From: Humbuggie Date: 19 Aug 2003 08:34:40 -0700 Subject: xfc: It's my party and I cry if I want to 1/1 Source: atxc It's my party and I cry if I want to By Humbuggie C 2003 Type: MT, Comedy Rating: Perhaps PG for a few sexual innuendos and a near-NC17 scene that is not really NC 17. Erm, you'll know what I mean. Oh yes and some explicite cursing here and there. ;) Story: Mulder and Scully's sexual attraction can no longer be denied by Mulder. Or can it, when you're stuck at a gay party being smooched up by ... Daisy, the Drag Queen? Note from the author: This story is written for Sally Bahnsen. Sal, you know what to expect! It's my party and I cry if I want to Did you hear that a grown man should never, ever cry? They say that. An adult male is supposed to be manly, keep his tears inside and forget there is something like tear canals that can burst out on occasion and reveal existing emotions. Women, you know, are always comforted and cared for when they cry. Men get a "Oh brother" in best-case scenario and then nothing. I fully agree. Men should not cry. Okay, only they should when their sisters are taken by aliens; when their partners are abducted by government conspirators and fallen ill by cancer; when their mothers have a stroke and then eventually die of apparent suicide. I'm sure there are a few more examples where that came from. Today however, cries are near my throat, trying to find their way out. Oh they're not sobbing cries or sad tears that want to escape me. Not at all. They're more like:"Hey, someone get me the hell out of here!"- sort of cries. You know the kind: the ones when you are stuck in a hopeless situation and just want someone to help you out. Where you are somewhere you don't want to be, and just seek any means possible to escape your situation. I'll tell you why. You see, I'm sitting here at this extreme party in Provincetown, Cape Cod and just want to escape. Not because it's boring, but because . yeah well. You'll know what I mean in a moment. Let me start by giving a hint about a girl named Daisy and her very overtly - yet extraordinary - cross-dressing tendencies. Daisy is about 6ft4 and wears stiletto heels. So when she's near me, hovering over me, I suddenly feel very small and very much not at ease. And then she opens her mouth and speaks in a very baritone voice," Are you married, cutie Mr. Federal Agent?" And all I can do is shake my head and say, "Erm. No." Before I know it, her hand is on my leg and I feel like crying. Hard. Loud. Can a grown, adult, mature man run too and still maintain a bit of selfrespect? I don't know if you know Provincetown. I don't know if you want to know it. It depends on your particular sexual preference I suppose, or your interest in what people on the Cape are up to. You see, Provincetown is the place to be for gays and lesbians in this particular part of the country. The small town rests on top of the Cape and seems to be an island breathing on its own. Here, the houses are painted in bright and beautiful colours and inhabit mostly gay couples. Here, you are waited on by gorgeous women who happen to have affairs with other gorgeous women, or by - according to Scully - absurd beautiful men who happen to fall for the same gender. Here, waiters will roller-blade to your table you shaking their lovely leather-clad hineys, asking you with a very female voice what you want to drink. If you're cute enough you'll get a beverage on the house and a wink from the waiter. If you're straight and end up here, you're either a tourist fascinated by the openness of this town, or you happen to be a visitor of one of the few hetero couples living here. They are very at ease with each other and don't detest anyone. To come here is to relax. To live here is to enjoy. However, to party here, can be hell if you get me straight. No pun intended. Don't even ask me how I ended up sitting next to the tremendously large Miss Daisy. I don't really want to get into that in full detail, even though I probably should. Don't get me wrong: I have nothing against gay people or transsexuals, bisexuals, transvestites or anything that starts with 'trans'. But I am one of the few boring heterosexuals walking around in Provincetown tonight and not in the mood to get picked up for a potential interesting future in this town. It's all Scully's fault, really. I'm the one with the class family home on the Cape and the family history that goes with it, and she's the one with the variety of former classmates scattered around the planet. When one of those classmates turns out to be a very beautiful lesbian woman moving here to open her own doctor's practice, who are we to refuse the open invitation to the grand opening of that practice? "You are coming with me, right?' Scully asked for the tenth time two days before we left for Provincetown while we enjoyed a very rare relaxing break on Martha's Vineyard. "I don't want them to think that -" "- That your gay? Scully, I read somewhere that every woman is bisexual. It's just a