- Shocking Blue
- by Karen Matheson
- Rating: NC-17
- Classification: SRA
- Spoilers: Gethsemane
- Keywords: S/S, MSR
- Summary: Scully gets lucky, in more ways than one.
- Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the television program
"The X Files" are the creations and property of Chris Carter,
Fox Broadcasting, and Ten-Thirteen Productions, and have been used without
permission. No copyright infringement is intended.
- Special thanks to my editorial triumverate: my pal Stephanie, Queen
Shipper, who indulged my straying into unpopular waters and led me back
to the path of righteousness; Chantal, Editor of the Gleaming Knife, who
encourages my wicked ways and is wise enough not to let me fall into the
morass of syrupy love-mush; and Rhoni, the one-and-only Purple Rhino --
if she likes it, I figure it can't be all that bad.
- Warning: this story is NC-17, so if you are under 18, vamoose.
- Comments to: firstname.lastname@example.org Please put 'To Karen' in subject
- Shocking Blue
- "I am a man who fasts until I see what I want."
- The English Patient, Michael Ondaatje
- I have never seen Agent Scully look the way she looks tonight. But
then, I would never have imagined her in this setting, either. I sit in
the darkest corner of the garishly pulsating nightclub, watching her. I
am here to protect her. From herself.
- On the dancefloor, she is undulating lasciviously in front of a skinny
man with spiked platinum hair, dark at the roots. Her eyes never leave
his as every part of her body moves, seemingly of its own volition. She
is drunk, I can see that from the glaze in her eyes and the way her wet
lips are parted. The man can see this too, and he pulls her close, crushing
those lips under his own. She pulls back and smiles. She looks...triumphant?
They leave the dancefloor, heading to the exit. Time to move. I'm out of
my seat in an instant and making my way toward them.
- I saw him the moment he entered the club, not long after I made my
own entrance, clothed in the tightest black jeans I could find, pulled
on over a skin-tight black leotard. I am dressed for success tonight, and
career has got nothing to do with it.
- He thinks I don't know he's here, but the whirling disco lights shine
off his bald dome like a beacon, pointing the way to safety. Fuck safety.
Mulder is dead and I am dying and I've come here looking for Mr. Goodbar.
The multi-pierced stud leading me through the crowd is just the ticket.
I'm going to get good and fucked tonight, or die trying. Maybe both. I
don't care anymore.
- Suddenly, Skinner is in front of us, barring the way. "Hunh?"
says my date du nuit. I smile. So he is as stupid as he looks. Good. It's
not his brains I'm after.
- "Agent Scully," Skinner barks in his best Assistant Director
voice. "May I have a word with you?"
- "I'm off duty," I smile, draping myself around my new 'friend.'
Skinner's eyes darken. He's not looking too bad himself tonight, grey T-shirt
stretched over taut muscles, broad shoulders concealed under a deep-brown
leather jacket that matches his eyes. Mmm, Dana, I think to myself, your
mind really is in the gutter tonight.
- "I insist," he hisses between clenched teeth.
- "Hey buddy," says my blond bimbo pal, "the lady don't
wanta talk to you. Now buzz off, we got business to attend to." He
looks down at me, leering. His teeth are snaggled and I wonder what they
will feel like on me. I squirm against him in encouragement.
- I look up in surprise, both at Skinner's use of my first name, and
the gentle tone with which he speaks it.
- "Is this..." he jerks his head toward Blondie. "Is this
really what you want? Is this really going to help anything?"
- Goddamn. Goddamn it to hell.
- "This is MY life, *Sir*! My life to do with what's left of it!"
I am furious, seeing red and little else in the woozy drunken haze. "Sid
here," I point at Blondie's chest so there's no confusion, but apparently
there is, because Sid interrupts me.
- Now it's my turn to say, "Hunh?"
- "Ted. My name's Ted."
