Love's Savage Sea Spray: An XFiles Pirate Saga, Episode One, Part One
By: THE X-CENTRIC WRITING COLLECTIVE: 
Char Chaffin (char@chaffin.com), 
Foxsong (foxsong@foxsongfiles.net) 
MaybeAmanda (maybe_a@rocketmail.com 

CATEGORY: MSR, Parody, Humor 
RATING: R, for adult themes, lusty scenes and some rough seafarin'
language

CLASSIFICATION: 
We gleefully parody the trashy romance-novel, "bodice-ripper" genre
by placing our favorite characters in one! (You can thank us later) 
ARCHIVE: Xemplary, Gossamer, and anywhere else is fine - just let us
know! 

SPOILERS: Nay! 

DISCLAIMER: 
Mulder, Scully, Skinner and the gang be not ours, Mateys... we only
beg for the right to turn their "lives" into one big "Bodice-Rippin"
Good Time!

AUTHORS' NOTES, ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: 
We had a blast writing this little ditty, and although it took quite
a while to finish, we sure laughed a lot. It was our intent to poke
some gentle fun, not only at our beloved X-Files menagerie, but also
at romance, angst, violence and basic debauchery. 

SUMMARY: The dashing Lt. Fox Mulder saves the Lady Dana Scully from
the lustful clutches of the pirate Captain Skinner, and other
assorted seafarin' meanies in this loving tribute to the "Romance
Novel..." 

EPISODE ONE, PART ONE

>>> Prologue

The hot, merciless sun beat down upon the dirt-covered street, the
very subtlest of sea breezes stirring the drooping palms lining the
avenue. It had not rained in days; everyone in Comity was irritable,
and tempers flared as the temperature rose as high as the sun
overhead. 

The auction was in full sway, buyers from all exotic ports standing
eagerly, counting again the money they'd brought: puffed-up, self-
important merchants, made rich upon the suffering of others; Lords
and other Gentry from as far away as the British Isles, and even from
the wilds of Scotland; more money than sense for many of their lot...
Sheiks from the Arabias, wealthy land barons from the Americas, and
the men of more meager means, no money to buy... just wanting to look
at the bounty of the wares to be sold -- 

Human wares. 

Behind a silken drape of golden cloth, rigged to serve as a
makeshift curtain, to protect the 'merchandise' from the relentless
gaze of the crowd, the women stood, almost fainting in the rays of
the killing sun. A burly male slave, hugely muscled from years of
physical labor, passed around a small cup of tepid, brackish water.
The women fought him, and each other, for one sip. All except for one
small woman, standing proud and straight against the outer curtained
wall, staring with disdain at the lot of them. 

She tossed her head, causing cascading curls of thick, deep auburn
to bounce around her lovely face, and tugged hard at the abbreviated
bodice of her harem outfit. A harem outfit -- God's Armpits! The
scurvy knaves who ran this hideous market of human flesh had torn her
demure ivory satin gown from her defiant body as soon as she'd been
dragged from the slaver ship, and replaced it with this, this ...
mockery of coverage! 

She looked down at the offending garment with a grimace of pure
disgust. Bright red, it was, clashing horribly with her hair; trimmed
in gold braiding with tassels and fringe and all manner of furbelows
hanging from every possible place, designed to shimmy and flutter
with each move she made. Low-cut, tightly molded to her generous
bosom, leaving from the edge of her ribcage to well below her little
navel bare. Pantaloons rode very low on her shapely hips and clung to
her tender backside. The legs of the harem pants were slashed on the
sides, from hip to ankle, showcasing her slender thighs and curving
calves, fastened around her dainty ankles with three rows of tiny
bells which tinkled with every step she took. Her feet were encased
in golden slippers made of satiny leather. A series of golden chains
strung with coins had been fastened around her tiny waist, and more
coins hung in cascades from her ears. They'd tried to veil her lower
face, and she'd bit the hand of one of them, actually drawing blood,
hissing at them all with virulence in her bright blue eyes. 

