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sapphirebones-ao3 · 2 months

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prompt: mulder and scully having an intellectual discussion as a method of flirting or seduction.

It’s been a long December and there’s reason to believe maybe this year will be better than the last.

***

“Honeycomb conjecture,” he says at 1:17 AM, like he hasn’t kissed her in front of Casey Kasem and god and everybody, even with a busted arm.

Like he hasn’t been nibbling at her warm, honey-salt mouth for the better part of an hour. Like she doesn’t smell of damp wool and almond soap and the sourdough scent of arousal.

“Mulder,” she murmurs, a cantrip. A spell that must be real because it is his true name from the mouth of his true love. These are the rules.

“Varro in 36 BC, but only just proven.” He kisses her again, her mouth so wide, and sweet as well.

Scully’s lush mouth, the click of Scully’s teeth and the weight of Scully’s breasts against that flimsy blouse. A glitch, a snag, an unfurled dimension in the homeomorphic strings.

“You know Thomas Hales?” She pulls back, props herself up on her elbows, gazing down in what can only be described as adoration.

Scully’s lashes like the fibers of a dusting brush, Scully’s hair like Dragon’s Blood fingerprint powder.

He beams up at her from the bed, the way her aristocratic cheeks are a little bit soft from this angle. He wants to kiss her lovely bones, wants his face between her firm thighs but there is so much time. They have nothing but time at the end of the millennium.

Is it the end of the world? He’s fine with that, he’s so fine to die here. She tried to die for him once; let’s die together, Scully, if we must. Even if it’s zombie bites.

Eyes of lapis lazuli. Eyes of a Renaissance Eve in the sweet tropic warmth of the Garden. Eyes like the Mariana Trench.

“I knew you would. I looked up things to impress you.” He has no secrets now. He has no shame; not with her.

Her eyes widen, hot blue stars that usuallly die young. But she is still years in remission and he nips at her mouth as though there isn’t a star in the cool white flesh of her belly as well. The aftershock of Ritter’s gun, even after so long, like cosmic microwave background. Echoes of the first explosion.

“Mulder,” she says, and he loves her and loves her and loves her. He would bite from the fruit that the woman gave to him; he would always want to know what she knew.

He thought about killing Ritter. He thinks about killing Ritter.

He will have thought about killing Ritter.

I amabo eam.

If he warms her skin enough he can burn Ritter away. Schnauz and Jerse and Waterston and all the other men who have not deserved to touch her kidskin body. To breathe her air. He ignores the details; he makes her into a palimpsest, untouched by the unworthy. Sacred. Virginal.

He does not contemplate whether she would want this absolution.

“They can be non-Euclidean, honeycombs,” she mumbles, her breasts warm as summer peaches. Hot in his hands, but if he tastes them now he can never taste them for the first time again.

Dear Diary, today I discovered that Special Agent Dr. Dana Katherine Scully MD has breasts like a naiad. The Captain’s daughter, of course, of course. The Captain’s daughter tastes like a Quonochontaug summer. Funnel cakes and lobster rolls and whitecaps just before the lightning.

Is she real? She must be. She is a thunderstorm in August. She is dark wet earth in April. Her nipples are raspberries in June.

She is a forbidden, fallen angel. Human kindness, altruism. All the ways we fall short.

“It was postulated in 36 BC. It was postulated before Christ.” Her thighs tight as drumskins beneath his palms, her own cupped palm over his straining fly.

Mulder allows himself the luxury of leaning in, of pushing himself against her, as the year dies. Is born.

“God,” she says, in wonder. Tightens the thick muscles of her hand around him. Sucks at his tongue and his chin and the curve of his brow.

Nipples back in his mouth, the tautness of them. The sweet, ripe heat. He’s a dazzled teenager in the velvet dark as he kisses her mouth, her clavicles, her beautiful hands like white stars.

“Please,” she says and it’s both vague and devastatingly specific. Her fingertips, her eyelids, and the cool bridge of her regal nose.

She wants him, him, him. Her hand curls, her mouth sucks like wet sand at high tide. Nips like the biting sting of a jellyfish on a forgotten summer morning.

Scully tugs at her trousers. Tugs at his. He helps her along, straining now only against his boxers, against his own desire. His damaged arm, her professional concerns.

“Mulder,” she hisses, a shantung voice. That sourdough scent again, absolutely maddening. She thumbs the head of his cock and he wants to grab her in some primal caveman way he didn’t know was in him. Wants to fuck her until she’s flushed and raspy and all hot lower brain need.

Her trousers have slipped down, just nylon and cotton and the last part that has a shred of propriety, some social hymen he wants to make bleed.

“Scully,” he says, grinding against her. Claiming her warm-milk body, her glacial eyes. The nascent year. He thrusts past her hand into the hot crease where her thigh meets her underwear.

She arches back, cries out a little, and she’s hot as chamomile tea and goose down comforters and flannel pajamas and all of the other luxuries she’s brought back to him, like lost treasures to a prince in a fairytale.

“Please.”

“You sure?” he sighs and prays to a god that he doesn’t believe in.

She drags the crotch of her cobweb panties aside in reply, clamps her thighs around him like a bull rider.

“Mulder,” she moans, and the third time binds and he’s probing and then thrusting and then spine deep in the scandalously drenched, blissful heat of her.

Scully’s little claws in his bruised shoulder, Scully’s silent tears on his bottom lip. Her nose still cool against his cheek but her belly scorching.

Stars dance like they do. Angels, too, on the head of a pin. It’s cosmic and base and perfect and clumsy and he says “Scully, Scully, I -“

“Don’t stop,” she gasps, and he doesn’t.

***

Later, he thinks, they made their son here. It only took a bit for the universe to catch up.

#xf fanfic #reeb log #soooo good. love how u write them omg

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sapphirebones-ao3 · 5 months

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24 Days of X-Mas Files Challenge -- Day 17: Scully loves presents

Most of the family is engaged in watching Matthew joyfully rip open a new Mega Bloks castle set, but Mulder's attention—perhaps unsurprisingly—is drawn to Scully this early Christmas morning.

She will never, never admit it, but Scully adores getting presents. He's seen numerous times how her entire demeanor changes to that of someone decades younger at the mere thought of being given a gift. He still remembers the soft lilt of surprise and delight in her voice when he bought her a small glass paperweight to celebrate her one year of remission. ("Mulder...is this for me?" God.)

Hindsight 20/20, he wishes he'd saved the spa day gift certificate for when it was just the two of them...given the trembling, anticipatory nature of their current relationship it almost feels too intimate having her open it surrounded by her family now. Even though they're hardly alone, the way her eyes glimmer as she reads his note makes him desperately crave that they were together by themselves in his apartment. He wants to take her to bed and make her eyes glimmer for a different reason. She looks up at him, happily flushed, and whispers 'thank you' silently. He makes a mental note to consciously make more effort on her birthday in a couple months. He wants to please her like this again.

"Fox? Do you want to open one of your gifts?" Puzzled, he alters the trajectory of his gaze from his partner to her mother, who is expectantly pointing from where she sits on the sofa to a small pile of gifts that he hadn't noticed before tucked beneath the tree. His throat nervously tightens.

