Title: The Distaff Fantasy
Author: Brenda Antrim.
Feedback: bantrim@earthlink.net
Rated: NC17
Disclaimer: Characters used with love but
no permission from CC and company.
Summary: A follow-on with permission from Ursula (XF Lilbear)
to her excellent "Fantasies"  .


*********************

It had been a long, dreary week, filled with too much paperwork 
and too little excitement.  He felt old, and tired, and anxious to 
get home to his wife.  

Especially now.

He'd come back to the office from an interminable meeting with 
the AD, just wanting this day to be over with, to find it waiting 
on the seat of his chair.  An innocuous little rectangle wrapped 
in plain brown paper, recognizable at a glance from his pre-marriage 
vast experience with porn videos.  But he had destroyed them when 
she became his.  The truth now was so much more fulfilling than the 
celluloid fantasy he had tried to content himself with before he had 
given himself to her.  This could only mean one thing.

Turnabout time.

She wasn't in the office, and he knew he wouldn't see her again 
until the timing was perfect.  Just a few short weeks ago she had 
trusted him with a truth about herself, a precious performance that 
illuminated the depth of her love for him.  Without words, with a 
tender regard for his insecurities and an amazing ability to reveal 
herself, she had shown him what her life had been like before him.  
She had pleasured herself, and shown him in the pleasuring that it 
was a mingling of desire for her hands to be his and an emptiness 
that only he could fill.  He had found it reassuring, and loving, and 
incredibly arousing, and she had done it on the condition that one 
day he would do the same for her.

The day was here.  He didn't know whether to be terrified or aroused 
to the point of paralysis.  Maybe a bit of both.

He picked up the box, his mind a jumble, and stared at it for a long 
moment.  Slowly, the corner of his mouth curled up, but his eyes 
remained serious.  She had trusted him.  He would do no less.

With a sudden, decisive gesture, he snagged his trenchcoat from the 
rack and flicked off the lights.  The rest of the paperwork could wait.  
He had an appointment.  With Scully, and the final collation of past 
with present.

******************************

He knew when he opened the door to their apartment that she was 
there.  He could sense her, had been able to feel her presence since 
the first time they had met.  But he didn't see her, and he decided 
to go with the game plan he had settled on during the short ride 
home.

Just another day.  Pre-marriage.  Pre-Dr. Mrs. Dana Katherine 
Mulder-Scully.  Pre-happiness.

He stopped in the doorway, slowly shutting it and leaning against 
it, letting his coat slip from his hand into an untidy heap on the 
floor.  As the material slid through his fingers, his mind slipped 
back in time.  His eyes focused on the comfortable, slightly ratty 
couch that had been one of his few additions to their combined 
furnishings.  The fishtank had been the other.  

He toed off his shoes and tugged on his tie, creating a small trail 
of clothing as he wandered somewhat aimlessly past the fish.  He 
shrugged out of his jacket, settling it over the back of the armchair 
that in his mind's eye had become the small set of shelves in his old 
apartment.  Running one hand through his hair, lightly slapping the
paper-wrapped video against his thigh with the other, he settled 
gracefully against the side of the cushions.

Staring into the quiet room, he was vaguely surprised at how easy 
it was to return to a time he hoped never to see again.  Then the 
thought disappeared, and he let it go, determined to do this right, 
for her. 

***********************************

Too long a day, not nearly enough time with his partner.  God.  His 
partner.  How on earth was he going to be able to pull this off?  
They'd been working together, what, four years?  They'd gone 
through so much together.  He was closer to her mother than his 
own.  Her godson called him Uncle Moldy.  They were the best of 
friends.  And every time he saw her he wanted to touch her, taste 
her, feel her heat, dance his fingertips along the satin of her skin, 
feel those firm, full lips open under his mouth-- the crinkling of 
paper brought him back to himself, and he looked at the package 
in his hand with a snort of derision.  He'd gotten a bit carried away 
there ... he'd ripped the wrapping open with his clenching fingers.
Shrugging, laughing a little bitterly to himself, he unwrapped the 
video.

