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slippinmickeys · 22 days

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Totality

Fiona made me write an eclipse fic.

Scully gently shut the door behind her, the crisp blue duffle with leather handles in her grip; the go-bag she always left in her car, just in case. It had been a just-in case, Mulder had to admit. They’d had to fly to Idaho with no time to pack, and had worked a grueling five days straight on a series of local murders with only enough time to catch maybe four hours of sleep a night and pop into a shabby JC Penneys once for more underwear. They were both overworked, overtired, and their suits–of which each of them only had two–were overworn; ripe with the scents of stale sweat and stale coffee and stale eau de morgue.

Scully looked weary as she handed over the bag to where Mulder stood in front of their rental car’s open trunk.

“How far away is the airport again?” she asked, squinting up at him as he deposited her bag next to his and slammed the trunk closed.

“Only about an hour,” he answered, mentally girding himself for what he was about to tell her. “But, I uh,” he went on, “pushed back our flights to this evening.”

Her posture visibly slumped. “You…what?”

Mulder bit his lip, hoping he hadn’t made a horrible miscalculation. He knew she wanted nothing more than to get home, slide into a hot bath and pull the covers over her head for three straight days. She’d certainly earned it.

“Hop in the car,” he said, moving to the driver’s side door. “I have a surprise.”

He was exhausted himself, his nerves shot. He was running on caffeine and cortisol, his skeleton rattling with every step. But this…she would like this. He was sure of it.

“Mulder,” she said wearily, a whine in her voice that he’d rarely had the opportunity to hear. But she said nothing more and reluctantly dropped into the passenger seat, leaning her head against the headrest and rolling it to look at him beseechingly after she’d clicked her seat belt on.

Mulder turned the ignition and the sedan growled to life under them.

“It’s a good surprise,” he assured her.

She only sighed, and they bumped out of the hotel parking lot and onto town’s main drag, the sun shining on the shabby line of depressing suburbia. Ten minutes and five stop lights later, Mulder pulled into the mostly empty parking lot of a dying mall, the tires popping over stray gravel and broken glass. He cranked the wheel and the car swung over the cracked asphalt in front of a defunct Frederick & Nelson, turning in a reflex angle and stopping when the sun shone in full through the windshield. He killed the engine.

Scully opened her mouth to say something, but he reached into the inner pocket of his suit coat and pulled out a couple scraps of cardboard, handing one over before she could voice a complaint.

It took her a moment to register what he was handing her.

“Eclipse glasses?” she said, sitting up a little in her seat.

Mulder had found the black polymer lenses next to the cash register at a local coffee shop that morning, the bespectacled co-ed working it disinterestedly telling him he could have two pairs for a dollar.

The upcoming eclipse had been in the news recently, but he’d mostly ignored it–back east it would only be partial at best, the path of totality only hitting the Pacific Northwest and parts of Canada. Four murders and a rough case later, he hadn’t given it another thought. Until that morning in the coffee shop.

“We’re in the path of totality here,” he explained. “We’ll only get it for about a minute and ten seconds according to the local newspaper, but I thought you might like to see it.”

A look Mulder couldn’t read crossed over her face and he swallowed.

“The next full eclipse over North America won’t be until 2017,” he went on nervously. “I can probably change the tickets back if you-”

Scully reached out and put a warm hand on his arm, cutting him off.

“I’d love to see it,” she said delicately. “Thank you.”

Despite the dark smudges under her eyes, the soft smile she gave him quieted any lingering apprehension about his decision, and he gave her a smile back.

“I figured we could get on the hood, lean against the windshield,” he said.

“What time does it start?” she asked, popping her wrist out from her sleeve to look at her watch.

“In about five minutes,” he grinned.

Scully fingered the glasses and then opened her car door. Energized, Mulder did the same.

“I ask you to avert your eyes,” he said drolly, putting a hand on the warm hood of the car before awkwardly lumbering his way on top of it, the metal plane thumping loudly under him as it dented to accommodate his weight and then popped back into place.

