Illusions

by Syrenslure

Date: Friday, December 28, 2001 11:58 AM

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




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

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

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

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




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

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

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

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

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

But sometimes, like tonight. it was just right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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