CLASSIFICATION: MSR, humor, firsties, silliness, PWP
RATING: Uh... PG-13, for naughty language.
DISCLAIMER: Yeah, CC, I'm using them, and what are ya gonna do about it, huh? Sue me? Huh? Besides, they like me better than you, anyway. :P Nyah-nyah- nyah-nyah-nyah!!! ...of course I'll have them back by Sunday...
THANKS AND APOLOGIES TO: Brandon D. Ray, who wrote something in his "Decompression and Relativity" story from the Silver Bracelet Series. He's a great writer; I just can't control my muse.
This is the bit that inspired me:
"It's just..." She shook her head, and smiled back at him. "It's just that I don't have to leave my thoughts about you locked away in the vault anymore."
He moved a little closer and took one of her hands in his. "That's a good thing, isn't it?"
She nodded. "It's a very good thing. It's lonely in the vault."
The figure lay sprawled out in the darkness. His head was bowed slightly, and his eyes were closed.
It was lonely in the vault.
Scully looked at her partner, lips twitching. "Mulder," she warned, "I'm going to say something upsetting if you don't quit it. Something I'll probably regret."
Mulder nodded and calmly locked that particular bit of
information away for a rainy day.
Scully sighed. I want to jump this man's bones. Right now. Realizing what she was thinking, she took the part of her that wanted to perform horrible, unspeakable acts on him and mentally shook her, bopped her over the head, and locked her away. Far away.
Mulder, meanwhile, was having similar problems with what he liked to refer to as "Billy Boy".
KiSs hER, Billy Boy taunted in his ear. kIsS HeR.
Hah, Mulder scoffed at Billy Boy, the one who did his thinking for him rarely, she'd have her sig out and a round through my body before I could say 'pumper... pumpar... pumpir... ice cream'.
Taking his handy little key out, he carefully locked Billy Boy up in the back of his mind. Click.
"So, Scully, want to go solve a case or something?"
"I guess so, Mulder. I *do* want to get paid this week. I was going to use my money to buy food... and pay for my apartment use, of course."
Mulder scoffed at this. "I just charge it to the government."
"You can do that?" Scully's eyes widened.
"They haven't left a payment un-paid yet."
MEANWHILE, SOMEWHERE IN ACCOUNTING...
Agent Gigi pondered the statement before her. "Who the hell is Fox Mulder, and why is apartment rent listed on the FBI's expense account?"
"Red Speedo Guy," a colleague informed her.
"Oh!" Agent Gigi yelped. "Oh..." Picking up the "APPROVED" stamp, she... um... approved... the statement.
MEANWHILE, IN THE COLLECTIVE UNCONSCIOUS...
Little Scully pounded again on the iron door to her home. "YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE, DANA!!!" she screamed one last time, giving the door a vicious kick. Pouting, little Dana turned around. "Righteous bitch. Well, NOW what am I going to do?"
Another person walked up. "Hi. I'm trapped here until I promise to behave."
"Me, too."
"You ever gonna behave?"
"Probably not. You?"
"Nah."They stood there for a moment in the darkness. "My name's Dana."
"I know a Dana!"
Dana experienced a pang of jealously. "Is she pretty?"
"No, wait. I'm thinking of Diana. Never mind."
Diana. Dana's eyes narrowed to slits.
"Though, I might know a Dana. Yes, yes I believe I do. Yes, it's Diana who's pretty."
"Oh."
"Dana, now, Dana's gorgeous. In fact, Dana's why I'm here. Most of the mind is against me."
"I'm sorry," Dana answered politely, now thinking about The Object of Her Affections. Not the movie.
"Yeah, it's a bitch, but the body has already caved in to my pressure. I've just got to work on a little more of the brain, and--Poof! I'm in charge! Just like that!" He snapped his fingers.
"That's nice," she answered.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Fox..."
"Foxes? Oh, I like foxes. They're mean little buggers, though. They like to eat chickens and other small creatures that people keep for pets. That's why, when I went to Oxford, we had Fox Hunts every..." He drone on for a while until Dana cut him off.
"Not 'foxes'. A fox. Fox. It's his name, but we have to call him 'Moldier'. No, that's not right..." She thought for a moment before giving up.
"Hey!" the man cried. "MY name is Fox!!"
"Hi, I'm Dana!" She stuck out her hand. "Pleased to meet you!"
"I wish I could see your face," Fox said, groping about for the hand. His fingers met upon something else.
"That's my ear," Dana told him dryly, being not at all wet, of course, and taking the offending appendage (her ear, not his hand) away from him. "Why don't you just turn on the light?"
"The... light?" Fox sounded as if he'd never heard the concept before.
"Yes, the light. The pull chain is right about you."
He reached up and pulled. Light flooded them. "Oh."
They looked at each other for a moment. "Uh..."
