ICED TEA (NC-17)ICED TEA (NC-17)
Title: "Iced Tea" (1/1)
Author: Plausible Deniability
Address: pdeniability@hotmail.com
Category: V, MSR, maybe a little H
Rating: *NC-17* (sexual situations, mature language)
Spoilers: None
Keywords: Mulder/Scully
Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the television program "The X
Files" are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, and
Ten-Thirteen Productions, and have been used without permission. No copyright
infringement is intended.
Summary: Mulder fantasizes, with apologies to James Thurber.
This story was inspired by "Diet Coke" and "Diet Pepsi" by Romana Clef. If you
haven't read them, you should. Her Scully stories are so wonderfully clever that
I jealously appropriated a Walter Mitty-like fantasy life for Mulder, too. You
can read both of Romana's stories on my site, from links available on the main
page.
THANKS to my Beta readers, Becky and Hindy.
----
"If anybody calls for me, I'll be in the autopsy bay," said Scully, grabbing up
her keys and her tape recorder on her way to the door. "I just hope they've
fixed the fluorescent lighting in there. I *told* the maintenance man that it
isn't normal for lights to burn out that quickly and that there has to be
something wrong with the ballast, but he just keeps changing the bulbs..."
Mulder wasn't sure what a ballast was, so he just nodded.
"Anyway, if anyone calls for me, that's where I'll be."
He nodded again. "Okay, Scully."
He waited for the door to close behind her, and slowly ticked off the seconds he
estimated that it would take for her to reach the elevator and disappear inside.
Then he leaned down and took his lunch from the bottom drawer of his desk. It
was still forty minutes before noon, and there was no reason Scully needed to
know that he was starting his lunch break a little early.
He opened the paper bag and dumped out the contents: chicken salad sandwich,
Doritos, a Ho-Ho, and a can of Lipton Iced Tea. He unwrapped the sandwich and
greedily sank his teeth into it. God, he was starving. He shouldn't have skipped
breakfast this morning. But he had overslept, and he'd spent too long
half-dozing in the shower, and he hadn't even had an extra minute to make toast.
He ripped open the bag of Doritos, tipped back his head, and shook a cascade of
chips into his open mouth. Thank God for Frito-Lay. And thank God Scully wasn't
here; he could just picture her shooting superior little glances his way
because, faint with hunger, he actually dared to eat in anything more than
well-bred little bites. Of course *she* could survive on tiny nibbles; if he
were that short, he wouldn't need many calories either. He tore open the Ho-Ho
and defiantly stuffed the whole thing into his mouth at once.
Mmm, that was better...
He propped his feet up on his desk, then reached for the can of iced tea and
popped the top open. The can was still cool -- not icy, but cooler than it would
have been if he'd let it sit neglected in his desk drawer all the way up 'til
twelve o'clock. He took a big swig and swished it around in his mouth. Heaven.
Just how long would this autopsy keep Scully occupied? he wondered. The simpler
cases -- blunt trauma and good old execution-style mob hits -- tended to go
quickly. Then again, sometimes he got lucky and she ended up poring inch by inch
over some sorry sap who'd been cut down in a glorious hail of shrapnel. Cases
like those could take *hours*. He might even get to steal a look at one of the
videos he kept in the file cabinet, if she were involved in that kind of
autopsy.
At the thought of those videos, he felt a definite stir. He hadn't watched any
of them in a while. He could never find the opportunity. Sometimes he felt
almost hen-pecked, sitting primly in his chair while Scully stood guard like
some overzealous hall monitor. He took another swig of his tea, and shifted
uncomfortably.
'Whipped. Face it; that's what he was these days, and he was getting tired of
it. He was tired of being a nice guy, and saying, "Sure, Scully," and "Okay,
Scully" and "Sorry, Scully" all the time. He was tired of wearing a tie and
sitting up straight. He was tired of wiping his feet on his way into his own
office. Most of all he was tired of gazing longingly at the file cabinet drawer,
and sighing because his videos were oil and the rest of his life was vinegar.
