The Game

Author: Diana Battis 
Classification: Withheld at author's request
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None
Summary: Learning to play can be dangerous.
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Never have, never will, damn it!
Author's Comments: A big thank you to Kristy, beta par excellence, for
her time, patience, and ruthlessness. This wouldn't have been possible
without her!

***********
Part One
***********

Watching me.

Someone is watching me.

My eyes scan the food court, searching for something, someone, to
explain this sensation. And that's when I notice him, leaning against
the wall, arms folded across his chest.

He is staring at me, his eyes probing. I feel as though they look
through me, into me, seeing things not meant for public display. He nods
to me, and I feel a shock of awareness as I meet his eyes.

I look away. But my eyes are drawn back to him.

He is still watching me. Though he isn't handsome in the classical
sense, he has an interesting face. It looks "lived in". He's in his
late-thirties, tall and lean, with dark hair. He is wearing jeans, tight
jeans that hug his narrow hips and emphasize the strength of his legs. A
dark jacket hangs open, exposing the white shirt underneath.

Straightening up, he moves away from the wall and walks toward me. His
movements are loose and easy, but I sense his nervous energy beneath the
surface.

"Hello. This is quite a place, isn't it. Do you come here often?" A half
smile touches his mouth, and he tilts his head in inquiry. His tone is
mocking, and I don't reply. I force myself to look away.

Big mistake. He takes my silence as an invitation, and falls in beside
me. He is much taller than I am, and I notice he instantly matches his
stride to mine.

We walk without speaking, the sound of footsteps our only communication.
His body is relaxed, his movements graceful. I am not comfortable, and
he is aware of my edginess. I think it amuses him.

My initial unease turns to embarrassment then annoyance in quick
succession. Making up my mind, I stop and turn to face him. "Look,
surely you have something better to do with your time. I have some
errands to run, and I don't need your help." Turning on my heel, I veer
to the right, heading for the nearest store, "Sweet Expressions". I walk
past the banner exhorting us to "Remember Mom!" and enter the shop.

I am the only customer, and take the opportunity to examine the
selections available. The display cases are filled with delicacies, and
the aroma of chocolate is almost overwhelming. It is hard to decide what
to buy, until I see the strawberries. They are large, deep red in color,
with the tips dipped in dark and milk chocolate. My mom loves
strawberries, and I think this may be just the gift I was searching for.

Someone enters the store and walks over to the counter to stand beside
me. I don't pay any attention to the newcomer, since the clerk is ready
to take my order. As she walks away to pack the berries, I casually
glance up at the customer next to me. My shadow is back.

He is standing so close I can see the faint beginnings of stubble on his
face. "You like strawberries? So do I." He leans in, his head dipping
closer, and I can feel his breath on my cheek. "Those berries look
tempting, very tempting." His voice is low and intimate. "Eating
strawberries is almost a religious experience." He is not looking at the
berries. Instead, his eyes are on me. "So red, and ripe, and luscious.
You look at them, then you take a small taste. They're so sweet, so wet
and juicy, and you want to savor the experience." As he speaks, his eyes
fasten on my mouth. "One taste, and you crave another."

My lips are suddenly dry, and my tongue slides out to moisten them.
Another mistake. His eyes narrow slightly as they follow the movement,
and something else appears in them. Hunger. I don't think it is
strawberries he craves.

"These are a gift for my mother. For Mother's Day," I add unnecessarily.

"Just the strawberries?" His hand reaches out to tuck an errant strand
of hair behind my ear, before dropping to the counter.

"I haven't decided what else to get her."

The clerk is now back with my strawberries, and overhears the last part
of our conversation. "What about flowers, dear? I know I love getting
flowers. Why, when my husband was still alive he always sent me white
roses for my birthday. They're my favorite."

"That's lovely," I reply. "Roses are my favorite flower, too, though I
prefer yellow ones."

The woman turns to him. "Did you hear that, dear. Your girlfriend's
favorite flowers are yellow roses." She winks at him. "You got to
remember important things like that, you know."

"Oh, but I'm not...." I don't get a chance to finish.

"I'll keep it in mind." He answers her, but his eyes never leave my face.

It has been a while since a man has looked at me the way he does, with
open admiration and something else -- desire. It forces me to remember
who I am, and the choices I have consciously made. Trying to ignore him,
I reach out to grab my package, and leave the shop.

I hurry through the mall, looking cautiously over my shoulder. There is
no sign that I am being trailed.

