Title: Misled: Suggestion Author: UrsaMajor Rating: NC17 for sexual situations and naughty words Classification: MSR, slight H, slight X. Summary: Go read Joann Humby's Misled first ... I bounced off that, wondering, so what was *Scully* doing that night? ;) Timeline: This starts towards the beginning of part two; any time after the beginning of fifth season. Spoilers:insignificant ones for Anasazi, TFWID, Demons. Thanks: To Heathers and the rest, for being so patient. To Joann Humby for letting me bounce off her idea. Legals: Not mine. His. Big Surfer Dude's. And Big Corporation's. No harm done. Me good Neanderthal. @-->--*--<--@ Dammit. Scully glared at her laptop as she stood up to stretch. Her aching neck and shoulders only reminded her of her new, bizarre home. The World Wide Web, for all its weird collection of facts, rumours, and delusions, had provided no clue to changing their current circumstances back to normal. From lysergic acid dyethylamide to custom compounds--not one could quite explain this bad trip. Though it certainly fit under the heading of bizarre delusions. Auditory hallucinations--did hearing your own voice emanating from your body count? Especially if you no longer inhabited that body? Distractible--being in a man's body was strange enough, let alone Mulder's body. Distractible didn't begin to describe it. Great, she moaned. I could be diagnosed with schizophrenia. More like multiple personality disorder. A la Melissa Ridell. Except her body was only hosting one wrong soul. And Mulder's body was hosting hers. I need a shower, she thought, exhausted. I need to forget this day happened. I need to be cleansed. Absentmindedly, her fingers reached up to massage her temples. She froze. The prickly skin of a five o'clock shadow greeted her palms, as her fingers rushed through short, disheveled hair. This was just wrong. She shouldn't be stuck here. Scully rubbed her temples, hoping to alleviate the massive headache she knew was caused by this conundrum. It helped, if only slightly. Squeezing, she tried massaging her neck and shoulders as best she could, feeling the tension slowly exit her body. Wasn't it ... wrong? Was it her craving the massage, or Mulder? If it was Mulder, shouldn't he take care of it? If it was her, why would massaging Mulder's body help? Or, because she was now the temporary proprietor of his body ... she shook her head. Well, she did need to shave, if only to stem off his merciless teasing the next day. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do." Bastard. Fuck him. With renewed ferocity, Scully stalked towards the bathroom. Buttons flew everywhere as she ripped his shirt off, tossing it to the floor. Shaving cream. Razor. Hmm, could be dangerous, she smirked. She caught sight of his body in the mirror above the sink, and stopped. For once, she could actually see her whole torso reflected back at her. Even if it wasn't, per se, her torso. Which obviously, it wasn't. Otherwise, she might not have paused to examine it. Broad shoulders, squared back, confident pose. A lean but muscular torso, sparsely sprinkled with soft, curly hair, and a cute belly button. How weird was that ... to be able to see your belly button in a mirror that rarely showed you anything below the bustline, simply because of your height. After splashing warm water onto his face, she squeezed the gel into his hands, and lathered up. So how mad will he be if the razor slips? No pressure, Dana. None at all. Growling, she lifted the razor, and hesitantly, traced it down his cheek. Twenty minutes later, she felt slightly cleaner, but the shower was still calling her. Seducing her was more like it. The heat of the warm water, pounding into her aching muscles, streaming down her--his body from scalp to sole ... If she could handle a shave, she could handle this. In, shampoo, soap, conditioner, out, towel off, get dressed. Seven Simple Steps. She padded out to the other room to retrieve her sleep clothes for the night. Critically, she examined the clothes he had laid out for her. Normal suit, calm tie (*she* had picked it out) ... and boxer briefs. Silky and tight to the touch. "This is what I'm going to sleep in?" And what had she left him? Plain white cotton. God, he must think her the most repressed woman on the Eastern Seaboard. And what does that matter, Agent Scully? Slowly, her hands moved to undo the buttons of his slacks. They tumbled to the floor fluidly, and out of habit, she picked them up and folded them neatly, placing them on the chair at the foot of the bed. Last to go were the boxers: she removed them gingerly, careful to stay away from potentially dangerous areas. She returned to the bathroom quickly and shyly, after checking