I think sometimes about the idea of canon, as it relates to XF fanfic particularly and more generally, too. This is long and isn’t in response to anything in particular (really), but more just represents my argument about what makes a fic “canon compliant” and what “canon” is and how it differs from “fanon.”
I think it’s useful to remember that the word “canon” came from the sphere of religion. Which makes a certain amount of sense because of the reverent way that fandoms think about the media that inspires them. From a religious point of view, canon means which texts are considered sacred, something especially important in religions like Judaism, Christianity or Islam, where text is so central to religious practice.
As in religion, fans can be devoted to canon. The idea of canon is important to fans presumably because it represents the reason you’re in a fandom to begin with—the work that spoke to you in some way originally. For the XF fandom, this would be the XF series as it appeared on screen, at first in the original run and in films, then in the revival. If you are a fan, of course there is some built-in affection and respect for that work.
There is, on the other hand, always disagreement about the extent to which that affection and respect has to remain uncritical. Some fans are sensitive to almost any critique of canon or its creators. Others are very interested in discussing biases and shortcomings. So, to take one example, in the XF fandom we might disagree about the extent to which all-male writing rooms affected the writing of Scully. These discussions are not typically about what canon is; they are more whether the canon in question was well-written or problematic. And sometimes this leads to intentional disregard of parts of canon. There very much are XF fans who, for example, outright dislike Mulder as he is in canon, or who reject all seasons after 8, or who explicitly favor fanon versions of certain plotlines. (There of course are also many gradations of positions between absolute canon reverence and wholesale rejection of canon.)
When religious canon is unclear or has holes — and if you have any experience with reading an aged religious text, you know it does — people often engage in exegesis, or interpretation, to figure out from the clues given what is “really” true underneath. For the orthodox, the dogmatist, the literalist, this works under the assumption that there is one Real Answer and it is a matter of reading the clues correctly. For other kinds of believers, there might be room for diverse interpretations and meanings. Some believers might argue there is no one real truth.
I think everyone understands that canon in fandom isn’t the same as religious canon. But the truth is, when XF canon is unclear or has holes, it’s tempting to take the same orthodox approach. It’s tempting to try to reconstruct from clues in the text what “really” happened, what the truth of the story is. Now we all know, I hope, that there is no truth of the story here, that there was no Mulder to be married to Diana or not, no Scully to have slept with Jerse or not. But we still sometimes talk about it like the truth is out there, like there is a REAL real back story besides what we see on screen. As though the creators, like some kind of game makers, left a real and complete narrative for us, but we have to be diligent in reading the text correctly so we can properly discern it.
But … there isn’t. Canon is only what appears on our screen in the barest sense; any other extrapolation is exegesis, interpretation, coming from us. And that’s okay. We’re actually meant to do some interpretation, audiences are meant to be active in narratives in that way. It’s just that when we start to argue that our own interpretations of clues from onscreen hints are canonical and others’ aren’t, we’re always going to be wrong.
Because unless it is unequivocally said or seen on screen, it’s not canon. Strictly speaking.
I can imagine some arguments against me here. Some might talk about what creators intended as having important weight and authority. I do understand that argument, although I am a little naturally skeptical of it, as I don’t think the interpretation of a work is solely about author intention (see the much-abused concept of “death of the author.”) I’m definitely not persuaded that what someone says in an BTS interview or Reddit AMA about their intentions is more important than what comes across on the screen.
But there’s also just a pragmatic problem with creator intention in film and television. It’s messy and complex, and it defies easy answers. Take the question of Scully and Jerse and whether they had sex in Never Again. We could argue they conclusively didn’t have sex because CC didn’t intend them to, and he’s the creator. But is CC the only creator? Is his the only opinion that counts? We know the episode’s writers and GA felt differently. Don’t they count as creators, at least a little? What percentage do their intentions weigh in? In other words, in collaborative media, who is the ultimate “author,” and why?
Sometimes we have conflicting canon evidence. This is where, in the XF fandom, we get into decades-old debates. And here’s where I stand on that: almost anything we are still arguing about actually has no canon answer. Because if it were canon, it would have been unequivocal onscreen. As it is, we’re left with ambiguity and disagreeing interpretations.
You might argue some interpretations have many more canon clues supporting them than others. For example, we might argue about the paternity of William using canon evidence that Mulder really is the father and that CSM lied in the revival. That’s an interesting fandom conversation to have—and a theory I entirely support, by the way. Team Mulder Paternity here. But I think it’s really a conversation about (1) where creators were intending to go had the series continued (2) which interpretation of canon we prefer as a fan community. Because in actual canon, we actually don’t know the situation with William’s paternity, at least after this doubt was introduced. I don’t think it’s canonically established that CSM is his father (too much conflicting evidence in canon), but I don’t think it’s established that Mulder is, either. I don’t think it’s established one way or another.
I guess what I’m saying is this: I would argue for a very modest, very minimal, disciplined understanding of canon, one that takes canon as nothing more than what is made completely explicit. So to take the Never Again example again, I would argue that it is simply not possible to have a canonical answer to the question of whether they had sex. Scully at Ed Jerse’s place was shot in a way that didn’t clearly confirm one interpretation or the other. There is conflicting evidence. (There must be, because if it was straightforward, we wouldn’t be arguing about it twenty plus years later.) We can debate our interpretations, but there is no way of figuring out the “real” answer because there is no real answer. Anyone claiming that Scully slept with Jerse or Scully didn’t sleep with Jerse is automatically going beyond canon, because the answer is not in canon at all. It’s fun to argue. But the arguments aren’t about canon; they’re about interpretation of canon.
I’m really getting into the controversial areas now, so I might as well go balls to the wall. There is no canonical first time or canonical first kiss. Why? Well, we are never told anything is a “first” on screen. So claiming that All Things or Millennium is a first is an interpretation based on clues. Many viewers assume these are firsts because we haven't seen them kiss or sleep over before. That is perfectly fine. That's an interpretation. It's even a common interpretation. But it's not canon. Canon is something more concrete than a common interpretation.
To take one last point of controversy, I also don’t think we can have a definitive canonical answer to whether Mulder was married. I hear the sputtering through the screen now — but the ring! the ring! – and I know. That is solid on-camera evidence suggesting he was. There is also solid on-camera evidence suggesting he wasn’t. There are several on-camera documents stating he was single, not divorced or widowed. The timing of his ring wearing suggests Diana Fowley as one likely spousal candidate, but we have no confirmation in season six from any canonical source that they were married – not from him, not from the Gunmen, not from Diana (say, rubbing it in Scully’s face), despite many opportunities. Besides the ring, no one ever mentions Mulder being married onscreen in any context. I’m not really opposed to the “Mulder was married” idea—it’s generated great fanfic plots—but I’d say there’s conflicting information, and the show chose never to confirm it on screen. Because of that, any answer we come up with is interpretation, not canon per se.
It’s frustrating when canon contradicts itself, but it’s not unusual in either religion or television. If you’re not a literalist, it sure helps a lot in living with the contradiction. I know some people also have great difficulty with mixing in-universe explanations with production explanations (like, this storytelling decision was made because they were over budget or because DD wore his wedding ring or they moved to LA). I don’t have this problem. To me, stories are richer when I understand how they’re in dialogue with the humans and institutions who created them. I always think the circumstances a narrative is created in are relevant and kind of impossible to ignore, and I’m okay with the messiness of in-universe and production explanations overlapping.
But if this messiness isn’t your thing, if you like your narratives pure, you can still live with the contradictions. You can make it work in your own head, through your own interpretations of in-universe events. But that’s never, ever, ever going to be canon. Canon won’t work on its own. It will contradict itself. And ... that’s okay. Your interpretations are beautiful, and they can knit canon together and smooth its bumps without themselves needing to be called canon.
For my own part, again, I have no issue with selectivity. I decide what interpretations I like best and I go with them. I’m not entirely consistent even in my own mind. Sometimes I choose to believe in Mulder sleeping with Diana in season six; sometimes I don’t. I usually prefer Scully sleeping with Ed Jerse (let Scully have sex!), but people have certainly convinced me in fanfic before that she didn’t, and I’m fine with that. And yeah, I even sometimes decide I’m going to reject some pieces of established canon (gasp) because it doesn’t fit with my interpretations. I’m not a big believer in the doctrine of “Mulder’s brain disease” because it conflicts with my understanding of season seven canon as it appears onscreen (and I’m open to the idea of corrupting production explanations, like DD’s sudden departure and the season 8 writers wildly improvising.) But I also don’t argue with those for whom that particular doctrine is important; that’s what they choose to value in a conflicting canon situation.
Finally, I would just make the plea that we take “canon compliant” as a fanfic category to mean exactly what it says: the fic complies with the events of what we see on screen. Not our interpretations of those events, even our common interpretations. And not our understanding of the characters — too subjective. Canon compliant just means that it could happen in the blanks of the narrative happening on screen. So Mulder could meet Britney Spears, and Scully could go on a drunken binge in the Caribbean right after Emily, and they could both do things we might consider wildly OOC or implausible, but if it happens and still the events of the show continue just as we see them onscreen, it’s canon compliant. Maybe not well-written. Maybe silly. Maybe we don’t like the author’s take. But canon compliant. It means no more and no less than that.
My little secret? I actually think this shifting interpretation of canon thing is kind of fun, if I’m being honest.
Scully’s eyes snap open and she sits up abruptly, disoriented and immediately afraid. She grabs at the back of her neck and swipes her hands down her forearms over and over. She can’t see, but she can feel the creeping sensation all over her skin, down the backs of her legs and in her hair. She’s afraid to breathe, to open her mouth and scream, to try and call for help. She flails, and twists, and panics completely unproductively, just like she did before. She already knows there’s nothing she can do.
“Scully!”
Mulder’s voice cuts through her panic like a dull blade, slowly bringing her back to reality. She feels the weight of his hands on her shoulders, smells the heat of his breath as he leans in close. Sour, like he may have been sleeping. Like quite some time has passed since she accepted his offer to stand watch while she attempted to sleep with the lights off for the first time since they arrived at the containment center over a week ago.
“Sorry,” she breathes out, quickly slipping from panic to embarrassment.
Mulder sighs and his hands slide across her upper back before he pulls her into a hug. Against her better judgment, Scully lets her head fall against his chest. It just feels good to be held.
“It’s okay,” he says. His voice vibrates against her ear and she closes her eyes, exhausted but too hopped up on adrenaline to fall back asleep.
“I had a dream,” she explains.
“I know,” he says.
They’ve been cooped up with nothing to do, nowhere to go, and no one to talk to but each other. Time moves strangely here, making hours feel like days. They’ve been one another’s lifelines, their tie to reality.
“I can’t sleep,” she tells him tearfully, wetting his T-shirt, and he pulls her closer.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
She’s spent the better part of the week trying to convince him that it’s not all his fault. That he doesn’t owe her anything, apologies or otherwise. He still doesn’t believe her. But she needs him to, because his guilt is too heavy, even by proxy, and it doesn’t help her sleep.
“Stop it,” she chastises, lifting her head and looking up at him through the inky dark.
“If it weren’t for me—”
She presses her fingers to his lips to quiet him. Soft, warm lips.
“Please don’t do that,” she begs.
His lips twitch under her fingers, threatening to speak. Instead, they purse against her skin with a soft smack.
She might be delirious, she thinks. She might have imagined it. She might be imagining pulling her hand away and replacing it with her mouth. Reality moves strangely here, making it feel as though any moment she might wake up in a cocoon. Is her tongue in his mouth? She’s not completely sure.
Mulder’s hands on her are greedy and urgent while his words are tender and placating. He stuffs his hand down the back of her sweatpants, grabbing at her ass.
“Is this okay?”
He pushes her T shirt up to expose her breasts, hungrily scooping a nipple into his mouth.
“Can I take this off?”
Two thick fingers push into her, and she gasps at the sweet stretch.
“Am I hurting you?”
It’s so dark that she can’t see her hand in front of her face, much less his naked body, but she feels it. The heat of his skin, the firm planes of his chest and belly, the silky stiffness of his cock in her hand. It’s like a dream. Is it a dream? Is he moving over her? Is she spreading her legs wide for him, guiding him into her wet heat?
He’s big, and not just because she’s small. As gentle as he is, it hurts, and she squeezes her eyes shut tight while her mouth opens in a silent cry. Mulder stills, breathing hard, and after a moment the sharp sting fades away. She arches up into him, and he heaves a ragged sigh.
He fucks her slow and deep, drawing all the way out before he slides back in and presses his pelvis tightly against hers. She feels him everywhere: his hands, his lips, his bare skin brushing over hers, the length of him stroking her from the inside. She’s not in a cocoon. She doesn’t think. She hopes not.
She tugs him down by the neck, bringing him close enough to kiss. Close enough to grind against her clit while he fucks her. Close enough to make her come.
“God, you feel incredible,” he mumbles, and it makes her cunt pulse.
It was supposed to be a nice trip to the forest. That’s what he keeps saying. They are, technically speaking, still in the forest, and this….this feels very nice.
“What do you need?” he asks tightly.
She doesn’t understand the question. What else could she possibly need right now?
Mulder shifts his hips down, changing the angle at which he’s sliding into her and making her toes tingle.
“Yes,” she whispers, her nails carving a path across his back. “Like that.”
He groans with restraint, tucking his face into the crook of her neck. He won’t say it, but she knows he’s close. She won’t tell him that she is too; that would be too real.
She’s surprised by the force of her own orgasm, the intensity of the build up. It just keeps going higher and higher, twisting her muscles up so tight she feels like a rubber band about to snap.
Mulder’s breath catches and his hips quicken. Does he feel her? Does he know?
She lets out a single, unrestrained yelp when it hits her, blinding her with pleasure from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. Her whole body comes, clenching and releasing, rising and falling around her clit at the center of its universe. Mulder grunts and swears before she feels the heat of him leaking out of her, running down the seams of her legs. That makes her come even harder.
It lasts forever, or maybe less than a minute. Time moves strangely here. She doesn’t remember getting cleaned up, but they’re back in the bed and her eyes are so, so heavy. His arms around her feel safe, even with the lights off.
She sleeps, deep and dreamlessly. She doesn’t wake up in a cocoon.
Rated X / 909 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic
The rental car breaks down an hour outside Kalispell. There’s no cell service, no streetlights, and nothing to eat beyond half a bag of sunflower seeds. An hour passes, and then two, but not a single vehicle. The boarding time for their flight comes and goes, the sun disappears behind the mountains, and they both realize that they’ll be sleeping in the car tonight.
-
Mulder stretches out in the passenger seat while Scully takes the back. Their breath fogs up the windows, and he can hear her teeth chattering in the sub-freezing nighttime temperature drop. Chivalry tells him to offer her his coat, maybe even his body heat, but her prickly demeanor makes him think twice.
He’s still trying to figure her out. When to give her space and when to move closer. When to challenge her and when to back off. She herself seems to be embroiled in an internal push/pull between what she knows and what she sees. What she feels and what she believes. He senses that she’s still struggling to reconcile what they encountered in Browning, turning the square peg this way and that in hopes that it can somehow fit into the round hole of science and reason. He finds her frustrating, but also fascinating. The fact that she’s beautiful is something he does his best to ignore.
-
He wakes with a start to Scully vigorously shaking him by the shoulder, and his initial disorientation clears away when he hears the clack of the hammer on her pistol. She heard something outside the car, she’s sure of it.
Mulder climbs into the back seat and they press their flashlights against the windows, trying to see outside. But the glass is too fogged up, and the night is too dark, and there’s no way in hell they’re going to open the doors. They sit, straining their ears, for countless minutes, their weapons resting at the ready on their respective knees. He feels Scully’s fingers bump against his leg, and he reaches over to grab her hand.
-
Neither of them can sleep. It’s pitch dark both inside the car and out, the benign noises of night presenting themselves as constant threats. With their weapons stashed on the floorboards they huddle together for warmth, speaking in low tones about any and everything to drown out the snapping twigs and rustling leaves that are probably nothing, but could be something.
In her overtired and cortisol infused delirium, Scully admits she worries that he finds her annoying. In his overtired and cortisol infused delirium, Mulder admits that not only does he not find her annoying, he finds her quite enjoyable. When she clucks her tongue at this, characteristically disbelieving, he proves his point by telling her that had they met another way, through mutual friends or a chance encounter at a bar, he probably would have asked her out. The stretch of silence that follows makes his stomach turn.
