Fic: What Not to Wear
What Not to Wear
by Audrey Roget
Fandom: The X-Files
Pairing: Mulder/Scully
Rating: M
Length: ca. 4,200 words
Relevant episodes: Takes place between "Pine Bluff Variant" and "Folie a Deux"
Summary: Mulder could show Stacy and Clinton a thing or two.
Beta Thanks: Forte, lysandrafic and cinvidiosa
Disclaimer: If 1013 was allowed to selectively ignore Mulder's supposed color-blindness, then so am I.
Author's note: This story was first posted to xf_is_love, a fan-bulous celebration of the 20th annivesary of the premiere of The X-Files. It was originally inspired by a porn battle prompt a couple of years ago, which featured a uniform/clothing kink. In my usual fashion, I started writing immediately and got it done just in time for my deadline. I've lost track of the prompt, but if it was yours, I hope you enjoy.
The lip-glossed girl who sold her the suit called it "greige." It wasn't the inane portmanteau that initially gave Scully pause, but the pale color, which she had mostly sworn off in favor of indispensable, and virtually indestructible, black and charcoal. Maybe it was the miraculous fit, necessitating not a single alteration, or the insane clearance price, or the way the skirt cupped her rear end just ever so slightly, but whatever the reason, she had a garment bag slung over her shoulder and was striding back to her car on Wisconsin Avenue in record time.
She paired it with a sky-blue sweater and spectator pumps the first and only time the doomed garment ever saw the outside world. She and Mulder had yet to receive a new assignment since the fiasco with the militants and their biotoxin. Though Scully generally preferred to stay busy, she hoped this breather would give them a chance to re-gain some equilibrium, both professional and personal. History should have warned her, however, that just because the day began in the basement, it didn't mean Mulder wouldn't have them touching down in another city before lunch time.
The Bigfoot Lodge in downtown Memphis had apparently become the locus of unexplained incidents involving the supposedly life-size, expertly-taxidermied Yeti that welcomed diners in the lobby. No. Not Yeti. Bigfoot, Scully, or Sasquatch; the Yeti is a Himalayan phenomenon. In some inexplicable -- and, to Mulder, irresistible -- meshing of folklore and religious fakery, witnesses swore that the furry, stuffed mannequin had been exhibiting stigmata in its outstretched paws. Needless to say, word of the incidents flew down I-40 faster than a long-haul trucker late to meet his meth dealer, and with about as much rational thought. A crowd of locals and tourists lined up for blocks downtown, rubbernecking for a glimpse of what promised to validate believers of all stripes. Naturally, the faithful and the skeptics alike got hungry watching the 4-pound burgers arriving on tables inside, and many, their curiosity satisfied, stuck around to attend to less spiritual cravings.
Scully quickly determined, and Mulder verified by his own taste test, that the Missing Link's blood was neither ketchup nor barbecue sauce, but a fairly realistic-looking blend of Tabasco and corn syrup. Although Scully could easily have predicted the outcome of the investigation -- and had, before they'd even boarded at National -- she couldn't have foreseen an inept waiter sending Mulder's Sasquatch-sized order of poutine tumbling into her lap. It was hard to say whose disappointment was more acute in that moment, though her partner hid his well behind laughing green eyes and a firmly clamped mouth. And while one might have said that the "greige" gravy now sliding over fries and cheese curds to spatter Scully's pumps was a good match for her suit, there was no doubt that a massive stain would render it unfit even for the Goodwill collection box.
Their server apologized profusely, and the owner would have, were he not holed up in his office, dodging phone calls from the press ever since the fraud was uncovered. The teen-aged assistant manager offered to pay to have the suit cleaned, but Scully, her eyes fixed across the table, assured the kid that the responsible party would make good on the mess.
###
Having done what she could with a ream of paper towels and hand soap from the restroom, Scully returned to the table. "Are we done here?"
Mulder gave a satisfied nod and rose from his seat. "We came, we saw, we de-bunked. A good day's work."
"Tell that to my wardrobe," she muttered.
A tall, stylishly-dressed woman approached them as they turned to leave.
"Shame about your suit," she said to Scully, sweet as diet iced tea.
Scully side-eyed Mulder, but politely grumbled, "Thank you."
"I'm a lawyer," she said, pronouncing it lah-yer and producing a business card. She handed it to Mulder with a flirty smile. "If you have any trouble getting this dump to pay for the damages."
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary," Mulder assured her as he began guiding Scully toward the door.
"Well, you have my number," the lawyer reminded him, "in case there's anything else I can do for you."
Scully hastened her step, heels clacking sharply against linoleum tile, turning back only when she heard Mulder say, "Now that you mention it, would you mind telling me…" Scully pivoted in time to catch his gaze dragging over the woman, head to toe.
"Yes?" her head tilted in invitation.
"Where did you buy that suit?"
###
The ambulance-chaser's favorite shop, it turned out, was just a little ways from the Bigfoot. Opting to walk rather than try to find a new parking spot downtown, they were quiet for a long block or so. But a question nagged at Scully, had been since Mulder briefed her in the cab to the airport.
"Mulder, tell me something," she ventured. "You got Skinner to approve this investigation, how?"
He slipped her a sly grin. "I left him a message about reported desecration of artifacts of national historic value."
"I see," she chuffed at his thin, virtually fraudulent justification. "But you didn't, I don't know, file the paperwork to open an actual case?"
