Subject: NEW: 'Bootie Call' (1/1) by Catwoman
Reply To: TheCatwoman@toosexyforyou.com
Classification: V, UST, MSR, a bit of MA
Keywords: Mulder/Scully romance, MSR, UST
Rating: PG (A couple words---nothing you wouldn't hear on the
show.  I guess there's some adult situations, too.)
Note: This story is a sequel to 'I Want You'.

Bootie Call
By Catwoman
<TheCatwoman@toosexyforyou.com>

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully and their tortured feelings
are, alas, still not mine, but instead are the property of
Chris Carter, who is the property of 1013 productions and
Fox TV.  I would also like to think they belong to David
Duchovny and Gillian Anderson, who bring them to life
each week for us.  Thanks, DD and GA.  It's well
appreciated by many of us.

The song lyrics quoted in this story are from 'Bootie Call',
by All Saints. And one more thing...Scully's tight little
black skirt from 'Redux' andher little desk, both of which
have prominence in this series, do notbelong to me either.
The latter belongs to the office, I'm guessing, andthe former
belongs to Mulder...I mean, Scully. <g>

Distribute: Please post to XF Fanfic and ATXC.  DO NOT
POST TO GOSSAMER.  It's already there.  Thanx.

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Spoilers: Basically the same as the ones in 'I Want You', I
guess.  Add 'Never Again', 'Bad Blood', and 'Small
Potatoes', and you're set.

Note: When my Net sister Johannah read 'I Want You', her
first comment was that it needed more...a sequel, she said,
in which we find out just how it was that Mulder came to
be asking Scully such a direct question in the first place.
Hm, I said to myself, what a good idea.  After all, I'm just
as interested to know why, after all these years, he would
do such a thing...I'm sure it's not entirely for the reasons
Scully seemed to think...or is it?

WARNING: MSR construction ahead!

Thanx: Thanx go to Johannah, for the inspiration for this
story, and to Margi Kleinjan, simply for being a good
friend.  Dedication: This story is dedicated to Adriel,
because he bought me the All Saints album. <g>

Summary: Mulder's bored.  Sequel...or maybe prequel...to 'I
Want You'.

*****
You never let me down
I'm always happy when you make me laugh
But don't try to find this heart of mine
Emotions don't come into my head
So don't be misled
My heart doesn't need to be bled
Only trying to be smart baby
Don't need the rollercoaster
I've been it, seen it and done it all, yeah
Don't want you messing with my mind
*****

As if it wasn't bad enough that I'd almost killed a man on
our last case,Scully had to go and be a smartass.  The
*whole* time.  That's my job, for Christ's sake.  I'm still
angry about it.  But then, it was fun, wasn't it?  Shut-up,
Mulder.  Okay, okay.  But I can't help feeling proud of her.

She must be going into one of those phases again, like that
one last year when she took off to Philadelphia, got herself
a tattoo, and, for all I know, slept with that guy she met.  I
saw the way she was looking at that sheriff on that last
case, and hell, I let her know that I'd seen the way she was
looking at him.  I left her to him, for God's sake.  Of course,
in the end, nothing happened between them...well, other
than the fact that he drugged her and left her lying in a
cemetery, but that doesn't exactly constitute a relationship
in my book...and that feels good to me, and probably to her
now that she's back to her senses and realizes what a dope
he was, and just how wrong whatever they might have had
would have been.

But you can still see it in her eyes...maybe it would have
been better if something *had* happened between her and
that sheriff.  Maybe then she wouldn't keep glaring around
our office with that predatory gleam in her eyes, like she's
on the hunt for fresh meat.  It makes me shudder thinking
of it.  Not that it isn't interesting to see my partner in such a
state, mind you, but I don't like her looking at me that way:
like she's going to jump me or something.  Interesting
idea...okay, okay, pull yourself from the gutter, Mulder.
After all, what was all that talk to the sheriff about
vampirism's *erotic* qualities?  She was implying
something in that, wasn't she?  As far as I can tell, she's just
come down with a bad case of the itch, and like I said, that
intrigues me, and I'm glad that she's desperate enough to
look at me that way in a way, but then again, it scares the
hell out of me.  She wouldn't actually...would she?  Not that
it would be that bad of a thing.  Come to think of it, I've got
a bit of the itch myself.  Hell, what am I saying---I'm male:
I've got the itch permanently.  It's called testosterone, and it
reacts strongly to the estrogen that's practically radiating
>from her the last little while.  She hasn't had sex in too
long.  Crude, I know, but it's true.  You can see it in her
eyes, like I said.

I don't think anyone else has noticed.  Well, except maybe
Skinner.  I tell ya, old baldy's got it for her bad.  Poor guy.
The one man she hasn't looked at that way yet.  Just not her
type, I guess.  Does that mean I am her type?  What did that
Ed Jerse guy look like?  Tall, lean, muscular...hm.  And
then of course there was that incident with Eddie Van
Blundht not too long ago...she thought he was me, and she
was about to kiss me---him.  Hm.

Anyway, that's not the point.  Scully, however
unintentionally, is out on a bootie call---you can just tell.
Or I can, anyway.  Now, the question is, how do I rid her of
it in anyway other than the obvious?  Answer: there is no
way other than the obvious.  Hm.  Could be promising.

She's walking around the office right now, looking for
some file, muttering to herself as she gets more and more
frustrated.  She doesn't seem to notice me watching her, or
the way I'm looking at her suddenly; I know that if I were
her looking at me the look in my eyes would be very
different from the one I'd been giving her a moment ago...if
that makes any sense.

