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dreamingofscully · 4 years

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The Wrong Side of the Bed

Rating: Explicit Length: 4427 words Classification: Established MSR, Slight angst, Season 7, Smut Exchange 2020 Summary: Smut Exchange 2020. Prompt from @crescentmoon223: After a frustrating day at the office, Scully gets bossy in the bedroom.

Notes: Thank you to my wonderful betas. @fragilevixenfic you are so quick, detailed and wonderful with your feedback. @AweburnPhoenix I loved the suggestions you made. @suitablyaggrieved I think you have beta’d every one of my fics and I am overwhelmed with your support and value your opinions on everything I create. Lastly, my good IRL friend who isn’t on tumblr/twitter made such an impact on my very first fic also looked over this one, and I am so so grateful. I could never have done it without you all!!!

READ THIS ON AO3.

“No I can’t wait until tomorrow, I need that file before noon.” A pause, her brow scrunches in a way that he has become intimately familiar with over their long partnership. “What do you mean, you don’t know where it is?”

Mulder cracks another sunflower seed and watches Scully surreptitiously from his desk. She’s near the door, the reception on her cell phone trapping her in a small five-foot section of their office, and she’s pacing like a wild animal in a cage.

She glances in his direction and he looks away, busying himself with the file he’s pretending to read.

“Look, do I need to come up there and fetch it myself, Agent Porter? … No? … Fine, if you can get it to me by one I won’t–”

When Mulder peers up, she’s looking at her phone incredulously.

“That asshole hung up on me.”

A burst of laughter bubbles up before he can stop it, and he intently regrets it when he sees her narrowed eyes, the heat in her glare directed at him instead of the hapless agent on the fifth floor.

Scully goes back to the computer desk in the corner and slumps in her seat. She’s holding her shoulders tightly to one side. He notes the wrinkles in her slacks, the half-untucked blouse, the careless way she sits her elbows on the surface in front of her. It would be charming and he’d delight in teasing her about her unusually unkempt state of dress but not even he would dare to try to lift her up by joking with her today.

“Would you stop staring at me Mulder, I’m fine.”

He opens his mouth to remind her about the words she’s not supposed to say but she nails him with another hard glare.

“I’m just having a shitty day.” She sighs and shifts in her seat, groaning as she cracks her neck from side to side. “Why are there so many incompetent people in this goddamn building?”

It’s been about an hour, and she can’t get herself to relax or focus. Another crack from Mulder’s side of the office makes her wince.

“For Christ’s sake, Mulder would you stop eating those things for, I don’t know, fifteen minutes? Maybe?”

When she glances up at him to emphasize her words, he’s looking at her with wide eyes, mouth half-open, hand frozen in place as he’d set another sunflower seed in his mouth. Instead of biting down, he spits it out on his desk, causing another surge of annoyance to rise within her at his carelessness.

The smallest things have been irritating her all day. She hates her unexplainable irrationality, that she can’t gain control of herself, and it makes her want to alternately burst into tears and smash something into tiny pieces.

She looks towards her partner again, sees his sad eyes and a tight, uncomfortable smile flash across his face. Her anger dissolves and shame rises within her. She can feel the tide of tears well up from deep in her chest, stinging her eyes as she holds them back. Mulder’s been nothing but supportive today; handling all the minor tasks that neither of them liked, answering the phone, and redirecting stupid questions. Yet, all she can think about is his inconsequential habits. She hates herself for taking out her anger, for which she could find no rational source, on him.

Her chair creaks as she shifts away from him in her seat; her hands coming up to hide her crumbling face, uncontrollable tears falling down her cheeks.

His gentle hand on her wrist stills her shaking hands.

“What can I do Scully? Anything.”

Kneeling down beside her chair and leaning close, so she can’t hide, his worry deepens. He’s never seen her so upset. At first he thought she’d just been stoically withstanding a day that had gone from bad to worse… but the tear tracks down her flushed cheeks and the worry in her eyes betray a deeper problem. His heart starts to race, finding it strange that she’s accepting his comfort at work.

Mulder releases a breath when her watery blue eyes meet his, and he sees a determination there, a curiosity. Something different than the fury and despair he’s been a silent witness to all morning.

A small smile briefly lights up her face and she brushes her damp cheek with the back of her hand.

“Anything?” Her eyebrow lifts, and he’s done for.

Nodding, Mulder squeezes her hand, moves a bit closer.

Scully withdraws her hand and looks away from him. When she looks back, he’s relieved to see she’s transformed back into her usual self. Her emotions are subtle, carefully hidden behind a mask of clinical detachment, but easily recognizable to him.

“Go to your apartment. Take off your clothes. And wait for me,” she says, her eyes an intense indigo that pierce straight through him.

Mulder’s eyes widen and a smile spreads on his face. Scully merely tilts her head to the side, raising both of her eyebrows at his delay. Her back straight, she directs the full power of her commanding gaze towards him.

He stands, grabs his jacket from his chair and leaves the office, a foolish smile on his face as he rushes to the elevators. He’s distracted but has enough sense to cover the evidence of his arousal already tenting his pants.

***

As Scully’s heels tap along the tiles in the hallway outside Mulder’s apartment, a small smile dances on her face. Mulder’s intervention worked something of a miracle. The control that she wrestled with all morning has morphed into anticipation. An emotion she was much more familiar with and something she could easily compartmentalize.

She didn’t wait very long. It took a weight off her shoulders that she was able to finish a few reports, thoughts of a licentious afternoon with Mulder teasing her. On the drive to his place, all she felt was the hot pooling of desire and all she thought about was how much she wanted to reward him for his ability to always make her feel better.

She lets herself into his apartment, the only light scattering dimly through the windows. The long shadows and silence gives her pause, but she sees his shoes scattered in the entryway, his jacket crumpled on the floor near the coat rack. She envisions his distracted, lanky frame entering his apartment in a rush, even more heedless of neatness than usual. It never fails to thrill her that she excites him just as much as he excites her.

The bedroom is darker than the living room, the shades pulled from the night before to give them privacy. She waits on the threshold, grazing her eyes over his darkened form, lingering over his hardening cock, wondering if he touched himself while waiting for her.

She doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move.

Dragging her eyes away after a few long moments, she moves to the window and tilts the blinds open, risking a little of their privacy so she can enjoy him in the light from the bright midday sun outside. A thrill races up her spine at the small chance someone could watch them and enjoy the view of their partially obscured forms making love.

She stands over him on the bed, and their eyes connect.

Mulder can tell she sees the desperation in his eyes. She’s deliberately dragging things out, and he almost forgets what started this in the first place. He wants to reach up and throw her on the bed, rip off her expensive suit, and show her what he’s been thinking of doing to her since he left their office.

But… he stays still under her intense gaze. His breathing quickens and his cock hardens under her scrutiny, arms across her chest like she’s examining evidence. Her eyebrow raised in silent command, he knows he’ll be hard-pressed to move without her permission, even if a goddamn sasquatch appeared behind her.

Suddenly, she’s leaning over him, one knee on the bed. Her mouth inches from him, warm puffs of breath onto the flushed skin of his cheek.

“You’ve been good, I can tell. Did you shave?”

He doesn’t speak, knows this game. He answers her with his eyes: Yes.

“How can I show you how much I appreciate you, Mulder?”

He can’t help but smile at her with a toothy grin. She’s fully clothed but reaches upwards to shrug off her jacket, unbutton her blouse halfway. The silky material of her untucked shirt tickles his skin, the warmth from her hands seeps into him as they hover but don’t touch. Her hair wraps around her face and hides her expression in shadows.

Her tongue is the first thing he feels, meandering down the center of his chest. The coolness of the air a transitory sensation on his dampened skin as her touch inflames him. He can only watch as she circles his navel, the sunlight from his window catching her fiery hair as she nears his cock. She exhales a soft sigh and glances upwards to meet his eyes before her mouth and hands descend upon him.

She grasps his rigid cock and licks his entire length with the flat of her tongue. Swirling around the tip, she tastes his essence, the saltiness, and something else that she’s associated with him from the very beginning. She can’t quite describe it. Since their first embrace, her face pressed into the center of his chest… it is HIM.

