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Auto-Erotic Humiliation (2-3)

Pages: 1

9:35 a.m., January 25

FBI Headquarters - Washington, DC

Assistant Director Skinner looked up from the file folder he was holding. "'Stories', Agent Mulder? Is this a joke?"

Mulder glanced at Scully for a second, then turned back. Dark bruises flowered completely around his neck, disappearing into his collar. "No sir.

Stories."

Skinner pulled both reports out and scanned them again, shaking his head. "All right. I'm going to assume these are serious accounts of whatever happened last night and treat this as a murder attempt on one of my agents. This is what you had in mind?" Both agents nodded.

"I couldn't help noticing, Agent Mulder, a few missing facts from your report. For instance, the name of the woman who may have tried to kill you."

Mulder sat up a little straighter. "I would rather not divulge that at this time, sir."

"Well, it makes the investigation just a little bit tougher when I have to be on the lookout for "a blonde woman", Mulder. I'm going to have to ask for her name, her address, where you met her, in fact any information at all about her that you may currently be in possession of."

"Sir, I'm not certain that she was trying to kill me and revealing her identity at this point might endanger her life from other sources."

Skinner turned to Scully.

"Agent Scully, do you have any information to add to this?

I'd rather not have to cut one of my agents down to put him in a body bag. It reflects poorly on my end-of-year report."

Scully looked at Mulder, who stared impassively back. "Sir, everything I know is in my report."

Skinner leaned back in his chair. "Well, I'm at a loss as to what, exactly, you expect me to do now. Are these really the reports you wish to file?"

"We wanted you to be apprised of the situation and aware of our investigations,"

Mulder answered.

"Consider me apprised. Now if you'll excuse me, Agent Mulder, I have work to do. Agent Scully, I need to see you for a moment."

Mulder gave Scully a sidelong look as he left the office. Scully raised her eyebrow minutely, but said nothing as Mulder shut the door.

*********

Personnel in the FBI offices turned to stare as Mulder and Scully walked past. Mulder rubbed his throat absent-mindedly. "It's like coming to work with the world's largest hickey," he muttered.

"What now?"

"I need to go talk to her.

Can you run a check on the contents of the glasses and the vial and make sure you were right?"

Scully smiled.

"Sure." She reached in her briefcase and produced a sheet of paper. "Chloral Hydrate, Mulder. In the vial and in one glass. Yours. I assume yours was the one without the lipstick."

"Never assume, Scully." He smiled at her restraint. "Raspberry would not be my choice, though."

"All right. So, do you want to have her brought in or would you rather we visit her for a private interview?"

"I prefer to handle this alone."

"Since you're the victim in this, I believe that is unwise. Besides," Scully snapped her briefcase shut, "I am under strict orders to not let you out of my sight."

***********

Washington traffic was never the best to drive through and the snow wasn't helping. Mulder kept most of his attention on not plowing into the car ahead of them while he answered Scully's questions. "Her name's Marita. Marita Covarrubias. She works at the United Nations. She should be there now. I met her when I was checking out that clone farm."

"So that was the woman you had me get you the address for? I pimped for you?"

" Don't worry, you'll get your cut."

"So why would she try to kill you?"

"We still don't know for a fact she did. Maybe she was just trying to loosen me up."

"Are you suggesting it was date rape?"

"No, but... it doesn't seem right. She's helped me in the past and she seemed supportive of the truth."

Scully stared straight ahead.

"The truth is, she tried to kill you."

"I mean, perhaps she was trying to get information from me and things got out of hand."

She just looked at him.

"Do you really believe that, or are you just trying to believe that?"

Mulder stared straight ahead, his voice betraying none of his inner emotion. "I want to believe."

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

The Office of the Special Representative to the Secretary General had no record whatsoever of Marita Covarrubias ever working for the United Nations in any capacity.

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

They pulled up in front of a Georgetown townhouse and stopped. "Just let me talk to her for a few minutes."

"Mulder, it's freezing. I did not come along to wait in the car."

"I'll leave the heat on.

You can play with the radio. Let me see if she's here. I promise I won't drink anything."

