TITLE:   Misled: Sidespin
RATING:  NC-17 (bad language and bad sex)
CLASSIFICATION: X H
DATE: December 1998 (revised and posted Sept 2002!)
SPOILERS: Nothing beyond S6
ARCHIVE: Gossamer, Ephemeral - others please ask.
AUTHOR: Joann Humby - jhumby@lineone.net

SUMMARY:
This is the sequel to - Misled by Spin. If you don't want to
read/reread that then, you need to know: Mulder and Scully
"may" be occupying the wrong bodies.

This was my 1998 dip in the porn pool. It was only posted to one
mailing list at the time and was never archived, it's been reawakened
by a thread on the Haven fanfic discussion board.

Do not enter here with expectations of angst or even much of a plot.
I wish I used aliases.

LEGALLY:
Legally these characters belong to some combination of 1013,
Chris Carter and Fox. Mulder's soul belongs to DD, for which I'm truly
thankful.

======

This. Was. In. Sane. This was insane and he was going to die.
Mulder knew it, was sure of it. But somehow couldn't find the
willpower needed to stop it from happening.

Scully's body had been at his disposal for less than forty-eight
hours and things that he'd long ago trained his own body to resist
about her were being requested, demanded even, by hers. Hell.
She was going to kill him, when she found out.

If she found out.

That proverbial cat, surely it wasn't just curiosity that killed it?
Mulder held tight to the hope. Not just curiosity, surely. Surely
the cat had to have made a mistake as well? Maybe the cat hadn't
been careful enough. Maybe it hadn't thought things through. He was
smarter than a cat though, so he would be fine. The hell he was. He
was going to die and Scully was going to kill him.

No. She wouldn't kill him. How could she? It would be ridiculous.
The body was hers. If she killed it, she'd be dead. She'd be dead
and stuck in his body. Probably. And he'd be. He'd be nowhere,
except she could have his body, to do with exactly as she wished.

Oh. This wasn't helping, wasn't helping at all. He felt the rush of
heat to his face, and giggled. There were definite disadvantages to
being a redhead and blushing was apparently one of them. He tried
to recall the times he'd seen her blush. Hardly ever.

Was she really that much more controlled than him? Well of course
she was, but she'd have to be stone dead to ignore this pulsating
volcano of hormones that she owned. Maybe that was why sometimes
her mouth stayed open a little too long, maybe it was a way of
handling the pressure build up, some kind of controlled release of
the overload before the blood rushed to her face.

Speaking of blood rushing, he marveled at the heat between his
legs. It wasn't that much of a surprise, not really. After all, he
knew the theory, and while male and female were different genders
they were basically similar animals. But hell, there was this too
tight ridge of denim pushing into him at just the right angle and
if he just wriggled a little on the barstool. Fuck. This was
insane. He was going insane.

The heat, the humidity, the soft swelling. He could smell her. He
could goddammed smell her and it was driving him wild. It was all
he could do to stop himself from dipping his finger to touch the
damp fold in the denim and sniffing.

He tried to find a comfortable way of perching on the barstool, but
any way he wriggled, it just wasn't quite working. Clearly and not
surprisingly, her feet refused to reach the floor. More annoyingly
they wouldn't quite fit on the rail either. Crossing his legs
didn't seem to help. They either didn't fold right or they looked
frankly un-ladylike. He corrected the sexist observation,
un-Scullylike then.

But God, she smelled good and every shift added a little more
pressure to the over aroused nerve endings that tingled under the
denim, focusing in on where the seam forced the flimsy layer of
black silk against her skin. Stop this right there. Salacious
thoughts, he mused, about your partner, whose body you've
merely borrowed, can seriously damage your sanity.

Guilt was inappropriate, he reminded himself. Scully had explained
it to him. The reason he had Scully's body was because he was
Scully. And if he really was Scully, then all this stuff about
actually being Mulder was just a delusion brought on by hypnosis
and hallucinogenic drugs. Scully, who admittedly looked awfully
like Fox Mulder, had explained it all to him. Good old Scully,
thank goodness one of them was still thinking rationally.

