By Candle Light


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 even admit to, let alone 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 "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

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

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

"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

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.