Title: Fury and Fantasy Author: Lovesfox E-mail: lovesfox@rogers.com Website: www.geocities.com/fanficcorner Rating: NC-17 Category: MSR, Keywords: PWP, Smut Spoilers: None Summary: Scully comes over to Mulder's place spoiling for a fight, smut ensues. Archive: Please ask Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully and The Lone Gunmen do not belong to me, they belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions. I mean them no harm. ***** Mulder's Apartment 10:05 PM The three sharp raps on his door startled Mulder, though he had been more than halfway expecting them for some time now, and he was unable to contain the instinctive flinch. Grimacing, he lurched from his seat on the couch and headed for the door, preparing to face her wrath. For it was undeniably Scully at his door. Before he had even lifted his hand to unlatch the lock, he heard the scrape of metal as she most likely jabbed the key into the hole with lethal intent. No doubt wishing it were his midsection she was jabbing her fist into as she did so. The lock clicked and the door was flung open, missing him by inches only because he had wisely taken a step back. He had time to register only a few impressions -- the scowl on her face that by no means detracted from her classic beauty, the air of aggression in her demeanor, and the rush of wind as she brushed past him. Swallowing his unspoken greeting, he shut the door, slightly surprised she hadn't slammed it, and turned to face her. She stood in the middle of his living room floor with her hands on her hips, a living, breathing model of righteous indignation and fury. Mulder tried a smile, and as he had expected, it was not returned. If anything, her scowl grew more intense. Delaying the inevitable, he offered her a drink. At that, she looked ready to spit nails. Or perhaps ready to lay out an ass-chewing was a more appropriate descriptor. Namely *his* ass. On certain other occasions, that had been a rather pleasant experience, what with Scully's self-admitted fascination with said ass. He managed to hide his smile of memory under the guise of rubbing his hand across his mouth. Her growled response would have done the crustiest sailor proud. Though he wasn't sure if her suggestion was anatomically possible. "Scully," he aimed for a tone that was a cross between placating and assertive. She wasn't having any of it. "Where the hell were you?" she asked, storming forward to poke him in the chest with one stiffened finger. "We had agreed to go for one hour, remember?" He remembered quite clearly, now, after the fact. Had fully intended to meet her and the rest of the task force at Casey's for the celebratory dinner and drinks, as he and Scully had promised Skinner they would. But the Gunmen's discussion on their latest government conspiracy theory had gotten intense, with Langly hotly defending his position and Frohike and Byers equally adamant on their own stance. He had been pulled into the argument, semi-reluctantly, he'd readily admit, and time had gotten away on him. Once he'd realized he was beyond late, he'd immediately tried to reach Scully on her cell. She had not answered any of his calls, and he'd gotten the hint that she was not impressed. He'd headed home to his apartment, knowing Scully would find him when she was good and ready. It was apparent that time was now. "Well--" he started. "One hour, Mulder," she cut him off, her voice dangerously low. It was actually more frightening than when she yelled. She poked him again. "One hour. That's all Skinner asked for. *And* what you agreed on." A tiny flash of shame flickered, but he stifled it, for he was getting annoyed by the dent she was attempting to carve into his chest. Taking one step back, he gave her a warning look, lifting his hand to cover her target. "I forgot, Scully." "You stood me up," she stated flatly, arms now tightly folded across her chest. She paused, dramatically it seemed, and then added, "You ditched me, Mulder." Despite the fact he fully recognized that she had every right to be angry with him, his back went up at hearing the word 'ditch'. "I did not ditch you," he gritted out. He took a deep breath and released it, forcing himself to relax, and added in a hopefully calmer tone, "I got caught up at the Gunmen's, and I forgot." The repeated excuse sounded hollow even to his own ears. Even if it was the truth. Skepticism poured off her in waves. "I come back to the office after dropping off our final report on the Martinson case," she told him, "and find a note from you on my laptop, which says, and I quote, "Had to go to the Gunmen's. Will meet you at Casey's." Her eyebrow arched. "I was gone twenty minutes, Mulder. *Twenty* minutes. You couldn't have waited for me to get back?" Mulder winced inwardly. He *could* have waited, it just hadn't occurred to him to do so. Not that he would tell her that; he wasn't entirely clueless. "Scully," he sighed, rubbing his hand across his face. Turning from her, he walked a few steps away, rotated his head from side to side and turned to face her once more. "It wasn't intentional. I thought I'd only be a half-hour tops." She either ignored his comment about it not being intentional, or