At The Races

by Foxsong (foxsong@earthlink.net ), July '00

Category: Shamelessly silly smut story with a plot (it was supposed to be a PWP vignette, but it got out of hand <g>).

Rating: NC-17

Archive: Oh, what the hell. I hope my reputation will survive some silly smut! Do let me know where it goes, though. ;-)

Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, and all things X are the property of Ten Thirteen and Fox. No copyright infringement is intended. We mail carriers are not rich. Please do not sue me for the money I am not making.

Author's Note: Yes, it was a challenge of sorts. On the "Sister Spooky" mailing list, we agreed to take turns writing mindless, gleeful smut to tide us over till Season Eight. The only catch was, it all had to have Magic Shell -- the ice-cream topping -- in it. Now, they've used it as a condiment, they've used it as a lubricant, they've poured it over interested third parties... you get the picture. I tried to do something just a little different.

 

Summary: Our Heroes get carried away while investigating the disappearances of a racehorse and two track officials.

 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

"One more time, Mulder," Scully said as the rented Taurus made the turn onto Plainfield Avenue, heading toward Belmont Park. "We've flown all the way to New York to investigate a missing racehorse?"

"It's not that simple, Scully," Mulder replied with obvious relish. "Yes, a horse went missing. But so did its trainer and the veterinarian who used to treat it. And the horse -- well, the carcass of a horse that seems to fit its description -- turned up two days later by the side of the Cross-Island Expressway, mutilated just like the cattle and other animals that have been associated with UFO sightings."

Scully sighed. "That doesn't mean the horse was abducted by aliens. Don't you know about the -- Mulder, I've already asked you once this morning to keep your hand off my thigh -- about the horse-insurance scams that have been prosecuted by the Bureau over the last few years?"

Mulder's enthusiasm seemed unquenched. "And there were several reports of strange lights and electrical disturbances in the neighborhood on the night the horse vanished." Scully set her jaw to show him she was unconvinced.

"C'mon, Scully," he went on. "Where was that horse for two days? And why would anybody have skinned its head and legs like that? It's a classic alien-abduction scenario." His hand crept again toward her leg. She supposed he didn't think she would notice until it had reached its destination, but she shifted in her seat to draw her leg a little further away from him. The hand retreated.

"The obvious reason," Scully said dryly, " is that a racehorse is identified by the tattoo on its upper lip, and by its distinctive white facial and leg markings. The horse was obviously stolen, killed, and disposed of in such a manner that it would be hard to identify. You said yourself that the horse *was* insured."

"Ah, but, Scully," Mulder replied with a smug smile, "this horse wasn't even worth enough money to make it worth killing. It was a cheap claimer."

"A claimer...?"

"They were running it in claiming races. That's where you put a horse you don't want, hoping that someone will pay a fee and take it off your hands." He glanced over at her. "They would have gotten more money for this horse if it had been claimed than they got from the insurance."

"So the owner should fire his accountant," Scully said.

"The owner," Mulder returned, flicking the turn signal lever with a flourish Scully was sure was meant expressly for her eyes, "is the one who contacted the Bureau in the first place. The horse he could live without -- it's the trainer he needs. He's got about a dozen other horses in training, and he's had to make other arrangements for them all." Mulder slowed the car as he pulled up to the booth and the security guard stepped out. "Inconvenient, last-minute arrangements, he said. He didn't sound like a happy man, Scully."

"Morning, folks," the guard said, leaning toward Mulder's open window.

Mulder produced his ID; Scully took her own out and passed it over. "We're here to see a Mr. Frank Mancini," Mulder said.

"Oh, sure," the man nodded. "He'd said you'd be coming. Turn left here, follow the road around. You want Barn 15 -- that's about halfway up to the track."

"The barns are all numbered?" Scully asked, leaning a little forward, almost across Mulder's lap. She felt his fingers creeping down her lower back, and she leaned back abruptly, trapping his hand. There was a moment's subtle, awkward scramble as he freed it.