-
He hasn’t fucked in a car since he was seventeen. His body feels so much bigger, the seat backs so much more restrictive than he remembers, but the excitement is exactly the same. He cradles the back of Scully’s head to protect it from knocking up against the arm rest, one knee on the seat, one foot on the floor, and his trench billowing around them both like a makeshift blanket.
Her naked bottom half is smooth as silk, and though her legs are chilly against his hips she is molten between them and audibly wet. Aside from giving her consent she’s been mostly quiet, but when the arm Mulder is using to hold himself up grows tired and he drops down to his elbow, the change in angle seems to override her desire to be silent.
“Oh my god,” she whispers, sounding surprised, and he almost loses it right there.
They didn’t really talk about logistics, much less birth control, and as they both sail higher and higher he starts to think about what he should do with the massive amount of semen that’s about to exit his body, given how long it’s been since he took care of himself. Her upper half is still fully clothed and he’s positive she’d never forgive him for getting cum all over her blazer, but blowing his load inside her without permission may be even less forgivable.
Scully gasps, and her cunt does too. She’s blindingly tight, and whimpering despite her best efforts, and Mulder pulls out of her in a panic as his own orgasm tears through him. With no better options, he aims for the floor and jerks himself through the height of it. By the time he’s finished, Scully has wormed her way out from beneath him and he can hear the rustle of fabric as she puts her clothes back on.
-
A semi passes by at daybreak and Mulder runs after it, waving his arms in the air like a lunatic. It doesn’t look like it’s going to stop, but finally it eases onto the shoulder and the weary driver agrees to take them back to Browning, since he’s already headed that way.
Mulder runs back to the rental and tells Scully to gather their things. Glancing into the back seat, he sees that she’s laid a napkin out over the stain on the floor. She follows his gaze and gives him an awkward little smile and a shrug. He doesn’t expect that they’ll talk about it.
Rated X / 737 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic
Scully is lying sideways on the mattress, her toes curled over the edge and Mulder perfectly framed between her open legs. He’s just pulled out of her mid-session and is standing beside the bed, stiff cock cooling in the breeze as he digs around in the drawer on her nightstand.
She takes the opportunity to have a good, long look at him, raking her eyes over his sleek runner’s body until she settles on his groin. He’s wrestling a cock ring onto his shaft: tugging it on one side and then the other, stretching his balls down to get the best fit. Scully’s hand wanders between her legs while she watches him, fascinated by how rough he is with himself. He stops to give himself a few short strokes, makes an adjustment, and then strokes himself some more. Watching him touch himself so casually, so expertly, is surprisingly erotic. She swirls her middle finger around her clit, which is already swollen and slippery; they’ve been at it for a while now.
She might have guessed that sex with Mulder would be an event. While most men she’s slept with saw it as a sprint to the finish line, Mulder’s approach is that of a decathlete. He paces himself, conserving his stamina by spending countless minutes with his hands and head between her legs, making her come at least twice before he allows himself any attention. Even then, she will inevitably be the one begging him to finish when she’s too oversensitized and wrung out to continue, requiring a nap before she has the energy to drag herself to the bathroom and get cleaned up.
He’s jerking himself steadily now, one hand cupped under his balls. The head of his cock is shiny and purple, and she can see how hard he is by the way it snaps back to attention when he lets his palm slide off the tip on a downstroke. A quick glance to his face confirms that he’s watching her as well, bottom lip sagging and eyes glazed as he stares between her open legs. This is something he’s asked for, something she’s been too shy to indulge him on, but now that it’s happening she can’t bring herself to feel anything but aroused. She doesn’t need to put on a show for him; it feels good and she’s genuinely into it.
She knows she’s going to come again, and the realization that he’ll get to watch her do it is like some kind of secondhand aphrodisiac. She gets up on one elbow so she can see him better, which also affords a better view of her own knuckles flexing as her middle finger swirls round and round. Mulder is stroking at an absolutely frenzied pitch, his breathing labored as he tries not to finish. She sees his abs tense and he lets out a strangled little whine, like he’s being tortured, and it pushes her over the edge.
“I’m coming,” she announces, her eyes still on his cock though she’s struggling to keep them open.
A hot gush suddenly coats her fingers and Mulder drops to his knees like an obedient parishioner, pressing his mouth against her soaking cunt. She sinks her fingernails into the back of his head and clamps her thighs over his ears, curling around him and coming so hard she can barely breathe. She’s wailing and moaning and probably alerting the neighbors, but she doesn’t possess the capacity to care. He doesn’t relent until she spasms and pushes him away, and he kisses a wet trail along the inside of her quivering thigh.
Scully stares at the ceiling, panting and dazed, until Mulder crawls over her, a lovestruck smile stretched across his shining wet lips. She smiles back at him, just a little bit embarrassed, then glances down between their bodies where his painfully hard cock is bobbing impatiently.
“Did you enjoy that?” she asks coyly, as though she got nothing from it.
He dips his head down and kisses the skin just in front of her ear.
“Almost as much as you did,” he husks, and she feels his erection brush against her belly.
She reaches down and grabs ahold of him, and he exhales a shuddering breath.
“Then why don’t you sit against the headboard so you can watch me ride you?” she whispers.
She’s never seen a naked man move so quickly in all her life.
Rated X / 887 words / posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic
He hadn’t realized how starved he was. How desperate. How achingly in need of connection. He knew he was lonely, and definitely horny, but he didn’t know he needed this. He didn’t even really know it existed, at least not in this way. Not this pure. Not this real.
She likes to undress him. To push his shirt up, running her hands over his torso as she peels it off. To slowly unbutton his fly and draw the zipper down, grazing her knuckles over his lower belly. She grabs his ass over his boxers, and then under them, wraps her hand around his balls and tugs gently. She sucks his dick like it’s her last meal, like she’s never tasted anything so delicious, and he finds himself begging for mercy so he can last long enough to fuck her.
As incredible as the sex is, it surprises him how close to her it makes him feel when she touches him just for the sake of doing it, with no end goal in mind. When they’re kissing in bed and she grabs the back of his thigh to tug him closer. When they’re watching TV and she slips her hand into his. When she makes it clear she’s after more than his mouth and his cock. She pets him like he’s a damn cat. Rakes her fingers through his hair, absently strokes his forearm, drags her nails across his back. He fucking loves it. He loves the way she grabs his bicep for leverage when she pops up on her tiptoes to kiss him goodbye, loves her arms snaking around his waist and the press of her hugging him from behind, loves that she smiles and reaches for him when he says something that pleases her. It makes him feel so wanted. So safe. So unbelievably good.
“I’m exhausted,” he tells her when she snuggles up next to him in bed, naked and shower-warm.
“I know,” she says, kissing his cheek. “You had a long day.”
She nuzzles her nose into the crook of his neck, draping her leg over his thigh. He can feel the heat of her cunt and his cock jumps a little, but he’s too worn out to consider indulging. She runs her palm down the length of his arm, strokes his chest, pets the trail of hair on his belly. It relaxes him, soothing his frayed nerves, and he sighs deeply.
“May I?” she asks, running the tips of her fingers under the waist of his boxers.
“I’m beat, Scully,” he says regretfully.
She lifts her head and brushes her lips over the shell of his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.
“Let me take care of you,” she whispers, and immediately his lap feels heavy.
It feels impossible, the way she loves him. The way she gives without expectation of reciprocity, the way she cares about his well being as much as her own. She kisses his neck and nibbles on his ear as she slips her hand under his boxers and gently strokes him to life, not in any hurry to get it over with. She hums when a rush of blood makes his cock lurch in her hand, moans as she smears precum over the head with her thumb. Despite the immense amount of pleasure he derives from getting her off, it’s hard for him to accept that this isn’t a chore for her. That she wants it for him as much as he wants it for himself.
Previous to her, a handjob is not something he’d be particularly excited about. They were always too slow or too fast, too loose or too tight, and in the end he’d rather just do it himself. But Scully touches him in ways he never knew he wanted to be touched. She plays with pressure and speed, alternating stroking him from root to tip and massaging the head until he whimpers with overwhelm. She squeezes his balls, teases the skin behind them with one curious finger, makes his hips jump up off the bed impatiently until she returns her attention to his needy cock. All the while she’s curled around him, her lips at his neck or his ear, her silky warm skin draped over one side of his body.
“Are you gonna come for me?”
It hits him suddenly and forcefully. His balls tighten and his dick stiffens in her hand, and she throws back the blankets. He barely has time to register what she’s doing before he’s coming down her throat, fisting the sheets and moaning loudly. She swallows him down, licking up a stray drop before it lands in his pubic hair, then carefully tucks him back into his boxers.
“Thank you,” he says, lust drunk and already on the verge of sleep, and she laughs as she snuggles back up to him and pulls the blankets over them both. He can smell his own cum on her breath, which is oddly intimate. She doesn’t even get up to rinse her mouth out or brush her teeth.
“Goodnight,” she says, and kisses him on the cheek.
He thinks he says it back, but he isn’t sure. He’s somewhere between cloud 9 and the realm of dreams, tethered to reality by only the heat of her body wrapped around his.
Rated X / 1130 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic
Mulder leans across the console with a familiar impish glint in his eye, the corner of his mouth already cocked in amusement.
“That’s a direct violation of the Bureau’s agent conduct policy, you know,” he teases, so close that the heat of his breath warms her cheeks.
The skunky bite of cheap motel coffee creeps into her nose, alongside something so distinctly Mulder that she could never properly describe it. When did she learn to recognize the smell of his breath?
She lifts her head and smiles at him mirthfully, knowing that the rest of their day will be spent carefully suppressing flirtatious one-liners and sidelong glances.
“You’re not going to report me, are you?” she asks, feigning helplessness, and he laughs, sending another waft of his toothpaste-spiked coffee breath her way.
She feels a flush from her shoulders to her pelvis, ending in a hearty throb from her clit. Her face falls, caught off guard by her own arousal, and Mulder quirks his head at her curiously.
“Something wrong?”
Scully shakes her head, turning towards the windshield and sitting up straighter in her seat.
“We should probably get moving,” she tells him, and he starts the engine.
She’s recently learned that he’s handsy in the morning, pawing at her under her T-shirt while she spreads butter over freshly toasted bread. He likes to watch her get ready for work and then hike her skirt up around her hips so he can eat her pussy before they drive to the Hoover in separate cars, or bend her over her kitchen table with her slacks bunched up around her knees and fuck her so hard it makes her eyes water and her mascara run. He doesn’t even come most of the time, perhaps as a courtesy so she doesn’t have to feel him leaking out of her half the day—not that she’d mind it. When he sleeps over, she wakes to the smell of coffee brewing and realizes she’s already turned on.
He might get her in the shower, two fingers curled up inside her and the butt of his palm pressed against her clit, the huff of his coffee breath and the sight of his stiff wet cock taking her over the edge. He could pop her up on the edge of the kitchen counter, still in her robe, and fuck her in long, deep strokes while he sucks on her earlobe. Sometimes she doesn’t even make it out of bed before he rolls her onto her belly and slips into her from behind. Prone and half asleep, she’s coming before she hears the coffee pot beep its announcement that it’s done brewing.
But today she woke up alone in a motel bed, the only identifiable smell the musk of a prior occupant who did not adhere to the room’s non-smoking designation. No one watched her strip off her pajamas or slipped in behind her in the shower. No one waited until she was primped and polished to defile her below the waist. It makes her feel like pouting, which she knows is ridiculous.
Scully huffs an overly dramatic sigh and watches the flat pasture land surrounding the highway whip past them. She has a feeling it’s going to be a long day.
“Do you wanna stop for coffee?” Mulder asks, and she turns and looks at him.
He looks markedly delicious in his navy suit and gray tie, and she can practically feel the smoothness of his freshly shaved cheek on her lips. Coffee isn’t the pick-me-up she wants right now.
He flashes her a surprised smile and her cheeks heat up at her own boldness; she hadn’t entirely meant to say that last part out loud.
“It’s another half hour to the police station,” he says, reaching across the console and playing with the hem of her skirt between her knees.
Scully looks around like someone could be watching, but the road is next to deserted and his hand is hidden well below the window.
“I don’t know…” she says weakly, but she feels blood rushing to her cunt and she knows she’s already wet.
“Pull your skirt up,” he says, eyes on the road. His tone is just commanding enough to make her want to comply.
She tugs her skirt up past the tops of her thigh-high panty hose, exposing the cherry red gusset of her panties. She looks around again, then spreads her legs to make room for his hand. She tells herself that she’s doing it for him.
Mulder groans when he touches the damp fabric between her legs, and she watches the side of his face as he slips two fingers behind it and gently strokes her slippery lips—the flex of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes as he forces himself to keep them open. He plays with her clit a little before he finger-fucks her steadily, his breath huffing and his free hand gripped tightly on the steering wheel. He looks at her in short flashes, sometimes her face and sometimes his hand between her legs. She can see the tent of his erection at the front of his slacks and she slumps down a little, curling her hips forward to give him as much access as possible.
Scully swallows hard and tries to keep her expression neutral and her eyes open. She tries not to look like her partner has one arm slung over the console and his fingers inside her, like she’s not quickly approaching climax.
Mulder slips his fingers out of her and pushes her panties to the side with three of them while stroking her clit with his index finger. Soft, consistent, concentric circles that lift her higher and higher, making her legs tingle and her mind go blank.
“I’m coming,” she whispers, and he stuffs his fingers back inside her just as she erupts.
Scully turns her face toward him, tucking her chin to hide her expression from any onlookers, and comes long and hard around his fingers.
“Exit’s coming up,” he says, pulling his hand away.
She sits up quickly, tugging her skirt down and checking her reflection in the visor to be sure she doesn’t give herself away. Her clit is still giving off latent throbs when they pull into the parking lot of the police station.
Mulder parks and looks over at her, a self-satisfied smirk on his mouth. He takes a sip of tepid coffee from the paper cup he brewed at the motel, then smacks his lips and pops his eyebrows at her.
“Feeling better?” he asks, and she suppresses the urge to kiss him.
“Much,” she says casually. “I could go for a cup of coffee, though.”
He laughs, and she smiles, and they go to work like they always do
Rated X / 1048 words / Tagging @today-in-fic / Posted on AO3
“The power of Christ compels you!” the old priest and the young priest shout in unison.
Streaks of holy water slash through the flesh on Regan’s legs, slicing her skin wide open. She floats above the bed, rigid and mottled, a shell of the child she was when the movie started.
Mulder’s hand slides further down Scully’s belly, slipping just under the waist of her sweatpants, and gooseflesh lights up all over her arms.
It’s actually really fucking cliche, a fact that they won’t be able to joke about for another six years. The scary movie, the dimmed lights, the flirtatious teasing about one or the other of them being too scared to keep watching. Mulder facetiously sat too close. Scully ironically pulled the blanket up to shield her eyes. He played pretend at comforting her. Somewhere along the line the joke stopped being a joke, and when he leaned forward and touched her jaw, she knew it wasn’t part of a bit.
He’s wedged on his side between her body and the back of the couch, and he appears to have aspirations of sticking his hand down her pants. Though she realizes intellectually that they’ve already made a handful of mistakes and would be wise to cut their losses, the fact that she hasn’t been laid in months paired with the empty wine glass in front of her on the coffee table are seriously clouding her judgment.
“S’that okay?” Mulder mumbles against her mouth as the tips of his fingers graze the skin beneath her belly button, and she doesn’t say no. She doesn’t say anything, just shifts her hips up in encouragement and lets her body do the talking.
It truly was an innocent invitation. She owns the movie, so it’s not like she went out of her way to rent it or anything. Mulder just seemed out of sorts after their latest case, and she felt compelled to cheer him up. She typically finds moody men insufferable, but Mulder actually talks to her about the things that sour his mood, and often even takes her advice, which makes it exponentially less irritating. She’s truly flattered by how willing he is to be vulnerable with her, a trait that she initially thought to be compulsive but later realized is specific to her.
She gasps and clamps her thighs down on his forearm when he sinks a finger into her, and he immediately stills.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks, pulling away a little, and she shakes her head and grabs the back of his neck to tug him closer.