"Hmm, well, it ain't real, but it'll do.  Doesn't it always?"  His 
wry whisper barely floated through the room, coming gently to 
the ears of his hidden watcher.  With a practiced strip, flip, three 
punched buttons and a push, the tape was unwrapped and inserted 
into the player.  He picked the remote up from the back of the worn 
sofa and flicked the television on.  After a few moments of tinny 
music, a very short amount of vapid dialog, and assorted shuffling 
sounds, moans and breathy panting began to filter from the speakers.  
Mulder lay back, settling into the soft cushions and watching the 
goings-on with minimal attention.  He lifted one hand negligently 
to the knot of his tie, working it loose from around his neck and 
playing with the end, paying more attention to the sailors' knots 
winding around his fingers than the actions of the figures flickering 
on the screen.  Finally, he turned the volume very low, and wriggled 
until he was laying half on his back, half on his side, watching the 
action as well as the tie he dangled in between his face and the screen.

The scene changed, and his attention was wrenched to the screen.  
One of the actresses was petite, not unattractive ... and she had red 
hair.  Short, swinging red hair.  It didn't shimmer the way hers did, 
and she didn't have the same sharp, defined chin and nose, or huge, 
clear, depthless blue eyes, but she had red hair.  And freckles.  God.  
Scully's freckles.  How he wanted to taste every last one of those tiny 
dots with his tongue.  A body bath.  From the scattering along her 
hairline to the one he had seen on her toe when she wore sandals to 
one of the family picnics she had invited him to join.  And every 
one in between.

Without conscious volition, he ran one hand through his hair, restless 
fingers scrubbing the scalp, trying to release some of the pressure that 
was building up under his skin.  He felt itchy, as if he was going to 
crawl out of his skin.  His erection was starting to firm up, and it had 
very little to do with the actress currently licking between the thighs 
of another actress.  Because another image was building in his mind, 
and it was wiping away the here and now, the same way it did every 
time.

As natural as breathing, he shifted against the confines of his 
clothing and began to unbutton the rest of his shirtfront.  His eyes 
unfocussed, and she was there.  With him.  Only with him.  The tie 
slipped off the edge of the couch, and he sat up just long enough to 
shrug out of his shirt and drop it carelessly beside the couch.  His 
hands slipped under the edge of his tee-shirt, and his fingertips traced 
the muscles there as he gradually pushed it up his chest.  Slowly.  
She would touch him slowly, take her time, his methodical partner.  
A quick duck of his head, and the undershirt joined the growing pile 
of clothes on the floor.

Fingers questing gently, barely pressing into the soft skin, he 
trailed his hands along his throat, feeling her touch in his mind. 
A finger outlined his mouth, and he saw her smile, answering it 
with one of his own, unaware of the light in his face.

"Scully."  A breath.  No more.  The hands trailed lower, crossing 
his pecs, playing gently with the hair, twining and releasing, 
curling into his touch, picturing her intense curiosity and her 
fierce concentration.  Around and over the muscles of his chest, 
feeling them react to the tactile sensation, moving under the skin, 
seeking her touch.  The hard bud of a nipple, a teasing flick then a 
circular caress, bringing a gasp to his lips.

"Scully."  A fraction louder, as his arousal grew, and his eyes drifted 
shut, finally tuning the video images out, completely submerged in 
his fantasy.  One hand remained, alternately torturing and soothing 
the tender flesh along his breast and down the center of his torso, the 
other clenching air, the soft cushions, feeling her arms under his 
hands, her body moving over his in the air, leaning into his 
noncorporeal lover as if to take her into himself.  

"Scully!"  An edge to it now, a need he wouldn't deny if he 
could.  Both hands worked at the thin leather belt, drawing it 
away, then working the zipper down carefully to avoid pinching 
the tender flesh straining against it.  Hooking his thumbs into 
the waistband, he drew slacks and shorts off together, pushing 
them down, working his legs to get them out of the way, until 
they twisted around his ankles.  His left knee curved upward, as 
if to nudge his lover closer, cradling his straining erection in the 
hollow formed by his raised thigh and his pelvis.  His left hand 
roved continually, running a trail of light pressure along his chest, 
behind his neck, along his throat, back down his chest to press 
along the top of his thigh, running along the quad to his knee, and 
back.  His right heel dug into the cushion, raising his sex into his 
right palm.  His fingers wrapped around the shaft, running along 
the veins pushing against the skin, his thumb pressing tiny circles 
along the ridge at the crown, then sliding the length to press his 
palm along the underside, collecting his sac and rolling it gently.  
His movements became faster, less coordinated, grace sacrificed to 
need, the images solidifying in his mind.

