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His weight pressing above her, unlike others before him, only makes her feel safe. Pliable. Completely in his focus.
Even as relaxed and wet as she is, he's still a snug fit and her breath stutters a bit as he nibbles at her lip.
"Breathe with me, Scully," he husks against her mouth, and the tense, pleasure-laced tautness of his voice gives her a thrill as she senses the fullness, that delicious stretch when he pushes in another inch.
"Oh," she breathes, her eyelids fluttering briefly as she feels an unexpected clench. He's hardly moved; she feels like a single brush against her clit could send her spiraling. He's always been adept at making her want to believe in the impossible.
"I got you," his mouth covers hers as he slides in deeper and carries her home.
He keeps backing out into the hallway, and she keeps tugging him back through the door by his shirt collar. Up on her tiptoes in her highest heels, her mouth is like a siphon pulling both his willpower and his ability to think critically out through his mouth. He knows they are seconds away from a bad choice. Not bad because they shouldn’t be doing it, but because they made an agreement. Slow. They agreed to take it slow.
In his defense, when they made that agreement they’d only just barely kissed, close-mouthed and briefly. He hadn’t known that she kissed with her entire soul, that he’d feel like he was being concurrently devoured and set on fire. He had never heard these sexy little whimpers that are currently sending blood rushing to his cock, or felt the hungry press of her teeth into his bottom lip.
“Hey,” he says, gasping for air.
She hums and pulls him closer, knowing what he’s about to say and silencing him. Her arms thread around his neck, and when he is once again on the interior side of the door she kicks it closed.
“Scully,” he says breathlessly, but somehow they are traversing the room.
The back of her legs hit the arm of the couch and the sudden change in inertia pushes him into her, the stiff ridge of his erection pressing against her belly. He can’t suppress the resulting moan. She arches into him, and he knows he’s crumbling. He wants her so achingly badly, has waited so long. Suddenly, she pushes him away.
“You should go,” she says with wide eyes and swollen lips, and he stares at her gape-mouthed. “Go, before I change my mind,” she repeats, her eyes flashing down to the tent at the front of his pants as her tongue runs over her bottom lip.
He groans, but backs towards the door, pulling it open and stepping into the hall. His head is the last part of his body to leave her apartment as he looks longingly at her heaving chest, nipples standing at attention beneath her silk blouse. He is a patient man, but Jesus Christ she’s beautiful.
“Goodnight, Mulder,” she says with a hint of a smirk on her mouth.
“Night, Scully,” he replies.
When she makes a thinly veiled joke about her vibrator at work the next day, he nearly spontaneously combusts.
Second
His couch, as she’s always suspected, fits the two of them just fine. He is on his side and she on her back, his leg draped over hers and his bent knee delicately cradled between her thighs. They are kissing devastatingly slowly, and her chin burns from the scrape of his stubble.
He tests his boundaries, as he is wont to do. An index finger dipping under the waistband of her pants, a palm brushing firmly up her inner thigh. She chuckles throatily into his mouth and makes a muffled “uh uh,” that tells him no, not just yet. He always listens.
His fingertips dance over the skin of her belly, making her giggle. He journeys further, his hand disappearing beneath the soft cotton shroud of her T-shirt, and she feels him exploring the underwire of her bra. A surge of heat rushes between her thighs and she decides to allow it. She decides she’s ready.
She arches her back, snaking her own arm under her shirt to unclasp her bra, and he inhales sharply. Lying back again, each hand dips into her shirtsleeves to escape the accompanying shoulder strap, and then black lace is deposited on his coffee table. He looks at the scrap of fabric, and then at her face, an expression of astonishment paired with a wanton smirk.
“And you say magic isn’t real,” he quips as his hand takes up residence on her ribcage, fingers splayed in anticipation.
More kissing, and that knee keeps creeping higher, pressing against the seam of her jeans. He Touches the place that her underwire just vacated, where the rippled plane of her ribcage rises into lily white flesh, and fat, and tissue that was built for feeding babies but finds pleasure in decidedly non-procreative activities. She feels her nipples draw tight in anticipation, and damn this man to hell because he is going to tease her until she begs him.
He hikes his leg up a little, the most perfect pressure, and her breath catches in her throat. She hates that he can hear it, how much she wants him, but she doesn’t hate the press of his erection against her hip. She most definitely doesn’t hate his mouth trailing wet kisses down the side of her neck. Mercifully, he squeezes her breast gently and brushes his thumb over her hardened nipple, and her whole body rolls in response.