"I knew we'd be in and out in a day," he admitted.
"And if the unanticipated happened and there had been an actual federal crime in progress?"
"Then we'd already be on the job," Mulder shrugged. "You know that retroactive approval for investigations is practically the FBI's bread-and-butter."
"So, you were pretty sure this was all a hoax from the start. What was the point of coming down here in the first place then, other than wasting government resources and destroying another article of my clothing?"
They'd arrived at the boutique's door. "Sorry about that," he mumbled a little defensively. "I just thought we could use a break after our last case. Something easy, solvable, something where nobody's flesh was being eaten away in a test of the nation's illegal bio-weapons stock. Something with a little goddamn whimsy. Jesus, Scully, don't you ever get sick of the infinite layers of deception our own government is capable of?"
She flinched at his choice of words and crossed her arms. Sick indeed. "So…what? We were lied to -- again, for the millionth time -- and you felt they owed us a trip to Graceland?"
Mulder's face brightened at the thought. "We could still catch the late afternoon tour, if you want…"
Scully sighed and dropped her arms. She saw the fundamental kernel of cosmic justice in it, even if she had reservations about furthering the pattern of deception. Besides, Mulder's credit card would soon be bearing the karmic load.
###
Attended by a gracious lady-of-a-certain-age in linen and pearls, Lady Miriam's smelled faintly of magnolia and was nearly empty on a Tuesday afternoon. Mulder had been immediately ushered to the "hubby's corner" by Miriam herself and offered a glass of sweet tea, while Scully foraged in the racks for what, he was sure, was the most expensive suit in the shop.
He found himself seated next to a salt-and-peppered gentleman wearing nubuck Hush Puppies that sorely clashed with the gigantic pink purse perched on his knee. Billy Jim Bob, or whatever his name was, dozed gently as his wife and the proprietor raved over a product called "Spanx," the name of which, Mulder was disappointed to learn, held all sorts of false promises.
With no purse of his own to keep an eye on, Mulder took the opportunity to ogle his partner in the public light of day. Even in stained and rumpled clothes, she was easily the most composed woman he'd ever known. Oh, he'd had the privilege of seeing Scully fall apart on occasion, of being allowed a glimpse behind the iron curtain of her will. And just lately, seeing her out of control involved the particular pleasure of watching her eyes grow sapphire blue and unfocused as she moaned his name in long, languorous syllables.
There was something in her steely composure that had always by turns frustrated him and turned him on. The suits were key, even the homely ones she favored when dealing with the oldest of old boys. He was truly sorry she'd never wear the current number again. His eyes traveled upwards from her shapely calves to the hem of the skirt, which stopped just a tad above her knees, with a modest slit in the back offering a tantalizing slice of leg.
Something about the color or maybe the fabric allowed him to trace the outline of her thighs as they flared into hips, which framed the luscious swell of her ass. That shadow right there…that was the sweet spot. Mulder's fingers twitched unconsciously. The jacket showed off Scully's delicate waist and the determined set of her shoulders. His gaze lingered at the small of her back, and he grinned inwardly, remembering the warmth under his lips as he'd planted a row of kisses along her spine just last night. He flushed a little when she turned back his direction, as if she had been reading his thoughts, and flicked his glance away.
###
From behind a rack of pant suits, Scully eyed Mulder sipping his tea. He was tracking the perimeter and all the details of the crammed little store, an investigator's habit and an early sign of boredom. This had been his idea, she reminded herself -- she would rather have just ignored any questioning stares and caught the first flight home.
But this recent turn in their partnership had made her more sensitive to Mulder's unspoken motives. Replacing her suit wasn't just a peace offering. He was testing the waters of their growing intimacy, which had deepened despite -- or maybe in reaction to -- the Bureau's insistence that he conceal his true involvement with the New Spartans from his partner. No way was she going to crush his toes when they'd just taken their first, cautious steps in this dance.
When she looked his way again, Mulder's attention had unsurprisingly been drawn to the lingerie display in the far corner, and he beelined to investigate. Adding a pair of black leggings to her pile, she signaled to Miriam that she was ready for the fitting room. The shopkeeper bustled over to lead her back and hung her selections in a spacious cubicle, saying she'd check in on Scully after a bit.
One poorly-cut pair of slacks, two boxy sheath dresses, and three ugly jackets later, Scully was ready to throw in the towel. Mulder would be disappointed, but maybe she'd be better off dragging him to the petites section at Macy's. In her bra and underwear, she was re-hanging the last of her hopefuls, when there was a quiet rap on the door. "I'm afraid nothing seems to be working," she called to Miriam over the partition.
The door cracked open, and Mulder slipped through, a tiny scrap of ivory silk and lace dangling from his index finger. "Thought you might need some new ones, since yours have been in a bunch all day."
She felt awkwardly exposed standing there in her underwear, but fought the urge to cover up. He'd been deep inside Dana Scully now, more than once, but they'd both been naked then. "Not all day," she challenged. "Only since our waiter mistook my skirt for a placemat."
"Then how do you feel about this?" He extended his other arm, at the end of which hung a skirt and jacket. She balked at the color, which reminded her of the lilac bush that had just begun to bloom in her mother's side yard. Scully couldn't remember the last time she'd owned anything in that shade. An unfortunate choice of pants during her undergraduate days, maybe. Her chin retracted, and her mouth stretched into a thin line.
"What?"
"Have you ever seen me wear that color?"