"Please, Scully.  Scully..."  The tempo changed, and his left hand 
joined the right, as his hips began to thrust harder, faster, left 
fingers supporting, pushing, playing with the incredibly sensitive 
skin below the sac, the right hand pumping harder as he pushed 
himself higher.  "God, yes, Scully, please, yes."  His moans were 
becoming louder, more defined, and the litany of need 
matched the movements of his body as he came closer and closer 
to the edge.  As he felt the pressure build until it was almost 
unbearable, the cry became a chant.  "Dana.  Dana.  Dana-dana
-danadanadana-"

The fingers felt different, not wrong, right, but different.  
Fevered eyes opened to see luminescent red hair sweeping 
over his chest, small, strong hands joining his on his flesh, 
a sweet, hot mouth climbing the side of his throat, sliding along 
his jaw to meld wetly with his own open lips.  Tongues met, his 
eyes fell closed again, and he unclenched his fingers from his own 
sex to clamp them tight to her form.  She broke the kiss, and he 
opened his eyes again.  He had never seen such intent arousal 
in her eyes.

She slid down his body, and he felt every inch with sensitized skin, 
feeling goosebumps break out.  He felt as if he was in stasis, his 
climax interrupted and everything frozen in time, awaiting her 
actions.  Then her soft hair brushed his thighs, and her tender mouth 
closed around him, flooding his mind with sensation, sending wild
fire along his nerve endings.  He felt himself lose control, tried to 
pull her back, let her know, but he was incapable of making any 
sound except one.

"Dana..."  His moan wrenched into a scream as his climax hit 
him, and she tamed his arching body with her hands, her mouth, 
her body pinning his legs, his body curling around hers as if to 
enclose her in him.  As the storm passed, she held him, feeling 
the shaking gradually subside.  He lay back in the corner of the 
couch, exhausted, satiated, shocked.  She pulled herself up against 
him, nuzzling her head into his chest, like a sleepy kitten seeking 
warmth.  Lifting up slightly to gaze into his vulnerable, somewhat 
dazed expression, she smiled, that brilliant smile that opened his 
world up to the light.  Then she kissed him, open mouthed, sharing 
his taste with him, and he shuddered.  This woman owned him, 
down to the cellular level, and she just kept proving it.

"I love you," he managed to whisper, her breath catching his words.  
She kissed him again, accepting and returning his love, his gift of 
trust and sensuality.

"Thank you."  He grinned at her words, a little lopsidedly, and 
groped for the remote, killing the picture.

"I think that's not really necessary, don't you?  This was so much 
better.  For me at least."  He tried for his customary humor, but he 
was feeling so raw, and so open, it didn't quite work.  She grinned 
back at him, the stronger of the pair in so many ways, and nodded 
agreement.

"That makes two of us."  She kissed the smile curving his lips, and 
cuddled closer.  Sometimes, she couldn't help but thank Whoever 
was responsible for the trust in this relationship.  It could lead to 
revealing the most interesting ... fantasies.

He took a deep breath, and his surroundings shifted.  Not his, theirs.  
Not alone, together.  Not a fantasy.  A so much better reality.  He 
tightened his arms around the woman sprawled comfortably on top 
of him, closing his eyes and gently stroking the top of her bright 
head with his cheek.

"I have to say," her voice floated up from about mid-sternum, "that 
you have a few more sensitive spots than I realized you did." 

He pulled back, and she raised up, so that their eyes met.  "What do 
you mean?"

"You were ... very revealing."  He started to blush, and tried to duck 
his head, but her hands curved up to hold his face still, forcing him 
to meet her eyes.  "It was exciting, Fox.  And I want to taste every 
place you just touched."

His eyes grew round, staring down at her serious face, her shining 
eyes.  Finally, he grinned at her, and arched his hips lightly, shifting 
her weight.  "So, what are you waiting for?"

She began to make slow, sweet love to him, and he closed his eyes, 
willing the tears pricking the back of his eyes to disappear.  This was 
no time for tears.  This was time for her, and for him.  The reality 
certainly overshadowed the fantasy.

********************  the end ****************************