She can feel his smiling mouth against her clavicle, the smug bastard. He’s getting off on getting a reaction out of her. That shouldn’t bother her, but somehow it feels like he’s winning. Her acquiescence, her vulnerability, her trust. Then again, these are things she wants to give him, things he’s certainly earned.
She bucks her hips against the firm curve of his patella, encouraging him to apply more pressure. He drags the hem of her T-shirt up slowly, giving her plenty of time to object. When her breast is exposed, he nuzzles against it with a little hum of satisfaction and plants kisses all around her areola before he finally draws it between his lips.
She lets him win. Her unrestrained vocalization, the flex of her hips as she shamelessly grinds against his knee, a rarely heard stream of profanities as he takes her over the edge. But then again, she wins too.
Third
She’s perched on his kitchen countertop in a baggy T-shirt and impossibly tiny cotton shorts. She hides her smirk behind a mug of steaming coffee as he blatantly gawks at her, sleep rumpled and bare-legged, and looking like she’s been properly fucked though all they did was kiss for hours.
He’s stopped trying to hide the nearly constant erection that tents the front of his pants, and is currently threatening to poke out through the slit on the fly of his boxers. He will wait forever if that’s what she wants, but his dick doesn’t possess the ability to suppress its urges like the rest of him does.
She looks down at his crotch and then back to his face, blinking slowly in consideration. She deposits her mug on the counter beside her and lifts her chin slightly to beckon him closer; it’s an invitation he couldn’t possibly refuse. He steps into the space between her knees and she runs her hands over his bare chest and shoulders, then drags her fingernails down his back. He shivers, and she brushes her lips softly back and forth over his.
“You’re so patient,” she whispers, and he rests his palms on the tops of her thighs.
“You’re worth waiting for,” he whispers back, and her mouth stretches into a smile that he can feel, but cannot see.
Her hands are on his waist, then his hips. Her fingertips dip beneath the elastic of his boxers as she kisses him so sweetly it makes his heart ache. She cups his bare ass cheeks, a place they’ve been before; they’ve gone this far. But then her hands slide to the front, her nails scraping through his pubic hair, and this is new. He resists the urge to thrust, to deposit himself into her hand. He is stock still, his breath ragged and his cock stiff as steel.
“So patient,” she says again, then reaches down and cups his balls in her hot little palm.
His knees wobble, his mouth hanging open against hers. Gentle squeezes, the lightest tug. She releases him and then fists his shaft, not moving. He makes an embarrassingly high noise in the back of his throat, but she doesn’t laugh. She kisses his cheeks and then his neck, until he drops his face against her shoulder and moves his hands to her hips.
He feels like a teenager getting his first hand job. She moves in slow, liquid pumps, swiping at a drop of precum with her thumb and spreading it over the head. He knows he won’t last. It doesn’t matter that he jacked off before she came over last night; seven years’ worth of anticipation have him barreling towards the finish line at record speed. He wants to tell her, doesn’t want her to think he’s some two-pump chump before they’ve ever made it as far as having sex, but he can’t find the wherewithal to speak. She pulls his earlobe between her teeth and He.Is.Gone.
She pulls him closer as the impact of it nearly makes his knees buckle. Cum runs over her hand and down the fronts of his thighs, but she doesn’t stop stroking him until he shudders with oversensitivity. She just holds him, limp and sticky, like she’s not ready to let go. He lifts his head, feeling slightly embarrassed, and surprised, and elated all at once. He expects to find a similarly conflicted expression on her face, but when he looks at her she’s smiling broadly, vainglorious and triumphant. Her confidence is contagious, and he smiles back, reaching behind her to retrieve a dish towel.
Clean enough for transport, she wraps her legs around his waist and he carries her to the shower, bound and determined to return the favor.
Home
He wakes with a start, drawing the blankets off her as he sits up abruptly, gasping for air.
It’s far from an uncommon occurrence. Before, she’d sometimes hear him thrashing in his sleep from the other side of their shared motel wall, or he’d call her at inky pre-dawn hours full of apologies and a request to talk so he could get it off his mind. The details of his nightmares never stick around, but the feeling they leave behind is one he always finds hard to shake.
Now, with her right beside him, he never gets further than a whimper before she quiets his demons with her touch. And at times like this, when he emerges into wakefulness sweat-damp and disoriented, it’s her steady hand on his back that orients him in space and time. Here. Now. Not alone. Not abandoned. Safe. She feels his heart go from racing, to pounding, to something resembling normal under her palm, and then finally he heaves a sigh.
He lies back down and rolls to face her, only the hazy outline of his features visible in the dim light from her alarm clock. He feels his way up her arm and shoulder, then cups her jaw and kisses her softly. They lay there in silence, staring through the dark at a face they cannot see but know by heart. Inexplicably, tears thicken her throat. A torrent of emotion washes through her and she can’t help but wonder if it’s some kind of transference, if she is feeling his feelings.
