From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: Wed, 17 Dec 2008 15:51:25 -0600 (CST) Subject: The Durability-Tested Bathroom Stall of the Darryl Zanuck Theater by suchreverie Source: direct Reply To: suchreveries@yahoo.com Title: The Durability-Tested Bathroom Stall of the Darryl Zanuck Theater Author: suchreverie Date: Dec. 17, 2008 Rating: NC-17 Spoilers: Hollywood A.D. Classification: V Keywords: MSR, post-ep HAD Archive: Ephemeral, Gossamer, others by request Summary: "That was a better ending than the movie by far." Note: This sweet little story is for colebaltblue, who gave me this prompt: "Mulder and Scully. In the bathroom. Limited space so they had to get creative. Leave the clothes on." Disclaimer: These characters are not mine and no copyright infringement is intended. http://suchreverie.livejournal.com if you're interested. **************************** The theater is mostly empty by the time they make their way off the set, hands clasped. She smiles with a gleam in her eye and he tingles with expectation. "Come here," he says, tugging on her hand, beelining down a red-carpeted hallway, past life-sized zombies, fake tombstones and mini-cypress trees from the greens department. "This isn't the exit," she mildly protests as he pushes open the door to the women's restroom, listens for any sign of life, finds none, and pulls her inside. He laughs softly at her feigned innocence and at the echo of her heels as they click against the white granite floor to keep up with him. People often accuse him of having a one-track mind, but little do they know about the hidden track, his b-side. She brings it out in him. She always has, whether she knew it or not. The lights cast a golden Hollywood hue around them as he leads her into a cramped little stall and slams the door, pushing her against it and kissing her roughly before she has a chance to foil the moment with cautions and half-assed admonitions. Her hands slide over the back of his neck, pulling him down to her level, like she always does. Her tongue is the first to dart out, slipping into his mouth and he smiles and feels a rush of warmth from his head to his toes. Her kisses could kill a man. And that's just her kisses. His hands are everywhere--he doesn't want to stop mapping out her body over the short little black dress she's wearing. The curves of her hips, the firmness of her thighs, the flat of her stomach, the gentle weight of her breasts in his palms. She's moaning into his mouth, kissing him more urgently now, pushing into his hands. He runs a thumb over a hardened nipple he finds under the smooth fabric. "You still in love with Skinner?" he breathes, grinding his body against hers, slowly, teasing her, teasing himself. They have always been about the tease. Their height difference is glaringly obvious, but only for the few seconds it takes him to realize what has to be done. And it just so happens to be the same few minutes during which she finds his zipper and with the lowest, most sensual of Scully giggles, pulls it down and her hand, like a heat-seeking missile, finds him unbearably hard. "I could be convinced otherwise," she says, looking into his eyes while she frees his cock and strokes it, her fingers tight and unrelenting along the length of him. He nearly falls over--instead, he groans and runs his hands up the outside of her thighs, pushing up her dress, the silk of her nylons both incredibly sexy and anguishing at the same time. "I hate these fucking things," he growls, shoving his hand between her legs and cupping her. She gasps as he immediately feels how hot she is for him. It makes him smile outside, it makes him giddy inside like a six-year-old on Christmas morning. "Just tear them." She yanks on his cock again, demanding his attention. He grits his teeth, digging his fingernails into the thin fabric of her nylons between her legs and tearing into them, desperate to get inside of her. He wants it so badly it hurts. He's very happy to find that her panties underneath are barely there at all, so very easy to push aside to let his fingers start doing the talking. "Oh yeah," she breathes, the back of her head hitting the door when he slides a finger into her. "Convinced yet?" He adds another and begins fingering her hard and slow. She's hot, and slick, and breathing heavily, no, panting, and she's still fully dressed and this is like a really hot porn movie, but it's actually happening to him. "Fuck me, Mulder," she whispers, her eyes meeting his, electric blue. Make that the best porn ever. He grabs her ass and she hikes one leg up against his thigh. With a little hop he's got her pressed to the door. She leaves her 3" heels on the tile. Her thighs are snug against his hips. They've done this before. Her moan and her mouth on his neck remind him of how much she likes it. He grinds and lets out a low groan as he seeks entrance to her body. The stall door squeaks as he pushes her harder into it. Her hand squirms between them, giving him direction, and when he finally hits the right spot they let out a collective sigh of relief. She wraps her legs around his hips and he can't wait any more. She feels so good, so fucking amazing and she smells so sweet and she tastes like salty buttered popcorn. He makes her cry out with his thrusts, with every time he knocks her back against the door of the unfortunate stall they've chosen. The walls are shaking and squeaking and she's being loud herself, more vocal than usual, but he doesn't give a fuck. Not right now. Too busy. In fact, part of him hopes Skinner walks past and hears him giving it to her. Would serve the bastard right. He snaps back to reality when he feels her fingernails deep in his neck and his shoulder, her muscles slick and squeezing him, and his mind starts its usual mantra: Fucking Scully I'm fucking Scully Jesus Christ I'm fucking Scully over and over as he lets her know exactly how fortunate he feels to have her in his life. "You...like...that?" he breathes between thrusts. "Oh God," she moans, her head rolling against the door. She closes her eyes and bites her lip, her fingers twisting the back of his hair like they're going to rip it out. It hurts but it feels soooo good. He feels himself starting to come and presses his forehead into the cold metal of the stall door as he gives her a few more powerful thrusts. His body shudders and she groans in delight--how he loves that sound, that satisfied growl she makes when she knows he's about to lose it. He loses it. He mutters her name and she pulls him in deeper, as if that were possible, with her pussy and her legs and her hands and her smile. Her giggle comes quickly afterward, while she's still pinned between him and the now durability-tested bathroom stall of the Darryl Zanuck Theater. He meets her eyes with a bashful smile and she messes the front of his hair with her fingers. "You gonna put me down now?" she asks with another laugh. Her legs slide down his and he gasps as the cool air that floods around his cock. She tugs down the dress that's gathered around her hips. They exit the stall and he kisses her hard, his hand lost in the back of her hair. "Mmmmm." He pulls away. "That was a better ending than the movie by far." She washes her hands. Always practical, his Scully. She looks at his reflection in the mirror and smiles. So many smiles tonight. "Yes, it was." He moves behind her, his hands sliding around her waist. "Wanna get the hell outta here?" "Where are we going to go?" She arches her eyebrow at their reflection and adjusts her headband carefully. "Somewhere where I can get you on your back." He kisses said headband. "So many possibilities," she murmurs, pushing her back against his chest. "Well, Scully," he says, pushing back into her, resisting the urge to throw her on the counter and go at it again. "We're not dead, and we're relatively young, and our flight isn't until eight tomorrow morning." There's that gleam in her eye again. "That should be enough time." - the end. seriously. that's it. sorry guys. -