TITLE: Playing With Fire
AUTHOR: Brenna MacTyre  
E-MAIL ADDRESS: wolfs_den@yahoo.com
DATE: July 1998

DISTRIBUTION: Archive anywhere, as long as my name
              stays attached.
RATING: NC-17
CLASSIFICATION: V,R 
SUMMARY:  Two people enjoying physical intimacy with a
          touch of mischief.
DISCLAIMER:  The characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully
             belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions.

FEEDBACK:  Please send to wolfs_den@yahoo.com

To ViXen, who encouraged me to get these two together 
again.

=========================

Moving very cautiously, alert for the slightest sound, I 
open the door between our motel rooms.  It is well past 
two in the morning and there is still a light showing 
under Mulder's door.  I briefly entertain a hope that he 
has fallen asleep and merely forgot to turn the light 
off.  I know better, but at heart, I am an optimist.

Clad only in comfortable cotton boxers, he is leaning 
forward, arms braced on his knees, engrossed in a thick 
sheaf of reports on the bed in front of him.  His hair 
is damp and tousled from a shower and hangs down almost
obscuring his face.  I can smell the faint soapiness 
overriding his normal scent.  I never thought it was 
possible to know the scent of one man from another, but 
I could recognize Mulder by his scent even if I was 
blindfolded.  To me he smells of warmth and safety and 
home.

Watching him covertly, I realize how much I want to lean 
my head into his chest and feel his arms enfold me.  I 
imagine my fingers drifting down past the waistband of 
his boxers, tickling the hair above his cock.  Maybe I 
will lightly trace the length of him with a finger, 
feel him twitch and stiffen, before reaching back to cup 
his bare ass in my hands, pulling him closer to me.  He 
is the perfect height for me - so many delights within 
the reach of my hands. 

I stand here unnoticed.  While it does provide me with a 
rare opportunity to indulge in observing him, I can't 
help feeling extremely restless.  It's not his fault 
that whenever he is faced with a mystery, Mulder becomes 
obsessed with unraveling it.  My part in the 
investigation is complete.  I've collected all the 
forensic evidence and given him my interpretation of 
that evidence.  Now it is up to Mulder, the profiler, to 
work out the puzzle.  He's been at it for nearly ten 
straight hours.  I have typed up my report, balanced my 
checkbook and cleared out a week's backlog of e-mail.  I 
don't exactly feel useless, but I can't help feeling a 
bit unnecessary at this stage.  

Strangely though, when I left to take a walk around 
sunset, Mulder actually came out of his trance.  I found 
him pacing restlessly in my room when I returned.  He 
didn't say a word.  He just shrugged and gave me a half-
ashamed smile before retreating back to his room; back 
to his profile.  No other man I've ever met could manage 
to convey so eloquently his need to know I'm nearby 
without saying a damn word.

I can't sleep.  I feel his frustration with a puzzle 
that defies reason and all common sense.  So I sit in 
the dark and listen to the small rustling noises from 
his room until all I hear is silence.  I'm restless.  I 
want to fall asleep in Mulder's arms and forget the FBI, 
sultry Alabama and most of all, the constant threat from 
the shadows who haunt our lives. 

At least this is one of our more normal cases, if 
anything we do can be labeled normal.  We came to this 
small town on the coast of Alabama in response to a 
quiet plea from the sheriff, an old friend of Skinner's, 
to explain how four men disappeared from separate locked 
rooms, only to show up naked, confused and completely 
hairless on a highway thirty miles away.  Technically no 
federal crime has been committed, but the men were well-
connected politically and the sheriff is feeling the 
pressure to come up with an answer.

Like a little boy surrounded by toys, Mulder hugs this 
mystery to his breast and believes in fantastic truths 
no one else can see.  I have to admit that the motive 
behind the abduction remains obscure, but unless aliens 
have taken to using a razor and a jar of Nair, we are 
dealing with a very human perp.  It took a court order 
and threats of handcuffs from the sheriff before the men 
consented to an examination by me.  The nearly obscure 
shaving cuts on their testicles clearly indicated the 
use of a razor.  Mulder winced when I mentioned the part 
about the straight razor and the Nair.  Men. 

Now, despite his promise to me to get some rest, he is 
still jousting with the mind of the man or men behind 
this strange crime.  I should have known he wouldn't be 
able to sleep until he found some key to unlock this 
mystery.  He accepted the collapse of his dream that 
aliens were involved with only a token argument.  I have 
noticed, recently, that his passion for alien theories 
has dimmed.  For some strange reason this saddens me.  I 
should be glad that he is beginning to see reason, but 
believing in the unbelievable was part of who Mulder was 
and, hopefully, still is.