He paused at that, took another sip at the whiskey, glared at the
barman as an order to back off. No wonder Scully made that raised
eyebrows thing look so natural, she obviously got plenty of
practice beating down people who thought they knew better.

He was Scully and that was that. The rational explanation had come
from someone who looked like Mulder and he looked like Mulder
because he was Mulder. Tidy. Neat. And when the drugs wore off he
would congratulate Mulder on his admirably scientific insight.

Meanwhile, Mulder gave himself permission to believe absolutely in
the science. He was Scully and therefore the hot, neat, redheaded
body was his to play with, to handle as he wished. He groaned a
little at the thought and felt the moist heat build, sniffed female
arousal in the air. This was ridiculous.

Just how easy would it be to pick up a playmate? After all, he was
itching in places that he couldn't himself scratch. Certainly not
with these little hands.

Slow down, slow, slow, slow. He took a deep breath. OK, he was
drugged. So he shouldn't just leap into bed with the first man who
looked his way. He snorted a sharp chuckle into the whiskey glass.

Oh, hell, he was thinking about picking up a man. Surely not? He
wasn't even gay. Naturally, mumbled some sniffy little mid-European
voice who probably represented a comic book psychology professor.
Sexual orientation is not an absolute, it's a continuum. And it
there were macho points to be scored, what the hell, he sighed, he'd
never get ten out of ten. But however he looked at it, he wasn't
gay, usually.

Anyway, he reminded himself, he wasn't Mulder. He was Scully and as
far as he knew she was straight heterosexual. He really couldn't
imagine Scully with another woman. He snorted another laugh,
provoked another snooty look from the barman. Of course he'd
imagined Scully with other women, but only as a fantasy star of his
video collection.

So, what would Scully fancy? He started to survey the room and was
shocked by the number of male heads that turned sheepishly away as
he looked. They'd been watching him? Oh, of course they had. All
that wriggling for position. All that giggling. Hell, he'd have been
looking. Only a visually impaired monk could have missed it.

He was startled by the sudden awareness that someone was at his
side.

"Agent Scully."

Shit. Skinner. Assistant Director Walter Sergei Skinner. Like a
beacon in the night. Mulder couldn't speak.

Skinner tried again. "Is everything OK?"

Mulder groaned. Absolutely not. Not Skinner. Almost anyone, but not
Skinner. They worked together for God's sake. It would be so
stupid. So dangerous. So hot. What? No, he's bald and old and the
boss and hot, definitely hot. Oh shit. Mulder could feel the heat
and the damp and the pheromones rising.

Skinner looked down at the tight V of Scully's jeans and his nose
wrinkled.

Oh shit. Skinner could smell her, too. Mulder hadn't just imagined
it, he could see his boss studying Scully's crotch. Unbelievable.
Were all men that... Crude? Up front? Fast? Mulder shivered, it had
been far too long since he'd cruised the clubs looking for easy
pick-ups. But, Jeez, if macho meant moving in like that, then he was
so far off scoring ten it was just as well he didn't play very
often.

"Agent Scully? Are you ok?"

Oh right, yeah, Skinner had asked her a question and she hadn't
answered. Mulder pulled what were left of his wits back into
service. "Yes." Smooth, Mulder decided. Yes. Real cool answer.
Now, what was the question again?

Thankfully, Skinner continued to do the talking. "I haven't seen
you in here before."

Mulder tensed. What now? Just answer the man, Scully. Right. He
took in a deep breath. "It's more a Mulder place."

"You're expecting him?"

"No way." Hell, no. That didn't bear thinking about. Scully finding
herself here? She'd be furious. He'd be furious. Whatever.

How dare Mulder be furious when all I'm doing is acting according
to her theory? He mused. She mused. Whatever.

Skinner smiled and Mulder nearly fell off the barstool. This was
dangerous. Legs that didn't reach the ground, even in an emergency.
And God knows, Walter Skinner smiling had to constitute an
emergency, or a miracle, or something.

