Calliope *NC-17* (1/1) by Audrey Cooper cooper_audrey@yahoo.com May, 1998 Summary: Surveillance on a lonely night. Spoilers: Nope. Classification/Rating: SHA. NC-17. Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully don't belong to me. They are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, and 1013 Productions, and have been used without permission. Any characters you don't recognize immediately are mine, mine, mine! I say. And so are the situations, bless my ever twisted little mind. Archive: Yes to Gossamer--everyone else, please ask me first. Author's Notes follow the story. I would appreciate feedback in any shape or form. ********************************************************************* Calliope *NC-17* (1/1) by Audrey Cooper cooper_audrey@yahoo.com I got no video from him today, but I know the drill by now. I know the signs. It's like a game they play. Late at night, getting a little lonesome. Thinking about that body that sits across from them or next to them every day, all everfucking day, close enough to smell the faint musk of her sex, the tang of his deodorant masking the sweat of a male in heat. So near and yet so far, and all that happy horseshit. It's doin' time. Time to get on and ride the pony. They only do this in their own apartments, not when they're out of town on assignment. Usually. But every couple months, usually after she wears one of those tight t-tops, he locks himself in the motel john and uses the fan to stifle his groans. She's more particular. She never touches herself while he's in the next room. Well, except for that one time. She got it going with the handheld shower massage unit in that ritzy hotel. Probably figured the soundproofing was good enough. See, she's a screamer, and that one was a four-alarmer. She had the water jacked so hot that the room was clouded with steam, so the video was shot, but the audio was fanfuckingtastic, even over the sound of the shower. She's like a goddamned banshee -- "Oh, *yeah*, fuck me, *Muuullllldddeeerr*!" when she comes. If he ever heard her bawling his name like that, begging him to fuck her, he'd be on her quicker than a pig in shit. I practically came in my shorts. Listening to them... for Christ's sake, you'd think they'd never heard of infinity transmitters. My cock twitches just hearing her pant. She's got this little mewling thing she does that puts all the muscles on full alert. Picturing her mouth all red and slack... Christ. I don't know which is worse, him, or her. I've got her today, but I know how he'll go, just the same. Just like this... He'll be reading on that ratty couch of his, one of his movies on the tube, his glasses down on his nose, then he'll get this far-off look on his face. Like there's a sound that he can almost hear, but not quite. The moaning on the screen, most likely. The file will go down, the glasses will come off. Then he'll pull out the scarf. It's hers, and she thinks she lost it five years ago. She didn't lose it. He stuck it in his pocket. And now he keeps it, carefully folded, stuck in a crack in his couch. Wonder what she'd think about that. Anyway, he'll pull out the scarf and sniff it, smell it, while his eyes go all glassy from the fucking and moaning and sweating and blowing on the screen. Then the video will click off, and his eyes will close. He'll start touching himself with the scarf, trailing it up and down his face. The clothes will come off, and the scarf'll get acquainted with his legs and chest. He'll spend a long time, building up, before he ever reaches down to touch his dick. Then he'll strain up; fucking his own hand, wishing it was her. His face'll crunch up just like one of those wrinkly dogs, with his teeth all clenched like he's gonna bite someone. And then he'll start in with the "yesyesyesyesyes", each "yes" going a little bit higher in pitch, along with his stroking, faster and faster, till his hand's a blur, his thighs twitching and straining, his hips thrusting madly, reaching, pumping into his fist. God Almighty, you'd think he'd have a little more imagination, what with his education and all. Hearing him hissing out "YessssssSsssssculleeeee!!!" with that sharp yip at the end near makes me bust a gut, though. What a pussy whiner! Then he'll fold up that scarf, just as neat as a pin, and go shower, like he can't wait to get clean. Jesus. Do they ever stop to think how ridiculous they sound moaning out last names? Makes me glad they don't have any long tongue-twisters to get through. "Weimerheinerstall!!" Oh, fucking save me. But, I have to admit, if I was him, I'd be jacking myself every chance I got. Spending all that time, leaning in close and smelling her, looking down her blouse, and never being able to touch would drive me right out of my fucking gourd. It's bad enough I gotta watch her long distance, per se. Even so, I'm glad I got her tonight. Watching him makes me feel like some kinda perv. Watching her can be hot as hell. If she takes off her pjs, that is. She's such a stick most of the time; she makes me