"Cheap Fire" by MoJo 1/1 Category: MSR Rating: NC-17 Archive: Sure, just slap the MoJo on it. Disclaimer: These characters are not mine at all. Property of the good folks at 1013, FOX and CC. Spoilers: Three of a Kind and Dreamland, general up to season six. Summary: Scully plays with matches. Author's Note: Inspired by my life as a graphic designer and my love of typography. Cheap Fire is a font available at www.fontaday.com. Thank you to Jori for Cheap Eberting. *grin* http://members.aol.com/mojober/index.html ************* La Quinta Inn Santa Fe, New Mexico 10:30 p.m. Sunday "Do you have a light?" I say, leaning over the bar to a man wearing a blue denim shirt and Dockers. Maybe he's in his mid-forties, but he's blond and tan like Robert Redford. Probably works outside in the hot, southwestern sun. The man smiles at me and reaches in his shirt pocket. Instead of a lighter, he takes out a matchbook. He raises it invitingly, then opens it. He manages to take one match out, flip the cover shut and strike it all with one hand. "Impressive," I whisper, as he brings it to the cigarette dangling from my mouth. Bet Mulder couldn't do that. Bet Mulder can't do a lot of things. "What are you drinking?" Redford asks, gazing down at me. "Nothing yet," I reply, taking a slow drag on the cigarette. Been a while since I've smoked and I resist the urge to cough. I need this vice right now. When Mulder asked me to go away for the weekend, a wild goose chase spending two full days traipsing around the desert wasn't what I had in mind. He was given a tip from Frohike to locate a man from Nevada named Morris Fletcher, something about fabricating stories the Gunmen print in their conspiracy paper. Of course, he neglected to tell me any of this until after I flew halfway across the damn country to meet him. How on earth could I have thought it would be for anything else? "What would you like?" Redford asks, taking out a cigarette of his own. He lights it the same way, handing me the book of matches when he's through. "Bourbon," I answer, reciting the first liquor that comes to mind. I don't want any delicate wine tonight. I want something hard and edgy, like the way I'm feeling. I finger the tiny packet. Matches. Tiny bits of cardboard tipped with a combustible mixture that burst into flames when slightly heated through friction. All that potential just waiting to be released. Just like me. "Two bourbons," Redford says, smiling at the bartender. Then, he turns his attention back to me. "You don't look like you're from around here." "I'm not," I say, taking another drag on the cigarette. Getting used to the taste of nicotine again. "I'm from D.C." "Passing through?" he surmises, letting his eyes drift over me. "Here for the night?" "Work," I reply, not wanting to tell him the details of my job or the person that came with it. Strangers give me the opportunity to be ambiguous. They don't really care what conspiracies I've uncovered or how many mutants I've chased. "You're a long way from home," he says, leaning in a little closer. "You must be here for a reason. And I'm sure it's not to hang around a motel bar with me." I smile at him. "Maybe I just needed some matches." Redford wasn't expecting that comment. He looks hopeful now. I bet he does something terribly ordinary for a living. Maybe he drives a truck or sells computers. "Do you want to dance?" he asks, nodding to the old jukebox in the corner. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "I might. To the right song." "Let me see what I can do," Redford says, getting off the barstool. He reaches in his pocket and hands the bartender a ten. Enough to pay for my drink and his. He walks to the jukebox and I twist my stool around to watch him, setting my cigarette down in the ashtray. "Careful, Scully," says the voice behind me. "Blondie's married. Saw him put his ring away just before you sat down." I clench my teeth. "What are you doing here?" I ask accusingly, snapping the barstool back to face Mulder. Where the hell did he come from? I didn't see him when I came in. "Having a drink," he replies, snatching mine off the counter and inspecting it. He sets it back down and nods at Redford. "I can see you're having more than that." The implication that perhaps someone else finds me attractive and the idea that I might act on it completely mystifies Mulder. Just because he can't see me as anything else than just his partner doesn't mean other men don't. "Jealous?" I taunt, bringing my glass to my lips and throwing it back like I'm an casual drinker. I try not to wince as it burns my throat. "Of Blondie?" he says, with a slight smirk I want to slap right off his face. "Please, Scully. Why would I ever feel jealous of a guy like that?" "Maybe because he has something you don't," I retort, the liquor making me stronger. Less inhibited. "Which is?" he asks, swirling the ice in his glass around before downing his drink. I grab the tiny book off the counter and throw it at Mulder. He catches it with one hand, spilling his drink slightly with the other. "You figure it out." I slide off the barstool and stomp angrily to the ladies room. By now, Redford has seen this exchange and is giving me a puzzled look. I narrow my eyes at him. Married. It figures. I throw my purse on the counter. The bathroom is dimly lit by one flickering bulb. I lean against the sink, gripping the porcelain edge