Title: Call Me Ishmael

Author: Polly - polly122456@yahoo.com

Feedback: Always welcome and appreciated

Rating: Borderline NC-17, but probably really only R.  

This is probably about as smutty as I can get, which 

is pretty sad in itself.

Category: MSR, post episode, RST

Spoilers: Quagmire

Disclaimer: Not mine; all XF characters belong to 

1013 Productions.

Archive:  If you want it, it's yours.

Notes: I swear I started this for the Haven 500 words 

of RST Challenge.  Really.  But it just kept going 

and I couldn't stop it.  So it's about 1121 words 

over.  Is that a problem?  Isn't it true what they 

say?  Size doesn't matter?  Anyway, I'm sorry.  I 

cheated.

Thanks:  To Peg's Girl for putting aside her dislike 

of coconut cream pie to be my beta.

Summary: Conversation on the Rock Continued



=======================



He was here.  I knew as soon as I stepped out of the 

shower, the flickering light from the television was 

a telltale sign that Mulder had left his own room and 

taken up residence in mine.



I snapped off the bathroom light and continued to 

towel dry my hair as I walked toward the bed.  He 

didn't seem to notice as he absently stared at the 

muted TV where Ron Popeil was silently extolling the 

amazing capabilities of the Pocket Fisherman.



After Mulder's close encounter with the alligator, we 

caught a ride back to the All Night Diner and Bait 

Shop where we had rented the boat earlier in the day.  

The owner was none too happy about the loss of the 

vessel, but *was* grateful enough to Mulder for 

ridding the community of the reptilian menace to 

provide us with sustenance on the house.  We were 

both famished after being 'marooned' on the rock for 

much of the evening and devoured the meatloaf 

sandwiches, french fries, and chocolate shakes before 

we were barely out of the parking lot.



Back at the motel, we retreated to our separate rooms 

to peel off our still damp clothing.  When I heard 

his shower go on in the connecting room, I stepped 

into mine and lingered under the spray of hot water 

that was slowly taking the chill out of my bones.   

Usually separate showers meant separate bedrooms, but 

apparently not tonight.  Here he was, sitting on my 

bed in a pair of sweatpants, bare chested and 

barefooted, propped against the headboard eating one 

of the six pieces of coconut cream pie he had brought 

from the diner.  No plate.  No fork.  Just the pie 

cupped in his hand, flaky piecrust falling 

everywhere.  Oh well.  If I had learned anything 

after three years on the X-Files, it was that if you 

had the good fortune to find Fox Mulder in your bed, 

crumbs were a small price to pay.



I tossed the towel over the desk chair and snuggled 

next to him on the bed, resting my head on his chest.  

He swallowed the last bite of pie and slipped his 

right arm around me, but he was a million miles away, 

not even realizing the effect he was having on me by 

sensuously sucking the sticky pie filling off each 

finger of his left hand.



I gently touched his chin and he looked down at me, 

almost surprised to find me in his arms.  "I'm sorry 

things didn't turn out the way you wanted them to," I 

said, stroking his cheek.



"I know you are," he replied softly.  "And I'm sorry 

about Queequeg."



"I know you are."



He kissed me lightly on the lips and slipped his hand 

inside my robe, sending tiny jolts of pleasure 

through my body with each soft circle that his thumb 

traced over my warm skin.  But he was still distant, 

staring vacantly at the infomercial.



"Is there something I can do to get you out of this 

Big Blue Funk that you're in?" I asked.



That brought a chuckle and he looked deep into my 

eyes, the sparkle returning to his.  "Just exactly 

what did you have in mind, Starbuck?"



"I'm open to suggestions, Captain Mulder," I said, 

resting my head against his chest again.  "Whatever I 

can do to get you ship shape again, back on a steady 

course."



"What happened to Captain Ahab?"



I wrinkled my nose.  "Remember, that's what I called 

my father.  That would just be too weird."



"Oh, and it's okay for me to call you Starbuck?" he 

laughed.  "That's too kinky, even for me.  Let's see, 

you could call me Moby I suppose.  I am roughly the 

same size as a whale's penis."



"What?" I lifted my head to look in his eyes.  "Is 

there some porn joke in here somewhere?"



"No," he said, stroking my hair until my cheek lay 

flat on his chest again.  "Scully, I'm shocked that a 

Moby Dick aficionado such as yourself would not know 

that Melville wrote at length, no pun intended, about 

the size of a sperm whale's penis."



"I told you my father read it to me.  He must have 

skipped that part."



"Oh, yeah.  Well, in the book Melville says it's 

about six feet long, which coincidentally, is my 

height.  So you can call me Moby if you like."  He 

gave my breast a playful squeeze inside my robe, then 

pulled his arm out to hold me in a lazy embrace.



