From: Kristi Dorn Date: Tue, 27 Nov 2007 15:30:22 -0600 Subject: Tampering with the Evidence Too by Kristina Source: direct Title: Tampering with the Evidence Too Author: Kristina Email: schmkb27@msn.com Disclaimer: I don't own them, unless watching the episodes and the movie over and over until you know most the lines counts. It doesn't, does it? Rating: R Spoilers: FTF, Unnatural, and other pre-Will bits Summary: Scully's got some issues too. Notes: I wrote most of this. It was inspired by another story, written by an excellent fic writer, who I dare call a friend. Do check out Evan's piece - Tampering with the Evidence - several parts and the dialog in my story were his first. I tweaked it for Scully. I never wrote a fic with someone or as a companion piece to someone's fic and it's been fun! Thanks Evan, for not getting mad when I didn't ask first. Lastly, folks don't dare send feedback to one of us, without sending it to the other. That's not nice. ~X~X~X~ Tampering with the Evidence Too ~X~X~X~ Hey Mulder! Remember that time you showed up at my apartment, middle of the night drunk and without underwear? Expecting me to stop whatever I was doing and fly out to Dallas to save our careers? You had me soaked in 2 minutes flat, and I don't mean the shower I rushed in and out of to fast to handle personal business. Let's not get started on those glasses you so rarely pull out anymore. That look I give you when you pull them down the bridge of your nose, gazing at me over the rims; it has nothing to do with how ridiculous the case may, or may not, sound. That's you, turning me into a bewildered pile of goo, with the help of that voice and two pieces of glass rimmed with metal. I look forward to Mondays now. Weekends seem to drag endlessly without you filling the quiet with sexual innuendos and small jokes. I just can't seem to get enough of you, and I find myself often wishing you'd stop by with a quick road trip or a pair of plane tickets for somewhere farther off. There is just something about being confined beside you, in a car, a plane or the office that gets me worked into a giant bundle of throbbing nerves. And each Monday, when it finally arrives, I take a few extra moments before stepping off the elevator, assuring my blouse buttons are safely tucked into their holes. Knowing full well that when I step into the office, your aftershave will make love to my nose. Had I not taken that extra moment to insure those buttons were closed, I might have lost all sense of control and ripped it completely off when your scent wafted towards me after being separated for two long days. That said of course, if I hadn't taken the extra moment to battle down the fort in the elevator, you might not have added those last two drops on your neck. Quite frankly, it's those last two drops that get me every time. Not too much, not too little, just perfectly Mulder the way it combines with your soap and scent of leather you pick up from the couch. This is of course why I insist on wearing my suit jacket most of the time. Particularly when you start cracking those delicate little sunflower shells open. They hide my nipples which are so often stuck out at attention. Yes Sir! I will let that mouth do whatever it wants to me. Any time. On the concept of any time, I will play baseball with you any day. Either game. If you would ever attempt to take first over lunch hour, I'm sure we'd be home and back at least once before noon had passed. ~X~X~X~ But lunch has me thinking about food. And hot dogs. But I don't dare utter that one out loud, knowing full well he'd tease back. I'm not quite sure what he'd do if I slipped from my chair to the floor rocking my own world in response to such a predictable innuendo. "What do you want to eat for lunch Mulder?" I ask, omitting the part where I threaten to slap his cock into a bun and devour it whole. Or topped with chili. Or with mustard and relish. Of course, I don't say that, even though I wish I had the guts to add, 'what I'd really like to eat for lunch today is you.' "A sandwich," he blurts. "Sounds good to me," I reply, with a smile, trying hard to cover the fact I can't shake the thoughts of him humming and groaning as I lick mustard and relish off his... hot dog. "What kind of sandwich?" I ask immediately, trying desperately to solve the lunch debate, get us on our way outside, and into the cool air, so I can cloak myself in a suit jacket before I poke someone's eye out with my nipples. At least outside I can blame them on the cold weather, rather than the intense hot dog eating cravings. "Um, chicken?" he decides. "Oh yes," I pause, chicken is so much safer than hot dogs, "Chicken. I think I might join you." "Okay," he says, "Shall I go?" I fear he can smell me, as steamed as I've managed to make myself lost and squirming in Mulder-filled thoughts, because he seems tempted to bolt for the door. "I'll come with you." I answer, I'm afraid of what I may do in our office, the bathroom or both while he's off finding food. I pick up my jacket and get to the door, then look back at Mulder still sitting there. "Coming Mulder?" I ask, slipping my jacket on, brushing my nipples ever so slightly in the process and swallow down a soft sigh, as I lean against the doorframe. "Are you okay Mulder?" "Yes Scully," he croaks. "Just got to turn this off." He pauses for a long time, thinking about something and I begin to wonder what on earth is wrong with him today. Perhaps he has some clue as to my situation and is just leading me along out of sick enjoyment. My mind wonders back to the sunflower seeds and the delightful places he could retrieve them from if he stopped leading me along with sick enjoyment, and carried on with plain ol' enjoyment instead. "Mulder! Are you coming?!" I ask frustrated, still leaning against the door, if I don't get out in the cool air pronto, I'm literally going to start dripping down my legs. I need a nice slap of cold air to knock me back into reality. "Uuuugggh!!" he groans. Its sound vibrating in the quiet room and sending a warm gush down into my belly, just before my brain registers what exactly has just happened. Doubled over, teeth clenched and squeezing his eyes shut, he shouts "Fuck!" I'm at his side in an instant, my hand on his back, eyes searching his face, trying to pull him up acting as if I must determine what the hell's the matter with him this time. "Mulder what's wrong?!!" I panic and flush with realization, I've just bore witness to Mulder coming in our office. My face and other parts of my anatomy burn like fire at the thought. Ironic how a simple rush of blood can increase the body temperature of specific areas so rapidly. "Cramp Scully. I just got a cramp in my leg, that's all. Jesus." He insists, the lie apparent to us both. "Let me see, Mulder." I plead, trying to get him to sit up properly in the chair so I can get a good look at what's going on down there if only for my own twisted pleasure. I've got a very good idea what I'll find; I've stolen plenty of glances before. But, since I don't get very many opportunities to fondle Mulder, I'm going to take advantage of the situation while he thinks my 'doctor mode' is still turned on. Dana Scully is turned on too, and I'm going to get a very good look this time under the disguise of Dr Scully. Suddenly I yank Mulder's hands away from his groin and touch him, right there, on my way to his 'cramping' thigh. 'That was no accident Mulder' I think, while biting my lip to keep from tearing his pants off and licking him clean. It's that horrible, guilty and lust filled thought that makes my face flush even deeper. Deeper red I suspect, than I've ever turned in my entire life. A fair trade off I suppose, if I get to 'accidentally' touch Mulder's erect, even if fading, cock. How could I imagine him sucking sunflower out of very interesting places, when he was brewing that in reality just across the desk? I think my investigative skills need to be re-evaluated. We look at each other for a moment and then I say, "I'll get your sandwich Mulder. If you've got a cramp." "Okay Scully. Thanks." He mumbles, laying his head down on the desk inhaling a deep breath. "Chicken, right?" I inquire. He sighs into his blotter. "Yeah, Scully. Chicken." I come back with hot dogs.