TITLE: Games: Winner Takes All
AUTHOR: Radclyffe
EMAIL: rdclyfhall@hotmail.com
ARCHIVE: anywhere
RATING: NC-17; This story depicts graphic sexual encounters between same-sex consenting adults.
CATEGORY: Vignette
KEYWORDS: Mulder/Other; Scully/Other(female); Scully/Slash
SUMMARY: Hal asked for it. That's my only excuse for venturing into a non-Genesis universe.
DISCLAIMERS: I'm not stealing them.


It was after their third date that Mulder began to wonder why he couldn't score. She seemed to like him enough -- they had a great time talking about football, and the Nicks. She could argue point spreads better than any of the geeks at work. And she looked so sexy with her baseball cap turned around backwards, leaning her arms on the bar, poking his shoulder for emphasis when she explained to him why his picks were off. She could keep up with him drink for drink too, and when they wended their way home, arms around each other's waist, singing the National Anthem, he was sure they were bonding. Maybe that's when he should have made his move, but he ended up just hugging her. He had tried to get his hand on her breast but the leather of her authentic bomber jacket was just too stiff. And last night had been the clincher. She'd said, _Hey Fox, let's check it out_, when they passed the marquis announcing _Invasion of the Body Snatches_. He'd looked at her quickly in amazement, and caught the tail end of that fleeting grin that always looked like there was a secret behind it. He'd had an overwhelming urge to -- punch her on the arm? No wonder he couldn't score.

"What's the matter, Fox?" she asked him kindly, laying a hand on his sleeve. Her bare arms were sleekly muscled, with just a hint of softness tempering the sculpted edges.

"Um -- I don't know. Just tired I guess. I've got a little headache." He felt like a failure. And damn, he liked the way she looked with her Hard Rock teeshirt tucked into those faded jeans -- and the boots were a perfect accessory. He recalled it was her impressive biceps that had first caught his eye at the gym, and before he knew it they were spotting for each other like old gym buddies. So he'd asked her out. Well, maybe catching a bite at the bar before the big game wasn't every woman's idea of a romantic evening, but she seemed to agree readily enough. And she'd seemed to like coming back with him.

Her blue eyes clouded with concern. "Maybe we should go somewhere else. It's pretty loud in here."

His heart leapt. This was it. She was going to ask him back to her place. Oh, YES. The moment was close at hand. He could imagine peeling her jeans down those long toned thighs, pressing his face to her flat, smooth abdomen, running his hands over her small firm breasts. Putting his lips on -- Oh yes, yes, yes.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked coyly. As if he didn't know.

"How's your pool game? There's a really nice parlor just a few blocks away." She pushed a strand of blond hair behind one ear, in that unconsciously seductive way she had. She tilted her head to peer at him, her wide full lips parted invitingly.

*Nine ball as foreplay?* He did admit to a certain thrill at the thought of taking her on. He liked a little competition to quicken his appetite.

"Okay, sure," he replied. *I can wait a little longer for the big touchdown*

"Good," she smiled. She started to rise when, suddenly, she became totally still. Her eyes fixed on a point across the room, and Mulder swore she stopped breathing. A faint blush stole over her neck and chest where the vee of her shirt exposed the lightly tanned skin. Right at that little hollow where he longed to put his lips. Her pulse hammered visibly there, as if she'd been running.

"We've got company," she murmured in a stunned tone as a voice at his ear announced crisply, "You left without taking this, Mulder."

He looked up into his partner's snapping blue eyes. She was waving a sealed manilla envelope under his nose. "Your half of the expense report -- remember? Due tomorrow? The half that _I_ am not going to do?" She placed it smartly on the table in front of him. He grinned winningly.

It was then that Scully became aware of a warmth on her cheek, and looked over the table into a pair of aqua eyes that glowed like laser beams. For a moment she was caught, fixed in the highbeams on a deserted, darkened road. Unable to move, and not wanting too, even as the eighteen-wheeler bore down upon her. She meant to form words as the leonine presence rose gracefully from the chair, but no sound emanated from her tightly constricted throat. She had a sense of coiled power, poised to strike, swiftly, decisively, lethally. She should flee, but her legs were rooted to the floor.

Suddenly, a dazzling smile brought out the sun, and she was released from the spell. The night receded, but the heat remained.

"Hi. I'm Mulder's friend."

"Hi. I'm Mulder's partner."

Mulder watched them shake hands. He shivered and wondered why, because he was sweating. They leaned toward each other slightly, blue eyes locked, arms meeting in an unspoken challenge. He cleared his throat when it began to look like they might be mind-melding.

"Uh, Scully, we were just about to go shoot some pool." She hated pool. Not that he minded her company, but he didn't want her to feel left out. Especially when the two of them left to do the wild thing.

"Great," Scully responded, a smile reluctantly playing on her lips in answer to the insolent grin lifting the corner of the blonde's beautiful mouth. "Sounds like fun. Let's go."

Mulder stared as the two of them turned toward the door, and nearly overturned the glasses on the table in his haste to follow. On the short walk to the pool hall he had the pleasure of listening to them get acquainted, while he tried to add pertinent information about himself. He was glad they liked each other though. He could tell they did, from the way they walked with their shoulders just touching, and their heads bent close, and their hands occasionally brushing. He liked listening to their laughter too -- a light low murmur of shared recognition. This was good -- Scully was breaking the ice -- this was definitely good.

An hour later he was certain of it. There was something in the air all right. They'd commandeered a table in the rear, and were playing winners. So far the lithe blonde hadn't lost a game. And it was Scully's turn to play her again. Mulder watched with a familiar tingling in his groin as the taller woman leaned over his smaller partner from behind, helping her sight the ball. He knew Scully wasn't much of a pool player, but he never remembered her needing instruction before. Just the same, he enjoyed the opportunity to study his date's ass. It was firm and nicely rounded, packed into the slightly tight blue denim. Yeah, he could see himself pressed up against that butt, his hands sliding around the front, working the zipper down, reaching in to find her wet with wanting him. Wouldn't be much longer.

Scully pressed back as she drew on the cue stick, and gasped slightly at the responding surge against her ass. She could feel the whole length of the other woman's thigh almost between her own, and the unmistakable swell of breasts against her shoulder where they leaned forward together. She looked down to see the long-fingered hand lightly grasping her wrist, lining up the shot, and her skin burned where their flesh met. The slow fire that had been smoldering since their first touch began to simmer. She tried to sight the angle, and realized her vision was hazy. "Can't quite get my bearings," she admitted, her voice low and husky.

"Mmm -- I know what you mean," a warm whisper breathed into her ear. I'm a little at sea myself." She shifted slightly, her hand dropping to Scully's waist, brushing lightly over the edge of hip bone, her fingers coming to rest just in the angle of Scully's abdomen and thigh. "Does that help at all?"

Scully felt a little light-headed. She hadn't had anything to drink, had she? She drew away from the painfully pleasant touch on her leg, only to find her pelvis rubbing on the edge of the table. Her clit came to full attention. "Oh," she murmured as she grew full and wet. "I'm afraid I'm going to blow this shot."

Soft laughter, a quick caress of fingers along her arm. "I don't think so. And if you do -- we can always start again." The hand on her thigh pressed closer into the heat between her legs, drawing lightly on the fabric of her slacks, the motion intensifying the building pressure.

Scully tried to focus. She slid the stick rhythmically through the circle of her fingers and palm a few times, gaging just the right force. The smooth surface was slick, and her fingertips tingled.

"That's perfect -- just stroke it -- stroke it gently -- yes, just --like -- that," came the soft instruction. The fingers were moving dangerously close now. Just one touch away from ignition.

Scully felt the other woman tremble slightly, heard the quickening of her breath. Scully closed her eyes as her legs shook, threatening her balance. Spiraling sensation erupted unbidden in her belly. Her hips undulated subtlely in tight thrusts in the cramped space. "I'm going to lose it completely," she admitted desperately.

"Let me help."

Arms came around her from both sides, enfolding her in heat and muscle. A cheek brushed her own, soft, damp with light sweet sweat. A pleasant weight on her back, pushing her forward, increased the friction between the curve of rail and her pelvis. Her body tensed as her clit road over the rounded edge of the table.

"Now," the woman murmured, her lips barely brushing the corner of Scully's mouth. "Take your shot -- let it go."

Scully bit her lips as ripples of fire streaked down her legs and tore through her chest. Her arms thrust within the circle of the woman's embrace, and as she heard the crack of ball on ball, she let the blazing heat ride through her. She whimpered once, softly, so only her companion could hear.

"Oh -- nice shot, Scully!" Mulder applauded from his seat on the stool along the wall. They didn't seem to hear him.

"Mmm --" the woman murmured, straightening slowly, staying between the still shaking redhead and Mulder. "Very, very nice indeed."

Scully turned, her eyes cloudy, and raked the blonde from head to toe with a smoldering gaze. She didn't miss the rapid rise and fall of her chest, or the flush on her face or the slightly parted lips swollen in arousal. She pushed the cue stick forward, the handle brushing the taller woman's fly, resting for a fleeting second in the damp triangle between her thighs. She smiled slightly at the sharp intake of breath, and the flickering of need in her eyes.

"Your shot. And remember -- winner takes all."

End 01/01

TITLE: Games: Playoffs
AUTHOR: Radclyffe
EMAIL: rdclyfhall@hotmail.com
ARCHIVE: anywhere
RATING: NC-17; This story depicts graphic sexual encounters between same-sex consenting adults.
CATEGORY: Vignette
KEYWORDS: Scully/Other(female); Scully/Slash
SUMMARY: Just for fun. A companion to _Winner Takes All_. Scully isn't looking for love -- she's looking for a worthy opponent on the playing fields of lust.
DISCLAIMERS: I'm not stealing them.


"So -- Scully -- you want us to walk you to your car?" Mulder asked. He couldn't believe he hadn't won one single game of pool. It had been fun watching the two of them playing though. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but they looked so damn -- good -- moving around each other at the table, brushing against each other, just barely touching, as they leaned, and sighted, and stroked. Stalking the shots, looking up and laughing into each other's eyes at a good one, or a spectacular miss.

It was like they were dancing -- but of course, that was just his imagination. Probably from watching too many girl on girl movies at the All Night Sexiplex. Except he couldn't recall any of the women in them looking half as exciting together as these two did -- and they weren't even _doing_ anything! Boy, he really needed to release some natural humors if he was starting to think about Scully that way.

"Uh -- Scully?" he asked again. The two of them were slightly ahead of him as they hit the sidewalk, their bodies blending where their shoulders and thighs touched as they walked. For a second he thought the air shimmered around them. Must be the cold. "Your car?"

"That's okay, Mulder -- I'm not going home yet," Scully said over her shoulder, her eyes never leaving the other woman's face. "Am I?" she added quietly.

"I hope not," came the husky reply. "Could I tempt you with coffee or cognac?"

"You could tempt me with a lot of things, but coffee sounds like a place to start," Scully responded. Her body was still singing, and her hands itched to slide under that teeshirt and over the firm rise of breasts that had pressed fleetingly against her all night. "What about him?" she indicated with a slight nod. She didn't really want to compete with Mulder if that's the way things were.

"He's welcome to coffee, but that's it," the blonde replied softly.

"Then you really are just _Mulder's friend_."

"Mmm -- and some people call me Brett."

"Most people call me Scully. But you can call me Dana."

Brett turned to Mulder. "How about something to drink at my place, Mulder?"

His heart did a little dance, and a few other parts started to join in. "Oh yeah -- sounds great --" Really, really, really great.

Fortunately said parts had quieted down by the time they reached Brett's apartment and he realized all _three_ of them were having coffee. But she had a wide screen TV and the game was still on, so he soon forgot about his recent uplifting expectations.

"Can I help?" Scully asked, following after the long, lean length of sinuous muscle and golden hair and blue eyes that seemed to have completely stolen her senses. At least some of them -- others were still very much in attendance. She couldn't remember the last time she had been so turned on, and at the moment she had absolutely no desire to question it. And she certainly wasn't going to let things end with her coming in her pants from a little fondling. Two could play that game, and pay backs _should_ be hell.

Brett turned abruptly as she entered the kitchen and Scully collided with her, their breasts and bellies and thighs meeting. "Ohh-" Brett sighed, pulse soaring. "I think so."

Scully didn't move for a second as a brush fire raged through her body. Every cell began to simmer, but she wasn't ready for the flames just yet. The wanting was too sweet. She pressed closer, feeling Brett's nipples harden against her, then stepped around her into the kitchen. "Coffee pot?" she inquired, her voice thick.

"Counter," Brett choked, trying to steady her breathing.

Scully was pleased to see Brett's hands were shaking as she poured water into the coffemaker. Scully leaned against the blonde's side, reaching around her for the coffee filters stacked at the back of the long tiled counter. "Are we making enough for seconds?" She pressed her hips into the taut thigh.

Brett grasped the edge of the counter as her clit twitched in her jeans. "Fuck, no," she gasped. "One cup and he goes."

Scully rocked a little against her, enjoying the slow build of tension between her legs. Her first orgasm made waiting for the next one easier. Brett's pelvis jerked into the counter.

"Careful --" Scully breathed into her ear, "those edges can be hell."

"Unhhh--" Brett mumbled, closing her eyes against the surge of blood pushing into her already swollen clitoris. "I'm in a little trouble here."

Scully licked the side of her neck. "You ain't seen trouble yet." She stepped back at the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Hey!" Mulder called, turning the corner. "Have you got chips or anything?" He stopped and stared. Scully had the strangest smile on her face, like she had a secret. And Brett looked like she had just finished running a marathon. Her neck and upper chest were flushed, and he was sure there were little beads of sweat on her forehead. God, she was hot looking. In fact she looked _hot_. "You need me to open a few windows or something?" he asked as spied a bag of sun-toasted veggie bits on the top of the fridge.

