Title - Supposition
Author - Laura Blaurosen
E-Mail address - Mezzo4@aol.com
Rating - NC17
Category - Vignette
Spoilers - Allusions to 3
Keywords - MSR/Mulder Angst
Summary - Mulder's self-reproach over his behavior
after a certain item comes into his possession.

Disclaimer -
Scully, Byers, Mulder, and the X-files are not my
creation.  Other entities like 1013 productions and
Twentieth Century Fox are the ones who receive
credit and compensation from Chris Carter's genius.



Supposition
     by Laura Blaurosen


Fox Mulder was jolted awake by an incessant
knocking at his door.

"Go away, dammit," he called out groggily.  He had
actually fallen asleep before midnight for a change
and whoever this fucker was at his door, it'd better
be damn important.

The knock came again and he decided he'd better
get up in case it was Scully.  He searched briefly for
his gun and headed for the front door.  Through the
peephole he saw John Byers.

He opened the door cautiously, ready to oust the
goons were they to push their way through.  But
upon opening the door, he was surprised to see
Byers alone.

"Where's you're entourage?"  He asked in an
irritated tone.

"Mulder, I just dropped by to give you this
videotape."  He handed it to Mulder.

"What is it?"

"It's a surveillance tape taken last year." 

Mulder took the padded envelope from him.  "Yeah,
so?"

"You weren't the only one being watched, Mulder. I
came into this by accident.  I don't know if it really
contains anything of any consequence, that's
something you'll have to decide for yourself.   I just
thought you would want to have it, to dispose of it as
you saw fit."

"Thanks,"  He said, shutting the door on Byers. 
*But no thanks,* he thought, dropping himself back
onto the couch.  The tape could wait until tomorrow. 
He was tired.

But Mulder just lay there, eyes open, staring at the 
envelope containing the mystery tape.

*What if it's the one thing that reveals everything
you've been searching for?*  After a few moments,
he couldn't stand it.  He had to know now.

He popped it in.  The date in the corner read 1 09
1997 22:45.  He sat on the edge of the couch and
studied it closely.  It was somebody's house...a
bedroom.  Looks familiar.  Then he saw her.  A
wet-headed Scully wrapped only in a towel.  He
remarked at how clear the video was and that it was
in color.  He thought he could see the freckles on
her back.

Not that he was looking that closely.  He was only
watching to figure out why the tape was even made. 
They must have been watching Scully, too.  Yes, he
watched it purely for investigative reasons.  Purely.

He watched as Scully fished through a pile of
laundry on her unmade, sheet-less bed.  She was
trying to untangle everything unsuccessfully.

He chuckled quietly as he watched her struggle with
the pile.  Her skin seemed still moist from her
evening bathing ritual.  Well, Mulder assumed she
had that ritual anyway.  He'd figured it into the many
things he didn't really know for sure about Scully's
life away from him. He'd also figured it into his own
fantasies.

..Scully sinking into a hot, hot tub, as hot as she
could stand it, after a long day of dealing with him. 
Soaking her perfectly shaped muscles and their
achy joints in citrus-scented water.  Bubbles
surrounding her and absorbing into her skin to give
her that specific and effeminate scent that he
associated with no other woman than her.  Yes, that
one he thought about often and expounded upon in
great detail.

Frustrated, Scully had given up on the pile and
dragged it to the floor.  She pulled out the pieces if
the sheet set one by one and then her towel began
to slip.

*Let it go,* Mulder thought against his will and
immediately scolded himself for having thought it.

But, as though she'd heard him, she rid herself of
the fool thing and tossed it aside.

Naked.  Special Agent Dana Scully was completely
naked before him on his television.  Mulder felt his
mouth fill with an overabundance of saliva.  And
then he felt every last ounce of his blood leave all
other areas of his body to settle in one central
location.

He squirmed a bit on the couch to relieve some of
the sudden discomfort, with little success.  Then he
shut off the tape.  It occurred him that his breathing
was becoming shallow and he was starting to sweat
a little.

He tried to think of any other thing besides what he
just saw, but with the lack of blood coursing through
his brain, it was impossible.

He had just seen his partner - naked!  Her perfect,
small yet sinewy, peaches and cream body - all of it
had stood before him on his TV, the same screen
graced by the New York Nicks and his favorite
videos.  He saw her breasts, round and full and
perfect.  Her pink nipples had been taut from
exposure to the air.  *Wonder what it would feel like
to touch them, run my tongue over them, back and
forth, one then the other.  Feel her arch her back
and dig her fingers into my scalp.  Hear her moan as
I put my mouth over one and suckle...*

Mulder was now beyond uncomfortable.  His jeans
were confining him so tightly he was in pain.  He
stood and carefully worked himself out of them.

