From: RaValliano@aol.com Date: Tue, 15 Dec 1998 00:59:15 EST Subject: Slippery Slope (1/1) by Rachel Anton Title: Slippery Slope (1/1) Author: Rachel Anton E-Mail: RaValliano@aol.com Rating: NC-17 Category: V, H Keywords: MSR, fluffy and smutty and bursting with love Summary: Mulder and Scully discuss current events Archive: Sure Spoilers: None Disclaimer: Still not mine Author's note: This story has no plot, no angst, no real purpose other than to alleviate the tension and writer's block I'm suffering with the massive post-colonization story I'm working on. Hope y'all have fun. I know I did :) xxxxxx "Scully, did we just have sex?" As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize what a hideous mistake I've just made. I can see her through the windows, staring at her cell phone, completely aghast and I know what's coming next. "Go to hell Mulder." The line goes dead and I have a feeling when I get back to the car, the doors are gonna be locked. This was *such* a bad idea. It all started out innocently enough. It all started out with Archibald P. Funt. Archie seems like a pretty normal guy at first glance. Overweight, balding, appears to enjoy his job at the DMV as much as one would expect. Archie is single, lives in a small house in suburban Maryland with his two dogs and his herb garden. The only thing that makes Archie slightly unique is the fact that on the second Tuesday of every month, he holds meetings in his basement. Meetings of a very special group called People Against Fascism In Government. PAFIG. Guess nobody told Archie about the importance of a catchy acronym. I guess someone also forgot to tell him that the DMV is a governmental organization and that employees at any governmental organization are kept a close eye on. Particularly for any anti-governmental activities such as forming a militia group in one's basement. Apparently one of Archie's disgruntled friends from the DMV placed a call several weeks ago to the good ole FB of I, filling us in on Archie's secret life as an international conspirator and this very call is responsible for the disconcerting series of events that have just taken place. Scully and I were the obvious choice for the Tuesday night stake-out. I can't even imagine the glee that must have brightened Kersh's face when this assignment fell onto his desk. So, for three months now, we've been spending our second Tuesday's parked in front of Archibald P. Funt's house, watching similarly disaffected, bald, fat, middle-aged men waddle into his basement and talk about those bastards in Washington while munching fig cookies and drinking cherry Kool Aid. I suppose we're waiting for something more suspicious and prosecutable to occur. Last month we realized that this duty, much like most of our official assignments, could easily be handled by one agent alone. So we decided it would be best to take turns. I watch the house and Scully types in her laptop in the backseat. Scully watches the house and I catch up on my sleep. I watch the house and Scully calls her mother on her cell phone. Scully watches the house and I read the paper. And reading the paper is exactly what got me in trouble on this fateful night. Scully was in the driver's seat, binoculars in hand, gazing with boredom at Mister Funt's dogs mating on his lawn as he plotted the downfall of western civilization in the basement and I was in the passenger seat, leafing through the New York Times. I don't read the paper very often. I find journalism depressing, sensationalistic, and irritatingly inaccurate. I was bored. Sue me. "I can't believe they're gonna really do this," I found myself grumbling under my breath as I zipped through the latest update in "The Clinton Crisis". "Hmm?" Scully turned to me and plopped the binoculars on her lap, happily distracted. "I can't believe they're really going to impeach him over this. It's insane." Scully and I don't talk politics a lot. I think we both realized how inconsequential the whole charade really is a long time ago. We know who's got the real power in this country. I do know that she still votes. I gave up on that a few years ago but she's quite religious about it. Don't ask me what difference she thinks it's going to make. Still though, I can't help but feel bad for the guy on a personal level. "Well, it is a little ridiculous but, Mulder, he did lie under oath." "What?" I had to toss the paper aside after that comment and give her my best incredulous stare. "Granted, it wasn't a question anyone should have been asking but he *did* lie." I was completely flabbergasted as you might imagine. "Scully, first of all, of all the lies we've been told..." "I know, Mulder. I said it wasn't a proper question and the answer was not something I think anyone cared about but the fact is, the man lied under oath. It may have been a harmless lie compared to some of the things we've been lied to about but it was a lie." "Second of all, Scully, it was not a lie. They asked him a question and he told the truth as he understood it." "As he understood it? Mulder, you can't be serious." I should have really just shut up at that point. "Scully, they asked him if he had sex with her. He didn't." She took another obligatory peak through the binoculars and for a minute I thought maybe the conversation was finished. I thought I might have even won. Then she turned back to me and that eyebrow shot up to Venus and her mouth quirked into a little smirk. "So, Mulder, let me see if I understand you. The actual wording of the question was "sexual relations" if I remember correctly. Am I right?" I nodded like an idiot