TITLE:  "ONE-UPMANSHIP"
AUTHORS:  Char Chaffin and TBishop
RATING:  	NC-17
CATEGORY:  MSR
SPOILERS:  Not really
DISCLAIMERS:  You got yours and we got ours, CC - and we'd bet 
ours are having a hell of a lot more fun...

Thanks to the following wonderful folks:  David, Shoshana, Shell, 
Tess, and MaryBeth C., for inspiration, support and beta. And, as 
always, to Grasshopper for keeping up the archive.  Tess also 
provided beta for the prologue, "Dormi Con Mi Socio" which was 
posted separately.

AUTHORS' NOTE:  This is a completed work of fiction, which will 
be posted over several days.  It is not a WIP.

SUMMARY:  To keep a great relationship going requires imagination 
and creativity - and our erstwhile FBI agents become a little too 
successful for their own good...



**  Chapter One


It started about two months ago, as nothing more than a game, a 
joke.  Our little joke - a way to expand on a new relationship, 
to add some edge, right up front - rather than wait until the 
natural decline.  We had just become involved, had just realized 
(finally) that we wanted to be together; needed to expand our 
relationship further.  It had taken a bad case, two bottles of 
low-grade tequila and Scully on the crying jag from Hell, but we 
finally got it all out into the open - we finally admitted to 
each other how we felt.  The rest was easy - a little awkward and 
self-conscious that first time, but easy.   We giggled a lot and 
tried not to act overly-modest, as if we'd never seen each other 
naked before.  Mostly we clung to each other and whispered a lot 
of caring words between us, and when I first found myself inside 
her, I tried hard not to cry at the exquisite rightness of it 
all.  I had a hard time getting Scully off, that first time - and 
I felt like such a failure.  But she was so sweet about it, 
holding me and murmuring to me in a small, shaky voice that it 
didn't matter one little bit - that it had been so long, for her 
- maybe she'd forgotten how.  For some reason that struck us both 
as so amusing, and we laughed ourselves silly in each other's 
arms, until the laughter turned to snickers which became sighs 
and then moans, as we tried again - this time with spectacular 
results.  And afterwards, we swore to each other that no matter 
what, it would always be spectacular between us.  Always.

That's about when Scully got the idea of one-upmanship.

A little game, to titillate and provoke, not that I needed any 
provoking once I figured out how Scully's body best responded to 
mine. And granted, once we got going, it was doubtful we would 
suffer any sort of decline for a very long time.  After all, we 
had seven years of the Horny Beast to work through.  We did it 
all the time, every chance we got.  I had a lot stored up, and so 
did Scully.  We took some crazy chances, in and around the 
office; not always able to bear the wait until after hours and 
the relative safety of her apartment, or mine.  Or the car.  Or 
the parking garage.  Or any one of several dark, dank corners in 
the alleys on either side of the parking garage.  You get the 
picture.

So we took some chances, and that was thrilling, to be sure.  I 
would choose a moment during the day, to begin the set-up of the 
events which would lead to the downfall of my partner.  In those 
first weeks, it didn't take much set-up.  I could sit there and 
watch her - just watch.  Twirling a pencil around in my fingers, 
pretending to be busy studying a casefile when all I wanted to do 
was jump her, toss her against a wall and bang the shit out of 
her.  So I would stare at her, hard - until she could almost feel 
my eyes crawling up and down her body like an annoying ant or 
something, and would glance my way... only to see my eyes boring 
into her while my fingers played with my bottom lip.  Her eyes in 
turn would grow heavy with want; I could see it happen right in 
front of me.  Quite a magical transformation - never able to take 
her eyes from my mouth, or my fingers rubbing on my lips.  Yes, I 
know my bottom lip holds some sort of fascination for her - it's 
very obvious.  Well, whatever singes her skivvies, I suppose.  I 
just knew that my staring eyes and bottom lip would do some major 
damage to her composure, until all I had to do was murmur her 
name and she'd be on me.  Up against the wall, seeking hands and 
frantic mouths and much yanking and tugging of proper 
FBI-clothing, until I had enough of her bared to my hot gaze; 
enough unbuttoned and unzipped and pushed aside to allow skin on 
skin.  Skin in skin.  Hot and dark and deep and wet and soft 
meets hard and my hand on her mouth to keep the scream lodged in 
her throat as she quakes all around me... 

Oh, yeah.  

Until the day we almost got caught, by Kimberly, Skinner's 
assistant.  Knocking on the door, outside the damn basement door 
while we were on the other side, a mere three inches away, 
fucking like mad.  Sure, we weren't making any noise; as usual I 
had my hand over her mouth and she was likewise gagging me.  
Sure, the door was thick and heavy and stable enough to withstand 
our coital abuse.  But Kimberly's knocking put a sudden crick on 
our gymnastics, and we froze in place, as if she could somehow 
see beyond the door, see us pressed together with our respective 
slacks around our ankles and our arms and hands twisted into each 
other like pretzels.  We stood, immovable as stone, hardly daring 
to breathe... until Kimberly's footsteps died away; until we 
could relax and breathe again and resume our activity.  Her 
appearance at our door took a chunk of heat away from the moment, 
but not enough to make us stop pounding into each other until we 
came our brains out, sliding down the door and landing on the 
carpet in a heap of wrinkled wool and sweat and rubbery limbs.  
Scully was the first to break our stunned silence.

