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topguncortez · 1 year

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Bad Medicine | Chapter 1

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synopsis: A wealthy Italian mobster sets up his daughter to marry the head of one of the last remaining mafias in California. The union was supposed to create and heal the damage between two families, but all it does is cause more harm than good.

WARNINGS: strip club, mentions of drug usage, mentions of prostitution, mentions of fighting, scars, mentions of torture, mentions of murder, mentions of death, stalking, guns, blood

word count: 4.7k

The club was loud, and Y/N could feel the pulse of the bass in her heart. Saturday nights were always the busiest nights, and one of the only nights she stepped back up on stage. Ever since the incident, she hardly ever danced anymore. Jeffery, the owner of the club, said the scars on her chest weren’t good for business, but then she pulled the “do you know who my dad is” card and Jeffery quickly changed his mind.

She was finishing up putting on her dark red wig, making sure it was secure to her head, and putting on her black mask. The mask helped hide some of the scarring on her face.

“Athena! Let’s go!” Pauline, the “house” mother yelled. She was Jeffery’s wife, and helped him run the club. Y/N rolled her eyes, and stood up from her chair, “Wearing a mask again, I see?”

“Your sleazy husband said the scars are bad for business,” Y/N said, and purposely brushed her shoulder against Pauline’s.

“The club is full tonight,” Angel, another one of the dancers, said as Y/N made her way to the side stage. She peeked out from the black curtain and could see the various men sitting in the club.

The young ones and first timers always sat up front, wanting to get the whole experience. The ones who were married or recently divorced sat in the middle, or at the bar. And the ones who had secrets, the ones who were always the mysterious type and would disappear into the back rooms with a girl or two always sat in the big round booths towards the back. Their tables were always dark, as if they didn’t want anyone to know that they were there.

Y/N had sworn off going into the back rooms at the club anymore. The last time she had met a man named Francisco, and it had been the epic downfall in her life. Though, the girl knew that if she wanted to make more money at night, she would offer up her services to do a private dance or maybe even more. But she made Pauline and Jeffery swear that they would never make her go work in a backroom, or. . . she’d tell her father.

Y/N was smart, and knew what Jeffery’s real job occupation was. It wasn’t just a strip club owner, no, it was much more than that. And anyone who’s anyone in this life knew who Y/N Santiago was, and what she was capable of. Most also knew that she was sworn off the mafia life after her relationship with Francisco Solano, she still used her blood affiliation to her advantage.

“There’s some big spenders in the back,” Kandi said, breathlessly as she walked off after her set, “Dressed in fancy suits and the like.”

“Maybe tonight is the night you finally grow a pair and go to the back rooms, babyface,” Angel said, nudging Y/N. ‘Babyface’ a nickname Y/N had earned since none of the girls had seen her face under the mask.

“Not sure if I am up for all that,” Y/N answered, and shucked off her black silk robe, and handed it to Angel, “If I start doing that, then there goes all your coke money.”

“Haha, very funny,” Angel rolled her eyes as the intro to Y/N’s song started, “Get your ass on stage, babyface.”

“Your love is like bad medicine. . .”

Y/N giggled and blew Angel a kiss before walking up on the stage. Y/N decided to wear a pair of tight leather shorts, knee high stockings, and a dark red bra with black jewels on it. She closed her eyes as she strut towards the center of the stage, letting herself get lost in the sound of Jon Bon Jovi’s voice. Y/N’s fingers wrapped around the pole, and the men in the crowd went wild. The group of youngins in the front seemed to adjust and lean closer to the stage. They all looked to be about in their twenties, and as eager as children on pixie sticks.

“I got a fever, got a permanent disease, and it’ll take more than a doctor to prescribe a remedy”

As the song went on, Y/N mouthed the words as she dropped to her knees and crawled towards the edge of the stage. She swore some of the young men about came in their boxers as they got the perfect view of her tits. Y/N made eye contact with one of them, sitting back on her ass and spreading her legs in front of his face, and then rolling into a center split. Y/N rolled through it onto her tummy, and then on to her back, kicking her legs in the air, before dropping them into a V. She could feel the dollar bills hitting her body as she stood up from the ground, and walked back to the pole, wrapping her hands around it and pulling herself up, to wrap one leg around it, and spinning upside down.

When the song finished, Y/N blew a kiss to the crowd and strutted her way off stage where Angel was standing with a smirk on her face.

“Put on a little extra show for the big spenders?” She asked, handing Y/N her robe.

“I would never,” Y/N feigned and tied her robe, “Knock ‘em dead.”

“Always do,” Angel said, and stepped on to the stage. Y/N chuckled to herself, and then grabbed a bottle of water from the table next to the stage. Usually after her dances, Y/N went and changed out of her costume and wig to go home. As she was headed back to do just that, Jeffery grabbed her arm and pulled to the side.