and I think that's when I started to get scared. "So, what you're saying is, if for some unknown reason I decided to give you a blow job, out here in front of Archibald P. Funt's house, and if we both decided afterwards that that was as far as we wanted to go, you're saying that if a few months from now someone asked you, under oath, if you had ever had sexual relations with me, you would say no. That's what you're telling me here?" I think she was trying to make some sort of point with all that. I don't think she realized that I stopped listening after she said "I decided to give you a blow job." That image hit just a little too close to home for my taste. I think it was the first time I'd ever heard her say something like that and the effect on my imagination and my anatomy was quite unwelcome at that moment. I made sure to quickly memorize the way she said blow job for later use and tried to focus back on the conversation at hand. "Mulder? Would you say no?" "Um, I...I suppose I would have to, yes." "So, sexual relations is defined as what?" I really didn't want to say the word. I felt my throat closing in just thinking of it. "Um, I...I think it has to be defined as, you know, uh, intercourse." I could feel my cheeks turning red and I realized finally what a mistake this entire conversation was. Did I really want to spend the night locked in a car with Scully, saying things like intercourse and blow job and sexual relations? I mean, I like to think I'm a little past the level of Beavis and Butthead but this was really making me squirm. I was starting to think maybe they should impeach that bastard for bringing this conversation into our happy little celibate Taurus. "Intercourse, Mulder? What about gay people? Can't they have sex?" "Well, I mean, there's uh, anal intercourse too. I would include that." There's uh, anal intercourse too?! I think my brain fell out at that point. "What about lesbians, Mulder?" This brought on the completely uninvited image of a faceless woman's head buried between Scully's thighs and I had to actually struggle not to moan. Heh-heh, she said lesbian. I was regressing fast. "Well, I suppose with, um, with lesbians that uh, oral sex would count since that's, well that's as far as they can, uh, I mean, they can't do the other..." "Mulder, that's the most phallocentric, uninspired definition of sex I've ever heard. Frankly, I'm shocked and horrified. I expected more from you." Uh-oh. This is when I started to get *really* scared. It sounded like she was implying something about my sexual repertoire. It sounded like she was telling me that all of a sudden she was thinking I might be a lousy lay. At least that's what it sounded like to my paranoid ears. "Alright Scully, what's your definition?" "Contact between a person's genitals and another person's hands, mouth or own genitals," she announced proudly and matter-of-factly. As if. "So, when you go to the gynecologist you're having sex?" She frowned and huffed and looked back at Mister Funt's house. "With intent to arouse," she amended a few moments later. "Whose intent?" "Both parties." I should have just nodded and gone back to my blessed paper. But now that the shock had worn off, I was actually having fun. "So, there has to be actual physical contact?" "Well, of course." "What about the cigar?" She wrinkled her nose. "I don't know what to call that, Mulder but I'm sure I didn't want to know about it." "What about phone sex?" "What about phone sex? Mulder, please." "There's intent to arouse in that, Scully. And orgasms. That's gotta fit somewhere into your definition." "Maybe on your end, Mulder. But sexual relations implies mutuality. You can't honestly think that those 1-900 girls are having sex with you. It's not sex. It's pornography." "Not necessarily. I mean, if it's between two people that know each other, that have some kind of mutual desire and they chose to express that verbally rather than physically, and if both parties bring themselves to orgasm then I would think that would be more of a sexual relation that just a blow job. I mean, maybe you're right Scully, maybe a blow job does count as sexual relations but if you're gonna put that in then I think mutual phone sex should be part of it too." "Well, perhaps if there was such a thing I would consider it." "Excuse me?" "Mulder, phone sex is not any more mutual than a blow job. Maybe if it's two guys doing it I could see it but, Mulder, I hate to burst your happy balloon but women don't really get any sexual gratification out of that. They do it for guys. That little scenario you described is completely unrealistic." "Really?" I was actually surprised and more than a little intrigued. "Women don't get very excited listening to guys talk about sex, Mulder." "No?" She sighed and looked at me with an expression bordering on pity. "No, Mulder." "So, you don't think you'd get excited listening to someone you really wanted telling you all the things he'd like to do to you?" She cleared her throat and picked up the binoculars again. "No, Mulder." That seemed to be the end of the conversation for her. She seemed to have lost interest entirely, proving her point pretty damn well I suppose. Unfortunately, guys *do* get excited hearing women talk about sex. Even if it's Scully's brand of talk, clinical, detached and utterly blase. We get particularly excited when it's a woman we've been chaffing our palms thinking about for six years straight. And if that woman is *the* woman, well, it's pretty redundant to say that I was sporting wood at that point. It sure as hell wasn't the first time I'd gotten