#and DON���T tell me i’m reaching because he pulled this exact shit when he dropped both titles of his episode a month before they

[babygirl-diaz]

Prompt: SamBucky are /not/ together but it's getting there. So something wild happens idk magic or some shit and 1940s Bucky gets plucked from his timelime and thrown into theirs. 40s Bucky doesn't pull any punches, and goes for what he wants and that's Sam.

(Sorry it took me almost a month to write this anon. I didn't know how to go about it until today. I wrote this as crack. I hope you still like it! This is pretty similar to my other fic)

Sam was taking the trash out when it happened. Now, you have to understand, Sam has seen some weird shit in his time. He was erased out of existence, for fuck's sake. But this one still took the cake. So yeah, as he took the trash out. The sky, THE FUCKING SKY, suddenly opened and something shot out of it dropping right into Sam's dumpster. Sam was thrown back from the impact, his trash landing elsewhere.

Sam's ribs hurt like hell as he got up from the ground. "Shit," he groaned.

A pained moan came from the dumpster and as if on reflex, Sam's hand went into his back pocket. "Who's in there?!" He asked, panicked.

He slowly took a step towards the dumpster and stopped in his tracks when he heard another pained sound. "Get out of there," Sam warned the person. "Come on. I'm not playing."

Hands grabbed at the edge of the dumpster and someone slowly hauled themself up and tried to get out of the dumpster but they lost their balance and fell to the ground.

"Shit," Sam hissed, before rushing over to help them. "Hey, man, you o-" Sam's voice died in his throat when he finally saw the face of the person before him. "Bucky?!" It was Bucky alright. But not the Bucky Sam knew. This Bucky was young, clean-shaven... dressed in military uniform... if it weren't for those blue hues, Sam wouldn't even have recognized him. This wasn't the Bucky who was in their shared apartment right now. "What the hell is happening?" Sam asked, more to himself than the guy in front of him, who was staring up at him in somehow both fear and awe.

Sam was definitely dead. This was either heaven or hell and Bucky was here as his younger self... Well, if Bucky was here, then it had to be hell. But it didn't feel any different. It still felt like D.C. cold and smelling of corruption. Or maybe that's what hell was...

"Where am I?" The man-- Bucky?-- asked.

"Hell," Sam replied without thinking.

"What?!" That got young Bucky's attention, and he sat on the ground. "I'm dead?"

"Well, I'm guessing you and I both are... because that's the only explanation I can come up with. Where the hell did you come from?"

"I don't know..." Young Bucky almost looked like he was on the verge of tears. "What is happening? Where is Steve? We were at the exhibition... we were talking... and now I'm..." The man swayed and fainted.

SHIT.

Despite his own broken ribs (yes, Sam had decided this wasn't hell and he wasn't dead), Sam hauled young Bucky up from the ground and threw young Bucky's arm around his own shoulder before wrapping his arm around young Bucky's waist (he should really stop calling him young Bucky). This Bucky was light. He wasn't built like a damn truck like his own Bucky (okay, no he wasn't Sam's Bucky but he was Sam's friend so he was technically Sam's? FOCUS Sam. Bigger problems).

Sam somehow got young Bucky (Okay, he was going to start calling him Sergeant Barnes. He was dressed in his uniform after all) into the elevator. Thankfully, no one saw him with Sergeant Barnes. He practically carried Sergeant Barnes to his apartment and used his keys to open the door.

"Wow, took you long enough. What were you doing? Taking the trash all the way to the landfill?" Bucky was sitting in front of the TV, browsing through Netflix.

"Bucky-- we have a problem. I found something-- or rather someone, downstairs"

"Did you go dumpster diving, Sam? I swear to god, Sam, if this is another one of your attempts to adopt a cat--" Bucky stopped talking and turned around and his eyes widened. "WHAT THE FUCK?!" He flew out of the seat and stumbled back.

"Surprise?" Sam said awkwardly. He helped Sergeant Barnes to the sofa and dropped him on it.

Sam's ribs protested, and he doubled over in pain. "Fuck," he groaned.

"What the fuck is that, Sam?"

Sam looked up at Bucky to find him looking at his younger self, horrified.

"That is you," Sam replied.

"No, it's not."

"Yeah, it is," Sam insisted. "He dropped from the sky."

"He what?" Bucky laughed hysterically

"You're freaking out. Stop freaking out," Sam tried to touch Bucky's shoulder, who stepped away from him.

"OF COURSE I'M FREAKING OUT! I mean, LOOK AT HIM... That's me... That's me from 1942."

"How do you know what exact year he's from?"

"I was dressed like that... like a damn dweeb right before they shipped me out."

A groan got Sam's attention, and he looked over at the sofa to see Sergeant Barnes waking up.

The sergeant's eyes widened when looked from Sam to Bucky. "What the-- WHAT IS HAPPENING?!" He screeched. "WHO ARE YOU?!"

"I am you," Bucky replied. "Look, there is no easy way to say this but It seems you have somehow ended up in the future."

"The future?" Now it was Sergeant Barnes's turn to laugh hysterically. "You're saying I've ended up in the future?! That's the funniest thing I've heard all day, pal. Is this a prank? Is Steve getting back at me?"

Sam went over to Sergeant Barnes and crouched in front of him on the floor. "Listen, Sergeant Barnes-"

"You can call me Bucky." Young Bucky offered him a sweet smile.

"Actually, I can't," Sam replied. "He's Bucky to me--" he said pointing at Bucky "--so I have to call you something else."

The smile fell off Sergeant Barnes's face and Sam felt kinda bad.

"--Bucky is telling the truth. You've somehow ended up in the future. What do you remember last?"

"I remember meeting you, doll," Sergeant Barnes replied.

"Doll?!" Bucky said in surprise.

"Shut up, Bucky," Sam told him before going back to Sergeant Barnes. "Before that. What do you remember before that?"

"I remember we were at the exhibition of future technologies... Steve and I were talking and then--- and then I woke up in that garbage."

"Do you remember this happening to you?" Sam asked Bucky.

"No, of course, I don- wait- I do now. How is that possible?!"

"Looks like you're forming new memories, Buck," Sam suggested.

"I am really confused," Sergeant Barnes said desperately, and grabbed Sam's hands.

"Sorry, I just-- I need something to ground me. I am terrified."

"Oh yeah, of course," Sam replied. "That's okay." He squeezed Sergeant Barnes's hands.

Bucky cleared his throat behind them and Sam turned around to find him frowning. Sam just shrugged and turned back to Sergeant Barnes.

"We'll figure it out," Sam assured the young man. "And we'll get you back home."

