TITLE: "ONE-UPMANSHIP"
AUTHORS: Jacquie LaVa and TBishop
RATING:  NC-17
CATEGORY: MSR
SPOILERS: Not really
DISCLAIMERS: You got yours and we got ours, CC - and we'd bet ours are 
having a hell of a lot more fun...
Thanks to the following wonderful folks: David, Shoshana, Shell, Tess, 
and mimic, for inspiration, support and beta. And, as always, to 
Grasshopper for keeping up the archive. Tess also provided beta for 
the prologue, "Dormi Con Mi Socio" which was posted seperately.
 

SUMMARY: To keep a great relationship going requires imagination and 
creativity - and our erstwhile FBI agents become a little too 
successful for their own good...

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ONE-UPMANSHIP

 

** Chapter One

 

It started about two months ago, as nothing more than a game, a joke. 
Our little joke - a way to expand on a new relationship, to add some 
edge, right up front - rather than wait until the natural decline. We 
had just become involved, had just realized (finally) that we wanted 
to be together; needed to expand our relationship further. It had 
taken a bad case, two bottles of low-grade tequila and Scully on the 
crying jag from Hell, but we finally got it all out into the open - we 
finally admitted to each other how we felt. The rest was easy - a 
little awkward and self-conscious that first time, but easy. We 
giggled a lot and tried not to act overly-modest, as if we'd never 
seen each other naked before. Mostly we clung to each other and 
whispered a lot of caring words between us, and when I first found 
myself inside her, I tried hard not to cry at the exquisite rightness 
of it all. I had a hard time getting Scully off, that first time - and 
I felt like such a failure. But she was so sweet about it, holding me 
and murmuring to me in a small, shaky voice that it didn't matter one 
little bit - that it had been so long, for her - maybe she'd forgotten 
how. For some reason that struck us both as so amusing, and we laughed 
ourselves silly in each other's arms, until the laughter turned to 
snickers which became sighs and then moans, as we tried again - this 
time with spectacular results. And afterwards, we swore to each other 
that no matter what, it would always be spectacular between us. 
Always.

That's about when Scully got the idea of one-upmanship.

A little game, to titillate and provoke, not that I needed any 
provoking once I figured out how Scully's body best responded to mine. 
And granted, once we got going, it was doubtful we would suffer any 
sort of decline for a very long time. After all, we had seven years of 
the Horny Beast to work through. We did it all the time, every chance 
we got. I had a lot stored up, and so did Scully. We took some crazy 
chances, in and around the office; not always able to bear the wait 
until after hours and the relative safety of her apartment, or mine. 
Or the car. Or the parking garage. Or any one of several dark, dank 
corners in the alleys on either side of the parking garage. You get 
the picture.

So we took some chances, and that was thrilling, to be sure. I would 
choose a moment during the day, to begin the set-up of the events 
which would lead to the downfall of my partner. In those first weeks, 
it didn't take much set-up. I could sit there and watch her - just 
watch. Twirling a pencil around in my fingers, pretending to be busy 
studying a casefile when all I wanted to do was jump her, toss her 
against a wall and bang the shit out of her. So I would stare at her, 
hard - until she could almost feel my eyes crawling up and down her 
body like an annoying ant or something, and would glance my way... 
only to see my eyes boring into her while my fingers played with my 
bottom lip. Her eyes in turn would grow heavy with want; I could see 
it happen right in front of me. Quite a magical transformation - never 
able to take her eyes from my mouth, or my fingers rubbing on my lips. 
Yes, I know my bottom lip holds some sort of fascination for her - 
it's very obvious. Well, whatever singes her skivvies, I suppose. I 
just knew that my staring eyes and bottom lip would do some major 
damage to her composure, until all I had to do was murmur her name and 
she'd be on me. Up against the wall, seeking hands and frantic mouths 
and much yanking and tugging of proper FBI-clothing, until I had 
enough of her bared to my hot gaze; enough unbuttoned and unzipped and 
pushed aside to allow skin on skin. Skin in skin. Hot and dark and 
deep and wet and soft meets hard and my hand on her mouth to keep the 
scream lodged in her throat as she quakes all around me...

Oh, yeah.

Until the day we almost got caught, by Kimberly, Skinner's assistant. 
Knocking on the door, outside the damn basement door while we were on 
the other side, a mere three inches away, fucking like mad. Sure, we 
weren't making any noise; as usual I had my hand over her mouth and 
she was likewise gagging me. Sure, the door was thick and heavy and 
stable enough to withstand our coital abuse. But Kimberly's knocking 
put a sudden crick on our gymnastics, and we froze in place, as if she 
could somehow see beyond the door, see us pressed together with our 
respective slacks around our ankles and our arms and hands twisted 
into each other like pretzels. We stood, immovable as stone, hardly 
daring to breathe... until Kimberly's footsteps died away; until we 
could relax and breathe again and resume our activity. Her appearance 
at our door took a chunk of heat away from the moment, but not enough 
to make us stop pounding into each other until we came our brains out, 
sliding down the door and landing on the carpet in a heap of wrinkled 
wool and sweat and rubbery limbs. Scully was the first to break our 
stunned silence.

"Mulder... we are so dead. God, I can't believe we could be so stupid! 
No more chance-taking; promise me! Promise - no more office-humping -"

Well, of course I promised. At that moment I would have promised her 
my small intestines on a silver platter, knotted into pearls and 
offered up as a necklace. That promise lasted about as long as it took 
for our bodies to cool and our clothes to straighten out.

But back to the subject at hand... Scully was the first to play the 
game, I believe. I'd gone over to her apartment with a stack of 
reports and a pizza; our usual routine when we are on a local case. I 
figured we'd get in about three hours of work, tops - about as long as 
I could hold out against Scully and her gorgeous, well... everything. 
She met me at the door with a smile and a kiss - dressed head to toe 
in tight black leather. From her bright head, banded back out of her 
eyes with it, to her booted, high-heeled feet... leather. Cut 
scandalously low over her breasts; slashed in back to below the waist 
and clinging to her shapely legs. I looked her up and down; the 
expression on my face priceless, I'm now sure - down the tender, sexy 
curves covered in smooth tight black, down the front of her, down to -

Oh, Jesus.

My eyes locked on her trim hips, also clad in leather, everywhere but 
over her sweet little mound - which was exposed for God and the world 
- and me - to see; framed in a cutout of leather the shape of a heart. 
I think I actually whimpered. I know I whimpered. I also know I slid 
to my knees in front of her, the files slipping out of my numb hands, 
and just leaned into the heart of Dana Scully, leaned in with seeking 
fingers and gasping breath and eager lips. She pressed back into the 
door and lifted a leg, fitting it over my shoulder, opening herself to 
my mouth and my fingers, moaning low in her throat as I licked and bit 
and hummed and kissed over every inch of her sweetness. Scully the 
dominatrix... Lord help me. That was number one.

It's only gotten better, more interesting, since then.

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** Chapter Two **

 

I was in the shower when the call came through; soap in my hair and 
dripping into my eyes. I let loose a string of curses and fumbled 
through the shower curtain for the nearest towel, wiping the soap off 
and stumbling to the damn nightstand. Yeah I've got an answering 
machine, but these days I hate to miss a call, especially late at 
night. Such calls are usually indicative of the promise of a job - and 
money in my pocket.

So I picked up the receiver, my usual, "Yeah, speak," uttered into the 
mouthpiece, and waited. The low voice on the other end of the line 
spoke a scant five words, in his customary urbane yet gravelly tones:

"A job. Are you available?"

Hell, yes, I'm available, you asshole... why else would I be answering 
your call in the middle of the night when I could be getting my beauty 
sleep? So I was in the shower - that was the pre-beauty part. Nothing 
worse than going to bed smelly. So in my customary bland 
I-don't-give-a-shit way of speaking, I replied just as sparsely, "Yes. 
Enlighten me..." A deep breath on the other end; probably just took a 
huge drag off his cancer stick, I'd wager - man, I don't know why 
people want to kill themselves, puff by puff. But hey - if that's his 
thing, who am I to point fingers? He spoke just then, and I listened.

"Photographs. Video. Audio recordings. Information on your subjects 
will be sent via the usual method. Begin immediately. As you collect, 
you will copy and send to the subjects, at your discretion and your 
convenience. An accompanying note should be presented after the second 
or third delivery, worded in such a way as to alarm and concern - your 
choice of text. You know the rest. Half the payment will be wired to 
your bank in the morning." A soft 'click' in my ear indicated the 
conversation was over. Slowly I hung up the phone, then walked to the 
bathroom and jumped back in the shower to rinse off the soap, thinking 
about my newest job.

I had dealt with this particular employer several times in the past 
few years. He was generous, precise and never jerked me around 
concerning the money - never once. Never quibbled over my piece of the 
total - I always got my price, a solid two thou. Half up front is 
always a good thing when I begin this kind of a job - I'd need to 
replenish my supplies. I finished showering and dried off again, then 
grabbed myself a bottle of wine and the newspaper, fingering through 
to the stock page. Maybe I'd do a little investing - business had been 
good lately, and I had several jobs going. I figured I could handle 
one more; could cram in some extra hours here and there. The extra 
money would provide a nice cushion; a cautious cushion. I did cautious 
very well; I'd had my share of hungry days, when I was younger - and I 
swore that would never happen again. My reputation had grown enough 
over the years to give me the opportunity of living a damn good life. 
I have spoiled myself and I've got no intention of stopping now...

As I dozed off, after three full glasses of excellent Merlot, I 
couldn't help but wonder: What would it be like to follow these folks 
around, and film their every public intimate moment? Who would care?

Well, it wasn't up to me to care, or wonder, I supposed. I just care 
about the money... and the free peep show is just gravy on the fries.

God, I love my work.

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** Chapter Three **

This time it started with a glimpse of bare white flesh against the 
stark black pin-stripes of my clothing, a skirt that shifted just a 
little too high when I got into the car that morning, revealing the 
fact that I'd worn stockings instead of hose, and exposing the pale 
skin of my thigh to Mulder's roving and hungry eyes. I quickly covered 
up when I realized what had caught his attention, but it was too late, 
now he knew what was hidden beneath the feigned propriety of my 
G-woman suit, and his thoughts would constantly come back to that 
image as we drove in to work for our early meeting with Skinner.

He didn't make his move for several minutes, preferring to drive in 
silent lassitude after a particularly restless night. He'd slept at 
his place, alone... We rarely did that anymore, but I'd had dinner at 
my Mom's, and Mulder had gone over to the Gunman's to watch the 
college basketball playoffs, and we never bothered to link up the rest 
of the evening. I know he didn't sleep well because he called me three 
times during the course of the night. I should have just told him to 
get in the car and drive over; maybe then we both would have gotten a 
better night's sleep, but by the time I thought of it, it was nearly 
morning. So now we're driving into work, and the minute we get on the 
freeway, he reaches a hand over and slips it beneath the hem of my 
skirt, finding the lace edge of my thigh highs, his eyes never leaving 
the road.

"Mulder," I warn him, not much threat behind my words. He ignores me, 
and his hand inches a little further up my leg. Feels so good, his 
familiar touch against my bare skin. I missed him last night, it's 
crazy but I've already grown used to having that full body contact to 
comfort me in my sleep. He starts to trace little circles along the 
inside of my thigh, higher and higher, slowly making his way up. I 
feel the beginning flutter of excitement within. He's not looking at 
me, concentrating instead on the heavy rush hour traffic, while his 
hand makes a side trip with a completely different destination in 
mind.

As his fingers brush over the delicate lace of my panties, my legs 
part automatically, and I lean my head back against the seat and close 
my eyes, enjoying the skilled hand of my lover. For a moment or two, 
he slowly rubs me through my panties, until he reduces me to 
squirming, and causes my undergarment to become thoroughly saturated 
with my own desire. "God, Mulder," I whisper, shifting in my seat to 
give him better access, as his fingers finally insinuate themselves 
into the wetness and heat he's created with his erotic massage. My 
skirt is bunched up around my hips at this point, and when I chance a 
glance in his direction, I catch him lustfully gazing at the display, 
as the car now sits idly in bumper to bumper traffic. There's a 
breakdown or an accident grinding the morning rush to a dead halt.

Others' misfortune becomes my gain, as my partner surprises the hell 
out of me and leans across the console to bury his face in my lap. He 
breathes in deeply and mumbles against my center, "Christ, Scully, 
you're so hot. I missed the smell of you last night." And then he uses 
both hands to move aside the scrap of fabric between my legs, and 
holds it out of his way as his tongue plunges into the inflamed cleft 
of my sex. He's so fucking good at this, it's not long before I've 
completely forgotten myself - and the other drivers all around us who 
are probably getting one hell of a show. Writhing and groaning with 
each stroke of his tongue, I twist my fingers through his hair, 
clenching fists full of his silky mane as he now begins concentrating 
his efforts on suckling my clit.

A few moments later, I'm panting and on the edge, when a honk from 
behind causes Mulder to return to his driving, and me to whimper in 
frustration. But as he starts the car moving again, Mulder puts sex 
flavored fingers to my lips to quiet me. Seductively, I lick the tips 
of each of those fingers clean, not wanting our moment of passion to 
end, hoping he won't leave me in this state I'm in, flushed with 
sexual rage and desperate for release.

But my partner isn't a cruel man; he knows what I need, and he doesn't 
let me go unsatisfied. Maneuvering the car through the influx of 
morning commuters, Mulder's free hand returns to minister to my need. 
Thank God he's good at multitasking. Long before we hit the exit ramp, 
he has me literally screaming with one of the most intense orgasms of 
my life. I never realized before how loud I am during sex, not until I 
completely lose it in the confines of Mulder's sedan.

Mulder wears an amused expression as I struggle to recover, clumsy, 
trembling hands smoothing over my rumpled clothes and hair. As I check 
my makeup in the visor mirror, he starts to chuckle. He's so pleased 
with himself, he just can't contain his mirth.

"Shut up, Mulder." I say it with conviction, but I can't wipe this 
stupid grin off my face either.

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This has got to be the most boring meeting in the history of the FBI - 
and I am stuck smack dab in the middle of it. Fighting to stay awake. 
Fighting to keep my attention on Agent Smithers as he yammers on and 
on about the perpetrator's peculiar little habits.

Fighting to keep my eyes from drifting to the soft wool material which 
covers my partner's oh-so-desirable thighs. The material which just a 
short few hours ago I had pushed up around her waist, baring her to my 
mouth right in the middle of a DC traffic jam...

I know she wore that skirt on purpose today - and she knows it drives 
me crazy. Shorter than most of her other skirts, made of some kind of 
clingy wool as soft as can be. Black with thin little pin-stripes; 
only about six inches of it shows beneath the very form-fitting 
double-breasted collarless jacket which matches it. She doesn't wear a 
shirt of any kind underneath the jacket; tantalizing shaded glimpses 
of her cleavage become visible as she wiggles in her seat, apparently 
trying to get comfortable. My attention wavers from Smithers again, as 
out of the corner of my eye I see Scully squirm and am afforded 
another flash of cleavage.

She's doing it on purpose... unless she has another damn bee inside 
her clothes, this time in her underwear - nobody should have to squirm 
that much. With narrowed eyes, I stare at her; she looks straight 
ahead, for all the world appearing completely engrossed in the slides 
and the boring commentary. Right, Scully - like you suddenly find 
Smithers fascinating. I don't think so. I abandon all pretext of 
listening at this point, and just watch Scully, very pointedly. She 
puts on quite a show, when she knows she is being watched by me.

Wiggle. Squirm. Tug at the skirt. Flash of pale Scullyskin. Deep 
breath, expanding that sexy diaphragm of hers. Another wiggle, Jesus 
if she doesn't quit it I'm gonna jump her right in front of the 
bullpen agents. I swallow reflexively, and try to focus. But I can't 
keep from looking down, at that sweet little mound of soft pinstriped 
wool which sits front and center covering my Scully's thighs. And as I 
gaze in growing hunger, she bends forward, as if to straighten out the 
hem of her skirt - and I catch a longer, fuller glimpse of the 
shadowed V of her jacket. And I gawk worse than a schoolboy getting 
his first glimpse of a Playboy centerfold...

She's bra-less. Scully. In AD Skinner's office, wearing clingy soft 
wool. I can't believe I missed that this morning when we were in the 
car. Granted, I was focused on other things, but still - you'd think I 
would have seen it. I sure see it now. Scully, sitting near enough to 
smell, but far away enough not to touch. I can see a curve there, soft 
and sweet, pressing against the wool. I toss a furtive glance around 
the office, hoping in the dim light that none of the other men can see 
what I see. Somehow I doubt they can. And somehow I doubt I can hold 
onto my crumbling control much longer. As I stare, practically 
salivating... Scully suddenly meets my hot gaze - and smiles the most 
seductive, knowing smile I have ever seen.

What a brat.

Lights up; meeting over. Somebody turns the projector off. We file 
out, one by one; my hand presses into the small of my partner's back, 
as always. I guide her down the hall of the bullpen, headed toward the 
elevators, knowing we have to collect our laptops and some odd files 
before we head out into the field. We are passing by the restrooms 
now; the men's opposite the ladies', across the narrow hall. As we 
pass by the ladies', Scully suddenly grabs my hand and tugs at me, 
taking me by surprise; pushes the door open with her shoulder and 
pulls me inside. Inside the ladies' bathroom, and into the first stall 
she can find. I am too shocked to utter more than a strangled, "Scully 
- what the HELL -" before her hand claps over my mouth and she reaches 
up on her tiptoes, to whisper in my ear.

"Shut the fuck up, Mulder - don't say a word. Not a word! You asked 
for this; do you think I didn't notice the way you were gaping at me 
in that meeting? Staring... drooling... I saw you. I knew what you 
were thinking. You wanted to know, didn't you? Wanted to know what I 
had on underneath my little suit. Well, today's your lucky day, 
Partner - I'm going to let you see what's inside my clothes. Only you 
can't say a damn word; not a groan or a gasp, nothing. Otherwise we're 
both screwed. The ladies' room, Mulder - usually full of ladies, at 
any time of the day. You wouldn't want them to hear what we're doing 
in here, would you? They would be very envious, Mulder - and I won't 
share you. Not one second of your time, not even one of your thoughts. 
I won't share. So keep your mouth occupied with something other than 
the need to make sounds, Mulder..."

She lets go of my mouth and her hand snakes around my neck and yanks 
at me until she can reach me; her lips eat me alive in one huge bite. 
Deep and wet, frantic kisses - mmmm. My favorite snack, and Scully is 
feeding me large servings of it. Her tongue is relentless, searching 
every tiny crevice of my mouth and cheeks. I fight to stay with her, 
my own tongue dueling fiercely with hers as the kiss goes on and on. I 
want to moan and groan with it, but I can't - because I just heard the 
door swish open and the sound of feminine voices echoing through the 
large bathroom causes me to freeze in place. Scully presses herself 
into me and her breathy, "Shhh" in my ear makes me shiver; that and 
the feel of her hot little wool-clad body branding mine.

Somehow I manage to keep it all in; all the sounds I want to make, 
everything she makes me feel, out loud - I keep it. And the women are 
talking as they do their business; doesn't occur to me to feel 
squeamish about being this close to strange women urinating in the 
stalls on either side of us. I am too busy trying to assimilate the 
fact that I am standing behind the door in stall number two of the 
bullpen ladies' room at FBI headquarters with my partner's body 
pressed into me and her hand rubbing my cock into oblivion. That's 
really enough to keep me in mute-mode... then as Scully slides her 
moist lips over my neck, along my jawline and begins nibbling at my 
skin, I hear a voice I recognize. Shit - Kimberly. Oh, great. Don't 
know who she's talking to, but what she is saying has my attention - 
and Scully's, who stops nibbling but won't let go of my cock.

"... see him this morning? God, wearing that dark blue suit that fits 
him so nice - I swear he's the most gorgeous man alive." My eyes must 
be popping out of their sockets at the words I hear, because Scully is 
fighting to keep the laughter from erupting, even as she strokes 
through the afore-mentioned dark blue material covering me. I bury my 
hot face in her neck and helplessly listen, my hips beginning to rock 
against her hand as the conversation intensifies right outside the 
metal door of our stall.

"At least you get to see him once in awhile, Kim - you've got the best 
job in this building, you know! He never comes into the steno pool - 
Agent Scully does the requisitioning most of the time. Lucky you, 
working for AD Skinner. Another prime hunk of manhood, but he can't 
hold a candle to Agent Mulder. No wonder his parents named him 'Fox' - 
they must have known what their boy would grow up to look like! I sure 
hope Agent Scully knows just how lucky she is..."

"Oh, she does -" The words are breathed into my mouth, as Scully gets 
my pants unzipped noiselessly; as she lifts her skirt high enough for 
me to observe her naughty lack of viable underwear. When did she pull 
off her panties? A garter belt and sheer stockings are now all that 
cover her pale legs. Those legs coil around me as I slide my trembling 
hands under her round little ass and lift her, settling her snugly on 
my straining cock, she holds my fevered gaze with wild blue eyes as 
she grips me hard; as I impale her and sink into her wet heat. I fill 
her to the brim; deep, so deep. And the conversation flows in and 
around our ears, as we move against each other with silent 
intensity...

"... Working next to him every day; I'll bet he smells so good -" as I 
feel her tongue licking my skin, all over; mouth open in a soundless 
gasp against the pounding vein in my neck. The feeling of being inside 
her, in a situation like this - so fucking incredible. There's no room 
to move in this tiny stall, and so we barely move, but I am so deep 
and I fill her so tightly that there is almost no need to thrust. 
Holding onto me with one arm, she snakes her hand between us and cups 
and rubs at my balls; I shudder against her and reciprocate by 
pressing into her hand which in turn causes the back of it to push up 
on her swollen clit. And so we rock, and we slide against each other 
with noiseless screaming blinding desire, and the gossip just goes on 
and on...

"... hear he's very well-hung, too..." The words fling themselves 
across my roaring ears and I barely register them, until I taste the 
silent laughter from Scully, echoing in my mouth, and my whole body 
stiffens in shock. Jesus, I can't believe this - who would talk about 
something like that? How in hell -!

"Laura, God! How would you hear something like that?" Yeah, Laura - 
how? I find myself straining to hear the reply, even as Scully begins 
to squirm and wriggle, legs coiling tighter around me; my fingers 
digging into the soft flesh of her cheeks as I hold myself immersed in 
her. I am so close, right on the edge of oblivion, and I can feel it 
boiling up, in my balls which Scully still cradles in her hand; I can 
feel it and yet part of me is just dying to find out how on earth some 
admin from the steno pool could possibly know about my size... But by 
now I am desperate for both of us to find release and get the hell 
outta that bathroom before we are discovered by the entire gaggle of 
women working on this floor. I push my hand between our bodies and 
latch onto her clit with two hard fingers, tugging and probing at the 
tiny knot of nerves until Scully is shuddering in my arms; pulsing all 
around my cock as she quakes with the intensity of her orgasm. I slam 
her face against my chest to keep her moans and cries locked in her 
throat, and as I finally let it rip; as I pump furiously into her, the 
words which float back to me as Kimberly and Laura leave the sanctity 
of the ladies' room almost cause my rubbery knees to cave in beneath 
me, and Scully erupts with a combination of giggles and groans, still 
convulsing with the last vestiges of her climax...

"Agent Wilson told me - saw Agent Mulder in the men's room. Guess most 
guys get curious about each others' equipment, and, well - Wilson IS 
bi, you know; I think he's got a little crush on Mulder..."

Oh, shit.

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** Chapter Four **

 

Jesus, I'm coming so hard and Mulder's hand is pressed firmly over my 
mouth to keep me from telling the whole world about it... well, the 
whole Hoover Building about it anyway. We just did something very 
dangerous, very stupid, and very erotic. And as Mulder's half dressed, 
sweaty body falls over mine in his own spent state of post-coital 
exhaustion, I can't help think that this 'game' of one-upmanship is 
going to be the end of our careers. What we did just now went so far 
beyond acceptable behavior, if anyone were to find out about it, they 
wouldn't even bother with an OPC hearing...

After our little adventure the other day in the ladies' room, up in 
the bullpen, Mulder and I got to discussing our work related sexual 
fantasies. Suffice to say, this one topped both of our lists. We were 
surprised to discover that not only were we both having the same 
recurring daydream, but that it had been going on for years, almost 
since the beginning of our partnership. Never, in my wildest flights 
of fancy, did I once believe it would happen. It was too extreme, even 
in the realm of extreme possibilities that we'd come to believe. But 
I'd imagined it for years, so many different scenarios - but always 
here, always with Mulder.

When he suggested that we do it, my first reaction was a very firm 
'NO.' But Mulder is nothing if not persistent, and he wouldn't relent 
until he'd worn me down with so much sexual tension that I completely 
crumbled under the pressure and gave in. Once I'd agreed, he set about 
planning this latest escapade. This one required a scheme, we had to 
be very careful, and the timing had to be just right. And if one thing 
went wrong...

Oh, God!

My eyes widen and I struggle to push Mulder off me. In the most 
comedic flurry of mumbled curses, we both race to redress and make 
ourselves presentable before the man whose voice can be heard on the 
other side of the door, catches us in the act.

"Damn it, he's back early," Mulder whispers, as he finishes buttoning 
his shirt and straightening his tie.

"I told you this was a stupid idea."

