Title: Devil to Pay

Author: mimic117

Email: mimic1172@gmail.com

Rating: NC-17

Category: MSR, established relationship

Setting: Season 7-ish

Summary: When she gets her hands on him, there's going to 
be the devil to pay.

Archive: Anywhere you like. I'll do Gossamer and Ephemeral 
myself, thanks.

Thanks: To shawntaw for the tree climbing suggestion. ~wink~ 
To Jake for her always-excellent beta which she uses as an excuse 
to poke me for more fic. And to whoever started the thread which 
revealed that this type of undercover story has never been 
written before. Who knew?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Devil to Pay
by mimic117


Carousel Casino and Hotel
Las Vegas, Nevada
1:08 AM

The hotel room door burst inward, police officers and Federal 
agents surging shoulder to shoulder through the opening.

"Get down get down get down!"

"Hands in the air! Nownownow!"

"FREEZE! Federal agent!"

Shouts petered out, to be replaced by anxious questions.

"Where are they?"

"What the hell?"

"Where the hell are they?"

"What do we do now?"

Scully shoved her way into the room, the voices in her earpiece 
creating an eerie echo of the people speaking around her. She 
scanned the various moving bodies, looking for one in 
particular.

"Where's Mulder?" 

No one met her searching gaze. No one answered. He was 
supposed to be here. She checked the number on the door. 
This was the right room. So where was he?

Mulder's voice crackled in her ear. "I'd really appreciate it if 
you'd put the knife down. Okay, okay. I'll let you tie me to the 
bed. Just watch where you're waving that thing. This is NOT 
my idea of a good time, but hey, I'm willing to be open-minded."

Scully watched as several people closed their eyes, pained 
expressions on their faces. Three times he'd given the signal--
any phrase with the words "good time" in it. Everyone else on 
the surveillance team had heard him. They all knew the same 
thing she did: Mulder was in trouble. He'd found their serial 
killer and she was proceeding according to her known MO. 
Once he was tied down, he wouldn't have any way of helping 
himself. He was waiting for them to break down the door and 
rescue him. Only they didn't know where he was. Somehow, 
the killer had changed rooms.

Detective Ramie picked up the room's phone and punched a 
button. "I need the manager in this room, NOW! Also 
everyone who's been here since nine last night. I don't CARE 
how many people that is! We've got a missing agent and very 
little time to find him. You do that. Just do it fast!" 

He tossed the receiver back into the cradle and looked at 
Scully. "We'll find them, agent. That bitch isn't getting one of 
ours."

Scully nodded. She wasn't capable of speaking. If she opened 
her mouth, she'd start shouting and wouldn't be able to quit. 
She could still hear Mulder's voice in her earpiece, growing 
more confused and anxious as the minutes ticked away. He 
was trying to stall, using his training to buy himself time, but it 
sounded like he was having limited success. Judging by the 
previous murder scenes, they needed to find him fast, within a 
couple hours at best. When Mulder's client had blindfolded him 
in the elevator, they should have known something was up, but 
it had only sounded like a part of whatever game she liked to 
play. They thought they'd covered everything. How had it 
gone bad so quickly?

She could see the crime scene photos in her mind. Attractive 
men, in good physical shape, between the ages of thirty-two 
and thirty-six. All had worked for the same male escort service. 
Nothing especially remarkable about them, other than their 
good looks, a willingness to sell their bodies for a very 
impressive amount of money and the fact that they were not 
only dead, but missing their external sex organs. Each one 
was found in a different hotel. Each credit check on their 
clients revealed legitimate accounts, good enough to pay for an 
escort, a hotel room and meals, issued under totally false 
names and addresses. Responding law enforcement in the 
first two deaths received a nasty shock when they showed up 
at the listed billing addresses, only to discover the names on 
the cards belonged to women in their 80's who'd never owned 
a credit card in their lives. The accounts were so new, the bills 
hadn't even arrived yet, and they were in different parts of the 
country. The investigating officers still went through the 
motions of checking out billing addresses each time a new 
victim turned up, but by now, they didn't expect to find anything 
helpful. 

