TITLE:  THE ACCIDENTAL SPY
AUTHOR:  AnubisKV5
E-MAIL:  AnubisKV5@cs.com
FEEDBACK:  Constructive feedback always appreciated!
RATING:  NC-17. No one under 18!  No minors allowed!  
     Shoo!  Go away!  This isn't for you!  
     (NC-17 is the copyright of the MPAA, no 
     infringement intended.)
BETA:  Aerostar.  All other errors are my own.
CATEGORY:  Voyeur; someone's watching Mulder!
SPOILERS:  None, I think.  Set somewhere in 
     Season 1, however.
ARCHIVE:  I will post to Ephemeral and Gossamer. All 
     others please ask first.

DISCLAIMER:  Not mine; I only wish.  The X-Files 
     characters belong to 1013 Productions, Chris 
     Carter and Fox.  No rights implied.  I'm only 
     borrowing them.  

SUMMARY:  You know, they NEVER make these stalls 
     completely private and there was a gap in the 
     corner joint, so I could see.  I'm not a voyeur 
     by nature. *I* don't like to be watched, but, 
     I admit I was intrigued.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:  Written for the Voyeur Challenge at 
     Fandomonium.com. (Please see Endnotes after 
     reading.)

DEDICATION:  For Aerostar, Obfusc8er and Radikel.  
     For AJ and SSD, always.

~~x~~X~~X~~X~~x~~

I was tired as all get out.  

Tired of the drudge work.  Tired of the garbage.  
Tired of the damned paperwork.  Tired of the 
scumbags.  I spent upwards of eighteen hours a day 
in this place, and it was wearing.  I was rarely 
home and that rankled.

I was just ... tired.  

Worse than everything, I had to go.  NOW.  I can't 
help but laugh at myself.  It's a normal, human, 
bodily function and people just don't talk about it 
in polite company.  Including myself.  Still, it 
was either trudge down those stairs for some well-
earned time alone, or "enjoy" the company of my 
fellow agents.  Frankly, I get quite enough of 
that, thank you very much.

Okay, I know it's not a big deal, but I do *not* 
share easily.  And I do NOT like sharing a bathroom.
No doubt because of a very public incident which 
happened to me in Pre-Kindergarten that scarred me 
for life.  So it's quirky for a very public agent 
of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.  Big tough 
FBI agent.  Ha!  I admit it, it's bizarre.  Go 
figure.  Maybe I'm even a wuss.

So, sue me.

Therefore, a long time ago, I discovered THE bathroom 
in the Hoover Building.

And those facilities were in the dark, dank, hot or 
cold basement, depending on time of year.  In the 
summer, it was hot; the AC barely reached down that 
far.  In the winter, it was cold.  Apparently it's 
true:  heat rises. Maybe the air conditioned air and 
the warm heat, like almost everyone in the building, 
avoided the basement like the plague, too.

The basement, where only the fearless tread.

The facilities I was waxing so poetically about were 
the ones where few traversed.  Except for one agent.  
The one everyone called the Lone Wolf.

Or "Spooky."

I wasn't really worried; Fox Mulder was rarely in 
his office, always out chasing little green men or 
UFOs, or other strange phenomena that were part of 
his "division" -- the X-Files.  Chances were slim 
he'd come in while I was in there.  He never had 
before.

With a sigh, I signed off my computer and enabled 
the password.  I learned a long time ago to never, 
ever leave a document open on my computer.  So, I 
stood up, stretched my back and left my office.

~~x~~X~~X~~X~~x~~

A few agents nodded to me on my way out of my 
office, but mostly everyone was involved in their 
own cases or problems, or were in a pasty-faced 
hurry, which usually meant they were on their way 
to get their asses chewed by their ASAC or A.D.  
Or worse, the Director himself.

I was down the stairs quickly and in the basement.  
I paused for a moment in the subdued lighting, 
listening, and when I heard nothing, I turned 
right and went on down the hall.

Door pushed open, I again listened and, thankfully, 
I was alone.  Like I said, maybe I'm a wuss about 
this, but there I was.  Blissfully alone.  Something
hard to attain at the Hoover.

Comparatively speaking, the place was much smaller 
than the rest of the washrooms in the Hoover.  This 
one had two urinals and one stall.  Way back when, 
I've heard, the basement's use was for storage -- 
still is -- and copy machines.  And, very likely, 
the janitors.

The door to the stall always closed itself, so I 
invariably leaned down slightly to look under before 
I went in.  No feet.  Thank God.  I pulled open the 
door, dropped my pants, sat down and closed my eyes, 
wondering if the ghost of J. Edgar himself had ever 
visited the bowels of his namesake building.  And 
if he did, was he in a suit or a dress?  Maybe *he* 
was the one who kept the stall door closed, out of 
modesty!  I couldn't help but snort at my own stupid
idea...