*Jesus, Mulder, what are you, fifteen years old?*  All
he'd done was seen a naked woman.  

Yeah, but not just any naked woman.  A naked
Scully.

Scully.  Naked.  *God help me.*

He'd had hard-ons because of Scully before, and
not infrequently, either.  This one, however, took the
cake.

*Well, Mulder, there's only one way to remedy this
situation, my friend.*

*No, wait.  You promised yourself last time you
wouldn't think about her anymore when you did
this.*

But try as he might, he kept seeing her, naked in
front of her bed, struggling to untangle her laundry
pile.

Think, Mulder, think.  Another video, yeah, that
would refocus your task.  He grabbed the first one
he could find.  It was one of the few he still had that
didn't feature any red-headed "actresses."

Then he suddenly remembered.  Dear Agent Scully
was really a red-head.  There was no longer a
question about that.

Instead of ejecting the tape, however, he ended up
hitting play again.

There she was again, moving around her bed as
nude as the day she was born.  Mulder's darkened
eyes watched as she put the sheets on the bed.

*God, Scully walked around naked in her house! 
This is not a good thing for me to know.* 
Unconsciously, Mulder's hand flew directly to his
increasingly rigid cock and he began to stroke it
gingerly through his boxers.

He heard the ring of the phone in Scully's
apartment.  "Hello?  What's up, Mulder?"

*O geez, I had called her and she was naked and
talking to me on the phone naked!  I'm telling her
about my latest alien-conspiracy-abduction quest on
the phone and she's listening to me with no clothes
on!*  His hand did not slow down whatsoever as he
reached inside his boxers now for a more direct
touch.  Somehow knowing that he was talking work
over the phone to a naked Scully was the biggest
turn-on he could ever imagine.  

Mulder let out a sigh through clenched teeth when
she bent over to tuck under the ends of the fitted
sheet.  Then she climbed over the bed to the other
side to attend to those corners.

Her breasts swung back and forth underneath her
as she crawled around on her hands and knees on
the mattress.  Mulder closed his eyes for a brief
minute and immediately saw himself there, beneath
her.  And she was moving languidly up and down on
him in long, painfully slow strokes.  He simulated the
movement of those strokes with his hand.

"Okay, Mulder, see you then."

The sound of Scully's voice caused Mulder to open
his eyes again, thinking for a split second she had
walked into his apartment.  It was the tape, though,
and when Mulder heard Scully grunting slightly as
she reached back over the bed to hang up the
phone and grab her pillows, he felt himself grow
larger and stiffer in his hand.  She now had her
backside to him, sitting back on her legs with her
perfect, round ass cradled in her little feet.  She
hugged the pillow to herself and worked the case on
to it.

Through slit eyes, Mulder saw himself there, Scully's
skinny fingers running up and down his arms and
torso and back as he pumped his hips into hers,
faster and faster  *god, faster, Scully,* making her
moan in time with the bounce of the mattress. 

The movement of which he tried to mimic now on his
couch, then dropping to the floor on his knees,
pumping his pelvis into his hand.  His breath was
shorter now, inhaling through his mouth and
exhaling through his nose.

Somewhere a quiet voice in the far reaches of his
conscience told him he should stop, or at least shut
the tape back off again.  But he was far beyond
executing any other task than the one he was
working on at the moment and furthermore, it
wouldn't matter anymore if he did shut off the tape. 
The image of naked Scully was permanently etched
in his eidetic memory, no longer fabricated solely by
his imagination, but a real and actual picture.  A
picture which would surely never leave him now.

He buried his head in the crook of his free arm
which he rested on the coffee table.  He was
completely out of control now, his brain capable only
of conjuring up images of naked Scully doing
anything and everything he wanted to his body and
keeping his hand moving on himself.  Squeezing
and stretching himself roughly while he pretended it
was Scully's hand, or her mouth, or her tight-

Before he even finished the thought, Mulder lost it,
exploding into his hand and onto his rug.  He shook
and shook, thrashing his head about, calling out,
"Oh, god, Scully, Scully," in a strained voice.

He let his head fall back onto the coffee table as his
chest heaved.  Feeling around for the remote, he
looked up in time to see a pajama'd Scully crawl into
bed to go to sleep.  He shut the TV off and let out a
heavy sigh.

God, Mulder, you are so fucking pathetic.



Fox Mulder never had trouble getting women.  It
seemed there were always plenty of willing
candidates waiting when he wanted it.  He had only
to say a few words and he had them.  Literally.  But
since Scully had come into his life, his one night
stands gradually became less and less frequent,
and his solitary sessions increased.  And since
Kristen, he had not slept with anyone.

