Send reply to:    <hg83@dial.pipex.com>
From:             "Deirdre McIntosh" <hg83@dial.pipex.com>
Subject:          The REALLY REALLY FINAL VERSION OF - Pick Any Number
Date sent:        Tue, 19 Aug 1997 16:28:13 +0100

I know that I keep doing this - but I've just noticed  that I spelled
'butt' with one 't' and used the wrong 'throes' so please please
archive *this* version of Pick Any Number -


 OK - this is the new and improved PICK ANY NUMBER with a suitably
torrid sex scene included free of charge. Hey - it was  by popular
demand. You guys are very persuasive.  And see, I do listen and
respond to feedback - eventually. And yes - I'd love some more
please.


Title - PICK ANY NUMBER 

Author - Red Valerian and  SHERYL MARTIN 

(Special thanks to Sheryl, who provided some wonderful dialogue out
of the goodness of her heart thus  managing  to unhook me from that
cliff-hanger which irritated so many people!)

E-Mail address - hg83@dial.pipex.com
Rating - NC17
Category - Vignette/Romance - subcategory: Mulder/Scully-ish  

Spoilers - none - and in this world Memento Mori never happened 

Keywords - smut, smut and more smut

Summary - Scully is about to discover what Mulder has been hiding on
his hard-drive.

Oh - and of course they're not mine - they belong to CC or  Fox or
someone.  Is there anyone out there who doesn't know this already?

                                     PICK ANY  NUMBER 

                                             Red Valerian and Sheryl
Martin



Scully typed a few key search words in the Alta Vista  window and
then  hit the 'send now' button. She then leant back in her chair and
watched the screen with little enthusiasm. This was the fifth time
she'd used the search engine, and she'd had no success so far. Or
rather she'd had too much success, that was the problem. There was
just too much *stuff* on the internet.  However hard you tried to
refine a search, you were consistently given too many answers. And
too many answers  was just as impossible to deal with as too few.
Although Mulder might have argued with her there. He was obsessed
with finding *the* answer, and here she was - irritated at being
given too many. It was ironic, in a way.

The screen finally cleared, and Scully looked at the monitor with a
faint hope which quickly faded just as quickly. 

"About 426,657 documents  match your query," the screen informed her
helpfully. She muttered something most un-Scullylike under her breath
and closed her eyes wearily. This may have been fewer than on the
last search - *that* had  provided over five million possible answers
- but it was still too much information to attempt to process. Not
when she felt like she did now - exhausted and pissed off. 

In disgust she disconnected from the net and turned off her terminal.
 Now What? She needed to find the information before she left. Well -
she didn't need to, but the perfectionist in her *wanted* to. She
knew that if she didn't finish her report accurately she wouldn't  be
able to rest that night. And Lord, did she need to rest. So many late
nights. So many unsatifactory solutions to impossible to solve cases.
And always  that constant feeling of being pulled two ways. She
pictured herself as a turkey wishbone, and a small smile flickered
across her weary face. But the analogy held. She was indeed being
torn in half.

On the one hand there was Science and Reason and a whole corpus of
knowledge which supported everything Scully had been trained to
believe and believed to be true. But on the other hand there was
Mulder.  Mr. Irrational. Mr. Intense. Mr. Trust No One. Mr..what?

She stopped finding emblematic names for him, and glanced over at his
empty desk. Or rather, at the computer which sat on his desk. Mr.
Compulsive - that was the name she had been searching for. And Mr.
Compulsive, she knew, had a habit of bookmarking everything - and I
mean EVERYTHING. Maybe a quick look through his bookmark files would
solve her problem? It wasn't exactly ethical, delving into the
contents of a friend's hard-drive. But then she was a desperate
woman, and after all - what could Mulder have on his computer that
she shouldn't see?

She knew that she was rationalising what amounted to an invasion of
his privacy, but despite that knowledge, she still found herself
drifting over to Mulder's desk, switching on his computer and opening
his browser window. Then with one click she was looking at his
bookmark list and had fallen into his chair to read it properly. If
he came back unexpectedly, she was sure that he'd understand her need
to find an answer. At least she hoped so. And anyway, he wasn't due
back for hours. Once more, he'd torn off without her to follow up a
tenuous lead which had probably taken him on yet another  frustrating
goosechase. He'd said he might make it back to the office tonight,
but in Mulder's case,  'might' was generally a euphemism for 'when
hell freezes over'. She should be safe enough. 

