From: Char Chaffin Date: Fri, 19 Nov 1999 09:42:25 -0900 Subject: xfc: NEW, "Sticks and Stones", (1/1), MSR, Vignette, R Source: xfc From: Char Chaffin TITLE: "Sticks and Stones" (1/1) AUTHOR: Char Chaffin CATEGORY: MSR, Vignette RATING: R, Adult themes and Language SPOILERS: Nah... ARCHIVE: Sure! Just tell me where... DISCLAIMERS: Right... no way. CC would never let his agents become this 'interactive' ... AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to my excellent beta-Goddess Foxsong - as always, there for me with an encouraging word, virtual food, grammatical assistance and all-around buddy-patrol... You are the best! Thanks also to Shoshana, Cat and Sister Moon, for their friendship and encouragement - and to Jessica Mabe, for her ideas and support - I am very lucky to know them! SUMMARY: Mulder takes great exception to a nickname, and its connotation where his partner is concerned... "Sticks and Stones" I heard it again today - that unfair nickname; that alias. Heard it again, and had to practically handcuff myself to the nearest doorknob, to keep from walking up to the asshole who spouted it, and punching his teeth down his throat. It took every ounce of self-control... but I stood my ground, and didn't react; kept walking, kept a neutral face pinned on over the livid one underneath. Keep walking, just keep walking... down the narrow corridor, to the elevators; push the button, deep breath, walk into the little metal cubicle, push another button... that's it... Good boy. Another agent's life is safe from my fists. Those deep breathing exercises have helped... Ice Queen. Jesus, I hate that title; hate it and despise it more than anything I have ever heard. And I don't know exactly when it began to grate at me, to the point where I would actually consider maiming the speaker as the end result of hearing it. Yes, I was always sensitive to the phrase, but... never more so than in the last few months. My partner never seemed to notice its use; never seemed to acknowledge its meaning. Scully is secure, self-confident and assured; strong and more than capable of withstanding such a childish slur. I, however, am not. Once I began taking great exception to hearing those words tossed in the wake of my diminutive partner... several agents in this building were in serious danger of being on the reciprocating end of my knuckles. And I never used to think much about it, past a well-aimed glare in the direction of whomever spoke it... silently reminding them that as FBI agents, we were above that sort of petty shit. That was before I learned just how unfair, untrue and inaccurate those words really were, when applied to one Dana Scully. Nicknames have never held much interest for me; certainly my own "Spooky" moniker never really bothered me, although it would occasionally get Scully's dander up. But we were always too busy with one case or another, to get ourselves in an uproar over a few silly names. We chalked it up to professional jealousy; after all, we had the highest solve rate in the Bureau, and all of the toughest cases as well... and nobody, but nobody could even come close to us in solvability ratio. So, envious Agents, whoever you are: sticks and stones. So I'm Spooky... so she's Ice Queen. So what... I didn't think she was icy, but then I had seen her passion, for her work, and for keeping me safe. And I didn't much worry about any personal ice... it wasn't really my business, you know. But one incredible night changed everything, for me... and for her; one moment in time starting off a chain reaction which manifested itself into the single most meaningful and important episode in my life. After that, "Ice Queen" was something I never wanted to hear again, for it just didn't ring true. I wish I could tell them... tell them all; or somehow show them. I wish I could find a way for them to see what I see, and feel what I feel. I would tell them that no Ice Queen in the history of the world both real and in fantasies, has ever held the amount of scorching heat within her small body, as Dana Scully holds within hers... and directs at me. I would tell them that when Scully walks through the halls of FBI Headquarters, only I know that underneath that formal, austere suit... she is wearing tiny scraps of the most sensuous lace and satin ever dreamed up by lingerie designers. I ought to know... I buy them for her. Bits of cranberry, navy blue and smoky black... blush colored eggshell and the softest peach... underwire bras and miniscule thong panties and matching garter belts... lacy-topped stockings. They are expensive and sinfully soft, and as pretty as can be... when paired against the white silk of her skin. She opens the little gaily-wrapped boxes with a small smile on her face, as I sit there with the world's biggest goof-grin on mine... and she holds them against her dark, somber suit; the small smile develops into a million-wattage grin aimed at me, and she always thanks me very sweetly... usually by shoving her tongue down my throat. Scully's gratitude is something to behold.... Whoo boy. I would tell them that if they think Scully is lovely in her little G-Woman suits and her four-inch heels... they should see her how I see her, after hours: with nothing on but those killer heels of hers, the thigh-high stockings, and a pink blush all over her creamy body... mussed flaming locks and glittering eyes. She crawls toward me on hands and knees, her perfect ass in the air; toward me on sheets of soft cotton, a predatory light in her eyes and one hell of an evil smile on her face... the keys to her handcuffs between her teeth. The cuffs that match the keys are already hanging on the bedpost... and I know I am in for a night I won't soon forget. All I can do is lie there against the pillows, and pray I will hold out long enough to at least do some damage to her, in return. Sometimes I do... sometimes I don't. Scully always gets a secret charge out of the times I