DISCLAIMER: The characters of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are not mine, but I know how to get them off the best after all these years of platonic bull. No offense, only arousal, is intended.

SPOILERS: None.

RATED: NC-17, mostly for language and dominance-related sex acts, but if you ask me, the kinkiest part of all is... well, just read it and see.

PARTNERS

Mulder turned off the ignition to his Bureau car, and sighed. Another case for the dusty files in his basement office. As always, not enough evidence, plenty of truth. Scully had given him that look, the one that irritated and intrigued him. She might believe in him, but not in what he believed. And lately every investigation had led to a deadend at the universe. Scully would forever turn a blind eye to the skies, so he wondered why he still bothered.

The air had turned chilly, and tiny drops of rain filtred through the fog, moistening Mulder's ever-present trench coat, a couple sizes too big, same as all his wardrobe. He knew his attempts to hide his slender physique were pathetic at best, but labored under the delusion that the only one at Hoover who saw him enough to notice would be Scully, the last one to comment on his appearance.

Hopping lightly up the front steps to get out of what was suddenly turning into a downpour, Mulder mused on the lapse of gender from his relationship with Scully. Every interaction had, over the past four years, become sexually neutral. After his initial crush had faded, he actually began to take pride in the fact that their relationship was based purely on mutual professional admiration and a genuine bond of partnership.

"Jesus. Might as well sign me up for the next men's movement retreat and pass me the Talking Stick so I can share how I really feel," Mulder muttered under his breath as he fumbled with his keys.

The hall light above the doorway to his apartment had gone out again. He kicked the wall a few times, remembering past success with the Fonzi approach. Sadly, the bulb didn't afford him a flicker.

The figure behind the door had sprung into a cat-like position behind Mulder's door as soon as the footsteps had come down the hall moments earlier. Now with the key in the lock, her heart raced and she readied to pounce.

Mulder never knew what hit him. With the thud of his front door shutting, a thump over his neck dropped him to the floor. By the time he reacted - although almost an instantaneous reflex - his hand reached for only an empty holster.

Nails raked through his hair, caressing and the grabbing a fistful as the intruder yanked his scalp back and clicked on some cuffs. From their weight, Mulder recognized their quality as Federal, probably the ones from the drawer in his coffee table.

He rolled himself over, cursing his tie which the intruder neatly pulled over his eyes. Then metal was pressing on his neck, moving to his face and across his lips. He smelled the stench of powder and knew it was his weapon. The cold touch of the metal made him wince with frustration as he struggled against the barrel's massage.

Suddenly, it was gone and Mulder braced himself for what was next. He heard a click, and assuming it was the sound of the safety, he lunged on his side only to be promptly jerked underneath the intruder, with knees digging into his chest.

Then he waited, twisting his head when six bullets clattered to the floor next to his ear, shortly followed by the empty clip. Mulder's mind raced to the pistol he kept in his desk and tried to estimate how far away he was positioned.

She laughed. "Wouldn't be wishing for that other gun, honey."

"What? Who are you?" Mulder tried to sit up, bucking his hips but her heels dug into his thighs and one of her toes tucked itself between his legs, delicately awaiting to crush his cock on command.

"You're a man of many theories and capable of deductive reasoning. Shouldn't present too much of a challenge... Fox." She leaned down, her breasts on his chest and her voice against his lips as she said his name.

Mulder strained to detect any audio cues in the intruder's voice, and hearing none, he still offered an accusatory "Phoebe?"

"Do I sound like Phoebe? I hardly have that Bristish nasal affectation you're so fond of. Is that what got you off about her? I've always been curious."

Okay, so she knows about Phoebe and me, that makes her any one of the many wronged-women from Oxford, Mulder thought.

"Nope. Wrong again, Special Agent." She was laughing at him, still.

"Stop doing that! Abuse of telepathic capabilities results in bad kharma, didn't anyone ever tell you that?" He smiled in spite of himself, slightly aroused by the sensation of someone else in his mind. It felt vaguely familiar, comforting and safe. Even his past regression hypnotherapy sessions had left him feeling vulnerable, and those had been administered under medical supervision.

Her thoughts touching his felt oddly reassuring and almost normal. With effort, Mulder managed to shake the sensation from his mind, but not his body. His breathing was coming in short bursts as a result of the intruder pressing with all her weight into his chest. Even still, his oxygen intake increased in speed and depth as a tongue followed the trail of fingers, from his forehead, to his nose, down his jaw and tilting toward his chin. Down his stubbled neck, fingers made the way for tongue, unbottoning his shirt with precision.   His belt provided no deterrant, other than the necessity for her to shift position. The intruder spun deftly 180 degrees to position her ass on his bare chest. He could smell her crotchless panties, feel the heat of her pussy and see the beads of juice on her thighs, even blindfolded.

Her tongue continued to play in his belly button hair, waiting not so patiently for him to be rid of his pants. Mulder lay on the floor of his apartment, feeling the draft across the wood floor tickle his nipples and listening to the rain against the windows.

