From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org Date: 22 Mar 2002 08:21:28 -0000 Subject: PMS: Premeditated Sex (1/1) MSR by Nichole Source: direct Reply To: scoob4u@yahoo.com Title: PMS: Premeditated Sex Author: Nichole Rated: NC-17 Category: MSR, Mulder's POV Spoilers: None really. Summary: A fantasy is worth less than a reality to Mulder. Feedback: Worth more to me than gold! scoob4u@yahoo.com Archive: This is a revised version of an already archived fic. Please replace all existing versions with this one. New archiving is welcomed, so just ask... I'm easy. :) Homepage: http://www.geocities.com/scoob4u/Nicholes_FanFic.html Disclaimer: All of the characters in this story DO NOT belong to me. If they did, I'd be rich because I would charge all of the other talented writers when they used them because if I were Chris Carter, I'd be afraid of everyone abandoning my show to read other people's fics. They are better, are they not? Anyhow, basically, this is just a long-winded way of saying no, they aren't mine, nor will they ever be. All the fame and glory goes to 1013 and FOX. Author's Notes: At end of story. PMS I have had plenty of fantasies involving Scully and most of them begin with her standing in the shower. It's cliche I know, but that never seems to bother me. You see, in my fantasies, Scully never just showers, she cleanses as well as purifies. If I am confusing you, please allow me to explain: Scully has never been the type to easily fall in love. I knew that even before the thought of Scully in love ever entered my mind. She's so afraid of losing herself--her independence-- that she has closed herself off to anyone who is able to give her the type of love that any other woman would spend the rest of her life seeking. She would rather spend her life sitting back to watch everyone else in the world get what they want while she remains alone, just so that she can stay free of any restraints. I can't complain too much though because I'm afraid that I've given her that impression about myself as well. Well, I used to. Anyhow, I'd rather discuss my Scullyfantasy, if you don't mind. She is in the shower--cleansing and purifying herself--and I'm standing in her room. I listen to the water as it falls off of her body and onto the floor of the shower. I find myself closing out all other ambient sounds in the room and concentrate on just listening to her shower. It is then that I realize Scully hadn't shut the bathroom door all the way. It is cracked open just enough to allow a full blast of auditory bliss to hit my eardrums. The door, in all of its glory, continues to open slowly as though it was fulfilling its one main purpose in all of its sad, over-used life--to please me. The steam from inside of the bathroom begins to float out, and the scent of Scully's bath gel fills my nostrils. Once the air is clear, I can see Scully's delicate silhouette outlined behind the glass door. Instinctively, I begin to walk towards the shower stall, no other thought inhabiting my mind other than her. I walk through the threshold of the bathroom and breathe in the dense, moisture-rich air. The smell of my obsession propels me forward. Once standing right outside of the glass-door that encases my reward, I trace my warm finger along the smooth, humidified pane. The steam that beads on it dampens the tip of my finger, allowing it to glide over the surface. I pull back my moisturized digit and look at it as though it is lust and desire incarnate. I move my finger to my lips, pressing it past my lips and into my mouth. My eyes shut against reality, willing myself to be overwhelmed by my desires. I taste the water mixed with my own flavor while inhaling the sweet smell of Scully. It is heavenly. I remove my finger from my mouth to make contact once more with the glass and begin to trace the lines along her body, removing the blinding dampness from outside in order to see her clearly. Her body is covered by a seductive sheet of water that cascades down spine and chest like a small river. The water caresses breasts and stomach the way I wish I could with my hands. Her eyes are closed and he mouth is open. I see her tongue sneak out to lap at the dampness just above her top lip and my cock involuntarily twitches in my pants. I stand there helpless, my will to open the door between us not strong enough to make it happen. I can want and love her all I want, but I cannot touch her in this hazy dream. I think she knows I'm there, but she doesn't acknowledge my presence. Instead, she just continues to wash herself, filling her small palm with her favorite shampoo before working it into a bubbly lather and smoothing it into her hair. Her hand reaches for her washcloth, but retracts as a mischievous grin tugs at the corners of her beautifully pouty mouth. I've seen this grin before; she is about to do something very, very bad. She rinses out her shampoo, slowly scraping at her scalp beneath the warm stream of water. When she is finished, she reaches for her body wash--the same scent that I had smelled earlier. She is toying with me I realize; teasing me as though I were the mouse in some strangely erotic Tom and Jerry cartoon. She squeezes the apple-scented gel into her hand and places the bottle back to where it was before. She methodically rubs the gel over her chest, the soapy lather beginning to build in size. She spreads it to her breasts and takes the time to slowly rub it over the small peaks of her nipples. Her head tilts back and I hear what can only be perceived as a moan emanate from somewhere deep in her chest. Her hand then slips down her body, following the stream of water until I see her hand disappear between her legs. My breath catches and my hips give a small thrust without my permission. She strokes her hand between her thighs, setting a