They'd laughed at her, called her a 'saucy wench' and vowed she'd
bring the highest coin of all. But they'd left her alone and kept
their hands well away from her sharp little teeth. 

Lady Dana Scully, well bred, London-educated, and meant for far
better fates than this, born to run the huge estate at QuantiCove,
her palatial home. Dressed in the rags of a harem girl! 
QuantiCove! How she missed it. Left to her by her father, Lord
William Scully, dead these past two years from a mysterious boating
accident. Her cherished home, now in the beefy hands of her brother,
William the Younger (or, as she preferred to call him, 'Wee Willy-
Poop') And here she was, trapped in a place from Hell, lured from her
home by her brother's honeyed promise of a set of fine horseflesh,
only to be waylaid by highwaymen, bound and gagged and tossed aboard
a slaver ship headed for the West Indies. And all because her
precious brother couldn't bear to see his sister become the lady of
the manor. 

A single glistening tear slid down her soft cheek; she dashed it
away with a trembling, angry hand. "I shall not cry," she vowed to
herself; "I shall not! I am a Scully; I stand tall amongst these
scalawags and dregs of society; I shall prevail; I shall escape! And
when I do," she vowed, ". . .when I do, I will return to Ireland and
take my home back from Willy-Poop!"

>>> 1

Lieutenant Fox Mulder was hot, dusty, and tired. 

He stood in the sun, outwardly calm and crisp-looking in his blue
waistcoat and white breeches, a snowy, intricately-tied cravat
framing his darkly handsome features, shiny black Hessian boots
emphasizing the muscled length of his fine legs. He slapped a pair of
white leather gloves against his hard thigh, eyes restlessly scanning
the crowd. 

His Captain was late. Again. Mulder supposed he'd been detained on
board the Piper Maru; that blasted ship was the only 'Lady' that
could keep the lusty Captain away from so many luscious women. Before
Mulder had gone ashore, however, his Captain had given him explicit
directions concerning the bidding, should he not be able to free
himself from duty in time for the auctions' start. He was to bring
back the most comely wench on the block, and the amount of coin was
not to be shrift when bidding for the gel. Mulder had duly promised
and had quietly urged his Captain to make haste with his tasks and
arrive for the beginning of bidding, and as usual, his Captain had
tarried on board. 

Mulder hated the auctions, hated the way the hapless slaves were
herded like cattle into the pens, hated the clanking of the chains
that bound their hands and feet. And yet, whenever the Piper Maru
docked in some port-of-call, he went into the towns, went to the
taverns and townhouses, asking whether there was to be an auction
here, whether he might see the - the merchandise? 

He would wander the marketplace, studying the wretches who were to
be sold. He saw young girls, not yet women, who would be called upon
too soon to perform womanly duties; he saw the aged and the crippled,
who would be sold to low places and 'used up' - their masters would
get their money's worth, with no thought of mercy. He saw mothers
whose babes would be torn from their bosoms in the morning, sold away
from the families they would never remember. 

The captives watched him pass by, sensing that he was looking for
something other than a mere servant. A few met his eyes and saw
compassion there, and mutely extended a fettered hand toward him,
beseeching him with their eyes to remember them when he saw them upon
the auction block. He dropped his gaze in shame and continued on,
searching, searching for -- but never finding -- the face he would
know, the voice he would recognize, even after all these years. It
had been twenty years and more since she'd been stolen from his side
and yet he wandered each market place, hoping against hope, that he'd
see that pair of hazel eyes so like his own... 

Mulder sighed in frustration and resigned himself to carrying out
the unpleasant task of selecting his Captain's next bed-wench. 
He turned and glanced at the auction platform, where a massive 
crowd of men had gathered. Mulder pushed his way to the front 
and center of the block, and secured a prime spot. 