"Yes, ma'am, signs on each one. Can't miss it." He looked back at Mulder. "Speed limit's five miles an hour, and horses have the right of way. Always."

"Thanks," Mulder said, and eased the car forward.

After they'd driven about fifty yards, she said, without looking over at him, "Mulder. Third warning. You know I have no problem with our extracurricular activities, but not..."

"Not on a case," he finished in unison with her. "That's right -- it must be the constitutional separation of work and sex. I've forgotten what amendment covers that, Scully."

She decided that any response she could make would only egg him on, so she kept silent and looked out the window.

It was late enough, at eight-thirty in the morning, for the horses to be finished with their workouts. Outside the barns, grooms hosed cool water over their charges' gleaming, steaming backs; other men and women were leading horses up and down the tree-lined lanes, waiting for the animals' fine coats to dry after their baths. Most of the horses were dressed in light, fitted sheets in the racing colors of their owners. Now and then, as Mulder and Scully drove slowly by, one of the mettlesome animals would prance or skitter lightly on its impossible long legs.

"Here we are," Mulder said, pulling to the side of the road outside a barn.

Scully stepped out of the car and looked around. Other than the steel-grey Mercedes sedan parked outide, there wasn't a sign of life. Inside the barn, under the long sloping overhang of the roof, she could see that the row of stalls stood empty; one lonely-looking pitchfork leaned up against the dark green wall near the wide doorway. After the bustling activity in all the barns they'd just passed, the quiet here was particularly striking.

Scully looked around to see that Mulder was stepping up to a powerfully-built man of medium height who had just come out of the barn. "Mr. Mancini?" he said, extending his hand as the other man nodded. "Fox Mulder."

"Good morning. I appreciate your coming," Mancini said as he shook Mulder's hand.

"My partner, Dana Scully," Mulder said, turning toward her; she reached out to shake Mancini's hand as well.

"Good morning," she said, studying him. His handshake was firm; he met her eyes easily. He was dressed in a conservative, well-tailored suit; he might have been in his late fifties. He was a handsome man, and one who, she immediately intuited, was used to having things done his way. No wonder he had felt 'inconvenienced' at the loss of his horse and trainer.

Mulder turned and wandered into the barn, heading slowly up the shedrow, looking around. Scully and Mancini followed.

"Well, this is -- was -- my barn. You're familiar with what's happened here -- as much as anyone is?" Mancini asked, looking back and forth from Mulder to Scully as they made their way up the aisle.

"As I understand it," Scully answered, "no one here at the racetrack was aware that anything unusual had happened on the night of the disappearance."

"That's right," Mancini replied, "and that's the strangest part of it all. The gates are guarded twenty-four hours a day. Track security patrols the property all day and all night. It would be next to impossible to get a horse out of here in the middle of the night. But when the boys came in the next morning, Magic Shell was gone, and Jim MacFarlane, my trainer, never showed up."

Mulder stopped abruptly and turned around. "Magic Shell?" he asked. "That was the name of the horse?" He glanced over at Scully, a wicked glint in his eye.

"Yes," Mancini answered.

"Named after the dessert topping?" Mulder persisted. Scully moved closer to him and carefully, surreptitiously, placed her small foot over the toe of his larger one, and bore down with all her weight.

"The dessert topping? No," Mancini said, a puzzled expression crossing his face. "No -- her dam was By The Sea, and her sire was Sleight Of Hand, so they called her Magic Shell." He seemed concerned. "Do you think there's some significance to that?"

"No," Mulder said evenly, although Scully was leaning on his toes just as hard as she could. "I just thought that maybe I wasn't the only one who appreciated its chocolatey goodness."

"Oh," Mancini said, clearly perturbed. "Oh." As the other man turned away, Scully elbowed Mulder as sharply as she could.

