Lessons XII: "Body Checking" by MoJo Category: MSR, UST Rating: Hey, my first NC-17 lesson! Summary: Mulder calls a penalty on Scully out on the ice. Archive: Yes Disclaimer: Not mine. If 1013, FOX and CC would give us some smut, then we wouldn't have to make up our own! Author's Notes: Part XII of Jori and my Lessons series. ********* Metroplex Ice Arena 9:00 p.m. *Whoosh!* "Nice shot," I say, leaning over the sideboards and peering onto the rink. Mulder fishes the puck out of the net with his stick and skates slowly over to me. "Think so?" he teases, letting his body crash into the boards below me. "Hmm-mmm," I nod, leaning over far enough to grab his Redwings jersey and pull his mouth to mine. His lips are cold from the ice, but they warm up fast. My tongue presses into his, sliding over it with familiarity. Mulder smiles beneath my lips. I'd been wanting to do that all day. Five o'clock couldn't come fast enough for me. When I returned from lunch, I'd found a pair of hockey skates slung over my chair with a little note that read "Want to face off tonight? Meet me at Metroplex Ice." It's not even Friday night. It's Wednesday. Guess after my soccer lesson, Mulder couldn't wait for the weekend. "Bring your skates?" he asks, when I finally stop kissing him. His nose and cheeks are flushed red from moving around on the ice. Too bad this isn't a sport that he can wear his Umbros for. I let out a little sigh, as my eyes drift to his black sweatpants. They are nice and loose fitting, yet hug his ass perfectly. I bite my lip, imagining just how fast I can get him out of those. "Scully? Your skates?" he asks again, snapping me out of my illicit thoughts. "Oh, yeah," I say, walking around to the player's box. I hold them up, the rockered blades shine under the fluorescent lights. "I didn't know the ice rinks were open yet." "They're not," Mulder replies, stepping off the ice to meet me. "Not officially, anyway. We've got this big arena to ourselves. Complete privacy." I sit down and start unlacing my shoes. Within seconds, Mulder drops to his knees and lays his hands over mine. I shiver at his touch. "Let me," he says, easing my hands back to my sides. I exhale, letting him slip my ankle boots off. His fingers massage my feet and I moan at his gentle caress. Things haven't been the same between us since Sunday. I always suspected Mulder loves me, but hearing it again changed everything. He'd said the words before last year, after his little Bermuda triangle adventure, but I didn't listen. *Really* listen with my heart. Now, after spending the entire summer getting to know him through these lessons, I'd fallen in love with Mulder. Somewhere between bowling and soccer I'd realized what the emotion lingering behind all our games really was. Perhaps I'd rushed things a bit on Sunday, but now that I know I can't hold back anymore. It's not like we're strangers after all. We've been intimate with each other in every other way over the last six years and I wanted him to know it's time. I'm ready. I think Mulder is too. Mulder slides one skate on, carefully lacing it up. My foot rests on his thighs and I watch him pull the strings up. He reminds me of Ahab, taking the time to do this for me. Mulder is good at details and little things like this. I've learned that this summer as well. Next, he takes my other foot and outfits it the same way. He smiles, surveying his work. Mulder moves his hands up my ankles, to my calves and finally rests them on my thighs. He kneels in front of me and we are almost eye level. "Let's get ready to rumble," he says, drawing the words out like an announcer. His lips brush mine before he stands up, taking my hands in his. Mulder pulls me to my feet and hands me a hockey stick. Dear God, is he really going to make me play hockey? I didn't think he really wanted to play hockey. "On the ice?" I ask, peering around him to the huge rink. "C'mon, Scully," he coaxes, turning around and heading back out there. "I want to see you slide the puck in." I take a deep breath, walking awkwardly to the edge. It looks so slippery. I think the last time I skated was for Melissa's fourteenth birthday party at Skate-a-rink-arena. Mulder glides around the ice, moving the puck back and forth. He heads for the goal, then slaps another one in. "He shoots, he scores!" Mulder proclaims, winding back around to me. I step out onto the ice, my feet wobbling a bit. I forgot how hard this is on your ankles. I skate slowly out to meet him, using the stick for support. "Have you ever played hockey before?" he asks, making a circle around me. "Just *field* hockey," I say, grinning at the word field. Mulder smiles too, remembering what I did to him on the field during soccer. "And tonsil hockey." "I know you're good at that," he teases, passing the puck to me. I lunge a bit, catching it on the end of my stick. I pass it back to him. "I guess the objective is to shoot the puck into the net," I say, as Mulder skates backward in front of me. He wavers a bit, but stays upright. I can tell he hasn't skated recently either from the way he keeps throwing his arms out to steady his balance. "Among other things," he answers, winking at me. He turns back around, giving me nice view of his backside. His legs are perfect for the ice, traveling the surface efficiently in long, smooth strokes. Two blue 12-inch wide lines divide the rink into three zones. I skate over past the one nearest the goal and stop. "This is called the attacking zone, isn't it?" "Yes," Mulder