TITLE: Just Desserts AUTHOR: Forte E-MAIL: Bjm1352@aol.com or Forte1354@aol.com URL: http://www.thebasementoffice.com/ RATING: NC-17 CATEGORY: SRH KEYWORDS: MSR PWP. Smutbiscuit, baby! SPOILERS: Nope, but assume that there's an established MSR. SUMMARY: When life hands you lemons, make lemonade. ARCHIVE: Gossamer/Ephemeral/M&S/Spooky awards site OK; anywhere else please ask first. DISCLAIMER: They belong to CC, 1013, and FOX; *definitely* not me. FEEDBACK: Yes, please. :) NOTE: There is already a story called "Just Desserts" at Gossamer, but since it was archived in 1995 I'm hoping there will be no confusion between that story and this one. For S, because you can never have too much spooning. ;) **** Just Desserts **** "Dammit, Scully, this isn't funny." "I didn't say it was." "You didn't have to say it, I can see it on your face." I wipe a palm down my own face, trying to rub away my misery and humiliation. Yeah, like that's gonna work. "Would you help me out here? We have thirty minutes until the meeting with Skinner. I can't go up there looking like..." Unable to speak the ugly truth -- and isn't *that* ironic -- I wave my hands helplessly toward my pants. "Mulder, you wouldn't have spilled ice cream on your... your..." I stare at my partner as she pauses, her mouth quirking into a grimace as she fights back a smile. Go ahead, Scully, say it: I spilled ice cream on my fly. My crotch. My dick, my cock, my Mr.-Usually-But-Not-at-This-Particular-Moment-Happy. Make this lousy experience complete by equating my manhood with a big joke. Actually, "small joke" is more like it right now, since Mr. Happy is trying to get as far away from the disaster zone as possible. "... you wouldn't have spilled ice cream on your *pants* if you hadn't been trying to steal some of mine before you even got it back here for me to eat." "It was dripping over the side of the cup! What the hell else was I supposed to do?" Scully eyes the two paper containers sitting on my desk, each holding a melting mound of ice cream with a long white plastic spoon handle sticking out it. She wets her bottom lip with her tongue. Yeah, I know you're hungry, Scully, but I need your help here, and time's a-wasting. "The outsides look pretty clean to me -- I don't think they were dripping at all. You *owed* me that dessert, Mulder, and since you took some of mine it doesn't count." I cannot fucking believe that she's arguing with me over the ice cream I had to buy because I lost a lousy bet with her. (Yankees, some bad baseball, I don't want to discuss it, okay?) And we now have only twenty-nine minutes until our meeting with Skinner -- a meeting at 5 p.m. on a Friday, thankyouverymuch -- and I look like a 13-year-old after a bad practice session. If you know what I mean. I have *got* to do something about this, and fast. This is an emergency. "Mulder?" Scully's voice shakes me out of my little pity party. She just said something to me, didn't she? "Huh?" "I said, come with me. I have an idea." Oh, thank God. Maybe she's got some kind of fast-drying stain cleaner or something. One of those secret things that only women (or pathologists) know. Scully leads me to the back room of our office, pulls open a drawer, and gets out some little pre-packaged towelette that bears that name of a stain remover. Not that I own that kind of stuff, mind you, but I've seen the commercials on TV. Thank God for my domesticated partner. She opens the package with surgical precision (what else would you expect?) and moves back over to me. But instead of handing the stain remover to me and leaving me to suffer this indignity alone, she just stands there. And looks at my crotch. And stares with this funny little smug grin on her face. All right, Scully, I know you're pissed off about your ice cream, but you are enjoying my humiliation *way* too much. I reach for the towelette in her hand, but she swats me away. "Mulder, do you have any experience in this sort of thing?" Totally confused, and more than a little freaked about time -- 27 minutes now -- I shake my head no. "Well, then, let me take care of it for you." Now, as much as I usually enjoy Scully's hands on certain parts of my anatomy, somehow the thought of her wiping off my crotch like some kid in training pants needs his mom to wipe his butt doesn't appeal to me. Come on, Scully, just hand it over, I want to say, but when she's this close to my manhood it's not in my best interest to make her any more ticked off. So I bite my tongue and make nice. "Scully," I say slowly, in that diplomatic voice that so rarely sees the light of day, "I assure you that I can --" To my shock, she drops to her knees in front of me. This isn't Scully's usual way of dealing with me when I've pissed her off, but even after all this time she can still surprise me. All right, Scully, if this is my punishment for messing up your dessert, I am not going to let you see me sweat. Just go ahead and do it, and I'll figure out how to get back at you later. Not that I'm a paying-back kind of guy. Nope, not me. Scully leans forward and inspects my pants as though she's about to autopsy an unusually messy corpse. Jeez, Scully, do