Skinner growled, an odd little melodious purr of a sound. Was that
a laugh? Mulder was stunned, sat as still as possible, mouth open,
eyebrows raised in confusion.

At last, Skinner's growl transformed into words. "Another whiskey?
Or can I take you some place?"

Mulder considered the options. The whiskey was already warm in her
stomach, he could feel the tiny shivers as the sweat started
beading on her skin. She was what? 110 pounds to his 180? No wonder
the alcohol was making him buzz. And on top of the drugs and the
confusion. And well, just everything. "I think perhaps..." Time to
get the hell out of here while he was still in one piece. Didn't
want to leave any marks on her body, at least not by falling off
the bar stool or something equally dumb.

"Woah there. Steady." Skinner politely offered a forearm to help
her regain her balance as she stumbled down from the stool. "I'll
drive," the Assistant Director continued, talking in a take charge
voice that allowed no room for argument.

Mulder nodded. Skinner. Hell. Not Skinner. If nothing else, he was
too. Goddamit, he was too big. That was the bottom line. There were
times when he looked too big to Mulder. But next to Scully. Hell
no. He'd squash her. Mulder giggled, embarrassed by just far ahead
of the situation his thoughts were racing. It was only then that he
spotted the soft little Scully hands still holding Skinner's arm.
The neat little Scully fingers now absent-mindedly stroking
Skinner's thumb. Mulder pulled her hand quickly away. "I'm not
drunk."

"No. You're beautiful."

What the fuck? OK, so he was out of practice on the fast pick-ups,
Mulder had been willing to accept that. But, never had he been that
fast. Even as the Bureau golden boy, when the workload meant he'd
needed to work fast to get any, he'd never been that fast. Hell. A
sudden glimmer of a thought took tentative shape in his head. What
if Skinner wasn't working fast. What if. Skinner and Scully? No way!
Way?

What would Scully say? Think. Think. Think. What would Scully say
if he told her she was beautiful. "Oh brother."

Skinner laughed, not that melodious little chuckle of before, a
deep full throated laugh. "Let's get you home."

Home, whose home? Mulder shivered, panic rising, excitement
building, dampness seeping through her jeans.

While Mulder was still pondering the possibilities and consequences
another, almost familiar voice cut in. "I'll take her home, sir."

Huh. Who the hell said that? Mulder mumbled into Skinner's nipple,
confused by the latest shift in his fortunes. He leaned sideways to
see past his boss's warm chest. "Scully?"

Mulder peered up at the tall man who looked like he might be his
twin. The tall man stared back, clearly alarmed, then suddenly
relaxed, smiling a little. A faint, indulgent, superior smile,
Mulder noted. How the hell did she do that with his face? Scully
finally got around to replying. "Huh-huh, me Mulder, you Scully."

"Yeah. Yeah. Me Scully." Mulder agreed, unconvinced.

Skinner suddenly coughed to remind the duo of his presence. "Agent
Scully, the offer's still open."

Mulder quickly removed Scully's hands from Skinner's arm. "Ah, no.
That is. Thank you, sir. But..."

Scully piped in quickly. "We need to finish that report."

Skinner glared at Scully. "Agent Mulder, I think Agent Scully
was enjoying some well deserved time off."

Mulder sighed and moved smartly away from Skinner's side.
"No, I promised Mulder that..."

Skinner shifted, uncomfortable at Scully's apparent timidity. What
the hell had Mulder done to her? Since when had Scully been scared
of Mulder? And if it wasn't fear, then what the hell was it? "You
said you weren't expecting him."

Mulder shuffled, restlessly transferring weight from one foot to
another, wobbling a little as he overbalanced slightly on the
hopelessly high heeled ankle boots he'd teamed with the tight
jeans. "I, errr, forgot."

Scully leaned back against the bar, still almost smiling, soft and
indulgent. Skinner thought about thumping him, what had he done to
Scully? Oh. Skinner tried to switch off the testosterone storm that
had been building since he first saw Scully wriggling on the
barstool, first sensed the woman behind the badge and saw Dana,
aroused. From the guilty looks flying between the partners, he
suddenly saw it all. Mulder and Scully had finally become partners,
in that other sense of the word. And Scully had been out here
drowning her sorrows after some lovers' tiff. If that stupid
bastard Mulder hurt her... "If you're quite sure, Agent Scully."