"Oh, eh—I didn't um..." he trails off, embarrassed. Aside from a handful of gifts for Scully, he'd only brought a store-bought box of fudge for Maggie as a last-minute hostess gift. With his impetuous decision to show up unannounced at the Scully holiday event, he'd neglected to get gifts for the rest of the family.

Scully, as always, comes to his rescue. He feels her small, warm hand slide over his forearm as he has a small internal combustion.

"They're just little things, don't worry Mulder," she consoles him quietly.

He's slightly relieved to find there are only four gifts for him (including a Secret Santa gift—shockingly—from Bill, a necktie that is admittedly too subtle a pattern for himself but probably still too loud for Scully...he's tickled about that one). Two of them are from Scully and one from Maggie.

Maggie's gift is a simple one, but no less lacking in care—a handmade scarf and gloves; hunter green, his favorite color. Scully's gifts are tasteful and thoughtful as always: this year's VHS of Super Stars of the Super Bowl (a yearly running gag gift between the two of them) and the other a brand new coffee machine with a to-go thermos. Something compels him to pop the lid off the thermos and look inside. When he does, he finds a folded sticky note tucked inside the aluminum cylinder.

You being here is the greatest gift you could have given me...one amongst the many. Xx S

He doesn't need her to explicate the gifts to which she refers, although she is completely unaware of just how much more he'd be willing to sacrifice to keep her safe and happy. He feels his throat tighten again, this time with gratitude and love...so much love that he still does not believe himself worthy of receiving.

He thinks back, for probably the fiftieth time this week, to his grandfather's pocket watch hidden in a lone wool sock in the corner of his suitcase. He's agonized about it for years now, wondering if he'll ever have the guts to pass it on. A handful of times he's obsessed about it to the point where it's almost made him sick with nerves and doubt.

My beloved

For the first time he's completely certain of his decision...he's going to give it to her.

#🥺🥺🥺#reeb log #so so sweet

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sapphirebones-ao3 · 5 months

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#me with em dashes also...#reeb log

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sapphirebones-ao3 · 5 months

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Let's get cozy, friend.

[crow-time.com]

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sapphirebones-ao3 · 5 months

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would like to write a detour fic wherein right after scully says her "if it rains sleeping bags you might get lucky" line, a sleeping bag falls out of a tree or something... atths? lol

#txf #the x files

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sapphirebones-ao3 · 5 months

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Wherever Is Your Heart (Chapter 1)

PART I

Scully

It’s been a long time since Scully has felt this drunk. She hadn’t meant for it to happen, but the Bureau’s annual holiday party has been more fun and the champagne more free-flowing than she had anticipated. Plus, something about the way people are staring at her ass in this dress is giving her a boost of confidence she didn’t know she needed.

She’s never quite lacked confidence in the way she looks, but lately, she’s cared far more about who’s looking. For most of her career, she’s operated under the assumption that despite the affection and camaraderie that they share, nothing would ever heat up between her and Mulder. Falling in love and jumping into bed together are too risky for a partnership like theirs.

But the attraction and chemistry and the he likes me/he likes me not that bubble just under the surface of their professional relationship have started to rise. Lately, in those quiet moments between cases—on long drives, while writing reports, when walking down the street with matching coffees—she’s been catching him staring. It’s happened often enough that it’s changed her calculation just slightly, tipping the scales in favor of he likes me. He hasn’t tried anything, exactly, but she doesn’t think she’s reading him wrong. Those long, lingering glances seem to be filled with a certain yearning that she’s never before noticed in his eyes.

So on nights like this, when she’s allowed to be as feminine, as divine, as lovely as possible, she takes the chance. Because maybe tonight’s the night that Mulder will finally make his move.

She knows she looks good. In her line of work, it is a rare thing to get to throw on a slinky black satin dress and a swipe of Dior’s famous Christmas-red lipstick. It is unusual to show as much skin as she is showing tonight, her full back exposed down to her sacrum, her breasts spilling out of the corseted top. It is special to be noticed—and not just for being Mrs. Spooky.

But it’s ten p.m., and Mulder hasn’t bothered to show, that bastard. Even after she harassed him, harangued him, threatened him, bothered him, enticed him . . . he doesn’t turn up.

In a haze of wine and whiskey, she decides she won’t let this night go to waste. She will revel in her beauty, her womanhood, her want. She will let loose and have fun. She will flirt and be flirted with. If Mulder isn’t going to make an effort, she won’t deny herself her own pleasure.

And so she drinks, letting first A.D. Skinner and then a stranger from accounting take her for a spin on the dance floor. Twinkly, starry lights swing from the ballroom’s chandeliers and light her skin with a warm glow. She basks in the attention of men she has never met filling up her wine glasses, of a handsome new special agent bringing her a bubbly sip of champagne.

“Agent Jacobs,” the man says by way of introduction, his bright blue eyes striking against his jet-black hair. He presses the flute into her fingers and smiles sweetly. Her lips lift into a satisfied grin as the sparkly feeling of champagne trips down her throat.

“Dana,” she replies coquettishly, already ready to give this stranger a chance at being on a first-name basis.

“Tyler,” he replies with an even wider smile, and she feels his hand warm the dip in her spine. “Care for a dance?”

His face tips close to hers and she feels the scratchy material of his wool suit scritch temptingly against her arm. She instantly wants to bury her face in it.

“Mhmm,” is all she can muster as alcohol drips through her system.

Time floats by without notice. One minute she is swinging with Tyler to a festive, upbeat song, her heels slipping and sliding gleefully against the floor; and the next, he is pressing her into his chest, gripping her hand tightly to his heart, whispering naughty, exciting things in her ear as a crooner sings an old-school melody.

“Let me take you home, Dana,” he whispers, his stubble raking deliciously across the soft skin of her cheek. There is nothing more intoxicating than a man who wants her back.

With half-lidded eyes, she begins to nod, because she wants to be touched, wants to be loved, and who better than this handsome man she’s never met, this man who’s paying her all the attention in the world, who’s making her feel wanted, special, adored?

Tyler grips the back of her head and she feels his lips pressing into the crown of her hair, and it feels so good to be treated like this, to be touched like this. She melts.

And then she feels fingers at her elbow, a gentle tug, a few quiet words, and Mulder comes into view.

His smile is warm but concerned, his expression tender but firm.

“Come on, party girl,” he murmurs in her ear, his arm draping possessively around her shoulders. “I’ll take you home.”

She blinks dopily up at him.

Oh, yes. Oh, yes. How could she have forgotten? Mulder. Mulder is going to take her home. Mulder, with his patient eyes and kind smile and delicious jawline. Mulder, with his heart only for mysteries and monsters. Mulder, with his brilliant mind and kissable lips.

Mulder wants to take her home.

“Mulder,” she says with a growing smile, all thoughts of Tyler forgotten, “you made it.”

He cocks his head at her and she runs her hands up his arms.

“Steady there,” he whispers conspiratorially, and when Tyler tries to butt in and explain himself, Mulder just tugs Scully into a private corner.