“I know you don’t do dances, but this guy is paying the big bucks,” Jeffery said, and Y/N huffed, “And before you argue, he’s not the type of guy to fuck with, so just deal with it.” Y/N rolled her eyes and Jeffery grabbed her chin, and pushed her against the wall, “Don’t fucking give me that,” He pointed his finger in her face, “This guy will blow our fucking heads off-”

“You seem to get that right,” Y/N would know that voice anywhere. She shifted her eyes over to see her old brother, Gianni, walking down the neon lit hallway. The red lighting made the scar on his face look even more daunting, “We said to get her, not to fucking touch her.”

“I-I’m so-”

“Fucking save it.”

Jeffery gulped and let go of Y/N’s jaw and scurried away. Y/N fixed her robe and looked up at her brother.

“I can save myself,” Y/N said and Gianni scoffed.

“Yeah, and I’ve never killed anyone. Let’s go,” Gianni grabbed his sister’s arm but she pulled her arm away from him. He clenched his jaw and started walking down towards the room.

Y/N wasn’t quite sure what to expect when Gianni opened the door, but it wasn’t her father sitting on the black leather couch. There were already some girls there, and Y/N was not surprised. Her mother’s grave was barely cold and Rafael had women all around him. Hell, even while his wife was still alive, he had mistresses all over the world. Gianni walked past his sister and over to a woman who was leaning on the mini bar. Paulo was standing off to the side, looking as stiff as a board. Y/N swore that he was a virgin from how he acted around scantily clad women. And Narciso, the youngest brother, but not the youngest child, had a woman on his lap, feeding him cherries.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Y/N cursed.

“You’ve been ignoring us,” Rafael spoke slowly. His voice was loud and demanding all the time. Y/N could remember being a young child and being absolutely terrified of the man.

“For a reason, Rafael,” Y/N said, and crossed her arms over her chest, “If you’re here because of that fucking letter you sent, I’m not doing it.”

Rafael stood up from his seated position on the couch, and walked towards his daughter, “It’s what’s best for business-”

“Oh save the fucking ‘business’ talk. Just call it what it fucking is, a goddamn-”

The Don was a man of short words and glares. Just one look in some direction could mean the end of someone's life. The look he was giving his daughter was one she had seen many times thrown at others at the table. But, just like her father, Y/N grew to acquire her own look. Rafael raised his hand as Y/N was speaking and struck her. She let out a groan and looked at her father with wide eyes. Her brothers all took a collective step forward, but the Don held his hand up stopping them from coming closer.

Paulo looked at the girls in the room and nodded towards the door. They all left in a hurry, as Rafael fixed his suit coat and walked over to the mini bar. Y/N pushed herself up from the ground and watched as her father poured himself a glass of whiskey.

“I let you come back here to hopefully refine you! Not turn you into an animal! Not turn you into some whore dancing for money!”

The Don was almost as important and famous as any European diplomat. He had been invited to Buckingham palace, UN meetings, most things the power 5 from New York wished they could have done. Rafael’s goal was to turn his family into a legitimate threat to the way the government functions and he was doing a good job at it.

“I remember the day you were born. . . I knew you were going to be trouble. We already had three perfect boys,” Rafael turned and faced his daughter,“Paulo, the one who will inherit everything. Gianni, the protector. Narciso, the educator. And then you. . . Y/N, the fucking mistake!” Rafael grabbed the glass bottle and threw it at her head.

Y/N screamed, ducking out of the way as the glass bottle broke above her head. Shards of glass rained down on her, nicking her soft tan skin. She had been the cause of her father’s anger before and had received her fair share of backhands, but nothing like this. She guessed this is what she got for ignoring his phone calls.

She pushed her shaking frame off the ground and pulled a small sliver of glass out of her forehead, “Someday, I’m going to have the absolute fucking pleasure of killing you.”

Rafael smiled sinisterly at his daughter, “Is that a promise?”

“I’m done fucking talking to you,” Y/N said, and turned on her heel leaving her father and brothers still in the room.

Jeffery was leaning against the wall at the end of the hallway as if he were waiting for something, but then he saw the anger in her body, and quickly moved out of the way. Y/N was almost as feared as her father. She had proven time and time again she wasn’t scared to get blood on her hands. She wasn’t as fucked up as Gianni, but she was pretty close.

Y/N sat down at her dressing room table, and sighed. She looked at herself in the mirror, and carefully removed the mask from her face. What was nice about the club was each dancer got their own dressing room, so Y/N could take off her mask and not have to hide her face. Slowly she started removing the pins from her hair to remove the red wig from her head.

