Title: VHS 
Author: alee
Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: Sadly, Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are the (much 
abused and misused!) property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, 
and Fox – if they were mine, then they would be leading much 
more… fulfilled lives. *g*

Spoilers: As long as you already know the names and identities of 
the two most scintillating FBI agents in the history of the Bureau, 
then consider this tale "spoiler free".

Summary: If a picture is worth a thousand words, then what is the 
value of a videotape…

Feedback : Will be dearly cherished; send to GothPhyle@aol.com

Archive: If you want it, your welcome to it – just let me know where 
so I can enjoy the thrill ;)

Author's Notes: This story would not have been possible without the 
wonderfully debauching influence of this marvelous mailing list; 
thanks, everyone, for setting the bar so high – I only hope I can 
measure up to your standards.

Scully walked through the front door, slamming the lock into 
place behind her and throwing her trench coat haphazardly onto its 
allocated hook in the foyer.  She struggled briefly with the briefcase 
strap that seemed to have inextricably wound its way into the collar 
of her suit, before ripping both leather and wool off with a soft snarl.  
Stalking into the kitchen, she ripped open the refrigerator door, 
riffling impatiently past fresh fruit and yogurt to reach the solitary 
bottle of wine lodged against the back.  With a feral grin, she yanked 
the Chablis from its hiding place, carelessly ripping the cork from its 
home, and tilting the cold glass, moist from instantly forming 
condensation, to her lips.  Closing her eyes in ecstasy as the first 
swallow spread crisp fire down her throat, she slowly lowered the 
bottle, giving a deep sigh as some of the day's frustration began to 
dissolve.  Kicking her shoes off and leaving them sprawled alongside 
the stove, she padded over to the sofa, collapsing with a groan.  As 
she turned on the television, she lifted the bottle once again, only to 
realize that little more than a sip remained.  In an uncharacteristic fit 
of pique, she hurled the offending container across the room, smiling 
with grim satisfaction as it shattered against the wall.  Sure, it would 
be just another mess to clean up later, but for right now the 
admittedly juvenile release of tension was worth the price.  She 
narrowed her eyes as the anger that had driven her all afternoon 
flared brightly, reminding her of just why she was so agitated. 
 Mulder.  Of course.  It was always Mulder, with his wild 
theories and amazing leaps of logic.  His incredible deductive skills.  
Most of all, his astonishing stupidity.  Oh, sure, on the surface it was 
just another day – he presented some ridiculous case complete with 
a typically off-the-wall theory, she offered a rational counter 
approach, throw in a little innuendo, mix with some really bad take-
out for lunch, and the recipe was complete.  Just another episode of 
the crazy life know as the X-Files.  However, today Scully had 
introduced another element into their familiar dance, one she liked to 
think of as… counter-innuendo.  And Mulder?  Completely un-
responsive.  You'd think that after she started rattling off a list of 
erotic activities that could have accounted for the unusual ligature 
marks on the victims, including several markedly perverse fetish acts 
and even two types of bestiality, he would have at least sent a smirk 
her way.  But no, he'd merely nodded his head thoughtfully, as if 
judiciously weighing each possibility, before shaking his head in 
dissention and explaining why each "theory" was inadequate.  The 
end result?  They'd spent the entire day talking about sex: 
masturbation, fellatio, cunnilingus, sado-masochism – you name it, it 
had been on the menu.  But despite the fact that hearing her 
partner's slightly husky voice drone on and on, discussing every 
conceivable sexual act ad nauseum, had kicked her libido into over-
drive, it appeared that Mulder himself remained entirely unaffected.  
This was incredibly disheartening, especially considering the 
increasingly intimate atmosphere that had been permeating their 
office over the past weeks.  
Where had she gone wrong?  Surely the topic matter 
couldn't have offended him; I mean, this is a man who spends the 
better part of his leisure time enjoying adult cinema… so what could 
have gone wrong?  Was it the case?  No, the murders, while 
admittedly unusual in the method that the bodies were restrained, 
were hardly anything that Mulder's mind would find overly 
stimulating.  Was it her demeanor, did she somehow give the 
