3800 words; T for alcohol use and innuendo; the Gunmen throw a New Year's Eve party (for @thatfragilecapricorn30)
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“Hey, Scully, have you got plans for New Year’s Eve? If not, the Lone Gunmen are throwing a party. Should be a good time.”
She had had plans, with Ellen, but then Trent wasn’t feeling well and Ellen’s babysitter fell through, so that was the end of that. When Mulder had inquired, she'd assented. So here she was, standing in front of her closet, trying to find an outfit that made sense to wear to a party with a group of nerds she barely knew.
“What should I wear?” she asked Melissa, the phone tucked between her ear and her shoulder.
“Something adventurous,” Melissa said without hesitation. “Something fun. Live a little, Dana. How long has it been since you went to a real party?”
“I don’t know if this is a real party,” Scully said. “The people throwing it are, well. I wouldn’t describe them as socially adept. They have very specific interests and most of them are technological.”
Melissa snorted. “My sweet naive baby sister. I can’t believe you’ve made it this far through life without knowing that nerds throw the wildest parties. You’re going to a banger.”
Scully flipped through her wardrobe. Suits, skirts, blouses: all of it office-appropriate and none of it particularly festive. “I don’t think I’ve ever been to a party that could be described as a banger.”
“Not even in med school?”
“I didn’t go out much.” Scully hadn’t really told Melissa about Daniel. She knew Melissa wouldn’t approve, would tell her Daniel had been preying on her, would tell her that she’d missed out on meeting people to spend time with a man who was never going to be anything but a dead end in her life. Maybe that was true, but the disappointment had led her to say yes when the FBI had recruited her, so there had been some value to the whole thing.
“Then you’ve got to party tonight for all the years you missed,” Melissa said. “Don’t let the 90s pass you by, Danes.”
“It’s 1994,” Scully said. “I would hope I’ve got a few more years of the 90s left.”
“You never know,” Melissa said in one of her mysterious voices. “Anything could happen.”
Enough already had, but neither of them mentioned Scully’s disappearance.
Pairing: Scully x Mulder
Warning(s): n/a
Rating: mature
Length: 4.8k
Summary: In the middle of a frustrating case, Scully ends up in an awkward situation with the suspect thinking he's Mulder.
ao3
In her years in the X-Files, Scully has worked on dozens of cases of varying believability and solvability, but the case they've been called in on this time is a new level of weird, even for her. It started with a home burglary, nothing stolen but some loose cash - and has now evolved to include a bank robbery and the theft of a classic Mustang from a well-off neighbourhood. Scully isn't even sure these crimes are related, but there is a singular commonality not even she can deny: all the suspects in these crimes have been caught on camera committing them, and have air-tight alibis elsewhere. None of them could have committed these crimes, despite the evidence pointing directly at them.
She and Mulder have been sifting through crime scene photos and evidence bags all afternoon and they're no closer to having a single clue what's going on than when they arrived. The local PD haven't been able to offer anything more than a that's why we called you in. Mulder seems to be getting along fine with them, but their habit of lingering and looking over her shoulder is making Scully claustrophobic and aggravated.
Sitting up straight, she stretches her arms, letting her hands bump against the officer standing behind her in a none-too-subtle gesture. He doesn't get the hint.
"Anything?" he asks.
"If we find anything, we'll tell you."
She knows she's being short with him, but she doesn't care right now - not even when Mulder shoots her a questioning look from across the room. She's tired and sore and frustrated and her head is killing her, and if this cop doesn't get out of her way, she's going to literally push him out of the room.
"Hey Scully, take a look at this-"
"Agents?"
The door opens just in time to interrupt Mulder, and Scully is relieved not to have to hear whatever half-baked theory he has come up with. She rubs the back of her neck, looking up at the newcomer.
"Sorry to interrupt," he says, "but we've got another one."
This new scene is no different from the others - it looks like any other crime scene they've been at, but she has no idea how it fits in with the rest of them. She's examining a pile of papers on the floor when Mulder comes over, tapping his credentials in the palm of his hand.
"Please tell me you have any link to the other cases," Scully pleads.
"Well, unless you count an airtight alibi and CCTV with his face on it."
She groans and drops her head back. Not at all what she was hoping for.
"You know, Scully, there are stories of twins being able to communicate over long distances-"
Scully stops listening. She might have patience for this on another day, but this case is getting to her and Mulder's theories are not helping.
"Evil twins, Mulder? Really?"
"Hey, it wouldn't be the weirdest thing we've ever seen."
"No," Scully admits, "it certainly wouldn't."
Right now, it doesn't matter how many weird things that she's seen in the past, she still has Skinner to answer to, and despite everything they've been through, he's not nearly as open-minded as Mulder. She can't really blame him, she supposes; she still doesn't believe half of it herself. Which is why writing her report on this case is going to be so damn difficult. If she believed it herself, she would at least feel like she could defend it to Skinner, but right now what they have to go on is evil twins or some sort of shapeshifter.
"Listen, Mulder. I'm going to go talk to our most recent suspect, see what he has to say about his alibi."
"Yeah, you do that," he says absently, "I'm gonna go check out this twin thing."
Scully nods and starts away. She doesn't even get back to the front door before Mulder is running up to her and grabbing her by the arm.
"What's wrong?" She asks.
"Local PD let the suspect from the second crime go. Said they have no evidence to hold him."
Scully can feel her shoulders tighten. "They don't," she says, "no one has enough evidence for anything."