"So?"
"It's lovely, but…I," she pointed to her hair in explanation, "…it's not a good look."
Mulder held the hanger next to her face, tilted his head, and squinted in mock deliberation. "Never know 'til you try."
"Fine," she said. Debating the point would take longer than just trying the damn thing on.
Mulder inserted himself between her and the mirror as she stepped into the skirt, and his arms reached around her to tug the zipper closed at the small of her back. He turned her around, warm hands ghosting over her skin, then slipped the jacket up her arms and over her shoulders. She leaned back into his body and bent her head to watch his long fingers do up the double-breasted placket. Her senses hummed pleasantly from these teasing touches, but turning back to face him, she shot him a look that said, "See? Hideous."
"I swear I'm not just buttering you up --"
Scully's eyes rolled, and her head lolled back on her shoulders.
"-- so to speak, when I say that you wear that suit like no-body's business."
He stepped out of the way so that she had access to the multi-view mirror.
The first thing she noticed was the intense blue of her eyes. And her skin glowed so that she hardly noticed any clash with her hair color. Scully angled this way and that. The coat hugged her nicely, and she could see herself wearing it to church some Sunday. The skirt was too long, of course, and the sleeves would need taking up…but she had to admit, it worked.
She glanced over her shoulder a bit sheepishly. "Thank, you Mulder. It's not something I would have chosen on my own…"
"But do you like what you see?" he murmured next to her ear.
Scully nodded decisively at the reflection -- of herself, and the man standing behind her. She turned to look up at him. "What made you pick this out?"
Mulder shrugged. "It's…pretty, I guess," the word clearly awkward on his tongue. He waved away the simplistic explanation. "Not in a girly way, though. I mean, feminine and…real." He lifted a hand to trace her cheekbone with his fingertips and leaned close. "I saw it and thought, the woman who would wear that…smells like you."
The words trickled warmly through her veins. For years, she'd worried that he didn't really see her. "Then wrap it up, I'll take it," she said with a genuine smile.
###
Scully didn't ask for privacy while she changed, and Mulder wasn't about to miss the strip show, such as it was. In fact, he helpfully stepped up to ease the jacket from her frame and drape it neatly on the hanger. And when she fumbled with the skirt zipper, he intended to lend a hand there, too, honestly. Instead, betrayed by his own digits, he tucked a finger beneath the band of her bra and tugged her back toward him.
"Mulder…" she groused, swinging a glare over her shoulder.
Wordlessly, he unfastened the bra hooks and slid his hands forward to cup Scully's breasts. The plumped skin was achingly soft, and he felt her arch into him almost instinctively. She shivered as his lips grazed her nape, and his palms tingled at the feel of her nipples tightening against them.
Scully's stance tightened for a moment, as if she were going to protest, but then she shocked the hell out of him by slowly swiveling her hips back against him. Taking advantage of Mulder's surprise, she spun in his arms and flattened him against the dressing room door. His vision went kaleidoscopic as she hauled him down to swallow his gasp. Their kiss went from sweet to hungry to combustible in a matter of seconds. His legs literally trembled, and not from the uncomfortable way he was bent over her.
Mulder groaned as heat sparked wherever their bodies met. He countered her sweeping tongue with light nips to her lower lip, and she whimpered softly in reply, letting her bra drop to the floor. His hands raked through Scully's soft hair and stroked her back, tugging her snugly against him. Feeling her free his shirttails from his pants, he hardened instantly. She deftly undid the buttons from the bottom up, fingers greedily claiming the skin beneath his tee-shirt. One of her hands began wandering south, clearly about to exercise the nuclear option, and he almost welcomed the sounds of Miriam and the customer in the next fitting room with relief, as Scully startled out of his arms.
"Oh, I'm so glad you went with the chartreuse," the shopkeeper was saying. "It is tray on-trend right now."
"That neckline doesn't makes me look like mutton dressed as lamb, now does it?" asked the patron as the women passed by their door. The burning sartorial query went unanswered for Mulder and Scully, the women's conversation fading as they headed back into the racks.
Snapped harshly back into reality, Mulder slouched against the door, pulse pounding between his ears, trying to recover some control over pounding sensations elsewhere. Scully slipped out of the skirt and re-hung it neatly. But rather than pull her old clothes back on, she dragged a low upholstered chair before the mirror and took Mulder by the hand, nodding at him to have a seat.
He sank down, glancing uncertainly at their surroundings. Scully slung her legs over his and settled onto his lap with a playful grin. "Seems a shame not to take advantage of a three-way," she murmured, tilting her head at the six of them.
That little gem echoed in his head a hundred different ways, all of them dirty, while his brain's digital recorder filed the sound of his partner's husky voice away for future reference on solitary evenings. In answer, Mulder dove forward to reignite their interrupted kiss.
She ignored his chest now to go straight for the ridge in his pants, cupping and stroking him through the fabric. Her primal scent rose between them, and he breathed it deeply, his cock throbbing from her teases. Two could play, he figured. Mulder dragged his fingertips over her thighs and buttocks, swirling lightly until she began to squirm. He dipped a hand between them to rub against the damp crotch of her panties.
"Yes," Scully breathed hotly against his lips and rocked in escalating need. Growing frustrated, Mulder palmed her ass, holding her in place to get her attention, and when he had it, gave a pointed glance down at what was keeping them apart.