Morris Fletcher stood in the middle of the auction block and
surveyed the eager crowd before him. There stood Lord Pith-Bowles,
newly docked from London, searching for a new skirt to warm his bed.
He was a disgusting individual with a taste for the whip and a mean
temper, but his coin was plentiful and Fletcher didn't much care how
a man treated his purchase, as long as the money changed hands.
Still, Fletcher could not help but feel a bit sorry for the chit who
would find herself pinned under Milord's bloated, fishbelly-pale
body. 

Fletcher glanced over the heads of the men closest to the block and
noticed Abul-Baroh-Fiell, the richest man in the Arabias, no doubt
hoping to find a virgin in this sea of human flesh; an innocent he
could add to his already-burgeoning harem. The chances of the dark-
skinned sheik finding a virgin in this Godforsaken place were just
about non-existent. Then again, one never knew. 

A movement to the right and center of the block caught the
auctioneer's eye, and Fletcher smiled dourly as he recognized the
handsome, somber man standing in the hot sun, seemingly unaffected by
its sweltering heat. Lieutenant Mulder, back again. At Skinner's
orders, he'd warrant. Skinner had already worn out that bed wench
he'd purchased in Pointe-Le-Fluke, no doubt. She'd not been much to
look at, at least in the face, but she'd had a curvy little body and
nice, large titties, and Skinner had out-bid Fletcher to get her, or,
more correctly, Skinner had his second-in-command Mulder outbid him.
Fletcher had been fairly good-natured about the loss, at the time.
Now, however, Fletcher was less than pleased to see the lieutenant in
the crowd, for that meant Skinner would have ordered him to bring
back the comeliest wench in the lot. And Morris Fletcher had already
decided to pluck that bird for himself. 

He was almost drooling at the thought of getting his hands on the
red-haired Irish beauty with the deep blue eyes. She was the most
beautiful female he'd seen on the block in a very long time and
Fletcher wanted her very badly. But she wasn't one of the women he'd
purchased from the slaver which had docked a day ago, and that meant
he'd have to take his chances with all the other buyers. Ah, but he
had been saving for a rainy day and had plenty of coin. The red Irish
would be his. 

Fox Mulder had been standing in one spot for what seemed like hours,
watching with solemn eyes as one woman after another was dragged up
the steps and onto the block, stripped of her clothing and paraded
back and forth in the hot sun while the men whooped and shouted and
gawked. The more serious buyers demanded to approach each hapless
girl and prod her most tender areas with their sweaty, seeking hands,
some prodding with sadistic glee, wanting to hear the anguished cries
which their cruel handling wrought. Each woman was haggled over until
someone was declared the victor, and bore his newest acquisition away
in chains. 

Mulder had always found this final display most disturbing, wishing
for the thousandth, nay, the millionth time that he could save these
poor women from their awful fate. Realistically, of course, he knew
it was just the way of the world, an accepted practice, and he was
just one man. Still, if only he could save just one of these lost
souls, could prevent just one woman from such a heinous fate, then
perhaps, just perhaps, it would somehow ease the pain of losing his
Samantha, just a little. 

But he had a job to do, albeit a distasteful one, and it was time to
set his mind to the task. He turned more fully toward the center of
the block, awaiting the next lurid display. And that's when he saw
her and fell -- instantly, irrevocably -- in love. 

She was small and delicate, pale of skin and sprinkled with a fairy-
dusting of freckles in the most enchanting places. Abundant masses of
auburn curls cascading all around her face caught the sun and blazed
a nimbus around her head as she was pulled across the block. Eyes of
deep blue flashed defiance and resentment at the crowd of howling,
drooling men. She was dressed in a red harem costume that left
little, if anything, to the imagination; as she moved, tiny tinkling
bells shimmered at her ankles while golden coins clinked softly
around her small waist. She was forcibly dragged to front and center,
directly in front of Mulder, and she stood tall and proud, feet
slightly apart, and blue fire shone in her defiant eyes. 

