By Jess M
snarkypup@mindspring.com

DISCLAIMER: Oh come on, do I really need this? Okay... <deep breath> Iím not Chris Carter. You can all stop acting so shocked now.
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere, just let me know.
SPOILER WARNING: Per Manum, big time.
RATING: Strong R (stop cheering, Darla)
CONTENT WARNING: ëBation, baby!
CLASSIFICATION: MSR, sorta kinda
SUMMARY: Sometimes even a pro needs a little help.

AUTHORíS NOTES: This little bit of fluffy smut is dedicated to DebB, because she asked for it.  Guess if you gotta be a ìproî at something, Mulderbation fic beats say... cat-shaving or something, eh?

This is also for Darla, who has been patient and who needs a bit of cheering up. Donít let the bastards get you down, smooch.

Professional Help

Somewhere between the doctorís office and his apartment, when his cell phone rang expectantly and he knew, just knew, it was her.  It occurred to Mulder that crow tasted a lot like chicken, but that the feathers made it really hard to talk.

ìSo?î she chirped. ìEverything get off okay?î

God help him, Scully was joking about masturbation.  He never thought heíd live to see the day, much less be so unequivocally horrified by it.

ìUm...î he began, trying to find the polite way to tell her, the nice way, the way little old ladies in pale lavender spring dresses with matching hats sitting around lace-topped tables with china tea sets would tell each other. Naturally, he failed. ìNo.î

ìNo?î she said. ìNo? Why not? Is there a mobility problem? Because you know wearing boxers for a while can actually help to...î

ìNo, Scully, there was no mobility problem.î

She was silent for a moment, then said quietly: ìYouíre infertile?î

He felt like banging his head on the steering wheel, but resisted the temptation, seeing as he was being tailgated by a large white school bus with the words ìTemple Baptist Churchî painted backwards across the front.  He didnít think it would thrill the big guy if he took out a bunch of fundamentalist sprog through needless self-flagellation.

ìNo, Scully. Well actually, I have no idea. See, I couldnít...î  Couldnít what? Suck up and spit like a man? Launch some seed into the fertile soil of a small, plastic cup?

He thought he heard her sigh in relief.  ìOh, is that all?î she said.

ìIs that all?î he squeaked. ìScully, clearly you are not a man.î

ìWould we really be in this situation if I were?î she asked, amused. It was obviously rhetorical. He snorted and waited for her to tell him off. ìLook, where are you now?î

ìHalf way home,î he admitted.

ìYou left?î she said. ìBefore... before the donation was complete?î

ìScully...î He navigated, white knuckled, around a group of construction workers. Big, beefy construction workers who looked like they could write their name on the wall with their spunk.... hell, with each otherís spunk, if necessary. He thought one of them sneered at he passed, like a dog who smells fear. ìHave you ever been in one of those donation rooms?î

ìClearly, the answer to that is ënoí,î she replied.

ìTheyíre sterile, Scully. Sterile and boring and there are these instructions with diagrams posted on the wall over the chair. Diagrams, Scully!î He smacked the horn viciously to illustrate the point.  A woman standing at the crosswalk, one hand clutching the hood of her toddlerís coat, flipped him off. ìSame to you, buddy!î he shouted.

ìMulder,î Scully said in her ìcalm down and accept the lobotomyî voice. ìMulder, youíre being ridiculous. How long were you in there?î

ìThirty-five minutes,î he said, slowing to a stop as he hit traffic. ìThirty-five of the longest minutes of my life.  It was worse than being in a coma.î

ìOh, it was not,î she chided and he was chagrined to realize that she assumed he would actually know. ìThirty-five minutes is nothing. Sometimes it takes me...î she trailed off and he pounced in delight.

ìSometimes it takes you... what? Were you about to tell me how long it takes you to make the kitten purr, Scully?î

ìMake the kitten purr?î she asked, sounding incredulous. ìMulder, where do you get these?î

ìItís a guy thing,î he replied, making an obscene gesture as he passed the stalled taxi that had been blocking his way. The man standing beside the vehicle grabbed his crotch and pointed a finger in Mulderís direction. Everyone, it seemed, knew.

ìRight. Look, you get right back in there, Mulder. If you fall off a horse...î

Wincing, he took the blow. ìScully, you donít understand. It was impossible to get turned on in that environment.î

He thought he heard amusement in her voice. ìOh, but filthy hotel rooms and cable soft porn does it for you?î

No, he wanted to say, you do it for me. Did she really think he was getting turned on by the sound of soft pants and moans from the TV when he knew that just beyond his door she lay there, warm and real?