“Y/N? Can we talk?” A smooth voice sounded from the other side of the door as they knocked. Y/N rolled her eyes, knowing exactly who would be knocking at her door. The golden boy couldn’t stand when one of them was mad at the Don. He had to fix it, it was his job that everything ran smoothly in the family.

“If this is you begging for me to forgive the Don, you have lost your damn mind, Paulo,” Y/N responded, gently placing the red wig onto the wig stand, and then letting her braided hair fall down her back.

“I fucking told you this was useless!” Gianni’s voice sounded out.

“You wanna fucking try?” Paulo said to his brother.

“I told you how we could fix this. . .”

“We’re not torturing our own sister!”

Y/N laughed and stood up from her makeup table and opened the door before anyone else could overhear her brothers. She didn’t bother inviting them in, she just walked back to her makeup table to finish taking off her costuming. Her brothers looked around the small room, noticing the various posters and sketch books lying around. Gianni walked straight for the mini fridge that had bottles of alcohol sitting on top. Narciso planted himself on a chair in the corner, while Paulo stood in the center of the room, his arms crossed and ready to talk business.

“You have nothing better than fucking peach crown in here?” Gianni cursed.

“Me opening the door was not an invitation to chastise my alcohol choices,” Y/N said and grabbed a makeup wipe from the drawer, “Speak, Paulo.”

“You know he’s sorry.”

Y/N scoffed and tossed the used makeup wipe in the trashcan, “He’s an old drunk, and you, are headed down the same fucking path. I pray you never have a daughter and sell her to some fucking no name wanna be mobsters in fucking San Diego.”

Paulo let the words his sister spewed hit his skin and bounce off, “He’s had a hard time adjusting since mom died. She held him down. She wasn’t just a wife, she was a business player.”

“Oh save me the damn sob story,” Y/N stood up from her seat and walked back behind a curtain to change out of her stage clothing and into something more comfortable, “I know what the marriage between mama and the Don was for. You guys are trying to recreate that with me and this fucker, and it’s not going to fucking work.” She pushed the curtain back and reappeared in a pair of leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, “I have a fucking life here in New York. I have made a name for myself. I own clubs, and speakeasies and I’m working on a fashion line-”

“You’re also twirling around half naked on a pole for money,” Gianni pointed out and Y/N shot him a look.

“I like dancing,” Y/N said, her voice smooth, and then looked at Paulo, “I am not going to give up my life to become some mobsters house wife and get myself killed like-”

“Don’t you dare fucking say like Mom!” Paulo yelled and shoved his sister up against the wall. The two other Santiago brothers lurched forward. Paulo wasn’t known for being the angry one, but when he did become angry, it was frightening. In a way, he could be more terrifying than Gianni.

“Look at you, Paulo,” Y/N said, her eyes becoming cloudy with tears, “Holding me up against the wall, trying to scare me into making some deal for you. What’s your next move here? Are you going to kill me?”

“I might as well finish what-”

“Jesus Christ! Do you hear yourself!” Narciso yelled, breaking up the siblings, shoving Paulo away from Y/N, “This isn’t a death sentence. You can do all that shit in San Diego, and even more. You would be protecting a legacy that’ll last forever.”

“I don’t get why you’re talking. You aren’t shit, Narciso,” Y/N spoke and the youngest brother shook his head, “Don’t you ever think of a life outside of all this shit? Being able to walk to the farmer’s market or being able to drink on the patio without some fucking sniper aiming for your head? I would like to go see my friends, or finish my degree.”

There was a reason why Y/N never stepped foot back in Italy after the incident. She, as much as the rest of her family, were targets back in Italy. There was once a time where the Santiago children did have that freedom. Their mother and the Don would let them run free around the town square, or travel the world wherever they would like. But things changed when Marie Santiago was murdered and strung up in the town square. The Don stopped inviting the townsfolk into his home for dances and dinners. The children weren’t allowed to go anywhere without being watched. It was like being in prison every single day.

“You can do all that in California,” Paulo explained, “Where you will be safe and cared for.”

Realization dawned on Y/N’s body, and it felt like hot cement was poured down her spine. She looked over at her brothers, specifically at Narciso. He wasn’t ever able to tell a lie or keep anything from her. She used that to her advantage time and time again. It was his epic downfall when it came to his little sister.

“You keep talking about sending me to California, but you all know it would be much better for us to be in Sicily, unless. . .” Y/N said, and watched as Narciso’s eyes looked down at the ground, “He’s still out there.”

“Don’t-”

“There was movement from his bank account, and a private plane registered in his name. We put some people on it to track where he was planning on going,” Narciso said. Gianni clenched his jaw, wanting to punch his little brother in the face.

