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IGNITION I: THE FIRST FATAL SPARK

Author: Isabel "Izzy" Izenthe (izzy_izenthe@yahoo.com)
Archive: Anywhere
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Characters from the "X-Files" are the property of
1013 Productions and the Fox Television Network.  

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Avarice, envy, pride,
 Three fatal sparks, have set the hearts of all
   On Fire."
     -Dante Alighieri, Divine Comedy, The
* * *

Dana Scully, you're a whore.

I'm surrounded by idiot agents who think that beneath those stiff
suits and grim veneer you're some sort of virgin saint.  Can't
they smell him on you?  God, you reek of Fox Mulder like 
dime store perfume.  I'd love to strip you down and dust you for
prints one of these days after the two of you have returned from 
a long lunch.  Sweaty, greasy traces of him would cover every
naked inch of you.

So am I shocked by what I'm seeing?  Hardly.  I already knew what
you were, Agent Scully.  Nothing but a prostitute, giving sex for
free but selling a little more of your life to Fox Mulder every
time you let him fuck you.

Oh, I know you so well.  Better, more intimately I suspect, than
the man with his face between your legs.  You hold
professionalism up like a shield.  Your control is the only
weapon you need to keep the lusting rabble at bay.  But, baby, I
know your weakness.  That control you grip so tightly is the one
thing you're desperate to lose, and no man has ever been brave
enough to take it away from you.

I want it.  I'm greedy for it.  

I'd rip it from your hands as I tied them to the bedposts.  You
might try to pull free, make a desperate grab for the succor of
control, and if you truly wanted it, I'd give it back.  I would
never take something from you that you didn't want me to have.  I
suspect, though, you'd be happy to be rid of it for a few
mindless hours.

Have you ever experienced something like that?  Have you ever had
a lover who would give unselfishly, who would touch and taste you
until you were too exhausted to raise your head or close your
legs, who would kiss you and cradle you and let you sleep instead
of rousing you from your slumber to return the favor?  Don't
pretend you don't want that.  Every woman wants that.

He doesn't realize, does he?  He's too self-involved to see
what you need.  He thinks that by lapping at you like a bull at a
salt lick, he's entitled to shove himself down your throat in
reciprocity.  He actually thinks you enjoy that.  You probably
told him so, and maybe you're fool enough to believe it yourself.

Do you hear me, Dana Scully?  I said you're a fool.  Of course
you can't hear me.  I could be standing by your bed, screaming
the words into your ear, and you wouldn't hear a thing.  Those
sweet nothings Mulder whispers have left you deaf to reason. He
anaesthetizes you with lovely words and mediocre sex and all the
while, he's cutting out your soul.  He wields that scalpel better
than you ever could, Doctor, and you won't bleed or hurt until
he's gone and you're left with nothing but the ache of his
absence.

He's pumping away inside of you and I bet some articulate chunk
of your brain matter is waxing poetic about being filled with his
essence.  Sweet, naive girl, he's syphoning you.  He's taking,
not giving.  Your skepticism keeps you from recognizing the
vampire crawling beneath your own sheets, draining away your
strength, your judgment.  He'll retreat and grow fat on the
delicious guilt of destroying another lover.  

And you?  You'll be dead, or you'll wish you were.  You won't
emerge from the experience unscathed, at any rate.  He'll leave
you scarred, then hate you for losing what made you beautiful to
him.  Who will love you then, Dana?  When he's destroyed you,
when ugliness is all you see in the mirror, who will want you
then?

I will.  

I can save you.  I'm the only person on earth who can. What an
unkind irony that you won't let me near.   Your type of woman is
faithful to the bitter end.  If I tried to warn you, I'd be
treated to a sanctimonious lecture about the nature of trust
in a partnership.  A waste of words on speeches I've already
memorized.

We'll suffer alone, you and I.  You'll go on despising me, never
knowing what I could have given you.  I'll go on wanting you from
a distance.  I'll explore your warm curves with fingers pressed
against a cold, flat video screen.  The moans and screams I want
to be mine, that are given to him, I'll record and share with
these nameless men who own me now.

It would rip you apart to know these men watch you undress,
witness your seductions, touch themselves as they watch Mulder
touch you.  If you didn't hate me already, you would hate me now
for participating in this rape of your privacy.  But before you
condemn me, Dana Scully, know this: you'll be me soon enough. 
When the man you believe loves you better than life betrays you
for a more noble cause, no one will be able to stop your fall.

Not even me, though God knows I'll try.

"You still want him, don't you, Agent Fowley?" my anonymous
colleague is presumptuous enough to ask as we watch your partner
roll over in bed, sleepy and sated.  

Mulder?  No, I don't want him.  I haven't for a very long time.  
When you look at me, Dana, don't let jealousy color your eyes. 
I'm the jealous one who dreams of owning the heart Mulder hoards,
and I'll cry with you when he destroys it.

* * *

Your feedback would be very appreciated at
izzy_izenthe@yahoo.com.





==
Isabel "Izzy" Izenthe
"Please leave your values at the front desk."
                  -In a Paris Hotel Elevator