and staring at my reflection in the mirror. I take a deep breath, not wanting to lose my composure. But it is too late. Without warning, the door flings open and Mulder is standing in the threshold. "Explain it, Scully," he orders, holding up the matchbook. "Cause I don't get it." "Get out of here!" I yell, turning around to face him. I shove him back a bit. "Now!" "I'm not leaving," he says, holding his ground. "Not until you explain it to me. What *does* he have that I don't? Or do you just like throwing yourself at strange men, is that it? Kind of a Phil Padgett/Ed Jerse thing?" How dare he throw those names at me. I take the matches from him, holding them protectively against me. "At least they *wanted* me," I counter, trying to sound equally as harsh. Mulder stares at me, his eidetic mind trying to decipher what I was actually saying. I turn back around, finding it easier to look at him through the reflection in the mirror. His image walks slowly towards me, keeping his eyes locked on the mirror. Watching me, watching him. "Is that what this is about?" he asks, breaking the horrible silence between us. "You think I don't want you?" "You don't," I say spitefully. He's right behind me now. I feel the heat from his body against my backside. But still, he doesn't touch me. "This weekend, I thought maybe. . .I mean. . ." "You think *I* don't want *you*?" he asks again, matching my tone. Mulder grabs my shoulders and spins me around. Before I know it, he lowers his mouth on mine. Kissing me hard for as long as he can before I can rip free. His tongue dances circles inside me, tasting like scotch and water. He finishes by taking my lower lip in both of his, tugging on it as I withdraw. He releases me with a small shake, as if disconnecting the charge between us. My head is spinning from what just transpired and all I can do is stare at Mulder, shocked at what he just did. I don't have a chance to recover before Mulder presses me against the tile wall and his mouth covers mine. His hands travel all over my body, gliding over my breasts, buttocks and thighs. I'm kissing him back this time. My lips eagerly part for him, allowing that tongue access again. The matchbook falls from my fingers as I bring my arms around his neck. I can feel his erection, tight and firm pressing on my thigh and it thrills me. Raw sexual energy courses through Mulder's body, sparking my own. I feel an ache in my lower extremities. One I haven't felt in a very long time and never at this intensity. "Is this what you wanted, Scully?" he asks, between kisses. His hands move into the space between us, cupping each breast and pressing up. I let out a little gasp. "What you wanted this weekend to be?" I am almost afraid to answer that question. Be careful what you wish for. . . "I wanted the option," I say, voice equally as ragged. God, this feels good. He smells like the desert and sun and sex all at once. His tongue slides in and out of my mouth with such skill, mimicking something else our bodies could be doing that required similar physics. A thin layer of sweat has formed on my forehead and his fingers slide across it, tracing my features slowly. He starts with the crease in my brow, which relaxes under his touch, then travels to my eyelids. His thumb caresses my cheek, pulling back to outline my lips, already swollen from our kisses. I part them, allowing my tongue to trace the tip of his finger. I close my mouth around it, so he has to slide it out. I know he's imagining me doing same thing somewhere else. He shifts a bit, adjusting the building pressure in his groin, then drops to his knees. I lean back against the wall for support. I glance at myself in the mirror above the sink. I am tousled and flushed a scarlet red across my chest and neck, telltale signs of my arousal. Perhaps I always suspected it would come down to this. Six years of repression unleashed is a force to be reckoned with. He unfastens my slacks and tugs on the zipper. Mulder looks up at me, smiling like the damn Cheshire Cat. He hooks a finger on the waistband of my panties, pulling it down far enough to reveal the auburn curls hidden below. "You really are a redhead," he says of his little discovery. Mulder coaxes my knees apart even more, permitting him better access. All I can do is grip his shoulders and anticipate his next move. Nervously, my eyes watch the door. My heart pounds faster at the knowledge that any second someone could come walking through it. This drives my adrenaline up even higher. I've never done anything like this in a public place before. The music is pumping through the wall. I can feel it vibrating, keeping time with my heart. "Hurry," I whisper, wetting my lips. My breathing grows shallow and unsteady. "After all this time of making me wait, now you want me to hurry?" he counters, dipping a finger into my creases slowly. Spreading the wetness and warmth over me and triggering even more. "I'm not rushing this, Scully." Damn him. Goddamn him and his cavalier attitude about this. I'm trembling equally from fear of being caught and the first satisfying sexual experience I've had in years. His mouth feathers kisses beneath my navel. Mulder's hands reach around to my buttocks, steadying me and holding my hips to him. His tongue flickers out, tasting my skin. "Know what I call this?" he asks, indicating the thin hairline from my navel to my pubis. "What?" I