Title: Prestidigitation Author: OneMillionAndNine http://www.geocities.com/onemillionandnine/ Rating: NC17 Category: Vignette, Angst, Missing Scene Archive: Sure knock yourself out Feedback: kokotheuberchimp@hotmail.com Disclaimer: You'd know if I owned Mulder because he'd have spent more time over the last several years with his shirt off and his glasses on - his own special FBI dress code Summary: the missing scene from Per Manum, where Scully asks Mulder THE BIG QUESTION Thanks: To MaybeAmanda for performing a ridiculous amount of beta on such a small story Warning: if you think neither or Mulder or Scully masturbate, you probably won't like this story Note: to my precious little stalkers - more long stories are in the works +++++++++++++++++++++++++ On the day in question, I had knelt behind the door to our office, not for any practical reason but because it seemed appropriate, skulk-wise, and I... It was not the first time, of course, but I still can't be blamed. The way he flaunts his habit, keeps his magazines and videos in our office - I can't be held responsible. Besides, it was highly inappropriate of him to masturbate during work hours since it essentially meant the American public was paying for his self-gratification. It was also highly inappropriate of me to watch, but as a tax payer, at least I got my money's worth. He committed his faux pas fairly frequently. I, on the other hand, usually had enough mastery over my hormones to turn and walk away. But that morning Dr. Parenti told me the ova were viable. *My* ova were viable. The beans Mulder had found turned out to be magic after all, and if I were lucky, I might find a baby growing in the garden. The idea was surreal; it was like one of the fairy tales my grandmother had told me as a child -'Once upon a time, an FBI agent wanted a baby very badly, so her partner gave her a vial of nearly invisible eggs. . .' The next step was to locate a donor. There had only ever been one choice for me. But how could I ask him? Irony of ironies that I should return to work to find Mulder mid-donation, as it were. I couldn't stop myself from momentarily wishing six hours in a tissue in the bottom of the waste paper basket didn't necessarily render sperm useless. Then I'd be home free. What would he say in response? 'You could have asked, Scully,' he chided in the back of my head. 'But you weren't going to use them. You just threw them away,' I hypothetically whined in response. Oh well, the point was moot. I had to either ask him or loose my one chance... But not at that exact moment. At that moment, I just needed to watch. His eyes were almost closed, his teeth sunk into his ruby lower lip. He was slouched uncomfortably in his office chair several feet from his desk, his head braced against the wall, feet flat on the floor, his knees bent at an acute angle and, of course, his penis straining happily above the well-draped grey wool of his designer pants. Normally I find Mulder's wardrobe slightly excessive, but seeing him under the buzzing fluorescent light in all his tumescent glory, I thought it might be at least a venal sin to cover a generative organ like that with anything "off the rack". If ever a member rated being hidden behind Armani slacks, his did. Still does, actually. The penis in question was smooth and curved slightly to the left, the tip pomegranate red to match his lips, and too big to be real, or desirable, really, for anything beyond ogling. I would never buy a vibrator that big. I couldn't the see the video he was watching from my vantage point but it didn't have the usual sound track, no heavy bass. Maybe it was one of the "special" videos that sit toward the back of the drawer. I could hear Lou Reed distinctly, even though the sound was set purposefully low. . . . shiny shiny shiny boots of leather. . . I wondered what was happening on the screen. Mulder was focusing all his rapt attention on it as he stroked himself. I was ashamed to find myself wishing it was me on that video. He held himself very loosely around the shaft, daylight clearly visible between his fingers, but his actions did not seem casual. Instead, everything about his behavior screamed restraint, as if he was deliberately holding his orgasm at bay, savoring the moment. Masturbation being his sole means of gratification, it made perfect sense, but I shivered just the same. He shivered soon after, as if in response. I didn't notice the moment when his head was no longer braced against the wall. I didn't notice him moving incrementally forward. I was too busy watching him rub his saliva moistened thumb over the inverted valentine of his glans. I didn't notice that he was literally close enough to reach out and grab me. And grab me he did, wrapping his left hand