Scully considered it, then glanced at her watch before crossed her arms. "You've got five minutes. Go."

He hurried off. She watched him approach the front door and ring the bell. A moment later the door opened and Mulder stepped inside.

Long minutes passed. Scully had her hand on the handle when Mulder came back out. He walked back to the car, opened the door and sat down heavily.

"Well?"

"The lady moved out, not 12 hours ago. Said she had a family emergency."

Scully slumped in her seat.

"Fancy that."

Mulder held up a slip of paper.

"She rented it under the name 'Julie Engels'. You want to run the check or shall I?"

A quick call to Records provided the following information; 'Julie Engels' moved here a year ago from Ramsey, Indiana, she is 30 years old, she works as a temp for the United Nations secretarial pool, and her credit listing included a motel room rented 3 hours previous.

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

11:40 p.m.

Dew Drop Inn, Washington D.C.

The Dew Drop Inn was a collection of 15 small efficiency bungalows. 12 of them were vacant. One contained a visiting Pakistani couple, one (presumably) contained Julie Marita Engels Covarrubias, and one now contained two FBI agents.

Scully looked at the bed dubiously. "Did you request a waterbed?"

"They all have waterbeds.

I think we were the only guests who wanted to stay longer than an hour." He jumped onto the bed and rolled with the wave action. "Fun," he grinned.

"Of late, I question your idea of fun, Mulder." Scully walked to the window and peered across the parking lot at the room containing Marita. "How much time do you want to give her?"

Mulder walked over and peered over Scully's shoulder. "We'll give her some time. I think someone else wants to talk to her."

She turned and looked up at him in surprise. "Who?"

He shrugged. "Conspiracies abound, Dana."

"Conspiracies or your imagination." She turned back toward the window and their target. It was going to be a long night. She sighed and reached for the phone book. "Pizza?"

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

The front door flew open and Marita was there, still wearing the trenchcoat from the night before. Mulder gave her a brief smile.

"What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk. We need to clear up any misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding?"

She nodded. "There are things beyond all our control."

He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head. "You're claiming a conspiracy?"

She laughed. "Not everything is a 'conspiracy'. Sometimes things happen because nature dictates it." She smiled and then she was gloriously naked, holding her arms out to him. He rose from the bed and met her in a desperate embrace, kissing her hungrily as she clutched at his clothing. She pulled away just enough for her purposes, leaving him with his shirt open and pants down. Mulder's penis was pointing up in a lazy arch, bobbing as he moved. Her eyes followed it as if hypnotized. Roughly he pushed her against the wall and entered her in one brutal motion, slamming back and forth again and again as the audience roared its approval. As he reached between them to squeeze her breasts, Scully screamed as she shuddered in orgasmic... Me? What am I... ?

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

Scully woke abruptly, feeling cramped and awkward. She had nearly curled into a fetal position on the bed, her back hurt and there was something uncomfortable under her cheek. She laid there silently for a moment with her eyes still closed, trying to gather her thoughts and somehow get herself under control. Her heart was beating wildly, and she felt the blood rise in her cheeks as she became aware of other, more intimate signs of her reaction. 'My God, what brought that on,'

she wondered. 'I've never had dreams like that. Well, yes, I have, but never that... forceful.' She took a deep breath and caught herself starting to rub her thighs together. She stopped immediately, horrified and aroused, and forced herself to lay perfectly still. 'There is no way I will ever let Mulder see me like this. I will get up, go to the bathroom, calm down, and get past this.' Her plan decided, she opened her eyes and realized she had fallen asleep in Mulder's lap.

She looked down the length of his legs to see the tv turned to a basketball game. He hadn't moved or made a sound, but he seemed tense. And then she realized what was she was laying on, and why it was so uncomfortable.

'Oh, my God,' she thought.

'Please, please, please let him be asleep.' In perhaps the bravest action ever performed by Agent Dana Scully, FBI, she carefully lifted her head away from Mulder's tented trousers and looked him straight in his eyes. His open eyes.

"Good morning, Scully," he said carefully. His steady gaze never left hers.

She looked down while she pulled herself into a sitting position next to him, ignoring the feelings in her body.