says, backhanding the puck to me. I catch it on my stick and try to line up a shot. "I thought we were here to face off," I say, slamming the little round circle towards the net. But it bounces off the post and back out. Mulder races around to catch it, then heads for the center. There is a red circle drawn there. He bends down to grab the puck and waits for me to join him. I skim the perimeter slowly, then skate towards him. We are now facing each other within the 30-foot circle. I exhale, a little puff of white escapes my lips. The cold does nothing to stop my rising temperature. "Okay, Miss Gretzsky," Mulder teases, as I crouch down to mimick the posture of hockey players. "I'm going to drop this puck. Let's see who can score first tonight." I smile, licking my lower lip. "Sounds good to me." "Ready? Go!" he says, releasing the puck. Before my stick even hits the ice, he's got control of it. Mulder begins skating down to goal and I fight to keep up with him. He tries to corner too tightly and falls into the ice, tumbling over. "Ah ha!" I say, seizing the puck as it goes flying away from him. I try hard to keep my balance as I move towards the other goal, but I'm too slow. Mulder is on his feet and beside me in no time. I jab his side with the end of the stick, in an effort to keep him away from the moving black circle. "That's butt-ending!" he yells, sliding his stick beneath mine. "I'm calling a penalty on you." "Penalty?" I reply, protecting the puck with my stick. We're almost to the goal cage. "I'll show you a penalty!" Without warning, I release my stick and it goes sputtering across the ice. Mulder nearly falls again trying to avoid it. He drops his stick as he throws his arms out to maintain balance. I dig my skate into the ice for leverage and rush him. "Scull-eee!" he yelps in surprise. I hold my hands out, using the force of my body to slam him into the boards. Mulder's arms grab me to keep from falling, but I can't stop either and he drags me down on top of him. I laugh, trying to scramble to my feet on the slippery ice. "That was body checking!" Mulder scolds, trying to fend off my playful jabs. "I thought that's all hockey players do," I say, taking the opportunity to run my hands all over his body. "Rough house each other." "You like it a little rough, don't you?" Mulder says, seizing control of my wrists. He wrestles with me gently, leaning over to kiss me. We are both panting and laughing the entire time, our bodies a tangle of arms and legs and skates. "I know you do," I reply, remembering all his hints during our previous lessons. "Well, that's a penalty in hockey," he admonishes, catching his breath. "As the Coach here, I'm sending you to the penalty box." "You are?" I ask, kissing him again. I can't get enough of his kisses now. Deep and penetrating, long and slow. To think I worked with this mouth for six years and never knew it was capable of this. "Are you coming with me?" "You bet," he answers, getting to his feet. He grabs my arm and slides me across the ice with him. I pretend to fight him, but Mulder snakes his hands around my waist, moving me in front of him. I stop skating so he can push me, guiding my hips in the right direction. My heart pounds with anticipation. I am grateful to step off the ice, although it is hard to walk with the heavy, constricting skates. Mulder follows me, stomping the extra wetness off his blades. He sees I'm having trouble walking and without warning, he scoops me up in his arms and heads for the penalty box. I cling to him, afraid of him toppling us both. My nails dig into his shoulders, like a nervous cat in a tree. "I've got you," he says, voice low and sensual. His eyes search mine as I wrap my arms around his neck. "Don't worry." "How...uh...long is my penalty, Coach?" I whisper, forcing my body to relax with him. He is so uninhibited, impulsive, spontaneous. Everything I'm learning to be. "Five minutes," he answers, setting me down on a wooden box. We are hip-level like the bowling alley. Mulder rubs his hands together, warming them in preparation with his breath. "Am I supposed to doing anything?" I ask, gripping the edge of the box. "No," he says, voice husky and jagged. "I called a penalty on you. Now, you've got to sit here for five minutes." "What are you going to do?" I inquire, taking deep breaths myself. The look in his eyes can only be interpreted as lust. They lower to the space between my legs, then back up. Suddenly, I realize what I'm in for. "Turnabout is fair play," Mulder says, laying his hands on my waist. He kisses me over and over, distracting me as he fingers the waistband of my leggings. I flinch at how cold his hands are at first and Mulder laughs. My skin is very warm compared to his hands, but soon they soak up this warmth. Mulder moves his body between my legs, being careful of the skates' sharp blades. He feathers kisses on my neck, making me arch my back against him. My hands fly up to his chest, kneading the taut muscles underneath, but he takes them away and lays them back on the box. "You have to sit there," he orders, with a wicked smile. "I can't touch you?" I protest, feeling drawn to him even more with the restriction. "No," he answers firmly. "You are serving your penalty, Miss Gretzsky." I exhale and close my eyes, surrendering the next five minutes to Mulder. He works my leggings down to around my knees, exposing my lower extremities. The box is cold on my rear and he cups his hands beneath it so I am resting on his