Title: Hot Scrunchy Love
Author: XochiLuvr
E-mail: xochiluvr@surfacing.com
Category and Rating: NC-17, MSR, MPOV, H, smut, MT
Archive: Ephemeral, Gossamer. I'll likely say yes, but all
  others please drop me a line so I can wave at my offspring.
Send me feedback, and I might do my Kermit the Frog does the
  songs of "Man of La Mancha" impressions for you. <"I am I,
  Kermit Quixote, the Lord of La Mancha, my Destiny calls and
  I riiiiiide...">
Author's Note: I take no responsibility for this story. It's
  the Lost and Found board's fault. They made me do it.
Summary: Carpe Scrunchy.
Spoilers: This is an authorized prequel to Process of
  Elimination by Mimic117. More notes at end.


Process of Elimination prequel: Hot Scrunchy Love


Galen is my partner's idol. Defying his father and Roman
tradition and choosing medicine over more "noble"
professions, it's easy to see the inspiration. Galen
discovered the usefulness of taking a person's pulse and
pioneered scientific experimentation and investigation. To
further his knowledge of medicine he dissected animals to
discover, by extension, how the human body works. If
Hippocrates was the father of medicine, Galen was his
stepson, the father of pathology.

Galen made his share of mistakes, though. More accurate than
anyone else in his time, his theories on human physiology
were still fundamentally flawed. He's the genius that came
up with the idea that eventually became "humours." Yes,
those lovely indescribable spirits that for centuries
doctors tried to bleed from patients, causing more harm than
good.

Flawed theories that do more harm than good. This is, of
course, where I come in.

Anyway, my partner has this idol. This idol has a coffee cup
with his face on it, which sits on the counter beside the
sink in the office. I don't know where she got it, but this
cup led me to the internet which led me to all the
information I have on the man.

Unfortunately, internet searches invariably lead me to think
about sex. On a profiling consult a few months back I wanted
to look up a particular knot; what it was used for, how to
tie it. I never did find out - there were 17,542 bondage
pages between me and that knot. You look up anything on the
internet and sooner or later you find some porn site.

Eventually, just as Pavlov thought, you begin to think of
one only in conjunction with the other. Well, maybe some
people don't, but I have a highly addictive personality.

So, Galen and the internet. The internet and sex. Sex and
Galen. It sounds weird but it leads me to a connection I
very much want to make - Sex WITH my partner. These little
leaps of logic are what I do for a living. Mmmm, sex with
Scully. I'd hump one of Pavlov's... Well, I don't know what
I'd do for a chance with her.

I do very much want that chance, and Galen, 18 centuries in
the grave, may help me do it.

I always get hard thinking of Scully and sex. Scully and ME
and sex. Scully and me HAVING sex. Having sex with... Damn.

Houston, we have a problem. My rocket isn't launching. In
fact, it's about as ready for liftoff as that tofu Scully
left in my refrigerator last week. At least the tofu is
firm. What the hell? I'm no John Holmes, but right now my
John Thomas looks like Tiny Tim.

I don't care if this happens to every guy once in a while.
I'm not every guy, I'm Fox Mulder, dammit! I'm a Federal
Agent! I stand up against global conspiracies! I face down
monsters without batting an eye!

So why is my one-eyed monster asleep on the job?

Three words I never thought I'd apply to myself - Bob Dole's
disease. Viagra may be great, but Congress doesn't have
random drug testing and mandated annual physicals - is it
any wonder they get into so much trouble? I need something
that's not a pill, is non-invasive, and gets rid of that
not-so-hard feeling.

Which brings us back, yet again, to the internet. Search
for: Erectile Dysfunction. I shudder as I type, and even my
body's own fight-or-flight response doesn't give me a woody.
Now I'm /really/ scared.

Hmm... The Venus 2000... Dear God! A thousand bucks for an
engine and a vacuum tube? You know you're fucked when you
have to put your vibrator on layaway. How about... yes,
erection creams. That's the same stuff my dentist rubs on my
gums before a root canal! I'm already not feeling enough; if
it's any more numb I'll need amputation. Piercings, sheaths,
injections, airpumps. No, no, hell no, and do I /look/ like
a tennis shoe?

