untitled
'THE
AMAZING MULDEENI'
By: Kimogen
Authors notes: This was written in about an hour and a half in
response to Sampiper's comment that there weren't any post-ep's
to this episode. So, utterly devoid of slash, kitty porn, and
weird froggie pics, here it is...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I suppose
I should have been glad for the light relief of the Maleeni case,
especially after the fiasco with our friend Mr. Pfaster. As it
was, I was more than a little apprehensive about our first
venture back into the field.
You see, contrary to popular belief, my pretty little partner and
I do not share a physical relationship. Scratch that, *did* not.
We do now. Oh yeah, I'd call it physical.
I guess I have Pfaster to thank for our new *physical* status,
given that it was the trauma that sent Scully slightly round the
bend. She was the picture of composure whilst we dealt with the
authorities, packed her things and traipsed back to my apartment.
It was when the door closed behind us that things got a little
weird.
***
42 HEGAL PLACE
ALEXANDRIA
21:56
I slammed the door behind us and flipped on some lights, setting
Scully's bags by the door. She stood over by the window, looking
out onto the darkened street. She had been quite since it had all
happened, but I was willing to give her some space. Scully will
not be pushed into talking about these things. In fact, I gave up
trying to make her talk a long time ago. Call it lessons learnt.
Silhouetted against the bare window, I could see her trembling. I
paused only for a moment before moving towards her and turning
her around. Sometimes contact is the only thing for it. Even at
the risk of being shoved away.
But she didn't push me away. She leant her weight into my chest
and let the tears come. She sobbed hard into my chest for hours
that night. Don't even ask me how we ended up consummating five
years of partnership that night. All I remember is embracing her
by the light of the streetlamps, and then carrying her shaking
body to the bedroom. I guess you could say the rest is history.
We spent the next two days in limbo as I tried to help her forget
the nightmares. She slept in my arms like a tiny child, waking
both of us with her nightmares. I hushed her back to sleep a
hundred times in those few days, smoothing her hair away from her
face and bathing her clammy flesh with kisses. We talked very
little in those two days, besides whispered sweet-nothings and
declarations of love that would never be uttered outside of the
bedroom.
After those two days, she insisted on returning to her apartment,
and I heard very little from her for the next week as Kersh had
her on enforced leave pending standard Bureau psyche evaluation.
I left her daily messages on both her cell phone and her home
phone. I sent her emails every hour under the pretence of keeping
her updated. She sent short text messages to my cell, telling me
that she just needed some time to adjust.
Needless to say, I spent the week pacing the floor of my office
and avoiding the rumpled sheets in a bedroom redolent with her
perfume and the unmistakable scent of sex.
Xxx
Therefore, I believe I was justified in feeling a little
apprehensive about meeting her on the pier that day.
I had purposely flown ahead, leaving her the file and a cryptic
message, along with her airline tickets. I tried to tell myself
that I was giving her space, allowing her to make the decision to
come in my absentia.
As soon as I saw her face through the opposite window of
Maleeni's battered old van, I knew I had nothing to worry about.
She quickly mirrored my posture and I knew that things were going
to be fine between us. The banter came as naturally as it had
from day one, the sexual energy between us crackling in the air.
I was glad that it was still there, making my skin prickle, even
across the cab of the old VW. She still made my pulse race with
the little quirk at the corner of her mouth, indicating her
suppressed smile, even after the mysteries of her body had been
revealed to me.
My teasing quickly drew out the incredulous, disbelieving tone in
her voice and its coordinating facial expression that I now know
Scully saves for when she is feeling flirtatious. My stomach
knotted like never before as she lent over my arm to see the tiny
video screen, brushing her breasts against me. I felt, more than
heard, her breath hitch at our proximity. She couldn't even look
me in the eye as we spoke. I know how exposed she felt, as we
stood there, scrutinised by local law enforcement. I felt like
everyone there knew. The thought made me blush slightly, as she
amazed me with her teasing expression and lilting tone as she
tottered off to empty a trash can.
She called *me* sceptical, the comment tossed over her shoulder.
I followed quickly behind her as she leant over the dustbin,
taking advantage of the situation to lean in close and growl in
her ear,
"That's not what you called me the other night."
She stiffened beside me, almost imperceptibly, but I saw it. My
breath caught in my throat as I realised that I had blown it,
suddenly knowing that she wanted to forget about it.
XxXxX
My partner can be such a loser sometimes. If he weren't so cute,
I'd have got rid of him long ago. As it is, he endeared himself
to me long ago. So I guess we're stuck together.
Oh, and he's recently proved himself as nothing short of a deity
in the sack.
When he whispered to me over a trash can (ever the romantic), I
realised that things weren't going to be as easy as I'd
anticipated. The way I'd figured it, work would be one thing, and
what we did on our own time would be another matter. But that
barrier suddenly wasn't so defined. We would have to have words
about that later. In the meantime, he had that injured puppy look
on his face that women can't resist, myself apparently included.
I knew instantly that he had misread my lack of response and knew
I had to rectify quickly. I didn't want him moping all day. That
just gets annoying. So I sidled up to him, under the pretence of
allowing him to examine the paper cup in my hand and whispered a
few choice words to him too. Something dirty about having to
change my underwear if he did it again. I knew he'd be sporting
wood for an hour over that one, but his face registered the
double-edged meaning. He wouldn't be trying that on the job
again.
I performed my autopsy and we went back to the motel. I was tired
and cranky after such a long day. Besides, I still hadn't reamed
him out about leaving me in DC whilst he caught the early flight
out. He knows I hate flying alone.
