Title: Dimestore Hooker 1 of 1
Author: Jori Remington
E-mail: damienma@bellsouth.net
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Yes
Category: SR
Keywords: MSR
Spoilers: Milagro
Summary: Imagine that Phillip Padgett is still alive
somewhere and typing out a life for Scully and her love,
Mulder. Hence, Mulder might be able to see colors -- vivid,
hot colors. And Scully might be a little feral. Phil does
not make an appearance in this piece, though.
Disclaimer: Not mine. 1013, FOX and CC own them.
Author's Notes: Another story inspired by my search for
fonts. Dimestore Hooker can be found at www.fontfreak.com.
Thanks go to, Mojo, as always.

Jori's website: http://www.netroenterprises.com/stories


*************

Agent Scully stood there, waiting for him. She tapped her
foot in irritation, and the sound echoed off the nearby
building as she announced to the world with her man-made
soles exactly how agitated she was. Everybody that walked by
made a wide circle around her, as they avoided the incessant
patter of her feet. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Without really noticing, she checked her wristwatch once
more, but even without that glance she knew that he should
be here by now. He would not leave her out here in the dark.
Not now that he knew what evil emanated from the pores of
this sleepy town when darkness fell. He felt it was his job
to protect her and he would not let her down now. He had
failed to protect her before and swore it would never happen
again.

Her small, precise fingers would occasionally sweep back an
errant strand of hair that was carried away from its
predetermined place by an unexpected night breeze. Nothing
could block her view of the highway. Yes, he was late, but
she expected nothing less of him. He always left her
waiting. Wondering. Watching.

Someone opened the door of the store behind her and the
squeak of the unoiled hinges caught her off guard. It was
dark and she was abnormally edgy, caused by too many hours
of tapping her feet and too many cups of cheap, black
coffee. There was no fancy gourmet coffee shop in this town.
No sweet latte passed her lips in days, leaving her wanting
something more. Something saccharine and warm to swirl
around her mouth before she swallowed it with uninhibited
pleasure. She wanted something different to touch her lips.
Something different but at the same time familiar.

Agent Scully's reflection stared back at her as the glass
door finally closed. She was startled at how she looked.

Tired. Somber. Dull.

Her arms were resting across her chest and her face was long
and dour. She wore nothing but black these days, her
wardrobe matching her frame of mind.

Doleful. Lugubrious. Melancholy.

The words filled her heart and soul and left her to wonder
how she arrived at this place and time. Was she happy once?
What would fill her life again? What would make her
contented again?

She yanked open the door and the hinges announced to all
that she was coming in again. They had become accustomed to
her presence, that sad woman who stood on their sidewalk.
Waiting and watching.

They looked surprised that she moved off in a different
direction than normal, skipping the heavy black coffee in a
Styrofoam cup. Instead she looked for something that could
change her mood. Her appearance. What people presumed they
knew about her. Even Agent Mulder, who knew that he could
leave her here and she would be waiting anyway.

The convenience store did not have much to offer in
image-changing merchandise. She believed he knew that she
smoked on occasion, but couldn't be sure. Besides, she did
not feel like lighting up right now. A plastic package of
black hose would go unnoticed. She often wore black hose
now. She touched a large, round red lollipop and looked for
the sunglasses rack. No. Too Lolita for her age. She wanted
something subtle, yet shocking at the same time. Something
that maybe only she would notice.

Then she saw what she needed. Agent Scully walked to a
spinning display of cheap lipstick, the tubes placed
haphazardly in their slots by some teenage clerk desiring to
get home so he could talk to his acne-prone girlfriend all
night.

This was not her normal brand and no one would ever suspect
it was. Her lips had always been graced with expensive
shades with names such as Pinkberry Stain. Golden Brandy.
Rhubarb Poppy. They were all classified under larger
categories. Nudes. Tawnies. Pinks. Each tube had been
carefully selected with the help of a woman wearing a lab
coat as if painting faces had become a science instead of an
art.

Her face was truly art and science combined. Nothing was
ever out of place. Nothing was ever smudged. But as her
fingers touched the tubes randomly inserted on this rack,
she wished that the day would come her lipstick would be
smudged. She was waiting for that day. Wondering. Watching.

The names of these colors were disorderly. They had nothing
to do with the shade they contained. No one would find Guava
Stain here with a matching liner. No, the names of these
colors were wild. Untamed. Unbound. Just what she wanted to
be if only for a while.

She touched each tube as she guessed at the name. She would
make up her own as she went, but found her appellations to
be lacking the same abandon as her life.

