Never a Good Sign

Never a Good Sign

By Piper Sargassopan>

Disclaimer: Not mine, never was. Thank CC and the gang for these

characters.

A/N: This one’s for Sallie, who really deserves elegant prose

and well-formulated plot lines. But I hope this brings a smile

to your face nonetheless, Mama.

To everyone else: Don’t hate me. <g>

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Ow!” Scully exclaimed.

“Oh. Sorry, Scully,” Mulder mumbled and shifted his elbow so it

wasn’t pinning her hair to the mattress.

The night was not getting any better.

Oh, it all started out pleasant enough. The pair decided to dive

into the annual holiday festivities at the Hoover Building as a

way to lift their spirits after a particularly nasty case. Well,

maybe dive and decided wasn’t quite accurate -- perhaps a
little

less visibly peeved about being dragged to it by their superior

was more like it. They couldn’t be forced, of course. But their

attendance was -- how did Skinner put it? -- “strongly

suggested.”

Mulder whined about it later in the privacy of their office.

Scully kept her irritation to hef, cf, cringing inwardly in

anticipation of what promised to be an inside glimpse of the

depths of hell. They decided to forgo the annoyance of finding

dates and go together to make the most of a bad situation.

“Safety in numbers,” Mulder had said. “Besides, no woman outside

these walls would understand the oddity that is these office

parties.” Scully privately agreed.

It turned out Scully’s fears weren’t unfounded; this was,

indeed, a glimpse of hell. With tinsel.

Bob-From-Accounting (isn’t there at least one in every office?)

took it upon himself to lavish his version of Christmas cheer on

an unsuspecting Scully the moment she entered the crowd. “Agent

Scully,” he murmured in her ear from behind, catching her

completely off-guard. His breath was hot and smelled

suspiciously of Limburger cheese. She spun to face him, appalled

by his utter gall. “Looks like we’re both under the mistletoe.”

He waggled his eyebrows. It was not a pretty sight.

She looked up and confirmed that, yes, they were both under the

mistletoe. Not that this was such a unique feat; there seemed to

be pieces of the hated foliage hanging everywhere. Irrelevantly,

she wondered if this was someone’s idiotic idea of improving

office relations.

Whatever the case, Scully didn’t have a chance to tell him to

take a hike before a loud slap sounded in the room and a

stinging sensation warmed her derriere. Bob-From-Accounting

grinned unapologeticaat hat her.

The little bastard just slapped her ass!

Flushed red from anger, Scully yanked him down to eye level by

his ridiculous reindeer tie with the flashing red nose and told

him under no uncertain terms just what would happen to the

reproductive portion of his anatomy if he ever dared do that

again. Bob-O had the grace to pale and took his leave as soon as

Scully released him, rubbing at his now-chafed neck as he went.

Mulder, of course, had missed the entire exchange, having found

the buffet table.

Glaring around the room in an effort to ward off any other

would-be Don Juans, Scully searched the large space for a table

to retreat to. Preferably one located in a corner, away from all

the hoopla. She ended up settling for one close to the exit. But

not close enough.

Two things became apparent to her as she sat waiting for Mulder

to extract himself from the shiny chafing dishes of food. One:

her colleagues and alcohol do not mix. Two: Ginger Rossdale from

Transportation was likely going to achieve her goal of bedding

every available field agent under fifty in the building before

the New Year tonight. Seriously. There was a pool going.

“Did you leave anything for the others?” Scully asked with a

quirked eyebrow, gesturing at the mountain Mulder just placed on

the table. He beamed at her in answer and she shook her head.

This was the part where she nagged him about his atrocious

eating habits (honestly, cinnamon rolls and spaghetti?) and he

returned by looking wounded and whined that all she ate was

rabbit food. Somehow, the usual exchange held no appeal tonight.

Thank Bob, she thought with venom and murmured another slur

on his parentage.

“Huh?” Mulder asked with his mouth full and eyes wide in

confusion. She sighed. It was pointless getting into it.

“Nothing,” Scully replied and snagged a cinnamon roll off his

plate. She took a larger bite than necessary out of the warm

sweet bread. He smiled around his overstuffed mouth and nodded

his approval.