palms. His fingers knead my flesh gently and I feel all my insides melt. Mulder drops to his knees like before, his skates make two thud noises as the blades bite into the floor. He stares at my wet sex for a second then looks up at me. My face grows hotter, but I am not embarrassed. _This is my body, Mulder and how you affect me._ He smiles his approval, then kisses my inner thighs. His stubble scratches me, but it is a pleasant sensation. It feels simply masculine. I curl my toes tightly within the skates as my body tenses. Heat courses as all the blood rushes to the space between my legs. He begins by kissing my folds, his breath hot against me. Next, his tongue parts them, exposing the sensitive skin of my clit. I bite my lower lip to stifle a moan. Mulder has got to be amazing at this, if shelling all those sunflower seeds is any indication of his oral skills. Dear God, he *is* amazing. Within seconds, his tongue is gliding along the length of my labia and swirling inside the folds slowly. Skimming the surface with ease and control. Rounding each and every curve. "Mulder..." I whisper, in a voice that doesn't sound like mine. It is heavy and thick, laden with desire and need. "Quiet, Scully," he answers. "Talking takes up time and the clock is ticking." I buck my hips against his mouth. Damn him. He's holding me to the five-minute rule? But at the rate he's going, five minutes is going to be enough. "Ahhh," I say, when he reaches a certain bundle of nerves. My body quakes from the initial contact. "Is this your goal cage, Scully?" he asks, looking up with a smile. "Shut up, Mulder," I reply, staring down at him. "No talking." He lets out a little laugh and resumes his ministrations. He presses harder into that spot and I focus my energy there, letting him stimulate me. Building the pressure up with the friction. But he doesn't stop there. I feel another sensation as his finger touches the lips around my opening. It trembles under his touch. Mulder slides it in slowly, exploring my inner walls. I clench my teeth and utter wordless sounds. It's been so long since anyone has touched me like this. But they never did it with level of concentration Mulder does. He's making sure I am aroused. He's loving me completely, pleasuring my body for the sheer satisfaction of making me come. Wetness floods the area of his penetration and he eagerly inserts a second finger, pumping slowly in and out of me. Testing my reactions before increasing his pace. I grind myself against his hand, letting the waves of pleasure take over. This is so good. Mulder stands up, all the while keeping his hand moving. This provides a better angle for my inner muscles to clench around him. He kisses me, breaking my concentration momentarily. His other hand is flat against the wall beside my head for leverage. "Are you close?" he asks, when our mouths separate. "Yes," I say, taking him deeper inside. I know I can't touch him, but fall forward and rest my forehead on his chest. I see his hand moving in and out of me and I smile, overcome by that emotion again. "Mulder?" "Yeah?" he breathes, as I look up at him. I start to tremble inside, the orgasm fast approaching. Just one more thrust... "I love you," I say, before crying out. My body spasms and I thrust against him, letting his fingers sink inside one last time. It throbs in time with my heart and I dig the back of my skate into the box as I ride it out. I collapse against Mulder, bringing my arms around his body. I have to hold him now. I have to touch him. Mulder waits until my muscles stop contracting before withdrawing his hand. He brings it back around and embraces me tightly. My breathing slows back to normal. I keep my arms around him a minute longer, as heat radiates from my body to his. His hands move back to my leggings and panties, sliding them up. I let him go, leaning back against the wall. All he can do is smile. The same smile I saw on his face after I did this to him Sunday. "I've waited so long to know what you look like when you come," he says, smoothing my tousled hair back out of my eyes. "What do I look like?" I ask, as my chest heaves up and down. "Beautiful," he says, kissing me again. Endorphins are coursing through me. I run my hands down his chest and let them rest on his hips. The waistband, sure enough, is elastic. Easy to slide down. Mulder must be reading my thoughts because once again, he stops my hands. "The no touching rule is off," I say, wanting to find out if the cold affected him at all. I begin to touch his groin, but he snatches my wrist. At first, I think he's going to kiss my hand, but he turns my palm over and looks at my watch. "Sorry Scully. Time to get back on the ice." "Why?" I say, glancing over at the empty rink. "I'd much rather stay here." "Your five minutes are up," he replies, smugly. Mulder is wearing the biggest smirk I've ever seen. "I guess I'll have to show you some stickhandling," I warn, touching him again through his sweatpants. Mulder groans and I press into his hardness. "Let's go, Scully," he replies, pulling me off the box and into his arms. "Unless you want to call half-time early and finish this lesson somewhere else?" "No," I say, lingering in his embrace. "Not tonight. Next time, Mulder." "Next time?" he says, catching my meaning. No more games. I can't after this. "Next time," I confirm, looking him in the eye. *Whoosh!* The End Critique the Class! We love to hear from our students. E-mail us at MoJoBer@aol.com or Jori at damienma@bellsouth.net