Love's Savage Sea Spray: An X-Files Pirate Saga
By The X-Centric Writing Collective:
Jacquie LaVa (yes, it's a pseudonym, and yes, you've read her work)
Foxsong firstname.lastname@example.org -- www.foxsongfiles.net
MaybeAmanda email@example.com -- http://www.geocities.com/maybe_aa/
Category: MSR, Parody, Humor
Rated 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: Anywhere is fine - just leave the links to our sites in the headers!
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 and 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. A big Thank You goes out to our artist-bud Alison for her input, encouragement and ideas.
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.
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 --
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 freak 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!"
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 marketplace, 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.
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 her 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."
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 Marita C., 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, maybe 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.
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