wish," I snicker, our eyes meet, and the room is suddenly
charged. She smiles softly, tips up to kiss my cheek and smacks me on
the ass . "At the risk of sounding like a very bad movie, I'm going
to slip into something more comfortable. Don't go away."
- "Never" My eyes follow her down the short hallway to her
bedroom; she unzips her skirt and let's it drop, kicking it into the room
in front of her and, turning, gives me a shitty little grin as she slams
the door shut with her foot. Witch.
- I walk around the cabinet island that acts as a divider between her
kitchen and dinettee. There is barely room for me to open the refrigerator
door, without hitting the island base, and as I pull out the ice cube tray
and shut the door, there is a warm, furry push at my feet. It's Vandyke,
her cat , who, of course, has to see EXACTLY what is going on. A curious
animal, pointy-faced, long bodied , and long-legged skinny, he is solid
white, except for the startling black beard on his chin, and he has a super
soft plush coat that feels more like bunny fur than cat hair. Like a lot
of white cats, he's stone deaf, and also spookily mute, and when he looks
up at me with his intense blue eyes, his little pink mouth opens in what
looks like a silent scream. He gives me the creeps, but Becca loves him
passionatly and says the day Vandyke purrs will be the day she knows her
life is complete. The vet has said that although he is deaf, there is
no physical reason for his silence, and he will purr when all is right
in his world. Wonderful...the gospel according to Dr. Dolittle.
- Vandyke jumps up on the counter and watches me with a grave, cerulean
stare. I find wineglasses and pop the cork, he never flinches at the explosion,
but opens his mouth at me. "Cat, you are spooky"
- I take the wine to the living room, pour two glasses, kick off my shoes,
set up the VCR, settle on the couch, and am halfway through the previews
before Becca comes back . She's wearing faded Levis and a gauzy embroidered
muslin pullover smock that looks like a throw-back to the sixties. She's
barefoot, her hair is pinned up loosly, she smells like a rainy day, and
I really don't want to watch this stupid movie.
- "Where'd you go, I thought you went home....then I remembered
you live here"
- "HA!! Jeff Byers made a joke!" She puts her glass down and
pounces on me, tickling me 'till I gasp and beg for mercy. I am breathless
and heated and pick up my wine glass, downing half of it before she smacks
me on the arm "Hey!! We didn't do a toast"
- I refill my glass and hers and we clink glasses. She looks at me,
frowns and tips her tongue across her lips "I'm not very good at this"
- "What. YOU are at a loss for words?? C'mon!"
- "OK, let's see....There was a young man from Peru, who's penis
hung down to his shoe. When he'd get up to dance, it would catch in his
pants, ands he'd end up all covered in goo." She winks "Bottoms
- She's watching me, her eyes shiny with repressd laughter, over the
rim of the glass as she drains it in one long draught . She smacks her
lips and lets out a long, contented sigh "There. I'm caught up."
She picks up the bottle and refills her glass, tops off mine. Vandyke
slinks along the floor in front of the television, both front legs batting
in front of him, chasing the evil champagne cork. I feel like I'm watching
a play, and I'm in it. This goofiness can't be part of *my* life...this
can't be me, Jeffrey Douglas Byers, Jr, in Levi's and blue chambray, barefoot
and mush-mouthed, half lit on sparkling wine. My heart constricts and
for a second, I fear I'm going to embarrass myself and burst into happy
tears. I shake my head at her, grinning, speechless.
- Rebecca's still watching me, reads me, and her eyes soften, she crawls
across the couch and leans into me, kisses me quickly on the cheek, and
picks up the remote, rewinding back to the credits. "Jeff, if this
wasn't Neil Diamond, I'd ravage you right here....but, sorry, he has a
better ass than you" She picks up the bottle of wine, refills my
glass, then settles against me, drinking right from the bottle.