"Well, we better because who knows what could happen the longer he's here. He could erase my existence."

Just the thought churned Sam's stomach.

"First, let's get you out of these clothes," Sam suggested, looking at Sergeant Barnes. "You smell like garbage."

"Sorry about that, sweetheart," Sergeant Barnes said with a small smile.

"Come on, I'll show you the shower. You can have some of my clothes, they should fit you."

"Why not mine?" Bucky asked. "He's literally me."

"No!" Sergeant Barnes said a little too loudly. "His clothes are fine. I didn't catch your name, by the way."

"OH! I'm Sam," Sam led him to his bedroom and found him a pair of t-shirt and sweats.

"Thank you, Sam," Sergeant Barnes said appreciatively. "I don't know what's going on here but I am glad you're here to help me through it."

Sam offered him a smile in return. "Well, I'm glad you think that. Now come on, I'll show you the shower."

"The future still has a phonograph?" Sergeant Barnes asked before following Sam out of the bedroom.

Sam nodded, "Yeah it does." He showed Sergeant Barnes to the shower and turned it on for him, adjusting the water to the right temperature. When he turned around, he found the Sergeant standing there fully naked.

"Whoa, okay," Sam immediately averted his eyes. He tried not to trail his eyes to Sergeant Barnes's nether regions. "Let me know if you need anything else. Just press that knob when you're done showering and it should turn off the water." (Okay, talking about pressing knobs right now was probably not the best idea).

Sam quickly ran out of the bathroom and he's pretty sure he heard Sergeant Barnes say, "So cute," on his way out.

"What's up with you?"

Sam jumped when he heard Bucky's voice. It almost felt like he had been caught cheating on Bucky with Bucky. Which was ridiculous because Bucky wasn't his boyfriend and he wasn't doing anything with Sergeant Barnes.

"Nothing," Sam blurted. "We should really figure out how to get him back home."

A dark look fell over Bucky's face, and Sam reached out to rest his hand on the other man's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"We send him back and he gets taken hostage by Hydra and then eventually turned into The Winter Soldier."

"Bucky, everything needs to happen exactly how it happened or your whole present and future will change."

"Would that really be such a bad thing? I mean, look at all the things I've done. If there is a chance I could erase all of that--"

"And what if you end up erasing yourself?" Sam asked.

"Sam--"

"No! Don't Sam me! We are sending him back to his time and that's that."

“Okay, then,” Bucky threw his hands up. “We’re sending him back.”

“How though? We don’t even know how he got here in the first place.”

“Maybe some sort of sorcery was involved?” Bucky suggested.

“Sorcery?!” A startled voice came from behind them and they turned around to find Sergeant Barnes standing there looking stunned. “Sorcery is real?”

“Unfortunately,” Sam replied. “We even have a sorcerer friend. Speaking of which, we should talk to him.”

“Oh, so he’s no longer a wizard?” Bucky teased

“Oh shut it,” Sam threw back and lightly punched Bucky on the shoulder.

“Are you two…” Sergeant Barnes trailed off.

“Are we what?” Sam asked distractedly.

“Are you together?” Sergeant Barnes replied. “I assume a relationship between two men is not frowned upon in the future or a relationship between an interracial couple? My time is less tolerant.”

“Trust me, our time isn’t very tolerant either, but yes, we’ve come a long way from 1942,” Sam informed him. “And to answer your question, no, Bucky and I are not together.”

Sam noticed a frown on Bucky’s face but he ignored it.

“Are you taken?” Sergeant Barnes asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

“No, I’m not,” Sam replied.

Sergeant Barnes stepped closer to Sam and smiled at him. “Good, because, if you were, I would be really sad.”

“Why?” Sam gulped at the closeness of the other man. He smelled like tea tree oil, the scent of Bucky’s body wash.

“Because you are gorgeous and I would hate it if you were taken.”

Sam feels his cheeks heat up at that. “Oh wow… Um.. thanks.”

Sergeant Barnes snaked his arm around Sam’s waist and pulled him closer. “Do you mind if I kissed ya, doll?”

Sam felt his arm being grabbed, and he was pulled back and away from Sergeant Barnes.

“Maybe you should focus more on the fact that you’re stuck in the future than on Sam.”

Sam felt Bucky’s arm around his waist. His grip was almost possessive.

“Are you jealous?” Sergeant Barnes asked with a cocky grin on his face. Sam has sometimes seen that grin on Bucky’s face but it’s very rare.

“Jealous? Of you? Kid, you give yourself too much credit.”

“Boys, you do realize you’re the same person, right?” Sam pulled himself away from Bucky.

“I am not him!” Both of them said at the same time.

“Clearly,” Sam rolled his eyes.

[fic-for-fic-sake]

Adventures in Baking

A/N: Only because a certain Captain’s birthday is on Saturday and I felt compelled to write something. 

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Steve’s birthday was at the end of the week and you wanted to do something nice for him. You knew Tony would throw him a huge party and Steve being Captain America had probably meant he got a lot of presents every year. You had worked yourself into a mess trying to come up with a gift to get him. What could you get the man who had absolutely everything? Then it hit you, there was a time that he hadn’t had everything. You wondered when the last time someone made something for him was. You had your idea. 

You would bake him a cake. He’d never had red velvet and it only seemed fitting since it was the Fourth of July after all. Luckily, Tony had access to the best bakeries around the world so it was only a matter of getting a hold of the correct bakers and then the recipe was yours. They said they wouldn’t normally give it to people outside of their shop but you were an Avenger and you had saved the world on multiple occasions, so it was yours, and whatever else you wanted as well. 

Friday rolled around way too soon for your liking and you had just come home to the compound with arms full of groceries. You made it to your apartment that you shared with Steve and promptly deposited everything on the counter with an unceremonious huff. You yelled for Steve if only to make sure he wasn’t there. When you heard nothing back you heaved a sigh of relief, the coast was clear. 

You changed into a raggy old college t-shirt and athletic shorts and then donned an apron and began trying to recreate the most amazing red velvet cake you had ever tasted, directly from the brilliant minds at La Mallorquina in Madrid. You smiled as you turned on music and began to dance as you baked. 

A solid 45 minutes later the counter was a mess with measuring spoons coated in butter, a thin film of flour on the once pristine counter tops, and a kitchen aid mixer that looked like it had gone through a war with the batter (and lost). But best of all, was the bowl of vibrant red cake batter that sat in the stainless steel bowl. All that was left to do was to evenly divide the batter into two cake pans and then put them in the oven. You would worry about the frosting after you cleaned up the mess. 