They'd almost gotten to the last victim in time. Someone in the 
room next door had heard noises and called the desk. Tied to 
the bed by his wrists and ankles, gagged and unconscious, he 
was still alive when they'd found him. He was dead before they 
could get him out to an ambulance, unfortunately. Or perhaps 
fortunately, considering what was left of his penis and testicles 
had been fished out of the hotel room's toilet. That was when 
the Las Vegas police went straight to FBI headquarters to find 
people who would be willing to put themselves out there as 
bait. After five dead male escorts in three weeks, they were 
desperate to catch the killer. 

Maybe that's why she'd switched rooms this time. She must 
have realized how close she came to getting caught and 
decided to change the rules to prevent the same mistake twice. 
Scully was willing to bet that, wherever she'd taken Mulder, it 
was somewhere inside the hotel, but more isolated. Fewer 
chances of being overheard, being interrupted. Being able to 
save Mulder's life.

People in hotel uniforms crowded into the room, pushing law 
personnel aside as they were directed toward the officer in 
charge. Scully squeezed her way back into the hall, trying to 
stay focused on Mulder's voice in her ear. She should be out 
there running up and down the halls, banging on doors, doing 
anything to find him, but she couldn't bring herself to abandon 
the only link they had. He was still within range, but it might not 
last if she moved, and she needed to hear his voice. 

It had been three days since they'd spoken. She liked to think 
Mulder wouldn't have been so quick to volunteer if he'd known 
the six undercover "escorts" were going to be sequestered for 
the duration of the assignment. In order for the deception to 
work, the higher-ups had determined that all communication 
between the decoys and headquarters would be limited to one 
debriefing, with the lead detective only, every morning. No 
contact was allowed at any other time, in any way, shape or 
form, just in case their perp was observing the men throughout 
the day. 

Amazingly enough, they'd known all along they were looking for 
a woman. Despite the fact that serial killers are 
overwhelmingly male, the clerks at the various hotel crime 
scenes had been adamant. A well-dressed woman, medium 
height, medium age, medium length hair, medium-pretty face. 
Hair color changed, probably courtesy of different wigs. The 
composite sketches could have been anyone in any city 
anywhere. The escort agency manager had never seen her 
(the men met their clients elsewhere before turning up dead 
later at a swanky hotel), but the voice on the phone was always 
female, sometimes sporting an accent. There was nothing 
unusual about her at all, provided you didn't count the string of 
deceased, emasculated men left in her wake. 

"AH! What the--!" Mulder's voice again. "Why the hell did you 
cut me? This isn't what I call a good time!"

Scully leaned her head against the wall. He was still playing 
along, pretending he didn't know every detail of the files on 
these murders. The profile indicated the killer was most likely 
using the escorts as a replacement for a man who'd betrayed 
her, perhaps a husband or long-time boyfriend. A couple police 
officers disagreed. They thought she might be a "mission" 
killer, trying to clean up male prostitution in her own way. But 
she always asked for someone thirty-five years old, which 
indicated to most of the others, Mulder included, that she was 
using these poor guys as stand-ins. The service seemed to 
have escorts with a good variety of ages, so they were able to 
grant her request by fudging ages a bit. They should have 
wised up after the third death, but apparently the male escort 
business was very popular. The killer wasn't the only woman 
asking for men of a particular age. Bodies piled up so fast, it 
had taken four before the police realized they had a runaway 
killer, and by then it was too late for the fifth man. In some 
way, one particular thirty-five-year-old male had wronged this 
woman, and she was meting out vengeance on the innocent. 

Scully looked up as several people pushed past her and ran in 
different directions. Fellow agents, probably off to start 
knocking on doors. It was a futile effort--the hotel had close to 
a thousand rooms--but they had to try something. 

"NO! Don't gag me! I'll shut up. I promise. Just don't--"

She knew it had to happen sooner or later. All the victims were 
found gagged. It stood to reason they'd have to be silenced 
somehow, and apparently this killer liked her victims conscious 
while she hacked off their genitals. But not before she cut them 
up a bit: long, thin lines of pain on their chests and abdomens 
that seemed to only be carved there for her enjoyment. Was 
Mulder being cut right now? She could hear his cries, no 
longer clear because of the gag. They didn't have much time 
left. Witness statements indicated the men were usually dead 
from shock and blood loss within a matter of hours after they 
were last seen. This woman wanted her revenge, and she 
wasn't going to wait for it. Bad news for her helpless victims. 