She wants to tell him they have nothing at all, but he's already worked up, so she lets him drag her off to the police station to complain. Secretly, she's glad for a reprieve from trying to work out what the hell is going on here.
She regrets it as soon as they arrive.
The officer who let their suspect go has a chip on his shoulder about the FBI being involved, and Mulder immediately instigates a fight with him about his ability to do his job properly. Scully slips out while they argue, making her way out to the vending machine in the parking lot to grab a Coke. She'd like it better with rum or vodka, but nothing is going her way today and she's come to accept that.
Mulder comes out a few minutes later, shrugging back into his suit jacket. Scully can only imagine what he looked like before the argument was broken up. She doesn't mention it to Mulder, lest he regale her with a full retelling. Instead, she slides quietly into the passenger seat and waits for him to join her, which he does a moment later.
"I don't know about you," he says, "but I'm gonna go see if I can track him down."
Scully rolls her eyes. Of course he is.
"I think I'm gonna call it a night. Take a look at it again with fresh eyes in the morning."
"Yeah, good call. I'll drop you off on my way downtown."
Mulder pulls out of the parking lot and Scully quickly sips her coke so it doesn't spill into her lap. She gives Mulder a questioning look out of the corner of her eye; she wants to tell him to play nicely with the local PD, but knows all too well how futile that would be. Instead, when he drops her off at her apartment, she thanks him with a smile and leaves him the half can of coke for his stakeout.
For the first time today, she's feeling optimistic; she's going to go and have a glass or two of wine and sit in the bath and not think about aliens or shapeshifters or evil twins until tomorrow. She climbs the stairs to her apartment and breathes a sigh of relief as she unlocks the door. No more X-Files for tonight.
Scully drops her purse on the kitchen counter and pulls out a bottle of white from the fridge, setting it on the counter with an empty glass while she goes to run a bath. She collects the bottle again when the bath is full, bubbles already threatening to spill out the sides, and decides against the glass. The bathwater is just a hair too hot, but she sinks into it, one hand still wrapped around the neck of the bottle. She lifts it to her lips and sighs as the first drops hit her tongue. This is where she belongs.
Scully has made it through a quarter of a bottle when she hears a knock at the door. She sits up, the few remaining bubbles sticking to her skin as she raises an eyebrow at the door. She's not expecting anyone, and it was already late when she got home. The only person it's likely to be at this time of night is Mulder, and as much as she enjoys his company regularly, she's not up for talking about the case right now.
"Just a second!" she calls.
She's disappointed to have been pulled away from her wine and her bath, but it could be important. She sets the bottle down on the floor, wraps herself in a towel and pads over to the door to peer through the peephole. It's Mulder, because of course it is.
"Just a sec, Mulder, I just got out of the bath."
She misses whatever witty remark he throws at her through the door and goes to her room. The first things she finds are a pair of silky pyjama shorts and a tank top. There's a proper top that matches the shorts, but it must have been misplaced in her rush to get to work this morning.
Mulder gives her a look when she opens the door, but she ignores him.
"What are you doing here? I thought you were chasing down our suspect?"
"Yeah," he says with a shrug, "about that."
"You know what, I don't want to know." She steps back to let him into the apartment. "Come in."
Mulder does as he's told, producing a paper bag that smells suspiciously like Chinese food. "I brought dinner."
"Dinner? It's midnight."
"Okay, so it's a late dinner." Mulder sits himself down on the couch, setting the bag on the coffee table and rifling through it.
He pulls out two to-go containers and pushes one over toward Scully. It has been a long time since she's eaten, and reluctantly she accepts the offering.
"Thanks."
"I'm just gonna go wash up, dig in."
Scully digs a pair of chopsticks out of the bottom of the bag and is just about to open her container when Mulder comes back, holding her opened bottle of wine in his hands.
"Starting without me?" he teases.
"I wasn't exactly expecting company."
Mulder takes a swig from the bottle and passes it back over to her. Scully smiles at him and follows suit. If she's going to have company, she might as well enjoy it. As she sets the bottle down, Mulder's hands settle on her shoulders. Scully doesn't think anything of it, even as he starts rubbing her shoulders. Mulder has always been touchy, especially with her, and it feels nice, and she's tense after the day she's had - and will likely have tomorrow.
She leans into it, sighing softly as she presses herself back into the cushions, letting her mind go blank as the wine settles in her belly. Mulder is surprisingly skilled with his hands, easily working out the tension in her shoulders, and every time he moves inward, his thumbs brush the sides of her neck. A soft smile works its way onto her lips, and Scully hums at the sensation, only vaguely aware that she's making sound.
"Jeez, you really are tense."
"Hm," Scully mumbles, "it's this case, I can't figure out what the hell is going on. Every time I think I have an idea what's happening, something comes along that completely contradicts it. It's like-"
"Hey," Mulder interrupts softly, "just relax. Don't think about it any more."
Scully agrees and as Mulder continues, she drops her head to her chest, shutting her eyes with a soft groan. Mulder huffs a quiet laugh and normally, she would want to hit him for it, but she's feeling relaxed for the first time since they started this case. Mulder distracts her, talking about the game he watched last night, and before she knows it, Scully is drowsy and dopey, and she smiles with every brush of Mulder's thumbs against her skin. That's the thing about Mulder, he always seems to know exactly what she needs in the moment, and if she wasn't so appreciative of it, it would drive her crazy.