“Count?” he asked as soon as he’d swallowed.

Scully consulted her watch and groaned. “It’s only been fifteen

minutes.”

He muttered a curse and moodily dug back into his plate.

Concentrated as he was on the task at hand, he never saw Scully

stiffen.

Yes, Ginger Rossdale was on the prowl -- and was stalking toward

their table. “Agent Mulder,” she said in her annoying, simpering

tones and laid a familiar hand on his shoulder. Mulder turned

around and, Scully was satisfied to see, looked both surprised

and appalled. Ginger was Scully’s basic nightmare with her

runway-model legs and long, glossy chestnut hair. But she’d been

around the block -- several times. In fact, she’d been circling

that bad boy for years. It pleased Scully to no end that Mulder

was turned off by the woman practically sitting in his lap.>
<>


Many tortured moments later, Ginger dropped her eyes

coquettishly and whispered into Mulder’s ear loud enough for

Scully to hear that she was going to “powder her nose.” Scully

snorted. Who the hell said that anymore? But the important thing

was that the phrase carried her out of Scully’s sight.

She grinned. “You’ve btargtargeted.”

Mulder pushed his plate away, appetite on indefinite hiatus.

“We’re wasting time talking about it, Scully. Let’s go.” He

stood up and rounded the table to her side.

She stifled a laugh. “Mulder, we can’t just go--“

“Scully, there’s a very real part of me that wants to cower in

the corner and cry for my mommy. That woman has fangs and I’m

afraid for my mortal soul. Now let’s go!”

She did laugh now, but complied. They were out of the room

before Ginger even knew they’d gone without her.

Thus, they’d found themselves at The Crow Bar (Don’t Caw, Come

In), which was the only nearby place open on Christmas Eve,

downing strawberry margaritas (her favorite) and Guinness drafts

(his favorite). “You can’t leave me after a traumatic experience

like that,” he’d insisted. So there they were.

One cheerful patron was kind enough to play “Christmas Comes But

Once a Year (Or Else We’d All Just Shoot Ourselves) on the juke

box. Scully decided she wasn’t quite drunk enough to appreciate

the biting sarcasm of that particular ditty yet and slid down

her stool to make a few selections of her own. Then she ordered

another margarita to wait out the remaining songs.

After the last strains of “Merry Christmas (Screw the Holidays)

faded, Scully’s first song began. By then, she was tipsy enough

to enjoy the irreverent musical stylings of the last artist and

tipped her head to the man she’d seen select them. She was

almost sad to hear them end.

“Who the hell played Elton John?” Mulder queried, revived from

his brooding examination of the beer mug in front of him. Scully

hopped down from her stool as soon as Sir Elton crooned the

words, “Blue jean baby. L.A. lady” and yanked drunkenly on

Mulder’s arm.

“I did. C’mon,” she slurred, “You owe me a dance, Partner.”

Mulder frowned. “Wha for?”

Scully rolled her eyes, as if the reason were obvious. “Your

girlfriend turned my stomach against my ci’mon roll with all

that ‘sgustingly blatant innuendo. I think the least you can do

is dance with me.”

< He He relented and they made their way to the dance floor, which

truth be told was nothing more than a small clearing between the

juke box and the jumble of scuffed tables in front of it. The

floor itself was coated with a questionable-looking layer of God

knew what.

The pair barely moved to the music, more hugging with a bit of a

sway than anything else. Of course, in their minds their dance

was of Fred-and-Gingerian proportions. Drunkenness is bliss.

Mulder lowered his mouth to coo in Scully’s ear, “I thought you

enjoyed innuendo.” The words slid richly down her spine in the

most pleasing way. It was nothing like Bob’s damp and rancid

attentions. She shivered. Surprised by her unexpected reaction,

he held her tighter and rested his chin on the top of her head.

Scully was never one to miss a great opportunity when it

presented itself. She snuggled into Mulder’s embrace and sighed

her content. “You look incredible tonight, Scully,” Mulder

whispered into her ear as the music began to swell. Never mind

that she was in her usual ‘uniform’ of a black skirt and white
His simple words, said in that tone, going directly into her

ear, through her foggy brain and pooling somewhere in the

vicinity of her stomach, melted her. Then, she melted into him.