More muffled screams. Scully moaned in sympathy. She 
could hear his anger and fear in the sounds, even over the tiny 
button microphone Mulder was wearing. He knew she could 
hear him. She wished he could hear her, too, but the wireless 
mic was pretty basic, as such things go. It only transmitted, it 
didn't receive. They hadn't wanted to run the risk of the killer 
finding a wire on him. Now, Mulder was cut off from any 
comfort or reassurance his partner might be able to provide. 

Scully pulled her cell phone from her pocket. The clock on its 
face said only fifteen minutes had passed since they'd burst 
into the room and found it empty. It seemed like hours. Should 
she call him? That wasn't part of the plan, but then the plan 
had already gone straight to hell. Mulder would know it was 
her, reaching out to him, telling him they hadn't given up. But 
what if it set the killer off, instead? What if she saw it as a 
sign that they were coming, or it made her angry, and she decided 
to finish up before she was caught? No. Scully couldn't take 
that chance. So close, and yet...

She looked at the phone in her hand. There was something 
about cell phones. Something that was niggling at the back of 
her mind. Thinking about the button mic had set off a memory 
she couldn't pin down. Wireless technology. Wireless mic. 
Mulder was wearing one because they knew it would be used 
in a relatively small geographic area. It didn't need to receive 
because they were actually watching him. They didn't need to 
track him because they had the number of the room registered 
to his client. Tracking. Something about phones and 
tracking...

"GPS!" she yelled. Why hadn't she thought of that sooner?

Scully pushed herself away from the wall and encountered a 
solid barrier of people standing around the door frame. 
Bulldozing her way back into the room, Scully shoved husky 
six-footers aside as if they were apparitions. She had to find 
Ramie. He was the only one who could authorize what she 
had in mind. Just this once, let luck be on their side. 

She found the detective in a far corner of the room, still 
interrogating the hotel employees. Scully grabbed his arm in 
mid-sentence. 

"GPS!" she panted. "Mulder has his cell phone!"

Ramie blinked once but didn't waste time asking questions. 
"Yeah. He does. What are you thinking?"

Scully held up her phone like she'd found the smoking gun. 
"Most new phones have built-in tracking! Mulder just bought a 
new one with wireless-assisted GPS two months ago. If 
he's got his phone, we can find his location, even inside the 
building. Does the surveillance truck have tracking 
equipment?"

The frown lines on the detective's face smoothed out into a 
smile as if by magic. "It does, and you're brilliant! What's 
Mulder's cell number?"

Scully rattled it off, then dropped down onto the coffee table 
behind her as her knees gave out. Ramie was already barking 
orders into his own cell, mobilizing the surveillance techs and 
calling in all the scattered team members. They could find him. 
As soon as they had the coordinates, they'd set off again, this 
time with the right destination in hand. She took a moment to 
catch her breath as she waited for the word to move out. 

In her earpiece, Mulder's muffled cries grew closer together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Room 213
1:47 AM

The hotel room door burst inward, Scully front-and-center in the 
jostling crowd of officers.

"FBI! Hands in the air!"

"Get down get down get down!"

"Hands in the air! Drop the knife!"

A woman Scully recognized as Mulder's last "client" was 
leaning over a bed on the far side of the room, her hand 
holding a long, shining blade stained red along the edge, a 
shocked expression on her face. Officers rushed forward, 
yanked the knife from her grasp without resistance, pushed her 
to the floor.

Voices cascaded around Scully, in her ear, in the room, behind 
her in the hallway. She tugged the useless communication 
device out of her ear, letting it dangle from her collar. The 
noise retreated, shrinking to a hum as she crept closer to the 
bed, stepping around police officers jangling handcuffs, past 
agents gathering up evidence, over objects on the floor, which 
only registered as roadblocks in her pathway to Mulder's side. 
She needed to look, but was afraid to see. 

