Title: Lessons XI: Field of Play
Author: Jori 
Rating: I think we have finally hit NC-17
Summary: The games continue, but their meanings have changed so much.
Scully gets her kicks with Mulder during a late night soccer match.
Archive: Yes
Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to 1013, FOX and CC.
Category: SHR
Keywords: Partially Resolved Sexual Tension, MSR
Author's Notes: Part XI of Mojo and my Lessons series. 

********************************

Quantico Marine Base Fields
October 3, 1999
9:15 p.m.

I find her standing inside the goal on the opposite side of the field
from where I entered. Her fingers are laced into the netting as she
awaits my arrival. But she is watching the wrong parking lot.

Scully has her foot on a soccer ball and I notice she takes a quick
glance at her wristwatch. And then another. Is she as impatient for
this to begin as I am? I watch as she twists her fingers tighter
around the net, and a flash of white hot desire courses through me. I
want those fingers to be touching me. To be wrapped around me. Not
some damn net.

Yes, slight touches and near misses are nice, but how much can a guy
take?

I jog across the field to where she is standing. The field lights are
bright and swarms of night insects add to the electric buzz. She
doesn't hear me coming toward her over the humming noise.

Scully has on soccer shorts and a big t-shirt. She looks as if she
already warmed up by running around the field. She is damp with
sweat. Or maybe from the cool rain that just stopped. The white
shorts cling to her in just the right way. Her hair is pulled up into
a ponytail and she has a towel thrown over her shoulder. We are in
for a workout tonight. I hope in more ways than one.

"If you score the winning goal, are you going to rip off your shirt
and jump up and down?" I ask Scully and she turns around and smiles
at me. A big, unexpected beaming smile. I think I've died, gone to
heaven and discovered all the angels wear Umbro sports wear.

"I didn't think you were ever coming . . ." she says, blushing
slightly at the choice of her words. Now that we are no longer hiding
behind archery and volleyball terminology, each and every word means
so much more.

Scully looks me over and she does nothing to hide the disappointment
that flashes across her face. Earlier today she sent me a package
that contained the male twin to the outfit she is wearing and
directions to the field. And a cute handwritten note saying, 'I get a
kick out of you -- meet me at nine p.m. Wear this and nothing else --
except shoes.'

Here I stand in my FBI sweats. Granted, the clothing she sent is
underneath, but I was kind of chilly wearing that and nothing else.
It is Autumn now. The nights are getting a little cooler. And
sometimes it just isn't good to be chilly.

"Scully, I lived in Europe for several years. I know about soccer," I
say and she kicks the ball my way. I trap it under my foot and send
it back her way. "I know the rules."

"And I'm an American girl who obviously didn't play softball, so I
had to do something. Cheerleading just wasn't my style," she says.
She kicks the ball around, practicing her footwork. She is quite good
at it. But then again, she is so damn good at everything. And I just
keep discovering more and more every week.

"That is too bad. There is nothing quite like a grown woman dressed
in a . . ." I say, watching her maneuver the ball around.

"Leave your Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders fantasies out of my game,
Mulder," she says. I steal the ball from her and try to make a goal
around her. Someone she manages to block the ball, which she picks up
and tucks under her arm.

"No hands, Scully," I say, and instantly regret it. That will
probably be a rule she will make me follow all evening.

"I can use my hands to block your advances into my goal and prevent
you from scoring if I'm the goalie," she says with an sly grin. "But
you are right. For the rest of the night, we aren't allowed to use
our hands. We can't touch the ball with them . . . or use them to
touch each other."

She drops the ball as if it is a hot rock and stands with her hands
behind her. I knew it. She is making the 'game' more interesting.

"So, Scully, how does one on one soccer go exactly? Where did you
learn to play it?" I ask, and she does a little more fancy footwork
with the ball.

"I also spent some time in Europe when I was younger. My father was
stationed overseas for a while. If recall, the guy who taught me to
play one on one soccer was named Enrique. Or was in Miguel?" she
asks, looking at me for a reaction. I'm not going to give her one.

"Really. Should we run a few warm up laps before we begin?" I ask,
and she pulls her damp shirt away from her abdomen.

"I'm already warmed up. You go ahead. Don't want you to sprain
anything," she says. She takes a seat on the grass and watches me
while I run a few laps. Her eyes never leave me and she pivots around
just enough to see me when I'm running on side of the track she isn't
facing.

