From: Rebecca Compeau Date: 24 May 2002 15:08:16 -0700 Subject: [all-xf] NEW: Thursday's Peeping Tom rated NC17 Source: atxc Title: Thursday's Peeping Tom Author: Soleil Compeau Summary: Scully finds out about Mulder's fantasy item. What does she think? Rating: NC17 Category/Keywords: UST, Scullybation, ScullyPOV Notes: This is the third in the Torn Shirt series. The others are titled Tuesday's Torn Shirt and Wednesday's Wild Theory. This will make lots more sense if you read those first, but it's not absolutely essential. Unless you like Mulderbation. I want to do something nice for Mulder. He's a little disgruntled at the way our current case turned out. He was certain a werewolf was savaging campers and hikers in a Vermont forest. Turns out it was *just* a serial killer with a serious kink. The main reason Mulder's upset, I think, is because I showed him up in front of everyone. Normally he respects my professional opinion, but when he began explaining his "werewolf" theory to the local PD working the case with us, I asked him rather sarcastically how a mythical creature could fold and stack the victims' clothes beside them. Then I snapped on a glove and proceeded to take a rape kit on the latest body found. After that, it was fairly easy to determine that the killer was not only a man, but a stupid one at that. He killed his victims by opening up their throats with a steak knife, then raped them, leaving his DNA behind. So Mulder was peeved. Not because he was wrong; he enjoys the solving of the puzzle just as much as I do. No, it was my snarky attitude that upset him. I'll pack his clothes for him while he finishes up field paperwork at the police department, then take him out to dinner. We'll spend the evening relaxing and having fun, then return home tomorrow. Just a couple of good friends hanging out together. I push that slightly melancholy thought aside and go into his hotel room. His clothes are strewn about the floor, but not too many. We've only been here three days. After finishing with his discarded shirts and pants I turn to the closet and discover something puzzling. There's a torn shirt stored carefully in the little closet, opposite the other clothes. How did that happen? He didn't do that in the field, I would have remembered. Giving a quick sniff, I conclude it hasn't even been *worn.* Why did he even bring it? All the buttons are missing. I stand there turning it over and over in my hands, trying to figure it out. Judging from the parted seam on the right side, I'd say someone was in a hurry to get the shirt off. If Mulder did wear this shirt, it wasn't for long. He tore it off quickly. My eyes narrow. Or did he? Could someone else have done this? Could a *woman* have ripped my partner's shirt right off his back? Just then, I hear the door open as the man in question returns. He sees me and shoots me a big smile. I freeze and try not to look guilty as he crosses the space between us. The shirt hangs limply from my fist. Why should I feel so strange? As if he's caught me doing something wrong? I've packed his suitcase for him before. Mulder sees what I have in my hand and his greeting dies on his lips. Now his pleased expression looks a bit forced. Gently he takes the shirt from my hands and takes the hanger it was on from the closet. "So Scully..looking through my underwear drawer are you?" His back is to me, but the leering tone does not fool me. He's still upset. Ignoring his comment for now, I address what I perceive as the problem. "Are you hungry Mulder? I thought we could get dinner someplace nice, decompress from the case." He does not answer. Tentatively I touch his back and begin to apologize. The "I'm sorry" dies on my lips as he jerks and spins around to face me. His pupils are huge. What the hell is going on? He reaches back without breaking eye contact with me and slams the door shut on his remaining dress shirts. Only then does he relax and respond to my overtures. "Sure Scully. Dinner. That'll be...nice" He's hiding something. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ We agree easily on the Olive Garden and sate ourselves on pasta and salad. Mulder insists on buying a glass of wine afterward, since I'm paying for everything else. As we sip, our conversation turns to the case. "What really puzzles me is the same thing that confused me during the "Eve" case. The victims were all exsanguinated, but what happened to the blood? There's no trace of it anywhere." Mulder comments. He sits back and gets that contemplative "I'm profiling" look. I drink my wine and watch him. What really puzzles *me* is what happened to your shirt Mulder. What's her name? Where did you meet her? Is she good in bed? She can't be that good or I'd have heard you moaning. But of course I say nothing aloud. Back in the hallway outside our rooms Mulder says goodnight without touching me. I sit on my bed in the dark and tremble with delayed reaction. I feel sick picturing him with another woman, but that's the image that plays in my mind, over and over. It's so real that I actually get up and press my ear to the connecting wall. Nothing. No noise. I'm halfway back to my bed before it occurs to me how odd that is. I didn't hear Mulder watching TV or undressing for sleep or anything. Maybe they're kissing, and that's why I don't hear any noise. Oh God. I *have* to know. Just a quick peek into his room, and I'll be able to sleep. Or decide what to do about the woman in Mulder's arms. I walk to our connecting door and take a deep breath to steady my nerves. Now I twist the knob on my side, slooowly, and pull it open. Good. Mulder's side is pushed shut but not latched. Exercising extreme caution, I push it with excruciating