you realize how fucking humiliating this is? I clutch my hands into fists and stare up at the ceiling, waiting for her to get this over with. She starts to dab at the stain on my pants, slowly and gently, and I wish she'd just hurry the hell up. Then she starts to hum. Wait. That's not a hum like, say, "Take Me Out to the Ball Game." No, I know that hum pretty well -- I look down and damn, but I think I'm having an out-of-body experience. That's the only possible explanation for what I'm seeing. Dana Scully, my beautiful, brilliant, staid partner, is licking my pants. No, really. She's LICKING my PANTS. Holy shit! I stare in shock as the tip of her tongue just barely touches the ice cream on my pants, then drags upward to collect a tiny amount of the creamy goo, then disappears into her mouth. Then she does it again. And again. As she continues to lap at the fly of my pants my mouth closes and opens a few times so that I look like some kind of mutant fish. "Scully... wha..." My befuddled brain can't put two and two together, but my body sure can. Talk about going from zero to sixty in less than six seconds. And then I must start to shake, because Scully reaches around and grabs my ass with both of her hot little hands. I thread my fingers through her hair, being careful not to interfere with her movements, and for several more moments I just marvel at what my partner is doing to me. If you're up there, God, you can strike me down now and I'll die a happy man. No, forget that, because Scully has now made me a happier man: she's pulled back and brought her hands around to the front of my body again, and she's started to undo my pants. "Mmmm," she says, and she licks her lips. She looks up at me, licks her lips AGAIN, and croons, "Mulder, I may like ice cream, but you're my faaaaaavorite dessert." I don't believe this. I don't fucking believe what's going on here. My head is buzzing, but at the same time it's feeling remarkably clear, so I don't think I've been drugged. I'd like to think my partner hasn't been drugged, either; while she's perfectly capable of being playful when we're in the privacy of one of our apartments, this is a new side of her in the office. Her eyes don't look glazed, though. I think she actually wants to do this. Here. Now. And amazingly, my brain has enough blood left in it to carry on a conversation with itself: Responsible side: We can't do this! We've got a meeting with Skinner in twenty minutes! Selfish side: Hello? Are you insane? Scully obviously wants to give you head and you're gonna say no? Responsible side: But... but... Selfish side: Yeah, her butt's really nice, too. If you play your cards right maybe you'll get to see it in all its pink naked glory. Now shut up and enjoy the ride. While I've been mentally conversing with myself, Scully has taken it upon herself to finish opening my belt and pants, and now I find myself helping her get those pants and my boxers down over my hips. Mr. Happy makes it crystal clear that he's pleased to see her. She grabs me by my ass again and there's no question that she's taking charge of this little operation. Hell, who am I to argue? She takes just the head of my cock into her mouth and bathes it with her tongue, then slowly starts moving up and down my shaft, just a few inches in and out, in and out, so slowly it's going to kill me, but I know from experience that if I let her take control and keep this going as long as possible I won't regret it. I throw my head back, moving my hips a fraction forward and back in time with her mouth's movements, and after a few minutes apparently she's satisfied that I'm not going to keel over because she finally lets go of my ass and we just keep up that rhythm that's either going to kill me or send me to nirvana any second now. Without warning she pulls her mouth away from me with a pop, and I think I might either cry, or pass out, or hyperventilate. Why the hell is she stopping now? Gasping for breath, I look down to see that gorgeous mouth, her lips glistening and just a bit plumped from what she's been doing to me, and realize that after she let go of my ass, she apparently put her hands to work on herself. Her blouse and bra have magically left her body and her pants are undone, although they've barely moved down off her hips. I manage to get down on my knees without falling over, which is pretty impressive since my pants and shorts have worked their way down around my ankles, and launch myself at Scully's beautiful, naked breasts. With an "ooof" Scully falls on her side, laughing, me following right along since I'm latched onto her breast (the one that winds up closest to the floor; I think I bonked my head on the linoleum but ask me if I care) like some kind of a sucker fish. I continue to suck and lick with my mouth while one of my hands pinches and twists the nipple on her other breast, and she's panting and pushing her chest into my face for all she's worth. By her wiggling, and the way her legs keep rubbing up against mine -- including some almost painfully pleasant friction against my dick -- I'm guessing that she's working on getting her pants off. That's my girl. When