"Wha-a-a-a-at?" he whispered, but Scully just marched off down the aisle after Mancini.

"Mr. Mancini," Mulder asked a moment later, as he caught up, "your veterinarian, Sarah Darish, is also missing. You said you believe there may be a connection. Why is that?"

The other man lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "I have nothing but a feeling about that, although the police don't seem to think I'm right. But it seems like too much of a coincidence that they're both gone, doesn't it?"

"Was their relationship strictly professional, or did they also see each other outside of work?" Scully asked.

"Why, I'd have no way of knowing that, really," Mancini replied, frowning a little, "but I doubt it. Jim is married and has a young son. Sarah's single, but I wouldn't know if she was seeing anyone."

"Hmm," Mulder mused almost absently, peering into one of the empty stalls. "And you've had to send the rest of your horses where?"

"To several other trainers," the older man answered. "It wasn't easy to find openings in the barns at such short notice. I wasn't even able to keep them all together. It's been very inconvenient, to say nothing of costly."

Mulder nodded slowly, looking around himself with the faraway expression that Scully knew so very well. She could fairly see the little wheels turning in that head. Mancini, she knew, didn't see that. He was glancing at his watch.

"I'm sure you want to check the barn out, even though the police have been through it," he said. "Is there something else I can show you before I have to leave? I do have a meeting this morning..."

Scully determined with a glance that Mulder was still, as it were, out in space. "We have the home addresses of both your trainer and your vet, sir, as well as the names and precinct of the police contacts. I'm sure we'll be fine. We'll be in touch if we need to ask you anything else."

"Well, then," Mancini said, "maybe I'll..."

"Yes, that'll be fine," Mulder said, returning from whatever astral plane he'd been visiting. "We'll certainly keep you apprised of any new developments. Thank you."

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Mancini," Scully said, sealing it. Mancini nodded again and walked up the aisle.

Scully watched him leave the barn; she heard the engine of the Mercedes start up outside the stable. She turned to Mulder. "What was that crack about the Magic Shell?" she asked sharply.

"Crack? I didn't think it was a 'crack.' It was a... a legitimate question." Mulder spread his hands innocently.

" 'Appreciated its chocolately goodness'? Honestly, Mulder..."

"I have some very fond -- shall we say -- associations with Magic Shell, Scully," Mulder answered smoothly, stepping close behind her and resting his hands on her hips. "I might have thought you'd say the same thing."

"I won't deny that," she said, feeling the blush stain her cheeks. "But not while we're on a case." She sidestepped adroitly as Mulder dropped his head and tried to kiss her neck.

"Ah," Mulder challenged, folding his arms across his chest. "Cases only run from nine to five, and the hotel rooms we stay in at night don't count. I understand that much. But it's not nine yet, Scully. Is there a clause that says being out of the hotel room takes precedence over the clock time?"

"This is neither the time nor the place, Mulder," she said primly, wishing heartily that he hadn't mentioned the Magic Shell she'd been reminiscing so fondly about only last night. She turned her back on him and marched purposefully along the shedrow. "I'd prefer to finish investigating this stable. There'll be time to talk about... about... other things. Later."

"Fine. Fine." Mulder trailed slowly after her up the aisle; she risked a glance back over her shoulder at him, and decided with relief that he wasn't angry, but only teasing. She walked on ahead of him, looking into each empty stall, raked clean of straw; she even took note of the stack of buckets by the back door of the barn. The morning sun slanted in at the door and caught a spider web in the corner of the doorway. There really wasn't much here to see.

"Hey. Here we go," Mulder said, pushing open a door about halfway up the aisle. "Look at this, Scully."

"What?" she said, turning back.

"Some kind of equipment room. They didn't strip this the way they did the rest of the stable." He pushed the door further open and stepped inside, and Scully followed.

The room was small, only about the size of one of the horses' stalls, and dark; Scully looked up and saw a flourescent light fixture affixed to the ceiling. Looking back at the side of the doorway, she saw a switch, and she reached out and thumbed it. The light flickered to life above them.

