Scully, It's me!

The X-Files

Chelsea? I love you, too. Keep doing what you do.

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The reality is a little different from how she’s envisioned it…and she’s envisioned it a lot. She’d be smooth, calm, and sultry; in control but by no means lacking eagerness. He’d be hopeful and shaky, his trembling hands blatantly displaying the desire and lust for her that he’s tamped down for years. He’d stutter, maybe sweat a little, she’d smile reassuringly with a couple butterflies in her tummy. She’s as completely unflappable in sex as she is in real life.

The reality? She’s utterly consumed. They’re not doing anything serious tonight, both having agreed a couple weeks back to take things slow, but something has gotten into her lately. It’s beyond not having had sex in a while, it’s him. He’s gotten into her bloodstream somehow and it’s stimulating her in ways that can only be soothed by sucking on his tongue and grinding against his crotch. Mulder however seems to be taking it in stride, his touch firm but tender, measured and calculated; his kisses heartfelt but restrained.

She loves and needs him so much, it’s beginning to hurt.

She knows he wants her. Ooh boy, does she know he wants her…he’s warm and hard and bulging against her cleft in what feels like about fifteen layers too many of clothes. He’s doing this delicious thing where he pulses his hips into her groin every time he draws his hands up and down her back, and little surges and shocks are lighting at the base of her skull with each micro thrust.

So here she is, positioned quite comfortably on his lap in his apartment, and she’s about five seconds away from snapping like a scissor-snipped violin string. And they still have all of their clothes on.

“Scully,” her name comes out on a chuckle as she paws at his fly, “Easy, babe, easy…what’s gotten into you tonight?”

Coming from anyone else, she would have clambered off their lap and called them out on the patronizing language and tone. But he says it so warmly, with so much devotion, she can’t help but melt at his attempt to intercept her.

If he just wasn’t so damn delicious, she’d be able to keep her cool. But instead she feels ashamed and embarrassed of her uncharacteristic behavior. She’s never been like this, even in her younger days when sex was exhilarating and new and she first discovered how good intimacy with another person could feel. She knows he sees her unintentional nonverbal display when his face moves from mild bemusement to affectionate understanding, and her frustration and arousal culminates in an aggravating need to cry. His big, warm hands cup her face.

“Are you okay tonight?” his voice is husky and low, “You seem aggravated or…something.”

The way he’s holding her in his lap, the way his palms cradle her face makes her feel simultaneously small but cherished. She can’t look at him and instead curls into his chest.

“Mulder I’m sorry, I…I just want this so much,” she confesses against his neck, a flush spreading over her throat at the discomfort but necessity of opening herself emotionally, “It’s been so long for me, there are new feelings I’ve never experienced that I’ve had to hold back, and now that there’s a crack in the dike—”

“—Everything’s coming flooding out,” she can feel him smile against her temple as he completes her thought. She nods and lets out a steadying breath. The talking is helping, but her heart is still pounding. He leans so she pulls back and is looking at him again. His eyes roam all over her face and she waits for him to say something more. He reaches out, tracing her upper lip slowly with his index finger. He’s still hard and pressed snugly against her clothed-and very-disgruntled-about-it clit.

“That’s why I want us to take our time,” he reveals, “This is a big deal for us, and it’s overwhelming in a lot of ways. I don’t want to jump into it because I feel like we’d miss out on so much. If, however, you’d rather we just go ahead and—”

“No,” she interrupts, pressing her palm to the heat of his chest, “No, I want to go slow, we both agreed on it and I think it’s a good idea. I’m just…this is taking a hold of me a little more than I thought it would.”

“I like it,” he rumbles, his fingernails dragging up and down her jean-clad thighs straddling his, “How lucky am I to see the passionate side of Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully?”

“Passionate?” she snorts, rubbing his pecs through his well-worn Henley, “That’s the first time I’ve heard that one.” Her dubiousness seems to amuse him, because he grins and nods.

“Of course you’re passionate,” he insists, his touch flowing from her legs to her shoulders and arms, “You’re fierce and loyal and stubborn and you unabashedly stand up for what you believe in. All of those traits exhibit some form of fire that comes from your spirit. You’re incredibly passionate, Scully…beautifully so. You’re a redhead for God’s sake.”

She laughs with that remark, and some of the pressure, some of the tension, releases from her body.

“Don’t be afraid to show that to me, okay?” he whispers, “Because I love it.”

She wriggles deeper into his lap and he grasps her hips, keeping her there.

“Now where were we?” His tone is like molten gravel.