“I fucking knew it,” Y/N cursed, and started pacing the room, “He’s gonna live out that promise, ya know,” Y/N said and her brothers all seemed to suck in a deep breath, “He’s not going to stop until I am dead,” Her hands began to tingle as she felt the beginning of a panic attack. She knew now was not the time to start panicking, not in a club full of people, “When do I leave?”

“Tomorrow morning. . .”

Y/N’s jaw dropped, “Oh, you’re fucking joking?! Tomorrow morning! That hardly gives me-”

“Andrew is packing your things up as we speak,” Paulo said, “I’m sorry but you have no choice. This is the best for you, Y/N.”

“No,” Y/N shook her head, “What was best for me is if you did your fucking jobs and killed that bastard before he had a chance to escape! I hope every single one of you rots in hell!”

Y/N left them all standing in the dressing room as she slammed the door. Gianni let out a low whistle and shook his head, picking up the bottle of Peach Crown and drinking straight from it.

“That went as easy as expected,” Narciso said. Paulo looked at him, and smacked the back of his head, “What the fuck!?”

“You had to tell her about Franky?!” Paulo yelled.

“You know damn fucking well she wasn’t getting on that damn plane unless we told her. You’re fucking welcome, cocksucker,” Narciso spat, drinking his whiskey.

“Fine,” Paulo grimaced, “But we don’t, under any circumstances, tell her about Sophie. That shit will break her.”

— — — ♱♱♱ — — — ♱♱♱ — — —

Jake never wanted to get married. He had sworn it off years ago. Growing up his father always told him that love makes you weak, and love is what destroys a strong man. Jake had a taste at love once and it nearly killed him, and he never wanted to go through that pain again. But that didn’t seem to matter as Jake was staring down at his father after hearing about the proposition at hand.

“Absolutely fucking not,” Jake cursed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair.

“It’s what's best for the family, Jacob,” Mr. Seresin, “You are the namesake, the only son. You need to marry to carry it on.”

“And you think that setting me up with some. . .stripper is going to do that,” Jake pointed towards the photos of the girl on the table. Rooster stood in the corner, his eyes keeping watch over the whole situation. Bob was seated across from Jake, looking at Mr. Seresin. Out of the two of them, Bob was Mr. Seresin’s favorite, and it was probably because he was the level headed reliable one out of the three.

“Why couldn’t you set up Jessica or Justine? There’s three Santiago boys-”

“Because it has to be her,” Gregory, the family’s accountant, said, “It is all a business arrangement, son. You marry Y/N Santiago and assure that the Seresin family blood line will live on. Your marriage will be a symbol to other families not only in California but around the world that the Seresins aren’t a family to mess with.”

Jake clenched his jaw, “And the point here is. . .”

“The family is going to go under,” Mr. Seresin said, “We can only stay afloat for so long with the Casinos in Vegas. We need this expansion. Rafael is offering us a deal in exchange for us agreeing to take our gun business over to him. He runs our guns over there we take. . .”

“His daughter,” Jake sighed and picked up a picture from the table. She was a beautiful girl. She had bright eyes and beautiful skin, but Jake could see a hint of mischief in her features.

“She's a good businesswoman,” Bob said, “According to this she owns some clubs in New York, Sicily and Vegas. Jake, you need to do this. We need the protection and the extra income Rafael is willing to offer.”

Jake ran his hand down his face, and then leaned his elbows on the table. He knew that the numbers Bob placed on his desk the other day didn’t lie. The family was slowly starting to slip into a financial range that would soon break them. There hadn’t been a single boxing match at the club in weeks due to the new police presence hanging around. The girls have been too scared to get out and work due to some pimp causing issues. And he could only make so much off of selling vodka shots to frat boys at the bars.

“Fine,” Jake said, “I’ll do it. When does she get here?”

“Tomorrow Night,” Gregory said.

“Tomorrow night!” Jake yelled standing up from the table. Dominick, Mr. Seresin’s bodyguard took a step forward and so did Bradley. Mr. Seresin held up his hand, stopping both men.

“There’s also something else you should know, Jacob.”

Jake rolled his eyes, “What now?”

“The stories are true. She was engaged to that Solano boy.”

A cold shiver ran down Jake’s body. Everyone in their world knew of the potential marriage between the Santiagos and Solanos. They also had heard what Gianni Santiago did to Francisco Solano for nearly killing his sister. It was a miracle that he had lived, Gianni wasn’t known for letting his victims live. The rumor was Y/N had begged Gianni to let Francisco live. It saved the town of Sicily from becoming a war torn town and innocent lives lost. But, Francisco got his revenge by killing the matriarch of the family and hanging her up in the town square.

