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She pictured Mulder standing behind her, could almost see his tousled bedhead, his blue eyes staring back at hers in the mirror. Scully shook her head and took a sip of water, brushed her teeth, tried to shake the thought. The thought that had seized her most nights lately. Most nights she could distract herself with work, with a novel, with anything. Tonight, she was coiled up. She needed to indulge herself before throwing away the idea. She needed release.
msr | beginning of s6 | angst & smut | 3.1k words | explicit (18+) | read on ao3 |
It had been a long day. Scully threw down her briefcase and slumped against her closed apartment door. Another day of vetting unqualified creeps to join the ranks of the honorable FBI. She was frustrated with being demoted to little more than a clerk, but then there was Mulder. Mulder. He was determined not to let an official warning from the Bureau get in the way of his mission, his obsession, his green light. They had gotten so close, and still turned up without damning evidence. She didn’t want to let them win, but it was hard not to feel defeated.
She sighed, shrugged off her fitted blazer, and opened the fridge. It wasn’t as bare as she normally kept it, back when she had been in motels more than her own apartment, but still held only the essentials. Practical. Healthy. Boring. She decided on eggs in a basket with greens and tomatoes. She ate in front of the TV, sipping a generous glass of wine, and flipped between news and old films and game shows. The comfort food and poor entertainment did little to distract her from her worry, but the wine at least made her feel a little looser.
Shortly before their reassignment and the arson in his office, she had finally felt that she and Mulder had come to an understanding on the X-Files, and it was snatched out from under their feet. But he didn’t take no for an answer, because he never did, and never would. She’d said “No” about a thousand times to him over the years, a challenge he was always determined to meet. Now they weren’t even supposed to talk. That hadn’t stopped them before. Even at their worst, for better or for worse, they were joined at the hip. Pretending she wasn’t out of breath when she saw him in the Bureau lobby that morning had set her on track for frustration all day. Not being able to talk to him about their awful assignments, not being able to work on meaningful cases with him anymore, not being able to sit in comfortable silence with him anymore. It was unbearable.
Unable to settle down enough to get any work done at the computer, Scully decided to take the night to herself and end the day on a good note. She turned on the shower, tied up her hair, stripped, and stepped under the steamy water. She washed away the makeup she had slapped on in the morning, lathered herself generously with lavender scented soap and let her pale skin turn pink in the heat. She missed her college days, even her first days at the Bureau, when someone would be waiting for her in the shower. The attachments to these visitors were weak, nothing to envy, but feeling so close to someone, so desirable to someone, even just for a weekend, is what she missed.
She finally turned off the water when the mirror was steamed up and the air was warm and thick. Wrapping herself in a towel, she stood in front of the mirror for longer than usual. She closed her eyes and let her towel drop to the floor, dry besides the wetness growing between her thighs. She pictured arms around her, holding her naked body against theirs, hands running up and down her body, dangerously close to her inner thighs, as she was now. She pictured Mulder standing behind her, could almost see his tousled bedhead, his blue eyes staring back at hers in the mirror. Scully shook her head and took a sip of water, brushed her teeth, tried to shake the thought. The thought that had seized her most nights lately. Most nights she could distract herself with work, with a novel, with anything. Tonight, she was coiled up. She needed to indulge herself before throwing away the idea. She needed release.
She lit an exorbitant amount of candles, turned on slow, sensual music, turned off the lights. Despite living alone, she closed her bedroom door. Old habit. She couldn’t have what she’d had nearly a decade before with people who didn’t matter at all, but she could recreate the feeling for herself, picturing herself with the only person who mattered anymore.
She crawled to the middle of her bed, laid down as she had so many times before, pretended she could chase the feeling away. It only swelled within her. She held a breast in each hand, her nipples hardening, needing to be felt, demanding to be noticed. She rubbed circles on her pink nipples as she grew more wet. She kept a hand on her right breast and her left hand traveled south to tend to the more pressing desire. Her abdomen ached, her clit was like a magnet, commanding attention from her fingertips. She felt her breath catch as she felt her wetness, rubbing circles on her clit.
She was determined to take things slowly. It had been so long since she had been romanced, even by herself. It felt like everything in her life besides her work had been rushed, pushed to the side, on the back burner for the past few years. Even her masturbation sessions were rushed, getting off quickly in squeaky beds she hoped her partner couldn’t hear through the thin motel walls, or with a detachable showerhead in the occasional nicer establishments. Effective, to the point, got off. But not fulfilled.
She slipped a finger inside herself, groaned. It had been far too long since she had been touched in such a way. She savored the feeling, slowly feeling herself and teasing her g-spot. She brought her fingers to her lips and tasted her wetness. Sweet. Then she slipped in another finger and pumped more quickly at her g-spot. “Fuck,” she sighed. She flipped onto her stomach, fingers still inside her, the other hand desperately playing with her clit. The pressure from her weight made it the best position to get off in. She was so wet. She imagined she was with a partner, nearly coming under his weight. “Mulder,” she breathed. Then, louder, “Mulder!”
