From: Syrenslure's Fan Fiction <love2watch@softhome.net>
Subject: [XFNC17ff] new: Illusions (1/1) NC-17
Date: Friday, December 28, 2001 8:16 AM

Title - Illusions
Author - Syrenslure
E-mail - love2watch@softhome.net
Rating - NC-17
Classification - SR, Scullyslash, S/f
Spoilers - none
Keywords - slash story. Scully/other
Summary - Scully deals with her pent-up frustration after Mulder ditches her
once again.
Disclaimer - Everywhere except in my twisted mind, Chris Carter owns
X-Files, Dana Scully and Fox Mulder. Occasionally the beautiful goddess
portrayed by Gillian Anderson completely shorts any contact I may have with
the real world and smut ensues. This is the result.
Improv - #5 myth, early, swirl, stranger
Notes - This is my first X-files posting, so hello! everyone. Also with the
popularity of the improvs and challenges and with a bit of inspiration from
the buffyangel improv, I started an improv list for X-files. Check it out at
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/xfiles_improv/

**********

Smoky, neon lights cast shadows around the dimly lit parking lot, as Scully
walked toward the brighter entrance. Her denim embraced hips swayed in time
to the staccato rhythm tapped out by her low-heeled mid-calf boots. The
November night was a cool, calm contrast to the heat that seem to radiate
from her in waves.

She pulled open the door and felt the warm air of the bar rush out to greet
her. She wrinkled the nose as the dim smoky air reached her, wafted by the
gently swirling ceiling fans. Her eyes narrowed a bit as they adjusted to
negative image of the parking lot, where bright lights were now broken up by
secluded shadows. She covered her mouth in a discreet cough, clearing her
throat as she moved toward the bar.

Propping one foot onto the rung of a stool, she leaned into the bar, pushing
her unbuttoned sage overshirt back, to place a hand on her hip. The other
hand rested on the bar as the bartender walked over to her, wiping off the
counter. "Give me a longneck, whatever's lite."

The bartender nodded and reached into the cooler behind the bar. She pulled
out the icy bottle and popped the tab, reaching for a glass, as she looked
the petite redhead in the eye.
Scully shook her head, and scrunched her nose in a negative reply, taking
the bottle. She slid her cash across the bar and lifted the beer in a simple
salute. Moisture ran down her palm, as she tipped the bottle back,
swallowing the slightly bitter liquid. She smiled and lifted the back of her
hand to wipe the sides of her damp lips. Then she turned away to survey the
other occupants, smiling knowingly as she caught the hooded glances and
posed nonchalance of some of the other customers.

**********

"Dammit, Mulder," Scully slammed the phone down, with enough force for a
weak little ring to reverberate through the room.
Once again he had ditched her.

She had knocked on his door an hour ago for dinner and gotten no response.
When she called down to the front desk, the young woman on duty had informed
her, "Oh, I saw him leave a couple of hours ago. Don't you know where he is?
Honey, you should keep better track of your man, a fine looking specimen
like that. "

Scully had tersely thanked the woman and began to pace her room, wishing
Mulder were there to act as punching bag for her frustrations. She also knew
that she wouldn't do it. She was sensible Scully, who didn't scream and
didn't hit, and didn't break a nail or get a run in her pantyhose when he
took her on wild goose chases for mythical creatures through cornfields in
the middle of the night. And if she did, she had the good sense not to
mention or complain about it, because he would only look at her so confused
and hurt that she would feel guilty and to try to make HIM feel better.

So that's why she was stuck cooling her heels in some chain motel in Wichita
Falls, Texas. As a result, she was fed up, she was hungry and she was bored.
This dangerous combination left her pacing the room with no one to strangle
and her skin crackling with pent-up energy. A nagging itch was building low
in her belly and she reached for her suitcase with feral intensity, tearing
it open with one hand and grabbing the phone book with the other.

She pushed her shoulders up and back, squeezing them together to relieve
some of the tension as she flipped through the yellow pages. These places
were remarkably easy to find.  Crossroads. Deceptions. Illusions. Amnesia.
Karma. Their names gave them away. Occasionally she'd guess wrong and then
it was a quick tense drink, held tight and shielded, hoping that no one
would get the wrong idea or the right one and try to take her up on what she
wasn't offering. That meant an early night, and a day to follow where she
snapped at Mulder, complained, fought and was hell to deal with. She had
heard more than one comment from locals about bitches and PMS on those days.

But sometimes, like tonight. it was just right.

She saw what she was looking for. A blonde woman sat by herself at a table
next to the pool game that was going on. She was watching the group, but not
a part of it, alone. She didn't look needy or desperate, so she wouldn't be
hurt. She didn't seem too cocky or dangerous, like she would try to change
the rules. She was a bit younger than Scully and fairly pretty, probably a
former cheerleader, who's seen this side of thirty up close and personal.

Dana sauntered over and motioned with her half-filled bottle to an empty
seat. "Good game. Mind if I have a seat?"

The blonde shrugged, but gave a lazy smile in return. "Sure."

An hour and a round of drinks later, Dana held the blondes manicured hand in
her own, and led her toward the back of the bar. A couple of women looked up
and smirked knowingly, some even enviously, but quickly turned back to their
own business as the restroom door swung shut behind the pair.

Quick fumblings in the back of a bar. A stranger pushed up against flaking
plaster. Rough girl-on-girl kisses and furtive gropings. This too was almost
routine. Shirts pulled up or open. Fly unbuttoned, panties pushed down in a
bunch. Just enough room for her tiny, nimble fingers to slide into slippery
wet folds and tease swollen buds.

Her tongue played over the blonde's tight little nipples, swirling around
and around, as she nipped, kissed and grazed at the soft small breasts. She
traced a pale, pale blue vein with her tongue as she moved her finger in and
out of her partner's tight sex, rocking her clit back and forth with her
thumb.

She knew clinically what was happening. She could describe step-by-step the
biochemical and neurophysiological processes of arousal. What she was
looking for, however, was that one moment when science was irrelevant.
Nothing existed in that moment. Her lips and her tongue and her fingers were
the center of one person's universe.

The nameless, faceless prey she had chosen for the night seemed to turn on
her. She grabbed, pulling, grasping at Dana's shoulders, her breasts,
squeezing tightly the sensitive peaks.
She pulled Dana's head down to her own and crushed their mouths together,
stifling her scream in Dana's lips as their tongues battled and mated. For
that split second, She was important.
Dana was in control. Dana Scully had absolute power and the cry of surrender
that echoed in her head was a bugle of triumph to her ears.

No names, no numbers, no false promises were made. She arched her back
deliciously like a cat full from a saucer of cream and headed back to her
room, ready to sleep and to relax. In the morning, it would be a good day.
She would smile at Mulder's jokes and snort at his exasperating theories.
And she would be sincere. Most of all, she would be safe, sane, sensible
Scully.

END