Scully, opting to watch, looked on primly.

Once he was settled, he held out a hand.

“Milady,” he said, and she settled her warm palm onto his, grabbing on while she put a foot on top of the tire and dexterously swung herself up next to him.

“Nimble,” he complimented her, reluctantly letting go of her hand.

She shrugged and leaned back gingerly against the windshield, mindful of the smear of desiccated bugs across the face of it.

“Here, wait,” Mulder said. He sat up quickly and peeled off his suit coat, rolling it into a ball to tuck behind her head, pillow-like.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

“Don’t mention it.”

Mulder could feel something ineffable pass between them. He coughed once awkwardly, and then pressed his eclipse glasses to his face, the sharp cardboard edge digging into the skin behind his ear.

“How do I look?” he asked.

“Like a dork,” Scully said, delicately donning her own, in, Mulder hoped, solidarity.

She looked nothing like a dork, Mulder thought, eyeing the sharp lines of her face. She looked like a space girl, sleek and silver, an otherworldly beauty.

He cleared his throat. “So do you.”

Scully’s face was tilted to the sky and he turned to follow her gaze.

“It’s starting,” she said, her voice a little irreverent.

Mulder looked at the sun, dark through polymer lenses of the protective eyewear. The moon was just beginning to edge itself in front of its celestial sister; incremental, pendulous.

Lacking the pillow he’d given Scully, he raised his arms up and bent his elbows, resting his head back against cupped hands. Beside him, Scully breathed serenely. He caught a whiff of his fusty clothing and hoped his jacket had fared better in the olfactory department than his shirt.

They were silent for long minutes, watching the gradual procession of moon across sun. The day was bright but began to take on a verging luminosity, and Mulder raised his glasses up to take a look at the dark shadow of the car under them, which took on an off-putting sharpness against the dusty asphalt.

“What do you think ancient peoples made of solar eclipses?” came Scully’s voice, a little dreamy. “What must they have thought?”

It was an invitation to oratory. A small gift. Mulder smiled.

“Cultures throughout the world had wildly different theories,” he said, and Scully turned her head towards him, her eyes hidden behind the dark lenses. “Most of them, obviously, wildly incorrect.” Despite the fact that he couldn’t see her eyes, her look was encouraging.

“The sun being devoured was popular,” he went on. “From the Norse mythology of Sköll,” at this she smiled. “To Asian cultures like in Java and Vietnam that variously had creatures or monsters swallowing the sun. It was commonly held in ancient China that a celestial dragon attacked and devoured it. Here in the Northwest, the Pomo people’s name for a solar eclipse is ‘Sun got bit by a bear.’”

The bear, Mulder mused, was widening its jaw. It was getting gradually darker, and he could feel the temperature start to dip. He put his glasses back on and looked back at the sun.

“The Inca and Ancient Greek believed eclipses were a sign of a wrathful and unhappy god.”

Scully hummed. “The word ‘eclipse’ comes from the Greek word meaning ‘abandonment.’”

“Right,” Mulder said, “though I think I prefer mythologies of a more solicitous nature.”

Scully raised her glasses to give him a look. “Solicitous?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Mulder couldn’t help his grin. “In Australian oral traditions, the moon falls in love with the sun and chases her across the sky. If caught, the sun plunges the world into darkness. Medicine men recite magical chants to combat the evil omen. In German mythology, the sun and the moon are married. One rules the day while the other the night. When the moon is lonely, he’s drawn to his bride and they come together to create a solar eclipse.”

She looked at him frankly. “You know a weird amount about eclipses.”

“I like to impress you.”

“Is this why you were so late getting back to the hotel this morning? Research? My coffee was cold.”

“But are you impressed?”

“I wasn’t impressed by the coffee…”

Mulder gave her a long look, the odd light turning her hair a hazy copper wool.