"Morning. What time is it?"

"About 3. No signs yet, I think she's settled in for the night. I ran a check while you were asleep, she hasn't made or received any phone calls."

He stretched and yawned, a move which (cooincidentally?) let his knee rise up to cover any evidence. Scully glanced back up in time to see him watching her face. Was she still blushing?

In the few times she had allowed herself to imagine anything intimate happening between herself and her partner, Scully had always known she would meet him as an equal, giving and receiving in a loving and challenging relationship. Instead she found herself flustered and on the defensive, the same way she did in almost all their investigations, and it kindled a slow anger inside her. Okay, she knew nothing about alien abduction, telepathy, spontaneous combustion or ghosts, but dammit she wasn't a teenager!

Frustration, physical and mental, goaded her into being more direct than she would have dreamed otherwise.

"Mulder, whatever possessed you to hang yourself from a ceiling fan?"

He winced and shifted uncomfortably. "Be reasonable, Scully, the light fixture would never support my weight."

"For once, I need a straight answer, and I need it now. I'm going up against an enemy who knows more about you than I do and she's using that knowledge to kill or at least discredit you, and I think we're adult enough to talk about this."

Mulder smiled. "You're beautiful when you're angry."

"I'm trying to protect your life, I can do without the jokes for right now. Did she force you to do that or is this an everyday thing?"

"Look, we should get some rest, we... urk!" He started violently as Scully, eyes flashing, thrust her hand down and firmly grabbed the front of his pants.

"Now that I have,"

she said through clenched teeth, "your undivided attention, I would appreciate it if you would answer the question."

"Dana, I... ow! Um, it was an experiment," he said, quietly. He thought for a moment.

"Do you remember Clyde Bruckman?"

"The psychic insurance salesman?"

"When we were driving him around I was trying to get him to talk about how he could "see" people's deaths, and he looked at me and started talking about how undignified auto-erotic asphyxiation was. I'm still not sure if he was joking."

Scully cocked an eyebrow.

"So you decided to find out. Did he sell you insurance?" She caught herself. "No, we're being serious. So how did that lead into...?"

"Something about psychic predictions has always bothered me. For someone to be capable of accurately describing an event in the future, it would require that the event has already happened in a fixed and immutable manner and that nothing I can do can affect it. Of all the things I believe in, Scully, predestination is not one of them." He shifted slightly. "I don't like something or someone else controlling my actions."

"So you picked masochism?"

"Not as a lifestyle choice, no, but as a way of proving that I could come through this and defy my 'fate'."

"Mulder, I feel I should point out a few things. One, that Bruckman did not say when this would happen if it happens, two, that all you've proved is that you didn't die this time, and three, that this still to my way of thinking does not justify nearly killing yourself in a sexual encounter with a woman whom, according to you, you hardly know."

He shrugged. "That's probably where the drinking part came in. We got to talking and she asked if I had any fantasies. For some reason that popped into my mind. I wasn't serious, really, but she seemed to like the idea and, well..."

"Did it never occur to you how stupid that is? Mulder, hundreds of people die every year in these sorts of misguided 'accidents'!"

"It didn't start out like that, it just, I don't know. What with the last few cases and the stress we've been under I haven't been thinking too clearly about my personal relationships. It appears to be a failing of mine. At least she didn't try to bite my neck."

"What?"

"Nothing. Scully, I feel I should point out something."

"And what's that?"

"You're stroking me."

Scully looked down in surprise to see that her hand had, almost of its own accord, been lazily caressing the bulge beneath her fingers. She stopped stroking but left her hand there and looked up into piercing grey eyes.

"Mulder," she began.

Gunshots shattered the window above them. They dove off the bed in opposite directions before the glass finished landing, Scully drawing her gun while Mulder crept up to the window sill. The sounds of a car acreeching its tires on gravel akmost overrode his cursing. "She's gone," he said.

Scully peeked up from the side of the bed. "Who fired the shots? At whom?"

Mulder turned away from the window and slumped to the floor. "Well, now we get to start over." They looked at each other across the scattered bedclothes.

"Damn."

Continued in Part Three

Pages: 1


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