mistaken impression that her conversation was meant to be purely 
professional rather than intentionally arousing?  Again, she didn't 
think so, but with Mulder it was sometimes hard to tell.  Then what 
could be… suddenly it occurred to her; the day's attempts at 
seduction had been purely aural in nature, and Mulder's porn 
addiction pointed strongly towards a visually oriented sex-drive.  
Maybe the problem was that he needed to "see" her hints, rather 
than hear them.  Smiling wickedly, she rose from the sofa, stretching 
languidly as her new insight buoyed her mood.  Well, then, if visual 
was what he needed, visual was what he would get.
Humming softly, she made her way into the bedroom, 
shedding clothing along the way like a trail of evidence left before the 
crime, striding purposefully into the bathroom where she dimmed the 
lights, and turned the water on, filling the tub with steaming moisture.  
Then she stood before the mirror, carefully accentuating her 
cosmetics until the end result, featuring heavily lined eyes and vividly 
plum lips, was much closer to "fuck me now" than "respect my mind."  
Finally, she retrieved the last item intrinsic to her plan, the camcorder 
she received as a gift from her mother the previous Christmas.  
Smiling deviously at the thought of such an innocuous present being 
used for such an illicit purpose, she placed the camera carefully on 
the counter, focusing the lens on the soon-to-be-filled bathtub, and 
pressing the red button that would record this little fantasy.  Stepping 
into the water, she sank into the luxurious warmth up to her neck, 
reclining to rest her head against the back rim with a sigh.  Laughing 
silently to herself, she began to wash her body, using only the bar of 
soap and her bare hands.  While scrupulously avoiding looking 
directly into the camera, she quickly rinsed the suds from her skin.  
Then, carelessly draping her leg against the wall farthest from the 
camera, she once more worked the soap between her fingers.  This 
time, however, the purpose was clearly NOT cleanliness.  Instead, 
she began by softly stroking her neck and shoulders, enjoying the 
smooth slide of Ivory lubricated digits against the soft skin above her 
collar bone.  Next, she slid her fingers down the slopes of her 
breasts, coming to rest atop her turgid nipples.  Moaning softly in 
pleasure, she let her head roll bonelessly until it came to rest facing 
the camera.  With here eyes closed, she moistened her lips with her 
tongue, panting softly in rhythm with the gentle tugs of her fingers.  
Slowly undulating her hips, she reveled in the gentle caress of the 
water as it lapped against her swelling nether lips, sending tingles up 
her spine.  Trailing one hand lightly down her abdomen, she shivered 
at the hot chill that followed in its wake, before gasping softly as she 
made contact with her clit.  Unable to contain her broken gasp at the 
nearly painful pleasure that arched throughout her body, curling her 
toes and bringing a flush to her skin, she breathed the only word that 
ever came to her mind at times like this… "Mulder."  Beginning to 
work her hand in earnest, she whimpered in frustration, frowning in 
concentration as she hovered on the brink of orgasm.  Panting, 
crying out softly, she slid her middle finger into her empty, aching 
entrance, beginning a slow thrusting synchronized with the tight 
circling of her thumb.  Still, release dangled just out of her reach, as 
it did so often these days.  Raising her leg higher against the rim of 
the tub, she pressed another finger inside, hoping the changing 
angle and fuller penetration would push her over the edge, but to no 
avail.  Whimpering, she wished longingly for Mulder, for the solid 
pressure of his cock, pressing against silken walls too long 
abandoned, thrusting into heated warmth too long left untended.  
"Mulder… I need you… Mulder."  Finally, she conceded defeat, 
lowering her leg back into the water, her hand pressed against 
trembling flesh that still shuddered with the aftermath of unfulfilled 
desire.  Crying softly, she turned away from the camera, wrapping 
her arms tightly around herself, waiting for the painful ache of 
arousal to subside.  Finally, she turned back, her open gaze meeting 
the camera's for the first time.  With unhurried motions, she rose 
from the tub, drying herself thoroughly.  Then, she pressed "stop", 
ejecting the tape and regarding it thoughtfully.  Well, if this wasn't 
enough of a hint, she didn't know what would be.  Grinning to herself, 
she laid down, pulling the sheet over her chilled body as she 
imagined his reaction to the "anonymous tip" that would be waiting 
on his desk when he came into the office tomorrow morning…