TITLE:  Act of Indiscretion 
SPOILER WARNING:  None.  More's the pity. 
RATING:  NC-17 
CONTENT WARNING:  MSR.  Really and truly.  And no, I have not left out any other 
keywords.  I promise.  Trust me on this one.  Oh...I guess I should mention the 
mindblowing sex, shouldn't I? 
CLASSIFICATION:  SR 
SUMMARY:  PWP.  Sometimes everyone needs a change of pace.  This is a companion 
piece to "Act of Faith" and "Act of Acceptance".  It is not necessary to read 
those to, uh, enjoy this one, but it would probably add some nuance.  Or 
something. 
  
  
Act of Indiscretion 
by Brandon D. Ray 
  
I sit at my table in the bar, and try to tune out the blather coming from the 
man sitting next to me.  I've already forgotten what his name is, and I don't 
really care.  I knew as soon as I saw him walking towards me that he wouldn't be 
the one.  Not tonight, at any rate. 
There was a time when I would have let him down gently.  In fact, most of the 
time I still would.  But right now I'm not in the mood.  I've got things to do, 
and so does he, and quite frankly we aren't going to do them together.  Not 
tonight, at any rate. 
"I'm sorry," I say, cutting him off in mid-sentence.  "I'm just not interested." 
 I nod in the general direction of the blonde sitting by herself at the bar.  
"Why don't you try her?  I've seen her in here a few times before, and I think 
she might have lower standards than I do." 
A dangerous thing to say; dangerous and indiscreet.  For a moment he stares at 
me in shock and growing anger, and I feel myself tense slightly as I wait in 
anticipation of his reaction.  But finally he simply mutters an obscenity at me, 
picks up his drink and leaves. 
Thank god he's gone.  Now I can hunt for a good one. 
I turn in my chair and allow my gaze to drift around the room.  The music is 
loud and metallic; the air is filled with smoke and pheromones.  On the small 
dance floor half a dozen couples gyrate wildly to the music, and for a moment I 
study each in turn, trying to divine their futures.  They are all here for the 
same thing of course; they are all here for the same thing I am here for.  But 
they aren't all going to get it.  Not tonight, at any rate. 
The blond man with his hands all over the brunette -- he thinks he's going to 
get lucky tonight, but I know better.  I've seen her in here before, as well, 
and I know she's just a tease.  She dresses the part and she plays the part and 
the men are attracted to her like bees to honey, but in the end her boyfriend or 
husband or whatever he is will come into the bar and "rescue" her.  It's a game 
they seem to like to play, and they're really good at it.  Not my scene, though. 
 I play for keeps. 
The next couple on the dance floor shows more promise.  I don't remember seeing 
either of them in here before, but that doesn't mean much; I don't come here all 
that often.  She is short, almost as short as I am, with long ash-blonde hair 
and a well-proportioned body.  I'm not usually attracted to women, but I think I 
could become interested in her.  He is medium height with jet black hair and 
dark, piercing eyes.  The way they are rubbing against each other and grazing 
each other's bodies with their hands, I suspect that they have already come to 
an understanding and are deliberately prolonging the anticipation.  I catch 
myself licking my lips as I watch them move against each other.  I've never been 
part of a threesome before, and for just a moment I am tempted.... 
Then I see him, standing by the door that leads outside.  He is tall and dark, 
and dressed all in black:  black leather jacket, black t-shirt, tight black 
jeans, black boots.  His face is interesting rather than handsome, with a nose 
just slightly too big and lush, sensuous lips.  He is a dark angel, and as my 
pulse increases and the arousal starts to spread in my belly I know that he is 
the one. 
He pauses just inside the doorway and surveys the room, and I wait for his gaze 
to fall on me.  I watch as he glances first at the couples on the dance floor, 
and my arousal intensifies as I realize that he is admiring the same couple that 
I was looking at only a moment before.  Then his eyes travel on as he catalogues 
the other women in the room:  the blonde sitting at the bar, fending off my 
erstwhile companion; the two college girls in the corner booth; the slightly 
too-plump brunette with the big tits leaning against the wall by the jukebox.  
And finally he looks at me. 
Immediately our gazes lock, and electricity seems to crackle in the air between 
us, even from across the room.  A slight smile of appreciation appears on his 
face, and I feel an almost physical compulsion to rise from my seat and go to 
him, but I fight down the urge.  That would be giving him too much power; he 
must come to me.  That's how the game is played. 
He breaks eye contact and moves over to the bar, and I watch as he chats with 
the bartender for a  moment.  The bartender glances over at me and nods, and a 
moment later my dark angel is walking towards me, two drinks in his hands. 