Standing here, in the shadows of the open doorway 
between our rooms, I consider the possibility that I am 
behaving with less than the proper professionalism I 
impose on our official partnership.  Perhaps so.  
However, in all honesty, my professionalism shattered 
the night, six months ago, when I took him into my bed.

Oh God.  If he had planned that seduction he could not 
have undone my resistance more completely.  Seeing him 
standing in the doorway between our rooms, gloriously 
naked, embarrassed and immensely masculine in his desire 
for me - it would have taken a soul and body make of 
steel and ice to resist him.  I possess neither.  I am a 
woman who burns and desires and can meet him passion for 
passion until I fear that the bed will ignite beneath us 
and burn us to ashes.

All my fantasies about my partner could not even come 
close to the sweet fire of reality.  I smile now, a very 
womanly smile, full of the memory of his very talented 
lips and the taste of his cock as my tongue hurtles him 
over the edge.  Here, in the darkness, I allow the woman 
behind the mask to emerge as I watch my lover wrestle 
with a mystery.

My lover.  The words still sound strange to me, but very 
welcome.  I have come home.  We have come home.  Mulder 
seems to feel that he is the one reaping the most 
benefit from our joining.  Fool.  But, then most men are 
fools and thank God for it.  Perhaps one day I will 
reveal to him that just as I complete him, so he 
completes me - it is a shared experience.  One day, when
he no longer doubts in his own value, then perhaps I 
will tell him how much he has done for me.  Now, he 
would not believe it and, in not believing, might fear 
my need.  Mulder is a very wary man who always seems to 
hover on the edge of bolting.  Gentling him to my touch 
is proving to be a challenge, but one very worth the 
effort.

If asked to create a profile of my dream lover, I doubt 
if Mulder would have come even close.  Except for his 
height and his intelligence, there isn't a single 
characteristic that Mulder shares with the man I thought 
I wanted to love.  Well, maybe the glasses, but then
until Mulder, I was unaware that I had a fatal weakness 
for men in glasses.

Those glasses are now perched seductively on the end of 
his nose.  Just standing here watching him, I can feel 
the fire begin to burn in my loins.  I have a most 
unpartnerly desire to pin him to the bed and have my way 
with him while watching his eyes shift color behind 
those glass ovals. 

Mulder is not handsome in the usual way  His nose and 
his lips dominate his face, an effect accentuated by the 
appearance of his heavy evening stubble.  One of my 
unresolved fantasies is to see him in a beard.  Not very 
likely since the FBI frowns on beards.  Pity.  Perhaps 
it is the very fact that it is forbidden, that makes me
want to see him in a full beard or maybe just a trim
goatee; to feel the hairs rub against my legs as his 
lips and tongue send me over the edge.

For me, Mulder's beauty lies in his eyes, the way he 
moves, and his hands.  

I think I fell in love with his eyes first, even after I 
saw them bereft of glasses.  His eyes hold the wonder, 
pain and determination of a dreamer combined with the 
raw sexual hunger of a very virile man.  If I'm not 
careful, one day I will drown in those eyes and never 
come back up.

Mulder moves like a panther - graceful, lithe yet with a 
trace of the kittenish clumsiness that secretly amuses 
me and drives him up a wall.  OK, I'll admit that as 
Agent Scully, I really wish he could hang onto a gun or 
his cell-phone or a flashlight in an emergency.  As his 
lover, it is a refreshing and endearing fault.  Walking
beside him, I can't help but believe that I am where I 
have belonged since the beginning of time.

Last, but never least, Mulder's hands should be insured 
by Lloyd's of London.  The man is a master musician 
whose instrument is my body.  He plucks my soul with his 
fingers and plays me into ecstasy.  From the beginning, 
the feel of his fingers on the small of my back was 
enough to send shivers down my spine and occupy my 
midnight fantasies with thoughts of other places they 
could rest.  

Taking him into my bed was simply the culmination of 
years of seduction by the tiny touches, the hugs and the 
glances we shared.  He claims I was the seducer with a
simple raised eyebrow, a certain tone of voice I 
invariably used when speaking his name and the trust I 
gave him to understand what I could not say.  I am 
beginning to suspect that our bodies knew the truth long 
before our minds woke up to the fact.