Mulder found himself slowly moving toward the stairs, not really
hearing the hawking of the auctioneer as he extolled all the virtues
of the red-haired Irish. He moved toward her as if in a dream, never
breaking eye contact with her, even though she fought against his
intense gaze. At last he stood directly in front of her, somehow
found his voice and ordered the auctioneer to allow him access to her
so that he might assess her attributes for himself. She spit and
cursed at him, curls bouncing on her pretty shoulders, jerking
ineffectually at the chains which held her in place. Mulder tried to
convey to her with his eyes that he meant her no harm, that by
requesting access to her he was successfully preventing any other
buyer from touching her. He hoped she could see that through this he
might somehow arrange a private purchase with the greedy auctioneer
and block her from being tortured any further. 

She was a lady; of that Mulder was certain. And so, he approached
the red-haired lovely, and held her stubborn jaw taut while her
inspected her even, white teeth, and ran hands through her hair to
check for lice and ticks, and felt with his gentle, warm hands along
her sides and down her legs, checking her bones for solidity and
strength. She shuddered within his grasp, and her cheeks burned
hotly, but she made not a sound. 

Finally, Mulder decided he'd made enough of a show of it to hold
suspicions at bay, and he stepped back from the girl, looking deeply
into her eyes, asking forgiveness with the eloquence of his hazel
gaze. And, somehow she understood what he had done for her, for she
nodded, just the tiniest bit. 

Mulder turned to the auctioneer and spoke one soft sentence to him,
produced a black leather pouch from under his waistcoat and dropped
it into the man's eager hand. The auctioneer hefted the bag in one
beefy hand, weighing it with the ease of practice, then grinned and
nodded, handing the chained girl over to Mulder and pushing a folded
up piece of parchment into his hand as well - her statement of
indenture. Mulder turned and pulled the resisting woman off the
block, ignoring the bellows of rage from the thwarted mob of men. He
led her away from that place of human degradation, right up the
gangplank of yet another prison. 
 
>>> 2 

Dana paced the confines of her little cabin, back and forth, over
and over. Oh, the bad luck! To beset upon by highwaymen, to be
abducted by those dreadful slave traders, to be shipped to the West
Indies like so much chattel, to be put upon the auction block and
sold to the highest bidder! The ignominy, the indignity of it! Her
snowy bosom, lovingly framed by the plunging neckline of the
impractical but exquisite forest-green velvet gown (a vast
improvement over the last "costume" which had been forced on her
body, she grudgingly conceded), rose and fell quickly with her
excited breath. She wrung her delicate hands together, and -- 

But wait! What was that sound outside the door? 

She heard the heavy bar being drawn back, and then watched as the
knob slowly turned. The door opened to admit a tall man, carrying a
tray with a covered dish. Dana looked at him carefully, recognizing
the same man who'd purchased her on that horrid auction block, just a
day ago. She'd been too angry at the time, too humiliated by the
experience of being exposed for the world to see, to notice how very
handsome this man was. He looked mournfully at her with his soulful
hazel eyes, and she decided then and there that she should really
forgive him for what, she knew, had only been a carrying out of
orders from his odious Captain. In fact, she decided she rather liked
this quiet, sad-eyed man, even though he was looking her
appreciatively up and down, and looking a little overmuch at that
plunging neckline. Impatiently, she waited for him to speak, wanting
suddenly to hear that deep rough-velvety voice of his again. 

"So, Miss -- what is your name? I can't very well continue to just
call you 'the captain's new bed-wench', now can I?" he said, and he
set the tray down on the little table. His words infuriated Dana
anew, and she let fly with her fiery temper. 

"You cannot!" she cried, stamping one small foot and placing her
fists on her shapely hips. She tossed her mane of glossy auburn hair
defiantly. "You cannot, for I am not, and I shall not be. I've never
yet known any man, and your captain will not be the first!" 

The handsome man regarded her steadily. "We'll see, Miss. Captain
Skinner is a hard man, and he drives a hard bargain." 

"I don't care!" cried Dana, her blue eyes flashing. "I defied my own
father when he wanted me to marry that boring Mr. Pendrell, and I
shall defy your captain as well. You'll see, Mr. -- Mr. -- " 

"Mulder," said the handsome man, "Lieutenant Fox Mulder. I regret we
were not properly introduced yesterday, when I - " she interrupted
him, angrily. 