Splayed like a sacrifice, his pinioned arms and legs were 
thrown wide as if in surrender. Even from across the room, she 
could see his jeans gaping, buttons undone, denim flaps 
yanked apart. She moved closer, noting the pale base of his 
penis bulging from the thatch of dark pubic curls, the unmarked 
expanse of his groin muscles. No blood. Thank God. 

She closed her eyes in gratitude for a moment. They'd made it 
in time. Opening her eyes, she resumed her cataloging of the 
damage. His jacket and shirt were spread to either side of his 
naked chest. Tiny drops of blood drooled down his ribs from 
several long cuts. A few more droplets squeezed out from the 
pressure of his heaving breaths. Her gaze continued upward 
until she reached his face. He was watching her, a look of 
relief clearly visible in his eyes.

Mulder was alive. Her tenuous auditory link to him had been 
overridden by the chaos of organizing a rescue party. For the 
last thirty minutes, she'd been living in limbo, unable to hear 
even his smothered screams, praying they'd find him alive, 
unsure if her prayer would be answered. Scully graced him 
with a shaky smile as she stepped up to the bed.

"I can't let you out of my sight for five minutes." She reached 
for the gag's knot below his ear, teased it apart. Gently, she 
pulled it out from under his head and away from his mouth. 

Mulder gingerly worked his jaw from side to side. The flash of 
a camera lit the room for a second. They were already 
photographing the crime scene. Mulder lifted his head and 
nodded toward his crotch. "Could you close the barn door 
before my pony ends up on every bulletin board in the Hoover 
building?" 

A surge of joy dumped a load of endorphins into Scully's 
system where they collided with the massive amounts of 
adrenalin she'd been living on for the last couple hours. If she 
needed proof that Mulder was okay, that was it. She wanted to 
laugh, to sing, to spin circles in the middle of the room out of 
sheer happiness, but she didn't need to. She was dizzy 
enough already.

Scully pulled his fly back together and buttoned the waistband. 
"Did I ever tell I always wanted a pony?" She reached for his 
closest hand to undo the restraints.

He grinned. "Is that a fact?"

"Yep. That's a fact."

"Maybe I'll give you a pony ride later, then. I won't even charge 
you full price."

"Maybe I'll take you up on that offer." She didn't say anything 
else as another agent appeared on the opposite side of the bed 
to release Mulder's other arm and leg. 

Scully held his gaze as she moved to untie his foot, allowing 
him to read her intentions. She was going to hold him to that 
promise.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Motel 8
Rt. 147
4:39 PM

Scully eased the door shut, hoping the snick of the lock 
wouldn't disturb Mulder's sleep. The aftermath of the case had 
kept them up until dawn. She'd been in periodically over the 
last ten hours or so, checking on him four times already. He'd 
never stirred. She finally elected to scrounge a late lunch an 
hour ago and now here she was, back to sit and marvel at the 
steady rise and fall of his chest. 

The cuts on his torso were superficial, thank God. A few 
bandages, some antibiotic ointment, and he most likely 
wouldn't have any scars. The killer had never made it to the 
grand finale, thankfully. What the long minutes of waiting for 
rescue had done to his mind, she couldn't begin to guess. He'd 
seemed fine, at the crime scene, in the ER, and then back at 
the hotel. Mulder did reassure her that, other than ripping his 
jeans open to make sure he had what she wanted, the woman 
hadn't touched him there again. They hadn't talked much 
about it beyond that. Knowing them, that might be it for 
discussion.

She'd insisted Mulder go to the hospital to be checked out, and 
Detective Ramie insisted on sending an officer with them to 
take Mulder's statement while the details were still fresh in his 
mind. Scully couldn't imagine how Ramie thought either of 
them would ever forget. Despite their joking at the crime 
scene, she knew how close she'd come to losing him. Another 
ten minutes, maybe 15, and they still might have gotten the 
killer, but Mulder would have joined the list of victims. And to 
think, not even twenty-four hours ago, she'd been spitting mad 
at him. 