to make sure the doors were locked, turned on the water, and stepped in. As the water pulsed onto her back, it wore away at the tension that had been nipping at her all day. Even wetting her head felt new--more sensitive, as if having less hair gave the water easier access to pleasing her, relaxing her, yet putting her on edge in an entirely different sense of the word. Uh-uh, Scully, she warned herself as she lathered shampoo into Mulder's hair. Don't go there. She almost laughed out loud as she looked down at Mulder's bobbing erection. Maybe I should have taken a cold shower ... men are so easily aroused. She giggled, then jumped, still unused to Mulder's voice coming from her body. She noted, with ever-slipping objectivity, that his nipples had tightened immensely into hard little peaks. She was now poised on the brink of a moral dilemma, and she found herself leaping over the precipice eagerly. Wait a minute, Dana. Slow down here. This is *not* your body. You were just supposed to ... take care of it. Take care of it ... exactly, the devil in her cajoled. You're tense, you're in control of his body ... release that tension. Isn't this wrong? Whose needs are you satisfying here? She flicked the self-righteous angel away as her palms caressed his skin. So soft and clean. Come on, Scully, it's not as if you haven't seen him before ... He was drugged then, too. She snickered. That time they'd gone on the lam to New Mexico. More recently, in a hotel room in Providence. LIfe just wasn't fair sometimes. Hell, he'd gotten to see her nearly naked when neither of them were drugged--on their very first case! Smiling just a bit wickedly, she returned her attentions to where they belonged. His chin, newly shaved, provided the first distraction. Still a bit scratchy. She rubbed the back of her hand against it, wishing she could rub her own cheek against it instead. Tweaked the familiar nose playfully ... tugged experimentally on the ears and found a hotspot, to her intense pleasure. Massaging her neck and back ... not all massages had to be erotic ... but this one ... ohhhhh, yes. Taking advantage of the threeway mirror, she turned slowly, admiring his swimmer's back and runner's legs, the taut, lean body fleshed out only slightly in the rear. She cupped his chest curiously ... still the same, just flatter ... and the intensity more centered. Slowly, she slid her hands down his body, hardly daring at first, then bolder, with more confidence. And then her large, square palms slipped lower and engulfed her, and all was lost. Oh god. Reflexively, she clenched her fist, forgetting exactly what she had wrapped it around, exponentially increasing the sensations clouding her mind and flooding her body. Breathe, Dana. Breathe. She moved her thumb over the tip, surrounding him with more earthly liquid. Her other hand, searching for something to caress, ended up holding his balls, gently rotating them back and forth. Stroke. Looong, luxuriating stroke. Oooh, that spot ... gentle stroke again--oh god--twitch-- squeeze-stroke--please forgive me--and again--for I have sinned--and around and again--and will continue to do so! God, where was she when she needed herself? All her fantasies about Mulder whirled through her head, but none of them measured up to the act of even touching him this intimately. She missed her own body, desperately wanted to pleasure herself as well as him, feel him driving into her body, feel that surrounding, engulfing heat around the cock she now possessed. She came to the edge. And plunged. Sweet, sweet falling. Floating, caressing, pulsing with energy, exploding, feeling. Being. And then a clunky clumsy landing as her wobbly legs betrayed her and she tumbled to the tub floor with a loud splash. "Scully, are you okay?" Breathe. Calm thy jittery nerves. Still thy racing heart. Turn off the shower. "Uh, I'm fine, Mulder," she managed to squeak out. God, her voice even cracked. Yeah, sure, fine didn't begin to describe her current predicament. On the one hand, she'd just come off the greatest orgasm in the history of the world. On the other hand ... what other hand? Towelling off was exquisite agony in itself as the rough terry dragged across her supersensitive nubs, only making her more aware of her regenerated cravings. She stumbled out of the bathroom in a daze, seeking the bed, and flopped on the bed, barely bothering with the boxer briefs. I wonder if he did the same thing I was doing? The thought jolted her back awake instantaneously. Come to think of it, his voice had seemed a bit deeper than Scully-normal ... She leered at herself in the mirror on the dresser. Yep. Class-A Mulder-leer. This could be interesting. END Feedback? lebaer@amherst.edu