She was slipping a third finger in and bucking her hips against her hand when she heard a knock. She let out a loud, heavy breath. Frazzled, her hands flew from her body as if she were caught doing something nasty. Glanced at the clock. 12:05 a.m. More knocking. She knew that excited, annoying, insistent knock anywhere. Mulder, she thought, now panicked. Did he hear me? She tried to gather her thoughts but knew he wasn’t used to waiting. She blew at the candles, missing a few, turned down the sexy music. Think, think, think. She grabbed her fuzzy bathrobe and threw it on, tied it tightly around her waist. It went well past her knees. He wouldn’t know she didn’t have anything on underneath it.
He rapped on the door again. “Scully!” he called as she half-ran out of her bedroom to the apartment door, which she hastily, shakily unlatched and opened.
“Mulder,” she said, meeting his eyes and then settling on his chest. He was breathing heavily. He’d probably run up the stairs to see her.
“Scully, I think I have something—did I wake you?” His lips curled into a smile she could’ve sworn was suggestive, but maybe it was just her fantasy clashing with reality. Just in case, she covered her breasts with her arms. Her nipples were still rock hard.
“No, I mean—no, I was just in bed,” she fumbled. Why couldn’t I have just said yes?
“Can I come in?” She held out her arm, stood behind the door to let him in. “Scully, I think I can piece together the X-Files. At least some of them.” He took off his leather jacket and hung it on the rack by the door and held up a thick file folder. “See?”
He showed her case files he had, quite literally, pieced together. Burned edges and blurred words, taped together. But they were his files. Their files. Their work. She was hit with a pang of emotion. Six years, they had been partners. So close, but never crossing a line like she had tonight. She suddenly felt exposed and hoped again that he hadn’t been able to hear her practically scream his name before she noticed his knocking.
He noticed her glassy eyes and placed a hand on her back, rubbed the soft fabric, sent chills down her spine, and made her wetness more noticeable again. “Hey, you okay, Scully?”
She forced a laugh. “Yeah, yeah...just...tired.”
He held her gaze. He didn’t believe her. She wouldn’t either. Then he caught a whiff of something. She hoped it wasn’t the sex on her fingers, her thighs, her lips. Why did I have to taste myself? He stood abruptly, crossed the dark living room, noticed her bedroom door had opened slightly. Damn drafty apartment. He cracked a smile. “Hey Scully, you got somebody waiting in there?” He glanced back at her, smile faltering.
She let out an accidental, real laugh. The idea was so preposterous to her. Who did she have to bring home? The thought made her a little sad. “No,” she said, collecting herself. “Nobody but me.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Wooo, Scully.”
“No—not like that,” she chastised, lied.
He shrugged, shoved his hands in his pockets, didn’t move away from her bedroom door and didn’t move closer to her.
“What?” she demanded. She wasn’t laughing anymore.
“No—nothing, it’s just…” He ran his hand roughly through his hair, fluffing it even more than it already was naturally.
Her cheeks flushed. She brushed her hair down with her hands. It was all over the place. Bed hair like he’d never seen on her. Shit.
She sighed. She felt embarrassed, unsatisfied, annoyed. Exposed. The draft kept her nipples scratching against the fabric. She slipped past him into her bedroom, turned on the light, and began properly blowing out candles.
He hesitated in the doorway, just for a second, then followed closely behind her. He was practically stepping on her heels. “Hey, Scully, I’m sorry. You don’t have to do all that.” He gently grabbed her shoulder and she let him spin her around. “Hey, stop blowing out the candles. It’s nice.” He seemed serious, soft, and seductive with his voice lower than usual.
“Mulder, what is this?”
“What?” He wasn’t touching her anymore, but he was standing so close she could feel his breath.
She motioned between them. “This. What is this? Showing up after midnight, pretending everything is normal, like we still have the X-Files…” His suggestive smile from earlier was back. “What?”
“You miss the X-Files.”
“Yes, I miss the X-Files!” She was tired of pretending she didn’t. She was tired of pretending. “I miss you and I miss your stupid office and—and you can’t move on from it either!”
His smile dropped. “No, I can’t.” He looked between her eyes and lips and she was desperate for the distance between them to be either a million miles or no more than a millimeter. “Scully…”
It was fast. She rose up on a tiptoe as he leaned down and their lips met and he tasted like mint and she needed more. She deepened the kiss, tasted his tongue and his arms wrapped around her, moving up and down her arms and back as she guided him to her bed. He lay on top of her, their bodies pressed against each other, only clothing in the way. She felt his erection against her stomach, bit her bottom lip as they kissed, smiled because she made him hard. She unbuttoned and zipped down his jeans, tugged at his gray tee shirt.