Far from hurting her, he just woke up nerve endings that have been dormant since Bush was in office, but she’s not about to tell him that. She can’t remember the last time a man spent this much time kissing and touching her without trying to stick his dick in her. Just when she has that thought, Mulder gently grinds against her hip, and she feels herself quivering around his fingers at the idea of fucking him. But of course they can’t do that. They shouldn’t even be doing this.
He’s very respectful. He asks before he takes off her shirt, her bra, her pants. He doesn’t ask if he can take off her panties, but that’s only because she shucks them off herself when he stands up to slip his jeans off and she sees his cock swing free. Legs spread, lined up, sharp sting and oh. Oh, oh, oh my.
“Oh my god. You feel—” he starts, and she shuts him up with a kiss.
They can’t talk about it, it’s too…real. They’re naked, and he’s inside her, and the screen on the TV has gone black because the movie is over, making it that much darker in her living room. Scully closes her eyes and tries to forget who she’s fucking, and why she shouldn’t be doing it, but she can’t. The way he smells, the way he feels, the exact pitch of his moans—it’s Mulder. Mulder, Mulder, Mulder, god—she’s going to come. Is he going to come?
They didn’t even use a condom.
“Wait,” she says abruptly, pushing on his shoulders.
He pulls out of her and hovers there, breathless, for a beat.
“Is something wrong?”
“We didn’t—I don’t have a condom,” she says.
She can feel every inch of skin on her body burning bright red with embarrassment. It’s real. They just did that. She just fucked her partner. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Okay,” Mulder says reluctantly, sitting back.
She senses that he might have more to say about his clean bill of health, or questions about whether she’s on birth control, but after a moment he starts to get dressed and she follows suit.
“I hope I didn’t…pressure you in any way,” he says, a silhouette against the haze of the streetlights, and she’s exceedingly grateful for the relative darkness.
“No, not at all,” she assures him. “But maybe…do you think we can just pretend this never happened?” she asks, wincing when her voice cracks a little.
“Okay,” he says. “If that’s what you want.”
She turns on her desk lamp, which gives off enough light that he can find and put on his shoes and jacket, but not so much that he’ll be able to see how red her face is, or how swollen her lips. She walks him to the door and avoids eye contact as they say awkward goodbyes, but he’s clearly lingering and she doesn’t know why he won’t just go so she can begin the process of repressing this night deep into the far reaches of her memory.
“Was it really that bad?” he finally asks, and her head snaps up to find a somewhat pained expression on his face.
“Oh, no,” she stammers. “Not at all. It was fine—it was good, that’s not why…”
A slow grin breaks out over his face as she struggles for words, and Scully huffs in irritation.
“Glad to hear it. Night, Scully,” he says, giving her upper arm a squeeze. “See you Monday.”
“Goodnight, Mulder,” she grumbles, flashing him a tiny smile before she closes the door behind him.
She’s not sure if they just ruined her favorite movie, or just made it her favorite for an entirely new reason.
Rated X / 689 words / Tagging @today-in-fic / Posted on AO3
Delightfully and unsurprisingly, Scully has the most delicious cunt he’s ever had the pleasure of eating. Had he known seven years ago that she had the sweetest, wettest—gah, he can’t even think about it without getting hard. Had he known, there’s no way he could have resisted making a move. Absolutely zero chance.
The first time he got his mouth on her, his cock got so hard it nearly shot off his body like a goddamn rocket. She has big, pillowy pussy lips and a clit like a fat blueberry, and she gets so wet it runs down his chin. She tastes sweet, and salty, and musky, sometimes like a fresh loaf of bread and sometimes like a copper penny. He delights in sampling her at different times of the month and at different points in the day: after the gym, first thing in the morning, once right after he fucked her. He gently begged for the opportunity to be the first to eat her out on her period, and her hasty acquiescence told him she wasn’t all that against it in the first place. Just knowing that she’d let him, that she trusted him that much, made it so fucking erotic she came almost instantly, and he was inside her before she stopped throbbing.
Much to his disappointment, she made a rule that they can’t spend more than three nights together before they have to spend at least one apart, and she’s stuck to it steadfastly. On the nights he’s alone in his bed, he jerks off and thinks about her tasty little cunt. He imagines eating her asshole until she screams into the pillow, then having her sit on his face until he can’t breathe. By the time he’s back in her bed, he’ll be desperate as a starving man, pulling her panties to the side and wrapping his lips around her fat clit because he can’t wait the ten extra seconds it would take to pull them down before he tastes her.
He salivates thinking about her. About the silky slip of her when she’s ovulating, those blessed days where she’s so horny she lets him take her home on their lunch break and eat her over the arm of the couch before they sit down at the table and share leftover chicken scampi. She’s generous with her juicy cunt; she says yes more often than no , and lavishes him with praise while he laps at her peach of a slit, telling him what a good job he’s doing. Once, he managed to make her squirt right into his mouth, and it ran down his throat like hot rainwater, tasting like the earth, and the heavens, and everything in between. He’s obsessed. Obsessed and shameless, no less.
Any question regarding what he’d like to have for a meal will be met with, at the very least, a suggestive pop of his eyebrows, particularly if they’re on duty and he’s on a short leash. But if it’s after hours or they’re alone in one or the other’s apartment, he’ll tell her that nothing sounds more appealing than her tart little snatch, then rub her over her pants. Nine times out of ten she goes along with it, and at this point he has to assume that she knows exactly what she’s doing.
It’s a good thing he didn’t know. If he had, he’d have laid her out on that motel bed in Bellefleur and stuffed his tongue inside her. He’d have made her come right as the power came back on, just in time to watch her face, and taste her end-of-day cunt, and see her fall apart in front of him all at once. He’d have ruined it all before it ever got started, and it would have felt worth it.
Mulder grunts and watches cum spurt out over his hand and pubic hair, running down his knuckles as he continues to stroke. He licks his lips and he swears he can taste her, salty and slick, across his tongue. Just one night. It’s just one night until he can get his mouth on her again.
Rated X / 407 words / Tagging @today-in-fic / Posted on AO3
He’s buried inside her, their bellies flush and his mouth pressed to her ear. The heat of his breath and the wet tick of his tongue as it darts out to lap at her earlobe sends little shockwaves down to her pelvis, heightening the sweet slip of his cock as he shifts his hips forward and back. Her cunt grabs at him and he groans, a low rumble that vibrates through her skull.
It’s a delicious feedback loop. She quakes, and he moans into her ear, and she quivers around him again, sending them back to the start. Hearing how good she makes him feel is an unmatched aphrodisiac. Hearing it real time, directly into her sensitized ear, while he fucks her senseless, is borderline unbearable.
His hips slow, and she reaches down to grab a handful of his ass, pulling him closer.
“Don’t stop,” she whines, lifting her pelvis off the mattress in an attempt to take him deeper.
Mulder chuckles, sending little puffs of air across her wet ear that make her shiver.
“Does that feel good?” he asks, teasing her with a few shallow strokes.
“I’m gonna come,” she whispers, a dam verge of bursting. He holds her there for minutes, dragging his cock out slowly and then pushing back in, humming and groaning against her ear until she feels like she might just melt into the mattress, dissolving into nothing. It’s almost too much. “Please,” she begs breathlessly.
“Please what?” he asks tightly, then drops a wet kiss to the shell of her ear. Her legs begin to tremble and her eyes well with tears of overwhelm.
“Make me come,” she pleads. “I can’t take any more.”
Mulder sighs, and she gasps, and two sharp strokes later she’s exploding around him, clawing at his back while her shoulders curl up off the mattress. He mumbles a stream of profanities and the wet sounds of his strokes grow louder as his cum runs out of her and puddles on the bed under her ass.
He collapses on top of her, taking the majority of his body weight on his elbows and knees so he doesn’t crush her, and pants against the crook of her shoulder.
“Wow,” she says on a sigh.
Mulder flexes his hips forward, pushing his half-hard cock back inside her and making her whimper. He lifts his head just slightly and presses his cheek against hers.
Rated X / 2105 words / Tagging @today-in-fic / Posted on AO3
He makes it to the front doors of her apartment building before he turns back, the photograph that she just insisted is a fake clutched tightly in one hand. He’s irritated and angry, in part because she’s always pushing back on him, and in part because she might be right. He does tend to overlook contradictory evidence when he’s hot on a lead like this. He does want to believe Deep Throat badly enough that it’s possible he’s not thinking clearly.
She said she trusted him. More than that, she said he’s the only person she trusts. But her trust isn’t given blindly, and he can’t decide if that’s something he resents or appreciates. He just doesn’t know what to think.
When she answers the door, his anger immediately wanes. Her eyebrows are all pushed together and she’s scanning his face for clues as to why he’s back already, and he’s still not used to someone looking at him like this all the time. Like they care.
“Is something wrong?” she asks, opening the door wider and stepping aside.
Mulder walks into her foyer and turns to face her. Truthfully, he has no idea why he came back. The conversation just felt unfinished somehow.
“Why is it so hard for you to believe? Even after the bugged pen?” he asks, more frustrated than anything.
Scully closes the door and sighs, then props her hands on her hips and levels him with an icy stare. How she manages to be intimidating at five foot nothing and with that pretty face is an X-File in itself.
“I’m a scientist, Mulder. I don’t believe anything without irrefutable evidence. A bugged pen is not evidence that your picture isn’t a fake,” she says sternly, with a nod to the envelope in his hand.
Mulder huffs and shakes his head, though he can’t disagree with her.
“I just wish you could be a little more open minded,” he says, and Scully presses her lips into a tight line.
“Your skeptical partner,” she says under her breath, and he feels a little flash of embarrassment at the memory of Langly’s comment. He may have vented to them a bit shortly after Scully started working with him, but he could also tell during their brief introduction that the Gunmen liked her. A lot. “You know what, Mulder, I wish that you could be a little more open minded,” she says sassily.
Mulder scoffs.
“To what, exactly?” he asks, tossing the envelope onto her kitchen table and taking one step towards her. She lifts her chin defiantly, and he has the overwhelming urge to kiss her, which catches him off guard.
“To the possibility that you’re being manipulated,” she tells him, her eyes locked on his. “To the possibility that you’re wrong.”
“What if I’m not wrong?” he asks, moving even closer, craning his neck down to bring his nose inches from hers.
Scully blinks rapidly, unmoving aside from the labored rise and fall of her chest. It’s something he’s noticed about her, a tell that she’s emotionally activated even when all other signs indicate calm. He watches for it now, listens for it on the phone. Her breathy, “Mulder, it’s me,” tells him everything he needs to know.
“If you’re so confident it’s real, why won’t you have it analyzed?” she asks, practically panting.
Mulder slips his hand into the space between their bodies, and she startles when his knuckles brush against her chest just beneath her clavicle. He fingers the gold chain around her neck, fishing the tiny cross that hangs from it out from beneath the hem of her shirt, though his eyes never leave her face.
“I have faith in my source,” he says, his voice low, and she draws in a shuddering breath.
“A faith too fragile to be questioned is hardly faith at all,” she retorts.
He has two concurrent realizations, with the backs of his fingers resting against the satiny skin of her breastbone and his face so close to hers that he can smell the wine on her breath: she is the most maddeningly stubborn person he has ever met, and he finds her immovable nature wildly arousing.
He tells himself that he absolutely cannot kiss her at the exact same moment he realizes that he already is, and he pulls away sharply, terrified. Her eyes are wide and her lips slightly parted, and she looks just as likely to slap him as she is to kiss him back.
“Sorry,” he stammers, taking one step away from her. “I don’t know why I did that.”
His head is hung in embarrassment, so he doesn’t see her moving closer. He feels the painful press of her fingernails digging into the back of his neck, and when he looks up her mouth immediately covers his. She’s teetering on her tiptoes, anchoring herself to him with an arm slung across his shoulders, so he stoops down a bit to compensate for their mismatched statures. Her hands move to his face and her kisses grow hungrier, soon accompanied by little whimpers that make his head spin.
“Scully,” he tries to say, but she swallows the sound of her own name and shakes her head with a muffled “Uh-uh.”
What does that mean? Is he supposed to stop her? Should he let it happen?
Her fingers brush over the fly of his slacks and he jumps, grabbing her hand to still it and pulling his head back, just out of reach.
“What are you doing?” he asks breathlessly, very aware that she just made full contact with his very hard dick.
She just stares at him for half a second, her expression unreadable.
“I don’t know,” she says, looking mildly shocked. “Should I stop?” she asks, flashing her eyes to his groin.
Mulder’s jaw tenses. He knows what the right answer is, but he can’t bring himself to say it.
“I don’t know,” he parrots back to her.
A beat passes wherein they look at each other, his hand still wound around her wrist. He knows she won’t keep going unless she’s absolutely sure he wants this. He can feel his heart beating in his cock, and in his periphery he can see the generous tent it’s creating at the front of his slacks. Scully’s tongue slides across her bottom lip and his cock jumps, making up his mind for him.
“No,” he says suddenly, tugging her closer by the arm and sending the front of her body colliding with his.
After that initial hesitation, things move exceptionally quickly. She pushes his suit jacket off his shoulders and then strips off his belt so aggressively that the leather snaps loudly, setting off gooseflesh all over his arms. He manages to get her top off before she slips her hand under his boxers, and he struggles with the clasp on her bra as she drags her fingernails over the papery skin of his scrotum. They’re still standing beside her kitchen table, and all the lights are on. He truly has no idea what will happen next.
Cool air slides over his legs when she pushes both his slacks and his boxers off his hips and they puddle on the floor around his feet. The sound of his heart pounding in his ears is so loud that it drowns out any rational thought. The only one that makes it through is sex . Sex and Scully , two words that he has carefully compartmentalized but are suddenly forcing their way into the very same box as she strokes him firmly with one hand and pops the buttons on his shirt with the other. Meanwhile, he’s got two handfuls of her perky little tits and is working up the nerve to divest her of her pants.
It doesn’t feel even a little bit real. Not when he takes her by the shoulders and guides her back to the table, not when his palms run down the length of her naked thighs as he removes her panties, not when he hoists her up and sets her bare ass down right on top of the manila envelope that brought him here in the first place.
“You’re sure?” he asks, though the fact that she’s got her hand wrapped around his shaft and is guiding him into her wet heat makes the question somewhat rhetorical.
Sex. Scully. Sex. Scully.
She takes him in with a gasp, and his knees wobble when she immediately quivers around him.
“ Shhhhiiiiit ,” he hisses under his breath.
He isn’t prepared for this. It’s been a few days since he jerked off, and under normal circumstances he’d spend as much time as necessary to make sure she got off before he even entertained the idea of coming himself. But it’s Scully, and she’s naked, and her little tits are perfect, and her cunt feels like heaven, and he’s so jacked up on all this E.B.E. shit that he’s operating on a hair trigger as it is.
Baseball. Parking tickets. Budget meetings. Airport security. He imagines something banal with each thrust, trying not to notice the slick sounds of just how wet she is.
It’s not working. Her hips jump up off the table as she slams herself into him, holding steady with one hand on the back of his neck and the other planted on the tabletop. They hold their faces close together, not quite kissing but not giving enough distance that they might meet eyes and realize how stupid this is. Mulder closes his eyes to block out the visual input of her tight pink nipples bouncing on every thrust and holds on for dear life, determined not to make this both a mistake and a disappointment.
“Oh god,” Scully shouts just before she clamps down on him.
Stars burst behind his eyes and he quickly goes from on the edge to careening over it, coming so hard he can barely stay standing. Scully throbs powerfully around him, moaning beautifully in his ear while her cunt strokes every last drop of cum out of him. By the time they’re both finished, she’s on her back and he’s draped over her, listening to her heart slow and wondering what the hell will happen now.
“There’s a roll of paper towels on the counter there,” Scully says, pointing just over his shoulder.
Mulder slowly stands and pulls out of her, and they both politely avert their eyes while he grabs the roll of towels and rips one off before handing it to her. After pulling his pants back up, he quickly retrieves her clothes from the various places they landed and turns his back while she dresses. The manila envelope is now sporting a wet spot in the shape of a wide “V,” which he carefully wipes away. Only then does it occur to him that they didn’t use a condom.