He knew the moonlight must be casting shadows around him, and he chuckled to himself, another private joke wasted on just him, as he projected what he must look like from above. A ridiculous FBI man at the mercy of an intruder who had taken his weapon, undone his suit like a Christmas package, and was now playing with what was inside.

"You're wrapped very prettily, too, Fox, " she cooed softly as her hair traced over his erect cock, popping through the fly of his boxers.

"Glow-in-the-dark aliens, how original."

"A souvenier from the Roswell Reunion. My partner got them for me."

"I see, as a gag?" Her lips paused above the tip of his dick, where tiny speckles of precum lay waiting for her to taste.

"Not really." He groaned as she took him in and his whole body arched off the floor. Her throat engulfed him in sweet velvet, pulsing and pulling him deeper. When his head lifted from the ground, his nose pressed against her own piece of engorged flesh between her legs. She shuddered against him when she felt his tongue lightly lick her lips before flickering against her clit rhythmically, growing in pressure, matching the strokes her throat gave his cock.

Finally, when her hips began circling around, pushing her cunt into his face, he realized she was grinding her way to orgasm and saw a way to make his move and prevent her from getting hers just yet all at the same time. Mulder wrapped his legs around her head in one of her up motions and pulled her mouth off his cock. For a moment, he felt his dick twinge with regret but then he tossed her on her back and regained bodily freedom.

She rolled over onto her stomach, crawling towards his couch when it dawned on him he'd never stand a chance if he couldn't get his blindfold off or his hands free.

He leaned on top of the intruder, applying the same pressure tactics to keep her body pinned underneath him that she had used on him. Then he felt it. Without his planned consent, his dick slipped inside her, as he had ended up pelvis pressed against her ass with her legs spread.

He tried to pull out, but the jerking motion felt almost as good as hearing the intruder's moan of pleasure n response. He collapsed against her, smelling her and flashing back to random moments from cases over the past four years, ever since the X-Files had really begun, with Scully.

Then Mulder was inside her again, burying his face in the hair against her neck, wishing his hands were free to run over her face, that he could look into this strange woman's eyes as he made her come over and over again.

He felt her thrusting against him and alternately into the floor, and he knew she must be massaging her clit at the same time he kept pounding her g-spot. He felt her clenched vaginal muscles, drawing him in, keeping him inside and reducing his thrusts to long, deep, leisurely movements. Then they were both ready, and as the shock waves of release thundered through his body, his pulse exploding into his skin and his cum inside her, she opened his mind to her orgasm and a thought whispered, "Now... now you must know who I am."

Afterwards, on their sides, Mulder curled around her quivering form, weaving his legs through hers and murmured into her ear, "If you take off these cuffs I could hold you, like I've been dying to do."

"No, what you've been dying to do, Mulder, is what we just did."

His brain jolted with alert. "What did you just call me?"

"Fox. Go to sleep now." Then she punched him and it was dark.

Mulder awoke the next morning with sun beaming through his shutters directly in his hazel eyes and to the sound of both his heads throbbing. He looked around quickly. He was laying across his couch in typical delinquent fashion, still in his clothes, one hand wrapped around his hard dick and the television blaring static.

Must have passed out watching pornos again, he thought and closed his eyes, rolling his head back against the sofa arm.

"Well, as long as I'm up!" Mulder joked to no one in particular and leaned over to the remote control on the floor, pressing "PLAY".

The screen flickered for a moment until two shapes in a darkened room humped away. Mulder began caressing his chest, focusing on his nipples until they stood at attention. He rolled his cock between his palms, then began moving them up and down his shaft, tilting his face to watch the figures on film shift positions.

The woman's breasts were truly glorious as they swayed with the beat of the grunting. Mulder increased his frenzied stroking.

The phone rang, and he muted the movie but did not pause the action live or on-screen.

"Mulder." He answered, relishing in the opportunity to indulge in one of his favorite pastimes, jerking off while some ignorant soul was on the other line of the phone. As luck would have it, more often than not it turned out to be his mother on the line, but sometimes Fox scored and managed to come while talking to an unsuspecting female.

"Mulder. It's Scully. What are you up to?"

Damn, Scully. It might as well have been his mother for all the stimulation her voice provided.

"Nothing, really." But his voice shook as he attempted to persevere; maybe this phone call wouldn't take long and she wouldn't interrupt his momentum after all.

"Mulder, you're not watching one of those skin flicks again, are you?" Scully sounded sarcastic, but he felt eerily like she really knew what he was doing.

"Course not. Why?"

"Never know who's on those things."

In the movie, the fog lifted outside the windows and Mulder recognized three things simultaneously as the moon's light fluttered into the shot: that the scene was in his apartment, that the intruder had been his partner, and that he was going to come after all.

"Scully..." Mulder's voice faltered as he climaxed all over himself. "Oh Scully, where are you? Are you on your cell?" He breathed into the phone receiver.

There was a knock at the door.

"Scully, just one more thing. Is it true film adds size distortion? Because on camera I'm huge."

END

***I'm taking a poll; email me whether or not you think Scully could physically overpower Mulder (and if that turns you on or off).***