He slides into the seat next to me without asking permission and places one of 
the drinks in front of me.  I pick it up and take a sip:  Jack Daniels, straight 
up, and it burns all the way down.  He takes a sip from his own drink, and for a 
minute or two we sit together without speaking, just listening to the music and 
watching the action on the floor. 
When he finally speaks I can barely hear him over the pounding music:  "I've 
always liked the color red." 
I turn to look at him, and arch one eyebrow in challenge. 
He nods, accepting the challenge.  "Red," he repeats.  "It's my favorite color 
for a woman's hair."  Without leave he reaches out and gently strokes my hair, 
and I allow myself to lean into his touch, just a little.  His eyes are boring 
into mine, dark and mysterious; his voice is low and rough and silky, like honey 
poured over gravel; the gentle touch of his hand at the side of my head is 
profoundly erotic. 
It is all I can do to remain sitting calmly at the table, my hands clasped 
around my drink.  But I can't let him win this easily.  If he wants to have me, 
he's going to have to work for it.  And so finally I draw slightly away and take 
another drink.  His hand follows my head, and he continues caressing my hair.  
He is aggressive, and I like that. 
"I can always tell whether red hair is real or fake," he remarks after another 
moment.  His fingers now are sliding against my scalp, burying themselves in my 
hair, tangling and teasing it.  For a moment his touch feels strangely familiar, 
but I push the thought away.  Not tonight; tonight I have sworn not to think 
about HIM.  Tonight there will just be me and my dark angel. 
"Red hair -- genuine red hair -- has a different texture," he continues, sipping 
from his own drink.  "It's not like the other colors.  It's rough and 
unfinished, like raw silk, and like raw silk it is beyond price."  His fingers 
continue to browse against my scalp, and I sit looking at him, waiting, and 
finally he delivers his verdict:  "I think yours is real."  He takes another sip 
of his drink and looks at me speculatively, and now for the first time I see 
open desire in his eyes.  "But I'm not sure." 
There is only one way he can be really sure, and we both know it, and after a 
moment I shift slightly in my chair, turning towards him.  He looks into my 
eyes, and for a minute longer he continues to play with my hair before at last 
withdrawing his hand.  He pauses and seems to search my face for just an 
instant, before finally settling his hand on my knee. 
I feel a jolt of electricity at his touch, and from the flaring of his nostrils 
and the slight widening of his eyes it is clear that he feels it too.  The 
stakes have just been raised, and we both know it, but for another moment his 
hand simply lingers on my knee, his fingers lightly caressing and exploring.  I 
allow my tongue to flick briefly against my lower lip, which brings a quirk of 
amusement to his lips, and then his hand begins its slow journey up my thigh. 
Without turning my head I glance quickly around the room to see if anyone has 
noticed, but the rest of the customers seem to be completely absorbed in 
themselves or in each other.  Not that I would stop him in any case; this is his 
play, and I want to find out just how far he is going to push this.  I want to 
know just how bold he will be. 
His hand is now under my skirt, and I see his eyebrows arch in pleased surprise 
as he reaches the top of my stocking and encounters nothing but warm flesh.  He 
pauses for a moment, but I ease my legs slightly farther apart, and again I see 
the amusement come and go on his lips as his hand continues its explorations. 
At last he reaches his goal, and I shudder slightly as his fingers trail through 
my nest of curls.  In seconds his fingers are slick with my arousal, and I have 
to bite my lip to keep from moaning, but I can see from the mischief dancing in 
his eyes that he knows why I'm doing it.  I allow a small smile, acknowledging 
to him that he has won this point, and I pick up my drink and take another sip. 
"Texture doesn't lie," he says, as his fingers push gently between my folds, 
exploring my most intimate secrets.  "I can almost always tell from texture."  
His fingers glide briefly across the bundle of nerve endings at my very center, 
but this time I am prepared and manage to control my reaction.  He nods slightly 
in acknowledgement of my victory, and continues speaking.  "Almost always.  But 
sometimes a more sensitive instrument must be used." 
Enough of this; we have both won a point, and it is time to move on.  I pick up 
my shot glass and finish its contents, and without speaking I hold it out to 
him.  He looks me in the eyes for just a moment, and then, at last, his hand is 
withdrawn from between my thighs.  I feel momentarily bereft at the sudden 
absence of his touch, but I struggle to keep this feeling from showing on my 
face. 
He lifts his hands to my face and traces his fingers along the outline of my 
lips, allowing me to taste my own arousal mingled with the flavor of his skin.  
My tongue flicks briefly against his fingers, and I have to fight the temptation 
to draw them into my mouth.  Too soon; too soon. 