Acting on instinct, she runs her fingers through his hair, cupping the back of his head and pulling him to her. Their mouths crash together as an overwhelming surge of arousal lights up every cell in her body, her want for him quickly morphing into need. She pushes her hand under his boxers, finding him hard and straining, and her cunt throbs in response. There is no question that the time is now.
Nightclothes are shed like candy wrappers, and she climbs on top of him with panting urgency, rubbing her slick lips over the length of him before she reaches between them to show him inside. Met with no resistance, he pushes immediately to the hilt and she feels herself quake around him as his hands find her hips. He feels so good she could cry, and maybe she already is. As slow as they’ve taken this, as long as they’ve waited, the will to draw things out vanishes as she begins to move. He reaches for her, and she bends at the waist to kiss him, her pelvis undulating rapidly forward and back. He groans and digs his fingernails into her hip bones, attempting to slow her. Instead of slowing down, she grabs his hand and presses his fingers to her clit. Slickened by her own wetness, his thumb moves in tight circles and quickly she is as close as he is.
“Oh god, exactly like that. Exactly like that,” she whispers harshly, and he complies.
Time slows down as dopamine and oxytocin flood her limbs, gathering in white hot pleasure at the base of her spine. He mutters an apology, afraid he’s left her behind, but she is past the point of no return, freefalling through pure ecstasy as he pours into her. By the time she returns to earth in a series of throbs, he’s already growing soft, so he rolls them both to the side and replaces his cock with his fingers, stroking her front wall until she pushes his hand away.
Breathless, sated, sex-drunk and sweaty, they lie there in her darkened bedroom tangled up like vines. He retrieves a towel for her, and she uses the bathroom. They return to the bed, nude and sleepy, her head on his chest and one leg flung over his. They don’t speak, not with words. His fingers trailing over her back, her hand on his waist, the steady beat of his heart against her ear: there is completeness in their union. Always has been.
It was Sunday night and Mulder and Scully were both on her couch, drinking beer and relaxing. Mulder was watching the basketball game on TV, while Scully read a medical journal, leaning against the arm of the sofa. Her legs were spread out so that her feet rested on his thigh and occasionally he would squeeze her arch, just to hear a little giggle. Scully was incredibly ticklish, a fact that Mulder was delighted to discover.
When a timeout was called, she nudged his leg.
“Mulder?” Scully prompted.
“Yes, my love,” he responded, eyes still focused on the TV.
“You have a type,” she stated matter-of-factly.
“A type?” he questioned. He wasn’t sure what she was talking about, maybe blood type? It would make sense since she was reading JAMA.
“Your type in women.”
At that Mulder looked over at her, still unclear about what she was asking. Her facial expression was completely neutral and gave nothing away. Sometimes Scully had a killer poker face - like now - and it always made his blood pressure increase because he was worried he did something to upset her. What was especially nerve-wracking was that Mulder had been involved in conversations like this before, with previous partners, and he knew that there could be landmines at every turn, just waiting for him to step on one with no warning. Though, thankfully, those kinds of mind games weren’t usually Scully’s style.
“My type in women,” Mulder repeated, before taking an extra long sip from the beer bottle to buy himself time. Was she referring to Diana? He thought they were past that whole situation.
Scully continued, “Well, I’ve met a few of your exes and they all look similar. Even the woman who thought she was a vampire had that look.”
“And what look is that?” Mulder wanted to know.
“Brunette, tall, leggy,” she easily ticked off on her fingers, like she had her whole hypothesis prepared well in advance.
“And bitchy,” she added under her breath, though Mulder decided to ignore that and fixated on something else.
“How do you even know what Kristen Kilar looked like?”
Scully shrugged, “I read the case file, Mulder. Her driver’s license was included. It also listed her height.”
“Well, how do you know she was ‘leggy’?” he demanded, putting air quotes around the word.
Scully just gave him a look. Fair enough, he thought.
“I never knew you looked at that,” Mulder commented, a little touched at her interest in what he was doing while she was gone.
“I read through all of the case files you worked on while I was missing. As soon as I got back. My mother told me a little about what it was like and I was worried about you, Mulder.”
This conversation had started out odd, but it was taking a pleasant turn. They had already talked about their feelings for each other and how far back they went, but it was nice to learn about how much she really did care about him, even in their second year working together. Scully should have been concerned about her own health after a three month abduction and coma, but instead was reading past case files to assess Mulder’s wellbeing. How did he get so lucky?