a boner sitting in the car with her and I'm certain it won't be the last. She was pretty studiously ignoring it, as always. I picked up the paper and strategically placed it over my lap and tried like hell to find a story to read that didn't involve oral sex or shoving foreign objects up people's vaginas. I had to flip all the way back to the sports section. After a few minutes I realized my erection wasn't going away anytime soon and that reading about the Jets latest victory was not doing anything to distract me from my licentious Scully thoughts. I also realized that I had to take a piss really bad. I *hate* pissing with a boner. "Scully, I've gotta go relieve myself." This is my code word for urinate in a bush. Well, it's not like I can go up to Mister Funt's door and ask to use the restroom. This is just one of the many joys of stake-outs. Scully's taken to carrying a roll of toilet paper in her travel bag. She nodded wordlessly and continued spying on the PAFIG's. Once I got outside, that's when the real trouble started. I don't know what got into me. Maybe it was just an ego thing. Maybe I just really wanted to prove her wrong. Maybe I was just so fucking horny that I didn't have a choice. For whatever reason though, after soiling Archie's neighbor's shrubbery and watching the shrinkage and regrowth of my erection, I reached into my jacket pocket for my cell phone. I hesitated a moment before punching in the numbers, as any remotely sane person would have. Was this really the best idea? Was I going to make an utter ass of myself? Strangely, I didn't care. I don't know what it is with me lately. I just don't care anymore. I used to be so terrified of her rejection, her mockery, her abandonment, but after everything I've said and done in the past year those fears seem almost ludicrous. If she was gonna laugh in my face or tell me to go fuck myself she would have done it ages ago. "Scully." "Hey Scully, it's me." "Mulder? Where are you?" I could see her from the bush I was standing behind, looking out her window and I could tell she was worried, thinking I'd been attacked by a CHUD on my way to the outdoor toilet or something. "You can't see me?" "No, what's happening? Are you all right? Do you need help?" "I'm fine, Scully." She settled back against her seat and ran her fingers through her hair. I was only a few feet away. "Why are you calling me, Mulder?" "Because I wanted to talk to you." "Um, Mulder, I'm right here. We were just talking..." "No, Scully, you don't understand. I *need* to talk to you. And I couldn't..." I took a deep breath, knowing I had to say this right and wondering if I really had the ability. My voice really never has been one of my better assets as far as seduction tools go. "I couldn't stand being in that car with you anymore, Scully. You're making me crazy." I bit my lip nervously and sent up a silent prayer that, for once, she would take me seriously. Even though I wasn't being entirely serious at the time. "Crazy? Mulder, what are you talking about? You sound funny. Are you sick?" Great. The panting thing I had going on was obviously not gonna work on her. I decided maybe a more sincere approach was the way to go. "I just...the way you were talking, Scully, you were making me really hot. I wanna touch you, Scully." I think at heart I was almost hoping for an "oh brother" or a derisive snort or even just a hang-up. That would have been simple and easily dismissed. Another case of Mulder's verbal diarrhea, utterly ignored. What I got was silence. And then I saw her craning her neck around, struggling to catch sight of me again. "Mulder, where are you?" "Did you hear me, Scully?" "Yes, I heard you Mulder. Now stop kidding around and get back in the car before I kick your ass." And there it was. My out. Handed over on a silver platter. I was so tempted to take it. "Scully, I'm not kidding. Didn't you see me, Scully? Didn't you see how hard I was?" "Mulder...stop." "Why?" I watched her shift uncertainly in her seat and switch her cell phone from right to left hand and try desperately to come up with a reason other than, because I like it. "You don't really want me to stop, do you? Do you, Scully?" "I don't....I don't believe you. Stop making fun of me." Is that what she thinks? I couldn't fathom it. I felt like sobbing for a minute, thinking that she could ever possibly think that. "Scully, I'm not. I want you. If you don't know that by now, I don't know what to say to you." More silence. "Scully, do you want to know what I've been thinking about?" "I...I don't think so," she murmured in a weak voice and I smiled from the small triumph. "Well then hang up now, cause I'm gonna tell you." More silence. "I've been thinking about the way you smell tonight." Okay, maybe that wasn't the most romantic way to start. In fact it could have been construed as an insult. But it was the God's honest truth. "Are you wearing perfume, Scully?" "A...a little." "What kind is it?" "It's called...um...Erotica." "Erotica huh? Did you just buy that? I don't think I've ever smelled it on you before." "It was a sample from a magazine." I pictured Scully, pulling open one of those annoying flaps and sniffing the stuff curiously and her eyes lighting up with excitement as she discovered that she liked it, ripping the page out and rubbing the stuff all over her skin. I think that's when I started stroking my dick and thinking about what an odd topic this was to find so very arousing. "Where did you put it, Scully?" "What, the magazine?" "No, the perfume. Did you put it on your wrists?" "Yes." "Your neck?" "Yeah." "Between your