From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: Sun, 27 Jul 2008 14:25:07 -0500 (CDT)
Subject: 1-900-REDHEAD (1/1) by Jade Okelani
Source: direct

Reply To: jadeokelani@gmail.com


Title: 1-900-REDHEAD

Author: Jade Okelani

Email: jadeokelani@gmail.com

Rating: R

Spoilers: Brand X

Content: MSR, PWP (How I've missed typing that)

Summary: Phone sex. 

Notes: Response to a challenge issued on Haven to 
take an old fic and make it new.  Since most of 
my XF fic was written when I was a) very young, 
and b) very inexperienced, choosing was actually 
a lot more difficult than you might imagine, 
since I'd like to completely gut and rewrite all 
of them. More notes at the end.

Link to original story: It's on Gossamer, same 
title, author name: Trixie.  Tell me which 
version you prefer!

~

1-900-REDHEAD
by Jade Okelani

~

"I need a massage.  And to never set foot in 
Texas again.  Not necessarily in that order." 

Scully kicked her autopsy sneakers aside and 
flopped into a boneless heap on top of the ugly 
hotel room bedspread she'd refused to let her 
suitcase touch earlier that day. 

"I should also stop talking to myself," she 
muttered.

First, she picked up the hotel phone and ordered 
room service.  Then, she snagged her cell from 
the table and speed dialed the number she knew by 
heart. 

"Vacuum sales," his raspy voice answered after 
two rings.

"You sound awful," she said without preamble.

"That's because I have no one to talk to all day, 
my throat is getting zero physical therapy."

"You should call the Gunmen."

"Contrary to popular belief, I find it difficult 
to sustain an extended conversation with the boys 
that doesn't involve work, video games, or 
pornography."
 
"You know, Mulder, you're only forbidden to 
discuss one of those topics for the next two 
weeks."

"You know me, Scully - talking leads to doing.  I 
don't feel like playing video games, and I'm kind 
of, ah, saving up while you're out of town."

One eyebrow arched and she forced her prone body 
into a sitting position long enough to shrug out 
of her coat.  Once free of it, she chucked it off 
the side of the bed and collapsed again.  "Saving 
up, Mulder?"

"You know what I mean," he mumbled.

"No.  No, I don't."  She did, actually, but 
knowing and hearing him say it were separated by 
miles and miles of fun. 

"When you've been free throwing on your own for 
years, then finally you fall into a pick up game, 
shooting solo just doesn't do it for you 
anymore."

"Wow, you actually managed to make that unsexy." 

He paused.  "Did you want me to make it sexy, 
Scully?" 

She debated whether to go there for about ten 
seconds.  "I wish you were here," she admitted 
quietly.

"I would be, but my damned personal physician got 
all bossy, told me I was forbidden to fly again 
until my breathing was completely under control."

"She sounds like a handful."

"You have no idea."

"This is a nice place," she said, letting the 
'unlike the places we normally stay' go unsaid.  

"The future's in consulting," Mulder agreed.  
"Was there a mint on your pillow?"

"Not that nice," she conceded.  "But there's room 
service.  Possibly of a questionable nature, but 
they're going to bring it to me while I lie here 
in a prone position."

"You already in bed, Scully?" 

There it was, that tone she'd called for, 
shamelessly enhanced by his recent experience at 
the hand of tobacco beetles. 

"Mmhhmm," she affirmed.

"What're you wearing?" 

"Socks and a smile?"

"Nice try, Scully, but I distinctly remember you 
telling me room service was on its way.  You are 
many things, but exhibitionist isn't one of 
them."

Scully stretched back out on the bed, pointing 
her toes in a delightfully indulgent stretch.  
Every muscle in her body ached and tomorrow would 
prove to be an equally exhausting day.  She 
didn't even have an interesting anecdote to share 
with Mulder to show for it; every body she'd cut 
open today had gone tediously by the book.  
Besides, they always talked about work.  Tonight, 
she wanted to talk about things she felt silly 
discussing with him face to face. 

"Can I ask you a personal question, Mulder?"

"That sounds like you're trying to get me into 
trouble."

"What's your favorite part of a woman's body?" 

"You're definitely trying to get me into 
trouble."

She smiled.  "No, there's no wrong answer."

A moment of silence passed on his end.  "Besides 
the obvious?"

"Besides them," she agreed.

"Your stomach." 

Scully sat up against the headboard, her hand 
unconsciously falling to cover the place they 
were discussing. 

"Really."

"I sense a note of disbelief in your tone."

"You'd be familiar with that tone."

He made an amused sound of agreement.  "There's 
something incredibly arousing about a woman's 
stomach," he continued.  "It holds creation and 
the possibility for miracle.  It's soft and 
comforting, the last stop on a man's way to 
paradise.  It's got a great view no matter which 
way you're facing, and in your case, it's also 
the resting place for a small scar that is my 
proof you're strong enough to live through 
anything."

