Title:   Tuesday's Torn Shirt  
Author:  Soleil Compeau 
E-Mail:  dkmulder@juno.com
Summary: Mulder finds something in his closet that seems to reflect 
Scully's care and love for him. He keeps it, and begins to concoct 
fantasies centering around that memento, fantasies in which Scully openly 
shows her desire for him. 
Spoilers: Monday 
Rating: NC17 
Category/Keywords: M/S UST. Mulderbation 
Disclaimer: This stunt double has just re-enacted what I imagine DD 
doing in my bedroom. BTW, my name is neither Chris Carter nor Tea Leone. 
  
  
  
I found the torn and bloody shirt while gathering up dirty laundry. I 
paused for a moment, trying to remember how it happened. A vague 
memory of a bank and a crazy man with a bomb surfaced. Scully crying and 
holding me, pleading for my life. I couldn't remember any more, so I just 
shrugged my shoulders and packed up my car to go to my laundry 
woman. 
 
When I picked my clean clothes up from Marie a few days later, she 
casually mentioned the shirt with no buttons and a rip. She offered to 
repair it for an additional fee. An image of Scully rose in my mind; 
tearing my shirt to get to my wound, to get to my skin, to care for me. 
  
"No, that's all right." I told Marie. "I'll just go shopping." 
  
I did get another shirt, but I kept the torn one. I couldn't throw it 
away. Sitting on the edge of my bed one night, I held it and tried to 
imagine how it was torn. I pictured Scully shouting in fear when she saw 
me shot.  (Knifed?) I pictured her running to my fallen body and pulling 
me into her arms. She tore my shirt to reach my injury, to press her 
hands against my chest. (Shoulder?) to stop the bleeding. 
  
She tore my shirt. Scully tore my shirt right off my body. 
  
She must have been very frightened for me to have done this. She didn't 
want to lose me. Hell, I know she loves me. She knows I love her. That 
hasn't been a question for years now. What I've been wondering with 
increasing impatience is when we'll have sex together. I'm certain Scully 
and I will spend our lives together, but in what capacity? As monogamous, 
celibate soulmates? My body craves hers. 
  
Scully tore my shirt. 
  
I can't get that thought out of my head. I lie down against the pillows 
and clutch the shirt to my chest. I imagine her tearing the shirt in a 
moment of passion rather than fear. Blood surges to my groin. Scully, 
tearing my shirt to swipe her pink tongue over my nipples, to rake her 
fingers through my chest hair and leave little scratches on my skin. 
  
My hand sneaks down and presses against the growing bulge in my pants. I 
wish my shirt really had been ripped that way. I can't stop fantasizing 
about it. 
  
She wouldn't stop there. Oh no. Once she was finished with my chest, 
Scully would slide down my body to nuzzle my belly. <God, that feels 
good!> 
  
My eyes blink open. Did I moan that out loud? My lustful thoughts have 
made me fully hard and my hand presses languidly, rubbing the thin 
cotton over my hot flesh. 
  
What if...what if Scully wouldn't stop with just my shirt? What if she 
tore off my pants with the same urgency? I close my eyes again and 
conjure a picture of Scully kneeling between my spread legs. She 
scrabbles frantically at my button and zipper. I get more scratches on my 
legs as she yanks them roughly down to my feet and off. 
  
What would she do then? Well...it's my fantasy, so I might as well 
indulge myself. She sinks her mouth down over the head of my cock, 
letting her tongue flutter over me. 
 
"Ahhh," I gasp, letting my fingers play over myself, teasing myself as I 
want her to do. My hand needs to be wetter if I'm going to convince 
myself that this fantasy is real. And God, I want to fool my body so 
badly. I want to indulge myself completely, to believe in my throes of 
pleasure that it really is Scully doing these things. 
  
I reach into the drawer of the bedside table and find a tube of 
Astroglide. Stuff is so slick that I only need a little dab...ahhh yeah. 
Now my fist feels like the wet velvet of her mouth. 
  
I imagine Scully's tongue in place of my fingers and trace a path along 
the underside of my dick. She licks me everywhere, broad strokes of her 
tongue that make my flesh slick and slippery. 
  
She takes me firmly in her grip and rises up for a moment so I can admire 
her naked glory. My Scully is prim and cool in the office, wild and 
wanton in the bedroom. She smiles at me while she strokes me, making 
me writhe and pant beneath her. 
 
Now she sucks me right along with her push and pull. Her mouth rises up 
and plunges down steadily, fucking me with her hungry tongue. She 
reaches up and plays with my sensitive nipples, stroking them with the pads of 
her fingers, and I gasp and whimper with pleasure. "Yes Scully, oh don't 
pinch them. Just...oh god!...stroke just like that..." 
  
Scully keeps darting her head down to lick my balls. Her hand keeps busy 
milking my raging hard-on while she experiments with what will make me 
scream.  I feel that heavenly tongue making me shiver and jerk as she 
dares to go where I have only occasionally fantasized about. 
 
"Mulder...lift your knees, will you?" 
 
That mouth, the one I need so badly, has left me, and her hand threatens 
to follow suit if I don't obey. So I comply and drag my legs up higher on 
the bed, exposing myself even more to her investigations. Will she really 
dare? Yes...my back arches and a hoarse cry tears from my throat as she 
licks my hole boldly. 
 
"Ahhhh...Unnnnhh...Sculleeee, please!" 
  
She lifts her head just enough to answer me. "What do you want Mulder? 
Tell me." 
 
I grind it out, barely able to speak. "I want to come this way. Please. 
Oh God! Make me come...I'll make it up to you...oh, 
more!...I'll lick you...'till you come...all over my face...Sculleee!" 
  
She listens almost dispassionately, a smile quirking up one corner of her 
mouth while her hand keeps busy on me. "Oh Mulder," she purrs. "I want 
to make you come. I want to taste you and watch you. I bet you're 
beautiful." 
  
Then her mouth is back on me. This time she sucks me deep into her 
mouth while her tongue dances wildly over the sensitive head. Her free 
hand leaves off it's roaming over my torso and fondles my tight scrotum 
steadily. 
 
My eyes roll back in my head. I grab my balls in my own hand, squeezing 
them to encourage them to empty. Tighter, tighter, I grip myself in an 
almost punishing hold and howl until tears stream down my cheeks. 
Thick, ropy spurts of jism spill over my fist onto my thighs and stomach. 
 
I arch my back hard and cry out repeatedly that I love her, that it feels 
so good, then I just wail mindlessly and wordlessly. She never lets go of 
me, I think she's watching my face as it contorts in false agony. 
  
The moment my pleasure spasms ease, I know the fantasy is over. Scully 
is not here, licking her lips like a contented cat. It's just me with a 
slowly congealing puddle on my skin and a torn shirt thrown over my face 
while I thrashed. But now that shirt is invested with associations of 
pleasure and passion and wild sex with my partner. Yeah, I think I'll 
keep it around for awhile. 
  
I clean up and put the torn shirt away carefully in the back of my 
closet. Maybe sometime I'll take it out again and follow up on that 
promise to Fantasy Scully about going down on her. Yeah, that'd be 
nice...