"She is a woman, therefore may be wooed;

She is a woman, therefore may be won."

~ Wm. Shakespeare

Part 5: Indulgences
by J. Morningstar

"Oh." she whispered again.

The pathos of his eyes skewered her, piercing her breast with a raw shaft of sensation. How had she ever imagined his eyes to be hard and flat? Here, up close, they were deep, dark pools of concealed thoughts and hidden passions, and she greedily wanted to explore their secrets. She found herself slipping into their depths, and was buffeted on every side by emotions she could scarcely name.

She watched as his eyes widened and his lips parted, and knew that he saw in her a need that echoed his own. Her response was immediate – a shiver of longing that skittered along her spine and settled damply between her legs.

Twisting against him, she cupped his face and pulled him close. Her eyes slipped shut, and her head tipped to receive his kiss. In that moment, just before their lips met, she felt a frisson of sensation slide down her body, fluttering across her skin. And then he was kissing her, his lips seeking and searching; learning the secrets of her mouth.

He held her carefully, his kisses long and deliciously slow, one kiss moving sweetly into the next. Her muscles melted, and she drifted into a sultry lethargy, lost in a haze of pleasure.

Everything else fell away; Mulder, the X-Files, Donnie Pfaster and the demons that held her captive. She didn't know where she began and where he ended. All that existed was the shape of his mouth, the heat of his body, and the pleasure he could offer.

In one brief, moment, she realized that she loved the way he kissed her. "He kisses," she thought, "As though I were his beloved."

She whimpered softly into his mouth and let reason drift away. He groaned deeply in response, his hold tightening, and the quality of his kisses changed. He was impatient and hungry, his lips sliding across her jaw, tracing the length of her neck, exploring the whorl of her ear. A large hand stroked her back, then slid up her side to find her breast, his thumb stroking across her nipple, making her gasp. She followed his lead perfectly, her torpor falling away, hunger taking its place.

He whispered harsh words of encouragement as she twisted until she sat astride him, rubbing her breasts against his chest, grinding against his erection. She kissed every part of him she could reach, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. Burying her face in his neck, she learned his taste and texture with her lips and tongue. Her earring scratched along his neck and she heard his muffled curse. She turned instantly to bathe the scratch with her tongue, but instead found herself turned and lifted, suddenly alone on the couch, Skinner towering over her.

She looked up at him, bewildered by his sudden rejection. "What? What's wrong?"

Skinner would neither answer her, nor look her way. Instead, he found his jacket and pulled it on, then glanced about the room, methodically, as though ensuring that no trace of his presence would be left behind.

His lack of response troubled her. She stood carefully and approached him. "You're leaving?"

"Yes." he responded curtly, his gaze fixed at some point near her feet.

"Why?"

The look in his eyes as he finally lifted his gaze made her ache. "To keep us both from making a big mistake." He rasped.

Scully was stunned. If he left now, Scully knew that it would be as though this evening had never happened. Skinner would rebuild the professional distance between them. When they met again on Monday it would be as Special Agent Scully and Assistant Director Skinner. They would greet each other politely, courteously. Their interest in one another would not stray beyond the case at hand.

His eyes would be flat and hard; her expression would be smooth and remote.

He would be unapproachable; she would be unreachable.

In the space of one evening, they had crossed seasons of time to get to this place. A place where they could touch and kiss and groan their pleasure aloud. A place where they could speak frankly and leave behind the protocol and decorum of the Bureau. And if she did nothing, in a few short moments he would be gone, and the magic of this night would disappear with him.

Loneliness is a choice.

She'd said that to someone once. She believed it then - she believed it now.

So in the half light of the room, with the taste of him still on her lips, and whisper of his harsh, erotic words still echoing in her ear, Dana Katherine Scully made a choice.

She looked up to find that he'd been watching her. She thought he might just be waiting for the same thing that she wanted.

She stood and moved to stand before him. "I don't think this is a mistake. In fact, I think the biggest mistake would be in turning our back on this." She gestured to him, and the space between and around them.

Jaw tightening, he spoke carefully. "There is no ‘this.'"

Scully tipped her head to one side and gazed up at him, a small smile playing about her mouth. "Don't fib."

Two dark eyebrows came together as he scowled at the agent. "Are you calling me a liar?"

Red lips curved into an outright grin as she teased in a breathless voice, "So what if I am? What are *you* going to do about it?"

He smoothed his face into a neutral mask, but not before Scully read the surprise and reluctant humor in his expression. It flickered there for just an instant, but it was enough to convince her to continue.

Arms crossed over his chest, Skinner was implacable. "You're stoned, Agent Scully."