I'm aware of the heat in the room, or at least within my
clothing.  Scully is wearing that tight little black skirt she
bought back when she was still in the depths of the cancer,
a short little number that surprised the hell out of me from
the first moment I caught her wearing it to work.  It ends
about two inches above the knee, which is about four
inches more generous than I'm used to from the pristine,
professional Dana Scully.  And since she shed her jacket
just over an hour ago because of the heat, she is left only in
the plain white shell that had been underneath...and it too is
quite tight.  It has short sleeves, boasting her muscular
arms, the product of many hours in the gym recently,
something I've noticed with interest.  Why is she making
herself stronger?  Maybe she was just trying to get
everything back that she lost during the cancer and then the
grief after Emily, and couldn't stop.  Anyway, it looks good
on her.  She's leaning over my desk now, looking on my
desktop to see if she left her file there.  Unavoidably, my
eyes slip.  The neckline of the shirt is deliciously low, and
my eyes unashamedly dip into the hollow between the two
plump curves of her breasts.  If only she were a little more
bare, I'm thinking...

"Mulder, have you seen my file?" she says, irritated, and I
jump, then relax as I realize she's still too buried in her
search and its consequent frustration to notice where my
eyes had been roaming.  I glance at her front for the barest
moment again.  The shirt is even tighter than I thought,
stretching against her beautifully.  I just wish she'd take it
off...

"Mulder?" she asks, but her eyes are still rooted across the
room, and I can see her wondering if she'd already checked
the filing cabinet in the corner.  "Nope; haven't seen it," I
say casually, and fold my hands across my belly as I slouch
in my chair.  "'Kay," she says softly, and I see one hand
come up to cover her mouth as she considers, and when she
brings the hand away and moves across the room again,
she's gently chewing on her lower lip, a habit I suspect she's
picked up from me along the way.  I smile to myself.  I've
taught her well.  It's a brilliant move, the lower-lip
chewing: forces ones eyes to divert to that area, where they
become attached to the details of the lip as it rolls softly
between the teeth...it's fullness, which would be so
fascinating to feel between ones own teeth...hm.

Why not?  I'm pleased with my open approach to the issue;
usually, when I think of Scully, and of carrying on a
less-than-professional relationship with her, I moon over it
like some lost puppy-dog, bringing myself into a furious
storm of angst that causes insomnia even more adeptly than
Samantha's nightmares.  As though my life were some
Greek tragedy, I always think that if Scully and I were to go
beyond a professional relationship, everything would fall
apart...our passion would tear us apart...blah, blah, blah.
But today, all I can think about is the fact that Scully's in
need of a man, badly, and I've been badly in need of a
woman all my life, and I care about Scully and she cares
about me...and she's the only woman I want to make love to
right now, I think, staring at her as she moves again.

She walks over and slumps into the chair behind her excuse
for a desk, letting out a deep sigh, and I smile to myself
again.  "Giving in, Scully?" I ask her, surprised at the low,
surreally liquid quality of my voice.  Now I'm the one
implying something, I think, pleased.  Have to get her
attention, after all.

"For now," she replies, sounding as distraught as she can
allow herself to be.  "I don't know what else to do."

How would you feel about getting some?  Nah, I tell
myself, too forthright.  Huh?  Oh yeah, she said something.
Right.  Yeah, well, I have something else for you to do,
Scully.  Too cunning.  What the hell do I say to her?  How
about if I ask her what she thinks of my idea?  Sure, be
honest.  Always the way to go.

It's a bootie call, Mulder.  What the hell could be more
honest than that?

I sigh inwardly, bolster my courage, place what I hope is a
seductive smile on my face, and stand, walking around in
front of my desk, where I stand leaning against the desk,
my arms folded across my chest as I consider her.  When I
speak, I am surprised at the calm in my voice.

"Do you ever...want me, Scully?"

The rate at which her head lifts and her eyes meet mine is
satisfying to me---I've caught her off guard, and I like when
I do that.  I watch as several emotions pass across her face,
among them surprise and confusion, and then her face
clears completely.  An eternity seems to pass as she gazes
up at me from where she still sits behind the tiny table she
still uses as a desk, since I've still not bought her one, her
placid expression showing nothing, her calm blue eyes
revealing nothing.  I wonder what she's thinking, but
something in her eyes tells me that I shouldn't be giving up
yet, that I shouldn't feel stupid for my question.  There is
hope, after all, I think with relief.

Finally, a sort of smirk touches her face, and she leans back
in her chair, her eyes still rooted to mine.

"Sometimes," she says simply, gives me a second to think
about that; just long enough for my jaw the drop slightly
and my eyes to flash my surprise and pleasure, while I
stutter in my mind for a proper response...and then she
picks up her reading glasses, slides them on, and leans
forward, her hand steadily picking up her pen and taking up
the expense report she had been doing before she'd started
looking for the file earlier.  Well, well, I think to myself.
So, she's going to leave me with that and go about her
business, is she?  We'll see about that.  This isn't over yet.

*****
Never stop, baby, give it up 'cause I know where it came from
You got more
I like playing games and if it's all the same
You could bring it on with the rough stuff
Then, give me your love
I don't wanna be tame...
*****
It's just a bootie call...
Bring it on, bring it on now
Don't leave me here to be, baby
*****

THE END-so, who else thinks this one's begging for another sequel?

'You know what I like!'

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