"Quite." Mulder replied, trying to make Scully's voice sound as
steady as possible.

Skinner nodded, and glared angrily at Scully. Scully flinched and
the distant smile she had been wearing quickly vanished. She
looked down on Mulder, gulped at the frizzy look of her normally
pristinely controlled red hair. She was going to have to give him a
lesson on blow drying. Damn it. The sooner they swapped back the
better. Or didn't swap back. The sooner they remembered things
right again the better. Time to get out of here. "Ready?"

"Ready," offered Mulder, looking up at the two men. Wishing he knew
how Scully did that trick of looking him in the eyes but without
having to do these giraffe contortions with her neck.

They wandered in silence to the car. Mulder was baffled and aroused
beyond any semblance of commonsense, so couldn't stop himself
seeking out warmth and contact. He moved his hand to rest against
her back, misjudged the geometry and found his fingers resting
happily on her buttocks. Or was that his buttocks. Fuck. This was
just too confusing.

Mulder looked back at Skinner in the vain hope that he wasn't
looking. Skinner wasn't merely looking, he was simmering. Shit.
The sooner they got the hell out of here the better. He pushed a
little harder on Scully's ass. Got a sharp gasp from her as a reward.

Scully saved her words until they reached Mulder's car. She bundled
him into the passenger seat and took her place behind the wheel.
"OK. Mulder. What the fuck were you doing?"

Mulder swallowed, worked out how to talk at the second attempt.
"I'm Scully. You," he added pointedly, "told me so."

Scully breathed in a noisy hmmpph of air. OK, working from the
rational explanation then. "You are under the influence of drugs,
acting out an hallucination. You know this. So you go out drinking
and try and pick up your boss. Our boss."

"I wasn't trying."

"No, you were succeeding. Just how far were you planning on going?"

Mulder looked down at the little hands resting in his lap, suddenly
understood why it was getting hotter inside these jeans as he noted
the way the slim fingers were defiantly failing to keep still. He
studied them as, apparently of their own volition, they fidgeted,
shifting across her lap, molding themselves around the tight seam
of her jeans.

Scully tugged a little too hard at the wheel, causing the car to
twitch in sympathy. "And you're wearing fuck-me shoes."

Mulder looked up at the voice, "Fuck-me shoes?"

"What would you call them, I only wear them when..."

"When you're on the pull!" Oh. No. Scully. Fuck. This was worse
than Mulder thought. He'd never dreamed that. Scully on the pull.
No. Say it wasn't so.

Scully tensed. "I mean they look like the sort of shoes that you
would only wear if..."

"Ahhh."

Scully gripped the wheel a little tighter. Fuck-me shoes. Mulder
was wearing fuck-me shoes. And aroused. Every movement, every
tentative little rub of those little fingers seemed to travel
straight from the seam of Scully's jeans directly across the car's
front seats to hers. She looked down at her lap, saw the tenting of
the material in her groin. Hell, this was ridiculous. She looked
across to Mulder. To her horror, Mulder was staring at her,
apparently fascinated by the bulge in her pants.

Little fingers headed towards the bulge. Scully squealed at the
sudden contact. "Mulder!"

"Hmmmm."

"Stop it."

Mulder looked up into her face, noted the confusion in the hazel
eyes. And something else. Oh. He recognized that look. Out of focus
and fully dilated and oh so lazy lidded. He stopped shifting his
fingers, relaxed the small hand over the satisfyingly solid bulk in
the pants she was wearing. "Hmmmm."

Scully tried to sit up straight and focus on the road ahead. This
was harder than she'd thought. She grimaced at the bad pun.
Apparently, Mulder was a rather more forward woman than he was a
man.

What the hell was she thinking, she reminded herself sharply.
Scully was drugged and delusional and so was he. That was all there
was too it. And it looked like the side effect was this permanent
hard on. Aroused all of the time and sensitive as hell. "Please
could you keep your hands to yourself."

