Okay, Lopsided asked me recently if I thought Spender might not make some of the
mistakes he has posted in his series . . . That of course got me thinking . . .
always a bad sign. So here's what rattled around and fell out of my head. So,
thanks buddy, you'll get yours, I'm sure.

Thanks to Shael (Great Minds Think Alike) and Kristina for ideas, comments, and
general aiding and abetting.

Title: "It's a mistake"
Author: drovar
Archive: I can't imagine why, but sure, just let me know where.
Rating: R (PG-13?) for smirking innuendo
Warnings & Spoilers: Slashy humor, but no sex. If that's not your thing, 
don't say I didn't warn you.



Deep in the dim reaches of the Hoover building the sounds of masculine grunting
and groaning filled the air. The smell of sweat, and heat and the odor of tight
and tawny bodies being worked hard, permeated the basement. For long minutes the
bodies strained and moved and were finally still.

The larger man was the first to raise his head and speak. A droplet of sweat
dripped from the end of one long lock of hair that lay plastered to his forehead.

"It's too damn big, Spender." he said finally, a grimace of disappointment clear
on his face. "Why didn't you tell me it was so big?"

"Geez Mulder," Spender replied, his own face warm and red from exertion. "Did you
want me to *measure* it? I thought it'd fit - besides you said you were hoping it
wouldn't be too small."

"Spender there's big and then there's impossible!"

"But, you said you wanted to try it!"

Mulder sighed and winced as he tried to maneuver. "You sure you can't pull it
out? I can't believe you got it stuck."

"Me?" Spender replied. "You're the one who kept telling me to push. As I remember
your exact words were. 'C'mon push, harder, put your back into it!"

"Yeah, followed by Ow! Stop! Don't! --Didn't that clue you in Jeffrey?"

Spender let out a long much put-upon, suffering sigh. "Maybe I should call AD
Skinner?" He said as he reached toward where his phone lay discarded on the floor.

"Spender, don't you dare." Mulder yelled. "I'll, oww! Stop stretching Spender,
that ow!, stop."

"Almost there," Spender said as he extended himself to his full reach.

"Speeeennnedderrrr!" Mulder wailed.

"There, that wasn't so bad was it?"

"Hurh?"

'Mulder, you look awful . . . are you getting enough fiber in your diet?"

*groan*

Spender flipped the phone open with one hand and began punching the buttons with
his thumb.

"Nooooooo"

"Oh Mulder," Spender replied as he swatted Mulder' hand away from the phone.
"Stop being such a baby, what's a little embarrassment at this point? It's not
like this is going to be a total surprise. I mean really, he's been your
supervisor for how many years? He must have known you'd do something like this
some day."

*groan*

Spender put the phone to his ear and waited.

"Yes, Sir hello, oh fine, fine . . . yes he's fine too. Yes, he's here . . . no,
he can't really come to the phone. He's um . . occupied at the moment. Well
actually, yes there is something you can do for me . . could you come down to the
basement for . . . excuse me . . . "

"You are *so* dead Spender . . .

Spender cupped his free hand awkwardly over the receiver "Mulder please, I can't
hear what Skinner's saying, and stop squirming, it doesn't feel so good to me
either."

"Yes Sir, now would be a good time. And sir, if you can, a crowbar and some sort
of lubricant would probably come in handy. . . . What's that sir? Yes, yes, I
think that would work fine.

"Dead, dead, dead, dead." Mulder chanted as they waited.

Spender heard the elevator door open and leaned back, trying to see down the long
hall between the rows of shelves and filing cabinet.

"Ow!" Mulder yelped. "Stop . . . oh, hello sir."

"Yes, it's a quite a predicament."

"Well yeah . . . a crowbar might work. No sir, I don't think just pouring 'Wet'
all over it is going to make it slide out on it's own . . . it's really stuck."

"Yes, I'm sure you'd be just as embarrassed as I am."

"Sir, do you think we can get on with it?" Spender interrupted, "This isn't the
most comfortable position to be in."

"Yes sir, I think we're as ready as we're going to be." Spender eyed the crowbar
doubtfully "I think this is going to hurt."

Skinner carefully accessed the situation moving both men around as much as their
situation would allow, trying to find the best spot to apply pressure.

After a few moments consideration he slipped the bar into place, and began to
pry. Spender didn't realize at first exactly how painful that was going to be.

"Ow, Sir," Spender yelled as Skinner put both hands on the crowbar and pulled.

"Spender, you push, Mulder you pull . . . I can't believe you two got it stuck .
. it's obviously too big."

"Sir that really hur . . . OW!" Spender protested. "Please be careful sir, I
don't think I can get a new one."

Skinner only grunted in reply and brought his foot up and kicked. This seemed to
cause Mulder considerable discomfort. He kicked again.

After considerable grunting from both men and the liberal application of "Wet",
things finally began to move.

Skinner pried again, harder, his own face now damp with sweat and red from
exertion. There was a slow groaning sound (Spender thought it was Mulder but he
wasn't sure) then an explosion of movement as things finally popped loose.

Spender found himself sprawled on the office floor next to Mulder. He had a look
on his face that was beyond irritation. Spender steeled himself for the upcoming
rant.

Skinner spoke up just as Mulder had worked up full head of steam.

"Gentlemen," he said. Spender could see the faint turn of a grin at the corners
of his mouth. "The next time you decide to move furniture, try to have agent
Scully or some other responsible adult supervise."

"Yes sir," the two men said in unison. They set the desk upright, which looked no
worse for the wear for having been wedged in the office door just moments before.

"Mulder?"

*grunt* -- "What?"

"Why do you suppose AD Skinner keeps a bottle of "Wet" is his desk?"

"Ummmmmmm . . ."

"Mulder?" Spender asked staring at his office mate with surprise,

"What?"

"You're blushing."

"Am not."

"Yes you are . . I can see it from here."

"I'm flushing, from exertion . . that's all. Men don't blush."

"We don't?"

"No, and we don't giggle either."

"Really? What if we're tickled?"

"We guffaw."

"I see."

"Mulder?"

"WHAT?"

"You still haven't answered my question."

[END]