"It's Wednesday, Scully. He always attends the weekly AD's 
interdepartmental lunch meeting on Wednesdays." Mulder rebuckles, and 
checks his zipper.

"Well, they must have canceled it," I tell him, sliding off the desk 
and straightening my skirt.

I hear the handle being turned. Skinner opens the door to his office, 
and I bite back a shriek, as I catch sight of something and my career 
flashes before my eyes. Hearing my whimper, Mulder follows my gaze to 
see the cause of my duress. Faster than I would have thought him 
capable of moving after our recent workout, my partner bolts to the 
window and snatches my panties off the blind, stuffing them in his 
jacket pocket as Skinner enters the room.

"What in the hell are you two doing in here?" our A.D. demands, 
frowning at both of us.

"We were looking for you, sir," Mulder stammers out.

"And you saw fit to enter my office without checking with my assistant 
first?"

"Kimberly was away from her desk, sir," I volunteer.

"She's at lunch. As I was. But you two Agents should know that. Now, 
what the hell is going on?"

"We just wanted to leave you a note... before we left."

Oh, God, Mulder, shut up, he's not buying it.

"A note?" Skinner crosses the room to stand behind his desk. THE desk. 
The one upon which Mulder and I just acted out our long-standing 
sexual chimera, not quite two minutes ago. He studies us both, taking 
in, I'm sure, our flushed faces, swollen lips, and guilty eyes.

We are so dead.

As I stand there, heart pounding, hoping Mulder has a good comeback 
line to dig us out of this hole, I can feel the residuals of our 
intimacy starting to trickle down the inside of my thigh and I cross 
my legs, hoping to stop a very embarrassing situation.

Mulder throws me a pleading look, as if to say 'Help me out, here, 
Scully.' Sorry, partner, I've got my own problems, you're on your own.

While Mulder proceeds to fumble his way through some sort of 
believable explanation for our unauthorized presence in our boss's 
office, I make a point of avoiding Skinner's suspect glare. My gaze 
wanders down to the desktop, and visions of our forbidden tryst 
suddenly fill my mind's eye. Me, lying across that lovely piece of 
furniture, Mulder on top, fucking me like there's no tomorrow. His 
strong hands cupping and squeezing my breasts through the lace of my 
bra. Our bodies thrusting and grinding into each other. My hands 
holding tight to the edge of the desk, as my partner drives into me 
with such force, as to cause the heavy furnishing to actually move 
with each pump of his hips. Passionate kisses and whispered 
confessions of the fantasies we'd imagined in this room over the 
years, sitting side by side, trying to concentrate on the topic or 
chewing out of the day, distracted by the pull, the sexual attraction, 
the ache, the burning desire, the need we both felt but never 
indulged...

"Whatever, Agent Mulder," Skinner finally interrupts my partner's 
desperate ramblings in that dismissive tone he has. "But the next time 
you or Agent Scully feels the need to leave a handwritten message for 
me, I would appreciate it if you left said message with Kimberly. 
Understood?"

"Yes, sir." We say it in unison. God, I hate when we do that! Skinner 
looks thoroughly disgusted as he sits down in his chair, and then his 
face puzzles and he sniffs the air thoughtfully.

Oh, shit.

Mulder and I share a silent panicked realization, and then we exit the 
scene of the crime before the owner of the desk figures out what that 
familiar redolence is lingering in the air all around him.

The last thing I hear as Mulder and I hurry to escape, is Skinner's 
confused voice asking out loud, "How'd my desk get moved?"



XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

** Chapter Five **

 

"Scully. Quit staring."

"I am not staring - I'm reading." Papers rustling. She's not fooling 
me for a minute.

"Since when has the written word been engraved on my ass? Knock it 
off, Scully." Exaggerated sigh coming from her at my sarcasm.

"How do you know where I'm looking, Mulder? You got eyes in the back 
of your head?" Paper crackles; she just tossed it in the wastebasket. 
I fight to keep the smile out of my voice. I love it when she stares 
at me.

"I can feel your eyes on me, baby - and it's getting me hot. If you 
don't knock it off I'm gonna be so hard that when Skinner gets back in 
here he's gonna know just what's going on between us - and then we're 
in a world of hurt. So, can it, OK?" I look down; too late. My johnson 
is already rearing its head - shit. Skinner could walk in any second.

And I can feel her, still staring - I can picture the look in her eyes 
even if I have my back to them and can't actually see them. Hot, 
darkened with want - dilated and narrowed just enough for zeroed-in 
focus. My body can't help but react to her and there's nothing I can 
do about it, no way I can control my reaction to her. Part of me wants 
to whip around and pin her to the wall - and the saner part of me 
knows that Skinner is on his way back down to our office and I am not 
in the proper state to receive him. Of course, Scully can always claim 
her flush is caused by an oncoming flu, or something - but when was 
the last time a guy with a raging boner could excuse it away by 
calling it a nasty cold? I'm gonna have to get a grip on this 
condition of mine... before Scully finds a way to grip me instead.

"Scully... I'm warning you..." Impatient huffing - man, she really 
knows how to do indignant. Too bad I can almost smell her arousal in 
our small office. If I can smell it, I wonder if Skinner could? Oh, 
hell...

"WHAT? I wasn't staring! Jeez, Mulder, I have more important things to 
do than gawk at your buttocks, you know!" Ooh, protesting a bit too 
much, aren't we, Partner? Okay, I'm calling your bluff - I make one 
fast turn, catching her by surprise; find myself face to face with the 
most incredible look of lust I have seen on anyone, in a very long 
time: cheeks flushed rosy pink, eyes almost glazed over with want, 
lips which look swollen from my kisses even though I haven't kissed 
her all morning... God. My eyes widen as we stare at each other, noses 
within an inch of touching; I can feel myself narrowing that inch in 
slow increments, can see her lips opening, ready to imprison whatever 
part of my mouth hits her first...

And the heavy footsteps echoing down the hall is the only thing that 
keeps us both in check; the opening of the door which admits our 
stone-faced boss, who enters and stares at us, seated oh-so-properly 
on either side of my desk. One thick eyebrow ascends to his forehead 
inquiringly, as he glances back and forth between us, and I am 
suddenly very glad I am the one sitting behind the desk - because I am 
tenting like there's no tomorrow and Scully, well... she just looks 
flushed. Maybe she's coming down with the flu...

"Agent Scully? You look flushed. I hope you're not coming down with 
the flu..."

 

"Scully, I swear to you - we have got to be more careful. I know 
Skinner suspects something. Did you see the look on his face just now? 
After the little 'fling' we had on his desk a few days ago, he's got 
to know something's going on. We'd better cool it..."

We are pushing our way through the huge double doors of our building, 
having decided to walk to lunch instead of trying to drive. Still 
overheated; I think we need the extra seven blocks or so to cool down, 
and traffic this time of day is so thick that it's actually quicker to 
walk it. Blessedly, Skinner never said another word to either of us, 
other than a few grunts about Scully's flushed face and a caution 
about getting herself a flu shot. He had tossed a handful of files on 
the desk, told us to get our plane tickets reserved and had taken 
himself off to lunch.

As we make our way down the steps and head for the intersection, I 
have my hand in its customary resting spot at my partner's back, but I 
wish with all my heart I could just catch hold of her hand like any 
other lovestruck man when he is in reach of the woman he adores; would 
love nothing better than to be able to link fingers and swing hands 
between us like little kids, carefree and openly in public. I will 
have to wait at least three blocks until we can do that, however... 
but as we pass the side alley right next to Headquarters' parking 
garage, I glance into the dim depths of it, wondering if I dare to 
just pull Scully into that semi-private cave, and give her a taste of 
what she's been lusting after all morning...

When she suddenly grabs my hand and spins on a foot, darting right 
into the alley and pulling me in after her. Slamming me up against the 
cement wall - grasping my face between her little hands and giving me 
one hard, wet deep-throated kiss, before she unzips my slacks and 
drops to her knees and both hands reach into my clothes and take me 
out, all of my swollen, hard flesh, and my head hits the wall in back 
of me and my entire body tenses as her luscious mouth opens wide and 
takes all of me inside, deep inside where it's dark and wet and 
greedy... my eyes slip shut as I feel her tongue swirling all over the 
sensitive underskin of my cock, flicking lightly against the head, 
sucking strongly one minute, and gently worshipping the next.

My mouth is wide open, gasping for much-needed oxygen; I know we can 
be seen by anyone who happens to peer into the darkened alley, for we 
aren't that far inside - and I could give a flaming shit right about 
now, because my fingers are buried in red silk hair and the mouth and 
tongue of the woman I love is driving me absolutely insane and I can 
feel myself tightening into one huge bomb just about ready to rip, the 
likes of which makes that past explosion in the Dallas Federal 
building seem like a pop toy...

It's the first time we have done it with complete and utter silence 
between us - and the intensity of it blows me away.

And as I gasp and shake in the beginning throes of flat-out ecstasy, I 
can swear I hear someone other than me, groaning their release. Then 
any thoughts I may have left in my bloodless brain fly out my mouth 
along with one long, hissing, "SSSSCULLLLLLEEEEE...!!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

** Chapter Six **

 

You know, the first time I watched I felt vaguely guilty - as if I 
couldn't reconcile the fact of my distaste at having to watch, with 
the knowledge that I have been hired to do a job, and the secret 
thrill I always get at being able to watch. I do not have a classy 
job. I know this; I'm not stupid. I am, however, very greedy. And I 
was promised a nice bit of cash to watch, and to record.

They were in the alley of the parking garage, right outside their 
office, for Crissakes - first time I watched. I couldn't understand 
why they would take such crazy chances. Me, I'm a level-headed person 
- most of the time. Only thing that can throw me for a loop is money - 
the promise of a deposit into my savings account. I'll do almost 
anything for it; call it a lingering by-product of my impoverished 
youth.

Whatever. I like money. So when the call came through - I have a

reputation in some parts of town, you might say - I was glad to see 
that once again my base repugnance of the ickier side of my chosen 
profession would be recompensed nicely with the green stuff, even 
though deep down inside I love my job. People think money is grubby - 
so many fingers touching and handling it down through the years, blah, 
blah, blah. It's the grub I love to touch, though.

So I watched, and waited, outside their building - and when they came 
out so prim and circumspect, walking with measured steps, eyes focused 
as if they were looking for their car... I watched discreetly from the 
alley across the street, partially-hidden behind my parked car. I am 
always very discreet, you know.

Then she suddenly pivoted on one foot, grabbed his hand and yanked him 
into the dim alley - and slammed him up against the cement wall - and 
before I could even get the camera up to my shoulder and off the 
pause, she'd dropped to her knees and had him unzipped and had just 
about swallowed him whole. Even from a distance I could see the way 
his entire body tightened and arched; how he gripped the wall in back 
of him and struggled to remain on his feet. She must have been sucking 
the very marrow from his bones. God...

I managed to record a few minutes, before my shaking hands lowered the 
camera and set it on the hood of my car, still pointed at the scene 
there across the street; one of my hands steadied my trembling body by 
hanging onto the door handle - while the other hand found its way into 
my clothes and began to rub at myself. I had no idea if I was still 
filming; no idea of anything except the sight before my fevered brain 
- I couldn't take my eyes from them. I couldn't stop rubbing either, 
harder and harder, until I felt myself explode - and my burning eyes 
remained focused on that red hair bobbing up and down, in front of 
that expensive Armani suit. Yes, I know Armani well - I told you, I 
like money. I also like what it buys.

From that moment on, I was hooked. It's not just a job, it's an 
adventure, you know. My new adventure. Getting paid for it, too.

Hot damn.

	

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I may not survive this job; I've already decided that. And I think my 
'assignment' may age me prematurely; in fact I know it... I may regret 
following them tonight, though I had to; after all it's the adventure, 
right? My adventure. But there's gotta be a limit to what I am 
expected to endure -

Lord.

These two don't let a little thing like a crowded restaurant stand in 
the way of what they've got on their minds. Jesus Christ, I'm sitting 
here hotter than hell just from watching them eat! It started with a 
plate of raw oysters. He made a show of consuming them that was 
nothing short of obscene, dangling each plump, juicy, wet morsel from 
two fingers, caressing it with his tongue before he'd pop it into his 
mouth, acting like he was about to come as he chewed and swallowed. 
One by one, he devoured them, occasionally holding a smaller oyster in 
front of her lips, teasing, enticing her to open her mouth and let him 
put it in. She'd refuse... at first, but he wouldn't let up until she 
gave in and sucked back his offering, then seductively licked the tips 
of his fingers clean of the salty brine.

I ordered a strong drink when the breadsticks were set on the table in 
front of her. God almighty! She preceded to treat that hot buttery 
piece of bread like it was her boyfriend's dick, sliding it in and out 
of her hungry little mouth, running her slippery tongue up and down 
the length of it. Never once did she lose eye contact with him as she 
nibbled away at her 'dildough.' He was captivated, as was the elderly 
gentleman sitting at the table next to theirs. That old codger turned 
six shades of red and began to sweat when she stuffed the entire roll 
into her mouth, inch by inch, and then started to chew. I only wish 
I'd been able to get the video camera on that, but it's not possible 
in a place like this. Have to be careful they don't discover me. This 
tiny 007 camera and some high speed film will have to do the trick. 
It'll be good enough for the purposes of my employer. Jesus, if they 
only knew...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Mulder's hand finds my knee beneath the table as the waiter pours the 
last of our bottle of wine for us. We've spent the entire evening 
leering at each other and putting on, I'm sure, quite a floor show for 
any of the patrons of this tiny bistro who happen to glance in our 
direction. I've purposely avoided looking around the restaurant to see 
what kind of reactions there might be to our mealtime erotica. Don't 
want to spoil the mood, break the spell that the candlelight, soft 
music, and French wine have cast over me. I've convinced myself that 
Mulder and I are the only two people who exist tonight. For his part, 
Mulder has done everything he can to perpetuate the myth, focusing all 
his intensity on only me, making me believe that I am his world.

By the time dessert arrives, I'm tempted to ask the waiter to box it 
up to go. I want him so badly right now that we'll be lucky if we make 
it as far as the car. But Mulder is enjoying this too much to let me 
get away with cutting out now. So, as two plates of sinfully rich, 
decadent, chocolate torte are placed before us, I take a few deep 
breaths and try to calm my raging desire. Mulder's no help at all. He 
leans over, while the waiter is still at our table placing the dessert 
forks, and whispers to me, "I can smell you, Scully, and it's driving 
me fucking crazy. I'll bet your panties are soaked with that sweet 
honey cream."

I'm not sure, but I think the waiter heard me groan. With a look of 
contempt, he scurries back to the kitchen. Mulder chuckles softly, and 
stuffs a bite of cake into his mouth. After a couple thoughtful chews, 
he casually asks, "Did you ever see the movie 'Sliver'?"

In fact, I have, and I'm worried where he's going with this. I swallow 
a mouthful of creamy chocolate before answering his query. "With 
Sharon Stone and William Baldwin... Yes, Mulder - why do you ask?"

"Remember the scene in the restaurant?"

"Where he wanted to see her underwear." I nod.

"That was pretty...um... bold. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I suppose."

"I don't imagine you'd do anything quite that adventurous, would you, 
Scully?"

"Are you goading me?"

He grins. "Consider it an outright dare."

Clearing my throat, I whisper to him, "I'm not wearing a bra."

His eyes wander appreciatively over my chest. "The panties then. I 
want 'em. On my dessert plate. Now... If you've got the nerve."

I know that I'm blushing as I consider his challenge. Glancing around 
the busy restaurant, it seems that everyone is otherwise engrossed... 
and we DO have a corner table... shit, I can't believe I'm actually 
going to do this. Mulder's eyes go wide with a mixture of disbelief 
and amusement as I reach both hands beneath the table linens and slide 
them up under my dress as inconspicuously as possible. And then, with 
as much subtlety as one can manage when one is removing one's 
underwear in a public place, I lift my hips a bit, quickly slipping my 
panties down and off. Seconds later a lacy black thong rests on the 
dessert plate in front of my amazed partner. I resume eating as if 
nothing unusual has occurred. It takes a minute for Mulder to respond.

Finally, he picks up the lacy gift and casually brings it to his face, 
closing his eyes as he inhales the scent of my sex that has thoroughly 
saturated the expensive lingerie. If I didn't think they'd arrest us 
I'd climb over this table like a cat and pounce on him. Damn, I don't 
know how much more of this I can take. "Mulder... let's get out of 
here, okay?"

His eyes open, but only halfway. He's as hot as I am; I can see the 
fire burning within him. "But we haven't finished our dessert," he 
rasps, as he tucks my panties carefully into the pocket of his sport 
coat. Oh, Mulder, you're all the dessert I'll ever need. But before I 
can plead my case any further, he captures my curiosity by taking the 
strawberry garnish off the side of his plate, eyeing it and then me as 
if he's trying to decide which of us to eat first, then... Oh my God! 
He leans close, to whisper to me, and at the same time his hand with 
the berry disappears beneath the table. I stifle a gasp as I feel the 
chilled fruit dipping into my center. As he rubs it gently over my 
clit, swirling it around in the wet heat, I squirm and shiver. God, if 
he keeps this up much longer I'm going to come right here and now. 
Can't... can't let that happen. Not here... Oh, God... not here. I 
try, I really try to keep it together, but when his rough voice 
rumbles against my ear, the tickling vibrations of sound resonating 
deep inside me, I can feel all my self-control slipping away. "Scully. 
Let go. Stop fighting it."

My hands grip the sides of the table and I hang on as if my life 
depended upon it, the intensity of the orgasm shattering me apart 
inside. So hard not to scream... Ohhhhh... God, Mulder.

When I open my eyes, he's sitting there smiling and happily chewing, 
the hint of red berry juice staining his lips.

The waiter arrives with our check and a disapproving frown. Mulder 
reaches for his wallet but I'm quicker, handing over my bank card to 
pay the tab. He's about to object, after all, dinner was his 
suggestion, but I cut him off before he can say a word. "Next one's 
yours."

The sparkle in his eyes tells me he understands.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

** Chapter Seven **

 

These games of ours are beginning to get more and more risky. The 
element of risk is what makes it so addictive - but we have had a few 
close calls already. In the few weeks or so since Scully first stood 
in front of me wearing second-skin black leather, we have allowed some 
of our wildest fantasies to take us over. And though we began this as 
a silly little pastime to see just how many different situations we 
can create - it has rapidly escalated into a vital portion of our 
intimate relationship. I can't fathom how difficult it would be to 
just stop - if we wanted to.

I don't want to.

Scully doesn't want to, either - if her latest behavior is anything to 
go by. Granted, I started it, but - man, did she take off running with 
it...

Right in the damned bistro; panties from her body, wet with her... on 
my dessert plate. Okay, I know I goaded her into it. I dared her, and 
Scully is a dangerous woman to dare and goad. She's lived too long in 
the shadow of a predominantly-male FBI world, to back down when issued 
any sort of challenge... And lately, her reaction to my challenges has 
become my delight.

But we have a problem; one which has the potential of ruining our 
careers, if the implications are truly what they seem -

We received a package today. A little box, roughly the size of a 
videotape, maybe a bit larger. It came to the office, addressed to 
both of us. When we arrived at our door, it was propped against the 
wall - plain brown wrapping and a typed address label.

Plain brown wrapping... should have known.

"What's that?" Scully unlocks the door and holds it open for me. I 
stand just inside the office and turn the package over in my hands. 
Scully hangs up her coat and tugs on mine until I relinquish it to 
her.

"Looks like a videotape, by the size of it. Somebody sending us 
evidence, I suppose. No return address - maybe we've got an anonymous 
informant." As I unwrap the package, Scully peers over my shoulder, 
frowning as I glance her way.

"Mulder, we don't have a case pending - we just finished one a week 
ago. If that's information on a new case, great - but if it's not, 
well - I'd say our buddy here is a bit slow on the draw."

I have been setting up the VCR while she's been musing on the origin 
of the tape - and as I pop it in and hit 'play'... and it starts to 
roll...

Both of us stare in open-mouthed shock at the visual which flickers 
out at us from the small screen. And both of us gasp in horror at what 
we are seeing.

Oh, my God...

The alley - someone filmed us in the alley. How -? I don't believe 
this. It's all there, right in front of our eyes. There I am, pressed 
up against the wall, my back arched and my mouth open in a soundless 
'O' of ecstasy, while Scully engulfs me with hers. The camera angle 
and zoom-in is such that I can just about see the dark rose gloss of 
her lips, see the flush on her cheeks - can almost feel the deep hum 
of her throat as she holds me and works her magic on my swollen flesh.

In some numbed portion of my brain I can hear a soft moaning, and I 
realize it's coming from Scully. During the viewing of our 
not-so-secret alley tryst, I have unconsciously pulled her to stand in 
front of me and I am suddenly dumfounded to find myself pressed up 
against her tender backside, both arms coiled around her tightly and 
one of my hands buried inside her V-necked blouse, my other hand 
snaking up underneath her skirt, reaching for her soft wet folds. My 
eyes haven't left the screen, haven't stopped staring at the amazing 
sight of Dana Scully giving Fox Mulder one hell of a blow job. It's 
the most erotic thing I have ever seen... far surpassing any video I 
own or have rented. The most explicit sequence of sexual frolic on any 
given film clip can't compare to the incredibly arousing sight of 
Scully on her knees before me, flushed cheeks and flaming hair and her 
mouth a ring of fire enveloping me.

Both of us remain suspended in front of the TV, never taking our eyes 
from the tableau before us; a scene we ourselves created just a few 
weeks ago only a block from our office. At that moment it doesn't 
matter to either of us where this tape may have come from; the 
implications of what this may mean to us. It only matters what we are 
experiencing as we watch ourselves immersed in pleasure; the groans I 
send into Scully's hair as my fingers probe and stroke inside her - 
the answering gasp she breathes through parted lips as her hands reach 
back and find me, so hard and needy that I ache with it.

A few minutes later, the tape runs out - but we haven't; we continue 
to stroke, rub and move against each other, until with a harsh, "Oh, 
shit!", I spin her around and lift her, depositing her on my desk; she 
lays back amongst scattered papers and files as I bend over her, 
pressing first my face, then my open mouth, deep into her wet curls. I 
figure I owe her from a few weeks ago, anyhow... payback and all that. 
She tastes like heaven - and she's shuddering under my eager 
ministrations, soundlessly quaking as she clutches two handfuls of my 
hair and her hips buck against my face; ever mindful of the 
possibility of our office being bugged and determined as always to 
protect our partnership even as she's coming her brains out here in my 
mouth.

And as she floats back down to earth a few minutes later, as I caress 
her shivering body and press soft damp kisses all over her, I remember 
myself just what caused our frenzy in the first place, and I whisper 
in her ear...

"Scully - who would want to film us?"

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Two days later, we get another little surprise, this time slipped 
under our door.

"I'm thinking of having it framed." Mulder hands me the 8X10 glossy 
the minute I walk in the door of our basement office. When I look at 
the photo I know instantly why he's so anxious. It's me, from the 
restaurant the other night, eyes closed, biting my lip to hold back a 
scream; I've got a white knuckled death grip on the edge of the 
table...

My mouth drops open.

"There's more, Scully. And there's a note." He leaves me gaping at the 
image of myself climaxing in a crowded restaurant - Jesus, what were 
we thinking - and he retrieves a large manila envelope from his desk. 
Inside there are several more photos of our public intimacy, as well 
as a computer generated note that reads: WHERE WILL IT BE NEXT?

"What does he want?" I whisper, breathless, as the collection of 
photographs evokes memories that arouse and frighten me 
simultaneously.

"I don't know... I think at this point he's only trying to get our 
attention."

"Do you think we're in danger?"

Mulder sighs. "I don't think so. Whoever is doing this, they don't 
seem to have any trouble tailing us, or getting up close without our 
notice. If they meant to harm us, they've had plenty of opportunity 
already."

"Blackmail then?"

"Could be. But why keep taunting us? The video, the pictures... It's 
almost like... it's a game."

"You think it's someone just getting their kicks?"

He shrugs.

"A stalker. That's creepy. And we have no idea if this person's male 
or female..."

Closing the space between us, Mulder pulls me into his arms. "Male, 
I'd almost guarantee it. A woman would be more subtle. But definitely 
creepy. Kind of exciting too, in a kinky sort of way." He's hard, very 
hard, and he presses himself against me to let me know. Damn, it's too 
early in the day for this. I haven't even got my coat off yet, and 
already my pulse is racing.

"Mulder, we agreed, no more sex at the office. It's too risky."

"Can't help it, Scully. Looking at those photos..." He doesn't finish 
his sentence, opting to feast on the delicate flesh of my neck rather 
than express himself with words.

Damn him! He knows all the right spots, those tender places... along 
my collar bone, behind my ears, oooh yeah... right back there! In a 
matter of seconds he's reduced me to dissolute madness, my moral 
resolve forgotten in a frenzy of sexual appetite. A few minutes later 
I'm lying on the floor of our basement office, still wearing my coat, 
my blouse unbuttoned and my bra unfastened as my overcharged partner 
alternates his attention between my left and right breasts. I run my 
fingers through his dark hair and luxuriate in the feel of his eager 
mouth, hot, wet and hungry, on my pebbled nipples.

Our coupling is brief, but leaves us both sated enough to return to 
the workday. I make a quick trip to the restroom to freshen up, and 
when I return, Mulder is already at home behind his desk, intently 
sorting through the days' e-mail and absently nibbling on sunflower 
seeds.