- It's the banter...it's the wine.....it's the blue jeans and Neil Diamond
and the tingly forest smell of her hair. When Jesse Robin sings "Love
On The Rocks" HIS way, we're kissing softly, chastly .. his first
concert, "Summer Love", we're breathing heavy and playing tonsil
tag....and when the sensual, sweet violins of "Hello, Again"
accompany the bare-shoulders love-scene with Molly, we're right there
with them, my shirt and her jeans are on the floor, and I know we're gonna
let it happen, and it's good and right and I want it, I want her, I NEED
- Rebecca hits the remote, then climbs over me, switching off the lamp.
She trembles against me,and it feels like fear. "It's all right,"
I breathe against her neck, I kiss up the line of her jaw , suck on her
tender ear lobe, and she sighs and pushes against me. I'm kissing her,
she's stroking my bare back, pushing at my jeans.
- We're sliding off the couch, push the coffe table out of our way,
clothes are flying, She's warm and wonderful over me, around me .
My left hand is on her hip, rising, caressing, I barely touch the bottom
swell of her right breast, she gasps and closes her hand over mine, lacing
our fingers, brings my hand to her face and chews gently on my thumb.
My right hand has closed over her left breast, worrying the taut nipple,
she moans against me and firey heat races through my groin and radiates
down my legs. She slides up my body, mouthing my shoulder, my neck, breathing
in my ear "Jeff....we're good....we're so good together....."
Her hand is on me, sliding down, and it's beeen so long....so long.....
- The anxiety flares white behind my eyes, cramps my stomach so hard
I cry out. I can't breathe. It's another time, another place. There's
a fragile, blond woman child. Pain. Blood. Mind numbing worry and fear.
Scared . There is no warmth, no feeling. My heart is pounding. A
long, dead, quiet time of nothingness. Nothing.
- I push Rebecca off of me, fall against the coffee table. I feel
around, grab denim, hauling, I gotta get out of here, one foot in the jeans,
I pull, stumble, hung up....I have HER jeans. I yank them off my leg and
throw them, reach again and find mine. I fumble into them, escaping, I
don't know where I am in the dark, or where I'm going, I crash, smash my
bare foot into the kitchen island cabinet, cursing mightily.
- I lean on the counter a moment, my chest heaving. I'm slick with sweat
and want a cool shower almost as much as I want to haul ass out of here.
I round the island, open the refrigerator, and grab a bottle of orange
juice. I close the door and take a big gulp, choke messily, the acid burns
my nose and throat. I lay my forehead against the cool steel of the door;
there's a strange brushing on the top of my head and I look up--Vandyke
is hanging over the edge of the top of the refrigerator, one foot extended,
he's patting my head. He fixes me with his cool blue eyes, his mouth
opens in that silent little scream , and I almost puke.
- I hear her behind me, the space is narrow, and she brushes against
me as she pulls herself up onto the island counter top. I turn my face,
seeking the cool, looking away from her. An eternity, my breathing is
shallowing out, my heart slowing . I feel her foot brush up my back, rubbing,
- "Hello...hello, again," she says softly.
- I turn my head and look at her. She's wearing just my shirt, a single
button holding it closed at her breasts. Her forehed is creased with worry,
her eyes full of compassion."Are you all right?"
- I nod my head, yes... drop my eyes and shake my head, no. I can't look
at her, I'm mortified and terrified and I just want to go home, climb into
my bed, pull the covers over my head and stay for a year. Maybe two.
I want this pain to be gone.
- "Did you see a ghost?"
- I nod. My eyes are brimming, my throat's tight , and the sympathy
in her voice almost does me in. I've made a big enough ass out of myself
without breaking down in front of her. I draw a tremulous breath and straighten
up. I turn toward her, but I can't look at her.
- "I think I better go."
- "You can't go."
- "I'm wearing your shirt, you can't go"
- We have a stare down...she wins. I start away, but she puts her leg
up, effectively trapping me.
- "Are you going to just run everytime you feel something"
- I sigh. "Rebecca, don't pull this amateur psychologist crap on
me, ok?? If I want analyzed, I'll go see Mulder."
- She jerks like I slapped her "Fine."
- "Anyway, it's not just that. It's ....."
