From: Rebecca Compeau Date: 13 Jul 2002 20:44:12 -0700 Subject: [all-xf] NEW: Friday's Fantasies Revealed Source: atxc Title: Friday's Fantasies Revealed Author: Soleil Compeau Summary: They talk about the shirt. They talk about what Mulder wants. Scully realizes what she wants. Rating: NC17 Spoilers: Monday (you know...the shirt ripping thing?) Category: MSR baby, there ain't nothing else Disclaimer: Chris Carter is a meanie So I'm giving them a quickie. Okay, then I'll give them back. Notes: Can I just say that writing these fics has been more fun than a barrel of monkeys? And next, let me apologize for taking so long with them. RL, and all. Now, onto the story! (Wait. There's a story here?)Remember that this fic follows Thursday's Peeping Tom, which is the sequel to Wednesday's Wild Theory. The one that started it all was Tuesday's Torn Shirt. Confused yet? Confronting him in his room didn't work. Asking him a direct question didn't work. Mulder simply held off my curiosity and told me he'd talk to me in the morning. "I'm tired Scully. Let me sleep and I promise I'll answer all your questions in the morning." With that, he snuggled down under the covers and closed his eyes. I was left with the torn shirt he'd been holding while he masturbated, uninformed and frustrated. I returned to my room, sure I'd spend a sleepless night burning with unanswered questions and trying to figure out a plausible explanation. Since when has my partner's private life intrigued me so much? Fortunately, my own impulsiveness in gratifying myself had sated my body enough that it fell into slumber despite the clammering of my mind. I woke refreshed, with just enough time to finish packing, get dressed and don my professional persona before Mulder came to escort me to the car. When his large hand dropped casually to the small of my back, I jerked, then felt an odd comfort. No matter what strange sexual secrets he might be keeping, Mulder and I were still...just what were we anyway? Mulling over that question occupied me while Mulder checked us out and drove to the airport. We were partners obviously, trusted to watch each other's backs in dangerous situations. That kind of relationship naturally results in a certain closeness. We were best friends: despite our disagreements, we respected each other and *liked* each other. Mulder was important to me just as I was important to him. We were attracted to each other to be sure. I had often wondered what a romantic relationship with Mulder would be like. God knows there was little we didn't know about each other. We had slowly learned everything there was to know in the course of our quest. But there were things that remained unspoken. I knew he indulged heavily in porn, he knew when I menstruated. We didn't need to talk about it except in the most oblique ways. Because of that closeness, there would be little awkwardness or adjustments to make in a romantic setting. Except one. Perhaps the biggest one of all. Due to the careful armor both of us had built up to protect against the losses we had suffered, we had reduced touching to the barest minimum with the utmost significance. To us, holding hands was tantamount to kissing. Kissing would be equivalent to making love. If we ever touched each other in a truly intimate physical way, both of us would probably burst into flame. The thought causes a shudder to run through me, and of course Mulder notices. We're on the plane now and he stands up to get a blanket from the overhead compartment. "Cold?" he asks solicitously, trying to spread it over me. "No Mulder, I'm actually a little warm." He looks surprised, and I plow ahead into the topic that's foremost on my mind. "You told me you would answer my questions. So I'll ask you again: What does that shirt mean to you?" I pause and he sits down slowly. "Obviously it has...sexual connotations." Mulder clears his throat and laces his fingers together in his lap. He stares at them rather than look at me. "Okay; remember that case with the bank robber who had a bomb? When Pam was killed?" I nod warily as a fleeting image of a conversation with Mulder tickles my brain. Something about fate...? He goes on. "I had a theory that we were doomed to repeat that day until we got it right. Remember? Well, obviously it all turned out...okay...because it was Pam that was the key instead of us." He broods a moment, and I know he's reliving the hateful memory of a civilian dying so tragically. "The very next day, I found a torn and bloody shirt in my room. I figure I must have gotten hurt during one of those days, and you had to rip the shirt open to help me." Now Mulder rubs his forehead and his voice gets quieter. This part seems hard for him to say. "I...I kept thinking about that, you ripping my shirt. I could imagine how scared you were, how desperate