Title: Tea
Author: eeyore.
E-mail: thudonkey@yahoo.com
Spoilers: nope
Rating: NC-17 (but entirely vanilla)
Keywords: Scully/other, slash
Summary: you may remember Dr. Hastings from 'Lunch'. If you don't, this story can stand alone.
Disclaimers: Chris Carter owns Scully, but she doesn't get out enough, so Dr. Hastings and I have borrowed her.
Feedback: would go wonderfully with my tea and scones.
Author's Note: Characters rendered in two dimensions cannot contract sexually transmitted diseases, thus safe sex is not necessary. We, on the other hand, need to practice safe sex during tea and at other times.

by eeyore.

Dr. Hastings' office, University
a Wednesday at 3:00 p.m. (some time after 'Lunch')

I've always been captivated by ice queens. You know the ones I mean: cool haughty stare, impeccable at her job, killer fashion sense, wit so sharp and dry that you have to admire it even as you bleed. Even as I recognize the place of too much make-up, short skirts and high heels in keeping women off-balance and objectified, I can't help but look at an ice queen and feel my jaw go slack.

When Dr. Scully walked back into my life at the end of my office hour, she again fit the physical description beautifully. Straight, shoulder-length hair in a gorgeous shade of red, only a touch of flawless make-up over perfect skin, what looked to be a silk t-shirt under a fantastic linen pantsuit, all topped off with a trench-coat I'd give up my car to look that good in.

As though the visual image and the shock of seeing her in my office weren't enough to stop me cold, as I looked up she shot her male companion a look that could freeze mercury and hissed at him. "Stop ogling the undergraduates, Mulder. It makes you look like the missing link."

As the man, who must have been Mulder, recovered his equilibrium, Scully knocked at my open door. She raised an eyebrow at me in recognition, but -- apparently to avoid explanations to her partner -- acted as if she didn't know me.

"Dr. Hastings?"

"Yes," I replied, trying my best to match her ice queen demeanor. The most important thing about ice queens in my estimation is never to let them see you drool. Besides, I was dressed for teaching today. I could be an icy too.

I almost unconsciously smoothed down my long plum colored wool skirt as I stood up to greet her. I intended to use my height advantage to counteract her coolness, and I hoped that my black heels and starched white blouse would work as well for her as hers had for me the last time. I still screamed 'dyke' with my steel-grey brush cut, but it was certainly 'professional dyke' this time around.

"My name is Special Agent Scully and this is Special Agent Mulder. The pair flashed FBI identification. *Oh my* was the closest I came to a coherent thought. *This just gets better and better. Wonder if I'll get to see the gun again?*

"Have a seat Agent Scully, Agent Mulder." I said -- hopefully calmly. "What can I do for you?"

Scully spoke again. It was all I could do not to fade into a fantasy of the last time I saw her. "You have a student named Irene Hunter in one of your classes. Correct?"

I nodded. Fortunately she was in my fourth year seminar class, so I recognized her name.

Scully continued: "Ms. Hunter is under FBI surveillance, and we would like your permission to sit in on her class with you as a part of that surveillance. We won't interfere, of course, but we need to get a sense of both her movements and her character."

Scully looked at me calmly with a delightful eyebrow slightly cocked. Clearly I was supposed to acquiesce to anything she suggested. Awfully tempting, but I had to go against all my instincts and say no to this goddess. Maybe she was just trying to cross my path again, but I couldn't take that chance.

"Why should I let you? I'd need to have a reason why you are investigating my student."

Mulder spoke for the first time. "Actually, Dr. Hastings, our interest in Ms. Hunter has nothing to do with her being your student. It's her eating habits we're concerned with."

Scully shot Mulder a look that was clearly supposed to shut him up. It didn't work.

"There has been a massive increase in rat corpses in this area recently, and they all appear to be missing their internal organs. Our investigation has led us toward several individuals, and Ms. Hunter is one of them."