After scream-singing to Queen you shut the oven door and put a timer on for half an hour. Your eyes roamed the counter at the oncoming storm and you wondered where to start to tackle the behemoth before you. You thought about starting with the batter bowl but it broke your heart to let perfectly good cake batter go to waste. Without a second thought you grabbed your rubber spatula, scraped the sides of the bowl down, and took a generous swipe of the unnaturally colored thick batter with your finger. At that exact moment your beautifully early boyfriend opened the door only to discover the mess on the counter, and you, literally caught red handed. 

Your finger froze on its journey to your mouth as Steve’s eyes roamed the counter, and then you, before landing on your finger. 

“Doll,” Steve began, “what’s going on?” 

“Just some baking.” You replied. Your surprised whisper was a stark contrast to the blaring music playing over the speaker system. 

“Oh I see.” Steve said, slowly stalking over to you, dropping his gear bag as he came closer. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with what tomorrow is, would it?” 

“What’s tomorrow?” You asked dumbly. Finger still stuck in midair. 

“Why don’t you tell me what’s on your finger sweetheart.” Steve teased as he held your fisted hand, finger still up, within both of his hands. 

“Cake batter.” 

“Does it taste any good?” He questioned, a smile curving his petal pink lips upward at the corners. 

“I didn’t get a chance to try it yet.” You explained, finding yourself in a trance like state being this close to him, to his energy. It was intoxicating. 

“Why don’t I try it, hm?” He suggested as he brought your finger up to his mouth and wrapped his lips around the appendage and sucked.  You could feel his tongue expertly twirl around you as he licked the batter off of your finger. You sucked in a breath and your eyes widened at his actions. His azure eyes were glued to yours, pupils lust blown as he continued to suck on the pad of your finger before slowly dragging it from his mouth. 

“That was delicious.” He replied after a beat, and you weren’t sure if he was talking entirely about the batter. Without breaking the intensity between you, Steve took the spatula from the bowl and brought it to your lips in a silent demand. 

You parted your lips as he pressed the rubber to your mouth and slowly worked your tongue around the utensil. Steve’s breathing shallowed as his eyes followed the movement of your tongue. Faster than you thought possible, Steve replaced the spatula with his own mouth, slanting his lips over your own. 

You felt his tongue swipe across your lower lip and you opened your mouth for him so that his tongue could taste what you tasted. It all melded together in your mind so you were tasting sweetness, and chocolate, and Steve and the sinful noises he was pulling from your mouth drowned out any other sounds in the room because he was all that mattered. 

One of his hands cupped the back of your head while the other encircled your waist, pulling you closer to him so that all of him was pressed against all of you and you felt exactly what this was doing to him. Breathlessly, he pulled away from you and you could see the crimson shade on his teeth as he smiled at you, eyes as bright as stars. 

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He asked in bewilderment as he let his hands roam over your body. Following every line and curve and dip of your skin and clothes. You felt as he wrapped his strong arms around your waist and lifted you so you were sitting on the flour covered counter but you didn’t care. Didn’t care because a second later his mouth was back on yours and he was between your legs, pressing himself up against you. 

Your breath came out in short pants as you braced an arm on the counter behind you to keep you from falling over. Hurried hands found the waistband of your shorts and pulled them down along with your underwear and they fell to the floor with a soft puff. His calloused fingertips teased your slit and you writhed your waist into his awaiting hand, needing him buried in you. 

You could feel his smile against your neck where he was currently alternating between nipping and kissing your skin. He obliged your pleading and smoothly inserted one and then two fingers in your slick heat. Your head was thrown back as all thought went out the window. Your toes curled and your fingers splayed as you relished in the feel of him inside you, stretching you. It felt so damn good you didn’t bother to quiet your moans which he was happy to encourage. 

“What do you want, baby girl? You gotta tell me.” He teased. 

You garbled a moan in response, your mind too focused on pleasure to form cohesive thoughts. 

“Use your words sweetheart.” He said again, voice stern as he stilled his fingers inside of you. 

“You, fuck I want you Steve. Please fuck me.” You cried out, not caring how desperate you sounded. He just smiled in response before he freed himself from his pants and in one swift movement his hands were replaced with his cock, throbbing inside of you. He nestled himself inside of you and stilled as you adjusted yourself to his length. 

It burned in the best way possible as your eyes watered in delirious pleasure. Your walls clenched around him and he cursed through gritted teeth before you urged your hips forward, in a silent request to move them. He obliged and pulled out almost all the way before easing himself back into you. He took a few more slow thrusts before he unleashed himself on you. In a torrent of snapping hips and feral grunts, he pounded into you repeatedly. Your mouth clamped down on his shoulder as you tried to muffle the sounds of your screams. 

He panted your name in your ear over and over again like a fervent prayer as he chased his pleasure and helped you find your own. He was animalistic in the way he fucked you, desperate where he otherwise would’ve been composed. Skin slapped against skin as your hips snapped in reply to his thrusts. You wrapped your arms around his back, feeling your pert nipples press against thick muscles. 

“Fuck, Steve, I’m gonna come.” You rasped, voice hoarse from screaming. 

“Come on baby, you can do it.” He encouraged, reaching between your bodies to rub your clit, sending your body into a spasmic frenzy as you came around him. You saw stars and the world went numb for a moment as your high hit you. Distantly you registered Steve’s moan as he reached his own peak and spilled himself inside of you. His harsh breathing turned slower and slower as he caught his breath. You also heard the distant sound of an alarm going off and it was then that you remembered you had a cake in the oven. His birthday cake, shit. 

“Damnit, my cake!” You exclaimed, detangling your own limbs from Steve’s before you crawled off of the counter top on legs that felt no more useful than jell-o. Grabbing an oven mitt you opened the oven and grabbed the two cake pans and placed them on the stove top. Relief flooded through you as you took in their state and realized the alarm hadn’t gone off for a long time. You flipped them out of the pans and placed them on a cooling rack before you felt two strong arms wrap around your midsection. 

“Are those for me?” Steve questioned, his voice husky in your ear as he nibbled on the top of it. 

“Happy Birthday.” You said, realizing it was past midnight, before you looked over your shoulder and found Steve’s lips there, waiting to claim your own in another kiss.

[alwaysforyouscully]

Observation: Part 3 of Plausible Theory

Part One: Plausible Theory

Part Two: Hypothesis

Summary: Mulder and Scully come to terms with their feeling for each other. Some sexy time ensues.

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Smut, Smut and a little fluff  

Mulder locked the door and turned for the bedroom. He paused partway there to compose himself. He wasn't sure of exactly what Scully had planned but anything that involved her and her bedroom would probably be his undoing.