I am dying of heat beneath this sweatsuit, but I'm not quite ready to
take it off yet. I will when I'm done with my laps. Finally, I decide
that I don't want to be so sweaty that it wouldn't matter if we had
the no hands rule or not and run towards where she is sitting on the
field.

"Ready to play?" I ask, as I slowly strip off my sweats and stand
before her in nothing but the Umbro shorts and U.S. Men's Soccer
t-shirt she sent me. Oh, and my shoes. It was her request. Her tongue
darts out to the corner of her mouth as she looks me over head to
toe. Sometimes I wish I could read her thoughts, to know what is
going on behind those clear blue eyes.

"I've been ready for a while. You were the one who had to warm up,"
she says as she stands up with ease and kicks the ball around me. She
starts her way down the field to what must be the net I'm defending.

I really have no clue how this is supposed to work. How can I chase
her down, steal the ball and defend my goal all at the same time?
Maybe that isn't the point of this game. Maybe the actual games
really mean nothing at all anymore. It is just our way of avoiding
the word 'date.' Mulder and Scully out on a date. Who would have ever
thought the day would come?

Scully beats me down the field and kicks the ball into the wide open
net. I half expect her to throw her hands up in the air and run
around screaming 'Goal!' but she doesn't. Instead, she kicks the ball
to me.

"Try to get one past me," she says, as she moves to the middle of the
net and gets into a goalie stance.

"When have I ever been able to get anything past you, Scully?" I ask,
as I move the ball around a little. She follows the ball carefully
with her eyes, not letting her guard down at all.

"If you get three past me, we can start where we left off after
bowling," she says. I wonder how hard she is going to try to block my
goal attempts. Maybe she will let them slip right through so we can
get to the real game.

Of course, Scully is too competitive for that. She is going to make
me work my ass off. I can see it in her eyes that I'm not getting the
prize until I win fair and square. Or some act of God takes over this
field.

My first attempt hits the cross bar of the goal and bounces back to
me, hitting me in the chest. I almost grab it with my hands, but then
I remember. No hands. Not on the ball. Not on each other. Now how are
we going to start where we left off during bowling if we can't touch
each other with our hands? This should be good . . .

"Come on, Mulder. Having trouble getting it in?" Scully asks from the
goal line.

"I always score, Scully. Eventually," I say with a smile. She puts
her hands on her hips and looks like she is about to say something. I
take a shot while her guard is down and it buzzes past her straight
into the goal. Not as shy as she is, I do run around declaring that I
made a goal to the entire neighborhood.

"So, are you also going to rip off your shirt?" she asks.

"That wasn't the winning goal. My shirt stays on until I get the
winning goal," I say, smoothing my shirt down in front.

"What if you never make another goal? I'm one hell of a goalie. I can
block most anything," she says. Oh, if she only knew how good she is
at blocking. For years I dropped innuendo here and there, with no
response ever from her. Now she has me showing up at a soccer field
wearing next to nothing and telling me I can't use my hands.

"I guess if I don't make another goal, we both lose," I say and she
narrows her eyes at me.

"Do you want me to just give up? Just let you win so you can pick up
your trophy at the end of the match?" she asks. "Do you want me to
make this easy for you, Mulder? You've got to let me know."

"Scully, you have never made anything easy for me before. Why would
you start now?" I ask and she kicks the ball back to me.

"Because maybe it is time for it to get easier," she says seconds
before she blocks my next attempt at a goal and kicks it back to me.
"Then again, maybe it isn't."

"I wouldn't expect anything but your best, Agent Scully," I say, as I
try to get around her again. It gets rough this time, but no hands
are used. Our bodies circle around each other and I try to force her
to let me by.

"So, you really do like it a little rough," she says, recalling the
comment I made while we were 'swinging.'

"Sometimes," I say, as I finally force my around her and score. "But
only if the person I'm playing with likes it rough."

She kicks the ball to me but manages to steal the ball back very
efficiently.

"What else do you like?" she asks and I know this has nothing to do
with soccer.

"I don't know, Scully. Are you ever going to try to make a goal? You
gotta score sometime to stay on the board," I ask, not knowing if I'm
even talking about soccer.