wonder how she ever gets off. Funny, across town, he'll be dreaming about her sucking him off or fucking her brains out, whatever, and she's clamping the pillow between her legs, wishing it were his fingers. Or his tongue. Or his prick. How the fuck do I know? Anyway, she's old-fashioned that way. No vibrator for her. She seems to prefer twisting her silk jammies or humping her pillow. So I got the video rolling, hoping to catch a little peek under that blue silk. Looks like she's feeling adventurous tonight. She's got her top unbuttoned and she's flicking at her nipples. She has got some hot tits; I'll say that for her. High and round, with real dark nipples, like some women get after having a baby. I was glad to see her put a little meat back on. I like a little cushion on the ass. Oh-ho, we're going for the gusto tonight: The bottoms are coming off, praise God! She turns over on her stomach -- shit, there go the tits. Ah, but she's got a first class ass, nice and tight. She's got the pillow jammed between her legs and she's inching up and down on it like some kinda caterpillar. Her breath is coming in muffled little snorts from where she's got her face buried in the mattress, and her thigh muscles are getting all tight. She's building up to little mewls -- I love it when she does that. And here we go -- "Mulder, oh, yeah, that's it, right there". Her ass is swaying and bobbing up and down and she's getting louder. I think I could hear her in the next room with no equipment, no problem. She slows down, stretching it out, making it last. Small whimpers escape her and she sounds like she's running a goddamn marathon. "Yeah, oh, *GOD*, Mulder, lick me!" Whoa. That's new. My cock, already hard, stands right up, saluting that wonderful ass. And that voice! She could make a fucking fortune on a 1-900 line. I'd never get off the fucking phone. She's contorted into the most godawful position -- her legs spread wide, knees dug into grooves in the mattress. Her feet are clenching, the toes curling up and she's reaching, straining, got one hand jammed under her, twisting her nipple, when she shoves the pillow away and crams two fingers up her twat. Jesus Christ Almighty! "*MUUULLLLLDDDDDDEEERRRR*!!!" I'm surprised he didn't hear that all the way down in Alexandria. She crumples into a heap on top of her pillow, shaking. Then she gets up and methodically straightens the bed, like she could wipe away what she's done there. They're so goddamned stupid. Six years and they're still fucking themselves instead of each other. They're fucking pathetic. I wish they'd fucking just jump each other and have done with it. I've had enough of this pony. _____ End Author's Notes: This is another experiment in voice for me. I'd really like to know what you thought of it. Many thanks to Deb, who is ever patient and always there, for beta reading. Special thanks to Bob for his continuing support and inspiration. So, please, let me know what you think... Audrey Cooper cooper_audrey@yahoo.com M: "Scully?" S: "Yes?" M: "Marry me." The X-Files, Chinga Desideration (1/1) by Audrey Cooper xf_writer@geocities.com July, 1998 Summary: A different brand of entertainment. You do need to read Calliope first -- this is a sequel. Spoilers: Nope. Classification/Rating: S. PG-13 for language and sexual concepts. Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully don't belong to me. They are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, and 1013 Productions, and have been used without permission. The situations, however, are mine, bless my ever twisted little mind. Archive: Yes to Gossamer--everyone else, please ask me first. This is for Ten, Helen, Angie, and Dreamerlea, who all wanted a sequel. This might not be exactly what they had in mind, but... Author's Notes follow the story. I would appreciate feedback in any shape or form. ********************************************************************* Desideration (1/1) by Audrey Cooper xf_writer@geocities.com Humidity. Heat. Moisture. Simple concept. On the tape, sweat is beading up on his chest, sliding down his sides. It's hot. Sexy. The Diet Coke guy has nothing on Mulder. I pause the tape, before we get into dangerous territory. *************** "Talk to me." ************** Have you ever wanted so much that your ears tingle and buzz, that you can't keep your lips closed, that you can barely keep your eyes open, despite the enticement before you? Have you? ************* I can't believe I'm watching this. Watching it with him beside me. He stares at the screen, his eyes glinting with the twisted incredulity of a man walking into flame, unable to stop himself. ************* His teeth worry the inside of his lower lip before he counters, "Where did you get this?" "It was left inside my newspaper." Oh. Oh! His thought is telegraphed plainly through his expression, his air of unflappable calm notwithstanding. "Is that all of it?" "No." I don't say anything else. I don't need to. ************ My scarf. Touching his face. Run, slowly, all over his body. Each