From: Isabel Izenthe Date: 20 Jan 1999 08:44:02 -0800 Subject: NEW - Ignition III: Pride Before the Fall (NC-17) IGNITION III: PRIDE BEFORE THE FALL Author: Isabel "Izzy" Izenthe (izzy_izenthe@yahoo.com) Archive: Anywhere Rating: NC-17 Keywords: Slash (Scully/Fowley) Disclaimer: Characters from the "X-Files" are the property of 1013 Productions and the Fox Television Network. Note: This story concludes the "Ignition" series. Previous stories in the series can be found at the author's website at http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Keep/5048/ * * * Avarice, envy, pride, Three fatal sparks, have set the hearts of all On Fire." -Dante Alighieri, Divine Comedy, The * * * Just think of me as Hell's own Welcome Wagon. So, Dana, is it everything you thought it would be? You weren't expecting flames and whips and devils writhing in orgiastic bliss, were you? That's the awful secret of Hell, I'm afraid. Disappointment. That's all you'll find here. Demon debauchery is reserved for the slums of heaven. It's my job to get you settled in as comfortably as I can and then I'll be on my way. Others volunteered to make this visit, of course, but they don't understand you like I do. They would have used force and testosterone to tear away the last scraps of your pride. They would have raped you and left you to bleed behind perdition's door. I saved you from all that unnecessary brutality and had to put a lot of wrinkled old cocks in my mouth to do it, not that I expect any thanks from you for my trouble. I finally convinced my employers there was no point in stealing something you were prepared to give away. Candy from a baby, I told them, and, baby, from the looks of you, I think it may be even easier than that. You think of Mulder as your soul mate, though you would never be so trite as to call him that. Our souls, yours and mine, aren't meant to mate. They're incestuous twins, simultaneously drawn and repulsed by each other. You wouldn't let me save you, so now I'll destroy you. To me, the choice is inconsequential. I love you and hate you in equal measure. I'll get credit, maybe even a promotion for accomplishing your downfall, for delivering you in broken pieces to the men who will remake you into their fair-skinned demon, but here's the best part: Mulder did the work for me. He brought the blight on your soul. He rotted away the substance of what you once were. You may look whole to everyone else, but I recognize the hollowness in you. You'll fall and no one will hear the sound except the woman who swung the axe. Metaphorical destruction still hurts like a bitch. What brought you here, Dana? What makes the soulless chasm of the Bureau firing range more seductive than Mulder's warm bed? Why do you struggle to fire that gun again and again when it feels like the barely healed skin on your belly will rip apart under the strain? Why do you relish the pain? Tell me why you would rather be rocked by recoil than a Friday night fuck with Mulder, or better yet, let me tell you. It's because he won't touch you. You see, Fox Mulder is a carrier. He infects and moves on once you display the symptoms of his disease. A gunshot wound courtesy of his enemies, a dozen slashes from a psychopath's blade, the affliction manifests itself in different ways but the result is always the same. Did he tell you what happened to me? No, of course he didn't. He finds guilt too delicious to share. Fox and I were handling some routine interviews. So routine that he decided to follow up on one of his X-Files and left me to handle the last interview by myself. He fucked up by leaving me without backup. I fucked up by living through the attack. You've finally figured it out, haven't you? Fox Mulder only loves the dead and the disappeared. Those of us who survive are expendable. Our bodies are the murals he painted with his incompetence, then abandoned because he hates his art. Want to see my scars? This one is my favorite. Better than a tattoo, don't you think? Not every woman has a heart carved around her left nipple. It intrigues me that you're not shocked to see a woman stripping in front of you. We'll call it clinical detachment if it makes you feel better about it, but do all doctors smell like a bitch in heat? Do their nipples get hard like yours just did? Or is this yet another of Mulder's legacies? You knew about his videos and his magazines before you fucked him, but you thought the love of a good woman would change him. How very philanthropic of you. Screwing for a good cause like some sexually enlightened Girl Scout. You weren't the first to try, nor were you the first to discover you can't change Mulder. Mulder changes you. Junkies don't have a conscience, Dana, and Mulder slipped you more and more of his favorite drug every time he pushed his cock into you. You're just as depraved as he is, only he's out pouring his guilt into some two-hundred-dollar redhead while you're shooting the balls off a paper man and getting wet over a set of scarred up tits. Right now the only thing that matters to an addict like you is getting someone's face between your legs and you don't give a shit if it's Aqua Velva or Oil of Olay rubbing against your thighs. Lucky for you, I was once a Girl Scout myself. But first, my love, let's work on your marksmanship. Not everyone around here is as friendly as I am, and you won't last a week with aim like that. Relax your arms a little. Lean back and I'll hold you steady. Oh, sweetheart, here's the problem. You can't wear a tight shirt when you're recovering from a gunshot wound. You need a full range of motion. Let me get those buttons for you. Like taking candy from a pretty, pretty baby. Mulder would like this, wouldn't he? Watching two beautiful women fucking on the firing range. Girls and guns -- it doesn't get any better than that for a man with a porn habit. Well, I have a little surprise for you, Dana. Mulder will be watching. He'll watch me pull up your skirt and see me feign amazement that the prim and proper Agent Scully doesn't wear panties. I already knew you were a whore. He'll unzip his pants as I push you against the wall and spread your legs. Such a slut. He'll see on your face how much you like the pain when I claw you from the inside out with my fingernails. And a masochist, too. Mulder taught you well. He'll grab his cock when you grab my hair and he'll be able to tell from the time stamp on the videotape that it was 11:58 when I put my tongue on you for the first time. Now that's interesting. I didn't have you pegged as a beggar. When I imagined this, I thought you'd taste like nutmeg or vanilla or that tea you drink all the time, but you taste like a woman so desperate for an orgasm, she would fuck her worst enemy. It's a good flavor on you. Your pride drips sweet on my tongue. Yum. You'll drop your gun on the concrete floor and the microphones will be listening when your heavy breaths give way to moaning and the moans give way to God's name, then mine. For a few seconds, I'll be all the God you require. Mulder will hear you and hate you for your faithlessness. His trust will collapse when you tumble into my arms and I'll suck away his love from you with my mouth on your breast. The absolution you've offered for a thousand of his betrayals will be meaningless to him. Mulder doesn't reciprocate well. I'm sure you've realized that by now. Even so, he won't be able to look away. He'll jerk off when he watches me kiss your mouth and cover your face with lipstick and shiny smears of your infidelity. He'll curse you as he comes in his hand and then he'll wipe the mess off his stomach, pick up the sports page and, just like that, your old life will be over. I'll take care of you, show you around, introduce you to some people. You'll see, life in Hell won't be so different from what you're accustomed to. Sure, it might be difficult at first, but everyone gets used to it eventually. The pay is decent, you'll drive a company car, and staffers get to eat at all the best restaurants. Old men can be almost palatable with the right wine. Oh, sweetheart, I know it's tough to think about these things so soon after an orgasm. We can go over all the details later. I have a videotape to deliver now, but we'll do lunch soon, I promise. Welcome to Hell, Agent Scully. I think you're going to fit right in. * * * A good stretch keeps the mind limber, or so I've been told. With gratitude to my supportive, open-minded editors. Your feedback would be very appreciated at izzy_izenthe@yahoo.com. Isabel "Izzy" Izenthe http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Keep/5048/ "Please leave your values at the front desk." -In a Paris Hotel Elevator