Title: Getting Pushed
Author: Adrienne < davephile@yahoo.com >
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Pusher
Classification: VR
Keywords: Scully/other, Pusher, Season 5, Scully POV
Archive: Anywhere, in its entirety 
Summary: Scully gets a phone call from Modell and gets
really into the conversation.  Season 5,
pre-Kitsunegari.
Disclaimer: The X-Files, The Silence of the Lambs, and
all characters that I mention in this fic are not
mine, I just like to use them because I'm too busy to
form my own characters.
Author's Notes: Well this is my first fic that isn't
MSR.  I hope people don't go freakin' out on me. 
Feedback is loved, hard.
http://petpede.tripod.com
-------------------------

The phone rings.

I'm sitting cross-legged on my bed, wearing a white
t-shirt and black panties, a spoonful of Ben and
Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie frozen yogurt hovering
in front of my lips.

I sigh, shifting my eyes down to the cordless phone by
my bare knee as it rings again. Dammit. Not *one*
afternoon without an interruption. That would be too
difficult, wouldn't it?

I push the spoon into my mouth, licking and sucking
the chocolate off the cold metal as I pick up the
phone. My eyes are still affixed on The Silence of the
Lambs--one of my favorite movies for obvious reasons.
I hit the talk button with a chocolatey finger and
answer with the yogurt still melting on my tongue.

"Hello?" It's a little jumbled, and I swallow quickly,
hoping it's not somebody important. But then again,
nobody important would be calling on a Saturday
afternoon.

"It's rude to talk with your mouth full."

I feel the hairs on the back of my neck tingle and
rise at the slight familiarity of the soothing
monotone. "What?" I ask, swaying the silver spoon
rhythmically in the air before me, held firmly between
two slender fingers. I watch the glints of sunlight as
they hit the shiny surface of it, glinting off into
the corners of my bedroom.

"What are you eating?"

I slowly swirl my tongue around my mouth, gathering
remnants of chocolate from hidden spaces. It makes a
little wet noise as air bubbles squish around; I am
embarrassed, and I feel the warm expanse of a
self-conscious blush filling my cheeks.

I hear him breathe, and drop the spoon onto my
comforter. Furrowing my brow, I feel uneasy at the way
his voice, the slightest sound of his breath,
intrigues me.

"Who are you?" I ask, the strong tone of my voice
wavering slightly.

"You know me."

"I know I know you." A chill runs up my spine as I
desperately try to place this man's identity. So
familiar, so soft, so gentle. Not Mulder... not
Bill...

"You do know me, Agent Scully." He is silent once
again. I shake my head slightly, thinking hard. So
gentle...

I breathe out slowly, hearing the soft wisp of it as
the air hits the phone. "I know."

"Tell me who I am," he finally says, in the same slow,
practiced monotone as before. It's driving me crazy.
Fucking crazy. Who the hell is this...

"Oh my god," I whisper, as a wave of realization hits
me like a gentle...

...breeze.

"Tell me who I am."

I swallow a few times, my mouth dry and bitterly sour,
my heart racing. "Modell."

Robert Modell-"Pusher"-of nearly two years ago, master
of mind control, effortlessly driving people to
violence as a part of his own twisted game of personal
apocalypse. The last time I saw him was in a hospital
bed, comatose from an extremely damaging tumor in his
brain. I had no idea he'd recovered. But it couldn't
be anyone else-any imitation would be obvious. Modell
was distinguished, distinctive. 

Is. He *is.*

My teeth work on the side of my mouth, biting and
scraping  as I think about his motives for calling me.
Why not Mulder? He was always obsessed with Mulder. I
think he admired his strength--Mulder, in a way, is
much like the warrior Modell always aspired to be.

But cancer got in his way.

And maybe that is the connection, the link between the
two of us that brought him to call me.

"Bingo," he replies dully, and I suddenly remember I'm
on the phone with him. "What are you watching?"

"Why..." I start, my eyes fluttering as a sudden
relaxing feeling overcomes my body. "Why are you
calling me?"