I am a very carnal woman.  However, I cannot confess to 
any great repentance over this fact.  In fact, right 
now, I don't feel even the slightest twinge of remorse 
for delighting in the erotic pleasures of the flesh.  No 
one ever guessed that beneath those regulation suits and 
the strict professionalism lay a very lusty woman.  Even 
Mulder was surprised to find that I returned his passion 
with an intensity that matched his own.  

I think I enjoy the sheer exuberance of our sexual play 
most of all.  For a tiny space of time, we step outside 
ourselves and simply exist in a moment of time when 
nothing else matters except giving and taking pleasure.

It has been almost two weeks since we have made love.  
Although we have never kept to any schedule, I feel as 
if some vital connection has been stretched too thin.  
Our jobs come first - that we both agree on.  However, 
recently, they have demanded our full attention.  Going 
to bed usually means getting some much needed sleep, 
rather than pleasure.  I miss him.  I suspect he misses 
me.  Working side-by-side everyday is satisfying and 
stimulating, but it is not the same.  I want him down on 
his back, screaming my name as I bring him to climax.  I 
want to writhe in his arms as I take him inside of me 
and feel him pound into me.  I want him.

Unknowingly I must have sighed or perhaps Mulder is 
psychic.  He straightens and unerringly looks right at 
me, peering owlishly through those damned glasses.  I 
feel myself melting.  A grin that I can only describe as 
predatory replaces the puzzled scowl that has occupied 
his mouth for the past half hour.  

"Come here," he purrs as he sweeps the bed clear of 
paper.  They scatter over the floor like very large 
snowflakes.  At my slightly quizzical look, he sighs and 
gives me a tired smile.  "Done.  You were right.  Very 
human.  He won't run.  He's done what he's wanted to do 
for years.  It'll keep till morning."

"A waste of time?" I can't help asking with a resigned 
sigh for my wide, comfortable, familiar bed at home.

"Only if we let it be a waste of time, Scully," Mulder 
replies softly, his voice, deepening as he says my name, 
speaks of a need matching my own.  He reaches out a hand 
to me, inviting my hand, asking for me.  Caution tells 
me to wait until we are home again and safe.  Need 
commands me to walk into his arms and journey with him 
outside of time and fear and self.  

Nestled in his arms, I suddenly decide to take the 
initiative while I can still think.  Mulder's hands are 
making lazy circles on my back as his thumbs barely 
brush the edge of my breasts.  If I don't act soon, I 
won't have a coherent thought left.

Using an Aikido move I learned in advanced self-defense, 
I have Mulder's arms up and over his head before he 
quite realizes what is happening.  His eyes are already 
turning a dark green and unfocused.  Now that I've got 
him, I know I have scant seconds to make sure I keep him 
or I'll be right back where I started.  Nice thing about 
this game, I win either way.

Despite my partner's tendency towards clutter, I have 
always noticed that he is extremely precise about where 
he leaves his gun and his handcuffs.  A quick grab 
followed by the fastest cuffs in the East and Mulder is 
neatly pinned to the bed post.  In a sheer burst of 
mischievous play, I raise my hands in the classic rodeo 
salute of the calf-roper.  Gentlemen, this calf is roped 
and tied and is now all mine.

"Comfy?" I whisper to Mulder as he heaves upwards.  The 
cuffs rattle against the wood, but hold.  Mulder flops 
back down looking as startled as the calf must look when 
it realizes it isn't going anywhere.

Mulder gives me an uncertain grin and moistens his lips 
with that nubile tongue of his.  Steady girl, this has 
got to last, I tell myself.  This is payback for all the 
times he has taken me with excruciating slowness to the 
brink of climax and then held me over the precipice 
until I was ready to scream with anticipation and 
frustration.

Hiding a grin, I slowly get up and walk back into my 
room.  Behind me I hear the rattle of the cuffs as 
Mulder attempts to wiggle free.  

"Scully?"  Mulder's soft plaintive call turns my knees 
to Jell-O and starts a fire in my groin that threatens 
to unhinge my plans for the evening.  

Going to my suitcase, I rummage around until I find what 
I'm looking for.  Carrying my booty back into the other 
room, I turn off all the lights as I go.  As an added 
precaution, I also draw the curtains closed until the 
room is lit only by the luminescent dial on the clock 
radio by the bed.  I would swear that Mulder's eyes are 
glowing in the dark.  I hear him swallow as he tries to 
find me in the dark with the limited range of motion the 
cuffs allow. 

I move into range and feel Mulder's eyes lock onto me.  
Quietly I walk to the head of the bed and set the small 
leather case down on the nightstand.  His eyes follow my 
every move as he fights to keep his breathing slow and 
even.  