"Oh, I'm sure I can score anytime I want to," she says, as she takes
off down the field toward the other goal.

"Hey! Wait up. I'm not as young as you!" I say, chasing after her.
For some reason that makes her laugh. We are always pursuing things
and I have never mentioned before the small difference in our ages.

Of course, I could outrun her easily if I so desired. Hell, my legs
are twice as long as hers. But this time I let her make an unhampered
goal. She turns and crosses her arms across her chest. She has a smug
smile on her face.

"So, what happens if I get three goals first?" she asks.

"We take up where we left off when we were bowling?" I ask, hopeful
that she will turn this into a win-win situation quickly.

"Okay," she says as she sends the ball back my way. But once again
she steals it in seconds and scores again.

"Shit, Scully. Are you going to give me a chance?" I ask. I know we
aren't playing seriously out here, but she is good.

"I'll give you a chance . . . if you take off your shirt," she says,
her voice coy and dripping in naughtiness. That is the only word I
can think to describe it. Scully is being very, very naughty.

"But I left my Nike sports bra at home," I say, as I yank my shirt up
and over my head and toss it at her, hitting her in the face. She
throws it up on the cross bar of the goal and looks at me carefully.

"Now, you get your chance," she say, kicking the ball back to me.

I take off down the field toward my goal, but manage to trip over my
feet and the ball on my way there. I hit the ground face first,
somehow manage to roll over and find Scully through my now doubled
vision. She's laughing at me. Actually clutching her sides and
laughing. She must think I'm the biggest clutz when it comes to
sports, but it is only when she is around. And she keeps on laughing
at me.

Right up until the big overhead field lights go out, immersing us in
sudden darkness.

"Well, Ed never said anything about those going off at 10 p.m." she
says. My eyes begin to adjust to the lack of light and I can see her
white clothes as she approaches me.

"We could always play in the dark," I say, wanting to reach out and
grab her but not wanting to break the no hands rule.

"Soccer?" she asks.

"Did you have something else in mind -- to play in the dark?" I ask
her. She is standing right over me now as I prop myself up on my
elbows. I am very conscious of how near she is to me. So near I can
feel the heat created during our game flow off of her body.

"I can think of a few things," she says.

Scully somehow manages to lower herself until she is straddling my
hips without once touching me with her hands. That is all it takes
for my body to react in a million different ways, but there is only
one that is noticeable to the casual observer. She has got to be able
to feel that because these thin little soccer shorts aren't going to
hide this one. I'm not restrained by jeans this time and she knows
it. She planned it that way.

She forces me flat to the ground with a kiss and her hands land on
either side of my head. Her tongue runs laps around my mouth, seeking
more and more. We only stop to take short breaths before seeking each
other out again. I feel her adjust herself on me and she begins a
slow, painful grind, moving until she hits just the right spot on her
body. Thank Ed or the Marines or the power company or her God above
that the lights are off.

She pulls away from our kiss and moans softly and sweetly from our
contact. And she doesn't stop her constant movement. I don't want to
come sitting here in a field with my damn shorts still on, but if she
keeps it up, that will most certainly happen. I don't think I'd ever
live that one down.

Instead, she slides off of me and her tongue begins to focus on my
body. First my neck. She licks and nibbles away and I want to hold
her, to feel her again. I want to touch her breasts and feel their
softness in my hands. But I can't.

Slowly, Scully moves lower and away from my neck. She places gentle
kisses down my chest and then her tongue rolls around each of my
nipples, suckling at me until I moan. My hand flickers toward her to
pull her closer but I can feel it as she shakes her head 'no.'

Then down she moves, her tongue and lips tickling my stomach, making
me shiver from reflexes. But then she hits the waistband of my
shorts. I can feel her nuzzling her way under with her mouth, but she
can only go far. Damn. Now what? No hands and I seriously doubt she's
going to yank them off with her teeth no matter how much I would love
to see that. This must be the end of the road.

"Mulder, just because I can't use my hands at this point, doesn't
mean you can't," she whispers in the darkness and it takes a few
seconds for that to register in my brain. Use my hands for what? To
touch her? To pull her toward me? To . . . get these damn shorts a
little out of the way?

"Okay. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking," I mumble, sounding like a
complete and utter idiot. Hey, most guys about to get blow jobs for
the first time in years sound like idiots.

