By Candle Light

By Candle Light by Feathers

STORIES ON THIS SITE ARE INTENDED FOR ADULTS ONLY

!!!!!*****WARNING*****!!!!! THIS STORY IS RATED NC-17 IT CONTAINS SCENES WHICH FOR SOME INCOMPREHENSIBLE REASON ARE TO BE CONSIDERED INAPPROPRIATE FOR PEOPLE UNDER THE AGE OF 17 (though the seriously rated activities described are fun for all ages :) )

Why do I let myself fall for this every time? I write a naughty story and my mailbox is instantly besieged with mail from people begging for more, which I insist is not possible and I won't do it.

I then write a perfectly nice story about Mulder when he was a little boy and am totally ignored. Is it some kind of punishment for saying I wouldn't do a sequel to Keyhole, or have I rendered you all speechless (and letterless) with my revelation that Mulder lived in Australia for a while when he was a kid? I admit "Fate Line" was an indulgent piece of nostalgia but was it really that bad? I mean, I got ONE comment back about it (and I had to beg that from a friend). Either way I should have just taken my bat and ball and gone off home.

Instead, here I am, dragging my muse through the addled mire of Mulder's libido JUST to get some attention. What a pathetic sight. Well, you asked for it so here, for your voyeuristic indulgence, is the pigeon-pair to "Keyhole". See? I'd do anything for you. I do hope you enjoy it. It probably isn't what you expected, but I prefer to keep people guessing

DISCLAIMER: The characters Mulder, Scully and Skinner are the property of Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen productions and have been used without permission. This story is copyright Amanda le Bas and may not be reproduced without my name appearing on it

THIS IS ANOTHER *****WARNING***** DO NOT READ THIS STORY IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 17. THIS STORY CONTAINS MASTURBATION SCENES WHICH MAY OFFEND SOME PEOPLE. IF YOU ARE LIKELY TO BE OFFENDED, THEN PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS STORY. You have been warned. *****

By Candle Light by Feathers

He ran because he had to. He ran because running gave him the kind of catharsis he needed after spending two weeks inside the head of a ritual killer whose psychopathic behaviour was a more than adequate demonstration that his mental state was was not so much a description of illness but an illustration of a man who could really no longer be considered human. He ran because he needed to burn off two weeks' worth of adrenalin generated by fear for his own life, since the murderer he'd been hunting was seductive and convincing and charismatic and had a lot of friends in very high places. He ran because he was as angry as hell because after two weeks of living in the murderer's mad world, and risking his life, and eventually finding that bastard, and tracking him down, and getting evidence against him, and putting it all on file with dotted i's and crossed t's, the man he'd been captured had simply vanished. Skinner had looked suitably humiliated about the whole thing, but it hadn't helped Mulder one iota to know it wasn't just him that was being shafted by Cancerman and his buddies. It all came down to being just one more smack in the head.

All that had been bad enough. Mulder had done his usual routine of swearing and throwing things round his office and yelling a bit and considering his resignation. Scully sat through the whole thing, commiserating, consoling. Eventually he'd grabbed his jacket and announced that he was going home early. It was Friday and he was going to spend the weekend in ways no self respecting G-man would possibly condone. He hadn't quite made it out the door when his way had been blocked by Skinner looking contrite and guilty.

Skinner had brought two tickets with him, invitations to a state event that involved politicians, media stars and sporting personalities. The senator in whose honour this event was being staged had insisted that half a dozen FBI agents should come...as "invited guests". Even Scully's cynical streak has railed against that one. Invited guests-what a joke. The senator just wanted six more guns in the room for his protection. Skinner pointed out that Mulder and Scully's names were printed on the invitations. Mulder didn't bother to point out the fact that they had met the senator and he liked a pretty face, and there was no denying that Mulder and Scully as a couple were very easy on the eye.

So after two weeks of having shit heaped on him he wasn't even going to be able to enjoy his Friday evening. He was going to have to dress up pretty and sit up, beg and roll over. He ran because running gave him a small space for freedom inside his mind. He ran till the sweat rolled off him and the freezing January air bit into him. He ran till the automaton of his body flagged with exhaustion. He ran to stay sane.

By the time he got back home it was getting late, clouds were gathering and it was nearly dark. Sweat dripped off him and the cold had bitten him right down to the bones. He left a litter of clothes down the hallway from front door to bathroom. It looked untidy but he needed to get his priorities straight and he needed to be warm and wet before he needed to be neat and tidy.

He put the hot tap on full and let the water warm up while he took a moment to light his candle. It was a thick pyramidal candle made from chunks of varying shades of blue wax. It had been given to him months ago by a woman who claimed to have some sort of mystical powers. She told him that the wax had been formed with certain aphrodisiac oils. She said that the wick had been woven from the fibres of unnamed mystical herbs and the optic nerve of a pitbull. The flame, she informed him, would burn green in the presence of an enemy and red for his true love. She called it a cuckold's candle. Mulder thought most of the story was bull, but the idea of the watchdog's eye being in the centre of it rather appealed to his sense of the macabre, so he took it.