Scully swallowed a retort as Brett slid one hand between her legs from behind. Scully clamped her thighs involuntarily, squeezing down on the delicious contact. "Mmphh -- NO! It's fine." She edged away an inch. "We'll be right out."

"Okay," he threw over his shoulder as he headed happily back to the game, his mouth stuffed with chips.

Scully collapsed back against Brett's chest. "Move that hand or lose it."

Brett laughed, leaning around to kiss her. Scully turned in her arms, raising her head, meeting her lips. First kisses were always a question mark -- would it be too rough, too tentative, too empty. It wasn't. It was right. It was soft, but firm, a brush of lips followed by a gently exploring tongue. Scully parted her lips, let her tongue meet Brett's, and they tumbled and fell into one another's mouths for a moment.

Scully drew back and Brett moaned in protest. Her hands slid from Scully's waist toward her breasts.

Scully caught them in an iron grip, twisting away as Brett's fingers flickered over her nipples. "Guest --" she hissed as the touch streaked through her. "Go play hostess."

"Argghhh--" Brett groaned, but dutifully arranged mugs and accessories on a tray and carried them into the living room. Mulder had settled into a large leather recliner, leaving the couch for Brett and Scully to share. They each took an end, facing each other.

"Are you cold?" Brett asked Scully as she handed her a steaming cup.

"Mmm -- a little," Scully replied, admiring the way Brett's cotton tee pulled tight across her chest. No bra. And beautiful breasts. Oh god. She set the cup down on the floor.

Brett made a move to get up. "I can start a fire."

"No --" Scully said, catching her arm. She indicated the afghan tossed over the back. "Just throw that over us." She pulled her legs up onto the sofa, and as soon as Brett spread the cover over them, Scully settled her feet in Brett's lap. When Brett pulled one leg up to get comfortable, Scully immediately moved her foot into Brett's crotch.

"Unnh-" Brett muttered in surprise. The bottom of Scully's stocking clad foot rested squarely over her clit.

"Yeah, I know," Mulder agreed, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Lousy pass rush."

Brett looked askance at Scully, who merely lifted an eyebrow while beginning to move her foot in slow circles over the tightly stretched denim between Brett's legs.

Brett's hand clenched into a fist where it lay on the colorful covers. Her hips rose to meet the tantalizing pressure. She turned hooded eyes to Scully's, the plea in them clear. "Don't," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I -- can't -- take --it-"

Scully glanced at Mulder, who was angled away from them, leaning back in the recliner. Smiling a little wider, Scully licked her lips and ran her hand slowly over the sheer silk blouse she wore, letting her fingers linger on the prominence of her hardened nipple. She pinched it, her hips jerking slightly at the intense pleasure.

Brett watched Scully excite herself as the rhythmic motion on her groin brought most of her blood flow into her pelvis. She certainly wasn't getting much to her brain because she was at the point where she didn't care who was in the room, she wanted to come so bad.

"Fuck-" she grunted as Scully's toe curled into the base of her clit. Her eyes rolled for a second and she had to bite her lip to still the moans that threatened to erupt.

"Hey!" Mulder exclaimed. "That's our guy! It was a great fake!"

"Right, Mulder," Scully agreed. The heat from Brett's crotch was palpable against her foot. She could tell from Brett's shallow breathing and the rapid thrusts of her hips under the cover that she was losing control.

"Help me," Scully whispered, echoing Brett's offer from the pool hall.

Brett's eyes widened for a second as her addled brain deciphered the message, then she slipped her hand under the afghan and under Scully's foot. She picked up Scully's rhythm with her fingers, working her clit through the wet fabric of her jeans.

Scully's lips parted in anticipation as she watched Brett's face. She felt Brett's hand moving furiously as she touched herself.

Brett was fighting to focus on Scully as her orgasm began to build. She braced her leg on the floor and arched her back into the cushions as the pulsations in her pelvis began to overflow into her belly and down her spine. Her teeth clenched audibly as the first wave pounded her, and she closed her eyes tightly against the relentless spasms.

Scully had to struggle not to shout in triumph as she watched her coming. God she was beautiful, and for those few scant seconds, Scully owned her.

"Oh fuck," Brett gasped involuntarily. She was trying to regain control but it was clear she was still coming. Her body twitched with each lingering contraction.

"I'll say," Mulder snorted in disgust, slamming the recliner into the upright position. "What a time to fumble." He looked over at the two women on the couch.

Maybe watching the game hadn't been a very good idea. Scully had that glazed look she got when she was totally bored by one of his stories, and Brett looked like she was about to collapse from exhaustion. Oh oh. Might be another rain delay heading his way.

"Uh, you too want to watch the post-game show?" he suggested tentatively.

"NO," Scully fairly shouted. She cleared her throat, took a deep breath. "You know what, Mulder? It's late. Why don't we call it a night? I'll just give Brett a hand clearing up in the kitchen, but you don't have to stay."

"Sure. Okay. I'll see you tomorrow then." Damn. He felt like he just lost a spot in the playoffs. Oh well -- there was always the wild card slot.

Scully smiled fondly as she watched him trudge out the door. Then she glanced over at Brett. "Have you had enough of the pre-game show?"

Brett stood up and held out her hand. "I think the big game's about to start."

End Playoffs

TITLE: Games: Dungeons and Dragons 01/01
AUTHOR: Radclyffe
EMAIL ADDRESS: rdclyfhall@hotmail.com
ARCHIVE: anywhere, just let me know
RATING: NC-17; This story depicts graphic sexual encounters between same-sex consenting adults.
CATEGORY: Vignette
KEYWORDS: Scully/Other(female);Scully/Slash
SUMMARY: Scully goes hunting. Bondage, sex toys, and power. Your choice.
DISCLAIMERS:The characters of Scully, Mulder, Skinner and others/events introduced on the X-Files are the sole property of Chris Carter etc, and are used here without permission for entertainment, not for profit.
Comments welcome and necessary for my mental health.


It was getting harder and harder to avoid old girlfriends, or current ones for that matter. It was a bad idea to sleep with women connected with work, but when work was ninety percent of your life, exactly _when_ were you supposed to find time to socialize elsewhere? Thank god a few of them at least lived out of town. Scully sighed and glanced at the discreet plaque next to the stairs leading down to an ornate wooden door. _The Caverns_.

Word of mouth had it that this club was members only, exclusive and elite. Fortunately, Holly had given her a reference -- before she'd told her in no uncertain terms to limit her extracurricular activities or find another bed to warm. They'd had that conversation before -- trysts in the lab and quickies in the elevator were fun, but she had no intention of marrying her, for god's sake. And she'd never told any of them she was interested in the long term. Well --- maybe one or two --but she'd told them when her feelings changed. When she couldn't quite bring herself to make the commitment. When the fear of failure -- Ah, hell, she didn't want to think about that right now. Which was why she was here in the first place.

She rang the bell set into the carved wooden frame and put on her best impassive FBI face. She stared unblinking at the small hole in the door, wondering what the eye on the other side gleaned from her appearance. Her trenchcoat, black turtleneck sweater and close fitting jeans were standard issue at a place like this, revealing nothing. Light make-up, flawless skin, red-hair gleaming even in the dim light. Cool blue eyes, hard unreadable eyes most of the time. Once in a while the emotion surfaced -- when Mulder was being his most impossible, or most endearing. When the woman in her arms touched her heart as well as her body -- fleetingly, unexpectedly. When the horrors of a particular case broke through her defenses when she was weary. But not tonight --tonight she was in control. She wanted a diversion, a few moments when she chose the playing field, she picked the game, she decided on the rules. Not Mulder, not Skinner, not her father -- _her_.

The door opened, she made the necessary responses, and the immaculately tailored guardian of the gate allowed her entrance. She walked down the long shadowed corridor toward the even darker room at the rear, feeling the rhythm of the music through the floor, aware of the answering beat of her heart. Her blood began to surge, stirring with the excitement of the unknown. What, or who, awaited her in the arena where titles and names and past histories had no meaning? Where only the moment was real --- and the reality you chose to create was all that existed. You were anyone you chose to be -- for as long as the spell lasted. All that was required was the right partner to join in the game.

After securing a drink and a place along the highly polished bar, she hooked one heel of her low-cut riding boot over the brass rail and surveyed the room. Muted recessed lights, a requisite space for dancing, and some intriguing alcoves edging the perimeter suggested this was not the type of club designed for simple socializing. *Good choice, Holly. Remind me to thank you properly as soon as you're speaking to me again*

Her fleeting thought of just how she would do that fled as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting and she found something of more immediate interest. Blond, built, and at the moment encased in black leather pants and a black silk shirt open far enough to reveal one small firm breast nearly to the nipple. Her senses rippled with the still fresh memory of exactly how good that body felt under her. Brett.

She took her time, letting the anticipation build. She watched her watch the crowd, a lioness hunting. She knew when Brett first saw her by the slight start of recognition, then the intense blue gaze flickered away. But it returned, staying a little longer each time, washing over her from head to toe, caressing her with almost tangible intensity. She felt herself swell, grow damp, begin to throb. Oh yes -- that sweet mindless panacea for loneliness and rage. So welcome -- sensation replacing thought, desire replacing longing, lust replacing --

She set her glass down carefully, slipped into the crowd. She'd had enough. She was ready.

Scully moved out of shadow to stand quite close to the austere blond with the brilliant blue eyes. Their eyes met for a second, a flare of desire openly acknowledged. Then she lowered her gaze, appreciating the expanse of skin laid bare by the partially open shirt, the trim fit of her hips, the --

Scully caught her breath, sucking her lower lip between her teeth to stifle the gasp. When she searched Brett's handsome face she caught the faint grin before it was quickly extinguished. *God, she's an insolent thing. And so fucking hot* Not to be outdone, Scully boldly reached for the bulge so obvious now under the fly of the tight black leather. She pulled the cock slightly, then pushed it back again into Brett's pelvis. It was Brett's turn to gasp. "I hope this isn't just for show," Scully whispered, stepping closer still. Her breasts pressed against Brett's chest, and she straddled Brett's long lean thigh between her own. She thrust her hips gently as she continued to manipulate the cock in Brett's pants. She knew damn well every movement was rubbing the base over Brett's clit, and she hoped to hell it was making Brett as hot as she was getting from the friction of her jeans against her own swollen shaft.

"Careful," Brett warned softly, her breath a hot breeze in Scully's ear, "you'll make me come in my pants."

"Mmm -- too easy," Scully murmured, easing off on her hand motion, but not letting go. "I want to make this last."

Brett slipped her arms around Scully's waist, inclining her head to brush her lips against Scully's cheek, nibbling at the corner of her mouth. "My place?" She moaned as the smaller woman pushed hard against her crotch, driving the cock firmly down onto her clit. "Fuck -- that's good- "

Scully ran her tongue over Brett's upper lip, then pushed under to suck it into her mouth. She drew on it rhythmically until Brett moaned again, then released her. "I'm just a few blocks away. Can you walk that far without this cock making you come?"

Brett smiled, that half smile of impudence and challenge. "I'll manage if you stop jerking on it."

Scully frowned. "Well -- for a minute or two."

Brett took her hand. "Then let's not waste time. I'm not made of stone."

"Oh baby, I know," Scully whispered as she led her into the night.


Silently, Scully drew her across the darkened living room to her bedroom. A nightlight glowed faintly in the adjoining bath, casting shadows in long fingers over the bed and walls.

"Take your shirt off and lie down," Scully said quietly, reaching beneath the coverlet to the drawer built into the platform bed.

Brett hesitated for one second, then, a decision made, she released the few remaining buttons on her shirt and stripped it off. The muscles in her chest and arms were tight with anticipation.

"On your back," Scully added, not looking at her.

Brett complied wordlessly, not resisting as the soft leather cuffs enclosed ankles and wrists. Even when her arms and legs were spread almost to the point of discomfort she did not speak. To speak would be to break the spell-- the spell of her own willingness to be taken. Incongruously, her cock pressed up against the restraints of her leather pants, an impotent sign of her power reduced to servitude. Her clit pounded beneath it, stimulated both by its presence and her inability to use it.

Scully stood beside the bed, slowly disrobing. She watched in fascination as Brett began to twist against the restraints -- not from pain but from insistent desire. Brett was breathing faster now, a thin sheen of sweat covering her breasts and belly. Her hips thrust upward, the mound of constrained phallus clearly evident. Scully licked her lips and stepped up onto the bed, naked.

She straddled Brett's slim hips, hovering just above the leather covered cock. "How bad do you want to fuck me?" she asked, leaning forward so her breasts dangled just out of reach of Brett's searching lips.

"Oh, god -- so bad," Brett moaned, trying to push herself up against Scully's wetness. "So fucking bad."

"Mmm --" Scully replied, "I'll bet you do." She lowered her head to take one stone hard nipple in her mouth. When she bit down she settled firmly onto the ridge of Brett's cock, sliding slowly along it's length.

"Oh man," Brett gasped as the twin sensations ambushed her. "That'll make me come." The muscles in her neck stood out beneath the satin skin as she arched higher, trying to get more of her breast into Scully's mouth. "Oh --no -- " she cried as Scully pulled on her nipple once, then released it to the cool night air.

"Not yet," Scully directed thickly, trying to ignore the tingling urgency in her clit where it dragged over the prominence in Brett's pants. "I'll tell you when."

"Oh, please, soon," Brett implored. The pressure on and in her clit was growing unbearable.

One hand still pinching Brett's nipple, Scully reached between them and worked the zipper down, slipping inside and grasping the pliable cock, warm with Brett's body heat. She pulled it out until it projected upward between the spread folds of Brett's fly. Gripping the shaft, she rubbed the head between her own soaked lips.

