Date sent: Mon, 29 Dec 1997 17:36:54 -0800 (PST)
From: Brenna MacTyre
Subject: Icarus (1/1)
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
==================================================
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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