Title: Of Elevators and Onions


Author: the idiosyncratic stanwyck


Email: theidiosyncraticstanwyck@yahoo.com


Distribution: Just let me know.


Rating: R


Categories: SRH


Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance. Post-episode.


Spoilers: The Ghost in the Machine


Summary: Going down while going down.


Author's Notes: Written for Fandomonium's Season of Smut


Challenge - I had no idea what to write for one of the


least sexy episodes in XF history, until a few time-honored


cliches presented themselves to offer assistance.





Of Elevators and Onions





"That went better than I had expected," Scully murmured


under her breath, preceding her lanky partner into the


elevator. She jabbed the button for the basement and the


doors slid shut, sealing Scully and Mulder into the six-by-


four grey on grey rectangle.





Mulder rolled his shoulders back and loosened his tie. It


was after five; dress code be damned. "Sure," he agreed


sardonically as they began their journey downward from the


fifth floor. "As far as they're concerned, we solved the


crime. So what if Jerry's dead and the suspect in custody


is innocent; it looks good on paper."





Scully sighed, her blue eyes softening with sympathy as she


took in Mulder's tight expression. "Everyone's sorry about


Agent Lamana, Mulder. And as far as Wilczek's innocence --


he did confess, and you can't prove -- "





He cut her off. "Scully." The simple utterance of her name


conveyed every modicum of his disdain at her continued


disbelief. "I wasn't the one trapped in the air shaft,


minutes away from plunging to my death and being chopped


into hundreds of little pieces."





She winced. "It could've been a malfunction," she rejoined,


but hardly sounded convinced.





"Well, it will look nice on your record, anyway."





She raised an eyebrow. "My record? Mulder, I seem to recall


that you were there too."





"Oh, come on. Spiller had eyes only for you, Scully. She


likes you."





The furrow between Scully's brows became pronounced. "I was


the one presenting the report; of course she was paying


attention to me. And what do you mean, she likes me?"





He grinned, popping open a can of soda and taking a long


swig. "She's got her eye on you, Scully. You've got all the


right qualifications - future Iron Maiden in training."





Scully frowned, but didn't say anything. She knew Mulder


was joking, but still, it was hardly a compliment. Nancy


Spiller was notorious for her frigid nastiness. She was also


forty-five and single; rumor had it that even houseplants


withered in her arctic presence. That couldn't be how Mulder


saw her, could it? Being a woman in a man's world was hard,


damn it, and something Scully had to struggle with every day:


if you were too nice, people used your back as a doormat; if


you tried to be professional and assertive, you were a ball-


breaking bitch.





This elevator ride seemed, really, to be taking an


excessively long time. Her eyes drifted to the panel of


numbers over the doors. The number three glowed green. She


stared at it. Three-three-three - it remained illuminated.


Uh-oh.





"Mu-" she began, but was interrupted by a sudden jolt. The


car rocked, flinging both of them to one side. The metal


support railing painfully jabbed Scully in the ribs.





The motion stopped as suddenly as it had begun, but the


doors remained closed. "Shit," Mulder swore, and began


jabbing buttons. He pounded on the call button - nothing.


"Shit," he swore again.





Scully took a deep breath. For her part, she was feeling a


touch more - well, freaked out than the situation


warranted.





Her eyes met Mulder's and he gulped. They were obviously


both thinking the same thing: the timing of this couldn't


be worse. The surveillance video of Jerry Lamana taking his


final elevator ride projected itself on the screen of


Scully's mind, and she was sure Mulder was seeing the same


thing.





"At the risk of stating the obvious, we seem to be stuck,"


she said with forced lightness, striving to cut the


tension.





"That seems to be a fair assessment of the situation," he


agreed. "How would the Iron Maiden get out of this, Scully?


Use her high heel to pry open the doors, perhaps?" He


glanced down at her flats. "Make a note, Scully - you'll


have to change your footwear."