Taking him in her mouth, stroking the base of his cock with her hands, she hums in pleasure. The vibration from the sounds she makes travels down through him, upwards, echoing in his own voice. Mulder groans from his position on the bed but doesn’t reach out to touch her, as much as she wants him to.

Tears sting at her eyes, this time in happiness. He doesn’t hesitate to make himself vulnerable when she’s feeling powerless, shifting the balance between them. Ever since that first night in his hotel room, he knew what she needed. The trust built from there, and it was unconditional, unspoken, the thing she treasured most about them.

“Scully…”

She feels the tightening in his balls before the warning in his voice and lets him go, peering at him through her lashes.

“Did I say you could speak?”

Mulder shakes his head, his eyes tinged a deep green, equally desperate and aroused. Sweat slicks his brow, and his hands clench at the sheets. Holding his gaze a few seconds longer, his face softens, a small smile gracing his lips. The absolute trust she sees reflected in his eyes clenches at her heart.

Crawling up his body, carefully letting only the fabric of her clothing touch him, she brushes her nose along his. Her hand caresses his cheek, moves upwards to tangle in his thick hair. When her lips dart close to his, she pulls away as he strains upwards.

“Tell me what you’d do with me if I let you touch me.”

His voice is rough as he speaks. “I’d grab your wrists, pull you under me. I’d lick my way down to your pussy and keep licking until you begged me to fuck you.”

A twitch of her lips betrays the thought that she would, very much, like for him to do that to her. But not right now. Mulder waits passively but the sparkle in his eyes gives away his enjoyment.

“You were supposed to say ‘whatever I want’.”

“Tell me, then.”

“Kiss me.”

Their lips meet, and electricity travels from the top of his head straight to his groin. Her hands grasp his wrists, holding him in place. Her tongue invades his mouth, withdraws. She nips his lips playfully then pulls back out of reach. He longs to reach up and crush her mouth to his, to grab fistfuls of her hair, to run his fingers along the edge of her blouse and over her silky skin. He waits, but not for long.

Their lips separate momentarily, and Scully whispers into his mouth. “Touch me.”

He takes advantage of his freedom, hands finally moving from the bedsheets to caress the sides of her breasts through her shirt. Pulling on the edge of her blouse, he draws her closer to deepen their kiss. His tongue presses along hers and glides along her lips, tasting her.

Mulder pulls away and implores her silently as his hands move to the last remaining buttons on her blouse. Scully nods and grins at him. When he removes it, gliding his hands over her shoulders and down her back, he sighs at the contact of his hands along the smooth length of her skin, finally.

They kiss, her hand tangling in his hair, gently tugging and scratching his scalp. A surge of desire rising up within him, his hands glide up and squeeze her breasts. She gasps at the contact, pulls away slightly.

“Sorry, was I too–”

“It’s okay, I’m just a little… sensitive.” She grins at him, strokes a finger over his cheek, and bites her lip.

Nodding again and pressing closer, Mulder continues his ministrations. He takes a deep breath and controls himself, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. He works his way slowly towards her nipples, dares to glide over the hardened peaks through the material of her bra once he can see her face twist and her body writhe with want for him. Her skin is flushed down to her chest. Running a finger along the edge of her bra, he leans upwards and licks the perspiration forming there.

Panting shallowly, Scully sits up, reaches behind, and releases the catch on her bra.

“Your tongue.” She arches an eyebrow. “Gently.”

He obliges, teasing her as she teased him, awareness of her flooding every sense. When she stiffens slightly, he pulls back, touching her heated flesh everywhere but there, working his way up. Her sweet rosy nipples draw him, but he resists, placing feathery kisses on her alabaster skin, circling her areola with his tongue. When he finally, finally covers her nipple with his mouth, she’s panting with lust. He gently skims the sensitive nub with his tongue, making sure to pay equal attention to the other.

Suddenly she’s rolling off of him, lifting up her hips and divesting herself of the rest of her clothing. She perches up on one elbow, gazing at his body next to hers.

Scully watches as Mulder’s eyes sweep over her body, pausing at the thatch of curls at the apex of her thighs. She sees his hesitation, his hand inching towards her body. Stilling it with her own, she smiles impishly when his eyes return to hers, bathing her in the heat of his desire. He always makes her feel so fucking sexy like she’s the only woman on the planet.

As she rises on her knees, Scully feels wound up, tightly coiled, and ready to break at any moment. The unusual discomfort she felt earlier is forgotten, miles away. She’s swollen, flushed with heat, and ready. However, there’s a few more things she wants him to do first.

She crawls up his body, and can’t help but giggle self-consciously as she braces herself on the bed in front of him, knees bent on either side of his head, directly over his face.

“Make me come,” she demands.

He grasps her legs, pulling her close, and she gasps at the contact of his warm breath against her thighs. His tongue glides a trail along her leg, and she can tell he’s hesitant. His kisses are soft and slow, frustrating her with their gentleness. She moves, hoping he’ll quicken his pace, touch her where she wants him to, but he maneuvers out of the way, wrapping his arms around her legs firmly, grasping her ass with his hands.

“I’m ready, Mulder. Don’t hold back now.”

She feels him smile against her. It seems to take forever and then he’s there, a teasing nip at the crease of her leg, a soothing lick. Her legs wobble unsteadily, but he’s got her, supporting her completely as she abandons the control she’s had all this time. She gives herself over to him. As he worships her, kissing and sucking at her folds and her clit in a gentle rhythm, Scully grips the bedsheets with one hand and grasps his arm with the other, the flood of sensation overwhelming her.

The extended anticipation, the teasing, made her more than ready, despite how little she’s allowed him to touch her up until now. She’s wet, dripping, and he’s consuming her.

She lets him.

It’s only moments before his deft tongue has her breaking apart, seeing their future in the stars.

He’s holding her up when she comes and lays kisses against the soft skin of her thighs when she returns to him.

She crawls unsteadily off of him and lies on her side, trembling and breathless. She’s loose, draped languidly like a ragdoll. Mulder touches her freely, gliding over her porcelain skin. It glows underneath the sunlight from the window, and he worships her. The curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the strength of her taut abdomen. He grazes his thumb over the slight swell just below her navel, the spot she curses at in her neverending search to rid herself of that last bit of softness. It’s his favorite place, where he’d lay his head for the rest of his life if she let him.

When her breathing steadies Mulder moves over her, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “What next?”

He’s close, mimicking her teasing from earlier, well aware that with only a word he’d do whatever she asked. Her eyes are dark, the blue irises a thin circle around her pupils. The dimple in her cheek flashes briefly as she grins. Her hands move across his chest, scratching upwards, tracing her thumbs around his nipples before pushing him up firmly.

“Off.”

He moves away from her, testing his limits by remaining as close as possible while still obeying. Scully licks her lips and slips out from under him. She sits close and moves a delicate finger down his chest and along his abdomen. A pause, a tantalizing glance beneath her lashes as she lays a palm on his chest and pushes him away again.

And then she’s on all fours, peering back at him through the veil of her hair.

“Fuck me.”

It takes him a moment to process her words through his lust-addled brain, the sight of her positioned so vulnerably, yet with absolute control of him, nearly makes him come right there. He scrambles up behind her, moving her to the edge of the bed, hands lingering on the curve of her ass and giving it a light squeeze.

“Hmmm… “ Scully murmurs, wiggles temptingly nearer to him, arching her back and laying down on her elbows.

The fiery fan of her hair blazes in the sunlight, her creamy skin beckoning him to touch her. The tattoo on her lower back taunts him as he grasps his cock, teases her entrance. She’s incredibly wet, swollen with need. He can’t help lingering there, gliding his other hand over the ink on her back then wrapping it around her hip.

He meant to go slowly to give her time to adjust, but once he enters her, she drives back onto him, and he’s deep within her, all at once.

“Oh!”

They both exclaim at the sensation and laugh in tandem. Being inside of her always feels incredible, like he’s sheltered, complete.

“Talk to me.”

“Miss my voice already?”

Scully giggles and swivels her hips to encourage him to move.

“Agh, Scully. Your wish is my command,” he says, as he starts to thrust slowly, his words centering him, keeping him focused on her.