“So we have to offer her protection too? Great,” Jake said, “We are already stretched thin thanks to Dante’s gang. We can’t afford to pull in more-”

“You’ll figure it out, Jacob,” Mr. Seresin said, rising from his chair. He walked over to his son and kissed his cheek, “You fuck this up. . . and you’ll be next on the pew.” He whispered into Jake’s ear. Jake’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the picture of his future wife on the table. The room was deadly silent as Mr. Seresin, his bodyguard and Gregory left. Once the door was shut, Bradley let out a sigh and walked over to the table.

“It’ll work out, Hangman,” Bob said, patting his friend on the shoulder.

“It’s not that I’m worried about it,” Jake said, “I just don’t want to fucking do it.”

“At least she’s a looker,” Bradley said, looking through the various pictures in the file. Some were photos that clearly Y/N had posted on social media and others were some that spies for the family had gotten, “Shit, she looks flexible.”

“Great,” Jake said, “My future wife is a whore. Are we still going out tonight?”

“Yes,” Bob nodded, “I had Payback toughen up the security around there after the whole Dante run in.”

“Bet Isabella will be there,” Bradley nudged Jake.

He rolled his eyes. Isabella had been a hang around that Jake hired to work a corner. He had a couple times invited her into the backroom at one of the clubs, and suddenly she thought she was Jake’s main girl. The only thing she was good for was an easy fuck. She was too naive to think anything else. Jake was smart, he got what he wanted from the girl. There were too many times she would call him drunk out of her mind, blubbering about how she will never sleep with him again, but would end up on her knees the very next day.

“I want everything you can get on Francisco Solano and Y/N’s engagement as soon as possible.”

Bob nodded, “I’ll have Fanboy do some digging for us. He’s still pretty tight with the FBI.”

“Good. Be ready to leave in twenty,” Jake said and Bradley nodded before leaving the room, leaving just Bob and Jake alone, “What, Floyd?”

“I know this whole marriage thing isn’t ideal-”

“Not at all,” Jake said, and sat down at his desk.

“But at least try and make nice with her,” Bob said and reached for a manila folder that was under his laptop, “She’s been through a lot.”

Jake didn’t say anything as Bob gathered his stuff and left. The folder had Y/N’s name at the top of it. He took a deep breath before opening it, and suddenly wished that he hadn’t. He could recognize her by her eyes, but that was about it. Her face was bloodied and bruised and so was her body. Her nose had been obviously broken, and possibly her eye socket, her lips were cracked and bleeding. Jake felt sick to his stomach seeing pictures of her bare body. Bruises, ligature marks on her hands, feet and throat, and stab wounds littered her body. He could clearly see a broken arm and a dislocated shoulder. He didn’t dare look through any more of the photos.

He slammed the folder shut and opened up his body desk drawer, throwing it in. He knew what had happened was bad, but he didn’t think it was this bad. This was the key reason why Jake was never going to love again. Because love does nothing but destroy.

Jake leaned back in his chair and held his chin up with his fist, looking across the room at his book shelf. It was mainly full of old law textbooks from when he studied back at UT. He found it quite useful to keep them around in case he needed it. But there was one book in particular that stuck out amongst them. He pushed himself up from his chair and walked over to the book, pulling it out and flipping to the right page. The picture had been so worn that it was bound to rip at any time. It was all he had left of her, everything else had been burned along with her body.

Jake wasn’t always cold. He, at one time, was in love with love like most young inexperienced people are. He thought he had found his one, the person he was going to marry. He had a taste of freedom and domestic life, and it ended in unbearable grief and tragedy. Jake put the picture back inside the book and placed it on the shelf. He didn’t need love. He had money, girls throwing themselves at him, all the drugs he could want, fancy cars, planes to take him anywhere, a house full of people waiting on his beck and call. He had everything a king could want.

But why did it feel so empty?

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jodithann827 · 1 year

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Pretty Woman 5/11

Rating: Explicit /posted on AO3 / tagging @today-in-fic

Chapter Summary: an awkward dinner and sex on a piano… yes please!

Waldorf Astoria

Lobby

Saturday

7:45 pm

Mulder strides confidently through the lobby, a man on a singular mission.

Gentle music is playing in the background, patrons milling about. He’s been going over different dinner scenarios since he left the office. Dressed in a sharp gray suit, he makes his way to the concierge desk and asks the attendant if he has any messages. He looks around, slightly concerned that he doesn’t see Scully. He checks his watch again, making sure the time is correct.

“Excuse me, Mr. Mulder.” A voice interrupts his thoughts. Looking to the right, Mulder sees a man about his height but broad-shouldered, sporting glasses and a bald head. He picks up the phone on the counter, intending to call the room to hurry Scully along, when the bald man continues speaking. “My name is Walter Skinner, and I’m the manager of the Waldorf Astoria. I have a message for you, from your niece.” Mulder, looking vaguely confused, lowers the phone, giving the man his full attention. “The woman who is staying with you, your niece,” Skinner insists.