small percentage of you that act on it. You're not embarrassed about that, are you?" "Oh really?" she retorted wittily, "what do you think I am then? An active or inactive member of that group?" "I don't know," I mused, openly admitting to every man's fantasy. "I wouldn't mind if you were." She lifted an instant eyebrow. "That would get you off, wouldn't it? You perv." "Are you gay, Scully?" She laughed and winked. And then nothing more. And I was left with a huge unanswered question that suddenly needed urgent answering. And hell, ever since I have wondered if she has ever even kissed a woman. What a turn-on that would be. What a completely different picture I would then get from my partner. No, get your mind out of the gutter, Agent Mulder. You are NOT thinking this way about your partner. Got it? Slap on the wrist. Of course my dirty mind could not stop thinking about her. Scully obviously knows that I am very curious now about her and she is daring me to do something about it. You see, over the past years our relationship has grown of course and there have been a couple of times when we were almost kissing. And yes, we have kissed. But that unresolved sexual tension as they so nicely put it, is still there and we both relish in it. She knows it, and I know it and we are not hitting the sack. Yet some day, somehow, it will happen. I'm fairly certain of that. It seems to be the logical follow up to all things we have ever done. For the grand opening she has dressed into a daring dress that suits her. It's a dark, warm red that clings to her like a second skin. Its back reveals plenty of skin and is tied together with ribbons. She has little freckles there. If only I could touch that skin openly and push her against me and prove the world I kind of feel something for her. I guess I have done for a long time but never acted towards it. She's my friend, so why would I want to ruin that? I watch her every move while sipping my fourth drink. She laughs and flirts with both men and women. And the funny part is that about only about twenty percent of these people are gay. All the rest obviously came as couples having a good time. A lot came from New York, where Pat, the former classmate, had her former practice. I wonder why anyone would give up a blooming career in the city to work in a small town like this. But then I see her partner - a stunning blonde with hundred-inch-legs and I know why. I would move too, I swear. Okay, get a grip Mulder and control that bulge. Don't look too much at the woman and focus on Scully. You can do it. Yes, that a good boy. You're set. Didn't I tell you that I don't like being here at this party? Well, I have reasons to say that. You see, out of that twenty percent of gay people, about fifteen percent walked over to me to ask me if I am single. No kidding. What is it with me? Am I a homosexual magnet attractor? Do I have a sign reading "Dig here" stuck on my ass? Why would not a single woman in here even glare at me, while all the men show eager interest for first contact? Of course all the women are gay. Try saying, "Yes I am single but unfortunately not gay", ten times while keeping up a straight face and slowly starting to feel very plastered in the process too. The eleventh time you just want to use a sandwich board that says "Single and Straight" tied around your waste. That'll scare them off. Or perhaps, increase their interest in me. Even though, admittedly, if I were gay, I would probably find my pick here. These men are just perfect and make me feel like an awkward little hetero that doesn't take care of his bod. And that, while I showered, shaved, after-shaved, clipped my toenails and god knows what else a man should do to keep decent. Suddenly Scully comes towards me, swinging and shaking in that sexy clad of hers. She's drunk. This is Scully loosening up, and I like it. "Having fun?" she asks with an amusing look in her eyes. "As much as a moose in a china closet." "Cute, Mulder. Well, if you don't want to stick around, you can leave now if you like. The hotel is nearby." "First you force me into joining you and now I'm excused?" I laugh. "I don't think so." She glances around her. "That man over there seems to be very interested. He keeps on staring at you." "Scully, I'm very much straight." "Says who?" "Says my hormones, and my track record." "Mulder, what trackrecord?" I flush deeply, suddenly realizing people are listening to this conversation. And I don't like it. The man standing near the open fireplace smiles broadly and empties his glass. He is approaching me. Oh god, I don't want him to come closer when I am trying to get Scully in the sack. Hey, what the hell are you saying, Mulder? Stop that. You're drunk. You do NOT want Scully in the sack. But then why is she glaring so extremely hormonally challenging at me? She is scanning me. "Scully," I hiss, grasping her embarrassed by the arm. "I'm going and you are too." She laughs. She actually laughs! "We're gone," I say, and I turn. "Mulder, don't be