Because of this, he decided to throw her a bone:
“Okay, so I may have a type with some of the women I’ve dated,” Mulder conceded, “Though, I can assure you I never went out searching for women who looked like that. It just kind of happened.”
Mulder examined her face again for any insight into her thinking, but still came up empty so he decided to ask, “Scully, you’re not actually worried…”
He trailed off, couldn’t even bring himself to say the words ‘that I’ll choose someone else.’ The idea was completely preposterous.
Scully just smiled. “No, I’m not worried. I was thinking about us and past relationships and it suddenly occurred to me that I’m a deviation from the norm. I wanted to see what you would say. For all I know you could pull out a scrapbook with pictures of a bunch of past red-headed girlfriends.”
She said the last part completely seriously, but winked at him to show she was joking. Mulder rolled his eyes and pulled the magazine from her hands. It was his turn to ask some questions.
“Well, what about your type?”
“I don’t have a type,” Scully stated proudly. “You look nothing like my ex-boyfriends.”
Mulder tugged on her ankle. “I’m not talking about looks. Am I just another older man in authority to you? Are you going to leave me for Skinner?” he teased. They had recently discussed her past relationship history and she had admitted that several of her past partners had similar attributes.
She pulled her foot back and narrowed her eyes. “I told you that in confidence Mulder, not for you to use it against me! Anyway, you’re hardly older and you’re not in authority over me, so it doesn’t apply.”
“I think our birth certificates would beg to differ,” Mulder said with a laugh.
“Three years is nothing, Mulder.” Scully grabbed a pillow to throw at him, but he deflected it easily and moved over her body, playfully pushing her into the cushions.
He kissed the dip in between her clavicles and worked his way up her neck. He could feel her breathing change and he was pleased when her arms came around him to grip his shoulders.
“Really? No authority at all?” he asked with a smirk that she couldn’t see.
Before this went any further, Mulder wanted to set the record straight; he sat up so he could look down at Scully and make full eye contact. Her cheeks were tinged pink and her hair fanned out like a silk halo on the couch cushion and she looked up at him with big blue eyes, her face open and vulnerable
He gently cupped her cheeks and turned serious.
“You’re so beautiful. Not just in looks, but your mind too. There is no one else, past, present or future, for me. Except you. You’re my type.”
Scully was very still beneath him and didn’t say anything, but she pulled his hand from her cheek so she could kiss his palm and whisper “I love you” against his fingers. It wasn’t the first time he had heard those words but every time he felt his heart grow bigger. He would never get tired of it. Mulder moved his hand away so he could softly kiss her lips.
After a few kisses, Scully pushed him away.
“Mulder? I think maybe you can have a little authority over me,” she said with an eyebrow quirked. He was confused, until she rolled her hips suggestively underneath him and then Mulder understood immediately.
“Oh really?” he inquired, his hands inching up under her shirt to span her waist. “I’m in charge?”
Scully nodded, pupils starting to dilate. Her breath hitched as his hands moved farther up and he settled his hips more firmly against hers.
Oh he liked this idea a lot. Maybe having a type wasn't so bad...
“We only have one room available,” the clerk at the front desk informs them, and she feels a rush of blood to her pelvis.
“Two beds?” Mulder asks without looking at her.
“No, sorry. It’s a single. One king bed.”
One side of her brain shouts not again, not again, not again, while the other side already has his dick sliding over her palm and his mouth between her legs.
“Scully?”
He’s looking at her, and she blinks stupidly.
“What?”
“Do you want to try another motel?” he asks, but she sees the hopeful glint in his eye, and his hand tucked discreetly into his pocket. She shakes her head.
Stonehenge had called to him with its mythical bent, the ringing of its igneous bluestones a clanging tomentum to the spiritual hole inside of him. Scully filled her own with the tenets and mythology of Catholicism. Mulder usually filled his with her.
But despite the the misty sunrise over the Salisbury Plain, despite the muddy history he could feel through the soles of his feet, the drums of an ancient harvest beating with each thump of his heart, it felt less magical and venerable without her by his side, and he’d caught an earlier flight west, the needle of his compass locked on the true north of her. Things just weren’t as fun without Scully there to share them.
He came home to find her contemplative and mercurial, questioning the meaning of things, her cobalt gaze turned inward, shaken by the stare of a long-fingered golden Buddha and a tunnel-flash vision of her life.
She has suddenly and tumultuously become a believer in fate, and the awakening conks her out mid-thought, Agenoria come to rest.
She is his Scully but isn’t, and when she appears at his bedside later, her pencil skirt dropping to his floor like a freshly shucked husk, he says nothing, just lifts the edge of the blankets covering him, inviting her in.