and every part. Watching the tape, I had felt it, almost as if the scarf had transformed into my hands. My mouth. My... Ah, but... My name. My name on his lips as he comes. Jesus. If he only knew... ********** "You see, Scully, I received a tape very like this myself today. But the, uh, featured player in the tape I got was a bit different." Oh, *Fuck*! ********* We stare at one another, both feeling, I believe, like the proverbial child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. Which really isn't all that far from the truth. ******** "Tell me." ******* My words come flying back in my face. I know that people can't really die of embarrassment. They only want to. ****** The tape, having been on pause too long, resets, and CNN blares out. I jump, and he flicks the mute button on the remote. He knows. He *knows*. ***** I wonder which night he's seen. What I revealed. I think about that for a while, as he waits patiently. **** Our relationship has always been show don't tell. No Matter What. *** Have you ever wanted so much that your skin felt like the smooth, ripe flesh of a nectarine, ready to burst with juice and sweetness? Have you? ** I have. * Humidity. Heat. Moisture. Simple concept. My face, caught in freeze-frame, is flushed with healthy color, and tiny droplets in my hairline look like diamonds caught in wet red satin. _____ End Author's Notes: Follows Calliope. Eternal gratitude to Deb, who is both encouragement and a joy. Special thanks to Bob for his support and inspiration. So, please, let me know what you think... Audrey Cooper xf_writer@geocities.com M: "Keep going, FBI woman." S: "Mulder? What are you doing?" The X-Files, Redux Erotica *NC-17* (1/1) by Audrey Cooper xf_writer@geocities.com December, 1998 Summary: Contrary to popular belief, playing rhythm is harder than playing solo. You do need to read Calliope and Desideration first -- this is a sequel. Spoilers: Nope. Classification/Rating: S. NC-17. (M/S) Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully don't belong to me. They are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox Broadcasting, and 1013 Productions, and have been used without permission. The situations, however, are mine, bless my ever twisted little mind. Archive: Yes to Gossamer -- everyone else, please ask me first. This is dedicated to a wonderful group of women, without whom I would have stopped writing long ago. You know who you are. Author's Notes follow the story. I would appreciate feedback in any shape or form. ********************************************************************* Erotica *NC-17* (1/1) by Audrey Cooper xf_writer@geocities.com "Give me the scarf, Mulder." His eyes glint at me. Dark. Dangerous. He draws it out from its hiding place, shaking his head. "Don't tell me what to do. I'm having fun." He looks like a picture I once saw of a guitar player, totally focused on the object cradled in his hands: his face a study in insouciance, slowing transmuting to passion, head falling back, lips parting, eyes closing. The instrument of Mulder's passion is not a guitar -- and it's not me. It's the scarf. In his hands, it wrings a response from his body the way only a well-made, well-practiced piece can. Touching the hollows of his temples. Running over the serration of his teeth. He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it to the floor. The scarf journeys across the planes of his collarbone. Along the length of his thigh, following the pulse of his femoral artery. Places I long to touch. Silk on black leather and torn jeans. Shiver. His nipples stand out in little points of excitement as he brushes the scarf over them. One hand falls to his fly and slowly plucks buttons through their holes, the motion slow and deliberate. Then both hands shove his jeans down, underwear carried with them, kicking them off and away. His freed erection bobs up against his stomach. Mulder's head tilts down and to the side and his mouth opens, teeth bared in a primordial snarl, heavy lids raising to half mast as the scarf closes over his rigid flesh. He makes no sound but heavy breathing. I bite my lower lip, stifling a moan. I determine to be every bit as quiet. It won't be easy. Sex, for me, although usually solitary, is a vocal event, so my ears ring with his silence, and gradually, my mind provides sound from his action. All the sweet spots on my body vibrate, like the high sharp notes on a slide guitar, skillfully played -- blurred and clear, immediate and lingering, like the sound of a human voice sighing softly then gasping. Pleading. I reach and take the scarf from him, pulling it slowly through his fingers, watching him shudder as it strokes the sensitive underside of his cock. His fingers tighten around his cock as I place the scarf over my mouth, poking my tongue out at him under it, leaving a damp spot. I take the scarf away from my lips and bend down, breathing over his erection, watching it twitch in the direction of my mouth. His hips jerk up, and he shifts his hand around his cock, raising it