Meredith's Birthday by M Partous

STORIES ON THIS SITE ARE INTENDED FOR ADULTS ONLY
WARNING: Rated NC-17 for explicit sexual descriptions. Not appropriate for younger readers.

I thought I'd take a completely meaningless self-indulgent break from "Puppets", not because I think what follows should happen, you understand, but because I think it *would* happen if it weren't for CC, or as I affectionately refer to him, 666, the Number of the Beast.

This is for my email buddy, Meredith, with whom I've shared many a hilarious and profound conversation over the ether. Her birthday's coming up and I'll be out of town when it does, so since we're both hopelessly twisted, I wanted to give her this little token of my esteem.

Happy birthday, Mere: It's got humour, sex and Scully's point of view. Hope you like it.

DISCLAIMER: I grovel in front of Himself, the One From Whom All X-Files Flow, and thank him abjectly for his tolerance of the endless abuse, self or otherwise, his fans reap on his poor characters and concepts. On the other hand, no one can convince me it's not unbelievably flattering. That said, this is written without permission and with no intent to infringe on copyright and ownership. I swear not to get it published.

Meredith's Birthday by M Partous

Dana Scully was ready to kill her partner.

There was nothing particularly newsworthy about that. She'd wanted to kill him before.

Hell, once she almost had.

In retrospect, she wondered why she hadn't aimed lower.

They were stuck in a motel miles away from a cappuccino on a Friday night. The town, if you were able to spit it out between your teeth to call it that, was so small that even the damn frogs were asleep by 6 pm.

The case was unbelievably outrageous, even by Mulder's incomprehensible standards; a bogus psychic, some disappearing lawn jockeys -- lawn jockeys! In this day and age! -- and a few trashed flower beds, a desecrated grave site or two, nothing to write home about, and two reports of bright lights in the sky.

It was a case that deserved, oh, say, about 17 neurons fired and a maximum of 3 minutes.

They'd been there a week.

The motel was so squalid that Scully actually found it almost amusing.

Almost.

A paint-by-number velvet painting of some big-eyed kid with two horrendously large crocodile tears peeled its way serenely out of its frame over her bed.

The bed listed to one side so badly that landlubbing Mulder would've been retching into a paper bag if he so much as sat on it.

The balding carpet -- she couldn't dwell for any length of time on the carpet -- was exactly the perfect shade of mottled brown to evoke images of ancient outhouses too long in use.

She shuddered.

The bathroom, meanwhile, was something she actually couldn't describe, in that she'd never once brought herself to open her eyes in there.

The only thing the room had going for it -- and just the thought made Scully grit her teeth -- was a state-of-the-art television with a VCR and a selection of pornographic videos stacked neatly on top of the unit.

Free videos. The owners used the honour system, mainly, she thought, because no guests would be caught dead crossing any kind of security line with one of those babies in their bags.

And she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Mulder had booked the motel because A) it was cheap, B) it was sleazy, and C) he'd somehow found out about the free videos.

The goddam rooms rented by the hour.

When they'd arrived, the fat stubbled clerk behind the desk had scratched his belly, leered at her and said: "We have a special rate for anything under 30 minutes."

Scully had glared at Mulder, who'd grinned at her, shrugged and said: "Oh, yeah? How much?"

She'd stood stock still, but just the look on her face was enough to make the clerk scramble for a registration form.

"We also have a special rate for anything *over* 30 minutes," he babbled.

"That would be the one," she'd said stiffly.

When she'd looked up at Mulder, he was wearing an indescribable expression under speculative jet black eyes.

Now it was 10:15 pm one week later, they'd had a lousy supper in some joint on main street where she'd crunched ice cubes as she'd watched him wolf down piece after piece of sweet potato pie.

Bizarre.

Mulder had never shown any sign of having much of sweet tooth.

It was a Friday night, her best friend Meredith was having a surprise birthday party the next day, one she'd organized herself to make sure only people she liked would be there, and there was no sign that this case was anywhere near over.

Earlier, she'd called her friend from her cell phone; there were no phones in the room.

"Mere?"

"Dana! Where the hell are you?"

Scully sighed. "I'm stuck out in Hicksville with the Magnificent Mulder, who's trying to make an X-File appear out of thin air."

"Jeez. Are you okay?"

"Oh, you know. You get used to it."

"I guess." There was an ominous pause.

"Wait a minute, Dana. Are you trying to tell me you won't be here tomorrow?"

Scully cringed. "It doesn't look like it, Mere."

Silence.

"Meredith? Light of my life, my oldest friend, the one I love?"

"I even invited some cute guys for you, Dana." Meredith's voice was chilly.

"You know, Mere, I don't much notice cute guys anymore unless they're dead and sprawled out for an autopsy."

Silence.

"Meredith, I'm beginning to feel like some weird circus sideshow lady."

"The bearded kind?"

"No. The '90s variety. The kind with no life and fabulous tailored clothing."

Meredith laughed throatily.

"Well, you know, Dana, I've only seen your partner once, but he's not half bad."

"He's a complete flake, Mere."

"Yeah, but you can't make me believe you don't find him remotely hot."

Scully considered this.

"He's fairly attractive, I suppose."

"Oh, pleeeeese."

"He killed my dog, Mere. Indirectly."

"Oh, he did not. You're just saying that because he was around when it happened and you knew he didn't like it. Anyway, it was a repulsive little thing."

"Meredith!"

"C'mon, Scully, you owe me. If you're gonna miss my birthday, you'd better make it worth my while."

"What do you mean, for God's sake?"

"I want you to jump him."