“I’m on birth control,” Scully says, as though reading his thoughts. He turns and looks at her just as she’s tucking her shirt back into her slacks, offering her an awkward smile that she returns.
“That’s reassuring,” he says.
He taps the edge of the damp envelope against his palm, trying to think of something to say that won’t come across as flip or crude.
“I’m sorry,” Scully begins, giving him only quick glances. “That was very unprofessional.”
Mulder laughs, and she looks at him sharply with a mildly bemused expression.
“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “Pretty sure it was a mutually unprofessional indiscretion. Takes two to tango, as they say.”
Scully smiles bashfully. “Right,” she says with a nod.
“We got a bit carried away. Happens,” he offers, and he sees her relax.
“Shouldn’t happen again, though,” she says, and he detects a hint of a questioning inflection.
“Right,” he agrees. “Well, I better get going,” he says as he moves towards the door. “Need to see a man about having a photograph analyzed.”
Scully’s expression of surprise quickly gives way to amusement.
“So that’s all it took to convince you, then,” she observes, clearly mildly embarrassed by her own joke.
“I am but a man,” he teases back, delighted by her genuine smile. “We’re um…we’re good?” he asks.
She meets his eye and nods. “Yup,” she says, seeming confident that they can move past this, if not still a bit chagrined that it happened in the first place.
“See you in the morning,” he says as she opens the door to let him out. He takes one step beyond the threshold, but then turns back and leans down to bring his lips to her ear. “I think it’s remotely plausible that somebody thinks you’re hot,” he whispers, then presses a kiss to her cheek before he turns and leaves.
Rated X / 649 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic
They’re both hopped up on adrenaline and raw from the aftereffects of an influx of cortisol.
That’s how they’ll explain this away later, when their faces are red with embarrassment rather than exertion. When they agree to forget about things that they couldn’t possibly forget if they tried. It was a mistake, a slip up. They weren’t thinking clearly—he due to grief and guilt, she due to the shock of feeling a bullet strike just above her heart and walking away unscathed. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did.
It shouldn’t be happening, but it is. The developing bruise on Scully’s chest is angry red and steadily deepening plum. A dense knot near her sternum radiates up towards her neck and down onto the lily white flesh of her breast, and Mulder forces himself to look at it as he fucks her. Forces himself to see what he does to people he cares about. Forces himself to consider what would have happened if Burnett had aimed just a few inches higher.
He’s a fuck up, that’s undeniable, but he won’t be like his father. He won’t walk away from his mistakes without so much as a glance back. He won’t refuse to be accountable for the impact his decisions have on others. He looks at Scully’s bruise, and he feels the hot, tight, slip of her cunt, and he hates himself for asking her to take that risk, but he won’t look away.
“Hey,” she says, touching the side of his face to draw his attention.
Her pupils have eclipsed the icy blue of her eyes, making them foreign to him, so he looks at her mouth instead.
“I’m okay,” her pink, kiss-swollen lips tell him, and he wants to believe her.
She pulls him closer and he buries his face in her neck. Her fingers rake through his hair, and she feels so, so good, but he can’t stop thinking about how it all could have been different. Steve Wallenberg, Reggie, Scully. Lives lost or put at risk because of him. And somehow at the end of it he finds himself in bed with a beautiful woman, something he unequivocally does not deserve.
Suddenly she sucks in an enormous breath and he feels her quaking around him, teetering near the edge of inevitability. He’s gotten so many things wrong, but he can get this right. He can make this the best mistake she’s ever made.
He pulls away a little, resting his forehead against hers, then grabs the back of her thigh and hitches her leg up against his side. Her mouth falls open and he feels a surge of confidence and determination. He rocks steadily against her in deep, liquid strokes, teasing her higher and higher as her cunt hangs on for dear life. His eyes fall to her bruise again, but then her hands are on his face, and her open mouth is pressed against his lips, and she’s whimpering and throbbing and coming, and his mind goes blank. He can’t think about Wallenberg and Reggie, can’t think about Scully’s bruise and how close he came to losing her. All he can think about is the tight squeeze of her cunt and the press of her breasts against his skin, and even though he’d planned to deny himself he’s coming too, right inside her, and it’s the quietest his brain has been in years.
She doesn’t push him away when the height of it has passed over them, when his brain comes back online and the realization starts to sink in. She lets him lay there with his spent cock nestled in her heat and drags her fingernails up and down over his back for what feels like a very long time.
“I’m okay, Mulder,” she says again, apropos of nothing, and he feels tears sting his eyes.
Dropped Call is SO HOT! We need four though, you have to let him eat her out irl now. Right? Right?!?
Dropped Call, Chapter 4
Rated X / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic
Mulder’s cell phone is already pressed to his ear when he emerges into a parking lot through clattering double doors. He tips his face up towards the hazy midafternoon sun as he listens to the phone ring, waiting to be sure she answers.
“Hello?”
He smiles and steps off the curb.
“Hey, stranger. It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Hi,” she says brightly. “I’m surprised to hear from you.”
Mulder moves the phone to his other ear while he digs around his pocket for his car keys.
“I know,” he says. “I probably shouldn’t be calling you.”
“Then why are you?” she asks.
He slumps into the driver's seat, legs still hanging out the open door, and heaves a sigh.
“To be frank, I find you irresistible,” he says, and is rewarded with a surprised laugh.
“You’re going to get yourself in trouble,” she warns him.
“Probably,” he says, folding his legs into the car and pulling the door closed. “But that sounds like future me’s problem.”
She laughs again, which makes him smile.
“So what have you been up to?” she asks.
He starts the engine and buckles his seatbelt, then quickly turns the stereo down when Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing starts blasting from the speakers.
“Attending the conference from hell, regrettably. Willing time to pass. Fantasizing.”
There’s a brief pause.
“About what?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he teases.
“I asked the question, so yes, I would,” she retorts, just a little bit tartly.
He’s grinning like an idiot. His cheeks actually ache from all the smiling he’s been doing as of late, which is something he hasn’t experienced since he was a teenager.
“Do you remember the fantasy I told you about that takes place in my office? There’s a desk involved,” he says, shifting in his seat when his cock stirs.
There’s a pause that is decidedly not brief.
“The one involving your partner?” she clarifies.
“They all involve my partner,” he says, his voice growing husky as his arousal heightens.
“Hm,” she says, another pause. “Remind me of the details?”
Mulder flicks on his turn signal and exits the freeway.
“I don’t want to be too graphic…” he says, his heart pounding in his cock.
“Why?”
“I don’t want to offend you.”
“It didn’t offend me before, I don’t see why it would now,” she says breathily.
He swallows.
“This fantasy in particular is the one where I, uh, I go down on her on top of my desk.”
“Ah,” she says. “Sounds familiar.”
He pulls up in front of Scully’s apartment building and cuts the engine. He sees her car a little ways down the block, but he already knows she’s at home today, despite the fact that it’s the middle of the week. He walks slowly down the sidewalk with his free hand in his pocket, in no rush to get to her front door.
“I’ve been thinking about that one a lot the last few days,” he admits.
“Have you?”
“I have. I’ve been thinking about making it a reality,” he says nervously. “What are your thoughts?”
“What are my thoughts?” she repeats.
“Yeah, I mean…do you think she’d like that?”
She doesn’t answer for so long that he stops walking.
“Does she seem like the kind of person who would like that?” she finally asks in a tone he finds difficult to interpret.
“I guess I don’t know,” he admits, slightly deflated.
He starts walking again, slowly meandering up the stairs to the second floor rather than taking them two at a time like he normally would.
“That’s just—” she starts, then pauses to gather her thoughts. “I mean it’s a pretty big leap, Mulder. I don’t want to dismiss it outright, but at work? That’s pretty brazen, even for you.”
He laughs and leaps over the last few steps, then walks four paces to her door.
“Oh, are you Scully now?” he teases, and he can practically hear her roll her eyes.
“You’re outside my door again, aren’t you?” she asks dryly, and he lifts his arm to knock.
She appears before him dressed in a white silk robe, her hair tied half up in a messy bun right on top of her head, and while she’s trying to look annoyed, he can tell that she’s happy to see him.
“I missed you,” he says, flipping his cell phone closed and scooping her up by the waist.
She lets out a little girlish squeal and wraps her arms around his neck, then kisses him too many times to count.
“I’ve been gone four days, Mulder,” she says quietly against his lips, then kisses him again.
“Worst four days of my life,” he tells her, walking them slowly towards the table.
He sets her down on top of it and takes her face in his hands, peppering her with kisses and humming with satisfaction. When he finally brings himself to pull away, he immediately hooks one finger behind the tie of her robe and wags his eyebrows at her.
“In the office? Really?” she says, though she’s already unbuckling his belt.
“Allow me to clarify,” he says as he tugs the tie loose and pushes the robe off her shoulders.
At the sight of her breasts and her puckered raspberry nipples, he momentarily forgets what he was going to say.
“Was there more to that?” she asks coyly, slipping one hand under his boxers and running her palm over his erection.
“Um,” he stutters, his hips involuntarily canting towards her. “Oh, um, yeah…”
She’s managed to get her fingers around his shaft and she’s slowly pumping her hand up and down, much to his distraction.
“Must not be important,” she says, pulling her robe the rest of the way open with her free hand.
She parts her legs that much wider, and when he sees the pink slash of her cunt between them, he remembers. He pulls her hand free of his pants and she gives him a mildly offended look, but when he gets down on his knees her eyes widen.
“The venue is impertinent,” he explains as he runs his palms over the insides of her thighs, pushing them open wider. “I just want to eat your pussy.”
She makes a little surprised sound, but gives absolutely no indication that she objects. When he leans forward and covers her slick lips with his mouth, she leans back and braces her arms against the table top.
She’s completely quiet, beyond her heavy breathing, but when he gently sucks on her clit he feels her pulse against his tongue. He concludes that she’d been preparing to take a bath, because she doesn’t taste like soap, thankfully. She tastes remarkably like her, like the inside of her mouth and the smell of her skin, like Scully in her purest form. He slips his tongue inside her and buries his nose in her cunt, breathing her in deep.
“Oh,” she breathes out, hardly a word, and he glances up at her face.
Her eyes are squeezed shut tight, her lip pinned between her teeth, and if not for the fact that he has high hopes of fucking her after this, he might get his cock out right now and fulfill that detail of his fantasy.
Instead he grips the outsides of her thighs, pulling her even more firmly against his face, and her hips lift off the table.
“Oh god,” she says, this time more audibly.
She’s ungodly wet, smeared all over his cheeks and chin. He wonders if she’d be willing to sit on his face next time. He runs the flat of his tongue up and down from her clit to her opening and back over and over, and he feels her muscles tense under his hands.
He looks up again and sees that she’s watching him with a completely agonized look on her face, like she’s about to cry. Mulder groans and applies himself fully, slipping two fingers inside her and lapping rhythmically at her clit. He senses her rising higher and higher, feels it in her body, hears it in her voice, tastes it in the syrupy slick of her. Her entire cunt seizes and he hears her breath catch, and he repeats the motion over and over, not changing a single thing.
“I’m coming,” she whines, and he feels her fingernails dig into the back of his head as she grabs ahold of him.
She comes beautifully right on his tongue, squeezing his fingers desperately and whimpering in a rising and falling crescendo in time with each hearty pulse. He slows as she does, but doesn’t stop until she sighs and removes her hand from his head.
He stands up and wipes one hand over the bottom of his face, and she averts her eyes bashfully, though her legs are still spread wide.
“I hope that lived up to your expectations,” she says shyly, reaching for him.
He watches her face while she pushes his slacks off his hips and smiles at the sight of his stiff cock swinging free.
“Allow me to clarify something else, then,” he says tightly as she strokes him. “Every single bit of this has wildly exceeded my expectations.”
She gently tugs on his cock to encourage him closer, simultaneously scooting to the very edge of the table. She brushes the head of him over her clit and they both groan. It takes a bit of maneuvering to get the angle right, but when he slides into her it’s like coming home.
She takes his face in her hands, kissing him as he draws his hips back.
Rated X / 4743 words / posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic
She thinks of it like a little toggle in her brain, like a switch. Or maybe more like a curtain that she can open and close at will. It’s something she developed as a teen, when her desire to remain pure of mind and body was in direct conflict with her desire to imagine what it might be like if Tommy Warner felt her up under her school uniform. Saturday night she’d stay up late discreetly discovering the hidden pleasure points between her legs, and then on Sunday morning she would simply flip the switch and go to Mass, her indiscretion so completely obscured behind her mental curtain that she felt no connection to Father Malone’s sermon on sins of the flesh.
Over the years, she’s found many uses for this mental trick. In school, in jobs, in relationships, she avoids being overwhelmed by her own emotions by simply setting them aside, behind the curtain, and pretending as though they don’t exist. It doesn’t always work, but she’s found that the more intense the emotion is or the higher the stakes are, the more effectively she can ignore it, at least until she’s alone. In a psychology course at UMD she learned that the term for this strategy is compartmentalization, and that when done to excess it can become maladaptive. Rather than examine whether her own compartmentalization was doing her more harm than good, she stuck that behind the curtain, too.
This whole bizarre situation with Mulder is taking up an increasingly large amount of space behind the curtain. So much space that she worries it could become uncontainable, that it could all burst through some Tuesday afternoon and ruin everything. She’s had to pull back on their friendship out of fear that the dam won’t hold, and the dichotomy of it all makes her feel like a stranger in her own life. She powers through each workday, counting down the hours until she can go home and stop using all her mental energy to hold the curtain closed. When she walks through her apartment door it hits her like a sneaker wave, and she spends the rest of the evening reading trashy romance novels, masturbating, or deep cleaning something just to keep herself distracted.
The worst part of it is that it’s just so stupid. She knows that they both want the same thing, knows it with absolute certainty, and yet she’s too cowardly to let it happen. She can cross all kinds of boundaries with a phone line between them, but the second his physical form is proximal to hers, the curtain swings shut and her walls go up, and she truly doesn’t know how to stop it from happening. As it turns out, defense mechanisms aren’t entirely voluntary.
It’s Friday, a week or so since their last sordid phone call, and Mulder is wearing his charcoal suit. He’s being excessively charming and she can’t stop smiling at him, despite her very best efforts not to. Not that she doesn’t want to smile and laugh with him, she very much does, but when he meets her eye and smiles at her like that, and she feels herself smiling back, the curtain strains against the weight of everything behind it and she begins to panic.
“What are you up to this weekend?” he asks when she starts to pack up her things a few minutes before five.
“Not much,” she says, not looking at him. “Grocery shopping. Maybe Mass with my mother.”
“Would it be okay if I gave you a call?”
She freezes. Mulder calls her all the time, near daily, and he’s never asked for permission to do so. The curtain bulges, threatening to split open, and she clears her throat.
“Sure, that’s fine,” she says, her eyes still downcast.
“Tonight?” His voice is so hopeful, and it makes her feel like shit.
“Okay.”
She puts on her coat and slings her bag over her shoulder. Before leaving, she forces herself to look at him.
“Have a good weekend,” she says with a polite little smile.
Mulder’s eyes narrow in that way that means he’s psychoanalyzing her, his head tilted increments to the side.
“Likewise,” he says, his tone unreadable.
She escapes into the hallway, holding the curtain closed with both hands.
Once inside her apartment, the weight of anticipation sits heavy in her pelvis and her ears tingle with the effort of listening for the phone. She changes into comfortable clothes and conveniently forgoes panties, barely registering the fact that she’s doing so to give herself easy access.
He could call at any time. It could be in five minutes, or five hours. When 8:00 pm comes and goes she entertains the idea of just calling him instead, but she doesn’t have any room for that behind the curtain so she decides to wait. Wait. Wait. Wait.
He finally calls at 8:57.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” he says brightly. “Long time no talk.”
Is he being facetious since they just saw each other a few hours ago, or is he referring to the last time she played the role of Electra?
“It’s good to hear your voice,” she says, then makes a face at herself. Electra is supposed to be sexy, not sweet.
“Ditto. What are you up to?”
She’s standing in the middle of her living room, piqued and nervous, but that’s probably not what he’s hoping to hear.
“I’m…talking to you,” she says. “What are you doing?”
“Well,” he says with a sigh, “I have a bit of a conundrum.”