"A tackroom," Scully said. "I believe it's called a tackroom."

"Huh," Mulder mused. He paused, fingering some leather contraption that laid on the lid of a large trunk, an assortment of odd straps and buckles. "No wonder those horses run. I'd run, too, if I saw all this stuff coming. What do you think they use this for?"

Scully, peering at the thing, lifted one eyebrow. "I don't... wait. That part looks like a bit, doesn't it? To go in the horse's mouth, on a bridle?"

"Oh, sure. No, I know." Mulder brightened. "It's not just one bridle. It must be pieces of a couple of different bridles." He took the bit in his hand and lifted it; a few loose straps fell to the floor, and he frowned. "I think."

Scully had already wandered away. "The police have already been all over this room," she mused aloud, fingering the residue of fingerprinting powder at the edge of a trunk lid. "And if aliens took the horse, they didn't leave calling cards. I'm not really sure what we're supposed to find here."

"I don't -- Jeez, Scully. Look at these. I ought to seize them as evidence just so I can make you put them on tonight." She turned to see him dangling a diminutive pair of leather chaps from one hand. "These jockey types are just about your size, I think."

"Mulder! I'm not wearing those."

"You sure?" he asked, grinning a little. "I think they might suit you. I think you might get to like 'em, Scully." He moved toward her. "Here. Let's just hold them up to you and see if --"

"Uh-uh." She would never be sure what possessed her to do it, but she snatched up a riding crop and brandished it. She suppressed a laugh. "Not without a fight."

If she'd meant to stop him, she realized in an instant, it had been the wrong move. His eyes gleamed wickedly and his smile broadened. "Oh. We're feisty this morning, aren't we?" But instead of advancing toward her, he began to back away. When he reached the door, he pushed it closed; he glanced back at it to locate the lock. Scully felt her pulse leap as she watched him shoot the bolt to lock the door.

"Okay, Agent Scully," he said, in a tone that was not quite threatening, "if you'll cooperate, there won't be any trouble. Just put down your weapon and model the chaps."

She waggled the whip at him. "Not on your life, Mulder."

"Ah. Is that how we're playing it, Scully?" he asked, slipping his suit jacket off and tossing it haphazardly aside onto a trunk lid. "It's still not quite nine, if you'll remember."

"That doesn't make a damned bit of difference. I am not putting those things on." She was shocked at how her pulse had begun to race.

"Well... maybe you don't have to put on the chaps right now," Mulder allowed. "Maybe all you have to do is take off that suave little FBI-agent outfit you seem to be wearing."

" 'Suave?' This is Donna Karan, Mulder. It had *better* be suave, to say the least!" She backed away a little between the rows of tack trunks, but never relinquished her jockeys' bat.

"Oooooh, Scully. Your fashion sense inflames me." Mulder reached out quickly, feinting toward her right, and she ducked. She bit her lip as he chuckled. She flicked the whip out and slapped the end of his tie, and he fell back a few feet.

"Touche!" she exclaimed, and covered her mouth with her free hand so that he wouldn't see the way she was grinning. The more rational part of her mind wondered briefly what she thought she was doing, but her libido argued it down.

Mulder seemed to be thinking about changing his tactics a little. Carefully keeping himself between Scully and the door, he cast his eyes around the tackroom; only a moment later he seemed to see what he wanted. He leaned over and picked up a long, narrow whip with a little string tassle at the tip. He turned and waved it at her, assuming the attitude of a fencer with a foil. "Engarde, Scully!"

Scully, dismayed, exclaimed, "Mulder, that thing is four feet long!"

He laughed. "Why, Scully, I'm flattered, but you're exaggerating. If it was really four feet long, how would I ever get it all into my pants?" He approached and reached out, wiggling the end of the whip against her stomach. "Ticklish?"