“I like the German one best,” she finally said, plunking her glasses back on and leaning back to gaze at the sky.

“Me too,” Mulder said.

More long minutes of silence between them with the occasional car whooshing past on the roadway. Mall security drove by them slowly and Mulder gave the rent-a-cop a small salute. It was impossible to see Scully with the glasses on, so he kept taking them off.

“You’re going to permanently burn your macula,” Scully said from beside him, not taking her eyes off the welkin of the heavens above them.

He ran his eyes over the brushstroke of freckles on her nose. She was goddess-like; as luminous as a star. If he was the moon, he’d chase her through the sky, too.

“You lose enough photoreceptors you won’t pass your next firearms recertification.”

He was tempted to tell her that in all the years he’d known her, her shine hadn’t damaged anything but his poor, lonely heart, but pulled his glasses back down and looked to the sun. It was nearly covered.

He sighed and felt her hand reach for his. His heart beat hard once against his sternum.

“You can take them off during the totality,” she said, squeezing. “And should. It’s supposed to be incredible.”

“You ever seen it?” He asked her quietly. She was still holding onto his hand.

“I missed the one in ‘79.”

“Me too,” he said.

Around them, the air had taken on a distinct chill and the light shining down had grown metallic. Next to the car, in the long shadows of the trees along the edge of the mall driveway appeared little crescents. The colors on the mall’s signage dimmed and brightened. Mulder sat up and pulled his glasses off and blinked, shaking his head. The world felt odd, he couldn’t properly adjust his vision. It felt decidedly like the moment after someone takes your picture with a bright flash.

Scully still held his hand and squeezed it.

“It’s called the Purkinje effect,” she said calmly, pulling off her own glasses with her other hand, and looking around with a wondrous smile. “As we near totality and the light dims, our eyes transition from photopic vision–which uses the retina’s cone cells to deliver full colors and fine detail–toward scotopic night vision, which relies on rod cells to detect objects in low light. When the light’s intensity dims in an eclipse, colors with longer wavelengths like red will look darker as the cones become less active. But rods are sensitive to shorter blue-green wavelengths, and those colors will appear to shine. It’s not just you. It’s the rod and cone cells in your eyes trying to make sense of the sudden dimness.”

Scully put her glasses back on and looked up at the eclipse. Mulder felt a surge of something so like love that his eyes burned.

Scully pulled in a sudden inhale of breath.

“The totality,” she said, pulling off her glasses and gazing up. “It’s starting.”

Mulder raised his eyes to the heavens. The world was dusk-like, the stars in the top of the dome of the heavens were winking on. In the bushes nearby, crickets began to chirp.

The eclipse itself was like nothing he’d seen before outside of a big budget movie. The moon was utter blackness, but along the upper edge of the eclipsed sun was a hot pink half-ring that erupted into a single bring spot along the edge of the moon’s shadow like the diamond in a giant engagement ring formed by the rest of the sun’s atmosphere.

And then the flaming plasma of corona as the moon reached complete totality. Second contact. It was a living thing. Streams of white light danced around the ring of the black moon. Scully gasped in pleasure and Mulder couldn’t help but exclaim: “Wow!”

He pulled his eyes from the eclipse itself and looked around. Along the entire horizon, all 360 degrees of it, was in full, brilliant sunset. Everything else was the darkness of post golden-hour. He turned toward his partner and locked eyes with her. Her smile was brilliant, and she held his gaze for only a moment before canting her face back to the eclipse itself.

“This is incredible,” she said breathlessly.

He had found, as the years of their partnership wound on, that their job turned them into ecstatics, subject to mystical experiences. This was perhaps the most transcendent of them all. He would remember the moment forever.

“It is,” he agreed.

A sharp flash, and Scully squeezed his hand.

“Third contact,” she said. “Put your glasses back on.”

He did as she asked, and they leaned back and watched in silence as the moon continued its journey, as the sky relit and the nighttime animals calmed, as the world came back to itself.

