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Games: Simon Says

SUMMARY: Scully contemplates a change in the rules.




"Scully?  There's a large three-legged slimy creature under your chair, about to insinuate itself around your leg."


Scully swiveled in her chair and glared at him.  "Mulder!  What the hell do you want?"

He feigned looking hurt.  Actually, he was hurt.  "You're ignoring me."

Scully gave him an exasperated sigh.  "Mulder, it is completely impossible to ignore you.  What do you need?"

"Well, since you asked --" His eyebrows rose suggestively.

She frowned, her eyes dark and the left corner of her mouth turning down.  "Mulder--" she warned. She's had enough of that while they'd cohabited in Acadia to last a lifetime.

He raised his hands defensively.  "Okay, okay.  I don't need anything. It's just that you were so quiet, I thought something might be wrong."

She searched his face, and saw the real concern in his eyes. Her voice softened. "Mulder, I'm fine.  Really."

He nodded, but he wasn't convinced.  She just wasn't acting like the old Scully.  It didn't show to anyone who didn't know her.  She was as cool and competent as ever.  Physically, she appeared fine.  In fact, she appeared remarkably well.  But he could tell she was only partially present.  He would frequently sense her drifting away, even though she was right beside him.  What she was thinking, what she was the feeling -- he had no idea.  Of course, he very rarely knew.  It wasn't as if they discussed these things.  The only time he really had any inkling of her life was when he taunted her into losing her temper.  Occasionally, he would be rewarded with some small insight she allowed to slip.  But not this time.  No matter what he tried, from antics to annoyance, she steadfastly shut him out.

Even when they had been forced together twenty-four hours a day - husband and wife - He grinned, remembering how hard he had tried to crack her composure then! Nothing.

"What are you doing?" He couldn't help himself. He was so lonely when she disappeared like this.

She stifled the urge to snap at him.  She knew what was happening.  But it was nothing she could tell him.  Was nothing she could really tell herself. She was fine. Everything was fine. She admitted she hadn't quite bounced back. These things take time. It was normal to feel this numb, this removed, when someone died. Even when it was you.

"I'm just catching up on mail."  With that she turned back and stared at the words on her screen.

 <My place.  8 p.m.  Wear your favorite dress>

That was it.  No salutation.  No signature.  The email address was a nondescript free WebSite with only numbers to identify it. Yet she knew.  Even through the disembodied world of the Internet, Scully could feel her presence.  As she read the words once again, she could hear the husky voice and feel the heat from that hungry blue gaze. But this was her game -- this should have been her message. Except she was desperate then, and she wasn't now. Now she was back in control.

*God, she's arrogant.  What makes her think I will come?  What makes her think I would want her to touch me* 

She closed her eyes for a second, feeling the familiar cold settle deep within her.  *Just because it worked once doesn't mean it will again. Turn about? Not this time*

She fought back the helplessness, straightened her shoulders, and pressed the 'delete' button.


*She said to 'wear my best dress' *  Scully stood staring into her closet, absently running her fingers over the sheer material of her black silk evening dress, sensuously soft against her skin. *I can't believe I'm even considering this*

She pulled the dress from the hanger and spread it across the top of her bed.  It was modest in design, until one realized it was cut precisely to outline her breasts and fall across her hips with form-fitting luxuriousness.  The thin straps exposed enough of her shoulders and upper arms to reveal the subtle musculature that came from her regular workouts.  It was feminine, but it did nothing to hide the power and strength in her body.

She slipped out of her shoes and the two-piece suit she had worn that day.  Her simple silk briefs and functional bra each went into the hamper.  She crossed naked toward the bathroom, pausing for an instant to survey herself in the full-length mirror hanging on the door.

*I wonder what she sees when she looks at me*

She reached for the black silk and held it in front of herself.  She smoothed the diaphanous folds over her nakedness, cupping her breasts through the fabric.  Almost instantly, her nipples tightened, pressing against the sleek roughness.  Suddenly, Scully imagined her standing behind her.  In the mirror, she watched those strong, long fingered hands closing possessively over her breasts, pinching her nipples until she gasped.

Unconsciously holding one breast, squeezing rhythmically, Scully watched as her other hand press lower, circling over her belly and down her thighs, smoothing the rich cloth into the curves of her body.  She sensed other hands caressing her, felt warm lips brushing against the back of her neck and into the hollow beneath her jaw.  Hot breath heavy in her ear, teasing her, taunting her, reminding her that this was what she needed.   Reminding her that she had never said 'no'. Proving to her beyond doubt that she could still feel. She grew heavy and wet with desire.