In some far-off recess of her mind, she hears Tyler calling after her that they should get drinks soon. With eyes only for Mulder, she doesn’t even acknowledge him.

In the corner of the ballroom, Mulder places a hand on her shoulder and with his other hand, tips her chin up to meet his eyes. He’s going to kiss her. She just knows it. She feels her eyelids growing heavy with want.

“You want to go home with that guy?” he asks, his brows furrowed.

She opens her mouth to reply, but the words come out garbled.

“Scully,” Mulder tries again, squeezing her shoulder a little. “Dana, Dana look at me.” Her eyes lift lazily to his. He’s so beautiful in his black Armani suit. She tells him so. His lips quirk into a quick smile. “Dana Scully,” he asks slowly, his face the picture of seriousness, “do you want to go home with Agent Jacobs?”

She shakes her head naughtily. “I want to go home with you,” she whines, tugging him closer by his bowtie. “Take me home with you.”

He chuffs a little laugh and nods. “Okay, Scully, then let’s go.”

She feels her knees buckle slightly at his words. He’s going to take her home. Finally. This is finally happening.

She doesn’t remember how they get back home, or why they’re at her home instead of his. It doesn’t matter. She stumbles through the door and turns to face him. His features are masked in the dim light of her apartment but she can see that he’s smiling slightly, almost like he’s enjoying seeing her like this. Well then. She has a lot more to show him.

“Come,” she says with a tug of his hand, and she drags him into her. When he bumps into her chest, she stretches her arms up over his shoulders and slings them around his neck, pulling him down for a hug.

He hugs her back but it’s only for a minute before he’s gently prying her arms off.

“Kiss me,” she hears herself say, but she’s not embarrassed because he brought her home. He took her away from Tyler for just this reason, to bring her home.

His eyes grow dark for a minute and then he’s laughing nervously and she hears him making excuses.

“I want you so bad,” she whispers as her hands fall to his belt. He yelps when she sloppily tugs at his trousers and her hands pass over his groin. “I want to taste you,” she slurs, dropping to her knees and pressing her face into his thighs.

“Oh—Scully, Scully,” he’s repeating over and over, and she feels his hands tugging at her biceps, first gently and then more roughly, until she’s being forced off the ground and held firmly at arms-length.

“Scully,” he says with a stern look, “you’re drunk,” he tells her, but she knows that. It doesn’t make any difference. I still want you, all the time, even when I’m sober. She may say that out loud, but she isn’t sure.

She feels him turning her around and marching her to her bedroom, lifting her in his arms when she refuses to walk. This is it. This is the moment. He’s going to throw her onto the bed and ravage her. She trembles a little with excitement but instead, he lays her down gently, then makes quick work of her shoes. He doesn’t even touch her beautiful dress or her heaving breasts.

“Touch me,” she whines again, pulling at the hem of her dress until it rides up to her waist. She’s wearing the tiniest G-string she owns and she watches as his eyes flit over her thighs quickly before red colors his cheeks.

“Scully. Jesus, stop,” he says firmly, yanking her dress back down.

A sour mood fills the room as she tries to read his expression. For years, she has catalogued every Mulder expression he’s ever made—profiler Mulder, investigator Mulder, comforter Mulder, Agent Mulder—but this . . . this one she doesn’t know. It’s something like exasperation and amusement and horror, all wrapped into one. Her alcohol-addled brain doesn’t know what to do with it.

He leaves the bedroom without a word and she closes her eyes for a moment, reveling in the spin of the room around her. When he comes back, he is carrying water, coffee, and aspirin, which he forces her to take before he will let her close her eyes again.

“I’ll be on the couch if you get sick,” she hears him telling her, and she feels a hand in her hair, petting her like she’s a dog.

“No,” she wants to say, “stay with me.” But her words are caught in the back of her throat, trapped there by alcohol and the heaviness of slumber.

She falls in and out of a restless sleep. When she gets sick, she barely makes it to the toilet, and she feels Mulder rushing in to hold her hair. Her dress twists around her waist as she retches on her knees.

Brushed teeth and a glass of water later, she is back in bed, but now she is fully awake. She knows she can’t be drunk anymore. Alcohol doesn’t last that long in the system, right? Something smart in the back of her brain tries to explain otherwise, to tell her that the effects of alcohol actually linger for quite some time, and certainly don’t disappear after two hours. But she traps that part of her intelligence away.

Convinced that she’s no longer drunk, she decides to try again.

Fumbling out of bed, she trips to the couch, where Mulder is staring listlessly at the T.V., his suit jacket thrown over the back of the chair, his Oxford shirt unbuttoned and untucked. He glances at her questioningly.

“You okay?” he asks, and she knows he wants her too. She felt it in the way he took her away from Tyler—so possessively.

She nods and hitches up her skirt, then throws her knee across his waist and straddles him. His eyes widen in shock and she grinds down on his lap.

“Fuck me,” she says as flirtatiously as possible, hoping her makeup still looks good, hoping she still smells nice. She drapes her arms across his shoulders and tangles her hands in his hair. This is how she always imagined it. Riding him like this without abandon.

His hands grip at her waist and yes, he wants this too.

But he’s holding her back from him, he’s telling her she’s drunk. But doesn’t he know that she’s not drunk anymore? She shakes her head and ignores the way the room spins when she does. She grinds down on him again and he holds her off again, pushing her from his lap. She loses her balance and starts to careen to the floor but he steadies her with strong arms at her back.

“I love you,” she tells him, because it’s true but also because maybe that will do the trick.

His eyes flit between hers for a long moment and she wonders if he’s making up his mind. “I love you,” she repeats more quietly.

“Scully,” he whispers, standing and lifting her with him. “Let’s get you back to bed.” Pain seems to cross his face and she frowns, shaking her head.

“No, no,” she pleads, “no.”

He nods more firmly, taking her by the arm and half-dragging, half-carrying her to her room.

“I’m going back to the couch, okay?” he tells her as he settles her back into bed, and she feels tears leaking traitorously down her cheeks. He brushes a thumb under her eyelids and more tears start to fall.

“You’ll be okay,” he tells her, before pressing a kiss to her forehead and leaving the room.

She cries herself to sleep.

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sapphirebones-ao3 · 5 months

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Déjà Vu

@eightnightsofmulder

@today-in-fic

Eight Nights of Mulder Day Seven: Potatoes

[on Ao3]

December 1999

Fucking Scully gives him déjà vu. Every sensation is a new discovery, but at the same time, he is so intimately familiar with her body and her soul that it feels like coming home. The delicate fingers that once swept hair off his forehead to check for a head injury now curl around his cock and it feels different, yet the same. Picking up her small, naked body to lower down onto his bed feels similar to carrying her to safety in Antarctica, but it’s also brand new.

He saw the tattoo on her lower back in a case file and once in a decontamination shower, but now he knows how it tastes. He spent weeks hating himself whenever she flinched and tried to hide the pain from the gunshot wound in her abdomen. Now, he absolves himself by pressing a kiss to the scar every time he works his way down her body.