He wished he had the guts, just once, to do something really audacious.
Especially, he thought, if it would wipe that cool, collected, teacher's pet
look off Scully's watchful face. Maybe one day he would do it. Maybe he'd get up
out of his government-issue chair and stalk across the office toward her, and
then simply seize her by the shoulders and slam her against the wall.
"Mulder -- !" she would certainly gasp, breasts heaving. "What do you think
you're doing?"
And he wouldn't even answer her. He'd just let his lip curl in his best Early
Elvis sneer, and then lean in and kiss her, kiss her long and hard, until at
last she would stop struggling and her resisting hands would drop bonelessly at
her sides.
Yeah, maybe he'd do that...making sure to cop a really good feel while he was at
it...
That was a good beginning, he thought, one hand curling around his Lipton can
while the other moved absently to his groin. But not nearly good enough,
considering the months -- no, let's get serious here; the *years* -- of
privation he'd endured. He wanted more.
So let's see... When he finally broke off the kiss, Scully would gape up at him.
And instead of rationality and control, he would see astonishment and desire in
her eyes. And awe. Definitely awe.
"Mulder," she would breathe huskily, "you're making me wet."
Did women really say that? Well, no matter. Scully would say it, he would see to
that.
And then he would slide his hands over her ass, continuing down until he reached
the bottom of her short skirt. He would push her skirt slowly up, his fingers
caressing her thighs as they went. He knew she didn't wear short skirts but,
hell, this was his fantasy. In fact, he'd give her a black garter belt while he
was at it...
Yeah, this was getting good. Already his cock was straining against his fly. He
shifted the can of iced tea from his right hand to his left, and used his
stronger hand to stroke himself through the wool of his pants.
But maybe it would be better if they weren't at the office at all, he thought.
Maybe instead they'd be in his car. Not his real car, of course; a mid-price
sedan didn't exactly scream wild animal lust. No, instead it would be -- what
was it Elvis drove in "Clambake"? Probably some kind of Cadillac. He decided to
go for broke and make it a '56 Eldorado convertible.
So there they'd be, he and Scully, stretched out together on the Eldorado's
white leather upholstery, and Scully would have her skirt bunched up around her
waist. He'd be leaning over her, more or less on top of her, and she'd have her
knees drawn up on either side of him. "Oh, Mulder," she would purr, eyes
heavy-lidded, "I'm sooo hot..."
And then she would...what? Oh, he had it. She would reach up and cup her
breasts, one in each hand, and sort of push them together. Whereupon he would
bury his face in her cleavage, and --
No, no, no, no. That was no good. She was not supposed to make him her slave. It
was supposed to work the other way -- he was going to ravish her, reduce her to
a steaming puddle of dripping need. He was going to make her want him so badly
that she'd beg and beg.
He stole a glance at the clock. It was twenty minutes until twelve. No way
Scully would be done with the autopsy anywhere near this early. With one eye
warily on the door, he set his iced tea down on the desk, unfastened his belt,
and unzipped his fly.
Ahhhh, that was better. He wrapped his hand around his erection, feeling the
weight of pulsing blood in his palm, and squeezed his hand firmly up and down.
Now to show Scully a thing or two...
So she was lying back on the upholstery, and her sweater was pushed up so that
her breasts were bare. Scully didn't wear a bra, of course, not when he took her
out in the ol' Eldorado. Or maybe she did wear a bra, but only if it was the
kind that matched her garter belt. Whatever. Either way, she wasn't wearing a
bra at this point.
But she was definitely quivering under him, because he had slipped his hand past
the elastic of her panties, and his fingers were stroking through the wetness
that was soaking the crotch. And she had her hands wrapped around him; those
were her hands pumping his cock. Only she wasn't content to have it in her
hands, she wanted it somewhere else. She wanted him to put it in her, and she
was begging him, demanding, pleading in a sultry whisper --
The ringing phone sent him nearly jumping out his skin.
He pounced on it, fumbled it, finally got it to his ear. "Uh -- Mulder," he
snapped, long habit rising to his rescue.