“Oh?” Scully paces slowly around her couch and coffee table. Where is he going to take this?
“I was hoping you could help me out,” he says.
“Okay. What’s the conundrum?”
“Well, it’s about my partner,” he says.
Scully sinks slowly down onto the couch.
“Okay.”
She hears Mulder swallow thickly.
“So I think,” he begins, “that she might be interested. That she might…share my feelings.”
Scully’s heart leaps and begins to pound against her ears.
“That’s…that’s good news, right?” she says, reminding herself that she is Electra right now.
“It is, absolutely. Phenomenal news,” he says emphatically.
“So what’s the conundrum?”
“I think she’s too afraid to take the next step. I know she is, actually,” he says. She can hear the way the sunflower seeds in his mouth change the shape of his words, and she imagines him spending the hours leading up to this phone call munching on them and thinking about how to have this conversation. “And I think maybe she needs me to be the one to do that. But if I’m wrong, I run the risk of fucking things up between us.”
“That sounds difficult,” she says, her head spinning.
“So what should I do?” he asks.
Electra wants to answer the question, but Scully is frantically shoving things back behind the curtain, tugging at the edges in an attempt to keep it all hidden.
“I think you’re right,” she blurts out, closing her eyes. “I think she does need you to be the one.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“But should I wait?” he asks. “Maybe she’s not ready.”
“I imagine she’s as ready now as she’ll ever be,” she says, eyes still closed. The curtain is tearing right down the middle, the contents spilling out, and her stomach lurches.
“Okay,” he says. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”
Scully sits up, opening her eyes. Was that it?
“No problem.”
“Hey, can I call you right back?” Mulder says, his tone much lighter.
“Sure, okay.”
Her heart pounds painfully hard in the roughly thirty seconds that she waits for him to call back. Maybe he’s going to call Scully this time. Maybe he’s going to put it all out in the open and force her hand. Even though it’s what she just told him he should do, she’s so terrified that she considers not answering.
“Hello?”
“Hey, me again, sorry about that,” he says.
So…she’s still Electra?
“It’s fine,” she says, then waits for him to speak.
“I was hoping we could try something different,” he says. “Bit of a role reversal.”
“Um, okay,” she says, curious but worried. “What did you have in mind?
“I’ve told you about my fantasies.” A pause. “I’d like to hear about yours.” Her entire nervous system short circuits, and she briefly loses touch with reality. “Electra?”
“Yeah,” she sputters, shifting around on the couch uncomfortably. “I’m here. Is that…allowed?”
Mulder laughs nervously.
“The arrangement is that I pay you to talk to me. There aren’t really rules beyond that.”
“Oh.” Her mind is going a million miles an hour trying to figure out how to sidestep this. “That’s, um…that’s quite private, though.”
“True. But I’d argue that you’ve been given unfettered access to my private thoughts, so it’s an equal exchange,” he reasons.
She can tell that he won’t push much further. He knows her too well to do that. But he does have a point, and she still harbors some guilt for not stopping him when he shared his fantasy with her in that first phone call.
“Yeah, that’s true,” she says. “What do you want to know?”
She senses his excitement, and she’s so conflicted between feeling excited herself and feeling terrified. There will be no coming back from this. The curtain is practically in tatters.
“I would be ecstatic to hear literally anything you’re willing to share,” he says carefully, tempering his eagerness.
Scully leafs through her mental file of fantasies, the ones she’s prone to revisit. Her cheeks get hot as she considers the idea of sharing any of them with Mulder, in no small part because he stars in every single one of them. But right now he’s talking to Electra, and Electra would be fantasizing about someone else. She finds an intact corner of the curtain and draws it up, separating herself from the situation.
“We’re in my kitchen,” she says, jumping right into it. “We’ve just had dinner or something and we’re cleaning up. He’s helping me with the dishes.”
“Who is he?” Mulder interrupts.
“He’s…a friend.”
“A close friend?”
“Yes. A best friend.” She can’t leave him to wonder if she’s talking about him. That feels too cruel. “A coworker,” she adds.
“What does he look like?”
Scully lays back on the couch, propping her head on the armrest. She pictures Mulder earlier that day at work in his charcoal suit, smiling at her over his desk.
“Tall. Dark features. Handsome.”
“You think so?”
She smiles and allows this brief break in their role play.
“I do. Very much.”
“So you’re in the kitchen,” he prompts her.
“We’re in the kitchen and we’re kind of joking around, laughing. He’s teasing me, but not in an unkind way. And there’s a moment where he’s looking at me and smiling, and something passes between us. Moments like that happen all the time, but I always look away.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m afraid,” she admits.
“Of what?”
She takes a moment to consider the question. As conflicted as she is when it comes to her relationship with Mulder, she’s never allowed herself to think too deeply about what exactly she’s conflicted about.
“Of being hurt, I guess. Of being vulnerable.”
“You think he’d hurt you?” he asks, maybe a bit wounded.
“Not intentionally,” she says. “But I think it could easily happen.”
She senses that he’d like to explore this line of thought, but that would completely derail the fantasy. She hears a beeping sound and then a soft thud. Maybe the microwave. Leave it to Mulder to get hungry at a time like this.
“I’m sure he’d do everything possible to avoid that,” he says somberly. “So do you look away?”
“No,” she says, jumping back to the kitchen in her mind. “I don’t look away this time, and it becomes…intense. He steps closer and I realize he’s going to kiss me.”
“And you want him to?”
“Yes, very much. He kisses me and it’s sweet at first, but quickly becomes more…intense. Sorry, I can’t think of a different word to use.”
“Intense is a good word,” he says, encouraging her.
His connection is a bit muffled, like the phone isn’t quite lined up correctly to his mouth. She wonders if he’s in bed, and what he’s doing.
“He picks me up and puts me on the counter, which makes things much easier because he’s quite a bit taller than me. And we just kiss for a while. I guess…I guess more accurately it would be making out.”
“Do you think he’s a good kisser?”
“Yes,” she answers immediately.
“You’ve given this thought?”
“Yes,” she says again.
“And then what?”
Scully swallows. This is where things go from PG-13 to explicit.
“And then he pulls me down off the counter so I’m standing on the floor, and he turns me around.” Mulder is silent on the other end of the line. All she hears is a mechanical hum. “And he, um, he pulls my pants and underwear down. And then he sort of pushes me forward so I’m leaning over the counter.”
Her heart simply cannot take this. It’s been in overdrive so long she’s starting to sweat, and she’s lying completely still on the couch.
“What does he do?” Mulder finally asks.
“I think he’s going to…to take me from behind, but he doesn’t,” she says, her voice shaking. “He kneels on the floor behind me.”
“Tell me.” His voice is commanding, not pleading, and it’s effective.
“He, um, he eats me out from behind. He makes me orgasm that way,” she says.
She hears the rush of Mulder’s sharp inhale through the phone.
“Is that where it ends?” he asks.
She barely registers another set of beeps and another soft thud.
“No,” she continues. “After that he does take me from behind.”
“He fucks you?”
The sharpness of the word, from Mulder’s mouth, in reference to herself, makes her clit jump. Scully slides her free hand under the waist of her pants and swirls her middle finger around it languidly.
“Yes,” she breathes. “He fucks me.”
“Do you come again?”
“Yes.”
“What about him?”
“He comes inside me.”
“You want him to?”
“I do.”
“Are you touching yourself?” he asks, his voice a near whisper.
“Yes,” she whispers back.
“Open the door,” he says.
“What?”
“Open the door.”
Her confusion gives way to horror as she recognizes the soft murmur of his voice in the hallway. She’s frozen in place, her hand down her pants and her widened eyes on her front door.
“Mulder, what are you doing?” she hisses, pulling her hand out of her pants as she slips down to the floor and attempts to hide behind the couch.
“Please let me in,” he implores, and she hears his voice in stereo.
“I can’t,” she whimpers.
It feels true. She feels physically incapable of walking to the door and allowing him to look at her after what she just told him.
“Then I’m going to let myself in,” he says.
He waits a beat to see if she’ll object, but she says nothing. She hears the scrape of his key in the lock and then the pop of the deadbolt. The door opens and she slowly stands up from behind the couch, the phone still pressed to her ear.
He’s standing in her entryway, his cell phone in one hand and his keys in the other, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. He catches her eye and holds it for a beat, and she pulls the phone away from her ear, breaking eye contact to end the call. And then she just stands there, shell-shocked, staring at the phone in her hands.
She hears him slip off his shoes and pad across the room towards her. There’s nowhere for her to hide, physically or emotionally. The curtain is toast, and her fingers are coated in her own arousal, and Mulder is in her living room with full knowledge of what she wishes he would do to her. This is either the best or the worst moment of her adult life. She’s afraid to find out which.
He takes the phone from her and sets it on the coffee table. Next she feels his hands on her jaw, forcing her to look up at him. She complies reluctantly, and a few seconds tick by as the familiar intensity builds. She sees in his face how much he wants this, wants her, and it reaches that point she can’t bear where she always looks away. Just when she can’t take it any longer, when she’s about to avert her eyes to the fireplace, he kisses her.
At first it’s sweet. He presses his soft lips against hers again and again, a series of firm but chaste kisses that begin to devolve when she opens her mouth and he runs his tongue across the inside of her upper lip. He’s bent down and she’s on the tips of her toes, and it feels like she just can’t get close enough.
She squeals with surprise when her feet fly out from beneath her and Mulder tosses her down on the couch, quickly covering her body with his own. Their height difference compensated for, he kisses her deeply and intensely, and he is every bit as skilled at kissing as she imagined him to be. His hips are tucked between her open legs, and the more they kiss the smaller the gap between their bodies grows until she feels the hard ridge of his erection press against her clit. She whimpers into his open mouth, and he pulls back a little to look at her.
“Do you want this?” he asks breathlessly, and she nods. “You’ll tell me if you want me to stop?” She nods again.
He shifts his body to the side to free up one of his hands, then resumes kissing her. His hand drifts up under her shirt, and she feels like she could come just from the knowledge that he’s going to touch her, that this is happening. He kneads her breast, gently pinches her nipple, all the while grinding against her hip. It feels so deliciously forbidden, like they’re two teenagers necking in a basement, until his hand slides down her belly and under the waist of her pants.
He pauses, giving her time to adjust or object. She just keeps kissing him as his fingers comb through her pubic hair and then trace the seam of one leg, and then the other. She remembers his fantasy, and she shifts one of her legs to the side to let him know she’s ready. That she wants it.
“Jesus christ,” he mumbles against her mouth when his fingers slide down her slick lips.
His touch, his words, his presence, have her on the edge already.
“Mulder,” she breathes out. “I—”
He pushes a finger inside her and she gasps as her cunt squeezes it tightly.
“Oh, Scully,” he says, grinding against her with his face tucked into the crook of her neck. “You need this.”
She can’t stop it. She’s coming with hardly any warning, with hardly any effort on his part, and with such intensity that she stops breathing. Mulder whispers things to her that she will recall later and blush, gently fucking her with his fingers all the while. It is absolute euphoria, and she’s so high on dopamine that she can’t bother feeling embarrassed for being so easy.
Mulder slips his hand out of her pants and she turns her body so that they are face to face, somehow both wedged onto her tiny couch. She runs her fingers through his hair and then cradles his jaw, and he watches her face with awe.
“That was unexpected,” she says quietly, and a grin breaks out over his face. “Thanks for coming over,” she adds, averting her eyes to his mouth.
His smile suddenly falls. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, and she lifts her eyes back to his.
“I know,” she says, and then she kisses him.
The kissing goes on for a delightfully long while, and she finds that she very much enjoys the way that Mulder kisses. At the realization that she has the long awaited opportunity to get her hands on the everpresent bulge in his pants, she runs her palm firmly over the front of his jeans, and he groans.
“You don’t have to do that,” he says, extremely unconvincingly.
“What if I want to?” she asks.
She feels him lurch under her palm.
“Then I’d say we probably need to take this party to the bedroom,” he says tightly.
They scramble off the couch, and he walks her backwards into her bedroom as he works her shirt off over her head. He removes his shirt as well, and they stand at the foot of her bed, his fingers tucked under the waist of her pants. A lamp in the living room is still on, but the bedroom is dark, giving them enough light to see without feeling exposed.
“I can’t help but notice that you’re not wearing panties,” he says, and she feels herself blushing.
“They just get in the way,” she admits shyly, and he makes a little sound that’s somewhere between a whine and a moan.
“Can I take these off?” he asks, and she nods.
She feels his eyes on her, but he’s very respectful. He doesn’t stand back to gawk at her or say anything lewd, he just kisses her face, the tops of her shoulders, anything he can reach without sitting down. Before he does so for the sake of getting his mouth on her breasts, she pops the button on his fly and he sucks in a breath.
“Easy, loaded weapon,” he quips.
“I’d be a hypocrite to judge you,” she points out.
“That’s, uh, not quite the same,” he says as she lowers his fly and slips her fingers under his boxers at his hips. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”
She pushes his jeans and boxers halfway down his thighs and then wraps her hand around his cock. Her eyebrows shoot up, and that’s before she runs her palm over the length of him.
“You know that I hate to inflate your ego,” she says, sliding her hand down to cup his balls, “but color me impressed.”
He chuckles and it dissolves into a groan. He sits heavily on the end of the bed, tugging her down with him, and she climbs into his lap. His cock brushes against her clit and she sucks in a shuddering breath.
“What do you want?” he asks, steadying her with his hands on her naked hips while he works his feet the rest of the way out of his jeans.
“...I don’t know,” she says, which is a lie.
“You don’t know, or you don’t want to say?” he asks, reading her mind as always.
She reaches between them and takes hold of his cock.
“I want this,” she whispers, feeling like she might burst into flames.
They start kissing again and she’s still stroking him, brushing him over her clit. She pushes up onto her knees a little and drags the head down over her lips and across her opening. She’s obscenely wet and Mulder is making all kinds of greedy, hungry noises: groaning and humming, grabbing at her ass and sucking on her breasts. He’s right there, and they both want this, and when she presses the head of him against her cunt and he starts to sink in, the energy in the room shifts.
“Oh, shhhhhhhhhhit,” he groans, his breathing suddenly ragged.
She feels proud, and sexy, and powerful as he stretches her open inch by inch. It hurts a little, but not near enough for her to even consider stopping. They’re both panting like they’ve exerted themselves and they’re only just getting started.
She lifts her hips again and sinks back down before she’s even managed to take him in all the way; she just can’t wait any longer. He has one hand on her hip, the other braced against the mattress behind him to keep them from toppling over, and his hips are eagerly flexing up to meet her. Each time she lowers herself back down she takes in a bit more of his length, until they are pressed tightly together and she feels the poke of his pubic hair against her swollen lips.
She stills and immediately he’s kissing her, sucking at her lips and humming noisily. She loves the sounds he’s making and how eager he is, how openly enthusiastic. God, she wants to make him come. Wants to feel him throbbing inside her, running out of her.
She starts to shift her hips forward and back, slipping him tightly in and out and running his shaft across her clit on each downstroke.
“Fuck,” he says under his breath. “You feel…incredible.”
His compliment goes straight to her cunt and she flutters around him, making him moan.
“I’m gonna come,” she whispers shyly against his mouth.
“Shit, you’re gonna make me come,” he says harshly, like this is bad news.
But the idea of him coming inside her is enough to send her over the edge. She digs her fingernails into the back of his neck and presses her forehead against his as she clamps down on him, her mouth open and her eyes squeezed shut.
“Oh my god,” she wails as a tsunami of pleasure crashes over her, sweeping her out to sea.
Mulder lets loose a stream of obscenities and she feels a hot rush deep in her belly. She rides him roughly as it just keeps coming and coming, and he falls backwards onto the bed, taking her down with him. He keeps thrusting up into her from below, and the wet slosh of both of them is almost embarrassing, had she the faculties for embarrassment. He finally becomes too soft to continue thrusting and there is a second hot rush when he slips out of her.
She collapses against him, her cheek pressed to his sweat-damp chest, and waits for the inevitable surge of shame and regret, even though she knows it’s not shameful and she certainly doesn’t regret it. Without warning, Mulder wraps his arms around her and rolls her to the side, which does nothing to contain the mess between her legs. He hovers over her, searching her face, knowing her well enough to predict that she’ll struggle in the immediate aftermath.