you were to help me and save my life. Then I ...I guess I started picturing you tearing off my clothes in a different context." "What do you mean?" My mouth is dry. I think about the unsettling visions I had about a mysterious woman ripping off his clothes and I understand what he means about a different context. "Do you mean to say that you were fantasizing about me and this...shirt?" Mulder pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales sharply. Then he drops his hands back in his lap and stares straight ahead, steeling himself to a confrontation. "Yes." I sit back and we both process that stunning admission for a moment. Heat creeps up my cheeks when I remember how sexy he looked while touching himself. What does he really think about in those moments? Shortly I'm ready to try again. "Mulder, what do you...think about? And daydream about?" I don't want to use the word "fantasize" right now. One step at a time. He glances at me out of the corner of his eye, gauging my reactions. His lips quirk in that cute half smile. "I fantasize about finding my sister." His voice is wistful. "I imagine having evidence of aliens and government conspiracies that doesn't disappear or turn out to be inconclusive. I dream about...about..." his voice trails off and he squirms uncomfortably. I pounce on the thread he doesn't want to follow up on and admit to. "Dream about WHAT, Mulder?" His reply is low and strained. "I dream about...a normal life. Marriage and a house with less dangerous jobs." I can't catch his eye. His head is tipped towards me but his eyes are averted. Yearning for more contact but afraid to hope for too much. Always ready to retreat. "Who do you dream about sharing that with Mulder?" Now his eyes snap up to mine and he looks genuinely puzzled. "With you Scully. Who else?" Who else indeed. My earlier brooding about what we mean to each other had stopped short of admitting that we will always be together. We are so comfortable with each other, so dear to each other, that there would never be a question of separating, no matter what forces try to keep us apart. I try to pull away, but now Mulder leans even closer. He's flustered me and he knows it. It delights him. He presses his advantage with his nearness and heat in my space. "Surely you knew?" His breath is in my ear. "Oh yes. I knew." I close my eyes and sink down in the comfort that Mulder and I are on the same page despite our professional differences. Truth be told, those little spats make the closeness more exciting. Will Mulder and I ever be boring? I smile slightly. Maybe when we're both over a hundred. He sits back in his seat and lets his hand graze mine, fingers asking a question. As usual, I open fully to him and our palms meet, our fingers entwine. We sit like that in companiable silence for quite a while. The flight attendant comes and takes drink orders from us. While waiting for her, I gaze at our linked fingers, admiring the way they fit together. It occurs to me that Mulder and I have held hands before. That alone doesn't constitute "crossing the line." But what will? I run through our conversation, noting his comment about me ripping his clothes off. Bingo. After we have our drinks, I put my mouth to Mulder's ear and breath, "So you like the idea of me taking control, do you?" He shivers when my lips brush the shell of his ear and barely manages not to choke on his mouthful of liquid. I intensify the attack by stroking little circles on his palm while continuing to whisper in his ear. "I've seen the look on your face when I take down a perp...especially the big, mean, nasty ones. Your eyes get all dreamy. You love it when I get mean and nasty back. Don't you?" His breath is beginning to stutter past his lips. "Yes, I do." He turns his head suddenly so our faces are very close. His eyes are on my mouth when he whispers, "Your kung fu is the best." Any other man, any other situation, I would have rolled my eyes and laughed at such a stupid line. But it's *Mulder* saying it. I can practically *taste* his pouty mouth. "Tell me about this..fantasy of yours," I whisper, tipping my head back invitingly. His eyes drop from my lips to the pulse beating in my throat, then back up to my eyes. With obvious effort, he turns away just enough to take another sip. I do the same, glad to moisten my mouth. I press my advantage. "I'll make it easier for you. I'll tell you my secret...if you tell me yours." Mulder's eyes are closed. I check his lap and, uh huh, he's excited. His voice is husky. "Okay." I put my mouth to his ear again and brush against his lobe as I speak. "I *was* watching you last night. Just enough to see how gorgeous you looked. It turned me on so much that I wanted to march up to your bed and climb in your lap." He groans and lets his head fall back a little. I can't