“Fuck,” he muttered. He stood and took off his jeans and pulled his shirt over his head, tossed his clothes on the floor and stood in his tight briefs, tighter still because of his hard cock. Scully wanted to make things even and untied her robe. She locked eyes with Mulder and he bent down and slowly removed the robe, revealing her to him. She kept her eyes on his as he devoured her with his eyes. Her collarbone and breasts and pussy and thighs and calves and back to her eyes. “God, you’re beautiful.”
She crawled to the edge of the bed and kissed him again, leaned down and planted kisses on his neck, his chest, his abdomen. He breathed heavily, tangling his hands in her hair, but she was focused. She left kisses down the v-shape where dark hair sprouted. She pulled down the waistband of his briefs and took his cock in her hand. His briefs fell to the floor and he stepped out of them. She kissed down his shaft all the way up to the tip of his cock, where he was already dripping with precum. She took the tip in her mouth and then kissed his slit again. He threw his head back and swore again. She repeated the motion, each time taking his cock deeper in her mouth until she finally took him fully and he hit the back of her throat. He held the back of her head with both of his hands and pushed gently.
“Fuck, Scully, fuck, that’s so good.”
She slowly released his cock and smiled, taking one of his balls in her hand, the other moving up and down his shaft, sliding easily with spit and precum before taking him deeper in her mouth. He swore again and she could tell he was close. She kissed the tip of his cock again and scooted back on the bed. She raised her eyebrows. He let out a sigh, licked his lips.
He crawled up the bed until he reached her and he took her waist in his hands, pulling her towards him. Scully let out a giggle. Just feeling his hands on her skin, finally, was almost too much to handle. Mulder leaned down and left soft, wet kisses on her thighs. She was wet before, but now she was dripping on the sheets. This was worth the extra load of laundry.
Scully adjusted and opened her thighs to him, biting her lip to keep from begging him to put his mouth to good use already. He apparently read her mind and quit his teasing. His attention moved north, and toyed with her clit with his tongue. He slipped a finger inside her, and another after it slid in easily.
“You’re so wet, Scully,” he said against her pussy. Then, so quiet that she almost didn’t catch it, “So wet for me.”
He picked up his pace lapping at her pussy, working in small circular motions around her throbbing clit. Then he pushed deeper inside her with his fingers and curled his fingers up inside her, hitting her g-spot on the first try.
“Oh my god!” she squealed. “Mulder.”
He looked up to half smile, half smirk, but she pushed his head back down and he was desperately licking, lapping, loving her clit. The motion sent vibrations up her spine. She couldn’t stop herself from arching her back and moaning loudly.
“Mulder! Fuck, I’m gonna come.”
She grasped one hand onto the sheets, the other onto his messy hair for dear life as her orgasm rocked through her. Her thighs clenched, bringing him even closer between her legs, but he kept at her clit as she came down. He only stopped once she stopped moving entirely, breathing heavily from coming.
He gently pulled his fingers out of her, covered in her cum. He licked his fingers slowly and crawled up the bed, leaning over her. When he kissed her, she tasted the mix of her cum and the sweet, salty, dreamy taste of his mouth.
They kissed for a while longer. Mulder grew hard again quickly, rocked back and forth across her cunt gently, not close to entering her. She wanted him to. She deepened their kiss and took his cock in her hand once more. God, she wanted him inside her.
“Fuck—I guess we need—do you have a condom?”
She shook her head. Any condoms she had in her drawer were probably expired, and besides, she wanted to feel him, finally feel him, all of him.
He dutifully pulled back, and was about to pull back on his underwear when she stopped him.
“Where the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
He paused, surprised. “I’m gonna run around the block to the pharmacy to get a pack of double-XLs.”
“No, you’re not.” She made a point to nod at his cock, hard and shiny. He was bigger than average, but hardly an XL, let alone a double. “And no, you’re not.”
He dropped his briefs. “Are you sure?”
“I want you, Mulder. All of you.”
A switch seemed to flip inside him. He practically jumped back onto the bed, took her face between his hands, his mouth crashing against hers. She guided him inside of her and she groaned instantly. He went slow for the first few thrusts but couldn’t keep them slow. She smiled and moaned against his mouth as he picked up the pace, grabbed his buttocks and pulled him closer to her, deeper inside her. He filled her so perfectly.
“Fuck, Mulder.”
She had imagined, daydreamed, fantasized about this for years. She wanted to savor each second, each breath, each moan, each thrust. He roughly kissed her neck as he buried himself inside her. He was as deep as he could go and she relished every inch he filled her with. “Scully,” he breathed heavily. “You’re perfect.”
She couldn’t contain her moans and she didn’t want to. She wrapped her legs around him, bucking her hips against his. His pace was steady, strong, fast. Being with him was so much better than being alone tonight, tomorrow, forever. She wanted to be with him forever.
“Scully, I’m gonna come.”