- "Whatever. Sid here is an artist, and he's--" I stifle a
giggle, to little success. "He's taking me back to his place to show
me his etchings." I can't help it, I'm really laughing now. Skinner
doesn't seem to get the joke. Too fucking bad. My anger flares up again
at the sight of his tightly held chin, muscle jumping along the jaw line.
"Sid doesn't give a sweet flying fuck if I'm Agent Dana Scully, FBI,
or Lovely Rita, Meter Maid. He just wants to give me what *I* want."
- I pause, swaying on my feet and jab Skinner's rock-hard chest for emphasis.
"What can *you* give me? An office in the basement where I don't even
have my own fucking desk, a partner that's jerked around like a puppet
on a string until he cuts the strings by blowing his head off, and a case
of terminal cancer! Is that all you can offer me?"
- Skinner grabs my hand and jerks me against him. I can smell his musky
male scent and shiver as the tips of my breast are crushed against his
hardness. He doesn't say anything, but his lips are pulled back from his
teeth, like a dog about to bite. And then he kisses me. There is nothing
gentle about him now, and I am glad. Mulder was gentle. I want to forget
- "Hey!" says Sid, not about to bow out gracefully, not when
he's got a live one on the line. "Hey Diane! What the fuck you doin'?"
- Skinner grabs Sid by the scruff of the neck, and for one drunken moment,
I wonder if he's about to give him the Vulcan nerve pinch. This thought
sets off another round of giggles, muffled into Skinner's chest.
- "Back off boy," Skinner hisses, his eyes as dark and deadly
as the swamps he once stalked as a Marine. "Unless you want to find
out what life looks like with your head screwed up your ass!"
- He releases Blondie, who rubs his shoulder and pouts prettily. "Diane?"
he mewls, pleadingly.
- "Yeah, back off Sid. Something's come up." I rub my hand
against the front of Skinner's faded jeans. Oh my, something certainly
- It seems impossible, but Skinner's back straightens up even stiffer.
He grabs my wrist again, and the pain shoots up my arm like fire.
- "We're getting out of here," he growls. "I'm taking
- "I thought you'd never ask," I purr, pressing my hips against
- As we leave, I glance back over my shoulder. Sid looks like a little
boy lost. That's life, Sid. You can't always get what you want...but sometimes
you get what you need. And what I need is hard and strong and implacable
as he leads me to his car.
- It's at least a 15-minute drive to Scully's apartment, but I am determined
to shave as much off this as possible as I speed through the dark streets
of night in the city. I am ashamed of my behavior in the club, but try
to rationalize it. It was the only thing I could do to get her attention,
to get her away from that punk. I followed her there tonight, on a gut
instinct that she was not handling this latest tragedy as calmly as her
performance in front of the board would indicate. I sat in my car outside
her apartment for hours, unsure of what I thought might happen, but knowing
that I couldn't abandon her to fate as I had her partner. When she emerged
from her building and climbed into a cab, looking like a painted whore
setting off on the stroll, I knew there would be trouble. I just didn't
see myself getting caught up in it, at least not this way.
- She's lounging back in her seat, head pressed back against the car
door. Her lovely red hair falls across her forehead. Her eyes lock with
mine. What a shocking blue, I think, not for the first time.
- Her feet are on the dashboard, and I stifle the impulse to tell her
to get them the hell down, sit up straight and fasten her seatbelt. Her
next movement makes me regret that I hadn't followed that impulse. She
kicks off her right shoe, then the left. Her bare feet hang in the air
for a moment, and I am mesmerized by how small and white they are. I wrench
my eyes back to the road. Getting into an accident with one of your agents
tarted up like a whore would not look good on your permanent record, Walter.
- But all coherent thought leaves me as Agent Scully's pretty little
feet settle over my lap, the heels rubbing insistently against me. My cock,
still semi-hard from her touch only minutes before, jerks back to full-alert
status. The breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh.