Eventually, Scully sat up. The light was still odd, seeming to come almost from inside her, and she lowered her glasses and leaned in to him. For a heady, divine moment, Mulder thought she was about to kiss him, but instead she pressed her cool lips to his cheek, her hair falling down to brush along the skin of his jaw.

“Thank you, Mulder,” she said, and then straightened, the cool air rushing to fill the space she’d just been.

“You’re welcome, Scully,” he said, his voice a little rough. He lowered his glasses slowly and watched her slide off the hood of the car, watched her stretch and smile to herself; a Mona Lisa grin gently stretching the planes of a face with the same faultless symmetry of the celestial bodies sliding across the sky.

#the x files #fanfic #my fic #ficlet #prompt #msr #please forgive the scientific/historical/canon inaccuracies #i really should have been working

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aloysiavirgata · 10 days

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Prompt: leather jacket, pay phone, Southern accent.

Mulder’s Southern accent is pure Hilton Head; the Long Island Lockjaw of the magnolia-and-sweet-tea set. His mother’s people came from here and he learned to golf with them. Mulder knows about Lowcountry food and unironic madras trousers and herons in the pre-dawn light. He knows when to say “The War of Northern Aggression,” with a laconic wink.

Mulder knows all the lyrics to “The Battle of New Orleans.” He happily eats shrimp with the heads still on.

Scully - lower middle class Navy brat with aristocratic cheekbones and a chip on her fine shoulder - is his acceptable Yankee wife. She’s never going to say “pecan” the proper way. Never going to cut her eyes just right at white shoes after Labor Day. They named her Jessica and said she was from Sag Harbor, and the Louis Vuitton tote bag is getting her by.

Scully, in AquaNet and Lilly Pulitzer, misses Mulder’s Mid-Atlantic cool, his New England snobbery. Misses his firm opinions on Chicago-style pizza (a casserole) and Billy Joel (unironic legend). She wants her hand pressed to his sternum in a grey t-shirt and a leather jacket, a faded hoodie from the Vineyard.

Mulder (Emmett, she hisses in her own head) knows that quality families would never repair the upholstery because it’s déclassé to care. Would never

Mulder eats a cheese straw, Mulder nuzzles her tingling ear in the steamy June evening, tells a funny story at the Cavendish-Lawrence wedding.

“I swear to Christ, Jessica had to pull over and find a payphone,” Mulder says, to his starry—eyed audience. “My poor sweet girl on the side of the road with a tornado alert, ordering Christmas presents.”

Mulder clutches her to him, his fingers big and hot and wide against her waist as the audience titters with admiration. Mulder smells like fresh cotton and old money. Mulder looks like the best terrible decision she’ll ever make.

She’s going to fuck him tonight, she decides. She simply cannot stand it anymore, and it would be such a shame to waste away without having had him, like some medieval ascetic. She wants him to lick her tattoo, to bind her to the living world.

Mulder drops a kiss on her buzzing cheek, near the tiny neutron star encroaching on her very essence.

She hears the tide lap against the dock, laughs the way Jessica is expected to laugh.

She feels alive, like sparks rising towards the sun.

#xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #my fic #msr #inbox #Cancer arc #undercover #Prompt

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thatfragilecapricorn30 · 1 month

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laughing gas

msr, gen, humor | 1k words | ao3 | tagging @today-in-fic

Scully was in the office, catching up on some paperwork while Mulder was at the dentist. He had asked her yesterday, sheepishly, if she could drive him home after his root canal. It was so like Mulder to ask her last minute, but since it was during the workday, she didn’t have any other plans. Scully timed it so she would arrive at the dentist around the time Mulder finished up and was in recovery. He told her he was getting nitrous oxide and might be a little loopy after the procedure.

After she checked in with the receptionist, a cheerful nurse escorted her to Mulder. “Your husband’s been asking for you,” the nurse commented over her shoulder as she led Scully down the hallway.

