Never a Good Sign
By Piper Sargasso

Rating: R (sexual situations)

Feedback: [email protected]

Keywords: MSR    Category: H

Archive: Sure thing. Please drop me a line to tell me where.

Disclaimer: Not mine, never was. Thank CC and the gang for
these characters.

Summary: A warped and (unfortunately) sometimes realistic
take on first-time smut.

A/N: This one's for Sallie, who really deserves elegant prose
and well-formulated plot lines. But I hope this brings a smile to
your face nonetheless, Mama.

To everyone else: Don't hate me. <g>

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Ow!" Scully exclaimed.

"Oh. Sorry, Scully," Mulder mumbled and shifted his elbow so
it wasn't pinning her hair to the mattress.

The night was not getting any better.

Oh, it all started out pleasant enough. The pair decided to dive
into the annual holiday festivities at the Hoover Building as a
way to lift their spirits after a particularly nasty case. Well,
maybe *dive* and *decided* wasn't quite accurate -- perhaps *a
little less visibly peeved about being dragged to it by their
superior* was more like it. They couldn't be forced, of course.
But their attendance was -- how did Skinner put it? -- "strongly
suggested."

Mulder whined about it later in the privacy of their office.
Scully kept her irritation to herself, cringing inwardly in
anticipation of what promised to be an inside glimpse of the
depths of hell. They decided to forgo the annoyance of finding
dates and go together to make the most of a bad situation.
"Safety in numbers," Mulder had said. "Besides, no woman
outside these walls would understand the oddity that is these
office parties." Scully privately agreed.

It turned out Scully's fears weren't unfounded; this was, indeed,
a glimpse of hell. With tinsel.

Bob-From-Accounting (isn't there at least *one* in every office?)
took it upon himself to lavish his version of Christmas cheer on
an unsuspecting Scully the moment she entered the crowd.
"Agent Scully," he murmured in her ear from behind, catching
her completely off-guard. His breath was hot and smelled
suspiciously of Limburger cheese. She spun to face him,
appalled by his utter gall. "Looks like we're both under the
mistletoe." He waggled his eyebrows. It was not a pretty sight.

She looked up and confirmed that, yes, they were both under the
mistletoe. Not that this was such a unique feat; there seemed to
be pieces of the hated foliage hanging everywhere. Irrelevantly,
she wondered if this was someone's idiotic idea of improving
office relations.   

Whatever the case, Scully didn't have a chance to tell him to
take a hike before a loud slap sounded in the room and a
stinging sensation warmed her derriere. Bob-From-Accounting
grinned unapologetically at her.

The little bastard just slapped her ass!

Flushed red from anger, Scully yanked him down to eye level
by his ridiculous reindeer tie with the flashing red nose and told
him under no uncertain terms just what would happen to the
reproductive portion of his anatomy if he ever dared do that
again. Bob-O had the grace to pale and took his leave as soon as
Scully released him, rubbing at his now-chafed neck as he went.
Mulder, of course, had missed the entire exchange, having
found the buffet table.

Glaring around the room in an effort to ward off any other
would-be Don Juans, Scully searched the large space for a table
to retreat to. Preferably one located in a corner, away from all
the hoopla. She ended up settling for one close to the exit. But
not close enough.

Two things became apparent to her as she sat waiting for
Mulder to extract himself from the shiny chafing dishes of food.
One: her colleagues and alcohol *do not* mix. Two: Ginger
Rossdale from Transportation was likely going to achieve her
goal of bedding every available field agent under fifty in the
building before the New Year tonight. Seriously. There was a
pool going.

"Did you leave anything for the others?" Scully asked with a
quirked eyebrow, gesturing at the mountain Mulder just placed
on the table. He beamed at her in answer and she shook her
head. This was the part where she nagged him about his
atrocious eating habits (honestly, cinnamon rolls and spaghetti?)
and he returned by looking wounded and whined that all she ate
was rabbit food. Somehow, the usual exchange held no appeal
tonight. Thanks to *Bob*, she thought with venom and murmured
another slur on his parentage.

"Huh?" Mulder asked with his mouth full and eyes wide in
confusion. She sighed. It was pointless getting into it.