He suddenly felt like some pervert for all of the times he dreamt of how this exact scenario would play out and all of the things he did to her in those dreams.  

He enters the bedroom and Scully is in the bathroom, the door ajar. He closes the door and sits on the edge of the bed. How could someone with his vast knowledge of porn not come up with some great line to make this not awkward.

Scully comes out of the bathroom in a silky robe. Her legs are bare, so no pajama bottoms, 'Good Lord' Mulder thinks to himself as he watches her put her laundry in the dirty clothes hamper.

Scully is trying to not make eye contact, just watching Mulder out of the corner of her eye. When they were in the hotel room two days ago she learned a side of Mulder that she didn't know existed. He was a sexual man. It sounds strange but even with all his innuendo, the tapes that weren’t his and his constant evasion of her personal space she never saw that raw sexual side of him. She had hoped it was there once she started having unpartnerly feelings for him but being in its presence was something altogether different.

She turned towards him and a smile came to her lips. Mulder looks like a 14 year old boy that is about to play 'Spin-the-Bottle' with the head cheerleader. She comes to stand in front of him and touches his arm.

“Mulder?” she asks “Do you want to just go to sleep? I don't want to pressure you. I didn't ask you to stay for, well..” Now her heart is racing like it was when Ryan Sampson asked her to the Senior Prom. “I mean, we can wait, if you want.”

Mulder takes her hand and brings it to his lips. “Scully, this may sound crass but you have known me for a long time and if I have made it this far without objection... then, I would really like to continue. You never know when I will be an ass again and lose my chance forever.” He looks up into her eyes and his smile is all the reassurance she needs.

“How about you shower and I’ll get us a beer, okay?”

“Okay”

Mulder retreats to the shower and once done he heads to his drawer in her dresser and pauses at the irony. He has had a drawer in her dresser for years and she his but neither thought that was strange or unusual for two people that are 'just friends' to share something so intimate.

He dons a clean pair of boxer briefs and a t-shirt just as Scully comes back in the room and turns off the overhead light. She sits the beers on her nightstand and turns on the lamp.“Mulder, in case I forget to tell you later. This was the best night of my life.”

Mulder reaches up and cups the back of her head. He pulls her towards him and Scully braces herself with her hand on his chest. Their lips meet in the lightest kiss either can remember.

Scully pushes back slightly, “Mulder, don't be afraid. Please.”

With that Mulder pulls her to his body, crushing her lips with his. He kissing her with such force that Scully see stars. She returns his kiss with the same fervor, her tongue slipping past his in a slow intimate dance. Mulder breaks the kiss to catch his breath and pulls Scully's head back to look into her eyes. They are wet with unshed tears and he knows his looks the same.

“I love you, Scully. For so, so long.” He sits on the end of the bed and pulls her between his legs. His erection is already straining against his boxers and he struggles to slow his breaths.

Scully slides her hands down his sides and slips her fingers under the edge of his shirt. She leans in and kisses him lightly as she inches his shirt up and over his head. Mulder puts his hands on her hips and grins at the look of wonder on her face as she studies the dips and valleys of his chest and skims her nails over is tight nipples.

Mulder sucks in a sharp breath at the contact, suddenly remembering how goods it feels to have someone else in charge of your pleasure. His hands move to her robe and untie the sash. Scully's tiny body is covered in an even tinier set of black lace lingerie.

“Christ Scully, you're so beautiful.”

Scully ducks her head an blushes at his compliment. Mulder looks over her shoulder and realizes her dressing mirror is in front of him against the wall.

“Scully, turn around.” She looks up and he cups her face, kissing her soundly. “I never want you to doubt how I see you, just how prefect you are to me, so turn around so I can show you.”

Scully turns, Mulder's hands on her bare hips and freezes at her reflection in the mirror.

“Mulder, please. She says as she tries to turn back to him.

Mulder holds her in place.“Scully, trust me.” He scoots closer to the edge of the bed and runs his hands up and down her arms. He rests his chin on her shoulder, catching her eye in the mirror's reflection.

“You see Scully, I have always found your mind beautiful. It has the ability to process the most complex problems and find a solution. Its ability to suppress your urge to kill me is also a benefit.” He jokes.

This makes Scully relax a little. “Your heart Scully is so kind. I will never understand how something so big can be housed in someone your size. Look at your eyes Scully. I could lose myself in their deeps. I always now how you feel regardless of what your words say.” Mulder has moved his hands to her hips and is steadily circling his thumbs into the dimples on her lower back.

She looks at him in the mirror and he tilts his head to rest next to her temple.

“God Scully”.... His hands leave her hips to skim up her sides and she shivers. He pulls her closer between his legs and his hands reach the underside of her breasts.

Scully lets out a huff at the contact and drops her head. She realizes what he is about to do and her earlier embarrassment returns.

“No, No Scully, don't look away.” He chides. She is trembling and he kisses her check and runs his tongue along her ear, never breaking eye contact. His hands cup her breasts and on instinct she arches her back.

“Mulder.” She breathes. He runs his thumbs over her nipples and they strain against the fabric.

“Look how perfect your breasts fit in my hands.” He moves to unclasp her bra and she stiffens.

“Shh, its just me.” He releases the clasp and slips the material over her shoulders and down her arms. He pulls the bra away and lets it fall to the ground.

“Scully look how your skin contrasts with the color of your nipples.” He brushes his thumb over the left one and watches it pucker in the glass's reflection.

“This nipple,” he begins, “is dark coral against the porcelain of your skin. It makes my mouth water. I always wished you're body looked like this under your strict suits and doctor scrubs but Scully the real thing is so much better.” He continues to pinch her nipple as she twists her hips in an effort to release some of the pressure building in her core. Looking at her like this, Mulder is sure he won't last until the naked part but is determined to to make his point.

He slides his free hand up to her throat and pulls her chin so her lips meet his. He kisses her slow and easy, his tongue sliding along her parched lips and into her mouth to caress her tongue. She moans and tries to turn into his body but he stops her with a hand on her hip.

“Not yet, I'm not finished.” He returns them to their previous position and runs his hand along her waist to rest just above the line of her panties. Her skin quivers and he slips his hand lower and gauges her reaction in the reflection. “Scully if I told you how many times I dreamt of this moment, of being here with you about to make love to you; I'm sure you would think I was a creep but Scully you have been the object of my desires for so long its just second nature to me now.

“Oh, Mulder. I have been so afraid of this, of me and you.. she ducks her head again.“

“Scully look up, you don't want to miss this.” Mulder slips his fingers under the waist of her panties and pulls them down her legs to her knees.

