*****

"Are you sure about this, Mulder?"

"I'm telling you, Scully -- it's in the bag.  We go in, wait for the informant to make contact, get the information, and we're home in time for the sports scores."

"Well, I'm glad I won't miss _those_", she grumbled. Why oh why did she continue, against all better judgment, to follow him on these hair-brained outings? This had to be one of his best. "Tell me again how you happened to intercept a message to Spender from a confidential source."

Mulder had the good grace to look chagrined, for about a nanosecond. "I was looking for a stamp."

"In his _desk_?"

"Of course not!" Mulder stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, his expression wounded.  "I was looking in his briefcase."

"Oh -- well, that's all right then," Scully said sarcastically. "So you naturally answered his phone while conducting this innocent search."

"Naturally. I even found a little yellow post-it to leave him a message on."

"And we're now waiting for -- whom?"

He gazed over her shoulder, suddenly fascinated by the display of Santa and his helpers in a storefront window. "Um -- well -- that part I don't know. But he'll know us --"

"Mulder -- he expects Spender --"

Mulder's face lit up in triumph. "No, Scully -- he expects Spender _and_ Diana. He specifically said -- _Bring the broad. And wear red ties_ I don't think he knows what they look like!"

Scully looked down at the red leather tie she wore loosely knotted around the collar of her sheer white silk blouse. "One mystery solved," she sighed.

He grabbed her arm and drew her across the sidewalk to a stone building in the middle of a very posh neighborhood on Capitol Hill. "This is the place, Scully. Just act natural."

"Yep. Sure thing. Absolutely," she snarled at his back. "I _always_ spend my Friday nights at a crap game!"

"Not a crap game, Scully," he hissed over his shoulder as he rapped at the heavy oak door. "This is a floating casino. It'll have everything!"

*I hate him for loving this. And I hate myself for being here. God, I wish I had said _yes_ when --- Well, there's no point in thinking about _her_ now. Some other woman is undoubtedly trimming her tree right at this very moment."

Mulder murmured something that sounded a lot like _Alfonse sent us_ to the crack in the door, and the next thing she knew she was walking down a wide staircase into a huge room filled with gaming tables and half the social registry of DC. And quite a few well-turned out men and women whose likenesses were familiar, but not from the society pages.

"Mulder--" she whispered urgently. This was serious -- there were major players here -- and they needed some kind of back-up. At least a plan. Something other than what they usually had -- which was a wing and a prayer.

"We're looking for the fifty dollar poker table," Mulder muttered in her direction, while trying not to stare. Talk about America's most wanted.

Scully stopped abruptly, a flush slowly highlighting her pale cheeks. *Oh God. Now what do I do*

Scully stared at the blond haired, blue eyed heartstopper across the room. She looked good -- great -- in a starched tuxedo shirt with white tie, her sleeves rolled up to expose tautly muscled forearms. Better even than the acute memory of her stretched out naked, awash with sweat, panting after the last orgasm had taken her final vestige of resistance -- thin bands of dark leather at her wrists and ankles, delicate bonds of mutual need. Scully swallowed, the images kaleidoscoping through her mind even as her face registered not one hint of surprise.

"I think I've found the table," Scully croaked, her throat suddenly dry. She coughed, tried again. "Mulder, there's a problem --"

Mulder followed her gaze. Their bar buddy.  The one who had suddenly dropped out of sight. "Just act like you've never met her," he said as he started toward the table.

*Oh sure -- uh huh. Never fucked her either* Scully hurried to keep up with him as they wended their way through the crowd.

The dealer looked up, appraising the two newcomers. "The game is five card stud. Fifty for openers, no limit. There are two seats open at the table."

As she spoke, Brett effortlessly cascaded the cards between her long supple fingers. There was only the soft hiss of the smooth surfaces sliding over one another as her glance moved from Mulder to Scully. She gave no sign of recognition, but her lips raised in a faint smile as her eyes traveled the length of Scully's body. The FBI agent looked stunning in a black silk suit whose clinging skirt was definitely too short for regulation length.

Scully sat a second after Mulder, unable to take her eyes off Brett's fluidly moving hands. She knew those hands -- they had been on her, _in_ her -- and they were magic. They spoke a language few had mastered -- of possession and power and awe-struck humility. When Brett caressed her -- running her fingertips lightly over her face, her breasts, along the tender insides of her thighs, Scully felt worshipped, and totally owned. As Brett ruffled the edges of the cards, Scully sensed the feather light touch on her nipples. As they hardened under the fragile layers of lace and silk, the first drops of moisture anointed the sheer fabric between her legs. She shifted on the brocade-covered chair, staring uncomprehendingly at the cards that had mysteriously appeared before her.

*Focus, Dana!* She managed not to drop any as she arranged the cards, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the insistent throbbing in her clitoris. *Wonderful. Perfect timing* She clenched her jaw. She simply wouldn't look at her. That would work. Except for the fact that she could smell her -- a faint aroma of citrus and musk -- sweet and dark, light and heady. Scully twitched against the seam of her silk stockings. *No panty line -- no panties either. Terrific Dana.*

"What?" she asked uncertainly, staring into the bluest eyes she had ever seen. How could they be so cool-- and make her skin tingle as if burned? Oh god, she could taste her. A sensory memory so intense her entire pelvis went into spasm. She bit the inside of her lip, tried to pull out of the swirling vortex of that cerulean gaze.

