Lessons XIII: "Over the Net" by Jori and MoJo Category: MSR, RST Rating: NC-17 Summary: Mulder and Scully agree to meet on the courts for the ultimate singles match. Archive: Yes Disclaimer: Not ours. If 1013, FOX and CC would give us some smut, then we wouldn't have to make up our own! Author's Notes: Part XIII of the Jori and MoJo series, Lessons. Thank you to everyone who nominated Lessons for a 1999 Spooky Award in Best Collaboration. ******************* October 10, 1999 5:54 p.m. I pace back and forth on the court counting down the minutes until Scully said she would arrive. In her furtive messages to me, she told me six p.m. She probably knew that the tennis courts would be empty by that time. Not only did she leave a variety of voice messages, she left me several e-mails and even had a handwritten note delivered to Detroit where I was working on a case while she handled the autopsies back here. I know it sounds like a lot, but I'm sure she wanted me to be here on time as much as I want her to walk through that gate right now. Scully picked this particular tennis complex for one obvious reason. We would be able to rent a private changing room right next to the court. We could have gotten a night at a fancy hotel for what this is costing us, but this is all part of the game. We have got to finish the game the way it began. I pull a tennis ball out of my pocket and bounce it up and down on the racket, missing it several times out of nervousness. I wish she'd show up. We can lob the tennis ball back and forth across the court a few times and then come back in here. I admit it. I want her desperately. It didn't help being away from her for over a week. Now we have run out of summer and fall is going to turn into winter too quickly. Not many more nights are left for playing around outside. After the soccer field and after the hockey rink, I want more. I want to be inside of her. I want to feel her moving above or beneath me. I don't care. I want to watch her come again. She was so beautiful the last time. I want to see that a million more times in my life. Every single day for as long as I'm alive. That might not even be enough times. I also want that release that I know I can only find with her. In her. I might be able to find that somewhere else now, but it will never be the same again. It has to be with her. I look for her, hoping she hasn't changed her mind. It has taken us a long time to reach this point and the next step is a big one. Oral sex doesn't count anymore or at least that is what I've heard on the news. The next step is the real thing. After this, we won't be able to go back to what we were on that ball field way back in the spring. The changing room is cool when I go in and there isn't much in here. We don't need a lot. We never have. "Fuck!" I exclaim to myself, looking down at my watch one more time. "Come on, Scully. It is getting late and you need to get here." I go back to pacing. Out the door. Around the net. Back in the door. She'll be here. She has to show up. We didn't come this far for her to back out now. *********************** Mulder is pacing the court like he's John MacEnroe high on adrenaline. I take a secret delight in seeing him this way, flustered and frustrated. Just like I am. Ready to play the final set in our match game. I walk stealthily around the tiny clubhouse that doubles as the changing room, careful that he doesn't see me. Mulder serves himself the ball and with a sloppy forehand swing, faulting it right into the net. His whole body sinks in disappointment before he looks at his watch again. He sure looks good in his white shorts and polo. Thank God for Indian Summer. It might as well be April again from the way it feels, just like that night on the ball field. "Too much underspin," I say, lingering by the open door of the changing room. I lean my body against the doorframe as he turns around. My heart suddenly goes into overdrive, seeing the look in his eyes. Pure desire. Nothing more and nothing less. "You like underspin? Or do you like topspin?" he asks, as a huge smile spreads across his face. "Depends on my partner," I say coyly, as he approaches me. A thin layer of sweat has formed across his forehead and it only excites me more. A week apart from each other was pure agony after the hockey game. Mulder brings his hands to my face, cupping it and drawing my mouth to his in a long, open kiss. I nearly dissolve from the contact and melt into his body. "Didn't think you were coming," he says against my lips. "Oh, I'm coming," I answer, covering one of his hands with mine. I lace our fingers together and let them drop so I can pull him towards the changing room. "I'm coming and so are you." "Wimbledon's got no action compared to what I'm going to do to you on the