Title - I Spy
      Author - Red Valerian
      E-Mail address - hg83@dial.pipex.com
      Rating - NC 17
      Category - Vignette
      Spoilers - Avatar(ish)
      Keywords - Scully/Skinner. A stuck  elevator. Need I say more?

Archive wherever appropriate



Disclaimer - Oh God I wish they were mine (especially Skinner) but
they're not. We all know who they belong to and we all hope that he
won't sue. Especially me.


Summary - Mix together Scully, Skinner and an elevator and before you
can say UST a whole lot of sexual  tensions get resolved pretty
graphically.

WARNING: OK. This is the bit where I'm taking the advice of my beta
reader (Thank you Dawson!) and warning my audience that some might
find this offensive in the extreme. Sorry, but in my universe, Scully
has fantasies about being dominated by Skinner, and her fantasies are
realised in fairly graphic detail. I don't happen to feel that
Scully's submissive fantasies in any way conflict with the strong
independent character we know her to be in 'reality', but many may
disagree.  I would answer that  'fantasies' are just that, and that
by their very nature they offer  a release from the constant
pressures of ordinary life. In Scully's case,  her fantasies allow
her to  abdicate control for blessed moments, so that for once, 
someone else can make the decisions. In this case Skinner.

Now if you're screaming out loud "No - she would never do that!!!!!!"
then you are just going to hate this story - so please don't read it
and save us all a lot of unpleasantness. 

Oh - one final warning. I also prefer to use the occasional
one-syllable Anglo-Saxon term for certain bodily parts and certain
sexual practices. I have been made aware that the 'c' word in
particular is problematic for many readers of the newsgroup. In
answer to that objection, all I can say is that alternative terms are
 hard to find (how many times can you use 'molten core'  or
'throbbing centre' for goodness sake?)  And anyway, I prefer the
forthrightness of one syllable terminology. It seems more honest
somehow. 

Oops - just thought of a final  warning - there's no AIDS in my
universe, so don't lecture me on the dangers of anal sex please.

Well - you can't say  that you haven't been well and truly warned. 

And feedback? Yes please - unless you're just going to yell. 




I Spy -  By Red Valerian

This is dedicated to Lyrica 

Whose Skinner/Scully masterpiece 'Sharp Focus' showed me the light!







"Well Sir? Are you going to play with me or not?" Dana Scully's
expression and tone  were very matter of fact. They  suggested that
only a fool would dare to argue with her. And although Assistant
Director Walter Skinner may have been many things, he was *not* a
fool. He was, however, teetering on the brink of losing control  and
doing his best to hide that  fact.

"Agent Scully," he hissed through gritted teeth.  "I just told you
that I have no intention of playing any   games  with you. Not now.
Not ever. Is that quite clear?" 

The words were typical Skinner. He put a statement in the form of a
question for politeness sake, but the  answer was understood. He had
no doubt  that Agent Scully would make a few apologetic noises and
then  leave him to brood in peace. That was standard operating
procedure. Everybody in the FBI knew that, from  the lowliest janitor
to the Director himself. And that is exactly what Scully *would* 
have done in normal  circumstances.  But these circumstances were far
from normal,  and that made everything different.  

AD Skinner and Special Agent Scully were trapped in a jammed elevator
in the J. Egdar Hoover building, and they were unlikely to be rescued
for many many  hours. There had been a city-wide power failure and
the emergency services were having trouble coping. The two agents had
been contacted via the emergency speaker-phone soon after the
elevator had ground to an emphatic halt, but once   rescue staff had
been assured that neither of them was in the least hurt, they were
put on a low priority list. Very, very low. Apparently all of the
other elevators  in the city were full of pregnant women in the last
stages of labour  or men  having imminent coronaries.  Scully and
Skinner were told to take it easy and wait it out.  

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" the cheerful voice had added with
a suggestive chuckle, before breaking the connection. 

Skinner  had snarled at the man's impertinence, and wanted to ring
him back, but  Scully stopped him by pointing  out that it was
probably better  not to antagonise the people who were coming to
rescue you. 