It's intentional now, it couldn't not be, and as his breath ruffles her hair, she shudders. Everything in her feels warm and soft and comfortable, and when Mulder bends to kiss the top of her head, she nearly turns to meet him. He tips her head to the side and Mulder's lips brush against her skin, tracing a warm line up to press a kiss under her jaw. It surprises her at first, but the way he presses his nose into her skin sends a shiver down her spine.
If she was more sober, she might think twice about this, but it's something that's been hovering over them for years now, maybe for as long as they've known each other. It has for Scully, anyway. Mulder's lips press into her jaw, her neck, and collar bone. Scully hums softly and when Mulder's fingers drag down her cheek, she turns her head as guided, looking up into his eyes. There's a moment of pause before he kisses her properly, pressing his lips to hers and parting his lips eagerly. Scully responds immediately, reaching up and sliding her hand into his hair. She draws him closer and Mulder laughs as he pulls away.
For a second, Scully is worried she's pushed too far; she drank more than Mulder did and maybe- Her worries are quashed when Mulder hops over the back of the couch and kisses her again. He leans over her, shifting back to lay her down, and Scully's heart is racing. This is stupid and it's going to make things uncomfortable at work, but when Mulder presses between her legs, laying over her, all reasons to stop flee her mind. Instead, she pulls him down on top of her, kissing him hard and winding her fingers in his hair. Fuck whatever she was thinking before; she wants this, he wants this. There's no reason to deny herself now.
Mulder shifts and one of his hands slides up her stomach, easily unbuttoning her blouse and pushing it to the side. His mouth slides to her bare chest, pressing kisses into her skin. Scully drops her head back, arching into the touch. She's so engrossed in Mulder's gentle affection that she doesn't hear the footsteps coming down the hall, or the knock on her door.
"Oh," she breathes, "Fox..."
Behind her and out of sight, the front door opens and a man steps into the room.
"Scully?"
She freezes immediately, pulling herself out from under Mulder and turning toward the door. Standing there, wet from the rain, and looking possibly more confused than she feels, is Mulder. In an instant, the Mulder she was making out with rises to his feet and bolts for the window. In a state of shock, Scully can't do anything but pull the afghan from the back of the couch and wrap herself in it. She's not undressed - Mulder has seen her in much less besides - but she feels more naked now than ever.
When she finally snaps back to reality, she grabs her gun from the side table, relieved that she hadn't put it away, and shoots the escaping Mulder in the leg. He crumples to the ground with a groan and Mulder two drops next to him and cuffs his hands behind his back. Scully sits, frozen as Mulder hauls the other man to his feet and shoves him bodily toward the door. She wants to disappear, to simply cease to exist - or at least for Mulder to take not-Mulder to the police station so she can be alone to figure out what the hell happened here tonight. But Mulder comes over to her and kneels down to look her in the face.
"Hey," he says gently, "you okay?"
Scully wants to yell at him, to tell him to leave her alone, but she knows it's her own discomfort bubbling to the surface. Mulder didn't do any of this; she got herself into this own mess, and it's not his place to come and try to fix it.
"Yeah," she says, "Fine."
Mulder offers her a hand and she reluctantly takes it, her stomach roiling with guilt as soon as his fingers brush hers.
"They'll want to get a statement from you." He pauses. "You sure you're okay? He didn't hurt you?"
This time, he doesn't quite meet her eyes and Scully shakes her head. She hates this, all of it. As if the case wasn't bad enough before, now there's this thing between her and Mulder that feels insurmountable. She goes to her room to change, glad for the reprieve from the tension. In a weird way, she's glad not-Mulder is still there because it means she doesn't have to face her Mulder one-on-one. She doesn't have to tell him about what happened or face the fact that she was going to sleep with this man - but only because she thought it was him.
Once she's dressed, they take Mulder's rental car to the station and Scully is all too aware that this means she and Mulder will be riding back alone together, unless she can think of a good enough reason to catch a cab instead.
When they get to the station, not-Mulder is released into police custody and Scully drops onto a seat in the hall. She rests her elbows on her knees and holds her face in her hands. She can't quite calm her breathing, and she's so afraid of how this is going to go. It was fine when she thought Mulder was on the same wavelength, but now, knowing he wasn't? She doesn't know what it's going to do to their relationship. And she's still buzzed and it's well past midnight and she should have just told him to go home and go to bed. But she thought it was Mulder. And why would she send him home, even at two in the morning?
Something bumps her knee and she startles, looking up to find Mulder in front of her, down on one knee.
"Hey," he says softly, "you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah."
"I tried to call you when I found out he was out - he must have gone after you."
Scully opens her mouth to ask why but shuts it again when she realizes what the follow up conversation will entail. Thankfully, or not, the officer they've been dealing with comes out just in time to interrupt and Mulder's attention is quickly redirected.
"What the hell were you thinking letting him go? Do you know what could have happened? This man is a danger to the general public-"
Scully tunes out his tirade.
She's glad for the shift of attention, but she doesn't want to hear whatever it is he will have to say about her. Instead, she waits for Mulder to finish berating the officer and quietly accompanies a second officer to the interrogation room. It's not something she's looking forward to, but she isn't upset at leaving Mulder to yell on her behalf. Normally, she would find it endearing, and it worries her a little that she's happy to get away from it tonight. She doesn't want to think too much about it, but she can't help thinking it's not just about defending her this time; maybe Mulder needs an excuse to let off some steam. Scully shuts her eyes, pushes the thought aside, and sits down in the chair offered to her.
