This is some nice pornographic fun I wrote during Christmas
break.  Definitaly NC-17 rated.  Author's note at end.

Lia
by Amperage.



     She was beautiful.  Her flesh was smooth and firm. She was
round and plump like a little partridge, but nothing was
unlovely, nothing was out of place or too much.  She danced in
skin tight blue jeans, bright eyes flashing, midriff exposed
under a creamy white blouse, dark hair, loose and wild, hanging
in cascades past her shoulders.   With her silken teeth she
captured Mulder's desire.
     He had no idea what she was, this woman, this girl in front
of him.  They'd met an hour ago and in that time Mulder had just
barely learned her name, Lia.  She drank prodigously, but none of
it seemed to effect her in the slightest.  She was petite, a
little fertility goddess of his own imagining. 
     It had been a long time since he had gone into a bar,
prowling, but tonight he was hungry for something wild.  He had
the X-files.  He had Scully.  He knew his sister was alive.  And
now he had met Lia.  She was a student, she told him.  She played
piano and organ. She sang too, but only in choir, her soprano
voice rising thin and reed sweet on long Latin pieces written for
boys and castratos.  "I'm a cellist on my own time."  She had
added, hand loose around a glass of scotch.  "I love to wrap my
legs around an instrument and pull forth music."  She had smiled
lewdly at this and her free hand had pressed hard, flat against
his midriff, against the soft cotton of his black t-shirt.       


     Now they were dancing.  Lia drug him onto the dance floor
against his protests.  "They're playing Eighties music."  She
insisted, as though the allure of the Go Go's was too much to be
endured.  
     Lia danced the way her ancestors had danced, caught up in
the fruitfulness of the moment, tempting men to come to her, to
plow her with their goodness so that she could, like her 
mother, Earth, expose her sweet warmness, her fragrant
abundance.     
     The dance floor was getting crowded.  Lia stopped dancing as
she bumped into more and more people.  Frowned at being driven
from her reverie.  "I want to go somewhere less crowded."  She
appealed to Mulder, leaning her body against him.  He felt the
ponderous curve of her breasts pressing against his sternum.  
Her nipples were hard under the thin linen of her blouse.  
     "All right."  He found himself agreeing.  
     
     
     He made the suggestion of coffee and she countered with
wanting to be somewhere dark, comfortable.  She shared an
apartment with three other girls, so they couldn't go there.
     He found himself opening the door to his apartment, Lia
leaning against him, her body warm and fragrant.  He fumbled with
the keys, finally opened the door, threw the keys into a darkened
corner.
      Lia shut the door and pressed him against a wall, mouth wet
and moist, searching, pressing.  She put a knee against his hips,
trapping him between her legs.  Mulder took her thigh, held it,
let his hands move up.  He squeezed the meat of her hip, her
buttock, burning with a passion he had not felt in a long time.  
     His other arm slid up the back of her blouse and unhooked
her brassiere.  He stroked the warm, smooth surface of her back,
caressing the shape of each bone.  He stopped clutching her
buttocks and slid his hand down the back of her blue jeans, into
the tightness between cloth and flesh.  She did not wear panties. 

     Lia ran her hand through his hair, fingers hard against his
scalp while with her other hand she pulled the t-shirt out of his
jeans, frantic with desire.  
     She moved her mouth, they breathed.  In the sudden space,
Mulder thrust his hands against her stomach, ripped the buttons
from her short blouse.  Her breasts were full, round globes of a
precious fruit rarely seen.  Lia's skin was lily white, but her
aueroles were a dark dun, the color of warmth and of passion.  He
thrust the underwire cups of her lace brassiere up, put his mouth
to her nipples and sucked, felt as she twisted, as she got rid of
her top.  Her hands reached, found the waist of his pants, his
fly. She pulled on the jeans, tugged, hands down inside,
caressing his hips, his buttocks.    Lia stopped for a moment and
he heard her undoing her own blue jeans.  A moment later her
flesh was against his.  
     Mulder let go of her nipple, let the flesh fall out of his
mouth, took her by the torso and swung Lia around.  They fell
onto the wooden floor with a soft thump.  He finished pulling off
his blue jeans, his underwear, and knelt over her, pulled off his
shirt.  She lay, a goddess, under him, letting him pull off her
jeans.  The savageness with which he proceeded surprised him, but
he refused to analyze it.  Not now. 
  


     Mulder woke, curled around a pillow, covered in a blanket, a
the rug making patterns on his flesh.  He remembered making love,
there on the floor, here in the living room, on the stove, her
legs wound around his waist as she arched her back and screamed
in pleasure.  Someone was in the shower.  

     "I was hoping you weren't a dream." He said, slipping in
beside her.  
     Lia smiled, turned around.  "Maybe I'm just a really long
dream." She told him.  "And maybe not."  She took her soapy hands
and ran them down his chest. "Clean me.  Make me glisten in
radiant white soap."
     "Yes ma'am."

