Title:  What He Deserved

Author:  Laura Shapiro

Rating: Part I - PG-13, Part II - NC-17

Classification: UST or MSR? You decide. Also MulderAngst, ScullyAngst,
mild MulderTorture

Content Warning: This story contains graphic sadomasochistic sexplay
with a dark edge. If you are bothered by such stuff, please do not read.
If you are a connoisseur of such stuff, this may be too mild for you.

Other Content Warning: Contains at least three Erotica Pet Peeves, four
Overbaked Fanfic Plots, and miscellaneous things that are BAD IN FANFIC.
Proceed at your own risk.

Archive:  Gossamer yes, all others please ask me first

Feedback: Please!

Spoilers: Brief references to Kitsunegari, the cancer arc

Summary: If you are anti-summary, please ignore the following.

If you are pro-summary, please read this: in this companion piece to
"The Way She Would", Mulder's guilt and Scully's frustration build to an
unusual kind of climax.

If that's not enough of a summary for you, too bad.

Disclaimer: All characters are the intellectual property of 20th Century
Fox and Chris Carter, who wouldn't know a hot sex scene if it bit him on
the ass.

Author's Note: This story opens at the exact moment "The Way She Would"
ends. You do not, however, need to read that story to understand this
one.

*****************
Part I of II

Thursday night.


"Mulder--"

Click.

"Mulder?"

"If you'd like to make a call, please hang up and dial the number
again--"

"Shit," Scully signed, setting the phone down. What she really wanted
was to throw it across the room. What she really wanted was...but she
cut that thought off before it could blossom.

I woke up in a good mood this morning, she mused. How did I get so
*cranky*?

A rare, relaxing day at her desk had turned into an endurance test, as
Mulder's eyes pinned her like a bug to an entomologist's card. All day
long she'd felt his gaze, but she couldn't read him. He was hiding
something from her, but what? Why? Beneath lowered lids she had observed
his fidgeting, pacing, playing aimlessly with the papers on his desk in
a manner that had become characteristic of late. For months he had been
cold and distant, devoid of the playful banter in which they had
sometimes engaged, but she reluctantly realized that his mood today had
been different. Try as she might not to take it personally, it was clear
that his discomfort today had something, maybe everything, to do with
*her*.

By the time he was tearing the office apart in search of the Pevensie
file, she had retreated into her shell, focusing on her own work. Scully
bridled with resentment at the way he had practically *flown* from the
office in order to get away from her. And like a good, co-dependent
little partner, what had she done then? Merely ransacked the office for
his precious missing file. And for what? She hadn't really thought it
through, but when she found the file on his desk, Scully's heart had
lifted at the idea of being useful to him, at perhaps rousing him from
his gloom, of seeing him smile.

That she had hurriedly dialed his number with something like elation
only to have Mulder hang up on her was, she thought ruefully, the
perfect summation of their relationship. She wanted to drive to his
apartment and shake him until his teeth rattled. The scene played out
briefly in her mind: her rage, his guilt, explanations, reconciliation,
an embrace, her lips on his...

She quickly wiped the image away, rose, and left the office.

***************

Friday morning.


Here goes, Mulder thought, steeling himself as he headed for the
basement office they shared.  Here goes the hardest day of my life.

Oh, come on. Harder than the day you lost Samantha? More difficult than
the day you almost shot Scully? Worse than when Skinner told you she was
dying?

Try as he would to gain a little perspective, the horrors in his past
did nothing to mitigate his present anxiety. Last night he had
masturbated with Scully's image in his mind, her name on his lips, and
in doing so he was convinced he had sunk to a new low. For Fox Mulder,
that was saying something.

Here it was, their office door. Just another day, he recited to himself,
it's just another day.

Breezing through the door, he gaily waved "Hiya Scully!" and then
cringed inwardly as she looked up.

"'Hiya'?"

Damn her, she was as gorgeous as ever. He gulped and looked away, trying
to stifle the excitement that rose in him at the sight of her.

He was late, he realized. Great. One more thing to feel shitty about. He
threw his coat in the general direction of the coat rack and sat down at
his desk. He noticed the Pevensie file. She had stayed late last night
finding it for him. Right. Begin reparations.