firmly around my wrist. His expression never changed. I couldn't tell whether he was angry or delighted. He just kept running his hand up and down the shaft though I thought I could feel his grip on my arm tighten. Even as his fingers squeezed I knew I could wrench myself free if I wanted. All I had to do was tell him to let go and he would. So I made my choice: I chose to stay within his grasp. I wanted to speak, but words were nowhere to be found. I tried to move my hand to touch him, but his hold prevented it. It also prevented me from doing the right thing and walking out the door. When he spoke, it surprised me. "I didn't know you liked to watch, Scully." his eyes were still only half open as he slowly turned them to my face. "I would have arranged to get you a better seat for the show." "I. . .I. . .I. . ." I was kneeling in my office doorway with my partner's penis less than a foot away from my face; of course I was utterly inarticulate. "You what, Scully? What do you want to tell me?" he continued slowly caressing himself. "Do you want to tell me you're afraid?" No," I answered, a little too quickly. "I. . .umm. . .I. . . " "Are you sorry for invading my privacy like this, Scully ? Was that what you were going to say ?" his deadly gaze was turned off of me and back onto his prodigious organ allowing me to breathe again . "No." I could barely hear myself answer. "Good. I'd hate for you to have to tell your priest about this," he muttered. "What is it you wanted to say?" "I. . .um, I think you ...umm look good," I both stuttered and whispered. "Yeah?" He smiled, trying to sound in control but both his hands were clenched. "I'll let you know in advance next time and you can sell tickets to the secretarial pool." My fingers began to feel numb. My face was already burning with arousal and embarrassment, but he kept on talking. "You like to watch, Scully?" His rhythm sped up. "Then watch." As if I could look away . I found myself breathing in rhythm with his white knuckled strokes. If I had a better imagination I would swear the sweaty touch of his other hand on my arm was erotic in nature. "You've done this before, haven't you?" The fist now pulling on his penis was becoming feverish. "You've watched me." "Only...only a few times." "Oh, you little liar. You little spy." He choked out, half laughing. "I was right about you all along. Only I don't think this is exactly what Spender was looking for, is it? It'd make an interesting report, though. " "Mulder...I..." But I didn't know what I wanted to say. "How ...how long has it been, Scully? How long has it been since somebody fucked you?" His voice was vaguely menacing or vaguely pleading; I couldn't tell which. I spoke out loud for the first time. "Too long." "So why were you watching me? Does it turn you on? Were you gonna lie in bed tonight and think of me? Touch yourself? You do that, don't you? You fuck yourself, and you think about me." His digits had become a blur in front of my face. This question I had the answer for. "Yes, I do." I tried my best to keep the emotion out of my words, but even to my own ears I sounded breathy, aroused, like a woman in one of his videos. The irony set my teeth on edge. With every passing moment I embarrassed myself more and more. Jerkily he pulled my hand closer but I was still not touching his penis as he began to quake. The pit of my stomach was cold and fluttering and I watched him deliberately ejaculate into the palm of my hand. I finally noticed how damp my panties were when my clitoris began to shudder in what I would normally describe as an orgasm. When I opened my eyes, I noticed he had let go of my hand. I also noticed two thick strands of semen starting to congeal on the sleeve of my suit jacket. Mulder's semen. I don't know what compelled me to speak at that particular juncture, personally I blame it on a combination of oxygen deprived brain and an adrenalin/endorphin cocktail. Sitting on the cold office floor, I blurted out, "Mulder, Dr. Parenti said some of my eggs are viable. I've thought about it all morning and I want a baby. I mean, I thought about it for longer than that, years really, and I need a donor. Will you be my donor? My father?" Oh, that couldn't have come out more wrong. "My baby's father, I mean. Will you give me a baby? I want to have your baby, Mulder." I'm not sure, but I think that sounded worse. I was still trying to sort out both my thoughts and my syntax when he stepped over me and all but ran down the hall. From inside the elevator I heard him call. "I'll think about it Scully. Okay, Scully? I'll think about it." He said more, but it was lost behind the sound of the closing doors. It took everything I had to convince myself that it didn't sound like "sorry." ++++++++++++++++++++