Mulder looked completely blase about his statement. I watched Scully glare at him as I was deciding between revulsion and disbelief about his claim.

"You actually expect me to believe that you suspect my student of eating rodents? Even undergrads can afford Kraft Dinner. Besides, I would think you should be looking at biology or physiology students, not budding poets."

"Irene Hunter is a poet?" asked Scully.

I wondered whether I was giving something away when I nodded. "She took my freshman and junior writing classes, as well as the course she's in now. And before you ask, Agent Mulder, I don't recall any obvious mentions of rats in her work."

Scully smirked at that, and I mentally gave myself points for getting a reaction from her.

Mulder fielded my comment. "I do psychological profiling for the FBI, Dr. Hastings. Each context in which we can observe the individual adds further insight into her character."

"I take your point, Agent Mulder, but even if I allow this there's a problem with the class. All of the students are women, and given the course material the presence of a man in the class would seriously upset many of them."

Mulder nodded quite calmly, and I was relieved to observe that he wasn't going to cry 'sexism.' "Would you have the same problem with Agent Scully's attendance?"

"The students sometimes bring their partners or friends, so her presence wouldn't be such a big issue. I would accept her being there."

Scully raised that eyebrow at me again and asked, "what is the class?"

Trying my best not to smirk back at her, I said, "lesbian poetry." I cleverly refrained from any comment about either the effect that her presence in the class would have on me or my concern about teaching lesbian poetry in front of this woman that I had undressed and systematically made come with my tongue. Displaying my taste in women was rather unlikely to impress Dr. Scully's partner.

Scully and Mulder exchanged glances and then nods. Scully reached into her coat pocket for a small notebook and asked me where and when the class was.

"Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from 3:30-4:30 in Chester New Hall 204," I replied. "Are you planning to attend just today's class, or others?"

"I'm not certain yet," she said thoughtfully. "Would it be acceptable if I was there for a week or two?"

I nodded. "It's fine with me, but if you do that you should probably bring a text and a clipboard. Otherwise you'll look out of place." Of course, my suggestion had nothing at all to do with getting her to read some explicit lesbian love poetry for me. At the same time, I was thinking *two weeks of Dr. Scully in front of me three times a week. Oh, my fantasies. . .*

At her nod, I reached behind me for a copy of the text. "If you like, I can let you know what readings we'll be doing in each class."

Scully shook her head, but accepted the text. Clearly she intended it for camouflage and nothing else. She and Mulder gathered themselves to leave without any further discussion. As she walked away, however, Scully turned and with a little smile said "see you in class, Dr. Hastings."

Mulder seemed to find this an amusing thought, but kept walking.

I had one final question for Scully, though. "Before you leave, Agent Scully, how would you like me to refer to you in class. Would you prefer Ms. Scully, or your first name, or something else." I didn't mention that I knew she also used the title 'Dr.' , but Mulder drawled "I'd hold out for Dr. if I were you Scully."

I raised an eyebrow. "Dr. Scully?" Standing where Mulder couldn't see her face, she smirked at me.

She informed me that: "I'm a forensic pathologist. I'd prefer you not use it, though. I'd rather be mistaken for an undergraduate than a colleague. Either Dana or Scully is fine."

I liked that. Dana sounded nice and sweet, and just Scully without an honorific sounded somewhere between sexy and butch. I wish I had known it to growl at her the last time we'd met. "All right then, Dana. I'll see you in class." I watched them -- especially Scully --leave. My, I like women in trench-coats and heels. Just as she was passing out of my range of vision, Scully paused for a moment, looked in my direction, and flicked her tongue lightly against the center of her lower lip. Then she was gone.

Once I got over the exit scene, I realized that I only had about 15 minutes before the class, and I should figure out exactly what I was going to teach in front of the gorgeous redhead. A quick check of my course outline revealed my fate. I was about to have to teach the most erotic poem I'd ever read in front of someone whose naked body I could still picture perfectly every time I closed my eyes. This was going to be an adventure.


