Taming The Unicorn 1: The Challenge

"You don't know what you're talking about," Scully ridiculed, taking another sip of her wine.

It was a very good wine, and she had ingested enough of it to feel pleasantly buzzed -- distortion of reality wasn't usually her 'thing', but this time it was all right; she was with Mulder, which meant that she felt about as safe as she could possibly feel, and it had been a stressful couple of days. Couple of weeks. Okay, so life was always stressful...

She glanced sideways at him and wondered why, after a solid week of working beside him, she always seemed to choose his continued presence over a change of scenery. It didn't really make sense... but here it was, Friday night, and here he was, sprawled on her couch, and it felt as good and comfortable and right as anything ever could.

"Oh, c'mon, Scully," he protested -- slurring his words slightly; she hadn't been drinking alone -- "it only stands to reason. With insufficient data..."

"Lack of experience is not the same as insufficient data," she parried.

"Sure it is. In this case, there's no substitute for on- the-job training." Mulder shook his head, displaying honest puzzlement. "I don't even know why you're arguing with me, Scully."

"Because you're wrong, that's why," she replied with total confidence, struggling to ignore the little surreptitious tingle of excitement that danced along her spinal cord. They were getting into interesting territory here, and she didn't dare let herself wonder where this might lead...

He shook his head again. "No way, Scully," was his flat denial. "I'm sorry, but there's no way you're going to get me to buy your argument."

Hmm. Now this was very interesting. "What if I could?" she said idly.

"Huh?" Mulder finished the last of his wine, reached to pour himself another glass -- scowled at the empty bottle, picked up a fresh one and a corkscrew and began to wrestle with the task of opening it.

"What if I could persuade you that I'm right?" The adrenaline tingle grew stronger, multiplying and intensifying into a butterfly-flutter of pleasant anticipation. She'd contemplated this, exercised her formidable curiosity to envision and picture something like this, but had never actually foreseen it happening...

"Oh, sure, Scully." He cursed under his breath at the recalcitrant cork, redoubled his efforts. "How're you going to do that?"

She almost laughed, but that would have spoiled the set-up. "Never mind that," she said mildly. "If I could prove to you that it's possible to have a sexually satisfying relationship with someone who's never experienced coitus..."

"Can't be done."

"...but if I could, what would be your side of the bet?" She settled back against the sofa cushions, awaiting his answer.

The wine bottle, it seemed, was actively fighting his attempts to uncork it; the sardonic edge to his voice strengthened with his reply. "Scully, you call up Virgins- R-Us and find me one who knows how to give a decent blowjob, and I'll be your slave for life."

She had to smile at that -- and inside her head, a part of her mind busily evaluated the situation at hand: worth it, or not worth it? In a split-second decision, she realized that there was no way she could pass up this opportunity; the terms of the wager were unenforceable, of course, but it would be a delight to tease him about it afterwards.

Okay, then, she determined, and spoke up.

"I'm a virgin," Scully said quietly.

The cork chose that precise moment to relinquish its snug nest in the winebottle; the corkscrew flew out of suddenly slack fingers, and the bottle slipped to the ground and began spilling its contents over the rug.

He turned to her, eyes wide and dark, and she knew that he honestly hadn't seen it coming -- the dazed look on his face was a treasure. "No..."

"Yes," she told him.

"Naaaaah...." Sheer disbelief, utter stunned shock, as if she'd suddenly revealed that she was a Reticulan spy... she thought with amusement that he probably would have accepted such news with far more equanimity.

"Mulder," she said, very patiently, "there is expensive wine being wasted on the floor."

"Huh? Oh." He retrieved the bottle, righted it -- there was still some left inside; he studied the flask for a moment, then tilted it to his lips and downed a few quick gulps.

Looked at Scully, repeated, "Naaaah," and offered her the bottle.

She accepted it, feeling somehow touched by the gesture -- sipped, then handed it back, for it was clear that he needed it more than she did. "Truly," she said.

"How?" His tone was incredulous. "I mean, you've had relationships..."

"As I keep telling you, it's perfectly possible to have a sexual relationship without engaging in intercourse," she informed him.