Scully leant into the monitor and began reading the bookmark file. It
was endless, but logically categorised. There were separate listings
under Paranormal Phenomenon; ESP; Alien abduction; retro-viral
infection and Out of Body Experiences. Pretty much what she had
expected, and not of any help in her search. She clicked onto 'More
Bookmarks' and was presented with an even longer list of
possibilities. Her glance flowed down the list, mentally eliminating
each category as she came to it, when suddenly she was stopped in her
tracks. One folder in particular caused her eyebrows to raise and
another little grin to light up her face. The folder was labelled:
'Images-porn'.

She stared at it, her grin widening still further. Remembering
Mulder's known weakness for X-rated entertainment, she should have
expected this, really. But now she was in real trouble. Scully had to
admit it - she was dying to see what images Mulder had put on his
hard-drive. Men and pornography. It was such a fascinating subject.

She was not a total stranger to pornography herself, but she'd never
been titillated by the salacious novels her friends had read as
teenagers. Oh - she'd read them too, but in her case it was more of
an intellectual exercise. 'Fanny Hill' and 'The Story of O'  seemed
utterly pointless examples of the completely unrealistic male fantasy
being acted out in literary terms. She'd read them with a scientific
detachment, and then tried to reach a conclusion about their genesis
and function. To her, all they proved was that men were desperately
ruled by their genitalia. Or rather, by women's genitalia. 

It seemed to be universal. As teenagers, her brothers had secreted
copies of Playboy under their mattresses , and she'd had the odd
look, out of curiosity. But again, it all seemed rather amusing and
pointless. Who would want a woman with breasts the size of Goodyear
blimps, anyway? Who would 'jack off' looking at the poor unnatural
creatures with their pouting lips and spindly spread thighs. It
mystified her and intrigued her. That intelligent men could be so
undermined by female anatomy. 

And she knew that Mulder was no exception. Despite his brilliant mind
and obsession with finding the truth, he was also ruled by his
crotch, just like every other man who hadn't taken religious vows.
Just like every other man *she* had ever met, anyway. But what were
Mulder's fantasies, precisely? What did he dream about and long for?
What sort of woman was his ideal? She knew that she had no right to
know these things, but she was ceasing to care about right and wrong.
She was tired and fed up and after all, didn't this man owe her
something? She wasn't quite sure why, but it seemed a convincing
argument to her weary brain. Then she remembered something else which
helped settle the matter.

Mulder hadn't been embarrassed that time she'd found *that* video in
the office VCR, had he? It was as if men weren't embarrassed by their
biological needs at all. On the contrary, it was as if they were
proud of having them. And finally, if Mulder had really wanted no-one
to look at this list, he could have password protected it. That was
the argument which finally convinced her.

As she continued to rationalise her decision to do the inevitable,
Scully slowly moved the mouse so that the cursor spiraled around and
around the words "images:porn". 

"Round and around we go, and where she stops, nobody knows," she
murmered aloud. The cursor finally came to rest squarely over the
words. Then, after a final slight hesitation where she bid a fond
farewell to her scruples, she clicked on the phrase and was instantly
rewarded with a long list of very extreme possibilites.  

Boy was Scully awake now. Wide awake. Even in the dimly lit room, the
light from the monitor easily picked out her bright eyes and  avid
expression as she leaned further in to read what was on the screen. 
The *very* long numbered list was broken into categories and
sub-categories. Glancing quickly at the main headings, her eyebrows
went up another notch, and her grin widened yet further. She shook
her head in disbelief. Mulder *had* got it bad, that was for sure.
There were hundreds of links here - each 'link' being a short
descriptive phrase which was clickable. 

She began to  scroll though the categories, trying to decide which to
examine first. The choice was endless and a little unnerving.
'Foreplay', 'Oral Action', 'Boy/Girl Games', 'Anal Fun', 'Bondage',
'Close-ups', 'Cum-shots' and finally, 'Sex Toys'. Jesus. What on
earth were they? She decided she'd rather not pursue that one just
yet,  and instead examined the numbered links under 'Close-ups'. 