Bracing myself, I walked into the classroom. I immediately spotted Scully near the back of the room. She had shed her trench-coat, and her green suit looked terrific with her hair. As I walked by her, I turned my head slightly to smile at her. She returned the smile, and I nearly tripped over my tongue as I caught sight of a pair of glasses on her face. Why do I have to find eyeglasses such a turn-on?

I did my best to ignore Scully as I moved to the front of the class and got set up to teach. It was clear from the murmurs and glances from some of the class that others were speculating on her presence.

After listening to the chatter for a few moments, I was ready to get started. I opened my text to the appropriate page, propped it on the lectern, and made eye contact with enough students to gain a reasonable level of quiet. I couldn't catch Scully's eye even if I'd wanted to. She was concentrating on Irene Hunter. I started in on my lecture.

"Today we're going to begin our discussion of Adrienne Rich. Rich is an American lesbian feminist poet and theorist. Many of you will have read her 1977 essay 'Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence.' How many of you are familiar with it?"

When I looked around, most of the class had a hand up. Well, well, Dana Scully was one of them. . . with a smirk on her face. I'd just been caught underestimating her. I went back to my lecture, hoping that the blush I was feeling wouldn't show.

"Rich is the first of several poets whose explicitly erotic imagery we are going to discuss this week."

As I paused, I distinctly heard one of the class mutter "yesss. Score." I continued over the snickering that this brought about.

"I'm going to begin with a work from a group of twenty-one love poems. This is the only one unnumbered and titled. I know some of you have it in front of you, but turn over your books and just listen to the poem. Think about the language that Rich uses and what images it evokes."

As I began the poem, I looked around the room interested in seeing who was watching me, who looked bored, uncomfortable, avid. Scully's eyes were on me. I was sorely tempted to read the poem directly and unambiguously to her, but that would have violated any sense of decorum or professionalism that I still had. Instead, I made do with looking back in her direction every few lines.

(The Floating Poem, Unnumbered)

Whatever happens with us, your body
will haunt mine--tender, delicate
your lovemaking, like the half-curled frond
of the fiddlehead fern in forests
just washed by sun. Your traveled, generous thighs
between which my whole face has come and come--
the innocence and wisdom of the place my tongue has found there-
the live, insatiate dance of your nipples in my mouth--
your touch on me, firm, protective, searching
me out, your strong tongue and slender fingers
reaching where I had been waiting years for you
in my rose-wet cave--whatever happens, this is.

[The author and title are accurate stated here. The poem is collected in many places including Rich's anthology _Dreams of a Common Language_]

The class drew in a collective breath after I'd finished and many of them were blushing a little. I snuck one more look at my extra student, to discover that her glasses were in her hand with her tongue sliding past her lips to flick at the edge of the earpiece. O.K. That was it. I was now unmistakably wet. At least I had a strong suspicion that I'd just had the same effect on her.

It took absolutely all of my concentration to get a discussion of the text started among the students, and to step back and relax slightly. That woman's tongue should be illegal.

Lecturing is routine enough that I slipped into the material relatively easily, and I nearly forgot about the presence of the goddess in the room. At least, I forgot until her hand went up. I had asked "what issues or descriptive conventions do you see in Rich's work which might be problematic?"

I nodded in her direction. "Scully?" I asked in a voice that I hope she found sexy.

She nodded her thanks as she asked, "Dr. Hastings, isn't Rich's repeated use of nature images as intrinsically innocent, good, and erotic drawing the same link between women and nature that alienates us from the realms of civilization and rationality in a patriarchal context?" At the end of the question, she raised her eyebrow far enough that I knew she was aware of what she was doing to me.

*Oh, yes,* I couldn't stop myself from thinking. *Smart is sexy.* Her point tied nicely to one of the issues I intended to discuss that day, so I went off on that tangent. Unfortunately for them, some of my students were too busy checking Scully out again to make the transition with me.