She was near the blissful edge, too. “Inside me, Mulder. Please. Stay inside me.”
He kept his pace and Scully yelled as she came, her whole body shaking around him. He bent down and met her lips, both moaning, as she felt his cock convulse and his pace became less rhythmic, his breath ragged. He cursed as he spilled his cum deep inside her. She felt the sticky warmth in her cunt, the warmth of his breath, the warmth of her cheeks. She felt complete, full, alive. Loved.
“Mulder?” she said after a moment. He was still on top of her, inside her. Neither of them wanted the moment to end.
He pushed her wet hair out of her eyes. “Yeah?”
“I love you.”
He smiled, his eyes happy. He looked so content. “I love you, Scully.”
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.
The first time, he had no idea. He was laying in bed as usual, when he heard the lamp click off. Instead of tossing and turning though, he heard rustling, as if she was trying to burrow into the bed. After a few moments he heard small gasps, they were quick, so he wasn't even sure he had heard right. Before he had a chance to listen furthur, he got a phone call from the Sheriff letting him know another body was found and that he and Scully needed to report back. Mulder was only half paying to the conversation, mostly trying to focus on determining if he was hearing whimpers.
When he rolled out of bed, the noises became quieter, as if she was alerted by hearing him through the wall. He walked a few feet to the door and knocked loudly. There was a moment of silence before Scully's strangled voice called out, "Give me a second." Her voice sounds higher than normal.
Mulder stood at the door, picking at his fingernails as he heard Scully get off the bed, followed by some undetermined rustling. Finally, after turning on the lamp, she opened the door. He was immediately concerned. Scully's cheeks were rosy and flushed, and it looked like she had some light sweat smattering her forehead. He also noticed she was reluctant to make eye contact with him and was breathing funny. He placed a finger under her chin so he could get a better look at her face. "Scully, are you feeling okay, you look flushed."
"I'm fine, what do you need?" She kept flitting her gaze from him to the floor, but she had kept contact long enough for him to see that her eyes were dilated and glazed over.
"Do you feel warm? Do you have a fever?" He moved one hand to cup her jaw while he placed the other across her forehead. She felt warmer than normal, but she had seemed fine all day.
"Mulder, I said I'm fine. I'm a doctor, I would know if something was wrong. Now why did you knock?" She gripped his wrist with her right hand, and he was immediately drawn to the heat that emanated from her index and middle finger. Looking down, he noticed those two fingers were flushed pink compared to the others. When he looked up, he noticed in the reflection of the mirror behind her, that he could see the tag of her pyjamas sticking out. She had put on her shorts inside out.
The realization hit him like a truck; Scully was just masturbating.
He wanted to punch himself for not realizing it sooner. It all made sense. The noises, the flushed cheeks, the sweating and panting. She wasn't sick, she was aroused. She was preoccupied when he knocked, and so, in her daze, she put her shorts on inside out. She was breathtakingly beautiful this way.
Not wanting to embarrass her, but knowing his blush, and something else, were growing, he released her and took a step back. "I got a call from the Sheriff, they found another body and they want us at the crime scene."
He wanted to laugh when Scully practically whined, "Right now?" Scully is standing in front of me pouting because she didn't get to cum. He felt like he was in a fantasy.
"Sorry, Scully. Coffee's on me though," he offered hoping to brighten her mood. "We should be back before you know it." She gave a slight nod before closing the door so she could get changed.
He let out a long sigh before standing up straight. He didn't need to check, he knew he was hard. Dana Scully was just finger-fucking herself with only a wall separating us. He felt his cock twitch at the thought and he realized he was in the same boat as her now. What he wanted more than anything in the world was to shove his hand down his pants and lose himself to the fantasies of what she had just been doing. Instead, he splashed cold water on his face and got dressed. Meeting a normal-looking Scully a few minutes later.
That may have been the first time, but it definitely wasn't the last. Over time, he became fluent in Scully's arousal. On nights where he heard the rusting of the sheets and the sharp breaths, he would rake his hand down his body, slipping underneath the elastic waistband of his pyjamas, and firmly take hold of his erection. He would stroke himself in time with her pants, closing his eyes and pretending he was the cause, picturing her writhing underneath him. It was a perverse dance that absolutely thrilled him.
He slowly started to recognize when she got turned on in their daily life too. It's not like he had been oblivious to the female libido; he just hadn't considered it in regards to Scully. If he had a dollar for everytime he had to hide a boner or will himself not to get hard throughout the day, Mulder would be a rich man. He couldn't help it when he was constantly in such a close proximity to a beautiful woman he absolutely adored. He just didn't imagine she had to do the same.
They were on a case that required them both to squeeze into a small closet to look at some inscriptions. Scully went in first and Mulder followed, holding a flashlight in his hand. He hadn't been giving it much thought at the time, but looking back, he was invading her personal space. His front was almost flush against her back and he was leaning over to point to the marks on the wall, his breath fluttering the hair by her ear.
