DISCLAIMER: They belong to Chris Carter, 1013, and Fox (and, in a just world, to Gillian and Mitch as well), but they don't tell *them* their sexual fantasies--they tell *me* (and hundreds of others!). Feedback is welcomed at viriditas@geocities.com. ********************* Wet Dreams I by Merri-Todd Webster ********************* Dana Scully did not usually have trouble sleeping.  Even when the cancer had been at its worst, exhaustion had overcome worry, and she had slept reasonably well without help from the prescription the doctor had given her. But lately, her sleep had been really broken, and she didn't even bother to look for the pills.  They couldn't help with this particular reason for sleep loss. She'd awakened drenched in sweat, her hair sticking to the back of her neck, her thin nightgown sticking to her breasts. And her thighs were even more drenched, but not just with sweat. she thought wryly.  Women might not be as obvious about it, but it didn't take testosterone to wet the bed with frustrated desire.  The sheets were so clammy she had to get up, get away from them.  Take a cold shower. The shower wouldn't cool down her desire, maybe, but it would refresh her, and feeling fresher would help her relax. Plus, the sheets would get a chance to dry out.  She turned up the air conditioner and then headed for the bathroom, peeling off her nightgown and dropping it behind her. Scully adjusted the water to a temperature just a shade cooler than she normally liked it.  Only when she got under the spray did it occur to her that the cool water would only make her nipples harden more.  She ran her hands ruefully over her breasts; the nipples were tighter than ever now, so tight they hurt, yet her touch was... soothing.  Shrugging, she pulled her hands away and filled them with herbal-scented shampoo instead.  Tonight she had been dreaming of Skinner, shifting images of the tall, broad-shouldered AD looming over her, looking down at her, getting much closer than he ever would in the office... a heavy hand on her shoulder, or curving around her small waist, drawing her close... the man's always hard, tight-set mouth softening, smiling even, as he bent to fit his lips to hers-- Scully realized her sudsy hands had wandered from her scalp down to her breasts again.  She was playing shamelessly with her own nipples.  Sighing, she leaned back and rinsed the soap from her hair, quickly but thoroughly, smoothed on the requisite conditioner, and then reached for her moisturizing oil. The hell with it. The oil was cool and slightly creamy against her slick folds; hardly necessary, really, but if she was going to masturbate in the shower, she didn't want to be sore later.  One foot propped in the corner of the tub, she massaged her swollen clit, testing her level of arousal, how much stimulation she'd need.  It was always better if the mind accompanied the hand.... "I was concerned about you, Agent Scully." Skinner's voice is flint rubbing on granite, as always, his eyes unreadable behind the utilitarian spectacles.  The sun streaming through the large windows behind him casts his shadow almost into Scully's lap. "I know, sir." Skinner leans forward across his desk.  His eyes disappear in the glare of the sun; his muscular body is a wall of darkness.  "You don't take care of yourself enough.  You go out and take risks like a man. You're not a man. It's dangerous." Dana swallows nervously.  "Yes, sir." Something that might be a smile twists the AD's lips.  He pulls off his glasses and polishes them with his handkerchief. "I suppose that's a sexist statement.  You're a good agent, and a good shooter.  Between your brains and your gun, you're more than a match for most men.  But you're still... fragile, in some ways.  Since your illness." Dana wonders what to say to that, if anything.  She knows all too well that she scares a lot of men, that they call her the Ice Queen precisely because they see that she's way too passionate for them to handle. Still, it startles her a little to hear those sentiments coming from this man, someone who makes her feel like cotton candy much of the time.  It's not just the superbly male body under the not-quite-fitting suit; it's the iron will, the burning focus, the fact that compromise isn't in the man's vocabulary.  Dana Scully has met very few wills to match her own, and Walter Skinner's is one of them. She licks her lips, unconsciously, and notices Skinner has gotten to his feet and is coming around the desk toward her. She starts to tremble when he puts one hand, no, just one finger under her chin and tilts her head back to meet his eyes. "Do you think I'm a match for you, Agent Scully?" Major trembling, crossing over into shaking.  "Definitely, sir." She expects the first kiss to be crushing, dominating, but it isn't.  Instead, it's surprisingly gentle, slow and lingering, giving each of them time to taste and feel the other.  When he draws back, her hands are on his chest, pressing hard against the firm muscles there--not to push him away, but simply to steady herself. "Dana--" "*Yes*, sir." Sitting back on the desk, he pulls her into his lap.  Strong arms wrap around her, fold her close, and her arms twine around his neck, holding on just for the pleasure of doing so. The next kiss is more forceful, his tongue delving deeply into her mouth, and she simply drops her head against his arm and lets him, whimpering softly as her arousal heightens. Something is opening up inside her, fast and hot, and it's not just physical.  