Title: Days of Oranges


 Author: Lissa


 Disclaimer: Not mine. Chris Carter and 1013 own them.


 Archive: A.S.S. only.


 Rating: PG 13


 Keywords: Mulder/Krycek slash


 Spoilers: None


 Summary: If I only had the slightest idea what is
 happening.


 Thanks Araxdelan for beta





 Days of Oranges



   Seduction is philosophy.
 Born in the storm of doubt and hesitation, shaped
 throughout centuries, questioned and answered, damned
 for eternity and loved forever. Excites the mind.
 Bothers the heart. Pleasures the body.


   Seduction is art.
 Painted by long, strong, gentle fingers on a canvas
 of the finest fabric, covered in mystery. Explosion of colors
 in the soft and rough silence of the night.


   Seduction is music.
 Sang by the deep, low voice of the skin and lips. Played
 on the most delicate instrument, created by love and nature.


   Seduction is the sly curve of the lips, the low voice, rambling.
 Thoughts scattered around. Words meaningless.


   Seduction shines in the brown waves of his hair.
 It is tousled and sticky.


   Seduction is the elegance of Armani, the wrinkles
 of the expensive clothes.


   Seduction is the juice of oranges streaming down his chin,
 on his fingers, elegant sources of the torture and pleasure.
 His lips, parted, tongue touches carefully, then more and
 more daring, drinking the golden liquid. Passion is the heavy
 aroma of the fruits, filling the air, the lungs, the soul. Oranges
 around on the green grass. Blinding.


   The hands of seduction, pale tan, smooth the grass
 underneath. Blades slipping through thin fingers.


   Afternoon is hot. Bodies trapped in the wool, synthetic
 silk, and sweat. Weak touches of the tired wind can't give
 the desired coolness. The box of oranges, shared between two.


   Flowers in the city. Dried by the heat, pale and weak.
 Colors are faded.


   A girl. Black hair, long to the waist, shining waterfall.
 Black silk of the skin. Walk of grace and beauty, warmth.
 Orange satin dress, fire around her svelte, dancing body.
 Smiling at them, laughing, then walking away, down the heated
 gray and brown, dirty-green street, caressed by the summer sun.


   Fading in the light. Dreamt.


   Burning light orange, yellow, bright as afternoon sun.
 The sea of oranges, dark-light, cold, and so blinding hot.
 Golden juice on the lips, and the splash of the golden waves
 in the eyes, golden sparkles in the hair. Heart, melted and
 trembling, golden liquid, running through every muscle, every vein.


   Palms lay on the burning skin, cool and sleek, sweaty.
 Hair falling on the eyes, a blindfold for the conscience.
 Heavy body, trapping, catching in the net of sweetness.


   Drops of the orange juice like bright deceiving tears.




   Days, weeks of the gold. Time embraced by the warmth.
 Then the abrupt end. Streams of liquid, gold, terrifying, black.


   Orange turned dark red. Green is the snowy white.
 Grass-blades became the sharp edges of ice.


   Bright flags on the wet snow, frozen dirt, tears on the numb skin.
 Shooting, running, smoke of the gunfire. Vultures are hiding behind the
 tree.


   Wolf hunting. Hunter or prey?


   The skin scratched by the harsh bark of the birch. Falling, tears,
 lips, memory of kisses on the skin, touches of the cold, frozen
 earth, sharp snow. Dark red blood, bright red flags,
 orange memory.




   For years, existence in the world of dry meat and
 black bread. Bitter beer, slipping in his throat, bitter like
 the skin of oranges.





   The papers smell of them. Faint sweetness against
 the moist, dry skin, paper-whiteness.
 Fingertips caress the black letters, remembering the
 softness of the lips, edges of eyelashes.


   Memories hidden in the box from the oranges and
 forgotten somewhere at the old train station of the past.
 Heavy, sweet aroma faded long ago in the hot fire.
 Only weightless, dry smell teases the heart. Memory
 comes back together with the sweet sadness of what
 was left behind and lost.


   Years later, found, returned back. Memory revived.
 Forgiveness given and again the world fades away in
 the gold aroma of oranges.




   Salt and wetness outside. The moon is swimming in the
 orange sea. The smoothness of the wood floor, light brown,
 pale yellow, underneath their bodies.


   Every touch is a heartbeat. Words are tears.


   Seduction is a game.
 Love met them in the middle of the brutal
 fight and bruised, limping and swearing followed them
 through the war, laughed at them watching from the
 broken mirror.


   Seduction fled.
 Love was kissing their ugly scars soaking them in tears.


   The eyes of seduction are half-closed, blind.
 Love stares at you bringing tears.


   Seduction is the most expensive fabrics: velvet warming,
 silk slipping over the scratching lace.
 Love is the dirty rags covering the thin body, dying from
 hunger.


   Seduction smiles and drinks ruby vine out of diamonds.
 Love licks the drops of water from the cracked stones.


   Seduction tortures. Love kills.
   Seduction imprisons. Love frees.


   Seduction ripped off the skin from the orange and threw
 it away, drank hungrily the golden liquid, wanted more.
 Love picked up the torn pieces and ate them choking on
 bitter pain, soothing the hunger, until the hands of the lover
 gathered him from the dirt, and brought back to the summer
 land where sweet oranges are scattered in the long grass.




 The End



Lissa
November 10, 1999