"Ah -- yes," she groaned as the smooth surface slid over and around the exposed tip of her clitoris. Her eyes closed against her will as she began to thrust rhythmically against it. She wanted to come badly, had wanted to from the first moment she had seen the outline of the cock nestled against Brett's belly. She wanted to ride Brett until they were both coming, uncertain -- uncaring, of who fucked whom.

Brett panted in the near darkness, a prisoner of the relentless motion mercilessly working her clit to the bursting point. "I'm -- gonna--comeyou'remakingmecome--"

Scully forced her eyes open, glancing down as she slowly slid the long length of cock into her -- watching it disappear as she simultaneously felt the pressure grow deep inside. "Oh yeahoh yeah, that's so --good."

She leaned forward, lacing her fingers through Brett's above the shackles, her nipple level with Brett's lips. "Suck it," she gasped as she began to rock her hips up and down the shaft, pushing and pulling her clit along its length. She was very close already, but oh, how she wanted it to last. She hadn't counted on Brett being able to move.

"Oh -- sweet god," Scully cried in surprise as Brett raised her hips, burying the cock just a little deeper. "Don't -- wait --"

"Can't," Brett grunted, increasing the tempo of her thrusts. "Gotta come -"

Scully was lost, the swirling ribbons of release escaping her control, racing down her legs, through her spine, to burst into rainbows of color behind her eyes. "Oh noooo--" she conceded, her fingers on her clit now, her body erupting. Brett surrendered with a deep groan of her own, and for a moment all was motion and sound as they fought their way to peace.

Eventually Scully stilled, her face pressed to Brett's neck, her sweat slick body trembling against her. She raised one hand and managed to release the snaps on the arm restraints. "You pack quite a punch," she whispered in Brett's ear, still feeling herself contract on the cock inside her.

Brett circled Scully's back, holding her close. 'Yeah. And you fuck like a girl." She kissed her, and they both laughed.

"Perfectly," they said simultaneously.


End Dungeons and Dragons 01/01

Acknowledgement: Many thanks to Hal for the really great "fuck like a girl" line. And to L. - for all my realities.

TITLE: Games: Five Card Stud 01/01
AUTHOR: Radclyffe
EMAIL ADDRESS: rdclyfhall@hotmail.com
ARCHIVE: anywhere, just let me know
RATING: NC-17; This story depicts graphic sexual encounters between same-sex consenting adults.
KEYWORDS: Scully/Other(female);Scully/Slash
SUMMARY: Number four in the *Games* series. Mulder takes Scully on a little adventure, where the stakes are high and the payoffs unexpected.
DISCLAIMERS:The characters of Scully, Mulder, Skinner and others/events introduced on the X-Files are the sole property of Chris Carter etc, and are used here without permission for entertainment, not for profit.
Comments welcome and gratefully embraced.


"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 judgement, 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 chagrinned, for about a nanosecond. "I was looking for a stamp."

"In his _desk_?"

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

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. "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 her 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 Five Card Stud

TITLE: Games: Sudden Death Overtime
AUTHOR: Radclyffe
EMAIL ADDRESS: rdclyfhall@hotmail.com
ARCHIVE: anywhere, just let me know
CATEGORY: Vignette, Angst
SPOILERS: Tithonus
KEYWORDS: Scully/Other(female); Scully/Slash
SUMMARY: In the aftermath of Tithonus, Scully seeks her mortality.
DISCLAIMERS:The characters of Scully, Mulder, Skinner and others/events introduced on the X-Files are the sole property of Chris Carter etc, and are used here without permission for entertainment, not for profit.
Author's Note: This is not the Scully of Genesis.
Comments welcome.


Federal Bureau of Investigation
Washington, DC
3:03 pm

Returning to work was the easy part. It was something familiar, it gave structure and form to the days, it even gave purpose, if I allowed it, and didn't look too closely at it. Mulder was there, and he was familiar and dependable. He doesn't change much from day to day. His single-mindedness, his immutable tunnel vision, is one of the more comforting things about him. When you begin to ask yourself _ What's the point? _, you can simply look at Mulder, and there will be an answer. The point is to search for the answer. It doesn't matter so much what the answer is, as long as you continue to search. Obsessively, determinedly, unrelentingly -- to the exclusion of all else, so that emotional emptiness and personal isolation become meaningless. There is only the unraveling of tangled motivations and murky desires.

The problem was, it wasn't working anymore. Looking across the room at Mulder, I saw only an endless stretch of pointless days reflected back at me in his fanatical eyes. When the answers were known, would it make any difference to anyone? It certainly wouldn't bring Missy back, nor would it satisfy my family's wishes for me. It wouldn't keep me warm at night, nor even particularly satisfy me. I'm not sure knowing that I served the public good will actually fill the hunger at my core. I used to think it would, or more honestly, I only hoped it would. There is something about being dead, though, even for - thirty seconds, a minute - that alters your view of things.

The truth was, I was damn tired of thinking about it. I had been staring at the phone, toying with the idea of calling for the better part of my second morning back at the bureau. I think the bosses were trying to do me a favor by not working me too hard my first week back, because all I had to look forward to were a stack of interviews that needed to be checked for background discrepancies. Mulder was actually out doing legitimate work. AD Kersh had given him the incredibly challenging assignment of inspecting former missile silo installations that had been converted into underground storage facilities. For some reason Mulder found this exciting. I have a feeling he thought he might find aliens hidden there. Whatever his expectations, he had departed smiling for the airport six hours before. I, of course, had spent an hour assuring him that I would be fine without him, that I was completely recovered, and that I was ready, able, and willing to return to my duties. What I didn't tell him is that I had a persistent sense of disembodiment since I woke up in the hospital, and realized that I was still alive. They weren't kidding about that white light business. The problem was I had played that scene too damn many times. How many times, exactly, do you get to turn your back on it and scramble onto solid ground?

This was exactly what I did not want to be doing. I stared at the phone once again. What would I say? I needed company? That wasn't it, exactly. I could call my mother for that. What I needed, of course, was to_ feel _ alive. I _ knew _ that I was alive - intellectually. Other people seemed to think I was alive, because they interacted with me in pretty much the same way they had previously. I had some experience with zombies, and I was quite sure that I wasn't one. The fact remained, however, that I felt like one. I was moving through time and space, arising at the same time, showering, driving to work, and actually performing my obligations in much the same way as I had before. I was watching myself doing these things. But I had yet to reinhabit my body. I'm not trying to say I was floating somewhere watching this. I just had an eerie sense of no longer being Dana Scully. Dana Scully was there all right, but she wasn't me. And how exactly did I get the two of us back together again?

My hand was on the phone. It could've been a minute, it might have been hour. I watched my hand lift the receiver. My fingers pressed buttons and I listened to the dial tone, then ringing. A mechanical voice, similar to the one I heard emanating from my own body with regularity, informed me that no one was home but that my message was important. Saved. I could replace the receiver and forget the whole thing. Which is what I really wanted to do. Instead, I heard my voice say, "The Ritz-Carlton. 6 p.m.. Ask for me at the front desk."

Well. That was a first. But not the first time I thought about it.


5:59 p.m.
Ritz-Carlton Hotel, Washington D.C.

She was many things, and prompt was one of them. There was a sharp rap on the door at precisely 6 p.m.. I had already showered, and washed and dried my hair. I was wearing one of those ridiculously expensive robes they leave in the bathrooms in hotels like this. There was a small sign attached to the sleeve telling me that for a mere 95 dollars, I can take it with me as a souvenir. A souvenir. Perhaps I would take something, but it wouldn't be this robe. When I opened the door, she was lounging indolently against the door jam. The corner of her mouth was lifted in a sardonic grin.

"You called?" she said with a hint of laughter. Her blue eyes, as sharp-edged as a scalpel, were serious.

"You came."


I was assured that the ground rules still held. No strings, no attachments, no explanations. Where she came from, and where she went to when we parted, was still a mystery. A mystery easily solved had I wanted to. The fact was, I didn't. There is something too dangerous about the warmth of her nearness, about the softness of her skin against mine, about the comforting murmur of her voice as she drifted off to sleep after she came. I didn't want to know anything more about her than those things. What she might know about me, she never mentioned.

I had ordered wine, and an assortment of cheeses, fruits, and other light fair. I knew we would be ravenous at some point. Right now, that was not what I needed to feed my hunger.

I reached for her hand and drew her inside. She came willingly, and I could feel her assent to let me lead the way. I brought her to stand by the bed, and began to unbutton her shirt. I took my time, opening the package that contained a precious present. Despite the fact that I already knew what lay beneath, the excitement had not abated. She shivered slightly as my fingernails grazed over the swell of the inside of her breast. When I parted the material over her belly, I could see the peaks of her nipples pushing out the cotton material. They were erect already, and the memory of their yielding firmness between my lips brought a flood of arousal trailing down my thigh. I circled her navel with my index finger, marveling at the flickering muscles beneath the skin. Wordlessly, she moved her legs apart, beckoning me lower. I knew damn well what she wanted, because I wanted it too. I wanted her fingers on my hard clit. I wanted her to stroke the wetness from between my swollen lips up the sides of the stiff shaft, over the tense hood, and down again. I wanted her to finger me to the point of explosion, and then back away, leaving me breathless, and aching, and wanting so desperately for it to end. I knew exactly what she wanted, and _ I _ wanted her to want it more.

I slipped the shirt down off her shoulders and opened my mouth to inhale a nipple. I used my tongue to move it back and forth, beating it gently with the soft stiffness.

"Uh huh," she murmured softly.

I had to stifle my urge to bite down. She wasn't ready for that yet, and as much as I wanted to feel the spongy hardness yielding to my teeth, pain was not my objective. I wanted to torture her, but I had no intention of hurting her. I continued to suck, first one then the other, my hands drifting down to her jeans. I worked the buttons free and slowly drew them down over her slender hips until she could step free. I glanced down once, briefly, and saw the golden strands wet with arousal. I could smell her desire. Sharp, tangy, rising hotly to call me to her. Her round buttocks clenched as I grasped them, pulling her closer, running my tongue down the middle of her belly, piercing her navel, then drifting lower to suck the hollow inside her hip bone. Her hands were in my hair, moving my face against her skin. I could feel the tremor in her arms as she silently urged me down. Her hips were rocking now as her legs spread further. She was shameless in her wanting, in her need, and her urgency inflamed me. My clit twitched steadily between my legs, and I wanted her mouth on it so badly. Thirty seconds, maybe a minute. I might make it that long if she put her warm soft lips around my clit. If she licked the underside of the throbbing base, I might hold out that long. If she pushed her tongue up under the hood and stroked back and forth over the tip, I might make it. Thirty seconds, a minute. But I was ready, I was so ready.

I pulled her back a few steps so that I could sit on the edge of the bed. I lowered my head and parted the hair between her legs with my tongue. I didn't need to search very far. Her clit was erect, bright red, and standing out from the sheath. Clear glistening cum gathered on the fine down covering her lips. With the very tip of my tongue, I touched her clit. Just a brief glance and then away. Her whole body jerked, and a strangled cry escaped her lips. *beautiful*

Again - against the head - and yet again. Never for more than a fleeting instant. Each time, she twitched and moaned. Thirty seconds, a minute?


A single word. A volume. I had no reason to deny her. Not when she had come so willingly to answer my need. Opening my lips I sucked gently and took all of her. I felt her in every cell, infusing every fiber of my being with power and infinite tenderness. As I drew her in and out, her hips rocking to me, I saw the light surround us and then retreat. This was real, this was life. I slipped my thumb inside her, and cupped her ass in the palm of my hand. I pressed backward against the muscles that surrounded me, and began to lick her. I moved in and out with the same cadence as the strokes of my tongue. Thirty seconds, a minute.

"You're going to make me come."

Oh yes. My heart raced, I shifted on the bed, tightening my thighs as my clit began to spasm in time with hers. I won't come this way, but I will get close. As her nerve endings flared, and her muscles contracted, and her breath tore from her body on the piercing waves of her orgasm, I felt the answering surges to the depth of my being. I felt her knees begin to buckle and I wrapped both arms around her thighs. I pulled her tight against my face and held her up with the strength of my passion. I would never let her fall.

I held her until her trembling subsided, and then pushed myself back against the pillows. I opened the robe and spread my legs, watching her face as she watched me. She was flushed and sweating, and when she brought her eyes to mine, they were still unfocused with the last remnants of her pleasure. I grasped her hand and drew her down to my side. I brought her fingers to my wetness. She watched my face as I led her inside of me. When her thumb brushed my clit, I nearly came.

Thirty seconds, a minute.

I closed my eyes, and let her heal me.

End Games: Sudden Death Overtime 01/01

TITLE: Games: Simon Says
AUTHOR: Radclyffe
EMAIL ADDRESS: rdclyfhall@hotmail.com
ARCHIVE: anywhere
RATING: NC-17; This story depicts graphic sexual encounters between same-sex wound consenting adults.
SPOILERS: Through Arcadia
KEYWORDS: Scully/Other (female); Scully/Slash
SUMMARY: Scully answers mail.
DISCLAIMERS: The characters introduced on the X-Files are the sole property of Chris Carter etc, and are used here without permission for entertainment, not for profit.
Comments welcome.




"Scully? There's a large three-legged slimy creature under your chair, about to insinuate itself around your leg."


Scully swivelled in her chair and glared at him. "Mulder! What the hell do you want?"

He feigned looking hurt. Actually, he _ was _ hurt. "You're ignoring me."

Scully gave him an exasperated sigh. "Mulder, it is completely impossible to ignore you. What do you need?"

"Well, since you asked --" His eyebrows rose suggestively.

She frowned, her eyes dark and the left corner of her mouth turning down. "Mulder--" she warned. She's had enough of that while they'd been forced to cohabit to last a lifetime.

He raised his hands defensively. "Okay, okay. I don't _ need _ anything. It's just that you were so quiet, I thought something might be wrong."

