TITLE: The Video 2: The Sequel AUTHOR: Jess EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@mindspring.com DISCLAIMER: If I owned them, David Duchovney would occassionally have to shut the hell up. DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere, just let me know. SPOILER WARNING: Not really RATING: NC-17 CONTENT WARNING: Woah boy, some melt-in-your-mouth-not-in-your-hand smut candy! CLASSIFICATION: MSR SUMMARY: Scully gets her revenge. Frohike gets more than he bargained for. Fun ensues. AUTHOR'S NOTE: First, thanks to Erin Butler for the lovely location suggestion. It's not quite what you had in mind, but close. And of course, thanks to Darla for encouraging me in my smutty quest for more Mulder- and Scullybation. *Hoisting Tree Top Apple-Pear Juice drink box* This one's for you, baby! The Sequel Yesterday had been extraordinarily long, expense reports and travel not withstanding. Scully tightened her grip on the steering wheel and stared at the concrete wall in front of her. She hated waiting, especially when she was waiting for Mulder. Mulder. God, she couldn't even begin to express what she had felt when he had told her about the video. Panic, resignation? Neither? Both? Certainly the conversation had not gone how she would have expected, had she in some way been able to predict its occurrence. She'd have pictured something more sexual, filled with innuendo and avoidance. But Mulder, with his usual flair for doing the somehow familiarly unexpected, had gone straight for the truth. She'd known, from "… of you, last week…", exactly what he was going to tell her he'd seen. Somehow, being grossly ashamed of masturbation made her all the more sure that she would one day be found out. What had surprised her, what had floored her, was what he said next. Specifically: "Scully, you were so beautiful when you came." Even thinking about it now, her heart started to pound. Of course she knew, had known, that Mulder found her attractive. Had known that she felt the same way. But to have it spelled out, and in such a loving way… she would have expected jokes about the slapping of salamis or the choking of chickens. And so here she was, on a Wednesday morning, planning to do something completely out of character. Planning on getting revenge, and more importantly, on getting her jollies. Not at Mulder's expense… exactly. And not at Diana's. At their own expense, perhaps, when and if this new twist in their relationship was discovered. It was Diana that kept her moving, Diana that drove her to call the gunman late on a Tuesday night with a request that left Frohike gasping like a man gone down for the count. She hated that it was that woman, that evil, manipulative woman who had finally pushed them over their carefully drawn line. The temptation, at first, had been to push them right back the way they'd come, to ignore the implication of being handed to Mulder like a parting gift for a particularly spectacular game show loser. But then it occurred to her that perhaps she was not the consolation prize. It was, in fact, Mulder's reluctant heart that was being laid open. And she would not, could not, allow him to be hurt. Scully was no fool. She knew that in the end, Mulder trusted her above Diana. What bothered her was that he trusted that bitch at all. He was such a hard-won partner, when she truly examined their time together. Certainly, he had been supportive from the moment they'd been assigned, but she could remember, even months into their partnership, hearing "I want to trust you." Not "I trust you," but "I want to." Then, after feeling that she was the one person he would implicitly give credence to, it was galling to have him reject her suspicions because he "knew" Diana better. And it placed their relationship at the mercy of another person, someone she didn't dare trust herself. Suddenly, she went from believing in Mulder to knowing the only person she could consider safe was herself. It was frustrating, humiliating and ultimately destructive. It had to stop now, here. She had a desire. She wanted to take them from Diana's game board and gently place them somewhere else. Anywhere else. This couldn't be Diana's triumph. It had to be her own. So, sitting alone in her mother's car, watching the rear view mirror for the moment when Mulder arrived and parked his car in his usual spot, Scully rechecked the most important aspects of her plan. If all went well, she would have Mulder by the balls and Diana… would be left very much alone. And then there he was, pulling into Bureau space 6B, floor 4 of the Hoover Building parking garage, on time for once. No doubt he was nervous. So was she. He stepped out of the car, all trench coat and soft dark hair. Pushing the "talk" button on her cel phone, she hit the speed dial and waited. "Mulder." "It's me." A pause. She could hear him adjusting the phone against his ear, preparing to gauge her mood by paying strict attention to the timbre of her voice. "I have the tape," he said, his voice neutral. "Good," she answered, grounding her voice to his. "Don't go into the building yet." He stopped then, standing in the middle of the parking garage, looking around wildly. She stayed low, watching him. "Go to the third floor," she said. "Of the building or the garage?" he asked, walking toward the elevators. She could hear the smile in his voice. Mulder loved nothing more than a mystery. "Garage," she answered. "Are you there?" He switched the phone to the other ear and pushed the down button. "No," she said. "I'm watching you from a distance." He was quiet for a moment. "Am I being taped?" She smiled then, seeing his destination on the