Scully absolutely hated undercover assignments and this one 
was worse than usual. It was her job to watch her partner's 
back, to keep him in sight at all times while he was in public 
with a "client." They'd wound up in a club the first night, Mulder 
and his "date" wining, dining and dancing while Scully sat at a 
nearby table, nursing a non-alcoholic drink and trying to look 
like she was waiting for someone. 

Watching him dance with his client had nearly driven her 
crazy. Mulder's hand rested near the base of the woman's 
spine, elegant fingers spread across the upper swell of her ass. 
His other hand held hers tenderly to his chest, cheek pressed 
softly against the side of her head. They swayed gently to the 
music, the hem of her chiffon dress brushing against his calves. 
So many years working together, spending days at a time in 
motel rooms and each other's apartments, and yet Scully never 
dreamed that he could dance so well. She was used to an 
occasional break-out boogie in the office but she never 
suspected such a graceful, polished creature was hiding under 
her partner's Bureau-standard suits. 

She was so engrossed in watching them glide around the 
dance floor, she'd jumped when the woman's voice sounded in 
her ear piece.

"Your hair is so thick. You're not wearing a toupee, are you, 
James?"

Scully watched as Mulder leaned close to the woman's ear. 
"I'm not even wearing underwear." He looked up under his 
lashes, right into Scully's eyes, and smiled. 

She took a gulp of her drink while she tried to slow her 
breathing. She was going to strangle him. He knew that *she* 
knew he was telling the truth. He was dressed in tight jeans, a 
dark sports coat and a lilac dress shirt with matching tie. 
Mulder never wore boxers, or anything else, under jeans. 
She'd benefited from that little quirk of his many times in the 
past, but in her current situation, she couldn't do a damned 
thing about it. She couldn't even risk flipping him the bird. 
They hadn't known if their unsub was working alone or with an 
accomplice. All she could do was sit there, glaring at him, and 
quietly sipping her sham drink.

Their intimate relationship was several months old, backed by 
years of trust and loyalty. They were confident in their 
commitment to each other, neither seeing the need to play silly 
courtship games after so long as friends. Yet several days of 
being forced to watch while he caressed other women, 
whispered into their ears, teased them with his glances left 
Scully with the distinct urge to gouge eyes and rip hair out 
by the roots--and not just to Mulder's fake clients. He knew she 
was watching, would be able to hear everything he said, and he'd 
used every opportunity to drive her wild with lust. The bastard.

Now that the danger was past, her mind kept turning over the 
last few days, replaying every look, every touch, every word 
that had come out of his mouth, supposedly directed at his 
clients but really meant for her. He knew exactly which words 
would evoke particular memories--especially "I'm not wearing 
any underwear." Simply seeing Mulder in a pair of jeans was 
enough to turn her on because she knew he was naked inside 
them. Scully could still remember the first time he said those 
words to her, less than a week after they'd entered the next 
phase of their relationship. They'd still been a bit tentative in 
their lovemaking, learning each other in a way they'd never 
tried before. That particular day was a whole new experience 
for them.

It was a Saturday, no work in sight for a change, just two 
casually-dressed people enjoying each others' company. Her 
libido had been set on a low hum ever since he'd shown up at 
her door. He looked insanely handsome in a black t-shirt, 
faded jeans washed to velvet softness, and loafers, brown 
locks of hair dangling over his forehead. They were standing at 
the kitchen counter; Scully couldn't even remember what they 
were doing at the time. She did recall that he'd been teasing 
her all evening, dry-humping her leg, "accidentally" brushing 
her nipples, sneaking a feel up the leg of her shorts. He was 
standing behind her, his arms threaded under hers, messing 
with whatever she'd been doing on the counter. Finger fighting 
ensued while Mulder indulged in a little frottage against her 
backside. She could feel his penis growing long and hard as 
he ground her into the cabinets. Her libido kicked up a notch. 
Hoping to slow things down before they ended up screwing on 
the counter, she bumped him with her ass and said, "Your 
jockey shorts are going to strangle that thing if you're not 
careful." He leaned over her shoulder, brushing her earlobe 
with his lips, and whispered, "I'm not wearing underwear."