And then I froze.

The washroom door creaked -- my personal early 
warning system -- and I realized someone was 
coming in.  

Aw geez.  I did *not* want company while in here.  
So, like the kid I had become after that incident 
in the bathroom in Pre-K, I quickly lifted my feet 
and quietly planted the soles of my shoes on the 
door. Thank God they were rubber-soled, or I could 
have never kept them planted there.

You know, the problem is, they NEVER make these stalls
completely private and there was a gap in the corner
joint, so I could see.  I'm not a voyeur by nature.
*I* don't like to be watched, but, I admit -- I'd 
heard the rumors -- I was intrigued.

It was HIM.  Oh, man, I just wanted him to hurry and
LEAVE.

But he didn't seem to be in a hurry.  

Fox Mulder was standing there, head down for a moment,
as if he was praying at the Altar of the Holy Urinal 
Cake.  What the fuck?

He was wearing the pants of a very obviously expensive
dark blue suit, same color as mine.  But his was ... 
Armani maybe?  More expensive than anything *I* could 
ever afford, dammit!  He also wore a light blue shirt,
with sleeves haphazardly rolled up to his elbows.  
His obnoxious paisley tie was loose and his dark hair
disheveled, as if he'd run his hands through it 
repeatedly.  Or *someone* had.

Finally, he unbuckled his belt, unzipped, reached in 
... and I turned my head and looked away.  You just 
don't watch someone urinate.  God, I hoped he couldn't
hear me breathing.  Thankfully, the air conditioner 
rattled in the ceiling vents and hopefully covered 
any sounds I made.

Then, against my own will, I *had* to look back.  Like
I said, I'd heard rumors.  Curiosity, they say, killed
the cat...

Holy. Cow!  He was hung!  No wonder half the secre-
tarial pool, a ton of female agents and not a few of 
the "no tell" male agents were lusting after him, 
despite his weird reputation.

I couldn't take my eyes away.  He leaned forward, 
bracing against the wall with his left arm, holding 
himself with his right hand, leaving my line of sight 
clear and almost unobstructed.

I closed my eyes and prayed he'd finish quickly and 
just leave.  My legs were already aching holding 
this position.

And then there was another sound.  A moan.  He moaned!
My eyes popped open and I found myself staring at him.
Or, rather, mostly at his crotch.

Fox Mulder was standing there ... masturbating!  Oh
fuck!  Get me out of here!

But I couldn't look away.  He was holding his cock 
with one hand and stroking it with the other.  It was 
slightly above average in length but larger in girth.  

With deliberate execution, I watched as Mulder licked
the palm of his right hand and returned it to slowly
lubricate his hardened cock.  He did this several 
times, and despite myself, I was overwhelmingly 
embarassed to realize that *I* was getting aroused.

Mulder stroked the tender underside of his shaft, 
obviously feeling every pronounced purpled vein, 
his fingers dancing up toward the glans.  I stared 
with my jaw hanging as he circled the head of his 
cock somewhat roughly, gathered the drops of his own 
lubricant there and then wrapped his thumb and middle
finger around himself and stroked quickly back down 
to the base.

I was absolutely horrified at what I was doing.  But,
I was also transfixed as he threw his head back and 
groaned loudly, then began panting.  Loudly.

Did he do this in here all the time?  Why the hell 
wouldn't he?  It was virtually his own private 
sanctuary.  Except that *I* was the unwitting watcher.

Mulder's hand moved faster, and was even rougher with
himself than I'd have been.  Maybe that's what it 
took for him to get off.

I watched as he paused momentarily to pull his balls 
out and stroke them with his left hand, and his moans
became louder.  Sweat was beading on his forehead and
upper lip.  His mouth fell open as he continued to 
manipulate his own skin, which was becoming red from 
his efforts.

I couldn't believe I was thinking that he needed more
lube.  Hell, I couldn't believe I was still watching!
As if he'd read my mind or heard me he spit in the 
palm of his right hand and resumed his ministrations 
in earnest, never once opening his eyes.

He was fully erect and he was massaging his balls 
roughly.  I watched as a bead of sweat coalesced on 
his temple and slid down his face to his jaw and down
his neck to disappear under his collar.

This was hell.  He was extremely aroused and he was 
getting off -- well, DUH!  For some reason, rather 
than just whacking off, he kept taking himself to 
the edge and then easing off, then building it up 
again.  