"Mulder, it's me."
Scully. "I was just -- I mean...hi. Whaddya need?"
"Mulder, the lights up here are flickering again. Do me a favor, would you? I
don't have a phone directory handy. Would you check the wall by my phone?
There's a page of phone listings taped up just under the menu for DC Deli. I
need to know the number for Maintenance."
"Maintenance? Sure, okay."
He started to lift himself out of his chair, then thought better of crossing the
office with his livid erection jutting out nakedly in front of him. Instead he
pulled a manila folder from his desk drawer and positioned it strategically over
his lap as he side-stepped across to Scully's area.
He checked the number, sidled back, and said "Extension 0724" into the receiver.
"Oh seven two four," Scully repeated, in a voice that told him she was jotting
it down. "Thanks, Mulder."
"Sure." He was just about to hang up when he had a sudden afterthought. "Wait --
Scully?"
"Yes?"
"What did he die of, this guy you're autopsying?"
"Mulder, it's not an X-file."
His hand crept slowly toward his erection. "I know. I'm just curious. Like, did
he die of multiple gunshot wounds? Repeated stabbings?"
"No, Mulder. It looks like he was strangled."
"Oh. That's all? Just strangled?
"Apparently it was enough for him."
He sighed. "Okay. Thanks, Scully."
He hung up the phone, dropped into his chair, and wrapped his hand around his
cock again. Just strangulation. He couldn't count on too much time, then. So
where was he?
Not the Eldorado. He wasn't quite so keen on it any more, now that the ringing
phone had shattered the mood. No, instead they were...hmmm...
They were in an alley; a dark, narrow backstreet, the slick pavement underfoot
shimmering with the reflected light of a distant streetlamp. He could have taken
her to his penthouse or simply his car -- this time it was a Lotus Esprit V-8,
he decided -- but they just couldn't wait.
Or, rather, *she* couldn't wait. Yes, that was it. He was coolness itself,
sangfroid personified, but *she* could not control herself. They had just
emerged from a restaurant, where they had sat in a darkened corner booth and she
had brazenly massaged his crotch with her stocking foot under the table. When he
could no longer ignore the pitiable look of hunger in her eyes, he had borne her
off into this alley. Now he had her pressed with her back against the red brick
wall.
"Tell me what you want, Scully," he rumbled dangerously, pushing his knee
between hers, nudging her legs open. "Tell me what it is you're after."
Her eyes fluttered shut, and she reached out blindly with both hands to run her
palms worshipfully up his rock-hard erection. "I want *this*," she breathed.
He loomed over her, his left hand braced against the wall, and suavely unbuckled
his belt with his right.
"Oh, yes," she moaned, her hands joining in, pulling him free of his pants. "Oh,
Mulder -- !" She slid her grasp firmly down the bare length of him. Then she
lifted her gaze, her eyes registering speechless amazement.
Yeah, that was pretty good, he thought, his own hand moving purposefully. Just
once he would like to see Scully rendered speechless.
So, under the streetlight...her hands let go of his cock, and she wantonly
touched herself. She cupped her breasts, then let one hand trail down to rub
herself through the layers of her skirt and panties. She moaned a little as she
did it, too. He watched her for a moment in sympathy, then took charge of the
situation. Chuckling, he ripped her skirt and panties off in a single motion.
She offered him a look of gratitude.
His hand slid between her thighs, and despite his incredibly varied and
extensive experience, he couldn't help raising one impressed eyebrow at the
prodigious wetness that dripped through his fingers. My, my, but she was eager.
"Oh, yes, touch me there," she moaned, writhing against him. "Oh, that feels so
good..."
Women, of course, usually begged to be allowed to give him blow jobs, and he was
usually too chivalrous to deny them. In this case, however, he thought he might
have to make an exception and --
The phone rang again.
"God damn it!" he swore in wild frustration, smacking his desk with the flat of
his hand.