don't... not to mention the charge I get when she slides her stocking-clad legs over my naked thighs, then down to my knees, as her head winds up somewhere between Thigh number one and Thigh number two - and she covers me with an open, hot mouth. I would tell them that the woman they dubbed "Ice Queen" has been known to yank me into darkened hallways and into storage closets, all over our building, at any given time of the day, and kiss me senseless; her lips and tongue wreaking havoc the likes of which I have never experienced before in my sorry little life... that rosebud mouth of hers working some sort of magic over me, so that no matter how tired I am, how saturated with depression, over one case or another... I come away from these little interludes with the granddaddy of all woodies, straining against my dress slacks, and a shit-eating grin on my face. Of course, no one has noticed I've taken to wearing pleat-front suit pants... no one except Scully. But then... they were her idea. They help shield, quite a bit - even so, why else do I always walk a step behind my partner, with one guiding hand at the small of her back... besides as a gesture of courtesy, and respect? Scully makes an excellent shield, as well. I would tell them that deep in the night, when the candles are lit and the wine has been consumed; when soft music is muted in the background and our cell phones have been turned off... Dana Scully is concentrating her considerable talents toward the task of turning me on... doesn't take much. One touch usually does it... sometimes only a look will set me off. Her eyes grow heavy-lidded, eyelashes fluttering over those blue orbs, until just a mere slit of color remains... with one hand she rubs nimble fingers into me, stroking me six ways to Sunday... with the other, she applies a rosy ring of raspberry flavored color to her lips. Raspberry, my favorite... I get to suck it off whatever place upon her body she chooses to decorate... and her tight little nipples are always the next to be tinted. Oohh, Scully... raspberry lips and raspberry berries, there upon your sweet breasts... I think I've died and gone to heaven. I haven't had dessert, yet... I feel deprived. Gotta have my sweet treat before I say my prayers and tumble into bed... Only the Big Guy up there, and my partner, know how many times a night I invoke His Name, as Scully serves me dessert. Ice Queen. What colossal assholes... I would tell them, if I could... tell them how it feels to be wrapped all around Dana Scully; wrapped around her and pressed deeply within her wondrous heat... tight and wet, hotter than a thousand suns... the feel of her skin absolutely maddeningly perfect; firm legs sliding around my hips and pulling me in further; broken, breathless urging purrs erupting from her dainty throat with each hard thrust I give her; a bottomless well of love and giving that I have just begun to understand, myself... I would tell them of the low whispers, in my ear; the litany of breathy syllables she pours over my senses as she informs me of all the things she plans on doing for me, to me... sometimes she starts telling me early in the day, as we are sitting across from each other, in our basement cubby; buried in files or laptops or whatever... I'll hear it; a low growl of a whisper. Did I just imagine her saying that, into the open space between us? It sounded like, "Two hours, Mulder... and your balls are mine. I get to roll them around like marbles..." My face flushes; my head jerks up to stare at her... she's got her nose buried in a report. Maybe I was just hearing things... back to my laptop. A few minutes pass; I am mired in report dukie. There it is again... the growl. "Mulder... got a new game to show you. It's called 'Swallow the Little Head Right Down to the Root...' I'll let you in on the rules, if you like..." Up comes my head, eyes narrowed in on Scully. This time I can see the tiny smile collecting around one side of her mouth... and I slam the laptop shut, reach over the expanse of desk, and grab with both hands... get her mouth close enough to hear the rest. The rest... God have mercy. The rest gets inserted into my waiting ear, where the visual imagery her words conjure can eat into my brain matter so much faster. If her descriptive talents are especially vivid that day, I dispense with the waiting period... and we take an early lunch. We zip down the hall to the elevator , stepping damned lively... I keep my hands to myself as much as possible in the elevator, since there are FBI agents everywhere... we hot-foot it to the parking garage, hop into my car and gun it all the way down to the street, where we never seem to make it any further than that funky little alley between Desmond's caf, and, well... the parking garage. The alley is dark, my windows are tinted - and by the time we get there neither of us really gives a rat's ass who is watching. I have often wondered if any lone agent, out in the street for any particular reason, hasn't wandered by at any given hour of the lunch time-frame... and gotten a serious eyeful. Since Scully's honorary "title" is still intact and bandied about within our building... I would say we have yet to be discovered. I do try to remember to take my vitamins everyday, for a very good reason: Scully's newly-invented games usually just about kill me. Who would ever have imagined this sexually-playful side existed inside my partner? I always suspected, but of course I never knew for sure... I asked her once though, and got a soft kiss and a whispered reply which found its way into my heart. "You bring out every tiny longing I ever had, Mulder... to be considered a desirable, exciting lover; to be able to bring my partner to new heights... to feel small and feminine as well as strong and powerful, in more ways than just as your backup on the job - equality, Mulder... you gave it to me, in every possible fashion." Those sweet words made me feel ten feet