Her face in the mirror was a blur.  Two heads bent close together, lips parted, searching for contact, fusing, melding, stroking, driving all thought from consciousness. An arm held her close, preventing flight, as that questing oh-so-certain hand lifted the hem of her dress and stroked upward from her knee to the inside of her thigh. She stood trembling, allowing herself to be driven, to be carried away on someone else's passion.  It felt so good to give up the tight hold on sanity she clung to day after day.  It was hard, so hard, to keep the fear and uncertainty away and to wake up each morning alone.  She closed her eyes, and let that knowing touch lead.

*You're the one who asked.  You're the one who made the rules.  You'll  take responsibility*

She turned slightly, spreading the dress over a chair nearby.   Through hooded lids she surveyed her image in the looking glass, surprised at the flush of arousal that colored her skin.  A faint sheen of perspiration covered her face and chest.  Her skin seemed to vibrate with life. She touched her lips with one finger, licked the tip, sucked it gently into her mouth, remembered a kiss pressed gently into the palm of another.  The fullness in the soft heat of her mouth reminded her of the last time she had held her lover between her lips.

She ran her hands lightly down her arms and across her chest.  That brief touch sent a slight tingle of excitement coursing through her belly to settle between her legs.  She gasped with surprise. It wasn't that her own touch failed to stimulate her, it was just that she hadn't realized how charged her body was already, how poised to respond.  She hadn't realized how isolated she had become inside herself.  Not until that maddeningly arrogant invitation from her equally maddeningly arrogant suitor.  It had been so long since that last brief, nearly silent encounter, she wasn't certain she hadn't imagined it.

She brushed her fingers lower, over her belly, lightly ruffling the auburn hair between her legs.  Another's touch. Her body remembered, even if she tried to forget. She knew what it meant to be handled with a delicate certainty and a commanding tenderness. She knew how that hand could conjure desires she never acknowledged in the light of day, imprisoned in her two-piece suits and her high-priced control.

*She acts like she owns me, and she barely knows me*

Of course, she did know her.  Enough to maintain the charade of distance between them, enough to pretend there was no affection between them, enough to touch her without demanding intimacy.  Enough to let her experiment with living again. Easy terms, no down payment. No interest required.

Almost unwillingly, she used her thumb and first finger to part her suddenly swollen lips, a soft sigh escaping as she exposed herself in the air.  A crystal drop of glistening moisture clung to the delicate folds of skin, and the first faint reddening of her hardened clitoris betrayed her need.  As she gazed at her own arousal, she imagined that golden head pressed against her thigh, ready to surround her in the exquisite softness of those sensitive and talented lips.  She waited breathlessly for the tongue to stroke her, to tease her into full erection, to work her knowingly and certainly until she could not contain the explosion any longer.

*Why do I let her do this?  Why her?*

She smoothed her fingertip over the protruding, fully exposed tip of her clitoris.  She jerked slightly at the intense sensation that knifed through her depths.  A small groan escaped and the taut muscles in her thighs twitched.  With difficulty, she took her finger away enough to see her blood engorged flesh swell even more.

*This would make her crazy.  I should make her watch, and not let her touch me. But oh god, when she touches me, it's so good-- I'm not sure I  could stand it *

She insinuated a finger on either side of her clitoris, making it twitch steadily.  She slid up and down in the moisture, squeezing slightly, tugging gently at the thick protective hood.  As the distended tissue slipped back and forth over the exquisitely sensitive nerve endings, she whimpered.

*Oh yeah, I love it when she makes me come*

She slipped her other hand below the first, gently pressing inside.  Immediately, her muscles clenched, increasing the pressure in her clitoris.  She pushed back the skin around her clitoris to bare it fully, working two fingers over and around the shaft.  Her vision was cloudy as she struggled to keep her eyes on the mirror.  As the gripping pleasure nearly doubled her over, she caught a glimpse of the woman pressed between her thighs.  She looked down into the sharpest, bluest eyes she had ever seen.  There was an urgency in them, an exultation, the joy of a hunter claiming its prey.

*Take me.  Oh god, do it - do it the way only you can*

She moaned continuously, her hips rocking against the fingers inside, her thumb circling furiously over the aching, pounding oh so close driving oh, god almost exploding oh Jesus, oh yeah coming so good hard -hard-- oh god yes-*

She leaned back against the doorway, breathing raggedly, holding herself tightly as the spasms continued.  She turned her head and gazed past her reflection to the dress draped over the back of the chair.

"Maybe she's right.  The black silk is perfect."


DISCLAIMERS: The characters of Scully, Mulder, Skinner and others/events introduced on the X-Files are the sole property of Chris Carter etc, and are used here without permission for entertainment, not for profit.




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