She is Scully and also not-Scully. She is his stubbornly brilliant partner who can shoot holes in his theories (or his shoulder) from a mile away. She is also his surprisingly mischievous lover who sneaks up on him from behind in the shower, gently kisses the middle of his back, and starts working his dick in her hands until he spins around to lift her up and fuck her right there, soap suds dripping down his chest to where their bodies meet.

She is 38 years of Hanukkah, Christmas, and birthday presents wrapped into one petite package.

It’s the first weekend in December and they’re holed up in his apartment after returning from Southern California where he shot a brain-eating fast-food employee. It’s not a normal life, but it’s theirs and he wouldn’t want it any other way. Her only rule is that they keep it strictly platonic in public, but he’s already looking forward to breaking that one.

He wakes up on Sunday morning with his arms wrapped around her listening to her snore. Yes, Dana Scully snores. That wasn’t a surprise when they started sleeping together. Years of overnight stakeouts and crosscountry flights will teach you your partner’s sleeping sounds. He’s always loved her snoring. Just like her, it’s gentle yet persistent, not a deep and guttural utterance but a soft and steady rhythm of air catching in her throat.

He closes his eyes and tries to let the sound of her breathing soothe him back to sleep, but his dick has other ideas. Lying here naked with Scully’s also-naked, velvety soft body pressed against his is just too much stimulation after too many years of drought. He traces her lips with his fingertips as he buries his face in her auburn hair.

“Mmm, Mulder,” she whispers nearly inaudibly.

“Good morning,” he says, letting his hand roam from her mouth to left breast.

He lazily circles his fingers around her nipple, just barely making contact as it hardens into a tight little nub. By the time he repeats the pattern on the right side, she’s rocking her hips back against him. The pressure of her ass grinding against his erection is a sublime form of torture.

“I need you,” he whispers in her ear, and it isn’t hyperbole. He’s known for years that he couldn’t live without her, but it’s only in the past couple of months that he’s learned how much his body simply craves hers.

“So take me,” she says firmly, turning over to face him. She tilts her chin up as if to dare him, and he can see her full lips, the milky white skin of her throat, her perfect breasts.

It’s almost enough to make him come on the spot. He accepts her challenge, rolling on top of her and pinning her wrists above her head with his hands. She lets out a gasp. That’s one new thing he’s learned: Dana Scully likes it rough.

The first time they’d made love, they’d both been so gentle, so afraid that one false move would wake them up from this impossible dream. He’d only just recovered from his impromptu brain surgery but even if he was at his full strength he wouldn’t have dared touch her with anything less than tender reverence. He knew she was tough but he needed her to feel safe with him.

By their third time, she told him, You don’t have to treat me like glass. I’m not going to break. And while he would sooner put a bullet through his own brain than hurt her in any way, he’s enjoying learning what she likes—a little nibbling on her ear lobe, a firm hand behind her head when she sucks him off, no handcuffs…yet.

He presses her wrists into the bed and kisses her hard on the mouth.

“Don’t move,” he says, taking his hands off her wrists to trace the outline of her torso.

He runs his fingers over her breasts and the narrow indentation of her waistline before firmly gripping her hips. He lowers himself until he’s facing the damp curls between her legs. He bows his head, nose first, into her pubis. He fucking loves how she smells.

She spreads her legs open around him and he uses his thumbs to part her outer lips and pauses to admire her swollen, glistening center.

“Please,” she whimpers.

“Oh, Scully,” he whispers into her clit. Then he gives her one long stroke with the flat of his tongue and she shivers around him.

He draws circles with his tongue, savoring her sharp, salty, Scully taste as she makes hot little moans. He picks up the pace and she starts bucking her hips into his face. He wraps his arms around her and squeezes her ass. She’s moaning harder now, a deep involuntary sound from the base of her throat. She tremors against him.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she begs, as if there’s anything else in the world he’d rather be doing.

He’s humming against her clit now as he licks and sucks on her. He glances up and sees her eyes are shut tight and she’s thrown her head back.

“Oh, fuck, Mulder,” she utters. “Get up here and fuck me.”

Her hips keep thrusting up against him as he presses a wet kiss to her inner thigh, then her navel, then the space between her breasts and rises to meet her. She snakes a hand in between their bodies and guides him inside her. She is so fucking hot and wet all around him. She’s already got one foot over the ledge, so he doesn’t hesitate, just drives into her. Each time the base of his cock grinds against her clit she gasps and quivers, and it doesn’t take long before she gives in to her orgasm. She’s thrashing against him and all he can do is hold on for dear life. He buries his head in between her neck and shoulder and thrusts into her wildly. His heart is hammering out of his chest and he realizes he would happily die in this moment, balls deep in Dana Scully. But he doesn’t die. He comes hard, exploding inside her as he greedily sucks at her neck. It’ll likely leave a mark and he’s glad it’s turtleneck season.

Once he’s fully emptied himself, he rolls off of her, taking one of her small hands in his and bringing it to his racing heart. They lie in silence, catching their breath.

“Why didn’t we do this years ago?” she asks

“Because I’m a goddamn idiot,” he replies, staring at the ceiling. “If I’d known it would be this good I would have bent you over my desk the day I met you.”

He feels her shake her head next to him. “Not then,” she says. “We didn’t even know each other.”

“Well, what about three years ago? If I recall, you were ready to go with Eddie VanBlundht.”

It’s been a long time since either of them has mentioned that name. He knows she’s embarrassed by nearly falling for VanBlundht’s facade.

Scully sighs and turns on her side toward him. “Only because I thought he was you.”

“Is it weird that I was a little jealous of the guy?” he asks. “For having the balls to do what I could only dream about?”

“Mulder, I did think something was off about you—or him, rather. But maybe I just wanted so badly for it to be real that I didn’t question it.”

Her words bloom in his chest. She wanted him enough that she was willing to suspend her disbelief.

“So you would have been into it…if I had made a move earlier?” He asks hopefully.

She shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. We’re here now. We can make up for lost time.” It’s classic Scully. Grounded in reality.

“You don’t think I’m small potatoes?” he asks.

“Oh, Mulder,” she whispers into his neck. “I don’t think you’re small anything.”

“Thank you, Scully,” he grins and kisses the top of her head.

It took them a while to get the timing right, but now that they’ve made it, he wouldn’t change a thing.

#sooo sweet #loved this!!#reeb log

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sapphirebones-ao3 · 5 months

Text

warning buzz

read on ao3

Rating: Explicit

Chapter 2/3

Summary:

With all her layers of perfectly tailored suits and heavy kevlar stripped away, she arches into him like hands in prayer, and he feels born anew, awash in the holy water of her. Her, her, her.

Tagging: @today-in-fic (hope this is okay!)

“Take–” she gasps, trying to catch her breath between his bruising kisses “ –take it off, Mulder” his hands span higher up her shirt, sliding it off and onto the floor.

His hands can’t get enough of her, her cold porcelain skin heating under his touch. He wants to map every inch of her, investigate her like the forgotten files deep in the archives of the Hoover building, he wants to mark and highlight every mole and scar and blemish on her canvas of a body. His tongue runs down her jaw, suckling at the spot under her ear, earning him a whimper.