courts," he whispers, slamming the door soundly behind him. The room is dark and private, except for the remains of sunlight from the tiny window in the door. It smells faintly like cedar and clean linens. Anticipation burns through my body all the way down to my core. I am facing Mulder and he walks towards me as I walk backwards. This is the ultimate singles match. "Like your outfit," he whispers, as his eyes wander all over the short white pleated skirt and T-shirt I have on. "You'll like what's underneath better," I tease, as he backs me onto a shelf of towels. With one quick movement, his hands are underneath my arms, lifting me up on it. Just like the penalty box. "Oh really?" he asks, immediately running his hands underneath the skirt. He is hard pressed to find much fabric there except a tiny white thong. He traces the front of them where they 'v'. "All I'm feeling is your baseline." "And all I'm feeling is your lob," I say, reaching for his equipment. It's tenting already underneath those white shorts and I press into it as Mulder moans. "That your forehand?" he asks, fingering the fabric even lower. I move my legs apart more to permit him better access. He strokes me up and down through the cotton and I shiver, the motion sending electricity through me. "That your backhand?" I ask, as he works his fingers under the thin cotton strip. Making immediate contact with my wet core. I take a deep breath, kissing him again with more fervor. My fingers tear at his zipper, wanting him inside me. No more foreplay; we've spend all summer doing that. I just want Mulder. Now. His other hand starts to pull my shirt out of my skirt so it can wander underneath it, searching out my breasts. I wore a bra that hooks in the front just to simplify matters. We continue to kiss, our lips gliding over the other's with familiarity. I let out a long sigh when I finally unfasten his shorts. Mulder lifts up my skirt so my mostly naked rear is resting on a stack of towels...and something sharp... "Ouch!" I exclaim, jerking my body involuntarily. "Scully?" he asks, confused by my action. "Something I'm sitting on..." I say, lifting my right hip up as Mulder slides his fingers underneath it. Probing for the cause of my distress. "Ah," he whispers, tugging something small and attached to a blue wire. Mulder lays a finger over my lips to silence me as he raises it up. It's a microphone... Suddenly, a face appears in the tiny window of the door. I gasp at the ski-masked figure, pointing at it silently. Mulder spins around, prepared to confront the intruder. ************** "It's too quiet. Something is happening!" I exclaim, turning to look at Frohike and Byers. The remote radio monitoring unit just fell silent. Frohike was right. Something is going down and Mulder and Agent Scully are in the middle of it. We've been monitoring their weirdo e-mail for a week now. Actually, we always monitor their e-mail. But this week it turned bizarre. Someone had to be arranging this little meeting. Why else would the two of them show up here? It had to be some kind of underworld trap. "What? Are they okay? Langly, what is going on?" Byers asks, his eyes slipping into a panic mode. Well, maybe not 'panic' but who can tell with Byers. He always looks uptight and panicked. "Boost me up to the window. I'll take a look," Frohike says as he strains to reach the window by standing on his toes. Yeah. Like that is going to help that midget. "I'm taller. I'll look," I say and Frohike scoffs at me. I guess I touched on that all too sensitive area concerning height. "Put this on, dude. Who knows who could be in there. They might recognize you," Frohike says, handing me a black ski mask. "I can't see a thing," I say as I pull it over my face. I can't wear both it and my glasses but I don't want to be identified. If I squint, I should be able to see well enough. I peer into the window. Damn. I really can't see much. "I think Agent Scully is hurt," I say and Frohike starts to push me away to get to the door. Byers grabs his arm and holds him here. "Don't go rushing in. We have to observe the situation before we get involved. We might be their only chance. We can't help them if we are gunned down," Byers tells him. It takes every ounce of muscle he has, and I mean ounce, to hold him. "What is happening to her? Is Mulder okay?" Frohike asks, his voice all excited. "I can't tell. He's facing her. I think he's trying to comfort her. Wow. She must be hurting. I've never seen her face look like that," I say, squinting as hard as I can to see what is going on. Suddenly, her expression changes. I can see her shift and Mulder reaches for something. Damn. One of our microphones was on that table. It only takes a second more for her to notice I'm here watching them. Mulder