resist. I just can't. His neck is too inviting. And sensitive too, I discover. I suck openmouthed on his neck to the sounds of his frantic breathing. Suddenly his hand is in my hair, pulling me back and holding me still. "Jesus Scully. I'm just a man, you know. You're driving me crazy here." I let my lips part and his eyes seem to pounce on them. He looks absolutely spellbound when I lick my lower lip. "Your turn to confess." He speaks slowly, blinking, as if trying to remember how to string words into a sentence."I'll tell you about one of my very first fantasies about you. I daydream about kissing you." He lets go of my hair and gives my head a gentle caress. He does not move away, and neither do I. "You've got the prettiest mouth. It speaks the most controlled, logical words. But I bet if you let me inside, I'd find all that wildness you keep buttoned down." He raises a hand and skims the buttons on my blouse suggestively. What an erotic game Mulder's playing. He's enticing me into taking control as I hinted earlier. He's pushing me, pushing my buttons. I want to make him whimper, and moan, and yell. All for me. And yet, before I do that, I have to make sure that we're safe within the confines of the game. Taking a quick look around, I notice that the few other passengers on the plane with us are either napping, or reading, or listening to the music that's coming out of their chair. Better yet, no one is sitting near us. I push Mulder away slightly and unfold the nearly forgotten blanket I have on my lap. Puzzled, Mulder watches me, but he figures it out when I drape it over both our laps. He is helpful in pulling it up to our shoulders. When he looks at me, I can see that he's tightly reining in his passion. His hands are curled into fists along his tense thighs. I twist sideways in my seat so that we're facing each other..if he turns toward me. He does, but he waits for my lead. I put my hands on his shoulders. Has Mulder been petrified? He's completely rigid as I pull him closer to me. "Kiss me, Mulder," I whisper. I close my eyes and part my lips under his. Waiting. Feeling his breath. He lowers his mouth to meet mine. It's like we've done this countless times before. There's no bumping of noses, no clicking of teeth. Our tongues are old friends who hug and embrace and entwine over and over. Mulder really gets into it once the first kiss is past. He wraps one arm around my waist, the other around my back with his hand leading up to hold the back of my head. We kiss with our eyes closed so we can better concentrate on the delicious feel of our mouths meeting skin to skin, lip to lip. The few times he kissed my brow in the past sent shivers of warmth through me, but this is lighting the proverbial fire in my belly. We break apart for brief seconds to change the angle of our kisses. Sweetly, passionately, we keep coming back for more. There is no domination play in our make out session. We are equals and partners in this, as in all things. Mulder lays his head on my shoulder. He's breathing hard and I can feel him trembling. I twist my head and nibble his ear. He moans softly. His hand on my lower back slides around to press intimately against my tummy. Our lips meet again, this time with infinite tenderness. His hand moves up to firmly cup my breast. Whoa boy. My clitoris, which had been throbbing very gently, swells up even more and begins to beat wildly against my slick lips. I let my hand drop from his shoulder to his lap and rub the impressive bulge in his pants. Mulder's cry is muffled as it goes down my throat and *then* I learn what aggressiveness is. He holds my head still with a fist in my hair so he can plunder and thrust into my mouth. The other hand pinches and plays with my hard nipple, tormenting me into paradoxysms of anticipation. His moving hips encourage me to keep playing with him. I'm fumbling with the zipper when a voice startles me. "Please return your seats to an upright position and fasten your seatbelts. The plane will be descending shortly." Mulder and I jerk apart as if scalded. We stare at each other, trying to compose ourselves. It's too late now to join the Mile High Club. He speaks first. "My apartment is closest." I nod without saying a word. I don't trust myself to open my mouth; if I do, I will surely howl with frustration. It's going to be hell until we get to his apartment. Where we can kiss and clutch and rip off clothes and touch and fondle and thrust and fuck and scream- Get control Dana. Mulder and I sit stiffly in the seats, staring forward, until we can disembark. We collect our baggage with, mercifully, no problems and walk carefully to his car. He drives rather faster than usual, I notice gratefully. It will be soon. I swear, I'm done teasing! There's RST for everybody in the next one. DKMulder@juno.com