was too caught up to hear it, for she did not acknowledge the words had been spoken. "The only reason I agreed to go in the first place was because we were going together, Mulder." Her voice rose slightly as she continued, "The least you could have done was call me. Did you forget my cell number too?" The sarcasm rolled off her tongue with ease. He gritted his teeth to hold back a curse. And the urge to remind her that she had ignored all his calls. Instead he made another mistake, which was to call her behavior into question. "Scully, you're being irrational." "What did you say?" she hissed, clearly incensed. The look she shot him would have felled a lesser man, but he'd had previous experience, although he was loathe to admit it. She took an aggressive step towards him, and suddenly he was seeing her with different eyes. "Jesus, Scully, you're..." He stopped, at a complete and utter loss for words. "I'm what?" she snapped, brows drawing down mutinously. Color flared along her cheekbones, flushed her neck and the deep vee of her cleavage. He blinked, stupefied. His voice was unintentionally hushed as he continued, having found those lost words, "You're incredibly, amazingly beautiful." He made the statement honestly, with no hidden intent. It was her turn to blink, her mouth gaping open for a moment before the angry expression on her face bled away to one that was somewhere between incredulity and wonder. "Damn it, Mulder," she said, though it was without heat. "What?" he asked, surprised and a little wounded. Her lashes were suddenly sooty with tears, and she sounded both perplexed and humbled. "How can I be angry with you when you say something like that to me?" She took the few steps necessary to bring their bodies mere millimeters apart. Her hands lifted, hovered in the air briefly and then she was wrapping her arms around him tightly, her forehead dropping to his chest. She sniffled, followed it up with a half-laugh/half-sob, and exclaimed, "And I was on a roll, damn it!" Relieved and amused, he laughed as well, bringing his own arms up to cradle her against him. The feel of her body served to compound the brief thrill he always experienced whenever she swore. Call him perverse -- he found such times sexy. As much so as when her full, luscious lips formed a pout when she didn't get her way. Hell, he even found it endearing when she whined. He had it bad. He was a goner for her, plain and simple. A goner who was rapidly becoming aroused. Scully turned her head to the side and nuzzled his chest, her fingers kneading his back. She also pressed her belly into his burgeoning erection, making a humming noise deep in her throat. That showed promise. "Scully," he murmured, wondering if he was about to blow that promise, but forging ahead anyway. Carpe diem. "Does this mean we can skip the fighting part and get right to the makeup sex?" He felt her laughter as it bubbled up from inside her, her body shaking in his arms. He couldn't help but grin, his arms loosening as he shared her mirth. Thus he was not prepared when her right foot hooked around his left ankle and she shoved with her hip. He landed flat on his back with a grunt, Scully riding him down. Pinning him with knees and hands, her flushed face hovering inches above his. Though they both knew that if he applied his greater strength he could eventually reverse the situation. Her eyes were twinkling, and her voice husky when she announced, "I want to be on top." Oh, baby. The pain from his fall was gone, the thrill that coursed through him heady. Still, he couldn't resist a comeback, one eyebrow arching in a credible impersonation of the woman now eyeing him with what appeared to be ravenous intent. "You *are* on top, Scully." "Mulder." That was all she said, in a semi-frustrated, semi-amused tone. Then she tore his shirt open. The fine cotton ripped effortlessly, buttons flying everywhere, pinging and skittering across the floor. "Scully!" he gasped in utter shock, the sound somewhat high-pitched. And gasped again -- although some might argue it was more of a squeak than a gasp -- when her mouth closed around his left nipple. He'd swear on his genuine piece of moon rock that she chuckled, but then forgot all about it when her teeth scraped his sensitive flesh. When his belt buckle clunked against the floor, Mulder realized two things. One was that he'd apparently lost time yet again, for Scully had managed to unbelt, unbutton and unzip his pants without him being aware of it, and the other was that he didn't care about the lost time, as long as she kept on doing what she was doing. Which she did, although she added an evil twist. Her fingernails were now glancing along his ribs. Pure, unadulterated torture. As she well knew. He wiggled, he squirmed. He cursed and he pleaded, in between fits of laughter and gasps for air. But Scully was relentless. And she seemed to have more appendages than an octopus. But finally he found a chink in her seemingly impenetrable armor. Her vulnerable, extremely ticklish midriff was open to attack, her blouse having come untucked during their tussling. He had to wait for the right moment, feigning further weakness. She fell for it, of