“You okay?” he asks, trailing the back of his knuckle across her cheek.
She gives him a weak smile and nods, though tears are pooling in her eyes. She’s not even sure why.
“Please don’t take my demeanor as an indication of anything,” she says, touching his waist. “It’s not about you, I just…this is difficult for me.”
“I know,” he says. “Take as much time as you need.”
She nods, waiting for the tightness in her throat to subside before she tries to speak again.
“I’m sure Electa doesn’t require this much emotional maintenance,” she jokes, swiping a finger under her eye to clear a way a tear before it has a chance to fall.
Mulder smiles at her and sighs.
“I haven’t called her in weeks, just so you know,” he says. “And I don’t plan to.”
“You can call whoever you want, Mulder, I have no right to an opinion on it,” she says quickly, panicking at the idea that he feels beholden to her.
He rests his head on her chest just above her breast and curls up around her, which feels a bit backwards but also feels very nice. She strokes his hair and he splays his hand out over the scar on her belly, and they are quiet for a beat.
“I’d like you to have a right to an opinion on it,” he says suddenly, quietly, and it takes her a moment to follow.
“...You would?”
“Doesn’t have to be right away, but yes.”
“Okay,” she says.
He doesn’t ask what that okay means, which she’s grateful for because she doesn’t really know. And even though she’s not brave enough to ask him to stay over, he seems to know that she wants him to, and he stays. She has absolutely no idea what she’s doing, but she trusts that they’ll figure it out together, like they always do.
Rated X / 1401 words / posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic
“Can I, please?” he asks, looking up at her from between her legs.
He pins the hem of her panties between his teeth and tugs, then brushes his nose across her clit over the cotton gusset, making her squirm.
“Come here,” she says, reaching for him. Encouraging him to crawl back up the bed.
He reluctantly does so, nestling his hips between her thighs and grinding against her while they kiss.
“I don’t want to pressure you,” he says quietly, kissing a trail from her jaw to her ear. “But is there a reason you don’t want me to?”
It’s still new. Not so new that she feels bashful about their nakedness, but new enough that she’s been able to artfully distract him from his attempts to get his mouth on her cunt without actually addressing it.
“I’m just not a big fan,” she says, turning her head to the side to give him better access.
“I promise I’ll do a good job,” he says, his breath hot and damp against her ear.
He makes it sound so appealing she almost wants to say yes.
“It’s not that,” she says. “It’s just…too intense. So much so that it’s not enjoyable.”
“Hm,” he hums. “You’re so sensitive.”
That much he’s already learned. She loves him inside her—his fingers, his cock. But direct pressure on her clit is almost unbearable.
They kiss, and play. The indirect brush of his cock over her panties is delicious, as is the attention he lavishes on her breasts. He makes his way back to her ear, scraping his teeth over the lobe tenderly.
“What if I don’t touch your clit?” he asks, which confuses her.
“Sounds perfect,” she says lightly, as this is generally what she has asked him to do (or not do).
Suddenly he’s kneeling between her open legs on the mattress, tugging her panties off her hips, but it’s only when he gets down on his belly that she understands.
“Mulder, no,” she says, sitting up to touch his chin. “I didn’t mean that.”
He pushes his bottom lip out into a full on pout.
“Can I please try? If it’s too much, just tell me and I’ll stop,” he says.
Scully flops back onto the bed.
“Proceed,” she says, not expecting much.
Her distaste for cunnilingus is not typically an issue. Most men she dated in the past were either indifferent to or grateful for her request that they skip it, but not Mulder. She should have guessed that someone so orally fixated would have a proclivity towards eating pussy, but if he needs to prove it out before accepting that it’s just not on the table, then so be it.
She lets her mind wander while he dapples the inside of one thigh with kisses, and then the other. She thinks about a particularly memorable exchange they had a few nights ago wherein she sat up while he was fucking her from behind. With her legs spread over his lap, his arms wrapped around her waist to hold her steady, and his cock pistoning into her at a punishing clip, it was some of the most primal, animalistic sex she’s ever had.
Mulder continues pressing his lips against her skin in a soft constellation: the crease of her leg, then her hip bone, then the underside of her ass cheek. It’s nice, but she still predicts that he will become overzealous and she’ll need to tap out. She feels the wet of his tongue flash just alongside her opening and and her clit stirs, interested. She pulls in a breath and tries to relax rather than tensing up in anticipation of being overstimulated.
The sex has been surprisingly good. Not that she didn’t think it would be good, but she couldn’t have predicted it would be this good because she’s never had sex like this before. She thought she’d had great sex in the past, and would have defended that fact vehemently, until Mulder practically split her in two and made her come so hard she almost cried. Now she’s left to wonder if it’s possible that it could get even better.
His kisses are growing increasingly wet, open-mouthed smooches accentuated by his tongue all around her vulva. She feels the brush of his cheek against her pussy lips, but never his mouth. The more he lavishes her with hot, wet kisses, the more her hips shift impatiently, wanting more. She’s afraid to tell him this, though, lest he make a beeline for her clit and ruin it. He’s doing such a good job not overwhelming her, and that care and consideration only enhances her experience.
God, he’s attentive. At first it made her feel embarrassed and greedy, but she was finally able to accept that he does it for his own enjoyment as much as hers. If he’s in the apartment when she showers, no matter his place or hers, she’s come to expect that he’ll sneak in and slip his hand between her legs under the guise of helping her wash. After making her come he steps out, his cock stiff and dripping wet, and leaves her to wash away the slickness between her thighs.
His nose nudges the side of her hood, just barely, and she gasps.
“Too much?” he asks, not lifting his head.
“No,” she answers truthfully. “That was okay.”
He continues his slow exploration of the terrain of her cunt, working around her clit like a reverse game of hot and cold. He moves closer and she tenses, so he backs off until her hips cant up towards his face. He laps at her opening and she shudders, letting out a breathy, “Oh.”
“Good?” he asks, sucking one of her labia between his lips.
“Yes,” she says, pleasantly surprised.
He kisses the skin between her pussy and her asshole and she startles a little, but it quickly dissolves into a moan when his wet tongue slides back up to her opening, dipping just inside. She reaches down and touches the back of his head in encouragement, and she feels the vibration of his groan in her pelvis.
His tongue moves up, gliding between her swollen lips, and she’s about to tell him not to go any further when he reverses the motion and heads back down. His tongue swirls, and swirls, and swirls around her opening, and she is panting and wriggling, unexpectedly desperate for him to put his mouth on her.
“Oh, please,” she finally whispers, and he suddenly stuffs his tongue inside her as far as he physically can, until his chin is pressed firmly against her asshole.
Her thighs clamp down over his ears and she involuntarily thrusts against his face. It feels unexpectedly amazing, and she’s so surprised by her own quickly approaching orgasm that she sits up on one elbow and looks down at him, somehow compelled to bear witness to this cardinal event. She has never had an orgasm essentially on someone’s face, and that someone is Mulder, and it’s overwhelming in a way that she couldn’t have predicted.
“I’m coming,” she announces, and his eyes flash up to hers.
Everything below the tops of his cheeks is buried in her cunt, but his eyes are on her face and she’s coming around his tongue, and it feels So. Fucking. Good. She can’t look anymore, so she collapses back onto the bed and grinds against him for as long as she can stand, until the pleasure starts to border on pain and she pushes his head away.
He crawls back up the bed with an unabashed shit-eating grin on his face, and she smirks at him mirthfully.
“You must be quite pleased with yourself,” she says as he wraps himself around her, his erection lying neglected against her hip.
“Are you not pleased with me?” he asks, and she hears the genuine request for validation behind his defensive snark.
“I am exceedingly pleased,” she says, raking her fingers through his hair. “I should think you’d know that, given your front row seat.”
He lifts his head and gives her a long look.
“Please tell me that wasn’t a one-time deal,” he says hopefully, and she smiles.
“I sure as hell hope not,” she says, and his eyes roll back in his head with a mouthed thank god.
He has his tongue in her cunt again thirty minutes later.
Rated X / 3700 words / posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic
They’re in Lakeland, Florida and it’s been pissing rain since they hit the tarmac in Tampa. Between the inability to keep his loafers dry, the fact that he forgot his glasses, and the lack of cable in his motel room, Mulder is in a seriously bad fucking mood. He even turned down dinner with Scully, something that is typically the highlight of his day on assignment, to spare her from his grouchiness. He always hates himself when he’s an asshole to her for no justifiable reason, and right now he doesn’t possess the capacity to regulate his emotions as effectively as he’d need to to avoid it.
At this point, he’s come to the conclusion that the phone call was some kind of hyper-realistic dream or fantasy. Given, the facts don’t totally line up in support of that theory, but it’s easier to operate under the belief that it never happened than it is to accept the idea that it did happen but will never be spoken of, much less acted on. Easier than accepting that he unwittingly divulged graphic details regarding his sexual fantasies about Scully to Scully herself, and she was so horrified that she can only cope by acting as though the phone call never took place at all.
But was she really horrified? His memory of the exact words spoken by each of them isn’t especially sharp, given that he thought he was speaking to Electra, but he’s pretty sure he remembers her asking him questions, goading him into sharing more. And he knows that he correctly recalls what she said about “enjoying other meals,” because by then he knew exactly what he’d done and who he was speaking to, and the high he experienced in light of her confession lasted well into the following day, right up until he knocked on her door with a paper bag containing tom kah gai in hand.
She hadn’t acted strangely, aside from the general lethargy caused by her cold, and that in itself struck him as strange. She ate her soup, smiled at him while he detailed the creative ways he’d wasted time that morning in her absence, and then yawned and said she was going to take a nap. It’s not that he was expecting her to bring up the phone call or kiss him goodbye or something, but he thought things would feel…different. He certainly felt different.
But weeks have passed, and she has more than fully recovered from her cold, yet there is nary a hint of increased sexual tension between the two of them. In fact, there’s been a distinct lack of their typical casual flirtations, almost like they’ve regressed. What conclusion can he come to other than she’s just not interested? She seems to want to pretend it never happened, and for lack of a better option he’s done the same.
He calls the front desk again, hoping that he’ll get someone other than the exceedingly unhelpful young man who offered apologies regarding the lack of cable, but no solutions. After speaking to the night shift manager at length, his options are to move to a room clear on the other side of the complex, or go without.
“Let me think about it and call you back,” he says, then slams the phone down on the receiver with more force than is necessary and flops onto the bed.
Within seconds the phone is ringing and he picks it back up, expecting to hear the night manager on the other end.
“Yeah?”
“Hey, it’s me.”
He can hear the ghost of her voice through the poorly insulated wall between their rooms, a murmuring, indecipherable vibration.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“I was going to ask if you wanted the rest of this pizza, but I kept getting a busy signal so it’s probably cold now,” she says.
“I’ll never understand your aversion to cold pizza,” he says.
She makes a noncommittal little noise, and then they are quiet for a beat.
“So who were you talking to?” she asks.
Her voice is a bit higher than normal, giving away her attempt to appear disinterested in the answer, and that, in turn, piques Mulder’s curiosity.
“Who do you think?” he replies, just to see what she’ll say.
Scully scoffs as though this confirms what she already suspected.
“Please send my regards to Electra,” she snarks. The reference to their previously unmentionable phone call sends a shock of adrenaline through him. He can’t think of anything to say, so he just doesn’t say anything. “What time do you want to head out tomorrow?” Scully says quickly, changing the subject, and he can nearly feel her embarrassment radiating through the wall.
“Nine?” he suggests, and she grunts her agreement. There’s another pregnant pause, and he decides to seize the opportunity. “I told Electra about what happened,” he says, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.
“Oh?” Scully says after a beat.
“Mmhmm,” Mulder replies, summoning courage. “She said you’re going to put her out of a job.”
Scully huffs an uncomfortable little laugh.
“I highly doubt that,” she says quietly.
They’ve never had an issue with awkward silences. As many hours as they spend in one another’s company, it’s just not possible to avoid lulls in conversation, and he’s long appreciated the fact that Scully doesn’t try to fill them with meaningless drivel. An unfortunate side effect of this is that on those occasions where they are intentionally avoiding a specific topic of conversation, the weight of those unfilled silences is practically unbearable.
He wants to ask her so many questions. Why didn't she tell him it was her? Was she disgusted by what he said? What did her cryptic comment about “enjoying other meals” really mean? Is this a door she never wants to open, or does she just need him to open it for her so they can both walk through?
“I’m sorry about that, by the way,” he blurts out, inexplicably compelled to keep them on this subject. “We’ve never talked about it, but I realize that it was probably really weird for you and…sorry.”
Part of him knows he’s fishing for information. If she accepts his apology, he can take that to mean that an apology was due. If she refutes the need for one, that will tell him something entirely different.
She doesn’t do either of those things.
“Well, I could have hung up,” she says, her tone inscrutable.
“But you didn’t,” he says, equally ambiguous.
“No,” she says.
The silence is so fucking heavy it makes him feel sick.
“Why is that?” he ventures. “Just out of curiosity.”
He hears her pull in a slow, deep breath and then expel it in a huff.
“I’m not sure,” she finally says. He can’t tell whether she’s obfuscating.
“Were you offended?”
“...No.”
“Surprised?”
“Very.”
“Was that surprise of the pleasant or unpleasant variety?” he asks, switching the handset from one ear to the other so he can wipe his sweaty palms on the bedspread.
He’s listening so intently that he hears both the wet sounds of her tongue moving around inside her mouth in search of words, as well as the creak of bed springs as she shifts uncomfortably on the mattress.
“I’m not sure how to answer that,” she says after a time.
What the fuck does that mean? He wonders. He could logically conclude that she was into it, between the not hanging up, the asking of questions, and the hesitance to outright say whether it bothered her. But this is Scully, and the risk of making an incorrect assumption is not one he is willing to take.
“How long have you been talking to her?” she asks, and at first he doesn’t understand the question. Talking to who?
“Oh, I was actually talking to the front desk,” he says, realizing that he never corrected her. “The cable in my room is out.”
“Oh,” she says. “So you didn’t really tell her about what happened?”
Her tone is strange and foreign to him. She sounds uncertain, insecure almost.
“I did, a few weeks ago.”
“Hm.”
“To answer your question, I’ve been talking to her for….I guess a little over a year now,” he says.
This would typically be an embarrassing thing to disclose, but her active participation in a phone call of the same nature makes him feel like she doesn’t really have a place to judge. He also finds her curiosity regarding Electra compelling, though he can’t really say why.
“Oh,” she says, sounding surprised. “That’s a long time. With one person, I mean.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
He can tell there’s something she’s not saying. Something she wants to ask him, or wants to know but is unwilling to ask. He has an overwhelming urge to tell her everything, to detail the ways that talking to Electra helps him cope with having to bury his feelings for Scully every weekday between the hours of 9-5, plus most weekends. He wants to tell her that it’s not just about sex, though it was the night he ended up with her on the line. That Electra knows exactly what Scully looks like, down to the little mole on her upper lip, and that she snorts if he manages to make her laugh hard enough. That for every time he’s jerked off while telling Electra what he wishes he could do with Scully physically, there were two phone calls where he kept his pants on and told her how tormented he is by his inability to get closer to her emotionally.
“It’s not always like that,” he says, opting for a less detailed disclosure. “Most of the time when I talk to her, we just talk.”
“About what?” she asks, and he immediately feels his face get hot.
“I feel like you already know the answer to that,” he says, equally mortified and irritated. It doesn’t seem fair for her to feign ignorance at this point.
Scully is quiet, but he knows her mind is racing. He can feel it, a frenetic crackle against the shell of his ear.
“I guess I do,” she says when he’s just about to ask if she’s still there. “I don’t want you to think…” she starts. He waits for her to find the right words. “I don’t want you to think I was offended or that I’m upset about what happened,” she says carefully. “I realize that it might seem like I am, so I just wanted you to know that I’m not.”
“Okay,” he says uncertainly. This is good news, in a way, but it’s also non-news.
“I also owe you an apology,” she continues. “It was inappropriate of me not to tell you as soon as I realized. I violated your privacy, and I’m very sorry for that.”
“No apology needed,” he says. A beat passes. This is ridiculous. “Can we just—Look, I know this is awkward, and I know you’re a private person, but can we just—”
“I don’t think I’m ready to do that,” she interrupts him, her voice urgent and a little afraid.