Mulder holds his hand up, signaling Skinner not to continue. “Mr. Skinner, I think you and I both know that she isn’t my niece. The reason I know this is because my sister never had the chance to have children.”

“Yes, sir,” Skinner relents. “Ms. Dana asked me to relay a message. She is waiting for you in the lounge.” Mulder turns to head in the direction of the lounge and hears Skinner add, “Captivating young lady, she is. Something about her…”

Nodding his head in agreement, Mulder makes his way into the lounge area, a darker room filled with soft chatter and faint music playing. He turns his head from side to side, looking for Scully, but he doesn’t see her. Thinking the message was wrong, he turns to leave but stops in the doorway to take one last, quick look around.

Scully, seated at the bartop, swivels her chair as Mulder turns back to face the bar a second time. Their eyes meet and for a moment, Mulder is too gobsmacked to speak. His mouth then curls into a smile. She is dressed in a black, off-the-shoulder cocktail dress that hugs her curves and falls to her knees. Her wine-colored hair is pinned up on one side, letting the soft curls fall loosely over her shoulder. She stands and slowly makes her way over to him.

“You’re late,” she informs him, her eyes never leaving his.

“You’re dazzling,” he replies, leaning in to kiss her cheek. She walks in front of him and his hand falls to the small of her back, escorting her out of the bar and into the night air.

The Voltaire

8:15 pm

Mulder and Scully approach an impeccably set dinner table with crisp white linens and grand china, where two men are already seated. As they near, the two gentlemen stand while the host pulls Scully’s chair out and she sits. Only then do the men take their seats. Scully regards the scene. Fancy music, elaborately dressed individuals, and divine smells wafting from other tables. She glances at the mysterious men sitting across from her, one old and one young. Unbeknownst to the reason, she shivers. She senses the older gentleman’s eyes on her, studying her with a predator’s unwavering attention. Something makes her uneasy. She snaps out of her trance at the sound of Mulder’s voice.

“Mr. Spender, it’s very nice to meet you in person.” He introduces himself to them with the same charm as he did Scully, though much less flirtation.

“My son, Jeffery,” Spender introduces after shaking Mulder’s hand. Mulder turns, introducing Scully to the men. When her slim fingers make contact with the old and wrinkled hand, she tenses ever so slightly.

Dinner proceeds as a quiet affair. The men stick to comfortable subjects: stocks, the weather, Mulder attempts to bring up sports, specifically the Knicks, but neither Spender appears interested. Scully interjects every so often, feeling the strong need to help Mulder break the ice, so to speak, but mostly she sticks to eating the robust meal in front of her, although her nerves get the better of her more often than not.

“Look, Mr. Mulder,” the elder Spender unexpectedly utters, “I know you want to buy my company, and I know I spoke with your lawyers and told them it was a done deal. However, I have changed my mind.”

His voice is casual but steady. No-nonsense, as if he were talking about the sale of a used car and not a multi-billion dollar business. Mulder sets his fork down, intent on giving his complete attention to the matter at hand.

“I knew your father,” Spender states, catching Mulder off guard. Scully sees it, the slight clenching of Mulder’s jaw.

Recovering quickly, Mulder replies, “I didn’t know.”

“I was sorry to hear he passed away. I knew him for many years. We worked together once upon a time.” Mulder gives a slight nod. Pausing before speaking again, possibly pondering something profound, Spender pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lights one flippantly.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to do that.” Scully looks around, realizing the chastising came from her own voicebox. Spender gives a snide smile but continues puffing away.

“Your father was a hard worker when push came to shove. He mentioned you from time to time. Hinted at the fact that you and I should work together one day. I feel as though that day has finally come. You can buy my company, Mr. Mulder, but I would like you along with it.”

Jeffery clears his throat in an attempt to corral his father. Spender senior steals a sideways glance and puts him in his place with one searing look.

“Excuse me,” Jeffery says, standing. Scully watches him walk away, presumably in the direction of the restrooms.

“You and I could make an extraordinary team, Fox,” Spender tells him, using his given name. Scully thinks he’s trying to pack more of a punch. Unsure of what to do, she sits quietly, her hands folded neatly in her lap, and stares at her fingers.

“Why me?” Mulder suddenly asks. “It seems like you have a protege in your son.”

“Jeffery’s a good boy, but he doesn’t have what it takes.”

“And I do? You’re being very evasive. Is it purposeful?”

“Yes and no. I like your focus on social commerce, Fox. You’re one of the most skilled entrepreneurs in this area. I think you would be a great asset,” he insists.

“What do you want to sell–” he starts, but is cut off by Jeffery’s return to the table.

“What did I miss?” Jeffery questions.

“Mr. Mulder is going to seriously consider joining our team,” Spender senior shares before Mulder can dispute the claims.