"Hello..."
There was an awkward pause. "So, how 'bout them Mets?"
"Hate 'em. They suck."
"Actually, they're having a pretty good year..."
"They suck."
"Hm."
"Speaking of sucking..." Dana wagged her hips teasingly and proceeded to peruse Fox's mouth her own. Breaking the kiss off after a couple minutes, she licked her lips and stood back critically. "Not sweet enough."
"'Scuze me??" Fox panted, blinking in shock. This was the kind of action that his more in-charge self had withheld for months now, and this stimulation followed by such a comment was more than his overloaded brain could handle.
"There's no excuse." Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a cookie and handed it to him. "Your mouth isn't sweet enough. Eat it."
Still relying on the lower half of his brain to function, he agreed immediately and ate it.
The dark figure looked over at the two, necking again in the one pool of light in the vault. He should have known those two would be here, in the place he had been sent to "think about what he had done". Yeah, right. As if he was going to think when he could watch a show like that.
And what a show it was. The red flash of her hair melding with the neon pink of his shirt was creating a mixture that made him want to puke, but the kissing part was good.
Very, very good.
Suddenly, the figure felt very, very happy.
And when he was happy, life was good.
Very, very good.
If only he could get rid of that awful shirt...
Fox was pulled away from Dana by a hand on his shoulder. A rather insistent one, actually.
Upon turning, he found a man naked from the waist up who was tugging on his shirt.
"Uh..." Fox clamped down on his shirt, which just seemed to make the other man more eager to get it off of him. Fox would have been happy to comply, but he wasn't sure that Dana was really into three-somes. In fact, he wasn't really sure if he was, either. Unless, of course, there were *two* Danas...
"Uh..."
"Take off your shirt!" snapped the other man, tearing at the piece of clothing. "Take it off!! NOW!!"
"I... the lady... I'm... uh..." He looked at the woman next to him, who was displaying a vaguely familiar but yet annoying Skeptical Look (TM). "I... uh... shirt mine..."
"If I have to stare at you one more minute with that piss- ugly shirt on, I'm going to tie you down and--"
"Take it!" Fox screamed like a girl and threw the other man his shirt, surprised when another was thrust into his hands.
"Damn kids," the man grumbled, pulling Fox's shirt over his
head and stomping away. "Never taught to match clothing
anymore...
Fox was rather surprised when he found Dana glaring at him.
"That's right!" she huffed. "Why'd you pick something that clashes with my hair!! Are you trying to get me kicked out of the good-dresser club??" Bursting into tears, she flung her door of the vault open and stalked out, leaving Fox ultimately frustrated.
The silence was deafening.
He groaned and muttered something under his breath.
The door flew open, shattering the silence. "And, for your information," she sniffed, "this is NOT PMS! I had my period last week!" The door slammed back shut.
Fox blinked again. Wow.
SOMEWHERE IN ACCOUNTING...
"What the--okay, this is just too much." Agent Gigi threw down her red "APPROVED"-reading stamp with a thud, spraying red ink everywhere.
"Hum?" inquired a tired fellow slave to the FBI--for, of course, who would choose to work in accounting?
"He bought a SHIRT and charged it to us."
"Who?"
"Red Speedo Guy!!"
"So? Approve it."
"I've got a picture of it on file here." She thrust the picture at the other. "It's--"
"--The nastiest thing I've ever seen," came the agreement.
"I can't approve this." Picking up her stamp, she looked over the document and paused. "It just seems such a shame, you know? To ruin such a perfect record of approvals?"
"Be strong," her colleague advised. "You have to. We here at the FBI can't condone such poor fashion sense."
Taking a deep breath, Agent Gigi did the hardest thing in her life: She attempted to take another deep breath, blowing up her lungs with the force she used.
The colleague looked at the scattered innards with dismay. "Well, this is somewhat disturbing."
MEANWHILE, BACK AT SCULLY'S APARTMENT...
Scully found herself suddenly in a horribly bad mood, horribly horny, and horribly mad at Mulder.
The nerve! she grouched internally. Buying a shirt like that!! With a force usually reserved for calming wild elephants, she threw the door of her refrigerator open. Swinging wildly, it bounced off the cabinet and slammed back into her shoulder, causing the yogurt in her hand to fly in a graceful arc towards her wall.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!" she screamed, "My yogurt! Damn wall!"
MEANWHILE, IN ACCOUNTING...
Paramedic #1 scraped at the remains of Agent Gigi with his disintegrating plastic spatula. "This is disgusting."
His partner, Paramedic #5, stared at the bloodstain on the chair in front of him. "Please stop talking to me. I'm trying to do my damned job, here!"
Paramedic #1 glared at him. He really, really hated this guy. "You've been studying that bloody blood stain for five bloody minutes now! Pull your weight around here, dammit!"