He takes a moment to absorb this.
“You’re not ready to talk about it,” he says, and she hums in confirmation. “But you’re….interested? Open to it? Eventually?”
“Eventually,” she repeats. “Not now.”
“Okay,” he says, satisfied that he understands the situation. “I can and will respect that.”
“Thank you.”
“See you at 9 tomorrow?”
“Yep.”
He hangs up the phone and folds his hands over his belly, staring at the dusty popcorn ceiling as he thinks back through it all. A little smile plays at the corners of his mouth. Eventually isn’t something he can necessarily look forward to, but it’s a hell of a lot better than never.
The phone rings, and reaches across the nightstand to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hi.”
Mulder’s eyebrows furrow. The voice is definitely female, but he can’t immediately place it
“Hi. Who’s this?”
The caller clears her throat.
“Uh, this is…it’s Electra,” she says.
A hot flush spreads out over his entire body, and there’s a slight ringing in his ears.
“Hi,” he says, sitting up. “How are you?”
“I’m well,” she says. “What are you doing?”
He hears the vibration of her voice from the other side of the wall, the cadence of it a millisecond ahead of what comes to his ear through the phone.
“I’m just relaxing,” he says. He suddenly doesn’t know how to behave. “I’m at a motel and there’s no cable in my room.”
“Oh no,” she says. “What are you going to do to entertain yourself?”
Her tone is awkward and unconfident, but he understands what she’s going for and plays along.
“I don’t know,” he says, swinging his feet over the side of the bed. “Any ideas?”
“Well,” she says, her voice just this side of shaky. “You could tell me about another one of your fantasies, if you want.”
There is a rush of blood to his lap that makes him momentarily lightheaded. She’s really doing this.
“Okay,” he says, but his mind goes blank. What is she hoping to hear? What if he says something she finds offensive? This is a lot harder when he knows it’s Scully he’s talking to. “Give me a second to think of something.”
“Last time we talked, you said you had other fantasies of the same nature,” she says hesitantly.
“I do,” he confirms. “I just…sorry, you just caught me off guard.”
“I can relate,” she says with just a hint of coyness, and that makes him relax a little.
He lays back down on the bed and closes his eyes. If he’s going to do this, he has to pretend it’s really Electra on the line.
“Okay,” he says. “Something that’s important to know for context is that she loves to take baths.”
“She?”
Mulder opens his eyes, taken out of the moment. He never has to specify with Electra; there’s only one “she” he’s ever referring to.
“My partner,” he says reluctantly.
“Oh,” she replies. “Okay, go ahead.”
Mulder closes his eyes again and lets the image of his fantasy fill his mind. The tiled walls of Scully’s bathroom, the bright smell of her lavender bubble bath, her dirty clothes in a heap on the floor by the tub.
“One of my fantasies is that I stop by her apartment unannounced, and I hear her call out for me to let myself in. So I use my key, and once I’m inside she tells me that she’s in the bath.” He pauses to see if she has any commentary on this, but she says nothing. “I start talking to her through the door, which is something I’ve done a handful of times, but in my fantasy she tells me to come in.” Another pause. All he hears is her even breathing. “She’s in the bath, but it’s so full of bubbles that I can’t see anything. I sit on a little stool beside the tub and we keep talking.”
His heart is pounding. He can’t just say this to her.
“And then what?” she asks. Mulder swallows.
“And then…I end up touching her under the bubbles,” he says, glazing over the rest of the details and making use of a euphemism.
Scully laughs a little.
“I think you may have skipped some things,” she says gently, and he cringes.
“Sorry. I don’t want to be too graphic.”
“Why?”
“I guess I’m worried I’ll offend you,” he says.
“What if I promise not to be offended?” she offers.
“Is that something you can reasonably promise?”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
“Okay,” Mulder says, sucking in a steadying breath. “I’m sitting next to the tub and we’re talking. After a while some of the bubbles start to dissolve and I can kind of see her body. Not details, just sort of the contrast of her skin, and—” he pauses, then forces himself to say the next part. “I can see darker areas, like her nipples and her pubic hair.”
Scully hums, an indication that she’s following along. That she’s listening.
“She’s talking about how much stress she’s been under. I think in the fantasy I kind of know that she’s been having a hard time and I’m worried about her.”
“Interesting,” Scully says, her voice breathy.
“Why is that interesting?” he asks.
“Oh…just…I guess I find it interesting that her emotional state factors into your fantasy,” she observes without judgment. “That was also true in the previous fantasy you shared.”
He doesn’t miss the fact that she’s referring to herself in the third person. And she isn’t wrong.
“So she’s talking about how stressed out she is,” he continues, shifting his hips around as his erection begs to be touched, “and I tell her I can help. I ask if she’ll let me.”
“What do you say, exactly?” she asks.
He reaches down and gives his cock a squeeze. “I say something like, ‘I know what you need,’ and then I look at her body under the bubbles. I’m not very explicit.”
“Why?”
“Because in this fantasy we’ve never done anything like that before, so I wouldn’t just come out and say it directly. That would be too forward for her.”
“So you want it to be realistic?” she asks.
“Sometimes.”
“Okay, so you tell her that you know what she needs. What does she say?” Scully says, getting them back on track.
“She doesn’t really say anything. Her eyes get wide, and she looks down and realizes that she’s slowly being exposed. She’s embarrassed, but she’s also excited.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she’s not telling me to get the fuck out of her bathroom,” he says lightly, and she laughs.
“So what do you do next?”
“I reach out and touch her knee, which is above the water. And then I watch her face as I run my fingers down the inside of her thigh.”
“You don’t kiss her?”
“Not yet.”
“Does she stop you?”
“No. She just looks at me. Her eyes are still all big and her mouth is open. She’s breathing hard. And then she moves her other leg to the side.” He swears he hears the tiniest little moan slip through the phone. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“What?” she asks, though it’s unclear whether she’s asking what his question is or if she’s just confused by his divergence from the story.
“When we talked before, when I told you about my other fantasy?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Were you, um…did you touch yourself?”
She’s quiet for so long that he gets his dick out and gives it a few strokes before leaving it to rest, stiff and aching, against his belly.
“Yes.”
His dick lurches, standing at attention briefly before it flops to the side. He doesn’t want to come before this is over, lest his post-nut clarity ruin the rest of the experience, so he tries to touch it as little as possible.
“She moves her other leg to the side so I know without a doubt that she wants it. When I touch her, she closes her eyes and moans right away. Even under the water I can feel how wet she is. How slippery. I ask her again to let me help, but this time I say, ‘let me make you come, Scully.’”
She gasps a little, and he realizes that he used her name. He’s never used her name with Electra.
“What does she say?” Scully asks, nearly whining. Her voice is high and tight, and he wants to know so badly if she’s touching herself again now.
“She says, ‘we can’t.’ But she’s pushing her hips into my hand even when she’s saying it so I don’t stop. I know she wants it. I put one finger inside her and she just…she melts.”
“Oh,” Scully breathes out. It’s unclear whether it’s commentary on the story or a vocalization of whatever she’s doing over there.
“I get rid of the stool and I kneel beside the tub so I can kind of lean over into it for leverage. And that’s when I kiss her. Or I try to, but she can barely kiss because of what I’m doing to her with my hand. I add a second finger and she’s throbbing like crazy.”
“Yes,” Scully says in encouragement.
“Are you touching yourself?” he asks quickly, his tone unchanged from his narration.
“Yes,” she says again.
Mulder squeezes his cock in his fist.
“Me too.”
Another, “Oh.”
“I curl my fingers up towards her belly, and then I get my thumb on her clit. She’s holding on to the sides of the tub for leverage and practically fucking my hand, she wants it so bad.”
“Uh huh.”
He can’t hold back anymore. He strokes his cock frantically fast, pumping his hips up off the mattress as though thrusting. He no longer has the capacity to worry about how graphic he’s being.
“Then she comes. She comes so hard she can’t speak, can’t breathe. And her cunt is just…god she’s so tight. And all I can think about is how good it would feel to be inside her when she’s coming.”
Scully gasps, and suddenly the line goes dead. Through the wall, he hears a long, low moan, and then a series of high staccato whimpers. He explodes forcefully into his own hand, sending ropes of cum up as far as his chest and completely defiling his last clean T-shirt. He still has the phone propped against his ear and his cock in hand, slippery and quickly softening, when he hears a click, and then her voice comes back through the open line.
“Mulder?”
He sits up quickly, which makes his head spin.
“Yeah?”
“I was thinking, can we leave at 8:30 tomorrow? I’d like to stop for some decent coffee if we can make time.”
Mulder blinks stupidly, disoriented.
“Uh, yeah, 8:30 is fine. Are you…you’re good?”
“Yeah, I’m great,” she says simply.
“Okay. Goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight. Sleep well.”
Mulder sets the phone back on the receiver and looks down at his cum-streaked lap and belly. That absolutely happened, there is no doubt in his mind.
Rated X / 3599 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic
December 31, 1984
College Park, MD
10:38 pm
The air is so thick with cigarette smoke and Drakkar Noir that it’s starting to give Mulder a headache. Or perhaps his headache is from the blare of highly synthesized music pounding against his eardrums, though at least the music serves to drown out his miserable thoughts. He swallows the last of his beer, wincing at how warm and sour it’s become as he nursed it over the course of at least ninety minutes.
“You wanna another?” Adam slurs from beside him.
Mulder turns to look at his friend, who is red-faced and glassy-eyed. He’s never understood how people can drink so heavily night after night and still manage to function, though he supposes that Adam might have lower standards of living than he does.
“Nah, I’m good,” he says, leaning back and slinging his arm across the top of the cushioned bench on which he and Adam are seated.
He surveys the room, which is packed shoulder-to-shoulder with sweaty twentysomethings in various stages of carnal pursuit. In a corner near the bathrooms, he spots a woman with her skirt hiked up around her hips and a man in a cheap flashy suit unmistakably working his dick through his open zipper in preparation to fuck her. Mulder looks away instinctively, but within seconds his eyes wander back over to them. They can’t reasonably be expecting privacy, can they? The man steps up close and bends his knees a little, and Mulder watches the woman’s face raptly as her mouth falls open before her eyes roll back in her head. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat as his cock stirs, threatening an unwelcome erection.
“Betcha don’t see that at Oxford,” Adam says loudly, jabbing Mulder in the ribs with his elbow.
Mulder follows his line of sight to the very same couple he’d been watching. The woman now has her legs wrapped around the man’s hips and her arms around his neck, and he’s slamming into her sharply over and over.
“No, can’t say that I do,” Mulder says dryly.
Truthfully, he’d rather be back at Oxford than here in this smoky club with a childhood friend he now wonders what he ever had in common with. The invitation to spend Christmas break on Adam’s couch instead of on the Vineyard making awkward conversation with his mother sounded too good to be true, and so far it’s been exactly that. He feels lonely and homesick, and wildly out of place.
“Fuck, I need to get some of that,” Adam says, openly gawking at the live pornography occurring in the corner of the room.
“Well, the night is young,” Mulder says encouragingly, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “But I think you’re going to have to actually talk to someone if you want to be getting laid by midnight.”
Adam heaves a blustering sigh.
“You’re right. I’m gonna go find my girl,” he says with a cheesy but hopeful smile.
Adam disappears into the sea of bodies and Mulder heads for the bar. It’s so crowded he has to elbow his way to the rail, then squeeze in sideways behind a man in a Thriller-esque red leather jacket.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asks brusquely, barely looking at him.
“Just water, please.”
The bartender makes a disapproving face before pouring a half-full glass of tepid water, no ice, and pushing it unceremoniously across the counter at him.
“Thanks a lot,” Mulder says under his breath, but the bartender has already moved on.
He sips at his water and tunes into the conversations occurring around him. Women laugh at decidedly unfunny jokes while men talk up their expensive degrees and trust funds, and Mulder shakes his head at how performative it all is.
“My DeLorean is right outside, you know,” Red Leather Jacket is saying. “We could get outta here.”
“No thank you,” says a female voice from beside him.
“Awe, come on! I bet you’ve never seen gull-wing doors on a car before, have you?” Red Leather says insistently.
“I don’t think my boyfriend would approve,” the woman says. “In fact, I bet he’s looking for me.”
“Now you’re making up a boyfriend?” Red Leather scoffs.
Mulder leans back and peeks around Red Leather Jacket’s shoulder to see the woman he’s addressing. She’s petite and looks quite young, though her sequined blue minidress and heavy makeup are a clear attempt to appear older. Her cinnamon hair is piled up on top of her head, and she’s nervously chewing on the straw in her glass as Red Leather Jacket berates her. Mulder gets the impression that this has been going on since long before he showed up.
“I’m not making anything up,” she insists, but it’s as clear to Mulder as it is to Red Leather Jacket that she’s lying.
“Listen, I get it,” Red Leather says to her, leaning in. “You don’t want me to think you’re easy. I’m willing to work for it, sweetheart.” He reaches out and lays his massive hand on her tiny shoulder, and the woman visibly recoils.
Mulder takes two steps into the crowd and then turns back, forcing his way into the space beside the woman. When he reaches her, he slides his arm across the tops of her shoulders, knocking Red Leather’s hand away. The woman looks up at him sharply, and is opening her mouth to speak when he interrupts her.
“Hey honey, I’ve been looking all over for you,” he says warmly, leaning down to drop a kiss to her cheek. She’s short as shit and she smells amazing, and when a confused smile blooms on her pouty mouth his heart skips two beats.
“I thought you might be,” she says, catching on and threading her arm around his waist.
Red Leather Jacket gapes at them for a beat, then turns on his heel and bulldozes his way through the crowd angrily. Mulder watches him go, his arm still around the woman’s shoulders and hers still around his waist.
“Thank you,” the woman says, withdrawing her arm.
Mulder follows suit reluctantly, stepping away from her and into the space vacated by Red Leather Jacket.
“Happy to help,” he says lightly. “Didn’t seem like he was going to take ‘no’ for an answer.”
“No, it didn’t,” the woman says sadly, her eyes on the bartop.
“I’m Fox, by the way,” he says, offering his hand.
She lifts her eyes, which are incredibly blue, and looks him over dubiously before slipping her slender hand into his. Her palm is smooth and cold from her glass, and a little shiver runs up his spine.
“Dana,” she says.
“Dana,” he repeats, testing out the weight of it on his tongue. Under the flashing lights he can see freckles on the bridge of her nose, and there’s something both incredibly youthful and incredibly sage about her. “I hope you don’t take offense to this, but are you…allowed to be in here?” he asks with a little cringe.
She blinks at him, her expression unreadable.
“I’m in here, aren’t I?” she finally says, quite haughtily, and he’s immediately smitten.
“That you are,” he agrees. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Dana pivots her body away from the bar and towards him, which his behaviorist’s mind picks up on as a good sign. She tilts her face up and considers him openly, not at all disguising her skepticism.
“That depends,” she says. “Does the drink come with strings attached? Explicit or otherwise?”
Mulder feels his cheeks warm.
“No, not at all,” he says emphatically. “I mean, I was hoping for a conversation, but it’s not requisite. You can take the drink to go if you want.”
A tiny sliver of a smile teases one corner of her mouth, and she looks away.
“Okay then,” she says. “Gin and tonic.”
-
“I have something to confess,” she shouts loudly in his ear to be heard over the music. Her tongue is thick in her mouth, adding emphasis to her already sibilant S’s.
They’ve migrated to a table and she’s sitting so close to him she’s practically in his lap, which he keeps telling himself it’s just because the music is so loud and not because she’s interested in him. He also keeps reminding himself that she lives over 3,000 miles away and he’ll likely never see her again. Dana. Navy brat. Pre-med. Five feet and three inches of sass and intellect. He’s known her for a little over an hour and it feels like a year. He even met her sister, for Christ’s sake.
“I’m not actually allowed to be in here,” she tells him, her lips grazing the shell of his ear and her hot breath sending shockwaves straight to his groin.
His stomach drops out a little. Not that he’s done anything untoward beyond buying her alcohol, but he’s certainly had a series of indecent thoughts about her that he wouldn’t have indulged in had he known she was underage.
She leans away and, seeing the look on his face, grabs his forearm and smiles a megawatt, dazzling smile.