He laughs lightly, and takes the glass from my hand, and rises from his seat and 
walks to the bar for a refill.  I watch him through slitted eyes as he leans 
against the bar, studying his shape, his form, and imagining what he will look 
like when I finally strip him bare.  He is lean and well-muscled, and his tight, 
black jeans leave nothing to the imagination.  I feel a warm glow suffusing me 
as I imagine him on top of me, filling me, dominating me.... 
And now my dark angel is back, sliding into his seat once again and handing me 
my drink.  I thank him with my eyes and toss it back in one swallow.  No more 
tasting.  No more sipping.  I am ready to take the plunge. 
His eyes widen slightly, but he quickly follows suit, slamming his empty glass 
down on the table next to mine and taking my hand.  He tries to drag me from the 
table, but I am too quick for him and bounce to my feet, and then we are both 
standing and facing each other, our bodies only centimeters apart.  And we begin 
to dance. 
My dark angel can dance.  Oh, how he can dance.  He moves easily to the 
throbbing beat of the music, his hips sliding bonelessly, his shoulders moving 
in perfect counterpoint, his hands and his long, delicate fingers touching me 
briefly in all the right places.  I fall quickly into his rhythm, and I slide my 
hands up his chest to his shoulders and close my eyes.  I move closer, then 
closer still, until our bodies are lightly touching, and our hips now move 
together erotically in perfect unison. 
Too soon the song ends, but then another begins, not even giving us a chance to 
catch our breath.  Which is good, because I don't want to catch my breath; I 
want to be breathless.  His hands are now on my hips and mine are are resting 
lightly on his shoulders, and I open my eyes to see his face and neck, slick 
with perspiration, floating above me.  I can no longer resist; I want this, and 
I'm going to have it.  I allow my tongue to flick out and taste his sweat, 
drawing a brief, featherlight pattern across his skin, and now it is his turn to 
groan.  And so I do it again. 
His grip tightens on my hips, and at last he draws my body roughly against his, 
grinding his erection against my belly.  Bolts of lightning ripple though me, 
starting where his manhood is touching me and spreading outward at the speed of 
light.  His thumbs massage my hipbones, and without even thinking I rise up on 
my toes and press my crotch against his, and the music pounds on and on and on.  
He slips his hands around and clutches at my buttocks, and I bury my face in his 
shirt and gasp, breathing in his scent as I do so. 
The music changes again, and then again, and my dark angel continues to dance 
with me.  A sheen of perspiration covers my body, dripping off my face and neck, 
with rivulets running down between my breasts.  This is good; this is so good.  
I am growing more aroused with each passing moment, and I know that he is, too.  
I am now feeling what the other couple I was watching earlier must have been 
feeling:  The sure knowledge that tonight he will be mine. 
At last it is time, and we both know it.  Without speaking a word, my dark angel 
takes me by the hand and leads me to the door.  It is a cool night, and my skin 
tingles as my perspiration begins to evaporate from my arms and face.  His arm 
is around my shoulder, his fingers lightly cupping my breast as we walk to his 
car. 
It is only a short drive to the motel he has selected, but it seems to take 
forever.  I can see him watching me out of the corner of his eye and he guides 
the vehicle through the late evening traffic, and at the second stop light I 
turn slightly towards him and slide one hand up under my skirt and begin lightly 
teasing and caressing my center.  Despite my attempt at self-control, my body 
shudders slightly as my fingers brush against my clit, and he turns and glances 
down at me in erotic appreciation. 
My own gaze travels to the bulge in his jeans, and as he returns his attention 
to the road and we accelerate through the intersection I reach out with my free 
hand and lightly brush his trapped erection once, twice, three times.  His hips 
twitch with each contact, and each time I feel a spasm of arousal speed through 
me in response. 
At last we reach the motel.  My dark angel was so confident of his success 
tonight that he has already made a reservation, and so we go directly from his 
car to the room.  I lean against him, quivering with excitement and anticipation 
as he fumbles with the key, his task made more difficult by the fact that now I 
am openly stroking and squeezing his cock within its denim prison. 
Finally we are inside, and even before he can close the door I have dropped to 
my knees and am struggling with his belt and zipper, finally pushing his jeans 
and boxer shorts down off his hips and letting them fall to the floor.  His cock 
is even better than I had hoped:  Long and hard and very, very hot.  Eagerly, I 
slide my lips over it and take as much of it in as I can as he closes the door 
and fastens the safety chain.  And he leans against the door and groans. 
For a moment I simply hold him in my mouth, luxuriating in the taste and scent 
of his arousal; then slowly, gradually I withdraw from him, until my lips are 
barely touching him, and I swirl my tongue around the very tip before suddenly 
engulfing his full length once again.  And this time he whimpers. 