She cleared her throat.  "You keep saying 'your' 
- am I to assume your answer would be different 
with another woman?"

"'I am a part of all that I have met.'"

"Don't quote Tennyson at me when we're having 
phone sex."

His chuckle was delighted.  "Is that what we're 
doing?"

"You're not usually this obtuse - wait, I take it 
back."

"I can't remember a time when I didn't think of 
you when any subject came up," he said.  "You are 
the bar by which all other things are measured.  
And I gotta be honest with you, Scully, pretty 
much everything else comes up wanting with such 
high standards."

"Mulder, take your pants off." 

"What in the last few minutes possibly gave you 
the impressions I had my pants on?"

Any reply she might have made was interrupted by 
a knock on the door.

"Guess what, Mulder?"

"I'm not about to get an audible blow job?"

"Give me twenty minutes to eat," she said.  "I'll 
call you back."

"If you're too tired--"

"I'm never too tired, Mulder."

"I'm so reminding you of that in ten or fifteen 
years." 

He hung up without saying goodbye and the waiter 
who brought her food probably thought she was 
flirting with him, given she couldn't stop 
smiling.

~

It actually took Scully 25 minutes to wolf down 
the Cobb salad and giant piece of cheesecake 
she'd ordered.  She was still licking her thumb 
clean of raspberry sauce when she dialed Mulder's 
number.

"Marty's House of Pancakes, Marty speaking."

"Marty, huh?  I was looking for Fox Mulder." 

"Hang on, I'll get him."  He actually put the 
phone down for a moment.  "House of Pancakes, Fox 
Mulder speaking."

"Did you take too much of your sleeping 
medication?" 

"Define too much?"

"Mulder."

"I'm going a little crazy without you to bother," 
he confessed with a sigh.

"You don't bother me," she said.  "Much."

"Did everything go all right today?"

"It was fine.  As fine as two back to back 
autopsies can be."

"Got any leads?"

"I don't understand why I was called out here to 
consult, Mulder.  Those women died of natural 
causes, albeit several years earlier than they 
should have."

"If there's something there to figure out, you'll 
figure it out; and if you can't figure it out, 
you'll beg me to get on a plane and come figure 
it out with you."

She was smiling the way she never would if he 
could see her.  "I'll beg, huh?"

"I love it when you beg, Scully." 

Suddenly they weren't talking about her consult 
anymore.

"What else do you love, Mulder?"  She set her 
used plates on the table that brought them in, 
then relaxed against the bed again.  It was a 
nice bed, as far as beds that weren't hers went.  
As Mulder was fond of noting, she could fall 
asleep on a subway train in broad daylight, but 
the strangest thing happened sometimes in 
unfamiliar beds and she was lucky to get three or 
four hours strung together.

There was the equally undesirable prospect of 
sleeping without Mulder to contend with.  They'd 
spent the past few weeks joined at the hip - more 
so than usual - and she was fast learning she 
slept best when he was beside her.  Not so 
strange, really, when she did everything best 
when he was beside her.

He'd been quiet a long time before he answered.

"I love you," he said carefully. 

"That kind of goes without saying, doesn't it?"  
In truth, it hadn't, not really, but she'd never 
been the type to dwell on words of affection in 
that way.  Scully could count on one hand the 
number of times her father had told her he loved 
her, yet Ahab's utter devotion had been the one 
thing she'd never doubted. 

That easy surety had always escaped her with the 
men who'd drifted in and out of her life, and 
she'd often found herself hungry for declarations 
when she hadn't been sure herself of what she'd 
really been feeling.  How very funny it was that 
Mulder, the one man she'd loved more than any 
other, could bind her to him with little more 
than his beloved voice speaking her last name in 
such intimate tones.

"I love... your mouth," he said. 

"Now we're getting somewhere," she praised.  
"What do you love about it?"

"It argues with me," he chuckled.  "And it kisses 
me.  Before we made the beast with two backs--"

"Oh, yeah, baby, that's what I like to hear," she 
said unenthusiastically.

"--your mouth and your hands communicated things 
we wouldn't let ourselves say out loud.  
Physically, we're more demonstrative now, but the 
contact isn't really more meaningful.  I like 
that about you, about us."

Figured; she called for seductive and ended up 
with sweet.  All in all, Scully thought she'd 
probably keep him. 

"I like it, too," she said softly.

"I love your feet," he said.  "I love that you 
jam them into impractical shoes because you hate 
how short you are.  I love watching you curl your 
toes once they're free - I swear, Scully, it's 
like a religious experience, watching your toes 
curl." 

"Being freed from uncomfortable footwear isn't 
the only thing that makes them curl," she felt 
obliged to point out.

"Oh, baby, don't I know it." 

She giggled at the baby, because she was pretty 
sure he wasn't kidding with it. 

"Keep going," she encouraged.  Just the sound of 
his voice did things dangerously close to toe 
curling.

