Title: Fifth (originally titled ‘Five’)
feedback: tlynnfic [at] gmail.com
Disclaimer: Not mine, never have been, never will be.
Written for and originally posted at xf_pornbattle
A fifth shot is rarely a good idea, even for the experienced drinker.
She is not an experienced drinker, hasn’t had tequila since college, in fact. She hasn’t had been in a bar with someone sitting so close to her, looking at her like that, since college, either. They’re nestled in the far corner against the bar, perched on two stools, away from the light and sparse crowd.
He watches her with heavy-lidded eyes as she tilts her head and pours the golden liquid into her mouth, feeling the burn in her throat. Satisfied, he flashes her a grin before throwing his own head back and downing his sixth drink of the night.
“Another?” he asks, pounding the empty glass on the bar.
Forget aliens and government conspiracies, nothing he’s said to her up to this point is as crazy as that question.
“No,” she says firmly, holding her hand up for further effect. “No more. I think we’ve both had enough.”
Her concern that she may be slurring her words dwindles with each passing second and each wave of heat that envelops her from the inside out; her body hums as the alcohol pumps through her blood. Her hand drops, landing on his thigh. Both lower their heads and stare at it, fascinated.
They’d been through a lot together already in their partnership – kidnappings and mutants, the discovery of extraterrestrial DNA, even – but none of it is as uncharted as her tiny hand on his leg at that moment.
“I feel like I’m in college again,” she says.
“Oh?” he queries, lifting his eyes up to meet hers. “Did you often get drunk and hit on willing men?”
“In over my head,” she clarifies after a beat. “And I’m not hitting on you.”
“No?” he asks and places his hand on her leg, just under the hem of her skirt, mirroring her pose. “If a man did this to you, wouldn’t you say he was hitting on you?”
The heat from his hand, wrapped firmly around her stocking-covered thigh, radiates straight to her groin and she squirms.
“And,” he continues before she can answer. “I have a hard time believing you and that big brain of yours felt anything but smug in college.”
“Smug?” she asks, her voice cracking as she feels his hand begin to move further up her skirt, past the nylon of her thigh-highs and onto the surface of her skin.
“Admit it, you ran circles around your classmates.”
His words are muddled in her brain and her eyes close reflexively as his fingers brush against the silk fabric of her panties. She dimly remembers they’re in a public place, but doesn’t care, can’t think of anything but the slow drag of his fingertips against her aching center.
Uncharted doesn’t even begin to describe it.
“Mulder…” she breathes, dragging her eyes open.
Even through her drunken haze, she recognizes the look on his face and shivers in anticipation.
“Is this okay?” he asks, his knuckles pushing against the inside of her thigh.
She shifts one leg, giving him better access. His fingers slip inside the crotch of her panties and he strokes the fabric, slick with moisture.
“Oh, this is definitely okay,” he remarks.
“Now who’s smug?” she manages, her fingernails digging into his skin even through the denim of his jeans.
“Do you want me to stop?”
His smile is all teeth and his eyes glitter with equal parts amusement and arousal, entirely confident in what her answer will be.
She shakes her head ‘no’.
He’s inside of her instantly, exploring her warm, wet depths with his fingers. She lifts her hand to his shoulder, bracing herself, and the other grips the edge of the bar as his thumb circles slowly around her clit. She tries to hold his gaze, but her head falls forward as he begins to pump in and out of her. She comes quickly and quietly and her body trembles with the release.
The blush of embarrassment deepens that of orgasm across her cheeks and she glances around for any sign that they’d been seen. Content they remained unnoticed, she turns to him just as he puts his fingers, the ones that were just in her body, into his mouth. He makes a show of circles his tongue around them and licking them clean and she feels another surge of arousal.
He leans into her when he’s finished, pulls her against him. His lips brush against her ear and his breath is warm as he speaks, as her hands feel how hard he is for her.
“I’m ready to taste the real thing,” he whispers.