"You can shoot him later, Sir. After we're out," she had added with a
slight smile.

Skinner snorted at that, but it  mollified him for the time being.
Scully noted that he had clearly been horrified by the implication
that the two of them might 'get up to something' in the elevator.
This fact depressed her beyond measure.  Because Scully had a secret
- one that she would have rather died than revealed to anyone - let
alone the man trapped with her inside eight cubic feet of
non-reflective stainless steel. Dana Katherine Scully - good Catholic
though she was -  had the hots for her boss, and  had done for some
time. And now, here she was trapped with him in an elevator, and he
looked completely indifferent - completely unlikely to fulfil the
outrageous fantasies she had been having about him.

It had started off sort of accidently. Scully had to people her
fantasy landscape with *someone* after all, and Mulder just wouldn't
do, although he was the obvious candidate. It would complicate things
too much if she started lusting after her partner. And who else was
there? No-one, that's who.

She'd first thought of Skinner as having a sexual side to his
character after he was found with a dead prostitute in his bed. That
incident had made it quite clear  that the man had physical urges
like everyone else.  Scully had been intrigued. Here was clearly a
passionate man who had  no outlet for his passions. 
Underneath the surly exterior there was a something hotter brewing
and bubbling. That knowledge made Skinner deliciously appealing to
Scully. 

So from that time on she had started 'borrowing' Skinner on those
nights when she could no longer ignore her own bodily needs.  It
seemed safe  enough to use him, although she wasn't sure that  
'safe'  was the right word. Convenient, perhaps.

After all, she was unlikely to ever give her secret away to him.  She
rarely saw the man unless it was to report to him in his office and
then  Mulder always sat by her side. Skinner  made sure that their 
conversation was kept at a minimum. Nothing personal was ever
discussed. Heaven forbid. 

She could say with complete certainty that she knew almost nothing
about the man beyond what was freely available on the public record.
But that very fact made him a perfect fantasy lover. She could mould
him into whatever shape or position she chose. And she had done just
that. Again and again and again. Until gradually she had realised
that  she wanted more than a fantasy Skinner. She wanted the real
one. Needed the real one, if she was going to keep her sanity.

In her erotic daydreams  Skinner had already taken her in every
possible position. He was an insatiable lover and a ruthless one who 
had invaded her every orifice and delighted in tormenting and teasing
her unmercifully -  bringing her to the point of orgasm with fingers
or tongue or cock and then stopping until she begged him to finish
her off. Like the real Skinner, he rarely spoke  in her  daydreams.
Instead he let his body tell her what he wanted of her. Suddenly
withdrawing before she had climaxed, he would just look at her with
an almost cruel half-smile on his face until she got the silent 
message - 'Beg me to finish you, Scully. Beg me.'

And she would - screaming his name and digging her nails into his
flesh in frustration until he put her out of her misery by yanking
her legs apart without ceremony and driving his cock into her
throbbing cunt until she sobbed in release.  

This fantasy Skinner clearly  resented his 'weakness'  his 'need' for
another human - and that resentment would manifest itself in his
aggressive lovemaking. He would pound almost viciously into her,
punishing her for making him need her so. And though she was
theoretically  powerless when pitted against  his size and strength,
Scully would be aware that *she* was actually controlling *him*.  And
that would make her victory over him all that much more sweet. 

That was the theory anyway. Shame she would never be able to put it
into practice. Because the man clearly had no interest in her
whatsoever. He had made that patently obvious again and again. 

And now - here she was in an elevator with him and what was likely to
happen? Nada. He had given no hint that he might take advantage of
this situation - or that he even *wanted* to take advantage of the 
situation. No hint that he was anything but irritated at the delay to
his busy schedule. He couldn't have acted more the professional. His
starched white shirt and perfectly knotted tie proclaimed the fact.
Only Skinner would sit in a trapped elevator without loosening his
tie or removing his jacket.  

Scully sighed and told herself to stop acting like a sex-starved
teenager. That was the problem of course. Sex. Or rather, the lack of
it. She was an intelligent woman who could understood the rationale
behind her need to gain sexual gratification in whatever way was
convenient and least likely to cause complications. That didn't make
it any easier to cope with. It was humiliating to have this human
need. And even more humiliating to  be faced with the focus of her
attraction and then have him apparently completely unaware 
of her.

