Title: Snow Day (1 of 1) Author: Tess E-mail: tnv099@aol.com Distribution: I'd appreciate being asked. Spoilers: You should be familiar with S7 Rating: R Content: SAR Disclaimer: No infringement intended upon the characters wrought and owned by CC, 1013 and Fox. Summary: It's a snow day! Thanks to Char for a thumbs-up and to Aly for giving it a home The Tess Files - Story Index http://acovington.home.mindspring.com/tess/index.html Snow Day By: Tess Something calls him out of sleep. He lifts his head and peers around the room. There is an unnatural glow to the darkness of the pre-dawn winter sky. A sudden gust of wind howls outside, drawing his attention to the window where he is surprised to see snow falling steadily. Reluctant to leave his warm nest, he reaches for the remote control, quickly thumbing the mute button as he searches for the local news. Finding the station he was hunting for, he hits the button to activate the closed captioning, tiredly squinting at the words scrolling across the screen. 'An unexpected winter storm is sweeping the Atlantic coast from Virginia to Maine. 8 inches have already blanketed the D.C. area with another 12 to 20 inches possible before nightfall. All public and parochial schools are closed. All local, state and federal offices are closed with the exception of essential personnel. Authorities are urging everyone who can stay home, to please do so. Again, nearly 8 inches of snow have fallen in the overnight hours with a possible accumulation of nearly 3 feet expected before this storm heads out to the Atlantic.' 'Snow day' his inner child exults as he flicks off the alarm clock before it can interrupt a rare opportunity for sleeping in. Yawning mightily, he lowers his head back onto the comfortable pillow of her belly and sleeps. ********** He awakens again a few of hours later to the sound of a shovel scraping against the sidewalk in a futile attempt to stay ahead of the driving snow. Climbing out of bed he shuffles toward the bathroom. He peeks out of the bathroom window and grins around his toothbrush as he watches a Golden Retriever romp through the foot high drifts of snow. Wiping his mouth, he ambles into the bedroom and slides back into the bed. He had thought it impossible to find her more beautiful but now studying her face in the soft morning light, he knows he had been wrong. Reluctant to disturb her, but needing to touch, he reaches out and tucks a wayward lock of hair behind her ear, smiling when it stubbornly falls against her cheek again. She shifts and sighs softly, drawing his eyes to her swollen lips. Her jaw and neck are rosy from his whiskers. He remembered how she had repeatedly rubbed the smoothness of her cheek against his roughened skin. He pushes the blankets away from her and studies the evidence left on her body from a night of passion. Faint teeth marks mar the soft skin of the upper swells of her breasts and he can clearly identify the dark bruises standing out starkly against the pale skin of her hips and thighs--mute testimony of his crushing grip as he drove relentlessly into her body. How many times had she taken him into her arms; sheltered him in her welcoming heat as he poured out his grief and buried his sorrow in her clinging embrace? How many times had their bodies come together in wordless testimony of love and ecstasy? How many times had she whispered his name as her body arched into his in joyous delight? How many times had he choked back a cry as he emptied himself within her, mindless words of love and devotion spilling from his lips? How many times had he mapped out her body with trembling fingers, pulled her from a sated sleep, and awakened her passion until she dissolved beneath him quivering and exhausted? He didn't know. What he did know was that two weeks after learning the fate of his sister, he thought he had been dealing with it. He told her he was fine--free, when in truth he was just as much a prisoner of his past as ever. Fearing that his control would crumble in the face of her sympathy and love, he had pulled away from her and refused to accept the solace of her words, the serenity to be found in her embrace, the pleasure of her kisses. When he had tried to evade her offers of dinner and company for an eighth night, she put her foot down. Blue eyes flashing, she demanded that he come to her apartment that evening. Arriving on her doorstep, he was braced to accept her words of pity and comfort and understanding. He was unprepared for the fiery lecture on the perils of self-pity, the sin of self-indulgence and the dangers of denial. Angered by the sudden attack, he had yanked open the door to leave. When she wistfully called his name, he froze and turned to face her. She held out one hand to him. I'm so sorry, her eyes said as she caught his fingers in her own and tugged him closer. He knew that she was not apologizing for scolding him. Her voice was thick with sympathy and sorrow and he pulled her to the floor. Burrowing into her arms and sobbing out his anguish for a sister who was lost; for parents who had left long before their deaths; for a family broken; for a devastated boy and for the man he had become who had nearly been destroyed. At some point their embrace had turned from that of tender comfort to one of delighted rapture in being with the one you love and rediscovering the joys of living for the present and the future while learning to leave the past behind. She shivers now as the cool air washes across her skin and he drops the blankets back over her. Yawning delicately, she opens her eyes to watch him through hooded lids. With a glance at the clock, her eyes widen in alarm at the late hour. He pushes her back against the pillows. It's a snow day, he explains in a soothing voice, and she stretches luxuriously. As she heads toward the bathroom, he sprawls across the rumpled covers and thinks of how much he likes the idea of being stranded in this apartment with her. He considers the possibilities of a day together--alone with no interruptions. No ringing cellphones; no monsters to chase; no mutants to capture. No world to save--no world at all outside of these walls. He smiles and walks into the bathroom. Pulling back the shower curtain, he steps into the tub. She watches him approach and observes the evidence of his reawakening desire with wary eyes. "No more," she groans wearily as she slaps a hand against the tiled wall to steady herself on legs still trembling from the previous night's exertions. He laughs and draws her near. "No more," he promises as he wraps his arms around her loosely. His head drops forward to rest against her shoulder and his hands stroke down her spine and over her hips. He kneads strong fingers into the aching muscles of