"Forbidden Thoughts"
by Marie Endres joemimi@prodigy.net


Classification: MSR, Scully Angst

Rating: Poetic "R"

Spoilers: "Pilot", "Squeeze"

Summary: Scully has a little trouble sending 
her first report to AD Skinner

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully aren't mine. They 
belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and 
Fox Broadcasting.

Author's Notes and Thanks to follow





"Forbidden Thoughts"
         



         The screen in front of her glowed a 
soothing blue. If not for the demanding, 
blinking cursor, she actually might have been 
lulled by its mere presence. In the midst of 
all the new experiences that whirled around 
her, Scully's pc was a small anchor to what was 
important in her life, friends and family 
members, with whom e-mail provided instant 
relationship maintenance.

         Tonight, however, she really did need 
to get to work. She needed to get this case 
update to AD Skinner immediately, or she would 
hear about it. She had been sending regular 
reports to AC Blevins, letting him know her 
impressions of Mulder and his work, doing as 
she was told. Now, she would be reporting 
directly to the Assistant Director. This first 
report that she would e-mail him would be 
unique to say the least.

         They were on this Tooms case 
unofficially now, but still she must report her 
findings. She had to admit that Mulder just may 
have something here, though. The idea of a 
hundred year old, liver eating serial killer, 
was a bit of a stretch, but there were the 
fingerprints. . .Ah, the other day, while 
looking at the slides of the prints, he had his 
glasses on. He looked so, well, scholarly, not 
spooky. It gave him an air of respectability 
that his wild ties and even more wild theories 
did not. That, and they made him look yummy.

         Concentrate, Dana, she scolded 
herself. Get started and maybe you can still 
respond to that note from Bill. Yeah, like 
that's a motivation, she thought.


          She began to type, her fingers 
clicking out a familiar rhythm, picking up 
where she left off yesterday:

          "While the results of the lip 
detector test were inconclusive, Agent Mulder 
began to surmise-" Wait. Something in the last 
sentence did not look right, Scully thought as 
she was double checking what she had just 
typed. On second glance, she caught her error. 
Better go back and change that "p" to an "e" or 
risk a few raised eyebrows. OK, where was I? 
she wondered as she collected her thoughts.

         "Agent Mulder began to surmise that 
there was physical evidence to support his 
theory that Eugene Victor Tooms was indeed the 
perpetrator in the various attacks. Agent 
Mulder's tongue is strong at the moment. With 
some further investigation, a more logical 
explanation for Tooms' unique ability to 
navigate through narrow areas may come to 
light."

         Oh my God.  I * have * lost my mind, 
surmised Scully as she looked at the innuendo 
and typo laden paragraph she had just composed. 
What is wrong with me? she questioned. Maybe 
she needed a little break from the computer, 
some ice water, perhaps to cool her thoughts. A 
quick walk to her kitchen supplied the 
necessary libation and she set the glass down 
next to her keyboard.

         At times like this when ideas seemed 
to be coming from every direction, Scully would 
sometimes journal her musings, to keep them in 
line, to quiet them. She knew it was futile to 
force the task at hand, the report screaming to 
be done. And so she decided to let her 
forbidden thoughts have a place, a transient 
spot to just be. After all, she could delete it 
in the blink of an eye.


         "I think I know what's wrong with me. 
My 'problem' is 6ft tall, irritating at times 
and sexy as hell. He's my partner, and while I 
know that the Bureau doesn't forbid 
relationships between partners, I also know 
what a bad idea it would be to start something. 
Yet the thought of him touching me in a less 
than professional manner is tempting indeed. 
His fingers, elegant for a man, touching my 
cheek, caressing me, softly. He would be tender 
and slow, but focussed and determined. I can 
picture him, taking control and me letting him, 
for once. It would be good to just give into 
something sensual rather than logical. My first 
active response would be to run my thumb along 
his lower lip, to feel the fullness, the soft 
pillow there. Perhaps I would raise myself up 
to place a friendly nip.

         I would feel my breath quicken as he 
lowered his mouth to mine. The mixture of 
pressure and gentle exploration would be 
dizzying. His tongue would work magic with 
mine, driving us to want much more.

         His body would be solidly pressed 
against mine, making his arousal a secret he 
could no longer conceal. I would not want him 
to hide, I don't want to hide. I would want to 
be the woman I was created to be, not just a 
woman sitting in on a meeting of the boys' 
club. I would want him to see me as that woman, 
soft, curved, life-giving. And he would. He 
would look at me with an alchemy all his own, a 
spell capable of changing any resistance into 
assent. His eyes would lock on mine, never 
looking away, going away to some past apart 
from us. He would see just 'here'; I would want 
just 'now'. 