I hear the soft sound of jazz as it spills out from a small music shop.
It lures me inside. I love music, but I am mad about jazz. The muted
wail of a trumpet, the smooth, smoky lament of a sax, the primitive
throb of bass. That music speaks to the hidden Dana Scully, the one who
lives deep inside me. The passionate one who feels.

The music is soothing, and the tension begins to drain out of me. I am
actually enjoying myself. After choosing two discs I turn quickly, and
walk right into another customer. As I raise my eyes to apologize, the
words die in my throat. It is him.

I don't know how long he has been standing there, watching me. His hand
reaches out to clasp my upper arm, steadying me, and I find myself
pressed against the warmth of his chest. I am startled. I step away, my
body burning from the momentary contact, and promptly drop my CDs.

He stoops to retrieve them, and inspects my choices before passing them
back to me. His hands are beautiful, fingers long and sensitive, and
they brush against mine in the exchange. I pull back as though I've been
burned. I look at my hands, expecting to see tiny blisters forming from
the contact, but they remain pale and unblemished. He notices my
confusion, and smiles.

"Thank you." I avert my gaze, the color rising in my cheeks. I know he
is aware of my discomfort, that he enjoys it. I feel like a teenager
with my first crush, tongue-tied and awkward.

"You're welcome." I hear the laughter in his voice. "Jazz. It's the one
true American form of music." He moves in front of me, thumbs hooked in
the pockets of his jacket, blocking my path. "Great music for dancing.
Not many opportunities to slow dance to Alternative, but jazz, that's
another story." His words conjure up images in my mind. I see myself in
his arms, our bodies pressed close together, moving in time with the music.

"I'm through here, I have to leave. I ... I'm meeting someone soon." I
look at my watch to lend credence to my words. He hesitates for a
moment, then gives a slight shrug and moves to let me pass. With a small
nod in his direction, I walk to the front of the store to pay for my
purchases. I hear him follow, his footsteps slow and deliberate.

I want him to follow. The thought pops into my head, and I know it's
true. I like his attentions. He is attractive, and he makes me feel like
a woman. It's been a long time since anyone has done that. I want him. I
finally admit the truth to myself. I want him.

I don't come to this realization easily. I've struggled against it, but
I am losing the battle.

Grabbing my bag from the counter, I run out of the store. The clerk
calls to me, but I don't stop. I need to get out of here, before I do
something I will regret later.

*****

It is a relief to get out into the fresh air. I find myself taking deep
breaths, filling my lungs. Moving swiftly, I head for my car. It's late,
and the parking lot is nearly empty. My car is the only one left in this
area.

Placing my purchases in the trunk, I slam it shut and walk around to the
driver's side. The key is in my hand, and I am fumbling for the lock
when I feel someone come up behind me.

"You forgot this."

His hand appears over my shoulder, holding something in front of my
face. It is the receipt from the music I'd purchased. I watch the white
paper flutter in the night air, but make no move to take it from him. He
holds it out a few seconds longer, then drops his hand to my jacket. I
feel his fingers probing along my hip, caressing and warm. Stop it, I
scream silently, and I know I really don't want him to stop. He reaches
his goal, wedging the paper into my pocket. His fingers slide out, and
trail slowly over my body to come to rest at my waist.

My breathing is shallow, and I shudder at his nearness. His head dips,
and he whispers into my ear. "I'm sorry if I made you feel ...
uncomfortable back there. That was never my intention."

His breath moves along my cheek, and his lips seek the lobe of my ear,
tugging it gently before using his tongue to swirl along its shell-like
shape.

Things are moving too fast. I need to think. But it's hard to be
rational with his mouth moving over me. I can't help myself, I lean back
against him, allowing him access to my throat. His lips travel down my
neck, placing light kisses along its length, now and then stopping to
nip at this sensitive area before using his tongue to soothe it. I fight
back a moan as his mouth moves down to my shoulder, and his tongue
explores the depression there.

"You know, this could be the start of a beautiful relationship." His
lips are back at my ear, and his hand steals around my waist to pull me
closer. I tremble in anticipation. I am losing myself, transforming,
morphing into someone I don't know. A rebirth, and twice as scary. There
is no guide around to teach me the rules. Only he is here.

Unable to stand the torment any longer, I turn in his arms. My eyes meet
his, I am begging, without words, for an end to his teasing. He lowers
his head to place small kisses on the corners of my mouth, and his
tongue traces the fullness of my lower lip. Teasing, teasing ... would
he never kiss me? I moan, "Please..." He smiles and covers my lips with
his.

