From: Ten Date: Fri, 29 May 1998 23:57:41 +1000 (EST) Subject: "So Near, Sofa-r II: Imbedded" (1/1) by Ten I would love feedback on my work! TITLE: "So Near, Sofa-r II: Imbedded" (1/1) BY: Ten E-MAIL ADDRESS: kristena@ocean.com.au CATEGORY: H, V, R RATING: high R for adult situations and potential violence SUMMARY: Mulder's bed isn't going to take all this lying down... TIMESPAN/SPOILER WARNING: None. Thanks to Macspooky, Debbie, Ainon, Gerry, Crash and Frogdoggie. Apologies for the wait for the sequel, but as some of you commented, number one clearly showed how much I needed to be locked up - so the authorities did, and this is the first time they've loosened the straightjacket enough so I can type! DISCLAIMER: The X-Files and the characters of Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting, and are used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, no profit will be gained. The X-Files: "So Near, Sofa-r II: Imbedded" (1/1) by Ten, written 24-28/5/98 I am not jealous. The COUCH was the jealous one. Not me. I am the one with the decent head - headboard. Whatever. Jealousy is too petty an emotion. I am ANGRY. Sick to my springs. He - my 'owner' - brought HER home today. He often does. Work partners. Today was different though. Word spread through the furniture like termites - not that the loud moans and gasps and rending of material didn't travel well - it wasn't files they were examining and instead of their briefcases, they were opening up more intimate briefs... In the living room. They were going to get down to it IN THE LIVING ROOM? Excuse me, but how romantic is that? I'm queen-sized, I'm comfy, I'm made for love and sleep - And those two tumbled onto the couch. The couch was upset at this development. The abrupt loss of her importance in his life. But what about ME? He's hardly ever slept on me! I'm not prim, but I assumed the enthusiastic test bouncing the man subjected me to in the store and the absence of wedding ring meant that he would be shuffling women through my sheets like cards. He lives like a monk. I am a Queen, not a wet-brained water bed! I have breeding, but none has happened here. Ships get anointed with champagne...I didn't even get a solitary blonde! The man literally only WATCHES threesomes. Oh, a few sunflower seeds have been scattered on me... Left as they were, it is a wonder they didn't use me as a seedbed and sprout. I am only pressed into service as a space for him to lay his clothes out on as he packs and unpacks, or sorts his laundry. That is beneath me - I'm supposed to be BENEATH him!!! Instead, I'm secondary to a couch... Then the couch decided she would rather fall on her sword than be party to this disgrace, so she self-destructed, taking out everything she could in the room with her deadly springs. Though jealousy made for poor aim. Lover boy and partner remained intact. And now I can hear them coming down the hallway. To use me... Ooooo, I feel so cheapened by the thought of it! He's never even made the bed, but now he expects to lie in it?! Even when sick and supposedly bedridden, he's recuperated on the couch! Couch-ridden? But, take heart, they may not get any further than the hall, if the amount of noise I'm hearing is any indication - worse than one of his videos, quite frankly. No, they're coming - I mean, as in approaching the bedroom. But I have a plan. There is no way I will endure such callous treatment. This means war. And, since I am not jealous, my aim will be true. No pillow talk for these two. Hee hee hee. But first I must lay in wait. Patience. They enter. They don't just walk in. Oh no, they are doing an odd shuffle/waltz, clinging to each other, attempting to remove their final items of apparel. "Mulder, Mulder...now! Please..." Good heavens - against the dresser? Really now! "In a second, Dana, love. Just a second..." He disentangles himself enough to move closer to me, to reach out his arm and sweep some clothing and files and junk to the floor. He cluttered my surface, but look how he worships her surface! Running his hand over her skin and hair. If he'd do that, smoothing my sheets, I might be a more amenable bed of roses. I used to think he preferred leather to my plain and sensible cotton - what with all those videos and the couch - but now look at him! How she clings! Hands everywhere. I think the motion is making him dizzy. This is a nightmare... Wait, Wardrobe - what are you doing? "Owwwwwwwwwww!" "Dana, are you okay?" "The wardrobe hit me!" "That happens sometimes. The catch on the door is faulty and it swings out. You might have a bit of a bruise, but it'll be nothing compared to the hickeys I've given you." Charming. Wardrobe, I appreciate the backup, but I said I can handle it. "Oooooooooooo, Mulder, this isn't fair!" "What do you mean?" "This is a conspiracy! Your furniture is against us!" "What?" Hmmm, she does have some psychic talent, so she could be picking up our vibes, but I just think she's having a massive hissy fit. She's 'horny', as they say. "We were so worried about what the Government might do to us, but it's your furniture that's standing in our way, and I've had enough!" she wails. Melodramatic little two leg. Enough to ruffle my blankets. "Well, I HAVEN'T had enough. I haven't had ANY!" he declares. He scoops her up in his arms. Strides forward and leaps onto me like I'm a lifeboat. I could at this point break clean in two to dampen the mood, but that won't guarantee their deaths. Instead I hope the massive cloud of dust they've stirred up will choke them. They don't even notice. I guess they're used to finding each other in dark places, so this must be a breeze. Plenty of nauseating "Oh yes"s and "God"s and moans and such fill the air along with the dust. But that is all right. I bide my time. The ultimate masterplan will soon be enacted. I coil my springs expectantly. Bedlam cometh. A few minutes of foreplay and such. Ho hum. Come on, come on! And stop rolling around so much, you'll ruin my aim. I'm hoping...ahhh, good - missionary position! That makes it easier. He's just about to - They look deep into each other's eyes. "Fill me, Mulder. Now..." I'll oblige, two-legged bedsore, but not in the way you think. Time to spring into action, or rather, PUT a spring INTO the action. Into a rather prized part of Lover Boy's anatomy. Fox will become Vixen. I will revel in his girlie scream, in how pleasure becomes pain. Then, as they realise, I will fire every other spring in my arsenal. Unlike the couch, there will be no cushions taking the impact for them... Make your bed and die in it! My headboard will stand in good bedstead as your headstone. Good night, die tight. My, it's hot... Funny, I feel very weak... I can't...concentrate.. No... I try to release the spring, but instead of 'sproing', it...it's just sagging...going limp... They're generating too much heat! Oh my...I'm melting...I'm melting...my mattress is anyway...though there should be enough of my frame left to do them some damage! But my headboard is being thudded against the wall. Again and again. Hard. Bone-shattering hard. Wood- shattering hard. I'm coming to pieces... These bedbugs don't notice. They're not affected. Is that why the couch's springs missed? And in the ultimate of insultive bad form and ill- breeding, as I go, they come. THE END. (Back into the straightjacket?) With heartfelt apologies to Ainon, who was cheering for the bed...