“Do you know who I ran into on the way to the car out of our office today?”

“Hmm?”

“Skinner.”

Scully gasps, and he’s not sure if it’s from his words or a particularly sharp thrust, but he enjoys the ambiguity.

“I had to hold my jacket in front of me the whole time. And look like a complete jackass when he wondered where I was heading to in the middle of the day. You think he figured it out, Scully, what you do to me?”

Mulder leans over and kisses her shoulder blade.

“Do you know how hard it is to drive with an erection, Scully? Well of course you do, it’s not the first time you’ve put me in that state.”

She snorts into her arms with laughter, and the movement causes him to slip out momentarily. They both groan from the loss of contact. Mulder falters in his story, too distracted by the sight of her ass and slit in front of him, and the feel of her surrounding him when he enters her again.

“More.” Scully says, her words muffled by the pillow she’s holding onto.

He continues his movement and his tale with difficulty, his hands steadying her hips and caressing small circles into her skin with his thumbs.

“I thought I’d be late, that you’d get there before me and I’d disappoint you. I never want to disappoint you, Scully.” He’s quiet for a moment, wanting the meaning of his words to sink in, and desperately holding onto his control.

It was hard to think about anything except the woman writhing and moaning in front of him, but he was going to do his damndest to do what she wished. A challenge, he was always up for that.

“I waited for you, just as you asked. Shaved, laid down on the bed. It felt like hours…” He pants, pauses, leans forward again until she turns to face him. “I knew you’d come, Scully. Do you know how much that means to me?”

“Umm…” She leans up towards him, grasping onto his neck and pulling him forward. She looks at him as directly as she can from this position. “I’ll always come for you, Mulder.”

“That’s what she said.” Mulder smiles broadly, thrusts forward with a “Schwing!” motion.

Scully shakes with laughter and groans. Reaching backward she slaps the side of his ass. “That’s enough of that.”

Mulder’s broad grin shifts into a sentimental one. With one hand still holding her hip as he moves within her, he traces the contours of her spine and runs his fingers lightly over the soft skin of her lower back.

“When I heard you enter my apartment, it was all I could do to stop myself from leaping out of the bed to tackle you. The thought that in mere minutes, seconds, you’d be touching me, telling me what you wanted. It’s everything, Scully. You’re everything, you know that don’t you?”

“Yeah, Mulder,” she pants. “Love you, too. But… harder.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

He is overwhelmed by how good she feels; her tight walls gripping his cock with each movement. The swivel of her hips at the perfect moment. The increasing intensity of her moans and the sounds they make coming together. His hands grip her hips as he withdraws slowly, thrusts inside quick and deep. The force of it causes her to jerk forward on the bed, to grip the bedsheets tighter in her fists.

A wave of tenderness washes over him at the sight and feel of them together. His hand moves from her hip to glide up and caress the fine hair at the nape of her neck. He’ll never get over how amazing it feels to share this with her, to know that she wants this, that he can make her happy. She turns her head to peek at him, a smile curving upwards. The glint of the sun reflecting in her eyes, the love shining forth. His heart clenches and his movements grow more erratic. Gliding his hand between her legs, he rubs her clit, desperate to help her to the edge before he falls inevitably, towards his own.

It’s not long before she’s there. Scully gasps and her eyes squeeze shut and Mulder feels her walls pulsating around him. A few more sloppy thrusts and he’s engulfed by his own climax, an overwhelming tide of sensation and emotion.

When she comes back to awareness, she’s lying facedown on the bed, Mulder’s limp form half-covering her. Both groaning, they crawl into each other’s arms. Scully tucks her head into her spot just under his chin and sighs contentedly as her heartbeat slows.

Her eyes droop shut as Mulder strokes her hair and pulls up the sheet to cover them. She’s deliciously sore, filled with warmth, and finally feels calm settling over her like a quilt.

“Feel better?”

“Mmm, much.” Scully tilts her head up to look at him. “Thank you for turning my day around.”

“Well, let me tell you, it was a hardship.” Mulder winks at her and kisses her forehead.

Chuckling and laying back down, Scully sighs. “I really don’t know what got into me today. I’ve never been the superstitious sort–”

“No kidding.”

“–But it honestly feels like some horrendous combination of every terrible idiom. Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, full moon, etcetera. I could believe all of them were true.”

“I don’t know, Scully. I’m glad I could help though.” Mulder glides his hand over her shoulders and grasps her hand. “And I’m glad–”

At his pause, Scully looks up at him again, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m glad Skinner found me before he could go see you.”

“Why?”

“He told me something I’m sure would have made things worse. I… hope I don’t sour your mood again by telling you, but…”

“Mulder…” she warns. They don’t keep things from each other, not anymore.

“There’s some sort of audit coming next week. He just wanted to make sure we didn’t take any field trips before then. Apparently the guy is a bit of a hard-ass.”

“Is that it?”

Mulder’s mouth quirks into a half-smile. “I thought you’d be more upset.”

“That was this morning. I’m good now.” Scully’s eyes pierce into his own. “How are you with this news?”

Mulder shrugs and rolls his eyes. Giant waste of time, she can hear him think.

“We’ve been through worse, Mulder. One accountant certainly can’t do much.” She wraps her arm around him tighter, kisses his chest. “Besides, we’ve got each other. What can they do?”

She can feel his contentment surrounding her as she drifts into a half-sleep. “Yeah, we got this, Scully.”

#XFSmut2020 #my fic #xf fanfic #xfiles #x-files #the x-files #msr #mulder and scully #smut #xf smut #msr fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully

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xfilesfanficexchange · 4 years

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Putting Down Roots

By: @gaycrouton

For: @admiralty-xfd

Mulder and Scully are learning to adapt to their new lives after being on the run for so long. The biggest perk of owning a house? Unlimited access to each other's bodies without fear of a noise complaint.

Link Here

#XFSmut2020 [23/40]

#x files #msr #smut #mulder #scully #xfsmut2020 #x files fanfiction

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starwalker42 · 4 years

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Together

Rating: E

Summary: “I’m never leaving you again.” Scully hadn’t realised how badly she needed to hear those words. He’s staying. He’s staying forever. “Prove it,” she whispers.

Notes: My entry for the 2020 Smut Exchange by @xfilesfanficexchange. My prompt from @fxckmescully was “emotional fucking but also like frantic we haven't fucked in almost a year fucking, post The Truth”. I really hope this is the kind of thing you were looking for Jaime, thank you so much for your prompt!

Read a snippet below and the rest on AO3!

Dana Scully is no stranger to nightmares. The first ones started after her abduction, full of shadows and lights and voices that faded into nothingness if she tried to focus on them. Those are rarer now, though not, she suspects, because she’s come past them so much as there are so many other sources of fear for her mind to hold onto.

She dreams of Melissa bleeding to death on the floor of her apartment, dreams of herself lying helpless in a hospital bed as an unseen invader creeps further towards her brain, dreams of little girls with blonde hair and her sister’s smile who turn to dust when she reaches out to them. Recently her dreams are full of another child, her baby boy, crying out for her in the dark. He is taken from her and given to strangers who are unable to protect him, and they let him be taken away forever by men who cannot be killed, men whose only knowledge of him is that he is a target, a threat they must eliminate. They don’t know how his face lights up when he giggles, or how he loves it when his mother sings to him, or how much the occasional crease of his forehead reminds her of his father.

His father is the one she dreams about the most.

There are no consistent events, only recurring themes, the darker the better for her brain to hold on to. Fate has never been fair to Fox Mulder, but her imagination is downright cruel: he is tricked and lied to and torn away from all the good in the world, made to fulfil the dreams of others who only want to hurt him, used in every way to achieve all that he finds wrong. He is tortured, beaten, and murdered by humans and things that only appear to be, or more recently by things not even attempting the illusion. He is left alone to die in the far corners of the world where she can’t reach him until it’s too late.

#my writing #xfsmut2020 #it gets smutty i promise!!!!!#but also angst because season 9 #thank so much to everyone who reads!

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slippinmickeys · 4 years

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Circle

This was for the #XFSmut2020 exchange. I had the lovely @kyouryokusenshi whose prompt was: “Post MSIV pregnancy sex. Scully’s hormones are raging and everything is tender.”

