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The Hog's Ridge Motel and Diner is about as cosy as its name.

I haul my bag onto the bed and the springs protest at even that minor weight-bearing exercise. God, what a dump. There's not even a headboard on the bed, there's a velvet Elvis on one wall, a ring of rust around the tub and a moldy shower curtain. How does Mulder find them? And why do I always accept it? One of these days I'm going to just refuse to stay. I'll check it out from the door and then just shake my head and walk back to the car and sit there until he concedes that we're leaving.

But how much worse than this does it have to get before I make my stand? For a brief moment my resolve flares, then fizzles out like a cheap firework on a wet night. I sigh. I know I'm not about to fuss about this room or any other. We take the rough with the smooth when we're on the road, even if the rough seems to come round with puzzling frequency and the smooth is something I remember once from a case we had three years ago in some town whose name I've long forgotten. The smooth had shower caps and everything. And fluffy white towels. I remember because Mulder used his to stuff under the door to my room to stop the rain flooding in.

Here he comes now. What's the betting he loves it?


'How cool is this place Scully?'

She looks at me like I've left her bag at the airport. I only ever did that once, and the bag I DID pick up had some great sweatpants in it which I'm using to this day. Got them with me on this trip, as a matter of fact, so all's well that ends well.

'This place is a hole, Mulder.'

'A 'HOLE' lot of retro fun.' Jeez! Look at that! She has a velvet Elvis! I wish I'd taken this room. I have a stag against a sunset that lights up from behind. It's nice, but it's no velvet Elvis. I mean, what is, right?

'You want my room Scully? It has a headboard.'

She pauses for a moment, like she's struggling within, as she looks around her room and, while she's not looking at me, I enjoy the excuse to look at her, because looking at Scully is one of the things I like best. Not GAZING at her, you understand, just checking her out. Her skin is so clear and pale she reminds me of marble. And her lips are the kind of lips I'd paint, if I could paint, which I can't. They're all pouty and red and pretty as hell. They remind me of the lips that artists draw on the faces of the slutty kung-fu chicks in superhero comic books. Scully's legs are too short to be a slutty kung-fu chick, but her lips are just perfect. And from the glimpses I've had of her under those suits she wears, I think her breasts might be kung-fu slutty too.

'Yes,' she says. 'Yes I DO want your room Mulder!' She looks at me like I'm going to change my mind and she's prepared to fight me for it, but I'm more than happy to be a gentleman about it if it means I get the velvet Elvis.

'Sure Scully.'

She glares at me as if she wishes I HAD fought her for it, and for a moment I think she suspects an ulterior motive, like a faulty shower or bugs in my room, but apparently my motive is too ulterior to be detected even by her, and we swap.


We swap rooms. Mulder gave in way too easily, and it makes me suspicious. I'm sure I'll discover something terribly wrong with this room. Probably at 4am.

He even carried my bag in here for me. That's how fast he wanted to swap.

I make him stand and watch me do an inspection, even pulling back the sheets to make sure there's no bugs. It does seem better than the room next door and I feel the silence in which I should thank him stretching and stretching until finally I say it. It sounds tight and ungenerous, so I soften it with a look - just in case he's not a sneaky cheat.


Scully likes my room and I like hers, so - not for the first time - FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder creates world peace. She even gives me a look when she thanks me that makes me think she's really grateful and happy. Well, she should be. She got the headboard, the clean tub AND the romantic sunset picture. What more could a woman want?

I think I might steal the velvet Elvis. It's too good for this dump.


The Hog's Diner serves pork chops and mashed potatoes and very little else. When I tell the pretty young waitress I'm a vegetarian she says 'That's okay, we serve everyone the same here.' Mulder grins at her and she forgets to take my order while she drools over him. He has to remind her to help me.