As it so often did for them, a look said everything. Scully hurried to remedy the problem, lowering his zipper and pulling him free from his boxers. Cock pulsing in her grip, Mulder arched his neck and somehow overcame the urge to rut like a bull moose into her hand. Someday, maybe, when they'd been doing this for years and years, such a simple touch wouldn’t threaten his undoing. Christ, he hoped he never lived to see the day.
He fumbled slightly as he pushed aside her underwear to coax her open. They both strained to stay quiet, but neither rushed the moment when he slowly nudged inside. Scully rose a bit on her toes and leaned in to kiss Mulder's temples, his chin, the bridge of his nose. She held onto the back of the chair, her breasts tumbling forward to frame his still-knotted necktie. His scalp burned as she rocked forward to envelop him.
Stunned that Scully had taken their little bout of slap-and-tickle to the next level -- and the level beyond that -- Mulder let her set the pace. She was insistent but unhurried, as if they weren't in a semi-public cubicle without a door lock. It felt odd, being the cautious one, but if she wanted to play Evel Knievel and jump him like the Snake River, he would gladly switch roles for awhile. Besides, she never hesitated to play daredevil when it meant preserving his sorry ass, so why not relish it in the pursuit of pleasure?
There was a sharp rap at the fitting room door, tearing her mouth from his with a wet gasp.
"How's it going in there, sweetie, anything catch your fancy?"
"Uh, yes, I think I've found something just perfect for me," Scully answered, slowing to a grind on Mulder's lap and gazing squarely into his eyes. "I'm getting it on right now." She threw a hand over his mouth to smother a cackle he couldn't hold back.
"Well, grand, honey, let's have a look."
Just as the door-latch snicked, Mulder's foot shot out to hold it shut. Scully lurched forward, smashing her breasts against his chest, but hardly missing a beat in their rhythm as she called out, "No, no, it's fine, ma'am…I'll be…finished in just…a minute." Mulder flashed her a look that said he was up to the challenge.
"That's fine, dear. It's getting on ten to six, so I'll be closing things up out front, whenever you're ready…"
Mulder had been content with Scully's leisurely ride so far, but with the clock ticking, he began bucking in counter motion, the change in his pants pocket jingling merrily with every thrust. Surrounded by her heat and drowning in pleasure, he palmed her belly, thumb reaching into her slick folds to stroke her clit.
"Oh God," she whispered feverishly against his ear. "So good."
He bent to graze his teeth over her areola, nipping the sweet flesh all around, then flicked one pointed nipple with his tongue over and over, ripping a tiny cry from her at last. Glancing up, the sight of Scully's parted lips, her own tongue lashing blindly in rhythm with his, suddenly gave way to a field of stars. Mulder's explosion set her off as well, her orgasm expelled in a gust of hot, damp breath against his neck. Scully's arms tightened around him as he sank back into the cushions, her mouth finding his one last time before they reluctantly separated.
###
The saleslady had her back turned and was speaking softly into the phone when Mulder approached the counter to pay for the suit.
"…Yes please, we'll need some special attention paid to the dressing rooms when you do your rounds tonight." She paused. "We had another…incident." A longer pause. "Well, I'm glad you find it so amusing, Lou. Honestly, I do not see the appeal at all. What gets into the heads of otherwise perfectly respectable-looking people, I can't fathom. I mean, my establishment is not the place to go acting out something they saw in a late-night cable movie."
When Mulder cleared his throat, Miriam hurriedly thanked Lou and hung up. She turned, gracious smile frozen in place. "So I see you all found something," she said, taking the hanger from Mulder. "What a lovely choice for your…lady friend. Will she be needing to consult with our tailor?"
"No, thank you, it seemed to fit perfectly." Mulder shook his head, not meeting her eyes, and reached for his wallet. His fingers lingered over the FBI-issued MasterCard for a split-second, before withdrawing his own American Express.
"Well, then, maybe she'd like a scarf or a pair of earrings to accessorize?" Miriam suggested.
He shook his head with an apologetic half-smile and thrust his card at the lady. Scully appeared, saying, "Actually, ma'am, I would like to add these to the order." She gestured to the leggings she now had on with her sweater and original suit jacket, the old skirt draped over her arm, and handed Miriam the torn-off tag. "Oh," she flicked her gaze quickly up to Mulder as a flash of color swept over her cheeks, "and one more thing," she said, tucking under the waistband to rip the tag from the item she had on underneath.
Mulder smirked. "No security devices on those, Scully?"
"No," she returned immediately, blushing again as she faced the saleslady.
Miriam smiled tolerantly and added them to the bill without comment.
"Thank you," said Scully, to Miriam or to him -- or for what exactly -- he wasn't sure.
Handing back Mulder's AmEx and driver's license, Miriam asked, "You folks in town long?"
Scully shook her head and glanced up at Mulder. "We're heading home tonight."
"Oh, isn't that a shame. There's the most lovely hotel just down the street. A real Southern charmer. Claw-foot tubs, fine linens, thick old pine walls…you might want to amble over and check it out. For your next visit."
Looking at the charge slip, Mulder paused at the total for just a second before signing. Mentally, he was already calling the airline to move their flight to the morning, leaving another message for Skinner, and wondering if there was a nice place nearby to take Scully for supper, since neither of them had actually gotten a bite in their mouths at lunch. He heard Scully's stomach growl. She snickered and shared a secret grin with him. Or maybe they'd just order room service, and later, test the thickness of those walls.
by Audrey Roget
Fandom: The X-Files
Pairing: Mulder/Scully
Rating: M
Length: ca. 4,200 words
Relevant episodes: Takes place between "Pine Bluff Variant" and "Folie a Deux"
Summary: Mulder could show Stacy and Clinton a thing or two.