- "I know what it is, Jeff"
- "No, I don't think you do, Becca. I thought I was ready...I thought
I was over it, over her. But I can't forget. It's right the fuck THERE.
The worry...the anger....the fear. Maybe it's Scully being sick that
is making this so difficult....making it so hard to give up."
- She reaches and I give her my hand. She's so good, so sweet. She
doesn't deserve this.... I don't deserve her.
- "Becca, I AM sorry. It's a ....a whole world of feeling, all
by itself. It's such a gamit . And I can't FORCE myself to get over it.
You don' t know how complicated it is."'
- "But I do know...I DO,. " she says softly. Her eyes burn
into mine with a firey intensity , she squeezes my fingers, then releases
my hand to unfasten the single button holding the shirt closed ; her eyes
drop and she pulls the material to the right, exposing the shadowed curve
of her breast. "Look." I am uncomfortably embarrased and turn
away, but she extends a leg and catches me firmly around the waist with
a foot, pulling me toward her "No! LOOK, I said!" she cries,
voice breaking as she arches up and to the side, catching the radiating
green-tinted light from the digital clock on the microwave.
- She has me firmly trapped ; I look , transfixed, at the exquisitly
tender globe, the creamy skin, the dusky pink of the flat nipple. It
is perfect , it is.... She shivers, and, confused, my eyes dart to the
still cloth covered mound of her other breast, the nipple sharply, visibly
erect against the soft cotton. The exposed nipple is flat...the exposed
- "It's tattooed," she whispers, "it's a reconstruction."
Now she's embarrased, and pulls the placket of the shirt back to cover
herself. Her foot, ,the heel nestled at the small of my back in the waistband
of my jeans, is flexing against my spine, and finally, the light dawns,
I understand, and my knees are suddenly trembling. Jesus Christ. She...no...I
tense, jerk, but she clenches her foot to my back "No, Jeff, don't
fight....." She tips my jaw, forces me to look at her. Her eyes
are startlingly violet-blue and awash with checked tears. She nods her
head, compassionate, anxious, and I loathe myself for wanting to push her
away, to run, to hide from this beast that is Cancer, to please, just
leave me the fuck alone. I don't WANT to feel this...I don't want to feel.......I
turn my face into her hand, my eyes clenched tightly shut , and I'm grinding
my teeth so hard, I swear I hear a molar crack.
- Becca hitches back on the counter, then lifts her other leg around
my waist and pulls me flush against the island base. I wrap my arms
around her, and she hooks one arm around my neck, the other tight under
my arm and around my back, and we're skin to skin, chest to chest , the
soft silk of her cheek against the fur of my beard. I cough and draw a
deep, shuddering breath, trying to swallow the emotion that is choking
me, but she cups the back of my head, caresses my hair, her foot is stroking
my back ...."It's all right, Jeff...some of us are winners" ,
and I give in, burying my face in her neck and sobbing quietly. Her arms
tighten around me; I feel the tremors run through her, feel her tears
against my own neck.
- After a moment, I get some semblance of control, and lift my head from
her shoulder. She loosens her desperate grip on my neck, and I lace my
fingers into the dark cloud of her hair, tilting her face up to me. I
kiss her brow, her eyelids, smooth my thumb across her lips, ever so gently
kiss the corner of her mouth. "You could have told me, "I whisper,
"it doesn't matter"
- She hiccups, sniffs, and suddenly, maddingly giggles "Right...."
she hiccups again, and it hits me that she MAY be in some kind of strange
emotional shock. "It's not exactly an easy thing to bring up, you
know, 'Hi, I'm Rebecca Foster, I like leather pants, dirty limericks
and Neil Diamond, and by the way, I have a silicon boob and a tattoo in
the DAMNDEST place'.....yeah, I coulda told you." She shudders, wipes
her face with the sleeve of my shirt, leaving dark smears of mascara behind.
She's a mess.
- "Yeah, well...." I gently disengage her legs from my waist
and turn to pull some paper towels from the colonial spindle holder, runnning
the water cool in the sink, "I told you about Monny" I swab
my face, soothe my smarting eyes. I'm a mess.