I repeat the process, and then repeat it again, and each time my action produces 
a new pleasure sound from his throat, and each noise only serves to heighten my 
own arousal.  I bring one hand up and cup his balls, and with the other I resume 
ministering to my own needs, and as I stroke my clit I feel a jolt of 
electricity pass from my mouth through his cock to his body and then reflect 
back to me again, and I moan as I continue to suckle on his shaft. 
His body trembles under my attention, and the knowledge of the power I hold over 
him is intoxicating.  I quicken the speed with which I move my mouth over him, 
and now he buries his hands in my hair, tangling his fingers in it and clutching 
at my head.  I continue to fondle his balls, and now I extend one finger to 
gently stroke his perineum. 
He groans again, and abruptly his hips begin to buck, and I cease bobbing my 
head as he begins to fuck my mouth.  This is so different from the style of 
lovemaking to which I am accustomed, and I am amazed and thrilled to find that I 
like it; I really, really like it.  My dark angel is so rough and naked in his 
need and desire for me, so animalistic in his manner.  I don't know when I have 
been this aroused, and it just seems to go on and on and on.... 
Suddenly he withdraws his cock from my mouth.  I attempt to follow and 
reestablish contact, but he tightens his grip on my hair and prevents me from 
doing so.  He yanks gently on my hair, causing just the slightest pain as he 
urges me to my feet.  He then guides me to the bed and pushes me down on it, and 
in another moment he has hiked my skirt up around my waist and for just an 
instant he stands over me, looking down.  I am revealed before him, and I 
shudder as I see the raw lust in his eyes.... 
Then he is on top of me and his cock is sliding into me.  I cannot recall when I 
have been as ready to receive a man as I am to receive my dark angel.  He 
plunges all the way in on the first stroke, allowing me to completely engulf 
him, and without any pause he proceeds to fuck me.... 
Automatically I return his motions, bringing my legs up and wrapping them around 
his waist even as my arms go around his shoulders.  I am distantly aware of my 
blouse and his shirt rapidly becoming soaked with our sweat, but that seems to 
be in another reality, one that is far, far less important than the pleasure we 
are giving ourselves and each other.... 
Each stroke seems harder than the last, rougher, more animalistic, and now I can 
feel his balls slapping against my ass in time to our rhythm.  I realize that I 
have closed my eyes, and now I force them open, and I look up to see his face 
twisted in a grimace of ecstasy as he continues to pound into me, grunting 
harshly with each stroke.  It is a lovely sight, a beautiful sight, a supremely 
erotic sight, and I tighten my grip with my arms and legs, and I together we 
move to increase the tempo of our fucking.... 
My breath is now coming in short, sharp gasps, and my vision is blurring.  We 
seem to be surrounded by an intense, white light, and I feel as if we're being 
lifted up, up, up off the bed, and the very air itself seems to be pulsing in 
time to the movements of our hips.  My heart is racing and my blood is pounding 
in my veins.  It won't be long now.... 
And then I'm there, I'm coming, I'm exploding, and I'm crying out and screaming 
and crushing him too me.  My orgasm just goes on and on and on, and still he 
continues fucking me, sending me to ever greater heights, and in the back of my 
mind I wonder if it is possible to die from pleasure.... 
And then he explodes inside of me, filling me with his precious, hot essence.  I 
concentrate on his face, concentrate on watching him as his jaw slackens and his 
eyes roll up in their sockets and his entire body shudders again and again and 
again with the force of his climax.... 
And then we are drifting down together, still wrapped in each other's arms, his 
cock still semi-erect and buried deep within my body.  We are floating down, 
drifting down, completely exhausted and sated, and my last thought as my 
consciousness leaves me is that in the morning my dark angel will be gone.... 
#          #          # 
I awake in the predawn darkness.  For a moment I simply lay there, not moving, 
barely breathing.  I feel the warmth of Mulder's body curled protectively around 
me, holding me, spooning me.  His arms are wrapped loosely around my waist, and 
although he doesn't move I can tell that he is awake. 
Finally I open my eyes and turn in his arms.  He whispers a greeting to me, and 
I whisper one back to him before sharing a soft, loving kiss.  He draws me to 
him and I go willingly, and for a moment we just hold each other, breathing 
together, each of us listening to the other's heartbeat.  Then I push him gently 
onto his back and move on top of him.  For a moment I hold his erection in my 
hand and gently stroke it, knowing it to be a treasure beyond price, and then I 
arch my hips and admit him to my center. 
For another moment we simply lay like that, his hardness resting in my soft 
embrace.  The first lovemaking of the day is always the best, and we want to 
savor this.  Then, slowly and tenderly, our hips begin to move, rocking back and 
forth in the ancient rhythm as we prepare to meet the new day together. 
  
  
Fini