"But why? I mean... I can't imagine anyone choosing not to..."

The laughter bubbled forth before she could stop it. "Mulder, you're such a male," she scolded him lightly. "Thank you for assuming that it was my choice, though."

"You didn't answer the question," he persisted; as the initial impact of her revelation faded, he was instinctively trying to unravel the inscrutable, tackling the matter as if it were an X-File. Which she supposed it was, in a way.

"I'm waiting for the right man," she said simply, masking the twinge of pain that the statement evoked within her. Once, she would have said that she was waiting for her wedding night... but that was a hope she'd relinquished to the passage of time. As the years had passed, her virginity had seemed less of a treasure and more of a curse... but that wasn't relevant to the issue at hand, and she was disinclined to allow him to pursue that course of inquiry.

He seemed about to, but then his attention shifted. "So, you're a virgin," he said, his tone of voice indicating that he found this to be a very odd thing indeed. "You still haven't proven the validity of your argument."

So very pleased with himself, she noted; he seemed to think that he had won. Obviously, he wasn't expecting her to follow through -- she experienced a momentary pang of unease, wondering if maybe he didn't want her to? No, more likely it was the typical blindness, his smug conviction that he knew her thoroughly enough to predict her responses. Evidently, he'd fallen prey to the common misconception that the no-nonsense-professional side of her was the only side... and of course, there was the whole virgin-equals-prude fallacy that every man seemed to succumb to... she smiled.

"Mmm," she said noncommittally, looking him over. Not bad, not bad at all. Upon their first meeting, she had automatically and ruthlessly placed him in the category marked, "Colleague: Do Not Touch" -- not without qualms, but it had been the most sensible course. But things were different now, they meant more to each other now... all that they had been through together, things that no one else could ever share, there was no one in her life but Mulder, and she liked it that way. Liked having him in her life. Liked being a part of his, no matter how complicated that made things sometimes.

Just the thought of touching him was compelling. And the idea of wiping that smug little grin off his face, well, that held its own appeal...

He shifted slightly, some of the complacency slipping away, as it began to dawn on him what she might have in mind. "Um, Scully..."

"Mmm." She set down her wineglass, reached out with one hand and popped open the topmost button on his shirt.

Mulder flinched -- no, it was a tremor, a long shudder that raced through him with lightning speed. Inexplicably, she felt a swift surge of desire flood her in response.

"Uhm... Scully..." Language seemed to be failing him, she noted; not that this was surprising, considering that all the blood was leaving his skull and heading south.

She stretched out her arm again, popped open another button; he shifted position again, uncomfortably, and she was delighted to see that the simple act of unbuttoning his shirt was having such a notable effect on him.

"You don't have to do this." His voice was strained, a hoarse whisper, and the very sound of it set her afire. Trust Mulder to give her an easy out, at a moment when any other man would be cajoling her to continue; that in itself was terribly arousing.

"Oh, but I want to." And that much was true; it wasn't about the bet, or at least, not merely about the bet. The prospect of teasing Mulder about his vow of eternal slavery was a peripheral matter... she didn't, wouldn't allow herself to contemplate the main issue, not at that moment.

Instead, she let her fingers trail down to the last few shirt buttons, undoing them nimbly, with a twitch of her hand -- brought her hand to a rest at the waistband of his trousers, just above the solid contours of his erection, and felt him shiver again as her fingertips brushed against his stomach.

"So," she said conversationally, toying with the button of his fly, "if I can make you scream in ecstasy, you'll be my slave for life; that's the deal, right?"

"Sounds like a fair trade to me." Breathless, his voice, and tinged with humor -- anticipation mingled with apprehension, although it seemed to her at that moment that the thing he feared most was that she would change her mind.

"Mmm." She unfastened the top button of his pants, and almost laughed as his hips moved involuntarily to meet her questing hand. It had always amused her, how easily and completely men were motivated by their glands. If she had been a different woman, she would have used that fact, as so many of her contemporaries did -- but the concept of screwing her way to the top of the heap was too alien for her to ever really comprehend; her soul wasn't hardwired that way.