"What?" Scully pulled the receiver from her ear and stared at it incredulously.

"You heard me. That's what I want for my birthday."

"You are one sick puppy, you know that?"

"Look. Do it or die."

Scully sighed. Then, slowly, she felt a smile crease her lips.

"I can't promise it'll work, Mere."

"You've been abducted and lived to tell the tale. This is child's play, Dana."

"Okay, okay. I'll do my best. But remember -- I'm doing this for you."

A laugh. "Sure. Fine. Whatever."

So now it was 10:20, she was lying in bed, and the unmistakable sound of cheesy porno drifted through the paper-thin wall between her room and Mulder's.

Tacky synthesizer music under a dull throbbing electro beat.

Moans, groans and grunts.

Jesus.

But she'd decided to do this, and she felt her nipples harden despite herself.

She brushed her hands against her breasts, sighing and rolling her hips a little.

It had been a while.

And she actually liked Mulder. A lot. She always had.

As she rubbed her nipples through her blouse, she couldn't help thinking about his moist, pouty mouth, his ubiquitous stubble, the forlorn, helpless look he wore when he wanted to get to her.

The intriguing way his trousers seemed to bulge around his groin.

The way his eyes always dipped beneath her face to fix on her crotch, her breasts, when he thought she wasn't looking.

That man had the hardest time keeping steady eye contact.

She grinned and got up to get ready.

The synthesizer was still thumping when she rattled the door between their rooms.

The soundtrack stopped abruptly.

"Scully?" His voice was thin through the walls, strained, a little hoarse.

"Open the door, Mulder."

"Uh, I'm kind of busy right now."

"Mulder. I said open the door."

"It's really not a great time, Scully." She bit down a giggle at the muted hysteria in his voice.

"It's the perfect time, Mulder. Now open the door before I break it down."

She had time to decide he wasn't going to do it when she heard the sound of the latch turning.

The door swung open. His room lay in darkness except for the hiccup of the neon sign outside his window.

She looked up and saw his eyes glitter in the dark.

He was dressed in obviously hurriedly thrown-on sweats and a T-shirt. One hand lay casually across his midriff; she knew exactly why.

And, God bless him, he looked concerned.

"What's wrong, Scully? Are you okay?"

"You hiding something from me, Mulder?"

"Uh..." his eyes drifted down. And froze.

She was wearing her usual blouse and suit jacket.

And nothing else.

He stepped back but his eyes didn't budge an inch from her midsection.

"Scully?" It was a squeak.

"Think of it as a birthday present, Mulder."

"It's..." He cleared his throat and looked up at her. His eyes were wide. "It's not my birthday."

She shrugged. "Whatever."

She stepped into his room.

He lifted his hand from his front and Scully saw him bulge towards her.

Impressive.

She kept walking as he stepped backwards away from her, his eyes white in the light, until the bed stopped him and he sank back against it.

She undid her jacket and dropped it to the floor as she yanked her blouse up over her head.

Mulder's eyes wavered from her groin to her breasts and down again, shakily.

Scully growled.

Then she almost laughed at the expression on his face.

She kneeled in front of him, tucked her fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and pulled them down in one smooth motion.

He gasped as his erection swung free.

Scully tugged the pants off his ankles and parted his thighs with her hands.

She met his eyes. He stared at her, propped up on his elbows. His breath was ragged, his mouth open, glistening in the gaudy neon light.

She smiled.

Then she lowered her mouth to his straining cock.

His penis was velvet against her lips, her tongue. His thighs tightened under her hands, his hips rising, his butt squirming against the sheets. She started to rub her clitoris slowly, evenly, with her fingertips, drawing smooth circles as she began to burn.

She looked up at him as she sucked more of him in; his head was thrown back, his Adam's apple bobbing in the light. She could see his lips, pursed, full, as he moaned and writhed against her mouth. He began to push, rotating his groin, pumping up and down in a staggered, helpless rhythm.

She knew he was close. He'd been close before she'd arrived.

Now he was frantic.

Her hand sped up and she moaned against him.

He jerked at the sound. "Scullleeeeeee...."

It was a groan mingled with a breath.

She wrapped her free hand around his testicles and massaged them, urging him on.

"Oh God..." She saw him whip his head from side to side. "God, stop. Please. I'm gonna come, Scully."

She sucked harder, her lips clinging to the base of him, tickled by the nest of crisp hairs.

Her hand was a blur against her body.

He cried out, arched upward and grabbed her head, keeping it in place against him as he jetted into her, moaning, his hips pounding against her face.

She swallowed furiously, her mouth filled to overflowing as she rubbed herself wildly. Semen escaped and ran down the side of her chin as she shuddered into orgasm, thrusting against her fingers, her other hand pulling convulsively at his balls.

Finally they were both still. Mulder lay back, legs splayed, chest heaving, his hand still buried in Scully's hair as she wiped her mouth and lay her cheek against his thigh, nuzzling it.

Eventually, she moved up on the bed and lay against him, her leg across his hip, causing him to shudder as it brushed against his groin. His eyes were closed but he wrapped his arm fiercely around her shoulders and drew him to his neck, his other arm snaking up to pull her closer.

"I thought I'd stay the night," she murmured, her lips against his stubbled chin.

She felt his hand move over her shoulder, along her arm, dawdle a little at her breasts to tease her nipples and, without further ado, bury itself in her crotch as he pushed two fingers immediately inside her, deeply, probing against her cervix so that she gasped and twisted.

"I think that's a good idea," he breathed. She felt his smile against her brow.

"Happy birthday..." she whispered.

"Sure. Fine. Whatever."

END