Scully steps out of them and in a moment of bravado she meets his eyes in the mirror. Mulder takes in her reflection and tries to memorize this exact second in time. He places his hand just above her curls and pulls her back the last inch into the vee of his thighs. His boxers do little to hide his desire for her and she jumps slightly at the feeling.

“Damn, Scully. I hope I can hold out. You are so fucking sexy.” He pushes her forward, away from his body and stands behind her. He removes his underwear and sits back down on the bed. He pulls her close and kisses her neck.

Clearing his throat, he continues with his observation. His erection is pressed along her spine as he whispers in her ear.

“This color,” he runs his fingers through the soft hair at her sex, “is just as I imagined. Just a bit lighter than what I see everyday.” His slips his fingers lower and Scully raises higher on her tiptoes, the lower his fingers move. He cups her and kisses the curve of her neck before locking his gaze with hers in the mirror.

“Scully, I always dreamed you would be wet for me,” his finger slides between her folds. “Shit, Scully.” He continues until her reaches her clit, circling lightly.

“Fucking, hell. I was right.” Scully bucks her hips to gain more contact.

“Mulder, don't stop.” Mulder pulls his fingers from her wet folds and Scully cries out.

“Noo!”

He places his hands on her hips and pulls her onto his lap. Her thighs draped over his, her glistening pussy exposed to the mirror.

“That's it Scully, did I do this to you? Did I make you wet like this? This is what I hoped to for, you aroused because of me”. Mulder runs his finger along her opening and stops again to circle her clit. Scully rocks her hips into his hand. “Look in the mirror Scully, watch me make you come.” He runs his finger along her swollen lips and slows at her opening.

He watches in the mirror as his finger dips inside. Scully is fixed on the image in front of her, as well. His finger slides in and out of her body and he can feel her muscles shaking with effort. Mulder slides his wet finger out and up to her bundle of nerves, Scully arches her back causing her ass to press harder against his dick. Mulder grunts and drips two fingers into her body. He watches his fingers move in and out of her dripping pussy and has to close his eyes.

“God, Scully I need to be inside you. I need to feel you around me.”

Scully, ever the good sport, says “Scoot back a little.”

Mulder moves until the backs of his knees are touching the bed and Scully raises up to shift back onto his lap. She brings her knees up on the bed to rest on either side of his thighs and reaches between her legs to grasp his cock. Mulder starts and then relaxes into her touch. She braces one hand his knee and guides him home with the other. Just as she slips the head of his cock past her swollen lips, she looks towards the mirror. “Mulder, look up. You don't want to miss this.”

He sits up a littler higher and catches their reflection in the mirror. She holds his gaze as she sinks down on him for the first time. For all the scenes he has seen on those tapes this is by far the most erotic. Mulder has to look away in an effort to stave off his orgasm.

She reaches the hilt and stretches her arm up to cup the back of his neck for leverage. Scully begins to rock in a steady rhythm. The sensations are like nothing she has felt before and she raises higher and sinks deeper on each stroke. Mulder's brow is covered in sweat and his thighs are shaking. He reaches up and runs his palm over her nipple, stopping to pinch and roll her flesh between his fingers.

Scully moans and increases the angle of he hips. Mulder takes the hint and brings his other hand back to her folds and spreads his fingers to slide along each side of his dick as she rides him. He coats his fingers and slides them back together over her bundle over nerves. Scully cries outs and bucks forward, losing her rhythm.

Mulder continues his motion and pinches her nipple harder. “That's it Scully, you going to come for me?” Her hips rock frantically and Mulder can feel her swell around him.

“Open your eyes Scully, look how beautiful you are.” With a final circle of his fingers, Scully's orgasm rips through her and Mulder has to wrap his arm around her waist to keep her on his lap.

She is trembling and spasming around is cock when she realizes his is still rock hard inside of her. “Mulder, you didn't?...”

“Not yet, I was too busy watching you. God, Scully that was magnificent.”

Scully gingerly moves from his lap and rest on she knees facing him. His cock is thick, wet and standing proud against his stomach. She leans down and runs her tongue along it length.

“Fucking hell, Scully...I don't think I can take that right now.”

“Shh, Mulder. I'm a doctor, remember. She reaches down and applies just the right amount of pressure to the base of his cock and Mulder relaxes a little. Holding that spot, Scully rolls her tongue around the head and slips him into her mouth. She licks and cleans her arousal off him, slowly bobbing up and down his length.

Mulder watches with rapt fascination and the sight in the mirror, her hair tickling his thighs. She releases is dick with a pop and raises up to kiss his lips. The familiar pressure is back since she removed her hand and he needs to be back inside her right now.

He wraps and arm around her and lowers her to the bed. Her thighs are resting on his and he moves closer to her body. He spreads her legs and runs his thumb from the bottom of her opening to her clit.

Scully raises her hips with his motions and he repeats it. On the next pass he stops at her opening and pushes his thumb inside.

“Aww, Mulder.” She reaches for his body in an effort to bring him closer.

He removes his finger and runs in along this length. Raising up on his knees, his positions himself against her entrance and rocks slightly.

“Mulder, please. I need you inside me!”

Mulder grabs the back of her knees and pulls her legs back even with her chest and enters her in one long stoke. They moan in unison as Mulder starts to pound into her body.

”Scully, I have never... God you're so tight. I'm not going to last, baby.” He leans back and releases one of her legs, bringing the other over his shoulder.

The new angle causes a warmth to spread across her pelvis. “Yes, Mulder, right there.” Scully begs.

Mulder brushes his thumb over her clit just as he tumbles over the edge taking Scully right behind him. He doesn’t know how long they lay there, a pile of tangled limbs with is semi-hard cock still inside her but his skin is starting to cool and he can fill goosebumps raise on his skin. Without a word he pulls her close and kisses her soundly.

“Wow, Scully.”

“Yes, that was wow, alright.”  Scully says as she shifts to get me comfortable.

Mulder buries his face in the curve of her neck and brushes his lips against her skin. Scully is steadily stroking his hair and whispers in his ear. “Did you call me baby?”

“Umm...yeah. I ..”

“Don't worry Mulder, after a few well timed babies, I'm usually a push over.”

“Is that all it takes, Scully. If I had only know all these years.”

Mulder looks up to see her smiling a full watt smile that he rarely gets to see. He rolls on top of her, never slipping from her body. Her giggle makes his dick stir inside her and she groans.

“Mulder.” She breaths as she pulls him down for a kiss. Mulder rocks his hips but breaks the kiss to look in her eyes.