Passion erupts, white hot, and I struggle to get closer to him, like a
moth to the flame. I cling to him, parting my lips to afford him full
entry. His tongue slides smoothly into my mouth, to duel erotically with
mine in a battle where no one is the loser.

Our bodies wedge tightly together, like two pieces of a puzzle that are
finally connected. His hand moves, and I feel him tug the shirt from my
jeans. I shudder as the warmth of his palm connects with my flesh. He
moves his hand slowly, his fingers caressing my waist, then trailing
around to my stomach. They push lower, working their way beneath the
waistband of my jeans. His fingers circle my navel and skim over the
lace of my panties, before gliding up to my breast.

My nipples are so tight, and my breasts, cupped by the silk bra, ache to
have his hands there instead. Almost as if he can read my mind, I feel
his fingers slip over the top of my bra before sliding under the silky
material. They find their target, cupping my breast and slowly circling
the nipple, and the hard nubbin of flesh puckers even more at his touch.
He rubs his thumb over it, back and forth, each pass a pleasurable
torment, driving me wild. And still we kiss. Hard and long, wet and
sweet. We can't seem to get enough of each other.

His body crushes mine against the coldness of the car door. I grind my
pelvis against him, aching for more. He groans in reaction, and presses
tighter. I can feel his arousal now, and my core liquefies in response.

The glare of headlights catch us in its beams, and like startled deer we
break for cover. I am gasping for breath, disoriented. I feel abandoned.
He shields me from the light, and my hands, trembling badly,
automatically move to adjust my clothes.

We are again covered by darkness. He pulls back from me completely, his
arms hanging loosely at his sides, eyes half closed and breathing still
erratic. I stand there, dazed by powerful emotions, incapable of
rational thought. The facade of control I project is irretrievably
shattered. It leaves me raw and exposed. His hand lifts, reaching for
me, but I am afraid of his touch, of the desires it provokes. "No," I
whisper. His hand falls.

Turning away, still trembling, I manage to unlock the car and get in. My
fingers are awkward and clumsy, fumbling until I finally fit the key
into the ignition. The engine roars to life, and the tires screech on
the asphalt as I pull away.

Chancing a look in the mirror, I see him, arms folded across his chest,
still standing where I'd left him. Watching me.


***********
Part two
***********

Somehow, I manage to get home in one piece.

Purchases are put away with speed, the empty bags neatly folded and
stored for future use. Keeping my apartment organized is easy. Trying to
maintain the same order in my life is more difficult.

I sit down with a cup of tea, its warmth soothing as I reflect on my
earlier experience. Tonight was a revelation, and I am not sure how to
proceed. I am standing at the edge of an abyss, and one false move will
send me plummeting...

Rapid, insistent knocks at the door shatter the stillness. I move
forward to open it, unsurprised to see my partner standing there.
Without a word, I step aside to let him enter.

"Hey, Scully, I have something for you." Mulder moves into the room, his
presence making the large space seem smaller. One hand is hidden behind
his back, and he brings it into view with a flourish. Flowers. A small
smile flits across my face. Yellow roses, and their fragrance delights
my senses.

I place the bouquet on the coffee table before turning back to him.

"God, Mulder, what was that all about?" I am angry now, and I attack
without warning.

"S'matter, Scully? Didn't you like the game?"

"Game? You call that a game? Did it make you feel like a big, macho man,
treating me like that? Mulder, I can't believe your balls!"

"Glad you noticed." He is smirking, and I want to slap the look off his
face.

"I'm serious. What did you think you were doing?"

"What did I think *I* was doing? Seems to me there were two of us
involved, Scully."

His words stop me. I know he's right, and I feel the anger drain out of
me. "Mulder, I need to know -- why now?"

"I guess ... I'm just tired of playing by their rules. I want to win for
a change."

"So now this is a contest? And I'm the prize? Gee, thanks Mulder." My
head dips, my hair falling forward, shielding my face, as tears
threaten. "You've succeeded in reducing this to trophy status."

"There's no prize, no trophy, Scully." His voice grows soft, and I know
he has seen the single droplet that snakes its way down my cheek. He
reaches out to brush it away. "How could you think I'd belittle what's
between us like that?"

I give up trying to control my feelings. I've done that so many times
before. Finally, I am free from self-imposed restraints that cripple me
emotionally and leave only regrets.

"I'm sorry, Mulder. But after tonight, I don't know what I think." My
voice is little more than a whisper. "I only know what I feel. I only
know I love you."