She feels utterly safe and secure in a way she hasn't felt in ages.  Everything is going to be all right. Skinner breaks the kiss and looks down at her, his eyes searching her own.  Scully doesn't think she can still speak, so she hopes her eyes say everything he needs to know: Yes, sir, here, sir, now, anything, anything you want, just take me. Part of her is damning herself for her instant surrender, like an actress in a 1930s movie, like a heroine in a cheap romance novel, but another part of her is insisting how badly she *needs* to surrender, give up control, admit she needs to be protected, if only from herself, needs to take shelter just for a little while with someone stronger than she is.  He *is* strong, strong enough that she can let down her defenses with him... strong enough to understand when she has to put them back up. His mouth closes, none too gently, on her throat, and she sighs, deeply, knowing her offer has been accepted.  He finds that spot near her jaw that makes her writhe and rubs it with his tongue until she gasps in disbelief, feeling fresh wetness surge between her thighs.  A quick hard kiss to her lips again, and then his hands are at her waistband, pulling out her blouse with efficient little jerks. "I have to see you, Dana.  I have to see you--" Scully wriggles out of her jacket at record speed, then raises her arms over her head.  Skinner pulls the blouse off and tosses it aside, then reaches around for the clasp of her bra. Are his fingers really trembling?  They feel like fire against her back, they leave trails of fire on her skin as they draw the silky bra forward, down her arms, and away from her breasts. She closes her eyes as the fabric leaves her damp skin, arching her back without even meaning to.  Her nipples harden still more, even before Skinner's palm comes to rest over one. "You're beautiful."  She's never heard him whisper. "Exquisite.  Perfect." She clings to his neck as his hands move from supporting her to caressing her. His still-clothed erection is nudging her thigh, and his large hands are kneading her breasts with sure strength, sending waves of pleasure rippling over her to crest at her center.  Her groin is a heated whirlpool pulling and drawing in, waiting for something to grab onto.  She moans loudly when he tugs on her nipples, can't stop moaning because now his fingers are on one, his mouth on the other.  Scully keeps moaning, a low, throaty, not quite rhythmical sound, as he suckles and fondles, switching hand and mouth, and then one hand slips up under her skirt, heading up her thigh for the whirlpool in her cunt. "Yes," she moans, dropping one leg off his lap to give him access.  Skinner finds her hose and panties and simply rips them away, leaving her crotch uncovered.  It's not a violent or hurtful act, just impatient and very efficient.  She doesn't have to wait too long for his thumb to settle on her clit and his long, thick fingers to glide into her, opening her for his cock.  She's so wet it's a wonder she can feel any friction, but she can, delicious friction, a heavy hand fucking her, she wants it, needs it, his thumb grinds on her clit and she's so close-- It's godawful when those fingers pull away, and she bites her lip to keep from pleading.  But Skinner slides backward onto the desk, and his hands urge her to kneel astride him, giving him room to undo his pants and free his erection.  She feels the wide, wet head bump her, god it's so big he's never going to fit. He changes position a fraction, not hurrying now. "Go on, Dana.  Take me in.  Take your time." He's big under her hand, as hot as she is, so full the skin feels like the skin on ripe fruit, about to burst.  Her hand guides him into her cunt, and he holds incredibly still as she lets her weight down on him. "God!"  He stretches her, fills her more than his fingers did, she's never taken a man this big.  His hands on her back hold her steady, and his face is vulnerable yet oddly calm. "That's it.  Does it feel good?  I don't want to hurt you." "Good--" she manages to say, "so good...."  A harsh groan escapes her when he's in all the way.  His hands close tightly around her waist. "My turn," he mutters.  And he lifts her, just lifts with his hands on her waist, and lets her down again.  Both of them grunt a little.  He does it again, grunting not with effort but with pleasure.  She lets him do all the work, lets him lift her small body and feels how easy it is for him, feels how wonderful it is just to cling to his shoulders and let him move her. Her head rolls back, and he presses his face into her breasts, and suddenly he groans, "Dana," and he's moving beneath her, lifting her and thrusting up as he lets her down again, he's probably hitting her cervix but it's so good, she's coming, his mouth on her nipple and her cries and the silent tensing of his whole body as he arches up to her and lets go into her and fills her with himself. Her head bumped the wall of the shower, and conditioner began to run into her eyes.  Slowly, swaying on her feet, Dana Scully withdrew her hand from herself <*Four* fingers?> and backed up under the spray, hoping against hope to rinse it all away. ********* end