Scully, watching the scene unfold, sits back uncomfortably and she knows the evening cannot end soon enough.

“Well, Mr. Spender, you’ve certainly given me a lot to think about. I’ll be in touch.” Mulder states, effectively ending the conversation for the moment.

Waldorf Astoria

Penthouse

Mulder sits comfortably in a chair backed up against the patio wall. Scully, removing her shoes in favor of her bare feet, calls out to him, “What are you thinking?” She’s met with silence so she pokes her head outside the door. “You’re quiet,” she observes. She joins him on the patio, hoisting herself up to sit on the ledge.

“I’m usually good at reading people,” he tells her. “I can’t get one on him.”

“I had a lot of feelings,” she tells him. She spent the entire car ride back to the hotel replaying the evening in her head. Something was off. Something about the elder Spender reeks of unease.

“You can’t trust him,” she says, flatly.

“I don’t have a reason not to,” he tells her. She casts her eyes downward and Mulder softens slightly. “I’ve been working on this deal for almost six months, Scully.”

“I get it,” she expresses after a minute. “You can’t make it personal. It’s like me and the no kissing. It’s why I have that rule; it’s too personal. When I’m with a guy I compartmentalize. I’m like a robot. I just do it,” she tells him, realizing a second too late that she had, in fact, had sex with him the previous evening. She looks down for a second, cheeks tinged with pink. Then looking up at him she corrects herself, “Well, not with you.”

Mulder smiles and waves his hand gently, stating, “Of course not.” Scully smiles back at him. Mulder, remembering the previous evening, comments, “So the whole no orgasm thing…”

Scully looks at him, slightly shocked by his brazenness. He’s waiting for her to elaborate.

“It’s simple, actually,” she explains. “Sex for men and women is different. For men it’s physical. For women, it’s emotional. They’re johns: guys I pick up who pay me. I will not, cannot, become emotionally invested.” She turns her head sideways, taking in the view.

They are both quiet for a moment. Mulder, still seated, is lost in his own thoughts when Scully suddenly announces, “I’m sorry about your dad.” Mulder looks at her, giving her a slight nod of acknowledgment. “Were you close with him?” she questions. Mulder stares past her, pondering the question.

“I hadn’t seen him in a really long time. We weren’t close. I wasn’t there when he died,” he confesses. Scully looks at him, this smart, capable, kind, and apparently sensitive man. She wants to wrap him in a hug and never let go. She understands a thing or two about pain, about losing a parent. She hops off the ledge, walks to him, and bends down so she is at eye level with him.

“How about we veg out in front of the TV tonight? Stuff our faces with ice cream and watch old movies?” she suggests. Mulder stands and moves towards the balcony door and Scully moves to follow him.

He stops, gently touching her chin, and says, “I’ll be back in a little while. We can do that tomorrow night.” He walks in from the balcony without another word.

She follows, watching him go to the front door and leave.

Hotel Lobby

3:00 am

Scully, dressed in the white terrycloth robe, face scrubbed free of makeup, exits the elevator. Her eyes roam the deserted lobby of the hotel. After Mulder left she had changed out of her dress, washed her face, and watched TV for the better part of three hours. Understanding his need to be alone, she wrestled with herself on whether to go after him or not, finally settling on tracking him down.

She hears the sound of soft piano music drifting from the ballroom. Wandering over, she pokes her head through the door and takes in the sight. The hotel staff is cleaning, organizing, and moving tables and chairs. There is a man sweeping behind the bar. Mulder is sitting at the piano, playing a song Scully doesn’t know, but she is in awe of his talent. She drifts over to him, staying out of sight behind him, not saying anything for fear he will stop. Mulder continues to play, finishing out the song. The staff around them applaud and Scully clears her throat, making herself known.

Mulder turns to see her and smiles. “I only play piano for strangers,” he informs her.

She walks around him and leans against the piano as she counters, “It was beautiful.” After a pause, she declares, “I was getting lonely.” His eyes meet hers, understanding both meanings of her words.

Mulder turns towards the employees and instructs kindly, “Gentlemen, would you please leave us.” Scully looks on as the men begin dispersing. She pushes herself away from the side of the piano. Mulder is still seated on the piano bench. She moves to stand in the small space between him and the keys.

“Do people always do what you tell them to?” she asks, though they both know it’s a rhetorical question.

Mulder reaches up and grabs her around the waist, pulling her towards him. “I guess so,” she whispers seductively.

Mulder confidently picks her up and places her on the grand piano, her feet hitting multiple keys, the sounds not nearly as pleasant as Mulder’s smooth playing. He steps into the space between her thighs, his hands on her waist and his mouth hovering over hers, tempting her to break her own rule. Their breathing speeds up.

The room is so quiet Scully swears Mulder can hear the pounding in her chest.