The first few choices were as follows: 1. Delightful dripping pussy
2. Lovely lass licks dick 3. Beautiful babe spreads pussy for
incoming 4. Perfect Pussy triple-decker sandwich.  

Someone just loves alliteration, she thought wryly as she clicked on
number four - the  triple-decker pussy sandwich.

The screen jumped to a new page, and the image gradually loaded from
the top down. She watched in amused fascination. Yup. There they were
- eventually. Three women lying on top of one another with spread
legs. Three sets of female genitals stared back at her in extreme
close-up.  During Scully's medical training she had of course
examined countless women internally and externally. She was well
aware of the distinct and seemingly endless variations in human
anatomy and physiology. But still - even *she* had never examined
three women at the same time. 

As she stared closely at the screen she unconsciously slipped into
medical mode and found herself looking at the image with a view to
diagnosing any irregularities in the genitalia on display. Oops. Time
to move on. 

As Scully guided the cursor to the back button and then clicked on 
the next link, she had a little niggling thought that she was missing
something in the 'triple-decker' photograph. Something important. But
she was too impatient to carry on exploring to worry about it now.
And besides, Mulder just might come back, and she didn't quite see
how either of them would survive this little discovery - not with
their  dignity intact, anyway.

Next she tried number two. Oh dear. Talk about false advertising. As
the picture slowly loaded, it became obvious that the so-called
"Lovely lass" was neither "lovely"nor a "lass". She was hideously
made-up and closer to forty than thirty. And the "dick" in question
was nothing special either. Scully was faintly disappointed.

Again she found herself moving on - but now a small frown had
appeared between her perfectly arched brows and her expression was a
little anxious rather than amused. She just knew that she was missing
something, but she still couldn't put her finger on  what it was. She
was more sure than ever that it was important, though. 

Sighing, she reflected that the only way to solve puzzles like this,
was to stop thinking about them. As soon as you did, the answer
popped into your brain like magic. She'd continue her exploration of
Mulder's little gallery and it would doubtless all become clear
eventually.

Scully soon fell into a pattern. Click. Load. Examine.  Back. Move
on.

 Click. Load. Examine.  Back. Move on. 

As screen shot after screen shot came, loaded and went, the light
flickered over her face, illuminating an incredible range of
expressions. Sometimes she looked amused.  Sometimes aghast. 
Sometimes surprised.  Sometimes disgusted. Sometimes fascinated.
Eventually, she looked rather bored. What she never looked, even
slightly - was aroused. And she'd been at it for over an hour now.

At the beginning she'd decided that she had indeed led rather a
sheltered life, despite her medical training. By the end, she felt
qualified to begin a doctoral thesis on the sexual fantasies of the
adult male as reflected in pornographic photographs. And sex toys?
Hell, she could manufacture the things. There was now nothing she
didn't know about butt plugs, nipple clips or double-ended vibrators.
 But through it all there was still that niggling feeling that she
was missing something important.

Then it came to her. Suddenly. In a proverbial blinding flash which
froze her at the screen for a few seconds while her eyes widened. Oh
shit - she was in trouble now - if she was right. There was only one
way to find out.

And she quickly began clicking once more through the hundreds of
images she'd spent the last hour examining. Having loaded once
already, they appeared instantly this time around, and as she
methodically clicked on one after another after another, the single
element linking *all* of the photographs became patently obvious.
God. How could she have missed it? She was a scientist, wasn't she? 
Trained to observe carefully and to analyse data? Well here's some
data to analyse Dr Scully. 

What do all of the photographs on Mulder's hard drive have in common?
>From the triple-decker genitals to the loving close-ups of
cunnilingus and fellatio? It was so obvious it made her want to
laugh. Or cry. Or do something she didn't choose to articulate too
precisely. 

Each and every one of the female models in the photographs had red
hair, that's what. Every one. Without exception. Hair the exact shade
and texture of her own.