such a spoil sport!" I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Have I mentioned that I don't like too-drunk Scully? She's not funny when she's beyond being tipsy and reaching the very-much-drunk-stage. She's sexy as hell, that's true, but not funny. I'd prefer to have her in bed right now. HER bed. "Besides, we can't go anywhere because we're staying here, remember?" I let go of her briskly. "You said: hotel." She smiles. "I sort of lied. I forgot to book it." "What?" "Yeah I just remembered. You can't go. You have to stay." "Oh great," I mutter under my breath realizing I have to sit out this party until the very end. Why, oh why did I come here? She grasps my face with her left hand and squeezes my cheeks. "Mulder, you are so cute when you're upset. Now be a good boy and fetch me another drink." So that's what Scully is like when she's found the bottom of a bottle of the finest Bordeaux. I don't think I ever want to see this again. I sigh and crawl back into my corner only to find the fireplace-man coming over. "Excuse me, are you -" "Yes I am," I say with a broad, fake grin. "I am and I always will be." "And are you -?" "Very much so." "So do you want to get something to -" "Drink? A whole bottle, my friend." He smiles broadly and vanishes. And I see Scully fall into a blistering laughter. Okay, so that was not a good idea. You see, this beautiful, gorgeous bulk of a man is obviously not the type to leave you alone once he thinks you might be a suitable partner. By the time we finish that bottle, I know all about him. Single after a ten year relationship, looking for a new partner and very loyal to him. Etc. etc. Me and my big mouth. I should have just shut up and take it as a man. Not literally, mind you. I groan when he starts talking about his former boyfriend for the twentieth time. Geez, he yaks like Phoebe did when she was drunk back in Oxford. Blah I want to blah babble, blah. It all sounds the same. In the end I'm so bored that I hardly notice Scully dancing very sensually with Pat. When I do, my eyes pop out of their sockets. Ooh, interesting. Damn it, Scully. Stop feeding me these visions! Finally Mr. Yackedie-Yack gives up. "Well, goodnight," he says with a sad look on his face. Poor boy. Man, am I glad when the last crowd is finally parting and leaving. We are left alone with Pat and the gorgeous girlfriend. Scully keeps on hugging her former classmate. I really need to consider my ideas on my partner's sexuality. "See you tomorrow!" she sings. "Erm, weren't we staying here?" I ask. She laughs. "Mulder, I lied. Let's go." Flushed and frustrated I walk after her outside. I don't know where our hotel is because we came straight here after leaving the vacation house on the Vineyard where we stayed for two nights resting up after a long week. All of our stuff is still in the car. She's not going to the car though, she's walking into the other direction. "Where are you heading now?" I ask tiredly. "The beach. I want to feel the sand between my toes." Before I know it, she walks into the direction of the water and kicks off her Prada shoes. She steps into the water and lets it wash over her feet and legs. I stand there in silence and look at this woman that seems so very different from the one that works with me. "Come on, Mulder! Kick off your shoes!" she beckons and I obey. I shrug when I wade barefoot into the ice cold water and hold my breath. "Scully, this is damn cold!" "I know!" she cries out, "isn't this super?" "If this is your idea of super, I tend to agree," I laugh. "Good! Loosen up!" She wades towards me and I notice that the hem of her dress is soaking wet. God, she smells so gorgeous. I just want to rip her clothes off and shag her right there. Who cares that we're in Provincetown? Shagging is shagging. She pulls off my tie and throws it in the water. "Hey, you gave that to me!" "So?" "It's a cute one." "Screw it Mulder. You don't have any cute ties. I always give you boring ones so no one will pay attention to you." "What?" I blink my eyelids. "Oh come on. You're not blind, are you? You, mr. Straight should know that I've got the hots for you and have had so since the day I met you." In my utter surprise I take a step backwards and lose my grip on the pebbles. My foot slips and the other follows and before I know it, I'm on my ass sitting on the pebbles, soaked to the core. "Mulder!" Scully roars with laughter as she drops on me, into the water, and I have this particular, interesting view on her cleavage. Oh brother. And then her mouth is on top of mine and her tongue is exploring it. This is turning out to be an X-Rated movie and I don't give a damn. My hands roam over her body and I know that she'll be very embarrassed when the booze wears off. Who cares? "Let's go," she speaks hoarsely and sensually and pulls me up. Next thing I know I'm out of the water and walking on the beach and our shoes are still there somewhere. Her Pradas were worth a month's wages and she doesn't care. Oh brother. We are walking