I know I shouldn't be listening. I know I should hang
up the phone, call Mulder, call Skinner, call anyone.
But I'm taken by the inflection and intensity of his
voice. I know that for some reason, he's controlling
me, or at least trying to.

And I, completely mesmerized, hold the phone tightly
to my ear.

"What are you watching?"

I open my eyes fully, as if on cue, as if he directed
them to do so. I try not to listen, but something
inside of me is stirring. I can feel it in the pit of
my stomach; a tingling, churning feeling. I can't
place it; it's just there. "The Silence of the Lambs."

He chuckles softly. "Do you identify with Starling,
Agent Scully?"

I gulp, my head tilting to one side as my neck
relaxes. I gaze at the screen, my eyes slightly out of
focus. "Yes."

"Why?"

"She's...she's strong. Steadfast. Breaks down only
when things are completely unbearable," I explain
softly. My voice is almost a whisper. "Intelligent.
Not intimidated."

"Pretty."

My heart leaps into my throat. I breathe the word.
"Yes."

There is utter stillness on the end of the line and I
listen to the peaceful nothingness, anxiously awaiting
his next words. He has me hanging onto every one of
them, clinging to them. Desperate for them.

"I identify with Lecter," he says, his tone low and
soothing. I smile softly. Something about his voice is
intensely mysterious, and it's making me... I don't
know. I don't know how to feel. I don't know why I'm
feeling the way that I'm feeling...

"Why?" I ask quietly, lying back on the bed. The
softness of my pillow envelops me, sinking me deeper
into the conversation.

"He's misunderstood. He's not afraid to do what he
thinks is natural to him." He pauses and I breathe in
slowly. "Are you afraid, Agent Scully?"

My breath catches in my throat. "Of what, exactly?"

"Of what is natural to you."

"No." 

I lie. I'm lying and he knows it. Lying to someone who
can manipulate your mind so easily is pointless.

"Starling is afraid," Modell comments, ignoring my lie
for the time being. I close my eyes once again, my
hands splaying over my stomach, phone cradled next to
my ear. "She's afraid of her feelings. Physical,
emotional... sexual. Are you?"

I can't say... I can't tell him... I can't...

"Yes."

"Lecter is in love with Starling...but knows she
thinks he is a monster. He questions the possibility
that she could ever love him back," he explains
gently, proddingly. I feel my stomach churn more.

"She could," I whisper. I lick my lips once, parting
them to breathe in a shallow breath. "But would she?"

"She should," is his reply. I am feeling dizzy,
strange, but wonderfully aroused in a number of ways.
It's lethargically exciting, but fear is like a
heartbeat, pounding in my chest, demanding to be
acknowledged.

"I'm afraid," I whisper as a small tear trails down my
cheek.

I don't know where that came from. I don't know why
it's there. I don't know how...

"Stop thinking," he says, demanding but all the while
gentle. It is a soft-spoken command that clears my
mind of obtrusive questioning.

"I thought...I thought you were sick. I thought you
were dying," I whisper, feeling my lip twitch
slightly.

"I was. I'm cured, Dana...may I call you Dana?"

Dana? "Yes."

"I'm cured, Dana, through my own will, through my own
powers...the one true skill for a warrior to master is
the rejection of that which hinders him, that which
makes him helpless," he murmurs urgently. "Dana, we
are warriors. We have that strength. Together."

I feel a surge of heat as if an electric current is
running through me. Up and down, again and again. Not
frightening as much as it is stimulating. Not of my
mind, but of my body. It's soothing, like slipping
into a steaming bath.

"Not 'we'," I whisper. There is no...

"Yes, 'we.' We are together, Dana. You have to look
deeper. You have to reach further into your soul. You
know what you want; I can feel your desires within
you. Can you feel it?"

I raise my eyebrows, eyes still closed, dry lips
sticking as they pull apart. My hands run lightly over
my stomach and down my sides. I'm making sure I'm
still there, still conscious. "I feel it."

I feel it.

"We're connected." His voice is a raspy whisper in my
ear, a bit harsh, a bit desperate. I am breathless,
speechless. A tingle tickles down my body to my
center... and lingers.