She searched his face, and saw the real concern in his eyes. Her voice softened. "Mulder, I'm fine. Really."

He nodded, but he wasn't convinced. She just wasn't acting like the old Scully. It didn't show to anyone who didn't know her. She was as cool and competent as ever. Physically, she appeared fine. In fact, she appeared remarkably well. But he could tell she was only partially present. He would frequently sense her drifting away, even though she was right beside him. What she was thinking, what she was feeling -- he had no idea. Of course, he very rarely knew. It wasn't as if they discussed these things. The only time he really had any inkling of her life was when he taunted her into losing her temper. Occasionally, he would be rewarded with some small insight she allowed to slip. But not this time. No matter what he tried, from antics to annoyance, she steadfastly shut him out.

Even when they had been forced together twenty-four hours a day -husband and wife - He grinned, remembering how hard he had tried to crack her composure then! Nothing.

"What are you doing?" He couldn't help himself. He was so lonely when she disappeared like this.

She stifled the urge to snap at him. She knew what was happening. But it was nothing she could tell him. Was nothing she could really tell herself. She was fine. Everything was fine. She admitted she hadn't quite bounced back. These things take time. It was normal to feel this numb, this removed, when someone almost died. Even when it was you. Again.

"I'm just catching up on mail." With that she turned back and stared at the words on her screen.

<My place. 8 p.m. Wear your favorite dress>

That was it. No salutation. No signature. The email address was a nondescript free WebSite with only numbers to identify it. Yet she knew. Even through the disembodied world of the Internet, Scully could feel her presence. As she read the words once again, she could hear the husky voice and feel the heat from that hungry blue gaze. But this was _her_ game - this should have been her message. Except she was desperate then, and she wasn't now. Now she was back in control.

*God, she's arrogant. What makes her think I will come? What makes her think I would want _ her _ to touch me * She closed her eyes for a second, feeling the familiar cold settle deep within her. *Just because it worked once doesn't mean it will again. Turn about? Not this time*

She fought back the helplessness, straightened her shoulders, and pressed the 'delete' button.


*She said to 'wear my best dress' * Scully stood staring into her closet, absently running her fingers over the sheer material of her black silk evening dress, sensuously soft against her skin. *I can't believe I'm even considering this*

She pulled the dress from the hanger and spread it across the top of her bed. It was modest in design, until one realized it was cut precisely to outline her breasts and fall across her hips with form-fitting luxuriousness. The thin straps exposed enough of her shoulders and upper arms to reveal the subtle musculature that came from her regular workouts. It was feminine, but it did nothing to hide the power and strength in her body.

She slipped out of her shoes and the two-piece suit she had worn that day. Her simple silk briefs and functional bra each went into the hamper. She crossed naked toward the bathroom, pausing for an instant to survey herself in the full-length mirror hanging on the door.

*I wonder what she sees when she looks at me*

She reached for the black silk and held it in front of herself. She smoothed the diaphanous folds over her nakedness, cupping her breasts through the fabric. Almost instantly, her nipples tightened, pressing against the sleek roughness. Suddenly, Scully felt a presence standing behind her. So tangible a memory -- almost real. In the mirror, she watched those strong, long fingered hands closing possessively over her breasts, pinching her nipples until she gasped.

Unconsciously holding one breast, squeezing rhythmically, Scully watched as her other hand pressed lower, circling over her belly and down her thighs, smoothing the rich cloth into the curves of her body. She sensed other hands caressing her, felt warm lips brushing against the back of her neck and into the hollow beneath her jaw. Hot breath heavy in her ear, teasing her, taunting her, reminding her that this was what she needed. Reminding her that she had never said 'no'. Proving to her beyond doubt that she could still feel. She grew heavy and wet with desire.

Her face in the mirror was a blur. Two heads bent close together, lips parted, searching for contact, fusing, melding, stroking, driving all thought from consciousness. An arm held her close, preventing flight, as that questing oh-so-certain hand lifted the hem of her dress and stroked upward from her knee to the inside of her thigh. She stood trembling, allowing herself to be driven, to be carried away on someone else's passion. It felt so good to give up the tight hold on sanity she clung to day after day. It was hard, so hard, to keep the fear and uncertainty away and to wake up each morning alone. She closed her eyes, and let that knowing touch lead.

*You're the one who asked. You're the one who changed the rules. _You'll _ take responsibility*

She turned slightly, spreading the dress over a chair nearby. Through hooded lids she surveyed her image in the looking glass, surprised at the flush of arousal that colored her skin. A faint sheen of perspiration covered her face and chest. Her skin seemed to vibrate with life. She touched her lips with one finger, licked the tip, sucked it gently into her mouth, remembered a kiss pressed gently into the palm of another. The fullness in the soft heat of her mouth reminded her of the last time she had held her lover between her lips.

She ran her hands lightly down her arms and across her chest. That brief touch sent a slight tingle of excitement coursing through her belly to settle between her legs. She gasped with surprise. It wasn't that her own touch failed to stimulate her, it was just that she hadn't realized how charged her body was already, how poised to respond. She hadn't realized how isolated she had become inside herself. It had been so long since that last brief, nearly silent encounter, she wasn't certain she hadn't imagined it.

She brushed her fingers lower, over her belly, lightly ruffling the auburn hair between her legs. Another's touch. Her body remembered, even if she tried to forget. She knew what it meant to be handled with a delicate certainty and a commanding tenderness. She knew how that hand could conjure desires she never acknowledged in the light of day, imprisoned in her two-piece suits by her high-priced control.

*She acts like she owns me, and she barely knows me*

Of course, _she_ did know her. Enough to maintain the charade of distance between them, enough to pretend there was no affection between them, enough to touch her without demanding intimacy. Enough to let her experiment with living again. Easy terms, no down payment. No interest required.

Almost unwillingly, she used her thumb and first finger to part her suddenly swollen lips, a soft sigh escaping as she exposed herself in the air. A crystal drop of glistening moisture clung to the delicate folds of skin, and the first faint reddening of her hardened clitoris betrayed her need. As she gazed at her own arousal, she imagined that golden head pressed against her thigh, ready to surround her in the exquisite softness of those sensitive and talented lips. She waited breathlessly for the tongue to stroke her, to tease her into full erection, to work her knowingly and certainly until she could not contain the explosion any longer.

*Why do I let her do this? Why her?*

She smoothed her fingertip over the protruding, fully exposed tip of her clitoris. She jerked slightly at the intense sensation that knifed through her depths. A small groan escaped and the taut muscles in her thighs twitched. With difficulty, she took her finger away enough to see her blood engorged flesh swell even more.

*This would make her crazy. I should make her watch, and not let her touch me. But oh god, when _ she _ touches me, it's so good-- I'm not sure _ I _ could stand it *

She insinuated a finger on either side of her clitoris, making it twitch steadily. She slid up and down in the moisture, squeezing slightly, tugging gently at the thick protective hood. As the distended tissue slipped back and forth over the exquisitely sensitive nerve endings, she whimpered.

*Oh yeah, I love it when she makes me come*

She slipped her other hand below the first, gently pressing inside. Immediately, her muscles clenched, increasing the pressure in her clitoris. She pushed back the skin around her clitoris to bare it fully, working two fingers over and around the shaft. Her vision was cloudy as she struggled to keep her eyes on the mirror. As the gripping pleasure nearly doubled her over, she caught a glimpse of the woman pressed between her thighs. She looked down into the sharpest, bluest eyes she had ever seen. There was an urgency in them, an exultation, the joy of a hunter claiming its prey.

*Take me. Oh god, do it - do it the way only you can*

She moaned continuously, her hips rocking against the fingers inside, her thumb circling furiously over the aching, pounding oh so close driving oh, god almost exploding oh Jesus, oh yeah coming so good hard -hard-- oh god yes-*

She leaned back against the doorway, breathing raggedly, holding herself tightly as the spasms continued. She turned her head and gazed past her reflection to the dress draped over the back of the chair.

"Maybe she's right. The black silk is perfect."

End Simon Says 01/01

TITLE: Games: Mardi Gras 01/01
AUTHOR: Radclyffe
EMAIL ADDRESS: rdclyfhall@hotmail.com
ARCHIVE: anywhere
RATING: NC-17; This story depicts graphic sexual encounters between same-sex consenting adults.
CATEGORY: Vignette
SPOILERS: Through Biogenesis
KEYWORDS: Scully/Other(female); Scully/Slash
SUMMARY: Scully lets desire cloud her better judgement.
DISCLAIMERS: The characters of Scully, Mulder, Skinner and others/events introduced on the X-Files are the sole property of Chris Carter etc, and are used here without permission for entertainment, not for profit.
Author's note: For Lee, who holds the key.
Comments and discussion welcome.


"Laissez les bon temps rouler!" the pilot had said as the plane touched down. Various people en route to her hotel had reiterated the phrase. As she wearily dropped her suitcase inside the door of yet another hotel room, she thought to herself just how long it had it had been since there had been any _ good times _.

"Oh, get over yourself," she murmured aloud in disgust.

It had been a horrific few months since Mulder's sudden collapse, but it certainly had not been the worst five months of her life. She had experienced and survived much worse. She missed him, she feared for him, and she detested working with Diana Fowley in any way. She put up with Fowley because Skinner ordered her to do so, and because in the more rational parts of her mind she realized it was necessary. Whether she trusted Fowley or not was inconsequential. She needed her. She needed Fowley's knowledge of Mulder, if she was ever to free him from what some thought was a self-induced prison. She needed Fowley if she was ever to get closer to the people she believed were ultimately behind many of the catastrophes that had befallen Mulder and her in the last six years. She needed Fowley because she had no other options.

Still, it was a relief to be out of town on a solo assignment. Even though it was a low-level, make work detail that any entry-level agent could have done. Tulane University Hospital had noted an increase in drug-overdose deaths from designer "party drugs". Ordinarily, the local officials or ATF would handle the problem. Unfortunately, a Congresswoman's son had been one of the victims, and she was putting pressure on people at high levels for a more intensified investigation. Therefore, Scully found herself in the Sheraton overlooking the Mississippi River and the Riverwalk on a Saturday night in the Big Easy. She knew very well that all she needed to do was review pathology and autopsy reports, and fill out the necessary paperwork. Nevertheless, she had been cleared for three days to complete the assignment, and she intended to take every minute.

She hung up her suits in the closet, unpacked the rest of her travel articles, and plugged in her laptop. Her breath caught when she saw a message from an anonymous email addresses with a header that caught her attention. *Let the good times roll, if you dare*

She stared for a moment, trying to remember if she had told anyone where she was going. Her assignment had come in late Friday, and she hadn't talked to anyone since leaving the office until her flight late Saturday morning. Curiosity got the best of her. She opened the message.

*Welcome to the Crescent City. Meet me for Mardi Gras at Chantilly's, midnight*

Scully stared at the message. She hadn't seen Brett in several months. After the last time, she wasn't sure she wanted to. Until the last time, it had been casual, sporadic, something she could do, enjoy, then forget about. But then something had changed, something had touched her. Something had lingered after the sex. She became aware of a longing that had been dormant for longer than she could remember. She had become aware of wanting, in a way that went beyond the physical. She realized that she missed her, in a way that defied explanation. She didn't wanted this stranger in her life; she didn't need her in her life; and she wasn't at all certain that she wanted those doors opened once again.

She read the message again, and smiled somewhat ironically at the incredible arrogance. But she knew that arrogance was part of what attracted her. That and the fact that each time Brett had summoned her, she had gone. It didn't matter that Scully too had sent summons which had been answered. That was more to her liking, and more to her comfort level. It was easier when she called the shots, when she set the ground rules, when she named the game. But with this woman, it went both ways. She wasn't sure she wanted that either.

Scully deleted the message, skimmed the rest of her mail, all of which she deleted without much thought. She checked the clock, and paged the number which was in the briefing data she had been given. She spoke briefly with a pathologist from Tulane, who agreed to meet her that afternoon so she could gather the necessary reports she would need to review. She gave neither the message nor the sender another thought for the rest the afternoon.


12:35 a.m.

"1404 Decatur Street," Scully told the cab driver as she slid onto the rear seat.

The driver glanced back with a knowing smile. "Eh, going to enjoy a night out, mademoiselle?"

Scully stared at him coldly until he averted his eyes, then turned her face to the window and watched the city slip by. The sidewalks were packed with milling throngs that became more boisterous as they descended deeper into the French Quarter. The saloon doors at street level stood open to reveal musicians on tiny stages, waitresses in various stages of undress serving drinks, and tourists jostling in their eagerness to partake of the flow of cajun music, and alcohol, and sex. The air pulsed with the excitement of Mardi Gras every night of the year. The fact that the legendary revelry was five months away did not seem to matter.

The cab turned down a narrow street, finally halting before a row of buildings fronted with second-floor balconies and wrought iron railings. Muted light filtered from behind dense lace curtains, and as Scully stepped from the cab she could almost here the beat of the music that seemed to penetrate through the sidewalk into her body. A small discrete sign told her she had found the right place. She wondered with wry amusement if there were some password or other secret sign she would need to gain admission, and then tried not to think about why she had come. The answer was there, in the tingling of her skin and the racing of her heart, but she did not want to examine that response too closely.

When she knocked at the ornate wooden door, it was answered by a woman wearing a sequined mask, who simply smiled and said, "Laissez les bon temps rouler", and with a sweep of her arm and a courtly bow, bade Scully to enter.

She had chosen to go unadorned, wearing black trousers, a white scooped top low enough to reveal cleavage, and a short-waisted Bolero jacket. Many of the women wore similar outfits, although most wore masks as well. Scully cast a glance around for the familiar figure, but there were any number of tall, lean tuxedoed women who might have been the one she sought. The low, husky voice that murmured close to her ear was unmistakable however.

"I see that you're feeling adventurous tonight."