By the time her questioning is done, Scully is exhausted. It's late and she feels like it's been days since she slept. In something of a haze, she leaves the police station with Mulder and climbs into his car like it's nothing. But it's not. There's a lingering uneasiness that reminds Scully of when she was a child; she feels like she's about to get in trouble for something and it's uncomfortable. She can only hope that Mulder doesn't feel the need to bring it up tonight.
The drive is quiet, and by the time they reach her apartment, Scully wants to cry. This whole thing is ridiculous, and could have been prevented if she had just been honest with Mulder about how she felt years ago. If she had said something earlier, she wouldn't be in this position. And right now, she wants comfort that she only gets from Mulder.
As he pulls up to the curb, Mulder casts a glance in her direction, eyes flicking up to her floor and then back down to her.
"You gonna be okay alone tonight?" he asks. "I could stay, if you want."
She does. More than anything. She needs this to be a normal night where Mulder stays to protect her despite her saying she'll be fine alone. But more than that, she needs to be alone. She needs to just go to bed and pass out and wake up in the morning and have this all be over and done with.
"I'll be okay."
She offers a smile to sell it, but Mulder doesn't ask again. He always asks again. If she's done something to fuck this up, she'll never forgive herself. That was the reason she never told him, after all, because what if it made things weird? She thanks Mulder for the ride, tells him she'll see him in the morning, and climbs out of the car, shutting the door without looking back.
Her apartment is dark when she gets in, but she knows the mess she'll see if she turns on the light, so instead she hangs her coat up and makes for bed, throwing herself onto it dramatically.
"This is so stupid," she says to herself, "so, so stupid."
In the morning, Scully gets dressed and styles her hair and puts on makeup without letting herself think about the night before. She's barely slept, and feels like shit because of it, but at least she can go into work, finish her report, and leave this fucking case behind her forever.What she's going to put in her report, she doesn't know, but she's written up many other unexplained things in the past.
The commute in is loud and as far from as peaceful as one could hope, but Scully appreciates the noise today. It's soothing in a way quiet wouldn't be and she's feeling almost normal again by the time she gets to the Bureau. She's preparing herself to go down to the basement and meet Mulder, when he surprises her in the hallway, startling her with a hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, sorry Scully. How'd you sleep?"
"Terrible, but I'm awake now. Have you spoken to Skinner?"
"No, that's where I'm headed. He'll want to see you, too, I'm sure."
"I haven't typed up my report-"
"Can I talk to you?"
"Before we see Skinner? Mulder, I still-"
"Don't worry about your report," he says, gesturing with one hand.
"Don't worry about it?"
"Look, Scully, I really want to talk to you about Dale Wilson."
"And I really want to get my report done so Skinner doesn't send someone to oversee mywork." It's a low blow and she knows it, but Mulder isn't listening anyway; he continues.
"Which is why we need to talk, listen, I think you should-"
Scully inhales deeply, trying to steady herself. "Mulder, I don't want to talk about it."
"Oh," he says so nonchalantly she could deck him. "Why not?"
At this, Scully stops, dropping her arms to the sides with a huff. She tries desperately to control her voice, but she can practically hear herself wavering already.
"Why not, Mulder? Why not?"She looks at him and he stares back, but gives no answer. "I'm humiliated," she hisses, glancing around to confirm they're still alone. "We both know what happened last night and if it's all the same to you I'd rather pretend it didn't and put this case behind us, where it belongs." She emphasizes the last word but Mulder's expression changes only slightly.
"But," she says, exasperated, "for some reason, you won't let me do that. Fine, Mulder, what is so important that you think we should talk about it right here and now? Why don't we go downstairs and tell everyone about it, hm? I'm sure someone's put money on this kind of thing-"
Mulder steps forward and takes her hand, looking quickly down the hall before pulling her into an empty office and shutting the door. He takes another quick look around, and finding the room empty, continues. "Hey," he says gently, "it was only me, no one else was even there. What do you have to be embarrassed about?"
The fact that he doesn't know the answer to that question just makes Scully feel stupider and she scrubs her hands over her face. What is she supposed to say to that?:Well Mulder I don't know if you noticed, but I was very much intending to have sex with a man who was notyou, but only because I thought he was you.Or maybe I've been wary of sharing my feelings with you because of work and because I'm afraid you wouldn't feel the same and it would ruin the best friendship I've ever had but now that cat's out of the bag and so far you've said nothing, which makes me think I am alone in this and I'd rather pretend this never happened than lose you over it.
"Oh, stop it Mulder. You were there, you saw everything. You can't tell me you wouldn't be embarrassed in the same situation."
Mulder takes a step forward, reaching out to brush her hair behind her ear. "I'd count myself lucky to be in that situation." He smiles his stupid little smile and cocks his head at her. "Any man would."
"Mulder," she groans.
"Scully, you're a smart woman, you have to know there's more here than just our flawless partnership."
He smiles. Scully huffs a humourless laugh and rolls her eyes at him, but she feels lighter at the thought of it.
"Now," Mulder continues, "if you tell me to, I'd be happy to forget this ever happened, let you hand in your report and never speak of it again. But I think," he says softly, "we'd be missing out on something great."
Scully flicks her eyes up to meet his, and is surprised, despite his words, to find only sincerity there. She wants to tell him yes, to nod, to show him in any way that she wants to take the chance at something great if he'd be willing. But she only manages to lick her lips and stare at him. Evidently, Mulder can read her better than she knew, and he smiles that stupid smile of his again and presses a kiss to her forehead. When he draws back, she tilts her head up and his breath dusts lightly over her lips before he leans in and kisses her.