For some reason, those were the sexiest words she'd ever 
heard in her life. She spun around in his arms, latched onto his 
lips as if she were performing mouth-to-mouth, and proceeded 
to quite literally climb him like a tree. Bare toes gripped the 
edges of his jeans pockets, then his waistband, one hand 
clutching at the shoulder of his t-shirt while the other fumbled 
open his fly buttons. A slight ripping sound as Mulder yanked 
her shorts and panties aside, and there they were, copulating 
like crazed gerbils on her kitchen counter. So much for slowing 
things down. 

Mulder *knew* how excited she got when he was in jeans. 
He'd taken advantage of her weakness plenty of times, so she 
had to believe he'd deliberately chosen to wear jeans while 
working undercover. But he couldn't leave it there. He had to 
rub it in by saying those words to every one of his clients, 
staring across the room at her the entire time. Once or twice 
she'd been tempted to make him talk his own way out of his 
"date," but she couldn't risk blowing the operation's cover. 
Mulder had been the one to come up with a clever method to 
keep the decoys from having to follow through; using a 
prearranged verbal signal, a fellow team member would call 
their cell phone, pretending to be the escort agency manager 
reporting a family emergency, or a jealous girlfriend checking 
up. The decoy agent would make some excuse to leave, 
promising to send a replacement escort. Very little fuss, cover 
remained intact, and the clients wouldn't know anything 
unusual had occurred. The decoys were then free to take on 
other clients if the agency received more requests within the 
known parameters of their serial killer, which meant going 
through the entire charade more than once a night. Naturally 
Mulder insisted that Scully be his "jealous girlfriend" contact. 
By the end of the first day, she was finding she didn't have to 
pretend very much, although whether it was jealousy or 
peevishness over Mulder's teasing, she really couldn't say. 
She only knew she was cross-eyed horny with no Mulder to 
relieve the ache, and it hadn't gotten any better.

The sound of a phone ringing broke through her haze of 
arousal. It was Mulder's cell. She grabbed it off the table. 

"Scully," she answered.

There was a pause before a voice said, "Is Agent Mulder 
there?" It was Detective Ramie. 

She looked at the bed. He'd rolled over, the first movement out 
of him in hours. He would be waking up shortly, but not in the 
next few seconds. "He's still sleeping. Did you want me to 
wake him?"

"No no," Ramie hastened to reassure her. "I just wanted to see 
how he's doing and let you both know what we've found out so 
far."

"What do you have?"

"Our suspect in custody is one Regina Wentworth, age forty-
seven, an up-and-coming stock broker in an LA company 
headed for the Fortune 500 list."

Scully whistled softly. "So a smart woman in a high-pressure 
job. Married?"

"Was. As soon as we had ID, I called the LAPD to send a team 
out to her house. Her husband's body turned up under the 
back deck. Same age and condition as all the victims."

"The template and catalyst for the killings. What set her off?"

"No clue. She's lawyered-up on us, but from things the 
neighbors are saying, it looks like he was mostly a kept man 
and a tomcat. Spent all his time either 'working' flat on his back 
or flying to Vegas to gamble. I suspect we'll find he was doing 
more than gambling here, which may be why she came to 
Vegas for her revenge. Like you said, she's smart. Probably 
figured she'd have less chance of getting caught, although with 
so many murders over such a short period of time..."

"Yeah. It's funny the things smart people will do in the name of 
love." Scully watched Mulder roll onto his back, eyes blinking 
as he slowly returned to consciousness. "Or revenge."

Ramie snorted into her ear. "Tell me about it. Listen, we have 
your statements, so we'll be in touch if we need anything else 
from you two. I've already checked in with AD Skinner, and he 
said to take a couple days before you head back home. See a 
few shows, feed some slot machines, just generally rest up. So 
I'm passing his advice along to you and giving it my hearty 
endorsement. Tell Mulder he did a damned good job. Thanks 
for helping us get the bad guy."

Scully grimaced. "Well, I won't say it was our pleasure, but we 
were happy to help. Thanks for calling." She clicked off the 
phone and set it back on the table. 

Mulder scratched his chest and yawned. "How many days did I 
sleep?"

Scully looked at her watch. "About ten hours. Don't scratch."