"Hey, thanks for finding this," he began, not looking at her. "I really
appreciate it, you staying late and spending the time looking for it."
He flipped through the file blindly. "I mean, I know how busy you are
and everything..." my god, I'm babbling. Shut up, shut up.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Her clear contralto was impossible to
read, but he was mortified by the thrill it gave him.

"Talk about what?" He answered too quickly. Oh, smooth, man. Really
smooth.

"Mulder--"

Her 'I'm only trying to help" tone. Great. So the Ice Princess wants
*me* to open up, huh? Miss 'I'm fine, just dying of cancer, don't mind
me.' He laughed hollowly. "You don't want to know."

*********************

Friday, 3:45 P.M.


By that afternoon, an unusual silence had descended between them. Not
that silence is unusual in itself, Scully thought, hell, it's our first
language. But this...I don't recognize us.

There was a warmth to this silence, but it was far from compassion or
peace. There was a self-protective resentment, yet without the hard
coldness of anger. Mulder, who had removed his jacket, was sweating.
Scully was simmering.

If yesterday she had been pinned under Mulder's gaze, today he would not
look at her at all. She could see that whatever he was hiding had
escalated, had tapped into his well-fortified reserves of guilt and
self-loathing, and in that way his mood was familiar. But there was
something else, something making him behave as nervously as a little boy
caught with his hand in the cookie jar, something that robbed him of his
characteristic feline grace and witty tongue, something that would not
allow him to meet her eyes. He was clearly *ashamed* to meet them. He
had resisted every attempt to pry the mystery from him, and yet why did
she get the distinct impression that he wanted her to force the issue?

I'm projecting, she decided. *I'm* the one who wants to force the issue.
*He* wants me to leave him alone, damn him. Focus, Dana. Get back to
work.

"Do you have that report on the Ketterley case?" she asked.

He reached across his desk, handing it to her without looking up, and
her hand brushed against his as she took it from him. Mulder jerked back
as if burned, knocking papers from his desk.

Scully started, and felt the throb of her agitated blood scudding
through her as suddenly as Mulder himself blushed. He wants me, she
realized with shock, he wants me and he's ashamed of it.

Mulder scrambled to regain composure and paperwork. He barely had time
to mumble "um, I'm gonna finish this up at home tonight," before he was
gone.

The afternoon ticked by for one second, then two, as Scully reeled,
accepted, considered, and dared to hope.

"Oh no you don't, you bastard." She picked up her purse and ran out the
door after him before another moment could pass.


END OF PART I

Warning: Kink ahead! You have been warned!

Other disclaimers etc. in Part I.

Part II

Friday, 4:00 P.M.


Shit. She's following me.

Don't do this, Scully. Just leave it alone. You don't want to know.

His heart was pounding.

***********************

He's seen me. Good. Let him sweat a little.

You can't hold out on me forever. This game is over. It ends today.

She licked her lips nervously.

***********************

Mulder went through the motions of locking his apartment door, cursing
himself (not for the first time) for giving Scully a key. He'd barely
pocketed his own when he heard hers turning in the lock.

"Go away, Scully."

He could feel her behind him, her eyes boring into the back of his head.
How long can you keep this from her? he demanded of himself. Forever, he
thought, clenching his fists. She never has to know.

She was silent behind him, waiting. A wave of love washed through him.
How well she knows me. He blinked back tears.

"Leave me alone."

He'd meant to be definitive, but his pain betrayed him. His voice broke.

"Uh-uh, Mulder. Not this time."

Then her hands were on his shoulders, turning him toward her, and before
he could stop her she'd pulled his head down and was kissing him,
softly, but with great determination.

For a moment all other sensation evaporated in the succulence of
Scully's mouth; he was barely conscious of her hands sliding through his
hair, her body yearning toward him. As she broke from his lips and
trailed kisses along his jaw, he remembered himself and pushed her away.

Scully's heart, which had been hammering her joy into her very bones,
plummeted. Oh god, was I wrong?

Mulder paced the room for a moment and then sank cautiously to the sofa.
She wants me! She kissed me! He longed to burst into joyous song, like a
thousand birds released from their cages. Then the familiar guilt took
hold, and the barred doors slammed shut. I'm not good enough for her. I
can't let her make that mistake.