ìIím just saying that sanitarium-white pleather chairs and easily-scrubbed walls donít.î

She gave a little huff. ìI know thereís a lot of pressure inherent in this request, Mulder. So go home, get your favorite, most dog-eared copy of Celebrity Skin and get back in the trenches, so to speak. Iím sure itíll all work out, eventually.î

ìScully,î he groaned, ìare you really giving me a pep-talk?î

ìJust think of me as your very own little cheerleader, Mulder.î

Now there was an image he could work with. Scully, in one of those short little skirts, her lips painted Britney-pink... or maybe not. Sheís still be able to kick his ass, and somehow the idea of getting the shit beaten out of him by a pubescent Scully wasnít as much of a turn-on as he thought it would be.

He turned another corner and found himself mired in stopped traffic, yet again. Three or four blocks in the distance he could see a crane lifting something from the center of the road. With a groan he threw the car into neutral and took his foot off the gas.

ìWhat is it?î Scullyís voice interrupted the constant stream of expletives playing across his mind like the Times Square news ticker. ìTraffic? I heard thereís some sort of problem on Union with a dropped pipe.î

ìThanks for letting me know,î he said bitterly and pretended he didnít hear her laugh. Next to him a neatly nuclear family stared vacantly at the tail lights lined up before them. The child in a car seat opened his mouth in a silent scream. Mulder understood the feeling.

What he didnít understand was the wave of tenderness that slipped over him as the mother unbuckled the child from the seat to cradle him on her lap. The father reached across to stroke his sonís head and Mulderís fingertips throbbed with a longing so intense he was sure he could feel the peach-soft skin of the childís scalp. It was a strange, phantom yearning. He sighed and Scully said quietly: ìItís not that important that you do it today, Mulder. It can wait for a couple days.î

ìNo, it is important,î he said. ìBut there is a great deal of pressure involved here, Scully.î Watching the mother tuck the mollified toddler back into his car seat and hand him her keys to chew on, Mulder pushed his free hand through his hair in frustration. There was so much trapped there, beneath his skull, and he wanted to communicate it to her.  ìI donít want to let you down. I know how badly you want this.î

ìItís sweet of you,î she said. ìBut if youíre under so much pressure you canít... give the donation, than itís hardly helpful. Relax, Mulder, this isnít a test.î

ìSo youíll still respect me in the morning?î he asked, wistful and joking in the same thought.

ìAbsolutely,î she assured him, without a trace of humor. ìNo matter what happens.î

ìScully,î he whispered, to be sure that no one else, especially that fearful, bitter side of himself, could hear what he was about to say.

ìYes?î

ìI want this, too,î he told her. ìAnd not just for you. I want this for me. At first, I was just terrified. No one has ever wanted to have my kids before, not even me. Iím just so fucked-up...î

ìThereís no genetic basis for your fucked-upedness,î she reassured him, her voice amused and loving. He grinned.

ìYou know what I mean. It may not be genetic, but sometimes I wonder if itís contagious.î

She laughed and he drummed a happy burst on the steering wheel. ìThen weíre doomed as parents, Mulder.î

Parents. It was so startling to him that she thought of him as the future father of her child. A small, but pleasant twinge emanating in his belly spread to his groin and pulsed there like a fallen star. Parents. He imagined waking in the night, his body slick with sleep to hear the thin wail of a child from the next room. Disentangling his mental image from hers, he saw himself padding down some unknown hallway in a house he shared with his love, his family.  Perhaps he would catch a brief, ghostly glimpse of himself in a mirror hung just at eye level to make the narrow hallway seem larger, and he would see his hair sticking up wildly, his eyes haggard with love and exhaustion so deep it seemed to sink into his bones. Never had he been so tired, and as he lifted his dream child from the crib he knew: never had he been so bliss-filled, so over-whelmed and turned upside-down.

Sitting in his grid-locked car in the middle of a Saturday afternoon, returning from his failed trip to the clinic, Mulder could taste that happiness as surely as if it were a chocolate drop, melting in his mouth.

ìI think weíre going to be great parents, Scully,î he said softly, still caught in that image of himself, rocking a sleepy baby in the safety of his embrace.

ìI think so too, Mulder,î she agreed, and he thought she sounded shy, suddenly. ìI think about it all the time now. I know Iím not supposed to, because thereís a very good chance that nothing will come of this, but...î

ìHow could nothing come of this?î he wondered, surprised at her admission. ìEven if the eggs arenít viable, even if I canít be the donor for some reason, even if it just doesnít work... Scully, how could nothing come of this?î

She was quiet for so long, he thought perhaps he had offended her. Then she said, in a voice that made him ache: ìOh, Mulder. Thank you.î

ìYouíre welcome, Scully,î he assured her. And she was welcome to anything he had, from body to soul.

ìSo...î she said after a pause. ìWhat was the real problem, Mulder? Didnít they have any good porn?î

The shift in conversation brought him up sharply, and he struggled to move from the warm fuzzies of the moment before to smut.