spins around immediately and I duck down, knowing it is too late. "Oh, man. We've been spotted," I whisper as the three of us creep silently around to the side of the building. "Where's Mulder? He should be out here by now," Byers says softly as we huddle behind a crate and listen intently to the radio monitor. They aren't saying anything. "What if something really was happening in there?" "What in the hell is going on here, guys?" Mulder shouts at us as he comes around the building and into view. The three of us try to play innocent. It isn't working. He's looking at us as if we are the Three Stooges. Agent Scully follows him within a matter of seconds, carrying two tennis rackets with her. They really are here to play tennis. I'm going to kill that little troll. Frohike screws up again. "Hey, dude," Frohike says, pointing at Mulder's crotch. "Zip it up. There are ladies present and I don't mean Byers." ************** Mulder looks down at his fly and yanks the zipper up, which isn't easy to do considering the hard-on he's sporting beneath it. Agent Scully stops right behind Mulder, elbowing him in the side as she hands him a racket. Aye Chihuahua! She's wearing a short tennis skirt! It exposes a pair of shapely legs that the delectable Agent Scully normally keeps hidden underneath those black suits. No wonder Mulder's got a stiffy, the dude's only human. How he can work day in and day out beside that heavenly vision and not make a move on her is beyond me. It's pretty freaking obvious they have the hots for each other, but they're too professional to ever act on it. I mean, how long has it been? Six years? Going on seven? If they were gonna do it, they would've done it by now, right? "Would someone like to explain what you're doing?" she says, smacking Langly on the arm with her racket. He winces like a girl and rubs the spot. Wuss. "Ask Frohike," he squeals, pointing at me. What a little traitor. "Frohike?" she asks, folding her arms and glaring down at me. Shit. Is that her interrogation face? I melt underneath that icy blue stare. I'm weak when it comes to Agent Scully. I can deny her nothing. "All right," I say, stalling for time so I can think of how I can explain it without sounding like an ass. This was my idea after all. A cool breeze kicks the pleats of her skirt up and she quickly holds it down. Damn it. "But we were only concerned for your safety." "By interrupting our tennis game?" Mulder interjects. He's all hot and flustered about something. He bounces a tennis ball hard against the pavement like he's releasing some sort of tension. "Don't get your jock strap in an uproar," I say, wanting him to calm down. Jeez. He sure takes his sports seriously. I ignore him and focus back on Agent Scully. But she seems pretty pissed off as well. Her cheeks are almost as red as her hair and she's now throwing daggers at us with her eyes. "But we...intercepted an e-mail this week and thought you might be walking into a trap." "E-mail?" Agent Scully asks, as a look of fury settles on her face. "You read our *private* e-mail?" Oh shit. That was the wrong thing to say. Luckily, she ain't concealing anything under that outfit and she can't shoot me. "We were running Y2K tests," Byers says innocently, standing up as well. He reaches down and helps Langly on his feet, since he's still nursing his arm. "I know the government *says* everything is Y2K compliant, but we wanted to make sure come January 1st that you both are covered." I think they are buying his excuse. Of course, they always believe Byers. Must be the suit. They exchange looks with each other for a minute, communicating telepathically or something. Her expression relaxes a bit and so does his. "I know we should have told you," I say, acting all humble. "But this is a very exclusive club and we didn't find either one of you on the membership roster. We figured you..." "What's this *we* crap?" Langly says, shaking his head back and forth. "You were the one who insisted it was some kind of underworld trap." "I didn't have to twist your arm to come here," I snap, smacking his arm again in the same spot. "You couldn't wait to wire the changing room!" "All right, all right!" says Mulder, holding up his hands. "I know you share one brain between the three of you and this was a group effort. Can you all just go now so we can finish our game?" "You--uh--haven't started playing, Agent Mulder," Byers pointed out politely. He looked over at me with a suspiciously. "I mean, Agent Scully just got here..." "Assuming you are referring to tennis," I add, just to see his reaction. Mulder taps his foot nervously against the concrete. If I didn't know better, I swear something *is* going on. Maybe they are in the middle of a sting or an undercover job instead. Gotta be something