From: Alice In Wonderland Date: Sat, 13 Mar 1999 03:31:44 +0000 Subject: NEW: "The Joy Of Phone Sex" TITLE: The Joy Of Phone Sex AUTHOR: Alice In Wonderland DISCLAIMER: They aint mine, they aint making me rich. RATING: PG, if that. AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fiction was in answer to yet another challenge at the Consortium site, and the address, if you fancy reading any more of our fiction, is: http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Corridor/1469/ What we had to include were a Bon-Jovi song, silver-sequined covered combat boots, exfoliating body wash, an oversized flannel shirt, CSM, Degas' ballet dancer series (I was as stumped as you!), and a Nawlins I spoiler. (Nawlins is a long (but not as long as its soon to be published sequel) fic you can find on the Consortium site. It was late. He glanced up at the clock in this office (he couldn't call it "his" office, it wasn't his office, Weasel Boy was in his office). It was ten at night - Scully had gone two hours ago. On the next desk along one lone warrior also still remained, writing into a report, his head nodding spastically along to the Walkman he was plugged into. Mulder suspected that the tinny tones he could hear might have been Bon Jovi, but he was unsure. He wondered, idly, if he shot at the Walkman whether he'd hit it first try. He looked back down at his work. The carbonised fragments mocked him, an unreadable jigsaw. He tried arranging them again, sighed, and then threw down the tweezers. Her number sprang over his mobile, and rang. "Hello." He was momentarily stumped. He'd rang her on a whim. What to say, what to say- well start with, "Hi Scully." "Mulder? What is it?" Indeed, what was it? "Um-" he floundered. "Do you talk to everyone on the phone like that? What is it? What about conversation, banter, polite social pleasantries?" "What?" She sounded more brusque than usual. "I mean, you really have to work on your technique-" "Mulder, what the hell is it?" "Oh, um, I was just working on the-" he glanced down at the burnt pieces of paper on his desk. His eyes scanned it for some fragment of information, some name, anything- "Van Gelit file." "You were? Why?" "Well, you might be happy with all of our hard work consigned to the flames, but personally-" "You didn't phone me about the Van Gelit case." Said Scully. "I didn't?" "No. You phoned me because you were bored and probably everybody else has gone home by now, and you just wanted to pester someone." "I'm pestering you?" "Of course you are." But underneath he could practically see her smile. "How are you getting on with it all?" "Well-" he rubbed hard at his temple. "I'm pretty bored." "Then go home." "That's also boring. And anyway, I have to do this." "You don't HAVE to do it, Mulder." "I know, I know- But who else would I "pester" if it weren't you?" "Do you seriously want an answer to that question? What about the Luscious Lovelies at Hot Nights?" "Who? Oh. Even if I did indulge in that sort of thing, Scully, I could hardly have them show up on my phone account here. Misuse of federal communications, and all." "Indeed. I'm surprised that the FBI doesn't provide a service like that." "Well, you could always provide it. What are you wearing, Scully?" "Get out of here, pervert." "I think you should roll with it Scully, you might turn out to have a hidden talent for this kind of thing." He was surprised to hear her pause. "You think so?" Whoa. "Well, you never know till you try-" He glanced over at Bon Jovi man. "Hmm. Well, at the moment, I'm sat here in my bathrobe, about to get into the shower." "Oh, very promising-" "I'm going to take off that robe-" she continued, investing her voice with an extra huskiness, "And let the steaming hot water rush all over my body-" "Um-" He stole another panicked look at Bon Jovi man. Bon Jovi man looked back at him curiously. "I'm going to rub myself down, really hard, with this cinnamon scented exfoliating body wash I've got, until my skin is pink-" He could no longer speak. "And then I'm going to let the falling water sluice it all off-." It seemed to Mulder, in his paranoid state, that Bon Jovi man had surreptitiously turned down the volume on his walkman, the better to overhear this conversation. "Ah-" "And then I'm going to towel myself dry with this big old towel in my bathroom, and then cover every inch of myself in moisturising body lotion, and then rub it in real good-" "Um-" He was fiddling with his pencil in a peculiarly suggestive way. Noticing this, he dropped it. "And then I'm going to go into my bedroom-" "Uh-huh-" "And put on this old flannel shirt of mine, which is nice and soft next to my bare skin-" "Ulp." "And then-" "Yeah?" He whispered. Bon Jovi man was definitely staring now, but Mulder simply was past caring. "I'm going to lace up my silver-sequinned combat boots and spend the night discoing away in the Voodoo Lounge with our cigarette smoking friend." She finished flatly, in her normal voice. His sudden laughter made the eavesdropping Bon Jovi man jump. "Yeah, right. Thanks Scully-. That was very- instructive." "My pleasure. Have you pestered me for long enough now?" "I have," he smiled. "I have. Speak to you tomorrow." "Goodnight, Mulder." She said, her voice softening. He smiled at the phone for a second after it clicked off. He reached into his desk drawer, stealing another look at the man on the other desk. The Bon Jovi man was staring straight ahead, a pantomime expression of innocence on his face. Inside the drawer were a few treasures he'd salvaged from the office. Laying near the back, under a hail of loose thumbtacks, half used erasers, and a staple gun, was what he was looking for. It was an art card, a Degas reproduction - "Blue Dancers". He opened it. Dear Mulder, I wanted to get you "Absinthe Drinker" by Degas but the girls in blue will just have to do. Hope your shoulder gets better soon. Love, Scully He sighed, folded it up and put it back, before shutting the drawer and staring off into space, the burnt file fragments momentarily forgotten. It was late. Scully felt strangely wired. For all she'd been having a laugh at his expense, they'd both been having a laugh, she had the distinct impression she'd been turning Mulder on. And then, at the last minute, she'd chickened out and segued into that remark about the Voodoo Lounge. She sighed restlessly, stabbing at the ice cream she was eating out of the tub with a spoon. What to do, what to do. She'd go back into work tomorrow and everything would be the same as usual. Just the same. It was comforting and depressing at the same time. The phone rang. "Um, Scully? If I gave you my credit card number, would you do that again?" Oh God. What to do, what to do- THE END