- "Think you can ignore me?" Scully purrs, as her heels continue
their little dance of seduction. "I don't *think* so, Sir. I will
*not* be ignored," she adds, imitating Glenn Close in Fatal Attraction,
to a renewed hail of giggles.
- What the fuck have I gotten myself into, I think. I grab her ankles
and shove them off me, leaving my right arm between us as a barrier.
- "*Agent* Scully," I say, emphasizing the 'agent,' "I
am taking you home and putting you to bed--" I raise my voice over
the 'oooohs' this statement produces, "--and then I am going home!
And we will forget this incident ever happened. On Monday, I'm going to
refer you to a Bureau counselor, so you can deal with your grief--"
- "Oh, but I know the perfect way to deal with my grief, Sir, I
really do." She's moving across the seat, getting closer, slow and
sinuous as a cat. "And I'm afraid the only person--the *only* person--who
can help me with that is you--"
- My right hand comes up to block her progress as she tries to crawl
into my lap. Undaunted, she takes my hand in both of hers, nipping at the
knuckles, drawing her nails along the sensitive palm, and finally, slowly,
taking my long middle finger in between her rosebud lips and suckling like
- Oh God, Walter, I think to myself. You are a dead man.
- I unlock the door to my apartment and Skinner pushes me in, slamming
the door behind him. I am ready, as ready for this as I am to die, to leave
behind all the pain of these last few years. But I am not going to go gentle.
I'm going out with a bang.
- I whirl around and jump into Skinner's arms, wrapping my legs around
him and grinding against him. He's ready, too, even though he doesn't want
to admit it. I'll make him admit it.
- I bury my face in his neck, chewing delicately on his earlobe, salty
as the thoughts running amok in my grief-addled mind. Skinner groans as
he peels me off him, setting me back on the floor.
- "You want this. I know you do. As much as I want you." I
shove him up against the wall, amazed at how easily the five-foot-two Dana
Scully can push around this ex-Marine.
- My knees are jello. My conscience is on vacation. I am insane. I am
damned. I pull the little red-headed devil tormenting me into my arms and
kiss her into silence, or at least the next best thing to it. She is breathing
heavily, as am I, but all powers of speech have left us. She reaches up
and tugs my jacket halfway off, trapping my arms. She smiles, evilly.
- "I think I like you better this way." Her hands reach for
my belt buckle, but I wrench my arms free of the jacket and grab her, swooping
her up in one fluid movement and carrying her down the hall. To the bedroom.
- I kick open the door and throw her on the bed. I flick on the light.
Her eyes are glowing. I have never felt such lust in my entire life, and
it controls me, refusing to release my better judgement from its steely
- Scully licks her lips. I fall on her.
- Ooooh God, this feels so good! Why didn't I think of this before? All
those nights chasing Mulder and little green men when I could have stayed
back at the office, letting my boss fuck me into oblivion.
- His lips are hard against mine, tongue invading my mouth and I welcome
it, sucking it into the moist recesses of my being. His hard, long length
shudders against me and he reaches for my breasts, thumbs bruising the
nipples into fiery points of desire. He tries to pull my top out of my
jeans, but to no avail. He looks up, confused, and more than a little frustrated.
- "It's a leotard," I offer helpfully.
- "I don't care if it's a fucking tutu, get it off!"
- "Is that an order?" I ask softly, running my hands up and
down his chest, pausing at his own breasts to tweak the nipples, hard.
- "Unh! Okay. No more Mr. Nice Guy."
- Faster than I would think humanly possible, my jeans are unzipped and
yanked off, thrown to the floor to lie there inside out, accusing me in
mute abandonment. Then the leotard is wrenched off my shoulders, pulled
down the short length of my body, and soon joins the pants on the floor.
Skinner's eyes lock on my breasts, pushed up and together in my black lace
bra. His gaze slides down to the matching panties.
- "Sweet Mother of God."
- "That's nice of you to say, Sir, but you should know, I'm not
a virgin. Certainly not a blessed one."