Scully watched him, frightened. Should I just leave now? Now that I've
made an utter fool of myself? She took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry."

"No. No, you shouldn't be. It's my fault."

"*Your* fault."

"I'm not -- I'm not what you need, Scully. I'm a fucked up bundle of
neuroses. Look at me!" he laughed, an odd barking sound. "I'm obsessed.
I risk both our lives every day, hurt the people you love, I challenge
your faith and endanger your professional reputation, and then I come
home at night and watch 'Hot Bun Busters'. You deserve better."

Her anger rose.

"Do you think it's up to *you* to tell *me* what I deserve?"

He dropped his eyes.

"I'm sorry..."

Stop sniveling, you idiot, she wanted to scream. And at that moment, she
understood something about herself, and about both of them. She studied
him as he recited, to his shoes, the litany of grievances, ways he'd
wronged her, things for which he had not (in his eyes) done sufficient
penance. She knew what she had to do.

As he spoke, she moved toward him. She stroked her fingers through his
hair, a comforting, compassionate gesture. 

He needs to do penance, she realized. To be punished. Her fingers
tightened into a fist.

All right, then.

Her voice shattered his monologue. "Take your pants off."

Mulder gaped.

Slap!

Mulder pressed his hand in amazement to his stinging cheek. She hit me.
Stunned, he felt his penis twitch, as if in recognition of something he
could not understand.

"You heard what I said."

He looked up at her. In her wrath she seemed to tower above him, an icon
of dangerous and beautiful rage.

"But Scu--"

"When you address me, you will say 'yes, ma'am'. Is that clear?"

"Ye-- yes, ma'am." Why am I doing this? His face reddened, and not only
from the force of her palm. With something between curiosity and
compulsion, Mulder acceded to the strange game she was playing. Although
he was outwardly shocked, as his fingers trembled at his belt he felt
his body responding with an intensity, a familiarity he could not deny.

Scully watched him fumble at his fly, his face all softness, and
impatiently jerked his slacks and boxers down around his ankles.

"Kneel!" she commanded.

Mulder's knees hit the floor before he'd had time to think, and shame
immediately overwhelmed him at how helpless he felt before her, how
eager he was to do anything she said. His cock, now fully erect,
strained toward Scully, who was still fully clothed.

She twisted her fingers in his hair and yanked his head back, feeding
hungrily at his open mouth for a moment.

"You're a bad little boy. You know that, don't you?" she hissed in his
ear.

A rush of lust flooded through him.

"Yes, ma'am."

She stroked his face gently. His cheek tingled where she'd slapped him.
"And do you know what happens to bad little boys?"

"They get punished, ma'am?" Oh please, Scully. Please. He had no idea
what he was begging for, merely that he was about to lose the last
traces of his dignity. He remembered his pants around his ankles, and
blushed wildly.

"That's right. They get what they deserve." Scully thrust his chin up so
that he could not evade her eyes. "Do you think you should get what you
deserve?"

"Yes, ma'am," Mulder said miserably.

Scully gazed on him fondly for a moment, caressing his neck and
shoulders with one hand while maintaining her grip on his chin. With a
sigh she let him go and sat down.

"Very well, then. Over my knee." She patted her lap.

She wasn't serious. She couldn't be serious. My god, Mulder, if you
don't want this then why is your dick so hard?

He crawled on bruised knees the few inches to where she sat, afraid to
stand up lest she slap him again. Gingerly he lay his shaking torso
across her knees, the wool of her skirt scratching against his nipples,
and oh god, his cock pressed against her thighs. His head was turned
away from her, and he could feel his blood pounding in the ear that was
mashed against the sofa. Her warmth and scent surrounded him, and in
spite of the chaos in his mind, he suddenly felt safe.

"Such a beautiful, beautiful boy," Scully whispered, as she drew her
nails down his spine. He shivered as her cool hands skimmed his lower
back and swept down over his ass so lightly that the tiny hairs there
stood on end.