OK, enhancement products are out. Ahh, here we go. Doctors
have started prescribing penile rings to patients with
erectile dysfunction. The same cock rings sex toy fans have
been using for years. Great, so all I have to do is hop on
some website, whip it out - the credit card, I mean - and
never show my face around the Gunmen ever again. I know they
look at my records. I can't just walk into some sex shop,
either; the chance I'll be followed or recognized is too
great. I can just imagine Colton ragging me and spreading
the word, or worse, Krycek walking out of some dark alley,
waving his prosthetic arm in my face and saying, "It may be
fake, but at least it works."

Well, I'm not an Indian Guide for nothing. I'll just have to
make my own cock ring. I need something constricting, but
not too tight. Safety first, after all. A rubber band,
maybe, but not the thin ones I steal from the office. The
last thing I need is a tourniquet on the family jewels.
Maybe the wide ones Scully gets her asparagus wrapped in.
Oh, yeah, that'll work. Just pick up the phone and call:
"Hey, Scully, can I borrow one of those big rubber bands?
Like the ones you get with some of your veggies? I need to
wrap it around my dick so I can jerk off while thinking
about you. Yeah? Really? Great, I'll be right over."

I'm out of ideas. Then I see it on the desk, hidden under
six months of Omni and Psychology Today:

   The Hair Scrunchy.

We helped each other wash our cars last week and she must
have left it behind. In fact, we got called for a case right
after and we didn't get home until earlier today. That's why
I still have her tofu. In all the confusion I guess I forgot
to return the scrunchy to her.

It's round and easily wide enough around to grasp my limp
noodle without cutting it in half. It's almost the same
color as her eyes, but with all these little white
polka-dots. Even better, it's something she's worn. It's not
exactly a pair of her panties, but it's the perfect
combination of masturbatory constrictor and fantasy.

I reach over and grab it, ignoring all the magazines that
fall on the floor. In one quick move I turn off the computer
monitor and hop up from my chair. Grabbing a video from my
stash and popping it into the VCR, I turn down the lights
and plop on my couch. Stripping off my jeans and shirt take
little time, and I carefully roll the hair band down to the
base of my penis. It doesn't hurt at all, just a little bit
of pressure and friction from the cloth-covered elastic.
Feels good, really.

I yawn as I hit the remote and turn on the tape. Oh, good,
this is the new one. I bought it because there were a pair
of redheads on the cover. A few minutes in I realize what I
DIDN'T see: a man. I'm all for same sex relationships, but
if I'm shelling out my hard-earned cash for this tripe, some
good looking chick with as few zits or blisters as possible
on her ass has to take it somewhere from a guy. I do have
some principles. I sigh in frustration as I turn off the
tape. Grabbing the blanket off the back and covering myself,
I roll on my side and quickly fall asleep.


---


I wake up, immediately realizing my mistake. I never
bothered to consider what would happen if I actually
achieved an erection.

To say the pain radiating from my crotch is excruciating
would be like saying colonization is merely a bad thing. Of
course - I fell asleep with the fucking scrunchy on my dick,
and now I have a raging hard-on with nowhere to go. Nowhere
to grow.

I CAN'T GET THE SCRUNCHY OFF!!!! Shitshitshitshitshit. What
am I going to do? I'm not about to get a steak knife or a
pair of scissors - I'm in too much pain to hold them steady.
It hurts enough already, and a self-inflicted Bobbitt would
/not/ look good on my psych evaluations.

I can't go to a hospital - it'll go in my medical records
and I'll get laughed out of the Bureau. I can't ask Scully
to help. She'd never be able to look me in the eye again.
Never take me seriously, never love me... Never fuck me
stupid. Wait, I'm already stupid. That's why I have women's
accessories strangling my dick.

Those are my choices, though. My job or Scully. At least
with Scully she might eventually get over this. It's not
like she's never seen me naked before. Maybe we can get past
this. I don't have a chance with her anyway, so this isn't
exactly going to make matters worse. I oh-so-carefully lean
over the edge of the couch, grab my pants, and pull out my
phone. It's a little before 9 am on a Sunday. She's not
going to make it to mass today. I hit the speed-dial.

"Scully."

"Hey, it's me. I need a favor," I say, keeping the pain out
of my voice.

"I'm on the way to church, Mulder. This'd better be-" I cut
her off.

"Just come over, please. Bring your medical bag."

Her attitude shift is instantaneous. "Are you ok? What
happened? Do I need to call an ambulance?"

"NO!" I blurt.

"What's going on, Mulder?" she asks, suspicion tainting her
worry.