her thighs; she groans and steps closer. He stifles a moan as her body brushes intimately against his. "Later," she vows, drawing his lips to hers in a tender good morning kiss under the soothing spray of the shower. ******** Grabbing a pair of jeans and a long sleeved T-shirt from the closet, he wanders into the kitchen and pours a mug of coffee, grateful as always for automatic coffeemakers with timers. A quick survey of kitchen yields frozen waffles and he sets out the butter and maple syrup while he waits for her. Damp hair brushes the collar of her soft cotton robe. Still sleepy, she sinks onto his lap and reaches for his coffee, grimacing at the first sip. "Needs milk," she mumbles. He huffs out a laugh and tells her to get her own coffee. Instead she sighs pensively against his neck. "What's wrong?" he asks, tilting his head in order to see her face. She loops her arms around his neck and lifts her head from his shoulder. "How are you?" she wonders solemnly. His smile is brilliant. "I'm good," he assures her. Her face is troubled. "Really?" He scrapes back a handful of damp hair, his fingers lingering along her jaw. "What's this about?" She toys with the cotton of his T-shirt and avoids his eyes. "Last night...I..." "Last night was good for me," he interrupts. "Good for us, I hope." She sneaks a peek at him and offers a tiny smile. "You've always been much more in control of your emotions than I," he tells her. "But I thought I was dealing with everything--my mother--my sister. You were right though. You gave me exactly what I needed--a swift kick in the ass and then the reassurance of your love. You reminded me that I'm not alone." She drops her eyes back to her fingers, which are still nervously playing with a loose thread along the neck of his shirt. "I wish I could say that my motives were as selfless as you make them sound, but that's not necessarily true." She shifts in his lap, turning so that she is straddling him, facing him. "For as long as I have known you, everything has paled in comparison to finding your sister. And after we found out what happened to her, you kept telling me that you were fine; that you were free. But it felt as if you were further away from me than ever." She bravely lifts tearful eyes back to his. "I prayed that someday we would find her alive," she tells him. "I thought that since I couldn't save my sister, we could save yours. When you turned away from me, I thought 'she'll always be there between us'." She swallows hard before making her final confession. "I began to resent her over the last two weeks. I wanted to be the most important person in your life." Her voice drops to a ragged whisper. "I've always wanted to be the most important person in your life," she admits. "As you have been in mine." One plump tear spills over her lashes and splashes down her cheek. "I forced the issue last night not only because I thought you needed to confront your feelings; but because I needed you to move on. I was afraid if you couldn't see past her--you would never really see me." Her laugh is self-deprecating. "So you see, I'm not the saint you make me out to be." He cups her face in his hands, thumbs stroking across her damp cheeks. "No, baby," he shakes his head. "You have never been more perfect to me." He closes his eyes, trying to find the right words. "That you are still questioning your place in my life..." his voice is husky with sorrow. "I can't remember a time when you haven't been my reason for living." Her breath catches on a sob and he wraps his arms around her tightly, resting his cheek against the crown of her head. "I love you," he whispers. "I love you so much that I think I must have been born loving you." He cradles her head in his large hand, hushing her tearful sobs against his chest, whispering words of love in her ear. She sniffles and wipes wet cheeks against his T- shirt. Lifting her face to his, her smile is radiant. Unable to resist, he drops a kiss on her smiling lips. Once again, her mood shifts with lightening speed. Her fingers tunnel into his thick hair, holding him still as her mouth moves over his hungrily. Greedily. She twines her arms around his neck and he shudders as she whispers fiercely. "Love you...God...so much. So much." They break apart and her laugh is giddy with delight and relief. ********* After eating, they are sprawled across the sofa watching the local news. The meteorologist is excitedly tracking the storm on the radar, telling them that another 5 inches of snow have fallen in the last 2 hours. He reminisces about the snow days of his childhood, telling her about neighborhood wide snowball fights and snowman building contests. He tugs up his T- shirt and shows her a thin scar along his ribcage--a souvenir of a sled ride gone wrong. She makes a small sound of sympathy and peers closely at the tiny remnant of a childhood wound, covering it with pursed lips. He reaches for her and pulls her up so that he can brush his lips over hers in a quiet kiss. She sighs and rests her head on his shoulder. He wonders about her childhood memories of snow days past and is surprised to find she has none. "Dad was stationed in warmer climates for much of my childhood. And the few times we were stationed elsewhere, it didn't snow a lot." She snuggles closer to him. "This is my first real snow day," she admits. He decides that this is a momentous occasion worthy some kind of celebration. He waxes poetic on the merits of teaching her how to pack the perfect snowball. She shakes her head, graciously declining his generous offer. "I'd rather enjoy the snow from a distance," she tells him. He remembers lying in her arms, squinting against the bright sunlight to find her shivering with fear and cold, pleading with him to wake up. Shaking off the frightening memory, he rolls her beneath him. "I didn't mention all of the wonderful things about staying inside on a snow day," he whispers. "Hot chocolate," his lips graze her cheek. "Roaring fires," he nibbles her chin. His fingers tangle in her hair, his mouth moving softly over hers, lips tugging, tongue teasing. She arches her hips and they tumble to the floor. Propping herself up on the palms of her hands, she studies him carefully for a moment. His eyes are clear and content, shining with love. Her laughter is joyous. "Long, lazy naps," she murmurs suggestively, lowering her mouth to his. The End Author's notes: I know a lot of people will be writing S8 based fic. I may decide to as well. I may wait until he's home safe and sound. Right now, I just wanted to give them (and hopefully you) a nice day. I hope you enjoyed this. I'd love to hear from you at tnv099@aol.com The Tess Files - Story Index http://acovington.home.mindspring.com/tess/index.html