Title: Enchantress 01
Disclaimer: Skinner is owned by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, Fox Television Network, etc. He is wonderfully brought to life by Mitch Pileggi. I will make no profit from this, and neither will Fox if they sue me, for I am exceedingly poor and have nothing material they can profit from.
Summary: Skinner has an encounter with a mysterious woman.
He woke slowly and looked at the woman beside him. Who? How? He shook his head, trying to clear the fog that clung to the corners of his mind. He felt -- disoriented.
He slipped out of her embrace, rose silently and walked to the sliding glass door. The cool air in the hotel room chilled him, and he could feel his nipples rise to pointed little peaks. He shivered slightly and glanced back over his shoulder to stare at the woman who still slept.
Who was she? How had she gotten here? Hell, for that matter, where was he and how had he gotten here as well? He looked down at his own nude body. No doubt as to *why* he was here -- he glanced at the woman again -- but why couldn't he remember?
The last time he'd found himself in this situation, the woman was dead and things
He stared back at the woman on the bed, still sleeping the sleep of someone truly sated. He turned and began to pace, the ends of the coat flapping about his legs as he strode powerfully back and forth by the end of the bed.
His eyes kept straying to the bed. The woman was an enigma. What was going on here? He moved back to the window and stared out over the city.
He was definitely in a hotel, on a very high floor. It was rather like being suspended in a sea of dark and light. He slid the door open and stepped out onto the small balcony. The air out here was warmer than the artificially chilled air in the room. A breeze sprang up, caressing him, and he felt himself begin to swell.
He stared across the city. The lights of the city and in the windows of other buildings winked at him in the inky darkness. Lifting his head, he took in the stars, glittering in their velvet blanket. The heat of the evening made the world seem to shimmer before him, and he had a sudden feeling that something had *shifted,* that something had *moved,* taking him with it.
He glanced back into the room, to the woman on the bed. Who was she? His penis jumped and he laughed softly, realizing that even if his mind didn't know her, his body seemed to. He reached down and touched himself, feeling his organ grow from softly tumescent to turgid and hard. The zephyr wind stroked him again, and he watched as the woman woke, raising herself to sit and stare at him through the opened door.
She rose slowly, each movement a symphony of grace, and walked to him. His common sense reasserted itself for a moment, and he wondered once more who she was, why he was here with her. But she made a little sound and he met her eyes again, drowning in their emerald depths.
Her steps were catlike, fluid and nimble, and he felt that peculiar *shift* again, as if this moment, this time, existed outside of all he knew in reality. She was advancing on him now, her lithe muscles rippling with each forward progression, and he felt his mouth suddenly go dry, even as he grew harder still beneath the trench coat.
He swallowed hard as she reached him and looked down, her eyes drawing him in, his enchantment complete. She stared at him for a long moment, then reached out and parted the coat.
He watched, enthralled, as her hands traced his chest, her nails scraping over the ridges in his abdomen and teasing his tight, hard nipples. He made a sound then, as her hand dipped lower, and closed his eyes, half in fear of what was happening, half in fear that she would stop.
Bewitched, enchanted, spellbound. He groaned as her hands stroked him. There was a *shift* again, his eyes were still closed, and then he was engulfed in warm, tight wetness. He trembled where he stood, reaching out and down to balance himself with hands on her shoulders.
It was warm, so warm. Her skin was warm; it was warm where she touched him, even the air itself was warm. He was enfolded in warmth and surrounded by it. He began to move, involuntary little motions, his body's needs eclipsing his sanity and he rocked back and forth in the warm night air.
He opened his eyes, staring upward. He was climbing, climbing, reaching for the stars, his whole being straining for the release that came from reaching the highest heights. He strove harder, his movements more frantic, struggling to reach that celestial plane. The stars hung suspended, just out of his reach, and he lifted his hands, straining to touch the candlelight of the gods.
There was that *shift* again, that sense of disorientation, and then he touched the stars, and he was on fire, burning, his whole being imploding as he exploded into the warmth of the night. It went on and on, one continual stream of fire, connecting him in the most elemental way with earth, and air, and wind, and sky.
And finally it ended. He opened his eyes and
looked for the woman, but she was gone.
Exhausted, he collapsed to his knees, lowering his hands to the cement beneath him, struggling not to drop completely into its cold embrace. He lost his battle and slipped down to lie on the concrete balcony, head pillowed on his arms as he drifted off to sleep.