#for em

“We can share the bed.” He shrugs. “Unless you really don’t want to, in which case I will take the couch, or get an air mattress or something.”

“Air mattresses squeak on hardwood floors. You don’t sleep well as it is.” She licks her lips, staring intently at her knees. “The bed is fine.” She can’t help admitting to herself that a small part of her had been hoping to end up in his bed tonight anyway. They went on a date, for fuck’s sake. And since they used to be in a committed relationship for years before it all went to hell, she’s not sure all her previous rules about no sex on first dates really apply here. Separated or not, he’s still her Mulder and never stopped being that.

“Okay,” he says. “It’s gonna be fine. I mean, we’ll be asleep. And we can keep our hands to ourselves.” He sounds like he’s trying very hard to convince himself of that fact.

She’s not sure at all he’s right about it. Not when simply sitting right next to him makes her want to climb into his lap and kiss him senseless. But it’s gonna be fine. They’ll both be on their best behavior.

**

It’s muscle memory, she thinks, when he shuffles close to her the second they lie down and spoons up behind her. It’s muscle memory when she takes his arm and hooks it firmly over her waist, snuggling back into him. This is just how they used to fall asleep. Before. It doesn’t mean anything.

Neither does it mean anything when he kisses her neck after saying goodnight and she laces her fingers with his and lets out a content exhale.

And it doesn’t mean anything when she feels him growing hard against her and presses into him encouragingly before he can pull away.

“Scully,” he says, voice pleading, and she isn’t sure whether he’s pleading for her to stop or to keep going. But he stays where he is, and when she rubs her butt against his growing erection, he rocks into her.

Her mantra of “this doesn’t mean anything” begins to falter when she turns in his arms and he claims her mouth in a hungry kiss. But then again, it’s like she told herself earlier: they used to be practically married; the rules don’t really apply here. And they had a really tough night and deserve to end it with something fun.

Fun. That’s what this is. They’re having fun. Plus, they have needs. She hasn’t had sex since they broke up, and she’s pretty sure that neither has he. And sex is fun. They can give each other this. And they did go on a date. Although that would imply that maybe this does mean something after all…

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Mulder says, his lips brushing hers as he speaks.

“What are we doing?” she asks.

He pulls back, pauses. “Do you want to stop?”

She doesn’t even have to think about it. “Absolutely not.”

“But…” He hesitates. “We should probably talk about this.”

“I agree.”

“About what this means.”

“We really should.”

“Because this could change everything.”

“Definitely.” She moves her face closer to his until their lips catch. “We need to talk. Right now.”

“Before we go any further.”

“Yeah.” She kisses him again and lets him roll her onto her back, spreading her thighs so he can settle between them. “Talking would be a great idea.”

He hums as he pushes her shirt up, and she gasps as he squeezes one of her breasts and sucks her other nipple into his mouth. She’s throbbing with arousal, aching, and honestly, what is there to say anyway? He’s Mulder. There’s no universe in which she’s going to say no to this, not now, not anymore, not after all the hard work they’ve put into finding their way back to each other.

And when he kisses his way down her body, ridding her of her pants (his running shorts) and lowers his face between her thighs, any last remnant of doubt drops clean out of her head.

He moans as he licks her open, parting her folds and piercing her with his tongue. God, she’s been craving this. He hooks her legs over his shoulders and sets to work, lips and teeth and tongue, driving her out of her mind with need. This is not gonna take long.

She made herself bury the memories deep after they split up, tried so hard not to think of him when she got herself off at night, but forgetting this has always been impossible. Nothing in the world compares to the enthusiasm with which Fox Mulder eats pussy. He seems lost in it, enjoying himself so much he’s groaning into her as he presses his face closer and closer, flattening his tongue against her clit and making her whimper as her body tightens impossibly.

Her legs draw up and her back arches, her fingers curling into his hair, and her first orgasm hits her with such force it steals her breath away. He draws it out, sending fresh sparks of pleasure through her again and again until her body protests, slumping onto the mattress, heart racing.

“Fuck,” he gasps, lifting his head and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I missed this.”