"I appreciate the concern," I say, "but all I need is you.
It's nothing major, I just need your help. Please."
Pleasepleaseplease.

"OK," she says. "I'm on the way. You sure you don't need an
ambulance?"

"No. Thank you," I say, clicking the phone off.

---

I know for certain she made good time on her drive over, I'd
expect nothing less, but for all the pain I feel it could
have been three days. Not soon enough, she knocks quickly to
let me know she's arrived before unlocking the door with her
key.

"Mulder?" she calls from the hallway. By the time she sees
me I'm sitting upright on the couch, my pants draped over
me. I know I'll have to show her, but I don't want her
running off before she can help me. I still need to figure
out how to tell her.

"I'm here. Want to tell me what's going on, now? I don't see
any blood, no bodies..." she trails. "Mistakenly eat some of
your own cooking?" she jokes.

I'm too embarrassed to answer, so I just brace my elbows on
my knees and lean my head into my hands. Which was exactly
the wrong thing to do, because the movement shifts my chest
forward and my ass back, putting even more pressure on my
penis, now almost literally blowing its top. The sound I
make was formerly known only to certain extinct birds. The
dodo, for example.

"Mulder?" she asks. The care and concern in the
half-question is nearly tangible, and I let fly. I tell her
about the coffee mug, the internet searches, the lesbian
dye-jobs, all of it. Right down to absconding with her
scrunchy for more prurient uses.

She stands there, quiet for a moment, absorbing the
information, before doing the first thing I expected and the
last thing I'd hoped: She starts laughing. For an abysmally
long time. The one time I WANT to lose nine minutes and I'm
stuck naked in my apartment with Scully (which isn't awful)
with her hairpiece stuck on my cock (which is). Finally she
settles down enough to speak.

"You know Mulder," she giggles through a hand, "I knew
autoerotic asphyxiation was going to be your downfall but I
truly had NO idea." After a few moments her giggles subside
into simple hiccoughs.

At least she hasn't run away yet. Part of me wishes she
would.

"Jesus, Mulder!" she says. "Jet-lag is not considered a sign
of sexual dysfunction. Did it ever cross that addled mind of
yours that you might simply be /tired/?"

I silently plead the fifth. Admitting stupidity is
self-incrimination, right?

Finally she kneels in front of me and opens and fishes
around in her bag. Without looking at me she says "Drop 'em,
Mulder." Just like that. I've had this particular fantasy
before, but as I recall the agony was of a wholly different
sort. She looks up at me finally, doctor's facade in place.
Her hand comes up from my knees holding what should be the
scariest thing I've ever seen, a scalpel. I must be in some
weird kind of shock, because instead of petrified I'm
relieved - once again my partner is here to save my ass. Or
at least something a few inches in front of my ass. I
haven't lost my best friend after all. I can get through
this. I drop my pants.

"Ok," she says, straight-faced and looking me in the eyes,
"Turn your head, and whatever you do, DON'T cough." Then she
looks down and starts giggling again.

"I wondered where that one went to!" she chuckles.

"Could you hurry please?" I ask, getting defensive. "This is
killing me."

"Fine," she says, sobering a little, perhaps finally
considering that this really is causing me a sizable amount
of discomfort, but she's unable to resist a final jab. "You
do realize, however, you owe my niece a new one."

Charlie's daughter? No wonder this one isn't as big as the
other scrunchies I've seen her wear. I've never met the man,
but as soon as he hears about this I'm probably going to
start thinking of Bill as the nice brother. My tangent is
aborted when I see Scully's hand grasp my member.

"Scully?" I gasp. "I know this should be the highlight of my
life so far, but I can't feel your hand, just some tingling.
You think we can speed this up?"

"Oh, Mulder, I'm sorry," she says contritely, eyes widening
as she realizes I really am in trouble here. "Just hold
still a moment." I see her bring the scalpel down towards my
crotch and I close my eyes and turn away. If I'm going to
lose it now, I want the last memories of my penis to be good
ones. I try to burn the image of her hand on my dick
permanently into my brain, and unfortunately I succeed.
Forever emblazoned in my memories is her tiny hand on my
frighteningly, abnormally discolored penis, right above a
frilly blue and white polka-dotted scrunchy. Now I know
Scully's God hates me.