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do."

Huh.

"Scully."

Scully grimaced, hating the horrible nasal whine that Mulder had
inflected her voice with. "What?"

"Last night.... When you.... Did you.... I mean did you want to....
With...."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Scully asked, keeping her
voice deep and mellow. Asking the question as if bewildered by the
context, even though she knew exactly what he was referring to.

"When you brought yourself off. Did you wonder what it would be
like to...."

"When I did what?" Scully attempted to make the voice indignant but
somehow it morphed into embarrassed.

"Don't lie, I heard you."

Oh.

Mulder was on a roll. One hand cupped over the damp seam of his
jeans, the other cupped over his partner's erection straining
against the cloth of his chinos. Warm and happy, he let his thumbs
shift to some beat that only existed in his own brain. He could no
more stop the words from spilling out than he could stop the
fingers from moving. "I heard you. It was an experiment for me, too."

An experiment? Scully could relate to that. "An experiment?"

"In human sexual response. Haven't you wondered how it must feel.
To be on the other end."

"Other end?"

"Giving instead of receiving. Or vice versa." His fingers shifted
again and both driver and passenger gasped in unison.

"But it's not real. We aren't really....."

"But, just the thought. I mean. I know how it works. Basically."

"It?"

"A woman's body. It wasn't difficult to drive but I kept wanting -
more."

"More?" Scully squeaked.

"It's a man thing, I know. At least, I guess. Size isn't important.
Is it? I mean. That's what they say. But your fingers."

"My fingers? What's wrong with my fingers?"

"Too short. I mean, not too short for you, perfect. But for... And
anyway, there's so much more that you can do with two."

"Two what?"

"Two people. It's everything, not just longer fingers, or a cock.
It's the whole thing, even my mouth was lonely."

"Shut up. Just shut up." Scully's voice had risen by at least two
strangulated octaves. "We'll be back at my apartment soon. Your
apartment. Scully's."

"Scully."

"Shut up."

The next five minutes took around two hours to pass. By the time
they entered the apartment, the effort of keeping quiet was almost
as painful as the heat of arousal and the tightness of their pants.

"Scully." Mulder murmured, pushing his much taller partner
backwards towards the bedroom door.

"Stop. We can't. The drugs. It's not right."

Mulder stopped, leaned his face into Scully's flat chest, smelled
just the faintest glimmer of his favorite after-shave flavoring the
linen beneath his nose. "I want you."

"It's the drugs." Scully almost screamed the words, trying to
convince herself as well as him, yet not even wanting to believe
her own rebuttals.

"I fantasized about it. Not just playing you with your fingers, but
mine too, my everything, your everything. And it was like lightning
and magic and that was without being able to use anything except
your fingers. And I thought..."

Scully felt like crying. This wasn't fair. Mulder was torturing
her. "It's the drugs."

Mulder groaned with despair, threw his hands up in horror and
surrender. "Right. Enough. Tonight I'm going to get laid. And if
it's not by me it'll be by somebody else. Lock up on your way out."
He turned, headed towards the door pausing only to lean forward to
pull on the ankle boots.

Fuck. Suddenly she was there, behind him. Suddenly he could feel
heat and hardness pushing against his buttocks. Long arms, his
arms, reached around to find the button of his jeans. He leaned
forward some more, resting his head against the gloss paint of the
door, stretching his arms to support him as he wobbled on the high
heels. He breathed in to give the long fingers a fighting chance of
getting the button free. He felt the pressure release. He gasped a
scream of delight as the zipper went down.

And at once her fingers were so close, his fingers, long fingers.
Oh hell, yeah. The fingers, the fingers he'd needed so badly last
night, today, forever, they slid inside the denim, over the flimsy
damp silk seeking out the heart of the heat and the slickness.
Instant. He leaned forward, further, lower. Thanked the muses and
the saints for the flexibility of Scully's body as he folded
himself double, feet spread wide apart, almost touching her toes as
he struggled for the perfect angle.

"Mulder. I can't."