Aside from the musky scent of sex still hanging heavy in the stuffy 
basement air, one would never know that only five minutes ago Agents 
Mulder and Scully were in the throes of passion in this very room. 
Still, we have to stop fooling around at work... we didn't even 
remember to lock the door this time!

An hour later, Mulder is still fishing through emails and attached web 
files, when...

"Oh shit!"

"Mulder?"

"Scully, get over here!"

What now?

Mulder's PC monitor is the center of both our attention as he starts 
the short video clip again. I gasp and draw in even closer to the 
screen as the graphic details come into sharp focus. Jesus, it's us! 
Somehow this stalker has invaded the privacy of our office; and from 
the angle of the camera it's apparent that the transom windows have 
afforded him the necessary view. He's captured the provocative 
imageries of Mulder and me as we struggled to satisfy the urges that 
his last intrusion into our privacy aroused, just a short hour or so 
ago.

"We've been set up," Mulder rasps. "He's playing us, Scully."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

** Chapter Eight **

 

There she is.

I knew if I came this way again, I'd see her. Silly girl - out alone, 
in the deepening twilight, running. Jogging. Alone.

How foolish.

Does she have any idea of her own total vulnerability, I wonder? Oh, I 
am sure her legs are as strong as they are trim and muscled; they take 
the path with such confidence. Perhaps they could kick out at me, if I 
tried to grab her; I am sure they could do me some damage.

But not enough - no, not enough to stop me. No way.

Jesus, she looks good tonight.

She wears so much black that to see her in another color is a rare 
treat. Deep blue jog shorts, nice and tight and spandex-shiny, fitting 
her rounded, tight ass to perfection. A short little crop-top of blue 
and white stripes. Her hair in a messy ponytail; too short to stay put 
and too long to be allowed to flop about in her eyes. No make-up, I 
would bet.

Delicious.

I want to take a huge bite of her. It's why I followed her - why I 
track her, here in the park at deep dusk when she's foolish enough to 
think she's safe. The loose short top rides up on her midriff as she 
runs, affording me glimpses of her pale, baby-skinned lower back.

I wonder if she is wearing a bra. I hope not - one more thing I won't 
have to worry about ripping off her delectable body.

See, this is the night, I think - the night I quit watching, stop 
jogging far behind her, and let myself catch up to her. This is the 
night I make her mine.

I'd bet she doesn't want to become anyone's possession. Oh, well - 
tough shit. I want her. I have wanted her from the first time I had 
the good fortune to be jogging behind her. I've waited and laid my 
careful plans.

The wait is over, now. I'm over-ready - I need to take her, before I 
spontaneously combust. She will fight me - of that I am sure. She has 
sharp nails - she will scratch me.

God, I hope so.

I want her to fight me - so I can have the extreme pleasure of 
subduing her. I want it - so badly I have to rub at myself through the 
thin nylon of my running shorts, as I keep pace behind her. And I can 
feel myself growing harder, longer, with each rough swipe I give 
myself, as I watch her little bottom bounce under those blue shorts. I 
wonder if she can hear me, pacing behind her... getting closer and 
closer with each lap? The trees are just up ahead; that grove of dense 
trees where I can take her, so far in the thicket that no one can see 
a thing, not in this darkening dusk all around us. And, as I plot and 
as I get closer, the watery moon itself seems to want to help me out - 
by dancing behind a fat cloud.

It's now or never. I wonder if she knows I am here, just behind her, 
reaching out with ten hungry fingers? I wonder if she is receiving any 
prickling of warning along her spine; that she is about to become a 
victim? I wonder if she knows just how hungry I am?

I think not. She keeps her steady, loose running pace; a beautiful 
girl in skimpy jog gear, alone in a park at dusk with a moonless sky 
hanging overhead; and a madman loping just behind her, hands 
outstretched and ready to grab.

Such a foolish girl. Such an easy target... for me.

I propel my legs forward just a little faster, and I manage to reach 
her; my hand grabs her around the waist and before she can even begin 
to react I have her tossed over my shoulder and am off sprinting 
toward the thicket of trees. I caught her so hard I knocked the breath 
out of her; she is gasping, trying to scream. I can feel her expanding 
her lungs, know just when she's ready to belt it out - and that's the 
moment I reach the first well-hidden tree trunk. I have her on the 
ground and pressed into the cool grass just as the scream begins to 
expel itself from her lungs; keeping her hands pinned with one of my 
fists, I curve the other hand around her mouth and gag her. She is 
strong - she almost succeeds in throwing me off.

Almost.

But on her stomach in soft grass she is just off-kilter enough for me 
to get a good grip on her shorts, and tug hard. They peel off easily, 
and I have her bare from the waist down and flipped over on her back 
before she can even draw another breath. I retain hold of her wrists 
and cram her shorts into her mouth, then pin her with my legs and one 
arm as my other hand tugs at my own shorts; as I free my own body from 
its daily restraints and allow my swollen cock to probe and press into 
her, until I find a place to pierce.

She is tight and small - and I ram it all the way home. Someone is 
screaming, but I don't know who; it's coming from a very great 
distance. Maybe it's me. It couldn't be her, because she can't spit 
the shorts out of her mouth. She is tight, and very hot, and I am 
pumping in and out at the speed of light - and whatever else happens 
to me tonight, I have the intensely satisfying knowledge that I have 
finally conquered her - the one I have been watching for, and waiting 
for. I am almost there, I can feel it - almost there, and I have to 
see her eyes when I come inside her, have to know what they say to me 
as I pour myself into her, even though I know they will damn me to 
Hell and beyond, still I have to see. So I pull my sweaty face out 
from her soft neck, and I look down as I gasp heaving breaths into the 
air above her head - still digging that place for myself deep in her 
body... maybe I won't come out for a good long while, after I see for 
myself the truth in her eyes.

I lock those blue orbs with mine at the exact moment I feel it come up 
inside me and begin to spill over into her; at the exact moment she 
finally manages to spit out her gag and take a deep breath and open 
her mouth to scream one full-bodied curse...

I wish I could gag her again but I am too busy coming apart in her 
body and besides, her words are scalding me from the inside out; who 
knew such a tiny package would have a set of lungs like that...? One 
long gulping screech of feminine outrage, all for me...

"GODDAMN YOU MULDER DON'T YOU EVER GAG ME WITH SWEATY UNDERWEAR AGAIN 
OR SO HELP ME YOU ARE A DEAD MAN... OHHH, GOD! DON'T STOP...!!!"

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Gotta hold the camera steady. Sweating too much. Dripping all over my

hands; hurry, wipe them off, keep the camera steady.

Jesus Lord, I don't believe this. Not even dark yet - I don't believe 
this.

I followed them. I always follow them now. I know it's a job, but it's 
also my adventure - and getting more and more vital to me as the days 
roll on, so - I follow.

I follow with my cameras, or my notebook, and I watch. I record. I 
snap. I shiver and shake and sweat. I watch.

Sometimes, I come.

 

The camera is shaking, shit - gotta keep it steady, my God what would 
it be like, to feel that helpless, that used... on the ground in a 
public park, anyone could walk by and see them -

That's part of it, I guess. The danger.

But this looks real - too real. Gagged with her own running shorts, 
body shuddering violently under the assault of his, being pounded into 
the ground like that. He's so big, and she's a tiny thing, narrow and 
tight and so hot, I just know she must be so hot... wet and hot.

I have to put the camera down. I have to touch myself, rub at myself. 
I have enough footage. I think I have enough, to satisfy my customer.

I hope I have enough.

My climax coincides with the screaming string of curses she sends into 
the damp evening air, mixed into his hoarse groaning shouts... how 
delicious.

It seems we all came together, that time.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Gotta find them, want them, I know she must have put them in here 
somewhere, they were touching her and I know they smell like her, need 
them...

Okay, rifling through her underwear drawer is probably a bit 
desperate, but I just have to touch them, have to feel that delicate 
lace against my cheeks like HE did that night in the restaurant... 
Shit, she's so fucking sexy. She's got a way of getting under your 
skin. I've been dreaming about her... Can't stop thinking about her. I 
need to find them... the panties, the fucking panties, they have to be 
here.

As I dig through the bits of silk, lace and soft cotton, my jeans 
become uncomfortably tight. The thought that my fingers are caressing 
the expensive fabric that she wears closest to her skin, her 
beautiful, alabaster skin... milky white and soft to the touch... it 
turns me on to the point of insanity. I suddenly find myself gathering 
fists full of her lingerie and bringing it to my face, inhaling her 
dainty female scent, even over the fresh floral perfume of laundry 
detergent. I stuff three pair of them in my pocket; she'll never miss 
them... something to keep me sane until I find the ones I want. I keep 
searching, now more frantically.

"Where the fuck are they?" I say it out loud, not really meaning to, 
but frustrated that the black lace is nowhere to be found. I wanted 
THOSE panties. The ones she taunted me with in the restaurant. HE 
smelled them, lucky bastard, got to taste her too. Can't even imagine 
what a woman like her must taste like. My mouth actually waters every 
time I think about it. I fantasize when he's fucking her, I imagine 
that I'm him... or sometimes I'm just me, and they let me join in. In 
the park, we took turns, he and I... we both did her. She wanted us 
to. Wanted both of us to force ourselves on her. I know she did. He's 
not enough for her. A woman like her, she can never get enough. God, 
she screamed when she came... loved having both of us inside her. She 
wants more. Gotta find them... gotta smell her, taste her...

Damn it! The door. God damn it! It's only eight o'clock. She told him 
she was going to the movies with her mother tonight. I heard her, was 
standing only a few feet away when she told him she wouldn't be home 
until late, ten at least. Shitshitshit!

Quietly as I can, I close the dresser drawer and steal myself away to 
her closet. As I sink back into the business suits and silk blouses, I 
can't help but smile as I am surrounded by her loveliness. The 
louvered doors allow me to watch as she enters the bedroom and 
switches on the lamp. From the other room I hear the noise of her 
answering machine. She must have checked for messages when she came in 
the door. The first one is a hang up. She listens intently as she 
begins to undress. There's a call from her hairdresser confirming a 
two thirty appointment for tomorrow. She pulls her T-shirt over her 
head revealing the sensuous curve of her back to my grateful eyes, and 
kicks off her shoes beside the bed. For a few seconds she disappears 
from my line of sight and I have to consciously remind myself that 
this time I can't follow... I want to though; and it's a struggle not 
to open the closet door and go after her. Third message, her landlord, 
reminding her that the water will be shut off part of the day tomorrow 
for maintenance. She's back... I move closer to the slats as she slips 
out of her well fitted blue jeans, treating me to more of her ivory 
flesh. My heart pounds, anticipating more. The fourth message... the 
one she's been waiting for, causes her to stop and listen.

"Hey, FBI woman, give your partner a call when you get home tonight... 
preferably when you're naked."

She smiles and her eyes have that sparkle of mischief I've seen 
before. Again, she walks out of my line of sight just briefly, but 
when she returns... Sweet Jesus! I see it all, everything. She's 
stripped off the last of her clothes and stands there in all her 
glory, from her full round breasts to the inviting V of red curls 
tucked between her muscular yet feminine thighs. A porcelain doll... 
every man's fantasy, every naughty boy's wet dream, in the flesh, 
right here, just for me.

And as I fight to keep my heavy breathing from giving me away, she 
lays back on the bed in a seductive display, and picks up the phone.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

** Chapter Nine **

 

Pepperoni on the floor - too bad I don't have a dog. I swipe at the 
oily stain with a napkin, debating whether or not I want to attempt 
cleaning it off the carpet with one of those foamy cleansers that 
smell like toilet water. I peer over the edge of the sofa, at the 
round spot; nah, small enough to forget about, at least for now - and 
I am comfortable, and the lights are dimmed and my phone is within 
easy reach. She'll call soon, and I don't want to move, not one inch, 
until she calls. I just want to sprawl here on my sofa with a muted TV 
flickering out at me and think about her. Think about a few nights 
ago... think about the danger, and the unbearable excitement that 
danger roused, in both of us.

Leave it to Scully to come up with a scenario like that - Jesus. She's 
full of surprises. Driving home in rush-hour traffic, she leaned into 
me, and whispered the most outrageous idea ever into my poor 
defenseless ear:

"Mulder - tonight, come to the park. Where I jog on Tuesdays - come 
there. I'll be running, all alone, as I always do - in the twilight, I 
get so focused on running sometimes, anyone could startle me, come up 
in back of me..." Luckily we'd just hit a red light, because I turned 
to gawk at her, taking in the sparkle of her eyes and the look on her 
flushed face. Holy Mother of -

"You're kidding, right? In the park. At dusk on a Tuesday when all the 
families are walking their damned dogs and it's full of skateboarding 
kids and old ladies and probably cops walking the beat... no way, 
Scully. This is too out-there, partner. Even for us." I shook my head 
firmly. No. Never mind the thought of taking her like that has always 
been there, even though I never mentioned it to her. It's a touchy 
thing. I mean, sure we have had our share of rough sex, in the weeks 
since we have become intimate. Christ, the difference in our body size 
alone makes even the most gentle and tender of unions on the painful 
side, sometimes. Not that I think I'm built like Long Dong Silver, but 
Scully IS small and delicate. And I'm normal for my height and 
physique, I know. So we have to be careful. But to just attack her 
like that - I don't know, it sounds too much like rape. Yes, I know it 
would be just another game, but still... if anyone saw us doing that, 
they could be justified in reporting that they have indeed witnessed 
sexual assault. I could just see me hauled off to jail, with Skinner 
rushing down to my cell and me having to explain why I was assaulting 
my partner in the park at dusk, during her regular Tuesday jog:

"Well, Sir - she wanted me to, you see - it's part of our intimate 
scenario..." To which (and rightly so) his immediate retort would have 
to be:

"WHAT intimate scenario, Agent? Is there something you would like to 
TELL me?"

Well, I tried to explain all of that to Scully, I really did. I even 
tossed in the probability of our Watcher buddy keeping some sort of 
video record of it, since he seems to be our very own little 
creep-shadow lately. But Scully was a Woman with a Mission. And she 
would not take 'No' for an answer. She (and her hand pressed onto my 
crotch at the next red light) made an impressively impassioned 
rebuttal... and I found myself several hours later, jogging silently 
behind her, able with no effort at all to slip into the mode of the 
attacker. I surprised the shit out of her, even though she had been 
expecting it; the knowledge of it happening sometime soon fueling the 
heat which made the resulting sex so incredibly hot. But man, did I 
get an earful afterwards, about the shorts stuffed in her mouth! 
Yow...

The phone rings, as I am still reflecting on Scully and her 
reverberating screams in my ear. Without bothering to pick it up I hit 
the speaker button.

"Mulder."

"Are you naked, FBI Boy?" I grin from ear to ear, and adjust myself 
more comfortably in the sofa cushions.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am -" A small fib, I still have on my 
boxers. I start slipping them off as I turn up the speaker volume, and 
add in a louder tone, "So's Byers, and Frohike, by the way. Say 'Hi' 
to Scully, guys." I can hear her sputtering laughter on the other end 
as I take another swig of my beer, and push the pizza box out of the 
way.

"God, you're a sick man - and I'll bet you smell like garlic and 
finely-processed hops right about now, don't you? Been doing the pizza 
and beer thing, haven't you?" She knows me so well; I have to smile. 
Thursday night is pizza night, whether she's here or not. Actually, 
this is the first Thursday in a while that she's missed sharing it 
with me. Apparently she can also read my mind, for she whispers into 
the receiver, "I missed you, and the pizza, and the beer, Mulder - but 
I had to spend some time with Mom. I've been neglecting her."

"S'okay, sweetheart - I know. I survived. The flavor of my feast lost 
much of its piquant edge, but hey, food is food, right? Besides, I was 
imagining you here, could almost see you sitting across from me... so 
even if you weren't here, you were here." I finish off the beer and 
lay back on the cushions, already hard and throbbing just from my 
previous recalling of Tuesday night, and the sound of her soft voice 
floating around my ears intensifies the throb. I can hear her chuckle, 
and then a little sigh.

"I was there, huh? What was I wearing, Mulder? A beer and a smile?"

"A beer, and my tongue, mostly... licking you all over. The way I'd do 
you right now, if you were here. All over, baby, head to toe. Would 
you like that? Would you like to have my tongue all over you, tracing 
patterns along that soft skin of yours... would you? Tell me." As the 
words leave my mouth, and I hear her gasp echoing in the air, I slip 
one hand down to my aching cock, and begin to stroke, imagining it's 
Scully's hand, holding me and pulling at me. I close my eyes, and 
listen to her as her voice, throaty with want, tells me just what she 
would like my tongue to do.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

"Mulder, I... God... Ohhhhh." Neither of us is saying much at the 
moment. Our phone sex encounter has reached its zenith; and as I call 
out his name in ecstasy, Mulder is compelled to follow, and all I hear 
on the other end of the line is his strangled moan. We've played this 
game before. Once, we did it lying side by side on the same bed in the 
dark, Mulder on his cell phone, I on mine. It was very erotic, being 
so close, knowing he was there touching himself, making himself come; 
our only contact the sound of our voices in the darkness... So hot, so 
incredibly sexy. Afterward we cuddled up and went to sleep in each 
others' arms, and the sensation of that skin-to-skin contact after 
depriving ourselves, made our lovers' embrace all the more satisfying. 
I wish he were here to hold me right now. As the last aftershocks of 
my orgasm start to fade, and I am left lying alone on my bed, sticky 
fingers softly stroking my sex, languishing in the feeling of total 
release, I hear Mulder's voice thick and sleepy in my ear.

"Scully, tell me again why we waited seven years."

A half laugh, half groan is all I can answer. I don't know why it took 
us so long to find the truth in each other. Maybe we were both afraid 
to really look. Or maybe we had what we needed all along, and this... 
this physical expression, happened when the time was right. I just 
know the walls came tumbling down one night over a couple of bottles 
of tequila, and it's been better than I ever dreamed it could be. The 
man I knew as my partner and friend is no different as my lover. 
Perhaps that's why the transition has been an easy one. He knows me, 
and I know him, and while we're still discovering each other's sexual 
side, all the other stuff is familiar and comfortable. It takes the 
pressure off. Even if I could go back and change things, I'm not sure 
I would. It began when the time was right.

"You sleepy?"

"Um hmm..." I tell him, as I stretch out atop the goosedown comforter 
and nestle against a stack of pillows, still cradling the phone at my 
ear.

"Don't hang up."

"'kay."

"I love you," he whispers.

"Love you too." And then neither of us says another word as we drift 
off together, phones pressed close, listening to the sound of each 
other's breathing as it slows and evens into sleep.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

** Chapter Ten **

 

"...Love you too..." I wondered when she'd finally say it, tell me - I 
have waited to hear it, seems like forever now. But she says it and 
then falls asleep with the words drifting in the scented air around 
her sleepy body - she tells me. I hear it, those words meant for me, 
only me. From my hiding spot behind her louvered closet doors I listen 
to her breathing, deep and serene; she's curled on her side facing me, 
her lashes like spiky fans on her pink cheeks, the phone still pressed 
to her ear.

Wait a minute.

The phone... she spoke those words of love to somebody else, dammit; 
not me. She whispered to somebody who couldn't possibly understand the 
enormity of what I feel, for her. What I feel - not just sex, has to 
be more than just sex, though the sex is incredible. It started with 
the sex, of course it did - but it's become so much more. I know how 
important I have become to her; how my gifts to her fuel her passions 
and keep her going; I heard her. I heard her say she got hot just 
watching herself, looking at the way I've captured the essence of her 
on film and in pictures. I'm doing it for her now, all for her. The 
fact that HE'S there with her is a necessity for her at the moment; I 
know that. But there will come a day, very soon... when she will grow 
out of him, when she'll need more, so much more... and I'll be right 
there. She won't need the film and the photos to become excited; she 
won't need her asshole partner. She'll only need me, and I'm gonna 
give her all the things her partner could never provide.

With silent purpose, I carefully open up the closet door and make my 
way over to the edge of her bed. Drawing nearer to her, I can smell 
her. I've never smelled anything so good; it's like something thick 
and sweet and clean. My arousal, which had begun to subside a little 
right before I left the shadows of the closet, returns full force, as 
I sniff the air and catch her fragrance. I close my eyes and let it 
saturate me - the renewed desire. I can feel myself swelling, growing; 
I stifle an involuntary groan as I unbutton my jeans and pull my 
swollen flesh out in the open. Much better - it was suffocating in its 
tight confines. I move a few steps closer to the bed; I can't take my 
eyes from the delectable sight of her, naked and still flushed from 
her self-pleasuring.

Her partner - what a bastard, letting her lie in her bed alone; making 
her feel as though it was all her idea to off herself like that! A 
real loser... but damn if she didn't know how to do it, though. She 
knew just where to rub it, knew just where those pretty hands of hers 
needed to touch. I can see it, all over again as I look down on her 
against the soft pillows; superimposed over her sleeping form is the 
writhing, moaning woman I watched just a little while ago. I can feel 
my breath catching in my throat and I open my mouth to allow the soft 
hiss to escape, hoping it won't awaken her. I can see her face on the 
pillow, neck arched and cheeks damp with perspiration, gasping as she 
fights to bring herself closer and closer to the edge.

Her gorgeous body, twisting on the sheets, pale against the deep blue 
cotton. One hand cupping a breast, fingers tugging on a sweet nipple 
as her other hand slips through the damp red curls and rubs into her 
opening. I watch her legs moving restlessly on the bed as her hands 
intensify their action, as her hips begin to jerk up into the fingers 
now buried inside. I see it all as I stand over her, panting 
soundlessly, trying not to actually salivate as I recall every second 
of her body's self-indulgent play. And I fight to keep from touching 
and rubbing at myself, knowing I won't be able to control my body's 
reaction if I start; finding a peculiar and perverse sort of 
satisfaction from allowing just the moist bedroom air to caress my 
cock and the visuals in my head to supply the fuel which makes me grow 
harder and harder, tighter and more engorged. I look down at myself in 
amazement; surely I have never been this large. I shouldn't be 
surprised, though - after all, this goddess before me could make a 
dead man come; so hot are her gasps, her rocking hips and glazed eyes.

My gaze snaps back to her, as the moans come, erupting from her throat 
one on top of another; as her final, sweet scream of ecstasy pierces 
the silent room, and the phone slips from her ear. Her satiated body 
relaxes and slides back into herself, and as I shake my head and 
shudder within the final throes of my own explosion, I see once again 
the sleeping form of her, still curled into the pillows and sound 
asleep.

Maybe it's time I left; I am really pushing it by even staying here 
any longer. I take one last, longing look at her lovely face, wishing 
like hell that I could just lie down beside her and wrap myself all 
around her, falling into a deep sleep. But I can't; she's not ready 
for me yet. She's still thinking of HIM; on her lips I hear a 
whispery, "Mmm, Mulder..." and I know she's not ready. I back away 
from her bed, as silently as I came in; turn at the door and look just 
one last time, before I slip through her darkened apartment and out of 
her door. Soon, I think. Soon. I can't wait much longer...

I am halfway home before I realize that I climaxed in her bedroom... 
and left the damning evidence behind.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

It seems as though I've just dozed off, when a noise wakes me from the 
haze of my dreams. At first I think it's Mulder, that he decided to 
come over and do the things to me in person that he so vividly 
detailed over the phone, but I can still hear him softly snoring in my 
ear; and in my mind, I picture him asleep on his sofa and I smile... 
well, of course I do, he's naked, after all.

But then I remember the noise, and my smile fades. It's probably 
nothing, but I've had a few too many uninvited guests NOT to be 
paranoid. Even if it's nothing, I'll sleep better if I check it out. I 
keep a small pistol in my nightstand drawer, just in case. Setting the 
phone down, I move to get out of bed, when suddenly my hand comes in 
contact with something cold and wet on the comforter. That's weird. A 
quick study of the fresh stains dirtying my bed covering and I'm 
fairly certain of what it is. About a half a second later, I have my 
gun in one hand and the phone in the other. My heart is racing, and I 
debate whether I should yell and wake up Mulder. Probably not a good 
idea. Whoever it was who christened my bed with his semen, might still 
be in my apartment. Shit. Images of Tooms and Barry and Pfaster pour 
into my memory, feeding my fear to the point of panic. I hate that 
they still haunt me, that even though they're dead, they continue 
their reign of terror in my life. I will not be a victim again, I tell 
myself, trying to steady my trembling gun hand.

Quickly surveying the room, I note the closet door is ajar. My weapon 
trained on the target, I move to investigate... holding my breath and 
praying to God simultaneously. After a moment's hesitation to steady 
myself and mentally prepare for the fight, I kick open the door, half 
expecting some monster from my past to jump out at me. Empty. The 
flood of relief is welcome, but brief.

It's a big apartment, or so it seems when you have to search it room 
by room, the whole time wondering if you'll be attacked from behind 
that door, or around this corner, by the sicko who just jacked off on 
your bed while you were sleeping in it. When I reach the living room, 
I find the front door unlocked. I'm certain I locked it AND put the 
chain across... those ghosts again, I never really feel safe when I'm 
alone anymore.

Did he leave... this intruder?

Not wanting to take any chances, I re-lock the door, and continue my 
search until I'm convinced I'm alone in the apartment.