Her breath catches and her eyes drop shut of their own volition as Mulder's hands slide over her hips. Her heart is beating too quickly, and as Mulder breaks the kiss, her head snaps up, afraid to find someone who is not him looking back at her, but all she finds is him. Mulder smiles softly and presses in until his nose bumps against her cheek.
"Hey," he breathes, "it's okay, it's just me."
Scully pulls back just far enough to take in his face, the familiar affection in his eyes, the curve of his smile. Looking at him now, she doesn't know how she could ever have thought anyone else was him. Before the guilt and shame can creep in again, she slides her fingers into his hair and pulls him down against her. She's confident this time, leading Mulder in a kiss that leaves her breathless, pulling him in so they stumble backward until he bends and lifts her onto the table behind them.
Mulder fits himself between her thighs, placing his hands on the table to brace himself and for a minute, Scully can forget that they're in the FBI building, that she has a report to file about a man who appeared to be her partner and most certainly was not. She can forget about Skinner and the X-Files and anything apart from Mulder's body pressing against hers. She feels stupid all over again for not thinking Mulder would feel this way, for worrying about what he would think in any way. This is Mulder; her partner, her best friend, and maybe something more. She doesn't know how should could have doubted him.
A door creaks and she nearly has to push Mulder off of her, but when he steps back, the door to the room is still closed tightly. She gives Mulder an embarrassed shrug and huffs a laugh as he holds out a hand to help her down.
"Come on," he smiles, "I think you still have a report to write."
If Skinner hadn't been through half the things he had with them, he would have likely written Scully up for failure to write a complete report. As it is, he sighs with a heavy reluctance she knows well, and accepts it, muttering under his breath about how he'll have to file it. Scully lets out a breath and releases the tension in her shoulders. She can feel Mulder next to her, poised to defend her report if need be, to take on the bulk of Skinner's scrutiny, but it doesn't happen.
"I assume this is the truth as it happened?" Skinner asks.
"Yes, sir," Scully says, the faintest hint of doubt creeping back in.
"Alright." He sighs heavily, "you're dismissed."
They both turn, and just as Scully reaches for the door, Skinner pipes up again.
"Oh, and Agent Mulder?"
They both turn, but Skinner doesn't so much as look up at them.
Summary: “I think I’d also like it once in a while if you were a little… mean,” Scully says.
Content warnings: dirty talk, name-calling, toeing the edge of degradation, but all in good kinky fun
Smut after the cut. Hope your holidays are happy, friends! Ubeta’ed. I intended to sit down and write something with some redeeming value to society but alas, I could not get this out of my mind, so instead: shameless smut.
They’d had a conversation about a month ago in which he’d asked her if there was anything she wanted that he wasn’t doing.
“I want you to keep your travel receipts in chronological order,” she’d wryly replied.
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” he’d said, and the hint of an edge in his voice got right to the core of the thing that she wanted that he wasn’t doing.
And so she’d told him, after a half glass of wine too many.
“Well, I like it when you’re a little rough, which I think you’ve kind of figured out. But I think I’d also like it once in a while if you were a little… mean.”
He grinned. “Mean how?”
“I don’t know, just… you know, don’t hurt my feelings, but maybe you could tease, or kind of, talk dirtier. Jesus, this is so embarrassing, forget I ever mentioned it, ok?”
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said. “Although I get the sense that maybe that’s what you’re after.”
His ability to see right through her was kind of embarrassing in and of itself, and she knew she was blushing.
They’d had sex then — and he hadn’t been mean, not at all. Instead he’d devoured her, praising her for sharing something she felt shy about, telling her there was nothing she could ask for that would make him think less of her or upset him — not him, a man who’d spent years frequenting porno theaters and calling phone sex lines.
For weeks, the conversation lurked in the back of her mind. She’d almost convinced herself he’d forgotten, except Fox Mulder is not a man who forgets these kinds of things.
And so she finds herself beneath him as he holds both her slender wrists in one of his big hands, pinned above her head. He looms large over her.
“I didn’t forget our conversation last month, you know,” he says, taking her left nipple between his fingers and pinching until she gasps. “You remember it, don’t you?”
She nods, at a loss for words.
“Good. If you don’t like anything I do or say, Scully, all you have to do is tell me, and I’ll stop, okay?”
“Yeah,” she breathes. “Yeah, okay. I understand.”
“Good girl,” he praises her. “Although I think we both know that’s probably not what you want me to call you. I think you want to be a bad girl.”
She arches her pelvis up toward him, silently asking him to touch her there, to slide inside her.
“Already getting to you, huh? You weren’t kidding, Scully. I haven’t even touched your pussy yet and look how desperate you are.”
Mean.
“Oh my god, Mulder, please,” she whimpers. “Please touch me.”
He smirks at her. “All right, but only so I can judge how much my words are getting to you.”
His fingers trail down her body and he dips his index finger between her lips, dragging back and forth a moment before pushing inside her. She arches up into his touch and spreads her legs wider, as best she can beneath him.
“You like spreading your legs for me, don’t you?”
She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. She can’t believe he’s talking to her like this, she can’t believe she asked him to. But she’s more turned on than she’s ever been in her life.
“I can feel how much you like it, Scully. You’re so wet for me. Such a dirty girl.”
Suddenly, his finger is gone from her pussy, and a second later, she feels his wet fingers grip her chin.
“Open your eyes and look at me when I talk to you, Scully.”
Her eyes fly open. There’s something about him talking to her like this while still using her last name that makes it feel even dirtier, which she suspects he realizes.