He had been asking her questions when, out of nowhere, she asked, "Mulder, is that a new cologne?" He was taken aback at the breathy question, and shined the light so he could get a better look at her face. He wanted to grin when he noticed the same features on her face as that night all those years ago. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were heavy-lidded and dilated.
"Yes, your mom bought it for me for Christmas," he answered, and on a suicidal impulse, he played naive to her condition and leaned into her, pressing his hardening bulge into the cushion of her ass. He felt her involuntarily jerk back into him as she sharply inhaled between gritted teeth.
Before he could celebrate, one of the crime scene technicians asked them a question, making them jump away from each other like a bunch of horny teenagers caught making out.
That night, he made the connection that she pleasured herself on nights that corresponded with excess flirting between the two of them. He continued to test this theory by getting closer during the days and sending more flirtatious comments than normal, always applauding himself when he heard her release that same night.
There were a few nights that he pretended to leave something in her room, or pretended that he got an update on the case, just so he could see a glimpse of Scully in the throws of passion. He had never been bolder beyond that, until tonight.
He grabbed himself in anticipation when he heard the first whimper, already rock hard from thinking about it. For about five minutes he played with himself from root to tip as he heard her try to muffle her sounds by crying out into a pillow. It wasn't effective.
He was playing with the precum leaking out of his head when he heard it. "M-mulder, ah!" He almost came on the spot. He sat up in bed and strained to hear it again. He had always fantasized that he was the cause of her nightly excavations, but he thought that's all it was: a fantasy. Actually hearing that breathless, pitched voice crying out his name was painfully erotic.
He felt his heart hammering in his chest. He felt emboldened with the newfound knowledge that Scully was definitely getting herself off to the thought of him. He got out of bed and walked to the door, giving himself a pep talk as he raised his fist to the door three separate times. This was more than just lust and he knew they both felt the same way, this was something he had always dreamed about and the tangibility of it scared him. After a moment, he finally knocked and he heard the same scrambling as all those times before.
"Mulder, What's wrong?" If he wasn't so aware of the cause, he would have laughed at the way her hair was sticking out in different directions.
Swallowing down any lingering anxiety, he tried to play cool. "I wanted to ask you the same thing, Scully. I could have sworn I just heard you call out my name." He had lowered his voice in an attempt to sound suave, a move he hadn't made in years, and he hoped it was coming across okay. With the way she was shifting, he wanted to say it was.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she was trying to use her no-nonsense voice, but the way her voice was quivering made this fail.
He leaned down a little bit so she was forced to look at him, "Oh really? Because I think you do."
She met his gaze and he saw his playful intentions mirrored back at him. "Want to share with the class?" She was prodding him back and they both knew it.
Taking the biggest risk of his life, he leaned in closer so that his mouth was grazing her ear and crooned, "I think you were touching yourself while thinking about me."
His hands immediately shot to the door frame to ground himself when, unexpectedly, he felt her dainty hand fully grasp his length. Her cheek pressed into his own as she smiled, crooning back, "You mean like you touch yourself when you listen to me?" Her fingers were working magic through his pants as they danced up and down his shaft, causing a throaty moan to escape his lips. She sensually laughed at this and hummed, "I think we both know how thin these walls are."
Removing his hands from the doorframe, he grabbed her biceps and pulled her flush to him, pressing his lips against hers in a fevered kiss. His heart leapt when he felt her return the kiss with equal vigor, removing her hands from his hard on and lacing them behind his neck, her velvety tongue felt like silk against his own. He removed his grasp from her arms and started exploring her body. From the dip of her waist to the heft of her breasts to the swell of her ass, the body he had spent years fantasizing about was finally under his hands. He only stopped his ministrations when Scully ground her pelvis into his with a desperate fervor. The overwhelming pleasure took his breath away and his jaw went slack, breaking the kiss.
He was glad that when his brain stopped functioning, Scully picked up the slack. Her lips moved from his mouth to his jaw to his neck, gently sucking while running her tongue along his skin. He was drunk off the sensations and she took advantage of his slack stance by dragging him by the shirt and pushing him onto the bed.
She placed one knee on either side of his hips and settled down on top of him. Grinning down at his awestruck expression, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and whipped it off with graceful agility. Seeing her exposed breasts provoked him back into action and he leaned up to take a pert nipple into his mouth. His rocking into an upward position caused their pelvis' to grind against each other with tantalizing friction and Scully threw her head back with a sinful moan.
As he ran his tongue back and forth against her nipple, his other hand was giving ample attention to her other breast, switching back and forth. After a few minutes, Scully was whimpering and rocking back and forth against his bulge.
He released her nipple with an audible 'pop', and grinned up at her slack-jawed expression. She smiled back at his, but quickly moved to remove his shirt. They had to seperate for a moment so they could take off their pants before she rolled back on top of him. He looked up at her in complete devotion and awe. Grabbing her hips, he asked, "Are you sure about this?"