He was researching over the internet when I finally got back from
the coroner's office. The paperwork had given me a headache and I
demanded that he gave me a massage whilst I read over his
findings. He sensed my mood (clever boy), and ordered pizza for
me (well trained too). As I scarfed down three slices, I
remembered briefly how I managed to get so fat during out first
two years together. Mulder keeps fit by running, but I've never
been able to keep up with him. Endless hours in the gym bore the
crap out of me. I hope that we can burn off some calories
together now.
Under the pretence of telling him off for leaving me (again, bad
boy), I waited until he was suitably chastised and adequately
repentant. Then I had him strip naked and sit in the chair in the
corner of the room. He could barely hide his glee as he peeled
off his trousers, undid his tie, and shrugged out of his white
dress shirt. He sat with his legs sprawled wide in front of him,
his ludicrous erection standing straight out from his body.
Laughable though the male of the species is, he was utterly
beautiful in the lamplight of yet another scummy motel. My own
nerve endings were twitching as I stalked closer to him and stood
between his legs.
I unbuttoned my shirt as slowly as I could manage and slipped it
off, having left my jacket behind long ago. Mulder's hands closed
around my waist as soon as it was bare, but I slapped them away,
tutting and pouting. The skirt was next, slid to the floor in a
rustle of expensive satin lining. The underwear was really
exquisite actually, one of my favourite sets. Simple, but paired
with the little bikini panties and hold-ups, it was deadly.
Mulder actually groaned.
I could see us in the mirror over the dresser and I barely
recognised myself. In the moment I was distracted, Mulder saw his
chance and had me pinned to the bed before I had realised what
was going on. He was growling as he unwrapped me, peeling away my
underwear like a greedy child ready to get to the gift inside. I
barely had time to register my nudity and his long fingers were
making me come. His mouth joined them and I was moaning again
quicker that I could catch my breath. By the time he slid his
length inside me, I had forgotten my own name, let alone his. He
fucked me with true intent, grunting and panting with his
efforts. My body evidently cannot resist, because I came again,
something I had believed utterly impossible. Three orgasms?
Orgasms from missionary sex?
Mulder still hadn't come himself and I was beginning to wonder if
he ever would. He pushed my legs up to my shoulders, deepening
the penetration and changing the angle. I think I actually
screamed that time. Finally, he thrust into me hard, bottoming
out against my cervix and making me moan with the mixture of
pleasure and pain. Then, finally, he was coming. The heat of his
climax almost drew me over again, but my exhausted body couldn't
quite manage the release. We collapsed, a mass of sticky limbs
and heaving chests. There was no need for discussion. We were
both asleep within minutes.
XxXxX
Nothing with Scully had ever been simple. I suppose it was some
sort of reward that sex would be so inexplicably good. I've been
blessed with a strong, athletic body and what I gather is an
above-average penis. Technique is something I've never had
complaints over either. I guess some of us are just born good at
sex. Lucky me. I haven't exercised this theory in quite some
time, mind you. Apparently it's like riding a bike. But it has
never, ever been this good. Scully's tiny little body could have
been made for me. She fits me like a well-made Armani suit. Every
curve perfect. Her breasts are just big enough for my palms, my
tongue slots nicely into her navel...amongst other anatomical
correlations. I believe that I am now understanding the height
discrepancy. It was all part of the bigger picture.
But now back to work.
I believe that La Bonge was going for invasion of personal space
when he placed that top-hat on her head. Luckily for him, I am
the master of such disrespect, and as a result, Scully is immune
to it. Otherwise, he would have been spitting teeth. In his
attempt to control the situation, he just succeeded in making me
hard. She looked so indescribably cute in that hat, like my own
little play-boy bunny. I would have to remember that for later.
Back to the job.
I had to look away quickly, before I got too carried away and
locked LaBonge in the Van whilst I had my way with her against
the side of the van. Never a good idea.
Back to the job.
Thankfully, when I glanced up, the hat was gone, held in the hand
that rested on her hip. Still I was having images of her in
stockings and a tuxedo jacket. Down boy.
Back to the job.
Only, she has this slice of red hair, part of the top layer, that
has been disturbed by the hat. I can see where it flipped up and
over on itself and now serves to make her hair look tousled. How
would believe it, Dana Scully with tousled hair?
I try my hardest to concentrate then, even managing to form a
cohesive sentence from time to time. A little detective work
thrown in to make it look as though I am capable of higher brain
function whilst trying to conceal an erection in public. I manage
to identify Pinchbeck's marker. All the while thinking about how
Scully's hair looks spread over my pillow.
XxXxX
More pizza that evening, followed by some good-natured arguing
over the case. Then he insisted on supervising my shower. I ended
up with a bump on my head from the shower nozzle that I know I
would never have got without his chaperoning. I never would have
got it because the only way my head could reach that high was by
him lifting me there in an attempt to impale my slippery body
with his own, equally slippery body. Needless to say, he was
insistent on keeping me up all night, standard procedure with a
concussion he joyfully informed me.
I was in such a rush the next morning, I couldn't find my white
bra and ended up with a black one on under my white top. I sense
a conspiracy. Mulder didn't make eye contact with me once that
day. I know he was trying to figure out whether it was demi-cut
or balconnette. I showed him later. After all, he did solve the
mystery of whether Mulder was a boxers or briefs guy. I won money
down at the Bureau once I could prove that.
XxXxX
My little minx of a partner has shown me a number of magic tricks
during our time together. She once did something nasty with a
bug, making me think she ate it. Then there was that little trick
with turning her hand all the way round. Again, nasty. So, to
teach her a lesson, I'm taking her quickly back to the motel to
show her something nasty. If her wrists are nearly as flexible as
she would like me to believe from that little ‘sleight-of
hand,' I'm in for a fun-filled evening. Strange how things
change.
THE END
Disclaimer:
These characters are the property of someone undoubtedly richer
than me. Which isn't hard right now.
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