monitor in the passenger seat. "Not yet," she said. "Are you on the third floor?" "Can't you see me?" "Not until you get where you need to be," she said. "And where's that?" "Do you see the Lone Gunmens' van yet?" For a moment, he was silent, then she heard him begin to walk. "I'm there." "Open the door and step inside the back. Then lock it and hang up the phone." >From her monitor, she saw the side door slide open and Mulder's slightly telescoped body enter. He was in color, thanks to Beyers, and stereo thanks to Langley. She felt like rubbing her hands together or perhaps throwing up, but couldn't decide between the two, so she simply turned off her phone and put on the head-set Frohike had given her. Hands free, she thought. Just as well. "Can you hear me, Mulder?" He jumped slightly as he settled into the office chair she had lugged up earlier. She watched him as he took in his surroundings; the cameras and microphones. "I can hear you," he said softly. "It sounds like you're in the van with me. Congratulations, Frohike, your equipment is excellent." She smiled. He had no idea what was coming, literally and figuratively. "Frohike assured me he wouldn't be listening in, just taping you on extremely high quality tape. Once I explained what I planned to have you do, none of the gunmen were particularly interested in following along." Enjoying the shocked look on Mulder's face, Scully leaned back in the seat and made herself more comfortable. She knew he was interested and intrigued and probably mildly terrified. It was all right that way, of course. So was she. "So, Scully, what exactly do you intend to have me do?" "Well, Mulder, you could start by taking off your clothes." He shifted rather uncomfortably and then said: "You're absolutely sure the Gunmen are not watching?" She laughed. "Gee, Mulder, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were paranoid." Standing up and shooting the camera an ugly glance, Mulder removed his trench coat and tossed it playfully in the corner. "I feel like I need some bump-and-grind music here, Scully." "Da da da DUM, da da da DO," she obliged. He snickered. "How about a rousing chorus of Joy to the World instead?" he asked, pulling his tie free and tossing it aside. "So, what am I going to do once I'm naked, Scully?" She paused. This was escalating faster than she had expected. Mulder waited, one hand on the top button of his dress-shirt. Something inside her mind finally slid into place and she realized that he was actually about to take off his clothes for her. "Um," she whispered, suddenly unbearably aroused. "You're going to do what I did. On the video." "You mean masturbate for you, Scully? Jerk off? Hand job? Five-finger salute?" "That's the one," she said. For her. Jesus. He remained still, his fingers resting on that tantalizing little top button. "Tell me one thing, Scully, before I consent to this." "All right," she said, running madly through possibilities. "Tell me we'll make love tonight." Depend on Mulder to get straight to the heart of the matter. Her stomach turned elaborate gymnastic flips. He wanted to make love. Not sleep together, not fuck. Make love. Good God, she thought, remind me never to wish for anything again. " Scully? It's a yes or no question." "Is that what you want?" "Why do you have to answer my questions with questions?" Sighing, she contemplated the right answer. He was so… Mulderish sometimes. "Yes," she said, taking the dare and the whole world seemed to narrow into the dark line of his mouth. ********** She could see him absorbing this. And then he grinned, the widest, hottest Mulder full-wattage grin she had ever witnessed. "My God, Scully, do you have any idea how long I've wanted to hear that?" A wave of sweet delirium swept over her, knocking her back against the seat. "How long?" she said softly. "Years," he answered, unbuttoning one button further. "Maybe since you showed me those damn tempting mosquito bites." She was giddy and sensual, then, rubbing her palms along the insides of her thighs, teasing herself. "Me too," she said. "At least since then. Maybe longer." He smiled at the camera. "I wish I could see you," he said, undoing the last five buttons in one long sweep. He slid the shirt from his shoulders and set it carefully aside. "That's the point, Mulder. Payback." He grinned and began on his belt-buckle. She cursed the tight white t-shirt that hid his chest. "Ok, Scully. Payback it is." And then he was untying his shoes and stepping out of his pants. She couldn't believe it. Mulder sat back and looked carefully in her direction, or where the camera acted as her proxy. In his boxers, t-shirt and socks, he looked somewhat ridiculous and so undeniable it nearly made her jump out of the car to run and touch him. "You know, Scully," he said, peeling off first one sock, then the other, "this might be easier with a little mental stimulation." She was staring at his long, thin, bare feet with their small scattering of dark hairs and smooth pale toenails like small moons. "Yeah?" she squeaked and then cleared her throat. "I'm not doing anything, Mulder. This is your performance." He reached to his waist and quickly pulled the t-shirt over his head. She thought, wildly, that the van was beginning to look like his bedroom, clothing strewn everywhere. Then she looked at his chest and her blood began to feel like Tabasco sauce. "Ok," he said. "I have this fantasy, Scully, would you like to hear it?" He was stroking his thigh with one hand and gripping the armrest of the chair as if he were in a crashing plane with the other. She nodded, then realized he had to hear her. "Yes," she said. And then