"It's my turn, Mulder," I whisper as I lean over and 
brush my lips once, twice, three times against his 
forehead, blowing gently after each kiss.  I feel him 
twitch and hear a soft muttered 'shit'.  His eyes are 
almost black in the darkness.  

Out of the case, I pull a shallow clay bowl holding a 
single votive candle.  With a snap of my hand, fire 
flares up from a match, illuminating Mulder's face.  He 
is staring at me as if I have morphed into something 
exotic and potentially very dangerous.  Hold that 
thought, Mulder.  I smile at him and I hear him release 
his pent-up breath in a shuddering sigh.  The candle 
wick catches fire.  The room is transformed into a 
cavern of shifting shadows and light.  Mulder's eyes are 
dark green pools dappled with golden specks.  Half in 
shadow, he watches me.

Careful not to spill a single drop, I pour oil out of 
the small jar and warm it in my hands.  It took me 
several trips to numerous stores before I found 
unscented oil in the right consistency.  The clerks in 
the various aromatherapy shops thought I was crazy and 
bombarded me with their theories about this fragrance or 
that fragrance.  The only fragrance I'm interested in is 
the essence of Mulder.

Running my hands down his body in slow circular strokes, 
I can feel him tense then relax as the oil soothes and 
warms his skin.  My touch is both relaxing and arousing.  
Mulder sighs and groans as his body sends him 
conflicting signals.  I can feel the muscles begin to 
soften under the steady, deep massage.  I am beginning 
to wonder if anyone has ever done this for him.  His 
expression is one of wonder as my hands coax his tired 
muscles into relaxation.

His breathing is becoming a bit too regular and even.  I 
want him relaxed, not asleep.  Stealthily I advance on 
the waistband of his boxers, until they are in range.  
Keeping one hand on his stomach, to anchor him, I take 
the other hand and lightly trace the outline of his cock 
through the fabric, cupping his balls as if I were 
cradling a drifting puffball.  My fingers barely touch 
him, but my fingernails lightly stroke him through the 
fabric.  A startled gasp quickly turns into a groan as 
his hips buck into my hand.  

His cock is stiffening, thrusting upward, seeking.  
Reaching under the boxers, I give it a loving caress.  
My forefinger moves from root to tip in an upward 
circle, charting each fold of skin, each tiny muscle, 
each vein along its path.  Taking him into my hand, I 
use my thumb to make idle circles around the tip, 
spreading the seeping moisture out evenly.  He bucks 
into my hand, asking for more, asking to be taken hard.  

My groin aches as his does, but just this once, I intend 
to lead him in the dance.  Stifling a moan, I remove 
my hand and resume my leisurely massage down his leg.  
>From the groan Mulder gives, you would think I have just 
torn his liver out.  This may be a very short seduction.  
Mulder is very definitely awake.

Smiling down at him, I straddle his chest, careful not 
to place my full weight on him.  Leaning over, reaching 
my hands under his neck, my robe falls open, giving 
Mulder a very up-close and personal view of my breasts.  
My nipples are hard and full and ache with the need to 
feel his mouth on them.  I am finding that in seducing 
Mulder, I am also seducing myself.

With a smile for his patience, I unlock the cuffs and 
toss them to the floor.  Mulder rolls his shoulders in 
relief as he lowers his arms.  As I reach around to 
massage his neck, Mulder stares up at me, hands at his 
side, watching me, pondering my mood. 

Cautiously, like a serpent tasting the air, Mulder 
flicks his tongue out to lick his lips before he slowly 
raises his head and deftly takes a nipple in his teeth.  
He begins to suckle.  As gently as my nails scratched 
his balls, his teeth graze on my nipple.  I gasp and 
arch forward.  My knees sag and I'm suddenly very 
tempted to say the hell with my plans and simply fall on 
him and ravish him.  I feel him chuckle around my 
nipple.  He knows damn well the effect he is having on 
me.  

Now his hands reach up and push away my robe revealing 
me.  I am always amazed by the look of contentment and 
delight that Mulder shows each time he undresses me.  He 
makes me feel beautiful.  I hope that same expression is 
on my face each time he sees me looking at his body.  He 
should feel beautiful.  He should never feel that he 
isn't loved as much for his body as for his mind and 
spirit. 

I lift up to allow him to shed his boxers.  My fingers 
are finding the knots he has managed to work into his 
neck and are unraveling each one with deep pressure 
followed by a gentle smoothing stroke.  Draped over him, 
I can feel him begin to purr.