He parts the robe to reveal a black negligee, sliding it up to expose her belly. He leans over and kisses her stomach, and Scully lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She feels herself being gently pushed down, laying against the smooth wood of the piano top. Mulder nips, licks, and glides his tongue over her toned stomach. He spends time moving his tongue in, out, and around her belly button, paying special attention to the hoop that pierces it.

Scully breathes in sharply. It has been a very long time since someone bestowed her with this type of regard.

Satisfied with her stomach for the moment, he moves his mouth lower as his hands run over her thighs, reaching around to where the back of her legs connect to her ass. Knowing where he’s headed, Scully sits up on her elbows, breathing heavily. “Mulder, you don’t need to. I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” she tells him breathlessly. It’s not that she doesn’t love having a man’s lips on her, but he is paying her, and this shouldn’t be happening.

Mulder pauses and looks up at her, his eyes pleading in a strange way. “Please let me, Scully,” he requests, almost begging. At that moment she knows she can’t deny him anything.

She gives a little nod and he moves his mouth back to the top of her panties. He breathes out, his breath hot against her sex. His fingers slide over the creases of her thighs and slip into her now-drenched panties. He gently pulls them down and off her, discarding them on the floor next to the piano. His mouth descends upon her, and at the contact, she yelps softly. He begins licking up and down her slick folds, combining his wet mouth with her slick juices. He tongues her in a rhythmic motion, up and down, occasionally slipping his tongue into her.

“Oh,” she mewls. The sounds she’s making tonight are a stark contrast to what came out of her mouth the previous evening. After a few minutes of Mulder gliding up and down and back and forth he takes her clit between his lips and sucks.

“Oh my!” she shouts unexpectedly. Needing something to do with her hands, she tries grasping downward but only makes contact with the smooth surface of the piano. Instead, she finds part of her robe and clasps it tightly. It seems like forever that he is doing this.

Up, down, side, back, suck, nip, tongue. She begins writhing under his mouth, so close to the brink, unsure if she should let herself take the plunge.

Deep down she knows that in about thirty seconds or so, she won’t have much of a choice.

“Oh Jesus, Mulder,” a needy whimper escapes her mouth. This spurs Mulder on, willing to do anything to take her over the edge. Mulder takes one hand off her thigh, lowers it, and pushes a finger into her slowly, then adds another. He roughly moves in and out of her a handful of times and suddenly she is flying, not holding back. “Holy hell, oh my god, Mulder,” she cries, shuddering.

He keeps up his motions, though he slows them considerably until she comes down from her high. He withdraws his fingers, looking her in the eye as he brings them to his lips and licks them clean. Scully’s chest is heaving, her forearm draped over her forehead. He begins kissing back up her stomach, over her chest, and to her throat, sucking desperately on her neck.

Scully’s head is swimming. She cannot believe the feelings she’s experiencing. It feels backward and selfish; she should be pleasing him. She shakes the thought from her head as Mulder does amazing things with his mouth.

Mulder, giving her a minute to catch her breath, unbuttons his shirt, leaving it on but open. He then unbuttons his pants and pulls them down slowly, watching Scully intently as he does. He pulls a condom out of his pants pocket and rolls it onto his manhood.

Mulder pulls her onto his lap as he sits on the piano bench. Scully slides down on his engorged sex and he lets out a guttural moan. Placing her hands on his shoulders, Scully starts gliding up and down, moving her head in closer to gain access to Mulder’s neck. She begins nipping and licking. Mulder, meeting her thrusts, grips her hips tightly. He so badly wants to hear Scully shout his name again. Licking his finger, he maneuvers it between their bodies, hitting the jackpot when he hears her shriek.

She turns his head so she can reach his ear. She sucks on his earlobe before insistently hissing in his ear, “Yes Mulder, yes, just like that. Make me come again.”

“Fuck, Scully,” he manages to choke out. With one more swipe over her clit, she is coming again, this time pulling at the short strands of hair at the nape of Mulder’s neck. An instant later he erupts into her, calling out her name and any god who might be listening.

Leaning into him, soaked with sweat, she smiles into his neck. He made her feel all the feelings, and it had been a long time since someone did that.

“Is it just me,” Mulder gasps, attempting to slow his breathing, “or are we exceptionally good at that?”

Scully picks her head up and lets out a laugh, shaking her head. “You know what Mulder, it’s not just you.”

“Well,” Mulder states suggestively, “what do you think about taking this party up to the room and maybe working up to round two?”

Scully gives him a flirtatious smile and replies with a wink, “I think that’s the second-best idea you’ve had all evening.”

#au fanfiction #dana scully #fox mulder #the x files fanfic #x files #msr fanfic #sex on a piano #smoking bastard #walter skinner

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