Date sent:        Thu, 6 Nov 1997 13:05:00 -0500 (EST)
From:             AGillian21@aol.com
Subject:          The Over-Head Lamp (1/1)

Title: The Over-Head Lamp
Author: Noelle Lundgren
Rating: PG
Classification: S
Keywords: Scully/other
Spoilers: Nope, I keep mine in the fridge.
Summary: The damn thing will give you away every time!

Disclaimer: Not mine, I know, Mr. Carter. Keep 'em. I think they like 
you better anyway.

Note: Here's one for Zoe and Sara...for various reasons. :-)

"The Over-Head Lamp"
(formerly known as "Screwing Like Bunnies")
by Noelle Lundgren

Mulder lay on his back on the hard motel-room bed. He wasn't really 
tired, but there wasn't anything else to do. The room had no radio, no 
TV, no anything. There wasn't even a window to look out of. The 
whole place smelled of greasy cooking and roach spray. 

Mulder moaned and pulled a pillow over his head. He still had reports 
that he should be typing up, but he'd realized that there was no way he 
was going to be able to concentrate. 

He was thinking about Scully.

This had probably been their least exciting case ever, he'd decided. 
Normally, an un-exciting case wouldn't have bothered him so much. 
Any other time, he might have even been grateful, as it would be a 
break for him. One could only spend so much time running around 
after little men with big eyes, after all. Under any other 
circumstances, a slow case wouldn't have left him so pissed off.

By the time they were finished with the investigation, Scully had 
apparently decided that there was not enough excitement in the case 
for her. Nothing was ever enough for her. She always wanted more. 
Wanted to run more tests, wanted more proof, wanted more time 
to...whatever.

He removed the pillow from his face. It wasn't helping any. He 
looked back up at the ceiling. The lamp fixture jerked and wobbled 
like a marionette, and dust from the pale blue paint on the ceiling, 
mixed with a similar dust from the plaster rained down from overhead. 
There was the painful creaking of old floorboards. The ceiling--or 
what would be the floor, were a person upstairs--seemed ready to 
collapse at any moment. 

Most of the words that blended with the creaking of floor and 
bedsprings were unidentifiable, as the owners were smothered with 
pillows, blankets...and each other. But Mulder wasn't really all that 
interested in hearing the words themselves. It was enough to listen to 
the two voices--one male, one female--cheering each other on, calling 
out to the other to be careful, go slower, go faster, harder, and deeper.

The instantly-identified commotion that could not be mistaken for 
anything else was not an unfamiliar sound to Mulder. Wonderful, he 
thought. I have two people screwing like bunnies in the room above 
me.

Normally, even that wouldn't have bothered him so much, except that 
this time he knew both of the participants. One of them was his 
partner, Dana Scully. The other was the local detective who had 
helped them on the case. He was tall, muscular, and dark-haired, with 
twinkling eyes, and a killer-smile. His name was Matthew Wilde.

Yeah, a little *too* "wild", Mulder thought.

The sounds of feet moving across the floor and then of splashing and 
giggling told him that the party-of-two had taken their little wrestling 
match to the shower. It soon returned to the bed, though, after a series 
of playful-sounding smacks.

Every now and then the voices became a little louder, and soon, 
Mulder wouldn't have been able to hear them any clearer if he'd been 
wearing earphones. Frustrated, he rolled off the bed, and quickly 
changed into a T-shirt, sweat pants, and his running shoes. He would 
just go for a jog. 

His hand was on the doorknob, ready to escape to somewhere where 
he didn't have to listen to his partner and some guy who was probably 
ten years younger than she was roll around in bed, when he heard 
something...interesting.

"Mmm...aah...yes!...Oh, Mulder--"

The sound of the bedsprings stopped.

"What did you just say?"

"Mmm?"

"Dana, you just said 'Mulder'."

"No...I didn't..."

"Yes, you did. I very clearly heard you say 'Mulder'."

"No, Matt, I said 'harder'..."

"Whatever, Dana."

Long pause.

"Where the fuck are you going?"

No answer.

"Matt?"

No answer.

"Hey, Matt!"

Sound of a door slamming.

Mulder raised an eyebrow, and opened the door to his room, stepping 
out into the cool air. He saw Matthew Wilde descending the stairs to 
the second level, zipping his pants and then pulling on the shirt as he 
went. He glared at Mulder when he saw him standing there.

Scully's motel room door opened once more, and this time she 
emerged. Scully moved as close to the edge of the balcony as she 
could. Her hair was wet and tangled, and she clutched a thin sheet 
around herself with one hand. "Matt....What the hell?"

The detective was backing up across the parking lot so he could get to 
his car and still be facing her. "Don't give me that bull shit, Dana!"

"Fuck you!"

"No, thanks." He got in his car, and backed up out of the parking lot.

Scully used her free hand to give him the finger. Then she glanced 
down to see Mulder looking right at her.

"What the hell are you staring at?" she snapped.

He shrugged.

She whirled around and re-entered her room, slamming the door 
behind her. Mulder just remained outside his room, enjoying the cool 
air, and laughing hysterically. He remained there, laughing, until a 
woman from the management came out to see what was wrong with 
him.

The End.

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Commets? Questions?
Just plain talk? 
All of it is welcome!
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