He kisses her, deeply, a reward, a reassurance. He can talk to her like this and still love her. And he can certainly still want her — she can feel his erection against her belly.
“Please, fuck me,” she says. “I want you.”
That grin again. “I know you do. But I’m not done playing around with you. That’s what I’m going to do: play with you like the toy that you are.”
His fingers find her pussy again, and then her clit, a few quick circles. She feels like she could shatter at any moment.
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt you this wet, baby. I’m so glad you told me how to treat you. Now I know what you need. And I’m having a lot of fun putting you in your proper place.”
He takes his fingers away from her clit.
“No,” she moans, screwing her eyes closed again. “Don’t stop.”
His wet fingers on her face again but this time, a soft tap on her cheek, the barest suggestion of a slap, sending her eyes back open in shock.
He laughs a little. “I told you to keep your eyes open. If I have to tell you again I’m not going to let you come.”
Mean. She whimpers and nods. Unable to close her eyes, she instead gives voice to the terrible, wonderful feelings warring inside her - the hint of humiliation and the arousal fueling one another.
“Why do I like it so much when you treat me like this?” she asks.
Straddling her, he brings his hands to her breasts and pinches each nipple. He looks bemused, like she is a problem to be solved, and then looks back down at her tits.
“Well, I could tell you it’s because kinky sex is subversive, a way to play with the gender roles we push back against in everyday life. I could tell you lots of people like things in bed they wouldn’t like outside it and there’s nothing wrong with that. I could tell you it’s because you trust me and know that I love you and respect you and we’re just playing around.”
His hands move to her sides, and he drops down to his elbows, briefly kissing down her sternum between her breasts.
Then he looks up at her face, making eye contact.
“But we both know that’s not why you like it,” he says. “You like it because you’re a dirty little slut.”
And then suddenly, his cock is pushing inside her, and his finger is on her clit, and she comes harder than she ever has in her life.
“Well that didn’t take much,” he teases her, and it only extends her pleasure. “So easy.”
His cockiness aside, it doesn’t take much for him to come, either — she’s still thrashing around with the aftershocks when he comes inside her after a few more hard strokes, moaning into the crook of her neck.
When she comes to her senses, he’s rolled off of her and is looking at her with the sweetest smile.
“Wow,” she says, still catching her breath, blushing as she thinks about what he said to her.
“Good wow? Or you never want to talk to me again wow?” he asks.
“Good wow. Thank you for giving that to me. I wouldn’t have been able to let go like that without anyone else,” she says, rolling over and curling into him.
He cuddles her protectively, hands stroking up and down her back, through her hair, wherever he can reach with comforting little touches.
“You did so well,” he says, and while she doesn’t really feel like she did anything, the praise warms her. “But sometimes things like that can hit you after you come down from endorphin rush. If it starts to feel bad, promise me you’ll let me know.”
“I will,” she says.
They lounge a while and it does, indeed, start nagging at her a little.
“You’ll still be able to look me in the eye at work after that, right? It won’t change —”
“Scully, nothing could ever change how I feel about you. I love you more than anything. I respect you more than anyone. I’m honored you’d share your desires with me and I’d never betray that.”
“I know,” she sighs. “I guess it’s just good to hear it.”
It occurs to her he hasn’t said anything about whether he enjoyed himself.
“Did you like it?” she asks gently. “Because I don’t want to ask anything of you that you don’t —”
“You couldn’t tell if I liked it?” he jokes. “It was so hot, Scully. Seeing you melt like that.”
She smiles, and then feels his hot breath on her ear.
“I’ll treat you like a dirty slut anytime you like,” he promises.
She laughs. “Thank you,” she says, and she means it.
Author: thefinestmuffins on ao3/enoughslices on tumblr (sorry for all of the handles, yes these are both me! 😅)
Rating: M
Pairing: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Status: WIP, ~6.5k words so far, 3/11 chapters up with some future chapters already drafted
Summary:
Some people get marriage proposals, vows of eternal love. Mulder and Scully get forever threatened grimly, at the cost of everything else they’ve ever known or loved, in the back of a stranger-danger van ferrying them to an undisclosed location.
After Mulder and Scully's investigation of a Wiccan farm and retreat center reveals that a series of "ritual murders" were in fact committed by an organized crime ring, they're forced to go first into hiding under FBI protection and then into the federal witness protection program. An exploration of how they grieve, adjust to living together, heal, and slowly begin to build a new life.
This is my angst-with-a-happy ending sensual WIP that isn't exactly a case fic but has some case fic vibes: the plot is more about the romance and the healing, but the fic does include a lot of original case flashbacks and canon-typical autopsy discussions. It's a WIP, with 6.5k up and some future chapters already drafted.
Summary: You're a physical medium and chaos magician that is called in from time to time to help consult on some X-Files. You've lived your life seeing into another world and believing in things you can't see. What happens when you fall for the die hard skeptic Special Agent John Doggett?
Blackbird, Delaware
The house is in the middle of nowhere. John never thought the state of Delaware was big enough to have a “middle of nowhere” location and yet, here he is. At least, he’s not alone. Monica was convinced there was something paranormal out in the woods of Blackbird. A few teenagers were coming back from visiting an abandoned farmhouse with scratches, quills stuck in their skin, and then they would have the most insane run of bad luck until the next group would go out there into the woods.
But Monica wasn’t feeling well, having succumbed to the flu that was making its way around the office. When he had called her, she had suggested having you accompany him on the two hour drive up to Blackbird to investigate the house. After looking at the case file, she thought it could be another Elemental or possible demon, both of which you would be able to assist with handling. She had been impressed with your reading at the McLeary farm and had apparently visited your shop a few times since then so her faith in your abilities had grown.
