XF FIC: Unscripted
Title: Unscripted
Author: hummingfly67
Pairing/Character: Mulder/Scully (MSR)
Word Count: 981
Rating: PG-13
Spoiler Warning: Hollywood, AD
Summary: Crazy people can be very persuasive
Disclaimer: Not mine, Chris Carter and 1013 have that honor.
Secret Santa gift for octoberaine for xf_santa
A/N: Much thanks to aloysiavirgata and memories_child for beta
So, first, they're going to eat, then they're going to drink, then they're going to dance and make love.
~Mulder, Hollywood, AD
***
Crazy people can be very persuasive
By the time Plan 9 From Outer Space is almost over, Scully has shed her jacket and shoes and has eased onto the couch beside him.
Eventually she shifts into a more comfortable position, her elbow poking his ribs in the process. Her arm rests just inches from his leg. After a moment Mulder moves deliberately, letting his fingers flirt with hers, smiling when their play results in a thumb war.
She wins and mocks his strategy with a teasing, “Weak.”
Squeezing her fingers once, he whispers, “Cheat,” and brings their joined hands to rest on his thigh.
The movie no more than background noise to him now, he occupies himself by studying her hand. It is deceptively delicate, capable of wielding a scalpel with steely resolve and flawless precision. Or a gun with equal skill - of that he has empirical knowledge; his shoulder will probably always ache when it rains.
Turning his head, he eyes her speculatively. It was surprising how easily she capitulated to his suggestion about California.
“Stay,” he says.
Her cheeks flush and she does not meet his gaze, instead focusing on their still-clasped hands. But she doesn’t pull away, fingers squeezing his briefly.
And she stays.
***
Wow, he’s really gone Hollywood
The in-flight move over, Mulder fidgets in his seat, long legs sprawled out into the aisle.
Scully shifts as well, turning from the window to face forward. “I lied to you yesterday,” she divulges suddenly, leaning in to whisper near his ear.
Her manner is a deliberate titillation. He shivers and makes a ‘hmm’ sound, encouraging her to continue, and leans to bring himself a little closer. Her shoulder is a warm weight against his upper arm, and if he turns his head just an inch or so, he could nuzzle her hair. The knowledge that Skinner is only two rows back prevents him from doing just that.
“When I called you yesterday at the hotel, I wasn’t really packing.” She’s still whispering conspiratorially, and he is intrigued and turned on. “I was taking a bubble bath.”
Recalling his own similar activity during her phone call, he wants to laugh, but an image of Scully reclining in the tub, barely covered by bubbles fills his head. All train of thought is momentarily lost. He fidgets again, for an entirely different reason.
Confession is good for the soul, so the pundits say, Mulder thinks. “Guess what I was really doing when you called,” he says. She narrows her eyes at him, her lips pursing, and he confirms with a smirk, “I wasn’t playing with a rubber ducky though.”
She doesn’t deign to reply and merely looks forward once more, denying him any satisfaction. His disappointment disappears immediately at her next utterance.
“Neither was I.”
He really can’t wait for the flight to be over.
Time does not fly, however, and the plane lands on-schedule. Standing at the baggage carousel, they watch it circle endlessly. Their luggage is nowhere in sight. Perhaps this is an omen, he thinks, and he is destined to spend the evening alone. But they are rewarded at last, and head to the taxi stand. Mulder hesitates, torn about whether to ask her if they need one cab or two.
Scully ends his dilemma by leaning in to murmur, “There’s room for two in my bathtub.”
***
Skinner was so tickled by the movie that he has given us a Bureau credit card to use for the evening
Their studio-provided limo cruises along the Pacific Coast Highway, but Mulder isn’t interested in the sights outside his window. His attention is fully engaged by the slightly inebriated woman next to him. He can’t pinpoint what it is about her that has him so fascinated. She is still Scully - his partner, his friend. But tonight she is more. She giggled. She flirted. He shrugs inwardly; maybe it can’t be quantified.
Maybe it doesn’t need to be.
“So what next, Scully?” he asks her finally, rolling his head back and forth on the leather seat rest. Perhaps he is slightly inebriated as well. With the Bureau’s credit card in hand, they had decided money was no object and splurged on champagne.
“Welllll,” she drawls after a few moments of contemplation, her gaze briefly turned skyward. “We ate.” Pause. “We drank.” She smirks and corrects herself, gesturing with the half-full flute in her left hand. “We’re still drinking.” Tapping his flute lightly with her own, she takes a sip. She smiles when he raises his glass briefly at her in a silent toast before taking a generous swallow. Clearing her throat she continues, “We skipped the dancing.”
By mutual agreement, he recalls.
“Is there anything left?” she muses.
She is such a tease. They are both fully aware of what comes next, and he knows her playfulness is a sign of enthusiasm, of anticipation. There is no mistaking the gleam in her eye and the flush on her cheeks. She takes another sip of champagne, and his gaze is caught by the way her lips glisten in the intermittent light from the streetlamps. He leans in slowly, enjoying how her eyes widen slightly, how her mouth parts in eagerness.
Tracing her full bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, he thrills to the little hitching breath his action elicits. He savors the taste of lipstick and champagne before taking possession of her mouth in a deep kiss.
Scully makes a throaty humming sound when he pulls away. A sexy little sound that will henceforth make his libido sit up and take notice, he thinks. She is breathing heavily, as is he, and her pulse must race to the same wild beat as his own. With a meaningful glance at the closed black-out partition, she leans deliberately across him to press the intercom button.
“Just keep driving,” she instructs.