But it was definitely amusing, how easy it was to undermine male bravado with a few caresses and kisses applied to the right bit of flesh. She had acquired a certain skill through practice, and her studies of human anatomy had certainly helped -- and men who'd been certain that nothing less than intercourse could possibly satisfy them had been utterly mesmerized by her alternative. A compromise, on her part, more than anything else; a way to ensure that her silent vow of celibacy wouldn't dry up her social life completely. Even when she'd cared deeply for the man, she'd always felt a certain resentment that the compromise was necessary...

This time, it was different.

This time, it was Mulder, her partner, her friend. The person with whom she shared a closeness, an intimacy, unlike anything she'd ever known before. Sitting on her couch with his legs spread slightly, watching her to see what she would do next -- wanting her desperately, but perfectly willing to let her off the hook, because there was trust between them, and that trust was all that really mattered.

She moved off the couch and knelt between his legs, one smooth graceful motion, all the while gazing at him and watching his face change from tentative hope to eagerness... she stroked his crotch, feeling the flesh straining against the fabric, the heat emanating from him, and felt an answering heat swelling within herself.

His hand settled against the side of her head, and she stiffened against her will; she hated it when they grabbed her head and pulled her down -- but instead, his palm smoothed along her hair. "You don't have to do this," he repeated, and if his voice held the trembling resonance of his longing, it also contained deep sincerity. "Not to prove a point, Scully. Not on a bet."

She blinked up at him, and all at once, it was all she could to keep from bursting into tears.

Instead, she rested her hands on his thighs, leaned forward and took the metal slide of his zipper between her teeth and very slowly, very carefully, pulled it down.

This elicited a sharp sound halfway between a gasp and a moan, and she knew that she had taken him well past the point of even token resistance -- wondered briefly how long it had been for him, as she ran her fingers along his erection to gauge his sensitivity. A long time, she decided: that would have been evident from his reactions, even if she hadn't already known that his social life was as nonexistent as hers. She'd have to be careful, or else it would be over far too soon -- and she found that she was anxious to ensure that it was done right. Not to prove a point, not to demonstrate her skill to her skeptical partner, but because he deserved no less than the best she was capable of giving.

She had the feeling that he was going to be very surprised at just how good her best could be.

Very slowly at first, the barest gentle kisses, the slightest flicking of her tongue, and each small touch provoked what seemed to her to be an excessively strong reaction -- until she realized that her own body was responding just as fiercely. Autoeroticism was fine, but it was no substitute for the presence, for the touch of another. And all they had was each other, really, and suddenly in retrospect it made perfect sense that this should happen, that they should be together this way; for where else could either of them find a way to assuage the haunting loneliness that afflicted them both?

Hands and lips and tongue and (very carefully) teeth; her attention focused on him completely, on his responses, to discern what he liked and when and how -- holding herself back, holding him back, prolonging the pleasure and intensifying the buildup of passion. His hands clamped down on her shoulders, fingertips digging into her skin -- there was an edge of desperation, growing stronger as she continued her ministrations.

She had to admit (though only to herself) that she loved the feeling of power derived from this. Even the most domineering and arrogant man could be reduced to quivering jelly by the withdrawal of a warm mouth at a difficult moment -- it was her secret weapon, one she'd used without hesitation when necessary, but never without cause. Kneeling between Mulder's legs in a posture of supposed subservience, she felt a certain wicked pleasure in the knowledge that she owned him, body and soul. If she were to back away now, there would be nothing he wouldn't give her, nothing he wouldn't do to persuade her to finish the task...

...but that was something she wouldn't, couldn't do. Not to him.

She did, however, ease off enough to bring him back from the point of no return, and secretly savored his soft whimper of frustration. Oh, but she would make it up to him...

"Scully." His ragged whisper caught her by surprise, though she didn't know quite why; her eyes flickered upward to survey his face. Sweat-slicked, eyes heavy-lidded, completely lost in passion -- lost in her. Amazing, how much of a turn-on that was.