I order the pork chops, mashed potatoes, apple sauce and green beans, but without the pork chops. This confuses her so badly that she has to ask the cook if it's okay. He says yes but it'll cost the same. Mulder says can he have my pork chops on his plate and the cook says no, that'll cost more. Mulder asks me if I can just order the dish with pork chops and he'll have them when they come, but I don't want the chops touching my mash, so I say no. He looks all disappointed, as if he'd planned all day long on having four pork chops, and now I'd deprived him. The waitress sees the look too, because suddenly she's switched sides and she tells him she'll just put through the order for two plates of pork chops and she'll personally put mine on a separate plate for him, and 'dang Brett to hell' - this last with a conspiratorial giggle in the direction of the kitchen. Mulder thanks her and she touches his arm.

I swear, he should wear a sign round his neck reading 'Will Flirt for Food'.

We're the only people in the diner, which is no shock to me. All the tables and chairs are bolted to the floor, and there's a mural on the wall of mountains and grassy hillsides apparently painted by a five-year-old. Next to the kitchen door a large hairy black pig glares at us with dusty glass eyes. It appears to have been stuffed and mounted by a one-armed drunk and looks more like an anteater.

The waitress brings our water and cutlery. It's so quiet in here that it's awkward, but I'm not about to strike up a conversation that might keep the waitress here a moment longer. No such qualms from my partner. 'That's a hell of a pig,' says Mulder, and she blushes so hard I think she might bleed right through her skin. She giggles and rushes back to the kitchen, and he looks at me, supposedly all confused. Yeah, right, Mulder.


I'm confused. What did I say? First the waitress forgets Scully's order, then she makes a fuss about the pork chops, and now she's giggling and blushing like a virgin at a dick exhibit.

'I think she's nuts,' I confide to Scully quietly.

'Well, you're the psychologist, Mulder - so I guess that's your professional evaluation?'

'Actually, Scully, yes,' I say proudly.

That shut her up!

'Where'd you get your degree Mulder? Toodumfor University?'

Um, I guess it didn't shut her up. Now she's looking all angrily at the menu.

'You gonna order something else?'


Oo, she's really mad about something. My mind ticks over to try and work out what it might be.

She got to listen to her choice on the radio on the way from the airport. Some NPR drivel about the invasion of Spanish bluebells into the woodland glades of rural England. Apparently the domestic English bluebells which are much finer and bluer are being superceded by the coarser, paler, flowers and botanists are up in arms about it. Oy! Trust me, when you have a photographic memory, that kind of shit can clog you up for years, but I let her listen to it - and even resisted the temptation to make snappy remarks throughout, even though some of them would have been very funny.

So it can't have been a fight about the radio.

And I didn't get lost once, so there was no eye-rolling and furious re-folding of maps. Okay, so we're only two rights and a left from the freeway, so there wasn't much scope for going astray, but I've managed before - and with far less to work with.

Then I swapped rooms and although that was for my benefit really, she doesn't know that and thinks it was for hers, so brownie points to me for that too.

The pork chop thing was irritating, but quickly resolved, and I didn't pout about it when I thought I wasn't getting her chops. Or hardly at all. I don't think she could be mad at me for making ONE TINY face, could she?

Then we'd looked at the mural which - while hideous - is not actively offensive, and the very badly stuffed pig.

The pig! That's it! She's upset about the stuffed pig! Damn I'm insensitive! I mean, Scully's a vegetarian, and what vegetarian wants to sit and looked at a dead animal all through dinner? Especially when her partner is tucking into pork chops! No wonder she's hiding out behind that menu.

I glance over my shoulder at the hog, then hook a finger over the top of the menu and pull it gently down so I can see her face.

'Hey Scully? You want to swap seats?'


Swap SEATS??? First rooms, now seats? What cunning plan is he hatching now?!

I drop the menu flat on the table and blow all the air in my lungs out through my nose. 'What's wrong with your seat, Mulder?' I know I sound like the irate mother of a toddler, but I can't help it.

'Nothing.' He looks surprised. Ha! I guess he didn't think I'd call him on it.

He jerks his thumb over his shoulder towards the kitchen door.

'I just thought, maybe I should be facing that way. Y'know?' He raises his eyebrows, all innocence.

'Oh really Mulder? You'd prefer the view of the kitchen would you?'

'Well, yes, I'm sure I would. C'mon, let's swap.'