"Nope. Nope. Not at all." It was hopeless. Mulder's whip was twice as long as hers, and all she could do was to keep trying to deflect it; she had no chance at all to get in a good shot at him. Still, she began giggling as she kept backing away and dodging.

"Tickle! Tickle!" Mulder crooned in a ridiculous, high-pitched voice as he pursued her across the tackroom. "Tickle-tickle-tickle!"

"Mulder, stop!" she laughed. "This is -- oh!" She had backed right up against one of the tack trunks and, losing her balance, she sat down in a heap, dropping her stick. Mulder was upon her in a second, sweeping her into his arms, prying his knee between her thighs. Before she could protest, his mouth covered hers; he hugged her closer and she felt his erection pressing against her. She gasped against his mouth and hooked one leg around his; she felt her skirt hiking up around her hips as she squirmed against him.

Mulder growled softly at the back of his throat. He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. "It's a couple of minutes after nine, I think," he said, punctuating his words with a slow grind of his hips against her body. "Do you want me to stop?"

"N-no, Mulder. For God's sake, no." She grasped a handful of his hair and pulled his head down; she ran her tongue up the edge of his ear. "I want --" and she felt so deliciously wicked, just saying the words -- "I want you to do me. Right here on this trunk."

"Scully!" he hissed through clenched teeth. She slipped her hands up between their bodies and rested them on his chest; she could feel his heart pounding. As he bent his head and kissed her again, she managed, fumbling in her haste, to open two of the buttons on his shirt. She struggled for a moment with a third, and then gave up and reached for his belt instead.

The leather came free of the buckle. She unfastened his pants with one hand while cupping him in the other, and he groaned, his mouth making its way from her lips to her ear and on toward her throat. She felt Mulder's hand slip up under her clothing to cover her breast and she laid back, still grasping the waistband of his boxer shorts with both hands, to let him unbutton her blouse and open the fastener at the front of her bra.

"Oh, Scully, Scully," Mulder murmured, watching his own hands trace patterns on her body, "you just don't know how beautiful you are." He began to lean down toward her, but she gave a tug on his boxers and drew herself upright again on the trunk.

"Wait, Mulder," she said, drawing his shorts down. "I want to... I want to..." She was suddenly shy about saying the words, and simply leaned forward and took him into her mouth.

She felt his trembling fingers caressing her hair. "Oh, God, Scully... baby...!" he gasped softly. "Scully, stop. Stop." His hand slipped beneath her chin and gently lifted her head. "Another time, Scully, please. It's -- it's too much."

She let him draw her up against his body and kiss her again, trying vainly to suppress her moan as she felt his hand beneath her skirt, sliding under the waistband of her panties and hose to caress her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, holding herself molded to him, freeing both his hands so that he could slip her underwear down her thighs. She was kneeling on the trunk now, and he was reaching around from behind, his fingers seeking out her center. She clutched at him, never relinquishing his mouth, kissing him almost violently.

When she could bear no more, she somehow pulled her head back. "Mulder. Now. Please. Now," she gasped.

She felt his hands move to her hips. "This way, Scully," he panted against her ear. She let him turn her until she was facing away from him, crouching on the lid of the trunk, the Donna Karan skirt flipped up over her back, her panties and stockings still bunched up just below her knees. Mulder bent over her, wrapped one arm around her waist, and entered her suddenly, all at once, from behind. Scully gasped sharply.

"Sorry," Mulder whispered. His hand moved up from her waist to skim across her breasts.

"It's fine. Oh, God, it's fine, Mulder. Don't stop." She arched up against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. "Go on."

"Do you -- oh -- do you like it, Scully?" Mulder's breath was hot against her neck. "Tell me, Scully," he gasped. "Tell me how it feels."

"It's so -- it's so -- oh, God, Mulder." She was almost beyond speech. "It's so good. You feel so good..." His hand trailed down her belly, reaching toward the place where they were joined, but in another moment he straightened up behind her, grasping her hips with both hands.