He shifted the phone to his other ear. ìYou just canít believe I couldnít do it, can you?î

ìWell, you are supposed to be a pro at this sort of thing, Mulder. Your words, not mine.î

Indeed, sometimes he thought he had forgotten how to make love to someone other than himself.

ìI guess I just needed to relax, think of something other than how you were going to kick my ass if I couldnít get off.î

She made a chuffing sound and he smiled. ìThatís an image Iíve never really contemplated, to be honest...î She paused and he heard her move. He wondered where she was.  He pictured her sitting in her bed, knees drawn up beneath the covers, face bare and sharp without her make-up, despite the fact that it was only two oíclock. ìSo, tell me, Mulder, is there anything I can do to help?

The choking sound he made into the phone as he jerked it from his ear must have translated because he heard her laughter even from an armís length. When he pressed the phone back to his head, she was giggling like a little girl.

ìScully,î he said wearily, ìthatís not fair.î

ìOh come on,î she said, still amused. ìYou do that to me all the time.î

ìNot in this situation!î he protested.

ìWell,î she said, and she drew the word out as if she were contemplating something. ìIf I were ever in a similar situation, there would be a few things you could do for me.î

Sweat broke out under his arms, and his penis, just a moment before another bored muscle in a car full of them, shuddered to reluctant life. He winced as his hand-chapped skin strained against the sudden surge of blood.

ìOh yeah?î he murmured, trying to collect thoughts that had been blown to smithereens by her last sentence. ìWhat are you saying, here?î

ìMulder,î she said at last. ìI would do anything to turn you on.î

He swallowed the bile that rose instantly, a sure indication of terror if heíd ever felt one. ìScully,î he croaked, ìthe situation isnít really that desperate. Give me a day or two and Iíll...î

ìIím not just talking about this situation,î she said, and her voice had returned to its usual clipped primness. ìI donít want you to think that Iíd debase myself by doing something Iíd normally not be willing to do simply to conceive. Though I do have an intense sense of my own fertility right now, the truth is Iíve long wanted to... express these feelings to you in some way, and perhaps the gravity of the situation is giving me a certain confidence that I lacked without previous impetus...î

ìScully,î he interrupted her, his own voice low, his hand resting, falsely casual, on his upper thigh. ìItís working.î

ìIt is?î she whispered.

ìYeah,î he groaned. ìYeah, it is.î

ìOh.î Her voice was small, checked. He heard her shift and clear her throat. The sound of her drinking something, gulping it really, followed and then she was speaking normally, clear and concise as if she were dictating the results of an autopsy. ìI have a fantasy about us, Mulder. Would you like to hear it?î

His fingers crept up, stealthy, and tickled the top of his aching balls. The family in the car next to him was watching the crane. Their little girl, sitting in her booster seat, had fallen asleep. The toddler sat on the other side of the car. Mulder ran his thumb slowly up the length of his semi-erect penis and sighed.

ìYeah,î he said. ìI sure as shit would.î

He thought he heard her snicker nervously. ìWell, do you remember last month, when you came by to deliver the results of those tests we had run on that substance we found in that alley?î

ìYeah,î he said, mind casting back to Scully opening the door and rolling her eyes at him. Her hands had been on her hips and her hair had been pulled back from her face with little jeweled clips shaped like dragonflies. Mulder licked his lips and watched as the crane slowly hoisted a huge circle of pipe from the roadway. ìYeah, I remember. You were in your pajamas. We sat and went over the results together and you were tense, so I rubbed your back for a while.î

ìYeah, exactly. Thatís where the fantasy starts, okay?î

Sure, Scully, he felt like saying. Start your fantasy anywhere you damn well want.

ìSo weíre sitting there,î she continued, and her voice had become soft, intimate. He knew, had always known that the attraction he felt for her was shared.  Nevertheless, the surprise of hearing her voice murmuring impending sweet nothings in his ear made him crazy and turned his spine to a long column of jello in one moment. The intense duality of their lives, he thought, and pictured her licking her lips and gathering her courage. ìYouíre right behind me, and youíre pushing your thumbs against my shoulders. Remember?î

He could remember daring to slip his hands beneath the fabric of her t-shirt, lifting it up and away from her waist, arms brushing against the taught skin of her back.  He let his fingers rest against the thin, hard line of her collarbones as his thumbs pressed the wings of muscle above her shoulder blades. She had moaned and he had shifted, instantly wishing for a throw-pillow to plop in his ever-rising lap. Stretching out one languid hand, Scully had pushed the coffee table back so they were sitting in a clear space on her rug, then raised that same hand to hold her hair up from her neck.  The gesture, exposing a most intimate part of her body to his eyes, had filled him with something softer than desire, something he had refused to analyze at that moment.