- "And I was supposed to tell you *I* had had Cancer after you told
me THAT ? Give me a break, Jeff, do you think I'm STUPID? You would have
been out of here so fast, I would'a' thought your ass was on fire"
- She's breaking my heart.....mostly because she's right. Still, a
flare of unreasonable, selfish anger tightens my lips "So you lie
- "I didn't lie! I just.... didn't exactly present all the facts.
I'm an attorney, it's what I DO." Her already strained voice cracks,
and when I turn back, she's crying again, silently, her face impassive...
like she's cried this way a thousand times. A pang of guilt twists my
gut. My gentle, eclectic, sweet sweet girl....what have I done?
- "Rebecca...honey, don't cry, please....I'm sorry" I crush
her to me, stroking her back, caressing her forehead with my chin, my
lips. I want to engulf her, pull her inside me, protect her from the asshole
that is myself.
- Her breathing steadies, she drops a quick kiss to my shoulder, and
sits up straight. She pulls the shirt tail up and wipes her nose, shakes
her head. "I think I owe you a new shirt, Mr Byers"
- "You don't owe my anything" I pick up the wet paper towel
from where I've dropped it on the counter beside her and wipe her face,
down her neck...hesitate....
- She takes the towel from me, presses it to her chest and the slight
valley between her breasts. "It's ok, it won't break", she smiles
tremulously , and I blush, look away.
- "Are you all right now?"
- "As good as I can be with a head full of snot."
- I grin, shake my head--God, she IS something. "No, I meant.....you
know...."I gesture vaguely,.
- "Oh. The "C" word" She sniffs noisily, lifts
her hair up with one hand and clasps the towel against the back of her
neck with the other, closing her eyes and arching her head back against
the coolness. The shirt falls open, and I can't stop myself from looking,
comparing. "It's been five years...statistically, I'm probably fine.
I know I'm damn glad to be here..... You're staring" I look away
and she laughs softly, draws the cool towel across my collarbones, down
the line of hair on my chest. I shiver, and she puts the towel to one
side, once again hooking a leg around my waist, but this time, I don't
feel trapped. I put my arms around her, and she turns her face against
my chest, sighs softly. I feel the soft fluttter of her damp lashes against
my skin, she's combing her fingers gently through the coarse hair of my
chest and I'm not so cold anymore.
- I stroke her hair "But are you....safe?" I have to know--I'm
- "Are any of us?" She lifts her head, pulls back "
You could fall down the steps when you leave here tonight and break your
neck . I could get run over by a truck on Shaden Avenue tomorrow, or
choke on the Lentil soup at Donna J's. What are you gonna do? Hide?"
- I shrug. I don't know. Becca's watching me with an intensity that
makes my skin crawl, and hiding sounds pretty damn good right now. I drop
- "There's a saying in recovery, " she's stroking my forearm,
her hand stills with her thumb pressd to the underside of my wrist; my
pulse is racing. " 'Yesterday 's a memory, tomorrow a wish, TODAY
is the gift'. Right now--it may be all we ever have. That's why I'm.....high,
goofy, hepped up most of the time" She crosses her eyes and, smiling,
I lift her hand to my lips, kiss her palm. She lays the hand over my
heart "I've seen the other side, sweetheart, looked at Death with
a capital "d". He's mean, and he doesn't play fair, and I'm
NOT playing anymore. " She looks deep into my eyes. "You already
had round one with that fucker yourself, J.D., and again, statistically,
" she gives me a litttle enigmatic smile, "you probably WON'T
get another turn. But you can't sit out the whole game, babe. Not if you're
on my team."
- "Jesus, Becca " I struggle, flex, but she tightens that
foot on my spine and clasps a gentle hand to my shoulder, squeezing, soothing.
I shake my head, my breath is sticking in my throat " I didn't
want....I can't.....I never wanted to....."
- "What?" She fingers my throat, catches my eye, looks into
- "I never wanted to FEEL.... this ....this......"