Not to mention, John hasn’t been able to get you out of his mind since that case. The waves of your dark hair as it falls over your shoulders, your dark eyes that somehow radiate warmth. That unique scent of lavender and thyme that follows you. In the last week, he’s started dreaming about you. He can’t remember any specific details from the dream, just that you were there. He could hear your laugh, feel your warmth next to him. When he woke up, the smell of lavender and thyme was on his sheets.
And he didn’t mind it.
“You said the teens are coming home with cuts and bruises,” you ask him from the passenger seat of the car, “and quills?”
“Yeah. Like porcupine quills but…”
“But they’re not. Delaware doesn’t have porcupines. The state doesn’t have the appropriate ecosystem for them.”
“You got any ideas then?”
You smile at him, bright and confident, in the late afternoon light. God, you’re beautiful. “Delaware may not have porcupines but they do have pukwudgies.”
“Puk what?”
“Pukwudgies.”
“The hell is that? It sounds like something teenage boys do to each other in the locker room.”
“A pukwudgie is like a gnome, it’s a fairy type spirit that shows itself as a small old man with porcupine quills on its back. They can be beneficial to the areas they inhabit but they can also be little tricksters.”
“So they have short tempers.”
“And they don’t suffer fools lightly. They can follow you home and give you a string of bad luck if you insult them.”
“Sounds like our suspect then.”
You give him a surprised look. “Why, Agent Doggett, did you agree with a paranormal explanation of a case?”
“For now.” He gives you a brief smile. “Until we get up there and find it’s some old, short guy with a pet porcupine that’s teaching some obnoxious teens a lesson.”
You laugh quietly. “I knew it was too good to be true.”
He glances over at you, a smile still on your lips and he’s in complete agreement about the situation, of you agreeing to make this drive with him. It is too good to be true. Someone as bright and beautiful as you willing to spend your Friday night driving out into the woods to investigate with him. And the thought passes through his mind, watching the fading afternoon light shine off the soft waves of your hair and that now familiar scent of lavender and thyme fills the car, that he may very well be falling in love with you.
***
It all happens so fast.
You and John reach the abandoned house just as the sun is setting. You take pictures of the house, the woods, the front door that is standing open. You think you see odd footprints in the dust that could belong to the suspected pukwudgie and take a few shots of those as well. John moves through the house, opening every door and ensuring that there is no one lurking about on the property. When he’s done, he finds you in one of the upstairs bedrooms investigating what looks to be a pile of pine needles, a kind of bedding for a small creature in one of the closets.
“Find anything pukwudgie-ish?”
You can hear the sarcasm in his voice but smile anyway. “Actually, I think I did find something.”
He comes over to where you’re standing and when you look over at him, you see the door to the bedroom slam shut. Before either one of you can move, you hear the slide of a chair moving across the wooden floor and settle under the doorknob of the bedroom. It happens in a matter of seconds and ends with the sound of small claws tottering off into the house. John runs over to the door and tries to open the door only to find it locked. He slams his shoulder into it a few times but the old wood stays surprisingly unphased.
“Dammit!”
You fiddle with the lens of your camera. “Looks like we’ve been pukwudgied.”
“Okay,” he says, a little breathless. “How do we un-pukwudgie it?”
“Under normal circumstances, we would provide a peace offering to the creature, nuts and berries mostly. But,” you motion to the door, “we’re stuck until someone can let us out.”
He sighs in frustration as he pulls out his cell phone and tries to call the Blackbird PD, but that results in another frustrated sigh. “No service. Great.”
You go to the window and push it up. “I could try to climb out on the roof-”
“No, no no,” he grabs your arm and tugs you away from the window. “That’s the last thing we need, you falling through the dilapidated roof and breaking your leg or worse.”
“Alright, no climbing on the roof.” You wander around the perimeter of the room while John goes back to studying the door. There really is no other way out other than waiting for either the police department to come looking for you or some curious teenager to show up to the house. Not having much else to do, you sit down on the floor and pull up the pictures you took on the digital camera. John gets tired of fighting with the jammed door and comes to sit down next to you.
“You had something to show me up here?”
You’re close enough to the closet door to pull it open from your seated position on the floor. “I found a pile of pine needles in the closet. Like it was being used as bedding or a nest.”
He hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything else.
“You sound skeptical.”
“That’s because I am.”
“Agent Doggett, we are locked in a room in an abandoned house that you personally cleared.” You hold up the camera. “I have pictures of unexplained footprints and found a nest in a small, dark enclosed space. What other explanation is there?”
“Another explanation? Okay. It’s a big house so I could have missed them when I did the sweep. The footprints could be an animal’s and the pine needles in the closet could be from a raccoon or opossum.”
“So no pukwudgie? Not even a little bit of possibility?”
He gives you a mildly apologetic look. “Sorry, but no. Unless you got a picture on that camera of the creature, I’m siding with a flesh and blood explanation of who locked us in here.”
You nod. “Alright. Photographic evidence. Got it.”
He actually laughs. “You get a picture of this thing, a good picture of it, and I’ll spring for dinner.”
“Deal!”
You sit in companionable silence for a few minutes. The sun has been down for almost two hours and the chill of night is creeping through the dilapidated house. You’re wishing you had grabbed your down coat instead of the thin jacket you’re trying to tug closer around your upper body. John shifts next to you.
“Here.”