To look at her, curled up on her side in their bed, you couldn’t tell she was pregnant.

Hair fanned out on the pillow like it had been styled by a beauty team; curled about her on a wave of titian silk, her face soft, but composed -- stately in her age, but still beautiful.

He moved a hand lightly under the covers and ran it over the swell of her stomach, felt the firmness push back at him. A baby swam inside; cells dividing, constructing and nurturing, half him, half her. It felt like even more of a miracle this time though they’d done it once before. He adopted the same credo he had the last time, with William: best not to question it.

They had a firm due date. It was easy to calculate -- the vibrating psychosis of Little Judy leaving an indelible mark on not just their psyche, but their calendar, too. He remembered back to that night. Lying with her in his arms, Scully wondering aloud if he could and would find someone new to start a family with. Like he could just go to a market and select a bride. Here, this one.

Somebody else? Didn’t she know that wasn’t possible? He hadn’t been able to see anyone but her since she’d clipped into his basement office and blinded him with science.

She sniffed slowly to awareness beside him, eyelids fluttering open as she moved to put her own hand on top of his.

“‘Morning,” she rasped.

“Hey,” he said.

The morning sun shot bands of light through the shades and over the floor of the bedroom, creeping incrementally closer toward their bed as it rose.

After a moment of quiet contemplation, he leaned over and kissed her, once, twice. Breathing in the sleepy musk of her breath, the smell of hair that had soaked in a jasmine bubble bath the night before and dried on a feather pillow. He couldn’t get enough of her. Not for 25 years, not for 25 more.

“Mm,” Scully hummed as he fell back against his own pillow, and she reached out with a foot to burrow it under his calf.

She had told him only the night before how much she was enjoying this stage of pregnancy - past that miserable first stage and well on into the second trimester. How the last time she’d been so miserable missing him that even the little joyful things -- getting that first sonogram picture, feeling the first flutterings of movement -- were lost in the haze of her grief. How now she was enjoying them twofold, three. Once for herself, once for him, and once for William, who was still out in the world, connected to them by the tethers of biology and shared jeopardy.

He felt her pull her foot out from under him and then started running just her toes gently up the skin of his leg, and he cocked his eyebrows at her in question. She cocked hers right back. Right, he thought. This stage of pregnancy also came with the full flush of hormones, as likely to turn her amorous as they were to make her say “I’m turning food into a person, you get to fold laundry.”

His crotch leapt to attention. ...Leapt wasn’t the right word, he thought. Things didn’t much leap anymore, but they rose admirably to duty whenever called upon, and that was something considering this day and his age.

“Agent Scully, are you coming on to me?” his voice rumbled in the quiet of the room.

She nodded solemnly.

The nights were for passionate, sometimes desperate coupling in the dark -- but mornings were for slow, languorous bouts of lovemaking that they’d been denied so much in their lives together. This morning felt no different, the acreage of their bed laid out for exploration of each other, in the sluggish time before that first cup of coffee. He rolled toward her, nosing her cheek before darting out a tongue to taste her lips.

How strange to imagine his world with her still in it; that short, cheerful physicist with her herringbone suit and extended hand; she’d looked like a co-ed. He’d planned to launch her into the stratosphere, had known her game, with her little notes — she’d been a spy but too much of an ingenue to know it, and seven years later he’d slept with the enemy and fallen irreversibly in love with her. Or was it the other way around?

She climbed onto him deliberately, without haste, the camisole she’d slept in pulled off somewhere between his nostalgia and her lips.

“Where are you?” she asked breathily, the dew of her mons coming to rest on his thigh.

“With you,” he said, running a lazy hand up her side, grazing the side of her breast with fingertips. He was always with her, even if she wasn’t around, his internal radar tuned to her frequency like a NOAA buoy pinging in the dark.

She breathed out deeply, her hot breath ruffling the wiry hairs on his chest. A solid third of them were grey now, as were those in his beard, and he liked to think he’d earned them in the field, chasing mutants and monsters, but the bare truth of it was, he’d gotten them while pining for her like Pyramus, held at bay by a wall of his own making. The last few years without her had been tough.

At times he could see that Scully wasn’t yet used to this more thoughtful Mulder, and occasionally braced herself for his abrupt departure, his inevitable decline into a dog on a scent, falling into the habit of sisphysian search. But instead he would stand there, remain quiet and true, and she would ease back into him with her renewed faith.

She reached down and grabbed both his hands, lacing her fingers through his, and then raised his arms up and over his head. Her mouth was even with his and she took sipping kisses at them, the arc of her belly brushing against his torso.

Her curves were rounder now, more carnose than sharp, lending her an air of lushness that made his cock ache. He would take her any way he could get her, but this gravid Scully was of Nanaya, Eostre, Hedone. A fertility sculpture come to life.

She slowly ground her sex into his thigh and he chased her mouth with his own as she pulled back a few teasing inches. He longed to hold her, touch her, but he let her take the lead and slowly, so slowly, she relaxed her grip on his hands and inched down his body, the hard points of her nipples just grazing the skin of his chest as she moved lower and lower.

She shifted until her mouth was hovering over the tent of his boxers, and she flicked her eyes to his and gave him a slow, lascivious grin. He suddenly felt short of breath. She worked her fingers into the waist of his underwear and he tilted up his hips to help her pull them off.

The anticipation of her hot little mouth lowering itself onto his cock was almost more exquisite than the act itself. But then, oh then her tongue was swirling around him and the heat and the slick and the pull of her mouth was, as always, a revelation.

This woman, this woman who would shoot him to save him, who would tell off bosses and brothers and fish him out of the Atlantic. He liked to remind her that she’d been held in contempt of Congress for him, like some 70’s era Post reporter, and she’d mimic driving a snow cat and he would get quiet with the brass-tasting memory of fear. They were foxhole soldiers, brothers-in-arms, each willing to hug the grenade while telling the other to run. Their love was a devotion, a decades-long experiment in tolerance and gravity. It was the only supernatural thing he’d never once doubted.

She hummed happily around the length of him, and Mulder sank boneless into the bed, moving one hand gently into her hair, not pulling or pushing, just needing to touch her. She had one hand cupping the base of him, and her mouth slid over him like a silken sheath. He had never wanted to ask her how she’d honed her blowjob prowess, but she was an artist of the genre, a true master, a Catholic schoolgirl fantasy come to life.

Just in time to save his reputation, she let him slide out of her mouth and crawled back up the length of him, settling tightly into his side, her tongue finding the sensitive spot just behind his ear.

With a low growl he raised himself to his elbows and canted himself on top of her, situating himself between her legs, their child resting between them in the cradle of her hips. He ran a hand along her belly reverently before gliding straight home, eliciting a breathy sigh from her lips.

Her head sunk back into the pillows, the rumpled cotton framing her face which was a mask of carnal harmony, her look one of both pleasure and pain, the sock and buskin of sexual euphoria.

He rocked into her slowly but firmly, the blunt head of his penis bumping into her sensitive cervix at the apex of every thrust. God, how was he to survive this? She was humming under him, rocking her hips forward slightly with his every thrust, her ample breasts bouncing, keeping time.

He thought back to their first sexual encounter, that heady feeling of discovery; shucking off her apple green sweater and uncovering a sex bomb underneath. She’d been wanton, just a season or two past quarter life and thrumming with sexual energy. The pent up longing; seven years of such a desperate love that when they came together, it had been practically atomic.

Now, their bodies knew each other, clicked into place with ease and comfort. No less passion, but more than enough love. He flashed on an old Harry Chapin song: and the years keep on rollin’ by.

He grabbed her leg and pulled it higher and he sunk into her flesh almost more than he could bear, her pregnant flexibility wreaking havoc with his restraint.

He felt more than heard her moan, a quiet rumbling in the base of her throat and he knew that she was close. He pressed his middle finger into her mouth and she sucked it with enthusiasm, and once again he feared he might not be able to hold out long enough for her to come. With a wet pop, he pulled his hand from her mouth and reached in between them, brushing the nub at the top of her sex with his slicked finger. She jolted under him.