I probably should wake Mulder now and tell him. But he'd come rushing 
right over, and likely have the Georgetown PD here as well; as much as 
I'd love to soothe my frazzled nerves with a heavy dose of Mulder, I'm 
leery to call the authorities this time. There is someone, however, I 
SHOULD call, I think. If he had anything to do with this, I swear I'll 
kill him. This isn't what he was hired to do.

Leaving Mulder sleeping for the moment, I set the phone down carefully 
on the kitchen table. I'm not comfortable putting my weapon aside, so 
I carry it with me into the living room to retrieve the cell phone 
from my coat pocket. His number is programmed in; two rings and he 
answers.

"Yeah."

"This is Dana Scully."

"The lady who likes to be watched." He remembers me.

"Look, I want to call this off. I know I paid for a month, but I want 
you to stop now."

In his gravelly voice he states flatly. "No refunds."

Big surprise. "Someone was in my apartment tonight. Do you know 
anything about that?"

"I'm a contractor, Miss Scully. I hire out. I don't involve myself in 
the particulars." I can hear him take a drag of his cigarette before 
he continues. "You want the leg man called off, consider it done."

"Yes. I want him to stop immediately."

"Pleasure doing business with you, Miss Scully." He hangs up without 
another word.

Weary from stress, I consider going back to bed, but I know I'll only 
toss and turn. Besides, it's still early. Not even nine thirty. Guess 
I'll cuddle up in front of the TV... oh, almost forgot, I left Mulder 
in the kitchen...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

** Chapter Eleven **

 

The first few beams of watery sunlight filter through the blinds of my 
living room as I awaken, surprised and grateful to have been able to 
sleep for so long without tossing and turning. I'd grown so accustomed 
to having Scully beside me all night that I'd begun to think of her as 
my own personal sleeping pill. When she spends the night I never have 
to watch television to force the drowsiness upon me; her exquisite 
loving is all the relaxant I'll ever need. As I become more aware and 
more awake I realize the phone is still pressed into my ear; I never 
made it off the sofa last night. And I can hear Scully, breathing soft 
and deep, in my ear; I smile at the pleasant thoughts which filter 
through my brain as I listen to her, and match my breathing pattern to 
hers.

Last night was amazing; even miles away on a damn phone, my partner 
can arouse me like nothing I have ever experienced. I swear I could 
come just from hearing her voice purring into the receiver. The hitch 
of her gasp as she reacted to my instruction... oh yes, I was the one 
in control last night; though she called me, I was the leader in this 
little phone chat. Once I got her to tell me where she wanted my 
tongue, I made her lie back on the pillows, and I led her through all 
the places my tongue would venture, as I leaned back into my sofa and 
stroked myself and listened to the tenor of her breathing change with 
each word I rumbled into the phone...

"Counting your ribs, baby, back to front - every delicate little bone 
gets my attention, as I move my tongue over your skin. Can you feel 
it... can you follow the path with your finger, just one wet finger - 
put it in your mouth first, get it wet, wet like my tongue. Slip it 
over each rib, closer and closer to those beautiful nubs just waiting 
for me..."

Her sweet gasp vibrated deep inside me, as I closed my eyes and 
pictured what she must look like right now, overheated and naked on a 
bed of passion. As I told her where to touch and where to rub, I was 
mirroring her movements with my own hand, imagining it was hers 
touching and stroking and pulling at me, until I had a hard grip on my 
cock and found myself pumping fast, my hips jerking with each sharp 
tug, fighting for enough breath in my lungs to keep talking, keep her 
touching herself, telling her that my hands were the ones working 
through the tendons and joints of her fingers; first plunging deep and 
then barely fluttering over the enflamed skin, until her hoarse, 
"Mulder, GOD! Touch me there, hard, do it, do it..." made me realize 
just how precisely she'd been following my lead. And that knowledge 
sent me over the edge like nothing else could have done; with what 
brain cells remained, I managed to gasp out, "Pinch it, Scully, hard, 
now, it's my teeth doing you baby, tug on it, come on, NOW..." Her 
muffled screech bit into me and I sent one long moan into her ear as I 
spent myself, my hand in a frenzy of movement and my cock on fire... 
could hear her answering cries as she forced her body to follow.

Only the joy of full-body contact could have been sweeter than falling 
asleep with Scully's soft humming breath in my ear; the words we 
whispered between us affixing even more permanently the cement already 
mortared there. I smile again as I remember the tiny kiss she blew me, 
right before we both crashed; now I have to wake her up, hear her 
voice. It's still so early... but I can't wait any longer. I speak her 
name in gentle, soft tones, hearing her wakening sighs and a string of 
several moaning yawns, before I actually greet her.

"Morning, Sunshine..." I can almost hear her smile as she sends one 
deep chuckle into my ear.

"Mmm, morning already, Mulder? It's too early to wake up... wanna 
sleep some more..." Another huge yawn in my ear; I dig myself deeper 
into the soft wool afghan I slept on last night, and imagine her 
baby-silk skin curled all around me instead of vari-colored yarn. I 
think I can even hear joints pop as she twists her neck about, her 
usual morning routine which has become so familiar to me. I cradle the 
phone in one hand and wish I had hold of her as well.

"Can't sleep anymore, Scully - I want you over here. Now. I missed you 
so badly, last night... missed my Scullyblanket and my two 
Scullypillows..." Her giggle is sweet in my ear.

"Breasts, Mulder... every woman has them. At least you didn't call 
them 'dirtypillows..." She refers to a scene in one of my favorite 
movies, 'Carrie', and I snort in mock-offense at the idea that 
anything as wondrous as Scully's breasts could be so commonplace that 
every woman would have them in just that shape and fashion. I murmur 
those words into her ear, and she sighs softly and whispers back, "You 
say the sweetest things... I'll come over in a few hours, okay?" I'd 
stood up and stretched during this conversation, and as I sit back 
down again, I spot a flutter of white on the floor next to my front 
door. I walk over and pick it up, turning it in my fingers. Nothing 
written on the envelop; doesn't surprise me... of course, I know what 
this means. I dread it, of having to open it; inside I have a horrible 
sinking feeling of what I am going to find, and with only half an ear 
cocked and listening to Scully's soft tones, I rip the envelop open; 
four or five photographs spill out and float to the floor in a pile of 
color and Kodak moments... and I don't want to look, I really don't; 
looking means I have lost the normalcy of the morning; looking means I 
have to accept what I see and I don't want to but oh, shit - I have 
to. I bend over and pick them up from the floor.

I look.

Christ Almighty... no. NO! I blink hard and look again. I can't wrap 
my mind around this; I just can't.

In her fucking closet; had to be. There are the blurred edges of the 
slats, along the sides. In her closet, watching. Watching her little 
body on the bed, hands exactly where I had made her place them, doing 
exactly what I had told her to make them do; head thrown back and 
mouth open on a gasp of need. He watched. He saw... this. What nobody 
but I should ever get to see: my Scully in the throes of a passion I 
ignited for her.

SHIT!

Another photo, Dear God... her bed. Next to the goddamn bed, looking 
straight down at her, innocent and asleep and too vulnerable... my 
Scully. Another photo, zeroed in on her body from the waist down, as 
she lay there in a sprawl of spent desire, there in the privacy of her 
bed. On her back... Jesus he got the camera so fucking close I can 
almost see the glisten of her sweet essence in the nest of red curls.

Motherfucker is one dead man... my hand shakes as I grip the phone, 
the other hand tossing the photos onto the sofa as I cut through 
Scully's sleepy banter with a harsh, tense, "Get over here, Scully... 
now. Hurry, for Crissakes! We got more trouble..."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

Mulder has the door open for me and is waiting as I step off the 
elevator. I saw him watching out his window... he's nervous. Mulder is 
rarely tense, so seeing him this way leaves me feeling very unsettled. 
And after last night's visitor in my apartment, my nerves are on edge 
as it is. It's both a comfort and a cause for greater concern when he 
meets me halfway down the hall and wraps me in a protective hug.

"What's going on, Mulder? What's wrong?"

"Come on inside," he sighs, "I've got something to show you."

He guides me into his apartment, hand firmly at my back. Once inside, 
he offers me a stack of photos... and a horrible sinking fear invades 
my stomach as I look at the pictures one by one. Seeing myself this 
vulnerable renews all my panic from last night. My hands are trembling 
as I look up at Mulder. "Shit."

"My thoughts exactly. Whoever this bastard is, he's getting bolder. 
Christ, Scully, if he wanted to he could have..."

"No. That's not his intention." Mulder's eyes narrow as he waits for 
more. He's not going to be pleased when I tell him, but now I see I 
have to. "I hired him," I confess and then cringe as I watch the look 
of total disbelief I get in return. "Mulder, I did it for us, I just 
wanted to make things more interesting. I know how much you like your 
video collection... I thought this would get you off. You liked it, 
didn't you, Mulder? I mean... watching us do it... it was erotic, 
didn't you think so?"

He scrubs his hand over his face, almost laughs but then thinks better 
of it, and struggles with a reaction he seems determined to hold in 
for the time being. God, I wish he'd say SOMETHING. Usually, the 
quieter he gets the madder he is. Continuing to argue in my own 
defense, I go on with the story. "When I called this guy, I honestly 
never dreamed that our privacy would be invaded to the level that it 
has. And last night... God, Mulder, it scared the hell out of me. I 
woke up around nine when I heard a noise in my apartment. It must have 
been him leaving." This next part is going to go over like a ton of 
bricks. I briefly consider not telling him, but he'd be furious if he 
found out later, so I take a deep breath and give up the gruesome 
detail. "When I discovered what he'd done, that there was... evidence 
of his sexual activity on the blankets of my bed, I immediately phoned 
the man I hired to call it off. But apparently he's only a contractor, 
and he uses other people for the actual leg work. Anyway, I called it 
off. I had paid for a month, which was almost up. He kept all of the 
twenty-five hundred I gave him, but agreed to end the surveillance 
immediately. I guess the information didn't get passed along in time 
to stop the picture drop. I'm sorry, Mulder, really sorry. I only 
wanted to make our game more exciting."

 

He doesn't say a word until I'm completely finished with my story. 
However, the look on his face says it all. You can't be partners with 
someone for seven years and not learn to read them like a book. Right 
now, my partner's face is revealing quite a bit of information, like 
'Scully, what in the hell were you thinking?' and 'What have you 
gotten us mixed up in?' and 'I'm trying very hard not to lose my 
temper, but...'.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

I am trying very hard to keep my cool. Trying extremely hard not to 
reach out two hands, curled into claws, wrap them around my partner's 
upper arms and shake the living shit out of her. I stand in front of 
her, listening to her halting explanation, of why she did what she 
did, and I am really making every effort not to explode all over her.

An unknown, possibly criminal, definitely unstable man stood over 
Scully's naked body last night, and masturbated as a result of 
watching her please herself, upon my telephone instruction. He stood 
close enough to touch her, close enough to breathe in the scent of her 
- close enough to drip his semen over her bedspread. That close. He 
took pictures of her with a goddamn zoom lens, jerked off while 
imagining shit-knows-what, looking down at the woman I love. And she's 
scared, I know that - the more she thinks on it, the more scared she's 
going to become. She came a slender hair of becoming a victim. She 
knows that as well. He could have done anything to her and she would 
have been helpless to stop him... naked and vulnerable in her bed, 
with no weapon at hand... Jesus Christ, Scully... what the fuck were 
you thinking when you picked up that phone and arranged all this!

I can't believe this level of impulsiveness... not from Scully. This 
is so unlike her; it's so difficult to picture her picking up a phone 
and calling some lowlife like this guy; to actually contract him to 
perform this little 'service'. As furious as I am this very moment, I 
still manage to grasp the reasoning behind it; the desire to provide 
yet another layer of sexual titillation. I can handle that much, I 
suppose. And I have to admit, the idea that someone watched us, filmed 
and shot photos of us... hell yes, it made me hot. It made both of us 
hot; excited us; added to the already-potent mix of our intimate 
relationship.

But we now have a situation; a very dangerous one. It's true that 
Scully could have never begun to guess, when she made this contract, 
that it might go this badly. I know her well enough to believe that 
she would not have initiated this if she'd had a serious worry about 
possible dangers. Obviously she felt her contact was sound; was 
someone professional (as professional as a person could be, in that 
line of work, I guess).

But she says this man contracted out for this job; that he follows the 
same procedure for all his jobs. To me, it means that any crackpot 
could have been sub-contracted out to perform the actual dirty work. 
It appears now that's exactly what happened, as I listen to the last 
of Scully's unhappy tale. She won't meet my eyes, as she finishes 
telling me; throughout the whole sorry mess, I have kept absolutely 
silent, not quite trusting my own reaction, not until I hear it all. 
Finally, her voice trails off into a stumbling halt, and she raises 
her eyes and looks into my face; I can tell she's worried and I know 
the look on my face isn't helping to reassure her. Yeah, I am worried, 
and oh, shit - I admit it, mad as hell, at her lack of natural 
caution. And I am jealous, too - that somebody saw her like that; 
somebody who now has a major hard-on for my woman. If I could get my 
hands on this man, right here and right now... I would take great 
pleasure in ripping his arms and legs off and cramming all four 
appendages up his ass.

I am still speechless at the thought that Scully would be so careless 
- and wondering more than ever if our relationship will continue to 
make us vulnerable and careless, in ways we could never have imagined 
back when we began to act upon our desires. As I said, it's not like 
Scully. But, it's done and there's no undoing it - except to call off 
this asshole, and get him and his cameras and video out of our lives. 
As I continue to stare down at her, still angry and worried and afraid 
for her and so goddamned in love with her I can't see straight... 
Scully can't take the silence any longer, and she grasps one of my 
arms with cold fingers, and whispers, "Mulder, say something..."


**  Chapter Twelve  **


Holding my breath, I watch his furious face, each second seeming like an
eternity as I wait for him to speak, to condemn me for my stupidity, for my
irresponsible behavior and poor judgment.  He's on the verge of exploding,
I can see it... but there's something else I can see as well, and it gives
me hope to know that even though he's angry with me, Mulder's heart is
still filled with love.

"Why didn't you tell me last night that this creep was in your apartment?"
he says, finally managing to voice himself with more concern than fury.

"I thought I'd handled it."

"Scully, the guy stood over you while you were sleeping and..."

"I know what he did," I interrupt, not wanting the vision made any clearer
in my mind.  A complete stranger had access to me in my most vulnerable
state, unclothed and asleep, totally unaware of the danger I was in.
"That's why I called it off, Mulder.  Believe me, I was seriously freaked.
It's over now... let's try and forget about it, okay?"

Then, as if on cue, the phone rings.  With a frown, Mulder walks over to
his desk and lifts the receiver.  His body stiffens as he listens to the
voice on the other end.  A few seconds later he yells into the phone.
"Listen you prick, you stay the hell away from her!  Do you hear me?"  I
watch his face redden with rage as the caller makes another remark.
"You're talking to a goddamn Federal Agent, asshole!  If you don't back
off, I have the authority to shoot you.  Your services are no longer
required, so crawl back under whatever rock you came out from and leave us
the hell alone!"  For another ten seconds Mulder listens and then he slams
down the receiver and turns his attention back to me.  "Scully, I want to
talk to this contact man of yours.  I want to know who this creep is he's
got following us."

"What did he say?"

Mulder won't meet my eyes as he replies.  "He said my girlfriend has a
sweet pussy and that I'm the one who better back off because he has no
intention of giving you up."

I know there was more to the conversation.  He's doing it again.  Damn him
and his male machismo.  You'd think after all we've been through together
over the years he'd be less inclined to treat me like a helpless female in
need of his protection.  If I thought it was anything other than chivalry
that motivated him, I'd kick his ass.  We're not just partners anymore, I
have to remember that.  Since we've become lovers, I've had to give Mulder
more latitude in our relationship.  This is one of those times, I
suppose... but I really wish I knew all that the bastard said to him.


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jesus... I can't tell her what the slime said; all of what he said - I
can't.  I can hardly bring myself to recall the words, though they have
been burned into my brain, in the instant after they first insinuated
themselves into my ear, not five minutes ago.  The words bounce and echo
back through my head and I can't tell her...

"Agent Mulder, you are one lucky sonofabitch, you know that?  I'd say you
cornered the market on luck, from the first day you got partnered with that
luscious piece of FBI agent with whom you spend so much time, fucking like
there's no tomorrow.  But, as much enjoyment as I have derived from
watching... I think it's my turn now.  I plan on becoming an active
participant in Dana Scully's sex life - after what I have seen, you think I
can just stand by and watch as she wastes herself on you?  I can do so much
more for her, things you could never think to do. I've been waiting for my
opportunity with her - I almost took it, last night.  I could have had her,
so easily - there she was, naked and soft and so hot, just laid before me
like a gift from Heaven..." 

I called him a prick; I told him to stay away from her... like he's gonna
listen to me and heed my words from however many miles away he might be...
he laughed in my ear and his voice dropped to a rough whisper, like a
poisonous snake hissing through my brain.

"I don't think so, Mr. Mulder... not anymore.  As I said, it's my turn.  I
can now see a greater purpose in getting hired for this job, and I really
gotta remember to thank my 'boss' for choosing me - for giving me the
opportunity to make the delectable Scully all mine.  I'm gonna make sure
she never needs anyone else, buddy - better believe it.  I'm gonna fuck her
so thoroughly that she'll be lucky if she can walk; every day and every
night -"

God, I was going insane, listening to this - and moron that I am, I gave
him that little edge of panic; I fed him just what he wanted, when I
threatened him with the FBI - told him the job was over.  His bark of
laughter just about sent me ever the top; that and his next words.

"You'll have to find me first, asshole.  I could be anyone - I could be
anywhere.  I WILL be anywhere you go, from now on.  You'll never know where
and never know when, but I'll make her mine, never doubt it.  And once I
get her I'll keep her so busy she'll never be able to leave me -"  That's
when I slammed down the phone, sick to my stomach; sick through and
through.  And I turned to Scully, determined to not let her know just what
kind of deviant monster we are up against this time.

"Mulder?  What else did he say?"  When I don't answer right away, she moves
to stand in front of me, and her hands grasp my forearms and give me a hard
shake, forcing me to focus my eyes on her determined little face.  "Mulder,
tell me!  What else?  I have a right to know!  I got us into this... now
tell me!"  I sigh, and close my eyes in defeat, knowing I can't spare her,
if I'm going to protect her - and also knowing she won't let me protect
her.  We have been down this path before... it's what a partnership is all
about.  And it's the only reason we held off for so long, in solidifying
our relationship - the only stumbling block.  I sigh again, and fold her
into my arms, curling her body close, absorbing her warmth and vainly
fighting off my own sudden chill.

"He said he's going to make you his, Scully - and when he gets you he's
going to keep you so 'occupied' that you'll never get away from him.  He is
completely unbalanced - and very dangerous; getting more dangerous by the
minute.  We have to locate Fats, and make him tell us how to find this
lunatic - before he comes up with a way to make good on his threats.  And
I'm not letting you out of my sight from now on, Scully - understood?  Not
even to take a piss.  You got that?"  It's my turn to hold her arms, and
shake her as I speak, emphasizing my words.  She stares up at me with wide,
worried eyes, and nods, then presses her head into my neck and hangs on
tightly.  I hold her just as tightly, and breathe in her soft scent - it
soothes and calms me, and I feel some of the panic subside.  I'm still
worried, and still so angry - but I love her, so much I ache with it.  And
like every other mountain we've had tossed up before us in our travels,
we'll get over it.


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sometimes being an FBI agent can come in handy.  For example, when you're
trying to track down the contractor you hired to play porn paparazzi for
you and your partner's little game of exhibitionism, it's nice to have a
badge to wave... answers seem to come faster and cheaper when the threat is
official.  Since my contact wasn't returning our calls, we resorted to
tracking him down the old fashioned way, conducting our investigation at
the seedy bar where I first met Fats, as he's so affectionately known by
his friends.  With very little effort we are able to ascertain his home
address, and Mulder and I make our way to the walkup apartment on the
city's Eastside.  All afternoon I've been on the receiving end of some
disparaging looks from my partner, who is far from pleased that I chose to
associate with such unseemly characters.  I bite my tongue and accepted his
silent reproach.  What choice do I have?  I did invite this... paid for it
even.  I brought this danger into our lives.  Though, to be fair, at the
time I was so intrigued by the promise of living an erotic sexual fantasy,
as well as one-upping Mulder big time... that it didn't occur to me I was
putting us at risk beyond the gamble that we might get caught - which was
the attraction of the game in the first place. 

When Fats doesn't answer his door, Mulder kicks it in.  A little
inappropriate, but considering the fact that he's been simmering at a low
boil all day, still fuming over the photos of me from last night and the
comments our stalker made on the phone to him this morning, he's actually
showing remarkable restraint.  Weapons in hand, we enter the darkened
apartment.  Though it's the middle of the day, the shades are drawn and I
have to fumble for the light switch.  A click and the room is flooded with
a 60 watt glow.  The warm incandescence does nothing to soften the horror
we see lying before us in vivid red and deathly white... Fats lies still
and cold on the dirty floor, a single gunshot to the forehead.  By the
general condition and appearance of the corpse, it's apparent that he's
been dead for several hours.  He was the only connection we had to the man
who is now stalking us.  Nothing can ever be simple.  We'll have to profile
this guy, hunt him down like your typical UNSUB.  The only way to get there
is the long way around... Mulder's Law.  It comes just before Murphy's in
the encyclopedia of life.

As Mulder looks down at the body at his feet, he huffs a frustrated sigh.
"Ten to one our man with the cameras was none too pleased when tubby here
gave him the pink slip.  Looks like you're really going to get your money's
worth.  You've bought yourself a genuine sexual predator, Scully."

His biting sarcasm isn't meant to hurt, I know it's his way of dealing with
the stress, but it serves to compound the guilt I already feel at bringing
this upon us.  Without a word, I turn away and force myself to concentrate
on a cursory examination of the crime scene, hoping for some clue that
might lead us to the man who has now become an unwanted spectator to our
intimate game. 


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**  Chapter Thirteen  **


Alleys make great observation spots, you know?  I use them all the time.  I
mean, rooftops are nice, especially with a telephoto lens, and cars do come
in handy - but nothing beats an alley.  I spend a fair amount of time in
them.  Lately it seems I have been hanging out there quite a little bit.
I'm in one right now, matter of fact - watching the FBI flounder around in
that piece of shit Fats' apartment.  I can just about picture the look of
complete pissed-off frustration on Mulder's face... sweet.  One step ahead,
yes indeed - I pride myself on it.  One step ahead of them both; keep them
off-kilter, confused, shaky - until I can get my hands on her, and convince
her she belongs with me.  I have every confidence I can do it.  After all,
I've got so much to offer her.  I may not be as pretty as her current guy,
but I'm good-looking and I've got money and I dress great and smell good
and I've got a dick to rival my rival's... 

I can make her so happy; happier than that pussy she's with.  I see how it
takes my artwork, my photos and videos, to give him enough of a hard-on to
boink her.  I'm not blind or stupid. He needed me, to get her off as much
as he's been doing lately - he needed what I gave them.  Maybe the first
couple of times they went at it, he showed some minor balls - but that's
because she did him.  That sweet, hot mouth - hell, it could raise the
boner on a hundred-year-old skeleton.  In that alley near their building -
it was her efforts, not his; hers alone.  I watched it - I saw the truth of
it.  The first time I got to see her in action - and I want it, all of it;
want that action for myself.  It's gone way past a fancy, all the way into
a full-blown obsession.  I know what's happening to me; know I am on the
edge here.  Like I say, I'm not stupid.  But I want this; for the first
time in my whole life, I know what I am meant to do, and with whom I'm
meant to do it.  

And for the first time in my life, my job has become vital - to give her
pleasure; to keep her satisfied, I have had to get creative.  More creative
than ever - and I am a rousing success at last.  I make Dana Scully crazy
with lust.  I force her into a frenzy, by allowing her a glimpse into her
inner self.  How much more I could give her, if I give her myself!  I smile
at this, still hidden in the alley across the street from a dead man's
place.   Well, he got what he deserved, although at the time I had not
really intended to kill him.  I so dislike threats, though - 

"It's over.  Been called off.  The customer no longer requires your
services."  The words he spoke were blunt and final; I stared at him, not
fully comprehending what he was saying.  He turned to the door and held it
open for me, silently commanding me to leave.  I stood in one spot and
continued to regard him in shock.  Over?  Why?  I was making her so happy!
I was feeding her little life-sustaining pieces of my genius, and she was
thriving on them!  How could it be over?  I voiced a few thoughts aloud,
and I swear the fat bastard actually shuddered before he replied, "She did
not pay for your stalking abilities, asshole - she paid for a few
titillating photos and some video, of her boyfriend bopping her in public
places.  You went over the top a bit, by infiltrating her home... but
what's done is done, and I am sure she got a jolly or two over it.  Now
she's calling it off.  Her month is up, she's paid in full, you've got her
money in your bank and everybody's happy, capisch?  So can the stalking and
make your way over to your next job.  Better yet, start paying attention to
some of the customers you've been neglecting.  I've been getting
complaints."  He gestured to the door again, and frowned at me when I still
didn't take the hint.  