"When you strode up on that awful auction platform, and poked and
prodded at me, even looking in my mouth as if to purchase a.. a...
horse! Daring to put your hands on my person, to touch me in my most
private places!" She couldn't go on, remembering how utterly shamed
she'd been by what he had done to her. She hid her face, not wanting
him to see her tears. 

But he had heard a tiny sniffle, and so he approached her, and
reached out one strong, warm hand to brush at the crystalline drops
sliding down her flushed cheeks and murmured to her softly, "Miss,
please believe me... I meant no true disrespect! But I had to examine
you, as protocol at these functions warrant; otherwise the auctioneer
himself would have done so. Can you honestly tell me you would have
preferred his ham-like hands upon you, instead of mine?" He held up
one slender but strong hand in front of her face. She gazed upon it
with sudden fascination, noting the long fingers and clean, evenly
trimmed nails, the soft hair atop the knuckles. A warm and caring
hand, she decided. 

She gave a tiny shake of her head, and made an effort to bring her
emotions under control. She moved away from him, just enough to break
contact. Her gaze raised to his hazel orbs, she regarded him
thoughtfully. "What is your position, here on this ship, Lt. Mulder,
if I might be so bold to inquire?" 

"I'm the second-in-command on this ship, Miss. And I'm to see to
your needs until Captain Skinner calls for you." He lifted the cover
from the dish, and at the spicy aroma of the food Dana remembered how
long it had been since she'd eaten. Lieutenant Mulder smiled a
little. "For what it's worth," he said, drawing the wooden chair out
for her in a gentlemanly fashion, "Captain Skinner said to have only
the best food sent to you. So, though it's not fancy, you know it's
the best we have." 

Dana sat down and began to eat the stew. It was salty and the little
bits of meat were tough and stringy, but she was very hungry, and she
was glad to have it. The handsome lieutenant stood and watched her
eat. 

"So tell me," he asked, "how is it that a woman like you should have
come to the auction block? I can tell by your speech that you've had
schooling; you're no common slattern." 

Dana blushed, her pretty cheeks flushing scarlet. "I was on the road
from Leicester to London, and we were set upon by bandits -
despicable men! - who abducted us and took us to the West Indies,
where we were to be sold and. . . you, I am sure, can fill in the
rest." She closed her lovely eyes and shuddered just thinking of it. 

"Ah," Mulder said. "I'm familiar with abductions." 

Dana glared up at him, her eyes sparkling with sudden anger. "How
dare you! I'm sure you've conducted a great many of them yourself!" 

"No, no," he answered, shaking his head. "It happened to someone in
my own family, when I was just a boy. I grew up in Cornwall, by the
sea; my father was a seafaring man. When I was twelve years old, my
sister and I went down to the shore one evening to check our nets,
and a great monster rose up from the sea and took her away from me."
He looked down at the floor. "She was only eight years old." 

"Oh!" Dana exclaimed, feeling, against her better judgement, very
sorry for him. "Was she -- was she killed instantly?" 

"No! She was not, " he answered, and he looked at her, his hazel
eyes holding her gaze. "It picked her up in its mouth as a cat does
her kittens -- unharmed, despite its sharp teeth. And as it bore her
away, it kept its dreadful head above the water, and I could still
hear her screaming until I watched the awful beast vanish beyond the
horizon. I believe it meant her for a far worse fate than death." 

"Oh!" Dana cried again. She covered her perfect mouth with one
delicate hand. "Whatever did you do?" 

"She was ne'er seen again," Mulder intoned. "When I was sixteen I
ran away from home and joined the Navy, hoping to sail the seven seas
until I find Samantha. I feel sure that she is still alive today." He
walked over to the tiny porthole and stared out at the ocean. "The
truth is out there, Miss," he said solemnly. Turning suddenly from
the porthole, as if he couldn't bear to gaze upon the sea any longer,
he moved to the door and opened it. But before he walked through, he
looked upon her once again, with his large and beautifully-expressive
eyes, and spoke soft and low. 