she noticed his erection and sank down in her seat until she was nearly a small Scully-puddle under the steering wheel. Through the dark cotton of his shorts, she could see him, a thick outline and it was far too erotic to bear. She gasped and touched one shaking finger to herself through her pants. "What's wrong, Scully?" His voice was as thick and warm as Mexican chocolate. "You out of breath? Been running somewhere?" He lifted his hips and slowly brought his boxers down his body and over his lucious toes. Sitting there, a bit slouched, sporting a massive erection and running one nervous hand through his hair… Scully was sure she had never seen anything so moving in her life. "You're so beautiful," she breathed, aware of the deepening rumble in her own throat. He grinned and slid his hand down his body to rub the very tip of his penis. "I want to tell you my fantasy, Scully," he growled. "The one I have had most often." "Yes," she moaned. "Tell me." Slowly bringing the pad of one finger up from his balls to the vee at the bottom of the head of his penis, Mulder sighed. "It begins in the office." He wrapped his hand around his cock and began to stroke himself. "I've finally requisitioned you a desk." She sighed, watching his hand and gently unbuttoning her own pants to slide one hand beneath her underwear. Her body responded instantly, tightening and pulsing slightly. "My God," she whispered. "Hey," he smiled, still slowly stroking, "I haven't even told you the good part." "Tell me," she moaned and watched the corresponding thrust of his hips at the sound of her voice. His stomach, or rather his loin, the area just above his moving hand, was fascinating to her. The dark path of hair, the pulsing, shifting muscles… she stared, delighted. "So you like the desk. You like it a lot. You want to thank me." She swallowed a snort and rubbed her finger against her clit. Mulder's hand was lazy and soft, twisting his skin and sliding up over the tip with each pass. They were savoring, she realized. That had to stop. "How do I thank you, Mulder?" He grinned up at her, tightening his grip. "You let me fuck you on the desk." She couldn't help herself. She groaned and clutched at her own body. "You pull your skirt up and sit down on the edge. You aren't wearing panties and you're so wet, Scully. You're so ready for me and so gorgeous. I kneel down and bury my face in you, stroking you with my tongue, tasting your sweet liquid, flicking at you until you're begging me… saying over and over 'fuck me, Mulder, fuck me.'" "Oh," she whispered and pushed one finger into herself, "I want you to tell me how you fuck me." His hand had sped up now and his panting breaths echoed in her head like her own pounding heartbeats. "I spread your legs and bring you forward until you're on the very edge of the desk, your sweet little ass hanging out there for me to grab. I unzip my pants and drop them to my ankles. God, I'm so hard for you, baby, I'm like a steel rod. You're writhing there, hands on the edge of the desk and you want me so bad I can still taste it." She moaned. "I want you, I want you." He echoed her moan with a low growl and bucked his hips, twisting himself frantically. "I push the very tip into you, just the tip. You're so wet and tight and hot as hell, Scully. And I've wanted to fuck you for so long… I can't help it, I push in. You contract around me, pulling at me and you're groaning, like you're doing now. We start to move and I'm fucking you, Scully. I'm all the way inside you and I'm fucking you. Oh God, I'm fucking you and I can feel you, feel you aching for me." She lost it then, the image of Mulder's penis sliding quickly in and out of her own wet body was too much. With a long, shaking gasp, she came, feeling her body quaking against her hand in the hardest, sweetest orgasm of her life. "Mulder, oh God, Mulder." He gasped then and gave one last sweep of his hand, pumping onto his stomach with a wild quiver. "Scully," he moaned and slowed his hand. "Scully." For a long moment, they were silent, breathing in tandem, coming down from above themselves. She wanted to say something to him, to tell him she loved him. But somehow, seeing his lean, slick body there, spent in the chair, she couldn't find the right words. And as always, Mulder came through in the pinch. "Scully," he whispered as if he were barely able to open his mouth, "I wish you were here." She sighed and sat up a bit, loving him intensely. "I know," she said. "I wish I could have taken you inside me." "No no," he answered, opening his eyes at last, "I enjoyed what we just did. It was sexy. It's right now that I miss you. I want to hold you and kiss you now, tell you how I feel." Smiling and sure he could almost hear it, she told him "I want that too." "I sincerely hope we're taking the day off," he added, looking around for his clothes. She felt bereft before he'd even located the boxers. "We are," she admitted. "I've already told Skinner." He laughed and zipped up his pants. "Told him what?" "That you'd done something desperately stupid and were now home in bed. And that you needed me to take care of your… injuries." Slipping on the t-shirt, he grinned and winked at the camera. "I'm certainly feeling a little sore." She laughed, playful and sticky and as blissful as she could imagine being, just hearing his voice. Looking up at her, he blew a kiss and started to put on his shoes. "Hey Scully," he said. "Don't you need to tell Frohike to shut off the tape?" They were both enormously shocked to hear the immediate corresponding click. end Email me, I prance around the room with the pressed into my armpits! snarkypup@mindspring.com