Not wanting to spare a hand for herself, she adjusted her position a bit, squeezing her thighs together to create a certain pressure; she was as skilled at this as the other, had learned to find for herself the pleasure that so many men had been unwilling or unable to provide. The rationale seemed to be that a virgin couldn't possibly have sexual needs... more resentment, stored and never expressed.

But again, this was different -- this time, she wanted it to be this way. Wanted to give Mulder this gift, unalloyed and without distraction; wanted him to take it, to accept what she was giving him without compensation. She didn't know quite why, but it was important to her somehow. All she wanted was to feel him trembling at her touch, to hear his cries -- she liked his repertoire of sounds, particularly this one breathy half-sobbing moan that happened when everything was just right...

It was happening more frequently now, as she brought him ever closer to the precipice. Such power she held over him, yet she would not be content with anything less than complete ownership -- and he seemed perfectly willing to surrender; she sensed his restraint, as he fought to keep from thrusting into her mouth, struggled with himself to allow her to set the pace. Yet another manifestation of the trust they shared, and one that touched her deeply. However, it also meant that he still had some control left, and that was the last thing she wanted.

She wanted him to be so far gone that pleasure was almost painful, that every fragment of his being was wholly consumed in his imminent climax. She wanted it to be the singular best sexual experience of his life, if possible: partly out of pride, to prove that she could, but mostly because she wanted... wanted... something inside her stopped her from taking it too far; there were depths that she wasn't prepared to probe.

She could no longer deny, though, that she wanted him. More of him than this.

But she could think about that later.

Right now, she had Mulder right where she wanted him, completely at her mercy, and the effect was breathtaking -- sneaking glances upward, she thought that he was possibly the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen; she was almost sorry to bring it to an end, but the timing was right. He was ready, more than ready, and any further delay would be a cruelty.

A little more pressure, a bit more suction, and something like a convulsion seized him; he cried out her name as the spasms began in earnest, and she rode it out with him, absently counting the contractions and congratulating herself for a job well done.

If not the best, she estimated, I'm definitely in the top ten.

She licked him dry, cradled his softening organ in a gentle hand as she sat back to check, and found her estimation confirmed -- he was sprawled on the couch, head thrown back, in an absolute languor; it looked as if he was trying to remember how to breathe.

"Well?" she asked him lightly, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear him say it.

It took him a moment to gather the strength to speak, and when he did, it was in a whisper she could barely hear. "Point conceded..."

Scully smiled, rose somewhat unsteadily to her feet, and went to clean up.

The tension in her body was easily dissipated by practiced fingers; she imagined that they were his fingers, and it was a simple thing to induce release. A few more minutes with toilet paper and warm water, and she was ready to face him -- a frisson of anxiety seized her as she examined her reflection in the mirror, wondering how she could face him, after this -- then reality set in, and she remembered that it was Mulder, her friend, and it was an easy thing to leave the sanctuary of the bathroom behind.

She found him sitting on the couch where she'd left him, tucked in and buttoned up and looking almost respectable -- flushed, dazed, but otherwise normal. "Bathroom's free," she offered, and he nodded and went in.

By the time he emerged, she was back on the couch, having opened a fresh bottle of wine and refreshed their glasses, and added a new bag of potato chips to the plethora of junk food adorning the coffee table. "I was thinking," she said, before he could speak, "do you want to order a pizza or something? I'm getting kind of hungry." Best to avert any impending discomfort before it could form; best to get things back on stable ground. Ordering pizza seemed like the perfect answer: something pedestrian, something familiar, that had absolutely nothing to do with virginity and blowjobs.

He hesitated. "Sure," he said, watching her carefully. "I'll pay -- after all, I am your slave for life." And he waited, to see (she realized) whether she would acknowledge it or not; whether she would try to pretend that nothing had happened.

She didn't have to think about her response. "Right," she said. "In that case, make it two pizzas. And a side order of garlic bread."

Mulder's smile was like a sunbeam on a cloudy day, illuminating his whole face in a sudden warmth, and containing so much open affection that her breath caught in her throat. "Whatever you say, Scully," he agreed, as he came to sit beside her on the sofa.

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