Scully tried vainly to hide her response as arms closed around her from behind, and soft lips brushed her neck just beneath her ear. She could not quite contain the shiver that coursed through her. Her temper flared as her reaction brought a soft chuckle from the woman pressed close against her. Scully tried to turn in the circle of the taller woman's arms, only to find herself held captive in the strong embrace. She was forced to lean back against Brett's shoulder, turning her face up to see her. She should not have been surprised to see the mask. After all, wasn't that what they were all about? Even when naked, they wore masks.

"Merely curious," Scully responded dryly. She hoped her pounding heart wasn't noticeable.

This brought another laugh, and her companion loosened her hold. There were people to either side of them, but neither of them gave any notice. Scully's eyes searched the gently mocking blue ones behind the mask, seeking some sign that she was not alone in her growing attraction. Beneath the black sequined mask, full lips turned up in just the hint of a smile. There might have been a welcome there, but Scully was reluctant to embrace it, afraid to be caught alone in the wanting.

"Come with me. You haven't seen the city until you've seen it from a carriage."

Scully allowed herself to be drawn through the crowd by the tug of Brett's hand in hers. They escaped out the back door and after hurrying down another series of narrow alleys, they emerged to find a horse-drawn buggy awaiting them. They settled in the back and with no apparent instruction, the driver pulled away.

Scully rested her head on Brett's shoulder, and Brett laid her cheek against Scully's hair. Wordlessly, their bodies touching, they stared into the night as the carriage traveled through the teaming crowds. Eventually, they turned onto the River Road, and the hectic atmosphere of the Quarter gave way to an elegant avenue of historic mansions outlined in moonlight. The antebellum structures spoke of a more refined time and a long departed world. When they turned up a tree lined drive illuminated by gas lamps, Scully stirred as if from a dream.

"Where are we?"

In answer, Brett leaned toward her and kissed her, a kiss that did not ask permission, nor seek acceptance. It was a kiss that spoke of possession. When she lifted her lips away she whispered, "Somewhere far away from all of them." Brett stepped from the carriage and offered her hand.

Scully wondered how Brett knew, about Mulder, and Diana, and Skinner -- and -- all of it. She knew Brett knew -- felt it with absolute certainty -- as surely as she knew that what she was doing was dangerous. Scully took Brett's hand and followed her onto a wide verandah, aware of music playing softly somewhere on the first floor. Then Scully reached up and gently removed the mask.

Brett smiled. "Does that tell you anything more?"

"Disguises don't frighten me. I've seen them all," Scully answered.

Brett didn't reply. Instead, she stepped forward and took Scully into her arms. Scully was momentarily nonplussed to find that they were dancing. It was a waltz, and somehow, her body moved as if falling into an old familiar rhythm. Their bodies met and cleaved effortlessly, softness blending, heat and substance merging, yielding to the motion as intimate as making love. She closed her eyes, and let go of her fears for Mulder, her distrust of Diana, and the terrible feeling of being alone. Only when she realized she was climbing stairs, did awareness return for an instant. Then it fled once more as they lay down on the large poster bed in the moonlight, under a canopy of lace. She reached for the buttons on Brett's shirt with a sense of rightness she had not felt in months. She shifted enough to allow Brett to remove her blouse, and then her trousers, and finally any encumbrance until they lay facing each other, naked and exposed. For a fleeting moment, the masks were gone.

Brett's fingers trailed over her skin, stroking from her knees up her sides, raising goosebumps on her flesh, stirring tremors deep inside. Scully caught her breath, and stared at Brett's lips a fraction away from her own. She traced Brett's lower lip with her tongue. She felt the heat radiating from Brett's body, and when the warmth of Brett's hand closed over breast, she urged her nipple harder against Brett's palm.

"I've missed you," Brett whispered, her fingers squeezing the sensitive tissue.

"Don't say that," Scully replied hoarsely, aware of the trickle of arousal between her legs. *Don't make me want you any more than this*

Brett obeyed, remaining silent as she dipped her head and captured Scully's nipple between her lips. Scully's hands were in her hair then, pulling her closer, urging Brett to open her mouth and take more. Brett did, sucking, biting lightly, clutching Scully's ass, forcing her leg between Scully's thighs.

"Too long," Scully gasped quietly, pressing her rapidly swelling clitoris against Brett's skin. *God, you feel so good*

Scully whimpered as her body throbbed, and she bit down hard into the tender flesh of Brett's neck. Brett answered by sliding her hand between them, her fingers grasping the length of Scully's clitoris, milking it slowly from the base to the tip. Scully bucked against her hand, and Brett tightened her grip around Scully's waist, keeping her captive, torturing her with caresses that stopped just short of what she needed. Brett's tongue and teeth were merciless on Scully's nipple, intensifying the crescendoing pulsations in her clit.

Scully's nails bit into Brett's back, her mouth frantic on Brett's skin. She jerked in Brett's grasp, so close, but helpless to find that single elusive stroke that would trigger her pleasure. "Oh, god, pleeaase--", she moaned.

Brett's head was swimming, the blood pounding in her ears, her hips thrusting in time to Scully's moans. "Come inside me," she gasped. She parted her thighs and in one sure motion Scully entered her. "Oh Jesus ohfuck-- yess--"

The circle completed, they struggled to balance on the thin edge of desire, breathless, every muscle tensed, assaulted by the waves of pleasure threatening to erupt. No past, no future -- only an endless present of perfect union.

Brett broke first. "Can't -- ohI'm coming --" She pressed her face to Scully's breast, sobbing, trembling, eyes closed tight on unnoticed tears.

Scully soared on Brett's passion, the darkness behind her lids exploding with colors, robbing her breath, stealing her soul. If she never awoke, she would have no regrets.


But of course, she did awake. It was very late, or very early. The bed beside her was empty. On the pillow lay the sequined mask, with a folded sheet of paper.

Scully slipped from the bed and peered out the window. At the far end of the drive, a cab awaited. It had probably been there for hours, and would no doubt wait indefinitely. She knew what was written on that single page, but she calmly crossed the room and picked up the note.

"Laissez les bon temps rouler"

Scully allowed herself only a second of sadness before drawing on her own cloak of solitude and indifference. She left the crumpled paper lying beside the mask. She did not look back.

End Mardi Gras 01/01

TITLE: Games: Hide and Seek 01/01
AUTHOR: Radclyffe
EMAIL ADDRESS: rdclyfhall@hotmail.com
ARCHIVE: anywhere, just let me know
RATING: NC-17; This story depicts graphic sexual encounters between same-sex consenting adults.
KEYWORDS: Scully/Other(female);Scully/Slash
SUMMARY: A holiday encounter.
DISCLAIMERS:Any characters introduced on the X-Files are the sole property of Chris Carter etc.
Author's Note: With thanks to all of you stalwart members who continue to write, read and comment on stories -- and keep this list alive.


Black Friday.

*In more ways than one* Scully thought bleakly. *My mother wants me to go Christmas shopping when I've barely digested Thanksgiving dinner, I've just lost all hard evidence documenting the origins of life on this planet, and I can't seem to get a date.*

Not that a date occupied all that much of her attention, but when she wanted one --

*You're the one who stopped asking a few months ago. Because every one bores you. Because it's just no damn fun any more.*

If she thought about it, there _were_ a few things to celebrate. Mulder was recovering -- well, at least the hole in his head was healing. Bill had forgotten to browbeat her about her personal life, or lack thereof, during dinner and she hadn't thought about Brett in 48 hours.


*Okay. 24.*


*At least 18*


*All right! Yes! True! I haven't stopped thinking about her, not really, it just waxes and wanes. With the phases of the moon, with the tides, with my god-damned hormones!!*

That had to be it, actually. Brett was damn good in bed -- there was nothing wrong with wanting that kind of thing now and then. It wasn't really _Brett_ she missed -- it was just, well, the sex.

*There were others who were good -- but none of them seems to have left marks wherever they touched. Invisible aches that burn when she goes.*

"What do you think about this for Billy?" Maggie asked, holding up a multi-colored tie.

"Fine," Scully growled, thinking it would look lovely knotted around his neck and hung from the mantle.

Maggie gave her a quizzical look. "Are you all right? You've been awfully quiet since you arrived."

*Bitchy, you mean* Scully smiled with effort. "I'm sorry, Mom. Just things on my mind. And the tie really is fine."

Maggie looked as if she wanted to say more, then thought better of it and turned back to the counter with a sad expression. Scully saw the look and felt guilty. She knew her mother wanted them to be close, in the way that other mothers were close to their daughters -- sharing hopes and secrets and dreams. They had never had that -- Scully had always been too private as a child, then too defensive as a young woman struggling to make her parents understand her career choices, and too isolated in recent years -- by the horrors she had seen, and the monsters she had fought, and the terrors she could not acknowledge.

*And don't forget your lovers* Scully chided silently. *You've never gotten around to explaining _that_ either*

She had justified her silence with the excuse that none of them were ever serious -- brief encounters to dispel the loneliness, a moments warmth in the dark, a fleeting instant of communion. She had tried to be tender, knowing all the while that she was using them. Sex without love, passion without attachment.

*Well, at least you were honest, right? You never told anyone you wanted more than a casual affair -- never promised more* She fingered a length of silk, running the fabric aimlessly through her hands. *Why was that? A few would have offered more, if you had let them. But you never did*

Scully shook her head impatiently. She did not want to travel that road again. She couldn't change who she was -- any more than she could change who she desired. When she was worn down by the horrors of life, weary with the losses, she sought comfort and release -- and hoped that she did not take so very much more than she gave. That would have to be good enough.

She lifted the sheer scarf, turning to Maggie. "For Tara?" she inquired.

Her mother nodded, and they moved on together through the store, aware of the silence, helpless to break it.


Scully packed her few belongings, restless and ready to return home. She loved her family, but it was a trial to be around them for very long. They intruded on her privacy, asking questions she could not answer, demanding intimacies she could not share. She closed her valise and glanced across the room at her laptop.

No messages. Not the one she had been hoping for. Not for a while.

*It's just as well. It's too complicated.*

She walked to the small desk in her old room, sat down. Stared at the blank screen.

*You're not even sure who she is. She could be anybody.*

She pushed the power button, watched the start up images flicker.

*She could be anywhere.*

Typed in her password. Remembered the last time. The touch, so sure and right. The too brief hours of sleep in her arms, so natural. Peace for a few heartbeats.

*If it meant anything to her, she wouldn't have left.*

Opened her mail program, pulled up the last message from Brett -- the last invitation.

*The last summons*

Quickly hit reply, then typed the request, hurriedly, before she changed her mind.

      <My place. Saturday night -- after 9pm>

She hit send, wondering if the return address was even valid. Brett might never get it, and if she did, she might not come.


Traffic on the beltway had been brutal as usual, and she was exhausted by the time she arrived home. She tugged the valise from the trunk and trudged wearily to the front stairs. Something flickered in the shadows, and she was instantly alert, adrenalin surging. It wouldn't be the first time danger had come for her here.

She switched the suitcase to her left hand, slipped her right to the Sig at her belt.

"It's me," came the low, easy drawl.

Scully could make out her sleek, angular form in the dim light now. "You're early," she said mildly, feigning indifference.

Brett smiled that slow easy smile, letting Scully know she hadn't fooled her with the attempt. "I aim to please."

Scully laughed, abandoning the effort to keep the excitement from her voice. "Oh, is that how it is?"

Brett shrugged. "Tonight, at least. You called."

Scully didn't need clarification, she knew the rules. "Come inside. I need a shower before anything."

"I could use one, too. I've been traveling."

*Where have you been? What have you done?*

Scully pretended to give it some thought. "That might be possible."


They stood close, mist on the glass, skin flushed bright with warmth, not talking. What was there to say? What is it that you do? Where do you go? Why do you come back? What could words convey that would mean more than the moment -- gently stroking hands, slippery with soap, smoothing over curves, sliding fleetingly over secret places. Knowing hands, tender hands, touching with wonder and thanks.

They lay side by side, skin barely dry, damp hair mixing red and blond. They licked droplets of water from one anothers neck, laughing softly like children. Their limbs tangled, noses touching, eyes struggling to focus from inches away. Fingers tracing cheeks, unhurriedly, committing each delicate angle to memory. A tentative brush of tongue against lips, an answering kiss, bolder, asking more.

Breath quickening as breasts and bellies met, pressing harder, the first sign of urgency. A soft groan, a sharp gasp of pleasure. And always the surprise -- that it can be this good, better even than the memories.

"Slowly," Scully whispered, "we have time."

*I wish* Brett nodded, "Anything." She cupped Scully's breasts in her hands, pressed her face to them, closing her eyes tightly as if to shut out awareness of all else. Scully's hands came to her hair, petting her. When Brett's lips closed around her nipple, Scully arched slightly and sighed with the exquisite sensation.

"Much better," Scully murmured throatily.

Brett heard the words as if from far away. Blood rushed through her head. She hadn't meant to be here. It was dangerous -- for her, maybe for Dana. Any relationship was dangerous, but especially one that mattered. She had meant to disappear, but the pull had been so strong. To see her, to touch her -- one more time. She had said that every time would be the last. She lied.

"Brett?" Scully said softly, sensing her struggle.

Brett breathed deeply, surrendered. "I'm here." She curled lower, her arms encircling Scully's hips, her tongue softly toying with Scully's navel.

"Oh god -- not fair!" Scully groaned. "You have my attention -- " Her hips seemed to move on their own as Brett licked and sucked the skin around her navel, then dipped lower with brief tantalizing flickers.

"Umm," Brett mumbled, her hands beginning a slow exploration of the soft skin of Scully's inner thighs. Tight and taut and trembling under her fingers. Drawing upward, trailing through the slick warmth to the ring of muscle at the rear, pressing just hard enough to make it contract.

"Ohhh," Scully sighed. "Don't -- not yet. I get hot too fast."