course. Gotcha, he thought. His hands moved in and found their target. Search and destroy. Or in this case, tickle and seduce. When she flinched, he seized the opportunity and flipped her over onto her back, quickly straddling her upper thighs and grabbing her flailing arms to bring them down to her sides. After a moment's struggle, he pinned her hands under his knees, which hugged her ribs. Panting, he grinned at her. "Looks like I'm on top now, Scully." Muttering something that he couldn't quite make out and assumed was most likely unflattering to his masculinity, she tried to buck him off. But the move was ineffectual with him situated as he was. Though not by much, for Scully had a surprising strength, and he had to hide the fact that it took effort to hold her still by widening his grin. Sweeping his gaze over her heaving breasts, his attention was caught by her navel, winking sexily at him through a gape in her blouse. He circled it once with just the tip of his right index finger, ever-so-lightly, enjoying the way her stomach quivered from his touch, and then grabbed the tails of her blouse in each hand. "I hope this isn't your favorite blouse, Scully," he murmured mischievously as he held her gaze, "because you know what they say about turnabout being fair play." He watched as her eyes went wide and her mouth opened on a protest. Which immediately turned into a gasp because he was already tugging. Her blouse ripped as easily as his shirt had, and the tiny, pearlized buttons made a similar music dancing across his hardwood floor. Scully craned her neck to stare at her now exposed flesh and then glared up at him. On her face, shock and disbelief warred with a smidgen of anger. And arousal, he definitely saw arousal. "You bas--" Mulder swooped down and covered her mouth with his. He'd had to release her in order to do so, and at first she was not an overly active participant in the kiss. In fact, she had begun to swat half-heartedly at whatever body part she could reach -- ribs, chest, it didn't seem to matter. Then with a muffled moan, she became wild, returning his kiss with fervor, sucking on his tongue. Her hands turned eager, greedy, and she started working on removing his torn shirt. She yanked it roughly down his arms, where it gathered at his wrists because his hands were planted on either side of her head. She gave up, deciding instead to tease his nipples with her fingernails. The rest of the shirt was a tight constriction across his back, hampering his movements. Breaking the kiss, he rose up on his knees, breathing heavily and harshly, and fumbled at the buttons of his shirt cuffs. Scully's hands were not idle during his task. For she was doing a fine job of trying to drive him insane by running her palms up and down his thighs, dipping into his opened fly with each pass. He'd only managed to free one of his wrists when on her next pass she traced the length of his cock through the cotton of his briefs. His breath stuttered in his lungs and his hips thrust forward, trying to follow the teasing touch. She waited until he had caught his breath -- barely -- and he had resumed working on the other cuff to touch him again. This time he lost his balance, and fell to one side, landing on his ass, with his left leg still across her thighs. With a cocky smirk, she made her move. Pulling her legs free of his, she rolled smoothly to her knees and reached out to grab his left foot. His shoe was jerked off and tossed over her shoulder, hitting the floor with a thud even as she was pulling his right shoe off. While he was still working on the one button that was all that kept his shirt on. Before the second shoe hit the ground she was tugging on his pant legs. Quite aggressively, in fact. So after she had tossed his pants aside, he did the same with his finally uncuffed shirt, and then he lay back and let her do her thing. His socks were discarded as quickly as his pants had been, and then she was crawling along his supine form. The graceful movements of her body, the intense and intent look on her face, gave her the appearance of a feline stalking her prey. And he was that prey. Willing prey, however. Very, very willing. At some point she'd also removed her shoes, pantyhose and skirt, though he hadn't been aware of this as it had occurred. His senses had been otherwise engaged. All she wore now was her panties and bra, and the torn-open blouse. A fantastically sexy look for her. Mulder couldn't help but stare at her shadowy cleavage, emphasized by her position and enhanced by satin. Her low chuckle distracted him, and then her amused voice said, "Like what you see, Mulder?" "More than I can express," he replied, finally meeting her gaze. Which flicked to his proud erection, generously tenting his boxer/briefs. "Oh, you're expressing it quite well," she returned, her smoky voice an octave lower than usual. "Just you wait," he told her with his own cocky smirk as she brought her hands to the waistband of his only remaining garment, now supporting herself on her knees. His abs quivered when she traced the index finger of her right hand along the elasticized band, and his voice was shaky as a result, "I'll get...even more