"Look, jerk - I am very close to never sending another job your way, so
don't push me.  Not to mention I could get you put away for a long time,
simply by way of a few well-placed phone calls.   And I'm about three
seconds away from doing just that.  You are one sick little punk.  I don't
enjoy being disturbed at home, in private, by one of my customers,
complaining about the behavior of my employees.  You went over the line and
you know it.  Now get the fuck out and leave Ms. Scully and her partner
alone.  They are FBI, for christsakes!  You have any idea of the scope of
damage they could do to both of us?  Jesus... cut your losses and move on.
I'm not telling you twice.  Get the hell out."  Again, he pointed at the
door... and I felt the first nigglings of panic.  

Stop now?  Leave her?  Leave her to that moron with the big nose and the
pencil-dick; somebody who can't possibly know how to keep her happy?  I
couldn't do it.  Not even to save myself, I couldn't do it... and I was
sure as hell not gonna do it for Fats.  And I wasn't gonna let him get in
the way of our happiness... no fucking way.  The panic-nigglings grew into
large chunks of absolute fear, as I pictured losing her forever, to her
partner; pictured her marrying him, making babies with him, growing old
with him - and I knew I wasn't letting that happen; knew I would never let
Mulder celebrate one more birthday... any more than I would let Fats live
one more hour.  I pulled the gun from my pocket and aimed it at his
forehead, and had the satisfaction of seeing his little piggy eyes go wide
with surprise and fear, as I stated, "Can't do it, Fatty - sorry.  I want
her and I'm taking her - and you can go straight to Hell and make a comfy
seat down there for Mulder, because he'll be coming to meet you very
soon..."  

I pulled the trigger.  I aimed and pulled and shot and killed him.  He fell
over hard; the entire floor shook as he went down.  I looked at a dead body
which I had created; took me all of two seconds, I think.  My speediest
work of art, ever; and I suddenly realized I liked it; liked the rush I'd
gotten.  It was powerful and intoxicating and I wanted to do it again.  I
would do it again, when the time was right.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I was sitting in the bar when they came in; they say trust your instincts
and I did - I knew they'd come into the bar, knew they'd be looking for
Fats.  Unfortunate that they'd be too late, but hey - those are the breaks,
you know?  They came in and flashed their badges around and the patrons in
the bar were very respectful and told them anything they wanted to know.  A
few of the men gave my Dana lustful glances... and if I'd been able to I
would have killed them on the spot for that.  She deserved their undying
respect, not their disgusting, drooling regard.  I barely tolerate her
bastard partner touching her; I only put up with it because right now I
need him - I need him to keep her moderately happy until I can kill him,
and take over.

So they got the address and all the other information they needed, and they
left.  I sauntered out maybe five minutes later.  I was in no hurry; I knew
where they were headed.  I found a place in the alley across the street
from Fats' apartment, and here I still am, leaning against a damp wall in a
darkened section.  They'll be coming out any second now, so I retreat more
into the shadows.  Ah, here they come.  She's walking before him, as
always; I can tell even from this distance that he's guiding her with that
hand he always places at her waist.  Both of them very angry, I can see it
from here.  Anger, frustration... especially him.  They turn and walk up
the street, towards their car, I suppose - and I settle myself more
comfortably against the wall, and prepare to do some planning.  I have a
lot of planning, you know - something I do very well.  I can still see her
lovely face, turned toward his, as he guides her up the street.   That
damned hand of his... should be my hand, guiding her, moving her down the
street.  

Down the street and into my car and across the city to my apartment and up
the stairs, two at a time, up to my door and through the hallway and into
my bedroom - down into my bed, where I can pull off her clothes and she can
tug at mine, until we are naked and hot and impatient and I am
ready-ready-ready... and I can finally, finally bury myself, my entire
being, into her body and never come out.  I stand in the alley and plan and
plot, and rub at myself, thinking of it, aching for it -

Coming for it.  Coming hard, for it.  

I swear that's the last time I come without her... the last time.  Next
time, she'll take me there - better believe it.  I promise myself this, and
I promise her.  And I always keep my promises.

--  to be continued  --


"One-Upmanship", by C. Chaffin and TBishop
(Episode 3, Part 2 of 2), NC-17, MSR

(continued from episode 3, part 1 of 2)


**  Chapter Fourteen  **


As I dial the twenty-fourth number in the little address book, I sigh out
loud, not even realizing how despondent it must sound - until I feel
Scully's small but strong fingers kneading and gouging into my tight
shoulder muscles.  God, I could die a happy man just from getting a massage
from this woman - I lean into her body, head almost pressing into her neck,
as she puts everything she's got into the massage.  Feels so good - takes
away so much of the ache.  She whispers in my ear, "Mulder, you're so tense
- you should just take a short break from dialing.  Besides, I doubt any
one of those numbers would be the one we're looking for - I just have a gut
feeling."  She is referring to the small address book we found in a desk
drawer in Fat's apartment.  Neither of us are proud of pilfering through a
murder scene, before the police even get there... but when we spotted the
unlocked desk, and once we opened the center drawer and saw the book... we
looked at each other, took a tandem deep breath, and grabbed.  Anything we
can find - anything we can do - to solve this ourselves; to not have to
pull in what we affectionately call 'The Big Gun' - we have to do this
ourselves.  

So here I sit, on the edge of my bed, flipping through the book and
systematically calling every single number.  On the receiving end of one
heavenly massage, and yet so tired and worn out that Scully's ministrations
aren't even making me horny as hell which is the usual result of this sort
of attention.  I can't ever remember being this weary.  One more thing to
worry me - because I need to be on guard at all times; I can't let it slip.
 Slowly I straighten up from my leaning position on Scully, and begin to
dial number twenty-five.  So far the numbers have been rather innocuous -
dry cleaners, restaurants (a lot of them - Fats obviously was some sort of
gourmand) and several banks.  A few numbers that could be considered
possible sub-contractors... I called some and got a child's sleepy voice
once, and a very old woman's the next.  I started to get frustrated when
call number eighteen resulted in a woman with an extremely sexy phone voice
trying to get me to agree to a cyber-date.  Jesus.

OK, turn the page and prepare to dial twenty-five... and I pause, finger on
the first digit button - eyes gone wide as I look down at a torn-out page.
Hastily torn-out, all ragged and shredded.  I look up at Scully and she
returns my worried face with one of her own, a finger tracing the ripped
binding.  And just as both of us come to the mental conclusion that our boy
was most likely the one who tore out the page... the phone rings, causing
both of us to startle and jump.  I reach out a hand to pick it up, but
Scully gets there before me, and calmly takes the receiver and speaks into it.

"Hello."

I watch her face carefully; somehow I know it's him, there on the other end
of the phone.  Her face slowly drains of color as she listens, and her eyes
get wide and dark; I reach out a hand and snag her fingers, squeezing the
cold little digits in my warm grip, as she listens for a few more minutes,
then gently hangs up the phone, not having said a word.  A little tug on
her hand, and she's wound into my arms tightly, her body shaking against my
pounding heart.  I run soothing fingers over and through her soft hair, and
give her several seconds of silent support, before I speak.

"What did he say, Scully?  You should have let me answer it..."  She shakes
her head decisively, and pulls enough of her face from my neck to look into
my eyes.

"No, Mulder - I needed to hear this, I really did.  I have to know what
sort of monster we're up against this time - how much my impulsive
foolishness is going to cost us."  She takes a deep breath, and continues -
and what she is saying chills my blood.

"He spoke in a deep, calm voice - as if he is the only rational person in
the world.  The utter calmness of his voice reminded me of Pfaster... why
do all the really insane ones always sound so damn normal?"  I have no
answer for her, and she really wasn't expecting one.  I stroke her hair
again and wait for her to continue. 

"He called me "Doll" and "Sugar" - names I have always despised, by the
way. I have always been so glad that you have never used those sickening
endearments for me..."  She takes a deep breath and I notice her bottom lip
is quivering, just a little - but her voice is steady.

"He told me he has the missing page; that he didn't want me to 'worry' when
I didn't see his name in the address book.  He's not ready to "claim" me
yet, so he says he wants to keep his identity a big surprise, right up
until the last possible moment.  He talked about his love for me, his need
and his determination to have me - at any cost.  He said he knows I
couldn't possibly love you - not when he's been the one to fuel my passions
with all of his latest 'artwork', as he so charmingly described - that
series of photos he took while he stood over my bed and jacked off.  He
actually seemed proud of them..."  She shudders at the memory of her utter
vulnerability, and I can feel my insides clenching hard, all over again.  I
fight to remain focused on what she's telling me, though - later on, I can
go punch holes in the walls.  For now, I need to feel her warmth, and to
give her mine, so I pull her all the way into my lap and cuddle her, as she
finishes reiterating the contents of the frightening call.

"Mulder... he told me he's going to shadow us, everywhere we go - says he
knows you are making me stay with you and I am too kind-hearted to give you
the heave-ho so that he and I can be together.  He says he's going to
'help' me find a way to ditch you permanently, since I need to know what a
'real' man should feel like, deep inside of me, and the little love-deposit
he left on my bedspread was his accidental way of proving the depth of his
devotion and the strength of his staying power... God, Mulder... he also
said you haven't been heeding his warnings, to stay away from me - and he's
going to find a way to persuade you to leave me alone.  Then he told me how
much he 'loves' me... that's when I hung up."  She is shaking again, worse
than ever - and I can feel the tears clogging my throat; tears of anger and
frustration; I swallow them down, and they burn all the way, as I rock
Scully in my arms and whisper reassurances to her. Though I am badly shaken
myself, by this psychopath's strengthening insanity and his unerring
ability to find us, regardless of where we are.  

"Scully, much as I hate to, we may have to tell Skinner -"  Her fierce
head-shaking about gives her whiplash, as she responds to my suggestion.

"No, Mulder - we can't!  It would be exceedingly bad... you know that!  The
trouble we would face... and I am not being selfish here, and thinking of
only my trouble, either.  Well, actually I am selfish - for both of us - I
want it all.  The professional partnership right along with the personal
relationship.  I won't lose you - not as a partner. If we talk to Skinner,
he'll find out we've been hiding it from him.  He'd probably figure out
that we've been using the FBI building as our own personal hump-haven...
and I know he can't say anything about our sexual activities outside the
office, but he can sure as hell stomp us dead for doing it on Fed time.  We
can't say anything; not until we can find a way to prove to him, and to the
higher-ups that we can have a personal relationship and still get our jobs
done.  Right now, talking to the boss is NOT an option."  

I don't argue with her; this overwrought and emotional woman is not really
my Scully, and I will have to wait until both of us have calmed down,
before we can really think this thing through.  I open my mouth to reassure
her again - and the damn phone rings.  This time, I grab it, before she can
get her hands on it.  I retain hold of her on my lap, drawing strength and
serenity from her presence, as I speak into a madman's ear.

"I'm here, you asshole..."  His rich chuckle sets my teeth on edge.

"Agent Mulder, what language!  Suppose I had been your boss, or maybe one
of your pals?  I am amazed you knew it was me."  I huff out an impatient
breath.

"Your predictability is becoming predictable.  What the fuck do you want?"
Another chuckle; I fight to keep the bile down as I listen to his voice
change lightening-fast, from jovial to threatening.

"I told you what I want.  It's my turn.  You've had her and you've used her
to make your little 'groin-worm' dance, but I know she needs a hell of a
lot more.  I've enjoyed the fucking, don't get me wrong... as inept as you
seem to be, at making your woman happy --I've been able to see for myself
how much fire the delectable Agent Scully manufactures, and she deserves
somebody like me.  I warned you - told you to back off.  You didn't listen.
 I've been more than patient, Mr. Mulder - more than accommodating.  This
is your last warning.  Leave my woman alone.  Back way off and let her come
to me, the way I know she wants to - or you'll regret it, I promise."

Jesus, this guy is way beyond the realm of any sort of reasoning or help.
Even as I force the panic and the worry down, I can't help but wonder how
one man could snap so quickly, unless he had been unstable for a very long
time.  Well, I don't have the luxury of the debate right now - I have to
keep him talking, see if anything he says will ring any sort of bell for me.

"How long have you been a delusional bastard, Mr. Watcher?  Several years?
All your life?  Did you have a mother-fixation that went sour on you?
Father whip you just for the hell of it when you were a kid?  Schoolmates
taunt you for being a geek with braces..."  He interrupts my queries with
another deep chuckle, although this one is tinged a bit with wariness, and
perhaps some fear.

"Nice try, but no cigar.  I'm not wasting phone time being
pop-psychoanalyzed, from somebody who's not good enough to chew the used
gum off the heel of my shoe.  And as for trying to keep me on the line long
enough for a trace - forget it.  This line isn't traceable.  You are not
dealing with a stupid man."  He trails off, at the loud, abrupt laugh I
send into his ear.

"Oh, yeah, that I am, asshole - that I damn sure am.  Dealing with the most
stupid excuse for humanity I have ever come across - if you think that one
threat you utter is even being retained for future reference.  I think
you'd better remember who you're dealing with - and know this:  I am
relentless.  I will track you down - I will find you.  Believe it,
asshole."  And at the sudden, furious sputtering at the other end of the
phone... I hang it up - then, just because I am royally pissed at the way I
just had to sink to his level... I yank hard on the phone cord, and pull it
out of the wall, sending chunks of drywall and  wire flying everywhere. I
then turn to Scully, who's been close enough to the phone to hear most of
what this jerk was spitting into my ear, and who now gapes at me and my
childish retaliation on the hapless phone.

"You murdered the phone, Mulder..."  I don't reply; I grab hold of her hand
and tug her toward the door, snagging her purse on the way out; she has to
run to keep up with me, as we dash down three flights of stairs and run out
the door of my building, into the street and into the first available taxi
I see, cramming both of us inside and ignoring the avid curiosity of the
cabbie's face, as I mutter, "Princetown Arms Inn, Arlington - get us there
in ten minutes and you get a hell of a tip."  The cabbie doesn't even blink
an eye; he roars off and disappears into traffic with the speed of light.
Scully settles back into the seat, and her eyes go soft with concern, as
she takes note of my fury.  She twines a hand around my neck and pulls at
me until I move stiffly into her arms; as the taxi races through town I
manage to relax a little, and I rest against her and try not to think of
anything except how soft she is and how wonderful she smells.

As the hotel looms into view, as we alight from the taxi, and I pay the
cabbie an exorbitant sum of money and prepare to walk her up the marble
steps and into the hotel, she finally speaks.

"Mulder... would you please tell me what's going on?  What did that creep
say to you?"  Why are we at the Arms?"  I stop on the way into the hotel,
and wind my arms around her, and kiss her about a hundred times; little
biting kisses all over her face and throat as I reply in a muffled voice.

"He said a lot of shit which is not worth repeating at this time.  I'll
tell you later.  Right now I think the best thing we could do is just get
away from our apartments, and find a spot where maybe he can't follow; not
your place or mine or the office.  I want one uninterrupted night with you,
Scully - no phones, no intrusion, nothing but you and me and a hot tub
filled with bubbles.  I don't want to talk about this anymore tonight - I
just want to fill myself to overflowing, with one Dana Scully.  I want to
overdose on your skin, and your taste - and I want to wake up tomorrow
morning with some fresh ideas on how we are gonna catch this loon. We'll go
back and start in again tomorrow. Is that okay with you?"  I hold her
loosely in my arms, and gaze down into her pale, sweet face; seeing the
lines of worry slowly smooth out, as she realizes I'm not angry about what
she did, not anymore.  It's done, and now we'll get through the
consequences of it, together.  She reaches up on tiptoe and plants a damp,
warm kiss against my ear, and whispers to me, her body a treasure that I
hold carefully and reverently.

"Yes to all of that, Mulder... a big YES..."


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


**  Chapter Fifteen  **


The knock at the door startles me and I spill hot coffee, burning my hand.
"Ouch, shit!" Grabbing a napkin, I wipe away the hot liquid and get up from
the kitchen table to see who it could be. I'm extra careful to take my gun
with me in the pocket of Mulder's bathrobe. I can hear that the shower is
still running. Mulder must not have heard the door or he would be standing
out here dripping wet, wearing nothing but a towel; playing bodyguard like
he's been doing nonstop for the past few days, since we came home from that
night spent at the Arms. I can take care of myself, though I do appreciate
the companionship. And I have to admit, I am feeling safer here at Mulder's
place than I would be at my own apartment, considering all that has
happened there.

Stomach tense and hand on the gun hidden in my pocket, I look through the
peephole... and smile at what I see. With a huff of relief, I quickly open
the door. The delivery woman returns my smile. "Flowers for Dana Scully."

"That's me."

She hands me a lovely arrangement of a dozen sterling roses, Mulder's usual
gift. Only this time there is a brightly wrapped box accompanying the
bouquet. I can hardly wait until the door is closed to tear into it and see
what Mulder has sent me. I'm worse than a child when it comes to presents -
can't open it fast enough!

I must say, I'm a bit taken aback as I rip open the paper and remove the
lid from the box. Inside is one of the tackiest pieces of lingerie I've
ever seen. What was he thinking when he picked this thing out? Did he
actually imagine me wearing this getup? It's a two piece ensemble. An
open-tipped bra and matching open crotch G-string trimmed in hot pink
marabou feathers! He's got to be kidding.

"Kidding about what?"

I jump and turn to find Mulder wearing nothing but a pair of his old faded
blue jeans, roughing a towel over his spiky wet hair. I hadn't even
realized that I'd commented out loud.

"This, Mulder. I got your flowers, they're lovely, but the gift... I'm not
sure what to say."

He comes closer, frowning at me. At first I think I've hurt his feelings,
but then he reaches past me into the flowers and retrieves the card. As he
reads it, his face becomes tight. He shows me what it says.

DANA,

I KNOW HOW MUCH YOU LIKE THESE FLOWERS.
AND WHEN I SAW THIS IN THE STORE WINDOW, 
IT MADE ME THINK OF YOU. WILL YOU WEAR
IT FOR ME? YOU KNOW I'LL BE WATCHING.

God damn him! How can someone know us this intimately and not reveal
himself? We're trained Federal Agents, for Godsake! And this guy is
following us around at will and we haven't a clue who he is. I'm furious
and Mulder apparently is too, because in his next breath he picks up the
vase of flowers and throws it hard against the wall, splattering water,
broken glass, flowers and foliage across the room.

"Feel better?"

He looks at the mess. "No."

"Go get dressed, Mulder. I'll clean this up."

"No, it's my temper tantrum. I'll take care of it."

"Yeah, but it's my fault."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


After the incident with the flowers we spend most of the day hanging out in
Mulder's apartment.  Around 4:00 PM the phone rings and Mulder beats me to
the pick up.  The conversation lasts less than thirty seconds, but when
it's over, Mulder is seeing red again.  I don't ask, as he walks past me
into the kitchen and gets a cold beer from the fridge.  I follow him, but
remain standing in the doorway, watching, as he chugs back most of the
bottle before coming up for air.

Several minutes and a lot of silence pass between us before he decides to
speak. 

"I don't know about you, but I need to get out for a while.  What do you
say we catch a movie?  And at the risk of enduring one of your sappy chick
flicks, Scully, I'll even let you choose the cinematic event of your hearts
desire."

How could I possibly pass up such an offer.  It may be the last time he
ever lets me pick, but there's a movie I'm dying to see, so... "Well, there
is this new film... about a guy whose wife dies tragically and he meets
this woman who, as it turns out, is the recipient of her donor heart and
they end up falling in love."

Mulder winces at the apparent insult to his manhood, but seems determined
to bear the indignity of it all and keep his promise to me no matter how
ugly it gets.


So... we sit in the darkened theater, watching the last of the credits
until the lights slowly come up.  It was a wonderful movie, quite sweet and
funny, and despite the gender-obligated complaints Mulder is bound to make,
I KNOW he enjoyed it too.  He reached for my hand during a sad scene in the
beginning and never let go through the rest of the film.  We haven't had
too many real "dates" yet.  This felt good.  Just holding hands, our
fingers interlaced, a simple physical connection that seemed to make the
whole world right, at least for a little while.

As we get up to leave with the rest of the crowd, stretching stiff legs and
backs, slipping on coats and stepping over popcorn buckets that litter the
floor, everyone chattering about the movie as we file out, Mulder grabs my
jacket off the arm of the theater seat and helps me into it.  His fingers
tickle the back of my neck as he straightens the collar, another tender
gesture.  I turn back and smile at him and he offers me a wink.  Going to
the movies was a great idea.  We're both feeling much better.  I dread
going home.  Home?  Hmm.  When did Mulder's apartment suddenly become
'home' to me?  Be careful, Dana, this arrangement is only temporary, don't
get too comfortable with it.  For a relationship that took years to
develop, things have been going full steam ahead over the past few weeks.
I've allowed myself to be caught up in the excitement and the newness of it
all, but I don't want to forget that Mulder has never really shared my
desire for a 'normal' life, and may not want his partner/girlfriend
establishing herself too firmly in his home territory.  

Just as I begin to doubt my place in his life, Mulder leans over and
whispers into my ear.  "I can't wait to get you home.  I'm aching for you,
Scully."

He's a bit puzzled by the sudden surge of emotion behind my words, but
nonetheless pleased, when I react to his amorous overture with a heartfelt,
"I love you, Mulder."

We've reached the car by now, and he traps me between his body and the
driver's side door, taking my lips with his in a passionate kiss.  How is
it that a woman my age can still be made weak in the knees with just a
kiss?  It's not long before I'm sharing Mulder's urgency to return to his
apartment and bed.

"Okay, G-man, home it is."

When I reach into my coat pocket to retrieve the car keys, my hand catches
on a slip of paper.  Curious, I pull it out - a note?  

Mulder has made his way around to the other side of the car and is looking
at me over the roof.  "What is it, Scully?"

I feel sick.  Heart pounding, my eyes strain to search every dimly lit
corner of the parking lot.  I know he's watching us.  I know he's watching
me now looking for him.  That bastard!  He was sitting right beside me in
the theater the whole time!  My skin is crawling at the thought of it.  I
never even bothered to notice the man sitting next to me in the dark.  How
does he do it?  How does he get so close without arousing our suspicion?
God, he was right beside me for nearly two hours!  

"Scully?"  Mulder is back at my side, in full protective mode, alerted by
my panicked expression.  

I hand him the slip of paper, while I rage at this predator's ability to
frighten me. 

Mulder reads the note out loud.  "My Darling, Just wanted you to know that
I will never be far from you.  Though you may not see me, I am always close
by, always."

"He must have been sitting next to me in the theater, Mulder."

"Did you get a look at him?"

"Regretfully, no."

His heavy sigh echoes the frustration within me.  Without another word, he
takes the keys from my hand and ushers me around to the other side of the
vehicle.  It's my car, but I understand Mulder's need to drive right now;
he needs to do something, anything, that will make him feel he's back in
control.  And I just want to get the hell out of here as fast as I can.  I
want to escape from the eyes I know are looking at me... I can feel him out
there in the darkness - watching.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX



Piece of shit movie... made me want to puke.  I stomached it, however - I
could deal with anything, just for the satisfaction of sitting next to her,
so close I could smell the light perfume on her skin, could feel the
softness of her sweater as it brushed once or twice against my bare arm.
Luck was with me tonight; it was a crowded theater and that meant most
people didn't bother to try hogging the seats next to them - and she was
sitting on her coat, so I was able to grab the seat right next to her.
Could she hear my heart beating out of my chest, so hard and fast I felt it
could explode?  No, of course not... she was too intent upon the man who
sat on the other side of her, holding her hand and feeding her bits of
popcorn.  Nuzzling her neck occasionally, smiling down into her face when a
particularly sappy scene on the huge screen rendered her teary-eyed.  Doing
all the typical date-at-the-movie-type things that I should be doing; while
all I could manage was a brief brush of her little arm and an infrequent
inhaling of her skin.  

Five minutes into the movie, I realized I would slowly go mad if I had to
concentrate on it; and denied the true need I had - of sitting with MY arm
about the woman I love, feeding her popcorn and stealing kisses from her
sweet lips - I found myself delving into yet another waking dream, where
her fingers wind through my hair and hold my face close as I kiss her hard
and deep, effectively blocking her view of the dopey flick playing out in
front of us... my own fingers slipping under the froth of silky lace she
calls 'panties', touching her with urgency and purpose, swallowing her
gasps and moans and letting them mingle down in my lungs, with the groans I
know I can't release, not in such a crowded place.  I close my eyes and see
it all before me, replacing the cinematic flop up on the screen with my own
version of Heaven in Dolby Sound.  I keep my eyes closed, hearing nothing
but her whimpers of lust; feeling her hand rubbing at me, into me... or is
that my hand, hidden under my jacket, pretending it's hers?  Doesn't matter
- it may be my hand but she's guiding it, compelling it - now making it
tighten and release, harder and faster and longer strokes, until I stiffen
in my seat and the climax explodes over me a scant fifteen minutes before
the movie credits roll.  I chance a quick glance in her direction - neither
of them noticed anything at all; still snuggled together and holding hands.  

Shit.

I swore to myself I wouldn't come again, not without her.  And although she
sat right next to me in the thick flickering dark of this theater... it
wasn't the same.  It wasn't enough.  It'll never be enough - not until I
have all of her, and not just a fleeting wisp of her essence and the ghost
of cashmere brushing my arm.  I try not to think about the way I broke a
promise to myself - try not to blame her.  I know it's not her fault.  It's
HIS fault, for being alive in the first place.  Ah, but I can fix that
small problem - I will fix it.  And after I do... I'll never let her go -
never.  That vow puts the first smile of the day fully upon my face, as I
stand and prepare to go - after slipping a love-note into my Dana's leather
coat.  I take one precious moment to stroke the butter-soft leather,
appreciatively.   She has such exquisite taste in clothes - I long for the
day when I can dress her myself, in things I know she will love... on the
rare occasions when I let her wear any clothes, that is.   I smile as I
walk up the steep aisle, and exit the cinema.