She reached down in between them, grabbing his throbbing cock and rubbing it along her opening, coating it with her arousal. "I've been sure about this for years," she smirked, easing down on his length.
It took every fiber of his being not to buck into her tight heat. With every inch he got deeper into her, he was overwhelmed with the sensation of her gripping onto him. He was focused on her face as she sank down and was captivated by the look of pure pleasure dancing across her features. When she had taken him in fully, she wiggled against him, getting used to the feeling while also grinding her clit against his public bone. I'm the luckiest man in the world.
As if she heard his thoughts, she smiled down at him and placed another kiss to his lips as she started riding him. She was talented beyond his wildest fantasies. She broke off the kiss and he saw an erotic string of saliva break onto her chin. She sat up straighter, which allowed him to go impossibly deeper, and she rested her palms on his torso, so she had leverage to rock her body up and down his length. He thrust in tandem with her as he watched her brow furrow in pleasure and her breasts bounce on her chest.
He noticed she was closer than he had anticipated when she started whimpering and grinding even harder onto his public bone. Understanding her movements, he licked the pad of his thumb and brought it to the apex of her legs, circling the digit around her swollen clit. His ministrations caused her to cry out and grip painfully onto his middle.
With the way she was rotating her hips into his hand and the desperation in her thrusts, he knew she was close. He was a man on a mission now, and he wanted more than anything to see the look on her face when he made her cum. "Scully, open your eyes for me. I want to watch you when you cum." With heavy lids, she opened her eyes and looked at him in pure animalistic lust, it was the most sensual thing he had ever seen. "Fuck, you're so beautiful."
Within a few seconds, she went almost rigid on top of him, violently thrusting against him with an unrelenting vigor. "Ah-Mulder, oh my god," she cried out as her body convulsed. Hearing her call out his name like that almost sent him over the edge, but he was determined to make this as good for her as possible, so he used every ounce of restraint he had left to prevent himself from letting go. He watcher her with pure rapture, as her eyes nearly rolled into the back of her head, and her wetness was contracting around him. He kept circling her clit and thrusting into her to prolong her orgasm. She grabbed his wrist to signify she was overly sensitized and he returned his hands to her hips as she let out a satisfied laugh with a goofy smile.
She lethargically leaned down and pressed kisses along his jaw and nibbled his ear, he continued thrusting as she breathed into his ear, "Your turn." She started riding him with no abandon and he joined her, now having permission to let go. She was perched on top of him with a seductive smile as he bucked into her. He only lasted a few moments before he found release, burying himself inside of her and grinding in ecstasy while calling out her name like a hymn.
When he was finished, she rolled off of him and laid down right next to him, nuzzling against his spent frame. His normal eloquence and wit was lost, the only thing he could manage to say was, "wow."
"Wow's right," she chuckled back. He glanced down at her and his heart was warmed to see she was resting peacefully against his chest. She looked like an angel.
Her words from earlier rang in his ears and he recognized them with new meaning, "Wait, so you knew I could hear you through the walls?" He didn't think the smile on his face would ever fade.
He felt her grin against him and she mumbled sleepily, "Not at first, but the one time I heard you panting and the sound of the bed rocking ever so slightly and I figured it out. Then when it only happened every time I was, I really figured it out.
She didn't have to say it, it was implicit. She called out his name knowing he would hear it. She wanted this just as much as he did. He looked down at her and kissed her once again before falling asleep.
TXF Fic. More MSR V-Day Snapshots, straddling IWTB. Angst, Hope, A Little Sex.
1-7 (1993-2000) || 8-13 (2001-2006)
(’07)
Perhaps it isn’t everything Scully dreamed of as a little girl but she learned long ago to let go of dreams. She threw the small things, the heart shaped boxes and the pink sparkly envelopes after the bigger disappointments. If she dared to look back she would see their streamers tangled with broken picket fences, and spring churchyards in wedding whites, haunted by impossible children… so she doesn’t look. She’s used to it, more than she can ever get used to these witching-hour wakings, blind nights where nightmares creep into their bed and sink their claws into her sleeping mind. She reaches out and find Mulder, still sleeping but something solid to put her back against. Time was she would have woken him and let him write a happy ending, replace her panicked breaths with his own, count down her heartbeats until they matched his and then kiss her back to sleep. That was before the dark figure in her dreams was a boy with Mulder’s face. She thinks perhaps if he rolls over now, if she sees him in this moment, then it will all be certain, all be real. Instead, she contents herself with touch, something they have often been deprived of through the years, and writes her Valentine with her finger on his skin.