- He grunts in agreement, nuzzling the lace off my nipples with his nose,
and then, teeth. Look Ma, no hands, my mind trills foolishly.
- But I don't laugh when those teeth close on an engorged nipple. Oh
no. Laughter is the furthest thing from my mind as I arch my back into
his hot, insistent mouth, moaning my approval.
- Skinner's hand snakes up to cradle my skull in his bear-like paw, fingers
tangling in my hair. The other hand moves down my body, until the thumb
hooks decisively in the waistband of my panties.
- "Rip them off," I whisper huskily. "Rip them off!"
- Shudders of desire are rippling along his finely muscled back as he
struggles to maintain control, and some semblance of his strained discipline.
I want to strip him bare, to leave him as naked and raw as I am.
- "Scu-- Dana..." His voice and his breathing are ragged.
- I touch my lips to one trembling ear.
- "Please..." I punctuate each word with a thrusting of my
hips. "Please. Fuck me. Please..."
- Before you can say "Flukeman," the tattered remnants of lace
are wafting through the air, followed by my bra and most of Skinner's clothes.
I feel a sharp pang of disappointment when I see that he's wearing briefs.
I thought he'd be a boxers man, like...I push away the thought. Soon, the
briefs are gone and my mind returns to more immediate matters.
- I must be careful not to hurt her. She is so tiny, and with her pale,
perfect features, so like a China doll. I brace myself on my elbows, trying
to keep my full weight from pressing down upon her. But someone else is
less concerned about safety. Scully reaches between us and grabs me with
her small, white hand. My head snaps back violently and my back arches
in a bow. She takes advantage of my distraction, wriggling down the bed
beneath me. And then I feel her lips on me. I grab the headboard, desperate
to maintain my balance, and try to shift my weight to my knees. Seemingly
oblivious to my struggles, Scully continues to work my cock, tongue snaking
around the head, then drawing it in deeper, teeth lightly grazing the sensitive
- The last time we thought Mulder was dead, Scully and I faced each other
on opposite sides of his livingroom, guns pointed at each other's heads.
Now we are locked in another kind of struggle. And if I don't stop her
soon, I'm going to unwittingly declare premature defeat.
- I have felt powerless for so long, buffeted about at others' whims,
playing my own part in the destruction of a man I loved more than my own
fragile life. Now that he is gone and I no longer care what happens to
me, I'm free to take back any measure of power that I can. How appropriate
that it's with Skinner. It could have been anyone, a stranger, but this
is so much more fitting, more poetic. He and I both played our roles, through
deception and ignorance, in the web of lies that ensnared the noblest soul
I have ever known. Now, as I walk the knife edge, I want my new dancing
partner with me every step of the way, descending step by step into the
abyss that swallowed Mulder.
- As if reading my mind, Skinner jerks my head back by the hair, not
quite hard enough to hurt, but enough to get my attention.
- "Something wrong?" My voice is perfectly measured and calm.
His is not.
- "You're not letting me lead."
- "Be my guest."
- Some frantic tumbling of limbs later, our positions are reversed, and
I sit astride him. Holding my arms immobile just below the shoulders, he
pulls me slowly toward him, and once again one of my nipples disappears
into his thin-lipped mouth. I raise up slightly on my knees, positioning
myself directly above his throbbing erection. The tip grazes my entrance
and I shudder with anticipation.
- "Wait," Skinner rasps. "I didn't...I don't have..."
- "Don't worry, Sir. If you let go of my arms, I can get us what
- He does, and I reach into my bedside table, retrieving a condom from
the recently purchased box.
- "You must not have been a Boy Scout, Sir," I say as I rip
open the packet and roll its contents over him.
- "No, I didn't come prepared, but I didn't plan on this turn of
events. And would you stop calling me Sir, you make me feel like a headmaster
deflowering some nubile young student."
- "That sounds like fun, can we play that game next?"
- "No more games..."