And Mulder almost whimpered when he heard the word can't. Hadn't
they already had this discussion?

"No, I mean, I need to get your jeans off and they're too tight. I
usually need to lie on the bed and wiggle."

Oh, sure, that was of course how he'd put them on. Why did people
torture themselves like this? Why was he being tortured like this?
"Bedroom," he observed through clenched teeth. He considered
ditching the boots but hey, he'd suffered them for hours, the least
they could do was reward him. Fuck-me boots, huh? And they would
maybe help with the height difference, offer extra opportunities,
perhaps improve some angles.

Instantly naked within seconds of reaching the bedroom door, they
paused to look. It was all very familiar and then again not. Mulder
stared. Didn't like the look of the too many scars and bruises.
Occupational hazard, he decided with a shrug. A few extra pounds
here and there, but nothing too troublesome. A bit more sunshine
wouldn't go amiss though, he'd have to make more effort there.
Anything else? Well, yes, there was more, but that was going to be
more useful later, it might not win a prize in a porno freak show
but it was respectable, serviceable even.

"Mulder. Stop admiring yourself." Scully pushed him backwards onto
the bed using all the height and weight advantage that she now
possessed. She pushed Mulder's legs apart, struck instantly by the
honey warm smell and the sight of glistening pink. Hesitating for
only an instant to memorize the scene, she headed up along his body
dabbing a tongue at the coral peaks topping the small pert breasts.
She arrived at his mouth. Pushed unruly locks of red hair away from
his face with her nose. Reached down to check relative position
between her penis and that soft wet inviting pinkness below.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Scully paused, unwilling to state the obvious until she knew what
the real question was. "I thought you wanted to..."

"I do want to.... But. Hell. Some foreplay would be nice. A kiss
maybe. A little exploration perhaps." Mulder's words shuddered to a
halt, somewhere between hysterical laughter and frustration. He
started to get up from the bed, but Scully pushed him back. Mulder
tried to explain. "This isn't going to work. I'm going to go out,
pick up a nice guy."

"And tell him his technique sucks?"

"No. It's. I wouldn't normally. It's because it's me. I've got all
these expectations about myself."

"What!"

"I know, it's arrogant and unrealistic for me to think I'd be any
better at it than you."

"You think I don't what a woman needs, you arrogant.."

"Sure. I know, it's not fair. But."

Scully continued to hold him down as she thought about it. She
almost stuttered the suggestion, she didn't want to beg. But, hell,
last night had been hard for her too. The entire day had been hard.
She looked down at the healthy erection, noted that it showed no
signs of boredom in the proceedings. "Maybe we can work something
out."

"It's too distracting. I keep thinking what I could do with that
body. Let me up." Mulder tried to get up, but Scully pushed him
back down again.

This was ridiculous. Scully was about to get very angry. Very angry
indeed. "You're not exactly making this easy. You could try being a
bit more feminine."

"Feminine? Jesus, Scully, don't try throwing that fucking macho
gender role crap at me."

"You're the one telling me that a real man wouldn't go about it the
way I did."

"Let me up, Scully. I said nothing about real men, it was me I
mentioned."

"Right, so you're not a real man then?"

That was it. Scully's elbow slammed into Mulder's ribs with an
unpleasantly hollow thud. Scully rolled away from Mulder and fell
off the bed, howling with pain and shock and wondering how he could
do such a thing to her. Hopefully he'd be the one suffering the
bruise. One good thing though, it had settled the debate, there
would be no fucking here for a while, Mulder's cock had now called
the whole thing off.

Mulder mumbled apologies as he dressed. Strapped himself back into
his fuck-me boots and disappeared quickly into the hallway, pausing
only to shout from the door. "Take it steady, if the bruised ribs are
painful, moving will feel easier in the morning. Bye."

Mulder headed out into the night, his one track mind set firmly on
one thing, getting laid. He wondered if he should give Skinner a
call, check if that offer was still open. Thought better of it. A
stranger, definitely a stranger. The stranger the better.



END
Love and kisses, Joann - jhumby@lineone.net