There could be no doubt whatsoever who Mulder had in mind as he
 looked at these photographs. And suddenly Scully found herself
responding to them differently too. They were no longer interesting
or revolting,  or even mildly amusing. What they were was hot.  Very
hot. Because this time she was doing what she was sure Mulder did
when he looked at them. The trick was to use empathy. 

Those were *her* lips lovingly licking *his* cock as he grimaced in
pleasure. Those were *his* fingers, gently teasing *her* clit as she
arched her back like a cat. That was *her* bent over a table as
Mulder took her from the rear, and *him* who was ejaculating all over
her smiling face. Oh God. As she started to squirm in the chair,
Scully realised for the first time in her life, how people could get
very turned on by porn. She mentally apologised to her brothers for
teasing them all those years ago. Hell - she even owed Mulder an
apology, although he was never going to get it. 

And then, just as suddenly as she had realised the significance of
the photograhs, she realised something else. Someone was standing
behind her, and had been for quite some time. 

The hairs at the nape of her neck stood up slightly and she felt
herself blushing scarlet. Please don't let it be Mulder, please don't
let it be Mulder, please don't let it be Mulder, she whispered
internally, even as she knew it could be no-one else. For
verification, she looked again at the screen, and sure enough - there
was his reflection faintly visible. He was silhouetted in the doorway
behind her, staring intently. 

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit. Now what? There weren't too many
options here. What she wanted to do was die, or disappear into the
floor, but that wasn't a viable possibilty. So what was? She could
calmly turn off the computer and walk out the door without meeting
Mulder's eyes or saying anything. But there were two problems with
that course of action. One - she'd have to brush right past him to
leave the room. Two - she had a horrible feeling that there was a
damp patch on the back of her skirt which would show if she stood up.
Impossible to take the chance.

What else could she do? Turn around and say something witty? "Hey
Mulder - you busted me. Now I see why they call it a 'hard' drive." 

No way. She'd never pull it off. Shit shit shit shit! What else was
there? There was nothing else, that's what. Nothing at all. 

Throwing in the towel, she plonked her elbows on the desk and dropped
her burning face onto  her two trembling hands. That's it Doctor
Scully. Very mature. Adopt the ostrich approach. 

'Maybe Mulder will take this opportunity to slip away, giving both of
you the chance to save face,' a little voice whispered hopefully. 

'Dream on,' another more realistic voice replied. 

The minutes ticked by and the silence in the room became almost thick
with tension. But nothing happened. Nothing.  Scully had just begun
to hope that the first little voice had got it right after all - that
Mulder had indeed slipped away to save them both embarrassment. She
was  about to drop her hands and take a peek when she felt it. A
gentle breath on the back of her neck. Lips just brushing the nape
and then drifting up to her earlobe and nibbling gently. 

Oh God. It felt so good. She felt her nipples harden immediately in
response and a sudden almost unpleasant throbbing began in the
juncture where her legs met. She held her breath in anticipation. And
she didn't have long to wait.

Firm hands gripped her shoulders and then slid down her upper arms
and then up her forearms to her wrists. Her hands were pulled away
from her face, gently but firmly. Still she refused to turn around
and meet his glance. Instead she looked straight ahead at the
monitor. 

*That*  was no escape whatsoever. A dark screensaver had come on, and
she could now see her reflection as clearly as if she were looking in
a mirror. Hers and Mulder's. On the screen she watched his eyes meet
hers, and an expectant smile lit up his face.  He leaned in even
closer, lips brushing her cheek this time, but his eyes stayed glued
to hers on the screen, gauging her reaction. It wasn't too difficult
to assess. A blind man could have done it. 

Her eyes were heavy lidded with clearly dilated pupils. Her lips were
half open and slick where her tongue had recently visited. Her cheeks
were still flushed, but with growing arousal rather than with
embarrassment. She had to face it. The woman whose face was reflected
in the monitor looked positively wanton - there was no other word for
it. 

Mulder saw it all, and the smile on his face widened. Letting go of
her right wrist, he jiggled the mouse until the screen saver
disappeared again. Now their reflections had also gone, and in their
place the image index and its interminable list of numbered links
appeared.

"Hey Scully," Mulder whispered in her ear, knowing with absolute
certainty that he would get the response he wanted. Just as she too
knew, with equal certainty that she would give it.