ìI remember,î he whispered, pressing his hand against himself, sure now what the feeling was.

ìSo this time, when I lift up my hair, you lean forward and kiss the back of my neck. Your lips are so soft and warm, Mulder, itís unbearably erotic. Iím sure Iíll just slip from your fingers like satin.î

ìOh,î he said, ìI wanted to kiss you then.î

She sighed and he felt a thread of electricity throb through his lower body, causing his knees to jerk against the dash.

ìI think I knew that,î she said. ìSo in my dreams, you do. When you pull away, I canít bear to be away from you, and I fall back against your chest and turn my head so you can kiss my lips. But you donít.î

ìWhy not? Am I crazy?î

ìNo,î she laughed, ìno. Youíve just got something else in mind. Your hands slide down my back and around to touch my breasts.î

ìOh yeah,î he agreed. ìThatís good...î He was actually considering shoving his hand down his pants in public, but felt that might not be such a hot idea. Instead he continued to stroke himself, glad there were no SUVs or Mack trucks stopped next to him to see his busy hand. As if his flushed cheeks and parted lips werenít any indication. No officer, he could hear himself saying, itís just a slight fever.

ìIt is good,î she affirmed. ìSo good. Itís then that you lean over to kiss me and I have to say, despite the pain in my neck a few minutes before, I donít really mind the angle.î

Scully was joshing him, all while telling him her deepest fantasies. How odd the world had suddenly become, odd and wonderful. ìNeither do I,î he groaned. ìGod, Scully, I could come just listening to you talk about kissing me.î

ìDonít come yet,î she said softly. ìIt gets better.î

ìYeah?î he groaned. ìHow much better?î His penis was throbbing against his body now, like a drummer beating out the rhythm of his blood.

ìSo much. Your hands slide down to touch me, Mulder, where Iím longing for it. And I havenít been just receiving your touch, you know. I reach behind me to touch you, to rub against you through your clothes.î

Suddenly it wasnít his large hand, with its slightly hairy knuckles and callused fingers, gripping his aching crotch, but Scullyís small, white hand slipping up and down his length. He grit his teeth and attempted not to start muttering the obscenities of a man holding back, but succeeded only for a moment. ìFuck,î he whispered. ìFuck, fuck, fuck. I am so close, and... and...î

ìWeíve barely done anything?î she asked, and he thought, through the haze of pulsing purple in his mind, that she sounded suspiciously smug.

ìYeah, yeah,î he groaned. ìSo do me, Scully. Put me out of my misery.î

ìYou want to hear how it ends? How it feels when you slide into me, or maybe when I take you in my mouth? Thatís what you want to hear about, right?î

ìYeah, yeah.î He was panting now, picturing Scullyís moist, red-berry lips wrapped around his dick. The picture was so vivid as she knelt there before him, still wearing her pajama bottoms ? though the top has mysteriously disappeared, or maybe not so mysteriously, considering that her small, ripe breasts were swaying pleasantly with each bob of her auburn head.  He saw his own naked form, and he was strong and virile there, because that was how she saw him, her hands running up and down his flanks as she sucked him off.

ìThatís what you want, Mulder, to hear about how Iím going to fuck you?î

ìOh God,î he moaned. ìCome on, Scully, come on. Please donít make me beg.î

She laughed and he heard her voice, louder than before, as if she were pressing the phone to her lips: ìCall me when you get back to the clinic.î

And then the buzz of dead air. He stared, incredulous, at the phone for a moment. Had she really just done that? Had his sweet, caring partner really morphed into this dominating little bitch simply over a few teaspoons of his spunk? Grinning, he hit the ìtalkî button and shut his phone off. God, he loved it when a woman played dirty.

Ahead of him, the long line of cars waited patiently as the crane moved slowly out of the road. Screw this, he thought, crotch still throbbing, weíre outta here. Cranking the wheel as hard as he could, he barely managed to pull into the empty lanes beside him without taking out the few pedestrians on the sidewalk.

He had driven all of fifty feet when he heard the siren. Swearing, Mulder slammed the car to a stop and fished in his jacket for his badge as the trouper sidled up to the door.

ìEverybodyís in a hurry,î the cop said as Mulder rolled down the window. ìWhatís your excuse?î

Flashing his badge, he said in his deepest, most serious voice: ìFox Mulder, FBI. My partner just called and sheís in trouble. Itís imperative I go to her aid immediately.î

The cop eyed the badge for a moment and then handed it back as if it were either very cold or very hot. Mulder slid it carefully back into the jacket he had left strategically draped across his lap.

ìRight, sorry about that,î the officer said, backing away. ìHope everything comes out okay.î

ìThanks,î Mulder said, rolling up the window and throwing the car into gear. ìSo do I, buddy, so do I.î