breasts?" "Um...I don't..." "You must have, Scully. I can smell it there." "Mulder, what...what are you doing out there?" "What do you think I'm doing, Scully?" God bless her little heart, she rolled down her window and stuck her head out. When she realized I was nowhere to be found she rolled it back up and sighed. "Mulder...this...this is...not..." "I'm touching myself, Scully. I think you know that. I think you wanna see and that's why you just opened your window." "Mulder, you're...outside?" "Yeah, Scully. Outside. I need to. I can't help it. And I knew you'd get upset if I started doing it in the car." "You can see me?" "Yeah, I can. It's amazing, Scully, standing out here, being able to watch you while I do this." And it was. God, it was. I was just praying Mister Funt's neighbor wouldn't choose that moment to take her schnauzer for a walk and have me arrested for public indecency. "D'you know what I want, Scully? More than anything in the world?" "Um, I...I guess not..." "I wanna taste you, Scully. All of you. I wanna slide my tongue into your hot little mouth and taste your teeth and your saliva and the back of your throat. I wanna lick your baby soft cheeks and your long, sexy neck and your beautiful, perfect breasts. I wanna flick my tongue over your nipples and suck them into my mouth and see if they taste as sweet as they look." And that's when I saw it. Or thought I saw it. It happened so quickly, I'm still not sure if it was real. But I could have sworn she ran her right hand down over her breast. She sighed a little into the phone and I moaned eagerly in response. My dick was throbbing in my hand now and I tried to slow my movements down a bit. "I wanna taste your pretty, little belly button, Scully, and your back, your tattoo. Does it taste bitter? I'll bet it does. And your thighs, Scully. What do they taste like? I'll bet they taste like peppermint..." Don't ask me where that idea came from. I've just always thought that. Anyway, she didn't laugh so I didn't stop. "You know what I *really* wanna do though, Scully? What I can never seem to stop thinking about? I wanna taste what's between your legs, Scully. I wanna run my tongue over that hot, wet pussy and see if it tastes as good as I think it does." She whimpered in a tiny voice and I tried to see where her hand disappeared to. It was too dark though. I could see her face though, head thrown back against the seat, lips parted invitingly, eyes closed. I fell to my knees in the dirt and started jerking myself fast again. Too fast but I couldn't help it anymore. She was just so fucking beautiful and I was so sure that she just had to be touching herself. It was all too much. "How do you taste, Scully? Will you tell me?" "I...I don't...I..." "Are you doing it, Scully?" "I'm...I...Mulder," she panted and I saw her head rock back and forth a little bit. "Bring your finger up to your lips and suck it, Scully. Tell me how it tastes." The suspense was actually enough to make me stop moving all together and just watch her. Would she do it? She did. And it was the most amazing thing I've ever seen. I groaned wordlessly into the phone and gripped myself tight, watching as she sucked herself and then ran her hand seductively down her whole body and back, I supposed, between her legs. "It's...huuummm...salty, and ohhh, tangy," she crooned into my ear and I started thrusting uncontrollably, wanting to be inside that salty, tangy place for eternity. "Are...are you wet, Scully? I mean, really, really wet? Is it dripping down your thighs?" "I...Mulder...I don't...oh Goooddd." "Can you come, Scully? Can you come for me? Please?" I was a desperate man. What can I say? I was so fucking close it was starting to hurt. "Imagine it's my tongue, Scully. Rubbing your clit, sliding in and out of you, fucking you. I wanna fuck you with my tongue, Scully. I wa...I wa..." Yeah, well, I just about lost the ability to communicate at that point because she started rocking back and forth and moaning into the phone and licking her lips and one of Mister Funt's fucking dogs came over and started sniffing at me and I was just about ready to cry. "Mulder...I...I..." "Come for me, baby. It's okay," I whispered with what was left of my voice and, thank God, she did. She did. And, I am so in love because she didn't even drop the phone. I got to hear every moan and every "Mulder" and I got to watch her slamming her head back into the car seat and grimacing in ecstasy and it was about fucking time. My cock tightened and grew in my hand and I started really going crazy, pumping my fist like a lunatic in front of that stupid dog and probably the entire freaking neighborhood. "Scully, God, Scully. I'm gonna come, Scully. Jesus...Scuulleee. I love you...I love you...I love you," and so on and so on. I think I must have babbled through the entire experience. I don't remember much after that except the sight of a stupendous amount of semen shooting out of me and splattering all over the tree in front of me. The next thing I remember is the stupidest thing I have ever said. Yep, that's right. "Scully, did we just have sex?" And I suppose you remember the rest. I guess she's pretty mad at me. I guess she probably thinks that this was all a fucking joke to me, a way to prove a point or some other stupid shit. I guess that was a *really* stupid thing to say. And I guess the only thing I can do right now is go back to the car and try to tell her that I'm really not as much of an asshole as it probably seems sometimes. END This story is dedicated to all the boys in Washington who call *us* smut peddlers. Sheesh!