He stood under the cascade of water and watched the flame dance in the descending fog for a moment before it settled down to its steady burn. He sluiced himself all over, shampooing his hair and feeling the suds slide over his body in a kind of languid haze. He soaped himself all over with a rough sponge, feeling it scrape the sweat and dirt off him. He soaped between his legs and felt his penis glow and warm under a sudden surge of blood.

The candle flame flickered, drawing his attention. Errant eddies of air sent shadows darting about the room. Someone had opened his front door. Curious. Still, the flame glowed a steady, faithful yellow, and since he'd been late coming back from his run, it had to be Scully letting herself in. What kind of burglar would stomp about his house like that, anyway? He could hear her even above the waterfall of the shower. He saw the light come on from down the hall and shuddered to think that he had abandoned his clothes all about the place. He didn't like the thought of his untidyness. Perhaps Scully would judge him, or worse still, try to clean up after him. Perhaps Scully would follow them like a little bird with a trail of breadcrumbs. He smiled at the thought.

The candle flickered. The pure yellow of its flame cast dancing shadows about the the wax as movement in the other rooms stirred the air around it. He relaxed into the soft warmth of the soap, letting his hand drift down toward the need between his legs. He saw a shadow in the hallway, someone was standing just beyond the bathroom door. He saw the candle flame flicker and dive behind its walls of wax. He saw its glow through an opalescant window in the wax. Odd how from this angle the purple-blue of the wax seemed more of a cerise or even magenta colour. He focussed on the steady shadow just beyond the door.

He felt her hungry succubus presence in his bathroom, her female hunger that fed his own need. He slipped into familiar rhythms and strokes, letting his hands glide over his body. He saw that the shadow moved as he moved, felt her warmth within the water. He could see the female curves of the shadow, her hips ground in time to the pumping of his hands. He could almost see the hot urge of blood swelling her nipples. Red shadows danced around the room as the candle flame flickered between the walls of wax surrounding it.

He could feel her heat around him. Oblivious now of the drum of shower and gurgle of water going down the drain, he was aware only of her. He imagined her fat red mouth sucking his cock, could almost feel his hand on the back of her head, guiding her rhythm. She filled the air about him like a smoky red haze, making him feel dizzy and languid and more conscious than ever of the sweet friction of the soap. He wanted to feel the slippery rubber press of her tits against him while he fucked her. He wanted to taste her pepper lips. He came in a haze of hot naked limbs sliding about him and stood, slightly confused, leaning against the cool of the glass, waiting for the dizzy spell to leave him. The water was starting to run cool, which was a relief really, because he was going to faint from the heat in a minute. He flicked water at the wad of cum he'd left on the clean glass, washing it down to the plug hole. The candle flickered and he looked at where the shadow had been in the hallway. Empty now. He let the water run cold on him and tried to steady himself to stand free of the wall. He'd had that water way too hot.

When he finally turned the water off he could hear someone clattering about in the kitchen.

"That you Scully?"

"No. It's a burglar."

"Oh, good. Take the silverware. I never use it and I need the insurance money."

"Mulder will you get your...get moving or we're going to be late."

He took his time, though. He needed to. He wandered naked from the bathroom to his bedroom across the hallway, letting the air cool him. He got dressed, nearly falling over when he put his sox on. He had a nasty feeling his bow tie had been done up crooked, but he couldn't focus his eyes well enough to see that it was straight. He wandered down to the kitchen with his hair damp, tie askew, shoelaces undone and jacket scrunched up in one hand. He smiled crookedly at her.

"For gods' sakes, Mulder!" she plonked him into a chair and gave him mint tea. How did she know? What he really needed right now, more than anything in the world, was a cup of mint tea. She tied his laces, straightened his tie and flicked his hair out of his eyes. Her movements were brusque, abrupt even. She refused to meet his gaze. He sipped at the tea and let his pulse slow down. He no longer felt his entire body shudder every time his hear beat, he no longer felt as if his eyes were going to bulge out of his head. He did feel as if his limbs had been made of wet spaghetti, though, and as if, more than anything in the world he just needed to lie down and have a sleep. He put his head on his hands.

"Mulder what are you doing?"

"I'm tired and I don't want to go tonight."

"Tough tootsies. You knew this job was dangerous when you took it. Come on, we can't keep the senator waiting."

He sighed and rocked back in the chair, "I can't get out of this, can I?"

"No Mulder, and if we're very much later, Skinner's going to wonder why. Now Come On."

He stood up and followed her meekly to the door, "You really gonna go like that?" he asked eventually.

"Like what?" she snapped.

He gestured vaguely at her skewed clothing, showing a hint of bra at the right shoulder and slip at the left thigh, "Uh, don't get me wrong or anything Scully, I think creamy lace is your colour. It looks good on you, really. I'm just not sure the senator has an appreciation for the Madonna look."

This time she did meet his gaze. She hit Mulder with a look that would have castrated a brass monkey and muttered something not terribly polite as she adjusted her shoulders and hemline. All Mulder noticed though was the hot burn of embarrassment across her features. It made him think of the ruddy glow of the candle's light. The colour suited her.