tall. I would tell them, really I would... But I am a selfish man. I admit it freely... selfish and still a bit insecure, in my own validity as a quantifiable lover, and life partner; for this is all still so new, to both of us. I am selfish with our time together, and would not want any of those morons in the agent pool to get any bright ideas, about my Scully. I would not want them to respect her less, or consider her fair game because she let Old Spooky in... would never give them any further excuses to flaunt their Old Boys' Club mentality any more than they have already done... just to show them how blindingly wrong they are about Dana Scully. I wouldn't... But Scully would. And, Scully did... Jesus, Mary and Joseph... she did it; holy smoke. I'm still reeling from it; can't believe it. Maybe she had finally heard "Ice Queen" just one too many times... maybe she'd just had enough. Perhaps one of the women agents in the building noticed the edge of a lacy garter, there in the rest room, when she adjusted herself after using the facilities. I mean, we men adjust ourselves, afterward... don't see why women wouldn't, either. Maybe that woman ran to the pool and started squawking about Agent Scully's 'frilly-dillies'... Whatever the reason, Scully took great exception to a remark spouted within her earshot... and since I happened to be walking along with her at the time, I got the bulk of that exception. Lucky me... We had just rounded the corner of the main pool, hidden by the tall sides of the largest cubicle walls, when we heard it - Simpson, a major jerk-wad but a reliable agent. He had a lousy attitude toward women agents; always had. He also had a loud, strident voice, unfortunately for him. As we neared his cubicle, we heard his gravelly voice: "...damned if I could stand going out on a case with such a piece of frost... I mean, she's gorgeous, but what a waste of luscious womanhood... you gotta pity Spooky; look how long he's put up with it..." I blanched, and looked over at Scully, dreading in advance the look of blank hurt I expected to see on her face, in her beautiful eyes... Only to gape at the look of unholy evil she tossed my way - eyes gleaming, feral smile on her face; she was almost bouncing as she walked quickly around the corner of the cubicle, dragging me after her. I moved like a badly-tuned zombie, suddenly very, very afraid for Simpson, and the state of his groin area... Scully was wearing the four-inchers today. We rounded the cubicle just as Simpson, backing up a little, arms waving around to prove his point, backed right into my partner. He whipped about, prepared to blast the guilty roadblock behind him... only to confront Agent Dana Scully, all five-feet-not-much-more of her, with me hanging over her shoulder. Three other agents, located in Simpson's cubicle, gasped; and Scully smiled the sweetest, most frightening smile of all, and opened her mouth, and spoke low and soft to Simpson, "Excuse me, Agent; don't let me interrupt your conversation; but I do need to speak to you, as soon as I brief Agent Mulder on one more issue..." And she turned to face me, gazing up into my face with the look I have only seen on hers in the dead of night, when I am deep within her and pouring out my love and need, to her... and four agents gasped anew at the face she presented to me. When she reached up two small hands to wind through my hair, and tugged my head down to her, and pressed every inch of her body against me - then locked up my mouth, tongue and tonsils with a kiss that literally scorched the skin off my hide... the resulting gasps were much more meaningful. She threw every trick in the book into that kiss, and all I could do was wind my rubbery arms around her and hang on for dear life. She ended this endless kiss with a hard, lingering suckle to my swollen bottom lip, slid both hands from my hair, over my chest and down the front of my very blatant arousal, pausing for one shattering second on my painful bulge... then reached up a thumb and brushed the lip gloss from my mouth, murmuring, "That should hold you until tonight, Agent Mulder... I'll have the rest of your questions answered, at that time." She turned from me, took one step backward and pressed her backside against my hardness; as I groaned and wound both arms around her tiny waist, leaning into her, she stared Simpson down. His mouth was hanging open and his eyes were glazed in shock. She offered him a small smile, including the other fish-gaped agents as well, as she spoke two soft sentences. "If any of you ever thought you had the strength, and the maturity to 'put up with me' as your partner, gentlemen... if any of you think you are up to the task of keeping me under your thumb... I would remind you to take a good look at Agent Mulder, and remember this: The 'Ice Queen' knows how to protect her partner's back... and his front, as well. The next time either of us overhear your 'curiosity' about our effectiveness and success as a team... we'd be glad to show you how our impressive solvability ratio is achieved..." And with that last remark, she smiled sweetly, and catching hold of my hand, started to walk away. And, selfish brute that I am... I shot one last bullet into their midst, before I meekly followed my partner. "By the way, Agents... if I ever again hear any of you refer to Agent Scully in any form other than a term of equal respect... you will answer directly to me - I promise you. Have a productive day..." We walked away, my hand in its customary place, on the small of her back. Using my Scully as a shield, once again... to hide Woody, the Boner from Hell. But there was no way in the world to hide the massive, shit-eating grin on my face... or the self-satisfied smile on Scully's. All in all, a very productive day... yessiree. Very productive. End Feedback: The mainstay of my diet, at: fncbc@uaf.edu, and char@chaffin.com Please visit my fic web site at: http://char.chaffin.com