From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 24 May 2001 14:03:43 -0000
Subject: Of Ruminants and Men by OneMillionAndNine 1/1 (PG) by OneMillionNine
Source: direct

Reply To: kokotheuberchimp@hotmail.com


Title: Of Ruminants and Men
Author: OneMillionAndNine
Feedback: kokotheuberchimp@hotmail.com  
http://www.geocities.com/onemillionandnine/ 
Rating: PG - As with all my fic, don't read this 
unless you check with your mom first to make sure 
it's okay.  Unless you're my kid - then I say "No! No 
freaking way can you read this!"
Category: missing scene Rain King, almost PWP, humor
Summary: What 'is' Mulder's religious affiliation, 
anyway?
Disclaimer: I am not Chris Carter; I know how to 
pronounce Samhain. 
Archive : If you want it, but there are some who 
might question your judgment...me, for one. 
Note: I wrote this as a respite from a HUGE piece I'm 
working on. I hope it provides a pleasant chuckle for 
someone else as well. If not, it will just prove 
everyone from my meat life right when they say I have 
no sense of humor.
Thanks: To MaybeAmanda - you light up my life and 
fill my fic with grammar and punctuation.

*************************


A cow.  

He should have been expecting it. Animals had a 
certain tendency to present themselves as agents of 
fate when it came to his relationship with Scully.  
Or conspicuous lack there of.  

Pomeranians and bees were only the beginning - after 
a serious consideration of his life, it occurred to 
him that perhaps the animal kingdom as a whole was 
carrying out some sort of vendetta.  He had no idea 
what he had done to deserve it.  He wasn't exactly an 
animal lover - but he certainly didn't wish his 
fellow creatures any harm.  He'd never been the sort 
of child to burn ants with a magnifying glass, much 
less engage in any of the more exotic animal 
tortures.  In fact, in first grade, he had bloodied 
the nose of a boy who persisted in tearing 
grasshopper after grasshopper limb from limb.  After 
the second wriggling legless torso, he'd sworn to 
tear Michael Foster apart in the selfsame way.  

It must have been something he'd done in a previous 
life. 

The cow should not have surprised him.  It was simply 
part of an on-going pattern that led to the night's 
events.  

He really had intended to sleep in the car.  At 
least, he had until she demanded he sleep in her 
room.  Then, cur that he was, he leapt at his 
keeper's command.  Sit, Mulder. Stay, Mulder. Sleep 
in a Chair and Be Thrilled About It, Mulder.  

He really had not intended to keep her awake.  He 
just couldn't get comfortable.  Neither had he wanted 
to tap both rhythmically and compulsively on the 
armrests.  It was not his fault.  He had not chosen 
to have 'Jungle Boogie' caught on a continuous loop 
through his head.  

How could he have expected himself to refuse when she 
told him to "Get in the damn bed so I can get some 
sleep!"? 

Of course, her first act, once he got under the 
covers, was to turn her back to him. 

It was interesting, really.  Not exactly an 
invitation to debauchery, but neither was it 'touch 
me and die.'  He liked it.  He could live with it.  
Hell, he could sleep on the bed next to it.  He was 
damned near ecstatic.  

He drifted to sleep blessing the cow.  Our Airborne 
Bovine of Fortuitous Landings.  He'd erect a place of 
worship in right here in Kroner.  He'd start his own 
religion, with holy days of obligation for the World 
Series.  His church would have stained glass 
masterpieces in honor of Plan 9 and the Knicks.  
Instead of hymns, they'd just tune the radio to the 
oldies station and dance to Elvis in the aisles.

Feeling Scully's body heat radiating like his own 
personal sun, he was really starting to love that 
cow.  Maybe it would win a better incarnation the 
next time around.  

Fox Mulder wasn't sure what would constitute a better 
incarnation.  Probably not human.  Cat.  It would be 
nice to be a cat.  Catch mice.  Sleep anywhere.  Rub 
up against strangers without anyone thinking less of 
you.  Have a screaming fuck in the alley without 
the authorities being alerted.  No games -- locate 
the female in estrus, mount, and inseminate.   

He smiled from his edge of the bed and imagined 
sinking his teeth into the back of Scully's neck.  
She would taste delicious.  

He fell back easily into thoughts of his Cow Church.  
Maybe they could paint a nice Holstein pattern on the 
outside in homage to the Most Sacred Quadruped.  If 
people said it looked like a giant Gateway box, screw 
them - it would be. . it would be. . . ah hah!  It 
would be the First Church of Mulder, and funerary 
services would involve flinging the deceased 
in a catapult, so he would be propelled upward, to 
await entrance into his new life as a house-pet in 
the arms of a soft little Scully.

Or maybe that was his version of Nirvana, the 
greatest reward imaginable, her light arms draped 
over his side, her leg thrown over his so her hot 
little crotch steamed up against him.  He could only 
think of one thing better.  But that couldn't last 
too long.  So, in its own way, The Eternal Dry Hump  
was better.  

Her face in his neck, lips plying his throat with 
kisses, his hands grasping her breasts - they seemed 
so firm for a deity her age.  And the nipples bigger 
than he thought he remembered from Antarctica.  

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

The pressure in his pulsing cock was painful now.  
The Great Rub was not enough.  He wanted in.

He reached around and held her steady by the waist as 
he began to set up a rough but steady rhythm against 
her.  Wet - he felt real wet on the crotch of his 
sweat pants for the first time in  - god, it felt 
like fucking forever.

The Divine Respite smelled slightly of moisturizer 
and he actually seemed to be salivating.  Pink 
clouds and cherubs, Elvis on heaven's radio, and he'd 
just made She-Who-Must-Be-Placated come.

She was coming.  God, it seemed like her orgasm was 
lasting forever, her shoulders rolling, his name 
murmuring out of her open mouth, her tiny body 
jerking fiercely.  It should have been erotic, but 
it was just scary. 

Because. . .

Oh shit. 

It was real.  

Scully, in her satin pajamas, was wrapped around him 
and shaking.  The look on her face was eerily 
reminiscent or the one he'd seen her wear when 
coming face to face with mutants and madmen.  He 
wondered which she thought he was. 

Oh shit.  

He also must have had a look of terror on his face, 
but had yet to cease grinding into her.

Twenty two seconds later, Scully was locked in the 
bathroom.  

When she emerged, it was as though nothing had 
happened, though neither of them was able to look 
directly at the other for more than a month. 

A month during which Mulder ate a lot of hamburger. 

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