Outside, a storm rages, and the light in his bedroom is a dim grey, muting the colors of her - the things that shine the brightest - into a sooty, smudged impression. They both give and they both take, and he hears her pant the name of the god that she had earlier forsaken.
His sheets are rumpled and her skin is hot. He has never felt so alive.
When at last she’s above him, cresting into a billowing upheaval, she pins him with her eyes, and tears streak down the sharp contours of her face. He can feel her at war with herself, can sense the protracted battle of spirit duking it out in the night of her mind.
“Shh,” he whispers, “let go.”
She does so loudly, with teeth and nails and a throaty, breathy moan.
He is still breathing hard, sweat on his brow, his groin tacky with the evidence of their coupling when she tucks herself into the lee of him, pressing her soft skin into every piece of him she can reach.
If you ran something like a Geiger counter over her, it would erupt in a flurry of activity, he is sure of it. She is somehow more than other women, and it isn’t just because he loves her so fiercely. She is Otrera; a being of creation, a goddess in disguise.
“This is it, Scully,” he says into the soft flame of her hair, “This is the alpha and the omega. This is the only life we get.”
She is silent beneath his lips, but her arms, wrapped loosely around his ribs, cleave to him with force, as if she has suddenly recognized her own mortality. As if she has suddenly recognized his.
She is gone in the morning, but there’s an imprint on the pillow next to him, and the smell of her is still in his nose. Rainwater clings to the windows, obscuring the view outside. Sometimes he understands why storms have the same names as people.
She was midway through highlighting a lengthy passage on the link between early childhood traumatic brain injuries and juvenile offenders when the trill of her cell phone pierced the silence of her hotel room.
“Scully,” she answered. An unnecessary habit when she knew only one person would be calling her at 11:30 at night.
“Did you know Sigmund Freud once described sexual repression as the chief psychological problem that we face in society?”
“Good evening to you too, Mulder,” she smirked and put the cap back on her highlighter before tossing it on the nightstand along with the medical journal.
“I’m just saying, Scully, that sexual repression could prove disastrous both physically and emotionally. So how many more days left of this conference of yours?”
“Two. And the kind of sexual repression Freud was talking about was the kind that resulted from being raised in an overly strict religious household which can negatively impact a person when reaching sexual maturity. When raised with such dogmatic restrictions to natural human responses, the mind is affected in such a way that these issues manifest in the inability to achieve or sustain an erection, the inability to orgasm, or to really even let oneself feel pleasure, but Mulder, you and I both know you are experiencing no such thing.”
A groan filtered its way through the phone and into her ear. “Jesus, you’re sexy.”
She was midway through highlighting a lengthy passage on the link between early childhood traumatic brain injuries and juvenile offenders when the trill of her cell phone pierced the silence of her hotel room.
“Scully,” she answered. An unnecessary habit when she knew only one person would be calling her at 11:30 at night.
“Did you know Sigmund Freud once described sexual repression as the chief psychological problem that we face in society?”
“Good evening to you too, Mulder,” she smirked and put the cap back on her highlighter before tossing it on the nightstand along with the medical journal.
“I’m just saying, Scully, that sexual repression could prove disastrous both physically and emotionally. So how many more days left of this conference of yours?”
“Two. And the kind of sexual repression Freud was talking about was the kind that resulted from being raised in an overly strict religious household which can negatively impact a person when reaching sexual maturity. When raised with such dogmatic restrictions to natural human responses, the mind is affected in such a way that these issues manifest in the inability to achieve or sustain an erection, the inability to orgasm, or to really even let oneself feel pleasure, but Mulder, you and I both know you are experiencing no such thing.”
A groan filtered its way through the phone and into her ear. “Jesus, you’re sexy.”
Scully bit back a laugh before responding. “Are you going to make it two more days?”
“Ugh, no…” Mulder whined. “I tried taking matters into my own hands -- so to speak -- but it's not the same as your delicious, wet--”
“Mulder!” She scolded, “What are you doing?”
“Um, I believe this was number 3 on the list. I decided to not go in order. Mix it up a bit.”
“Wait, are you seriously going to do those things on that list? Mulder, those were just fantasies!”
‘Who doesn’t want their fantasies to come true? C’mon, you’re not still embarrassed are you?”
She was too busy blushing and burrowing further under the covers to answer him.
“Scully,” he admonished, his voice gentle, “I told you before, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. I find your list to be incredibly arousing and I am beyond honored to have you entrust these fantasies to me. I never want you to be in a position again where you look back on your life and realize there are things left undone, especially when these things can so easily be taken care of. Let me take care of you. Now, where are you?”