Scully opened her mouth to correct the nurse, but then thought better of it. Most of the time, her protestations fell on deaf ears. When her and Mulder first started working together, those comments were weird, but now when someone mistook them for a couple, Scully got a little thrill, which usually turned to disappointment pretty quickly. It was what she wanted but knew she couldn’t have, so she just ignored the comments.

Mulder was in the recovery room, reclined in a leather chair, with a dazed look on his face. When he spotted Scully, he gave her a big smile. Well, as big of a smile as he could manage with a mouth full of gauze. Despite herself, Scully could feel her heart skip a beat. She knew it was the drugs, but seeing how happy Mulder looked when she walked in filled her with warmth.

“Scully!” he exclaimed; her name slightly garbled.

She made her way to his side and sat down in the small chair next to him.

“You made it!” he mumbled.

“Well, I said I would be here. It’s time to go home soon," Scully said slowly, like she was speaking to a child.

He stared deep into her eyes, his gaze a thousand yards. “You’re so pretty. You’re the prettiest princess in the castle.”

Scully wrinkled her nose. “Princess, Mulder?” She wasn’t even into princesses as a little girl and certainly not now as an adult.

Mulder appeared deep in thought and then exclaimed, “The most beautiful president America has ever elected!”

Scully had to hold back a laugh. “Yes, that’s better, Mulder, thank you.”

He kept going, “The smartest Supreme Court justice on the bench!”

This time Scully had to turn away so she could hide her laugh as a cough. She patted his shoulder, “Okay, Mulder, that’s enough for today.”

Luckily, at that moment the nurse came in with a wheelchair to take Mulder out to the car. He insisted on holding Scully’s hand during the trip through the hallway. The nurse smiled at them, still thinking they were a married couple.

“I can tell he really loves you,” she said.

Scully’s mouth dropped open, while the nurse kept going, “Some people aren’t that nice when their inhibitions are lowered. But your husband couldn’t stop talking about you and complimenting you. You're a lucky lady," she said with a wink.

A wave of affection swept through Scully. She looked down at Mulder, who seemed ready to fall asleep, and squeezed his hand. Even though his eyes were mostly closed, he still smiled and squeezed her hand back. Oh boy, was Scully in trouble now. She had been in love with him for some time now but seeing him act so sweet and happy towards her was making all her buried feelings rush to the surface in an overwhelming swarm of emotion.

Scully drove Mulder to his apartment and decided to wait around for the nitrous oxide to wear off. Who knew what kind of hijinks he would get up to without her supervision? Plus, she wanted to spend time with him and try to figure him out. In the span of a few minutes, Mulder called her smart and beautiful and whatever else he said to the nurse. Did he really think those things? Could he have feelings for her? She hoped so, because each day it was becoming harder and harder for her to hide her own feelings.

Scully let Mulder doze on his couch for a few hours, while she puttered around his place. When he finally started stirring, she brought him over a glass of water and ibuprofen since the dentist said he might experience some pain after the procedure. Mulder woke up fully and smiled at her, the same way he did earlier that day.

“How are you feeling?” Scully asked.

“Kinda tired,” he answered. “And my mouth hurts a little.”

“There’s some ibuprofen for you,” Scully pointed out and Mulder took the tablets and drank half the glass of water.

“So, I didn't say anything embarrassing earlier, did I?” Mulder asked, setting the cup back on the coffee table.

“Not really,” Scully answered, trying to hide a smile.

Mulder looked skeptical, a rare expression for him. “‘Not really’? What did I say?”

“Just that you thought I should be president. And a Supreme Court justice,” she said with a chuckle.

“Oh, is that all?” Mulder snorted, laying back on the couch. “I think just one of those jobs is more than enough. Not that I don't think you're capable, Scully.”

After a minute, he looked over at her to confirm: “So, nothing else?”