barefoot back to Pat's house and then past it, towards the small hotel that's only two houses down the road. That little brat! I roar with laughter. She smiles and grins. "Isn't this a romantic moon?" "Very," I say, and I am dazzled by this evening. Her presence here in my arms, her beauty, her grace and above all the opportunity to do something about it all. It seems unreal. I must be dreaming. This cannot be happening. We are barefoot, soaking wet and ready to go. We walk into the hotel where the night clerk is dozing off behind the small counter. Scully grins evil and bangs her hand on the bell. Not once, but three times. The clerk shoots up, then drops off his chair and lands on his ass on the cold tiles. By the time he's recovered from his fall, we're laughing our asses off. I do try to keep a straight face when he takes in our wet clothes and hair. "Our keys, please," Scully says, stretching her hand. Confused he gives both of them to her. She leans forward and pecks him. "Thanks, buddy." By the time we're up the stairs, the clerk is still standing there completely numbed up. "Having fun?" I ask wittily. She dangles the key to her room in front of me. "So, what do you say?" I ain't saying no! I follow her inside her room, smack the door behind me, and watch as she walks up to the bed. "Shower or bed?" she asks sheepishly, and suddenly I feel very awkward. I am about to see my partner naked! I mean, I saw her naked before but never this way. Never because she wants me to. "I don't know," I say. "Nervous, Agent Mulder?" "You betcha." "How about the bed?" "Okay." She goes over and sits on it, and pats on the sheets. "Come on, don't be a shy boy now." I walk over. Here I am: Agent Mulder, the coolest agent in the world, ready to hit the sack with his brilliant, every so beautiful partner. I forget all the rules, all the promises, all the ideas. This is irreversible. This is us, doing the wild thing. This is, the truth. I want this. She wants it. So why not? I brace myself and walk over to her, and get ready to jump her. And then, I cry out. I really, honestly, genuinely, cry out! You see, en route to the bed, my bare left foot suddenly experienced a close encounter ... with Scully's little iron suitcase! "Oh bloody hell, damn it, geez, my god, oh fuck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I am forward, on the bed, with my nose delved into the bedspread, clutching my foot. Oh man, this hurts! My two little toes feel like they've cracked on the spot, broken to a core, with nothing left for me to do but cry out in sheer pain. And Scully? She lies on the bed roaring with laughter! "Oh Mulder, you crack me up!" All I can do is wince and cry out. At long last, when I think I'm going to pass out in pure pain, she seems to understand I'm actually serious. She moves up and wipes the tears from her eyes. "Mulder, what's up?" I look at her with the look of a dying man. "My foot," I groan. "What the hell did you do?" "Your fucking suitcase." "Oh? Oh." Suddenly she understands. "Oh don't tell me you hit your foot against it." "Uh bloody huh!" "Okay. Oh dear." "Help?" "Where does it hurt?" "My toes!!!" "Which ones? Get your hands out of the way, Mulder, I need to see." She starts pulling my hands away from my foot. Here I am, lying in a very ridiculous position with her hands touching mine. And then pulling them away. And then going over my foot, turning my body in the process so she can take a good look. "Mulder, there's nothing to see down there," she groans. "Which area?" I quip, biting my lip in sheer pain. "Very funny. Stop acting like a baby. There's nothing wrong with your toes." "Like hell there isn't." I refuse to give in even though the toes really don't seem damaged. It does feel that way though. "Come on, I'll help you inside the bathroom. Let's get some cold water on your foot." "I can't walk." "Sure you can!" "No, I can't." I refuse to give in to her orders and lie on the bed, still clutching the toes that seem to have been ripped off and thrown into the ocean. "Okay then." She disappears into the bathroom and returns with a glass of cold water, normally used for brushing your teeth. I'm wondering if she'll pluck off my toes and put them in the glass, and then she just throws it over my foot. It stings but feels quite good actually. "Is that your way of performing medicine these days?" I ask. "Only on whiny men." "Look, my toes are turning red. That's not normal." "Of course it is, you hit them!" "Then help me!" "You're not hurt! You can move them. There's nothing wrong." "Like hell there isn't," I groan and try to slip off the bed, self-pity galore. "Hey, where are you limping?" "To bed." "But ... but us?" "Another time," I whine. "Do they really hurt that much, Mulder?" I look at my foot and the toes seem to change colour as we speak. "They hurt," I moan. "Okay? They weally weally huwt." "Awww, baby talk? "Yes," I whine again. "Okay then, let's go see a doctor." "You are a doctor!" "A real one, I mean." "No, it'll pass," I