Title: Dollars to Donuts Author: Jssangel (Jssangel@aol.com) Rating: NC-17 Spoilers: Through The Gift Classification: V/MSRish Archive: Gossamer is fine, anywhere else just ask. Disclaimer: Why God? Why? As if I would choose to have this voice inside my head, let alone take responsibility for making him up. And yet there he is. Author's notes: It's all one universe to me. I say plunk this and "Nice House" in there with "Submerged", "Silence", "Empty" and "All That Glitters" and you have an alternate universe where nobody bothers with episodes which are supposed to focus on Mulder but instead show Johnny-boy's mostly naked body. Feedback: Jssangel@aol.com Perhaps you will have noticed the shameless plug for my other stories in the preceding note. Very clever of you. Summary: Dogget puts 2 and 2 together and gets an eclair _____________________________________________________ Dollars to donuts, they were doin' it. That's what I think. I had the weirdest dream. In the dream, I was standing in the office looking through the filing cabinets way in the back, trying to correlate old x-files with whatever, and she came in. Without looking at me or saying "good morning" (what else is new?), she put her morning cup of repulsive herbal tea on the desk, and stood in front of it, rubbing her neck like she does every morning. Then he appeared. He looked tall, maybe taller than he really is, but how would I know - and without a word he came up behind her, pulled her trench coat off her shoulders and dropped it on the floor. She was naked underneath. I could see a hint of raspberry nipple, and the tawny red thatch of hair between her legs. She didn't make a sound as he pushed on her neck, she just bent over the desk and spread her legs. I felt it with him when he pushed inside her. I could feel her walls clenching around me, rasping like her crazy phone sex voice when she is doing nothing more erotic that relating autopsy details. I felt the drag of her inner skin with him when he pulled out - and I felt her soundless grunt as he pushed violently back in - and she got a little wet, and relaxed a little more - but it wasn't for her at all that he was doing it. It was for him and for me, for his cock and my cock, which were both hard as we pushed into her and punished her for her silence and her coolness and her lack of faith. His eyes looked green as he met mine, and his lips were twisted in a feral smile, and I noticed that her breasts were digging against the name plate of his that's been missing for a month. I was glad that I was feeling it with him and we were fucking her together, and we pushed her legs a little wider and exposed a little more of her strawberry red cunt- - And then I woke up, hard as a rock and remembering the way she writhed against me while she was tied to the bed in that house in Utah with that thing in her back. I didn't even bother really jerking off, just thrust my hips a few more times against the sheets and - uh Agent Scully, and yeah baby, and you know you want it- And then it was all over, although presumably Mulder was still hard, somewhere in outer space or maybe North Carolina, dreaming about fucking her while she was spread across his desk. I know what's possible and what's not, medically speaking. I've read all of their records, I read his journal, and I've read her behavior. I can take pretty good guess about what would put that green in his eyes. Screwed up, male chauvinist, fire-me-from-the-FBI-right-now dreams aside, let's leave the dollars and donuts out of it, they have definitely done it. I don't mean to look, but man, I am a man, and by the way a damn good investigator. I would have had to be an idiot not to notice when her tits started to get bigger. I remember quite clearly when my ex-wife Marian was knocked up. The first thing that changed about her body was her tits. They swelled like a pair of water balloons hooked to a drippy faucet. Drop by drop, day by day they got bigger and more liquid. I used to push my fingers into the sides of them, testing their weight and how tender they felt, not even as part of the sex, although that was great too, but just because they felt good. Great. This is turning into a vaguely erotic and vaguely nostalgic daydream about my extremely Ex-wife's extremely generous sexual nature while she was in a pregnant state, instead of another trip down partner-fantasy lane. Come on, John. Not my EX-files, the X-files. I can't believe I've started working weekends on this gig, although God knows I've worked a million weekends on cases that actually meant something. I've spent hours and days of what should have been my time off sticking to a stakeout, plowing through evidence, or searching out clues. That's when a man really feels alive; in the middle of the fight or the middle of the search, with the team completely connected, it's a superpower - an extension of body and mind. "Over to the left, Smith.", I might think, and just as I think it, I can feel an agent move to check out the shadows skulking along an alley. "What about the second guy, Spike?", and I will know there is another dog let loose, off the leash and on the trail of a clue. I love the FBI. Or I used to. Then, of course, there is Walter Skinner. Ahh Sargent Skinner. I had told myself that he hadn't remembered me, which worked until he called me "John" last week. The history is there. I respected the man, hell, when I was an eighteen year old Marine, young and dumb and full of cum, he saved my life. Now look at him. What the hell kind of AD is he? He heads out on cases with agents - does the leg work! - with the most minor division under his command. What happened to the soldier I knew? What happened to the leader I knew? He actually whined. Pleaded. He pleaded with me not to turn her in. Semper fi, old buddy. I can't look at the fluorescent lights gleaming off that dome of yours without thinking about slimy jungle daylight oozing over the hair you used to have, and remembering what I owe you. So fine - I won't turn her in. I won't write her up. I won't even pursue my inquiries about Agent Mulder to their logical end. I know just how firmly you are standing by that "I lost him" story. I've heard you say it to Kersh, I've heard you say it to me, and I found it in writing when I searched her desk. Yeah, I know all about it - I know all about where a story like that comes from, why a man like you would beg for anything. There is only one thing that could motivate it Dollars to Donuts they were sleeping together. Maybe they still are. And when that bald little baby is born, I'll have my proof. end.