From: "Erika -Invisigoth421-" Date: Wed, 16 Feb 2000 20:51:30 PST Subject: Revised: Sunflower Seed (1/1) by Invisigoth421 Source: revision Title: Sunflower Seed Author - Invisigoth421 (invisigoth421@hotmail.com) http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dunes/2415/index.html Rating - PG-13 Classification: V, R Spoilers - None Keywords - Mulder/Scully Summary -: Scully writes in her journal about an interesting fantasy. Archive: Anywhere, as long as my name remains attached Author's notes: This is one of my first fics. Proceed with caution and a good sense of humor. One must also be aware that this is a different version from the one originally posted. I've edited it and (hopefully) made it better. LOL. -This was done in response to a fanfic challenge from Leigcia Disclaimer Haiku: Mulder and Scully They belong to Chris and Fox Do not sue me, please Nov 21, 1998 1:00 AM It's Friday night and here I am alone. I tried to stay up. I really did. I tried to watch a few movies but nothing kept my attention. It seemed as though I spent hours just aimlessly flipping through channels. And even when something looked like it might be interesting, I couldn't concentrate. I decided to go to bed instead. Now I'm in bed, but I can't sleep. Far be it from me to ever complain about being alone. I like it. I prefer my own company. There are no mind games, no complicated relationships, no responsibilities to deal with anyone's emotions but my own. But tonight, for some reason, I don't like it. It's cold, dammit. My feet are freezing. No matter how much I crank up the heat, it's still cold. But the truth is that I just can't stop thinking about Mulder. Yes, it's been one of *those* days again. But that's the great thing about a journal. It's better, as far as I'm concerned, than having someone to talk to. A journal doesn't get fed up if you repeat the same things over and over again. A journal doesn't laugh at you or get mad at you. It doesn't judge you. It simply sits there silently and soaks up ink. I'll say it again. I can't stop thinking about Mulder. I have days like this sometimes. Quite often I come home from work and he doesn't cross my mind. I go about my nightly routine. I enjoy my own company. But then, as I said before, there are *those* days. Days when Mulder is particularly intriguing; days when his passion inspires me and I can't stop thinking about what it would be like to know him better, more intimately than I do. I wish I knew what he was doing tonight. Iroincally, he's probably doing the same thing I am. No, scratch that. He's probably watching his porn videos. I can't see Mulder writing in a journal. He just doesn't strike me as the type. No, he's watching some cheezy porn flick, or reading Playboy, I imagine. Is he thinking about me too? Wait, that question sounded terrible. I don't know if I *like* the idea of Mulder thinking about me when he watches porn. Wall, maybe... no, I really have no idea how I feel about that. I like to think he might be thinking of me. To think that he might watch porn and think of me is a little to far out of left field. Today was just one of those days. Mulder was in a good mood. He was smiling. He was happy and joking, teasing me every chance he got. But as much as Mulder affected me today, and as mucn as his passion rubbed off on me, sometimes I hate sharing a desk with him. We get in each other's way. And even on days like today, when he's in a good mood, it can be damned annoying. You see, he has some kind of oral fixation with sunflower seeds. He brings bags of them to work and he must go through at least one or two bags a day. And I sit there trying to remember which assignment a certain hotel receipt is from and I have to listen to that chipping, crunching sound. That sound... Mulder chewing his sunflower seeds. He's an expert at it, I tell you. I've eaten them before, and I have to break the shell open before I put them in my mouth or I end up with nothing but a mouth full of the salty, wood-like shells. But Mulder... he manages to snap that shell in half, and manoever his tongue just so... getting the succulent little seed out and disposing of the shell without so much as a hitch. And you know, as much as I hate to admit it, I find myself sitting there staring at him, watching and wishing I was one of his sunflower seeds. What an odd thing to say. I don't think I've ever been consciously aware of that. It came to me right now, out of the blue, but it's true. Maybe it shouldn't be in writing. I may have to burn this later. But as ludicrous as it sounds, it's true. There are times when, as independant as I want to seem, nothing would mean more to me than grabbing Mulder's attention. But he always finds time for his sunflower seeds. Today at work, going through those boring reports, I found myself fantasizing about being one of those seeds. Yes, I did. I'm admitting it. And I'll be getting out the gasoline and matches soon. I suppose life as a sunflower seed is rather boring to start off with. It must be nothing but sitting on a shelf in a dark store somewhere waiting for someone to come along and devour you and all of your friends. But I could handle it if I knew that it was going to be Fox Mulder who would devour me one day. Did I really say that? (Burn the book. Remember that, Dana Scully. Burn the book.) But today, I imagined myself in that bag on the store shelf. I imagined the feeling of motion as the bag was swept off the shelf and into the hands of that tall, handsome FBI agent. It went something like this (I can't believe I'm writing this down)> I imagine a bouncing, sweeping motion as the bag is picked up off the shelf, and a crash as it's set down on the counter to be paid for. I hear the beeping of the cash register, the shuffling of paper and change. My friends and I bounce off one another in the mayhem. Then, of course, theat sweeping sensation returns, followed by more motion as we are carried out of the store. It's dark in the bag, of course. There's not much to see but other sunflower seeds and a distorted world through the blurry, colored plastic. The motion gets dizzying after a while, until we are finally set down on his desk in the basement office where he works. We're not left in peace very long, though. There is a sudden rustling, and a tearing sound as the bag is opened. I watch in anticipation as a giant hand dips in and takes a few seeds. It isn't my luck to be among the first, even in my imagination. All I can do is wait. I can't see much from inside this bag, though I wish I could. I can hear him crunching, and it seems an eternity before his hand dips into the bag again. I begin to wish sunflower seeds had limbs, so I could get closer, closer to his hands, closer to his lips. But luck is with me finally. I feel myself being scooped out of the bag and lifted into his hand,. His warm, gentle hands. I long to feel those hands on me. I live for the moments when those hands hold mine, or for when he touches my shoulder or arm for no reason. It sends chills up my spine. That is, when I'm not pretending to be a sunflower seed. I'm digressing. I must be getting tired. There are only a few of us pulled out of the bag this time, and one of my companions makes the lucky journey into Fox Mulder's mouth. I watch and admire that succulent bottom lip as he breaks open the shell and I can imagine him popping me open, sliding his tongue into my shell... oh, that's a little bit too erotic for me to admit on paper. But I'm next before I know it. I feel myself being lifted between his thumb and index fingers, and into his mouth. His warm, soft mouth. How many times have I wanted to kiss that mouth? His lips are everything that I'd ever dreamed they were, except unfortunately, I am still dreaming. I can feel his tongue swirling around me and then before I know it I'm trapped between his teeth. There is a 'snap'. It's a delightful feeling, the breaking of boundaries, the crumbling of the wall I have placed around myself. I feel my shell crack around me. Then his tongue is back and I'm in heaven again as it slides across me, stroking me... I guess it's time to end this fantasy before he swallows me. Well, I do have to admit that I'm no longer cold. I hope and pray that Mulder never, ever reads this. In fact, I'm going in search of those matches right now. End. Ok it was a little odd. FEEDBACK???? invisigoth421@hotmail.com