really good to get Mulder off the couch on a Sunday during the ALCS games. After all, the Yankees *are* in the running for the World Series. "Sure. Fine. Whatever. Tennis," Mulder mutters, rolling his eyes. He points to the parking lot off to the side with the racket. "Don't you boys have a newsletter to get out?" He sure seems anxious for us to leave. Byers, Langly and I migrate together to provide a united front. It flusters him all the more. He glances back at Agent Scully, who seems very concerned about her hemline. She keeps trying to pull it down farther over her thighs. She demurely walks over to Mulder and stands behind him as they face us. It's like "High Noon" out on the tennis courts. The two of them against the three of us. We're not leaving and neither are they. Scully folds her arms again. Mulder puts his hands on his hips. Waiting. We didn't have anything else planned for tonight except this stake out. Actually, we'd been looking forward to it all week. Yeah, we need to get a life. Finally, Byers breaks the silence. "I used to be quite good at tennis in high school," he says. "I wouldn't mind playing a game right now." "Neither would I," says Langly. He reaches into his pocket and digs out a rubber band. He proceeds to pull his stringy hair back in a ponytail. "I flunked all my P.E. classes except this one. I got a D+ in tennis." "You guys want to play doubles?" Agent Scully asks, raising her eyebrow higher than what should be humanly possible. "Now?" "Sure," Byers answers, walking around to the clubhouse. He returns seconds later with two more tennis rackets. One he throws at Langly. "You did say you came here to play tennis, right?" Oh, my curiosity is piqued now. Mulder is practically spewing smoking out of his ears. Agent Scully looks positively ravishing as a slight flush spreads over her face. Hee-hee-hee. Let the games begin. ************** I am appalled at the apparel Langly chose to wear to this club. I'm surprised we got as far as we did past the gates with him wearing cut-offs, one of his two Ramones T-shirts and high tops. Converse high tops, that is. As if he is some remnant of a different era. Frohike is not much better. No one wears a fuzzy vest to play tennis. Andre Agassi has never even gone that far. Now, Agents Mulder and Scully are dressed appropriately in tennis whites, as am I. Although, In my opinion, Agent Scully tugs at her skirt just a little too much even though I'm sure she even has the proper attire on underneath. Agent Scully is always dressed impeccably. And I would love to get my hands on one of Mulder's Armani suits. He owes me since that escapade in the hospital . . . "Hey, dork! Are you playing or not?" Langly shouts as he volleys a tennis ball at my head, shaking me out of my fashion revelry. I look across the court to find Agent Mulder watching me closely as he spins his tennis racket impatiently. He is sweating profusely even though we have only played for half an hour. Something is definitely up with those two. And Agent Scully is glaring angrily at Frohike every chance she gets. She usually avoids all eye contact with him. "Come on guys, the place closes soon and Scully and I wanted to get in a little practice by ourselves yet tonight," Mulder says and Agent Scully nearly chokes on something. "It's your serve, Byers," Frohike calls from the side where he is playing line judge. I pull a brand new ball out of my pocket and wait for everybody to get ready. Agent Scully once again tugs down her skirt and moves to the back court. She hasn't returned too many serves, instead relying on Agent Mulder to do all the work. "Did I tell you I was on the state championship team my sophomore year?" I ask as I bounce the ball. "YES!" shout four voices at once. "Shut up and serve," Frohike adds from the sideline. I slam the ball impressively toward Agent Mulder and he returns it will equal fury, as if he has some kind of score to settle with us. He and I hit the ball back and forth between us until finally I hit one that Mulder says was over the line. "Was not!" Langly calls, standing up for me for a change. "Frohike?" I ask, hoping he caught it. "It was out," Frohike says. "Are you blind!" Langly shouts as he charges him. "Not any more blind than you are, you hippie," Frohike shouts back and the two of them begin to argue loudly. Instead of focusing on them, I look across the net and catch Agents Mulder and Scully talking to each other. Something is different about them. The way he leans into her is not any different than before. He has never been big on personal space. But now she is leaning back into him. Her arms are no longer held across her chest like she used to do. And was that a smile? They smiled at each other . . . And she looks at him like Suzanne once looked