I know as soon as she's cut the thrice-blasted thing off me.
It feels like a gunshot wound - nothing, quickly followed by
a searing pain that makes me cry out as the circulation is
returned to my other best friend. "AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

The pain fades a little as she rubs my chest and comforts me
with her soft words, and then I realize:

My chest isn't the only thing she's rubbing. Her other hand
is still on my cock, gently stroking it, ostensibly to
facilitate blood circulation, but at this point it's no
longer necessary. I finally open my eyes and look a question
at her.

"You're not about to complain about my bedside manner, are
you?" She smiles at me, tentatively, like I'm going to slap
her hand away. If she wants to grope me, far be it from me
to unhand myself.

"You go, G-Woman," is all I say, letting my head loll back
as my mind drifts on the pleasurable sensations. No way am I
going to analyze this.

After a minute or two of silence and slow, easy stroking,
she stops. I raise my head finally and she says, "So this
was all because of me?"

I just nod, not daring to speak.

"That's cute, in a Mulder kind of way," she says, and I try
not to take offense. After all, she's right. Her hand
resumes stroking and my head lolls back again, shooting
forward as her loose grasp turns to a stranglehold.

"Do something stupid like that again and getting your dick
cut off'll be the least of your worries. Got me?" she says,
arching her eyebrow. I nod in fear.

"Good boy," she says and kisses the head of my dick. Sitting
back on her heels, she reaches behind her and pulls off her
shoes. She then unbuttons her blouse and removes her bra,
revealing her breasts to me. They're beautiful, of course,
but I've been lucky enough to see them on a couple of
occasions. This is, however, the first time I've seen them
when the situation isn't life threatening.

I take that back. I'm still not entirely certain I'll make
it out of this alive.

Leaning forward again, breasts unfettered this time, she
starts talking to my penis. "You're too precious to lose,"
she coos, swiping her thumb around the underside of the
head, stroking the ridge. "Don't let that prick do that to
you. You ever need a little help, you come see me, right?"

"Right?" she says to me a moment later, after my dick
decided not to answer, releasing several drops of precum
instead.

"Right," I say, at the same time pleased and scared that
this wouldn't be the only time we'd be together like this.
Well, not like this, like this, but together. Like this. Oh,
hell, whatever. Scully is kissing my dick. The aliens could
be dancing the limbo under an exsanguinated cow in my closet
and I wouldn't give a shit right now. Did I mention Scully
is kissing my dick?

I groan and twitch, arching my whole body when Scully sucks
the head between her lips and starts licking.

Slowly she takes me deeper and deeper, stopping and
reversing direction when she can't take any more, using her
fingers in counterpoint to her lips. Slowly, ever so slowly
she brings me to the brink of climax, only to ease the
pressure at the last moment. Three times she brings me to
the edge and three times she backs off before I pop off.
This isn't some inexperienced suck or quickie blow, this is
a woman who wants to drive me crazy with pleasure, to
torture me with- ahhhhhhhhh-

Suddenly I'm past the point of no return. It's almost
painful; I'm ready to come but not all the way into orgasm.
I try to warn her so she can move off me and take me back
into her hand.

"Scully?" I gasp, sounding much like I did at fourteen, my
voice breaking at the end of her name.

"Mmmmm?" she hums in response. The vibration rocks me to the
core, exactly as she expects it to, and I holler my release,
pouring myself into her with a fury I've never before
experienced.

I soften quickly but she keeps me in her mouth for several
more minutes, carefully keeping herself from hurting my
highly sensitized but gloriously limp dick. Finally she
releases me and I speak.

"I'm sorry you missed church, Scully."

"Don't worry about it," she says. "It may not have been
religious, but it certainly was an experience. Do a good
turn daily, right Mulder?"

"That's the Boy Scouts."

"Whatever," she says, quickly stripping off her pants and
tugging down her panties. "One good turn deserves another.
Put out and shut up."

Who am I to refuse? Thank you Galen, wherever you are.



End.



Additional notes:

Much props to Mims for the wickedfast beta and to Sdani for
her grasp of the perverse.

Started: 5/14/02. Finished: 5/16/02. Just think, this time
last year I was posting CD.

I actually OWN the coffee cup with Galen on it. It's part of
a set I picked up at a yard sale. It was so weird I had to
have the set. Galen's cup is a 70's pea green color.

This was the quickest fic I've ever written. I fear what
that says about my personality. Send me feedback and let me
know what you think.

XL
--
http://surfacing.com/xl/
xochiluvr@surfacing.com
Owner, Chief Cook and Bottle Washer,
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