"Enjoy your stew, Miss... and rest, if you can. The Captain will
want to see you very soon, I warrant..." 

As he turned away, she called him. "Lieutenant Mulder." 

He stopped, and stepped back; he met her proud, steady gaze. 

"My name," she said, "is Scully... Dana Scully." 
 
>>> 3 

Captain Skinner had been a pirate since before he'd ever scraped the
peach fuzz from his cheeks with his father's razor. A large, brawny,
lusty man, he'd never had much in the way of schooling -- preferring
to learn the ways of life from its experiences, rather than burying
his nose in a book such as his milquetoast brothers had done. 

Bah! Skinner spat on the floor in disgust. His brothers; five of
them, all weak and lily-livered, pale bony wrists protruding from
their somber dark pinneys; lank hair and limp man-roots, every man
jack o' them. He'd been disgusted to have had to call them his kin.

He'd gone the way of the sea at barely thirteen, lying about his age
to hop a spot on the Exeter, the sweetest frigate he'd ever seen. The
captain had looked him over with a gimlet eye, noting the rosy, downy
cheeks and eager eyes, noting also the breadth of shoulder and length
of leg on such a young squid. He'd figured the lad would fill out
right well with a lot of hard labor and a nightly dose of grog. And
God's Breath, if the lad didn't prove him right! 

The boy Skinner had grown, brawling his way to lead mate in just a
few short years. He had taken to pirating as a babe to his mam's
titty. And when the old captain died (of a dose of Whore's Sores, it
was rumored), well then, Skinner took over the ship, and a veritable
pirate legend was born. 

And that very legend now stood in front of a large silvered mirror
in his cabin. Preening. Admiring the tight fit of the velvet
waistcoat and the snug fit of his buff breeches, which showed the
contours of his hard, muscled thighs and drew the eye to the massive
bulge of his own man-root. He slapped his thigh in glee, regarding
himself with much admiration. He had quite a surprise in store for
his newest acquisition. 

Just thinking about the saucy red-haired wench in the below-quarters
set his blood fair to boiling. He'd been at sea, a-pirating for nigh
eight months, the longest he'd gone without a woman since the age of
thirteen. His body clamored for hers. He'd caught a glimpse of her as
his Lieutenant had dragged her aboard. A collective growl of lust had
burst from each crewman's throat as she'd been pulled up the plank,
defiant and gloriously lovely in her bright red harem garb. He'd
almost had to whip the men to keep them from grabbing at her,
standing there so proud and fierce on the deck of his ship. Only his
second-in-command, Mulder, his handsome face carefully blank and his
hazel eyes hooded, had not gawked at the beauty displayed so
temptingly on the wooden deck, and Mulder was the only one of his
crew that Skinner trusted to handle the gel and not touch her in an
inappropriate manner. 

Skinner had ordered his Lieutenant to pick the wench off the deck
and take her down to the more private quarters and had chosen the
prettiest gown he could find from one of the many trunks his pirating
had acquired. He'd had his trusted man strip the clothes from her
body and dress her in the stolen finery. He'd waited for word that
she'd calmed, then had sent Mulder down with a tray of stew. She'd be
dressed in his chosen gown by now, Skinner thought, heat awakening
his lusty loins at the image of the gel, there on that red-silk
covered feather bed in his lower quarters. Soon, very soon, he would
go to her, pluck her virginity with hard, callused fingers; plant his
root deep inside her tight womanly core and ride her until he emptied
his pent-up juices deep within her. 

Skinner stroked himself through the tight confines of his breeches,
grinning with bestial eagerness at the thought of what awaited him
just one level down. A ray of watery sun gleaming through a porthole
struck him as he grinned, flashing off his gold tooth. He adjusted
the black eye patch at a more rakish angle, admiring himself anew,
still stroking his man-root. 