at me. Oh goodness! What did we walk into? Not an underworld sting operation or some black ops meeting. No, we walked into the middle of a date between Agent Mulder and Agent Scully. What did we really interrupt . . . "Ouch!" I shout, grabbing my knee and falling to the ground. That shuts Frohike and Langly up immediately. "What's the matter?" Agent Scully asks, making her way quickly around the net. I'm going to have to be good to get this past a doctor. "I injured my knee playing lacrosse in college. Oh, I think I just tore it up again," I say, wincing in artificial pain. "You were just standing there. Wait? You never said anything about lacrosse before. What a dweeb . . ." Langly says, wrinkling his nose at me. "Are you okay? Do you need for us to take you to the hospital?" Agent Scully asks. Agent Mulder is now the one almost choking. "No . . . you two finish your . . . um . . . game. Frohike and Langly can get me home," I say, doing my best fake injured knee impression as I stand up. "I really hate that we have to end this game early, guys, but Byers really doesn't look good," Mulder says, almost unable to contain his joy at our departure. "Byers, you are such a freak. I can't believe this," Langly says, as he helps support me on one side. I put an arm around his shoulders and another around Frohike's. I turn to look at Mulder and Agent Scully. They both look delighted at the sight of us leaving. "Sad to see you have to go so early," Mulder says again through the fence as we begin our way down the sidewalk. Oh, I'm sure you are, Mulder. Truly heartbroken over it. ************ I join Mulder on the fence as I watch them go, with Byers hobbling between Frohike and Langly. The sun has gone down now and it's dark and a little chilly. "Thought they'd never leave," Mulder mutters. "Good thing Byers has a trick knee." "He's faking it," I say, clutching the fence as they disappear into the parking lot. Byers wasn't injured at all. When he thinks we are out of range, he begins to put even pressure on his leg. "Can you believe those jokers?" Mulder says, turning around and leaning with his back on the fence. A cool breeze ruffles his hair. "They had the entire clubhouse wired for sound." "Good thing I was wearing this thong," I answer, tugging my skirt down again. "Or else I might not have felt that mic so sharply." "I don't know how you managed to play a set of tennis and keep your ass covered," Mulder teases, reaching for me. We both drop our rackets in favor of holding each other. "Frohike was really watching you from the sidelines." "I didn't want to give that pervert any ideas," I say, wrapping my arms around his neck. He smells like sweat now from our work out. That uniquely masculine and sexual scent that is unmistakably Mulder. "You were giving me ideas," he says, letting his hands slide down my hips to the back of my thighs until they are underneath my skirt. He cups my buttocks and presses into my flesh. "You know, Frohike wasn't the only one watching your backside." I swallow hard, still trying to catch my breath from running around the damn court. I look deep into his hazel eyes, which are starting to smoulder with desire again. I bite my lip as I deliberate whether or not we can salvage this lesson. Mulder's eyes dart back to the clubhouse and he raises his eyebrows invitingly. "What time is it?" I ask, wondering how much time the Gunmen really wasted. Ed said we could only have the clubhouse until 7:00 pm. The country club closes down early on Sundays. "Nearly six-thirty," Mulder replies, twisting his wrist around me so he could see his watch. "Is there something the matter?" "No," I say, slipping out of his arms. I begin to walk backwards towards the clubhouse. "It's just Ed said they close in a half-hour." "When do I get to meet this mysterious Ed?" Mulder asks, following me. He quickens his pace and I quicken mine. "Soon," I tease, trying to run backwards now. Our tennis lesson has turned into a game of tag. "Are you jealous of Ed?" "Should I be?" he counters, grabbing my arms and pulling me into the clubhouse. "He seems to know an awful lot about sports." "He's--experienced," I reply, as Mulder's mouth covers mine in a quick, but lustful kiss. By now the changing room is freezing and my skin is covered in goosebumps. My nipples harden as well and press through the thin fabric of my shirt. Mulder notices immediately and proceeds to run his thumb over one appreciatively. My body begins to tremble with anticipation again. The only sound is that of our shallow breathing. Mulder looks down at me and I look up at him. Each waiting for the other's approval. Despite the rude intrusion of the Gunmen, I still want him. Our lips come together again and we kiss with renewed fervor. I can feel the heat rising