He continues his exploration, feeling almost like his younger self at Quantico studying the human body, learning its weak spots. Jugular, clavicle, sternum. Her heart flutters under his tongue like a hummingbird, and all he can think about is how delicate and birdlike she feels in his arms, under his mouth. With all her layers of perfectly tailored suits and heavy kevlar stripped away, she arches into him like hands in prayer, and he feels born anew, awash in the holy water of her. Her, her, her.

Scully’s puffs of breath encouraging him further, he runs his fingers along the edge of her bra, sliding underneath and lightly feeling the mound of her breast– he skirts higher, grazing the edge of her nipple, feeling it harden under his feather-light touches, and he shudders. “Scully–” he catches his breath, lifting his mouth from her skin, “Scully, can I see you? Plea–” she takes his head in her hands and bends down to kiss him soundly, “Mulder, you’re the only one who’s–” her mouth chases his lips like a ship to shore, “ –the only one who’s ever seen me.”

She makes quick work of the clasp on her bra, Mulder’s hands following her movements. His mouth makes its way to her breast before the cups even hit the carpet, and he tests the weight of the other with his free hand, the cast digging into her skin.

She knows it’ll probably leave a mark, a scratch from the gauze, but that only makes her squirm harder. She wants this to feel real tomorrow, wants to have a reminder that it wasn’t just another spore-induced dream, she hopes the next time she showers, that the scratches sting under the boiling hot water.

The sensation of his mouth laving over one nipple while his hand plays with the other is almost too much, and she arches and heaves underneath him, her bare skin coming into contact with his still clothed chest. “Mulder. Mul–” she tugs at his shirt and tries to push him back, he sucks harder and she lets out a strangled whine. “Mulder, I want to feel you.” She manages to pant out, and he lifts his head up to give her his signature smirk, licking over her one last time to make her jump.

She helps him out of his shirt, struggling with the sling, and he takes the opportunity to look over his work on her chest, its once white expanse covered in red blotches and tracks of saliva. She looks beautiful like this, panting and wanton, and he lifts his gaze up to look at her, noticing her staring.

“Scully, you’re amazing.” he whispers.

She hums and runs her hands up and down his chest, fingers curling in his chest hair and rising up to his shoulders, wrapping her arms around his neck. He kisses her forehead and lifts her off his lap with one arm curled around her waist, he revels in the feel of her, the weight of her in his hold. Setting her down underneath him on the couch, he goes back to charting her skin with his mouth, nipping and sucking at every inch of flesh he can reach. Venturing lower, running his tongue into her navel, following her iliac crest lower still, he gently kisses along the edge of her trousers and skims his hand under the band, before resting his head on her stomach.

“Can I take these off?” he asks, breathing the words into her skin, “We could still stop if you wanted to.” he adds, looking up at her, eyes half-lidded.

“Mulder, if you stopped right now I think I’d shoot you again.” she says, moving her hands into his hair.

“I trust you. You don’t always have to ask.” she continues, running her fingers down to his jaw, letting her thumb skim his lower lip. He presses a sweet kiss to its pad and lets his eyes droop closed, contentment washing over him like a honeyed balm.

“I just want– I want you so much, Scully. I don’t want to rush this.”

“I think seven years is enough time.” she smiles softly, taking his hand and guiding it to the top button of her jeans.

Their intertwined fingers make short work of the button and zipper, each scraping tooth ringing out in the silence between breaths. Mulder’s cast digs into her again and it sets her alight, she pushes him away slightly just to shimmy her pants down to her knees, and kicks them off the rest of the way.

“Please, Mulder.” she sighs, bringing her hands up to his jaw and pulling him up for a deep kiss before letting him go.

To Mulder, this all feels like a dream. He can’t believe she’s letting him touch her, much less like this. His hands envelop her thighs and he barely suppresses a groan as he sees the gusset of her panties soaked through to the outside, he grinds his own pelvis down into the couch’s worn leather to relieve some of the pressure in his jeans, he feels like a seven year ticking time-bomb down to its last moments.

Taking a deep breath to pace himself, he glances up at Scully one last time for confirmation, her slight nod giving him the go-ahead he needed. His good hand trembles as he pushes it under the fabric, the tips of his fingers coming into contact with her trimmed curls, damp from the slickness just below. He thinks he could come right then and there if this were just his fantasy, but she’s right there beneath him, panting and trembling in anticipation.

“Fuck– Scully–” he breathes, his fingers gliding lower and into her folds, he maneuvers his body down the couch and brings his head between her legs. Uncomfortably setting his cast on the outside of her thigh, while his other hand works to remove her panties, sliding them down her legs.

“You’re so wet.” he murmurs, trailing his thumb slowly from her perineum all the way up to her clit, resting there and making her flinch. His index finger flutters against her opening, before finally pushing in. He feels her clench against him almost immediately, and it makes him dizzy.

She arches her pelvis into his hand, her breathing growing ragged as he starts thrusting, adding another finger and burying them to the knuckle. Her panting fills the room as an awe-filled Mulder catalogues every new sound and move she makes under him. Her walls flutter around him when he curls his fingers like this, he earns a whimper when he circles her clit like that.

He lifts his eyes to watch her and sees her eyes close and eyebrows crease beautifully, and, though he’s sad to no longer see the sky blue of her irises, he’s amazed he’s causing her to look like that. “Mul– Mulder I–” she manages to gasp out, and he can tell she’s close. “I need–”

They’ve known each other for so long that he can understand her most minute expressions, an eyebrow raise or a quirk of the mouth could substitute entire conversations, he’s never had this kind of connection to another person. This little trick comes in handy, now.

At her gasped out plea, he moves his mouth to her and laves his tongue over her folds, slowing his fingers but curling them harder against her front wall. His mouth envelops her clit and he feels her entire body shudder, her hips rising up to meet him and her thighs clamping around his head. She tastes like bread, and salt, and something so uniquely Scully he feels like he can’t get enough of her. His tongue circles her clit in time with his thrusting and suddenly little choked moans fill the air, and he feels a gush of wetness cover his chin as she finally unravels.

When her shaking finally subsides, and her thighs are no longer crushing his head, he withdraws his fingers and presses a kiss to her clit, before wrapping his arm around her lower back and lifting her up to sit on his lap. He kisses her closed eyelids and the tip of her nose, so overwhelmed by his love for her he can barely comprehend it.

She falls against his chest, and he takes the opportunity to slide his arm under her knees, supporting her back with his injured arm as he stands from the couch and brings them both to her bedroom, pulling back the covers and depositing her like a princess onto the bedspread.

Scully. Naked. In bed. With a blissed out expression. Looking up at him.

She motions for him to come join her, patting the spot beside her and he sidles in behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing a kiss to the nape of her neck, breathing her in. Her hands drift to his and she threads their fingers together, bringing them up to her chest and holding them there before turning to face him. Her eyes roam over his face, seeming to file every mole and line she can find there for future reference, jumping from one freckle to the other like skipping stones.

Scully kisses him then, gently tilting her face up and lightly brushing her lips against his, her fingers coming up to run through his hair and rest on his cheek.