They  sat  on the floor, in opposing corners of the elevator  - legs
stretched out in front of them. Waiting to be rescued. Or rather, 
Scully waited and Skinner  brooded. She was desperately trying  to
think of a way to get Skinner to *talk* to her at least. She'd settle
for that - just a few words of conversation would do. Something she
could incorporate into the next fantasy. Perhaps she might even
manage some bodily contact somehow. It was a small elevator, after
all. 

Half-heartedly, she had tried Skinner out on a range of topics in
succession. Each and every one had fallen  on deaf ears. How could
you be expected to converse with someone who only responded in
monosyllables and frowned at you all the time? She  felt exasperated.
No - make that frustrated. She grinned bleakly at the 
appropriateness of the latter word.

Throughout her sporadic attempts to engage Skinner in something
approaching conversation, Scully had unconsciously been fidgeting in
her seat  - unable to settle. Unable to breathe properly. The
elevator was getting hotter  the longer the two of them sat there,
and she found herself needing to gain  some relief. Any relief. She
started  to unbutton her silk blouse - just the top few buttons. Just
to help her breathe more easily.

Skinner regarded her actions apparently impassively, but she noted
that  his eyes never left  her fingers as they played with the silk
confinement of her blouse, and when she stopped at the third button,
she thought a flash of disappointment skittered across his face
before it returned to its usual immobility. 

'Maybe,' she thought to herself,  'Just maybe he wants me as much
as I want him. Maybe he's holding himself just under control. And
maybe it wouldn't take much to get the control to break.'

But she didn't really believe it. It was wishful thinking. Skinner
was just bored with sitting in this metal box with her.  That was  it. 

And the fact that his glance kept returning to  rake across  her
body? Well, that was  because she was the only thing there to look
at. 

And the fact that he was getting tenser  by the minute - holding
himself more rigidly - clenching his jaw so tightly that she could
tell his teeth must be aching? Could that be boredom? Or could it be
something else? Something that would just need a little nudge to make
it explode into action?

Skinner's stillness was now a stark contrast to Scully's restless
movements. She was resolving to do something desperate. Something to
determine the real state of Skinner's mind - to determine what lay
under that granite. It didn't look like it would take much. Not much
at all.

So - taking a deep breath, she did it. She heard herself asking
Skinner if he wanted to play a game to pass the time. But she
added a deliberately provocative emphasis on the word 'game'. 
There could be no mistaking her double meaning.  Then she waited 
and watched his reaction. She saw him jump slightly at her tone, and
then quickly recover. So she stayed on the attack.

'It would be fun," she assured him, hardly believing her own
temerity. 

He  glared back at her as if he thought she had indeed lost her mind.
The granite face registered a stern disapproval  and his expression
could have made a  grown man cower. For some reason Scully dug in her
heels, not allowing herself  to be intimidated.  She met his stare
unflinchingly, and  the deeper his frown lines became   the more
determined *she* became  to bend him to her will. 

"Go on sir - it will pass the time anyway.  It's called 'I Spy'." 

That was when he had told her, in no uncertain terms, that he had no
intention of playing a game with her. "Not now. Not ever." He
repeated the phrase for emphasis. V-e-r-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y. But there
was something in his face - something in the look in his eyes, that
told her that he might  want to play something - but not 'I Spy'.
 
And so she decided to continue baiting Skinner until that rocky
fa?ade cracked. Just a little. She didn't ask herself if it was a
good idea to goad a man who had no means of escape. A powerful man
who was unused to being thwarted. A man who was already as pissed off
as she had ever seen him, and that was saying something. 

Looking speculatively at her boss, a range of analogies flicked
through Scully's brain. He looked like an irritated bird of prey who
had been shoved into a canary cage. Or a  bull chafing at the ring in
his nose.  Or a stallion being roped  into a horse-box. Or...what?
Her imagination ground to a halt. Whatever he looked like, she knew
that the wisest course of action would be to ignore him completely
and leave him in peace. 