Mirroring his gesture, she retorted. "What's your point, AD Skinner?"

"My point is, you don't know what you're doing."

Scully made an impatient sound. "Look, I might be a little mellow from the drugs, but I haven't lost my reason. I know what I want." Her gaze traveled down the length of his body. "I also know what you want."

He closed his eyes briefly, and she saw his lips moving. Then he turned to leave, and she moved quickly, slipping by him. At the door, she spun round to face him head on.

"Scully, get out of my way."

"Is this your way of keeping me safe?"

He blinked, surprised at her insight. "Yes."

"I thought you respected me."

"I do."

"But not enough to allow me to make my own decisions."

"Fine, Scully. Maybe the Demerol hasn't impaired your judgment. But there's more going on here."

She let her raised eyebrows speak for her.

He looked down, his lips twisted. "Look Scully, you wouldn't be the first person to look for alternative ways to get through a difficult time." He shrugged philosophically. "Some drink, some use drugs, and some..." He trailed off.

"And ‘some' what?" She asked. Then her brows lowered as his meaning became clear. "Sex? Is that what you think this is about? That I'm using you to what? Anesthetize myself?"

"Look Scully, there's no way you'll convince me that what just happened was about you and me." He sighed and closed his eyes, his expression anguished. His voice was rough when he continued. "And I don't want you to hate me in the morning."

"I won't. I won't hate you in the morning." she whispered.

"You're right. Because nothing is going to happen between us."

"Something already has happened between us. Leaving now won't change that."

"Damn it!" He slapped his hands on either side of her head, and leaned down menacingly. "Stop arguing with me Agent Scully, and get the hell out of my way."

"No." Her voice was quiet, but firm.

"No?" He was incredulous.

She spoke rapidly, knowing that his patience was running out. "This isn't about trying to hide from Donnie Pfaster or post traumatic stress, or anything else. This is about you. And me."

She saw from the expression on his face that he had closed down. She reached up to cup his cheek, speaking earnestly. "Have you had so much joy in your life that you can turn your back on this possibility?"

She swallowed and looked away, drawing several steadying breaths deep into her lungs. He made an impatient movement, as though he were ready to throw her away from the door. She looked up at him then, into those deep brown eyes, and remembered the want and the fire in them just moments ago. She realized then that she knew what to do.

Without breaking eye contact, she reached for one of his hands, and pulled it slowly down the curves of her body to rest palm down on the front of her thigh. His eyes widened in surprise. He began to speak, but she stopped him with a quick negative shake of her head.

She slipped her fingers over and between his, linking them together, then squeezed his hand, silently asking for his indulgence. He relaxed slightly, his gaze steady and intense. He leaned over her, one hand still propped against the door, his tall frame curved over her. She inhaled deeply, trying to still the tremor in her hands, and found herself downing in his heat and his scent - part aftershave, part soap, something else that was pure Skinner and entirely erotic.

She swallowed convulsively, and grasped the hem of her dress between their twined fingers, and tugged gently on their joined hands. Slowly, steadily, she led his clever fingers in a dance along her thigh. He gasped when he discovered the bare flesh above her thigh-high stockings, and the sound sent a rush of liquid warmth to settle between her legs. Now he was helping her, allowing her to led, but clearly impatient to discover where she was taking them. With unwavering purpose, she pulled their joined hands higher and higher, until finally, she pressed his palm flat against the bared skin of her abdomen.

Never taking her gaze off his face, she licked her lips. When she spoke, her voice was a husky whisper. "What if I can convince you that..." She tipped her head to their joined hands. "That this is just about you and me? That I want you. That I've wanted you for a long, long time?" She shook her head, her eyes almost sad. "Don't you know that if I wanted to self-medicate with sex, I could have chosen from a half-dozen men, including Mulder, weeks ago?"

Skinner's lips parted at her words, his breath coming in short, harsh pants.

Continuing to hold his gaze, she pushed his hand downward. Reaching the top of her panties, she slipped their fingers under the delicate lace edging. Her blood was roaring in her ears, and her lungs worked as though she'd run a dozen flights of stairs. His face seemed expressionless, but his eyes glowed hot. She led their joined hands downward, the tips of his fingers tickling her flesh. She felt the shudder that racked his body when their fingers encountered the tangle of her feminine curls. She pushed his hand further, until it rested at the crest of her mound, then untangled her own fingers and stroked them slowly up his arm.

He laid one forearm flat on the door above her head and leaned into her small frame, his breath short, desperate pants. "Don't stop now." he muttered hoarsely.

She arched against his hand, and whispered. "You touch me. Please."

