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  ML's e-mail address has changed to: msnsc21@yahoo.com
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From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 19 Aug 2001 07:09:42 -0000
Subject: Skin Games by ML by ML
Source: direct

Reply To: msnsc21@aol.com


Title:  Skin Games
Author:  ML
Email: msnsc21@aol.com
Distribution: Ephemeral, Gossamer, yes; if you've archived me 
before, yes; otherwise, please just let me know and leave 
headers, email addy, etc. attached.  Thanks.
Spoilers: not really
Rating:  R.  Yes, really!
Classification: Vignette
Summary:  games people play.

Disclaimer: The characters mentioned in this story are the 
property of TenThirteen, Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, 
and the actors who gave them life.  I mean no infringement, 
and I'm not making any money from this.

Acknowlegment: To Paige, for beta and encouragement. Thank you!

Skin Games
by ML

Rise...fall.

Rise...fall.

The sight and sound of Scully at rest never fails to entrance me.

She's fallen asleep next to me for years:  on planes, on stakeouts,
even on my sofa.  That's always been the surest sign of her trust 
in me.  When awake, Scully's so in control, and she's careful not 
to reveal too much to anyone.  But she's unguarded when she's 
asleep, and for a long time I've enjoyed the honor of watching 
over her.

I enjoy it even more now.

I never sought more reward for my guard duty than to be allowed 
to be there.  To listen to her breathe.  To see her soft lips 
parted the tiniest bit.  To note how her eyelids fluttered slightly 
as though she was watchful herself, even in dreams.  To dream 
myself, of seeing more; of being allowed one day to touch and 
hold her.  To be given the privilege of giving her more than a
comfortable shoulder or a supporting arm.

I've got my reward now.  I have that privilege, and I'm conscious 
of it every minute of every day.  But of course I'm most conscious 
of it when I'm able to exercise my privilege.

I'm about to embark on a little game I like to play in the small 
hours of the morning, when there's just enough light to see Scully.
How much can I touch her without waking her up?

At the moment, Scully is lying on her side, her head half buried 
in the pillow next to mine.  I can see one eyelid, and part of 
her mouth and nose.  Even gazing on her face, I can see things 
no one else gets to see.

No one but me gets to see the faint freckling across the bridge 
of her nose, or the little mole on her upper lip, normally covered 
by makeup.  She has another mole on the underside of her jaw, that 
she hadn't even known about until I told her.  It's mine now.  I
discovered it.  I laid claim to it, along with the one just behind 
her left ear.  I sealed the deal with a kiss, one for each spot.  
For now, I satisfy myself by kissing my finger and placing it 
gently on each place.

Scully's ears are perfect, of course, but not identical.  Her 
right one, the one buried in the pillow, has a tiny indentation 
just along the outside where its curve meets the lobe.  It's 
only noticeable if you use the lightest touch of your tongue 
along the perimeter.  Which is, of course, how I discovered it.

With the tips of my thumb and forefinger, I lift a strand of her 
hair away from the side of her face so I can see the curve of her 
chin and jaw, how it flows perfectly into her throat and from 
there to her collarbone and shoulder.  I resist the urge to bury 
my nose into the notch there.  Instead, I very lightly draw my 
finger down the trail my eyes just traversed.  Chin to jaw, also
resisting the temptation to stroke the soft skin behind her ear, 
which will certainly awaken her.  From her jaw, down the side of 
her throat, following the line where her neck and shoulder meet, 
across the top of her collarbone to rest oh so briefly, oh so 
lightly, against the pulse in her throat. And from there, I'll 
move down her breastbone...

Scully takes in a deep breath and I freeze, leaving my finger 
resting against her pulse.  She turns her head deeper into the 
pillow and I pull my finger away at the last minute before her
burrowing movements trap me.

I'm disappointed, but only briefly.  Turning as she did has 
revealed more of her back to me.  I carefully fold the covers 
back so I can see her shoulders and the first delicate vertebra 
of her spine.