“More,” she whispered.

He gave her as much as he could. He always had.

When she came apart beneath him, it was purling, languid, a roll like thunder. He rode out the crest with her and then let himself release, and it felt like every promise he’d ever made to her and a few he hadn’t.

He collapsed next to her, careful to avoid putting weight on their growing child.

“How is it that we just keep getting better at this?” he asked, his face half buried in the covers, his voice muffled.

She smiled at him, a little sweat beading on the top of her lip. The cockcrow light had panned up their bed, and a slant of it shone on her hair like aurora. “Years of practice, I suspect,” she said, her brow arching at him, reflecting a sliver of light. Then her face got a small surprised look, and she reached for him. “Give me your hand,” she said.

She took his hand and pressed it to her belly, and he felt it roll softly under him, like a golf ball under the skin. He felt tears spring to his eyes.

Peace and wonder fell over him in equal measure and they lay there together, not moving as morning turned to afternoon, settling into the horse latitudes of their life.

#xfsmut2020 #x-files #fanfic #smut #soft #msr #my fic #prompt

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scullymakesmefeelautopsyturvy · 4 years

Text

Several Times Scully Got Locked Out Of Her Motel Room In Her Scanties (First Time Smut Ensues) Chapter One

Space (Season One)

They sat on the city steps in the midday sunshine awaiting another of Mulder’s mysterious informants. She, eating a sad little excuse for a sandwich: cucumber-dampened white bread encompassing roast chicken lovingly Saran-wrapped and pressed into her hand after Sunday lunch at her parents’ house. An awkward lunch, during which her father had accomplished the stellar feat of not asking her about her work once. I should have cheered everyone up by asking if anyone had heard from Charles lately, Melissa had joked, darkly, over the phone afterwards.

The sandwich stuck in her throat a little as she swallowed, and out of nowhere, everything felt so… insufficient.

Was this really her life now? Crackpots and conservative suits and no sex since Jack? Reading journals alone on Friday nights and eating her mother’s leftovers?

She was still stashing a fastidiously initialed brown bag in the Bureau staff kitchen fridge each morning, as she had been in the habit of doing at Quantico.

Dana Katherine Scully, you’re hardly a schoolgirl anymore, she told herself.

Perhaps it was time to graduate to lunch in the cafeteria, like one of the big kids.

Mulder nibbled on his inescapable sunflower seeds. Rental car cup holders. The top drawer of the basement desk. The bottom drawer, and the middle. Even loose, once, inexplicably, in her suitcase when she arrived home from a three-night case in Iowa. They were everywhere, pervading her entire life with their woody scent and their easy charm just like the man who unceasingly consumed them.

He was close, now, his knees spread wide and swinging with casual rich-kid confidence as he began to lose patience with his anonymous NASA tipster. Scully kept her stockinged legs primly pressed together, her well-lined heavy linen skirt draping over her kneecaps, preserving her modesty. His fingertips brushed her own as he handed her the informant’s note, and she was glad of the excuse to break his gaze, to look down and away from his face; the inevitable thrill she was coming to know so well shooting through her body from tip to toes.

When the Space Program whistleblower did arrive, it was a she; a development Scully could well have done without. Especially one as… developed as this.

Long and lean, blonde, finessed; Michelle Generoo looked exactly like the full-sized version of the girls Scully imagined Mulder growing up with on Martha’s Vineyard, summering in Rhode Island, picnicking on lush lawns by sparkling waters while she herself played hopscotch with scavenged pebbles on Navy base blacktop, or avoided cracks in uneven paving slabs as she skipped along in hand-me-down pleated skirts and fraying hand-knitted sweaters. This was probably exactly the WASP-y horsewoman type Mulder’s parents had always envisaged him marrying, with her tweed jacket and her long silky locks and her mirror-lensed aviators.

Not a squat, pale, Irish Catholic Navy brat with full cheeks, wiry russet hair and stubborn freckles that were probably popping exponentially with every second spent sitting in this sunshine. Who still brought homemade sandwiches to work.

Michelle Generoo: Mission Control Communications Commander for the Space Program in Houston. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for me now, for I must have sinned, and am being punished with the early-afternoon arrival of Fox Mulder’s ideal woman, sent from heaven to enact my own personal hell.

Scully hated this feeling: this creeping sense of little sister inferiority. It was the mid-semester first day at a new school all over again, having been transplanted with her father’s latest deployment; Bill laughing and joking with the jocks or the prettiest clique of girls he could find, she hiding with a book in the library. It was enviously watching Melissa tame her curls into elaborate braids when all she could manage was a stubby ponytail with lumps at her crown, aged seven, twelve, twenty-nine.

What was it about prepubescent inadequacies that made them so infuriatingly unassailable? Successfully reinterpreting Einstein and near-perfect pistol qualification scores had only ever compensated for so much.

At the mention of a fiancé - a Shuttle Commanding astronaut fiancé, no less - Scully relaxed somewhat. For once, she was glad that Mulder’s particular obsession with certain matters of the universe was a little less than impressive to the casual observer.

Mulder disappeared off into the city on some unspecified errand, and sent her back to the Hoover Building to arrange flights and accommodation, agreeing to meet her at the airport.

On the plane, he seemed disappointed when she didn’t want to read his brand new copy of NASA: A History of American Space Travel, and peppered her with trivia instead.

“Did you know, all twelve men who walked on the moon agree, the surface smells like spent gunpowder?”

“Oh really,” Scully said. “And what did the women say?”

Mulder looked a little uncomfortable. Having made her point about why she might, perhaps, feel a little excluded from his spaceboy enthusiasm, Scully pondered this fact.

“They can’t remove their helmet on the moon; there’s no atmosphere.” She countered. “How do they know what it smells like?”

“From the dust left over on their spacesuits,” Mulder was clearly happy to be able to inform her.

Scully frowned at him.

“You think they’re so cool, don’t you Mulder?”

He looked personally injured. “Scully, how can you be the one person in the universe - a physicist, no less - who doesn’t think space travel is cool?”

She turned her torso in her narrow seat to face him.

“Mulder, when I was five years old, for Apollo 11, I was just as excited as you are now. My older brother and sister and I followed the news of the mission; we watched the moon landing just like everybody else. Bill and Melissa dressed up as Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin for Halloween that year; they made me be the Stars and Stripes so we could all pose for photos together. I had to stick my arm out and wobble the flag. We were just as space crazed as anyone. And over the years, as the missions continued, I read everything, I mean everything-” Mulder nodded, he could surely believe that of Scully at any age - “and I found out some trivia of my own.”

Mulder titled his head, curious.

“You know, a spacesuit is a sealed environment. It has to be airtight, right?”

Mulder nodded.

“And spacewalks last between five and eight hours on average.”

Mulder was listening intently.

“Well, there’s… nowhere to… go. When you have to go,” she gestured euphemistically. “And in a zero-gravity environment - or any environment, in fact - you don’t want to just relieve yourself inside the suit.”

Mulder frowned.

“So they wear these… things. It’s called a MAG: A Maximum Absorbency Garment,” she enunciated carefully. “You just… let it go, and it… absorbs it.”

Mulder looked perturbed.

“So basically, underneath that cool, space-exploring exterior,” Scully continued, “you’ve got a bunch of highly trained, hero-worshipped men - and now, women - floating around wearing adult diapers.”

Mulder swallowed hard.

“You know, I have a little brother. Charles. When he was still wearing Pampers I would watch my mom changing him, and I’d smell those foul odors and witness the frankly terrifying contents in some detail, and I just - I could never look at astronauts in the same way again after I found out about the MAG. I don’t know, it just ruined it for me.”

Her partner sat back quietly in his chair, more than a little disturbed.

Scully smiled at him weakly, and decided to take a nap.

On the tarmac in Houston, the cabin lights, dimmed for landing, switched back to full brightness as the seatbelt indicator dinged off. Mulder sprang out of his seat, already reaching up for the overhead bins to retrieve their luggage.

Scully sat calmly with her forest-green briefcase on her lap, not willing to pointlessly stand for ten minutes while the passengers in rows A-R filed interminably slowly up the aisle, huffing and checking her watch as though that would change the physics of the aircraft and hurry anything along.