Karma. Ingnue. Starfire. She smiled at each name as she
turned the rack, looking for the perfect shade to smudge on
someone. Finally, she found it. This was no Copper Rose or
Raspberry Glace. She made up her own name instantly for this
particular shade of red without looking at its original
name. Her name was far better than the one that probably was
given to it.

Dimestore Hooker.

She pulled it out of its slot and turned the tube in her
hand, imagining how this would stain the flesh and leave an
imprint for hours. It was not a shade that came off easily
with just the back of the hand or with the touch of a saliva
covered thumb. No, this one would last hours only to be
removed with much friction. The friction of another mouth?
She could only imagine. She knew that white, starched
collars would be ruined with just one kiss. He would be
marked as hers. And she wanted to mark him everywhere.

Agent Scully took her purchase into the dim bathroom, and
with the precise hand of a surgeon, she applied the color to
her lush lips, careful to keep it contained on the already
ripe, full planes, covering up Winterberry Frost so easily.

It was perfect, but would he notice? Would the only thing to
ever catch his eye be her near death? Would that send him
flying to her in heated passion?

She would not wait for that day again. She felt empowered by
this new shade embellishing her lips. She would live as
wildly as this shade did. She would be a dimestore hooker,
if only for the night.

She walked out of the room to find him waiting for her,
hands on hips and anxious. For a second she hid behind a
shelf and enjoyed the fact that her disappearance caused him
to be so nervous. He feared she wasn't at this meeting
place. Does he worry she was swept up by some horrible
monster or by something far more insidious? Perhaps he fears
another man. She imagined his terror of finding out she went
off with a truck driver. A computer salesman. A paperback
writer. Then she stepped out hiding and enjoyed even more
the smile of relief that spread across his face.

He was dressed as he normally was, but she always looked
anyway, carefully registering every nuance in her mind for
later use. Today's stolen glance would replace yesterday's
and tomorrow's would supersede this exact one.

While she watched him, he would watch her with the eyes of a
trained observer. A man trained to notice people. To explore
each and every nuance.

Did he notice the new shade marking her new attitude?
Perhaps not, nor would he ever, but he did notice the change
in her demeanor. She walked with a sense of purpose, her
strides bringing her right to him. She was no longer under a
constant cloud of exhaustion. And all he could do was smile
at her.

She locked her fingers tightly around his, and pulled him
out the door and toward their bland, predictable rental car.
She would not allow it to remain predictable for long. She
was glad he parked away from the front windows. She was also
glad he choose the Crown Victoria LTD this time for the room
it afforded. They would need space, for his body was long
and could not be packed into the back of a subcompact.

As if he knew what was coming next, he followed her quickly,
his feet moving in quicksilver time. His mind was spinning
with desire and he did not know why this was happening. What
was different about her? They had fought earlier, his ideas
not meshing with hers once again. That was why he was afraid
she had left him.

But now she seemed to have forgotten that incident ever
happened. They reached the far side of the car and she
grabbed his tie, pulling him to her. The kiss was
unexpected, but the years of anticipation involved made it
explosive. He had to lean down to reach her mouth, her frame
so much more delicate than his. But they managed to fit as
they always knew they would.

Her mouth tasted waxy and left a moistened streak upon his
lips. He finally realized what was different. Her lips were
more well defined than normal. Or at least they were a
second ago. He studied the color with avid interest. So
different than normal. She was no longer restrained.
Reserved. Inhibited. She turned, causing her body to be
pressed against his, forcing him into the door handle.

She reached into his pocket, and his body to reacted even
more as her hand brushed past him. Agent Scully tried to
push the unlock button on the key chain but she hit the
alarm button instead. Before she could turn it off, a truck
driver pumping gas turned his head to stare at them and let
out a loud whistle. She pulled the keys out of his pocket,
and silenced the alarm before opening the door and pushing
him into the back seat. He slid all the way to the other
side and she slammed the door behind them.

The windows were dark, ending the show for the trucker. But
the show was just beginning inside.

He moaned softly as her mouth made contact with his neck.
She was on him, straddling his narrow hips, as she moved
above him. She struggled with his tie, her fingers trembling
too much for her to work the silken knot out of it. It was
the one thing he was careful of in life. His clothes. She
had always admired that part of him. But not right now.

He moved his hands up to his neck, yanking the tie hard but
the knot just got tighter. Patience had been forgotten. He
wanted to feel those cherry bomb lips on his skin. Wanted to
feel them course their way down his chest, as they left a
tiny trail lower and lower. He wanted to feel them wrap
around his hardened sex and drain him of everything he ever
was or could be.

