TITLE: Icarus (1/1)
AUTHOR: Brenna MacTyre  
E-MAIL ADDRESS: wolfs_den@yahoo.com
DATE: December 1997

DISTRIBUTION: Archive - yes, please.  Do not forward to ATXC

RATING: NC-17
CLASSIFICATION: V,R 
CONTENT WARNINGS: MSR alert
SUMMARY: Mulder watches Scully sleep.

DISCLAIMER:  The characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully
             belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions.

FEEDBACK:  Please send to wolfs_den@yahoo.com


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Icarus  


Scully sleeps with the same grace and precision that
marks her waking hours.  Unlike my chaotic sprawl in 
tangled sheets, she lies, slightly curled, in a neat line, 
arms folded against her body, protecting her heart.  
Symmetry in sleep as in motion -- that's Scully.

I hope she does not realize how many nights I spend 
watching her sleep.  She knows my taste in videos, but 
never in her wildest nightmares could she imagine how far 
my voyeurism takes me.  The simple act of watching her 
sleep is more erotic than any professional actor could 
hope to mimic.  Perhaps the danger adds to the eroticism.  
If she ever suspects that I use the connecting door of our 
motel rooms for these nighttime violations of her privacy, 
I will be lucky if all I lose is a partner.  Perhaps, if 
she is feeling merciful, she might not shoot me, but her 
pity will be more than I can endure.

There must be some flaw in the Mulder genes that makes the 
allure of self-destruction so powerful that it over-rides 
all sense of caution or restraint.  My father found his 
siren in a bottle, returning time after time to her sodden 
charms.  Now I consort with the fiery siren of forbidden 
attraction.  Deliberately I fly upwards to flirt with the 
tormenting fire of the sun in my universe.  One day I will 
fly too close and ignite and I will rain back to earth in 
ashes.

A rustle of sheets and the slick sound of her body moving 
against the pressed cotton turns my breathing ragged as I 
imagine what it would be like to feel her body move 
against mine.  To feel her smooth silkiness melting 
against my chest and thighs as I move my hands in 
possessive waves across her body.  My fantasies torment me 
with the simple pleasure of enfolding my body around hers 
as we sleep.  In the half-waking world of lovers, she 
will breathe softly against my chest, ruffling the thin 
ridge of hairs there as I trace the size and shape of her 
in long languid strokes of my fingers.

Soaring to skim the halo of the pulsing sun, I dare to 
imagine how, when my hands have satisfied their longing to 
know her and touch the length and breadth of her, my lips 
would demand their own journey.  Each stop on that journey 
is already burned deep into my imagination, every wrinkle 
of skin memorized from the rare, unguarded glimpses I have 
gleaned over the years.  I close my eyes, swaying in the 
darkness, as the slumbering fires of my passion shudder 
awake. 

I feel my tongue dart out of my parted lips to taste the 
unreachable taste of Scully's lips.  I have no memory, not 
even a guess, as to their true taste, but my imagination 
gives them a dark honeyed flavor, sweet yet with a sharp 
spicy tang.  Her lips are a wine my imagination never 
tires of drinking and never fails to long for.  Like an 
epicure examining a menu, I review the treasures I hoard 
in my memory.  With a soft groan, I fall into the dream, 
soaring with waxen wings of desire into the heavens, lost 
to all sense but the siren call of my passion.

I will not rush this journey of exploration.  Our first 
joining must be the slow building of pleasure until our 
passion erupts in a violent volcanic storm.  I start with 
her ears, tracing each ear carefully with my tongue, 
blowing soft whispers of desire into them.  She laughs 
in her gentle way and  gives me one of her smiles to urge 
me closer.  I smile back and grant her feather kisses 
along her brows, blowing away the locks of hair that fall 
into her face.  Always moving, ever softly, my lips read 
her face like a blind man's fingers.

Then, just as our lips almost meet, I withdraw and begin 
to trace the curve of her neck with my tongue, following 
its wet path with my lips, suckling the slick skin dry.  
Impatient now, she seizes my head to bring my lips to 
hers.  Laughing, I open my mouth to her, allowing her to 
plumb my depths, letting her set the pace.  She uses this 
time to make her own journey of exploration, to satisfy 
herself that my body and all my secrets lie open to her.  

As her tongue traces my lips and teeth, her hands map my 
body, exploring the plains and hollows of this husk of 
flesh that serves as mortal frame for my soul.  I pity my 
soul, her hands can not touch it, her lips can not graze 
upon it.  My body, however fleeting a shelter for the 
soul, is more blessed.  I shudder as her hands reach down 
and grab my ass, pulling me closer to her.  My cock stabs 
blindly, searching, aching with the single pulsing need to 
find her and join with her.  Her laugh pours over me as 
her fingers trace my quivering cock.  I am on fire.  All 
thoughts of bringing our passion to a slow, simmering 
boil begin to flee.  

With an effort, I free myself from her ministering hands 
by seizing them and pinning them up over her head.  She 
squirms to free herself and I lay myself upon her, letting 
her body grow acquainted with the feel of mine against 
her.  Taking several slow deep breaths, I regain control 
and once again, begin the slow seduction of my love.

Of all the euphemisms for this act of coupling, I think I 
love the Biblical one the best.  I shall 'know' Scully and 
she will 'know' me.  Such a profound way of expressing the 
joining of more than bodies; our souls shall touch and 
there will be nothing secret between us.