"Nothing," Scully replied and snagged a cinnamon roll off his
plate. She took a larger bite than necessary out of the warm
sweet bread. He smiled around his overstuffed mouth and
nodded his approval.

"Count?" he asked as soon as he'd swallowed.

Scully consulted her watch and groaned. "It's only been fifteen
minutes."

He muttered a curse and moodily dug back into his plate.
Concentrated as he was on the task at hand, he never saw Scully
stiffen.

Yes, Ginger Rossdale was on the prowl -- and was stalking
toward their table. "Agent Mulder," she said in her annoying,
simpering tones and laid a familiar hand on his shoulder.
Mulder turned around and, Scully was satisfied to see, looked
both surprised and appalled. Ginger was Scully's basic
nightmare with her runway-model legs and long, glossy
chestnut hair. But she'd been around the block -- several times.
In fact, she'd been circling that bad boy for years. It pleased
Scully to no end that Mulder was turned off by the woman
practically sitting in his lap.

Many tortured moments later, Ginger dropped her eyes
coquettishly and whispered into Mulder's ear loud enough for
Scully to hear that she was going to "powder her nose." Scully
snorted. Who the hell said that anymore? But the important
thing was that the phrase carried her out of Scully's sight.

She grinned. "You've been targeted."

Mulder pushed his plate away, appetite on indefinite hiatus.
"We're wasting time talking about it, Scully. Let's *go*." He
stood up and rounded the table to her side.

She stifled a laugh. "Mulder, we can't just go--"

"Scully, there's a very real part of me that wants to cower in the
corner and cry for my mommy. That woman has fangs and I'm
afraid for my mortal soul. Now let's go!"

She did laugh now, but complied. They were out of the room
before Ginger even knew they'd gone without her.

Thus, they'd found themselves at The Crow Bar (Don't Caw,
Come In), which was the only nearby place open on Christmas
Eve, downing strawberry margaritas (her favorite) and Guinness
drafts (his favorite). "You can't leave me after a traumatic
experience like that," he'd insisted. So there they were.

One cheerful patron was kind enough to play "Christmas Comes
But Once a Year (Or Else We'd All Just Shoot Ourselves) on
the juke box. Scully decided she wasn't quite drunk enough to
appreciate the biting sarcasm of that particular ditty yet and slid
down her stool to make a few selections of her own. Then she
ordered another margarita to wait out the remaining songs.

After the last strains of "Merry Christmas (Screw the Holidays)
faded, Scully's first song began. By then, she was tipsy enough
to enjoy the irreverent musical stylings of the last artist and
tipped her head to the man she'd seen select them. She was
almost sad to hear them end.

"Who the hell played Elton John?" Mulder queried, revived
from his brooding examination of the beer mug in front of him.
Scully hopped down from her stool as soon as Sir Elton crooned
the words, "Blue jean baby. L.A. lady" and yanked drunkenly
on Mulder's arm.

"I did. C'mon," she slurred, "You owe me a dance, Partner."

Mulder frowned. "Wha for?"

Scully rolled her eyes, as if the reason were obvious. "Your
girlfriend turned my stomach against my ci'mon roll with all
that 'sgustingly blatant innuendo. I think the least you can do is
dance with me."

He relented and they made their way to the dance floor, which
truth be told was nothing more than a small clearing between
the juke box and the jumble of scuffed tables in front of it. The
floor itself was coated with a questionable-looking layer of God
knew what.

The pair barely moved to the music, more hugging with a bit of
a sway than anything else. Of course, in their minds their dance
was of Fred-and-Gingerian proportions. Drunkenness is bliss.

Mulder lowered his mouth to coo in Scully's ear, "I thought you
*enjoyed* innuendo." The words slid richly down her spine in the
most pleasing way. It was nothing like Bob's damp and rancid
attentions. She shivered. Surprised by her unexpected reaction,
he held her tighter and rested his chin on the top of her head.

Scully was never one to miss a great opportunity when it
presented itself. She snuggled into Mulder's embrace and
sighed her content. "You look incredible tonight, Scully,"
Mulder whispered into her ear as the music began to swell.
Never mind that she was in her usual 'uniform' of a black skirt
and white button-up blouse, sans blazer -- all in all, nothing
special. His simple words, said in that tone, going directly into
her ear, through her foggy brain and pooling somewhere in the
vicinity of her stomach melted her. Then, she melted into *him*.