“My hotel."
His soft laughter set her ease and she let the bed covers fall to her waist.
“Where in your hotel? Are you lying in bed? Or are you being the ever so studious student sitting at the desk with your laptop?”
“I’m in bed. I was reading a journal when you called.”
“And what are you wearing?” his voice had dropped an octave and despite how sexy she found that, she couldn’t help the flustered giggled that snuck past her lips.
“Oh my god, Mulder, I can’t do this,” she sighed.
“Just go with it, Scully.”
“Ugh, it’s so weird!”
“Scully, I hate to break it to you, but uh, we are weird people.”
“Well I won’t argue that.”
“Ok, ok.” Mulder said, “Why don’t you tell me about your day.”
“Well,” She began, her shoulders releasing the tension of the potentially awkward conversation, “I woke up early. Yesterday morning, I woke up too late to eat breakfast and I was starving all day, so I made sure to get up early enough to eat.”
“What did you have?” he interjected.
“A spinach and egg white omelette with half a grapefruit. There’s a little cafe in the lobby of the hotel.”
“God, you really know how to live it up on the company dime, don’t you?”
Ignoring him she continued, “Afterwards, I went to a workshop on the frequency of frontotemporal lobar degeneration in homeless populations that was okay I guess, afterwards the conference split into regional meetings and I of course attended the DC meeting. They gave us lunch which was nice, and then I finished the day by attending a talk on the importance of forensic toxicology testing of hospital admission samples.”
“Fascinating…” Mulder intoned.
“It was, thank you very much.”
“Well, Scully, over here you missed out on one of the most engaging and exhilarating departmental budget meetings I have ever had the pleasure to attend.”
Scully opened her eyes wide in shock. “Really?”
“No. During Agent McDowell’s report I almost put a pencil in my eye so that I would have an excuse to leave.”
God she loved him. “And what kept you from committing this ocular emergency?”
“You, actually.”
“Me?”
“Mmmhmm,” his voice had dropped again, sending goosebumps across her flesh.”My mind kept wandering back to that time in that shower.”
She laughed. “Which time? You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Mmm, that time when I discovered the joy of having both a removable shower head and you wet and wiggling in my arms.”
“Oh,” she gasped. “Yes, I remember that night very well.”
“Yeah, I bet you do. I do too. I was more than happy to be content with watching you explode around that shower head, but then when you turned around and dropped to your knees...Jesus.”
Scully bit her lip and smiled at the memory, the feeling of the steam rising around her as she took him in her mouth, the clenching of his muscles as she grabbed on to his hips.
“There’s something to be said for a Catholic upbringing, Mulder.”
“You aren’t kidding. Anyway, that’s what I started thinking about, the feeling of your tongue all over me, the way you started to choke when I hit the back of your throat. The way you dug your nails into my hips when I tried to pull back. God, the way breathed through your nose when you took me all the way. Fuck. Needless to say, I found myself in a bit of a predicament right in the middle of that meeting.”
“Oh no…”
“Oh yeah. It’s a miracle I didn’t moan out loud. But I definitely had one raging boner hiding right below the surface of Skinner’s conference table.”
“Oh, Mulder,” she muttered, full on laughing now. She was pleased to hear his laughter on his end of the phone line too.
“Yeah, Scully, I didn’t know what to do! I couldn’t get up to go to the restroom to take care of it, everyone would have seen, and Lord knows that’s exactly what my HR file needs. But, I was fortunate that the AC was still on the fritz.”
“Still?” she interrupted. “That thing has been in and out of business for over a month now! Why hasn’t maintenance--”
“Missing the point, Scully.”
“Sorry, continue please.”
“As I was saying, with the AC acting drunk, all of us had a bit of a glisten going on and right at that moment the sunlight from the windows caught on this perfectly shaped drop of sweat that had balled up right on the tip of Skinner’s bald head. So I just kept my eyes glued to that little drop of moisture as it slid ever-so-slowly to the side and began a leisurely descent down his left temple and before I knew it, my mast had been lowered. Honestly, I was impressed with how well it worked. I might use this knowledge for the future”
“Mulder, I swear to God, if you even think of spending one second thinking about Skinner’s sweat when we are in the middle of...you know… I really will quit the FBI and become a spokesperson for the Ab-Roller.”
“Oh, don’t you worry, Scully. I was only able to have that kind of focus because you weren’t there. And the good thing is that now, I’m home. The workday is over, I took a nice hot shower after a workout, and now I’m relaxed on my couch, talking to you, and I don’t have to worry about making this erection go away anytime soon.”
Her right eyebrow dances northward. “This erection?”