“Hi,” she says, softly, as if speaking too loud would break the whole world in two.

“Hi,” he replies, kissing her once more before pulling her closer against him, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and tilting her head up once more, “you’re incredible, you know that?” he breathes, punctuating his words by trailing a finger from her ear to her jaw.

“You are too, Mulder.” she answers, pulling him even closer to emphasize her point, they fit perfectly together, forms interlocking like puzzle pieces, and she feels the weight of 7 years of yearning in their embrace. She presses a kiss to the wiry hair of his chest and moves to lock her knee between his thighs, before coming into contact with the denim fabric of his jeans.

“Why are you still dressed?” she asks, incredulously, pulling away just enough to be able to look him in the eyes. He’s blushing, she notices, his tawny eyes struggling to make eye contact.

“I uh– ” he casts his eyes downwards, mumbling, “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, I–” his hands span from her waist to her shoulders, holding her there and sighing “I’m still, y’know… hard.” he sighs, his voice trailing off. He clamps his eyes shut, cringing.

A pause.

“And that’s bad?” Scully’s voice cuts through the haze of his thoughts and he opens his eyes to find her staring at him, eyebrow raised, as if he’d just asked her to believe another one of his crazy theories.

“Mulder, I don’t know how your previous romantic encounters have been but, when a woman lets you make her come, and then lets you take her to bed–” she pauses for emphasis, taking his chin in her hand and making him lock eyes with her, “–she probably wants you to fuck her.”

“You would classify this as a romantic encounter, Scully?” he replies, flashing her his signature grin and winking.

“Mulder, you’re crazy.” she smiles, and leans in to his kiss.

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sapphirebones-ao3 · 5 months

Text

All the Seeds

@eightnightsofmulder

@today-in-fic

Eight Nights of Mulder Day Six: Dreidel [on Ao3]

December 1998

He almost kissed me in his hallway. He lets her call him Fox. He loves me. He loves me not. He came all the way to Antarctica to save my life. He ditched me with Gibson Praise to drive off with her in Phoenix. He loves me. He loves me not. He said he loved me when he was high on painkillers. He probably told her that countless times while sober. He loves me. He loves me not.

Being off the X-Files is bad for us. Running background checks on fertilizer purchases uses up too small a fraction of my brain power and frees up too much of my energy to think about other things…like what the fuck is going on in my partner’s head. He’s moody and more impatient than normal. His behavior borders on flirtatious at times but if I play along, he recoils.

When we worked on the X-Files together, Mulder and I were in sync. We rarely shared an opinion, but we had our routine well-established: Theory, countertheory, hunches, wild goose chases, and typically ending up just as clueless as when we started. It was a well-choreographed dance. We could do all the steps with our eyes closed.

Now, we’re stomping all over each other’s toes. Our rhythm is off. Sometimes it seems like we’re having two different conversations at the same time.

I don’t want to say it’s all Diana Fowley’s fault, but she sure as fuck isn’t helping. She tends to always have an excuse to call him down to the basement with a question about a case. She inevitably makes her way up to the bullpen around lunchtime to see if he wants to get something to eat. Mulder usually asks if I’d like to join, but I know it’s an empty invitation.

I’m not proud of it, but I do have a jealous streak. It isn’t even always romantic, either. I remember competing with my siblings for my father’s attention, and burning with anger if he seemed more impressed with one of them at any given moment. It was the same in school, from the time I was a child all the way through Quantico. I had such a desire to please my teachers and needed to be the favorite in every class.

Needless to say, being the subject of Mulder’s undivided attention—with the exception of the weekly cryptid or the occasional busty entomologist—for nearly six years felt good. Having to share him with Diana Fowley does not.

I know they have history. And I know she’s attractive. But it’s not even that. It’s the effect she has on him. The way he’ll believe anything she says without a scrap of evidence. The way she makes me feel like a nagging shrew. The way she gets to call him Fox.

He’s coming back from lunch now, striding across the bullpen towards me, and, is he…whistling? I sincerely hope all he had to eat was a sandwich.

“Hey, Scully,” he says, smiling. “It’s unseasonably warm out. What do you say we get out of here for a bit?”

“You’ve been gone for nearly an hour. Weren’t you at lunch with Agent Fowley?” I ask.

“Nah,” he says. “She got an urgent phone call before we made it out of the building, so I just went back to my apartment to pick up this book on cryptozoology that’s been on my mind.”

I notice he’s empty-handed. “But you didn’t find it?”

Mulder shakes his head. “I think it might still be in our old office. But I found something else.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small wooden top.

“A dreidel?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “This was mine when I was a kid. Ended up in the back of my bookcase somehow. Come on, I’ll teach you how to play. ‘Tis the season, after all, and I promise it’ll be more fun than running another background check. Although that isn’t saying much.”

I could use a break. This work is mind-numbingly dull and playing hooky for an afternoon with Mulder sounds much more intriguing. I return his smile and shrug on my coat.

As I’m following him through the bullpen, he calls out to me, a little too loudly, “I hope we’re not stuck on this stakeout the rest of the day, but knowing our perp I wouldn’t bet on making it back before sunset.”

“That’s too bad, Agent Mulder,” I reply, matching his volume and trying not to grin. “I was hoping to get ahead on all this paperwork.”

The elevator down to the lobby is crowded but he gives me a conspiratorial wink and I feel myself blushing. I’m pressed up close to him and can smell his musk and aftershave. We both can’t help but laugh once the lobby’s revolving door propels us onto the sidewalk. He’s right. It’s warm out for December and in the sun I barely need my coat.

We wander until we’re a safe distance from getting spotted and find ourselves a bench near the reflecting pool. Thanks to the temperate weather, the Mall is busy and we can easily blend in with the crowd of tourists and office workers.

“Ever played dreidel before, Scully?” he asks.

“I can’t say I have.”

“It’s easy.” He holds the top out to me in his palm.

“This is nun,” he explains, pointing to the side of the dreidel embossed with a character that looks like a backward letter C. “If your spin lands on nun, you do nothing, which is easy to remember. But nun looks deceptively similar to gimel”—he turns the top to a side with a nearly identical symbol, but this one has a little leg sticking out of the bottom, “and if you land on gimel, you get the whole pot.”

“What’s in our pot, Mulder?” I ask.

“Sam and I used to play with gelt but since we don’t have any, we can use these instead,” he says, pulling a bag of sunflower seeds out of his jacket pocket.

“If you land on shin,” he says, showing me a character that looks like a W, “you have to add a coin, or a seed in our case, to the pot. That leaves hey”—now he shows me the final side of the dreidel— “and that means you take half the pot.”

“I think I got it,” I say.

He starts divvying up a pile of seeds between the two of us. He brings one to his mouth, cracks open the shell with his teeth, and eats it. I’ve seen him do the same motion hundreds of times and it always makes me wonder what else his nimble mouth is capable of. I’m sure Diana has intimate knowledge of that.

“For good luck,” he says.

“Sure, Fox,” I say teasingly.

He cringes.

“Sorry,” I say, my eyes drifting to my pile of sunflower seeds. “That’s what Diana calls you.”