That’s the only warning you get before John drapes his coat over your shoulders. It’s warm and holds notes of his cologne, cedarwood and pepper. Your hand smooths over the thick wool and images start to flood your mind. Mist is still clinging to the trees, dew is collecting on your shoes. There’s a group of people huddled together in a grassy clearing. You don’t want to see what they’re staring at but you move towards them anyway. As you approach them you can see the outline of a boy lying prone on the ground. Your heart stops and your stomach roils and…
“Hey!”
You snap back to the darkness of the bedroom and try to blink back the tears that have gathered in your eyes. John has a hand on your shoulder, firm and grounding. You bury your nose against the collar of the coat and take a deep, steadying breath, inhaling his sharp scent. “Sorry.”
“It’s alright.” He doesn’t sound convinced but relinquishes his grip.
The pieces start to slide into place and tears come to your eyes again. This man has lost his son. He had been wearing this coat when they found the body. He had been in that field, had seen his son in that condition. And your heart breaks for him. But you can’t just tell him what you saw as skeptical as he is. So you do the only thing you can in the moment and open the coat as an invitation to share it. He gives you a small smile before moving closer to you, your sides pressed together and the coat wrapped around both of you. It’s so comforting, his warmth and solid frame next to you. You find yourself closing your eyes and starting to fall asleep.
“I’m sorry,” he says after a few minutes of quiet.
That rouses you. “For what?”
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings about the…” he motions to the door.
“You didn’t hurt my feelings.” You lay your head against his shoulder. “In fact, as far as skeptics go, you’re the most polite one I’ve ever met.”
“Then why’d you start to cry?”
You take a deep breath, trying to figure out how to answer that question when flashes of light and whispered voices can be seen from the window. Both of you jump to your feet and run over to the window. There are about four teenagers sneaking up on the house, trying to keep their voices down as their bright flashlights bob in the darkness. You grab John’s arm.
“Don’t tell them you’re FBI.”
“Why not?”
“You want them to help us?”
He nods.
You lean your head out the window. “Hey! We need help! The pukwudgie locked us in this room!”
The teens stop dead in their tracks and lift their lights up to the window almost blinding you. “You said the pukwudgie locked you up?”
“Yeah! Can you help us?”
You hear the excited twitter of their voices debating on whether or not the creature is still in the house or ran off or they were being tricked. Curiosity got the better of them and they did venture into the house and soon the door was opening with four curious high school students standing on the other side. You thank them for helping while John flashes his FBI badge and tells them they’re trespassing and shouldn’t be there. But since they helped you, he’ll forget about them breaking the law if they leave.
Once the teens are well on their way back home, you and John climb back into the car and start the drive back to DC. He seems to have forgotten about his unanswered question concerning the sudden rise of your tears and you don’t remind him of it. You’re not sure how long ago the event occurred and if he would even be willing to speak of it. When you reach the suburbs of DC, he asks you where he should drop you off.
“At the store,” you tell him. “I live in the apartment above it.”
“That’s convenient.” He gives you a small smile. “For all those late night séances when they run out of black candles and incense.”
You tut. “You don’t use black candles for a séance. Amature.”
He chuckles at that and navigates the mostly empty streets of DC to your shop. He gives you a warm “Good night,” and waits until you enter the shop safely. You debate taking a shower, wanting to carry the residual scent of his cologne on your skin. As you lay in bed that night, you make plans on heading back to Blackbird to get that picture of the pukwudgie.
It’s Sunday afternoon when you download the pictures you took that morning of the three foot tall figure with the rows of short quills on its back onto your computer. You open your email and type in John’s email address, attaching the image. In the body of the email, all you say is: I like Fiorentino’s on 8th Street.
Scully with William in tow has decided that she wants do some baby clothes shopping. She parallel parks in front of the store and goes to get the stroller and then William from her SUV.
“Jeremiah was a bullfrog, was a good friend of mine” she sings as she places William in the stroller.
She tucks William in “but I helped him drink his wine” she sings to him before headed towards to store’s entrance.
“Okay I can do this” she says to herself, already feeling the emotions of Mulder missing another moment in their lives.
She strolls through the store, picking up some socks, more bibs, and another baby beanie since cooler weather is approaching. She continues to distract herself from her emotions by continuing to hum the words to Jeremiah was a Bullfrog and then she hits the onesies section.
It's as if it was placed there just for her. The perfect onesies for the baby of Spooky Mulder. Holding back tears, she goes closer towards it. It is the cutest onesie she has ever seen. Baby blue with rockets, planets, stars, and a space satellite.
“Keep it together Dana” she thinks to herself as she takes the onesie off the rack. Her efforts to keep her emotions at bay are futile and she thinks about how Mulder would love it. Tears starts rolling down her cheeks as she realizes Mulder is missing out on another moment.
“William your father would love this” she says choking on tears bent over William’s stroller.
“Okay compose yourself” she thinks to herself as she heads to the checkout.
“Awe this is my favorite onesies” the clerk says as she is folding it up and placing it into a bag. “Yeah mine too” Scully says smiling, trying not to let the clerk see her emotions.
Scully places William in the car and puts the stroller up and heads back home fighting back more tears as she looks at William through the rear view mirror.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: The X-Files
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully, Fox Mulder & Dana Scully
Characters: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully
Additional Tags: casefile, Post-Cancer Arc (X-Files), season 4-5, Alaska
Summary:
Mulder and Scully arrive in the unforgiving and isolated Alaskan wilderness, where a small town is gripped by terror due to a series of brutal deaths.