"What do you want?" I ask, feeling my eyebrows lower
as I relax more.

"Dana, I want what you want," Modell says. "You just
have to let yourself enjoy it."

Enjoy it? "Enjoy what?" I answer, my voice
surprisingly lower, huskier. I know what he means. But
I don't want to give in to what I'm feeling, to what
he's making me feel. This rising heat inside of me,
well, it's not often that I indulge myself in it. I'm
usually forced to ignore it and keep my mind on my
work.

"Dana... touch yourself."

Brought back by his words, I gasp slightly, feeling my
whole body flush with embarrassment and arousal. "I...
I can't do that. I don't do that."

Denial. Just like confession.

"Yes, you do, Dana, and you can," he says calmly. I
can hear the timbre of his voice changing, becoming
deeper with the immediate change of mood.

"Why... why do you want me to do that?" I whisper,
tracing my fingers along the skin that meets the edge
of my panties. I'm burning to do it now; a deep desire
inside of me drives me to slip a few fingers under the
black silk. There's something so secret about touching
myself that it seems incredibly deviant to share it
with anyone. But curiously erotic at the same time.

"Why are you afraid, Dana?" he asks as my hand drifts
along the skin under my panties. I gasp softly as I
hit sensitive spots with my fingertips. "You're aching
to go further... I know it. So do it."

I *am* aching for it, literally aching with the need
for touch, the need for pleasure. My fingers dip down
to the curls between my legs and I cup myself, resting
them between my thighs and stroking myself hesitantly.
I bite my lip, a hard breath escaping through my nose
and echoing through the phone as tingles spread
through my abdomen and thighs.

"You're not holding back, are you?"

I don't answer. I can't. He knows I am. I can't speak.

I press my fingers deep between my swollen lips and
run them down to my opening, finding myself soaking
wet, enough that I blush furiously as I swirl a finger
around it. I can hear his breathing now, more than
before, in sync with mine as if he's inside me
somehow... inside me...

I push two fingers, hard and fast... inside me.

"Can you feel me?" Modell whispers as I moan, feeling
the warm softness of my muscles tense around my
fingers. "Can you feel me inside you, Dana?"

I begin to move my fingers in and out slowly, writhing
my hips, craving more, feeling dirty, almost ashamed
at how aroused I am. I stroke the upper wall of my
vagina with two curled fingers, up and down... up and
down. My clit throbs harder, demanding my attention,
so I grind my palm against it and gasp, feeling my
whole body quiver.

"You're so hot... so tight... you want me to fuck you
faster." His voice is shaking in its softness, but
still calm and strangely collected for the situation.
I move my fingers faster, in and out, keeping the
phone trapped between my ear and my shoulder as my
other hand finds my clit to give it a little bit more
stimulation. "There you go... are you feeling it now?"

My breath, ragged, intermittent with soft whimpers, is
my only answer. Fingers circle the side of my clit as
I add a third to those already inside me, moaning as I
feel it slightly stretch me.
 
I feel like I'm going to come soon, like a pot on the
verge of boiling and spilling hot liquid everywhere...
I can feel it inside me already, the heat and the
steam and the tingling build.

So bad... I feel so bad... I'm so...

"Come on, Scully," he whispers urgently, his voice
getting more demanding, bringing me to a higher point
of arousal. "Come for me. Do it now. Come for me."

"Yeah," I breathe softly between gasps, bringing my
knees up and grinding my heels into my bed as I rub
hard and fuck myself even harder. "Yeah... I'm
gonna..."

I don't know where it's coming from, this voice; it's
something, deep and dark, inside of me being released
in this strange alternate universe that has become a
bit too real.

 "Yeah, Scully... yeah." His voice sends me spiraling,
and I come with a loud whimper, my breath catching in
my throat. And I'm drowning in my breath and in my
tingles and in each exhilarating spasm inside as I
keep my fingers going, begging my body for more.

And I keep whimpering.

I keep whimpering until he hangs up.

-end-