"Your bet?" Brett asked, a slight mocking lilt to her low, throaty voice.

"I'll pass," Scully replied, keeping her own voice steady with effort.

"Will you?" Brett said softly, as if speaking only to her.

When her gaze moved away, Scully sighed with a combination of relief and regret. She could draw a full breath without it catching in her chest, but she felt the dull ache of loss too. Brett's eyes had held her, embraced her, warmed her. She shivered, and stared at the strange symbols on the glossy surfaces in her hand.

At one point Mulder shifted closer to make room for a new player at the table. He pressed his knee rapidly against hers. *Oh goodie -- a signal. Now what?* She bent her head, attempted to concentrate, and waited for his next move.

She picked up, arranged, discounted and discarded with the same automatic inattention she paid to the lovers in her life. She stayed with the game, but she wasn't in it. She was coming out ahead, if the chips in front of her were any indication. But she didn't feel like she was winning. All she could feel at the moment was the heat on the shining playing surfaces from Brett's touch.

Scully was shocked into awareness by the sound of Brett's voice.

"New dealer here, please," Brett signaled as she stood. She stared at Scully for an instant before turning into the crowd.

Scully rose without hesitation. "I'm out for now."

She followed Brett through a door marked *Private* and into a lounge marked *Ladies*. Brett was waiting on the other side.

Scully wasn't prepared for the force of her attack. She found herself pinned to the wall by two strong hands clamped to her shoulders.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Brett growled.

Scully's reply was muffled by the presence of Brett's tongue in her mouth. She bit at it, then sucked it hard, her hands gripping Brett's waist, tugging at her shirt. She levered her back against the wall and managed to spin them, still kissing. She pulled away enough to demand, "What the hell are _you_ doing here?" before she sank her teeth into the butter soft skin above Brett's collar bone.

Brett's head banged back against the wall as she groaned. "I'm dealing," she gasped, cupping Scully's ass with both hands, pulling her roughly against her crotch. "Oh jesus." Her hips thrust against the hard edge of Scully's pelvis, her clit ripe with need.

"Dealing _what_?" Scully snarled as she jerked the shirt form Brett's trousers. She lowered her head, caught a nipple in her mouth, her hand pressed to Brett's bare stomach. The muscles there jumped as she raked her nails over the tender flesh.

"Stud," Brett whimpered, her neck arched, her eyes cloudy. Lancets of pleasure streaked from her nipple into her clit. She worked Scully's skirt up, sliding a hand along the inside of her stockinged thigh to the cleft between her buttocks.

"Yeah?" Scully insisted, her fingers on Brett's fly, working the zipper down, "and what else?" She straddled Brett's tight thigh, her skirt rolled up nearly to her waist. She felt her wetness soaking through onto the rough fabric of Brett's pants.

Brett's eyes were closing, one hand moving Scully's head on her breast, urging her to pull harder on her aching nipple, the other running over the material between Scully's legs, massaging her through the thin covering. She was hot, and full. "I -- just - deal-- stud." Her head rolled from side to side as Scully's fingers moved into her pants. "Oh -- yeah -- please -- godI need it."

Scully pushed Brett's shirt higher to expose both breasts, her tongue working over her nipples, then nibbling on the soft undersurfaces. She struggled not to mark her, but god she wanted to devour her. She rubbed herself faster on Brett's leg, the friction forcing more blood into her impossibly swollen clit. She tried to ignore the screaming demand of her body to orgasm, slipping her fingers along each side of Brett's clit, squeezing and pulling. "Don't -- lie to -- me," she managed, her lips pressed between Brett's breasts. Her hips were bucking to a rhythm of their own. She gritted her teeth against the escalating pressure in her belly. She would _not_ come first!

Brett was nearly sobbing, her legs threatening to give out. She twitched as Scully slid one finger between her soaked lips, circling the exposed tip of her clit. "I'mnotlyingohjesusyou'regoingtomakemecome--"

Scully pressed her forehead into the curve below Brett's shoulder, eyes tightly closed, mouth open, panting faintly. *I am not goingto come, Iam not, Iamnot--* She insinuated two fingers through the hot, pulsating landscape of Brett's desire, pressing deep into her. Her palm came to rest on the tensely protruding clitoris and as she began to thrust, she rubbed it up and down.

"Ohyeah -- that's right, that's it -- oh - uh huh --" Brett's knees started to buckle. Scully hooked one leg around Brett's thigh and leaned into her.

"Stand up," Scully ordered. She pulled her head back as the coiling beast in her belly began to escape. "Look at me." Brett's body lifted with each powerful stroke of Scully's arm.

Brett forced her eyes open, searching desperately for Scully. Their gaze met and fused, blue on blue, arcing into one another with almost palpable heat.

"I'm -- " as one.

"-- coming--" in unison.

Limply they clung to one another, Scully pulling her skirt down, Brett tucking her shirt tails in. After a few breathless moments, Scully stepped back enough to reach down and pull the zipper up on the blond's fly. Brett reached out and straightened the red-head's tie.

"A piece of advice?" Scully said softly, her face revealing nothing of what she felt.

Brett nodded.

Scully ran her fingers along the edge of Brett's jaw. "Be careful. It's a dangerous game out there."

"A piece of advice?" Brett asked, catching Scully's hand and kissing the palm softly.

Scully nodded.

"Stop drawing to those inside straights."

Blue on blue, a moment of recognition, and then they were gone.

End

*****

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