As carefully as before, I part her hair away from her nape.  Here 
are little curly tendrils of hair, too short to be managed into 
the straight bob Scully favors in the professional world.  I've
mentioned to Scully a time or two how much I love her hair loose 
and wavy, and when we're on our own time, she indulges me.  I
especially like watching her hair dry into wild waves and 
corkscrews, though truth to tell, I mostly notice it in the 
aftermath -- I'm usually busy finding ways to keep Scully from 
taming her hair with brush and blow dryer, and I'm proud to say, 
I'm often successful.  In fact, her hair is that way now, spread
invitingly all every which way.  It's that way because I lured 
her into bed before she could do more than towel it dry a little.  
I'll make it up to her, later this morning.  I'll shampoo her 
hair, and massage her scalp, and carefully comb out all the
tangles...before messing it up again, just the way I like it.  

I like her hair that way not only because it represents a side 
of Scully no one else sees, but also because it reminds me of 
some wild curls I've seen elsewhere on her body.  But more about 
that when we get there.

Reluctantly, I leave her hair, and the lovely nape of her neck,
starting my feather-light caresses just below the tiny scar of 
the implant, which is a fact of her life I wish neither of us 
had ever needed to know.  After folding the sheet carefully down 
to her hips, I lightly touch the bumps of her vertebra, taking
inventory of every tiny mole and freckle, counting my way down 
to the small of her back and a couple more facts of Scully's 
life that I'm both privileged and cursed to bear witness to.

The tattoo, which I can now admire as the work of art it is, 
and not as a betrayal or a symbol of my own blindness.  Likewise, 
the scar, courtesy of Special Loser Peyton Ritter.  I've promised
Scully not to obsess over old wounds any more -- both literal 
and psychological.  But it's not easy.  Making these little 
nocturnal explorations has somehow made it easier.  Now they 
are landmarks to me, markers of where we've been, and how far 
we've come.

To rid myself of the unpleasant thoughts I've been harboring, I 
lean over and very lightly brush my lips against the tattoo.  For 
good measure, I press a light kiss on the exit wound, too.  Scully
twitches at this very slightly and I freeze, barely daring to 
breathe until I'm sure she isn't waking up.

I take a deep breath and rock back on my heels, drinking in the 
sight of Scully lying before me like a feast.  I don't wish to 
dwell on past misfortunes.  They're a part of us, sure, but we 
have so much more to be grateful for.  We've survived so much.  
And we're together.  We're trying to teach each other not to 
dwell in the past, but to enjoy the present.

At the moment, that's very easy to do.  I lift the sheet the 
rest of the way off of Scully's body and peel it back past her 
feet so that I can see all of her.

In the past, this is as far as I've gotten before Scully wakes 
up and wants to know what's going on.  I have to confess, I'm 
usually glad of it.  By now, I'm pretty aroused, and I'm usually 
trying to wake her up, at least subconsciously.  This morning, 
however, I ignore my own growing arousal and continue with my 
little game.

I sit back and look at her for a while.  She is a beguiling 
mixture of hills and dales, gentle swells and soft curves.  I 
admire the way her body rises and falls with her gentle breathing.  
My eyes take a roller coaster ride down her back, over the curve 
of her bottom, down her thighs and her rounded calves, to her 
adorable little feet and toes.  I've made fun of her feet in the 
past, but I love them almost as much as I love every other part
of her body.  Scully takes good care of her feet, and it's a 
surprisingly sensual experience to touch them.  I like giving
her foot massages almost as much as she likes getting them.
Besides, the foot massages are usually a prelude to full body
contact.  You want to make your lover really hot?  Massage her
feet.  Trust me, it works every time.

Now comes the tricky part.  I turn my hand palm up, and using 
just the tip of the nail on my index finger, I trail down Scully's 
body from the dimple just above the cleft in her cheeks, following 
it all the way down until I brush against something soft.  I can 
already feel the heat emanating from her center.  I resist the 
urge to press my finger into the warm, moist cave between her 
legs.  Instead, I try my little stroke again, and then, made 
bolder by her continued stillness, I start out at the base of 
her neck and follow the crease of her back all the way down, 
over her bottom again, and combing very briefly through her 
nethermost thatch of downy hair.