Scully decided to take a chance and said, “Well, you told the nurse that you loved me.”

Mulder shot up like a bullet. “What?!”

Scully doubled over laughing, not trying to hide it this time. “Relax, Mulder. I know it was the drugs.”

He still looked nervous. After a pause, he asked, “What if it wasn’t?’

Scully abruptly stopped laughing. “Wasn’t what?” she asked.

“Wasn’t the drugs,” Mulder responded, finally making eye contact.

“Are you being serious?”

“Well, it shouldn't be that suprising. it’s not the first time I’ve told you that,” he said.

“Yes, but you had a head injury that time,” Scully insisted. "And this time you were under the influence of nitrous oxide."

“It doesn’t mean it’s not true. And it’s a lot more than I’ve gotten from you,” Mulder pointed out. “You’ve never said anything, so I wasn’t sure…” he trailed off, looking apprehensive about what she was going to say.

Mulder was right. It wasn’t fair that she was so good at hiding her feelings that he was afraid to take a risk and tell her how he felt. Though, she thought that she had given him plenty of hints along the way. Scully got up to sit next to Mulder on the couch.

“You’re right,” she said. “I’m not good with words… and expressing things. I’m better at showing them.” Scully turned to Mulder, ready to kiss him and hoping that would convey her feelings.

As soon as she got close, Mulder leapt back. Scully was a little annoyed at the rejection.

“My mouth,” Mulder said, bringing his hand up to cover his face. “I don’t think this is a good time for a first kiss.”

Scully shook her head and laughed. Naturally, they had terrible timing. “Rain check?” she asked, starting to stand up from the couch.

Mulder tugged her back down next to him. “Where are you going? Just because we can’t kiss doesn’t mean there aren’t other things we can do.” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Mulder!” she exclaimed, surprised at his forwardness.

He started cracking up at her outrage. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he insisted. “Unless…?”

She shoved him playfully and stood up. “I’m going home. We’ll talk once your mouth is healed,” she said with a smirk.

Mulder flopped back dramatically on the couch. “I don’t think I can wait that long.”

And he didn't have to - she came back later that night.

#my.txf #txf fic #the x-files #txf #the x files #msr

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atths--twice · 3 months

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I can’t tell you how many times I’ve imagined this scenario. We should have had it.

But since we didn’t, how about a little fic instead? 😊

The abandoned garage offers no assistance for their overheating car as the suspect they’re chasing gains ground. Mulder sees a motorcycle and hurries to find the keys.

“Mulder,” Scully shouts, as he runs to it and sits down, grinning as he starts it up. “You know how to drive a motorcycle?”

“Yeah, I do,” he yells back, revving the engine and gesturing for her to get on with a tilt of his head. “Hurry, Scully. We need to go.”

She stares at him and he nods. She puts a hand on his shoulder and throws a leg over the bike, sitting down behind him.

“Hold on tight,” he yells, moving her hand to his waist and squeezing reassuringly before grabbing the handlebars.

Her heart rate speeds up instantly, her breathing increasing as she puts her other arm around his waist and holds tightly, the scent of his leather jacket filling her nose.

“Ready?” he yells and though she is the farthest thing from it, she nods against his back.

With one more squeeze to her hand, he pushes the kickstand up and they swerve a second as he steadies the motorcycle and they speed out of the garage. Her grip intensifies, both with her arms and thighs, as the wind rushes past them and she closes her eyes, her cheek pressed against his back.

His right hand squeezes her knee once and she raises her head, her eyes flying open and her heart racing from the simple touch, even as she immediately feels calmer.

“Remind me to take you for a ride under better circumstances,” he yells back to her and she laughs nervously, her knee feeling as though it is burning.

She closes her eyes again, her cheek once more pressed against his back, as they hurry down the road to catch their suspect.

Her grip tightens as they lean to the left and she gasps.

No, she thinks as very unpartnerlike thoughts enter her head and refuse to leave, her face flushing as her thighs press into him. No, I definitely won’t be reminding you.