Soon, my darling.  Soon... sooner than you think.  I can't wait very much
longer.

--  to be continued in Episode 4  --


"One-upmanship" by C. Chaffin and TBishop,
(Episode 4, Part 1 of 3), NC-17, MSR 

(continued from Episode Three)


**  Chapter Sixteen  **


This whole ordeal is taking a toll on both of us.  I couldn't even bring
myself to go into my apartment this morning to gather up more clothes and
water my plants.  I just couldn't.  I actually stood out in the hall while
Mulder went in and packed for me.  He left the front door wide open so he
could talk to me the entire time, ten minutes later emerging with two large
bags stuffed full of my belongings and a look on his face like he wanted to
say something but wasn't sure how.

"What is it?" I asked him immediately, feeling myself starting to panic.  I
was expecting to hear that our stalker friend had visited my apartment
again and left another disgusting calling card or something equally
horrible.  When Mulder finally found the courage and the right words, I was
astounded by what he said to me.

"Look, Scully... Though I wish the circumstances were better, our current
living arrangement seems to be working out pretty well.  And I was just
wondering if you'd consider making it permanent."

I blinked a few times to get over the shock, tried not to grin too big or
sound too eager as I answered him with a resounding, "Yes.  Mulder, I'd
love to."

We sealed the deal with a kiss and agreed to work out the details over
dinner tonight.  And that was that.  We drove in to work never mentioning
it again.  I think we both need time to let it sink in.    
     
Mulder's been with me constantly since that first phone call in his
apartment.  The only place he feels safe leaving me alone is within the
walls of the Hoover building.  Usually I hate this musty basement, but
today it is my sanctuary and my sanity.  As much as I love Mulder, I need
some time to myself.  I think he understands, and that's why he left for a
few hours shortly after we arrived at work this morning.  I've been
enjoying the solitude, looking over our next case file... yeah, there IS
still work to be done.

Around eleven the mail is delivered and amongst the usual, Mulder's
professional journals (UFO Quarterly, MUFON News, Psychology Today, The
Paranormal Digest) and a scattering of junk mail, there are two envelopes,
one addressed to me and one to Mulder with no return address on either.
Has to be from HIM. Has to be.  My hands are already shaking. What is it
this time?  A moment ago I felt safe down here, now I feel as though HE'S
watching me and my eyes dart to the tiny row of windows that give a bit of
daylight to our dungeon.  Of course there's no one there, and I chide
myself for being so easily spooked.  I was thinking of waiting until Mulder
returned to open these letters; but on second thought, after my cowardice
this morning, I'm determined to prove to myself that I'm perfectly capable
of handling this on my own.

First, I open the envelope addressed to me.  It contains a photo... God!
This guy is such a pervert! Does he actually think this is going to impress
me? What kind of a twisted creep sends someone a photo of his erect penis?
Uncircumcised erect penis.  Gee, our first lead.  If I didn't think the
guys in the lab would be snickering for weeks over it, I'd send the photo
to them for analysis.  I'm supposed to somehow be charmed by this?  Oh,
there's a note too.

DANA,

AS YOU CAN SEE, I HAVE MUCH MORE TO OFFER YOU
THAN THAT PENCIL-DICK PARTNER OF YOURS.  SOON, MY
LOVE.  VERY SOON THIS WILL BE YOURS.

I shudder at the thought.  Not only is he obsessive and delusional, he's
arrogant too.  Irresistible combination.  My heart is all a-flutter.

The contents of Mulder's envelope are much more frightening.  The bastard
has gone to one of those phony newspaper places the tourists flock to and
had them print up a mock obituary.  As I read it over a chill invades my body.

FOX WILLIAM MULDER

Arlington

Fox William Mulder, 38, died on Friday,
May 12, 2000 of a single gunshot wound 
to the head.  Mr. Mulder was an agent
with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

The date on the obituary is today's.  I can feel the panic rising up inside
me.  There is a photo in Mulder's envelope as well.  When I look at it, I
feel as though I've taken a hit to the stomach.  It's Mulder and me asleep
in bed together; looks like he took it last night.  But what's most
frightening is the other person in the photograph with us, or rather what
he's doing.  There is a gloved hand holding a gun to Mulder's head while he
sleeps; it's apparent that the gunman and the photographer are one in the
same.  Dear God, he could have killed Mulder.  I won't be able to sleep
again until we catch this son of a bitch.  As I turn the photo over, I find
a message scribbled on the back -  STAY AWAY FROM HER OR I'LL BE FUCKING MY
NEW GIRLFRIEND ON YOUR GRAVE.

I've got to find Mulder.  I'm about to reach for the phone to call and warn
him when a hand touches my shoulder from behind and I gasp and draw my
weapon, spinning around to point it in the face of... of my boss.
Skinner's eyes widen in surprise.

"Jesus, Agent!  What the hell is wrong with you?"

Embarrassed, I sheepishly holster my gun.  "Sorry, Sir."

"Agent Scully, I'd say you look like you've seen a ghost, but that would be
all in a days' work down here, wouldn't it?  You and Agent Mulder have been
acting odder than usual as of late.  Would you care to inform me as to why?"

"It's nothing, Sir."

"Don't give me that 'we're fine' bullshit. Something's up.  You're scared.
I can see it.  I don't like being kept in the dark where my Agents are
concerned.  If you two are in some kind of trouble, I want to know now."

"Sir, it's a personal matter and we're handling it."

He studies me with suspicion, looking me over in that way Skinner does when
he knows something's going down behind his back.  I'm still holding the
photograph, but at my side where luckily he can't make it out as he glances
down.  "Agent Scully, I know I haven't always enjoyed your trust.  But I
would hope you have enough faith in me now that you would feel you could
come to me if a dangerous situation should arise."

"Yes, Sir.  As I said, though - this is a personal matter and we're
handling it."

He sighs.  "See that you do then.  I don't want to find another gun in my
face next time I come down here to talk."

A nod from me and he's on his way out the door.  Ten seconds later I'm
dialing for Mulder, praying that he's safe and that we'll catch this
twisted maniac before he makes good on his threat.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**  Chapter Seventeen  **


I can't ever remember being this completely pissed, angry and ready to kill
somebody.  If I had the bastard's chicken neck in my fists right now, I
would wring it off and throw his head into the nearest gutter, and watch it
float down into the sewers which run beneath the city.  And I'd be smiling
the entire time.

A date... ruined.  One of the few we've been able to enjoy; one of maybe
three.  And our real first 'movie' date, complete with popcorn and
snuggling in the dark, scrunched down in lumpy folding seats - holding
hands.  Didn't matter what we watched; I would have sat through "Faces of
Death" just to be there with Scully, on a date.  Neither of us will be able
to walk into a theater again without thinking of it; remembering that
Scully sat next to a madman who probably watched every tiny move she made,
heard every sweet sigh and counted how many times she licked the salt from
her lips, as I fed her popcorn... 

The thought of it, just the thought alone is killing me, as I walk very
quickly down Constitution Avenue, toward the coffee bar Scully likes so
much.  I know she needed a little private time this morning, and told her
I'd go run some general office errands and then bring her back a latte and
some biscotti.  I gave her exactly three short, sweet kisses, and two long,
wet ones; gently pried her hands from the cheeks of my ass, and winked at
her as I headed for the door, enjoying the adorable look of heat and
unfulfilled sexual tension on her face; pink cheeks and swollen lips and a
tremble in her fingers... laughed aloud at the muttered, "Damn you,
Mulder!" - promised her a double-rich raspberry latte and the fattest
biscotti I could find, told her to try and find a way to live without me
for the next hour or two - and closed the door behind me as I loped toward
the elevator...

I spent most of the time I was away thinking of her, absently carrying out
my self-appointed rounds, counting the minutes until I would see her again.
 I'm still floored that she accepted my offer to make our living
arrangement permanent.  I'd been trying to work up the nerve to ask her
since that very first night we slept together.  I knew then that my world
would never be right as long as we slept apart.  When I was rushing around
her place this morning, gathering up a few of her things, I started to
think about all the nightmares and close calls that had occurred in
Scully's apartment.  She can't even bring herself to go in there now, and I
can't say that I blame her.  I don't want her living there alone anymore
either.  What better time to ask her to move in with me?  I wasn't sure how
she was going to take my proposition, but I had to ask.  Her smile said it
all.  I am a very happy man.  

I had a grin on my face all the way to the post office; went through the
stamp line, thinking about her skin, and the taste of her bottom lip.  And
standing there, I didn't recall seeing anyone suspicious-looking, or any
particular person who resembled a psychotic stalking camera-fiend.  I don't
know what triggered the sudden, unwelcome vision of our latest nemesis,
here in my head - but the intrusion of it superimposed itself over my
little happiness-moment... that, and the frantic call I just answered on my
cell phone, from Scully.  She wouldn't tell me what was wrong; just said
there was urgent, unfinished business back in the basement, and could I
hurry back, please.  Her tone was controlled and tight; I could hear the
strain there, so much like the tone she had used the other day when we
discovered who'd been on the other side of her in the movies.  I was so
shaken by her call that I accidentally dropped my cell phone as I was
attempting to return it to my pocket.  Damn thing hit the sidewalk and
broke into pieces.  Cursing under my breath, I gathered up the remains and
hurried on my way.  I just know he contacted her again, somehow.

I know... and now I feel the hatred bubbling up inside, blinding me to the
sunlight and the warmth of the day, and the usual pleasure I get from
running to the Coffee Grinder for a latte. 

Every day with Scully is a gift to me; every event which shapes our
relationship and strengthens our bond is as vital to me as the blood
pumping through my veins.  Every threat to that gift renders me just a
little crazed... call it my weakness, whatever - but I will find this
lunatic, and I will see him locked up for life, or dead - doesn't much
matter to me.  Nothing matters except protecting Scully, and keeping us
together.  Maybe it's time to talk to Skinner.  I know Scully's worried
about that, and I understand her concerns, I really do.  I just don't think
we have much choice.  If it comes down to a partnership with Scully versus
life in general with her... the life in general wins, hands down.  I can
leave the job behind, no problem; took me long enough to figure that one
out, but there's no debating it.  I can survive without the X-Files in my
life; so much of what I have been searching for all these years has been
solved, or resolved.  We have enemies in high and low places; that's a fact
and it will not change just because one or both of us change jobs.  

Our lives are a balancing act; that won't change either.  I welcome the
challenge, the day to day teetering - it'll keep us fresh and new, even
years from now when the natural slowing-down of our bodies is a given; when
each time we make love becomes a night to remember, because we want it so
badly... when our little one-up game is a warm memory and we can sit
together on a wide, soft sofa somewhere in Suburbia, and laugh about the
time we did it on Skinner's desk.  Hell, maybe we'll even have him over for
dinner that night - let him in on the most action his desk had ever seen.
Someday... but, in the meantime, I have a nutbird to catch, and the love of
my life to cherish and protect - and it's time I got back to the office and
delivered her this latte and biscotti, along with several dozen more kisses
and a way to convince her that speaking to Skinner and getting his help is
the only logical step we can take.  I head down the wide street, toward the
latest episode of invasion into our private lives, my mind made up to do
some convincing.


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


He was touching her again; I could feel it.  I know it as certain as I know
the reflection of my own face in the mirror.  Mr. Armani with the cheap tie
fetish had his filthy hands all over MY woman - AGAIN!  I've warned him!
I've warned him over and over to leave her alone!  Stupid bastard!  He
thinks because he wears a badge I won't make good on my threat.  Wrong.
Where Dana is concerned, there is nothing I wouldn't do.  

I am what she needs - not HIM.  I appreciate her exquisite beauty and the
flames of desire that burn within her more than he ever could.  He is too
consumed with himself to understand how to love a woman like her.  Sure, he
plays games; he knows a trick or two that gets her off.  But when she
really needed to be satisfied, who did she come to?  ME.  She hired ME to
give her what she really needs, a look into her own passion.  And now it's
time for me to reveal myself to her.  

If I had the luxury, I would woo her slowly;  I wouldn't have to use this
tactic - but I know she'll forgive me once we are together and she realizes
what I can do for her.  Getting her away from HIM is the first step.  I'm
not a violent man.  I don't like to kill.  But he's giving me no choice.
He flatly refuses to heed my repeated warnings.  I can't be held
responsible if the man is a complete idiot.

I've followed them today as usual.  He doesn't let her out of his sight.
Today is the day Agent Mulder will meet his end.  We go to the Hoover
building and I see their car disappearing into the parking garage.  I have
a place just across the street where I can discreetly watch; using high-
powered binoculars that let me see into the transom windows and into the
basement office where they work.  

Again he's touching her... kissing her too!  My hands shake with rage at
the arrogance of this man.  She doesn't understand.  She thinks he can give
her happiness.  Soon it will all be clear to her.  Soon, Dana, my
darling... very soon.

He leaves her alone in the office.  I watch her settle herself before her
computer to begin her daily routine.  I expect him to return any minute,
but then I see him... Well, well - he's left her alone.  Agent Pencil-dick
has finally given me a break.  This is one opportunity I won't let pass me
by.  

Now.  Now is the time for me to make my move.  I can't wait any longer.  I
need her... need to feel her, taste her, smell her, hold her in my arms and
make love to her - hear her scream my name in ecstasy as she comes just for
me...

It's time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**  Chapter Eighteen  **


It's taking Mulder forever to get back here.  I called him over twenty
minutes ago.  I probably should have told him why I so urgently requested
he return, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was still being watched
- that this stalker could somehow hear every word I spoke into the phone,
see every nervous movement I've made since I opened those damn letters.

I'm literally pacing the floor of our office as I wait for my partner to
return.  What in the hell is taking him so long?  When I called him he said
he was just picking up my latte and then he'd be heading right back.  The
coffee shop is only about five blocks from here.  I'm trying to convince
myself that he probably just ran into somebody he knows and is caught up in
conversation, when the phone rings and I'm half expecting it to be Mulder
with some lame excuse as to why he isn't back yet.  But the moment I hear
the voice on the other end of the line every muscle in my body goes tense.

"Dana?"

"Yes."  I try not to betray my fear.

"I want you to listen very carefully.  You need to do exactly as I say or
I'll kill him.  I want you to leave, right now.  Go to the bar on Seventh
Avenue.  You know the one.  Come alone.  DON'T let anyone see you leave the
building.  If you do, he's a dead man.  Leave now.  Right now.  Go!"

I listen to the dial tone for several seconds before I can bring myself to
react.  My God!  Does this madman have Mulder?  I slam down the receiver
and try to calm myself enough to think what my next move should be.  If he
does have Mulder and intends to kill him, what choice do I have but to
follow his instructions?  Then again, he could be lying through his teeth.
A quick phone call to Mulder will settle this...

Come on, come on... answer.  "Damn it!"

All I get is that annoying recording telling me the cellular customer I'm
trying to reach isn't available right now.  Why the hell isn't he?  You
know why, Dana.  He's in trouble.  My body goes numb as a terrifying image
returns to me - Mulder blissfully asleep with the barrel of a gun aimed at
his head.    

I have no choice.  And so I run - out the door and down the back stairs to
the parking garage... carefully avoiding being seen as I hurry to my car.
My hands are trembling and I fumble with the car keys; but as I push the
key in the lock there is suddenly cold steel pressing into the base of my
neck.

I freeze.

"Dana, don't turn around," that horribly familiar voice whispers against my
ear.

Shit!

-- to be continued  --


"One-Upmanship" by C. Chaffin and TBishop,
(Episode 4, Part 2 of 3), NC-17, MSR

(continued from part 1)


One of the lattes spills all over my new cordovan loafers as I jump into
the elevator.  "Dammit!"  I shake off the hot liquid, then impatiently tap
my foot as the stupid metal box takes its own sweet time, lumbering slowly
down into the basement of the FBI building. Moving like a goddamn slow
fart... Doors finally swish open, and I bound out of them and race down the
hallway toward our office.  My panic is escalating and I know she is fine,
just fine; I know this and yet I can't help feeling as though my heart is
in my throat and when I open the door to our office something horrible will
greet my eyes - even though I know she's sitting behind the desk, waiting
for me; waiting for me to drop her biscotti and latte on the desk and wrap
her in my arms and hold her very, very close while she tells me what had
her so spooked over the phone not twenty minutes ago.

I balance the paper mugs and the bag in one hand and twist the doorknob
with the other; push my way in, calling out, "Hey, Scully - you owe me a
new pair of shoes; I just ruined these -"  and my breath catches in my
throat with a harsh sound of inexplicable worry, as my eyes take in what
appears to be a normal office atmosphere: papers and files scattered on the
desk; desk light still on and shining down on a few slides heaped in a
small pile; nothing out of the ordinary, nothing overtly odd.

Except Scully isn't here.  She's not here, and I fight down a wave of
panic, dropping the food and mugs on the desk and turning on my heels to
zip right on back down the hall and into the elevator and up to the only
other office I could imagine she would have had to go - Skinner's.  That's
where she must be, I decide; as I stride down the hallway, past the bullpen
steno pool and prepare to bully my way past Kimberly...

"Agent Mulder, Hello!  Sure has been quite some time since you've been down
this way; how's basement life treating you?"  A female voice buzzing close
to my ear, as I round the corner and head toward Skinner's reception
area... damn.  Almost made it.  I turn to the voice, stamping down massive
impatience, preparing to be polite enough to get me through five minutes of
nicey-nice.  

Oh, shit... Laura, from the steno pool.  The one in the bathroom;
Kimberly's fellow urinating pal.  Pretty enough girl, I suppose - long dark
hair and tall, slender and big-eyed.  Actually very pretty - wears a lot of
short skirts and skimpy little shirts.  Usually on the shy side, this girl
has never said more than a nervous "Hi" to me, in the past seven years...
always a smile and a blush, but no big words, until now.  Ain't I a lucky
one?  

"Hello Laura, nice to see you..."  Yeah, nice to not be hearing you peeing
into the john right up alongside where I stood with Scully clinging to me
like a monkey, climbing my banana tree... Jesus, there has got to be a way
I can cut this conversation short, maybe right after the "nice to see you"
part -  I haven't got time for this; I have to find Scully, and ease this
overwhelming worry; I have to go now, Laura; I'm sure you understand... I
would actually say these words if I thought I could get a word in edgewise.

Fifteen minutes later, we have progressed in scintillating topic, from the
basement pop machine and its constant lack of Pepsi One, to her dog
Phideaux (yes, she spelled it out for me - in my head I saw Fido and she
rushed to correct me); I was almost hopping up and down on one foot, trying
to get this over with; I could sense her getting ready to gear herself up
to ask me for a date - 

And Skinner walks by.  Hallelujah!  I grab onto him like a lifeline, and
speak in what I assume is a quiet, unaffected voice.  "There you are, Sir;
where did Scully go?"  Perfectly normal tone of voice, I think - except
Skinner's eyebrows rise, and his puzzlement is very obvious as he replies
in his usual caring, albeit brusque manner.

"Agent Mulder, how the hell should I know?  I asked for your report an hour
ago, by the way... where is it? And don't tell me Kim has it and is typing
it - I already asked her."

"Scully never came up here?"  Skinner looks at me impatiently.

"No, she never did!  I saw her for about two minutes early this morning...
you want to tell me what's going on, Agent?"

"Sir, I have to speak to Scully; are you sure you haven't seen her within
the last fifteen minutes or so?"  Don't panic, don't panic... Skinner huffs
a bit and his eyes narrow as he replies.

"Again, no - and now I think you'd better tell me -" that's about all I
hear, since I have already turned and headed for the stairs; fuck the
elevator.  I'm in a hurry.  I race down several flights of them, vaguely
registering Skinner's sharp, "Mulder!  Get back here!" - behind me as I
run; I hear his shoes clattering on the steps and I don't stop; feel him
grabbing at the door right behind me as I yank at it - can't stop... both
of us barreling full-steam-ahead to the basement office where - please, God
- Scully is sitting drinking her latte and munching on the mangled biscotti
I bought for her please please please...

She's not there.  No one there; food and drink still on the desk.  Oh God,
where is she?  I am beyond panic right now, and behind me I can hear
Skinner huffing, ready to blast me with whatever pissed-off thoughts are
swimming in his mind, but at the moment I don't care to listen to them
because I just heard something crackle underneath my right foot and with a
feeling of utter dread I bend to pick it up.  An envelope... oh, Jesus.  I
don't want to look.  I have to look.  Skinner stands next to me, silent and
intense and I can feel the questions, actually feel them churning within
him; thankfully he doesn't say a word as I open the envelope and pull out
the photos.  All the breath in my body takes the first taxi out of town, in
one huge rush of helpless fear, as I stare down at the gloved hand of an
utter madman pointing his gun at my sleeping head.  As the photo slips out
of my numbed fingers, the second photo, stuck to the back of the first...
flutters to the floor, and Skinner bends to retrieve it.  His indrawn hiss
of shock is more than I need to assimilate at the moment - and I have to
look at this one as well, so I glance over with more trepidation than I
have ever experienced in my entire life.  And I see it; I see a nightmare
in the making, in full Polaroid color, 256 shades perfectly blended, to
create an 8x10 glossy of the most repulsive-looking dick I have ever seen,
bar none.  Scully... she had to look at this; had to see it, faced it down
in our office, all alone and scared out of her mind, I am sure - and just
as I think it couldn't possibly get any worse, Skinner notices a piece of
newspaper still on the floor, and picks it up.  And we both gasp.  

My obituary... dated today.  

"Agent Mulder... I want answers, lots of them.  NOW.  What the hell is
going on?  Do not even think about trying to fob me off with some lame
answer, either - I think we both know Agent Scully must be in some kind of
trouble."  His words grate harshly on my ringing ears - but his face, when
I finally bring myself to look into it... is worried for me, and for
Scully.  And his reassuring hand is suddenly on my arm, strong and sure and
offering comfort for something he doesn't even know yet.  And I collapse
into my chair and it just starts tumbles out of me in one large fell swoop;
the last case, the tequila and the confessions of love; the game and
Watcher and the fear.  I waste precious time telling him, but I know I have
to come clean.  Skinner listens, not interrupting me, until I finally
stumble to a halt.  I risk a glance up into his face; he's rubbing at it,
hard; then with one brusque sentence he simultaneously rights my tilted
world, offering chastisement, hope and sanity.

"Agent, Jesus... I know all about you and Agent Scully; I'm a lot smarter
than I look - and now I suggest you try calling her on her cell phone and
maybe we can get this cleared up without involving kevlar vests and the big
nasty Sigs."  He gestures to the phone on my desk, and I sigh in relief as
I remember that Scully always answers her cell phone.  I hurriedly punch in
her code and wait, crossing my fingers and my toes and anything else that
will cross.  It rings twice, before I hear the tiny connecting 'snick', and
before her sweet voice even speaks I am shouting into the phone.  But the
voice that responds to me is the last one I want to hear, even though a
tiny part of me just knew I'd be hearing it on the other end of the line.
And I am very, very afraid.

"Hello, Agent Mulder... looking for my girl?  She's right here... we're
having a great time.  I just unzipped my pants and she's going to give me a
nice, long blow job.  God, I love traffic jams, don't you?  So much can be
accomplished.  I'd let you speak to her but I am afraid her mouth is gonna
be occupied in just a few seconds, with the largest hard-on she's ever seen
- even has your little worm beat."  Then silence, except for his easy
breathing - and the sound of small huffs of panic, emanating from somewhere
near, on that end of the line.  And even as I gear up to scream my fury and
panic and murderous intent into the receiver, I rejoice because she is
alive; facing the most heinous animal ever created by God - but alive.  I
can't panic; I have to KEEP her alive; keep this asshole talking long
enough to get something, a trace - even though I know Scully's cell phone
can't be traced; but something, anything... I have to try.

"Put Scully on the phone.  I want to talk to her.  Now."  I fight to keep
the fear from my voice; fight to keep some small piece of sanity.  I am
also fighting the visuals my damn brain keeps flashing at me - of the woman
I love trapped in a car with this animal, surrounded by people in their own
cars, potential rescuers having no idea of what's going on in the car in
back of them or to the side of them.  Scared, panicked, feeling helpless -
all of the things I am experiencing right now.  The voice in my ear
chuckles, then tsks at me, as if I have been caught asking for the moon
instead of one moment of time, to assure Scully is uninjured.

"Oh, I don't think I want my baby talking to you, Mulder... I wouldn't want
you feeding her any more of your lies.  I still have to clear out all the
ones you've been feeding her for the last month or more - you know, the
shit you told her about how you're the only man for her, and I'm some
nutcase that needs to be locked up.  You almost had her convinced.  So, I'm
not gonna let you talk to her.  You'll have to trust me; she's safe.  I
wouldn't hurt her - I love her.  I'm gonna do everything for her, to her;
all the things she needs so badly that you aren't capable of giving her."  

A pause, and a rustling sound, then I hear Scully gasp, and her, "Stop it!
Get your hands off me!", just about decimates what little sensibility I
have left, and I do the one thing I swore I wouldn't do.  I lose it; I freak.