They were out of there before Elton could count those
headlights for the second time.

                             ~*~

Hallelujah, praise the Lord and blessed be! Scully thought
happily as she and Mulder collapsed onto his bed together. They
were *finally* going to go through with it.

He continued to whisper flattering things to her as he made
short work of her blouse and pulled at her skirt hem, pausing in
his task only to rub velvet palms over her breasts until her
nipples peaked and gooseflesh bubbled over her body. She
sighed. This was so wonderful. Why hadn't they ever--

Scully's eyes shot open as a hand worked roughly at her clitoris
for a moment, then made a perfunctory probe into her vagina
before Mulder mounted and slid into her.

Scully had always pegged Mulder for a considerate and
attentive lover. She imagined (more times than she cared to
admit) the way he would tempt and tease her, making her so
crazy with his deft ministrations that she'd be close to begging
for him before he'd relent.

So what the hell was this? Two minutes of foreplay and it's off
to the races? This was *not* in compliance with her fantasies.
Seven years of drooling over the possibilities of his fine hands
went down the toilet so fast she could almost hear the gurgling
flush.

One thrust. Two, three, four. She stretched to accommodate him
and judged him to be a decent size -- not too little, but not too
much, either. All the while he grunted into her ear loudly,
distracting her somewhat from the delicious warm feeling
pooling in her breasts and belly. God, this was getting good
despite the disappointing beginning.

And then, he collapsed over her.

Scully stiffened. Surely he hadn't--

He did.

She wanted to cry in frustration.

                               ~*~

Everything would be *great*, Scully mused on their second go-
round, if Mulder could just get past my breasts. What was once
stimulating before was now just plain uncomfortable. She could
feel her nipples protesting and anticipated the chafing that was
sure to ensue. She curled her fingers in Mulder's silky hair,
wondering in the back of her mind if she still kept the aloe vera
extract in the back of her medicine cabinet.

Whatever effects her margaritas had on her before were now
worn off, and so she couldn't even blame her forays into a
redeeming second chance on alcohol. If Mulder was faster than
a speeding bullet with the foreplay before, he was more than
making up for it with his single-minded attentions on this one
erogenous zone. Hadn't his videos taught him there was more
than just the one? All her squirming only served to encourage
him, rather than divert him to other areas of her body. They had
gone on for an eternity this way.

Finally, he moved on. This was not what one would call a Good
Thing.

Enraptured, Mulder lifted his head from Scully's breast and
gazed on her body. He grunted his approval. Scully vaguely
wondered if she should start weaving baskets and filling the
animal skins with water, then tried not to laugh out loud at
where her thoughts had taken her. Mulder misread the strain on
her face for a look of pleasure and moaned, bringing his mouth
down to cover hers. Excited, Mulder began kissing her in
earnest. Scully feared for the state of her fillings as he
alternately sucked and tongued her with a force that would
make Hoover proud. It isn't slobber, she told herself firmly, and
tried her best to ignore the trickle of wetness running down her
cheek while also endeavoring to return his kiss with as much
fervor as she could muster under his overbearing ministrations.
So he wasn't the dream kisser she imagined him to be. So he
had the endurance of a virgin on prom night -- so what? This
was *Mulder*. She could live with that.

God, her tongue ached.

Once he was finished gnawing at her face, he retuned to nibble
at her nipples again, much to her dismay. He pulled away long
enough to shoot her a cocky "I'm the man" grin and went back
to work. After a few minutes of that, Scully began to notice an
insistent jabbing sensation on her left leg.

What the--? Was he *humping* her leg?  

The last thing she wanted was a repeat of earlier events, which
is just what she would get if he continued to stimulate himself
on her leg. Frustrated and past being polite, Scully rolled their
bodies over so that she was on top and slid down onto his
erection until he was fully sheathed.

Ahhh.