No, patience had always been her friend; she would await her turn peacefully, could wait for anything forever, so long as she knew for certain it was coming to her.

Alighted, they bypassed the checked baggage carousels, Mulder carrying the suitcases and Scully toting only her leather satchel. The pair walked to the Lariat desk, where Scully hung back, and Mulder flirted with the smiling clerk working the night shift.

In the car, Mulder questioned her again about the arrangements.

“Intercontinental, Scully? It’s probably the furthest possible airport from the Space Center.”

“...and all requisitions would let me book at such late notice. The flights into Hobby were almost double the cost. It would be a waste of taxpayers’ money.” She signalled right, checking both directions.

“Are we heading further North, Scully?” Mulder asked, checking the constellations through the windshield.

She tsked and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “It’s late. If you want to make all future travel bookings, be my guest, Mulder. But as it stands we’ll stay up here tonight, drive down for our eight-thirty a.m., and stay down there from tomorrow.”

At the mention of the morning meeting with Lt. Belt, Mulder brightened, and stuck his head back in his book for the remainder of the journey to their motel.

When they arrived at the Spring Creek Mercury Motorlodge, she threw him a look. A warning shot.

Don’t say a word, Mulder.

The motel took shabby to a whole new level: the paintwork was more chips than oil-based matte; the blown bulbs outnumbered the working ones, the woodwork of the bare-bones portico looked like it should have been condemned alongside the Rosenbergs.

The sign on the office door declared, ‘Desk open 7 a.m. - 10 p.m. ONLY ring bell outside of opening hours for ABSOLUTE EMERGENCIES.’

Scully checked her watch. It was approaching midnight. A handwritten Post-It stuck at an angle underneath read, ‘Scully booking, rooms # 8 & 12. Doors open. Keycards inside.’

“Always nice to experience that famous Southern hospitality,” Mulder deadpanned, peeling the note from the glass. They moved along the walkway, counting up as they went.

The door to number eight was propped barely ajar with a rotting two-by-four. Scully could see the square of exposed woodwork where an old lock mechanism had been removed: replaced by a newfangled electronic keycard system. She ran her eyes over the crumbling porch roof and thought, Really? This is where they chose to invest their refurb budget?

Mulder pushed the door open for Scully and held her gaze as she stared at him momentarily. He looked like he was about to follow her into the room.

“Thanks,” she gulped, taking her suitcase from his hand.

But he stayed put outside, grabbing the handle to pull the door shut, double checking their plans for the morning. “See you at seven-fifteen then? All checks complete and ready to strap ourselves into the command module?” He grinned.

Scully dropped her case onto the bed and sighed. He was going to be insufferable tomorrow.

***

After showering, hanging up her burgundy pantsuit for the next day, then losing a fight with the room’s overactive heater, Scully unravelled the tightly rolled pink satin pajamas from her suitcase. You get fewer wrinkles if you roll rather than fold, her mother had taught her.

Stepping into them, she could already feel herself perspiring lightly, and wondered if it would be better to do without the pajamas or the comforter. Her mind flashed to the various possible emergencies that might see her fleeing her room in the middle of the night: a fire, a tornado, an intruder.

Keep the pajamas, lose the comforter, she decided.

But she suspected she’d need more to keep herself cool. She remembered passing an ice machine a few doors down, and grabbed a metal bucket left on the dresser for just such purposes, tucking her keycard into the breast pocket of her nightwear as she went.

She was so warm and the ice machine was so close, she didn’t even bother with shoes as she tiptoed the few feet along the walkway. The machine hummed and clanked as she lifted the front and noisily plunged the bucket into the crisp, dry cubes.

Ice.

The Arctic Ice Core Project. Alaska. A sparsely appointed supply closet. Mulder crouching down to her level and hissing his balmy, furious breath directly into her face.

I don’t trust them. I WANT to trust you.

He’d been angry and sweaty and ripe, and it had been the two of them against the others. They’d made what felt like a binding pact, whispering conspiratorially; sealing it with their laying on of hands.

If she’d been asked prior to that about the most intimate part of a person’s body, she might have given the same answers as anyone else. Reproductive organs her studies had given her medical names for. Mammary glands meant for feeding young but warped by western culture into symbols of sex and shame. Perhaps the cushiony swell of the gluteus maximus, so favored by jocks, and creeps in bars.

But she’d finished that case on the Icy Cape with the discovery of more than a new species of worm; she’d learned for the first time about the deep, heady, overwhelming intimacy of touching another person at the back of the neck.

Jesus, she’d already been so wet when he’d grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back to inspect her spine. She feared her unguarded gasp had given her away. And when he’d brushed aside her hair and lain his whole palm against the nape of her neck, awaiting the telltale wriggle of the homicide-inducing parasite, it was she who had squirmed beneath the hot, unrelenting pressure.

Oh god, what he’d be able to do to her with those big, strong, capable hands.

Alaska at that latitude had average winter temperatures of less than zero degrees Fahrenheit. November on the North Slope saw little more than three hours of sunshine a day. They regularly experienced impenetrable blizzards that could freeze a person to death in under an hour.

But when Dana Scully thought of the Icy Cape, all she could feel was searing, blazing, pulsing heat.

She filled the ice bucket, slammed the machine shut, and carried her personal cooling system back to her room, balancing it on her hip like an infant as she swiped the keycard for entry.

She got a red light.

Furrowing her brow, she swiped again.

Red.

Again.

Red.

Sighing her frustration, she ran the card through the slot several more times, resting the bucket on the floor and jiggling the handle as she tried over and over for green, listening for the buzz of the latch electronically pulling back.

Nothing.

She threw her hands up in the air and tried twice more to no avail.

She looked about her for assistance, finding none. No one was about. She started off towards the office and slowed as she reached the door. She re-read the sign.

ABSOLUTE EMERGENCIES.

Well, she couldn’t get into her room. Surely that was an emergency. She pressed the bell and waited, but no one came. She pressed again, and again, nothing. This was ridiculous. She tried once more with the bell, and after two minutes, sighing furiously, strode back along the walkway, her bare toes starting to go numb. She’d successfully cooled off, at least.

She continued past room eight, doubling back to try the lock three more times then kicking the door with great vexation before jogging up towards number twelve, wrapping her arms around her breasts to warm herself. The ice bucket stood sentry, dripping condensation.

She lifted her knuckle to knock on Mulder’s door, then hesitated slightly. She stole a glance down at her pajamas. They were not thick, and clung to her curves, puckering at her bare nipples. Mulder had seen her wearing far less - had checked her for mosquito bites clad only in what her maternal Grandmother would have called her smalls on their very first case - and remained professional, but that had been a rare exception, borne of her neophyte panic. She worked so hard to be taken seriously, to be seen as a colleague and an expert and a peer, and not as a sexual object. It was hard to project an air of authority in pastel pink satin with your breasts announcing themselves to anyone within five hundred yards. But Jesus, it was freezing out, and she had to be up and dressed in less than seven hours. She wasn’t about to spend a frostbitten night out in the cold and give herself hypothermia for the sake of avoiding a little embarrassment. She was a fully grown woman; Mulder, a fully grown man. They were both adults here. They could be mature about this.

She knocked, hugging her chest again afterwards.

Mulder opened the door still in his shirt and tie, although his jacket was hung over the desk chair in the corner. The NASA book lay face down, open on the bed. He chewed on one of his infernal seeds.

“You okay, Scully?” he asked, frowning. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Couldn’t get back into my room,” Scully explained, huffing. “I went out for ice and my… the keycard doesn’t work.”

“You should ring the bell for the owners,” Mulder suggested, unhelpfully.

“I did,” Scully said, pointedly. “No answer.” She looked up at him and pressed her lips together apologetically. “Can I come in?”

“Of course, of course,” Mulder said, standing back to let her enter. He stood with his back to the door after it was closed. “You can sleep in here; it’s no bother. I’ll crash on the floor.”

“Thank you,” Scully said, perching on the desk. Mulder sat himself on the end of the bed and gazed over at her.

“You cold?” he asked.

Actually, Mulder’s room was as toasty as hers had been, and her toes were already thawing out.