Brett ignored her, turning them so she lay between Scully's legs, resting on her elbows so she could continue to tease Scully with feather-light touches. She lowered her forehead to the damp hair at the base of Scully's belly. "God, you smell so good," she murmured.

Scully's hand was in her hair again. "Any time now would be just fine," Scully gasped, raising her hips automatically.

Brett lowered her face, pressing into the heat, savoring every sensation. Now was not the time to hurry. And she didn't. She felt every smooth ridge and fold with her tongue, sucking gently until Scully begged her to stop --no, there -- don't stop -- ohhh As Scully opened in welcome, she entered, withdrawing only to fill her more fully, stretching the pleasure, prolonging the passion.

When the tip of Brett's little finger slid in behind, Scully jerked, then cried out. "Oh, god -- that's got it -- fuck me now -- make me come --"

Brett squeezed her eyes shut, ignoring the throbbing between her legs, feeling Dana's rhythm, matching each thrust to the rise of Dana's hips and the contractions of her internal muscles. Little fine spasms engulfed Brett's fingers, and Dana's clit grew even harder between her lips. Brett tongued her harder and heard Dana gasp. *Oh you are so beautiful -- so very very beautiful -- * And then she was pulled into the explosion of sound and motion as Scully came hard into her mouth.

When Scully quieted, Brett moved onto her back and Scully immediately shifted against her, settling her head on Brett's shoulder. "Exquisite," Scully sighed, her voice languorous.

"Mmm, you were, " Brett agreed. Her body was in that particular state of residual arousal and supreme satisfaction that often followed her lover's orgasms. She might have drifted off if Dana hadn't casually dropped her hand between Brett's legs.

"How are you?" Scully asked softly.

"Fine," Brett replied, and Scully laughed.

"Uh huh, I can tell," Scully replied as she stroked through the moisture under her fingers. She felt Brett stiffen and smiled to herself.

Scully was drowsy with satiation, but she loved the feel of Brett's body quickening, and the sound of her breath growing erratic. Even half-awake it was easy to find the spots that pleased her, and she continued to work the smooth, slick, swollen places until Brett jerked and turned her face into Scully's hair, a moan torn from her throat.

"Nice," Scully murmured.

"Oh yeah," Brett gasped when she could breathe again.

"I think I'm falling asleep," Scully mumbled, curling closer. "Sorry."

"S'okay -- " Brett whispered, stroking her hair softly.

The clocks had stopped ticking, the world outside the windows grew still. The dawn was an eternity away.


"Until I have to go."


TITLE: Games: Double or Nothing
AUTHOR: Radclyffe
EMAIL ADDRESS: rdclyfhall@hotmail.com
ARCHIVE: anywhere
RATING: NC-17; This story depicts graphic sexual encounters between same-sex consenting adults.
CATEGORY: Vignette. Romance
KEYWORDS: Scully/Other(female); Scully/Slash
SUMMARY: Scully presses for the secrets behind Brett's silence.
DISCLAIMERS:Any characters/events introduced on the X-Files are the sole property of Chris Carter etc, and are used here without permission for entertainment, not for profit.



"Window or aisle?"

"Window or aisle, please?" Voice slightly raised, forced politeness barely concealing the underlying irritation.

"Scully? You want the window or the aisle?" Mulder flashed his most winning smile at the obviously annoyed counter person, and glanced over his shoulder at the thousand or so equally impatient individuals waiting to board the last flight out of O'Hare before an impending storm.

Dana Scully's eyes were fixed on a figure moving swiftly through the crowded terminal towards the waiting taxi lane. The tall lithe figure was familiar, or so Scully thought.

*It's just your imagination. There's no reason in the world that she should be here.* Scully continued to stare, straining to watch the blond head moving quickly among the scurrying travelers. *Your instincts have never let you down. Trust them now.*

Scully shook her head, trying to ignore the almost overpowering urge to break into a run.

"Scully?" Mulder queried again, studying her with mounting concern.

Scully shrugged in way of an answer as she simultaneously picked up her ticket from the American Airlines countertop. "I'm going to hold on to this, and take another flight tomorrow."

The airline agent stared at her in open-mouthed astonishment, and Mulder agreed aloud. "Are you crazy? Tomorrow is Christmas eve. This place is going to be a mad house, and with the storm coming, there's no guarantee that you'll get out of here for days."

Dana regarded him coolly, with a determined expression that said she was not to be swayed. "I've decided to do a little last-minute shopping. The case is wrapped up and there isn't even that much paperwork. Besides, you owe me a report or two. I don't have anything scheduled until after the holidays. If I don't make it back tomorrow, then I'll be back as soon as I can."

Before Mulder could protest further, she had turned and disappeared into the teeming crowd. With the slight sinking feeling he always experienced when she left, he reluctantly finished the arrangements for his own flight out.


As Scully crossed the expansive hotel lobby to the elevators, she congratulated herself on remembering most of her lessons in fieldwork that she had been certain were unnecessary those many years ago at Quantico. She had known then that she would be a pathologist, and had not expected to need any skills outside the laboratory. Her career had taken her far from the sterile world of the autopsy suite, but she was still secretly pleased that she had been able to track her quarry across the busy city. She had no idea what kind of reception she was about to receive. She had been moving purely on instinct, and some primitive urge to know the truth.

"It's me," Scully responded to the cautious "Who is it?" from the other side of the hotel room door.

After a moment it opened and Brett motioned her inside. The first thing Scully noticed was how exhausted Brett appeared. The second thing was the Glock held in Brett's left hand.

Brett closed the door and arched a critical eyebrow in Scully's direction. "Should I ask how you found me?"

Scully watched as Brett smoothly returned the Glock to a shoulder holster under her right arm with a practiced motion. Just as casually, Scully responded, "I followed you from the airport." They might have been discussing the weather.

Brett winced, and shook her head slightly. "Wonderful. And the hotel room? It's not listed in my name."

Scully gave a nonchalant shrug. "I told the desk clerk that we had shared a taxi, and that you had left your wallet on the seat. He obligingly told me your room number."

Brett sighed, and brushed a hand wearily across her face. "Well, so much for security." She double-bolted the door, and picked up the bedside phone. "I was about to order dinner. Can I get you something?"

"Am I staying?" Scully asked quietly.

Brett replaced the receiver, and stared at her across the room. "That's up to you."

Scully tossed her briefcase and raincoat on a nearby chair. She leaned one hip against the door jam, and crossed her arms over her chest. "No, actually, I think this time it's up to you. What the hell is going on?"

"The fact that you are here is problem enough," Brett said quietly. "If I answer your questions, any questions, it's going to make things worse."

"For whom?" Scully demanded impatiently. She had enough sense of the situation to realize that knowledge could be dangerous, and that in this case, she could be exposing herself to potential harm.

"For both of us," Brett responded.

Scully studied Brett steadily for a long moment. There were circles under her eyes, and faint lines of fatigue etched in her face. Her eyes, however, were the same ice blue, and they regarded her calmly. Scully knew she had a choice -- she could press, and Brett would answer, and everything between them would change. Or, she could accept the silence, and they could go on as they had been -- meeting fleetingly in the dark, when fate or happenstance threw them together for a few hours, exchanging in the end little more than disappointment.

"How much do you trust me?" Brett whispered. "The stakes are getting higher every time we meet."

Scully had nothing to rely on except the moments they had shared, moments defined at first by the physical, finally meaning so much more. They had said so much to one another in the quiet hours before dawn, when the silence had thundered with unspoken words. There had been a thousand revelations in the touch of a hand, and a million confessions in the stroke of a tongue. They knew each other by the needs they had exposed, and by the desires they had fulfilled. As she stood looking at Brett, those many moments coalesced into a truth she did not need to hear. She crossed the room, and into Brett's arms, closing the distance between them with a kiss.

"I thought you wanted to talk," Brett said breathlessly when Scully lifted her lips at last.

"I do," Scully murmured, pushing the taller woman toward the bed as she tugged the leather harness off Brett's slim shoulders. She let it drop somewhere behind them, and pulled Brett's shirt from her pants. Her hands found skin, warm and soft, and she moaned against Brett's ear. "In a minute."

Brett gasped as a tongue swirled over the sensitive ridges. "In a minute it will be too late," she managed hoarsely as her fingers found the zipper at the back of Scully's skirt. "I won't be able to form sentences."

Scully opened the fly on Brett's trousers, her mouth steadily working down the angle of Brett's jaw, biting just hard enough to make Brett groan. "You under-estimate my powers of interrogation," she whispered, slipping a hand into Brett's briefs.

Brett stumbled backward another step, Scully following close against her. She pushed Scully's skirt down with both hands and somehow Scully managed to step free of it without breaking stride. "Oh, no," Brett replied, "I am properly impressed by your prowess."

Scully kicked out of her shoes, her fingers pressing lower into the heat between Brett's legs. "Good," she sighed, pressing her crotch against Brett's thigh. "Because I like it when you're talkative."

"Uh huh," Brett mumbled as Scully's mouth covered hers again and they tumbled backward onto the bed.

For a moment there was only the sound of their low panting as they stripped themselves and each other in a tangle of sheets and strewn clothing. Scully rolled onto Brett, her hand returning high between Brett's thighs, finding her open and ready. She pressed inward, wanting to be connected, wanting to know Brett was real.

"Ah jesus," Brett cried, her hips heaving upward to meet Scully's thrusts. "Good -- so good--"

Scully wrapped her legs around Brett's thigh, sliding her own hard, wet need against smooth warm skin in a rhythm matching the cadence of her arm moving in and out. She lowered her mouth to Brett's nipple and sucked hard, working the sensitive peak with her tongue, biting, trying not to hurt her but wanting to devour her. Brett's hands were in her hair, pressing Scully's face against her, silently urging her to take more.

Suddenly Scully pulled her face away and slid off the side of the bed to her knees, pulling Brett's hips to the edge of the mattress. Brett's lifted her legs, settling them over Scully's shoulders, clutching the fabric under her in both hands.

"Hurry," she grated, her head thrashing from side to side. "Please, hurry."

Scully smiled, insinuating her palms under Brett's hips, grasping her firm buttocks, squeezing, taking a moment to revel in the smell and sound of her. Hurrying was the last thing on her mind. She started slowly, and didn't increase her pace even when Brett begged for relief. She stroked and sucked and savored every warm fold, loosing herself in the sensations that eclipsed every other.

"Ohgodohgodohgod--" Brett chanted softly, rocking against Scully's face.

Scully drew one hand free and reached down to touch herself. She was achingly hard; throbbing to the same beat that pulsed under her tongue. She rubbed lightly, pressing her clit from side to side, moaning softly against Brett's flesh. As Brett swelled between her lips, she worked herself closer, letting it build to the point of sweet torture. Within seconds Brett was sobbing out her pleasure, bucking spasmodically, flooding Scully with her essence. Scully no longer moved consciously, her body soaring unbidden to release. She knew nothing, other than the wonder of this woman. No awareness, other than this timeless moment stretching toward infinity.

Brett finally caught her breath and pulled Scully up beside her on the bed. "Now, that was an interview I wouldn't mind giving again."

"Mmm," Scully murmured. "I could arrange it. If I knew where you were going to be from time to time."

Brett was silent, her hand stroking the damp curls that clung to Scully's cheek. "I can't."

Scully pressed closer. "Sometimes I'm afraid you're a ghost."

Brett laughed bitterly. "That's exactly what I am."


Washington, DC

"What do you know about 'ghost squads', Mulder?"

Mulder looked up from the monitor where he had been perusing the latest news from the MUFON site. Apparently a squadron of alien vessels was expected in Hot Springs for the Millennium celebration. "From the Hoover days?"

"Uh huh. Rumor or fact?"

Mulder regarded her quizzically, but decided from the look in her eyes not to voice his curiosity. "Well, the rumors say they were squads of special agents, hand-picked by Hoover himself, trained in a secret location, to police the FBI from the inside."

Scully nodded, wishing there was another answer. "Police it?"

"Carry out sanctions against agents who had gone over to the other side, or who had just plain lost it -- any one who was a threat to the organization."

She swallowed, but did not relent. She was way past that. "Sanctions -- to terminate with prejudice?"

Mulder leaned back in his chair, balancing a pencil over one finger. "They were supposed to be assassins, an elite corp of enforcers that only a very few knew about, answering only to the inner circle."

"Was there ever any proof?" Scully asked, knowing the answer couldn't change the truth.

"Not that I know of. Besides, that was forty years ago. Those things don't go on today."

Scully smiled thinly. "No, of course they don't."


TITLE: Games: The Millennium Effect
AUTHOR: Radclyffe
EMAIL ADDRESS: rdclyfhall@hotmail.com
ARCHIVE: anywhere
RATING: NC-17; This story depicts graphic sexual encounters between same-sex consenting adults.
CATEGORY: Alternate Universe(s).
KEYWORDS: Scully/Other(Marsh); Scully/Other(Brett); ScullySlash
SUMMARY: A wrinkle in the fabric of time, a glimpse between universes -- a once in a millennium's occurrence.
DISCLAIMERS: All characters with the exception of Marshall Black and Brett are borrowed with no intent to profit from CC et al.


December 31, 1999
9:33 pm

"Do you think Mulder is managing all right alone?" Scully murmured as she pressed close against Marsh's body.

Marsh lifted her cheek from where it rested against Scully's temple, glancing across the room. She kept her hold on the woman in her arms, continuing to move gently against her. Mulder did not appear to be watching them, but you could never tell. "He seems to be amusing himself."

Scully shifted enough to press her lips discretely against the soft skin at the base of Marsh's throat. "Mmmm, that's good. I was worried about him. Not that I wanted to spend the evening looking after him." She bit ever so lightly to emphasize her words.