"GODDAMN YOU SICK BASTARD GET YOUR HANDS OFF HER SO HELP ME I AM GONNA RIP
YOUR BALLS OFF AND STUFF THEM DOWN YOUR THROAT UNTIL YOU SUFFOCATE...!!!"
Behind me, Skinner has actually grabbed hold of my arms, and is trying to
restrain me as I scream into the phone; throwing it against the wall in
utter despair and fright when another chuckle and a soft 'click' in my ear
tells me I have lost; I have failed.  I can feel myself sinking to the
floor; only Skinner's strong arms hold me up.  He hooks the leg of my chair
with a foot, and pulls it close, pushing me into it and shoving a glass of
water in my hand.  When the glass starts to slip out of my fingers, he
grabs for it and deposits it on the table, then holds my shoulders and
shakes the teeth from my head.

"Agent, come on!  Fall apart after we find her, okay?  What did this prick
say?  Did you get a feel for a location?"  The words finally register, and
I force myself to get it together; stand up and begin pacing, as I recall
the conversation.  Cell phones usually don't pick up surrounding noise, but
this one did pick up Scully's voice.

"They were in a car. In heavy traffic, I think.  A car... wait a minute.
Maybe Scully's car... maybe not.  The surveillance cameras in the garage -
there's one on every floor -" and before I am even done thinking or
speaking, we are both running for the elevator.  My heart is pounding,
still mostly with fear - but now there's some actual hope pumping in there
as well.  If anything vital turns up on any of those cameras, maybe we'll
get a break.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**  Chapter Nineteen  **


Life can be really good sometimes.

Now, for example.  I don't know what's more satisfying; finally having the
lovely Dana Scully seated beside me here in my car, or having just had the
extreme pleasure of rubbing Agent Dumbshit's nose in it.  That was too
sweet!  Took her right out of the Fibbie nest while her birdbrain partner
had his back turned.  And now she's mine - all mine.  Every luscious drop
of her.

I look over at the woman I love to find her eyeing me like I'm some sort of
madman.  We'll, it's understandable under the circumstances.  Couldn't be
helped though.  Had to get her away from that loser.  I reach over to touch
her, feeling the need suddenly to assure myself that she's real, but she
shrinks away, pressing herself up against the passenger side door.

"I told you not to touch me!"  Her tone is sharp, but I know it's only fear
talking.   

"Dana, honey, don't be scared.  I don't mean to hurt you, doll."

"You kidnap me at gunpoint and you expect me not to be afraid of you?"

"I'm sorry about my methods, but they couldn't be helped.  The gun is just
a temporary necessity until I've convinced you to stay with me of your own
free will."

"And how exactly do you propose to do that?"

"Oh, sugar, once you've gotten a taste of what I have to offer, you'll be
hooked for life."

"You have a pretty high opinion of yourself."

"No.  I just know you.  I know what you need, Dana."

"That being you?"

I just smile at her.  She doesn't understand - not yet, but she will.  It
won't be long now.

"You're not going to get away with this.  I'm a Federal Agent.  My partner
isn't going to rest until he finds you.  He'll have half the damn FBI out
looking for you before the day is through."

"He doesn't have a clue who I am.  If he did, he wouldn't have flipped out
on the phone a minute ago."  The memory of his panic serves to broaden my
smile.  Yes, life is good.

"He'll find you.  And when he does, you're going to be so sorry you ever
laid a hand on me."

"Oh, I'm going to lay more than a hand on you, honey.  I promise you that.
We're going to have a real nice time together, you and I."  She quiets as
she considers this.  She wants me.  I know she does.  Ignoring her coy game
of hard to get, I reach over and grab her arm, pulling her down onto the
bench seat beside me, her head resting in my lap.  She resists, but I'm
stronger and she can't get any leverage with her hands cuffed behind her
back.  I force her to remain there, pressing her face against the throbbing
ache in my crotch.  

"God damn you!  Leave me alone!"  Her spirit is as fiery as her flaming red
hair.  God, I love this woman!

"Come on, doll.  No telling how long this traffic jam is going to last.
Why don't you give me that blow job now?"

"FUCK YOU!"

It's only natural that she should be a little shy at first.  With a sigh I
release her, and she quickly returns to her side of the car.  

"Later then," I tell her with a wink to let her know it's all right, that I
haven't been offended by her refusal.  I suppose I was being a little too
eager.  Women do like to be romanced a bit first - that whole foreplay
thing.  Besides, the cars are starting to move again.  It won't be much
longer.  As we crawl through the heavy city traffic I steal glances at the
beautiful creature riding with me, and I'm grinning like a fool, a lovesick
fool, as I think about all the things I'm going to do to her... By tomorrow
morning she will have forgotten all about HIM.  She'll be so surprised when
she sees what I have waiting for her back at my place. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


I'm scared but I'm actually more pissed off at myself than anything else.
I let this maniac grab me in the parking garage of the goddamn Hoover
building!  And he didn't even have Mulder.  I've been duped into a
vulnerable situation, my feelings for Mulder exploited... and it's all my
fault.  I brought this madman into our lives on an impulsive whim.  Had I
taken the time to really think it through, I would have realized what a
stupid chance I was taking by giving a stranger access to our private lives.

At least Mulder is safe - for the time being.  The state he must be in
though... I could hear him yelling over the phone - could hear the frantic
tone of his voice.  He must be half out of his mind after what this sicko
told him his intentions were toward me.  Mulder has always considered
himself my protector.  That used to bother me.  Until I realized that I was
just as custodial of him.  You can't love someone and not want to keep them
safe from harm.   I've accepted, come to expect, and even looked forward to
his attentive concern and valiant heroism.  I know right now he's doing
everything possible to find me, and I let myself take comfort in that
thought.  He WILL find me, of that I have no doubt.  Mulder is relentless
when he sets his mind and will to a task.  He'll find a way to track this
guy down - it's only a matter of time.  I believe that with all my heart.
Mulder would never let me down.

And so I wait, but not passively.  If the opportunity presents itself I
will make my own escape.  As we walk side by side, he presses a gun to my
ribs and guides me through the back door and up several flights of stairs
in an old apartment building on the cities' east side.  He's such a normal
looking man; it's no wonder Mulder and I never noticed him.  Not the kind
of face you remember, nothing remarkable - average - he's your average Joe.
 Your stalking-pervert-average-Joe.  Completely normal on the outside,
obsessive psycho nut case within.  Despite the gun, I don't think he means
to hurt me; but it's hard to know how unstable he is.

And then he opens the door to apartment 714 and I have a fairly good idea
of how unstable he is...

Oh my God!  My mouth hangs open and my eyes go wide as he pushes me ahead
of him through the front door then locks it behind us.  He's completely
insane!  Every wall is covered with photos of me!  I stand there in the
middle of what was once a tastefully decorated living room, handcuffed and
gaping, my heart sinking with fear as I realize the depth of this man's
depravity.  The photos range in size, some as large as posters!  It's like
looking at a pictorial diary of the last month of my life.  In many of the
photos I'm nude or in various states of undress.  There are close ups,
extreme close ups... some of them decidedly obscene.  I feel violated just
looking at them.

"Do you like them, Dana?  I've tried to capture your sensuality.  Not just
your outward beauty, but the sexual creature you are inside."  He's almost
blushing as he eagerly waits for my reply.

"No!  I don't like them!  I don't like this at all!  It's giving me the
creeps.  You're a sick man.  You need to get help."

He looks bewildered, almost sad at my rejection of his crazed tribute.
"But you liked my photos.  I saw how you reacted to them.  They turned you
on, made you hot."

"It was just a game.  And it's over.  You weren't supposed to get involved."

"Oh, I know it started as a game.  But I could see how much you needed me.
My pictures, my videos, they excited you more than HE could ever hope to."
He tenderly strokes the side of my cheek with the barrel of his gun.  "I
know you think you love him, Dana, but you really don't understand.  I'm
the man for you.  Not that prick of a partner of yours.  He's got so little
to offer... and I have so much."  His other hand rubs over the bulge in his
jeans as if he's trying to entice me.

"You're delusional.  This fantasy you've imagined... you and I together,
it's not going to happen."

"Oh yes it is, Dana."  There's a threatening edge to his words.  I try not
to react when he makes a point of tracing across my cheek, down my neck,
and over my breasts with the gun.  I stand perfectly still as the weapon
slides lower and he rubs it over my sex, pressing the hard steel between my
legs in an effort to arouse me. 

 
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**  Chapter Twenty  **


The parking garage is fairly full of cars and of course, even with that
many vehicles, I can still spot Scully's car.  Still parked in its
customary place, near the elevators; nothing suspicious-looking whatsoever.
 I stand there staring at the car, then turn a bit and stare right at the
camera, hidden against a ceiling beam.  At this angle, anyone leaving the
elevator area would have been caught on camera.  Apparently Skinner and I
think a lot alike, for he grabs my arm and tugs, spinning on his heel and
muttering, "We get all the tapes - four-hour tapes, each one.  Every floor
should have been recording..."  I nod as we jump back into the elevator,
and head back down to Security.

In the security booth, we start with staff level parking, and rewind the
tape on a spare machine.  Playing it back reveals nothing, except for the
usual lemming-like swarm of employees streaming in at eight AM.  It also
shows Scully and me, trailing in about an hour later, together; luckily
we'd had the presence of mind to not walk to the elevators holding hands,
although for one tiny moment, just before we move out of camera view -
Scully reaches out a hand and slips it along my neck just above my collar.
I can feel a shaky smile forming; I remember that happening, just a few
hours ago - just a lifetime ago.  I sigh in frustration, about to grab the
next  tape... and I see it.  I see Scully rushing to the car, about to
unlock the door - and I see a figure dressed in black, coming up behind her
with a gun which he presses to her neck.  I am gripping the arms of my
chair so hard I know I'll have bruises on my palms in the morning.  Without
letting her turn around, he forces her backwards, into the elevators... and
Skinner and I sift frantically through the other tapes, until I find the
third floor visitors' parking level, and pop that one in.  We fast-forward
until we spot them again... Scully and a new kind of monster.  We can't see
him very well, but we sure see his car.  And his license plate.

Bingo.

Skinner scribbles it down, then grabs a phone, punches in three numbers and
waits a scant five seconds before barking into the mouthpiece, "Anders!
Take this down, run a check.  NOW, dammit, I don't give a snake's ass what
else you've got going down.  Do it..."  

Twenty minutes later, we've got a name - one Dennis "Denny" Knight - and an
address.  And we're on our way.  Alone, thank God - that took some
wrangling.  Unfortunately, I had to tell Skinner one more little secret:
Scully's initial hiring of this idiot.  I had really hoped to keep that one
quiet.  But Skinner had his hand on the phone, ready to call the police.
The last thing I wanted was to have anyone know she was responsible for any
of this mess.  But when Skinner wouldn't back down, I pulled him aside and
as matter-of-factly as I could, I told him.  His raised eyebrows and
incredulous expression told all, without words.  He slowly replaced the
phone and faced me fully.

"Agent Mulder, I..." He shook his head; I guess I had finally rendered him
speechless.  Not for long, though - as we gathered up our kevlar gear and
ran out the door toward Skinner's car, he added ominously, "When we find
Agent Scully, I think the three of us are going to sit down and have a
little chat - right after I kick both your asses..."

I am not looking forward to that meeting.  But I'll cheerfully submit to
anything, if the end result puts Scully back in my arms safe and sound.  As
we pile into Skinner's car and he starts the engine, my AD turns to me and
holds my bleak gaze with his, and his rumbling murmur of, "Agent - we WILL
find her...", goes a long way toward reassuring me.  I nod, once; and we
are off.  The address we seek is on the east side of DC; an older, more
established area.  And traffic is extremely heavy at this time of the day.
We are not moving very fast - and my panic escalates.  Every minute wasted
is a minute less in Scully's life; a minute less to save her life.  I am
convinced this Knight asshole will end up killing her.  As unstable as he
is - and as determined I know Scully would be, to take him down - I see a
bad situation about to get worse, unless Scully learns to play whatever
sick game he's got on his agenda.

God, I hate the thought.  I am going insane imagining it...

--  to be continued in part 3)


"One-Upmanship", by C. Chaffin and TBishop,
(Episode 4, part 3 of 3), NC-17, MSR

(Author's Notes and Aknowledgements in Epilogue,
"Enamorado De Mi Socio"

(continued from part 2)


This whole situation is completely surreal.  I'm sitting in the middle of a
room, surrounded by photos of myself - many of them pornographic in nature;
I'm handcuffed, held against my will... meanwhile, my captor attempts to
romance me with soft music, champagne and words of adoration.  The most
frightening aspect of this is his delusion that somehow this is all quite
normal.  He acts as though we are on a date, ignoring the fact that I am
his prisoner and not a consenting participant in this little fantasy of his.

"Dana, I've planned a very special night for us," he says as he casually
sips at his champagne.  "I know you have a taste for the exotic.  I want
this first time with me to be something you'll always remember..."

Oh God!

"... I've been giving it a lot of thought.  I know how much you like to see
yourself in action.  So I've set up some video equipment in the bedroom.  I
want to capture every second of our lovemaking."  He reaches out and runs
his hand seductively up my leg.

Shit.  Think, Dana, think.  Think of a way out of this before it's too
late.  I can't wait for Mulder to rescue me; Loverboy here is getting
hornier by the minute.

"Remember the photos I sent you, the ones of me?" he continues.  

"How could I forget?"

If he notices the sarcasm in my voice he chooses to ignore it.  "I knew
you'd be impressed.  I get hard like that every time I look at you.  What
you're doing to me right now should be a crime.  I can't wait any longer,
Dana.  I have to have you."

"I don't want you.  Get your hands off me."

"You don't mean that.  I know this is just another one of your games.  You
like to play games.  You like to act out your fantasies.  I understand what
you want.  You want me to pretend I'm forcing myself on you, just like we
did in the park."

We?  What in the hell is he talking about?  "NO!  Damn it, this isn't a
game!  I really don't want you!"

But he only grins and moves in closer.  Then he makes his voice sound
menacing; a bad acting job, but considering the circumstances, I'm
intimidated just the same.  "Too bad!  I'm going to take you, Dana!  I'm
going to take you hard!  It doesn't matter what you want.  I'm in control
here."  His hand comes up to grab my face, fingers digging into my cheeks.

Oh God.  I can't help it, I start to tremble.  This situation has quickly
gone from bad to worse.  As he begins to unbutton my blouse, I'm
frantically racking my brain for a way out of this mess; a way to stall him
while I plan my escape.  It's a big risk, but I decide to play into his
fantasy in the hopes of delaying his plan.

"Wait.  I don't even know your name."

"Is this part of the game?"  He eyes me uncertainly.

Swallowing my fear, I try to speak to him in a calm, soothing voice.  "No.
I really want to know."  Forcing a little smile and hoping I don't look as
terrified as I feel.

He stops unbuttoning my blouse.  "It's Dennis - Denny."

"Denny.  I don't want to play rough tonight - it being our first time
together and all."

To my great relief, he nods.  "Okay, Dana.  Whatever you want.  We can do
it easy - nice and slow.  Denny will fuck you anyway you like.  You want it
slow and easy this time, then that's what you'll get, doll.  Nice and slow
and deep... all night long if that's what you want."

Well, I suppose that's progress.  "I'd really like to take it slow.  Could
we drink a little more champagne first.  I like to kiss.  Do you like to
kiss, Denny?"  The thought of kissing him sickens me, but considering the
alternative, it's much preferable.

He wipes a hand over his face, making an effort to restrain himself.
"Yeah, sure.  But, Dana - look, sugar, I've been waiting a long time..."

"Oh, I know.  I know you have.  You've been so sweet to wait for me.  All
I'm asking is a little more time to get to know each other before we do it."

"Okay.  Okay, sure.  You want to kiss, doll.  Denny will do some frenchy
with you.  But not here.  In the bedroom.  I want to record it all."

Brother.  Mulder, where in the hell are you?  "Shall we finish up the
champagne first?" I offer hopefully, praying he doesn't see through my
stonewall.

"We'll take it into the bedroom."  He tucks the gun into his pants, picks
up the bottle and glasses and motions with his head for me to get up and
get moving.

Great.

Reluctantly I obey, walking ahead of him down the hall and entering a room
to the left as instructed.

God!  He's got more pictures of me in here!  Black satin sheets and
pillows.  There are three video cameras set up on tripods surrounding the
bed.  He's even brought in additional lighting.  Looks like the set of a
cheep porn flick.  Mulder would love it.  And I'd love for him to see it.
Right now in fact.  Now would be a great time.  Please, Mulder.  Get here now!

"Make yourself comfortable on the bed, Dana, while I get the lights and
cameras ready."

No.  I don't think so, creep.  Getting in that bed with you is not part of
the plan.  "Say, Denny, you think we could forget the cuffs?  We could have
a lot more fun without them."

He stops and considers my request.  "You're not going to try anything, are
you, Dana?  Because I don't want to have to hurt you."

I'm going to hate myself for this, but I move in close to him... very
close.  I let my body press up against his.  He presses back, purposely
making his arousal obvious to me.  My skin is crawling but I force myself
to nuzzle my cheek to his, gently trailing kisses over his jawline, working
my way back to his ear where I whisper, "Come on, baby.  You're a big
strong man.  You don't have to be afraid of me.  Besides, you've got the
gun.  Take the cuffs off.  Please.  I want to run my hands all over you."
Actually, I want to ring your fucking neck, but all in good time - Baby!

He begins to nibble on my at my throat, alternately nipping and kissing,
moving down to where the front of my blouse is open.  He finishes
unbuttoning while he continues his assault, marking me twice just over my
right breast before pulling back and admiring his handiwork.  "Lay down on
the bed and I'll take the cuffs off," he instructs with a grin of
self-satisfaction.

Bastard!  I don't want to do this, even though I know it's the only way.  I
reason with myself that compromising a little to ultimately win back
control of this situation is the right move.  But I don't want to get on
that bed with him.  What if he has no intention of removing the handcuffs?
This guy isn't stupid.  He could be playing me again.  Once I'm down with
my arms pinned behind me, fighting back is going to be difficult if not
impossible should he decide to press his advantage.  Damn it, Mulder, where
in the hell are you!

I have no choice.

As soon as I'm on the bed, he's there with me, moving into my personal
space, leering because my blouse has fallen completely open.  I smile at
him, hoping he won't see through to my repulsion and fear.  And then he
starts touching me and I know I'm tensing but there's nothing I can do
about it.  His hands are hot and sweaty... God, please don't... please.

"Dana, you're trembling.  What's wrong, doll?"

His groping has unnerved me to the point that I can feel tears starting to
well up in my eyes.  Our training at the Academy taught us to turn our
weakness into advantage.  I employ this tactic and pray to God that this
maniac can be reached.  "The cuffs.  I don't like them, Denny.  You
promised you'd take them off.  I don't like cuffs.  Someone hurt me once.
Not someone like you.  Somebody very bad.  Ever since, I can't stand to be
restrained like this when I'm having sex."

"Okay, sugar.  I'll take them off.  Roll over, doll.  I've got the key in
my pocket."

Thank you, God!  At least this wacko is compassionate.  I'll try to
remember that when I'm placing him under arrest for kidnapping and assault
on a Federal Agent.  He can't get the cuffs off fast enough - but soon I'm
free and rubbing at the red lines left behind on my wrists.  The relief at
no longer being manacled serves to boost my confidence and I begin to feel
a sense of control returning to me even as he moves his body over mine and
forces a kiss, his tongue probing past my lips and deep into my mouth.
I've faced a flukeman and a liver-eating mutant, I can survive this too, I
tell myself.  I allow him to continue, always aware of the gun pressed
between our two bodies, mentally working through all the possible scenarios
that might eventually lead to my escape.  As his fingers play in my hair, I
persevere through his persistent molestation until I am so sick to my
stomach that I am prompted to take immediate action whatever the cost.

If this doesn't work I'm going to be in a lot of trouble.  A better
opportunity might present itself if I wait, but I can't suffer any more of
this indignity.  I am appalled by his touch; the vileness of his tongue as
it parries with my own, painting my mouth with bitterness.  'Don't think
about it, don't think about it,' I chant inside my head.  I have to stay
calm - no mistakes.  I'll only get one shot at this.  If I fail, the
penalty will surely be unbearable at the very least.  And there's no
telling what this psychotic is capable of; failing could very well cost me
my life.

Moaning to convince him of his effect on me, I let my hands smooth over his
back and shoulders to lull him.  I have to get him off me somehow.  Have to
find a way to get that gun away from him too.  Desperate times, Dana,
desperate times...

"Mmmm... Denny."  I manage to liberate my mouth after a brief struggle.
"Baby, that's enough kissing."

"Yes, ma'am.  I was just thinking the same thing myself."

I'll bet you were.  Okay... here goes nothing.  "You know what I want to do
now?"

"Enlighten me," he says with a huge grin for the cameras.  Until now I've
been too concerned with what was happening to focus on the strangeness of
this setting, the spot lights glaring down on us, the cameras recording our
every move.

"Remember what I did for Mulder?  In the alley by the Hoover building.  You
were there.  Remember."

"I don't want to talk about HIM."  His irritation at my mention of Mulder
threatens to undo the rapport I've painfully established between us.  I
make a mental note to leave Mulder's name out of any further conversation.

"But THAT'S what I want to do to YOU.  I want you to stand up beside this
bed, and then I want to go down on you, baby - right here in front of the
cameras."

This is a dangerous game I'm playing, but there's no turning back now.

"Dana, you don't know how much I want to feel that hot little mouth of
yours wrapped all around my cock.  How long I've waited for that."

"Well, you don't have to wait anymore.  I want to do it, Denny.  I want to
do it to you now."

He's off the bed in a heartbeat, and I have to resist the urge to smile as
I watch him in his eagerness remove the gun from his waistband and place it
thoughtlessly on the night table beside the bed.  I don't dare look at it
for fear he'll see my aspirations, and realize that this is all a ploy to
make him the vulnerable one.  As he begins to unfasten his pants I move off
the bed to stand beside him, keeping in mind my position in relationship to
the gun.  I need to be able to get to it quickly when the time comes, yet I
can't be too transparent or he'll start to suspect.  

He wastes no time exposing himself for me, leaving his jeans and shorts in
a tangle around his ankles.  This is it, Dana.  He's not going to be more
vulnerable then he is right now.

"Come on, doll, do it.  Do it to me now."

Okay.  If you really want me to.  In the pretense of going to my knees I
set my footing and get the leverage required to deliver an excruciating
kick to his groin.  And by the time I spin away, grab the gun and return,
Mr. Watcher is doubled half over the bed, coughing and spitting, eyes
rolled up in his head.

"All right you son of a bitch, game's over!"  I keep the gun on him while I
locate the handcuffs; but there's really not much need; he's unable to
offer any resistance in his current state.  I'm sitting over him, snapping
the last metal bracelet closed when I hear the front door explode open and
three seconds later Mulder and Skinner burst into the bedroom, guns drawn.

My heroes.

"Scully, you okay?"  Mulder's making his way to me, weapon trained on the
incapacitated man hunched over the bed.

I nod, breathing hard from the adrenaline pumping through me.  And as I
move away from my abductor - now a prisoner - Mulder wraps me in a
protective hug.  Both our hearts are pounding; then he looks down tenderly
and asks with fearful concern, "Did he hurt you, Scully?"

"No.  No, Mulder, I just want to get the hell out of here."  As I move back
from him and start to pull away, his eyes glance downward; and when he sees
the marks over my breast, concern is replaced with fury.  He looks over at
the man who has now slumped to the floor still writhing in pain.  Looks
can't kill, but Mulder's Sig certainly can.  Before he can act on the
impulse, I bring my hand up to his cheek, fixing his gaze back on me and
gentling him with my touch.  "Hey, I'm all right, really.  Let it go,
Mulder."  

But he won't let it go, his body is rigid, his jaw clenched; and though he
nods to appease me, I can see the want for vengeance in his eyes.


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**  Chapter Twenty-One  **


Just one hit, that's all I want.  Just one... right in the balls.  No, can
that; Scully already damaged him there, and rightfully so.  No, I want to
do other things to the rotten prick.  I want to break all his fingers, one
by one.  I want to give him cause for needing false teeth - by pulling each
of his real teeth out with a pair of bacteria-laden pliers.  I feel the
need to blind him in both eyes, to shred his tongue into confetti, to smash
as many bones in both arms as I can manage, before the white-suited men
with the butterfly nets come and pull me off him.  And after I slice off
his lips and set fire to them... 

Yes, I'm a bit perturbed, at the moment; a bit angry.  Furious, to be
exact.  Actually I am so murderously, violently beside myself with anger,
that it's all I can do to just stand still and hold Scully.  I can only
imagine what went on here; I don't want to, but my goddamned fertile
imagination is planting a regular orchard, not content with a few
window-boxes.  Rows and rows of it, thick and overgrown and ugly with
thorns...

I can feel her strong little arms around me, holding me back.  She knows me
too well; knows what happens when I am faced with someone or something
threatening what I hold dear.  Bonded within her fierce grasp, I know she's
protecting me; not the scum who's curled into a fetal ball at our feet,
still spitting up from getting his dick broken.  She knows me - and she's
afraid I'll give into my impulse, which at the moment is heavily leaning
toward cold-blooded murder.  