 "Hey," his throaty voice continued. "Pick...any....number."

She exhaled slowly, hearing the whistling air escape between her
moist lips. Turning finally to face him at last, she  smiled weakly.

"Only one?" she heard herself whisper. Her heart had started thudding
in counterpoint to the throbbing coming from below. This was it.
There'd be no going back now. Her stomach lurched in anticipation and
terror. 

With a growl, Mulder spun her swivel chair around to face him,
immediately afterwards  falling on his knees  in front of her and
burying his face in her lap.

Without thinking, Scully found herself gripping his head and pressing
it further into her lap. He pushed his face from side to side, and
she could feel his mouth trying to taste her through the cloth of her
knitted skirt.  She felt almost drugged - incapable of instigating
any action herself. 

All of those photographs  she had seen were clicking through her mind
like a slide show - shot after shot of couples in the throes of
sexual ecstasy. Only they weren't just couples were they? What she
had been seeing  -  she suddenly realised - was a preview of coming
attractions.

She began to  whimper and squirm in the chair then, wanting Mulder to
do something more. Anything. Anything  to make that throbbing need go
away. 

He spoke then , but as his face was still muffled in her lap, she
couldn't quite make it out.

"What?" she whispered, leaning  back in the chair, and parting her
legs slightly, so that his head could burrow  even further into her
warmth. Into her wetness. "What do you want me to do, Mulder?" 

Her voice was thick with desperation. Mulder heard it.  Still on his
knees in front of her,  he finally looked up and spoke.

"Lift up, Scully." That  was all he said. But it was accompanied by a
look that promised much. Or threatened much. She couldn't tell which.

Scully was too desperate to argue. Instead she  gripped the arms of
the chair and raised herself up a few inches to allow Mulder easier
access. Without losing eye contact, he smoothly scooted her skirt up
to her waist, and then just as quickly he slid her drenched panties
off. 

Scully no longer had any shame. She spread her legs for him and
settled back down on the leather chair. It felt alien to be sitting
on the cold leather with her bare skin; alien  having Mulder kneeling
there in front of her nakedness. Alien but exhilarating to have him
run his fingers through  the damp curls which were an undeniable
proof of her need for him.

Mulder looked his fill, before finally  again burying  his face in
her waiting  lap. But now he was using his hands to pull her legs
even further apart so that he could begin exploring her moist folds
more easily. He began  teasing her swollen clitoris with tongue and
teeth, enjoying making her writhe under him.  Making her moan. 
Finally Scully began to gasp  and and pant. She  gripped  the arms of
the chair, arching her back  in frozen anticipation. Arching it
further and then further, pushing herself almost out of the seat,
trying to escape from Mulder, even as she begged him not to stop.
Never to stop.

God! Mulder's mouth was magic. His hands dug into her upper thighs to
give him better purchace, while he he lapped and licked and bit,
driving Scully higher and higher and higher, until   suddenly her
body went rigid and she shuddered and screamed her way though the
most intense orgasm she had ever experienced. She heard herself
crying out his name and the name of her god, and she would have been
hard pressed to distinguish between the two at that moment.

In the aftermath, her rigid body suddenly collapsed and she let
herself slide down off of the chair so that she was kneeling opposite
Mulder. She threw her arms around his neck then, and in between
weeping and laughing, she began to kiss him over and over and over.
Mulder returned her kiss for kiss; laugh for laugh - until eventually
they nuzzled into each other's necks and were silent for a while,
gently rocking each other. It was Mulder who broke the silence at
last, in typical Mulder  fashion.

Kissing the top of her head, he pulled back so that he could look
down at her flushed but smiling face. She could see a teasing light
in his eye, mixed with something a little darker. She shivered in
anticipation at his next words.

"Well Scully," he began, a wicked grin on his face, "That was number
39.  I think it's only fair if *you* get to choose the next number,
don't you?"

And laughing throatily, Scully was only too happy to oblige.

                                 -fin-

So - is that better guys? You asked for 'hot' and I tried to oblige,
but I'm not sure that the first version wasn't better. That one left
it to your own twisted imaginations, whereas now you'll have to put
up with mine. Ah well. Remember, feedback is always welcome.

Cheerio - Red V