This was sooo much more like it. She slowly slid up his body,
then dropped to meet him, pelvis to pelvis. Again and again she
continued her delicious, rocking rhythm. She was a goddess,
full of heady, feminine power. She was in control. She was--

"Uh, Scully?"

She scowled, too irritated by the interruption to mask the
emotion. It was finally getting *good*. "What is it?" she snapped.

He poked out his bottom lip in a way that was not at all
attractive at the time. "I'm sorry, it's just..."

Scully was at the end of her patience. "Well?"

"It's just that -- I don't really like it that way."

Oh. Well, isn't this great? she thought.      

"I do," she replied shortly and rotated her hips again. He really
was a nice size, she noted. You just had to approach it from the
right angle. She honeyed her tones and purred into his ear, "Just
lay back, Mulder. I know what I'm doing." The angle,
incidentally, was perfect. She ground away, climbing closer and
closer to completion with each movement. Throwing her head
back and gripping at his chest, she was determined to make as
much of her flushed and naked glory as possible, sure he was
salvageable, and wanting to show him this position had merit.

But after a few moments passed, it became clear that the pained
expression on his face wasn't going away. She slowed her
rhythm in a moment of uncertainty, which was her first mistake.
Or the most recent in a line of many, depending on how one
viewed the night as a whole. Mulder took advantage of the
opportunity and flipped her onto her back and entered her once
again.

"Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph," she muttered to herself. Mulder,
of course, hadn't heard.

Time passed.

Lots of it.

After a thorough inspection of the plaster in Mulder's ceiling,
she began to name off the elements of the periodic table in her
head: hydrogen, lithium, sodium..." She wasn't sure if the well-
placed gasps and moans she was emitting was encouraging him
to take this much time, or if it was because of his earlier -- lapse
in control -- but she decided to look on the bright side; at least
she was getting a nice workout, right?

But the worst was yet to come. This time around, the closer
Mulder got to completion, the more verbal he became. "Oh
yeah, Scully. Yeah, baby. Unghhhh..."

And on it went.

 
                             ~*~

The phrase "merciful release" took on a whole new meaning for
Scully that night. From here on out, she decided, it will be
synonymous with the phrase "eternally grateful it's over."

Mulder, exhausted and yet smiling like he'd won the lottery,
rolled over to Scully's side and pulled her close to him. A little
disillusioned, a little bitter, Scully snuggled into the warmth of
his body. After all these years, there was no denying she loved
him. It wasn't even a question. And now that they'd moved
their relationship to the next level, she knew beyond a shadow
of a doubt this was to be a permanent thing. Neither of them
would accept going back to the way things were. She frowned,
getting herself used to the idea that the man she loved was
talentless in bed. She pointedly ignored the unfulfilled
throbbing between her legs.

Several minutes of her self-pity passed before Mulder propped
himself up on an elbow and looked adoringly down into her
face. "What's wrong, Scully?"

She looked away, too ashamed to tell him the truth and feeling
shallow and petty under his tender gaze. "Nothing," she lied. "I
should go to the bathroom and -- freshen up." She finished
lamely. Freshen up and *finish* up, was more like it.

Mulder frowned. "Oh, Scully. You didn't...did you?" He
looked embarrassed. She placed a hand on his cheek offered
him a small smile. "It's okay," she told him.

"I don't think so, Partner," he replied silkily and disappeared
beneath the covers.

"Oh!" Scully exclaimed a moment later, eyes wide with delicious
shock. "Mmm, Mulder..." Did she say "talentless" before? She
couldn't have been more mistaken.

One hand clutching the spindles of the headboard, she gasped
and shuddered. With a gripping, violent jerk, she gave her silent
and eternal thanks to the inventor of the sunflower seed.   

~The End~

A/N: The Christmas songs at The Crow Bar are my own weird
imaginings, but "Tiny Dancer" by Elton John was also used
here without permission. No infringement intended.

If you've read this far, I thank you. This was all in good fun.
And if there's ever any question of if I prefer this version of
"The Main Event" to the perfectly timed, always mind-blowing
versions ever-present in fanfic, just visit my web page to take a
gander at my usual smut style:

http://www.invidiosa.com/pipers/

Thanks to the gracious and talented Circe Invidiosa for hosting
and creating this page!