"Pull your own damn weight!"
"Now, now, be good, you little hamsters, you," Paramedic #2 scolded them with a quickly-fading patience.
"Nah, let 'em fight," drawled Paramedic #6. "This is the most excitement I've seen all day. Why don't we just make all these accountants scrape this up? It's not like they're doing anything useful." She pushed a strand of her stringy blond hair behind her ear, where it refused to stay because of all the mousse she had used that morning to force it away from her ears. Grumbling, she pushed the strand back again and proceeded to throw her spatula on the ground. "This is ridiculous. Don't we have any _real_ work to do?"
"Nope," Paramedic #2 replied glumly, stabbing with her old kitchen spatula at the nice wooden desk in front of her. "No sponges, either."
"Oh, yeah?" Paramedic #5 demanded, holding up his spatula near his partner's eye. "Well, your mama!"
"You leave my mama outta this!" #1 demanded, also jabbing his spatula in front of them.
They sparred angrily for a while, each desperately struggling to get the upper hand with their spatulas.
"Oh, hell," Paramedic #3 suddenly decided, and kicked the two of them in the groin.
"Ow," #6 moaned in sympathy, watching the two of them wriggle on the floor like dying crickets. "That may have been a bit extreme."
"I'm sick of listening to their bickering. 'He cut my hair', 'he kissed my dog', 'he did this', 'he did that', 'nyah nyah nyah', 'I'm a loser and a wimp', 'blah, blah, blah'. It's enough to give ya a headache, ya know?" Paramedic #3 picked up the two recovering medics' spatulas and threw them in the trash. "Honest to goodness, I just wanna kill 'em sometimes!"
"Maybe we should help them," #2 suggested with a look of growing concern at the convolutions the two men rolling around on the ground were performing.
"No!" snapped #6. "No more freebies, damn it! Not until someone calls 911 and we're dispatched to deal with it! We have to play it by the book!"
"Somebody call an ambulance," Paramedic #5 groaned lowly.
"Oh, yeah, like I'm gonna fall for that one again," #3 growled.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!"
The screech resounded through the caves of Accounting, and everyone covered their ears.
"What the hell was that?" demanded Paramedic #3.
"Sounds like the yogurt just hit the wall."
"You mean 'the shit just hit the fan'."
"Whatever. Let's go to Mickey D's."
BACK IN AGENT SCULLY'S APARTMENT...
Actually, the yogurt splatter pattern was entrancingly erotic, if one looked at it the right way.
Of course, looked at the wrong way, it just looked like a sad 'n' sorry mess.
"Damn it, that was my last yogurt." Scully stared at the wall. "And I'm really, really hungry, too." There seemed to be only one reasonable solution to this dilemma.
So, with an air of reluctance, Scully began to lick the yogurt off the wall.
"Mm..." she grunted. "Tastes kinda like paint..."
Which is where Mulder found her ten minutes later as he opened the door to her apartment. "Scully!" he yipped in surprise, "What in the name of Saltines are you doing???"
Scully froze in her licking motions at the sound of his voice, and slowly began to turn. Upon facing his astonished stare, her face began the quick color-change to beet-red. "I... uh... I was cleaning up my yogurt."
"I see..." Mulder nodded his head sagely. "I see. Can I help?"
"Uh... sure." Scully eyed the creature who had just walked up next to her with disbelief. He looked like Mulder, he spoke like Mulder, but was he an alien clone? As he began to lick the wall, she decided she didn't care.
They stood back and reviewed their handiwork with an air of the no-longer-hungry. "It looks... clean," the red head admitted.
"Was that flour-flavored yogurt?" Mulder wondered, smacking his tongue to get the last remnants of taste.
"That's the paint you're tasting."
He looked down at his pink atrocity. "I have yogurt on my shirt."
A feral look gleamed in Agent Scully's eye. "Then you'll just have to remove it, won't you? Oh, look, there's some yogurt on your nose." She attacked it with her tongue daringly.
"You, too," Mulder returned.
Soon their tongue-bathing had morphed into a whole 'nother animal.
BACK IN THE VAULT...
"It's just not fair," moaned the man, sitting across from the pool of light where the two loud, obnoxious people had been just a few scant hours before. "I've been here longer than them. I deserve to leave, too. This totally sucks!"
His eyes darkened an immeasurable amount. "They should have been mine. MINE!! I was here first, damn it! I wanted to do this kinda stuff from the beginning!" He scratched his back. "And this stupid pink shirt is giving me a rash."
Settling back, he began to stare at the pool of light in front of him.
Yep; it was lonely in the vault.
Hahahahahaha, sugar is bad for me. ;) This is the second XF story I've ever written, and the first one I've ever let anyone read, so any helpful comments before I edit the first would be wonderful!
I really, really like the paramedics. But, that's just me.