Beta Thanks: Forte, lysandrafic and cinvidiosa
Disclaimer: If 1013 was allowed to selectively ignore Mulder's supposed color-blindness, then so am I.
Author's note: This story was first posted to xf_is_love, a fan-bulous celebration of the 20th annivesary of the premiere of The X-Files. It was originally inspired by a porn battle prompt a couple of years ago, which featured a uniform/clothing kink. In my usual fashion, I started writing immediately and got it done just in time for my deadline. I've lost track of the prompt, but if it was yours, I hope you enjoy.
The lip-glossed girl who sold her the suit called it "greige." It wasn't the inane portmanteau that initially gave Scully pause, but the pale color, which she had mostly sworn off in favor of indispensable, and virtually indestructible, black and charcoal. Maybe it was the miraculous fit, necessitating not a single alteration, or the insane clearance price, or the way the skirt cupped her rear end just ever so slightly, but whatever the reason, she had a garment bag slung over her shoulder and was striding back to her car on Wisconsin Avenue in record time.
She paired it with a sky-blue sweater and spectator pumps the first and only time the doomed garment ever saw the outside world. She and Mulder had yet to receive a new assignment since the fiasco with the militants and their biotoxin. Though Scully generally preferred to stay busy, she hoped this breather would give them a chance to re-gain some equilibrium, both professional and personal. History should have warned her, however, that just because the day began in the basement, it didn't mean Mulder wouldn't have them touching down in another city before lunch time.
The Bigfoot Lodge in downtown Memphis had apparently become the locus of unexplained incidents involving the supposedly life-size, expertly-taxidermied Yeti that welcomed diners in the lobby. No. Not Yeti. Bigfoot, Scully, or Sasquatch; the Yeti is a Himalayan phenomenon. In some inexplicable -- and, to Mulder, irresistible -- meshing of folklore and religious fakery, witnesses swore that the furry, stuffed mannequin had been exhibiting stigmata in its outstretched paws. Needless to say, word of the incidents flew down I-40 faster than a long-haul trucker late to meet his meth dealer, and with about as much rational thought. A crowd of locals and tourists lined up for blocks downtown, rubbernecking for a glimpse of what promised to validate believers of all stripes. Naturally, the faithful and the skeptics alike got hungry watching the 4-pound burgers arriving on tables inside, and many, their curiosity satisfied, stuck around to attend to less spiritual cravings.
Scully quickly determined, and Mulder verified by his own taste test, that the Missing Link's blood was neither ketchup nor barbecue sauce, but a fairly realistic-looking blend of Tabasco and corn syrup. Although Scully could easily have predicted the outcome of the investigation -- and had, before they'd even boarded at National -- she couldn't have foreseen an inept waiter sending Mulder's Sasquatch-sized order of poutine tumbling into her lap. It was hard to say whose disappointment was more acute in that moment, though her partner hid his well behind laughing green eyes and a firmly clamped mouth. And while one might have said that the "greige" gravy now sliding over fries and cheese curds to spatter Scully's pumps was a good match for her suit, there was no doubt that a massive stain would render it unfit even for the Goodwill collection box.
Their server apologized profusely, and the owner would have, were he not holed up in his office, dodging phone calls from the press ever since the fraud was uncovered. The teen-aged assistant manager offered to pay to have the suit cleaned, but Scully, her eyes fixed across the table, assured the kid that the responsible party would make good on the mess.
###
Having done what she could with a ream of paper towels and hand soap from the restroom, Scully returned to the table. "Are we done here?"
Mulder gave a satisfied nod and rose from his seat. "We came, we saw, we de-bunked. A good day's work."
"Tell that to my wardrobe," she muttered.
A tall, stylishly-dressed woman approached them as they turned to leave.
"Shame about your suit," she said to Scully, sweet as diet iced tea.
Scully side-eyed Mulder, but politely grumbled, "Thank you."
"I'm a lawyer," she said, pronouncing it lah-yer and producing a business card. She handed it to Mulder with a flirty smile. "If you have any trouble getting this dump to pay for the damages."
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary," Mulder assured her as he began guiding Scully toward the door.
"Well, you have my number," the lawyer reminded him, "in case there's anything else I can do for you."
Scully hastened her step, heels clacking sharply against linoleum tile, turning back only when she heard Mulder say, "Now that you mention it, would you mind telling me…" Scully pivoted in time to catch his gaze dragging over the woman, head to toe.
"Yes?" her head tilted in invitation.
"Where did you buy that suit?"
###
The ambulance-chaser's favorite shop, it turned out, was just a little ways from the Bigfoot. Opting to walk rather than try to find a new parking spot downtown, they were quiet for a long block or so. But a question nagged at Scully, had been since Mulder briefed her in the cab to the airport.
"Mulder, tell me something," she ventured. "You got Skinner to approve this investigation, how?"
He slipped her a sly grin. "I left him a message about reported desecration of artifacts of national historic value."
"I see," she chuffed at his thin, virtually fraudulent justification. "But you didn't, I don't know, file the paperwork to open an actual case?"
"I knew we'd be in and out in a day," he admitted.