"Touch yourself, Scully," he rasped. "For me. Come for me."

She tried to answer, to say his name, but only a helpless whimper escaped her lips. She dropped to one elbow and reached her hand down, heard the hiss of his breath when she touched him as he thrust into her, over and over. Her searching fingers found the place, began the rhythm she needed. "Mulder," she half-sobbed, "I'm -- I --"

He leaned over her again, and suddenly clapped one hand over her mouth to hush the cry he seemed to know she would not be able to stifle. It was shocking, thrilling; she was so stunned by her own climax that she was hardly aware of Mulder's until he sagged against her, gasping her name.

She sprawled upon the tack trunk, forgetting the fingerprinting dust, forgetting her Donna Karan, forgetting everything except Mulder's body covering her own. He held himself up on one elbow, his other arm wound around her waist, and for a few long minutes they laid still together in silence.

When Mulder's cell phone shrilled from his coat pocket, Scully startled so violently that she almost dumped Mulder from the trunk to the floor.

"Sorry," she said as he clung to the trim on the side of the trunk. "You okay?"

"S'okay."

Scully peered over her shoulder and pressed one hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter as she watched Mulder, pants and boxers hobbling his ankles, hopping over toward the phone. He fished it out of the pocket and shot her a severe glance. "Mulder."

She took a deep breath and rolled over and sat up. She looked around on the floor for her left shoe.

"Yes," Mulder was saying into the phone. "Yes, sir... no, we didn't -- where? ... Really. Really." Scully put her shoe back on and awkwardly made her way over to her purse. The pantyhose around her knees gave her much the same gait that Mulder had just used, and she was relieved that he was too busy on the phone to make fun of her.

"At the state border?" Mulder was saying. He nodded his thanks as Scully handed him a few tissues from her purse. "A full confession... hmm. And they've already found the body...?"

Scully wriggled back into her pantyhose and straightened out her skirt. Spying a small mirror on the other side of the room, she combed her hair and touched up her lipstick, and tidied herself up as best she could.

When she turned around, Mulder was tucking his shirt into his slacks, the phone cradled between his shoulder and his ear. "Yes. We're on our way. ...Thank you, sir." He finished bucking his belt, and took the phone away from his ear, and flipped it shut, frowning.

"Skinner?" she asked.

"Yeah." He sighed, plainly disappointed. "The missing trainer, MacFarlane? He was stopped late last night when he tried to drive a horse trailer across the Maryland border. Somebody had a sharp enough eye to realize the horse in the trailer didn't quite match the description on the registration papers."

Scully looked up sharply. "The Magic Shell horse?"

"No," Mulder answered. "It was a very expensive stakes-winner -- but it 's the same color and size as Magic Shell was, and has very similar markings."

"Oh..." Scully began to see where Mulder was going. "And MacFarlane was going to switch..."

"That was part of his confession, Scully." Mulder slouched down onto a tack trunk. "He told the Maryland police that he and the missing vet were were conspiring to run 'ringers' at the track."

Scully sat down on the trunk across from him. "So they killed the slow horse, and they were going to run the fast one in its name, with papers falsified by the vet, at incredibly high odds -- and bet heavily on it."

"Yeah," Mulder nodded. "But it got complicated because the trainer and the vet were having an affair. The vet gave the trainer an ultimatum -- leave his wife for her, or she'd turn them both in." He looked down at his feet, scuffing his shoes against the floor. "He killed her instead. He dumped the body into the lake at Hempstead Lake State Park, about thirty miles from here."

"Well, so much for the aliens," Scully said, and let out a long breath. "They've found the body?"

"Less than an hour ago."

Scully shook her head. After a moment she said, "So I guess we're done here."

Mulder looked up and met her gaze and said nothing for a long moment.

"Mulder...?"

"You think maybe we could still take those chaps, Scully?"

"Mulder...!"