toward me. His other hand comes up to the nape of my neck, urging my mouth down until it brushes the head of his cock. I lick delicately at the pulse that jumps just under the head, so close beneath the surface. Mulder makes a muffled groan and I press my thighs together at the sound. I oblige him, opening my mouth wide and sliding up and down the length of him. I'll show you fun, Mulder. I stroke his balls with the scarf. This time he growls, and pulls my head and hands away, pushing me up. I back off, admiring the sweat on his chest, his upper lip. The scarf trails between my breasts and down my stomach as I unbutton my blouse, making the muscles there jump and tremble. Mulder's eyes widen, and I half turn away from him to keep silent, tossing the blouse to the floor, then, keeping my back to him, draw the scarf up my inner forearm. Over the inside of my elbow. He fingers the clasp of my bra open. My breasts feel full and hard, the nipples almost painful with the need to be touched. I pull the bra off, unable to stand the feel of it rasping on them. I caress one nipple with the scarf, picturing his mouth on it, drawing, sucking. He puts his left hand on mine, taking the scarf from me. He tugs at my nipple with it, the silk rubbing relentlessly. His right hand unzips my skirt, then pushes it down, taking my pantyhose with it, and I raise my hips so that he can slide them off. Tracing the tattoo at the small of my back with his fingers as he drops my clothes next to his on the floor, Mulder leans forward until his teeth close on my lower back, over the tattoo. He plays along the back of my knee, then slides his fingers up the inside of my thigh. He moves behind me, drawing me back until I'm lying within his spread legs. His erection rubs against the tattoo, sliding against it, and he drops the scarf, twisting at my nipple, pulling. Now I *am* the instrument of Mulder's passion, and that realization, as much as the sensation twanging down my body from my nipple, clamps my thighs down on his fingers. He shifts his hands and grasps my thighs. I resist him at first, just to see what he'll do. His grip tightens to hard enough to leave bruises, pulling my legs apart until he has drawn one over each of his. Both of his hands come to rest on the soaked cotton between my legs. My vow to keep silent flies out the window. I can't hold back any longer. "Oh!" I sound surprised. He chuckles rustily behind me and starts to move his hands. I watch the muscles in his forearms shift, and the expertise of his fingers, now light and rapid, now heavy and demanding, is undeniable. His fingers strum over my flesh, caressing first one spot, then another, seeking that place that will make me arch under his hands. The touches are like a single note, played again and again. Variations on a theme. Touch. Stroking over my perineum. Almost. "Yeah," I breathe. Pause. Another. Outlining the crease between my lips. Not quite, but good. Very good. "Oh, *yeah*." A longer pause this time. His fingers sliding under the cotton. Please. Nudging through my damp curls, spreading my lips wide. I grit my teeth, breathing through my nose. "God." Very long pause. Small mewling noises float from my lips. Then the note, the touch again. Pressing hard against my clit. There. Oh, *there*! "Mul-der!" He starts to strip my panties down and I understand that I have to close my legs to get them off. But I can't. I want him to keep touching me. I slide up further along his body until his cock is nestled in the crack of my ass, and rub against it. His breath comes out in a heavy grunt. "Scully, let me..." I moan and he bites at my neck. "Touch me." "I am," he says, pushing my legs together by brute force and yanking off my panties. I kick at them as they tangle around my ankles, flailing past the point of balance. "Mulder!" We tumble from the couch to the floor, knocking over the coffee table. I crack an elbow against it, ringingly. His weight comes down hard on my back, pressing me into the pile of our clothes, my face against the scarf. His cock is probing for entrance between my legs. I gasp for air and he grabs my ass, pulling me up, trying to get the right angle. I slither away from him. Mulder catches me by one ankle, hauling me back. He plunges two fingers inside me. "Oh, God, Mulder!" He fondles me deeply and sensuously, his fingers sliding in and out, reaching around with his other hand to caress my clitoris. He plucks at it delicately. I'm going to come. I push down and back against his hands. My thighs are trembling and I know he can feel my inner muscles starting to tighten. "Do you like that? Does it feel good, Scully?" Bastard. The crystalline edge of sanity is chipping away as our surroundings melt and blur like a psychedelic party, all fuchsia and orange and black; strobe flashes. He's too controlled. I want him just as crazy as I am. I want to hear him. "Yes!" I spit. Not yet! His hands speed up, slipping deeper, pressing harder on my clit and I can't stop it, I'm going to come, and my hands reach up to clench