They were out of there before Elton could count those headlights

for the second time.

~*~

Hallelujah, praise the Lord and blessed be! Scully thought

happily as she and Mulder collapsed onto his bed together. They

were finally going to go through with it.

He continued to whisper flattering things to her as he made

short work of her blouse and pulled at her skirt hem, pausing in

his task only to rub velvet palms over her breasts until her

nipples peaked and gooseflesh bubbled over her body. She sighed.

This was so wonderful. Why hadn’t they ever--

Scully’s eyes shot open as a hand worked roughly at her clitoris

for a moment, then made a perfunctory probe into her vagina

before Mulder mounted and slid into her.

Scully had always pegged Mulder for a considerate and attentive

lover. She imagined (more times than she cared to admit) the way

he would tempt and tease her, making her so crazy with his deft

ministrations that she’d be close to begging for him before he’d

relent.

So what the hell was this? Two minutes of foreplay and it’s off

to the races? This was not in compliance with her fantasies.

Seven years of drooling over the possibilities of his fine hands

went down the toilet so fast she could almost hear the gurgling

flush.

One thrust. Two, three, four. She stretched to accommodate him

and judged him to be a decent size -- not too little, but not

too much, either. All the while he grunted into her ear loudly,

distracting her somewhat from the delicious warm feeling pooling

in her breasts and belly. God, this was getting good despite the

disappointing beginning.

And then, he collapsed over her.

Scully stiffened. Surely he hadn’t…

He did.

She wanted to cry in frustration.

~*~

Everything would be great, Scully mused on their second go-

round, if Mulder could just get past my breasts. What was once

stimulating before was now just plain uncomfortable. She could

feel her nipples protesting and anticipated the chafing that was

sure to ensue. She curled her fingers in Mulder’s silky hair,

wondering in the back of her mind if she still kept the aloe

vera extract in the back of her medicine cabinet.

Whatever effects her margaritas had on her before were now worn

off, and so she couldn’t even blame her forays into a redeeming

second chance on alcohol. If Mulder was faster than a speeding

bullet with the foreplay before, he was more than making up for

it with his single-minded attentions on this one erogenous zone.

Hadn’t his videos taught him there was more than just the one?

All her squirming only served to encourage him, rather than

divert him to other areas of her body. They had gone on for an

eternity this way.

Finally, he moved on. This was not what one would call a Good

Thing.

Enraptured, Mulder lifted his head from Scully’s breast and

gazed on her body. He grunted his approval. Scully vaguely

wondered if she should start weaving baskets and filling the

animal skins with water, then tried not to laugh out loud at

where her thoughts had taken her. Mulder misread the strain on

her face for a look of pleasure and moaned, bringing his mouth

down to cover hers. Excited, Mulder began kissing her in

earnest. Scully feared for the state of her fillings as he

alternately sucked and tongued her with a force that would make

Hoover proud. It isn’t slobber, she told herself firmly, and

tried her best to ignore the trickle of wetness running down her

cheek while also endeavoring to return his kiss with as much

fervor as she could muster under his overbearing ministrations.

So he wasn’t the dream kisser she imagined him to be. So he had

the endurance of a virgin on prom night – so what? This was

Mulder. She could live with that.

God, her tongue ached.

Once he was finished gnawing at her face, he retuned to nibble

at her nipples again, much to her dismay. He pulled away long

enough to shoot her a cocky “I’m the man” grin and went back to

work. After a few minutes of that, Scully began to notice an

insistent jabbing sensation on her left leg.

What the--? Was he humping her leg?

The last thing she wanted was a repeat of earlier events, which

is just what she would get if he continued to stimulate himself

on her leg. Frustrated and past being polite, Scully rolled

their bodies over so that she was on top and slid down onto his

erection until he was fully sheathed.

Ahhh.



This was sooo much more like it. She slowly sup hup his body,

then dropped to meet him, pelvis to pelvis. Again and again she

continued her delicious, rocking rhythm. She was a goddess, full

of heady, feminine power. She was in control. She was--

“Uh, Scully?”