Even thinking about that now, his stomach clenched. 
He had felt so incredibly guilty then once they'd
finished.  He was embarrassed, too, because he'd
called out Scully's name when he came with Kristen. 
>From the moment he slipped inside her, he closed
his eyes and pictured it was Scully writhing and
squirming beneath him.  As soon as it registered
that he'd said Scully's name, his eyes flew open to
see Kristen laughing wickedly at him.  He squeezed
his eyes shut and wrenched himself from her, sitting
up in the bed still panting and practically teary-eyed. 
"Didn't make you happy, did it?" she said to him,
mocking his words.

"Fuck you," he'd said.

"Just did," she laughed.

Once he got back home, he proceeded to drink
himself into a stupor.  But downing an entire bottle
of Absolut did nothing to cover up the emptiness he
still felt.  He couldn't save Kristen, couldn't save
Scully.  Scully was still gone.  And it was still his
fault.

Loser.

Why he should feel so accountable to her in this
way really baffled him.  Would she really even care
if he slept with anyone, at any time in his life? 
There was no good reason she should.  The best
explanation most likely had to do with the fact that
he was certain he could never make love with any
woman again without thinking about her while he did
it.  Just as he was never able to picture and any
other woman in his fantasies when he did it to
himself.

Loser.

And it was his fault that this tape had been made,
too; that she had been under surveillance like him. 
*If she had never known you, god!  The things she
would have been spared from!*  It made his head
reel every time he thought about it.  She would be
able to walk around her house naked without
thinking that things like this stupid tape were being
made for him to eventually see and then to...  

He felt like he should call her and tell her. 
Apologize or something.

"Hey, Scully, it's me.  Yeah, I just wanted to call and
apologize.  Yeah, well you see, Byers, he gave me
this surveillance tape taken in your house and well, I
saw you naked making your bed and I got real
turned on and so I fucked myself."

"Oh, that's okay.  No big deal, Mulder.  Apology
accepted."

Yeah, right.

Sorry sonofabitch, nothing.  I'm a sorry excuse for a
man.

Mulder picked himself up off the floor and dragged
himself into the shower.  Cold, cold water, as cold
as he could stand it plunged down his back.  He
banged his head into the wall, over and over as he
continued to berate himself for being 'so fucking
pathetic.'

Was it possible to want any one person so much?  It
was probably the knowing he couldn't, that he would
never have her that way, was what made it so bad. 
With every day that passed, it never got any easier. 
She just grew more and more beautiful to him and
his desire for her never waned one bit.  Sometimes
it was practically unbearable.

For the most part, though, he would be okay around
her.  Most of the time, he could work side by side
with her, deeply engrossed in their cases and never
give it a second thought.  Some days he was so
wrapped up in himself and whatever brilliant theory
he happened to be working on at the moment that it
barely occurred to him that she was even a woman.

But all it took was a simple moment and he was lost
in her.  Sometimes he'd catch her at the computer
with her jacket off, her shirt hugging her tightly in all
the right places.  She'd be leaning back in the chair
in a long stretch, arms high above her head, her
breasts pointed skyward, and he'd be able to count
her ribs.  She would make those little Scully noises
that he fantasized she also made at other moments
in her life.  Sometimes she'd fall asleep when they
traveled, like in the car or on the airplane.  Her neck
would be stretched and exposed to him and it was
all Mulder could do to keep from putting his mouth
there.

But he wouldn't because he couldn't and so he'd
take these images home with him and sate himself
there. Alone.

*How could I be so sick?*  He thought as he plopped
back down on the couch.  It was one thing to get
turned on by all the adult media which he 'didn't
own', but to think of Scully that way?  It just reduced
her to a mere sex object and that he was the one
doing it disgusted him.  His Scully was much more
dynamic that just that.  That's why he'd recently
resolved to not to let his imagination put her in that
position anymore.  Or any positions which were
unrelated to their work.  *No more, Mulder.  Can't
have her and you really shouldn't pretend anymore.*

His Scully.  *I wonder if I'm her Mulder.*

The thought made him smile and comforted him just
a little.  He pulled his blanket around his body and
shivered from the cold of his recent shower.  Trying
to get warm again, he curled up into a ball and
buried himself as much as he could into the couch. 
Like he did many other times, he wished she was
there right now.  Wished he was holding her,
burying his face in her stomach as she ran her
hands soothingly through his hair.  Telling him he
wasn't a loser.  Telling him he wasn't spooky. 
Telling him he wasn't a sorry sonofabitch.

Telling him she loved him.

"I love you, Scully," he whispered almost audibly,
before closing his eyes again.  Pretending she was
there with him, he let himself fall into a deep sleep,
believing she'd be there when he woke up again.


End

______________________
Thanks for reading!
Mezzo4@aol.com