mutter. "Line to heaven," he replies, tracing it with his tongue as he descends even lower. I glance back at the door. It is still shut. "Ohhh," I moan, as his lips make contact with my clit. Now he's kissing me in places I'd only ever dreamed of. All those years of eating sunflower seeds and his oral fixations make perfect sense to me now. Taste being a sense most of us neglect, but not Mulder. He glides his tongue against the swollen flesh. I arch my back against the wall, digging my nails into his shoulders. His leisurely pace is maddening. One would think we are in his bedroom judging by the casual way he is performing cunnilingus. I suspect this isn't his first time in a public place; he probably had a lot of practice with that Phoebe Green. She seemed the type. "That good, Scully?" he asks, stopping monetarily and peering up at me. "Oh yeah," I reply, rocking my head to the side. The sensual haze is swallowing me and I forget everything that lead up to this. My eyes dart over to the door. Please, don't let anyone come in here. . .I can't bear to stop now. "Stop looking at the door. Focus on me," Mulder says, breath moist and hot against me. "Can you do that Scully?" "I think so," I say, as he lowers his mouth to me again. Sucking and pressing the little bundle of nerves, seeking that one spot he knows is there. That all women have. Most men never bother to find it. Mulder isn't like most men. I buck my hips against his mouth, grinding slowly. Increasing the friction between us so it can build to the inevitable. Sparking a flame that I never want extinguished. What we start tonight cannot end here, I promise myself. There's no turning back, not after this intimate knowledge has been exchanged. I bite my lower lip, in an attempt not to cry out, but the pressure starts to throb beneath Mulder's tongue. Pulsing hard until finally it breaks free, sending me into orgasm. Mulder must feel it, because he continues to press in that spot and rides it out with me. My body trembles for a good minute before the throbbing subsides, leaving me high on endorphins before spiraling downward. I let out a little sigh to let him know it is over and he withdraws. Carefully, almost reverently, adjusting my panties and slacks. He zips them up, letting his fingers linger for a second. Mulder uses the belt loops to pull my body to his, then lowers his mouth to mine. Kissing me once again. Completely and thoroughly. I can taste myself on his tongue, sweet and musky. "Did you enjoy that?" he asks, between kisses. "Yes," I say, still feeling aroused. I lower my hand to his groin, feeling the hardness there. Overcome by the sudden urge to relieve him of his own need. "Do you enjoy this?" Mulder grins, then gently takes my hand away. "Scully, not yet. I told you, I'm taking this slow." "But what about you?" I whisper, wanting to exchange the experience with him. "Don't you want me to..." "Yes," he exhales. "But right now, there is something else I want. Something I've always wanted." He reaches for my leg, snaking it around his waist. I gasp at the sudden movement, because now his erection is right on my core. Mere fabric separating us from fucking right here and now. I can see it in Mulder's eyes. That's what he wants. Me. "So close," Mulder says, thrusting himself in more. "That's what it's been like for me all this time, Scully. It's like we are intimate in all ways but this. Something has always been in the way." I am burning now. White, hot flames lick greedily inside me. Our eyes lock and I understand what he means by that last comment. I'm the one who's been in the way. Denying us this union time and time again. Whatever my feelings were, I can't imagine they were ever stronger than what I'm experiencing right now. "Say it, Scully..." he implores. I close my eyes. Seeing six years flash in front of my eyes. "Tell me, because I have to know where I stand with you..." He told me once. I didn't want to listen. "I can't do this unless I know," he finishes, voice full of longing. "I won't do this with you if you don't feel what I do." The fire within my core rises up, creating heat somewhere else. Somewhere higher. Right in the center of my chest. I open my eyes, feeling hot tears spilling from my eyes. My lips part and I take a deep breath, pushing the words from that spot inside my heart. Forcing them out. "I love you, Mulder." The words echo against the tile of the bathroom. Reverberating around us again and again. Mulder closes his eyes, as if absorbing the words into his very being. He backs away from me, breaking the contact between us as our hips separate. I lower my leg, bracing against him to steady myself. "Scully," Mulder says, his breath ragged. He opens his eyes and that lustful, wanton expression is still across his features. "I don't want our first time to be here." I nod, afraid to use my voice. I begin to walk away from him slowly. As if he is a wild animal ready to spring if I move too suddenly. I glide along the tile wall, headed for the door. All the while, my eyes are locked with his. My hand reaches out and grabs the handle, ready to jerk the door open. "Mulder," I say, clearing my throat. He looks over. "Then let's get out of here." He smiles. Mulder reaches down, picks up the matchbook and tosses it back to me. *********** The End Feedback to MoJoBer@aol.com Get MoJo'ed at http://members.aol.com/mojober/index.html