With that, he slid one long finger though her curls, parting her lips. He groaned, his whole body sagging as he felt how damp she was. He buried his face into her shoulder, his lips gnawing on the soft skin of her neck. He stroked the tip of his finger across her clitoris, and absorbed her shudder. "What do you want?" He whispered roughly. "Tell me what you want."

She arched against him and grabbed his hand, pushing it up further between her legs. "Put your fingers in me." she begged. "I want you to touch me."

And he did, pushing a thick finger inside her and she was tight and hot and soaking wet. He inhaled the scent of her arousal and was intoxicated by it. He slid a second finger inside her, then pulled back, and pushed inside her again and again, creating a rhythm that had her writhing against his hand and groaning for more. "Harder. Do it harder."

Her hands were on his belt, pulling at his zipper. He pulled away, but before she could protest, he lifted her against him and growled approvingly when she wrapped her arms around his neck and hooked her ankles behind his back, rubbing against his erection. He placed a sweet, lingering kiss against her swollen lips, and then rained a dozen tiny nibbles across her jaw. He pulled back to look at her, and gifted her with a smile she had never seen before. A thoroughly rakish and masculine smile. With his dark pirate eyes she was reminded inexplicably of a swaggering buccaneer. She sagged against him, thanking her patron saint that he seemed to have saved that smile just for her.

It had never been like this before. This burning need which rose higher and higher. She forgot to be self-conscious, and became pure feeling. Response to his stimulus. For a moment, she wondered if this big, gentle man had spun her up in some kind of enchantment. Mulder, her friend, her partner -- was as necessary to her as air. But she never needed him like this.

It both scared the hell out of her and set her flying.

Then Skinner was laying her gently on the bed, following her down with his body, and she quivered, luxuriating in that first, exquisite instant, when the body of a new lover stretched out over her own. She was lost in the feeling of this wonderful man pressing onto her, covering her, comforting and arousing her in the same instant.

"Am I too heavy for you?" he rasped.

"No. No. You feel just right." and she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

He kissed her over and over, slanting his mouth against hers, exploring her teeth and the warm cavern of her mouth with this tongue. He slid a leg between hers, rubbing his erection against her. One hand reached up to knead her breasts, the other tangled in her hair. He felt a tingling in his balls and pulled back; he didn't want to rush their first time.

He propped himself on his elbows and studied her face, bemused and amazed that the woman who lay beneath him, was flushed and fevered because of him, was damp with arousal for him. She reached for him, and he pulled back, jumping to his feet. "Too many clothes." he muttered.

Keeping his eyes fixed on hers, he took off his wire rims and tossed them carelessly on the night stand. He toed off his shoes, loosened his tie, then shucked his suit coat. Next, he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, a white shirt that outlined his splendid chest, broad shoulders, and tapered waist.

Watching him, she realized he was stripping for her. Years ago, another lover had tried to do the same, but left in a huff when she snickered at him. Laughing was the last thing on her mind now. Just breathing seemed to be a challenge. Could he possibly know how much he effected her? How astonishingly sexy he was? She decided to show him, pulling the hem of her dress above her waist, she slipped a hand into her panties and stroked herself. Was delighted when his eyes darkened and he sped up his movements, tearing at his buttons. He pulled off his T-shirt with one hand, and reached for his belt, growling low in his throat. "Show me, Dana, show me how you like to be touched."

She whimpered and yanked at her panties, pushing them off her legs. "Leave the heels on." he begged, and she did. She turned slightly on the bed, so the V between her legs was clearly visible. She leaned back on one elbow, spreading her legs wide, and slipped her other hand down to stroke herself. Skinner was treated to a canvas of contrasts - the dark stockings rising halfway up her thighs against the creamy skin above. The black of her skirt, snagged about her pale belly, the dark auburn curls, damp with her arousal, guarding pink lips, swollen and ripe. Red-tipped fingers sliding in and out of her body. He could smell her. "Fuck." he growled, and pulled at the rest of his clothes, hopping out of his pants and shorts, one leg at a time, yanking at his socks, till he was finally, gloriously naked before her. His cock erect and proud, weeping pre-cum and twitching with hunger.

Her mouth opened in a perfect "O" and her eyelids fell to half-mast, as she took in the sight of his naked body and the perfect shape of his cock. It was beautiful, and she wanted to worship it with her hands, mouth, and throat. She reached for him, but he pounced first, flipping her over to her stomach, and pulling on the zipper of her dress. "Too many clothes, Dana, too many fucking clothes." he muttered. He nipped his way down her spine and she writhed under him. "Like that? Like to have your back stroked and played with?" In response, she groaned at him, wiggling her ass against his groin. He unhooked her bra, then pulled her up, slipping it's straps, along with her dress, down her supine figure. Lifted her hips to pull the garments along further, finally pulling them off her legs, till she lay beneath him, face down, naked except her stockings and heels.

