I do not own Power Rangers: Jungle Fury.

I have not written anything quite like this before.

Francis Faye Fugleman Finds Her Voice

It's Only A Whisper Now


And she wants him, she does want him.

She just doesn't know how to pursue what she wants with him.

Not tense up and cringe at her own inexperience, inadequacy.

Frannie The Timid Little Awkward Mouse and Not Sexy At All, Are You Kidding Me?

They're in her apartment, roommates off on some jaunt for the weekend.

So they've got the place entirely to themselves.

Although for now, it's just the couch.

Loveseat.

Loveseat.

She ventures a kiss, leaning over from her cushion to his.

And Dom returns it, light and easy.

Then breaks away, smiling, one hand holding hers.

Putting just a little distance between them.

Just enough that he's not looming or lingering.

And she frowns.

He doesn't want . . .?

"I told you, Fran. You're in charge. Everything is your call, your decision. What you want. I'm not pressuring you about anything."

And she bites her lip, unsure and anxious.

"What if it's not what you want?"

Dom shrugs.

"I want you. I want you to be comfortable, confident. I want you to do what you want. Period. No excuses, no apologies. I want you to feel, no, I want you to know, whatever you want is okay."

She dares to ask her next question.

"And if I don't want anything?"

He shrugs again.

"Then that's fine. We can watch a movie, go for a walk. We can talk or not talk. I can leave or I can stay. What do you want, what does Fran want?"

Fran wants Dom.

But she can't say it.

Not yet.

So naturally her mouth gets glued stuck and she can't unstick it.

But somehow everything is okay anyway.

And at the end of the night . . .

"I love you, Fran."

"I love you, Dom."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

. . . he tells her he loves her.


She's beginning to think she's going to end up being a nun.

Which she doesn't want to be.

Since they can't have sex or boyfriends.

Even though she's seen them eat pizza so that's something.

But she doesn't want to be one.

A nun, not a pizza.

Or a pizza.

Because if she did, . . .

"I want you to stay awhile longer, Dom. If you can."

"Yeah. Sure."

. . . she couldn't do what she dares to want to do.

"If you want."

He says it casual, without pointed inflection of any kind but she knows he's telling her again that it's all up to her.

And she also knows she doesn't have to respond.

"I do."

But she does anyway.

Because she actually does just want to.

And she's still nervous and scared, still feels her heart pounding through her chest.

"Okay."

But she also feels that feeling, that desire, that hunger to be with Dom, if she can manage to relax and let go enough to be with Dom.

Dom.

And she leans forward. Kisses him, feels him kiss back.

Before he breaks contact, leans back, all light and unpressuring and him.

And she doesn't want there to be distance between them, she wants-

And she shifts forward, toward him, she sees the attention in his eyes as he tracks her.

And she boldly, and yes, nervously, come on, how can she dare to-

Slide a leg over his lap, straddle him, she's straddling him, she cannot believe she's straddling Dominic Hargan and she's wearing pants, soft, green, cotton ones-

But just the positioning feels so much more open and exposed even though it's not and -

Dominic's grinning, that sort of fond, pleased smile but it's surprised a little too, and she likes that-

And he's raising his arms up and -

Oh-

- resting them on the back of the couch, not touching her at all and -

She's kissing him again, leaning more into his body than she's used to, for the love of Mozzarella, she's really straddling him, even though they're both fully clothed-

But she knows their, um, parts, match up and she's too shy and timid and mousy to actually be doing this and she's not experienced or attractive so why would anyone, much less Dom want her but-

"Ow-"

And he pulls back his head a little and she realizes she's bitten his lip accidentally, well, really more of a slightly aggressive nibble, but oh how much more embarrassing can she get-

"Oh, I'm sorry, Dom!" she gasps, somehow still sitting astride him-

And he's not bleeding that she can tell and he smiles and -

"It's okay, Fran-"

And she just totally runs over whatever he was trying to get out but she can't stop-

"I didn't do it on purpose-"

"Oka-"

"I mean, I know I'm supposed to be doing what I want but that's not actually part of what I want so-"

"Fran, . . ."

And his voice is a murmur and she's slunk herself off him and is waded up in a ball on the entire other cushion of their shared couch with her legs up against her chest, thin, scrawny arms banded around them, God, how can people be different and what she wouldn't give to be-

". . . breathe."

And she nods, not quite looking at him, ugh, and-

"It's okay."

- his eyes are kind. Warm.

Summer sky.

"I promise."

And so is his smile.

"Okay?"

And she manages to nod.

"Okay."

And then, because she really, really wants to, . . .

I do. Want to.

. . . she moves herself again back to her previous position.

Straddled over Dom.

Fully clothed.

And . . .

"Have you ever done this before?"

. . . asks her question.

He nods.

"Yes."

Which turns into more.

"All of it?"

"All of it."

"A lot?"

"I wouldn't say a lot."

Until she's reached her quota.

"With a lot of different people?"

"No. Definitely not with a lot of different people."

And she doesn't need to know anymore.

She searches his eyes and can't detect a deceit in them.

Thinks for a million years.

And only a few seconds.

And decides . . .

"I never have."

"I know."

. . . that it's okay.

"I don't know what I'm doing."

"That's okay."

She's glad one of them has some experience.

"You don't have to do this, Fran. Any of it. You know that."

Because she sure doesn't.

"You just have to do exactly what-"

"I know, I know. Exactly what I want."

But she . . .

"And I . . ."

. . . knows what she wants.

". . . want to be with you."

She's practiced saying it in the mirror.

"You don't have to."

To her pizza dough.

"I know. Neither do you."

To her shoelaces.

"I know."

But now it's different.

She's said it.

Out loud.

To him.

And it's awful, so nerve wracking and cringy.

But maybe not so much after all.

Because he smiles.

"Okay."

And speaks.

"You're in charge, Fran. Whatever you want."

And she . . .

"Okay."

. . . can feel the contact between them as she's sitting on him.

"Completely."

"Okay."

And she wants . . .

'No apologies."

. . . more.

"Okay."


Thanks for reading!