The first blow took him completely by surprise. Hot, stinging pain
spread through his buttocks and he was instantly choked with tears of
indignation. The next blow fell, and the next, Scully's hand warming as
the heat flowed through them both. Each moment of contact sent a keen,
agonizing vibration through his scrotum and cock, and Mulder sobbed
aloud in humiliation as he realized what her punishment was doing to
him.

It wasn't the pain. Scully was spanking him hard with the palm of her
hand, and while the sting had intensified to a burning ache, it was far
from intolerable. But the indignity of his position, reddening bottom in
the air, his utter surrender on his knees, made him harder than he'd
ever been. And the knowledge that it was *Scully* taking away his
control, Scully doing this to him, made him want her, and want to please
her, more than ever before.

It was like a drug. He was chasing the dragon now, the lust feeding his
humiliation, the humiliation feeding his lust, the pain (oh, the agony
of pressure building in his cock) feeding them both, on and on until he
could not distinguish one burning slap from the next, and his sobs tore
his throat.

In desperation he squirmed, whether to avoid her blows or for the
pleasure of rubbing against her he could not have said. Instantly her
hand was in his hair again, jerking his head painfully backward.

"Don't you dare," she whispered, "don't you dare try to escape what you
so richly deserve."She pinched his ear, hard, until he gasped. "Oh, and
Fox?"

He thrilled at the sound of his name on her lips. "Yes, ma'am?"

"I do *not* want a mess on my skirt. Do you understand me?"

"Yes. Yes, ma'am."

He was truly at her mercy, then, he realized. She would not let him
come. He had no expectation that she *ever* would. She was right. He did
not deserve it. The blows fell again and he quickly lost count of them.

Mulder held very still, trying not to think about the excruciating need
in his cock, not to think about the agonizing deliciousness of her soft
thighs, trying not to squirm away from the hand that seemed tireless,
that fell unceasingly on his tender flesh. He had gone beyond tears now,
into a kind of clear euphoria. That was when he noticed the scent rising
from Scully.

It wasn't her perfume, which he knew well enough, or her perspiration,
which he'd encountered sometimes in the field. It wasn't even the clean
Scully-smell he'd detected occasionally in their more intimate moments.
This was more intimate still. This was the odor of Scully's arousal,
rising from her lap in hot damp waves. It took every ounce of control
not to climax right then.

Something was missing. The roaring in Mulder's ears subsided as he
realized that she was no longer striking him, that his punshment (that
part of it, at least) was over. He lay panting over her knees, hot and
sweating, filled with a gratitude he could no more own than understand.

"Get up. On your knees," Scully directed. Was that passion in her voice,
or was she just hoarse from the exertion? He regretfully retreated from
the strange comfort of her lap. He didn't dare raise his eyes, but
peripherally he could see that Scully's color had risen, and her hair
clung to her cheek in matted strands. And were those tears in her eyes? 

Mulder reeled as a headrush dizzied him. Scully put out a hand to steady
him, and then with both arms drew him into an embrace.

She held him tightly as their breathing slowed. She was molten; bathed
in sweat, tears tracking her cheeks, moisture soaking her pantyhose.

I thought I was doing this for him.

She stroked his back again, feeling him shudder in her arms. He was
still hard, she noticed. She'd felt his erection pressing against her
the whole time, even as he wept. It had enflamed her. 

He wants me so badly. Maybe as much as I want him.

It had taken all her self control to administer the punishment he
needed, without allowing it to become a reward for herself. How she
craved that reward.

My god. I'm enjoying this.

"Mulder," she whispered. With his name, she gave back his power, his
dignity.

He propped himself up on one elbow, meeting her eyes again at last.
"Scully. How did you *know*?"

"You're not the only one with fantasies, Mulder."

"You fantasize about -- hurting me?"

"I fantasize about pleasing you, Mulder, but I think that for you it's
the same thing."

He was quiet.

Slowly she slid off of the couch and adjusted her skirt. He watched her,
as though in a trance, as she picked up her purse and raincoat. She
turned again to face him.

"I could love you so well, if you'd let me," she told him.

The door shut softly behind her.


END


Sticks and stones may break my bones, but flames will never hurt me.
Feedback ardently hoped for at laura@humandesign