Marsh chuckled deep in her throat, and slowly moved her hand over the small of Scully's back. They fit together so effortlessly, and moved as one without thinking. They so seldom had the opportunity to be together in such an ordinary way, although the circumstances made it seem extraordinary. She looked about the room, aware of the others only peripherally, feeling as if she and Dana were the only two people in the world. The orchestra music provided a gentle backdrop as they danced on the eve of a new millennium.

"This was a wonderful idea," Scully sighed. "I'm so glad we came."

"So am I," Marsh responded quietly.

"Even though we had to bring Mulder?" Scully said with a laugh.

Marsh turned them with a slight dipping motion, neatly avoiding a male couple intent on demonstrating the results of their recent dance lessons, then shrugged one shoulder slightly. "We could hardly leave him on the doorstep with that puppy-dog expression on his face, could we?"

"I suppose not," Scully breathed softly, shifting her thigh subtly to press between Marsh's legs. "But his timing continues to be terrible." Scully slipped her hand under the lapel of Marsh's gray tuxedo jacket, not missing a step, and pressed the palm of her hand flat against Marsh's chest. Her fingers trailed lower, caressing the faint curve of breast beneath stiff cotton. She could remember exactly what they were doing when the doorbell rang.


"If you answer that, I will spontaneously combust," Marsh groaned.

"Whoever is on the other side of that door is going to hear exactly what we're doing," Scully whispered, making a valiant attempt to catch her breath.

Marsh stood with her back braced against the front door to her apartment, legs slightly spread to accommodate Scully's hand, which was inside her trousers. That was as far as she had gotten after Scully greeted her with a welcome home kiss. The kiss was rather more than a simple greeting, since Scully had just returned from a case that had something to do with hidden caves, psychedelic fungi, and disappearing campers. They hadn't seen each other in a week.

Marsh's hands were poised over the third button on Scully's blouse, and she could just see the edges of a filmy lace bra. Her mouth actually watered from her desire to run her lips over the smooth creamy skin she was laying bare. "Don't look. They'll go away," she pleaded, emphasizing her words with a brush of her thumbs over each of Scully's very erect nipples.

"Don't ask, don't tell," Scully muttered, her fingers slipping of their own volition into the hot, wet irresistible --

"Scully?! You there?"

Not for the first time in their relationship, Marsh cursed, then vowed, "I'm going to kill him. This time, I'm really going to kill him."

Scully leaned her forehead against Marsh's chest, closing her eyes as she slowly withdrew her hand. She counted to ten, willing her heart rate to steady and her mind to focus. She lifted her head, raised up on her tiptoes, and brushed her lips quickly across Marsh's. "It'll just take a minute. If it's not something urgent about work, I'll send him on his way. Immediately."

Marsh nodded numbly, fumbled her zipper closed, and walked on slightly unsteady legs across the room. She leaned her hips back against the rear edge of the couch, buried her hands in her trouser pockets to hide the trembling, and attempted to look composed. Scully always had this effect on her - an arousal so immediate, so consuming, that her body veered off on a trajectory all its own. She could no more control it than she could control her own heart beat. As many times as Dana had touched her, each time it ignited a desire so deep her skin burned, and something molten flowed through her limbs. Dana alone, like no one before her, and Marsh was certain, no one ever to follow, could reduce her to helplessness with the mere stroke of a fingertip across her palm. It came, she knew, from loving Dana so completely it centered her life and defined her future. Dana was like air for her, as necessary as the blood that flowed through her veins. And at the moment, her blood was on fire.

Dimly, she heard the murmur of voices, then Mulder's excited voice greeting her. She narrowed her eyes and stared at the wisp of paper he was waving in his hand. It looked suspiciously like a ticket. A bright rainbow colored ticket.

She opened her mouth to hurl an epithet, then clamped her jaws down on it. "He is Scully's partner; he is Scully's friend; he is Scully's family," she intoned silently in a supreme act of will power. She cleared her throat, then said mildly, "What's that you've got there Mulder?"

He grinned happily at Scully, then Marsh. "When Scully told me that the two of you were going to the AIDS Benefit tonight, I found out there were still a few tickets available. It's a gala event, you know -- but I got lucky!"

She noticed then that he looked quite spiffy in black tie. Black tie -- at their doorstep. She looked to Scully, who was smiling at her with that soft look in her eyes that said, "It will be fine. I promise."

Marsh sighed, then grinned at him good-naturedly. "Guess it's a threesome, then."

She didn't hear his reply as Scully grabbed her hand, called, "Put the television on, Mulder - we have to get ready," and dragged her off to the bedroom. The next thing she knew, she was in the bathroom, and Scully was making short work of stripping naked.

"Out of those clothes -- now," Scully ordered, pushing down her own skirt and stockings. As Marsh hastened to comply, Scully reached behind her to turn on the shower, then pulled her inside, sliding the glass door closed.

"You think I don't know what state you're in?" Scully asked, a wicked gleam in her eye. She backed Marsh against the tile wall, her full lips parting in a smile that no one else ever saw. A smile that said, "You are mine, and I will do as I like."

"I could wait," Marsh said feebly, very aware of Scully's breasts pressing against her. God, they were so incredibly full, and firm -- yet soft like nothing else. She lifted her hands, cradling them gently, bending her head low to caress them with her lips. "But I might die."

Scully allowed the distraction for a moment, the pressure of Marsh's fingers producing another kind of pressure deep inside. Oh -- so-- good-- right there-- She closed her eyes with a soft moan, and reached up to capture Marsh's mouth with her own. The warm water cascaded down her back as she fit her body to Marsh's, one leg riding insistently between Marsh's long thighs, creating a wetness of quite a different order.

Marsh's hands had fallen to Scully's buttocks, pulling her in tight, urging her with a demanding circular motions to push harder. "I might be quick, but I can't be quiet," she whispered desperately.

Scully laughed softly, then lifted her hips far enough to allow her hand between their bodies. She cupped Marsh, squeezing rhythmically, but not parting the soft swollen folds to touch her completely. "If I know Mulder," she gasped, "he's already watching something that sounds a lot like us."

Marsh closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the shower wall. She was rapidly reaching the point where she didn't care if Mulder, Skinner, and a dozen aliens were in the living room. She wanted to come.

"I hope so," she mumbled, "because if you don't touch me soon, I'm going to scream."

Scully reached for Marsh's hand and brought it to her own center. "We'll have to double up, or we'll run out of hot water," she managed before her throat closed around a groan. *God, you know just how to touch me*

Marsh matched Scully's rhythm, holding the smaller woman close with her free arm. The muscles in Marsh's neck tightened as the breath halted in her chest, and her heart pounded wildly. She yielded in paralyzed silence to the violent throbbing that threatened to spill over into orgasm at the slightest touch. She moaned softly when Scully's fingers tightened around her achingly stiff clit, pinning her to the wall with the exquisite torture. She had barely enough strength left to grasp Scully in the same way, squeezing her thumb and for finger down hard, then milking the length of her gently.

Scully bit back a cry, her hips jerking at the lightning stab of pleasure. She felt Marsh's fingers sliding into her, and the reflex contractions that spiraled through her belly made her cry out again. She thrust several times, riding the length of Marsh's hand, driving herself higher. "That's got it, lover," she finally gasped. She pressed her face against Marsh's breast, sucking hard on her nipple as the spasms fused and blended into a rising surge of blinding sensation.

"Did I lose you there at the end?" Scully finally murmured, clinging to Marsh unsteadily.

Marsh laughed softly. "No, I was already long gone."

Scully raised her head, her blue eyes twinkling. "So you _ are _ capable of being quiet."

Marsh grinned. "It's difficult to vocalize when you can't breathe."

Scully pushed away and let the water run through her hair and down over her body. She pulled Marsh into the stream with her, and reached for the soap. "Oh good," she said finally, running the soap over Marsh's chest and belly. "I was worried for a moment that I was losing my touch."

"Not in this lifetime," Marsh assured her vehemently.

When they emerged from the bedroom, Marsh in her tuxedo and Scully in an off the shoulder black dress, Mulder regarded them both in obvious appreciation. "Oh yes, happy happy New Year," he whispered softly to himself as he trailed after them down to the car.


Scully stiffened slightly in Marsh's embrace. "I thought you weren't on call."

"I'm not," Marsh said grimly.

"Well, you're vibrating."

"I know," Marsh responded, pulling the small beeper off the waistband of her tuxedo trousers. She glanced at the number, but she already knew what it was. "It's not the hospital, it's a red line number."

Scully knew that in addition to Marsh's responsibilities as Chief of Trauma at Memorial Hospital, she had clearance to treat medical emergencies involving top secret agents and operations. She followed Marsh across the crowded floor to an alcove where Marsh dug her cellphone out of her topcoat pocket. It wasn't the first time their personal lives had been disrupted by work. She leaned stoically against the wall and watched Marsh talk.

Marsh turned to her after a brief conversation, her face apologetic. "I have to go. I'm so sorry. Mulder can take you home later."

Scully shook her head, a small smile lifting the corners of her generous mouth. "I want to go with you. I want to be wherever you are at midnight."

Marsh stared at her for an instant, then pulled her close. "God, I love you." She kissed her swiftly, then stepped away. "Let's tell Mulder."


December 31st, 1999
10:13 p.m.

A blond woman lay motionless on a narrow hospital stretcher, a sheet pulled up to mid-chest. An IV tube ran from a bag containing electrolytes, glucose, and antibiotics into a large-bore plastic needle inserted into a vein on the inner surface of her left forearm. A cardiac monitor beeped steadily on an overhead rack. Heart rate 58. Well below average. A thin cuff encircled one tightly muscled arm, inflating and deflating rhythmically. Blood pressure 80/55. Better than average. A small plastic clip attached over the end of one finger gave a constant readout of blood gas levels. Oxygen sat 99 percent. Normal. Carbon Dioxide - 36. No hyperventilation.

*She could be taking a nap. Not one physical sign to indicate pain.*

Marsh walked quietly to the side of the stretcher. "I'm Marshall Black. Are you awake?" she said softly.

Surprisingly clear ice blue eyes gazed up at her. "Yes."

"Are you in pain?"

A small wry grin. "A bit."

Marsh nodded, smiling gently. "I can give you something."

An answering smile, bitter and brittle at the edges. "Best not."

Marsh said nothing, lifting the sheet with gloved hands, peering underneath the blood stained surgical pad taped to the woman's right chest. "I'm going to need x-rays, and probably a CT scan. The report I got indicated no major organ damage, but the bullet is still in there."

Brett nodded. "That's why I'm here."

Marsh straightened. She hated being restricted like this, but it was part of the game. Don't ask, just treat. She did it because she was good at it, and because it needed to be done. Still, she was not a mechanic, and they were not machines - no matter how much they were trained to be. "This won't be pleasant. Is there someone -- "


Marsh should have let it go, but she saw the brief flicker of pain pass over the chiseled features. She leaned down, her dark eyes intense, her voice barely a whisper. "No one has to know. No one _will_ know. You'll leave this room and we'll never meet again. Whatever happens here will end when I walk out that door." She stepped back, and laid her cellphone on the sheets. "I'm going to make arrangements for the x-rays."


Scully moved quickly through the nearly deserted lobby. It was just as well that this particular New Year's Eve most people had elected to stay home or were already where they planned to be. No one noticed her; no one would remember her. She caught a glimpse of a redhead in a black evening gown talking to a taller woman who appeared to be wearing a lab coat over, of all things, a tuxedo. They turned to walk down the opposite hallway.

Scully pushed open the door of the room she had been directed to. She'd been in rooms like this thousands of times, a few hundred or so as a patient herself. But it was always harder when it was someone you knew.

Brett's head turned slightly, and she attempted a smile. "Did I drag you away from a hot date?"

In the few seconds it took for her to cross the room, Scully had taken in every monitor reading visible. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "As a matter-of-fact, you did. Mulder and I were watching Peter Jennings change his clothes every half an hour and grow bags under his eyes. If I had to watch the new year ring in one more time in one more country, I would've been ready to run into traffic myself."

Brad started to laugh, then winced in pain. The machines around the room chimed in disapproval.

Scully took Brett's free hand, and leaned close. "Hey, hey. Take it easy, baby." She smoothed the damp hair back from Brett's forehead with her other hand, her palm lingering on Brett's cheek. She stroked her face gently for a moment, then kissed her softly on the lips. "Should I ask if the other guy looks worse?"

"There is no other guy," Brett said wearily. "Well, there must be, but I don't know about it. I wasn't working. The hit came as I was walking to my car." She coughed suddenly, grimacing again with the movement. A small patch of blood appeared on the dressing.

Scully looked at the monitors in concern. "Where the hell is everybody? You need attention. Who's in charge?"

A calm voice behind her responded, "I am."

Still holding Brett's hand, Scully turned to look over her shoulder. The sudden movement must have affected her balance, because suddenly she felt a wave of dizziness. For an instant, her vision blurred. She must have looked shaken, because the handsome woman across from her was staring at her with the oddest expression on her face.

Scully stared back -- she had the strangest feeling that she knew her, or _should_ know her. Tall, with brooding dark eyes, and an elegant refinement to her sharply sculpted features that said that beneath the calm, there was steel. Scully blinked, tried to dispel the disorientation. She suddenly realized that the woman bore a striking resemblance to Brett, if you changed the coloring. Same lithe build; same classic features; same aura of intensity and power. Brett looked a little wilder, a little hungrier -- not quite as haunted. But the similarity was uncanny. That must be it.

"I'm ... " Scully began, then stopped quickly as Brett squeezed her hand. *Of course, no names*

Marsh took a deep breath, and shook off the eerie sensation of looking at someone who might be Dana's twin. She was dressed in jeans, sweater and a worn leather jacket. Her hair was slightly shorter than Dana's, and her body a little leaner, and there was a edgy look to her face that belied how tightly she was wound. But her eyes were the same cerulean blue, and her features the same perfection. Whoever she was, she looked fiercely protective and completely undaunted by the situation.