“Scully, I've been hard since about five minutes before I decided to call you. And hearing your voice just makes me harder. God, I wish you were here.”
“Mmm, I do too.”
“Yeah. If you were here, I wouldn’t have to imagine that it was your hand squeezing me right now through these sweatpants.”
Her breath quickens. “The gray sweatpants?”
A pleased purr responds. “The very same. No boxers though. I really need to do laundry and I didn’t feel like looking around to find any after my shower. Same with the shirt. What’s the point?”
“So, you’re just sitting there in your gray sweatpants and nothing else?”
“Correct. Well, I’m more like lying down, rather than sitting, but close enough. I’m so hard right now though, you could go camping with the tent I’ve pitched.”
“Oh, really?” There was a slight moment of consciousness when she realized at some point she had begun to caress her nipples through her silk pajama top, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric slipping across the peaks, but the moment is indeed slight and gone and she chooses to instead focus on the sound of his voice.
“Really. My mind keeps falling back to that time in the shower, since I was unable to do anything with those memories earlier today. But now that I’m not in a room full of other people, God yes, all I can think of is your soft warm mouth and the way it feels when you lick me from balls to head.”
“Fuck,” she exhales into the phone. She traps one nipple between her index and middle finger and squeezes before sliding her hand down between her legs. She cups herself and she is surprised at the amount of heat she can feel through the silk.
She heard a grunt and hiss through the phone line followed by a soft slap and she knew he’d freed himself from his pants and she had absolutely no problem conjuring the image of him reclining on his couch, his cock huge and red resting against his stomach. Her mouth was dry. All moisture had headed south. “What does it feel like?” she asked.
He spoke through clenched teeth. “What does what feel like?”
“When I go down on you.”
“Touch yourself and I’ll tell you.”
She gasps.
“You already are, aren’t you.”
Another gasp, followed by a whimper precedes her affirmative hum. “Mmmhmm, but only over my clothes. I can feel how wet I am through my pajamas, Mulder.”
“Goddamn. Slip your hand under your pajamas. Under your underwear, I want you to feel your pussy.”
“God, Mulder.” she breathed and she obeyed. The waistband of her pajamas was tight against her wrist but she couldn’t be bothered. She was hot and wet and so swollen and she wanted nothing more than to do what she was told.
“You’re doing it right now aren’t you? You’re touching your pussy. Sliding your fingers through your wet slip. I can tell by the sound of your breathing.
She didn’t know how she could keep getting wetter, but she did, and tray as she might, she couldn’t summon the words to tell him.
“You are. You don’t have to say anything. Just listen.”
And she did. She heard the quiet snap of a bottle being opened, lube or perhaps lotion, and then the slick of wet flesh on wet flesh as he began to talk. “Unngh, when I first put my cock between your lips I thought my heart would give out and I would die right there. But that night in the shower, Jesus, I think I died and was born again. Your mouth, Scully. Fuck. Your mouth is so warm and the feel of your tongue slipping around my flesh makes me pulse with want. That’s what's happening right now, Scully. I’m pulsing in my hand. I’m rubbing my thumb on that spot where the head of my dick meets the shaft, that spot you love to lap with that smart tongue of yours and Christ, it’s no substitute.”
Her hips were rising with the cadence of his voice, meeting her eager fingers. Her nipples straining against her top throbbed in time with the throbbing of her clit. She could only manage one word, “More.”
“That night. That night in the shower, when I touched the back of your throat, fuck. I would have moved heaven and earth right then to give you whatever you wanted, no questions asked and then, and then…” he gasps and grunts and the sounds of him pumping his own flesh filled her ears. “And then you inhaled so deeply through your nose I thought I had hurt you, but Scully. Oh, Scully, you do always keep me guessing. You pushed forward and I’ve never felt anything as...as...as...sublime as feeling your throat take me in. I won’t lie to you, Scully. When you did that, it took everything in me to not give in to my more primal urges and grab you by the hair and shamelessly fuck your face.”
She didn’t expect the cry of pleasure that escaped to be so loud and neither did he.
“Shit, Scully. Do you like that? Is that what you want? You want me to dig my fingers into your hair? Hold you down on my cock? Fuck your throat?”
“Fuck, Mulder!” She screamed. “Yes! I’m so close.”
“Oh Scully, I love how you still surprise me. I love how you suck my cock. I love the way your pussy quakes and squeezes me when you come, fuck, Scully.”
“Yes, yes,” she panted into the phone, her fingers twirling like mad dervishes against her clit. “Oh, keep saying my name, Mulder.”
