Date sent: Sun, 05 Apr 1998 21:28:44 -0400 From: "Shannon O'Connor" Subject: NEW -- Spontaneity -- VAR -- PG TITLE: Spontaneity AUTHOR: Shannon O'Connor E-MAIL: shannono@iname.com DATE: 28 March 1998 DISTRIBUTION: Please post to ATXC; I will send to Gossamer. Others, fine, but please let me know where it's going. CLASSIFICATION: VAR RATING: PG KEYWORDS: Mulder/Scully romance SPOILERS: "Small Potatoes" (Note: Side mentions to "Detour" and "Chinga," but no spoilers.) CONTENT WARNING: MSR, of course; the challenge kind of demands it. SUMMARY: Scully sees a familiar face on a spontaneous night out. COMMENTS: This is a response to a challenge to use Meredith Brooks' "What Would Happen" in a fanfic, written as a first person (either Mulder or Scully). I went with Scully, which is unusual for me, but it seemed to work; this only took about 30 minutes, not counting looking up lyrics . Thanks to Kris and Erin for editing! DISCLAIMER: M&S aren't mine. Neither are "Building a Mystery" or "What Would Happen." But then you knew that. *********** Spontaneity By Shannon O'Connor I don't do this often, if you must know. But I have been known to go out from time to time, when everything piles up a little too high and I need to get away from life. Get out of my head, as I told Mulder a few months back. Sorry. I wasn't going to talk about or even *think* about him tonight. That's part of the deal. Getting away from my life means getting away from him. Anyway ... I actually like this club. So much better than that awful bar in Philly. Oh, Ed was nice enough -- at least at that point -- and it felt good to be a little spontaneous, even in a dive like that. But, really, what could I expect from a tattoo parlor pickup? And no, before you ask, I did *not* sleep with him. C'mon, I'm a doctor. I may have wanted a little danger, and I may have thought I was dying, but I didn't want to make it any worse than it was. I debated about my look for tonight. I'm not really looking for a pickup, so I didn't go too tight on the clothes or too heavy on the makeup. But I did want to show the tattoo. Despite the way I got it, I like it. So I went for the shorter top, the one that pulls up a bit in the back. I checked in the mirror to be sure, and yes, it shows about half of the snake ... Oh, God! Sorry, but I love this song. Mmm, Sarah McLachlan. Not too much into most of her stuff, but for some reason I really like this one ... You come out at night ... That's when the energy comes ... And the dark side's light ... And the vampires roam ... Kinds remind me of Mulder. Oh, sorry again, got a little carried away. Damn, a couple of drinks and I'm off in the stratosphere. Been too long since I drank more than a glass of wine or two. Or more ... No, I don't want to think about Eddie Van Blundht-with-a-silent- "h." It's a case, and I'm trying to get away from work. Plus, when we were drinking that wine, I thought he was Mulder. God, I wish it *had* been him. Y'know, I've wondered for a while what it would be like to kiss him. I mean, there's some kind of attraction there. I've known that from day one. And I do like his mouth. Like that oral fixation he has, too. Always chewing on something, usually those damn sunflower seeds. He's good at that, too. Pop a handful, work them around in his mouth, extract a seed at a time, and spit out the shells. That mouth can work wonders. Wish it would work some on me. Shit, did I just say that? Blame it on the alcohol, I guess. Should have eaten a bigger meal before I started this. But, then, I didn't exactly plan ahead for this. Spontaneous is spontaneous. All I knew was, I've got a free Saturday night, and it's been a long couple of weeks. So I'm out. I'm drinking. I'm man-watching. Haven't danced yet, mainly because only a couple of slobbering fools have bothered to ask. But the night is young. And I'm in no hurry. Yet. Anyway -- Oh. My. God. It can't be. My eyes have *got* be playing tricks on me. What? Oh, nothing too much. Just Mulder. He just came in, and he's on a mission. Somehow, I just *know* I'm the target. God, and there's nowhere I can hide. He's between me and the door, and the ladies' room is up front. There's not even much of a crowd tonight. All I can hope for is that the low lights and my, um, *unprofessional* appearance will throw him off track. Shit. No such luck. Here he comes. I won't even bother to avoid him. Wouldn't work anyway. Mulder on a mission has always been a force to reckon with. And now he's here, standing next to me, holding my eyes with his own, then sliding that gaze down and back up. I suppress a smile. Well, at least he noticed my outfit. He still doesn't speak, and I'm just about to put on my miffed mask and ask what the hell he's doing here. But then he lifts a hand, holding it out, relaxed, palm up. I shoot him a quizzical glance, and he flicks his head to one side, toward the dance floor. Oh. Dance. I guess I can do that. So I take another sip of my rum and Coke, then stand up, tossing my hair back, and grab for his hand. He takes hold, then turns his back on me and walks toward the gyrating mass of limbs under the flashing lights. Ooh, I like this view. He's got the black jeans and boots on, with one of those long-sleeved, dark gray, mock-turtleneck tops. Like the one he wore in Florida. His muscles tense and relax under the soft cotton, and I am mesmerized. Hurray for spontaneity. He continues to just the edge of the dance floor, then rotates back to face me, still holding my left hand in his right. The pounding of the beat matches the pounding of my heart as our eyes meet, and he moves closer, sliding his left hand along my waist until it rests on the bare skin just above my hip. Until it rests over the tattoo. I can't see, but I know it. He can't see it either, so does he? Oh. Yeah. Photographic memory. He probably does. I move my right hand up his arm and curve it around his bicep, and we begin to move. The music is fast, but we aren't really paying attention. We've always had our own rhythm. But then the music changes, and I feel him move a little closer. I concentrate on the words for a moment ... >>Electricity eye to eye Hey do I know you? I can't speak Stripped my senses on the spot I've never been defenseless I can't even make sense of this You speak and I don't hear a word.<< What, did he request this or something? Closer, closer he comes, until our bodies brush together, our conjoined hands resting against his chest. His other hand moves slightly further across my back as his thumb starts up a slow circular pattern over the tattoo. >>What would happen if we kissed? Would your tongue slip past my lips? Would you run away? Would you stay? Or would I melt into you? Mouth to mouth lust to lust Spontaneously combust.<< My mind whirls, but a random thought pops up: If he *did* request this, when did he start reading minds? Spontaneity, that's what I wanted. Looks like that's what I'm going to get. He moves closer. >>Room is spinning out of control You act like you didn't notice Brushed my hand Forbidden fruit ...<< Closer ... >>I struggle with myself again Quickly the walls are crumblin' Don't know if I can turn away.<< Closer ... >>What would happen if we kissed?<< Closer ... >>Would your tongue slip past my lips?<< An inch apart now. >>Mouth to mouth<< A centimeter. >>Spontaneously combust<< His breath hits my lips. >>What would happen if we kissed?<< And, finally, he speaks. "Let's find out." **********END**********