After that discussion finished, there were only a few minutes left in class, and they went by quickly enough. As the students filed out, I watched Scully approach my lectern. When she arrived, she stepped up just a little too close to me and said, "Dr. Hastings."

Fighting the urge to kiss her, I said, "I see you had no trouble finding me."

She smiled slightly. "None at all. I knew where you worked by the end of the next day. When the SAC divided up the roster on this assignment, I checked to see if your class was on the list, and here I am."

"Here you are," I agreed, "and on duty."

"Oh, no," she replied. "I let Mulder know that I would be busy after the class. He'll have picked up Ms. Hunter and will trail her for a while." She gave me a look that couldn't be interpreted as anything but sexual. "Do you have time for tea?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," I agreed. "I have a teapot in my office, if you'd like."

"I'd like," she responded, and then gestured for me to lead her out of the room.


When I'd unlocked the office door, she preceded me into the room, and as soon as I cleared the door she shut it, pressing me up against it hard. Taking my books from me and dropping them on the floor, she reached her hands behind me and pulled me toward her. She angled me so that even with my skirt on she could rest one of my hips between her legs, and pushed herself against me. I smiled and thought *apparently I wasn't the only one who enjoyed that class.*

This time, she started by kissing me. She was every bit as delicious as she had been in that office, and I wanted her just as much. Apparently the feeling was mutual, because without even breaking the kiss, she started to unbutton my blouse. At least this time she chose to undress me without staining my shirt with lipstick.

Finally, as she was sliding the blouse off my shoulders, she broke the kiss. "Do you want me?" she asked.

"Very much," I replied. "It was all I could do not to announce it to my class just now."

She smiled. "You keep turning up in my thoughts," she said, surprising me with her honesty. This wasn't quite the same ice queen I had met a month ago. Perhaps it was my turn to have that role.

Then again, perhaps not. I answered her admission with one of my own. "I can't shut my eyes without picturing you, going over what I want to do to you."

"My thought exactly," she said, dropping my blouse to the ground and reaching for my bra. "I didn't expect to see one of these on you." Her raised eyebrow spoke of amusement.

I shrugged. "Surely you didn't want me to be one-dimensional."

She nodded agreement. "Speaking of dimensions, though," she said, taking off my bra as she spoke, "can we keep this separate from why I'm in your class? I can't afford to have my sex life brought into the office."

"As long as you keep bringing it into my office, I'm happy with whatever terms you want," I tried to say, but once her mouth touched my nipple I'm not sure whether I articulated the rest of the sentence completely.

Rather than trying to continue talking, I devoted my attention to ridding her of her suit jacket and then her pants. Scully broke away long enough to kick off her pumps and let her trousers sink to the floor before stepping out of them. When she came to lean back against me again, I helped her out of her t-shirt.

The pattern continued for a few more moments, until we both stood naked against my office door. Then Scully started to slide down my body until her face rested against my belly.

As I looked down at her, her head lowered and I felt her tongue slide out, reaching for me. Her hands pressed my legs apart far enough that she could reach my clit. Her tongue flicked it hard enough to make me jump, then slid back into her mouth.

I sagged against the door in reaction, and that gave her enough room to push against me and grab my clit between her teeth. The pressure was just hard enough to touch the border between pleasure and pain, and I moaned.

She continued to lick and suck at me as I struggled not to lose my balance against the door. Finally I gave up the struggle and slid down the door until I was sitting against it, knees spread.

"Perfect," she said, smiling up at me for a moment, then slid down against the carpet as she slid her tongue into me. I couldn't help it, I had to grab the back of her head to urge her against me further. She clearly understood my intention, sliding fingers into me, and circling my clit again with her tongue.

I closed my eyes, astonished at how vivid the sensations were. I'd imagined our first encounter so many times that the reality of her tongue and fingers were almost too much.