in his hair. "Mull-derrr!" The tension builds and builds, but my orgasm is fast, there and gone, leaving me disillusioned and not quite angry. "*Yessss*!" he exults. I almost expect him to pump his fist in the air. He doesn't let up. He seems so detached, mechanically pushing me toward climax, seeing how well he can do, how many times he can make me come. Hit those spots, and Scully comes -- I could have done just as well, if not better, by myself, if this is all there's going to be. This feels too much like what I do alone: hurry up and finish, then feel guilty about it. Oh, God, I didn't want it to be this way, I didn't think it would be like this. Well, at least I can try to make it good for him. It's hard to stop what he's doing; it *does* feel good, and I could easily come again, but my self respect demands it. I reach back to capture his cock with my hands. The position is awkward, but then his hands fall away from me as I get a better handle on the situation, gripping him firmly. He won't let me roll over, so I moan my frustration and, pressing my legs together, I start stroking his cock as hard and fast as I can. "Scul-lee," he pants. That's better. I loosen my grip. "What do you want, Mulder?" He twists my head with a hand clenched around my jaw and puts his mouth on mine, fiercely, his tongue demanding entrance. *Much* better. I kiss him back, and he moans into my mouth. Tearing away, he knees apart my legs and slaps a hand down on my back. I lunge away, but he drags me back again. His mouth, next to my ear: "Scully -- God, I want to fuck you so bad. Let me in." One hand still gripping the back of my neck, he reaches down with the other and parts my slick folds with his fingers. Then his cock slams into me and I moan a low gurgling moan. Tenderness, lurking in the slight tremor of his hands, will come later. For now, I am held in the grip of his dark madness; a frenzy of thrashing limbs descending into something close to maniacal ecstasy. Burning. "*Yesss*, Scully!" He pulls me back by the hair. Mulder thrusts into me hard and deep, one hand in my hair and the other on my breast. "Christ -- I want to see you!" He pulls out of me and flips me over, plunging back into me. "Scul-lee!" His face is strained, mouth open and panting, eyes squinched down to slits. He's close. I spread my legs wider and rock my hips against his, wanting to see him come, to watch his face while he does; to know that, for now, at least, that we're together in this. That's all I wanted: a little harmony. Together -- no more solos. His fast pumping rubs his cock insistently against my clit. I didn't expect -- oh, God, I think I'm going to come again. I've never come with a man inside me. The sensation of his cock sliding against my clit and hitting my cervix is incredible. "Oh! I... Mulder, oh, *yeah*! Justlikethat, fuck me, I'mgonna..." "That's it, Scully, come for me," he pants in my ear. "Come on, baby." He pulls up slightly so he can see my face, and that changes the angle just enough. A full, soul-deep wrenching orgasm sweeps through me -- all sensation in my body coalesces around his cock, driving deeply and powerfully into me. No bright light soaring here: it's black -- no other color save pink, it's like red, but not quite -- blossoming as I come. "OoohGod! *Mullll-dderrr*! Mulder's eyes flare and he keeps going, shuddering heavily as I convulse around him, his thrusts shorter and faster now; his lips pulling back to bare his teeth at me. A strangled gurgling comes from him and he grasps my hips, tilting them even more, as he explodes, gasping, "Sscullleeee!" He drops his mouth down to mine, nuzzling my lips gently, kissing me with all the slow, rich, lingering tenderness that I could hope for. Maybe it's not the instrument, after all. Maybe it's the player. _____ End Author's Notes: Follows Calliope and Desideration. This is an attempt to set the cadence of rock guitar to words. I know, it doesn't quite make sense, but that's what I was trying. I didn't expect it to get so violent, but I never argue with my muse or my characters -- I just let them do whatever they want. Influences, for those interested, include "Let It Slide" -- that riff practically *screams* sex, and its full incarnation "Cheesecake", "Rag Doll", "What Kind Of Love Are You On?", and, most especially, "Walk This Way", all by Aerosmith. "Don't tell me what to do. I'm having fun." is a quote from one of the sexiest guitar players I've ever laid eyes on: Joe Perry -- the King of Cool. Not only can the man play; he looks damn fine doing it. Playing guitar, I mean. Bonus points for finding the Aerosmith lyric snippet!! Hint: It's not from one of the songs I mentioned... As always, thanks to Deb for kicking ass, taking names, and showing me that I can do better. Special thanks to Bob, my very own guitar player, for his continuing support and inspiration. So, please, let me know what you think... Audrey Cooper xf_writer@geocities.com S: "I had you." M: "No, you didn't." S: "Oh, yeah. I had you big time." The X-Files Movie