No words had been spoken between them. None were needed.
This partnership had been built on looks and mere glances.
Nothing would be changed now.

Her patience had also been forgotten, and she moved her lips
down the front of his shirt, leaving scant red stains as she
went.

Her lips left behind a powerful, scarlet message. He
belonged to her. Maybe not entirely yet, but there would be
no doubt about it in a few minutes.

He not only wanted it. He needed it. And she appeared to
need it just as badly. He watched as her tongue flicked out
of those ruby lips, searching for one of his nipples. Never
mind the Oxford broadcloth that covered them. It only added
to the sensations overwhelming his mind and body. She wanted
this so bad that clothing would not get in her way.

Finally, he freed himself of his silk neck wear and sent it
flying into the front seat like an annoying insect. His
fingers raced down the buttons, and she stopped him before
he forgot the cuff buttons. She didn't want this time to be
wasted back tracking over minute details.

As she left crimson angel kisses down his chest and back up
again, he struggled to pull her skirt up to her waist. He
had forgotten all about her breasts. He had always dreamed
of taking a perfect, coral shaded nipple in his mouth, but
right now he wanted to be in other places more. Hardened
nipples could wait.

Not only had she adorned her lips while she was in the
restroom, she had removed her hosiery and panties, too. They
were left behind, stuck in the bottom of the trash can. She
laughed when she did it, thinking the young attendant who
would inevitably be stuck here tonight might get a kick out
of finding a pair of expensive black silk panties and $20 a
pair Donna Karan stockings mingling with the refuse.

But not as thrilled as Agent Mulder was at finding those
items absent. She moved so he could access her female
essence better, and they both moaned as he dipped a finger
into her well of warm, sweet honey. His eyes locked onto
hers, and she struggled not to blink as his whole hand went
to work upon her soft, needful core.

She was almost embarrassed to discover she was bouncing on
his hand, but then she remembered the lipstick and how much
life that color allowed her to live. And she remembered
whose hand this was making her feel this way.

Agent Scully no longer desired to tint his entire body with
her mouth. Instead she wanted her body to be tainted by his.
She wanted it fast and hard. She wanted it to be 'cheap' and
'sordid' and 'tawdry.' Everything that shade of red brought
to mind.

Her hands quickly unfastened his belt buckle and with one
quick yank, she sent it flying the way of the tie. His pants
were pulled down to his knees and before he could even
comprehend what was happening, she had him in her hand and
was guiding herself down upon him.

He gasped, realizing she was warm and soft and amiable;
nothing at all like home. No pleasant cliche could describe
Agent Scully.

She choked down a shriek caused not from his size or length
or breadth, but because she had forgotten how good it could
feel being filled like this. All the voids in her life were
sated in that one moment.

They did not move, but instead watched the other's reaction
to this inescapable coupling of their bodies and souls. He
could only smile at her, offering her the assurance she
needed to go on.

And go on she did. As if she were riding a boat on
storm-tossed seas, she rode him, taking him into the heart
of a tempest he never imagined possible. Nothing could
detract from how special this moment was. Not the door knob
with the built in ashtray in his back. Not the slender black
stray cat watching them from on top of a dumpster. They were
together, entwined as one, sweat and sex mingling with the
faint scent of blue velour.

He mouthed 'I love you' before he came, but the words had no
volume behind them. Still she recognized them, for she had
seen him say them before. She put her fingers to his lips to
still them. This was not the time for such declarations.
Those could come later. How could he be believed right now,
anyway?

Within moments, her own orgasm peaked through her body. It
sent violent shockwaves through her, causing her to fall
forward upon his chest. Although she had just stifled his
attempt to say it, she found herself mouthing those same
words back, but her words left a vermilion stain on him. Her
words were imprinted over his heart.

She sat up, his body still enveloped inside hers, and pulled
the tube of lipstick from her pocket. She wanted to see the
real name, knowing full well that Dimestore Hooker would be
a marketing nightmare. She turned the tiny container around
in her hand, struggling to see the shade in the darkness
that surrounded them.

She finally made out the small words and smiled at them. It
as if she found a fortune cookie that said this moment would
last forever. The real name was nothing like her imagined
name. Not nearly as cheap as she imagined. Instead it was a
name of a color now written all over his body. A shade that
covered his heart and soul.

The real name was Forever Loved.

The End

***********

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