(’08)
The second she gets through the door she regrets her sentimentality. There are cookies from his favourite deli in the bottom of her bag but the study door is closed and she feels like they will be seen as a taunt rather than a treat. She hadn’t expected rose petals or wine but she’d hoped for closeness, for a crack in the wall of his obsession just big enough for her to sneak through. She’d found one at Christmas, Mulder cracking a smile big enough to warm the drafty room that the fire never quite managed, and the holidays had been happy. But January is a long, bitter month and she has lost a patient and he has lost a whole life. The cookies go stale under her scrubs and she eats her dinner with her back against the door, listening to the click of his keyboard, his mind wandering further from the light.
(’09)
He’s trying, so hard, they both are, but there is a disconnect in their network, a misfiring synapse that follows each gesture with a flash of pain. Scully finds the roses, dead, in her locker on February 16th. She hasn’t been home in days, she’s barely slept and of course she forgot Valentines day. The roses smell of rot and remind her of cancer; the card she failed to send cuts deep, guilty lines into the palms of her hands. It’s like Fiji all over again, idyllic scenery and gaping silence, salt-rimmed glasses tainting fresh fruit drinks and an attempt to be something they never have been. She thinks about calling home but it’s easier to answer her pager than the questions Mulder will ask without saying anything. It’s too late to save the flowers, and maybe her relationship, but perhaps today she can save a life.
(’10)
‘Mulder’
One word under a mass produced sentiment on gas station card signals the end.
It would have been better if he had forgotten. It would have been easier if she hadn’t gone home early enough for him to be awake.
That way she wouldn’t have seen the hurt on his face as he tossed the lonely missive across the bare dining room table. That way he wouldn’t have heard her cry when she saw her name, bare and accusatory above that same meaningless, catchphrase.
It has taken them both to get here but neither of them can seem to find a way out. Scully takes the card to remind her why she is leaving him.
(’11)
Anaheim, February 14th
“Drinks for two”, the placard in the store had announced but she’s finished the six pack and she still feels empty. She watches Caddyshack as a punishment and lets herself cry as a reward. She wonders what he is doing but she doesn’t call.
Unremarkable House
He’s been watching the phone and the bottle of scotch with equal intensity. He knows if he grasps for either one that he wont be able to stop until he sees the bottom. He wonders what she’s doing and tries to hate her. He can’t hate her, but he can hate himself. He takes the whiskey.
(’12)
He’ll take what he can get, a room key in a blank envelope and everything in her expression telling him not to ask her why. So he doesn’t, he drops his anger on the featureless carpet, he leaves regret on the door with the “ Do Not Disturb” and prays to whatever sadistic deity is ruining his life this year that he can find a way to translate Scully’s body language into something that will last.
Her hair is longer than ever and it helps her to feel like a different person, even as his familiar hands on her ribcage define her as no more and no less than she has always been. Mulder’s body is heavier than when she left him, hard with muscle and worry and as she pushes him beneath her she wonders if it’s strong enough yet for the mind it carries. She stops thinking when he grinds his thumb harshly into her pubic bone, crushing her defences and reducing her to ‘Please!’ The next day in the morning glow before goodbye she wonders what she was begging him for. Pleasure, and perhaps a little pain, and maybe forgiveness. She pushes thought away and pulls him back for a little more forgetting.
The consensus seems to be that Fox Mulder has given them a head start, having already begun the work of tarnishing his stellar reputation without the intervention of the men in this room. But crazy theories and reclusive behavior will only accomplish so much. He is a damn fine agent. His short career has already earned him a reputation as an exceptional profiler, and the Bureau are keen to appease their golden boy. It will take a lot for them to give up on him, and though there is, of course, every chance that his extra-curricular activities will eventually mean they are forced to kick him to the curb, the question then becomes: just how much damage can he do in the meantime?
“He is determined,” says the man at the head of the table, pudgy hands folded in front of him. “This problem isn’t going to just disappear.”
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They’re in a cheap motel in the ass end of Nowhere, USA, so it’s a safe bet that the walls are paper thin. The TV remote is on the dresser next to the bed; he leans over nonchalantly and eases the volume up a couple notches, not loud enough to bother Scully in the next room, just loud enough to mask the tell-tale sound of skin on skin.
He’s lying on top of the scratchy bedsheets wearing grey sweatpants and no shirt. His rain-soaked clothes are in a sodden heap on the floor and his hair is still wet from the shower. The motel didn’t have any shower gel, and he forgot to pack his own, so he borrowed some of Scully’s. He smells like pecan and vanilla—like her—and he’s painfully hard.
He wonders when the situation got so dire? He used to be so good at compartmentalising. The work was the work, she was his partner, his friend, and that was that. And sure, okay, maybe he’d occasionally noticed the curve of her breast when she leaned forward to drop a file on their desk, the shape of her ass on the days she swapped the pants for a form-fitting pencil skirt. He was only human. But he respected her far too much to do anything about it, and he couldn’t risk losing what they had, whatever that was. She was Scully, his Scully, and he loved her too much to risk fucking it all up.