I tug down my shorts just enough to free myself and I fucking pray to
whoever may be listening that officer Mag Lite doesn't show up right
here and now. Or considering where we are, perhaps that would be MP
Mag Lite. There would be no way in hell I could explain this
rationally.

Scully doesn't move for a few moments. She just looks at me. At my
eyes. She doesn't even look down out of sheer curiosity.

"Scully, you don't have to do this. We can blow the whistle and stop
the clock at any time," I say, wanting her to back out now if she is
going to back out at all. I don't think I can live with the memory of
her mouth on me for the rest of my life if she regrets it afterwards.

"This isn't a game any longer," she says quietly. "This is as real as
it gets."

*No shit,* I think, as she dips her head down and I feel her tongue
make contact with the head of my cock for the first time. I try to
freeze that memory in my mind, to hold it forever, but the next
sensations that come seem to prevail over that one.

She takes me completely into her mouth with the ease that comes from
experience. I don't even want to think about that right now. All I
want to think about is the fact that my partner -- my Scully -- has
her lips wrapped around my cock right at this very second.

I'm going to die in this damn field and they are going to find me
dead with my pants down and a ring of berry colored lipstick around
my dick.

"Oh, Scully, can I touch you . . . can I use my hands, please?" I
ask, begging to her. I want to hold on to her so that something
grounds me. I need to touch her.

She moves her mouth off of me with a suctioning *pop* and I can see
her licking her lips in the dark, as if she doesn't want to forget
the taste.

"Only if I can use my hands," she answers and I can't think of
anything better. Her mouth and hands on my body. Yep. I'm going to be
dead.

"Go right ahead," I say, and we fumble to see who is going to touch
the other first.

Her one hand wraps around the base of my cock, applying a firm
pressure while she takes me back into her mouth again. My hands go to
her head, not to push her down or force her to take more of me into
her mouth, but just so I can touch her somewhere.

She gets an energetic rhythm going, bringing me closer and closer to
the edge. Her other hand goes down between legs and she teases my
balls with those perfectly manicured nails of hers. Every time I am
near the brink and about to topple over, she pushes me back, making
this last longer than I ever imagined.

It is actually closer to my fantasies than I ever imagined it would
be. I figured if this day ever *actually* come, she would unzip my
pants, pull me out, touch me once with her tongue and that would be
it. End of game. But she knows what she is doing. She is good at
this.

Scully maneuvers me so she can pull my shorts down further. I'm going
to be naked except for a pair of socks and running shoes in a second
if she doesn't stop this.

She motions with her hand for me to move and I do. Her mouth is still
pounding down around me, her one hand still controlling me while her
other hand goes exploring further and further. Shit, damn and fuck.
Doctors really do know what they are doing. Thank God for gross
anatomy.

I moan and shudder as everything comes together all at once. Her
mouth on me. One hand around me. Fingers hitting my prostate. Nothing
will stop me from coming this time and the orgasm only washes over me
harder when I finally open my eyes and watch her eagerly swallow
everything I offer.

I am panting harder than I was when I was running laps by the time
she is done drawing this out, and finally I can't take anymore. I
pull her up into my arms, allowing my body to come back down from
heaven.

Yes. Angels really do wear Umbro.

"Scully," I start to say, but there really are no words to say after
that. Actually, there are three words. "I love you."

"Oh, I bet you say that to all the goalies who let you get by them,"
she says, ignoring my words to her again. I pull her to me and kiss
her, tasting me on her lips, but still tasting her sweetness
underneath all that tangy salt.

I break from her and yank up my shorts, realizing that the thin white
material isn't going to offer much cover over the wet stickiness.

Right after I am dressed again, the lights pop back on suddenly,
glowing just as strongly as they were when they went off. It is
almost as if we conjured up the darkness ourselves and made it
happen.

"Imagine that," she says, a semi-confused look moving across her
face, as if she has lived through this moment before.

"So Scully, you want to finish the game?" I ask. She knows there is
no way in hell my legs are going to make it to the damn car in the
next half an hour let alone up and down this field. Nor am I going to
be capable of much else for a while.

Instead of answering, she curls up on the grass next to me, places
her head on my chest, and we listen to the buzzing lights together.

The End

****************************

Feedback. I'm beggin' for it.
Jori: damienma@bellsouth.net
Mojo: mojober@aol.com