“Scully. Scully. Scully,” her name left his lips faster and faster, in time to the pushing of his cock in his fist. “Scully. Scully, ungh, fuck, my Scully.”
And with that, the last barrier fell and she arched her back off the three hundred thread count sheets, every muscle rigid and quivering as she broke apart and wished she didn’t have to ever put herself back together again. After several moments, she came down and realized he was panting into the phone along with her.
“Jesus, Mulder.”
“Mmm,” he managed. “I....have made quite the mess.”
The school-girl giggle she let out should have embarrassed her, but at this point in time she just could not be bothered. “Two more days, Mulder.”
“Yeah, I suppose I’ll make it. I can hear you holding back a yawn. I’m going to let you go now. Let you get some sleep.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Sleep well, Scully. Oh, and I’ll be sure to cross “Number 3: phone sex” off the list.”
Mulder and scully spooning in the middle of the night , and late night cuddling turns into late night sex with dirty words of love exchanged
She can't get over the sheer warmth of him, the softness of his skin. His arms, strong and sure around her, hold her against his chest as he slowly and languidly pumps into her from behind. She leans her head back against his shoulder, her hips jerking slightly with every smooth, steady slide into her body.
She doesn't know how they got here, how this devolved from late bedtime cuddling to being naked in his arms. To them both being naked, pleasing each other like this. The heat from his body is intoxicating, she can feel the bulge and pull of his muscles, the tickle of his body hair, the tender roughness of his fingertips. She's completely intoxicated, drowning in his scent and sensitive masculinity. It's a delicious combination.
His thrusts are measured and slow, it's obvious he's being careful, not wanting to hurt her with his late-night exuberance. Because of sheer bliss she's unable to vocalize how GOOD this actually feels, how full and stretched and complete she is with him inside her. She wordlessly tries to express this by nestling her ass deeper into the muscled vee of his pelvis, and he groans softly against her back. The sound of his pleasure gives her goosebumps.
"I can't..." he shakes his head, trying to gather his words. His voice is deep with sleep and desire and she feels it vibrating low in her belly, "...I can't imagine life without this now..."
She sighs in agreement as he thrusts his hips once and she moans, her eyes rolling back in the darkness. She can feel his passion washing over her, she feels completely possessed, completely treasured, and it ratchets her arousal up even further. His hand drifts over her belly, down to her pubic hair.
"I know what it's like to love you now," he breathes against her skin as he sweetly locates her clit, "I know what you feel like, how your body responds to me, I can't unlearn that. Now that I know this, I want it forever, Scully..."
The pleasure she feels from his words is almost overwhelming. She has gotten everything she was afraid to want on some typical night on some random work day, and she's not prepared. She's considered this scenario a hundred times but she never for a moment believed it would actually happen.
"Mulder, I...oh God--" he's found a delicious steady rhythm that almost hurts, it feels so good. She wonders if it's possible to go insane from sexual sensation alone.
"Tell me how it feels," he's drawing slow, gentle circles around her clit, his other hand cupping her breast and perfectly thumbing her nipple. She gasps.
"I...I love you," she wheezes, high-pitched. It's the only thing she can think to say and it is woefully insufficient. She feels him simultaneously break and meld together again around her.
"Baby, I love you too, oh, God, I love you so much Scully and I never thought I'd get to tell you," he almost sounds like he's on the verge of tears, "I love you honey, I love you, I love you, I love you..."
He's leaning over her, doing his best to kiss her but she's panting into his mouth, her body wracked in a tremendous orgasm. Her hips twitch and thrash in his arms and with a wild cry he pulses and spurts warmly into her, his body shuddering in release.
"Oh, baby," he moans, "Oh, honey..."
She breathes deeply as they calm, heat radiating from their bodies as heart rates lower, muscles relax, fervor cools. She's grateful, almost to the point of pathetic, that his arms remain around her, even as he shrinks and withdraws from her, a thin dribble of his release leaking down the back of her thigh. He presses soft, gentle kisses down the back of her neck as she becomes aware of the clock ticking slowly, exhibiting the lateness of the hour.
"Mulder, I...I don't know what to say," she confesses, and she wishes she had something better than this for him. She strokes the soft hair on his forearm in apology.
"Me neither," he admits, but he doesn't sound hopeless or disappointed about it, "Maybe that's a good thing."
She knows she should get up, go relieve herself and set about cleaning them both up. But instead she turns around in his embrace, facing him for the first time, and is heartened to see him smiling at her in the darkness. Her heart swells at his familiar face, for once his eyes are not holding tension or grief. He looks relaxed, relieved, and she kisses him, heartened when he meets her caress with equal significance.
They'll be all right. Maybe even better than that.
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