He stuck out his lower lip. "The adhesive tape itches. Can I 
take a shower?"

"Later."

"I gotta pee."

"Be my guest."

He gave her a bemused look as he got out of bed, twitching his 
boxers straight. She could tell he was wondering about her 
clipped answers but didn't want to take a chance asking what 
was wrong. Normally, the minute he woke up, she would have 
been sitting on the bed next to him, checking for fever and 
fussing over his injuries. Not this time. She remained slouched 
in the chair next to the table, no indication that she planned to 
check him over. Let him stew. He'd find out what was on her 
mind very shortly.

The length of wood he was sporting as he shuffled off to the 
bathroom returned her arousal to its pre-phone-call level. She 
had ways of making him pay for his teasing. She'd been 
denied satisfactory sexual relief for days. After months of being 
pleasured by Mulder, her own fingers weren't enough anymore. 
He was about to discover the price of keeping her turned on 
without any follow-through. 

Mulder looked more alert when he came out of the bathroom. 
He was picking at one of the bandages on his chest, but 
dropped his hand when Scully raised an eyebrow. "How come 
sleeping too long feels as bad as not sleeping enough?" He 
stopped, obviously waiting for her usual scientific doctor-style 
explanation, seeming a bit nonplussed when she didn't oblige. 
He changed the subject. "Was that Ramie on the phone?"

"Yep."

"What did he say?"

"I'll tell you later."

"Why can't you tell me now?"

Scully stood. Mulder backed up a step. Good. He was jumpy, 
unsure. His eyes were wary. "Think back to four days ago, 
Mulder. Do you remember the debriefing when we first arrived 
in Las Vegas?"

"Yeah, I remember." 

She circled around him until he turned with his back toward the 
bed. "That was the last time we saw each other. Wasn't it?" 
She took a step. He backed up again.

"Uh huh."

"And what have you been doing since then? Hmm?" Step. 
Retreat.

"Um, my job?" He stepped back without waiting for her 
advance. She had him running scared and he didn't even 
know why yet.

"Your job. Which was?"

Mulder frowned. "You know. You were there."

"I was." She nodded. "Yet I don't recall hearing the words 
'drive your partner crazy with lust' during that meeting."

He backed up another step and ran into the bed. "Uh oh."

Bingo. Now he got it.

"Indeed." Scully pushed him onto the bed, where he bounced 
for a moment. She twirled a finger, indicating that he should lie 
lengthwise on the bed, then she climbed up and straddled his 
legs. "Do you have any idea how frustrated I've been lately?"

"I'll bet I'm about to find out."

"That's a sucker bet, Mulder." She scooted down his legs, 
dragging his boxers off on the way. He was standing at 
attention again. "And speaking of suckers..." Scully leaned 
over and engulfed his penis.

A long, shuddering moan arose from Mulder's parted lips as his 
eyes rolled back in his head. She loved having this power over 
him. She could take him to the brink of orgasm and back as 
many times as she liked, denying him the one moment of 
release he wanted so badly. Rather the same way he'd toyed 
with her the last few days, watching him fondle strange women 
and knowing he was visualizing her skin under his hands, his 
words of seduction whispered into her ear. To the brink and 
back, over and over again, until she'd wanted to scream. Now 
it was his turn to find out how it felt.

Scully lost count of exactly how many times she took him 
almost to the point of no return before she backed off. She 
nibbled, and sucked, and licked, and bit, but always, she 
stopped short. Fifteen minutes must have passed before she 
sat back to view her handiwork.

Mulder's face shone with sweat, his hair spiky with it. His 
hands clutched folds of the mattress in a death grip while his 
lungs strained for air. "There are faster ways to kill me," he 
croaked. "I never knew you had such a wide mean streak."

"I'm not being mean," she assured him. "I'm giving you a taste 
of your own medicine. How do you like being left hanging? 
Not much fun, is it?"

"It seemed like fun at the time, but in retrospect..."

"Now you're getting the idea." Mulder let out a squeak of 
protest as Scully climbed off the bed. She held up a hand and 
said, "I'm not going anywhere." Then she rapidly shucked her 
clothes and climbed back on.

