"Aliens, Scully!"

Author: @gaycrouton Their Valentine: @peacenik0 Story: Prompt: Mulder had always wanted to see what Scully would be like drunk, but he didn’t anticipate it would finally happen on the one night they had to share a bed.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17817695/chapters/42038960

#2019XFValentine  (27/34)

A silly little fic. Today’s @txf-prompt-box advent calendar word is: gingerbread cookies. Tagging @today-in-fic

Cookie Love

And to think it all started with cookies.

When Skinner informed them about the annual fundraiser, asking them to bring something sweet and, with a look at Mulder, edible, Scully knew what she wanted to contribute.

Her grandmother’s gingerbread cookies were easy to make, tasty and popular with everyone. Mulder mumbled something about store bought cake and it was the perfect opportunity. She asked him to join her, help her bake the cookies, and then they’d both have something to bring. Mulder’s smile was answer and gift in one.

But that was last week. Saturday came, they baked and they had fun. At least Scully thought so until today. It’s like she predicted; everyone loves the gingerbread cookies. What she didn’t take into account is that people would love Mulder too. Families gather around him as if he were the main attraction while children point at his ridiculous Christmas tree tie. She found it funny on Saturday when he showed it to her and the little remote control that made the tie light up in bright, blinking colors and play Merry Christmas. She’d still might find it funny today, even adorable maybe, if it wasn’t for her. That woman.

Scully doesn’t think of herself as jealous person. She and Mulder spend a lot of time together and there is no time to date. How could she bring another person into this life, where would she put him in between Mulder and the work? She was under the impression that Mulder thought the same. None of this has to do with jealousy.

She’s watching him now, grinning that handsome smile, while that woman touches him. Scully can’t take her eyes away, from the way the other woman’s hand strays from his tie to his chest, resting there. Her eyes might be over there - and how she wishes she could hear what they’re talking about - but her hands are tearing apart her empty styrofoam cup. Mulder’s is next to hers, half full, coffee cold.

She is Mulder’s type, this other woman. Scully has never seen her before, but it’s not surprising Mulder is enchanted with her. A tall brunette, her hair long and flowing past her shoulders, the face of someone who’s been admired before. Scully watches, can’t do anything but sit here, and be the spectator. She is not jealous. Mulder doesn’t belong to her. They’re nothing but partners, friends. Aren’t they?

On Saturday, when the cookies were cooling, when the dishes were done and after they’d ordered from their favorite Thai place, they just sat together. I don’t know about you, Mulder had mused, but it’s a Mulder tradition to have at least one bottle of wine when working in the kitchen. And so they had a bottle of wine. Mulder lingered in the doorway after, his face open, his lips, too. She ushered him out with a hand against his chest, forcing herself not to dig her fingers into his shirt and pull him back inside.

But that was Saturday.

Today some other’s woman’s hand is on him. It’s her right; Scully never claimed him. She takes a sip from Mulder’s coffee cup, not caring. He obviously doesn’t. Not about his coffee, not about her. The cold, stale taste makes her sick.

“Hey Scully.” Speak of the devil. He slumps into the chair next to her and it scrapes across the floor loudly as he moves it closer to her. His arm brushes hers as he reaches for his coffee cup.

“It’s cold,” he says after a sip. He has the audacity to pout.

“You were quite busy over there with- with I don’t know her name.”

“Cynthia.” Mulder stuffs a cookie into his mouth. He hands one to her. “I’ve been meaning to bring this over.”

“Cynthia was more important.” She doesn’t mean to sound this jealous. She isn’t jealous. She doesn’t take the cookie.

“No,” Mulder says, putting the cookie into his own mouth before he offers her yet another one. Where is he storing them all? Shouldn’t they be selling these cookies? “She just kept talking and I couldn’t get rid of her.”

“Sure.”

“Are you jealous?” He grins, cookie crumbs falling out of his mouth. All except one that’s stuck to his bottom lip.

“What a stupid question.” She can’t stop staring at the crumb. She wants to taste her favorite cookies from his mouth.

“You didn’t answer it though.” Still grinning, proud of himself. Still sporting that crumb. She just has to; she reaches out and touches his lip, the cookie crumb gone. Mulder’s grin disappears for a short moment, but before she can move away, he kisses her finger.

“I don’t care about Cynthia or any other woman in this room or anywhere, Scully. Here, have a cookie. We made them.” In his palm is a perfectly shaped heart. She takes it, watches him as she puts it into her mouth.

“They’re good,” she says and he nods.

I’ve already published this series on AO3 and ff.net, but I wanted to upload it here. I’m going to try to do one a day until they’re all up, but here we go! 1/27 for Words of Lust.

Arousal: (noun) to be stimulated with sexual desire. [Mulder realizes the sounds on the other side of the motel wall are Scully masturbating.]

Throughout the years, over the span of hundreds of cases, Mulder had shared countless adjoining rooms with Scully. Since they usually kept the door open, they saw sides of each other that they didn’t share with anyone else. He had seen Scully in every color facemask available, they would have conversations while he was clipping his toenails, they’ve had to apply aloe to each others’ sunburns, so many intimacies shared between partners.

Even when they said their goodbyes at night, finally closing the adjoining door, he let himself fall asleep by listening to the sounds of Scully on the other side of the thin motel wall. Ninety-five percent of the time, it was the same routine every night. He would hear her sock-clad feet padding against the carpet after closing the door, followed by the sound of the keyboard against her fingertips as she finished her case report, then she either showered, or went straight to bed. Scully was a heavy sleeper, he knew that from all the times she had fallen asleep on him, so when he heard the lamp click off, he knew she would toss and turn for a few minutes before succumbing to sleep.

However, the other five percent of the time was a completely different case.