expressive." "Of that, I have no doubt, Mulder," she purred, dipping that same finger beneath the band. Raising one eyebrow, she teased, "I believe." His snort of acknowledgment and appreciation at her sense of humor turned into a husky approximation of her name. For her left hand had trailed slowly along his length to join her right at his waistband. Once there, she slipped her fingers beneath the material and began edging the briefs off, staring into his eyes for a moment before looking downward. She eased them over his erection, murmuring a clearly pleased "Mmmmm" when it was fully revealed. A moment of awkwardness arose when she had to shift about in order to remove the briefs completely, and they both snickered at her somewhat ungraceful movements. But it was done, and he was completely nude at last. It was as she was sliding her leg across his to regain her position on top that Mulder rose up on one elbow and snaked his other hand up her thigh to snap the leg of her satin panties. She twitched in surprise, uttering a low, "Ouch." "Off," was all he said, without apology, and together they wrestled the garment away. They somehow ended up on their sides facing each other, her right leg slung high over his hip and her right arm around his neck, fingers clutching at his hair. His right arm was beneath her shoulders, and he stroked the knuckles of his left hand along her stomach and breastbone, on his way to her bra. He flicked it open one-handed, easily, and nudged the satin aside, fingers stroking the curve of her breast, lightly cupping it. His thumb swept over her hard nipple and she gasped, simultaneously thrusting her chest forward, pushing her breast more firmly into his hand, and grinding her hips into his. He thrust forward, into the contact, and she gasped again, her fingers tightening their hold on his hair and her lower body surging against him anew. "In me," she muttered, her mouth at his shoulder. "In me, now." His heart thumped wildly as his hand fumbled at his cock, attempting to position himself, slipping partially inside. "You're ready?" he asked, somewhat stupidly, for there was no doubt of that. "God, Mulder, I've been ready ever since I brought you down to the floor and ripped your shirt off," she exclaimed, and then nipped the tendon between his neck and shoulder. She was moving against him, tiny motions that signaled her impatience, her need. "Fuck me already." Hearing that -- *knowing that* -- further enflamed Mulder. Tacit and rather explicit permission -- she did not need hearts and flowers, or a tender touch, right now. Sliding his hand under to cup her thigh, he lifted her leg up higher and thrust his hips, burying himself deep inside. After a few seconds for them both to adjust, he began a quick but steady pace. His momentum pushed Scully onto her back, and he followed without breaking stride, planting his elbows on the floor, caging her head. Scully lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist, locking her ankles above his ass. Deepening the angle of penetration, intensifying the sensation. Her right hand had remained curled in his hair, and her left now clutched at his shoulder, nails digging into his skin with an erotic sting of pain. She lifted her head up and nipped his chin, following the little bite with a rough swipe of her tongue. "Harder," was her command. He groaned with heightened pleasure, and complied. Eyes flickering closed, Scully made an inarticulate sound. Her back arched, and she clenched on and around him, lost in her climax. Several frantic, choppy thrusts later, Mulder followed her with his own release, head thrown back and mouth open. Finally he collapsed atop her. After a few moments to recuperate, he shifted most of his weight off of her and pillowed his head on her breast. Scully's hand returned to his hair and she began playing with it, idly curling strands around her finger. Her breathing had slowed, and she was comfortably still beneath him. Every so often she let out a pleased sigh. Once his own breathing was under control and he felt he could speak, Mulder murmured, "You know, I've had fantasies like this, Scully." Her hum sounded like one of agreement, and he lifted his head to look at her in surprise, a tiny thrill chasing through him. "You've fantasized about this?" "About having a fight with you and then tearing your clothes off and doing you on the floor?" she returned, voice soft and level. Conversational. At his nod, her next response was a throaty, "Oh, yes." Blinking rapidly, he intoned, "I just got very turned on." She laughed softly and patted his back, seemingly in no hurry to get up from the floor. Nor did she appear to take his statement as one of fact, though he thought it quite possible with the news she had just imparted that it wouldn't take much to get him ready to go again. Smiling to himself, he settled upon her breast once more. A comfortable silence reigned for many moments, and then another thought occurred to Mulder. He lifted his head once again and studied the relaxed lines of her face, the peaceful, blissful expression she wore. "Scully...you didn't really come here to fight, did you?" A mysterious smile was her only answer. *** THE END