slowness until the wood parts from the door frame just the barest inch. Now I can see inside. There's Mulder, lying in bed as I half suspected. He's alone. Relief floods through me with such force that it takes me another second or two to process what I'm actually seeing. His chest is bare, and his hand moves over his lap in an ancient rhythm. That damned torn shirt hangs open off his shoulders. As I stare in shock, Mulder's face contorts, and I hear a distinct gasp of pleasure from those full lips. Oh my God. Oh my God. Without thinking, I slam both doors shut, and pace in a tight circle in the space between my bed and TV stand. "Scully!" Mulder shouts from his room just before flinging his door open. "Scully!" He's knocking hard on my connecting door. I open it to find him flushed and disheveled, wearing a pair of sweatpants. He's lost the shirt, and he's still very obviously erect beneath the pants. "What happened? You slammed your door. Are you okay?" "Yes." I can't take my eyes off the waistband of his sweats, at the patch of soft skin under his navel that's screaming for me to lick it. "Oh." Mulder stares at my flushed face, then stoops slightly and catches me under the chin. "You were watching me, weren't you?" "Mulder, for God's sake!" I slap his hand away and pretend to be angry. "Why would I want to see you in private like that? I have *some* respect for you after all." But I know that my face is fire engine red now and my nipples poke at the cotton of my shirt. "Of course, Scully." He steps back to the doorway and fidgets for a moment. His voice is soft as he says, "Call me if you need me." Finally he goes back to his own room. I fling myself on the cheap bed, my hand diving beneath my own comfortable pants. To have *seen* him like that, so sexual and unrestrained and God I could have *watched* him if only I hadn't *panicked.* I replay his face, his soft sound, and frig at my clit furiously. I need no preliminaries, no working up to a hard pace. As I struggle, a fantasy forms in my mind. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I fling the door wider, catching his attention. His mouth forms an "oh" of shock and he lets go of himself to pull the blankets over his lap. "No," I purr. "Let me see you. Let me touch you." I recall his earlier request. "I need you." Now Mulder's mouth simply hangs open. He doesn't move, just stares at me, so I grab the blankets in one hand and fling them from the bed in one deft snap of my wrist. Now I can see him all the way down to his toes. And that's where I start. Taking one big toe in my mouth to suck, I slide my hands leisurely up his shins and tickle his knees. Mulder jerks and gasps, his toes are beginning to curl up. The last thing I do to his feet is poke my tongue between his baby toe and the next one before they completely tense up. A quick swipe along the soft arches produces a hysterical giggle and a spasmodic pulling away. I don't want to waste time, so I pounce on his groin next. That little crease where his thigh meets his waist is very sensitive, I'm sure, so I lick it thoroughly. Now his hands are in my hair and he's groaning helplessly. I pull away from his caresses and look into his red, scrunched up face. "Please, God Scully." "Yes, I think so too." I swing my feet around until they're next to the pillow. Mulder figures out what I'm doing and, oh, is he eager to help. His slender hands spread my legs and his mouth chases after my swollen lips even before I've completely settled my face over his cock. He's soooo good at this. It's been so long, and it feels so right. Cunnilingus has always been one of my favorite things. The enthusiastic way he's licking me means I'm not going to last long. Already I'm grinding my hips into his face. I grasp his cock at the root and hold it up to admire it. It's red, and pulsing, and quite thick and long. The little ridge on the head is quietly begging me to nibble it. So I do. Mulder cries out long and sharply into my vagina. He tears his lips and tongue away long enough to issue a command. "Suck it hard!" So I do. I press my mouth down on him until he bumps the back of my throat. There's exactly enough room left for my fist to curl around him. Then I suck until my cheeks hollow. Mulder and I flex and beat together like a heartbeat, writhing together in our erotic embrace. His tongue falters more and more as his climax gets closer. Finally his head thunks back on the pillows. He does not completely abandon me though. A long, slender finger enters me, then two. He curls his fingers and strokes perfectly along my G-spot. "Oh God! Mulder! Yes!" "Huhhhhhh! Sculleee!" We come together. Gloriously. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Alone in my room, I lay panting and twitching through tiny afterorgasms that ripple my stomach and thighs. I feel no guilt about my fantasy as I usually do. Mulder was jerking off in his room, and I saw it. I saw it. That naughty thought makes me smile with pleasure. His gorgeous nakedness, his free indulgence in pleasure, set me off. I am happy to have just masturbated to his image. But one thing still confuses me. I get up and wash my face and hands in the bathroom. I comb my hair and steady my breathing and pulse. Then I open my side of the connecting door yet again, and knock crisply. "Yeah?" His wavering voice gives me permission to enter. Mulder reclines on his pillows, sticky and sweaty. He looks at me blearily as I approach him. He doesn't even try to hide the shirt as I draw near. I snatch it up and wave it in front of him. "What does this shirt mean to you, Mulder?" End Oh boy, am I getting good ideas for the next one! Write and tell me what you think. DKMulder@juno.com