He smiles at me like I'm some sort of moron, and half-stands, and my palms itch to slap him.

I'm used to playing second fiddle to Mulder but it'll be a cold day in hell before I sit by and facilitate his ogling some teenaged waitress just because she's bringing him four pork chops.

'Sit down Mulder.'


I hiss at him: 'Will you sit down!' and he looks all confused again - and hurt this time. And even though I know it's fake, I still feel bad, and that makes me feel cross for feeling bad, so I manage to hide the feeling bad with a cross look. It's not the first time it's worked.

The waitress brings the food then, with extra chops and apple sauce for Mulder, of course. I ask her for tabasco but it never arrives.

We eat in silence, and Mulder pushes all four chops around his plate like a sulky ten-year-old, while I chew every mouthful 32 times and resist the temptation to tell him to eat his dinner or he won't get any dessert.


When we get back to the rooms, we barely say goodnight. Scully is so mad at me about something that I start to think that maybe it's just her period. I'm not being sexist, but she does have a day (just one day) when she's scratchy and whiny and eats a LOT of chocolate. I know when that day's rolling round and always try to not piss her off any more than is absolutely necessary - and to make sure I have a couple of good quality chocolate bars in my desk drawer - the kind with high cocoa content.

Anyway, it's not her time of the month, but it's all I can come up with right now. She's being a bitch, frankly, and she's never a bitch without reason, so that's the best I can do. Sorry.

I say goodnight and she grunts and slams what used to be my door in what very nearly used to be my face.

I put the pork chops down on my bedside table. I couldn't eat them because I was preoccupied thinking about what was bugging Scully. I hate to see her miserable, and when we're out on the road I think of it as our special time together, so I hate to lose even one evening's worth of that time - talking, laughing, teasing. The waitress insisted on putting the chops in a foil box for me and I felt so guilty for not eating them when I'd made such a fuss about them, that I was really nice to her and left an over-large tip for what had effectively been a crappy meal watched over by a red-faced virgin and a dead pig.

And she never brought Scully's tabasco, but the guilt about the chops outweighed even that.

I strip off my clothes as I head for the shower. I don't care about the rust-ring, I never bath anyway - and fuck the moldy shower curtain - I just rip it off with a clatter and throw it away. Let housekeeping clear up the spillage. At least they'll have to get a new curtain before the next guest checks in.

I make the water as hot as I can bear it and climb in. I love that feeling of just standing and letting the water pound down on my skin, moving slightly now and then to let it thunder down onto another spot. The Hog's Ridge Motel has great water pressure - although the pipes clank a bit - and the needles of water soon relax me. I lift my head and lean my hips forward to let the water hit my groin, and it's so powerful it's almost painful. But I don't move because it's also kinda fun. My cock starts to harden in response, which is no surprise - showers almost always give me a good hard-on. So do beds. And cars - when we're on a case together. Sometimes just sitting in my office chair gets me hard. Of course, I have to hide all this from Scully by wearing pleats in my pants and going for dark coloured suits that don't show the bulges - I know my fashion tips! I don't want her thinking I'm some kind of pervert around her. I guess most guys get hard several times during a working day, and I'm no different - but the shower is my favourite place to relieve that tension. In the shower I'm standing up, which I like, and also I feel clean and warm before, during and after - a seamless conjoining of bodily hygiene and mental filth.

Like now, for instance.

When I think about Scully.

I only ever think about Scully nowadays. Sometimes I try to mix it up a little by throwing in someone I've met on a case, like Bambi, or one of the porn stars who are more familiar to me than the folks in my own family album. But somehow - however hard I try - I always end up thinking of Scully anyway, so mostly I just go straight to her now. At first I felt kinda guilty about it but what the hell. Seems that's what my cock wants my brain to give it, and who am I to argue.

I touch my cock lightly at the tip and feel it jerk, like it doesn't know it's me. I touch it again, and let my fingers trail down its length. I want to grasp it, but this is more fun. I imagine it's Scully touching me there - tentative, unsure - and close my eyes. That works. That really works. It works so well I groan loudly.