“My twenty-first birthday is in less than two months,” she explains, and he blows out a stream of air through pursed lips.
“You scared me for a second there,” he says, noting that her hand is still on his arm.
“Why, were you hoping to take me home?” she asks.
He slowly lifts his eyes to hers. She’s smiling, though not in a way that makes him think the question was meant to be taken as a joke. Perhaps she was testing the waters to see how he’d react.
“No,” he says, and a flash of embarrassment crosses her face. “But only because I’m crashing on my buddy’s couch, so I don’t really have a home to take you to.”
She laughs loudly, and his heart clutches.
TEN! NINE! EIGHT! SEVEN! SIX!
They both startle and look around as the entire room begins to shout in unison.
FIVE! FOUR! THREE! TWO! ONE!
They’ve been so engrossed in conversation he hadn’t even realized it was almost midnight.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Her mouth is a hot, wet surprise. Her tongue, her teeth, the evergreen bite of gin on her breath, her hands possessively cupping his jaw. He’s startled, and then delighted, and then enamored because she kisses like it’s the main event. They keep kissing long after the rest of the room has moved on, long enough that his hands are drifting up her pantyhose-covered thighs and under the hem of her dress, and he’s no longer trying to hide the erection tenting the front of his slacks.
Dana pulls away from him abruptly and his mouth hangs open, stupefied. Her lipstick is smeared all around her mouth and her pupils are wide and dark.
“My apartment is a five minute walk from here and my roommate went home for break,” she says breathlessly, and Mulder nods.
The walk is actually only three minutes if you’re drunk, horny, and highly motivated. By the fifth minute he’s already inside her living room, scraping his arms to shit on her sequined dress as he wrestles it off her. Pantyhose, bra, some seriously sexy little black panties that he might take more time to appreciate were his balls not about to explode. All are tossed to the floor en route to her bedroom, and his cock is in her mouth shortly thereafter.
Thank god he’s drunk. Thank god, because her mouth is like a siphon and she keeps looking up at him, those brilliant blue eyes so full of lust he wishes he could come twice. She doesn’t seem inclined to stop, so he finally begs for mercy and asks if he can return the favor. She’s reluctant, bashful all of a sudden, and he doesn’t push. Instead he slips his hand between her thighs and audibly groans at how wet she is.
“Is this okay?” he asks, teasing the pad of his middle finger around her opening. He feels her flutter against him and she lets out a ragged sigh.
“Okay,” she says breathily, momentarily confusing him. “You can if you want. But you don’t have to.”
Approximately three minutes later she’s coming in his mouth, her fingers twisted up so tightly in his hair it actually hurts.
“Oh god, oh god,” she keeps saying over and over, and he’s so pleased with himself he smiles right against her cunt.
He isn’t expecting to get laid. This is partly because he doesn’t get the sense that she has a lot of casual sex, and partly because of the way her eyes widened when she pulled his cock out of his slacks—not impressed, but intimidated. He can’t blame her; she’s probably ninety-five pounds soaking wet and he’s aware that he’s well above average. If she’s courteous enough to finish him off with a handjob, he’ll consider himself one lucky S.O.B.
His chin is still wet from her slippery cunt when she pushes his shoulder back and climbs on top of him. She’s surprisingly strong, as small as she is, and there’s a condom in her hand that he doesn’t remember her retrieving. She sits proudly in his lap, his cock standing at attention in front of the patch of ginger curls between her legs, and casts him a drunkenly nervous glance.
“I’ve never—” she starts, and he feels a flash of adrenaline.
“We don’t have to,” he interjects, and she quirks her head at him.
“I’m not a virgin,” she corrects him, clearly mildly offended, and he breathes a sigh of relief. “But I’ve never…I’m honestly not sure it’s gonna fit,” she finally says, deadpan, and he laughs.
“Valid concern,” he says. He reaches up to push her hair behind her ear and she briefly closes her eyes. “Whatever you wanna do, I’m game. You’re the boss.”
She nods, considering him for a moment, and then unwraps the condom.
Even through his drunken haze, he’s touched by how much she seems to trust him. He lies perfectly still, feasting with his eyes as she lifts her hips and reaches between her legs to line him up. Slowly, slowly, slowly she sinks down on him, inch by delicious inch, pausing now and then to kiss him while her body adjusts. Finally, he feels the slight weight of her settle fully against his pelvis, and she sighs contentedly.
“Ta da,” she says in a singsong voice, and he looks up at her sweetly smiling face.
“Congratulations,” he says tightly.
She laughs and her cunt laughs too, quivering around him and making him moan. She leans forward and her entire demeanor shifts, her girlish smile giving way to a decidedly naughty smirk as she draws her hips up a little and then sinks back down.
“Jesus Christ,” Mulder hisses, his hands on her hips and his fingers digging desperately into the flesh there.
“I don’t think he’d approve of this,” Dana says, her voice high and syrupy.
They don’t speak any more after that. The slow rise and fall of her hips steadily increases in pace until she’s slipping haphazardly forward and back, eyes closed, mouth open, eyebrows drawn together in an expression of pure bliss. Mulder tries to think about absolutely anything but the strangling grip she has on him, how wet she is, how tight, how beautiful. He’s not sure if she can come again, not sure if she even wants to, he just knows he doesn’t want this to end.
“Oh, I’m coming,” she says suddenly, seeming surprised, and he is gone before he has a split second to consider otherwise. His shoulders lurch up off the mattress, every muscle in his body contracts, and feeling her coming around him while he is also coming is one of the most intense sexual experiences of his life to date.
She collapses against him, their hammering hearts pounding at each other through their respective rib cages, and he rubs one hand over her back as he fights to stay awake in his drunken, post-orgasmic state.
“That was incredible,” he remembers hearing her mumble, and then nothing.
-
He wakes up disoriented and with a pounding headache. It’s not that he doesn’t remember it—thankfully, he remembers everything—but that it feels like a dream.
He’s naked, which is to be expected, and the mattress beside him is empty and cold. When he throws back the covers to begin the search for his underwear, he finds that the condom is still snugly wrapped around his flaccid cock, the tip of it heavy with congealing semen. This he finds borderline disgusting, and immediately he wonders if Dana woke to the image of him splayed out naked on her bed with a spent condom hanging off his dick, which makes his cheeks warm with embarrassment. He finds a tissue and removes the offending item, then slowly gets dressed as nausea begins to creep in.
When he opens the bedroom door he finds the apartment quiet, though if he strains his ears he can hear the ruffle of a newspaper. He darts into the bathroom to splash water on his face and use some of her toothpaste as makeshift mouthwash before he finds her in the kitchen.
She’s seated on a stool at the counter, her posture ramrod straight and a pair of gold rimmed glasses perched on her nose. She looks up when she hears his footsteps and he’s struck by how different she looks. There isn’t a stitch of makeup on her face, which is much more freckled than he realized last night at the bar, and her mouth devoid of lipstick is still tantalizingly pink and plump. She has a decidedly “girl next door” quality about her, and a wide grin breaks out over his face.
“Hi,” he says, and she folds up the newspaper and removes her glasses before she replies.
“Good morning,” she says, meeting his eye in short bursts. “There’s coffee, if you’d like some. Mugs are in the cabinet above the pot.”
“Thanks,” he says with a bob of his head, but makes no move to take her up on the offer.
There’s an awkward silence wherein he tries to make eye contact and she diligently avoids it. Eventually she clears her throat and forces herself to look at him.
“I…” she starts, then pauses and runs her tongue across her bottom lip. “I know this sounds cliche, but I feel like I should tell you that I really don’t do…that. Or at least I never have before.”
He understands what she means, but can’t resist the urge to try and get a laugh out of her.
“So you were a virgin, then?” he asks, and she snaps her head up to look at him, her expression of alarm fading into one of feigned irritation when she sees the smile on his face. She rolls her eyes and it feels like a victory.
“I’ve never slept with someone I just met,” she clarifies.
Mulder shrugs.
“Neither have I,” he says.
She narrows her eyes at him skeptically.
“Why do I find that hard to believe?” she asks.
Mulder crosses the rest of the room and perches on the stool beside her.
“I don’t know, why do you?” he asks.
She gives him a long look with her blonde eyelashes and the bluest irises he’s ever seen up close.
“I guess…” she begins, then looks at her lap. “I guess I figured if it was that easy for you to get me into bed, it must be something you do often,” she admits.
For a fraction of a second he worries that he pressured her into something she didn’t want, but his memory is sharp enough to quickly correct him.
“I know I was pretty hammered last night, but I could have sworn it was you who got me into bed,” he chides her gently, being careful to keep any judgment out of his voice.
She peeks up at him from beneath those blonde lashes, and he honestly can’t tell whether she’s proud or ashamed. Maybe both.
“I can only imagine what you must think of me,” she says, her tone unreadable.
She’s so fascinating to him, though he can’t quite pin down why. He wants to know her, but suspects that knowing her isn’t easy to do.
“I think you’re smart, and beautiful, and I wish I didn’t live on the other side of the Atlantic,” he says, quite plainly, and while she does not look at him he can see that she’s smiling.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
He doesn’t stay long, not wanting to put her in the position of having to ask him to go. Before he leaves, he writes his mother’s address on the back cover of a Glamour magazine and tells her he’ll likely be moving back to The States after he graduates this spring. He doesn’t ask her to contact him, and she doesn’t make any empty promises that she will.
She walks him to the door and she’s even shorter than she’d been the night before without her heels on. He lingers at the threshold, not feeling quite ready to say goodbye.
“Would it be okay if I kissed you?” he asks, and her mouth quirks with an almost-smile.
She nods, and they share a chaste but lingering kiss before he walks back to the club where his car is parked, a shit-eating grin plastered to his face every step of the way.
Rated X / 1452 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic
He’s in touch with the fact that it’s bordering on obsession. It’s all he thinks about, both during waking hours and in his dreams. He wants to taste her, drink her down, make her call his name with the distinct pitch of overwhelm in her voice. He wants to feel her quivering against his lips, feel her cunt strangle his tongue as he fucks her with it until she explodes. He wants her all over his face, running down his chin, juicy as a peach and twice as sweet. He’d deny his own orgasm for the rest of his life in pursuit of her delicious pussy suffocating him under the weight of her body. Autoerotic asphyxiation, indeed.
When it’s hot out, he daydreams about the salted sweat he could lick off the seams of her legs. When it’s cold, he imagines warming his wind-whipped cheeks with the heat of her. Fresh from the shower, hot and humid from the gym, tangy and lived-in after a long day. No matter her state, he craves her. She doesn’t seem to mind.
He finds her in his kitchen, her hair mussed and his undershirt falling halfway down her thighs as she picks through his cupboards in search of the makings for coffee. He watches from the doorway as she reaches for filters and the shirt rides up just enough to expose the fleshy edge of one of her ass cheeks. He was hard when he woke up, and he’s still hard now, growing harder by the second as his appetite is whetted by her mere presence.
He lets her get the coffee going—just so she can enjoy a cup when he’s done with her—before he crosses the room and steps up behind her. His erection tents the front of his boxers, the shiny head threatening to sneak through the slit at the front, and he lets it press into her back as he reaches down and runs his hands up her bare thighs.
“Oh!” she says as she startles, and then immediately relaxes. “You scared me,” she says on an exhale, leaning into him.
“Sorry,” he grumbles, tucking his face into the crook of her neck and dropping wet kisses up to her ear. “Good morning.”
He bunches the shirt up in his fists, gathering it at her waist and exposing her naked pelvis. He can already taste her. Already smell her. Fuck the coffee, all he needs to wake up is a hit of her sweet little cunt.
“Good morning,” she says sweetly, craning her neck back to kiss him.
His hands are already between her legs, stroking her velvety soft lips. He wants to see her, hot pink against alabaster thighs. She looks as good as she tastes.
He kisses her once more and then puts gentle pressure on her back, encouraging her to bend down and rest her elbows on the counter top. She trusts him so completely she does it without question, though she does throw him a curious glance over her shoulder. Mulder drops to his knees and touches the insides of her thighs, and she takes one step out with each foot and arches her back, exposing herself to him under his fluorescent kitchen lights.
He lets out a low whine and strokes himself as he looks her over. She’s so pretty, so perfectly Scully, even between her legs. The little ginger hairs on her outer lips and dappled around her asshole remind him of sprinkles, making her his most delicious cupcake. Her pussy lips flare out like flower petals and she’s blooming right before his eyes, reddening and swelling, anticipating what she knows he can do to her.
His visual senses finally sated, he leans forward and takes his first taste, flashing his tongue over her asshole. She sucks in a little breath and he feels her skin pucker, and suddenly his need is so overwhelming his head spins. He ducks down and threads his head and shoulders between her open legs, then turns around and sits against the lower cabinets beneath her. With his hands on her ass cheeks, he tugs until she steps forward, then stuffs his face into her cunt, groaning as he pushes his tongue inside her and tastes her gathering wetness.
It’s a little awkward at first as she tries to distribute some of her weight to her arms braced against the counter. Slowly, she sinks into him until the only function of the counter is to help her keep her balance. His nose is buried in her pubic hair, his lower jaw a resting place for her asshole, and every inch of his face between is covered in her hot, wet snatch. He sucks, licks, rubs her with his lips and his tongue and his teeth. He devours her, and even around the mufflers of her thighs he can hear her gasping for air above him. She tenses and begins to throb, and a hot rush pours down his chin and chest, wetting his tee shirt. God, he wants more. He reaches around to finger her asshole and she buckles, her weight compressing the vertebrate in his neck and sealing her cunt more tightly around his mouth. He can hardly breathe, and he doesn’t care. He’ll just have to sprout gills so he can live under her water.
“Oh, no,” she whines, then gushes again, and he hears the wet splash as it hits the floor. “I’m making a mess,” she confesses in the sweetest, most innocent voice.
He growls and sucks hard on her clit, and she does it again. He’d tell her how much he loves her messes, how he smells his damp sheets after she leaves just to get a hit of her. But his mouth is currently full, and he’s not ready to be done yet.
He shifts down and snakes his tongue as far up her cunt as he can reach. He grinds his face against her, tongue fucking her and nuzzling her clit with his nose.
“Oh my god,” she whimpers, fisting his hair in one of her hands. “Oh please, oh please, oh please.”
He loves how she begs him, even when he’s already fully applying himself. He wants her to enjoy this just as much as he does. He wants to make her feel so good, so good after all she’s been through. She deserves it.
“I’m coming,” she announces, her body slowly curling in half as her muscles succumb to pleasure.
He holds her up, bears the entirety of her weight with his face and neck as she throbs against his lips and around his tongue. Enervated, she slowly lifts one leg off his shoulder and then the other before she slides down his front and lands in his lap, collapsing against his chest with a sigh. After a minute, she begins to paw at the front of his boxers and he sucks in a ragged breath when her fingers collide with his achingly hard cock.
“Don’t worry about that, just relax,” he tells her, batting her hand away.
She sits up, leveling him with a deliciously lust-drunk attempt at a glare, then peels his shirt off over her head, leaving her nude.
“I’ll do exactly as I please,” she says sternly, already pulling him free.
He groans as she lifts her hips and scoots forward, then sinks her slippery cunt down on him.
“Oh fuck,” he hisses, his hands flying to her breasts.
“Oh god,” she says in chorus, and he feels her clench around him, making his head spin. “You think this is just for you, Mulder?” she asks coyly, then begins to shift her hips forward and back. “Do you know how good you feel?”
His head falls back against the cabinet with a thwack.
“No way in hell it’s as good as you feel,” he denies, already seeing white spots behind his eyelids.
She grabs his face and pulls it towards her, kissing him soundly as she rides.
“Maybe—” she suggests breathlessly, bouncing in his lap. “Maybe we just feel really good together.”
“Fuck I’m gonna come,” he mumbles against her lips.
Before the words finish leaving his mouth she is coming right along with him, squeezing every drop of cum out of his cock, and the entire world is reduced to his wet kitchen floor and her breathy moans.
As soon as it’s over, he’s thinking about it again. The weight of her on his chin, the rush of her running down his neck, the perfect pearl of her clit between his teeth. He’s in touch with the fact that it’s bordering on obsession. But they just feel so good together, who could possibly blame him?
