Rules of Engagement
By Annie
Summary: Skinner's thoughts
Rated: R
Disclaimer: He does not belong to me; neither does she; if I
owned them, there would be an 8th season. CC and Fox seem to disagree with me.
Feedback: crehnert@ptd.net
Rules of Engagement by Annie
I know them well, these rules of engagement. I was a Marine, after all, and they were ever-present then. Rules of engagement, in one form or another, have been guiding my life.
Rules of engagement in war - set up for ethics and morals. Ironic, to think of ethics and morals in regard to war. They are often broken in war. By the enemy. By us.
Rules of engagement in marriage - foremost of these is probably communication. It's like a war sometimes, or maybe more of a cease-fire after a while. Lack of proper communication causes crossed wires and cross purposes. I did not specialize in communications in Vietnam. I certainly didn't in my marriage. Poor Sharon. She tried. I made it too difficult. Impossible, actually.
Rules of engagement in life - unspoken. Universally known. The boss is the boss. Sometimes, even he has a boss. Underlings are to be kept at arm's length. Just close enough to rule.
Even if one of them is Scully.
Even if the muted fire of her hair sears into my psyche every day.
Rules.
Even if the professionally-camouflaged, probably beautifully-toned body gets anywhere near me.
Even if I practically have to slap myself in the face during meetings to prevent the too-long looks into her eyes.
My God, those eyes.
Rules.
Even if I know how reckless and inappropriate it would be to reach out and touch her face, her shoulder, her hair. Touch anything.
Even if the thought, no the actual desire and need to drive myself into her relentlessly is totally against everything expected of me as a superior.
Big Brother can watch, even in the office, but he can't hear inside my head. Not yet, anyway.
It's not against the rules to imagine, to mentally undress her, somewhere behind the veil of professionalism that automatically disguises what is in my eyes. I have had years of practice hiding my desire.
Not against the rules to feel my cock harden almost painfully, like some kind of proximity alert, whenever I find myself in the same room with her.
Not against the rules to mentally kick myself at the end of every day because I was too into boss-mode to at least try.
Not against the rules to pound my cock into a less-than-satisfactory orgasm with her face in my head.
I am the boss. I know all the unspoken and unwritten rules of engagement.
I am going to break them.
The End