This time there is a definite reaction.  Scully squirms, and her 
little wriggle sends a tremor through my whole body.

And how is my body reacting to all this Scully stimulus?  Just 
as you might expect.  My cock, which started out semi-hard just 
in anticipation of our little game, is now just about as ready 
to go as it's possible to be, pointing at Scully like the 
proverbial kid in the candy store, looking at his favorite 
sweet.  I know where it wants to be, and I want to go there, 
too, but not - quite - yet.

After a little time watching Scully's movements and breathing, 
and trying to get my own under control, I try my finger down her 
back again.  How I'd like to kiss my way down that same path!  
And I will, too, when I'm ready.  This is too much fun, watching 
her skin twitch fetchingly at the phantom touch of my fingertip.  
This time, I'll try going past the juncture of her thighs and go 
for the back of her knee, maybe all the way to her foot...

...I'm not quite to my goal when Scully murmurs and rolls onto her
side, turning so that --hallelujah!-- she's facing me.  Another 
long minute of quiet observation on my part, making sure she's 
just changing position and not waking up (though I think Scully 
waking up would be a win-win situation for us both).  I can see 
more of her face now, though her tousled hair hides part of it 
from me.  Her breathing remains soft and regular.

I do my best to keep *my* breathing soft and regular, too, though 
the sight of Scully like this makes it really, really hard.  And 
I'm not just talking about my breathing, either.

I've just gotten to the next level in my game for the first time, 
and I'm not quite sure where to start.

As before, I make a visual inventory of Scully landmarks.  Her 
arm is draped over her front, so I can only partially see her 
breasts.  I silently will her to turn all the way over onto her 
back, but nothing doing.  Maybe it's just as well.  If I touch 
them, if I put so much as a finger on the tip of one of her 
nipples, the game will be over, one way or another.  I can see 
that they are already responsive.  My mouth purses in anticipation.
Instead, I try to content my self with the little finger-trailing 
I did over her back, starting at the spot just below her underarm,
 and slowly traveling down her side, just grazing the curve of 
her breast and letting it wander along the underside in a brief
detour...over her ribs, along the dip of her waist, another detour 
past the entry wound scar to her belly button, and there to the 
crease where her hip meets her thigh, and my own personal field 
of dreams.  That other patch of unruly hair that it has been my 
pleasure to comb and part on numberless occasions...

I don't attempt to do more than to brush my finger over the top of 
her curls at the apex of her thighs.  Just the lightest of gestures, 
no more pressure than a gentle puff of breath might deliver.  Back 
and forth, back and forth, feathering across, between but never
actually touching her thighs, lower and lower until it's either 
touch or withdraw.

Oh man, why did I start this?  I draw a shuddering breath and 
start again.  Should I apply a little more pressure and wake 
Scully up, or try for a third pass?

Just as I don't think I'm going to be able to stand another moment, 
and I'm either going to have to wake her up or leave the room, I 
see the gleam of her open eye between strands of hair.

"Mulder, what are you doing?"  Scully always asks this, although 
she's awakened to my touch a time or two before.

"Nothing much, Scully."  I slide down to lie facing her.  "But I 
could be *persuaded* to do something if you like..."  I brush her 
hair away so I can see her half-lidded eyes and sleep-flushed 
face.  Maybe not flushed *just* with sleep, however.

"I was having the most delicious dream, Mulder," she says in a
sleep-slurred, throaty voice.  That sound is all mine, too.  That's
her private, Mulder-lovin' voice. 

I move in a little closer to her, so that my cock brushes where 
my fingers just were.  "What was it about, Scully?"  I ask in my 
own private, Scully-only voice.  "Was I in it?"

Scully closes her eyes and parts her lips as she sighs out her 
answer.  "Oh yeah..."

Game's over, I think gleefully.  "Tell me what I was doing," I 
suggest, inching that much closer.

"I'd rather show you," she says, and pushes me onto my back, 
and proceeds to do just that...

end.

So...How's that for a first smutpiece?  Should there be a 
Scully's turn? <eg>

Thanks for reading!  feedback:  msnsc21@aol.com

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http://www.kimpart.com/mlfic.html