I know he manhandled Scully - I saw the bruises on her upper arms.  She has
such fair skin...  and Jesus, he marked her - I saw the damn hickeys.
Hickeys, for crissakes.  I could end his life for so much less than a
hickey.  He's making this very easy for me...  Her lips are swollen.  I
reach out one finger and trace their reddened curves, and she closes her
eyes, the more swollen bottom lip trembling.  Bastard... he chewed on her
lips.  For them to become that red and swollen, he would have had to take
them, with force.  He goddamn frenched her.  Christ, I can feel myself
splintering, deep inside.  The images flying past my aching eyes are deadly
and poisonous.  He had his arms around her, unbuttoned her blouse and had
his hand inside her clothes, I just know he had his hand inside and up
against her delicate skin... and she was helpless to stop him.  She's so
tiny.  Strong for her size, fearless and tough and man, does the woman know
how to shoot, and kick - but so tiny.  

I know he didn't get her, not fully.  She kicked him in the nuts.  I can
see the damage she did to him; he's on the floor, flopping around like some
castrated rooster.  And in my mind I can just see her doing it; crouching
down a little, eyes intently watching; waiting for her chance.  Twisting,
spinning, leg out and high, catching him dead-on target.  I can see it.
Doesn't change the fact that I am gonna kill this motherfucker, though.
I'm still going to do that.  And I don't need to see an instant replay to
know this was roughly the sequence of events, although judging by the
number of video cameras set up at strategic spots all over the room... I'm
sure I could readily affirm my suspicions.  God, that would really send me
reeling over the edge - unnecessary because I am already there.

God, I am so there.  I look down through the red haze in front of my eyes,
at the woman I adore.  My Scully's blouse is unbuttoned, gaping open; her
pretty breasts reddened and marked with this creep's mouthwork.  Even
though something tells me he wasn't very rough with her - in his psychosis
the need for her reciprocal 'love' would outweigh his penchant for violence
- he is still a dead man.  He became a dead man the night he stood looking
down at my partner in her own bed, and satisfied himself all over her
bedspread.  I feel myself leaning down, Scully's arms barely able to hold
me; for all her strength she can't keep me from doing what I need to do, to
satisfy the dark hatred which has invaded and rooted within.  I hear her,
trying to get through that hatred; her, "Mulder, STOP!  Please, don't do
this it isn't worth it, God, STOP!!"...  Behind her panic I can hear
Skinner, shouting to me - "Mulder for shit's sake don't let it go too far!"  

I'll have to remember to thank my boss for giving me permission to
semi-mutilate this asshole... meanwhile I'm mostly beyond response.  I see
my hands reaching for his throat, fingers curled into feral claws... hear a
mewling cry coming from the chicken-shit as my hands embrace his scrawny
neck, and begin to squeeze... hard.  Shaking him like the filthy rat he is,
and squeezing, harder and harder.  I bare my teeth and stare into his
protruding, popping eyes, as I squeeze and shake.  I feel Skinner grab onto
my arms,  trying to pull me off, yelling to me, "TOO FAR, Agent!  Let GO -"
and I am so far past the point of letting go; I shrug him off, all one
hundred ninety pounds or so of Walter Skinner; just shrug him off as if
he's a pesky gnat.  And I squeeze some more...

And the only thing that stops me, finally makes it past the thick fog, is
the sob I hear, over the buzzing in my ears - Scully, sobbing.  No more
words, just a sob.  That broken little sound clears my head as suddenly as
the red haze of fury had clouded it.  I find myself looking down in horror
at the sight of my hands around his throat, his bulging eyes and the
convulsive bobbing of his Adam's apple as he spits out a few strangled
noises and struggles to breathe.  I jerk both hands away, standing up
quickly; turning away from the repulsive sight of him and burying myself in
my partner's trembling embrace.  Vaguely I register a knock at the door;
Skinner moving away to open it; out of the corner of my eye I see uniforms.  

The cops are here; they go to the wreck of inhumanity on the floor, and
yank him to his feet.  He grunts in pain as his body is forced into a full
standing position, still gasping and fighting for air; and as they cart him
to the door, the slime has the utter audacity to look over at Scully and
proclaim his undying love and devotion to her in a whispery-hoarse teary
voice.  Scully shudders and clutches at me harder; I wrap myself tighter
around her and turn her so that her back is to the door.  Shielding her...
protecting her.  The way I know she's protected me.  Wishing so badly I
could have been here sooner, been the one to take the bastard down - yet I
know Scully needed to do it herself.  She needed this.  And I do my best to
reconcile the whole mess in my head, and try not to beat myself up about
it, the way I usually do.  And as Skinner walks the cops and their new
'best buddy' to the door and sees them out, I press small healing kisses
over the marks on Scully's soft skin, and whisper to her how proud I am, of
her; that she took this asshole out, and saved herself as well as me.  So
proud, Scully...


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


As the apartment door closes, Skinner makes his way back over to us and
Mulder tugs my blouse together - waking me up to the fact that our boss is
seeing a lot more of me than is appropriate.  With all the commotion, I
wasn't even aware of my indecency.  I'm buttoning my blouse when I happen
to glance up at Skinner and the horrified expression on his face as he
takes in his surroundings; and that's when it hits me... OH GOD!  The
photos!  I completely forgot about the photographs plastered all over the
walls of this apartment!  When will this nightmare end?  My boss is
standing in a room full of Dana Scully-erotica.  This, no doubt, is deemed
by God a fitting punishment to bestow upon me for fornicating with my
partner on the man's desk.

I don't know whose face is more red, mine or AD Skinner's.  But I know for
a fact no one in this room is more humiliated than me.  Mulder is just
noticing the scenery as well.

"Jesus," he mutters under his breath as he stares wide-eyed at the
pornographic collages that adorn the walls.  

The heat on my cheeks has reached the point where I'm beginning to be
concerned about spontaneous human combustion.   

"Agents,"  Skinner starts and then stops himself, shaking his head
incredulously.  "I don't know where to begin... Even for you two this is
extraordinary behavior.  What in the hell were you thinking with this...
GAME of yours?"  He rubs his forehead in frustration.  "Never mind.  Don't
answer that.  I don't want to know."

He couldn't... He wouldn't... "Mulder, you didn't...?"

My partner shrugs sheepishly, his eyes full of apology.  Oh. My. God.  I
can't believe he would tell Skinner about our game!  

"Don't think I was surprised, Agent Scully.  At least not about the two of
you being involved."

"You knew?"  

"Jesus!  Do you think I'm stupid?  I knew, almost a month ago, right after
you made, um, such creative use of my office desk..."

Mulder and I gawk at each other, then at our quietly-smirking boss.  He
meets our gawk and raises us a bark of laughter, as he takes in our gaping
mouths and wide eyes.  It surely can't be possible for two jaws to unhinge
more... but somehow Mulder and I manage just that.

Skinner sees he has the advantage and makes good use of it.  "Consider this
my official warning, Agents.  Any more office antics or fraternizing on
Bureau time and the two of you can kiss your careers good-bye.  The OPC
will not tolerate a report detailing a string of sexual encounters between
partners on duty."

"Yes, Sir."  Mulder nods contritely.

Maybe spontaneous human combustion isn't such a bad thing.  Certainly it's
got to be better than enduring 'the look' I'm getting from Skinner right now.

"Agent Scully, I have always believed you to be a grounding influence in
Agent Mulder's life.  Quite frankly, I was shocked that you would not only
participate in, but willfully encourage such unprofessional behavior.  I
hate the thought of splitting you two up..."

I feel his words like a blow to the stomach.  What I've feared all along is
about to come true.  "Sir, please!" I interrupt, afraid for him to go on.
Afraid that once the order is given it will not be revoked.   "Don't split
us up!  I swear to you we'll conduct ourselves professionally from now on.
Please don't reassign us, Sir.  Please."  I can feel tears threatening
again as I plead with Skinner for leniency.  Mulder puts his arm around my
shoulders, and when I look up at him I can see regret and sorrow darkening
his features.   

"Take it easy, Agent Scully.  I have no intention of breaking up my best
team of agents.  I was just going to say that I hate the thought of
splitting you two up after all the years it took for you to finally get
together.  So don't blow it."

"Sir?"  I can't believe what I'm hearing.

"I'm happy for you.  Quite frankly, I was beginning to worry that you two
would never get it together.  It's nice to see that you finally woke up to
the obvious."  He sees the relief on our faces and smiles.  "I don't have a
problem with the relationship, Agents.  Just behave yourselves...  Is that
clear?"

We both can manage nothing more than a dumb nod at Skinner's approval.  

"I told DCPD you'd be down to make a statement.  Let's clean this mess up
quietly if we can."  As he walks out of the room Skinner takes one last
look around, raising his eyebrows when he notices for the first time the
glossies on the ceiling; I can't stand it anymore so I bury my face against
Mulder's chest until he is gone.   

Maybe it's the relief that this nightmare has finally ended; maybe it's a
delayed reaction to the drama that just played out; or maybe the
realization is finally sinking in - how close we came to being victims of
this madman; whatever the reason, standing here in my partner's arms, I let
it go.  I cling to him and cry it all out; the fear, the guilt, the shame,
the unbearable tension that's been crushing me throughout this entire
ordeal.  

"It's over now, it's over."  Mulder is whispering the words for both of us.
 "It's okay, it's over."

He holds me close until the last of the pain has washed away and I find the
strength within myself to pull it together.  I look up at him through wet
eyelashes, silently thanking him for his comfort and assuring him that I'm
going to be fine.

"If you're ready, we'll go down to the station and make the report.  The
sooner we get that over with the sooner we can go home and put this all
behind us."

"I don't want to go home, Mulder.  I can't.  He's been inside both our
apartments... I know it's not rational.  He's in custody now.  He can't
hurt us.  But I won't be able to sleep just knowing that he's been there.
I can't face either of our apartments tonight.  Too many ghosts in the
closets."  I raise pleading eyes to the man I love, asking him to
understand such an irrational thought-path.  To my utter relief, he smiles
down at me with a flood of love and warmth in his gaze, gently swinging me
around in his arms as he formulates a plan.

"Tell you what, Scully.  Tonight we'll stay at the Princeton Arms, and in
the morning we'll go out and look for another apartment.  One without
ghosts.  Someplace where we can start making new memories together, happy
ones."

EPILOGUE

Enamorado Con Mi Socio (In Love With My Partner)



"Morning, Sunshine..."  

I watch her stir as the watery sunlight filters in through the slatted
blinds of our hotel room.  Watch as my softly-murmured words register in
her sleepy ears, and she stretches under the thick bedspread.  I can feel
her toes curling against my shins, the smallness of her feet swallowed up
in the space I created for them, just inside of my calves.  Sometime in the
night, she wound her fingers through mine, and we must have slept holding
hands.  My fingers are cramped up a little, but I would rather have cut
them off than disturb her, so I just let myself fall asleep that way.  I
actually slept so much better knowing we were linked in just that fashion -
perhaps I should remember that, next time I suffer from insomnia.  

Ah, eyes flickering; here comes the blue of them, slitting open a fraction
at a time, pupils still dilated from her slumber.  Lashes a little sticky,
whether from the Sandman or tears, it's hard to tell.  Certainly we both
did some crying last night...  Now a yawn, accompanied by a tinge of
Scullymorningbreath - doesn't bother me, never did.  Scully's worst breath
is still the sweetest odor to me, mostly because I love her but also
because it means she lives - she is alive and well, and in my arms, and for
that wondrous gift I could withstand rhino breath - I really could.  I hold
her hand and watch her eyes gain awareness, and see the smile breaking
behind the sheer blue of them - and think to myself that there's nothing
quite so pretty in my world, as watching Dana Scully awaken in the morning.
 I must be staring at her very hard, because I get one quirked eyebrow and
the beginnings of a smile, before she grimaces and clutches at her head
with her free hand.  

"Mulder, deja vu... not more tequila!  Please tell me we didn't drain t
he
tequila again - ooh, my head!"  She tries to rub at her brow, and I gently
push her hand aside and massage her temples with my fingers, while she
rests against the pillows and sighs with relief.  I can feel her playing
with the hair on my chest as I ease her headache, and although her touch is
affecting me like mad, I won't act upon it - not until I rid her of the
throb in her head.  Then, she can repay me by ridding me of a certain
head-throb...

"Not tequila, baby - don't you remember?  This time it was Mescale - I
nabbed it from the cupboard above your sink..."  Her look of absolute
horror is not lost on me, and I fight to keep the chuckle inside, for I
know just what her next question's gonna be.  She doesn't disappoint me.

"The sink... oh no.  Green label?  Shit -  that bottle Charlie sent me...
please, Mulder, tell me we didn't drink it!  God, it had a worm in it - an
honest-to-goodness worm!  Mulder, please..."  She's in my arms now, begging
me... this is too sweet, but I have to tell her the truth.  Well, I don't
have to... but I want to.  I know, I'm rotten to the core.  May God strike
me dead - but after I tell her, please.

"No worm, Scully - not anymore."  Her eyes cannot possibly get any bigger
than they seem right now, as she digests the meaning behind the words I
speak.  I am fighting a losing battle to keep a straight face; and as her
mouth opens and closes several times, giving her the appearance of an
adorable red-haired fish, I lose it and guffaw loudly into the pillows.  In
between gasps for air, I let her have it.

"Actually, we went halfsies on it, Scully - and I'm not sure which end you
got, the head or the tail.  It's a little fuzzy to me, in retrospect,
because we were both so fully blitzed - but I distinctly remember you
begging me to let you have the worm, because you needed to get the taste of
'that inhuman slime' out of your mouth, as you so delicately phrased it -
and I refused to let you eat the whole thing by yourself..."  At the
mention of our latest adversary, Scully pales and begins to tremble,
pinning me with those wide eyes as she whispers, more to herself than to me
.

"Oh Jesus, him... for one brief moment I thought I'd dreamt the whole
ordeal... but I didn't, did I?  Guess I thought I was waking up on a
normal, happy morning."  Her little face crumples and she buries it in my
shoulder, her emotions still running on overdrive.  A by-product of
yesterday; I know this - I went through it hours ago, and at the time,
messed-over as I found myself - I was amazed by her utter calmness, her
inner strength.  Should have known there would be aftershocks for her.
There always are - delayed reaction and all that.  Which is why she hit the
sauce (and the poor worm) so hard last night.  I hold her very close, and
let her get it all worked out.  She's bathing me in tears; honestly I think
the two of us have cried enough in the past few months, over one thing or
another, to last a frigging lifetime.  I stroke her damp hair back from her
flushed cheeks, and kiss each one tenderly, before I curve a hand right
over her heart and breathe all my reassurances into her ear.

"This IS a normal, happy morning for us, baby - think about it.  He's gone,
out of our lives, permanently, thanks to your courage and quick thinking.
Soon we'll be in a new apartment, one shared equally by both of us; new bed
too, I promise you... and we have Skinner's blessing, AND his support
concerning the X-files.  Your mother is even happy about it - remember you
called her last night and told her, before you got really snockered and ate
the head off that worm..."  Her gagging, mixed in with teary, reluctant
giggles, is by far one of the sweetest sounds I have heard yet this morning
- that and the hiss of indrawn breath she shivers over my ear as I cup a
soft breast and toy gently with the nipple.  She presses her body into my
hand, encouraging me - not that I need any encouragement, where loving
Scully is concerned.  That has sure never been a problem - but making her
forget everything that happened yesterday has become my mission for
today... and it's a mission to which I plan on dedicating myself, with a
vengeance.  I continue to rub at her nipple, as I whisper to her how
amazing she is, how lucky I am to have her by my side - and she curls
herself close and soaks it all in like a sponge.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I swear, this man says the sweetest things to me - knows just how to make
me feel better.  With his arms around me and his low, rough-silk voice in
my ear I could endure anything.  Our relationship has come a long way from
the early days when innuendo flew between us like a flag in the hurricane -
when my stoic acceptance of his teasing always put a damper on the fun.
Mulder has loosened me up so much.  God, what an uptight little priss I
must have been!  I asked him, one short month ago when we first became
intimate - why he was able to put up with my shit for so long, so many
years.  In his bed, satiated with lovemaking; snuggled down into the
pillows and pleasantly sore, I was brave enough to ask.  He looked at me as
if I had lost my marbles, thinking perhaps I was pulling his leg.  When it
became apparent that I was serious, he caught me close, and twined his long
limbs all around me, creating a wonderful MulderCoccoon, and his
impassioned words in my ear just about did me in.

"Are you kidding, Scully?  Just what horrible things do you believe I had
to endure, having you by my side, hmmm?  Having to listen to your voice -
oh, that was agony, to be sure - that soft, determined tone of yours,
reasonable, logical and so damn sexy it makes me ache?  Yeah, I hated that
about you."  He grinned at me and pulled me tighter.  

"How about the face?  Stuck with looking at it, day in and day out.
Stripped of makeup, with freckles and that little mole of yours peeking out
at me - those cheekbones... that mouth.  Your eyes... yuck, Scully!  You
got some nerve.  How could you dare to inflict upon me something so
breathtakingly perfect as that?  You are indeed evil..."  I rolled my eyes
at him, beginning to flush bright red; he licked the heat from my face and
his mouth lingered at the corner of mine, as he continued to dissect me.

"Let's see... the body.  Having this body in the way for seven years...
true torture, better believe it.  Seeing it everyday, clothed in those
tight little G-woman suits and little shirts... able to only dare to hope
that I may be permitted to touch more than that enticing spot on your lower
back.  Those curvy legs of yours, swaying in front of me, wearing those
five-inch 'fuck-me' heels - The Spanish Inquisition's got nothing on you,
baby.  Seven years of your body, Scully - enough to drive a sane man to
drink tequila, lots of tequila."  He leered at me and slipped large, warm
palms over my shoulders, down each arm and over my tense abdomen heading
straight for my silky boxer shorts, which he twitched aside and replaced
with one tender finger.  I jumped and moaned against him, as he stroked me
lovingly with his finger and his next words.

"Yeah, it's been hellish, Agent Scully - hellish to the max.  Some days I
barely survived it... but you know what?  I wouldn't trade a day, not one
day - of having to find a way to be your partner and friend when all I
wanted to do was climb up into your body, so far inside that I could
actually see out of your eyes, and look into my own heart for all the
reasons why I stayed with you.  All the reasons why I had myself convinced
there could never be anything between us - scared I'd lose you if we got
involved, but needing you so badly I would take you in any format I could
get you."  By now I was crying huge hot tears, at the beautiful words he
poured on me; I had asked him why - and the answer I got far exceeded any I
could have discovered for myself.  

It's odd - for so long, the logical question for anyone to ask had always
been, "Agent Scully, how on earth do you put up with old 'Spooky' Mulder?"
Nobody ever thought to ask how the man put up with me, though.  And now I
knew... I knew.  I kissed his gorgeous face and swallowed his mouth and his
groans, forced out when my arms and legs wrapped around him and tightened
like a vise.  We fell back on the fat pillows of his bed, and as he slid my
boxers off and then slid his heat into me, I let myself deserve him, let my
heart have Mulder without guilt, shame and with much humility.  It was a
pivotal moment in our relationship...

Now I press my ear to his beating heart, so happy to know it beats for only
me.  It could have lost its beat yesterday - if my timing had been the
least off... if Mulder and Skinner had arrived at that animal's apartment
even ten minutes sooner.  I have held Mulder's life in my hands a few times
in seven years, and have found it the singular most frightening moment of
my life.  To feel that strong beat lessen and dim; pumping erratically
slower and slower, until it fades away into nothing... God, I would be dead
myself, for my heart would stop right alongside his.  I press my ear hard,
there against his chest, and feel him winding his fingers through my hair
to keep my head in place.  Strong, steady, if a little rapid - I smile,
knowing I am the cause of the quickened beat, and loving the rush of power
I feel at the knowledge of what I do to this amazing man.  I slip a hand
down over his skin, and cup him gently, hearing him groan into my hair and
adjust himself so that he can press closer to me.  Closer... inside me,
inside my skin and aimed straight for my own wildly beating heart.  

Last night I got drunk on a bottle of yellow liquid that contained a pale
gray worm floating belly-up; drained the bottle and ate the head off the
little sucker and re-affirmed several times the absolute love and endless
trust I have in Fox Mulder.  I took him into my body and saturated myself
with everything that is good and pure about my partner; the affirmation and
blessing of two very important people in our lives, hanging in my
still-unbelieving ears - remembering our boss's reaction with particular
amazement...


"Don't think I was surprised, Agent Scully.  At least not about the two of
you being involved."  He knew.  Well, he's a very astute man - he doesn't
miss much.  Of course he'd know...

"You knew?"  I just had to quantify it.  He stared at me as if I had
suddenly become the stupid one.

"Jesus!  Do you think I'm stupid?  I knew, almost a month ago, right after
you made, um, such creative use of my office desk..."

It was a very good thing that Mulder was holding me up, or should I say a
good thing we were holding up each other - for that gruff statement was
just about our undoing.  We gaped worse than twin trout, at our smirking
boss.  His snort of laughter didn't help matters.

Behind me I could feel Mulder's lanky frame as it wrapped me in a loose
embrace, his warmth a comfort against me.  Skinner took it all in; proof
undeniable that we were a real couple; his lips curved up into a small
half-smile, and I swear I could see a hint of softening in his eyes, hidden
by those steel frames.  He held up one large hand, when I opened my mouth
and prepared to elaborate.  Odd, but suddenly I felt the need to spill my
guts... and though I finally sensed our boss was approving of our
relationship, it didn't stop him from scaring the shit out of us.

"... I hate the thought of splitting you two up..."  I panicked, right
there in Mulder's arms; I teared up and panicked and begged him not to
break us up.  Looking back, I see how pathetic and desperate I sounded.
And normally I despise that sort of weakness in myself.  But for Mulder...
well, for him I would subjugate myself in the most base manner, if it meant
I could remain his partner in all things.  But yesterday my emotions were
so very fragile - rather like now.  And I find myself flaming in the cheek
area, six shades of red; as I remember standing in that hideous room
surrounded by my erotic image, frantically trying to get myself under
control while Mulder rocked me and crooned to me that everything was going
to be fine.  God, how mortifying!


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She's remembering - I can feel the heat in her face as it presses close to
mine on the pillow.  Poor baby; it was not the most comfortable moment in
Scully's life, to be surrounded by graphic porn-shots of herself, while her
boss and her boyfriend tried desperately to focus their attention anywhere
but at those Scullyskin-plastered walls.  My face was flaming; Skinner's
was as well; he cleared his throat several times before finally attempting
to speak.  And after he spent several moments putting the fear of death
into us, he lightened up considerably (well, for Walter Skinner, it was
considerable) and wished us well -

"...I'm happy for you.  Quite frankly, I was beginning to worry that you
two would never get it together.  It's nice to see that you finally woke up
to the obvious.  I don't have a problem with the relationship, Agents.
Just behave yourselves...  Is that clear?..."

Well, of course we promised to behave.  What else could we say, with all
six-feet-and-then-some of AD Skinner bearing down on us, in a room full of
FBI-agent erotica?  We nodded mutely, and promised to be good.  And we'll
keep that promise... at least when we're in the Hoover building, or out on
a case somewhere in the field.  We'll be good - we'll be professional.
We'll be so goddamn professional you'd think we could be the poster boy and
girl for Feds Anonymous.  

But after work, or the case du jour; whether we are in our apartment or in
a motel somewhere... well, that's a different story.  

That's when we'll shut the door, and triple-lock it (or in a motel, prop a
chair up under the doorknob); when I'll run a hot bath, and gently strip
the G-woman suit from Agent Scully's day-weary body, instantly changing her
from their agent, into my baby... when I'll pick her up and carry her into
the heated bath, all steamy with silky water and whatever bath salts I can
find; tenderly wash every beautiful inch of her, and then just as tenderly
dry her off - with my tongue.  If I've been a good boy (and I'm ALWAYS a
good boy), she'll let me brush her hair, one hundred strokes through the
satin of it.  If I've been an extremely good boy (and that one's in the bag
as well)... she'll let me stroke her other hair a hundred times as well -
with (you guessed it) my tongue.

There's more, but it's very private, and best whispered into a small pink
ear - such as I'm doing right now.  Whispering it into Scully's little ear,
while I wait for her to stop burying her face in the pillow next to me;
whispering of my love, and my pride - in all that she is to me and all that
she has done and will continue to do for me.  For me - just because she
loves me.  All the more precious, because I almost lost her yesterday; my
very reason for existing, so close to becoming the victim of a psychopathic
animal who, I'd wager, is still curled in a fetal position in a locked cell
somewhere clutching his aching balls.  At least I can smile at that
singularly satisfying thought.

So I whisper to Dana Scully, and I slip my hands over her warm skin and
follow the elegant line of her back with my lips; I hear a low humming purr
emanate from deep within her throat as I clue her in on the sequence of
morning events which will serve to start our day.  I know our game of
One-upmanship has about run its course; I think we're going to call it a
draw.  Obviously we both won; there couldn't have been any losers in a game
such as this.  Doesn't mean I'll ever stop trying to out-do myself in the
category of 'Pleasing my Partner'.  I like that game too much to just quit
cold-turkey.  I don't mind having that sort of addiction known; hell, I'm
rather proud of it.  So proud, in fact, that I feel the need to indulge;
it's still early in the day and Scully has finally raised her head and
begun kissing me back.  

Where she chooses to kiss me is what makes the game such a trip to play...
I would highly recommend it.  Very highly... God, yes.  

End