Scully sees the emotions playing across his face and swallows past the lump in her throat. “I love you, Mulder”

“I love you too, Scully.” Now lets test that baby calling theory of yours”

[rayalez]

A Crack in the Window

№ 8 in a series of stories on their way to a novel.

A Rainforest Monday ©2011 Ronald C. Flores-Gunkle

“He doesn’t care,” Blanca said aloud. She pretended she was talking to little María Amalia, whose big black eyes stared at her through the bars of her crib, but even when the crib was empty, after the Nanny carried the girl off to her playroom — out of sight, out of mind, Blanca spoke to it.

“He doesn’t,” she repeated. She repeated nearly everything she said, for emphasis or to fill the void. Alfonso said that it was because she used to teach toddlers, that schoolteachers always repeat things at least twice so their little charges would be able to bend their minds around the unfamiliar words. “Like talking to pets,” he said.

She tried to stop doing it because it annoyed him, but stopping would be like yanking out flowers instead of weeds. She prayed to the Virgin to help her stop, but as usual, the Virgin was mute. “Anyway, mother repeats everything and no one tells her to stop. No one tells her. Anyway, let him be annoyed.”

She adjusted the new wave in her hair in the kitchen mirror. “Thank God I had time to go to the Beauty, nena, with the girls coming over later. Thank God for small miracles.” She polished the already gleaming surface of her Italian espresso machine, pouting at her reflection. She reached for her Hermes handbag, extracted lipstick and retouched her already perfectly painted lips.

“Look, nena, look at that ugly crack in the window. Look at that crack, isn’t it ugly! I’m going to have to call someone myself, and get it fixed. I’ll call someone. Your papa won’t do it. He doesn’t care. He says he has no time, but how much time can a supermarket take? It’s not as if there weren’t all those boys running around shuffling cans and bags around. He has time, alright, but it just isn’t time for us. That crack will be the death of me. Imagine Mia and Flora sitting right over there at the table and seeing that crack, right next to my new kitchen curtains. I have to seat them with their backs to it, but they will notice. They won’t say anything, of course, but they will notice and they will talk about it for weeks. They will talk about it for weeks, how our house is falling apart. They have perfect houses and perfect husbands and I have a house falling apart and your papa, who doesn’t care.”

Blanca filled a glass with ice from the door of the refrigerator, surveyed the liquor in the cupboard and chose a squat bottle of cognac. She poured a hefty shot into the glass and topped it off with cola. “Must be 5:00 p.m. somewhere in the world,” she thought, putting the bottle away.

The baby plopped down and let out a soft cry. “Are you pipi, María Amalia. Are you pipi or caca? Where is Nanny? Can you wait for Nanny?” The baby reached up.

“Por favor, amorcita, Nanny will be here any minute and she will change you and give you your bath. Can’t you wait a few more minutes? You know I can’t bear smelling your awful poo. I can’t bear it. You’re supposed to smell of baby powder, not caca. I really can’t bear it. Can’t you wait, dear?” The baby threw herself back and started crying in earnest, as the kitchen door opened and Doña Fernando, the Dominican nanny, strode in, ignored Blanca, scooped up the child and carried her off.

“I don’t trust that woman,” Blanca thought. “I’m sure she tells Dona Amalia everything. About the house falling apart. About her precious Alfonso not sleeping with me. She cleaned enough of his shit when he was a baby. The woman should retire. I never should have let them foist her on us. They have money, but no class.”

Not like her, she mused. Not much money but plenty of class. Everyone at the U.P. said so. When she entered a classroom, everyone knew something special was happening. The way she dressed. The way she always had the highest heels, the nicest shoes. The way she held herself, upright, elegant, precise. The way she pronounced every syllable, every vowel. She never dropped a “d” or said “Usté” instead of “Usted.” She always used the formal form of address, even to her friends. It was an affectation, of course, but she decided that the informal “tu” was vulgar and the last thing she wanted to be was vulgar.

At first they tried to make fun of her, especially the caserío types. They had no ambitions, no goals but to get a government job, an assistant to an assistant at the Autoridad, the state-run electric utility or Acueductos, the water and sewer company. Sure they made ten times what other government workers made, but they were funcionarios, digits in a dead-end sinecure. She had higher aspirations. She was gente. She married money. Money that was sitting in her humanities class. Miguel Alfonso Villanueva Mendoza. A little electric current had traveled from her heart to her thighs every time Dr. Almodóvar had called the roll.

He was, as the gringa exchange students said, a hunk. Hot. Curley dark hair, movie star features. Slim, muscular. She admired the way his biceps pushed out the short sleeves of the shirt that he never tucked it in. And that smile that never seemed to leave his face. Gleaming white teeth… and his father was Don Miguel, hugely rich, owner of an entire mountain in Cayey — his house could be in Architectural Digest.

The teasing stopped after she made friends with Salvi, the caserío boy who sat next to her in class. Her bookends, she called them: Alfonso — he preferred to be called Alfonso — on one side and Salvi on the other. She called them bookends but they were really books. Both men seem to absorb everything they read and everything the prof said. Soaked everything up like those paper towels in the commercials, while she had to read and re-read and listen and question until even then she forgot half of what she thought she knew.

She knew one thing, for certain. Both boys were handsome. She would shove her pupitre slightly back so she could look them over during the lecture. The bright light from the wall of windows behind Alfonso made it hard to see him clearly. It added a magical quality to him — besides his signature tight plaid shirt and snug fitting trousers, and that package in his pants, a halo formed around his head, making his hair sparkle but obscuring his face. She suspected that he would look at her when she was not surveying him, but because of the sunlight, she couldn’t be sure.

Salvi, on her right, might just as well have been sitting in a spotlight. She admired his perfect complexion, thinking why is it that some men have such flawless skin while women need makeup — the gringas called it ‘foundation” — to smooth theirs out. Blanca wouldn’t be seen dead without makeup and bright red lipstick.

Salvi’s hair was almost the exact same color as Alfonso’s, but it was straight and he wore it slightly long. She assumed it was the style in the projects where she knew he lived. Her friends warned: “He’s trouble,” they’d said, meaning poor, low class. She had no intention of getting mixed up with someone like him. The purpose of life was to aspire to greater things and Alfonso was the greatest she could imagine.

But Salvi couldn’t be very poor. He wore Air Jordans and a decent gold chain over a tight black t-shirt. She had no idea what his baggy black shorts concealed, but the way he walked and held himself contrasted with the aristocratic Alfonso. He didn’t hide his interest in her, often looking straight at her — sometimes she thought he could look straight through her — until she blushed and had to look away. He always had something to say, punctuated with profanity. He was cool, but she had to keep him off her radar.