- He rolls me beneath him, entering me in one powerful thrust.
- And for a few moments, there is no Scully, no Skinner, and there never
was a Mulder. There is simply two people locked in a primal embrace, and
nothing can touch us, not even Mulder's ghost.
- She's writhing beneath me, unable to move the arms I hold trapped at
the wrists. All notion of caution has left me as I hammer pitilessly into
her. She moans in my ear, wordless sounds of submission that spur me on,
enflaming me further. Legs wrapped round me, her heels beat against my
ass as she pushes her breasts into my chest and keens.
- We are both so close. Releasing her wrists, I grab her face in my hands.
Startled, she opens tightly shut eyes and looks at me, desperate.
- "...is all I can I can offer you, Agent Scully..."
- "...only this."
- Her neck arches back, mouth open in a soundless scream as she comes
like a freight train, inner muscles clenching mercilessly on my cock until
I follow her over the edge, gasping her name, both of them, all of them,
incoherent and helpless in the aftermath of this collision of our lives.
- The morning sun is stealing through the ruffled curtains above my bed.
I stretch like a cat, bumping an elbow lightly against the slick bald head
of Walter Skinner. He doesn't stir. Poor boy, he needs his sleep. Something
tells me he's going to be grumpy as a bear when he wakes up.
- As for me, I have no regrets. No regrets, no regrets, I will have no
regrets. If I tell myself that long enough, maybe it will be true. Besides,
what does it matter? What does anything matter? Eat, drink and be merry,
for tomorrow we die.
- A sound from the entryway cuts short my self-indulgent reverie. A key
in the lock. Mom? She wouldn't come over here without calling. But the
only other person with a key...
- Footsteps on my bright and shiny hardwood floors. I know the rhythm
of those footfalls.
- I can't breathe.
- And then a familiar shadow falls across my bedroom door.
- ...who is...
- My heart is beating so loud in my chest I can't believe it's not waking
that bald fucker up. One lone pair of eyes meet mine, wide and blue and
terrified. She's not even happy to see me.
- Well why should she be, you stupid shit, you just barged in on a private
party. My knees give out and I slump down the wall beside her dresser,
my ass hitting the floor with an audible thump.
- "Mmmmph....what the hell?"
- Oh, now he's awake, eyes jerking around, taking in Scully's ashen face
and then turning to me. Blinking. A swift movement to the bedside table,
is he going for his gun? No, just his glasses. He looks at me again. Blinks
- Christ indeed. "Yes, it is I, I've risen again." My voice
drips acid, but it's shaking, too. Damn. "I know I'm making a nasty
habit of doing that, but I'm glad to see you two are getting along better
than the last time I left you alone."
- "Mulder..." Scully's eyes are pleading. "Where have
you been, we thought you were dead--"
- "Yeah, I can see you're all choked up about it, too. Is this your
version of an Irish wake?"
- "Agent Mulder--"
- "All right, now you shut the fuck up, Skinner! You just couldn't
wait for my corpse to cool before you jumped in the sack with my partner!"
- Suddenly, cold realization hits me. "That's why you told me not
to talk to the Smoking Man, why you went to him yourself. You weren't being
noble, you were just trying to rack up points so you could get your ashes
- Scully's gaze whips back and forth between us. "What, what is
he talking about? What do you mean?"
- That fucker lays a palm on top of Scully's hand to calm her. "Later.
Right now I think Agent Mulder has some explaining to do."
- "Oh do I?" I laugh, raking my fingers through wild hair.
"That's funny, I would have thought it was the other way around."
- "Agent Mulder, your partner spent yesterday morning identifying
your body, would you have the decency to explain to her why she went through
that particular hell?"
- "My mom had trump and couldn't break away from her bridge game?"
Boy, that was a feeble attempt at humour and I know it. My hand reaches
up to cover my eyes. No good, that image of them together is burned forever
on my retinas. I wish I *was* dead.