     It was a clear, warm Saturday.  Lia made him take her to
lunch after they made love in the shower.  "I wish this didn't
have to end."  She told him, watching as Mulder ate.  The wind
lifted her hair and played with it.  Mulder found himself
watching, entranced by every flutter.  He had chosen the most
romantice place he knew, an open air restaurant.  It fronted a
street, but in the corner there was a fountain, and trees rustled
overhead, making ever changing patterns on the the concrete. 
Little round tables with small patterned umberalla tops and
wrought iron chairs, their patterns describing wet dusky roses,
sat among the shadows.  
     "Can I see you again?"  Mulder asked.
     Lia smiled.  "I want that."  She replied.  "Really I do." 
She put an arm to her nose, sniffed the cleanness of the Oxford
sweatshirt she had taken from him. "I can't."
     "Why not?"  Mulder stared at her.  "It was. . .wonderful. 
It there some one else?"
     Lia looked around the small restaurant, at the other
patrons, at her own salad and glass of red wine.  She brushed a
tendril of loose hair away from her face. "I met you once before. 
You don't remember."  She smiled sadly.  "In Idaho.  You were
strapped to a table, completely out of it.  They were prepping
you.  I wanted to meet the person who had caused us so much
trouble that we had to do an emergency data erasure.  I got
really lucky when you went bar hopping last night.  Just be sexy,
sweet, and delicious, and you fell into my arms."
     Mulder grew pale.  Stared at her.  His mouth worked, but he
could not speak.
     Lia gave no sign she was aware of his reaction.  "I didn't
choose my life, you know. I was born into it.  I finished my
first manual when I was 17.  It was a revision of a manaual on
information retrieval from Humans for use by Blue Berets.  I
studied data on torture and sensory deprivation for nearly a year
to write that manual.  It was a very good manual.  Still in place
as a matter of fact. 
     "I'm in my 20's now.  And my decisions take precedence over
those made by a hillbilly in a white house on a hill.  It's
considered quite an accomplishment.  Someone in their twenties
with my power.  A woman."  She paused, reflected.
     "You were so eager to know the truth.  But you have so many
things wrong.  Like. . .what do you call him. . .Cancer Man?  You
really think he makes any decisions?  He's a flunky.  He advises,
he thinks he is something.  We let him take care of dealings with
the FBI.  He's expendable so he's seen."  Lia shook her head,
drank her wine.  "So eager.  So. . .easy to confuse."
     "You bitch."  Mulder grabbed her hand as she put her glass
down.  "You bitch."
     "How eloquent.  I was told you were the master of the witty
comeback."
     "You. . .my partner. . ."
     "Dana Scully?  I didn't authorize that one.  And I got her
back for you."  Lia let her hand lie limp in his.  "I didn't
authorize Deep Throat.  How could I?"  She looked across the
sunfilled street, and for a moment her eyes were sad.  "Deep
Throat was my father.  At least you got to see his funeral. I'm
not even mentioned in the obituary. 
      "I didn't know he was helping you until I read. . .I could
have saved his life, I think, if he had told me.  They wouldn't
have killed you.  They wouldn't have dared.  But he didn't know
that.  That's my work and you don't discuss what goes on in other
departments."  She licked her lips, in pain. 
     "I arranged "crewcut man's" death for you.  Did you know
that?  I thought you would kill him.  Dissappointing.  But."  She
shrugged.  "Still, when I heard he was dead, I howled for a week
with back arching pleasure."  She closed her eyes, thought a
moment.
     "I won't make you any promises, Agent Fox Mulder, but you
should know that there are people who want you alive for reasons
that. . .that are frightening.  And I'm one of those people.
     "Watching you, so sedated, so high, but still struggling,
still fighting us, it impressed me.  Your innocence made me cry. 
And when your partner came back, you tried to be like us.  You
nearly fell into our pit, our cauldron.  I was born in that
sesspool.  We stink as those who are tossed into the gutters of
Hell.  My father fell in and spent his whole life trying to get
out.  But you managed not to fall in." Lia savoured this a
moment, his escape.  She looked up suddenly.
     "Did you find what you needed to know in Alaska?"  She gazed
at Mulder serenly.  She already knew the answer.  "They have been
here so very long.
     "Now let go of me.  You have an assaign's rifle pointed at
your head.  He will shoot and fire and Lia, the sweet little
piano student Lia will scream and get hysterical and they'll find
a crazy homeless person holding the rifle."
     Mulder let go of Lia's hand.  
     "I fell in love with you."  She added, starting to cry.  "I
think I fell in love with wanting to be like you.  I see in you
what my father saw.  Something. . ."  Lia looked deep into
Mulder's eyes as though searching, "something that I wish I had," 
she finished softly. 
     Lia got up, strode to the street.  She hailed a taxi that
was probably a not a taxi and rode away. 


Author's note:  I hope you've read Marise's letters.  If you
haven't go back and read them, then read what follows.  I'll give
you half a page.



















Okay.  That enough?  Hope so.  Marise/Lia is a character born of
Machievelli and a really bad dream I had that envolved my being a
spy.  

Machievelli's THE PRINCE is required reading of all AP European
History students at the high school I graduated from and now
teach at and has coloured my perceptions of the world
immeasurably.  And according to Mach. the way the world is run,
with the truth being hidden, is the way any good beaurcracy has
to run things to keep power.  Marise is just in the business of
doing what has to be done. 
  
I like Marise.  She's kind of disturbing, but I really do like
her.  She adapts and survives, no matter what.

It was kind of hard, making what I'd written back in
December/January mesh with where the show is now.  But I think I
managed.  I mean, it's not great, but I like it.

Enough with the rhapsodsing.  I now return you to your regularly
scheduled lives.

Amp.