"And if the unanticipated happened and there had been an actual federal crime in progress?"
"Then we'd already be on the job," Mulder shrugged. "You know that retroactive approval for investigations is practically the FBI's bread-and-butter."
"So, you were pretty sure this was all a hoax from the start. What was the point of coming down here in the first place then, other than wasting government resources and destroying another article of my clothing?"
They'd arrived at the boutique's door. "Sorry about that," he mumbled a little defensively. "I just thought we could use a break after our last case. Something easy, solvable, something where nobody's flesh was being eaten away in a test of the nation's illegal bio-weapons stock. Something with a little goddamn whimsy. Jesus, Scully, don't you ever get sick of the infinite layers of deception our own government is capable of?"
She flinched at his choice of words and crossed her arms. Sick indeed. "So…what? We were lied to -- again, for the millionth time -- and you felt they owed us a trip to Graceland?"
Mulder's face brightened at the thought. "We could still catch the late afternoon tour, if you want…"
Scully sighed and dropped her arms. She saw the fundamental kernel of cosmic justice in it, even if she had reservations about furthering the pattern of deception. Besides, Mulder's credit card would soon be bearing the karmic load.
###
Attended by a gracious lady-of-a-certain-age in linen and pearls, Lady Miriam's smelled faintly of magnolia and was nearly empty on a Tuesday afternoon. Mulder had been immediately ushered to the "hubby's corner" by Miriam herself and offered a glass of sweet tea, while Scully foraged in the racks for what, he was sure, was the most expensive suit in the shop.
He found himself seated next to a salt-and-peppered gentleman wearing nubuck Hush Puppies that sorely clashed with the gigantic pink purse perched on his knee. Billy Jim Bob, or whatever his name was, dozed gently as his wife and the proprietor raved over a product called "Spanx," the name of which, Mulder was disappointed to learn, held all sorts of false promises.
With no purse of his own to keep an eye on, Mulder took the opportunity to ogle his partner in the public light of day. Even in stained and rumpled clothes, she was easily the most composed woman he'd ever known. Oh, he'd had the privilege of seeing Scully fall apart on occasion, of being allowed a glimpse behind the iron curtain of her will. And just lately, seeing her out of control involved the particular pleasure of watching her eyes grow sapphire blue and unfocused as she moaned his name in long, languorous syllables.
There was something in her steely composure that had always by turns frustrated him and turned him on. The suits were key, even the homely ones she favored when dealing with the oldest of old boys. He was truly sorry she'd never wear the current number again. His eyes traveled upwards from her shapely calves to the hem of the skirt, which stopped just a tad above her knees, with a modest slit in the back offering a tantalizing slice of leg.
Something about the color or maybe the fabric allowed him to trace the outline of her thighs as they flared into hips, which framed the luscious swell of her ass. That shadow right there…that was the sweet spot. Mulder's fingers twitched unconsciously. The jacket showed off Scully's delicate waist and the determined set of her shoulders. His gaze lingered at the small of her back, and he grinned inwardly, remembering the warmth under his lips as he'd planted a row of kisses along her spine just last night. He flushed a little when she turned back his direction, as if she had been reading his thoughts, and flicked his glance away.
###
From behind a rack of pant suits, Scully eyed Mulder sipping his tea. He was tracking the perimeter and all the details of the crammed little store, an investigator's habit and an early sign of boredom. This had been his idea, she reminded herself -- she would rather have just ignored any questioning stares and caught the first flight home.
But this recent turn in their partnership had made her more sensitive to Mulder's unspoken motives. Replacing her suit wasn't just a peace offering. He was testing the waters of their growing intimacy, which had deepened despite -- or maybe in reaction to -- the Bureau's insistence that he conceal his true involvement with the New Spartans from his partner. No way was she going to crush his toes when they'd just taken their first, cautious steps in this dance.
When she looked his way again, Mulder's attention had unsurprisingly been drawn to the lingerie display in the far corner, and he beelined to investigate. Adding a pair of black leggings to her pile, she signaled to Miriam that she was ready for the fitting room. The shopkeeper bustled over to lead her back and hung her selections in a spacious cubicle, saying she'd check in on Scully after a bit.
One poorly-cut pair of slacks, two boxy sheath dresses, and three ugly jackets later, Scully was ready to throw in the towel. Mulder would be disappointed, but maybe she'd be better off dragging him to the petites section at Macy's. In her bra and underwear, she was re-hanging the last of her hopefuls, when there was a quiet rap on the door. "I'm afraid nothing seems to be working," she called to Miriam over the partition.
The door cracked open, and Mulder slipped through, a tiny scrap of ivory silk and lace dangling from his index finger. "Thought you might need some new ones, since yours have been in a bunch all day."
She felt awkwardly exposed standing there in her underwear, but fought the urge to cover up. He'd been deep inside Dana Scully now, more than once, but they'd both been naked then. "Not all day," she challenged. "Only since our waiter mistook my skirt for a placemat."
"Then how do you feel about this?" He extended his other arm, at the end of which hung a skirt and jacket. She balked at the color, which reminded her of the lilac bush that had just begun to bloom in her mother's side yard. Scully couldn't remember the last time she'd owned anything in that shade. An unfortunate choice of pants during her undergraduate days, maybe. Her chin retracted, and her mouth stretched into a thin line.
"What?"
"Have you ever seen me wear that color?"
"So?"