I'm so mad at Mulder I feel like just ditching him. Taking the car and driving back to the airport right now this minute. Except, of course, he has the goddamned car keys in his room. Of course he has. He's the man. The big macho man with his four pork chops and his big tips for his simpering, giggling schoolgirl acolytes.

A hell of a pig! You got that right Mulder!

I kick off my shoes, throw myself on the bed and grimace at how uncomfortable it is (but it does have the hard-won headboard - that's a big up to me!). Whatever, I'm exhausted from feeling hostile towards him. All I want to do is sleep. I feel myself drifting away, so tired I can't even be bothered to get undressed or brush my--- CL-CL-CL-CL-CL-SSSH!!

I freeze. What the hell was THAT? It came from Mulder's room and sounded metallic. I lie wide-eyed, face-up on my nasty bed and hold my breath.

Then I hear the shower go on next door - right on the other side of the wall from my bed, by the sound of it.

I don't know what it sounds like in Mulder's room, but in here his shower sounds a lot like an iron bridge collapsing into a river canyon. The clunking and shaking and roaring and thumping drives me off the bed and back into my shoes in an instant of blinding fury.

'This is too much!' I actually say that to myself - out loud - like some idiot in a cheap movie.

How inconsiderate can one man be? It's not enough that he flirt with every woman between DC and San Fran-fucking-Cisco? He also has to keep me awake so I can spend more of my precious life staring at the sun setting behind a stag with improbably large balls?

I rip open the door of my room. It's raining - naturally - so hard that I get soaked just banging on Mulder's door. There's no answer. Of course there's not - the guy's making so much noise he wouldn't hear the four horsemen of the Apocolypse galloping through his room.

Fuck it. He's always bursting in on me without knocking...


'Ungh, Scu-- oh yeah, oh yeah...'

'Scully's' hand is working my cock good now. I put a little soap in there and everything's slick and hot and hard. I brace my other hand against the tiles, and spread my legs as I fuck my (Scully's) fist and imagine her mouth on me as she jerks me to a frenzy.

'Unuuugggh! Scully!'


I hear a groan and my strangled name as I stride quickly across the room to the bathroom. Shit! Mulder's in trouble! My heart jumps into my throat and thuds in my ears. I didn't bring my gun! Should I go back for it? Too late! I press my ear against the door, straining to hear other voices - assailants - above the roar of the shower.

All my petty anger at Mulder falls away, gone in an instant, and I'm left with the fierce, protective love I try to hide, but which now fills me like molten steel pumping through my veins.

I grab the bedside lamp - retro-heavy, I think vaguely - and slam open the door.


Mulder's eyes fly open.

Where the hell is the shower curtain?!


'SCULLY!' Jesus! she's standing right there! Oh my god! And I'm groaning her name with my cock in my hand and I'm so close I'm not sure I can even stop!

Where the hell is the shower curtain?!


I freeze. I am frozen.

Mulder's in the shower with his cock in his hand and he's saying my name! Oh my god! I have to get out of here! I have to go. Now! He's huge. I need to go. He's fucking his own hand and I can't tear my eyes away from it. I have to get out of here. I look at his face and see that he's on the edge, so close, so close. He takes his hand off his cock and turns away from me but it's too late and I see the jets of white spurt up the wall, and the muscles of his beautiful ass clenching as the orgasm rips through him.


Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Shoot me now.

I lean my head against my forearms on the tiles, feeling the orgasm sending aftershocks up and down my body and finding only pain and humiliation in what should be the ultimate pleasure.

I can't believe what just happened. I won't believe it. When I turn round, she won't be there. It was part of my sick fantasy that became too real. Please god don't let her be there when I turn round. Please please please...


Shit. Why can I never catch a fucking break? Goddammit! I've been humiliated more often than one of those freaks who pay women to walk on them in high heels, but this really takes the biscuit. If Scully had a shred of decency she'd have left without saying a word and let me manufacture a lie I could live with about how much she saw or even whether she was ever really there at all.

Mind you, if I had a shred of decency I wouldn't be jerking off in a shower to the mental image of my partner down on her knees with my cock down her throat.