Until that day they bonded in the student center. Salvi spotted her, pulled out a chair beside her and plopped down to devour his lunch. Alfonso sidled up carrying his tray and asked permission to join them — a true gentleman, Blanca thought. There she was with her bookends, hoping her makeup was perfect and her hair — oh why didn’t she go for a recomb this morning — looked good. She wished she hadn’t made the rare decision to wear slacks and flats. She tugged at her blouse to reveal a little more cleavage.

*

Blanca rode in the front of Alfonso’s sports car while Salvi straddled the back seat, the wind doing wild things to his hair. She hesitated before accepting their crazy invitation to cut class and explore a special spot Salvi knew of in the rain forest. She could hear herself explaining to her mother: “We were just college students having fun — and I was never alone with one of them. You told me never to be seen alone with a man and I was not. We were never alone.” Her mother didn’t seem too convinced, but Blanca didn’t care. She had to keep her goal in sight.

The road through the rainforest had barely enough room for two cars to pass, but people rarely visited this side of the mountain, and never early on a Monday afternoon, so there was no traffic. Following Salvi’s directions, Alfonso parked in a small clearing next to a narrow concrete bridge. The jungle growth had nearly covered the trailhead, but Salvi found it in a moment. Blanca looked at it askance. It was steep, rocky but climbable.

“Consider this a biology field trip. Think about this,” Alfonso said, “El Yunque is here because our Spanish ruler, King Alfonso, had the good sense to set this land aside as a preserve. Before them, the Taínos worshipped it as the home of the god Huracán. We are climbing in the footsteps of great caciques, conquistadores and kings to sit on the throne of Yuquiyú.”

Salvi chimed in. “And before the Taínos were the coquis and after the Spaniards annililated the Taínos were the African slaves, plucked from their huts on the dark continent to serve the fucking conquistadores, plant their crops, and work their mines. They called this mountain Furidí, which sounds to me like they were justifiably furious. But they were poets not fighters and Furidí means ‘mountain in white clouds’ in their language.”

Blanca looked at both boys in wonder. “How do you know all this stuff?”

“We read a lot,” they said nearly in unison and laughed.

They started up the trail, Salvi ahead, Blanca in the middle and Alfonso behind, ready to help her if she slipped.

“And we also have to thank the americanos for this forest preserve,” Salvi shouted back. “Your Spanish king set the land aside all right — but as his private property. He didn’t want his greedy countrymen stealing his timber to build their haciendas. He wanted it for the ‘crown,’ so he could sell it for the highest price. The americanos made it a National Forest, a public park. Then they went and cleared nearly every inch of the rest of the island. First it was sugarcane and now it is Levittown.”

The trail widened and evened out as it followed a noisy stream for a few hundred yards. Alfonso moved to the front. “So the gringo invaders are to be thanked for saving El Yunque and then bombing Culebra and Vieques?”

“Así es,” Salvi said. “And don’t forget Utuado. They — or their minions — bombed Utuado, too. Had to wipe out a half dozen nationalist cucarachas before they infected the whole colony. American citizens bombing American citizens. Another moment in history to be proud of.”

“Is any of this true?” Blanca asked.

“All of it. None of it. History is written by the survivors. If there were such a thing, what do you think a history of Puerto Rico would have been if it had been written by Taínos?”

“Very short,” Salvi said. “Genocide didn’t take long.”

“I’ve never met a Taíno,” Blanca said.

“My point, exactly.” Salvi said.

They came to a steep rock climb. Salvi once again took the lead and Alfonso gallantly helped Blanca when she conveniently slipped. The group was mute at the sight of a sliver of a spectacular waterfall, its steady roar and cool wind rushing through tree ferns and Sierra palms to greet them. They ran the last ten yards and gathered around a pool of crystal clear water that stretched back to the unseen bottom of the waterfall, nestled in a long narrow canyon carved from the rock.

As if on cue, they sat, pulled off their shoes and dipped their feet into the cold water. Blanca reached out and held the hands of the boys on either side of her. They sat in silence until Alfonso spoke.

“We have so much beauty on this island and so much ugliness. We have the beauty of nature and of our race and the ugliness of half a millennium of colonial subjugation. The slaves freed themselves of their yoke and their ultimate descendent, Don Pedro Albizu Campos, tried to free us all. But we smothered pride at La Princesa prison and mortgaged freedom for MacDonald’s milkshakes.”

“And don’t forget the fucking coquís,” Salvi said, getting on his feet and taking off his shirt. His friends watched him carefully. He was perfectly proportioned, his chest hairless, light bronze skin shimmered off his six-pack gleaming in the sunlight. Blanca caught her breath.

“Coquís?”

Yes, Señorita Blanca, the coquís. No one has written the history of our tiny tree frogs and they were here before any of the invading hordes of Caribs, Arawaks, Taínos, Spaniards, Africans or MacDonalds. I will write it. I will be the first Puerto Rican amphibiologist specializing in coquís. I will solve the mystery of their origin, their social order, their sex lives, their suicidal tendencies, etc. etc. etc. But in the meantime, I am going to swim.” He dropped his shorts, waded nude into the pond, and screamed. “Fucking cold!”

“Válgame, Diós,” Blanca said, pretending to avert her eyes. Alfonso contemplated his classmate, took Blanca’s hand and helped her stand up. “Do you want to go in? He asked.

“But I have no suit,” she said.

“You have a birthday suit,” Salvi yelled.

‘Blanca is a lady and she is not going to go in if she does not want to. There is such a thing as modesty,” Alfonso said.

“She’s a woman and she doesn’t have anything our sisters don’t have. Let her be free. I don’t think she’s a prude. I won’t look with lust. I have five sisters, I’m immune.“

Blanca blushed.

“Do you mind if I go in?’ Alfonso asked.

“Do I mind?,” Blanca thought. “This is an answered prayer!” She shook her head. In an instant Alfonso had shed his clothing and stood in the sunlight, contemplating the cold water as Blanca and Salvi contemplated him. He was a magnificent specimen, Michelangelo would have been dismayed if he had seen him, knowing that Alfonso would have been a better model for his David — and he was better endowed than the famous statue. He screamed as he hit the cold water and Salvi screamed in imitation, both of them laughing. Salvi playfully attacked him; they played like kids in the water splashing each other, knocking each other down. They decided to explore the channel leading to the foot of the falls, their slender bodies radiating light as they disappeared into the chasm.