All she can manage is a nod; she can’t speak yet. But she’s definitely done mourning the loss of her vibrator.

“God, you’re beautiful,” He moves up so he’s on top of her, and then he’s kissing her deeply, her taste still on his tongue. She hopes repairing her house will takes weeks. Months. Forever. Hell, maybe she’ll just leave it the way it is. Who even cares anymore.

“Fuck me,” she whispers, and he doesn’t ask if she’s sure. He doesn’t hesitate. They know each other; they can read each other better than anyone else.

With one long, hard thrust he’s all the way inside her and she cries out; the incredible stretch is just on the right side of too much. He’s so big. Another thing she never got over: how he fills her completely, how she feels him everywhere, how her body loves this sensation of being absolutely owned by him.

“You feel so good,” he says, voice strained as he stays perfectly still, letting her adjust to the intrusion.

“Move,” she begs. She needs to feel this, she needs to be sore from this, she needs him to just… take her. She needs him.

“Scully—”

“Hard,” she says.

She can pinpoint the second his self-control shatters. He groans and pulls back, then slams back inside hard enough to make her slide up the bed. And then he does it again, and again.

“Yes,” she whimpers, “God, yes.”

He grabs onto the headboard for leverage with one hand and curls the other around the back of her shoulder to keep her in place, and then he fucks her. He fucks her the way she tried so hard not to remember, the way that reminds her why she never bothered looking for anyone else. He fucks her like he’s claiming her, and she wonders if he really doesn’t know that she’s already his. But she’ll let herself be claimed as many times as he wants. It doesn’t change a thing, but it feels really fucking good.

She rakes her nails down his back and wraps her legs around his waist and has no voice to ask him for more, but he understands, he gets her.

The bed is shaking underneath them, slamming into the wall with each of his thrusts, and she can’t hold back her moans, doesn’t even try to. This is more than sex, more than release after a tough night, more than reconnection, even. This is an explosion, bottled up tension and longing bursting out of them with an intensity that sets the world on fire.

They don’t need to talk about this. It’s clear what it means. There’s no going back.

And the relief makes her call out his name, over and over, the only word that matters. Mulder. Mulder.

He knows how to move inside her, he knows how to get her where he wants her, how to give her what she needs. She’s burning up, the pressure in her core is unbearable, but he keeps her right on the edge for minutes, driving her wild but not letting her fall.

Flashes, hints of pleasure spike through her with every push in, and it’s so close to being enough, but not quite, not quite…

“Please,” she whines, “Please, please…”

“I’ve got you,” he pants, “Scully…”

He changes his angle, grinding against her clit, and her body comes off the mattress, her muscles tensing up in anticipation of her release.

“Come for me,” he says, and she does.

She comes so hard she screams, her nails breaking the skin as she takes his upper arms in a death grip, and wave after wave of pure bliss tears through her, making her tremble as her body rides it out underneath him.

He follows her moments later, burying himself deep inside her, spilling into her, his teeth against the sensitive skin of her neck as he gives her a few final, erratic thrusts before he collapses on top of her.

She’s vaguely aware of him rolling them over so he’s on his back and she’s lying there half draped over him. She’s exhausted. Spent. So indescribably happy she can’t stop smiling.

“Wow,” he says at last.

“Yeah.” She laughs, loud and uninhibited and delirious with joy. “That was…”

“Perfect.”

“Unexpected.”

“Unexpectedly perfect?”

She looks up, shaking her head at him before leaning in for a quick kiss. “The ‘perfect’ part was absolutely expected. It’s you, after all.”

The happiness on his face makes her heart rate pick up again. She wants to make him smile. She wants him to know everything he is to her.

“I really didn’t plan this,” he promises.

“I know. Neither did I.”

“But I’m glad that it happened.”

“God, I missed you,” she says on an exhale, and he wraps his arms more tightly around her.

“And all it took to get us here was a few killer robots.”

“No.” She cards a hand through his hair. “All it took was us. And some time.”

“Yeah, that sounds a lot better.”

"Two more days. Okay? I can handle two more days. We've been on this ship for a week, what's two more days, right? Two more days and then I shall embrace the sweet release from my torment. Two more, just two, it's not even that long..."

