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A partnership PWP. Originally posted for list consumption only, but my greed overfloweth. Southern California: Mulder. Golden words from a golden time. Southern California, Mulder, yes, golden words in a golden time. This faded grey landscape of jutting rock and dying sky, rusted wire and pocked concrete all dotted about with the smell of mid-winter fatigue and fish next to the tired grey sea. . . It's nothing compared to Southern California: Mulder and sun, Mulder and warmth, Mulder and the sweet smell of leather coming through the dust, the rustle of Mulder's sleeve in the wind. Convertible--a ridiculous mixup of rental reservations, but no complaints from either of us. Muscle car. A convertible, something with a roll-down top, leather bench, decent sound: obscure eighties band, pretty sunglasses, shiny car and you were a happy man, conspiracy and Scully be damned. Nevertheless. We were going South, down to San Diego, down to Mexico: only the vaguest flicker of a memory that it's a workday, that it's winter back 'home', and yet, the entire world is ablaze, glowing in an ecstasy of orange and yellow and the sme No ocean yet, though you said it was coming up soon, we could take a detour. Nothing like beach and ocean you had said, but somehow we'd taken the wrong junction and ended up in miles and miles of dusty farmland punctuated by orchards. Oh yes. Orange orchards. Miles and miles of orchards, dust and road and sunlight that was just as golden as the trickle of juice sliding between neck and collarbone and just as slow as your eyelashes lazing through the dust-motes. When I lick the side of your neck, there's sweat and cologne, the faintest, finest hairs slicked down with juice. Tang of orange, bitter sweat, all layered on smooth curve of your collarbone underneath skin and little tiny bumps for where dust has stuck to your body. It feels funny as I work Collarbone, sternum, nipple, warm silk at first and then tensing when you start moaning, pushing up against me with the sweet slow ache starting up between my legs. . . This is the taste of oranges. This is Southern California; this is Mulder. Oh yes. .end Feedback to anasile@aol.com
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