- - - - - - - - 

Lieutenant Mulder came above-decks and walked slowly back toward the
stern of the Piper Maru, brooding. He leaned against the ship's rail
and watched her foamy wake glitter in the red-gold light of the
setting sun, red-gold, like her hair... 

He shook his head. This could not be allowed to happen, not this
time -- not to her. There must be a way to keep this woman from the
lusty embrace of the Captain. He rubbed his strong chin with one
elegant hand; his gray-green eyes narrowed. There were very few
things that would keep Captain Skinner from a woman's bed -- unless
he could find a ship to plunder or call down a towering storm from
the sky, he knew that the beautiful Scully would be forced to
surrender her maidenhood to Skinner that very night. And he groaned
aloud at the thought of hearing her screams echo across the ship, as
he had heard the other ones scream so many times before. 

"What's the matter, Mulder? Buck up. It can't be so bad." Mulder
looked over his shoulder to see the face of his friend Byers. 

Byers was among the lowest of the men on the Piper Maru; he and two
others -- Langly and Frohike by name -- swabbed the decks and emptied
the swill-pots, mopped up the refuse of the coarse men who crewed the
ship. But Mulder enjoyed the company of all three, and because he was
second only to Skinner, none dared question his choice of friends.

Most men dismissed them as buffoons, but Mulder knew that they had
traveled widely and they had brought back with them the lore and the
esoteric knowledge of many lands; they had given Mulder the means to
get the Piper Maru and her Captain out of a great many scrapes. 

Mulder was glad to see the three of them tonight. "I've just had to
buy the Captain a new bed-warmer today, and I'm sorry to have been
the one to have brought her so low. I wish there were a way I could
save her," he said in a low voice. "She's not like the other ones.
She's..." 

"The redhead?" Frohike broke in. "I saw her. She's tasty." 

"She's a lady," Mulder corrected him mildly, for he knew Frohike had
meant no harm. "If I could even buy her a little more time, maybe
something else would come up, and a way could be found for her to get
away..." 

"There are things you could use," Frohike said conspiratorially,
leaning closer to Mulder and dropping his voice, lest curious ears
should be nearby. "Things you could give the Captain that would
render him unable to... perform. There are herbs..." 

"Powders and drops..." Byers offered. 

"Lotions," Langly added, and they all turned to stare at him. "Well,
mayhap not - you probably wouldn't want to use the lotions." 

Mulder's hazel eyes glittered dangerously. He looked around and then
slowly nodded. "You can supply me with some of these?" he asked. "I
have to take the Captain his rum in half an hour, and soon thereafter
he'll want his new plaything." 

The three swabbies nodded in unison. "When you stop by the ship's
store to get the rum, be sure to see one of us," Byers said. "We'll
have what you need." And without another word they took up their mops
and pails and went back to their work. 

Mulder looked after their retreating forms, one short and pudgy, the
other two taller -- of much the same height, but different to look
upon as night and day. He shook his head in wonder, yet he found
himself curiously unsurprised at their knowledge of such matters. He
rubbed at his face wearily and made his way below deck. 
 
>>> 4 

Captain Skinner was pacing the floor of his lush quarters with
furiously impatient strides when the soft knock came. He bellowed,
"Enter, damn it!", flinging his muscular body into a leather
armchair, as Mulder silently entered the room, holding a large mug of
rum in his hands. He set the mug down on the small teak stand next to
the captain's armchair and as silently turned to leave; Skinner's
gravel drawl stopped him as his hand touched the door. 

"The Irish... is she... ready, Lt. Mulder... ready for me?"
Skinner's face was flushed, even before he'd taken a single gulp of
the warm rum, and a hungry buzzing deep in his belly owed naught to
the need for the alcohol. Mulder, his back to his captain, gripped
the doorknob so hard the uneven brass dug into his palm, but his
answering affirmation was calm and quiet. 