         He would run a careful finger down and 
across my clavicle to the warm valley between 
my breasts, the same place he lightly brushed 
today while adjusting my necklace. It was a 
necklace that once held my grandmother's golden 
band.  It was a symbol of commitment, one which 
I never made and never thought I would want to. 
Could Mulder be the one to make me change my 
mind, his touch a beginning promise?  I would 
reach up to clasp his hand to the fullness 
there, to cup it and hold it, to feel the swell 
of it in his palm. He would be emboldened by my 
encouragement. Drawing me closer, always 
closer, he would sink to his knees, pulling me 
down to be at his eye level, his lap, my only 
support. He would quickly divest me of my 
blouse, nuzzling my neck and then my breasts. 
His mouth would do a slow, wet trek from the 
center of my chest and then outward, first to 
capture one nipple under the satin of my 
camisole, and then the other. I can practically 
hear my own gasps as he would begin to gently 
nip at the hardened peaks. His name would come 
from my lips as an involuntary moan. I would 
not be able to control myself and that would be 
good.

         I would feel the heat, the hardness of 
him under me and it would be such a turn-on to 
know I did that to him. I would know that I 
affect him in some way, that there is a change 
in him because of me. Grinding myself down on 
him, he would tighten his arms around me, 
holding me there. Our mouths would meet again; 
this time, mine crushing onto his. I would 
gently push him down until I was above him. 
Feeling the length, the warmth of him beneath 
me, would somehow go beyond sex for me. Who he 
is, what he is becoming in my life, is so much 
more than merely physical.

         More of our clothes would be shed 
until that inevitable moment when the hardness 
of him would seek the sanctuary of my warmth 
and softness. It would be much like how he 
sought my listening ear that night in Oregon 
when he first told me of his quest, slowly at 
first, then passionately reckless- that night 
with words, this future night with his body. 
Again and again, he would thrust up into me, 
opening my body and my soul to his delightful 
intrusion.

         The two would become one flesh. I have 
always thought that to be a lovely piece of 
prose, but I think I'm beginning to understand 
the extreme possibility of it, yet one that is 
within arm's reach. While we may be two, we 
move as one, bringing out the best in each 
other, urging one another on to greater 
heights. Lovemaking would be no different. Our 
climaxes would anoint us in a joy and release 
we had not truly known previously. It would be 
an intense pleasure mixed with a delicious, 
slight pain that would bring us to truth."


         The shrill ring of her cell phone 
caused Scully to literally jump. Her hands, 
once typing, flew out to catch her water glass 
that threatened to tip from the jolt to the 
desk. It was too late, however. The contents 
quickly spilled onto her keyboard. Desperate to 
clean it up, she leaned to grab some tissues 
from the box that sat next to the mouse. Ah, 
got it, she thought. And she had, her forearm 
touching down the left click button, moving it 
and its on-screen arrow ever-so-slightly from 
its original alignment over "Delete" to "Send."

         As the screen changed from "Reply" 
back to her inbox messages, Scully realized 
what she had done. She no longer cared who 
might be at the other end of that still-ringing 
phone-Ghandi, Jesus, Mulder. It didn't matter 
anymore. All that did was finding a way to 
retrieve the fantasy-filled e-mail she just 
sent her direct superior. If only she knew some 
computer-hacking geeks; they would be able to 
help her track it down. Like she would ever 
know anyone that computer savvy.

         The phone continued to ring. She rose 
in anger from her chair and ran to answer it. 
Perhaps God would send her some sort of miracle 
on the other end, in answer to her unspoken 
prayer for help.

         "Scully," she practically screamed 
into the phone.

         "Oh Agent Scully, I'm sorry to bother 
you. Your partner must have given me your 
number by mistake when he was giving me his new 
number," said the apologetic voice on the other 
end.

         "Who is this?" she said with a 
demanding tone.

         "Melvin Frohike," the voice replied.

         "Oh," she said while still thinking 
about her little e-mail problem.

         "I'll just call him at home. Sorry to 
bother you; you have a lovely voice, you know," 
he said with much fawning.

         Geez, what a loser, she thought.
"Yes, good night, um, thank you."


         Well, any hope for Divine intervention 
was shot now. Her e-mail was flying across the 
telephone lines, and was probably already at 
its destination, the property now of AD Walter 
Skinner. If only she could have immediately 
found a way to retrieve it. If only.


          And Scully hung her head and cried.


         
END


Feedback: I'd be honored, just don't consult 
Scully for e-mailing instructions! 
joemimi@prodigy.net

 

Author's Notes: This story was written for 
Alcott as an early birthday present, using her 
elements of Naked! Mulder, a tissue box, and 
Scully with a gold ring that was not her own. 
May this next year be as dear as you are, kind 
Alcott!

Many, many thanks go out to Georgia for her 
precious friendship and treasured beta help. 
Also to Sue for being an incredible writing 
partner and friend. Your suggestions helped 
make this story possible!