Using my free hand, I slide my fingers down her thigh as 
far as I can reach, then, with feather-light touches move
up the inner part of her thigh.  She moans and thrusts her 
hips into my passing hand.  Briefly I ruffle the hairs 
that guard her core, my fingers ever so lightly brushing 
against her clitoris.  Her shudder provokes a shiver of 
anticipation from me.  My body is stretched as tight as a 
drumhead with urgent desire and torturous pleasure.  My 
nerves are echo to her body.  Ruthlessly I tamp down my 
rising need.  This is for her.  I can wait.  I have waited 
so long, culmination might shatter me beyond all reunion.  
She must have her pleasure first, then I can burn to ashes 
in the sun.

I lean down and capture her lips with mine as I switch 
hands holding hers.  I feel her growl of frustration 
against my lips and give her a chuckle in return.  She 
cannot know how long I have planned this campaign, how 
many sleepless hours were spent in devising ways to give 
her pleasure.

My freed hand mimics the journey its brother took, down 
the outer thigh in light strokes that raise goose-bumps in 
their wake.  She is moaning beneath me now, twisting under 
me, making her impatience, her need plain.  My hand 
journeys slowly up the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh 
to the wet tangle of curly hair at the top.  Hot and moist 
already - I am nearly undone.  My breath comes in short 
panting gasps as I fight to control the urge to end this 
seduction and plunge into her.  My fingers begin a slow 
circular motion against her clitoris.  She bucks so hard 
I'm nearly dislodged, but escape is not in her mind.  Her 
body surges against mine, seeking what I long to give, but 
will not give until she has soared as high as I have in my 
power to send her.  I find her rhythm and begin to bring 
her to the edge.  One finger, then two enter her.  My cock 
burns with envy and thrusts restlessly against her thigh.

As my hand seduces her, I bring my lips to the hardened 
nipples on her breasts.  My tongue lightly laps the rosy 
peaks, hardening them further until my slightest breath 
sends her shivering and twitching.  Soon the slow pace of 
my tongue is not enough.  I begin to suckle, grazing 
gently at first, smoothing the nipples with my tongue 
after my teeth have pulled them taut.  

Engrossed in my dual tasks, the hand pinning her arms 
relaxes.  With an abrupt twist, she frees herself.  
Suddenly I am the one being seduced.  Her hands trace the 
outlines of my back and ass sending shivers of fire and 
ice through my veins.  Drawing on all my willpower, I 
resist her demands.  I refuse to be hurried until she 
groans with pent-up need and begins to shudder.  My tongue 
moves in tempo with the rapid plunging of my fingers into 
her core.  My thumb rolls her clit faster until she is 
climaxing against me.  I hold her as she splinters apart, 
kissing her slowly as she comes back to earth.  I revel in 
the simple, arousing act of embracing her as she convulses 
from the pleasure I have given her.

As she lies panting in my arms, my lips begin to retrace 
the journey my hands made, smoothing the ruffled skin 
while whispering my love to all her parts.  My lips trace 
her body as her hands begin to trace mine, each of us 
mimicking the other's actions, binding each other close in 
a duet of passion.

Now, it is my turn.  Her expression leaves no doubt in my 
mind that the pleasure she has just known will be returned 
fourfold.  This is no passive partner I have taken into my 
bed.  Scully is a fierce, intuitive giver, as well as 
receiver, of seduction.  Her hands and lips suckle and 
lick in dizzying profusion until all thought is banished 
and I lie there captive to her will and to the urgent need 
she is conjuring up.  With a smile and insistent hands, 
she draws me into her.  Whatever plan I had to start slow 
has long since fled.  I sink into her in one long thrust 
that buries me up to the hilt in a hot, wet sheath that 
stretches and tightens around me.  With a sobbing groan I 
pull out again, then thrust in hard once more.  I am 
beyond thought or reason.  All that I am, all that I hope 
to be, has melted into a burning pool of passion and need.

Our joining is no gentle plumbing of her depths.  We are 
two forces of nature joining.  I am the lightning striking 
the earth, consuming and being consumed, burying myself in 
her until she takes me wholly into her heart as well as 
her body.... 

Breasting the waves of desire that have hardened my flesh 
to a violent, pulsing demand for completion, I tear myself 
out of the dream.  Shuddering, I stand with clenched 
fists, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, fighting for 
control.

I burn; a white pillar of fire, buffeted by the winds of 
frenzied desire.  I hang poised on the verge of a 
shattering release, but smother my body's demands in self-
immolation, teeth clenched against the moan of protest 
rising from my depths.  At home, on my couch, I can summon 
up the image of my desire and, with my hands, allow my 
pent-up passion to explode in the lonely darkness.  But 
not here.  Never with her living form sleeping nearby.  
This is the price I pay to stand and watch her sleep; 
invading her night with my lonely fantasies.

"Mulder?" 

A single word, thick and unnaturally deep, pierces the 
dream, breaking the fragile spell that binds my wings to 
flight.  Flailing, I plummet to the cold ocean of despair 
that waits to swallow me.  I hold my eyes closed against 
the judgment I know will be in hers; anger to damn me or a 
soft pity that I can not live with.

Helpless to explain, bereft of wit or words to plead some 
excuse for my intrusion, my own body testament to my 
crime, I open my eyes to read my fate.  Neither anger nor 
pity mar the radiance of her gaze.  In the dim light, her 
eyes are twin sapphire flames, burning as I burn.  With a 
smile and those eyes, she draws me forward, out of the 
shadows.  With a graceful sweep of her hand she throws 
back the covers and beckons me home.

I fly into the heart of the sun and fall burning into her 
arms.  Out of the ashes of my fear, our shared passion 
rises more splendid than the dream.


THE END


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