Because he looked ready to explode. It would only take a little thing
to make him 'lose it'. She could see that much clearly.

And  she wasn't feeling cautious today. She was feeling hot and
frustrated and sick of having no life beyond the X-files. She wanted
something else and this seemed like the only opportunity she was
likely to have to get it -  in the near future any way. So she 
decided to try one more time. To take a final gamble. To see just
what lay under Skinner's frozen exterior. And she knew just what to
say. She knew it was unfair - awful - a humiliating taunt that no-one
would bear, least of all a man like Skinner. But it was the only
thing that just might work. So, her heartbeat quickening, she heard
herself fling down a final verbal gauntlet.

"What's the matter sir?" Her voice held a faint sneer. "Are you
chicken or is it just that you don't want to play games with *me*?"

And then hesitating slightly, she added  "I guess you just  like
oplaying  with hookers?"

She heard Skinner's angry  intake of breath and watched as his eyes
darted around the metal cube which enclosed them, as if looking for
an escape route. Then at last he seemed to give up. He stared
straight back at her and she suddenly felt like a small animal pinned
to a dissection table - flesh sliced open  and nailed back, her
entrails exposed  to his hot gaze.  And his gaze was hot - she could
almost feel the waves of heated air radiating off of him. He looked
like he was about to hit her. Then his hands balled into fists and  
he leant towards her and she suddenly wondered if perhaps she had
pushed him too far and too fast. Her career was at stake here, after
all.  What exactly had she said? Was it insubordinate? She couldn't
remember exactly. Something about him being a chicken? Something 
about him liking to play games with hookers? Oh Christ - had she
actually said that?

And then just as she had begun to wish that she hadn't spoken, he
exploded into action. With a half uttered imprecation, he reached
across the distance between them and grabbed Scully by her upper
arms. She felt each of his fingers biting into her skin painfully.
Blissfully. She thought dimly that she'd have bruises there later 
but before she could think  anything else, Skinner suddenly  hauled
her towards him, dragging her body across his, until their faces were
nearly touching.  

Scully's body lay on top of  his now - her groin on his groin, her
breast on his breast. And she couldn't breathe. She couldn't speak.
She could just about articulate a staccato prayer of thanks, and even
that only boiled down to the words "At last - thank god - it's
happening - at last." She didn't really care when she realised that
she'd gasped the words out loud. 

"Agent Scully?" Skinner  hissed into her face. 
"Are you absolutely sure that this is the game you want to 
play?" His tone was fierce. "Agent Scully! Answer me."  

He spat the words out, tightening his grip on her upper arms even
further. She began to feel a numbness in her hands as the circulation
was cut off. He was still asking her something, but she couldn't
concentrate enough to answer him.  Their roles were reversed now. She
was unable to speak and he could not  seem to remain silent.  Scully
stared at his lips and ground her hips into his groin fitfully. 

'Please,' she was thinking to herself. 'Please,please,please....' but
she couldn't have explained what exactly she was asking for. She just
knew that Skinner was the only person who could give it to her.

He repeated his previous question -  more loudly this time, almost
shouting into her face.

"ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY SURE THAT THIS IS THE GAME YOU 
WANT TO PLAY? ARE YOU?"
 
His face was a mask of what could have been anger or could have been
something else.

'Intense...too intense' Scully thought as her eyes met his. 'I can't
look. I'll fall. I'll drown in them.' And yet she couldn't  look away
from his eyes either.   She still said nothing coherent,  but she
heard a moan escape from her full lips and her eyes dilated a little
further. She was trying to reach his lips with her own, but he 
still held her just out of reach. 'Please....' Her eyes begged him.
'Please....'

It was answer enough. Skinner began to let himself respond to her.