- "Pain? Anger? Love? " She said it...more scary than the
"C" word "All of the above?"
- "Yeah." I drop my eyes, watch my hand that, on it's own
volition, is running slowly up and down her bare thigh. I clasp behind
her knee and lift that leg up to, once again, wrap around my waist.
I look up through my lashes, she's watching me, intent, her lip caught
between her teeth, chewing. Her foot runs up my spine and hot tendrils
of desire curl through my belly and tighten my groin. "I guess
it's a little too late to NOT want that now, huh?"
- "I hope so" Her heel twists into the small of my back, and
I want her badly, right now, right here, on the island counter top. She
brings my shaking hand to her mouth, kisses my palm, tongues the webbing
between my thumb and index finger, and I gasp. She smiles, a wicked little
grin that freezes on her face when I lift my left hand and tuck my thumb
under the button placket of the shirt, run it softly between her breasts,
then pull the shirt aside, cupping the soft weight of the reconstructed
- "Can you feel this?" I trace the contours with my fingertips,
- "Yes," she nuzzles my hand, places soft kisses along the
inside of my wrist "of course I can feel it."
- "I mean..."I palm the fullness, caress the rounded tip with
my thumb, "does it feel good?"
- "It always feels good when you touch me, Jeff," she whispers.
I lean in to kiss her on both cheeks, run my lips over her jawbone, she
arches into me and puts her hand over mine, pushes my fingers tighter into
the soft swell of the breast "It feels good here...." she slides
my hand across her chest, and presses it above her left breast, over
her pounding heart "and here." I nuzzle under her hand, lave
my tongue across the heated flesh. She runs my hand down her torso,
I suck gently, my teeth barely grazing the hard little nub, she inhales
sharply and pushes my hand lower, pressing my fingers down into the warm
dampness between her legs. "I feel it here" I'm so shocked,
I almost bite her nipple off. My fingers flex against the soft hair and
she moans, tightening her legs around me, pushing, "Jeff...."
- I brush my hand up and around her upper thigh, push under the sweet
roundness of her ass, she slides forward, I lift, and she's straddled against
me. Her legs scissor around me, one dropping low around my hips, one
tightly around my waist, her foot pressing, pushing into the waistband
of my jeans at my back. I feel the wet heat pressed against my belly,
I'm trembling and dizzy with desire, I lean into the island and lower us....
there 's a catch, a sharp pull. Becca's suddenly giggling under me--
I'm hung up by a belt loop on the handle of the cabinet. Shit. I fumble
, frustrated, Becca reaches , snickering, and pulls the zipper down on
my jeans, pushes them off my hips, and I'm naked and free above her. I
slide the shirt off her shoulders, lower her to the cool linoleum. We
kiss feverishly, our hands are everywhere, we roll over, bang off the
refrigerator, I push against her, feeling, grasping, we're twisting again
and there's an odd scraping sound "Oh, Jeff! Stop! Wait!" she
cries out against my shoulder, and I pull back, stunned. She whoops with
laughter and reaches under her...she's rolled over the dust pan, which
we apparently knocked from it's place beside the refrigerator.
- I roll onto my back, groaning. "God, are we doomed, or what?"
- "This NEVER happens on 'Mad About You'. Jesus " Becca sits
up and arches her back, shaking out her hair, and the desire flames up
in me again, no problem. She smirks, glances at the obvious sign of
my interest and shakes her head. "Byers, you are so cheap. C'mon"
She rises and extends a hand to me. "Let's take this to the bedroom,
before one of us breaks something vital. That is...if you still want to."
- "I don't know" I sigh, look up at her--I've never seen anything
more beautiful in my life-- "I kinda wanted to watch the end of the
- "Oh. OK." She takes a false step, I grab her by the ankle,
and she's got me by both biceps, hauling me up. We're kissing before I'm
fully on my feet and I have a neanderthalic urge to sweep her into my arms
as we grope our way down the narrow hallway. We are wired with passion,
the atmosphere of the bedroom further charged by the spicy aroma of pot
pouri and the dim glow of the conch shell light on the night table. The
bed is turned down, the sheets a muted shade of dusty rose. The stage
- "You litle wench, " I breathe, pulling her against me, mouthing
her ear, the tender flesh beneath it, making her moan, "you had this
all set up."