“Yes, and I hate it,” he says. “I’ve asked her not to, but it’s not a battle worth fighting. I think she does it just to irritate me.”

“I know you two were,” I pause. “Together.”

Why am I prying? He knows that I know. I know he’ll never say anything outwardly negative about her as much as I wish that he would. And I don’t want him to think that I’m fishing. But I can’t resist.

“A long time ago,” he says quietly.

“It must be nice to have her back, though” I say. “An old friend.”

He shrugs and plucks one seed from each of our piles to start the pot.

“You go first,” he says, handing me the dreidel.

I give it a flick with my fingers but my spin is too enthusiastic and the dreidel ends up falling off the bench.

“Easy there, tiger,” Mulder says with a laugh, leaning over to pick it up off the ground.

I try again more gently, and land on hey. “Nice, Scully,” he says, as I take one seed back from the pot.

We go back and forth like this for a while, our respective sunflower seed piles growing and shrinking.

“I never did this with Diana,” he says absentmindedly as he adds to the pot after landing on shin.

“You don’t need to tell me that, Mulder,” I say softly, once again avoiding his eyes.

“It’s true,” he says, bringing his fingertips to my chin, encouraging me to look up and face him. “I’m not going to lie to you. We were very close for a while and, at the time, I would’ve said she was the love of my life—”

I flinch and hope he doesn’t notice.

“—but that was before I met you.”

“Oh, please, Mulder,” I say, leaning back and away from him. “You were in a relationship with her. You lived together. You were…intimate. I’m just your partner.”

“I hope you don’t believe that, Scully,” he says sternly, and I realize he’s serious. “I thought I loved Diana because she was the first person to accept me for who I am, but it didn’t take long to realize that she didn’t really see me. She saw a version of me that she felt she could mold into someone she’d want to be with. When I didn’t want to go along with that, she picked up and left. But you see me, Scully. You really see me for who I am and you haven’t run away yet.”

He reaches across our sunflower seed piles to hold my hand. His touch is gentle yet firm, as if to reassure me. My lips are trembling and I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I’m scared to speak, not knowing what sounds will come out.

“And I see you,” he continues. “You’re so fucking loyal and honest and you fight for what you believe in. You’re principled and kind and even though you challenge me every day, there’s no one else I’d rather argue with. You give my life meaning.”

He squeezes my hand tighter. I try to hold back my tears but it’s no use. I blink and they’re streaming warm down my face. My heart and my mind are racing. Passersby are milling all around us but we’re frozen like statues.

“Mulder,” I gasp. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says, smiling as he passes me the dreidel. “Just spin.”

Catching my breath, I give the dreidel one last spin on the bench.

“Gimel!” he shouts excitedly. “You get all the seeds, Scully. And all of me. Don’t forget that.”

“Too bad I don’t like sunflower seeds,” I say, smiling at him shyly.

“Well, I can take those off your hands,” he says, sweeping all three piles of seeds back towards him. “But you are stuck with me, unfortunately.”

We lock eyes. “I can live with that,” I say.

He returns the seeds to the plastic bag and tucks it back into his jacket pocket. As we walk back to the Hoover building, he drapes his arm around me. For the first time in months, we’re back in sync.

I think he just might love me.

#aaaaahhh 😭😭😭😭😭#reeb log #this is so cute omfg #im in love w scully pov ficlets ...

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sapphirebones-ao3 · 5 months

Text

Amateur

Rated X / 2402 words / Posted on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Getting to this point took quite a bit of convincing on his part. Not in any way that could be considered coercive, more that he could tell there was a deeply buried part of her that wanted to say yes, and he gently coaxed it to the surface over the course of a handful of months.

He’s asked a few times in the past, usually not very sincerely, and her answer has always been an immediate and firm no. But times have changed, as has she, and the ever advancing technology of cell phones has lowered the bar for effort while increasing the options for privacy. What previously seemed so beyond the pale outrageous that she never gave it any serious consideration started to sound more and more within the realm of possibility, and he clearly sensed a shift in her. One by one he alleviated her concerns, and on a cool October evening after two cocktails and a string of increasingly explicit text messages sent from opposite ends of the house, she tells him to go ahead and do it.

You’re sure? He asks, and while it’s difficult to read tone into two little words in a text, she feels his excitement radiating towards her through the walls that separate them.

Assuming that all aforementioned conditions are met, yes she replies, her belly churning with nervousness and gin.

In response he sends back two emojis—a camera and a little flame—and that’s that.

There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary about the act itself. She tries her best not to think about it and just focus on what he’s doing to her, but she does maintain some awareness of the sounds she’s making and the way she’s moving her body. He does what he does best, which is to make her come so hard she forgets what planet she’s on—much less that there’s a camera in the room—and when he’s done with her she falls into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Do you want to see it?

Scully quirks her head at her phone, her brow furrowed.

See what?

She gets distracted and forgets to read his reply until over an hour later. When she does, it takes her several seconds to understand what he’s referring to.

The video.

Days have passed and work’s been busy, and she’d honestly forgotten about it. She looks around her empty office, just in case someone is somehow reading over her shoulder, before she sends her reply.

Have you watched it?

She immediately sees the little dots that indicate he’s typing, and she waits for his message to come through with a disorienting mix of fear and excitement.

Several times. That’s okay, right?

Her clit throbs, just once, in light of this information. Mulder has always been somewhat of a porn connoisseur, but it’s decidedly different knowing that she is the star of what he’s been watching.

Is it…good? Okay? Tolerable?

She realizes it’s a silly question and that his definition of “good” will have completely different criteria to hers, but she figures he knows her well enough to say whether she would find it watchable.

I like it a lot. And I don’t think you’ll hate it.

She gets up from her desk and closes her office door. She has no intention of watching the video here; it just seems safer this way.

Okay, you can send it. Not sure when or if I’ll watch it, though.

The next text that comes through is a thumbnail of a whitish blur that she would guess is her thigh. She saves the video to her phone, relegates it to her hidden album, and then deletes the entire thread of texts for good measure.

The next time she thinks about it, Mulder is on one of his long runs and she has the house to herself. She pours a glass of wine, curls up in her favorite armchair, and glances furtively around the empty living room before pulling up the video and tapping the play button. Immediately, the sound of her own voice fills her ears and a hot flash of embarrassment shoots through her. She quickly minimizes the video and relocates to the bedroom, picking up a pair of headphones on the way. Somehow the second floor feels safer, though she only puts the headphones in one ear to be sure Mulder won’t sneak up on her when he comes back. After taking a gulp of wine and a deep breath, she hits play.

Again she hears her own voice, mid-moan, and the image on the screen goes from unfocused flesh of an unidentifiable body part to a close-cropped shot of her vulva. She gasps at seeing her own cunt on screen, plump and shining with arousal and saliva. The camera shifts around a little, which makes rustling sounds against the sheets, and then Mulder’s profile enters the side of the frame.

It’s a tight shot, which means she can only really see from his eyes down to his chin, but the way he glances toward the camera when his mouth is poised inches from her body tells her that he’s watching himself on the screen while holding the phone in his hand. His tongue darts out and flicks playfully at her clit, and she watches her opening flutter as she hears herself murmur a breathy, “Oh.”