"Mulder... we are so dead.  God, I can't believe we could be so 
stupid!  No more chance-taking;  promise me!  Promise - no more 
office-humping -"  

Well, of course I promised.  At that moment I would have promised 
her my small intestines on a silver platter, knotted into pearls 
and offered up as a necklace.  That promise lasted about as long 
as it took for our bodies to cool and our clothes to straighten 
out.

But back to the subject at hand...  Scully was the first to play 
the game, I believe.  I'd gone over to her apartment with a stack 
of reports and a pizza; our usual routine when we are on a local 
case.  I figured we'd get in about three hours of work, tops - 
about as long as I could hold out against Scully and her 
gorgeous, well... everything.  She met me at the door with a 
smile and a kiss - dressed head to toe in tight black leather.  
From her bright head, banded back out of her eyes with it, to her 
booted, high-heeled feet... leather.  Cut scandalously low over 
her breasts; slashed in back to below the waist and clinging to 
her shapely legs.  I looked her up and down; the expression on my 
face priceless, I'm now sure - down the tender, sexy curves 
covered in smooth tight black, down the front of her, down to - 

Oh, Jesus.

My eyes locked on her trim hips, also clad in leather, everywhere 
but over her sweet little mound - which was exposed for God and 
the world - and me - to see; framed in a cutout of leather the 
shape of a heart.  I think I actually whimpered.  I know I 
whimpered.  I also know I slid to my knees in front of her, the 
files slipping out of my numb hands, and just leaned into the 
heart of Dana Scully, leaned in with seeking fingers and  gasping 
breath and eager lips.  She pressed back into the door and lifted 
a leg, fitting it over my shoulder, opening herself to my mouth 
and my fingers, moaning low in her throat as I licked and bit and 
hummed and kissed over every inch of her sweetness.  Scully the 
dominatrix... Lord help me.  That was number one.

It's only gotten better, more interesting, since then.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**  Chapter Two  **


I was in the shower when the call came through; soap in my hair 
and dripping into my eyes.  I let loose a string of curses and 
fumbled through the shower curtain for the nearest towel, wiping 
the soap off and stumbling to the damn nightstand.  Yeah I've got 
an answering machine, but these days I hate to miss a call, 
especially late at night.  Such calls are usually indicative of 
the promise of a job - and money in my pocket.

So I picked up the receiver, my usual, "Yeah, speak," uttered 
into the mouthpiece, and waited.  The low voice on the other end 
of the line spoke a scant five words, in his customary urbane yet 
gravelly tones:

"A job.  Are you available?"

Hell, yes, I'm available, you asshole... why else would I be 
answering your call in the middle of the night when I could be 
getting my beauty sleep?  So I was in the shower - that was the 
pre-beauty part.  Nothing worse than going to bed smelly.  So in 
my customary bland I-don't-give-a-shit way of speaking, I replied 
just as sparsely, "Yes.  Enlighten me..."  A deep breath on the 
other end; probably just took a huge drag off his cancer stick, 
I'd wager - man, I don't know why people want to kill themselves, 
puff by puff. But hey - if that's his thing, who am I to point 
fingers?  He spoke just then, and I listened.

"Photographs.  Video.  Audio recordings.  Information on your 
subjects will be sent via the usual method.  Begin immediately.  
As you collect, you will copy and send  to the subjects, at your 
discretion and your convenience.  An accompanying note should be 
presented after the second or third delivery, worded in such a 
way as to alarm and concern - your choice of text.  You know the 
rest.  Half the payment will be wired to your bank in the 
morning."  A soft 'click' in my ear indicated the conversation 
was over.  Slowly I hung up the phone, then walked to the 
bathroom and jumped back in the shower to rinse off the soap, 
thinking about my newest job.

I had dealt with this particular employer several times in the 
past few years.  He was generous, precise and never jerked me 
around concerning the money - never once.  Never quibbled over my 
piece of the total - I always got my price, a solid two thou.  
Half up front is always a good thing when I begin this kind of a 
job - I'd need to replenish my supplies.  I finished showering 
and dried off again, then grabbed myself a bottle of wine and the 
newspaper, fingering through to the stock page.  Maybe I'd do a 
little investing - business had been good lately, and I had 
several jobs going.  I figured I could handle one more; could 
cram in some extra hours here and there.  The extra money would 
provide a nice cushion; a cautious cushion. I did cautious very 
well; I'd had my share of hungry days, when I was younger - and I 
swore that would never happen again.  My reputation had grown 
enough over the years to give me the opportunity of living a damn 
good life.  I have spoiled myself and I've got no intention of 
stopping now...

As I dozed off, after three full glasses of excellent Merlot, I 
couldn't help but wonder:  What would it be like to follow these 
folks around, and film their every public intim