“Warming up,” she said, thankfully.

“Just that you’re… hugging yourself,” he explained, gesturing at her arms, still clamped across her unsecured bosom.

“Oh,” she said, self-consciously, but let her arms drop slowly to her sides, gripping the edge of the desk with both hands for security. “I’m not… wearing very much, is all.”

“Oh,” he echoed softly, his eyes scanning the length of her nightwear all the way to the floor and back up again. Yes, she was certainly feeling some heat once again.

“What you are wearing is… very nice though.” His eyes settled on her own for a few seconds, then flicked down to her breasts, and she inhaled sharply, silently, she hoped in retrospect. When he looked back at her face, her mouth was hanging slightly open, and she caught herself, licking her lips for discipline, her chest heaving. He looked down again.

She felt her cheeks burning, and averted her eyes to the book on the bed, a change of focus for her mind, which was racing with thoughts of candlelight and shower-wet hair, of thermal shirts and platonic supply closet fumblings: Mulder and his fingertips the common denominator in these scenarios.

She forced herself to look back at him. He was comfortably staring now, his face giving nothing away, but she knew he was quite aware she’d seen him appreciating her exposed form. He was leaving this up to her.

She wrestled with her conscience.

She shouldn’t do this. They were partners. It was against Bureau policy. It was unprofessional. It could ruin her career if it ended badly. Worse, it could come between her and Mulder, drive a wedge between them and prise apart their newly cemented friendship.

But…

She thought of Oregon and hands and Alaska and ice, and she knew what she wanted.

You’re hardly a schoolgirl anymore...

She stood up slowly, wordlessly taking a few steps towards Mulder on the bed. Yes, they were both fully grown, and she had some very adult ideas about what they could do together.

She paused one or two paces from his knees, and held his gaze for a moment. She let her lips fall open once more, her breathing labored, and she saw his breath was keeping pace with her own.

She thought of Michelle Generoo, and of her own jealousies and insecurities, and second guessed herself momentarily. She’d always suspected she wasn’t Mulder’s type. Yes, he had moments ago brazenly taken in the sight of her nipples brushing against the silky confines of her pajama top, but he was a red-blooded straight male, and they had been right there, still standing at attention from her time out in the cold. And yes, he was looking at her intently now as she crossed the room, the propulsion of months and months of unverbalized, unresolved sexual tension at her back, but his expression was blank, and he might be nervously wondering how the hell he was going to abort this mission.

There was one way to be sure. He had done his fair share of looking; it was her turn to be brazen.

She dropped her gaze to his lap, seeking a different kind of green light.

In the dim glow coming from the slightly open bathroom door, she found exactly what she was seeking. The bulge that tented Mulder’s pants cast a promising shadow. She was go for launch.

She took another step, and found his eyeline once more.

His pupils were dilated, his lips pillow-soft and pouting, the ridge growing noticeably larger even in her peripheral vision.

She reached down for his left hand and brought it to her breast, pressing it against herself over the pajamas.

“Make me see stars, Mulder,” she whispered, breaking into a lazy smile.

His momentary expression of disbelief gave way to a grin, and he looked up at her with reverence. She let go of his fingers, dropping her arm to her side once again, and his palm moved with feathery softness over her breast, centering her nipple in the smoothest spot, where you’d clutch a baby’s fist, or a prized possession. The heat of his hand radiated through the satin, the friction of skin on fabric even more erotic than direct contact. Their gazes were locked. His mouth fell open a fraction, mirroring hers, and he raised his other hand to work both breasts, his fingers held up and away from her body as he traced circles with her hardened peaks against his deep volar arches. She closed her eyes and moaned, low and soft, letting her head fall backwards. Her knees went limp, and Mulder steadied her with one hand, docking her at the hip.

His grip sent shockwaves to her core, her pulse now strongest between her legs. She knew she was already leaving a damp mark on her pajama bottoms.

She lifted her head back up and looked down at Mulder, still seated on the edge of the comforter. They panted together in the quiet, each awestruck by the other, and Scully reached up to her top button, deftly pushing it through the opening with her delicately manicured fingertips. She did not avert her eyes from Mulder’s as she worked her way down to her waist, finally letting the shirt hang open at the front.

She took his left hand once more and tucked it inside the front panel, his massive palm easily encompassing the entire fleshy mound there. He squeezed her hip gently, cupping her and pulling her towards him at once, guiding her between his knees. Checking her eyes for continued consent, he brushed the center of her shirt to one side and revealed half of her chest to his vision for the first time.

“Oh, Scully,” he said in a hushed voice, and - permission silently granted by Scully’s hungry gaze - lifted his mouth to her nipple and latched on, sucking, circling his tongue around her hot, pink bud. She moaned again and grabbed the back of his head, twisting her fingers into his hair, her nails scratching at his scalp.

His mouth broke contact with her delicately pale skin, and he pushed the satin from her shoulders, letting it whoosh to the floor.

He was gazing up at her again, and she leaned down to kiss him now, finally allowing herself to experience in the flesh that which she had longed for, imagined, fantasized about for some time. Their lips met; wet, fervent, ravenous. Their shared craving drew them together, suctioning them to one another at the mouth as though they could consume one another entirely, and meant to. His salted breath mingled with her own, and their tongues tangled and danced. He ran his hand up her naked back, and her breasts pressed against his collarbone.

He pulled away, and she held the side of his face tightly to her bare chest, breathless, eyes closed.

“Scully,” he ventured, “are you sure about this?” He looked up at her with his soft, beautiful, hazel eyes. She didn’t know what had possessed her for so long, being able to resist those eyes all these months.

She straightened up, and took his hand once again, reaching behind herself to slide it down the back of her waistband, over her rounded ass, and into the molten cleft of her body. She spread her thighs as his fingers found her desire, parting and probing her on their voyage of discovery. He dipped a single digit inside her body, and she exhaled on a low moan.

“I’m sure, Mulder,” she murmured, smiling again. “Take me to the moon and back.”

He relaxed a little, his shoulders dropping, “Oh is that the game?” he teased, “Space puns?”

She shrugged playfully.

He smiled wide at her, or she thought he did; it was hard to see with her eyelashes fluttering closed. Her head dropped back once more as he pumped into her, his thumb resting fortuitously against the base of her perineum, that dark, forbidden, blissful spot. She felt alive, animal, raw. She let her breath come out ragged, allowed her rasps and moans to escape unbridled. Mulder paused his efforts for a second or two, leaving two fingers curled inside her, using his free hand to yank down her pajama pants. She helped, kicking them loose from her ankles as he grabbed a handful of her ass with his spare hand and pulled her toward the bed, reclining face up on the mattress and encouraging her to crawl on her knees up to his shoulders and sit back. Only then did he remove his fingers from inside of her, and her body sucked at them as he did, protesting their departure.

Scully was giddy with want, and Mulder looked up at her just then with such veneration that her heart burst with renewed affection for him. She’d never been made to feel more worthy in her life. This was so Mulder. She had not specifically realized it before, but this was how he often made her feel, in his best moments.

At the insistence of his hand pressing gently on her lower back, his fingers sticky with her own yearning, she lowered her sex to his mouth.

As soon as his velvet tongue met her clit, she cried out, almost lifting herself up on her knees at the shock of it. He held her steady, lapping at her hardened bundle of nerves with the flat of his tongue, softly at first, then applying more and more pressure as she sunk further down onto him, his chin pressing up into her heat, her slick juices gliding her inner walls against his light stubble. Oh Jesus, it was divine, and she called out his last name as she rode his face, her breath hitching in her throat as her trajectory was set to climax.

Scully chanced a glance downwards and saw that he was watching her in her ecstasy.

She was wanted. She was valued. She was enough.

She smiled down at him, not halting her movements, and reached up to pinch her own nipples with her dainty, expert hands. Mulder groaned his pleasure into her body, sucking and licking and holding her down so she could not get away.

“Fuck,” she gasped, and was lost; her face lifted to the heavens, her body and mind spinning and soaring in concupiscent formation, her voice clamorously invoking two thirds of the Trinity with various, stertorous monikers as she rocketed into her own private orbit.