say. She sighs. "Mulder, make up your mind!" "I'll go get some sleep, okay?" "And ... what about ... ?" I lift my foot. "You can peck my toes." "Yuck." "Sowwy." "So what now?" she asks, slowly sobering up. "Now I am going to bed, and try to ignore the throbbing sensation in my foot. How does that sound?" She looks disappointed but has no other choice than to do follow my lead. I limp/walk/waggle/whatever to my room and she follows, not supporting me. I think she doesn't believe the foot hurts like a bitch. I don't care. I just want to get some sleep now and ignore the prickling sensations. So this was not supposed to happen. Who cares, right? Needless to say I spend the rest of the night in bed. Alone, depressed, and hurting. Scully is in her own room and she hasn't offered to stay with me. I think she thinks I'm being a baby. But every time I look at the foot, the toes seem to change coloring. And finally, when they are a deep dark purple, around six in the morning, I crawl out of bed and knock on the door between our rooms. It takes a while before she appears with her hair going all over the place and her eyes drooping. "What?" she asks. I point at my foot. "Look." "So?" "They're purple!" "Oh." She looks again, and then her eyes open further. "Oh, they are purple indeed." "Now what?" "Get me to a doctor." "Okay then." She groans and I hobble behind her to her room. I know she's pissed but I don't care. I'm the one hurting here. I sit on the bed while she quickly changes and by the time she returns, my toes are blueish. This is not good. "Do you have shoes?" "Nope. Can't put it over my foot." "Okay, let's go then." We limp and walk to the lobby. She presses the button and we wait in silence until we go downstairs. At the counter the same clerk is waiting for us. She asks him where she can find a doctor. "Oh, if you want I can get him to come here." "I think his foot needs X-Rays, so, ..." "We have a local hospital here. Let me show you." He goes outside and points to a building only two houses down. Duh! It's in the centre of town. I hobble there. There is a very small ER reception area. Scully explains how I busted my foot hitting an iron case. The nurse nods sympathetically. "Let's see if we can do something about it." She returns with a wheelchair. I sit down wearily and allow her to put my foot up. Then we go into a cubicle and the waiting starts. Scully glances at her watch several times. "They're definitely in no hurry here." I groan and ignore the throbbing, aching feeling in my foot. Finally, a man appears. I hold my breath. It's the man from the party! You know, the one standing near the fireplace trying to get me interested all night. Oh crap. "So," he starts, "we meet again." "I guess so." He glares at Scully. "Your friend?" "My partner." "Oh." Disappointment washes over his head, and I instantly know he thought I meant something else by that. Uh oh. I hope he's not going to rip off my toes now. Indeed, when he touches my feet, I am eager to pull it away. "Your friend, Mulder?" Scully asks. "The party," I say, knowing that she has enjoyed the doctor's little flirting session with me earlier on. "I see. Perhaps I should leave the room." "Stay!" I call out. If I could have grabbed her by the arm, I would have done so. "So," the doctor says. "Your little toes do not seem well. What did you do?" "Hit them." "I see." He wiggles them gently. I wince. His hand rests on my foot longer than I would care for. I don't pull away. "X-Rays. I don't think they're broken though. They seem hurt at the most. Let's get you moving." Before I know it I'm sitting on top of a table while the X-Ray machine is doing its work. The doctor watches me intently. Scully watches him. And I oggle both of them. Oh the joys of being here. "So," the doctor says after checking the results. "Nothing broken. You will have some pain though for a short while. Let me tape the toes for you." While he works (very gentle, I might add), he doesn't say a word. I know he's angry because of the party. I don't dare to look at him. Poor guy. Here I was, messing about with his feelings while my mind has been set on Scully all the time. Ah well, there are worse things in life I suppose. "That's it then," he says, mildly disappointed. I look at him and nod gratefully, but reassuringly. "Yes, that's it." "You sure you're not -?" "I lied. I'm not -" "Okay. I see. Alright." "I'm sorry," I say, "I wish you a good man." "Thanks. You too. A woman, that is. This one, maybe?" And Scully? She actually flushes! When we sort of limp out of the ER, I on slippers given to me by the nurse, she looks at me. "So," she says. "Does it still hurt?" "I need comfort," I retort. "Female comfort." "Hmm, I think I can arrange that." "Are you sure you want to arrange it?" "Definitely." I look at her, and then smile broadly. "Do you mind putting last night's dress back on so I can strip it?" She laughs. "I've got much more plans than that." Hmm, I don't think I'll be doing anymore crying today. What do you think? End