"I suppose so," Ruth said, replying to her sister's rhetorical mumblings, "but you do remember that the outcome where our mission succeeds and we spend another week traveling back to Dreed is the one that we want, right?" She rolled over and glanced at Emily, who was sprawled on her bunk with her face buried in the pillow. "And we can't in good conscience spend any more time planetside than absolutely necessary." There was a muffled scream. 

"Alternatively," she continued in a lighthearted tone, "maybe D'Amber will have us all thrown in prison, and us commoners will have our own cell."

"We can only hope," Emily groaned. She heaved one last, self-indulgent sigh, then swung herself off the bunk. "Come on. I need to stretch my legs and I don't want to face him alone."

"In the event of an altercation do you want me to prevent you from committing a crime, or help?"

"I'll think about it," she said darkly. 

"Okay!"

The sisters made their way towards the front of the ship. Panels of levers and buttons and dials, and a large, beautiful view of space filled the room. 

"Hello you two!" The man by the pilot's controls greeted them cheerfully. "Hang in there. I don't know about you, but despite the political precariousness of the situation at hand, I'm looking forward to landing."

"You and me both, Orion," Emily agreed. "Navigating the return of a hostage and preventing a war between trade empires sounds infinitely preferable to spending one more minute on this ship with that arrogant, infuriating, self-entitled horsefly!"

As if on cue, the hatch behind them flew open. Given he was the only other person on board, there was no doubt as to who it could be. Dressed all in black, except for his dark red gloves, he flicked an invisible speck off the shoulder of his cape. His dark hair was artfully arranged, and his green eyes were sharp and calculating. 

"How good of you all to gather here," he said in a smooth voice. "It saves me the trouble of summoning you. I believe we have some matters to discuss." He raised one perfect eyebrow. "Won't you sit down?" 

Emily scowled and opened her mouth to say something, but Ruth beat her to it.

"UGH! Can you please stop acting like Berhart died and left you in charge? You really can't go one single minute without swirling your cape around for dramatic effect and saying, and I quote, 'ooooooh, I'm Robret Verde, the greatest space wizard you puny commoners will ever meet!' end quote. Your fancy title and fancy eyebrows have no authority here!"

Emily couldn't resist a small smile. And she'd thought she'd been annoyed... 

"Wh - what's wrong with my eyebrows?" Robret spluttered, his seemingly cool composure completely shattered. 

"Nothing compared to what's wrong with your ego!" Ruth snapped.

"You're a child-sized hooligan, and frankly I have no idea why Berhart agreed to take you on as her apprentice, much less assign you to this mission," Robret fought back. "My father is chancellor to the king of Arishal and – "

"Status and stature aside," Orion interrupted, "I believe the need to discuss some final details is still relevant."

Glaring at each other, Ruth, Robret, and Emily sat down around the table, pushing aside charts, maps, and other bits of paper. After one more adjustment to the controls, Orion joined them. 

“Given the tense relations between D’Amber Interplanetary Shipping and the government of Arishal after the recent mercantile regulations were reviewed, I really think I should play the front man,” Orion said.

“We agreed that would be my job! I’m the only one here even remotely qualified, tense relations or no. The rest of you can’t talk diplomacy to save your life,” Robret said.

“We didn’t agree,” corrected Emily, “you appointed yourself, and after a week on this ship I’m inclined to contest that appointment! You certainly haven’t been terrifically diplomatic with me.”

“You are not the head of the second-largest trade empire in the system,” Robret said archly. “I assure you I can be perfectly diplomatic with people of status and class.”

“Then why do I have a distinct recollection of the Earl of Quirthins storming out of Dreed after the last Runemaster formal dinner with your name muttered as a curse upon his lips?”

“That was a complete and total misunderstanding on his part, and in any case he hardly qualifies as someone with class. Did you see the waistcoat he was wearing? It hasn’t been in fashion since the reign of the regent Jones the Fraudulent, which, considering his later history, I would say is in bad taste and wearing his political opinions of the current monarch a little too much on his sleeve, as it were.”