Blanca stretched out on the flat rock. The sun was now much warmer, sweat beaded on her breasts and ran down into her bra. She pulled off her top. She was no prude but she wasn’t about to let Alfonso know that. A women sunning in a bra is no different than one in a two-piece bathing suit, she reasoned, weighing the effect on her boys of seeing her like that when they returned. She would not take off her slacks, she decided. Showing panties would be too brazen. Anyway, her breasts were her best asset. The breeze from the falls cooled her. If the boys were still yelling, she could not hear them above its steady roar.

When she awoke the boys were sitting near her, dressed and ready to go. White clouds coasted across the mountain, obscuring the sun. They were no longer playful or talkative; they were uncharacteristically serious: tired, she assumed. The trip down the trail and back to San Juan was quiet. She sat in the back, giving Salvi a turn next to Alfonso. From time to time Alfonso stole glances at her through the visor mirror. She smiled back. She knew she had him.

*

Blanca placed the cognac bottle, a clean crystal tumbler, a bowl of ice and several cans of Coke on a tray and headed for the sunroom. She paused between the double stairs that mimicked in more modest scale their majestic model in the Ponce Museum of Art. Her eyes scanned the paintings that lined the wall high above the staircases behind the hall that led to the east and west wings of the house. She thought she heard what could have been the baby’s laughter and the Nanny rummaging about in the nursery, but she couldn’t be sure. She also didn’t care.

The sunroom was a welcome sight. Floor to ceiling windows encased it. Except for the plants, everything was white: white walls, white furniture, white marble floor, white curtains that diffused the sunlight.

The air conditioning hummed almost imperceptibly. Vague green shadows from the gardens did a slow dance behind the soft undulating fabric. Blanca loved it, even if her mother-in-law insisted on Valbuena as the decorator. Blanca was proud that she was able to stop her sister-in-law Victoria from tossing in her horrid floral cushions.

A few flawless ferns and perfect palms gave just the right feeling. The plants were her own contribution to the decor, of course. She gloried in injecting her own personality into the Villanueva’s fancy world. OK, so the first ferns died and the palms turned a sallow shade of yellow. The silk and plastic replacements were perfect, and no one had to water them. She cuddled her second drink of the morning between her trembling hands.

“Perfect,” she thought. “A perfect room. A perfect house. A perfect car. Even the pool was perfect. Why couldn’t people be perfect? She thought Alfonso was perfect the day she began pursuing him in that classroom at the university. They had perfect times together, she and Alfonso and Salvi. In that first year, before the wedding, we were inseparable. Salvi made us laugh. Salvi intoxicated us, not only with rum — he insisted on our drinking Puerto Rican rum, that we were traitors to our race if we drank anything else. After Salvi was gone, Alfonso drank Scotch, single malt. He rated bars on the quality of the whiskey they had on their shelves and kept in special cabinets for him.

“And now I drink this,” she thought holding up her empty glass. Her hands trembled less. She placed some ice into her glass with silver tongs, poured Courvoisier into it, splashed in some Coke and drank.

“People aren’t perfect, of course. If they were perfect, they wouldn’t have to eat or drink and if they didn’t eat or drink, they wouldn’t need bathrooms. Well, they would need bathrooms to bathe… or would they? If they were perfect there would be no B.O. Santo Cristo, I must be losing my mind. Heaven must be like that, perfect houses with no kitchens and no bathrooms. No plumbing, no sewers. Perfect windows and perfect people with no cracks.”

It had been a long time since she thought about Salvi, crazy Salvi. He and Alfonso had been such close friends, so different but so alike. It is all for the best that he was no longer around. It wasn’t good for them to be seen together. What would people think? Thank God he only saw him on Social Fridays and never brought him into their home — or God forgive — into Don Miguel’s or Victoria’s. I thank the Virgin and San Alejo for that.

She liked that Alfonso kept Salvi a secret and included her in the confidence. Who wanted people to know her husband was hanging out with a hood? Even a hood as witty, gritty and — she had to admit it — as sexy. She refreshed her drink. “I’ll have just one more, a daycap.”

Alfonso found her asleep on the white divan, her lacy white bra visible through the thin material of her blouse. It reminded him of that day in El Verde just three years before. She was a vision, asleep in front of that infernal waterfalls, immune to the drama that transpired in the canyon pool. She was like a fairy queen, who would wake up and wave her magic wand to make him a man.

Of course, Salvi had tried to seduce him. He half expected it, half desired it. He made it seem natural, beautiful, like a movie romance. An idyllic setting, water crashing behind them, cool waters rushing below, only a sliver of blue sky as a witness. A kiss and a promise. A trick and a trap.

“A mouth has no sex,” Salvi said. “Mine is a masterpiece. Just close your eyes and think about Blanca.”

Alfonso looked at her again. “Blanca and Salvi, my Ying and Yang, the two poles of my soul; one masculine and mad, dark and dangerous; the other feminine and fearful, light and loving. Salvi sucked me dry.”

Blanca stirred. “Oh, you’re home, amor. I was just dreaming about… never mind. Remember that terrible crack in the kitchen window? I hope you remember to get it fixed. It is such an embarrassment. You know, the crack in the window? I do think the whole place is falling apart. A house needs to be maintained. A house that is neglected can simply fall apart. It’s called atrophy or algeny or something like that. I read about it in Imagen…or was it in Buena Vida? Did you know that they don’t sell Cosmopolitan in Spanish any more. Not at Walgreen’s or at CVS, anyway. We can’t have cracks. A house that is neglected will simply fall apart,” she said.

###

Note: This is one of a series of stories about my fictional character Kenneth Houser and the people he knows, loves or kills. Each story focuses on one character and (hopefully) eventually, they will all come together to form a single narrative. 1. Angels and Monsters (Introduces Kenneth, Salvi and Tito). 2. Graves and Graven Images (Kenneth’s Story; Introduces Victoria.) 3. Mineral Memories ( How Kenneth and Victoria Meet; Introduces Alfonso.) 4. Knowledge and Respect (Introduces Don Miguel, Victoria’s Father.) 5. Jesús, María y José (Alfonso and Kenneth bond) 6. Remember the Sabbath (Alfonso and Salvi’s Story) 7. Bearing False Witness (Renza, Kenneth and Tito interact) 8. A Crack in the Window (Blanca’s story; how she met Alfonso and Salvi)

Links will be added as stories are posted: More to come!

Please comment in private message or public: I appreciate feedback to improve this serial fiction as it (hopefully) develops into a novel.

A Crack in the Window was originally published in Fiction Hub on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Discover more awesome fiction at https://medium.com/fictionhub