She could feel him growing harder beneath her, and she struggled to
reach down and stroke his tantalising length. He refused to free her,
however. His iron grasp kept her immobilised, and suddenly his lips
were on
hers, tearing more groans from her tortured throat as he thrust his
tongue into her deeply. He pulled back to bite at her lower lip,
drawing blood and then just as frantically he got rid of it again by
sucking her lip back into his mouth and licking the tiny wound. His
kisses were brutal, as much an attack as a mark of passion. And 
Scully loved them. Loved him. Wanted more, and showed him that,  by
the way she whimpered and struggled to touch him. To kiss him back.
To bite him back. To suck him back. To lick him.

And now his hands released her arms, and she felt the blood rushing
back to her extremities, making them seem alive again. More than
alive - on fire. And he began to  use his hands to better purpose,
running his callused palms over her back, up under her blouse,
through her hair, everywhere he could reach. He wasn't still for a
second. Yanking up her skirt, he ripped her panties off and without
ceremony thrust his two middle fingers into her dripping centre. His
other hand clutched the back of her head, which he yanked backwards, 
so that he could gain access to her throat. There he seemed content
to bite and suck and lick while Scully  screamed for more.

Throughout his assault on her senses, Skinner's guttural voice rapped
out a series of rhetorical questions.

"Is this what you want Agent Scully..." as he thrust his fingers
further into her..."or this...or this...or this..." as those same
slick fingers probed her anus, meeting no resistance. The ring of
muscle relaxed and opened to him. She wanted everything to be open to
him. She was beside herself with lust - beyond reason or the ability
to articulate. But she knew that she wanted more. Not his fingers,
but his cock should be driving into her. She tried to grab him,
struggling to unzip his suit trousers, but he wouldn't let her touch
him.

"So - that's what you want, is it? Is it?  Well? Answer me?"

"Yes," she keened. "Oh God, yes. Please - please - I'll do
anything..."  

"Yes, you will..." he assured her almost grimly, as he bit into her
shoulder.

Then suddenly he had flipped them over and she was on her back on the
floor. Frantically he stripped off her  remaining clothing until she
lay completely naked before him. He leant back on his haunches then
and his eyes raked across her body, leaving  wheals behind them. He
stared at her like a madman. Or like a saint. She had never seen
anything more beautiful.

"Open your legs," he ordered at last.

Scully obeyed, arching her pelvis up towards him, using her own hands
to rub her breasts, to stimulate her nipples. She writhed on the
floor, pleading with him. "pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease..."  Then
she closed her eyes and prayed for relief.

It came within seconds - came with his  gravel voice telling her to
open her eyes. She did open her eyes, but still she frantically
rubbed her own breasts, pulling at the nipples and thrusting her
pelvis towards the man who she now saw was kneeling between her
spread legs, holding his erect cock in his right hand. Most of his
weight was balanced on his left arm which was braced on the floor
next to Scully's head. He  almost glared down at her as he spat out
the words. 

"Is this what you wanted, Scully?" he asked, prodding her  slick
vaginal entrance with the engorged head of his cock, but keeping his
eyes glued to her face. "Is this what you wanted? Is it?"  He used
his hand to guide his cock - up and down - side to side. First
upwards to
brush her clit, then down to prod her anus. Then round and round her
weeping vaginal opening. But he wouldn't enter her. Not properly. Not
until she begged. 

He was waiting for an answer to the question he had asked. Even
though he knew the answer perfectly well. Her eyes told him 'yes. Her
expression shouted 'yes'. Her thrusting pelvis screamed 'yes'. But
when she finally used her voice to answer him it was  to whisper the
word - so softly that he could hardly hear her. And it was the
whisper which Skinner couldn't resist. The whisper which ended both
of their torments. 

It made him abandon  any semblance of control and enter her body at
last - with one agonisingly desperate lunge followed by another and
another and another.


Not slowly. Not gently. Not one careful inch at a time. But savagely,
brutally, again and again and again, and again. Deeper and deeper and
deeper as his voice gasped her name in time to his lunges. 

Suddenly he pulled out of her, and before she could register what had
happened or sob her objections,  he had  already  turned her  onto
her stomach and lifted her bottom up into the air.

"What about this?" his voice groaned. "Do you want this too?" And his
well lubricated cock prodded her anus. Slick with her juices, he was
able to enter her comparatively easily so that she felt nothing but
pleasure there in that new unexplored place. She didn't care what he
did to her. She wanted him everywehere. In her cunt. In her ass. In
her mouth. In her heart. Everywhere.