Marsh walked to the wall-mounted view box and put up a series of films. Without preamble, she said, "The bullet shattered your clavicle, which probably saved your life. It was deflected enough to miss both the brachial plexus and the subclavian vessels. No nerve injury, no major arterial damage."

She began uncovering several trays with surgical instruments, sterile drapes, towels and other supplies. "The bullet is sitting about three inches under the skin in your pectoral muscle. I would recommend we get it out of there."

"Sounds like a plan," Brett said quietly.

Scully walked to the Xray boxes and studied the films. She was aware that the surgeon was watching her intently. "I'm a doctor," she explained.

"I'm not surprised," Marsh remarked flatly. She didn't have the luxury to be surprised, or confused, or anything else. She had a job to do. She washed her hands, reached for the sterile gown -- something familiar, something solid.

Scully assured herself that the assessment of the bullet's position and the treatment plan were correct, then returned to Brett's side. "Are you planning to do it here?"

"It's simplest," Marsh replied. *And will attract the least amount of attention. In and out. Someone will come to take her back to wherever she came from and her records will disappear.*

"I can help," Scully said.

Marsh nodded, certain that she could. "What I would prefer is that you talk to our patient while I work. It won't take long. I'll be sedating her, but she's going to feel some of this."

Scully looked down at Brett, who returned her gaze steadily with a trust so clear it almost hurt. "Does it have to be this way?" Scully asked softly. *All of this? The danger, the silence, the pain?*

"I'm sorry," Brett answered just as softly. *I can't change it.*

Scully silenced her with a gentle touch of a finger to her lips. "Not now. It's all right." She looked over at Marsh, feeling oddly comforted by her presence. "Go ahead. She'll be fine." Scully continued to hold Brett's gaze, one hand in her hair, the other intertwined with her fingers. * I don't know how, or when, but someday, you'll be fine.*


Marsh stripped off her gloves and tossed them onto the pile of bloody sponges and towels. She glanced at the clock -- two minutes to midnight. "You have a few minutes before someone comes," she said to the red-head. "You should leave soon."

She walked out and went in search of her lover. She had an urgent need to see her, to touch her. She desperately needed to be connected to her.

Scully took one look at Marsh's face and wrapped her arms around her. "What is it? Are you all right?"

Marsh held her tightly, smelling the fresh scent of her hair, feeling the familiar curve of her body, sensing her world righting itself. "I'm fine now. I was just missing you."

Scully didn't need to ask more, she simply held her. "Well, Mulder's timing may be bad, but yours is always perfect. It's midnight."

And then she kissed her.


Dana Scully crossed the deserted lobby and prepared to greet the first moments of the new century alone. In the bright lights reflecting off the double glass doors, she saw the image of two women wrapped in an embrace. She hesitated for a second, shaking her head at the peculiar sense of light-headedness.

When she turned, they were gone. She pushed through the doors into the darkness beyond. It was 12:01 am.


TITLE: Games: Super Bowl Sunday
AUTHOR: Radclyffe
EMAIL ADDRESS: rdclyfhall@hotmail.com
ARCHIVE: anywhere
RATING: NC-17; This story depicts graphic sexual encounters between same-sex consenting adults.
KEYWORDS: Scully/Other (female); Scully/Slash
SUMMARY: The tenth in the ongoing saga of Scully and Brett. They make up the rules as they go along, and in this world, knowledge can be deadly.
DISCLAIMERS:Any characters/events introduced on the X-Files are the sole property of Chris Carter etc, and are used here without permission for entertainment, not for profit.
Comments welcomed and hoped for.


"Are you sure this is a good idea?" A cool voice that belied the rapid beat of her heart. Still, she was strangely reluctant to open the door further.

"Why not?" An innocent reply that begged the question. Settling the bag of food and wine against one hip, leaning a shoulder against the door frame, she waited. And hoped. *It's always been your call, don't you know that? I'm just putting the ball up -- you can take it or pass*

Scully stared at the snow-dusted, leather-jacketed blond standing in her doorway, looking as nonchalant as if they met every day. Instead of precipitously falling into one anothers arms for a few breathless hours every now and then. No strings. No plans, no promises -- no future either. It had been fine for the first few times -- until the absence started to hurt, and the longing started an ache that never quite disappeared. Then it was a distraction -- a disruption that tilted the order of things, that threatened a fortress she had so fiercely constructed, and so closely guarded.

Why not, indeed?

*Oh, any number of reasons. My apartment is hardly a discreet location if someone is looking for you. I hunger for you and I don't even know your last name. Or where you live, or who it is -- exactly -- that you work for. Because the last time I saw you, you had a hole in your chest*

"What if I'm expecting someone?" Scully asked, irritated at the goddamned arrogance of the woman. *Does she think I'll just be here waiting?*

"Then I'll leave."

And she would, Scully knew. No protests, no recriminations. And she'd come back if Scully contacted her -- wouldn't she? If the anonymous email relays didn't change -- if someone didn't kill her in the meantime. If tomorrow actually materialized -- for either of them. *What am I waiting for? A proposal? A promise I wouldn't believe? Who am I trying to kid?*

She swung the door wide, hooked her hand under the waistband of Brett's jeans, and yanked her inside. "What's in the bag?"

Brett slipped her free arm around Scully's waist, pulled her close, and covered those luscious lips with her mouth. Through the heat she tasted peppermint, and a hint of coffee. It was like nothing she had ever felt before -- sweet, dark, welcoming, dangerous. She was in deep, deep trouble. She raised her head when she had exhausted every molecule of air in her lungs, knowing she was drowning and not caring. "Pre-game delicacies," she gasped.

Scully stared, her eyes slightly cloudy -- a sky just before the rain, hazy and heavy. "Game," she murmured from the depths of her throat. "Super Bowl." She slid both hands up under the leather, stroking Brett's back through the worn cotton of her shirt. She rocked gently against Brett's pelvis, nudging at the space between Brett's thighs with her leg. She pressed a little harder until Brett's breath caught in her throat and she trembled. "You .. came.. to .. watch.. football?"

Brett edged close enough to a table to set her package down, then used both hands to spin Scully against the counter between the kitchen and dining area. She leaned her length along Scully's body and kissed her again. She didn't stop until both of them were panting. "Uh huh --" she murmured, her lips brushing Scully's neck. "It's the game of the year. Can't .. miss..it."

Scully pushed her away with both hands, the loss of contact leaving her aching. "No sex before a big game," she said seriously. *Every time I see you I want you more. Damn you*

Brett grinned, turning to unpack her parcels. Wine -- Pinot Noir; foccacia; soft cheese; chocolate.

Scully peered over Brett's shoulder, one hand on Brett's muscled butt. She needed the connection. She squeezed absently as she perused the offerings. "Mmm -- appetizers," she observed.

Brett turned, grabbed Scully's hand, and dragged her toward the bedroom. "Nope. Dessert."


Scully was naked, lying on her back, watching Brett undress. It was impossible not to admire the sleek muscles of her torso, even though the golden skin was marred forever by the surgical incision slanting above her right breast. *If they kill you, I'll never know. You'll just be gone*

She wondered how long it would take her to forget Brett's face, with that slow easy grin. Or her deep throaty voice. Or the touch of her hand, or the softness of her kisses, or the hard demanding pressure of those fingers filling her. Too long -- way, way too long. "I'm not going to be able to do this forever, you know."

Brett stopped, her hands poised on her fly. She looked at Scully, saw the turmoil in her eyes, heard the slight tremor in her voice. "Do what?" But she knew. Had known for a while and had hoped there would be more time.

"Keep fucking like we were strangers."

Brett looked away, swallowed hard. "Do you want me to go?"

Scully sighed, and waited until Brett met her gaze. "No. I want you to give me something to hold onto when you leave."

Brett hesitated, then pulled the zipper down, pushed the material from her hips, stepped out of the jeans. She knew what she was being asked. "First name Brett -- last name Halsted, no middle initial."

She put her right knee on the bed, swung her other leg over Scully's body, settled on her, straddling Scully's waist. She was wet, and she knew Scully could feel it. She leaned forward, took Scully's wrists, one in each hand, and pinned then to the bed next to Scully's head. Her face was close to Scully's ear, and she licked it slowly. "Okay?"

Scully didn't struggle, her arms yielding in Brett's grasp. But she turned her head, caught Brett's lower lip in her teeth, dragged it into her mouth, chewed on it -- hard enough to make Brett wince. Then her tongue was soothing the hurt, sucking gently. She matched the rhythm of her tongue with a subtle rise and fall of her hips, sliding against Brett's crotch. She knew damn well that would make Brett wetter still. Abruptly, she pulled her mouth away and stopped moving. "Uh uh. Not good enough."

Brett groaned in protest. She lowered her head, caught Scully's nipple, worked it with her lips and teeth. She was hot -- had been since she climbed the stairs and rang the bell. Hell, she'd been damp inside her jeans since she got on the Metro, through three train changes and two reversals of direction to make sure she wasn't followed. "Home base -- New York City."

Scully worked one hand free, ran her nails slowly down Brett's back, almost but not quite leaving marks. She pressed Brett's face harder to her breast, closing her eyes as Brett sucked. "Oh yeah -- that's so nice," she whispered. She pulled her other arm free, then rolled Brett over with one upward surge of her hips. She reversed the pin effortlessly, trapping Brett's hands by her sides. She thrust one leg between Brett's and stretched out on top of her, smiling down at Brett's astonished face.

"Phone number?" Scully murmured. She pumped her hips slowly, dragging her thigh over the hot, moist swollen tissues between Brett's legs.

"Oh shit --" Brett gasped, her nerve endings sizzling. She rotated her pelvis, hoping to create enough friction to relieve the terrible, agonizingly wonderful pressure in her clit. Dimly, she heard Scully's insistent voice. "Wha-- what?" she croaked.

"Phone number?" Scully repeated, punctuating each syllable with another thrust. She kissed her neck while she waited.

"212- uh - 5...55 oh man 77...12," Brett managed. "I'll...tell..you anything --uh god ..later," she rasped.

Scully released Brett's arms, but kept her pinned by the weight of her body. She started licking the sweat-slick skin of Brett's abdomen, long slow strokes punctuated by small nips. "Now."

Brett arched her back, trying to nudge Scully's face lower, desperately hoping to feel that warm wet tongue..."Oh please.."

"What's the number for?" Scully continued, deaf to Brett's pleas. She slipped both hands between Brett's legs, opening her. But she did not touch the sensitive areas within.

"Contact ... number," Brett answered. She managed to insinuate her hand along their bodies, and felt Scully's wetness on her fingers. Brett groaned, pierced by the sweetness of it. She squeezed the hot hardness of her and Scully moaned. *Good. Two can play at this*

Scully refused to be distracted by the sudden throbbing ache in her clit. "What's your --uh -- code name.."

For the briefest moment, Brett hesitated. When she answered, it wasn't for the sex. It was for the trust. "Maverick."

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" Scully said sweetly. She let Brett fondle her a bit longer -- God, that was driving her crazy -- then she dragged herself away. Stretching out between Brett's legs, she rested her face against Brett's lower belly, nuzzling in the soft damp hair. She closed here eyes, breathed deeply, and sighed with wonder. Words, descriptors failed her. Some part of her brain millennia old registered the scent, and impulses imprinted before language surged through her. She wanted to give thanks. She wanted to weep.

Instead, she moaned and kissed her lightly, just brushing the tip of Brett's clit with her lips. It took more resolve than she knew she had to raise her head and ask, "Who are you?"

"I'm..," Brett struggled to find the truth, and struggled to keep from screaming. "...one of ...you."

It was Scully's turn to hesitate, torn by desire, tormented by conscience. *One of us. Avenger -- or assassin?* And then she knew it didn't matter, because none of them - her, Mulder, Brett - were innocent.

"Oh, god -- I don't care," Scully whispered, too weary, too needful, to be righteous. She did what she had been wanting to do since she opened the door and saw her there. She took her, hard and fast and with just a hint of desperation. She slid fingers into her, circled throbbing tissues with her lips, sucked insistently until the pounding in her head was matched by the tremors in Brett's body. Even when she heard her strangled cries, felt the spasms, she continued, wanting all of it -- all of her. Here, now. Damn tomorrow.


Scully settled the tray carefully on the end of the bed, leaned down, and kissed Brett's lips softly.

"Kickoff in ten minutes," she whispered.

Brett rolled over, stared up into Scully's sparkling blue eyes, and said, "What happened?"

Scully shook her head ruefully, and handed her a glass of wine. She bit the corner off a sinful dark cream-filled chocolate, and regarded Brett thoughtfully. "I just got done ravishing you."

Brett eased up in the bed, the sheets falling away to reveal her still-flushed neck and chest. "Oh -- that."

"Uh huh," Scully responded. *And if you don't cover up, I may do it again*

"I feel you took unfair advantage of me," Brett said playfully. She reached for a bit of bread and cheese.

"Maybe," Scully answered quietly. "Maybe I had to."

"I know," Brett replied seriously. "I'm sorry. I didn't leave you much choice." She traced a slow circle over Scully's palm, considering things she had never contemplated before. Feelings she never expected to have. "I'm afraid for you."

"I know. I'm afraid for you," Scully responded, linking her fingers through Brett's.

"There are things I can't change -- and things I can't tell you. Not right now."

"Yes," Scully sighed, settling back onto the pillow next to Brett. "Someday you'll have to."

"What do you want me to do?" Brett said. *Just please don't ask me to leave. Not right now. I couldn't bear it*

"Watch the game." No more today --

Brett leaned over, kissed her for an eternity. "I'd rather make love to you."

"Later," Scully said, a hint of a smile on her lips. "That's what half-time is for."

End Games: Super Bowl Sunday