Scully frowned. She really wished Mulder would drop the


"Iron Maiden" thing. His sense of humor was admittedly


bizarre, but usually much more sophisticated than these


juvenile cracks. He was probably just tired and pissed off,


like her, but still - she didn't go around making Spooky


jokes, did she? Unless he wasn't really joking.





Surely Mulder wouldn't pigeonhole Scully like that. He


understood the importance of maintaining a certain


professional distance in front of others, a professional


facade - hell, he did the same thing, although she was


quickly learning to see right through it. She had to remind


herself that, though they worked together every day,


backing each other up in life or death situations - that's


what partnership is about, after all - they were still


learning one another, working out the kinks.





Working out the kinks.





Sapphire eyes narrowed speculatively. "So, Mulder - you


ever do it in an elevator?"





He thinly avoided spraying a puddle of Pepsi at her


sensibly-clad feet. "You mean - done it, done it?" he


gurgled through a mouthful of surprise and syrupy fizz.





She declined her pointed chin in a single nod. "Yes. Had


sexual relations. Fornicated. Done the nasty. Whatever your


semantical preference."





He had stopped sputtering, but his eyes remained wide, his


lips pursed in a small "oh." Somehow he reminded her of a


puffer fish. She fought down a triumphant grin. Mulder had


a wonderfully nimble mind, but it was still a male mind. Was


it because most guys put everything out there on the


surface that they took one look at a woman and thought they


had her sized up? No appreciation for hidden depths. In this


sense Mulder's profiling skills made him even worse - he


looked at her beige suit and practical shoes and thought he


knew about everything from her childhood fear of clowns to


what she'd eaten for breakfast.





Well, okay - on that particular morning she'd dropped some


oatmeal on her lapel, but still -





She deserved to exact a little revenge. Mulder had no right


to assume she was so one-dimensional. Boring, responsible,


by-the-book Dana Scully. Good Catholic daddy's girl, note-


taker, coloring within the lines and adhering rigidly to


protocol. Blech. That Iron Maiden remark had stung more


than she cared to admit, and now she was enjoying watching


her partner squirm. It was a rather simple, lowbrow pleasure,


but how else was one to amuse oneself while trapped in a


six-by-four rectangle?





Other than the obvious, of course.





Scully decided to make herself comfortable and enjoy the


show. She lowered herself to the floor of the elevator and


slipped off her shoes.





"Um, well - " Mulder swallowed hard and licked his lips.


"No, I can't say that I have. Ah - have you, Scully?"





She let her head loll lazily against the wall and regarded


him through slitted eyes. "Sure," she said laconically, as


if she meant, "Sure, Mulder, I filed those forms," or,


"Sure, Mulder, I'd like a latte."





Mulder stared as if she'd suddenly stated that she was one


of those precious E.B.E.s he was forever chasing. He opened


his mouth, closed it; opened, closed. Finally he put his


hands on his hips and stared at the floor. She understood


his predicament: he was itching with curiosity, but couldn't


very well ask for details.





Which was just as well, really, since she was making this


up as she went along. Although she was tempted to feed him


a story about too much tequila and a deserted academic


building with a faulty elevator one night at the University


of Maryland - would girl on girl be over the top? - it


would be wiser to refrain. She satisfied herself by smiling


mysteriously.





She knew she was in trouble when the expression on his face


began to alter. His eyes narrowed ever so subtly, and she


felt a tingle of nerves in the pit of her stomach. Was that


his profiling face?





"I don't believe you," he said flatly.





Shit, that was his profiling face. She bristled and hoped


her cheeks hadn't flushed. "A lady doesn't kiss and tell,


Mulder. I'm not going to give you the blow-by-blow."





God damn, she'd left herself wide open for a thousand


raunchy comebacks! She realized her mistake immediately,


but before she could rectify it, he said, "Oh, is that all


it was? I thought you meant actual sex, not oral. Blow-by-blow


- did you have multiple partners? How big wwwas this


elevator?"





She had automatically stiffened her posture when she sensed


the attack approaching, and sat ramrod straight as she


responded, "It is when I do it."





"Huh?"