"It's lovely, but…I," she pointed to her hair in explanation, "…it's not a good look."
Mulder held the hanger next to her face, tilted his head, and squinted in mock deliberation. "Never know 'til you try."
"Fine," she said. Debating the point would take longer than just trying the damn thing on.
Mulder inserted himself between her and the mirror as she stepped into the skirt, and his arms reached around her to tug the zipper closed at the small of her back. He turned her around, warm hands ghosting over her skin, then slipped the jacket up her arms and over her shoulders. She leaned back into his body and bent her head to watch his long fingers do up the double-breasted placket. Her senses hummed pleasantly from these teasing touches, but turning back to face him, she shot him a look that said, "See? Hideous."
"I swear I'm not just buttering you up --"
Scully's eyes rolled, and her head lolled back on her shoulders.
"-- so to speak, when I say that you wear that suit like no-body's business."
He stepped out of the way so that she had access to the multi-view mirror.
The first thing she noticed was the intense blue of her eyes. And her skin glowed so that she hardly noticed any clash with her hair color. Scully angled this way and that. The coat hugged her nicely, and she could see herself wearing it to church some Sunday. The skirt was too long, of course, and the sleeves would need taking up…but she had to admit, it worked.
She glanced over her shoulder a bit sheepishly. "Thank, you Mulder. It's not something I would have chosen on my own…"
"But do you like what you see?" he murmured next to her ear.
Scully nodded decisively at the reflection -- of herself, and the man standing behind her. She turned to look up at him. "What made you pick this out?"
Mulder shrugged. "It's…pretty, I guess," the word clearly awkward on his tongue. He waved away the simplistic explanation. "Not in a girly way, though. I mean, feminine and…real." He lifted a hand to trace her cheekbone with his fingertips and leaned close. "I saw it and thought, the woman who would wear that…smells like you."
The words trickled warmly through her veins. For years, she'd worried that he didn't really see her. "Then wrap it up, I'll take it," she said with a genuine smile.
###
Scully didn't ask for privacy while she changed, and Mulder wasn't about to miss the strip show, such as it was. In fact, he helpfully stepped up to ease the jacket from her frame and drape it neatly on the hanger. And when she fumbled with the skirt zipper, he intended to lend a hand there, too, honestly. Instead, betrayed by his own digits, he tucked a finger beneath the band of her bra and tugged her back toward him.
"Mulder…" she groused, swinging a glare over her shoulder.
Wordlessly, he unfastened the bra hooks and slid his hands forward to cup Scully's breasts. The plumped skin was achingly soft, and he felt her arch into him almost instinctively. She shivered as his lips grazed her nape, and his palms tingled at the feel of her nipples tightening against them.
Scully's stance tightened for a moment, as if she were going to protest, but then she shocked the hell out of him by slowly swiveling her hips back against him. Taking advantage of Mulder's surprise, she spun in his arms and flattened him against the dressing room door. His vision went kaleidoscopic as she hauled him down to swallow his gasp. Their kiss went from sweet to hungry to combustible in a matter of seconds. His legs literally trembled, and not from the uncomfortable way he was bent over her.
Mulder groaned as heat sparked wherever their bodies met. He countered her sweeping tongue with light nips to her lower lip, and she whimpered softly in reply, letting her bra drop to the floor. His hands raked through Scully's soft hair and stroked her back, tugging her snugly against him. Feeling her free his shirttails from his pants, he hardened instantly. She deftly undid the buttons from the bottom up, fingers greedily claiming the skin beneath his tee-shirt. One of her hands began wandering south, clearly about to exercise the nuclear option, and he almost welcomed the sounds of Miriam and the customer in the next fitting room with relief, as Scully startled out of his arms.
"Oh, I'm so glad you went with the chartreuse," the shopkeeper was saying. "It is tray on-trend right now."
"That neckline doesn't makes me look like mutton dressed as lamb, now does it?" asked the patron as the women passed by their door. The burning sartorial query went unanswered for Mulder and Scully, the women's conversation fading as they headed back into the racks.
Snapped harshly back into reality, Mulder slouched against the door, pulse pounding between his ears, trying to recover some control over pounding sensations elsewhere. Scully slipped out of the skirt and re-hung it neatly. But rather than pull her old clothes back on, she dragged a low upholstered chair before the mirror and took Mulder by the hand, nodding at him to have a seat.
He sank down, glancing uncertainly at their surroundings. Scully slung her legs over his and settled onto his lap with a playful grin. "Seems a shame not to take advantage of a three-way," she murmured, tilting her head at the six of them.
That little gem echoed in his head a hundred different ways, all of them dirty, while his brain's digital recorder filed the sound of his partner's husky voice away for future reference on solitary evenings. In answer, Mulder dove forward to reignite their interrupted kiss.
She ignored his chest now to go straight for the ridge in his pants, cupping and stroking him through the fabric. Her primal scent rose between them, and he breathed it deeply, his cock throbbing from her teases. Two could play, he figured. Mulder dragged his fingertips over her thighs and buttocks, swirling lightly until she began to squirm. He dipped a hand between them to rub against the damp crotch of her panties.
"Yes," Scully breathed hotly against his lips and rocked in escalating need. Growing frustrated, Mulder palmed her ass, holding her in place to get her attention, and when he had it, gave a pointed glance down at what was keeping them apart.