But something has shifted. Since her remission, she’s been lighter, more playful. They went through Hell together, but against all odds, they came out the other side and something is different. He can’t quite figure out the way she looks at him now, a challenge in her eyes, like she’s waiting for something. He doesn’t know what to do with it. But he can’t stop thinking about her.
He promised himself that he’d keep it professional while on assignment. The work is the work, and everything else is background noise.
Then they got caught in the rain.
Settling back into the pillows, he shuffles out of his sweatpants. He strokes himself once, twice, three times, letting his eyes fall closed and picturing Scully as he last saw her; standing in the connecting doorway soaked to the bone, her white shirt made see-through, clinging to her body in all the right places. There were clumps of auburn hair stuck to her face, little rivulets running down her cheeks, following the line of her jaw, dripping onto the flushed skin of her chest.
His breathing hitches as he increases the momentum. After she handed him the little bottle of shower gel, she went back to her room and left him alone, but that’s not how it happens in his fantasies, oh no. Somewhere beneath the hot haze of lust, he knows he should feel guilty for thinking about her like this, but he can’t help it. God, he wants her, of course he does. He’s wanted her since Bellefleur, since she shed her clothes and offered up her trust, candlelight dripping off her pale skin like honey. He holds the memory in his mind as he strokes faster, his hips bucking upward, thrusting into his fist.
The familiar scent of her is everywhere, it’s all over him. He imagines her there in the bed with him, her hands touching him, her hair falling in his face. He imagines kissing her, tasting her everywhere, drinking her in like dessert wine, sticky sweet and warm, so warm. His muscles contract as he climbs toward release, his breath coming in short bursts. Images flash through his mind too quickly, memories and fantasies running together like watercolours, and all he sees is Scully Scully Scully.
Lightning shoots through his veins, and with a strangled cry, he comes hot and wet into his hand. His hips twitch as he rides the aftershock, endorphins flooding his bloodstream, his mind going blissfully blank.
“Mulder?”
Scully’s voice from the other side of the connecting door, followed by two sharp knocks. He has just enough time to fumble with the duvet, throwing it over his bottom half, before the door handle twists and Scully walks in.
“H-hey?” Mulder says, trying to control his breathing. Under the duvet, his thighs are sticky and damp and he tries not to grimace. “What’s up, Scully?”
“I thought I heard a yell,” she says, confused. He watches her eyes flit around the room, looking for some clue.
Mulder shakes his head slowly, making a show of looking around the room. “Uh, no. No yelling in here. Maybe it was the TV?” he suggests, gesturing toward the television set.
Scully glances at the screen, where a news anchor is going over the day’s headlines. “Yeah, maybe,” she says, unconvinced. She turns her gaze back to him, her big blue eyes like two spotlights. Even protected by the duvet, he feels naked under her scrutiny. “Are you sure you’re okay, Mulder? You look a little flushed.”
“Uh, yeah, no, I’m fine,” he says, trying for nonchalance. “Just a little hot, I guess.”
“Do you feel feverish?” she says, suddenly serious, stepping toward the bed.
“No!” he says, a little louder than he meant to. Scully stops in her tracks, looking at him like he’s gone off the deep end. Hell, maybe he has. “Uh, no, no fever. Just tired.”
Scully stares at him for a moment, apparently trying to decide whether to believe him. Mulder waits, hoping she can’t hear the way his traitorous heart is hammering against his ribcage. Eventually, she chooses to believe he’s telling the truth, if only because the call of her bed in the next room is too appealing to ignore.
“Okay, well if you’re sure,” she says with a sigh. “Night, Mulder.”
He gives his most reassuring smile. “Night, Scully.”
She leaves him alone, closing the door behind her. He lets out a slow sigh of relief, sagging back against the pillows. That was too fucking close.
In the next room, Scully settles into bed, switching off the bedside lamp and snuggling deeper into the mattress. The only light is the blue glare of the television; the remote is on the dresser next to the bed. Mindful of the paper-thin walls, she reaches for the remote and eases the volume up a couple of notches.
Slipping one hand beneath the waistband of her silk pyjamas, she allows her eyes to fall closed, and pictures Mulder as he was this afternoon; standing in his room, soaked to the bone, his white shirt made see-through, clinging to his body in all the right places...
Mulder hangs up the phone, brushing frustrated tears from his eyes. Pathetic, says his father’s voice. Right on cue.
He was always quick to tears, something his father tried unsuccessfully to beat out of him. “You get this from your mother, this overly emotional nonsense,” Bill Mulder had told him, more than once. Even as a kid, this always struck Mulder as false—his whole childhood, he only ever remembered seeing his mom cry once. The night Samantha was taken. In the years that followed, Teena Mulder became a shell. Tears would have been an improvement, proof that she was still in there, beneath the narcotic haze of the meds she took for her “anxiety”.