rhythm that I want so badly to meet with my own but cannot. Her head lulls as her body slumps against the wall. Her pink tongue snakes out to lick at her lips and she bends her knees a little to get a better angle. I am breathless watching her. My need to stroke myself through my pajama bottoms is so strong that I feel like crying because I know I can't do it. This is the trouble with my fantasy; my hands and arms are useless when I want something so bad. Her body stiffens and her mouth opens as she lets out a small cry. The pleasure washes over her features as her free hand reaches out to slam against the glass close to my face. I startle and move to see around her hand, which slides down the glass as her body slumps against the wall. I try to open the glass door, but it won't budge. I call out her name and she disappears in a mist before my eyes. And then it is over; the fantasy is gone. I am left standing, or sitting, in whatever position that I had been in before I began the daydream. I'm usually alone, not having anyone else to reach out to for help --to analyze this perfectly sensuous dream. But this time it's different because she is in the bed next to me when I pull myself from my daze. "What were you thinking about, Mulder?" she quietly asks, laying her head on my bare chest. I breathe in the soft smell of her shampoo. "You," I answer, meeting her gaze as she looks up at me from her casual spot on my body. She lets out the breath that she was holding as her arm snakes out to lay across my belly. I catch a glimpse of the golden band around her finger before it curls around my side. Her head lays back down on my chest and I entwine my fingers into her hair, stealing a glance at the golden band that the dim light catches on my own hand. I smile at the new and oddly familiar piece of jewelry and lay my head back. Sexual freedom was not the reason for my asking her to marry me, but I have to admit that it makes quite the added plus. I enjoy spending our time together. I love that our desires and needs can be filled by one another at the simple asking. But I somehow I still feel afraid to ask her to fulfill this fantasy for me. I'm afraid that she may think of me to be the voyeur that I truly am. She knows my nature, but I don't enjoy rubbing her nose in it. After all, she has fulfilled my longings and desires more times than I can count by being my one true friend and partner through the best and worst times of my life. What more can a man ask for? Sex. Plain and simple. Pure, premeditated sex. I'm not saying that it doesn't happen, because it does-- quite frequently actually. But, it's usually just a "spur-of-the-moment-whenever-Will-is-asleep" type of thing. And that's fine. I'm perfectly content with that, but I just wish sometimes it could be a more planned out event. I feel her warm lips kiss my chest and I know exactly what she's thinking. My eyes pop open and I begin to squirm a little under her touch. She looks up at me again with a puzzled expression. "What's wrong?" she questions, her face turning and twisting into a more concerned expression. "Scully," I croak, "I need to ask you something..." She backs off a little and begins to look irritated. Scully's sex drive is not something to fuck with, I've recently discovered. "Have you ever had a fantasy, Scully?" I ask immediately, not wanting to detain her any longer. "Of course I've had fantasies, Mulder," she begins, laying her head back down onto my chest. She begins to grope me and I feel her tongue dart out to taste my nipple. "I'm serious, Scully," I scold, moving my hand to the side of her face. She stops and looks back up to me. "I think we need to talk about this," I insist. "Okay," she agrees, sitting up. "Talk." "I've always had this fantasy, Scully," I begin, "About you in the shower..." "And?" She looks more annoyed than excited. I finish telling her the rest and I can see by the slight blush in her cheeks that she is turned on by it. "So what do you think? Can we try to make this a reality?" I ask her, trying to get the answer that I want. At her silence I begin to get nervous. Thinking that I had said the wrong thing, I moved in closer to her and kissed her mouth fully, bathing her lips with my own. "This isn't a one way street you know. We're talking eye for an eye..." I say, my voice a near whisper. "I'm sure you have a fantasy or two that I can help you out with." "Actually, yes I do, Mulder," she replies with a grin. "One that involves Brad Pitt and George Clooney..." I calmly reach down to the foot of the bed to retrieve a small, heart shaped pillow to throw at her. The pillow fight begins, and she attacks me with her enormous body pillow from the other side of the bed. My right ear rings after the contact and I pin her arms and legs down with my own before attacking her mouth with mine. "Mommy... Daddy... what are you doing?" a small voice calls from the doorway. "Oh hey, Will," I say, smiling over at him. "Daddy was just getting ready to tickle mommy on the belly. Wanna help?" I ask in a playful tone that only Will and Scully have heard. The 3ft-tall, brown-headed, blue-eyed boy innocently smiles at Scully before breaking into a full gait towards the bed. Scully screams in sarcastic protest as the little Uber-Scully plops on the bed next to her. I hold her down as he tickles her and laughs that small laugh that I know and love so dearly. This, I think, is my one true fantasy. And the odd thing is that it was born out of a spur-of-the-moment joining. No premeditation whatsoever. Oh well, I'm happy with the way things are. Premeditated or not. Tha End. AUTHOR'S NOTES: Well, there you have it. I just wanted to have a short fic dedicated to some post-marital bliss for our favorite agents. Hopefully you enjoyed it, I know I did. :) Thank you so much for reading!