She watched him try to rewind everything he'd just said,


but he still looked bewildered. "Oral sex," she clarified


coolly. "It's 'actual sex' when I do it."





He was obviously rattled again; in fact, there were beads


of sweat dotting his forehead and upper lip - and it wasn't


that hot. Good, she thought spitefully.





"I wouldn't know." He loosened his tie even further and


popped open the top button of his dress shirt. "I've never


been on the receiving end. I mean, uh -"





"I know what you meant." Not many men had been on the


receiving end - not her receiving end - but she didn't have


to tell him that. "Would you like to?"





The bored, casual tone of her voice shocked her almost as


much as the words flying out of her mouth - still, not as


much as they shocked him, apparently.





"Jesus, Scully!" Mulder exclaimed. "You can't just - just


say something like that, especially when we're in a


confined space."





He defensively crossed his arms over his chest, but


could do nothing to hide the obvious effect of her words on


his anatomy. He pouted sulkily, looking as if she'd just


attacked him - which in a way she had, Scully supposed.


With his drooping mouth, stiffly crossed arms, and impudent


erection, the picture he presented was actually quite


ridiculous - and alarmingly endearing. She smothered a


smile behind her palm.





"You're my partner," he continued indignantly. He turned as


if to pace and was met with the sealed elevator doors.





Scully tucked her knees under her chin and regarded his


tense back. "Of course I am," she said softly, relenting


momentarily. "But I'm also a normal human female, Mulder,


not an android." Her tone metamorphosed, lost its sweetness


and turned feline. "So, was that a no?"





Mulder pivoted slowly to face her. His trousers looked


tighter than they had a moment ago. His eyes locked on hers


with frightening intensity. "Scully," he said, voice very


low, "you haven't ever had sex in an elevator."





Almost unconsciously she rose to her knees. "Want me to


prove it?" she countered. Her pulse was skittering rapidly.


The rational part of her wanted to back down, admit that


Mulder was right - but that was so predictable, so boring,


and she had her pride, damn it. His steady gaze was making


her much more uncomfortable than his hard-on, which, now


that she thought about it, was just at eye level. She


suddenly became aware of the ticking of her watch.





Mulder's throat bobbed as he swallowed with difficulty. His


focus slid from the crown of her head to her lipsticked


mouth. Her tongue flicked out to moisten her suddenly dry


lips, and his hips thrust forward involuntarily. They both


gasped and Scully shrank back against the wall.





Mulder had closed his eyes. His skin was tinted rose with


embarrassment and he was breathing rapidly. "I don't


suppose it's much of a secret that that's the most tempting


offer I've heard in a long time," he said. "A very long


time. But you don't have to prove anything to me, Scully. I


concede. You've made your point. There's a lot about you I


don't know."





Scully bit her lip. "I lied," she whispered. "I just - I


was trying to make a point."





Mulder blew out a long breath and pursed his lips. He


chuckled. "Well, point taken." The tension defused, he


slumped down on the elevator floor beside her, arms and


legs akimbo. His knee brushed the outside of her thigh.





"Is it, though?" She sighed. "Usually I'm content to be


Agent Scully, the good little soldier. But I don't want


people to think that's all there is to me. Especially you,


Mulder." Oddly, tears pricked at her eyes, and she tried to


analyze what she was feeling. She was sincerely contrite -


and, just maybe, a bit disappointed?





His warm hand curved around her wrist where it rested on


her knee. "Oh, Scully. You're just - layers upon layers.


Every time I peel one back, I discover a dozen underneath -


similar, on the surface, but actually a previously unknown


entity, uncharted territory. Like an onion."





She snorted. It was a sweet sentiment, but so Mulder. "An


onion?"





"I have the soul of a poet."





A few moments passed in silence. Scully closed her eyes.


Mulder's hand was warm and heavy on her knee.





"Scully," he said suddenly, "is this about that Iron Maiden


remark?"





Internally she cringed. Her eyes blinked open to find him


regarding her intently, his face too close to hers.





"It is," he said. The light bulb in his brain had blinked


on.