I turn very slightly and see she's holding a towel out to me, averting her blushing face to lend me a tiny scrap of dignity.

She's not going away.

With a sigh that I know heralds the end of a beautiful friendship, I turn off the shower and take the towel and wrap it quickly around my hips. It's a cheap and nasty white towel and doesn't even start to cover the fact that my hard on has - for some unfathomable reason - refused to shrivel up and die the way that I want to right now.

I stand on the wet bathmat, looking past my bulge to my big stupid feet and wondering what the hell I can ever say that will make this less catastrophic than it already is.


Mulder is obviously very embarrassed. But - frankly - he couldn't be one tenth as embarrassed as I am. After all - he was doing what comes naturally (no pun intended) in the privacy of his own motel room. I'm the one who came storming in here without knocking. Holding a lamp.

I put it down.

My face is burning with shame and embarrassment and... It's not just my face that's burning. Fire down below! I'm pulsing hot, clenching and twitching as my eyes try not to look at the still-huge bulge in the scrappy towel I handed Mulder.

What can I possibly say that will make this okay? I have no excuse. I could've left. I could've backed out of the room. It would've been bad, of course, but not as bad as watching Mulder's cock finish what his hand had refused to.

Now he's just standing there, not knowing what to say. I know how he feels. But I'm in the wrong here, so I need to make this right. I need to explain myself - tell him what I thought I heard, apologize and get the hell out of his room.

'Mulder...' I start, sensibly enough...

'Fuck me.'


Jesus I'm relieved! I almost laugh with it! This proves this isn't really happening at all! My mind played a cruel trick on me, but THIS is the only proof I need!

Scully just said 'Fuck me.'

That CAN'T be real.

And now she's taking her clothes off. Not taking... ripping! Buttons are flying. This is fucking great. This fantasy is the best I've ever had. I'm gonna use this one again and again... Her shirt's off. Her bra is pale pink and lacy and pretty and whoa! that's gone too and...

Oh shit.


Did I just say that? Please tell me I didn't just say 'Mulder. Fuck me'. Please.

That's not where my mouth was supposed to be going at all. But it's out there now, and whichever lips were talking, they mean business because all of a sudden all I want is Fox Mulder inside me, and these fucking clothes are SO IN THE WAY of that!

I rip off my blouse that cost me $109.99. Gone. Fuck it.

I rip off the pretty pink bra - part of a set I bought myself for my birthday. Fuck it.

Mulder's eyes are wide and amazed, scanning my body with blatant hunger. His mouth is so beautiful, curving up sensuously at one corner...

I need that mouth on me. NOW.

I snake an arm around the back of his neck and bring his mouth down to my left breast. He gasps as I arch into him, and then i feel his lips part around me, and the touch of his tongue as if flicks lazily over my nipple. And suddenly I'm right there. I've gone from nowhere to RIGHT THERE in NO TIME and I cry his name sharply as I come, feeling his teeth clamp down on me and his hands suddenly jerking my hips in to meet his hardness and he grinds against me, prolonging the shocking orgasm that leaves me so shaken that my legs give way, and he has to hold me up as we cling together.

Oh shit.

As soon as she touches me I know it's real, and her nipple against my lips - and then in my mouth - is so hot and hard that I drop the towel and feel my cock slap against my hip as it rears free.

In a second everything's changed and everything's so right, and in another second she's coming, just from my mouth on her breast, and I can't help biting her, and I need her against me, so I pull her in tight and thrust into her hips like a frantic schoolboy as she shudders and jerks in my arms and my mouth.

She comes down from it slowly, gasping for breath against my throat and shaking as if she's freezing cold.

'I'm sorry Mulder,' she almost sobs. What the hell is she sorry about? I ask her with my eyes and she answers: 'I wanted you to fuck me.'

My father told me: Always give a lady what she wants. Only decent piece of advice he ever handed down.

I walk her backwards five paces to the bed and throw her down on it. The springs go like mad. This IS the worst bed.