Mulder massaged her hips and kept his chin tilted up into her as she twitched and panted and called out for God, and she felt her inner muscles contracting around his way-past-five-o-clock shadow. The humid air of his heavy breath rushed from his nose, tickling her pubic mound as his lips remained clamped over the hood of her clitoris. She exhaled the last of her shudders and sat back on her haunches, resting on his solid pectorals, running her tongue over her lips, wetting them with exhausted delight. Mulder’s chin glistened in the dim room, drenched, and she laughed, reaching down to wipe him off.

He let her, but then caught her by the wrist and held her soaked palm against his mouth, kissing it, hard, and smearing the residue of her arousal all over his lips once again. He licked them clean, unblinking.

She buried her face in her other hand and laughed shyly.

Mulder chuckled along with her, resting his hands on her still-spread thighs, his thumbs dipping close to her parted labia. She bit her lower lip and looked him in the eye once again, unable to hide her happiness.

“Luckily, out here, no one can hear you scream,” he joked, a question in his eyes suggesting he was worried he might not get away with this, and she pushed him away teasingly but giggled as she climbed off the bed. She picked up her pajama pants from the floor.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Mulder asked her as she stood up.

“I’ll be right back,” Scully responded, flinging the bottoms over her shoulder and sauntering off to the bathroom, looking back at him to make sure he was getting a good look at her receding form. “Don’t move.”

She glanced down at the enormous bulge in his pants once again, and knew she needn’t worry. He wouldn’t be going anywhere with that thing.

She returned a few minutes later, now wearing the satin pants, and sporting a dark gleam in her eye as she crept across the carpet towards him. When she reached the bed, he leaned up on his elbows and reached for her to pull her onto the bed, but she shook her head. Instead, she reached for his belt buckle and deliberately undid it, sliding the leather through the metal loop before reaching for his fly. As she unzipped his pants, Mulder lifted his hips, and his erection bounced up, pushing the flaps of the zipper to either side, straining against his boxer briefs. This was one shuttle she wouldn’t mind watching blast off, and she was ready to fire up the booster rockets.

She helped him remove his pants, then tugged at the waistband of his underwear. He removed it and lay himself back down on the bed, looking almost anxious.

“Mulder,” she reassured him. “Relax; I want this. I want you.” She whispered the last part, lowering herself to kneel at the foot of the bed.

His manhood loomed large, worryingly large for such a petite person, but Scully had never met a challenge she didn’t want to face. And face it she did; this hard, quivering invitation to wantonness inches from her mouth. He smelled like the Mulder she had come to know, only stronger here; that musky, spicy pheromone blend that brought her to her knees - now, finally, literally - and she breathed him in with abandon.

She gripped him in her hand, taking his tip into her mouth, sweeping her tongue around the head of his cock as he exhaled forcefully. She slid her closed palm up and down the base of his shaft, letting her saliva drip down to lubricate her ministrations, then working him further into her jaws so that the top of his penis rubbed just against her soft palate. She bobbed her head against him. He filled her mouth easily, and she thought of all the times she’d surreptitiously stolen a glance at his lap. Her curiosity had been satisfied, and then some. He was every bit as big as she’d always suspected, and her small oral cavity made for a snug fit as she worked him into a frenzy on the bed.

He clutched at the covers and murmured her name, encouraging her efforts all the while. He slowed her at one point, just managing to explain through his moans that he wanted to enjoy it a little longer, but his thighs were soon flexing again and she accelerated her pumping with her fist, sucking a little harder, working the tip of her tongue against his popping veins.

Mulder reached out and grabbed at her shoulder, clumsily pushing her back. “T-minus... T-minus five seconds and… and counting…” he sputtered, and she risked another tongue swirl, another deep thrust towards her throat.

“Scully!” Mulder choked out, and she pulled her mouth away. She kept her hand in place and he wrapped his own around it, working his erection skillfully as he delivered his impressive payload over their ten conjoined fingers and down onto his stomach. A coy smirk plastered itself across Scully’s face as he collapsed back onto the bed.

She raised herself from the floor, rolling her neck from side to side, and grabbed the box of tissues that was sitting on the nightstand. She held them out and sat on the mattress, one foot tucked under the opposite thigh, her breasts sitting proudly on her chest with the pert insouciance of youth.

Mulder cleaned himself up and aimed the balled up tissues at the wastebasket, missing. He sighed, but didn’t get up, so Scully laughingly dragged herself over and retrieved the errant missiles, dropping them into their intended target. She returned to the bed and lay herself down in the crook of Mulder’s arm.

He kissed her temple, a peck, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead, then lifted her chin with one finger so that he could plant a full kiss on her mouth. She breathed in the scent of herself on his lips, their musky scents intermingling on both their tongues.

“Wow Scully,” he smiled. “That was fun.”

She nodded, grinning herself.

“Although, it was a bit of a close encounter, if you know what I mean,” he said, and she buried her face in his shoulder and laughed, any residual worries she’d had about this changing the fundamental nature of their relationship flying away on her huffing breath and disappearing into the vacuum of the mattress.

Mulder lifted his head. “Oh god, it’s past two,” he announced. He must have been checking the display on the alarm clock. “You should get some sleep Scully; you gotta drive us down to the Space Center in the morning.”

“Hey, it’s your turn,” she whined, sitting up and pulling the covers back to climb beneath. Her pajama shirt lay forgotten on the floor. Tornadoes and fires be damned, she’d already had her ABSOLUTE EMERGENCY for the night. It was too hot for more clothes, especially with Mulder’s intense body heat so close. And she did intend to hold him close tonight. And other nights, if he wanted her.

“Talk about a waste of taxpayer’s money, Scully,” Mulder droned, sitting up and shaking himself alert. “The two of us sharing a motel room while another sits empty.”

“Oh,” Scully replied sleepily. “Believe me, I’m demanding a refund on my room.”

“Demanding a refund, Scully?” Mulder queried, now folding his pants and setting them on the chair by his suit jacket. “You weren’t happy with the level of service you just received?”

She squinted one eye open to look at him. “Mmm, you? You did good, Mulder. I’ll be sure to leave a generous tip for you at check out.” She patted the mattress next to her.

“I’ll be right there,” he assured her, disappearing off into the bathroom.

She was asleep before he even turned out the light.

***

Scully had witnessed Mulder ejaculating for the first time at the Spring Creek Mercury Motorlodge, but she genuinely worried she might see an impromptu repeat performance when they arrived at the Space Center the following morning. Walking to their meeting, they bantered for the benefit of their NASA escort, Mulder practically bouncing off the walls and once again bombarding her with facts and figures.

“You remember all that stuff?” she asked, wearily, suppressing a yawn.

“You never wanted to be an astronaut when you were a kid, Scully?”

“Guess I missed that phase,” she sighed, mouthing ‘adult diapers’ at him behind their guide’s back.

She couldn’t help but make fun of him for his adulation of Lt. Belt, either. “Didn’t you want to get his autograph?” she teased as they left the Space Shuttle Program Director’s office, and when Mulder caught up with her he tapped her lightly on the ass in retaliation.

At some point in the afternoon, Mulder slunk off and made some phone calls, and when they drove to their accommodation after the successful launch that evening, it wasn’t the motel Scully had booked but a ritzy hotel with bellhops and room service. They finally made it back there in the middle of the night, following the complications with the mission and Lt. Belt’s questionable press conference.

At the reception desk, Mulder retrieved two keys, but when he held one out to Scully and she grasped her forefinger and thumb around it, he didn’t let go. She looked up to meet his smoldering gaze.

“What’s the matter Houston; do we… have a problem?” She managed to keep a straight face, just about.

“What do you say we waste some more taxpayer’s money tonight, Scully?” he grinned, his voice hushed, seductive. “Maybe we can cross... the final frontier?”

She halfheartedly rolled her eyes at his pun, but her insides were already aflame. She drew her mouth into a tight, shy smile, and nodded her agreement.

nb. I want everyone to know that I watched the Falcon 9 launch and I managed to refrain myself from using the phrase ‘good orbital insertion’ in this fic. And that was a struggle.

AO3 link here.

#xfsmut2020 #mulder and scully #mulder #scully #the x files #x files #x files fanfic

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