She pauses the video, her heart hammering, and listens to the quiet of the house. It feels like she’s doing something wrong, though she isn’t; if Mulder were to walk in right now, he’d likely be thrilled and want to watch it with her. But despite the fact that they made the video together, it feels incredibly private. She can hardly bring herself to watch it, much less entertain the idea of a viewing party.

When she’s summoned courage again she hits play, and Mulder begins to drop wet kisses down her swollen lips until his mouth is covering her opening. His jaw shifts forward and she hears herself suck in a breath before letting out a long moan.

Scully squirms where she is seated in the middle of their carefully made bed. While it’s not entirely clear from the video itself, she knows exactly what he’s doing to her. She can feel the heat of his tongue sinking into her cunt. She glances at the open door, aware that Mulder could be home any time. She could lock it, that would buy her a few seconds if she doesn’t hear the front door opening or him coming up the stairs. It’s only at this moment she recognizes that she is extremely aroused and very much wants to touch herself.

On the screen, Mulder’s eyes are closed and he’s suckling at her clit, his lips carefully pursed around her hood. Her hips are wiggling and arching off the bed, pushing her face more firmly against him, and the movement causes the camera angle to shift so that she can no longer see her own body, just the side of his face. She watches the flex of his jaw and listens to the way her voice rises and falls in time to it, and when her embarrassingly gratuitous wailing is approaching a crescendo he pulls away and smiles, his eyes aimed up toward her face.

Seeing him enjoying her this way, watching the unabashed pleasure on his face as he eats her pussy, is hypnotizing, and she’s almost disappointed when he notices the camera has shifted and tilts it back to show the slick mess between her legs. He puts on a show for the benefit of the video, coming in at an angle in order to capture a full view of his tongue gliding up the valley of her pussy lips before skirting just past her clit, teasing her. And she feels it all as she sees it: the anticipation, the wet heat of his mouth, the need for him to touch her more fully. Her eyes are glued to the screen, waiting for him to do it, to make her come, which she of course already knows that he’s going to. Her clit beats a steady rhythm under her cotton lounge pants, keeping time as the seconds tick by and Mulder makes her whine with frustration.

“God, just do it,” she whispers out loud, piqued and panting.

“Do what?”

Scully startles, and the phone leaps out of her hands before landing face-down on top of the comforter, tugging the headphone out of her ear in the process. Mulder is standing in the open doorway, shirtless and shining with sweat, his breathing still labored from his run.

“Nothing,” she says with a shrug and a thin-lipped smile. “How was your run?”

She forces herself to keep her eyes on his face; if she gives her phone so much as a millisecond glance, he’ll know she’s hiding something.

“Good,” he says, crossing to the en suite bathroom door. “I’m just gonna grab a quick shower.”

“Okay.”

The door closes behind him and she flips her phone over to see that the video is still playing. She drags the cursor across the bottom of the screen and watches them fuck in reverse until it’s to the point where she left off, then pops the headphone back in her ear.

“Oh, please,” she hears herself groan, her hips canting towards Mulder’s smiling mouth. She doesn’t remember begging.

Upon hearing the magic word, he presses his entire face against her cunt, obscuring her body in the video. She hears herself gasp just before her hand flies into the frame, grabbing the back of Mulder’s head to hold him captive while she makes sounds that are at once embarrassing and insanely erotic.

Scully scoots back on the bed and leans against the headboard, then pauses the video and listens for the rush of the shower and the wet slap of water against tile as Mulder moves around inside it. She starts the video again just as she’s coming down from her orgasm, and Mulder makes a point of pulling away to get a good shot of her still-throbbing pussy before the video bounces around and lands on a static image of their bedroom ceiling.

She slips one hand under her pants and then her panties, listening to the running shower with one ear and the muted murmurs of her and Mulder changing position in the background of the video with the other. Unsurprisingly, she’s obscenely wet, and she wastes no time in setting about getting herself off before Mulder is out of the bathroom.

On the screen, Mulder’s face appears from a low angle before he switches to the rear camera, and she sees herself on all fours at the head of the bed, waiting. The video pans down her body until it’s trained between her open legs, and she winces a little at just how prominently her asshole is displayed in this position. Mulder seems to take no issue with it, dragging the head of his cock down her ass crack and back up before he pushes against her opening.

Scully fucks herself with her fingers as she watches him slide into her, watches her hips flex up to welcome him and hears both their relieved groans. He fucks her slowly at first, pulling all the way out so he can watch himself enter her again and again, and she almost feels jealous that he gets to see this every time. He pulls the camera back a bit, widening the shot to show the curve of her waist and the flare of her hips, then picks up his pace to the degree that their skin slaps loudly on each thrust and the wet slick of her cunt is audible when he withdraws.

She didn’t expect to like this, but as she swirls her middle finger furiously around her clit with her eyes glued to the screen, there’s no denying that she does. When the on-screen version of herself begins to alternately round and arch her back and Mulder whispers an expletive, she knows she’s close. She’s close in real-life too, hovering near enough to take herself across the finish line whenever she’s ready.

“Oh, shit,” Mulder sputters, and the room tumbles around on the screen before the video goes dark.

She can still hear the wet snap of his sharp thrusts and her own voice devolving into wails and moans. Mulder says things to her that she doesn’t recall hearing, things that might make her blush if she weren’t as turned on as she is. If she weren’t coming in tandem with the video, her mouth open in a silent scream and her cunt throbbing against her own fingers.

As she returns to awareness, she realizes that the shower is off. She scrambles to pull her hand free of her pants and close out of the video, and is just opening Instagram when the bathroom door pops open and a cloud of steam wafts into the room. Mulder stops in the doorway and considers her for a moment, and she does her best to act casual.

“What do you want to do for dinner?” she asks, giving him a disinterested glance, and he crosses the room and lays down beside her.

“There’s some leftover lasagna in the fridge, I think,” he says. “Whatcha lookin at?”

“Nothing in particular,” she says, her eyes on the screen. “Just browsing.”

A pause. Gooseflesh breaks out on her arms, and she hopes he doesn’t notice.

“I’ll go reheat the lasagna, then?”

“Okay,” she answers in a hopefully neutral tone.

Mulder gets up and heads for the door, but just before he passes through he turns back to look at her.

“Did you like it?” he asks, and she quirks her head at him, a questioning wrinkle in her brow.

“The lasagna?” she asks.

“The video,” he says, jutting his chin out to indicate the phone in her hands.

Scully feels her face grow hot immediately. She opens her mouth to speak, but can’t think of anything to say. Mulder’s mouth breaks out into a wide, delighted grin.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says triumphantly. “Dinner will be ready in ten.”

“...Thanks,” she forces out, her cheeks burning, and he mercifully leaves the room.

After a moderately awkward meal, she manages to overcome her embarrassment enough to film a sequel later that night.

#one of my current fav fic writers back with another banger!!#reeb log

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sapphirebones-ao3 · 5 months

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#hey thats me!#reeb log

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