Title: Troubled Sleep Author: Soleil Compeau Summary: Scully thinks of Mulder....in a sexual way. Spoilers: One Son Category: Vignette, UST, Scully POV Rating: NC17 Disclaimer: The characters of Mulder, Scully, Agent Fowley, and Cassandra Spender are not mine. They are the sole property of Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and the Fox Network. They are being used here to provide entertainment for me and my fellow fans. No copyright infringement is intended. Author's Notes: I know, I know, I said I wouldn't write anymore. My smut muse threw hands up in despair at the sight of Mulder's lifeless body while my sad muse cackled to the dark skies above. Apparently they decided to get together (my muses I mean) and this is the result. I return to the comfort of my apartment and strip off the hated clothes they gave me earlier. I crawl into bed and luxuriate in the feel of comfortable, familiar sheets against my skin. My head is pounding and I'm exhausted from the day's events. I begin to nod off, but I can't settle down completely. Every time I reach the brink of deep sleep, my body jerks and I'm wide awake again. I get up and put on my favorite pair of blue silk pajamas. It doesn't help though. I still toss and turn. I know what I need. I know what will relax me. The ultimate tension reliever. My hand trails down my stomach, under the waistband of my pajama bottoms, and I lightly flick at my clit. The tension winds tighter. My finger dances lightly, teasingly. Want to make it last, draw out the anticipation so my climax is more intense. My mother told me this was a sin, but as an adult I have found it has its uses. Who needs aspirin when you can just have an orgasm? Of course, it's much better when there's a man involved. I conjure up my imaginary lover, poised above me. His golden skin gleams in the dim light from my window. His dark hair falls over his forehead as his pouty lips caress my face and neck. My fingers trace over my folds, now slick with a bit of moisture. Imagining *his* hand......"Oh Mulder!" Oh my God! My fantasy lover is Mulder! Why had I never noticed that before? The man of my dreams, the perfect mate created by my subconscious, had been endowed by that same subconscious with all the attributes I found most endearing in Mulder. The aroused man above me vanishes as I sit up and shake my head in negation. I can't think about Mulder that way. I just can't. Oh hell yes, he's sexy and desirable, that's exactly the problem. If I start thinking of Mulder sexually, I'd never be able to work with him. He would drive me to distraction with the way he moves....his voice...his eyes.....the way he sometimes catches my eye and..gazes at me. Nope, this isn't going to work for me tonight. I take an Advil for my head and lay back down, determined to sleep. Twenty minutes later I wake from a nightmare of Cassandra Spender being tortured while Agent Fowley stands over her and laughs. Damm her. Damm that bitch with her saccharine sweet voice and half-assed excuses. And damm Mulder for defending her. Just because she's an old *friend* of his, he seems ready to trust her. Phoebe was an old friend too Mulder, I argue with him in my head. Look how well *that* turned out. I throw the covers back and begin pacing around the bedroom. I have to know what she's up to. I have to find out where she hid poor Cassandra. The woman has been through so much, even more than me. As I told Mulder earlier, Cassandra just wants it to stop. The Advil didn't help. My head is pounding and I'm still unfulfilled from my earlier intimate touching of myself. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I invoke an image of Mulder. I've fantasized about him a few times before, mostly after masturbating for awhile. I would work myself up to a fever pitch, and the thought of a sexual Mulder was the catlyst to push me over the edge. I've never purposely set out to fantasize about him. Now, what would be best to think about? Kissing him? Yes that's nice. The heel of my hand presses against my pubic bone. The soft feather brush of his lips right before the bee stung me. It's not enough, not enough. My eyes squeeze shut as I replay the scenario earlier tonight. The one image I've been trying to banish since it happened. Mulder.....in the shower. Yes, that's it. My core responds with a gush of moisture. Mulder's naked, powerful body with water caressing him like I wanted to. I'd been checking out his naked ass when he turned around and stole a glance at me. I fall backwards on my bed, fingers delving deeper, thrusting, thrusting. I am helpless in my own body's pleasure. The images play in slow motion vividness behind my eyelids. Mulder's eyes sweep over my body before he meets my eyes. His face has a slightly guilty expression, at looking in the first place or at being caught, I'm not sure. I can't help it. My gaze drops downward over his chest, his stomach, his.... Oh dear Lord he has an erection. Mulder has an erection. He's doing nothing to hide it either, letting me look at him without embarrassment. I have to turn away before I melt under my own sudden heat. My legs are so shaky I can barely walk straight. I've seen Mulder's penis before. Little glimpses when he was in pain from sickness or injury or emotional trauma. Let's face it, a flaccid member is a bit silly looking, and not a good indicator of what a man is like in full glory. And Mulder was glorious. My head rolls back and forth on the bed. So close. Just a little more. His cock stood out stiff and proud from a nest of dark curls, just begging to be sucked. I picture myself falling to my knees to worship him. I imagine his moan vibrating through his entire body. I would lick him and caress him until his knees buckled, then lead him to the nearest bed and mount him. My hand pounds at my inner thigh and now I use my thumb to sweep over my clit. I'd like to be on top for our first time together. I want to look down at Mulder for once. Besides, that position would allow me to control the depth. Mulder is quite well endowed. I have a feeling it would be a tight fit, especially since it's been so long for me. This final thought, the mental picture of my body undulating on top of his, makes me come so hard I actually see stars. I lay there panting for a bit, feeling much better than before. My headache is even gone. Now, what do I do about Diana? Some of my tension returns, but it's tempered with the hope of untangling this knot. I have to see the Gunmen. Maybe they can dig up something about this woman. That thought in mind, I get dressed (oh the joy of my own clothes!) and head out the door. Yes, the boys can surely help me. I only hope Mulder will listen.