"Yes, Sir... the woman is dressed and has eaten. She sits and stares
out the porthole, melancholy to be sure, but her initial fire and
spark seem to have subdued a bit. If you've no further need of me,
then..." and he opened the door, cursing softly under his breath when
his captain's voice stopped him yet again. 

"Lt. Mulder...I, ah..." Skinner was hesitant; expressing gratitude
did not come easily to a man such as he, and his voice came out rough
and harsh as he finally growled, "I thank you... for your service to
me... and for your unswerving loyalty these past years. I will meet
with the Irish shortly; please assure we'll not be disturbed." With
that, he turned back to his mug and took another large gulp. 

Mulder's shoulders sagged, just a little; his murmured, "Aye, Sir",
was very softly spoken, almost to himself. He shut the door gently
behind him, then walked slowly down the narrow galley. Making his way
down one set of stairs, he paused at the door of the quarters of the
Lady Scully, and raised a hand to knock at the door, then halted the
same hand within a inch of making contact with the heavy bolted door. 
No, he decided, he'd not warn her, lest the plan fail - he'd stay
close, listening, ready to jump in when necessary... ready to save
her when the time warranted. Ready to save his Scully from the
clutches of a monster. A handsome monster, to be sure, but a monster
just the same. 

- - - - - - - 

Skinner strode down the below-quarters galley, eagerness in every
step which took him closer to the Irish's door. By Hade's nightgown,
he'd not felt this randy in ages. But then, he'd not had a woman so
delectably lovely as the fair wench his Lieutenant had bought for him
in ages, either. Damn, but Mulder had a good eye! 

Skinner recalled again the red harem dress, and the expanse of pale
creamy flesh revealed by its brevity of shimmering material; the
thick, satiny red hair and those huge, flashing blue eyes; the
defiance and the innate courage he'd sensed within her, as fiery as
her crimson locks. B'God, she'd make a tasty challenge for him. He
could feel it, could imagine all that fire and fury pressed under him
on the soft feather bed, could almost smell her musky wet warmth, for
by the time he'd finished preparing her body for his possession,
she'd be wet, and more than ready for his massive staff. She'd be
howling with it, before he was through with her. He'd never failed to
make his women howl. It was a source of great pride for him, to be so
powerfully-equipped as to cause the women he bedded to swoon and
scream with the force of his thunderous thrusts. The Irish would know
this power, oh, so very soon. 

He finally reached her door, and with impatient fingers threw the
bolt, flung the heavy door wide, and stepped in, his dark eyes
searching the room for her eagerly. He finally spotted her curled
into the fat pillows which sat propped against the carved headboard.
Eyes closed, lashes fanned on her pink-tinted cheeks, she appeared to
be asleep. 

Skinner tamped down his raging desire long enough to peruse her
shapely form. The gown fit her fair to perfectly, he noticed,
accentuating her sweetly abundant bosom and defining the tiny waist
and gently swelling hips. Her little feet were tucked underneath the
heavy green skirts, and her rounded, pale arms were folded modestly
under the ribcage, which rose and fell with each deep breath she
took. Skinner hung there, almost not daring to breathe, just drinking
her in, as fine and warm as the expensive rum which he'd consumed
earlier. His lust flared anew within him, deeper this time; he felt
his thick man-root jerk impatiently within the snug confines of his
form-fitting breeches. He needed her, now, needed to bury himself
within her tight, virginal passage. There was not a minute to waste. 

Still nestled within the cushioned veil of sleep, Dana could sense
someone over her, hovering nearby. She could smell the hot musk of
skin, could feel eyes staring at her, devouring her whole. Was she
dreaming? She must be, and what a lovely dream it was! The handsome
Lt. Mulder bent over her slumbering form, eyes hot with desire, hands
running their slender strength over her smooth shoulders and across
her heaving bosom, lips trailing fire against her temple, her cheek,
searching for her moist, quivering lips. She opened those lips on a
sigh, languidly raising a hand to touch his face, to run her fingers
through his tousled, thick hair, to slide her fingers over his
smooth, bald pate... 

His bald pate?!?!? 



to be continued!