"You're just full of these amazing facts, aren't 

you?" I asked, tickling his chest with my 

fingernails.



"Well, as someone I hold in high regard once told me, 

'Smart is sexy'."



"You know, there is one big difference between you 

and Ahab, Mulder," I began.



"The captain or the father?"



"The captain," I continued.  "You and Ahab do have 

your singular obsessions in common.  But Ahab has one 

fatal flaw that you don't have."



"Which would be?"



"Ahab's tremendous overconfidence leads him to defy 

common sense and believe that, like a god, he can 

enact his will and remain immune to the forces of 

nature.  That overconfidence ultimately leads him and 

those who follow him to their deaths.  I can't place 

a man who sees hope in the existence of big blue sea 

monsters in that same category."



"Thank you ... I think," he said with a wry smile.  

"But your father certainly had you pegged at a young 

age.  You *are* Starbuck."



"Why do you say that?"



"Well, in the first place, he was a religious man, 

relying on his faith to interpret events and 

determine his actions.  You rely on your faith *and* 

your science, which I suppose is much like a religion 

to you in a way."  He stroked my hair, letting it 

fall between his splayed fingers.



"And in the second place?"



"Starbuck wasn't afraid to stand up to Ahab, to tell 

him that he was being stupid or reckless or selfish.  

But in the end he was the quintessential first mate - 

loyal to his captain to the last.  And that's another 

difference between me and Ahab."  I raised an 

eyebrow.  "Ahab wouldn't listen to Starbuck and in 

the end he paid for his arrogance.  I *always* listen 

to you, Scully."



"Oh, *sure* you do."



"Well, I admit it might not seem that way on the 

surface, but I always take what you say to me to 

heart.  Just think where I'd be if you weren't my 

Starbuck, Scully," he said.  "The white whale would 

have taken me out ages ago.  So for that, I thank 

you."



"You're welcome," I smiled, tracing my finger down 

the glory trail and slipping my hand under the 

waistband of his sweats. "And don't you forget it, 

either."  Good, no boxers.  I admire a man who 

removes all obstacles to ensure a true and steady 

course.  My fingers delve deeper and find what I'm 

looking for.  *Here* be monsters.



Mulder drew in a sharp breath.  "Are you trying to 

get a rise out of me, matey?"



"Aye, aye, Captain," I replied.  "That was the 

general idea."  His coarse chest hair tickled my nose 

as I flicked my tongue over his nipple, capturing a 

stray piece of toasted coconut that had fallen there.  



"I see," he said.  "Does the expression 'blow the man 

down' mean anything to you?"



I squeezed, just enough to send a message.



"Ooooh, Scully, you *know* what I like."  I squeezed 

a little harder this time.



"Ow!  If you don't want to take all the wind out of 

my sails, I'd advise against that."



My hand settled into a slow and steady rhythm as I 

kissed the tip of his nose.  "You know, Captain, we 

have to be at the sheriff's office early in the 

morning to give our final statements.  Are you gonna 

talk all night?"



"That depends," he said, pulling on the tie of my 

robe with one hand and pushing it off my shoulders 

with the other.  "What did you want to talk about?  

The symbolism in 'Moby Dick'?  How Ahab's ship, the 

Pequod, symbolizes doom?  How the whale, on an 

objective level, symbolizes humankind's inability to 

understand the world?  How Queequeg's coffin 

symbolizes both life and death?"



Only Mulder's voice, as smooth as warm honey, could 

make life and death and doom and gloom sound 

positively erotic.  As he talked, I sat back on my 

heels, straddling his long legs, and removed his 

sweatpants in a single tug.   His large hands came to 

rest on either side of my waist, anchoring me as I 

bent forward to place a long, sloppy kiss on his 

lips, my tongue tasting the coconut that still 

lingered on his.



"Are you finished?" I whispered as we came up for 

air.



"I'd like to think I'm just getting started," he 

growled, turning his full attention to my breasts.  I 

giggled and nipped at his earlobe while his lips and 

tongue were otherwise occupied.



"You know, Mulder," I said as I placed soft kisses in 

his hair, "it just occurred to me that there is 

another character in 'Moby Dick' that you remind me 

of.  The story is told through his eyes, but he 

doesn't ever reveal much about himself.  He's 

intelligent, well-educated, and eloquent, and he 

frequently digresses on a wide range of subjects - 

from art and literature to anatomy and legal codes 

..."



The ability to form words suddenly escaped me as two 

fingers had charted a course to the depths that only 

Mulder knew so well.  I shivered as he applied just 

the right pressure and was finally able to gasp, "Oh, 

Mulder ..."



"No, Scully, not Mulder," he purred.  "Call me 

Ishmael ..."



The End



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