"I love your shoulders, and your fingertips -- I 
already mentioned your stomach, right?"

"You did, rather eloquently, even."

"I love to kiss that spot on the front of your 
hip - you know which one I mean?"

Scully's hand moved down her torso until her 
fingers covered the very spot.

"Yeah," she said.

"Everything is great there -- your skin is soft, 
your body starts tensing because you're waiting 
to see where else I'm going to go, and Scully, 
God, I can smell you so well... I always know 
when I'm on the right track from that spot." 

She took a deep breath and started making little 
circles with her thumb against the fabric of her 
pants. 

"You always do a pretty good job of knowing when 
you're on the right track, regardless of where 
you are."

"Are you touching yourself, Scully?  And before 
you answer, know that an affirmative will fulfill 
one of my top five fantasies." 

"What are the others?" she laughed.

"We'd need saran wrap and a can of silly string 
for one of 'em."

Scully laughed harder.  "I don't know if you're 
joking or not." 

"Does that worry you?"

"It should, shouldn't it?"

"You never answered me."

Like a dog with a bone.  A very, very sexy dog.  
And did that make her a bone?

"Yes, Mulder, I'm touching myself.  Though I'm 
still fully clothed."

"Let's remedy that.  Take something off."

As she was contemplating what to divest herself 
of first, the call waiting went off on her cell 
phone.

"Shit," she muttered.

"Okay, don't take something off," he deadpanned.

"I have another call -- damn it, at this hour, 
it's got to be important." 

"I'll keep," he assured her.

She thumbed over the call, frowning.  "Scully."

And then she frowned harder.

~

Two hours later, Scully once again trudged down 
the long hall toward her room.  It was a twisted 
fact of life that she never got the room closest 
to the elevator, even when Mulder sometimes did.

When her phone rang, she didn't even check the 
caller I.D. before she answered.  "Scully."

"Sorry, wrong number, I thought this was '1-900-
REDHEAD.'"

"It is," she said hastily.  "We just can't answer 
the phone that way, you never know when one of 
those pesky law enforcement officers might be 
listening."

"Bastards, always trying to keep a girl from 
making an honest living."  

"What can I do for you, Handsome?"  She tried a 
coquettish tone, then, wincing, vowed never to 
use it again.

He chuckled.  "Well, Red, I thought I could tell 
you a fantasy of mine, and then see if you could 
make it come true." 

"That sounds good," she whispered.  In fact, it 
sounded better than good -- after driving back 
down to the morgue because an over-eager town 
sheriff thought he'd lost her autopsy notes, only 
to discover them, forty-five minutes later, on 
his own desk, every ounce of professional 
patience had been sapped from Scully's body, and 
she was ready for the kind of distraction only 
Mulder seemed capable of providing. 

"So it starts as you're coming home from a long 
day at work, being totally unappreciated for your 
brilliance in a traditionally male dominated 
field." 

She smiled, then caught sight of her door, and, 
sighing, realized her key was somewhere in the 
labyrinthine shoulder bag she'd started carrying 
when she was solely doing morgue work.  Squatting 
on the ground, she began pawing through its 
contents.  Breath mints, tampon, badge, home 
keys, office keys, something sticky Mulder had 
probably slipped in there before she left - God, 
where was the damned room key?

"You're tired and cranky and I take you totally 
by surprise.  I go straight for your clothes, I 
don't even kiss you first, I can't, because I've 
been thinking about your skin all fucking day and 
I hope you've been thinking about me, too, 
because I don't think I could bear to take my 
time yet, I just need to have you as fast and as 
hard as possible."

Card key!  How wonderful and frustrating, all at 
the same time. 

"I can't express to you how good that sounds," 
she muttered. 

"It could have been all yours, Scully, if only 
you hadn't grounded me in D.C."

Just the thought made her want to cry.  She slid 
the key card home and shouldered open her door.

"Mulder, I wish you hadn't listened to me."

Ten seconds of silence went by.

"Hey, Scully?"

The phone was echoing weirdly in her ear and she 
held it away from her head.  "What?"

Someone else slammed her door closed, and 
Mulder's body was suddenly pinning hers against 
it.  Both their phones got lost somewhere.  When 
he answered her, his lips were nearly brushing 
hers.

"When was the last time I listened to you?"

 END 

Thanks: to the always wonderful Lysandra and 
Audrey Roget for telling me it didn't sucked, and 
passing on thoughts/suggestions.  

End Notes: I sort of let the story and characters 
dictate a rhythm as I'm writing, and I swear, at 
the beginning, I fully intended this to culminate 
in some seriously smutty smut - but then that 
last line came out of Mulder's mouth, and it 
really said everything that needed saying.  
Sufficed to say they had very energetic sex and 
Mulder slept the next day away while Scully cut 
up more dead bodies. Then he drew her a bath, 
ATTHS again.