Orion was secretly impressed that Robret had managed to pick up on the Earl’s dissatisfaction with the king in so roundabout a manner (a fact he knew from other, shadier sources), but was unwilling to give him the opportunity to gloat. His personal pride was still smarting from Robret’s thoughtless comment regarding “the unnecessary addition of street rats raised above their station and trained to be a living weapon in this particular party” earlier in the week. He had spent so long working for his master Djirlen that his humble beginnings in the gutter were more of a dark impression than fully realized memories. But he still shuddered to think of them. It was funny, how he could take such offense at the first half of the barb and barely bat an eye at the second… Orion recalled himself to the ongoing argument. 

“ – do you mean I bungled the job at the Shrine of Samceriba? I was the only one even trying to keep a low profile!”

“Since when is landing a ship in the Lake of Arlista low profile?!”

“If you further recall, I –”

“Please!” 

Emily, Ruth, and Robret slowly and begrudgingly turned their attention to Orion. Emily and Robret wore almost matching stormy expressions, a fact they would hate to acknowledge, while Ruth seemed to be enjoying the argument. It was better to fight face to face, she reasoned, than stew in mounting resentment. And besides, Emily was clearly winning. 

“Please,” Orion repeated, less loudly, “we can discuss the past at leisure on our return trip, once we have Julius Cattlebog aboard. The safe return of the heir to the largest trade empire in the system should be our first and only priority at the moment.”

Emily sighed heavily and slumped forward. “I know. But if you ask me, resolving the hostage situation might not change anything. Catherine D’Amber and Octavius Cattlebog have been at each other’s throats for years, and they might start a war no matter what.”

“But we have to try, nevertheless,” said Orion. “I shudder to think what would happen if D’Amber had an excuse to gain an advantage.”

Ruth actually did shudder. “That enchantress is already powerful enough as it is. And here we are headed right for her home.”

After a moment of quiet, when each contemplated the wisdom of walking voluntarily into the lair of an evil power-hungry denizen of remote space, Robret cleared his throat.

“So if my extraordinary diplomatic talents and natural charm are not to be employed, what exactly do you propose I do instead?” 

“I think we can all agree that while open and honest third-party negotiations are nice, they’re not likely to impress D’Amber. Berhart’s instructions for us were, at best, vague, and quite open to interpretation. While I’m talking politics, you, Emily, and Ruth will be sneaking.”

Ruth clapped her hands and grinned. “Oh goody!”

Robret rolled his eyes and sighed. “Oh goody.”

********************

General Outline for the Rest of the Story:

Our intrepid heroes arrive at D’Amber’s space fortress.

Orion is very cool and pulls off the diplomat part pretty convincingly. Maybe D’Amber will release Julius after all!

Just kidding, she’s an evil space enchantress and wants a monopoly on the interplanetary trade empire.

Meanwhile, Emily, Ruth, and Robret are sneaking around looking for Julius. The plan is to break him out. If I were going to write a more detailed story it would probably involve explaining that D’Amber didn’t publicly kidnap him, so if he mysteriously disappears she doesn’t have an excuse to start a war, somehow.

Also need to explain that Berhart and her minions (our beloved heroes) are not representing any particular government (despite Robret’s family connections). She has her own agenda and a space trade war is not part of it. Her apprentices (Emily, Ruth, and Robret), plus the legendary swordsman Djirlen’s living weapon (Orion) are working for her alone.

I haven’t mentioned it yet but Robret and Emily are both fire wizards and Ruth is an air wizard.

This is important because later when they’re fighting a space battle outside the fortress Ruth will be able to move pockets of air from inside the fortress into the vacuum of space (if she concentrates hard enough) and provided everyone Works Together Emily and Robret can use those pockets as a way to shoot fireballs. I think this will be cool.

The key here is that our heroes are trying to bring about peace on a large scale, but in order to do that they have to first make peace among themselves.

There would be an abundance of entertaining dialogue, because that’s the most fun thing to write.

Julius will be saved, war will be averted (for now…?), everyone will eat a nice serving of humble pie (although some people will accept it more graciously than others), and live happily ever after.

They have to spend another week stuck on a spaceship together.