"Kind of," she admitted, unaccountably ashamed.





"Oh, Scully." He rubbed her knee in little soothing


motions. "It was a stupid joke. You're always so unmoved by


my sarcasm - I guess I think nothing can ever get under


your skin."





She nodded, fixated on his hand where it touched her.


"That's the image I strive to project." She sought his


eyes. "And it's true, for the most part. But you, Mulder,


you get under my skin."





"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"





Her hand covered his, thumb absently tracing a vein. "I -


think it's a good thing. Today." Was that really her voice,


sultry and teasing? Was that her palm pressing against her


partner's chest, feeling rumpled cotton stretched over warm


muscle? She watched her fingers slowly follow the row of


buttons downward, creeping toward the point where they


disappeared inside his grey wool trousers. He was breathing


shallowly, rapidly; so, she realized, was she. "Right now,


inside this elevator - it's a very good thing, Mulder."





One tapered finger slipped between two buttons and


scratched against his stomach. Mulder arched his back and


hissed. One of his hands clutched her knee while the other


pressed flat against the floor.





"Mulder," she found herself sighing, her voice a sing-song


replay of fifteen minutes earlier, "ever wanted to do it in


an elevator?"





He groaned and grabbed her hand, looking tortured. "Scully


- I dimly remember having this conversationnn -"





She was insane, that was all there was to it; but she


continued, feeling strangely determined. "Not to prove


anything, Mulder. Just - because." Her free hand began to


work the cool leather of his belt and he shifted


restlessly.





She felt him trembling, but he released her hand; it went


immediately to his zipper and began to draw it down. "Lie


back - I'll do all the work." She moved between his legs


and leaned forward, hair fanning against her cheeks. She


grinned. "I'll give you the blow-by-blow, partner."





"Jesus, Scully!"





She felt reckless, wild - Mulder's cock, separated from her


skin by the silky fabric of his boxers, pushed against her


palm; he was holding his breath, straining toward her


touch, her mouth, and she wanted to laugh from sheer


exhilaration. Instead she reached inside his underwear and


drew him out, felt him throb against her lifeline, and


swooped forward, engulfing as much of him as she could.





Mulder jerked once and was still; tension vibrated in his


strong thigh muscles where his legs framed her torso. One


hand rested on the top of her head; the other clumsily


slipped inside her blazer to find a breast. The angle was


awkward, and he was too focused for his technique to be


anything to write home about, but his fumbling urgency was


exciting.





She stayed still, sucking gently, until he began to move


against her in shallow, uncontrollable thrusts. "Scully,"


he gasped, "I can't - sorry -"





She smiled around his girth. This was going to be too easy.


Scully idly wondered how long it had been since someone had


done this to him, for him. She was aroused, yes, but part


of her remained the scientist, testing, observing.





He couldn't hold still, but somehow etiquette that should


have shamed a high school boy seemed charming on Mulder.


Scully slurped messily, realizing that the finer points of


her repertoire would be wasted on him at this juncture.


What he needed now was something with roughly the suction


of an Electrolux.





Fingers tangled in her hair and clutched at her breast, and


Mulder came with a shout and such force that the earth


seemed to move.





Odd, thought Scully, who had *not* come, until she realized


that the earth was moving - or at least the elevator was.





She met Mulder's gaze as she righted herself and tucked her


hair behind her ears. He looked totally stunned, but began


to make himself presentable with admirable speed as the


elevator moved downward. Scully stood up and slipped her


feet into her shoes.





Having regained the power of speech, Mulder mused, "We're


not stuck any more. Think that was the magic formula?"





Scully smiled primly. "Oh, I don't know. One isolated


incident doesn't provide enough information for me to form


a reliable hypothesis. However, with further


experimentation -" She shrugged philosophically.





The elevator arrived at its final destination with a sedate


chime. Scully sauntered through the open doors, the


slightest of smiles gracing her face. She paused and


glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes gleamed.





"Next time," she vowed, "it's my turn."





End 1/1