- "Not really," she's kissing her way across my chest, running
her fingers over my ribs, making me ache for more , "when I came in
to change," she bites my shoulder, cups and squeezes my ass, ."I
put the sheets on, lit the pot pouri. I was hoping......." She's
pushed me back closer to the bed, and now reaches around me to the lamp,
but I catch her hand, pull her fingers to my lips and breathe against
her palm "No....leave it on" I mimic her earlier action, sucking
the tender webbing of her hand, and her eyes dilate with desire. "I
want to watch you...I want to see us....."
- Nearly at sensory overload already, I groan as we slide, together,
onto the bed. The slippery coolness of the sheets tingles my sensitized
skin, my entire body responds-- it's satin. I've never felt anything so
sensuously smooth, but the soft, supple pliancy of the woman beneath
my hands quickly overpowers even this , and I gasp and twitch with sensation
as she strokes and caresses the fevered skin of my belly and upper thigh.
We are on our sides, kissing frantically, our teeth click, she jerks
back and comes down on the furred bone of my jaw, lathes her tongue around
my ear, down the side of my neck, and clamps her teeth on the sensitive
tendon of my shoulder. I moa and pull back slightly, she hitches her
leg over my upper thigh, works a hand between us. I can feel the heat
radiating from her, smell the musky scent of our passion as I nuzzle across
her chest, gently suck her breast. She's breathing tiny little sounds
of passion, further inflaming me. The hand thats caressing my belly slides
lower, the backs of her fingers brush softly across the super sensitive
head of my penis and I gasp and thrust against her as she wraps her fingers
around me. I tighten painfully, questing....
- "No... god, Rebecca, wait..." I gently pull her hand from
me, push it down 'till her fingers rest against my inner thigh. She starts
to knead immediatly. "Take it easy, ok ?" I can't stop kissing
her myself, touching her "This isn't a race."
- "I've wanted you for so long. I've wanted you since the day you
tried those leather pants on in Kaufmann's." She burrows against my
chest, slides her arm over me and pinches my ass. "I wanted to throw
you right on the floor in front of the register in Fine Leatherwear. Fine,
indeed... oh!" She gasps and closes her eyes as my stroking hand
pushes over the sodden curls between her legs. "Jeff.....aauuugghhh"
- She's barely touching me, but I almost lose it at the sound of that
breathy moan. I watch her face as I finger the slick folds of her inner
lips; when my thumb finds and caresses her clitoris, she gasps and grimaces
with pleasure and arches into me. She pulls me down into a deep, soul
shaking kiss, her tongue stroking behind my teeth. I rotate my hand, palming
her mons, and slide a finger into the tight heat of her . She comes immediatly,
crying out into my mouth and convulsing around my fingers, surprising us
- I pull my hand gently away, roll partially over her, and hold her tight
while the tremors subside and her breathing slows. There are tears on
her face. Stricken, I run my fingers along her hairline, kiss her browbone,
thumb away the moisture from her cheekbone "Rebecca, I'm sorry. Are
you hurt, did I hurt you?? "
- "God, no! I... oh, Jeff." She pulls my face down and kisses
me softly on both cheeks, a gesture so poignantly simple, I get a lump
in my throat. She smiles up at me, and my heart swells . "Anything
I say at this point would be misconstrued as pillow talk. Let the record
show that the defendant refuses to talk, and pleads the fifth."
- I take a deep breath, poised on the edge of forever. Her face is still
flushed with passion, her eyes shiny with emotion. I jump "Then also
let the record show ," I bend over her, touch my lips to her temple,
"that the prosecutor," kiss the bridge of her nose "is in
love with the defendant."
- It feels like stepping into a cool shower at noon in mid-July.