she's done, she pushes me onto my back, and all I can do is stare like an idiot while she finishes the job of removing her shoes, pants, and, panties. Then, since I clearly don't have enough brainpower left to realize that I should have done this myself, she starts to pull off MY clothes. My motor skills engage then, so while Scully takes care of me from the waist down, I pull off my tie and get my shirt unbuttoned. The shirt is gonna stay on, though, because my Scully is an impatient woman -- she practically tackles me and, before I know it, she's slid onto my cock like she owns me. Which she does, but that's not really important right now. What IS important is how amazing she looks, how amazing she feels, riding up and down on my cock and moaning to beat the band. Or maybe that's me moaning. Actually, I think it's both of us, since I'd have to be stone cold dead to NOT be moaning at the pleasure coursing through my entire body. Those gorgeous, firm breasts of hers are just begging for attention, so I reach up with both hands and play with her nipples. Apparently that was a good move, because Scully throws her head back, mouth open and eyes closed, and starts moving a little faster on me, up and down, up and down, up and down. She's managing to hold herself up just by the strength in her legs, and she reaches between them with one of her hands, making fast little circles over her clit. After a few seconds she shudders, and a low, keening moan escapes her throat as she clenches around me and then collapses on my chest. Am I a selfish bastard for being glad when she starts to push herself up from my chest after a few moments of recovery? I haven't come yet, which has got to be a world record for endurance, not counting those tantric guys. I mean, usually I'm happy to give her all the time she needs (if she went first, and I'm not saying that always happens, okay?), but right now I'm so ready to explode I can taste it. After a sloppy suck of my nipple -- she's tired, I'll cut her some slack -- she pushes herself up fully. But instead of riding me some more until I lose it, she climbs off of me completely, lies down next to me, and presents me with her back. For a second I'm confused, and then she bends a bit and pushes her ass into my hip. Oh, Scully. Have I mentioned lately that I love you? I roll to my side and spoon up next to her, draping an arm over her stomach and pulling her close to me. I cup my hand over her breast and give it an appreciative squeeze, and she takes my hand, kisses my knuckles, and then takes my middle finger in her mouth and starts to suck. Hard. The motion of her mouth causes her whole body to wiggle, including her ass, which is very much up close and personal with my cock at the moment. If I'm not careful I'm gonna blow it right here, but that's not what I have in mind and I'm sure it's not what Scully was offering me, either. I slide down a bit on the floor, pulling my finger from Scully's mouth, but I put it to better use by pulling up on her knee to get her to swing her leg back over my hip, and then she wiggles just a little more.... oh, God Scully, yeah, right there... I pound into her, one arm locked around her hips, the other straight out above me on the floor trying to get some kind of leverage, and my ears are filled with Scully's moans as I lick and suck on as much of her breast as I can reach in this position, until I forget to do anything other than concentrate on my cock inside of her, hot and tight and wet and I'm throbbing and expanding and tightening and... "Uhhhrfffckkkk!" That's more or less what I groan into her skin, an open-mouthed kiss on the side of her breast as I surge into her. After a few moments of hard-breathing recovery I pull out, now groaning for a totally different reason (come on, I'm not a kid anymore and I just had sex on a hard floor), and drag myself over the linoleum and up Scully's body until I spoon behind her again. I sigh, long and slow, and nuzzle her neck as I pull her tighter against me with the arm that I still have draped around her waist. Mr. Happy is exhausted but, well, happy again. "Love you, Scully," I mumble. "Love you, too," she breathes, running her fingers down my arm, then down to my fingers, over my wristwatch. My watch. SHIT!!! "Mulder, what is it?" Scully asks, eyes wide, as I scramble to stand and find my clothes. "Our meeting with Skinner!" Shit, shit, shit. I glance at my watch, panicked, hoping against hope for a ripple in the space-time continuum that stopped time for the last half-hour. No such luck. "We were supposed to be in his office two minutes ago!" This is just great. Not only are my pants still going to look stained, but we both look and smell like we just got laid. Which we did. Which I don't usually complain about. Oh, we are so screwed, but not just in the good way. I slow down long enough to look at my partner, see if she needs help pulling herself together. But she's just sitting there, smiling the wicked smile of a very well-satisfied woman. Okay, go me, but why the hell is she just lounging on the floor, 98% naked, when we need to haul ass? "Mulder?" Her smile turns feral, her voice