***
Fini
Author: hummingfly67
Pairing/Character: Mulder/Scully (MSR)
Word Count: 981
Rating: PG-13
Spoiler Warning: Hollywood, AD
Summary: Crazy people can be very persuasive
Disclaimer: Not mine, Chris Carter and 1013 have that honor.
Secret Santa gift for octoberaine for xf_santa
A/N: Much thanks to aloysiavirgata and memories_child for beta
So, first, they're going to eat, then they're going to drink, then they're going to dance and make love.
~Mulder, Hollywood, AD
***
Crazy people can be very persuasive
By the time Plan 9 From Outer Space is almost over, Scully has shed her jacket and shoes and has eased onto the couch beside him.
Eventually she shifts into a more comfortable position, her elbow poking his ribs in the process. Her arm rests just inches from his leg. After a moment Mulder moves deliberately, letting his fingers flirt with hers, smiling when their play results in a thumb war.
She wins and mocks his strategy with a teasing, “Weak.”
Squeezing her fingers once, he whispers, “Cheat,” and brings their joined hands to rest on his thigh.
The movie no more than background noise to him now, he occupies himself by studying her hand. It is deceptively delicate, capable of wielding a scalpel with steely resolve and flawless precision. Or a gun with equal skill - of that he has empirical knowledge; his shoulder will probably always ache when it rains.
Turning his head, he eyes her speculatively. It was surprising how easily she capitulated to his suggestion about California.
“Stay,” he says.
Her cheeks flush and she does not meet his gaze, instead focusing on their still-clasped hands. But she doesn’t pull away, fingers squeezing his briefly.
And she stays.
***
Wow, he’s really gone Hollywood
The in-flight move over, Mulder fidgets in his seat, long legs sprawled out into the aisle.
Scully shifts as well, turning from the window to face forward. “I lied to you yesterday,” she divulges suddenly, leaning in to whisper near his ear.
Her manner is a deliberate titillation. He shivers and makes a ‘hmm’ sound, encouraging her to continue, and leans to bring himself a little closer. Her shoulder is a warm weight against his upper arm, and if he turns his head just an inch or so, he could nuzzle her hair. The knowledge that Skinner is only two rows back prevents him from doing just that.
“When I called you yesterday at the hotel, I wasn’t really packing.” She’s still whispering conspiratorially, and he is intrigued and turned on. “I was taking a bubble bath.”
Recalling his own similar activity during her phone call, he wants to laugh, but an image of Scully reclining in the tub, barely covered by bubbles fills his head. All train of thought is momentarily lost. He fidgets again, for an entirely different reason.
Confession is good for the soul, so the pundits say, Mulder thinks. “Guess what I was really doing when you called,” he says. She narrows her eyes at him, her lips pursing, and he confirms with a smirk, “I wasn’t playing with a rubber ducky though.”
She doesn’t deign to reply and merely looks forward once more, denying him any satisfaction. His disappointment disappears immediately at her next utterance.
“Neither was I.”
He really can’t wait for the flight to be over.
Time does not fly, however, and the plane lands on-schedule. Standing at the baggage carousel, they watch it circle endlessly. Their luggage is nowhere in sight. Perhaps this is an omen, he thinks, and he is destined to spend the evening alone. But they are rewarded at last, and head to the taxi stand. Mulder hesitates, torn about whether to ask her if they need one cab or two.
Scully ends his dilemma by leaning in to murmur, “There’s room for two in my bathtub.”
***
Skinner was so tickled by the movie that he has given us a Bureau credit card to use for the evening
Their studio-provided limo cruises along the Pacific Coast Highway, but Mulder isn’t interested in the sights outside his window. His attention is fully engaged by the slightly inebriated woman next to him. He can’t pinpoint what it is about her that has him so fascinated. She is still Scully - his partner, his friend. But tonight she is more. She giggled. She flirted. He shrugs inwardly; maybe it can’t be quantified.
Maybe it doesn’t need to be.
“So what next, Scully?” he asks her finally, rolling his head back and forth on the leather seat rest. Perhaps he is slightly inebriated as well. With the Bureau’s credit card in hand, they had decided money was no object and splurged on champagne.
“Welllll,” she drawls after a few moments of contemplation, her gaze briefly turned skyward. “We ate.” Pause. “We drank.” She smirks and corrects herself, gesturing with the half-full flute in her left hand. “We’re still drinking.” Tapping his flute lightly with her own, she takes a sip. She smiles when he raises his glass briefly at her in a silent toast before taking a generous swallow. Clearing her throat she continues, “We skipped the dancing.”
By mutual agreement, he recalls.
“Is there anything left?” she muses.
She is such a tease. They are both fully aware of what comes next, and he knows her playfulness is a sign of enthusiasm, of anticipation. There is no mistaking the gleam in her eye and the flush on her cheeks. She takes another sip of champagne, and his gaze is caught by the way her lips glisten in the intermittent light from the streetlamps. He leans in slowly, enjoying how her eyes widen slightly, how her mouth parts in eagerness.
Tracing her full bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, he thrills to the little hitching breath his action elicits. He savors the taste of lipstick and champagne before taking possession of her mouth in a deep kiss.
Scully makes a throaty humming sound when he pulls away. A sexy little sound that will henceforth make his libido sit up and take notice, he thinks. She is breathing heavily, as is he, and her pulse must race to the same wild beat as his own. With a meaningful glance at the closed black-out partition, she leans deliberately across him to press the intercom button.
“Just keep driving,” she instructs.
***
Fini