She scowled, too irritated by the interruption to mask the

emotion. It was finally getting good. “What is it?” she snapped.

He poked out his bottom lip in a way that was not at all

attractive at the time. “I’m sorry, it’s just…”

Scully was at the end of her patience. “Well?”

“It’s just that -- I don’t really like it that way.”

Oh. Well, isn’t this great? she thought.

“I do,” she replied shortly and rotated her hips again. He

really was a nice size, she noted. You just had to approach it

from the right angle. She honeyed her tones and purred into his

ear, “Just lay back, Mulder. I know what I’m doing.” The angle,

incidentally, was perfect. She ground away, climbing closer and

closer to completion with each movement. Throwing her head back

and gripping at his chest, she was determined to make as much of

her flushed and naked glory as possible, sure he was

salvageable, and wanting to show him this position had merit.

But after a few moments passed, it became clear that the pained

expression on his face wasn’t going away. She slowed her rhythm

in a moment of uncertainty, which was her first mistake. Or the

most recent in a line of many, depending on how one viewed the

night as a whole. Mulder took advantage of the opportunity and

flipped her onto her back and entered her once again.

“Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” she muttered to herself. Mulder,

of course, hadn’t heard.

Time passed.

Lots of it.

After a thorough inspection of the plaster in Mulder’s ceiling,

she began to name off the elements of the periodic table in her

head: hydrogen, lithium, sodium... She wasn’t sure if the well-

placed gasps and moans she was emitting was encouraging him to

take this much time, or if it was because of his eer -er --

lapse in control -- but she decided to look on the bright side;

at least she was getting a nice workout, right?

But the worst was yet to come. This time around, the closer

Mulder got to completion, the more verbal he became. “Oh yeah,

Scully. Yeah, baby. Unghhhh…”

And on it went.

~*~

The phrase “merciful release” took on a whole new meaning for

Scully that night. From here on out, she decided, it will be

synonymous with the phrase “eternally grateful it’s over.”

Mulder, exhausted and yet smiling like he’d won the lottery,

rolled over to Scully’s side and pulled her close to him. A

little disillusioned, a little bitter, Scully snuggled into the

warmth of his body. After all these years, there was no denying

she loved him. It wasn’t even a question. And now that they’d

moved their relationship to the next level, she knew beyond a

shadow of a doubt this was to be a permanent thing. Neither of

them would accept going back to the way things were. She

frowned, getting herself used to the idea that the man she loved

was talentless in bed. She pointedly ignored the unfulfilled

throbbing between her legs.

Several minutes of her self-pity passed before Mulder propped

himself up on an elbow and looked adoringly down into her face.

“What’s wrong, Scully?”

She looked away, too ashamed to tell him the truth and feeling

shallow and petty under his tender gaze. “Nothing,” she lied. “I

should go to the bathroom and -- freshen up.” She finished

lamely. Freshen up and finish up, was more it. it.

Mulder frowned. “Oh, Scully. You didn’t…did you?” He looked

embarrassed. She placed a hand on his cheek offered him a small

smile. “It’s okay,” she told him.

“I don’t think so, Partner,” he replied silkily and disappeared

beneath the covers.

“Oh!” Scully exclaimed a moment later, eyes wide with delicious

shock. “Mmm, Mulder…” Did she say “talentless” before? She

couldn’t have been more mistaken.

One hand clutching the spindles of the headboard, she gasped and

shuddered. With a gripping, violent jerk, she gave her silent

and eternal thanks to the inventor of the sunflower seed.

~The End~

A/N: The Christmas songs at The Crow Bar are my own weird

imaginings, but “Tiny Dancer” by Elton John was also used here

without permission. No infringement intended.

If you’ve read this far, I thank you. This was all in good fun.

And if there’s ever any question of if I prefer this version of

“The Main Event” to the perfectly timed, always mind-blowing

versions ever-present in fanfic, just visit my web page to take

a gander at my usual smut style:

http://www.invidiosa.com/pipers/

Thanks to the gracious and talented Circe Invidiosa fostiosting

and creating this page!