She continued to touch me perfectly until she felt my thighs start to tense around her, then she stopped. Completely. She lifted her face from me, and slid her hand down to rest against my thigh. She shifted position until she was sitting up against me, and leaned in to kiss me. The smell of myself on her was nearly too much that close to orgasm, and it gave our kiss a rougher edge.

It also made Scully growl, and I liked that a great deal. I leaned my whole upper body against her, and she yielded, wrapping her arms around my neck, and pulling me completely down to the floor with her. With much less awkwardness than you'd imagine, I ended up lying half over her on the carpet.

I shifted a little further so I could rest my aching clit against her thigh, straddling her leg. She responded to that by pushing her leg up against me, and I rocked against it making it slick.

She encouraged the motion, and I began to ride her in earnest as I leaned down to capture her lips for another hard kiss. As I did so, she brought a hand up to grab my nipple, and twisted it enough to make me gasp. Almost immediately I collapsed against her, coming hard against her thigh.

She surprised me by putting her arms around me and holding me gently until my breathing returned to normal. I couldn't get a handle on whether she intended to be distant or intimate. I shook off the thought as I started to slide down her body. She stopped me.

"Please," she said, almost shyly. "I'd like to feel you on top of me when you make me come." Could anyone say no to a request like that?

Staying more or less where I was, I leaned down to kiss her neck, and slid an arm down between her legs to touch her wetness. She gasped against my ear and murmured "oh, yes."

As my fingers slid inside her, I felt her teeth wrap around my earlobe -- hard. I took that as a sign that she didn't want me to be overly gentle, and twisted my fingers sharply inside her. Her hips bucked against mine and she growled "that's right" at me.

I leaned down and bit her neck where I could reach it, smelling her delightful cleanness and our arousal. She started to arch her hips repeatedly up against me, and I devoted all my concentration to touching her exactly right.

I knew I'd gotten the right motion when her breathing lost all rhythm, and it wasn't long after that point that I felt her come against me. Remembering her desire from our last meeting, I didn't take this to be an end to what I was doing. I finally slid down her body so that I could rest my mouth up against her. Sliding my tongue out so that I was near her clit without actually touching it, I stroked her gently, waiting to see if I could coax her body into wanting more.

This time it didn't, and she said "come back here, I want to kiss you."

I moved back up against her and slid down until my hip was just pushing gently between her legs, then angled so that most of my weight was off her. She opened her eyes, still breathing heavily from her orgasm, and met my gaze levelly.

Smiling to let her know that I wasn't being completely serious I asked "who are you?"

That provoked a grin that faded almost instantly to a very serious and slightly uncertain wariness.

"I don't know how to answer that," she said. "You know my name, you know what I do for a living, you know I want you, but I don't know what else to say."

I nodded encouragement, and replied, "I'm not asking for the details of your life - I have no right to ask that. I guess what I mean is that I'd like to know why you came here today, why you're naked on my carpet. Why me, and I suppose even more importantly does it matter to you that it's me? Do you want me in your life?"

I was completely shocked when she pushed me off of her with no gentleness at all. I could see all the life fade from her eyes, and in an instant the ice queen was back in full force. She stood up, and immediately began to don her clothes.

I knew then that I'd crossed a line. In all honesty I knew I'd crossed it when I asked the questions, but it had somehow become important to me to know whether there was something going on besides sex. I suspected that my 'need to know' had just eliminated not only all the possibilities, but the sex too.

Scully didn't speak until she was fully dressed. As if the clothing acted as a type of armor, she seemed more relaxed when she started.

"Dr. Hastings. . ." she began.

"Anne," I interrupted.

After a brief hesitation she continued, "Anne, I can't do this. I'm sorry. I can't let you in to. . ."

She stopped, opened her mouth to say more, then shook her head. She stepped near enough to me to brush her hand gently against my cheek, then straightened her shoulders and walked out, closing the door quietly.

I felt for my chair distractedly, almost forgetting my nudity until the cold of the wood penetrated. It was only when I reached a hand up to run through my hair that I realized my hand was shaking. She was gone. Again.