I am too close to coming again to get her skirt off, so I just flip her over and yank it up over her ass. She's wearing panties that match her bra. Very pretty. Fuck it. I tear them off her like a demon, take my raging cock in my hand, and shove myself into her, and she's so hot and tight and wet that I almost come before I'm all the way in. She cries out and thrashes beneath me. I stop to try and regain some control, but she pushes her ass up into my hips.

'Fuck me hard.'

So I do.

Mulder's mouth on my nipple made me come like I've never come in my life. Just his mouth, for god's sake!

I don't even feel embarrassed. We're even now. I'm glad. More than glad. I'm delirious. But I feel like an idiot too. Fuck Me, I'd said, full of Eastern promise. Then I'd come at his first touch on my naked skin. What a baby! In my fantasies I always wanted to be a sensuous, elegant sophisticate for him, not a horny teenager. Too late for that now.

I use some words to tell him this. I can't remember what I said.

He throws me on the bed and I see that the towel has disappeared and I'm looking again at Fox Mulder's erection which is as beautiful as I'd always imagined it would be - long and thick, leaning slightly to the left of his navel, and surrounded at the base by dark hair.

But I'm not looking for long. I see in his eyes that he's close again - it thrills me to know that look now - five minutes ago I had only ever imagined how he might look as he approached orgasm - now I've seen it twice!

He flips me onto my stomach and I feel my skirt being shoved up over my hips, his big hand in my panties, then the harsh tug as he rips them clean off me, and I feel wetness flood me again at his raw, animal lust. I know it's been a long time for him and I know this won't last, but this is how I want it - hot and hard and fast. His hands grip my hips and I feel the tip of his cock at my entrance, and then he's in me and he's so big that I cry out in pain and ecstasy. He stops briefly but I urge him on and he fucks me hard, just as I begged him to. I grind back into him and immediately his thrusting becomes deep and erratic as he starts to come, shouting my name into my back, his hip-bones slamming into my ass, and I feel him tense and fill me, then spasm slowly to a halt within me.

He lies over me for a minute or so, and I feel his stomach muscles pulsing against my back and his ragged breaths on my ear, before he withdraws slowly, making me gasp. He turns me over gently and lies down beside me on the bed, which protests squeakily. I'm on my back - he's on his side, both breathless.

I have no idea what to say to him. I want to tell him so much but what can I possibly say that will let him know how much he means to me - how much he has always meant to me? How happy I am that we've done this.

He palms my breasts, letting the nipples rise against him, then leans over me and kisses me gently.

'I love you Scully.'

Tears spring to my eyes. What did I do to deserve that?

'Even after the way I behaved tonight?'

'Especially after the way you behaved tonight!'

We both giggle.

'I mean at dinner.'

'Yes, you WERE mean at dinner!'

'I'm sorry. I was jealous.'

He props himself up on his elbow and looks down at me with that whole confused thing going.

'Because I got four pork chops?'

I look at his face for a flicker that would give him away, but there's nothing. He actually has no idea what I'm talking about. He really IS confused!

I laugh at him quite hard and quite long - which does nothing for that confused look - and then roll into his arms as the bed squeals beneath us.

'You may have got four pork chops Mulder, but I got the best bed.'

'Ah,' he smiles at me mysteriously. 'But I got the velvet Elvis.'

So that was it! I KNEW there was something he wanted! He's so darned devious and cute. I snuggle into his warm chest.

'I love you too Mulder.'


The next morning the waitress gave me two extra pancakes and forgot Scully's banana, but it didn't seem to bother her.

If she was anything like me, she was still thinking of the love we'd made all night long between bouts of gentle sleep, tangled in each others arms and legs and mouths. If she was anything like me she'd be wondering if we could do it once more before we had to leave to interview somebody about something.

Or maybe twice.

I left the waitress a nice tip to cover the small part she'd played in the previous night's events. She giggled and blushed and Scully smiled and said goodbye real nice, almost like she meant it.

Then we both pretended we may have forgotten something back in my room, where it turned out Scully is a LOT like me...

Oh, and in case you're wondering... Kung fu slutty. In spades.

As we finally left, I dropped $20 on the dresser.

So it didn't really feel like stealing when I took the velvet Elvis with me.