As it so often did for them, a look said everything. Scully hurried to remedy the problem, lowering his zipper and pulling him free from his boxers. Cock pulsing in her grip, Mulder arched his neck and somehow overcame the urge to rut like a bull moose into her hand. Someday, maybe, when they'd been doing this for years and years, such a simple touch wouldn’t threaten his undoing. Christ, he hoped he never lived to see the day.
He fumbled slightly as he pushed aside her underwear to coax her open. They both strained to stay quiet, but neither rushed the moment when he slowly nudged inside. Scully rose a bit on her toes and leaned in to kiss Mulder's temples, his chin, the bridge of his nose. She held onto the back of the chair, her breasts tumbling forward to frame his still-knotted necktie. His scalp burned as she rocked forward to envelop him.
Stunned that Scully had taken their little bout of slap-and-tickle to the next level -- and the level beyond that -- Mulder let her set the pace. She was insistent but unhurried, as if they weren't in a semi-public cubicle without a door lock. It felt odd, being the cautious one, but if she wanted to play Evel Knievel and jump him like the Snake River, he would gladly switch roles for awhile. Besides, she never hesitated to play daredevil when it meant preserving his sorry ass, so why not relish it in the pursuit of pleasure?
There was a sharp rap at the fitting room door, tearing her mouth from his with a wet gasp.
"How's it going in there, sweetie, anything catch your fancy?"
"Uh, yes, I think I've found something just perfect for me," Scully answered, slowing to a grind on Mulder's lap and gazing squarely into his eyes. "I'm getting it on right now." She threw a hand over his mouth to smother a cackle he couldn't hold back.
"Well, grand, honey, let's have a look."
Just as the door-latch snicked, Mulder's foot shot out to hold it shut. Scully lurched forward, smashing her breasts against his chest, but hardly missing a beat in their rhythm as she called out, "No, no, it's fine, ma'am…I'll be…finished in just…a minute." Mulder flashed her a look that said he was up to the challenge.
"That's fine, dear. It's getting on ten to six, so I'll be closing things up out front, whenever you're ready…"
Mulder had been content with Scully's leisurely ride so far, but with the clock ticking, he began bucking in counter motion, the change in his pants pocket jingling merrily with every thrust. Surrounded by her heat and drowning in pleasure, he palmed her belly, thumb reaching into her slick folds to stroke her clit.
"Oh God," she whispered feverishly against his ear. "So good."
He bent to graze his teeth over her areola, nipping the sweet flesh all around, then flicked one pointed nipple with his tongue over and over, ripping a tiny cry from her at last. Glancing up, the sight of Scully's parted lips, her own tongue lashing blindly in rhythm with his, suddenly gave way to a field of stars. Mulder's explosion set her off as well, her orgasm expelled in a gust of hot, damp breath against his neck. Scully's arms tightened around him as he sank back into the cushions, her mouth finding his one last time before they reluctantly separated.
###
The saleslady had her back turned and was speaking softly into the phone when Mulder approached the counter to pay for the suit.
"…Yes please, we'll need some special attention paid to the dressing rooms when you do your rounds tonight." She paused. "We had another…incident." A longer pause. "Well, I'm glad you find it so amusing, Lou. Honestly, I do not see the appeal at all. What gets into the heads of otherwise perfectly respectable-looking people, I can't fathom. I mean, my establishment is not the place to go acting out something they saw in a late-night cable movie."
When Mulder cleared his throat, Miriam hurriedly thanked Lou and hung up. She turned, gracious smile frozen in place. "So I see you all found something," she said, taking the hanger from Mulder. "What a lovely choice for your…lady friend. Will she be needing to consult with our tailor?"
"No, thank you, it seemed to fit perfectly." Mulder shook his head, not meeting her eyes, and reached for his wallet. His fingers lingered over the FBI-issued MasterCard for a split-second, before withdrawing his own American Express.
"Well, then, maybe she'd like a scarf or a pair of earrings to accessorize?" Miriam suggested.
He shook his head with an apologetic half-smile and thrust his card at the lady. Scully appeared, saying, "Actually, ma'am, I would like to add these to the order." She gestured to the leggings she now had on with her sweater and original suit jacket, the old skirt draped over her arm, and handed Miriam the torn-off tag. "Oh," she flicked her gaze quickly up to Mulder as a flash of color swept over her cheeks, "and one more thing," she said, tucking under the waistband to rip the tag from the item she had on underneath.
Mulder smirked. "No security devices on those, Scully?"
"No," she returned immediately, blushing again as she faced the saleslady.
Miriam smiled tolerantly and added them to the bill without comment.
"Thank you," said Scully, to Miriam or to him -- or for what exactly -- he wasn't sure.
Handing back Mulder's AmEx and driver's license, Miriam asked, "You folks in town long?"
Scully shook her head and glanced up at Mulder. "We're heading home tonight."
"Oh, isn't that a shame. There's the most lovely hotel just down the street. A real Southern charmer. Claw-foot tubs, fine linens, thick old pine walls…you might want to amble over and check it out. For your next visit."
Looking at the charge slip, Mulder paused at the total for just a second before signing. Mentally, he was already calling the airline to move their flight to the morning, leaving another message for Skinner, and wondering if there was a nice place nearby to take Scully for supper, since neither of them had actually gotten a bite in their mouths at lunch. He heard Scully's stomach growl. She snickered and shared a secret grin with him. Or maybe they'd just order room service, and later, test the thickness of those walls.