He went to work then, finding every hot point on her neck, back, and finally, her bottom, with his fingers, lips and tongue. She could only moan and twist on the bed, telling him without words when he found a particularly responsive spot. Finally, he moved to lean over her, his lips finding her ear, tonguing its sensitive whorls, whispering encouragement and praise. He reached between her legs, and pushed a finger into her weeping cunt. She cried out and thrust back at him.

"You want this?" he asked.

"Yes, yes, yes." she breathed.

But he pulled away; he had other plans for her. He traced the dampened finger up the cleft of her ass, pausing over the tiny opening there. "What about this Dana?" He circled the knot of muscle there, teasing her. "Would you let me fuck you here?" She started, and he reassured her. "Not tonight. But soon? You're so tiny and I'm so big. I wouldn't want to hurt you. I'd never want to hurt you." He kissed her neck, teasing the tiny hole with his blunt finger. "We'd take our time. I'd get you ready, playing with you a little more each time, making you want it, till you're ready to take me."

She felt a bolt of heat wash over her, leaving her dizzy with longing. The forbidden images Skinner's husky voice conjured up left her crazy with yearning, yearning that he should do anything he wanted to her, and it might just be enough to satisfy the ache between her legs. "Please," she whimpered.

"Please what? Touch you there?" His voice lowered. "Take you there?"

"Yes, yes." she begged.

"Has anyone ever..."

She cut him off. "No, never before." She groaned, pushing back at him. "I never wanted to before."

He shoved the finger back into her cunt, growling his approval. Then he set about rediscovering all the secret places that made her squirm with desire while he played with her ass with his dampened finger. His mouth latched onto the place where her nape joined her shoulder, making her shudder and moan while he marked her, his finger circling her tiny nether hole. With his powerful thigh, he pushed one of her legs up, pulling the cleft of her ass open to his exploration. With just the tip of his finger, he pushed gently at her hole, then stroked north, then slid his finger back over the muscle, pushing again, gently, but insistently, feeling it bloom minutely beneath his finger. Over and over, he stroked, paused, then dipped, each time feeling the knot of muscle warm and open a little more.

He realized he was humping her thigh, on the verge of coming. He pulled her back over, till she lay prone and open beneath him. "I can't wait any longer. Don't make me wait." he begged.

She pulled him down, finding his lips with her own, opening her mouth and wrapping her legs around his hips. His cock found her opening and he pushed inside, feeling her rippling warmth, he pushed until he was fully embedded, then pulled his mouth away from hers. He held himself above her, propped on his forearms, gulping air and fighting for control. Finally, he began to move, slowly, steadily. Stroking in and out, watching her face, lifting her hips, finding the angle that would give her the most stimulation. Watching her face contort in a grimace of pleasure as he stroked just right, finding the rhythm and the friction to take her over the edge. "Yes, yes, yes." she breathed. "Just like that...don't stop, don't stop." He began to push harder, his strokes losing their control as he felt his balls draw up and tighten. He suddenly rolled them, so she was on top. "You do it," he said. "Do it the way you need it." and let her set the pace before pushing up, following her lead. He reached behind her, touching where their bodies joined, wetting his finger. She lunged harder against him, and he knew she was getting close. He pushed his finger against her tiny hole, pushed till he breached her opening, embedding his finger to the first joint, watched her face as her eyes sprang open, then closed as her climax overtook her. Felt her muscles clamp down on his finger and his cock, milking him rhythmically as he shouted with his own orgasm, spurting into her again and again.

She fell against him, trembling, and he kissed her where ever he could reach, reeling from the most intense sex he'd ever experienced. They lay like that for long moments, catching their breath, perspiration cooling on their skin. He pulled gently out of her, rolled them over so they were side by side, and pulled the bedspread up and over them. He peered down at her face, and realized she'd already fallen asleep. Chuckled at the idea that he'd fucked her unconscious, and lay awake for an hour watching her sleep.

Halfway across the country, in a windowless basement room, the man sat reviewing the letters that the convict, Donnie Pfaster had sent him. The man had become intrigued by Pfaster's obsessions. Spent hours thinking about them. Until Pfaster's obsessions became his own. Until the one who got away from Pfaster, the one Pfaster could not stop thinking about, became the one thing he could not stop thinking about. And now, she had killed him, killed Pfaster. There would be no more letters about her. No new details to ponder over, to dream about. How could she do this to him? She would pay for this impudence. And pay soon.

The trap had been set and baited. All he had to do was wait.

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