I couldn't take my eyes off of his hands, their move-
ment, his cock and his balls, which were now drawing 
up tightly.

It was as if he was in another world.  Maybe he was.
I don't know what he was thinking about.  God, it 
was arousing, but I could never masturbate ... in 
what was essentially a public restroom.  The image 
of this was going to be burned into my retina!

Still ... his right hand circled the head of his 
cock again and then he squeezed his fingers back 
down to the base while his left hand continued 
their massage.

I am *not* going to live through this.  If I do, I 
am *never* coming to this place again.  I'll take 
my chances elsewhere, Pre-K disaster or not.  It's 
time I got over that anyway...

Suddenly, he was moaning steadily again, his voice 
rising, his head back, eyes closed, his fingers 
flying over himself.

Then I listened with embarrassment for him as I 
realized he was chanting something I couldn't quite
understand.  It sounded like a name.  I couldn't 
take my eyes off his face, his mouth, and, 
involuntarily, his hips began jerking forward 
and he came.  I don't think I've ever seen another 
man come with such intensity.  I couldn't believe 
that I could *not* shut my eyes and give the man 
his privacy.  Spooky or not.  Maybe *I* was the 
spooky one.

I just had to watch to the very end.  Semen spurted 
repeatedly onto the back wall of the urinal in what 
seemed to be more times than I could count.

I'd rather be in *my* A.D.'s office getting a new 
one chewed than watching this... this ... this was 
torture.

Fox Mulder finally slid his hand down and up one 
last time and squeezed his cock and then froze as 
he emptied with a low, gravelly moan of one word 
from his lips.  "Scully..."

I watched in astonishment as he stood there again, 
his left hand taking his weight, leaning against 
the wall as he had originally, his right hand 
cradling his spent cock.  His head hung down in 
front of him and sweat dripped from his face.  
Mulder was trying to catch his breath.

After another minute, I watched as he seemed to 
gather his wits, grabbed a couple of paper towels, 
wet them, swabbed his equipment, then carefully 
tucked himself away, zipped up.and flushed.

He turned away from my view at that point, and 
turned on the water at the basin, taking his sweet
time at washing up.  I could hear the sound of 
water as he splashed his face, and more towels 
being pulled from the dispenser, a wiping of them 
against his face and neck, and then a toss of them
into the trash.

I almost laughed out loud when he yelped in victory,
"Two points!"  I could almost imagine Mulder giving
himself a high five, totally different from the 
recently accomplished low-five.

Then there was the creak of the door and he was gone.

I let my feet fall heavily to the floor, leaned 
forward and dropped my face into my hands.  Oh. My. 
God.  I am *not* a voyeur.  I am *not* a voyeur!  
I. Am. NOT.  I won't tell ANYONE about this.  I 
would NOT want anyone telling everyone if *I* had 
been caught doing the same thing.

I quickly finished my business, stepped out and 
washed my hands as quickly as I could.  I was 
NEVER going to use THE facilities again.  Like I 
told myself before, I'd take my chances.

I was reaching for the door handle, when suddenly 
the door creaked open and I had to jump back a few 
steps to keep from getting brained by the heavy 
wood door.

My eyes were glued to the feet in front of me and 
traveled up the expensive suit pants, up the light 
blue shirt, to the skewed tie, the stubbled chin, 
to the hazel eyes of Fox Mulder.

I was mortified, frozen in place and no doubt turn-
ing bright red, thinking of the "Pre-K Incident," 
which had happened pretty much like this.  Except 
in Pre-K, there hadn't been stalls -- just a short, 
naked kiddie-sized toilet and a short kiddie-sized 
urinal.  And there hadn't been Fox Mulder.

I am sure my brain has been fried from this experience.

And yet, I just couldn't stop thinking about the name 
he'd called out at the height of his pleasure and 
wondered WHY.  And, dammit, I was still aroused.  

However, when, with a knowing smirk on his face, Fox 
Mulder still managed to startle me out of my seemingly 
drugged state.

"Scully," he said, "We have to start meeting like this." 

~~x~~X~~X~~X~~x~~

ENDNOTES:

Remember?  In the beginning, Scully *did* have an office 
on another floor somewhere!

~~x~~X~~X~~X~~x~~

Challenge Elements (as issued by Tali):

Your challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to 
write a fic with the following elements:

    * Scully or Other POV (i.e. Scully/other as the 
         voyeur)
    * can have Mulder doing anything (eating seeds, 
         reading over a casefile, changing clothes, 
         mowing the lawn, washing dishes, surfing the 
         net, pumping gas etc. etc.)
    * pure description (i.e. little or no dialogue)
    * It must be a new fic