Grabbing Mulder's rigid penis, she lowered herself gently over 
him, savoring the sensation of his thick length sliding into her. 
She was more than ready. She'd missed this, missed him, the 
last few days, and she told him so. 

Mulder picked up her hand and kissed it. "I missed you, too. I 
guess that's why I thought it would be fun to mess with you. If 
I'd ever imagined the assignment might go on for days, I 
wouldn't have done it." Scully rose onto her knees, then slowly 
descended again. Mulder whimpered. "Although I have to 
admit, I rather like your idea of retaliation."

Scully planted both hands on his chest, looked him in the eye 
and replied, "Time for that pony ride you promised me." 

Mulder placed his feet flat on the bed and raised his knees. 
"Giddy-up, cowgirl."

It was the wildest ride she'd had in ages. All she could do was 
hold on as Mulder bucked and bounced, driving upward as 
hard as he could, nearly unseating her with every snap of his 
hips. The friction was exquisite, a wonderful, tingling burn, 
which she wanted to last forever. But it soon became obvious 
Mulder wasn't going to last much longer, although he was 
trying to hold back until she was done. It would be the kind 
thing to put him out of his misery.

She leaned forward at the hips, grinding her mons into his 
pubic hair. That was all it took. She felt his release as heat 
exploded between her legs, out to her fingers, into her brain. 
Blood roared in her ears as she gasped out her orgasm, 
Mulder's softening penis clenched tight by her pulsing muscles. 
She flopped onto his chest and synchronized her panting with 
his until they'd both calmed down. 

Scully finally swiped the damp hair off her face and pushed up 
on one elbow. "The phone call earlier was Detective Ramie. 
He--"

Mulder interrupted with an upraised finger. "You want to talk 
about the case NOW?"

"Why not?"

"Well for one thing, I'm hungry. For another thing, I was in a 
very tense situation early this morning, slept for ten hours and 
have now had very sweaty sex. I could use some food and a 
shower." He rubbed her back with long, soft strokes. 
Apparently he thought his debt was paid in full, but Scully 
wasn't done with him yet.

"Well," she drawled, "maybe we'll get some take-out delivered, 
but I think we should talk for a while. We can take a shower 
later, say in a couple hours."

Mulder squinted at her. "Why?" She widened her eyes. "Don't 
give me that innocent look. What's happening later?"

Scully cuddled into his neck to hide her grin. "Well, later you'll 
be rested again. We'll both be fed and full of energy. And you 
know how much I love sex in the shower..."

She raised her head and gave him a pointed stare. Mulder 
groaned. 

"So," Scully said cheerfully, "let me tell you what Ramie had to 
say."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

11:54 PM

Mulder collapsed back on the pillow. His panting breaths made 
Scully feel as if she were surfing the sweaty expanse of his 
naked chest. She didn't move a muscle as he struggled to 
bring his breathing back under control. 

"Have mercy, woman," he puffed. "Three times in less than a 
day is a bit much, even at my age."

She lifted her head just far enough to see him, then blew a 
strand of hair out of her eyes. "It's your own fault. You 
shamelessly flaunted yourself at me for hours at a time. Did 
you really expect me not to retaliate?" 

Mulder grunted. "Silly me." He bumped her limp leg with his 
knee. "I've got an idea." 

"Mmhmm..." Scully plopped her head back onto his sternum 
and rubbed her face in his chest hair.

"How about next time you be the sexy undercover operative and 
I'll be the horny surveillance guy." 

"Only if I get to tease you until you can't see straight." She 
yawned. "Now go to sleep. I might need you rested up later."

"You insatiable hussy." Mulder yawned as well. In a few 
minutes, his even breathing told her that she wouldn't have to 
say it twice. He was out.

Scully grabbed a corner of the rumpled sheet and tugged it 
over both of them. She wasn't letting him out of bed for the rest 
of their stay. To hell with casinos, floor shows and seeing the 
sights. She'd just spent three days in constant sexual 
frustration, all because Mulder didn't know when to quit. If he 
wasn't aware by now, he was going to find out the hard way--
mess with Dana Scully, and you'll have the devil to pay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THE END

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