Reluctantly, he picked up the receiver. "Mulder," Scully's voice complained
before he could even choke out a salutation, "I've tried again and again but
nobody in Maintenance is answering. Are you sure you gave me the right number?"
He heaved a tremendous martyred sigh. "Hold on a second and I'll check."
A moment later he was back at the phone. "Did I say 0724?"
"Yes."
"Then I gave you the right number."
There was a brief, thoughtful pause. "Oh. Well, then maybe they've just gone to
lunch."
"Yeah, maybe so."
She hung up without even thanking him for his trouble.
Jesus, he thought, she was going to drive him absolutely fucking nuts. Couldn't
a man even have five minutes alone in his own office? Did she have to natter at
him every single hour of the day? Was it some kind of requirement spelled out in
her job description or something?
His hand moved back to grip his throbbing erection. Damned phone. Where was he,
anyway? Oh, yes; in the alley...
On second thought, maybe he would just let Scully give him a blow job. Yes, she
was looking rather greedily at his cock, and now that he considered her more
closely, her eyes were decidedly wider than saucers. As she stared transfixed,
her lips parted slightly, and her tongue came out to lick unconsciously at her
full bottom lip.
She looked up pleadingly into his eyes. "May I...?"
"If it will make you happy," he said indulgently. He had never been able to deny
a beautiful woman anything.
She sank down onto her knees, flipping her tumbled hair over her shoulder with a
practiced gesture. She lifted her hand to cradle his balls, hefting them in a
caress. "Oh my..." she breathed reverently. Then she leaned in, and took him
into her mouth.
Ah, yes, just the way he liked it...She made sure that he slid deep into the
back of her throat, or as deep as her size and his would allow. Since she could
not quite fit her mouth over all of him, she brought her hand up to assist,
gripping the base of his erection in one saliva-slickened fist. Her lips slid
firmly up and down the rigid length of his cock, as she drew her hot tongue
along the underside. Her hand moved in counterpoint to her mouth. Rhythm and
friction, friction and rhythm....
Mulder groaned. Oh, yeah. This was good. This was very, very good. He could just
see Scully, glancing up at him as she worked lovingly on his cock. There would
be nothing in her eyes but raw lust -- no reminders of budget proposals or
purchase orders, no skepticism and no arguments, no inhibitions and no excessive
expectations. He would rock into her mouth, his hand resting against the back of
her head -- not pinning her, but merely sharing her half of the experience,
feeling the movement under his palm as her head moved back and forth. So good...
Too good. He felt the hot rush in his groin that told him he had just taken a
step past the point of no return. He lunged at his desk in sudden desperation,
looking for a sock, a Kleenex, anything to catch the coming eruption. In
desperation he grabbed the empty brown paper bag that had held his lunch. He
pressed it quickly to his groin, barely in time to intercept the creamy jets
that came spurting out.
....And came, and came, and came...
Wow, he thought finally, lolling back in his chair. That was a good one.
Wow.
He was still tingling when the phone rang yet again. Clutching the bag against
him, he groped with his free hand for the receiver. "Mulder."
"Mulder, are you okay?" Scully asked sharply.
He wiggled up a little straighter in his chair. "Sure. Why?"
"You sound out of breath."
"I, uh -- I had to run for the phone."
"Oh." She reverted to her normal, business-as-usual tone. "Listen, I finally
tracked down a maintenance man, and he's going to have to move half the ceiling
panels up here to get at the root of the problem. I'm not going to be able to
finish this autopsy until after he's finished."
"That's nice," Mulder mumbled in a relaxed, faraway fog.
"What?"
"Oh...I mean, how inconvenient for you."
"Especially since I told him it had to be the ballast on at least two other
occasions."
"The bastard," Mulder agreed affably.
There was a pause on the other end of the line, as if Scully was puzzling over
his unwonted understanding. Finally she ventured, "Well, it means I'm going to
be free for lunch after all. Do you want to join me?"
He looked down happily at the crumpled lunch bag still clasped to his lap.
"Sorry, Scully," he answered with a pacific smile. "I already finished without
you."
****
END
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