"No more barriers, Scully. No more lies, or deceptions. No more games.
Just truth, our truth. And this." His hand lifts to my cheek, and it
gently cups my face before he moves to claim my mouth. I've been in a
constant state of arousal for the past hour, and the heat of his mouth,
the silky wetness of his tongue as it plays along my lips before dipping
inward, is almost more than I can take.

I am wild, meeting him kiss for kiss, tasting him, a sweet, tangy flavor
that is markedly his alone. I press closer to him, and feel his heart
pound beneath my hands as they caress the muscular breadth of his chest.
I want him, oh god, how I want him.

Our lips part, allowing us the luxury of breathing. I am nestled in his
arms, my initial pique forgotten. My only thoughts are of the pleasure
he can give, will give.

He isn't surprised by my response. I think he's always known that the
cool exterior I present to the world hides a very different Scully. I
have never been tempted to uncover that woman before. But for Mulder, I
am. I do. I don't know when love became part of the equation. I only
know that it's there. Before Mulder, my life was empty. Now, his quest
for the truth is part of my life, too. But my life also contains another
truth: that I love him more than life itself.

And I know he loves me too. Every action speaks of it. Though he hasn't
said the words aloud, I know. He uses his lips for other things, yet he
is still able to convey the essence of his feelings. Arms that had once
pushed away, now embrace me, enfolding me in the safe harbor of his love.

He pulls me closer, and I feel him through his jeans, his hardness
pressing against me. I sigh in pleasure, smug in the knowledge of my
power over him. But it isn't enough, I want to make him feel more. I run
my fingers over his ribs, beneath his belt, listening with pride to the
tortured sound of his breathing. I did that to him, too. I feel for the
hem of his t-shirt, to tug it from his jeans, and push my hands beneath,
running them up the strong wall of his chest. I scrape my nails lightly
through the crisp hairs that cover him, searching for and finding the
button-sized nipples. They are sensitive to my touch, and I run my
fingers over them, gratified to hear his groan of pleasure.

He stops my hands, holding them still against his chest. I feel his
heart racing beneath my palm, before he steps back. One smooth movement,
and his shirt is off. Now his hands are at my waist, pulling my shirt
free, and then it too is gone, to puddle on the floor with his. His
fingers, more sure than mine, tackle the snap on my bra, releasing the
catch to free my breasts. I think my nipples can't get any tighter, but
in seconds I know better. His mouth captures one peak, pulling the pink
tip into his mouth, circling it before allowing his tongue to flutter
rapidly against the delicate crown. He moves to my other breast and
repeats the movements. I am so sensitive there that his actions almost
put me over the edge. It is my turn to pull back.

I take his hand, and lead him to the bedroom. This room, my ivory tower,
had been used for utilitarian purposes before today. Sleeping, reading,
dressing. No personal memories to color the bland character of the room.
But all that is about to change.

I sit on the bed, feeling suddenly shy, my arms crossed over my chest.
Mulder, kicking off his shoes, notices my discomfort. He comes to me,
stooping before me and gently takes my foot in his hand. His fingers
remove my shoe, and I am surprised to see his hand is trembling as he
reaches for my other ankle to repeat the operation.

He stops suddenly, and our eyes meet. His hands are reaching for mine,
pulling them away from my breasts to hold them in his, threading our
fingers together. "Scully, is this too fast for you? Am I rushing
things? I don't want to pressure you." He lets my hands go, placing his
on his knees as he crouches in front of me. "I was wrong to do that
earlier tonight. I'm sorry."

I feel the beginnings of fear in my heart. He is regretting what has
happened, and is looking for a way out. My face must reflect the inner
turmoil I am experiencing, for he starts shaking his head. "Oh no, don't
think that. Not even for a second. I love you, Scully." He says it
matter-of-factly, but the slight huskiness of his voice betrays the
strong emotions he is experiencing. "I've been waiting for you my whole
life. You're my one in five billion, remember." And I smile at that, the
fear replaced by delight.

I must answer him, and I struggle for the words, the right ones to show
him exactly how I feel. But actions speak louder than words. I reach out
with my foot, to touch him. His position makes it easy to express my
feelings. I place the ball of my foot against the bulge in his jeans,
and press. I feel his body jump, his arousal pressing harder against my
toes. I treat his sex like bath water, wiggling my toes against it to
test the temperature. It's hot, and I smile in anticipation.

He stands suddenly, and pushes me back onto the bed. I lie there,
watching him peel off the rest of his clothes, jeans hitting the floor
and change scattering as the contents of his pockets roll out. His
boxers are next, and my breath catches in my throat as I look at him.