But his size - his massive size. It must be doing damage, a part of
her brain thought. Doctor Dana Scully MD - feared that he might  be
bruising her cervix. Must be tearing her rectum. But she didn't care.
She welcomed  the pain as the concomitant to pleasure. "Yes" she
whispered again as he thrust and thrust and thrust, each lunge
causing her head to bang against the elevator walls. "Oh Yes."

Then he withdrew a final time and turned her onto her back again,
re-entering her easily and continuing his desperate thrusting. She
wrapped her arms around his neck and hid her face in the sweet haven
under his chin - holding on for dear life as he struggled to give
them both the release they needed. And then with one final lunge they
both came - screaming each other's names and wrapped in each other's
arms. It was over and they both lay stranded on the other side,
gasping for air.

Into that comparative stillness, into that newly quiescent space, a
sobbing was suddenly heard. It was Scully. And she was sobbing for
joy.

Skinner sat up and pulled Scully onto his lap. Her legs fitted
themselve  around his waist and she slipped her arms around his chest
clinging to him as if she would never let him go. Skinner knew why
she was crying. He felt a lump in his throat himself. And as he
rocked her small body, he kissed the bruises and cuts, marvelling
that they'd both survived this. 

Scully's sobs finally slowed until all that was left of them was a
faint hiccupping on her indrawn breath. She had  turned her head
sideways so that her cheek rested over his heart and she was being
comforted by its rhythmic thudding. She kept turning her face to kiss
his skin, then turning back to rest her cheek on that warm pillow. 

Skinner rocked her back and forth, occasionally kissing the top of
her head and making soothing noises - the sort of noises you'd make
to a hurt or frightened child. Scully did look like she'd been
through the wars. Her bottom lip was swollen and bitten, her upper
arms were decorated with rings of finger-shaped bruises. There were
wheals and bite marks visible everywhere - on her shoulder, neck,
inner thighs - everywhere. 

She knew that a doctor on seeing her 'injuries' would have diagnosed
acute sexual trauma and have assumed that she was the victim of a
vicious attact. The opposite was true. She and Skinner had needed to
purge the anger, the pain and the frustration that they had
inadvertently
been inflicting on each other. Now could come a quiet time when they
could begin to heal each other. 

Unspoken was the thought that they would never again have an
experience like this one. She doubted that she could live through
such another. But she knew that *this* vicious coupling had been
necessary. Only now could they  go forward.

Dimly Scully heard the speaker phone in the wall crackle into life at
long last. She immediately burrowed into Skinner's chest, trying to
hide from it. This caused him to chuckle slightly and to kiss the top
of her head again,  while enclosing her even more tightly in his
arms. 

The voice from the wall was speaking now - something about a further
delay - another hour at least. Asking if they'd be able to cope.
Apologising for the inconvenience.

Scully was amazed to hear Skinner replying in his normal tone of
voice. Asking questions about the rescue efforts - about the state of
the emergency generally. Responding to the replies with apparent
interest. Scully couldn't be bothered to even listen any more. She
was just thinking - 'another hour - we've got another hour' and a
blissful smile lit up her flushed face.

"I'd better let you get on with your business," she heard Skinner say
at last, his tone suggesting that the man had procrastinated  long
enough.
 
"Right sir," came the reply. "I'm just off now. But sir..."

The man's voice  halted expectantly.

"Yes?" Skinner barked at the wall. "What is it man?"

"Just wanted to ask if you two have been behaving yourselves sir."
Scully heard the man's raucous laughter which suddenly cut off as the
connection closed completely. She couldn't help smiling to herself.

And then she heard something else. Something which she had never
heard in her life before so that it took her a minute to recognise it
for what it was. But when she worked it out, the sound just made her
smile even more broadly.

It was Skinner. And he was laughing too. There was no doubt about it.
He was throwing back his head and laughing, right out loud. And in
all of her life, Scully didn't think that she had ever heard anything
quite so beautiful.



                                           - fin -