off his body, more intense that before. There is a sense of urgency and need to our coupling. As if we don't do this right now, we may never get the chance again. Yet, something isn't quite right. Mulder fingers my skirt, unzipping it between kisses. We try to get back into the tempo we established earlier. I reach for his cock, finding it hardening once again beneath his shorts. This time, Mulder is the one who sits on the towel shelf. Within seconds, I am in his lap, reminiscent of the swing lesson. My naked buttocks slide on his thighs as I adjust myself to find a more comfortable position. His hands travel to my thong again, carefully stroking me. There is no jolt of electricity, but it still feels like heaven. I let out a long, pleasurable sigh as Mulder continues to stimulate me. My body is so willing to surrender over to him, it responses automatically to his touch. But my mind cannot relax. I secretly wonder if the Gunmen are still listening. Or if the groundskeeper will show up with a damn mag light and kick us out. This would have been the perfect place to. . . "Scully?" Mulder asks, breaking off our kiss. "Is something the matter?" ************* Damn them. Damn the three of them to hell. I hope some 'mandroid' comes and carries them off to a secret military base in Nevada and performs an anal probe on each one of them with something large. "I'm sorry," Scully says for the third time. She has nothing to be sorry about. I want this to be perfect for her. Now she is uncomfortable and I don't want it to be like that. She is worried that they are still listening. Or that someone will come and tell us it is time to go. In ten minutes, this place closes. And although I'm sure that I can get my end of it done in under ten minutes, I would like for the whole experience to last longer. "Scully, you don't have to keep saying that. I've waited this long for you. I can wait a little longer," I say, pulling her to me and kissing her on the forehead. She snuggles against my chest and my senses go into overdrive as I try absorb every essence that is Scully. "We should get going, Mulder. They close in a few minutes," Scully says, but she doesn't make a move to go. "You know, we could continue this somewhere else . . . a place where the boys can't get in and disturb us," I say, as we both continue to hold on to each other. "Where would that be? I don't think there is a place that's safe from them. Now I'm pretty sure they have our apartments bugged, too," she says with a resigned sigh. I breathe in deeply, enjoying the fact that even though we were out there running around, she still smells so fresh and clean. "I was talking about a basement office in the Hoover building. They aren't allowed in there," I say and I feel her body rock with gentle laughter. "Mulder, are you crazy? How would that work? Are we going to do it on your desk?" she asks, leaning back and looking at me with her beautiful eyes. "You don't know how many times that thought has crossed my mind," I whisper to her, leaning down and kissing her on the cheek. "All these years, I was always partial to the the thought of us doing it up against the file cabinets," she whispers back, causing me to stop in mid kiss. "You're kidding, right?" I ask. Even though I know her so much better now, I still find it hard to believe she had such thoughts all this time. Outside the small window, I see the court lights dim as they prepare to close the place down. Our time is running out. "What do you say, Scully? We can try for both the desk and the file cabinets. Come on," I say, kicking into gear my best whimpering and pleading voice. She moans soft and low, as she entertains the thought. But then she backs away and out of my arms. I knew she wouldn't go for it. "Mulder, it is getting late and we have an early morning meeting with Skinner tomorrow. He really wanted us to look into it tonight already," she says as she tugs down her skirt one last time and tucks in her shirt. Damn missing and presumed dead African college professors. If he wasn't possibly already dead, I'd wish on him what I'm wishing on the boys. "But we would already be at the office . . ." I try one last time. "Mulder, maybe you will finally make it past third base next weekend . . ." she says, her eyes dancing with delight. I sometimes am sure she enjoys dragging this out. I grab her, pulling her close and kissing her for what will probably be the last time until next weekend. "Home run, Scully. Expect nothing short of a 'knock it out of the park and round all the bases' home run," I whisper to her. "It's about time," she whispers back. ******* The End Next time...the final Lesson!!! Critique the Class! We love to hear from our students. E-mail MoJo at MoJoBer@aol.com or Jori at damienma@bellsouth.net