playful. What the hell is going on here? "Scully, what are you doing? We need to get up to Skinner's office --" "No we don't," she interrupts. Damn, the blood needs to get back into my brain, because I have no clue what she's talking about. "I have a confession to make, Mulder. Kimberly called while you were out getting the ice cream. Skinner postponed the meeting until Monday morning." It takes a few seconds for that piece of news to penetrate my gray matter. Then I break into a wide grin. Add one more reason to why I love this woman. "Scully?" "Hmm?" "I have a confession of my own." Her eyebrows raise. Damn, that looks sexy on her. "What is that?" I clear my throat, then try to give her my own best irresistible look. "I *did* spill ice cream on myself because I was trying to steal some of yours." She flashes one of her rare, mega-watt smiles. *That* looks sexy on her, too. I wonder if she's up for seconds? Not right now, of course, but if she keeps this up *I* might be up much faster than usual. "I thought as much. Did you know, Mulder..." she pauses, and thank you Jesus, gives my manhood a very, VERY obvious and appreciative look, "that those two cups of ice cream sitting next to each other on your desk looked remarkably like a pair of breasts?" Holy shit, did she really just say that? My Scully just keeps opening like a flower. Not that I'm complaining. "I suppose they did," I say, not the most brilliant comment but the first thing that comes to mind. Did I mention the lack of blood in my brain? "And the spoons sticking out were quite phallic." All right, I'm a goner now. I really hope the door to our office is locked, although I'm sure it isn't and frankly, I don't care. I kneel in front of her, her eyes following my hand as I reach out and drag a finger sloooowly up her abdomen and around her breast. "There were two spoons, Scully," I say, watching her nipple pucker and constrict. "And while I like to think I'm talented in certain areas, I don't have dual stick shifts." That comment wins me a genuine Scully giggle. Pass the collection plate, I think I've found religion here today. Then things get even better as my brilliant, beautiful, loving partner reaches out her own hand and drags her own finger up my, umm, improving situation. All right, there won't be a repeat performance in the next five minutes, but I'm not dead either, okay? "You may not have 'dual stick shifts', Mulder," she says -- and the words slide out of her mouth in such a seductive, honeyed way that I'd fall to my knees if I weren't already there -- "but I'm hoping I can talk you into a second helping as soon as possible." We should get out of here and find someplace more comfortable while I can still think semi-clearly. I'd be happy to do this on the floor again, but frankly I'm not ready, and my body will appreciate it tomorrow morning if we find a nice soft bed. Or couch. Or thickly-carpeted floor. Whatever. "I'm always interested in seconds on dessert, Scully," I smile, pushing myself to my feet. "And since you didn't get to eat your ice cream, I guess I owe you one. How about at my place?" I offer her a hand up and help her get her clothes back in place. Mmmm, but I'm going to enjoy peeling them off of her again later. Slowly this time. Thank God for weekends. I move behind her and hug her against me so that we're spooning again, just in a vertical position this time. "We'll have to walk out of the building this way," I whisper in her ear, "or else everyone is going to see the dried ice cream on the front of my pants." She turns in my arms and gives me her fat-chance-Mulder expression. "I will overlook that you just implied that I was less than thorough in my efforts to clean your pants, Agent Mulder." She steps back, but by the glint in her eye -- the one I see so infrequently that *really* turns me on -- I know she's just teasing me. She draws a finger up my fly, much like she did earlier with her tongue, but it's going to take me a bit longer to go from zero to sixty this time. "See? You can barely tell that anything was there. No one will know a thing." I look down at myself and damn, but she's right. If you know where to look you can see a trace of my clumsiness, but that's about it. I think my honor will be saved, although I might have to ask Scully to take these pants to the dry cleaner's so I don't have to face the clerk who works there. I look back up at Scully and nod stupidly, feeling an even stupider grin breaking out on my face. "Now," my partner says, the glint in her eye daring me to refuse her -- yeah, like *that's* gonna happen -- "I believe you owe me something?" God, I love this woman. Have I mentioned that today? "All right, Scully," I say, and we start toward the door, my hand at the small of her back. "Let's go so I can give you your just desserts." And something tells me that I'm going to get mine, too. END **** Feedback makes my day: Bjm1352@aol.com or Forte1354@aol.com Author's Notes: Holy cow -- my first attempt at smut! Was it good for you? ;) Big thanks to Musea, especially Mish and Diana Battis, for the encouragement and beta. I can only hope to someday follow in your smutty footsteps.