I have seen Mulder naked before, but not like this, never like this. He
is all powerful, a Greek god come to life, tall and strong and perfect.
He is beautiful in his arousal, and I lay there quivering in
anticipation, still amazed to think that I am the cause of it.

He leans down to where I lay, his hands finding and releasing the button
on my jeans and sliding the zipper down. I lift my hips, and my jeans
are gone along with my panties. And now we are equal.

My arms raise in welcome, and he lies down beside me. His lips are on my
cheek, kissing my face lightly, tongue running to my chin where he
stops. Poised over me, looking deep into my eyes, he smiles, then lowers
his mouth to mine.

I will never tire of kissing Mulder. I have dreamt of his mouth, that
full lower lip that speaks of his passionate nature. Perfectly formed,
his lips fit against mine as though they were meant for me. I think they
were.

I moan helplessly as I feel his tongue again. He thrusts it rhythmically
in and out of my mouth, mimicking the act I am so desperate for, before
finally staying to taste me. I remember the strawberries, and wonder if
he is enjoying his taste.

I shift restlessly beneath him, feeling him hot against my thigh. I am
ready, wet and aching, and I reach down to hold him, surprised that
something so hard could feel so smooth, too. He groans as I touch him,
my hand gently exploring, learning the texture and substance of him. He
pulls my hand away. "No, Scully." His voice is barely above a whisper,
and I see him swallow hard, his throat tight with the effort. "I've been
waiting a long time for this. I want to make it last a little longer."

He moves to lie beside me, and my body is suddenly cold, missing the
warmth of his. I cry out in frustration, and his hand moves to soothe
me, stroking my hair back from my face. The same hand travels, down my
neck to my shoulder, and then to my breast, stroking it lightly before
moving to cup it. He holds it gently, lifting the peak to his mouth. His
teeth scrape across the tip, sending ripples of pleasure through me. He
sucks the nipple, pulling it lightly with his lips, bathing it with his
tongue. He shifts to the other breast, and I feel the rasp of his
stubble on it, a sandpapery brush that fuels my excitement.

His other hand is busy, too. It has worked its way down to my stomach,
tracing random patterns lightly on my skin. I roll my hips, and push up
against his hand as it reaches the apex of my thighs. He strokes, moving
closer to the curl-covered mound. My body lifts from the bed, trying to
force the contact I crave so badly. I am so wet, it seems as though I
weep for him there.

"Please, please..." I am pleading with him, my head moving from side to
side. I am almost out of my mind with wanting. Mulder hears my cries,
and his hand covers me, parting the curls to find the bud nestled
within. He strokes lightly with the pad of his thumb, sending waves of
pleasure through me. I gasp, and decide this was not a good idea. I want
our first time together to happen just that way -- together.

I reach down to still his hand. We have waited long enough. "Now,
Mulder, now." He moves over me, his face intense and passionate. Poised,
he descends and I feel him enter me, filling my body the way he already
fills my heart. Completely.

We move together, and it is so much better than my fantasies. I realize
that I am murmuring his name, over and over, in unison with his thrusts.
We are climbing together, almost to the top, and I am breathing as
though I have really scaled a mountain. I am almost there, reaching for
the crest, and then I am there, flying, and waves of pleasure flow
through me. He increases his speed, driving into me harder and faster. I
hear him groan my name, as he too reaches that peak.

We lie together, exhausted.

"Tell me, Scully, why did we wait so long to do this?" His voice is
thick with emotion.

I smile, and press a small kiss against his chest. "I don't know,
Mulder. But I want a rematch, and soon." I hear the rumble of his laughter.

"A challenge, Scully? I accept."

"We're pretty evenly matched, you know. How about we make it a little
more interesting next time?"

"More interesting? Scully, I'm crushed." The amusement in his voice
belies his words. "What do you have in mind?"

My hand slowly moves down his body. I reach out to caress him, and smile
in satisfaction at his immediate response to my touch. Stroking him, I
reply, "Oh, I don't know, Mulder. Why don't we just wait and ... see
what comes up."

"That's cheating." He shudders as I continue my exploration.

"I never promised to play by the rules."

"No, you didn't." His voice is soft, and his hand reaches out to cover
mine as it moves slowly over his arousal.

The first game was over, and I guess you could say it was a draw. As for
how the second one will end, who knows? And who really cares? We're both
excellent players. And after all, it's not whether you win or lose that
counts, it's how you play the game.

The End