Once free of his boxers, Mulder grasps my buttocks, 
mimicking the movements of my hands as they massage his 
neck.  Our breathing slows and moves into sync as tired 
muscles find relief and we drift on an ebbing tide of 
pleasure.  Gradually, Mulder's hands begin to roam 
towards my center.  Light, gliding touches tease and 
retreat until I begin to squirm with anticipation.

I am beginning to lose my concentration.  All my focus 
has shifted down to a single point of aching need 
between my legs.  I grind my groin against his chest, 
seeking the friction I crave.  I nearly pass out as the 
sensation of hair tickling my hyper-sensitive clit blows 
out a few dozen sensory receptors in my brain.  My hands 
clench around Mulder's head for a moment, then relax as 
I allow myself to float away on a sea of pure sensation.  
Bereft of direction, my hands begin to idly caress 
Mulder's face and body; a blind woman mapping out the 
lover she can no longer see.

Mulder shivers as my fingers find sensitive spots, 
remembered from past explorations.  I shift my ass down 
his body until I come to rest against his rigid cock.  
Breathing heavily with the effort to control his 
arousal, he begins to tease my clit with his thumb.  Tit 
for tat.  Not to be outdone, I begin to rub my ass 
against his erection.  His groan starts deep in his 
groin and shudders its way up and out.  I am in complete 
sympathy with that emotion.  We are drowning in a sea of 
sensation.  Neither of us is aware of anything now 
except our mutual need.  

Savagely I clamp my mouth onto his, thrusting my tongue 
deep into his mouth just as he plunges a finger into my 
core.  I grind into his hand, wanting, needing more.  He 
bucks slightly as my back rubs along his cock. 

Using the last of my control, I pull away from his 
mouth, savoring the lingering taste.  Confused, 
swallowed by sensations, he reaches for me.  Before he
can find the words to question, I lean down and kiss him 
again, laying my body atop his.  

We share heartbeats and silence.  For a brief moment, I 
simply hold him, resting my face against his, cradling 
his head in my hands.  Suspended in amber, we breathe in 
the essence of each other, joining our spirits together 
as we will soon join our bodies.  As much pleasure as I 
get from our physical coupling, this quiet embrace is 
where I feel the most at peace.

His hands rest on my back, waiting, content to let me 
lead him into the dance.  I raise up on shaky knees
and lower myself onto him.  He/I groan with the 
exquisite feel of our joining.  He fills me, stretches 
me while never quite crossing the thin line into pain.  
He lies still as I savor the sensation of taking him 
into my body, of being completed by this coupling.  His 
head is thrown back as he stares sightlessly into the 
darkness.  His breath is ragged with the effort to rein 
in his rush towards the inferno engulfing us.

My lips are drawn back in a rictus grin, my skin taut 
against my skull as I fight for command of my body.  The 
pleasure/pain is intoxicating as we fight for balance on 
the edge of the precipice.  I arch back, finally 
remembering to breathe.  Moving a millimeter at a time, 
I push slowly upwards.  The sensation is indescribable.  
Every nerve in my body is focused in one spot and the 
friction of Mulder's cock leaving my core is explosive.  
>From the incoherent sounds Mulder is making, I doubt if 
the sensation is all one-sided.

Mulder's hands have moved away from my waist.  One hand 
is splayed across my back, steadying me.  The other hand 
has wormed its way between our bodies and his thumb is 
now engaged in massaging my clit.  Mischief.  Love.  
Desire.  Even a hint of the one-upmanship that runs like 
a deep river through our relationship.  They all float 
through his eyes like watercolors under water, running 
together in the unique pattern I know as Mulder aroused.

As slowly as I moved up, I slide back down, enjoying 
each sound Mulder makes as I bring him closer and closer 
to the brink.  I'm biting my lips now with the effort to
maintain this slow taunting pace.  My body is screaming 
for release.  I want him, now.  I want to feel him come 
hard inside me and pull me with him over the edge.  

My need is savage.  Clawing free of the restraints I 
have tried to impose, it roars over me.  I growl as I 
fling my head backwards, preparing to ride my lover hard 
until we ignite and burn to ash.  

Hands seize my hips and pull me downward - hard.  
Mulder's control has snapped.  With a growl of his own, 
he begins a rhythm of hard, deep thrusts.  Panting my 
approval, I grip his arms which feel like bands of steel 
as I give myself over to pure sensation.  He/I fly out 
of control and soar into the sun.  We become fiery 
meteors streaking across the sky.  We explode together 
and rain softly down to earth to lie in each other's 
arms, at peace.  Still joined by hearts and bodies, we 
sleep, forgotten and forgetting the world outside our 
bed.  

THE END


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