Or would she?

#xf fanfic #the x files #Twitter #quick prompt idea #motorcycle #surprises #not exactly pure thoughts

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bakedbakermom · 10 months

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Enough.

Rated X / 4800 words / tagging @today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr / posted on ao3

Summary: Dana Scully has had enough.

Author's Note: This is the first fanfic I have written, in this or any other fandom, for almost 20 years. It felt great to stretch the old muscles, and I hope you enjoyed it. Comments will be printed, laminated, and hung on the wall <3

_________

God, I only meant to kiss him, Scully thought, gasping, before Mulder’s tongue swirled around her nipple and she lost the ability to think.

And it was true - thoughts of kissing Mulder had been brewing deep in her core for weeks, crowding out her ability to think of much else. She had found herself watching his mouth when she should have been listening to his words, and feeling vaguely envious of everything that touched his lips. He brought them some truly terrible vending machine coffee during an all-nighter at a crummy hotel in the midwest, and the way his tongue had toyed with the little opening on the lid as he waited for it to cool made her thighs clench. In yet another rental car on yet another nameless backroad, she watched his jaw work as he split the shells of his favorite sunflower seeds, wondering how that sharp tongue that worked them so deftly open would feel in her own mouth, if he would taste of salt and beer. He licked barbecue sauce from his fingers at an all-night diner in the middle of nowhere, his tongue swirling around tips, and she had nearly choked on her iced tea.

Oh yes, thoughts of kissing Mulder had been occupying her more and more. And from the way he would catch her eye, sending her an almost imperceptible smirk each time he saw her watching, he knew exactly the effect he was having on her. She kept waiting for him to stop being such a gentleman, to take that first bold step the way he so often did. But each time she felt that line rising up to be crossed, he pulled away.

And Dana Scully had had enough.

She’d decided tonight, as she rode up the elevator for one of their not-a-date-nights that had become their post-case norm of late, that she was ready - or more accurately, that she was so far past ready that she might actually die if she didn’t kiss him soon. She brought wine - nothing too fancy, nothing that would be out of place in the mismatched glasses he kept in the cabinet, but a step up from the usual ales and lagers they usually shared. And she wore a soft v-neck sweater cut just a tad lower than she would usually wear, the better to show off the enticing cleavage her new bra presented.

When she had slipped into the matching panties, she had very firmly told herself it was simply a personal preference for symmetry, and not any sort of statement about where this desperately-needed kiss would lead.

From the moment he popped Tarantula into the VCR (for the fourth time, “It’s a classic, Scully!”), she had begun planning her move. She drained her first glass of wine faster than she should have, before he’d even finished making the popcorn, letting the liquid courage percolate through her system. He settled in beside her with a large bowl in his lap, loaded with butter and salt just how she likes it, just the way he’s talked her into liking it; and she eased herself slowly closer to him on the worn leather couch until the heat of his thigh pressed against her own. By the time Leo G. Carrol’s assistant went up in flames, she was nestled quite cozily against him. She watched him from the corner of her eye, and saw with some satisfaction that he was watching her as well.

She had never let herself get quite this close to him before, or at least not without some life-threatening context. (Except for that time on the baseball diamond, when she thought maybe this was it, but he had done nothing more than flirt and hit pop-flies and leave her flushed and frustrated).

But there were no invisible forest men now, no cultists armed with rifles, no bees or beasts or black-suited thugs. Just them, and a cheesy sci-fi movie, and a bowl of popcorn in his lap so that each time she reached for a handful she was acutely aware of just what lay beneath it; with each bite he would slowly lick the salt from his lips, and something in her heart would sputter. She had the sudden sense he was doing it on purpose - that he knew exactly what she was thinking, and as always, their minds were traveling down the same road together.

When the giant spider crested the dry scrubby hills surrounding Desert Rock, Arizona, to devour the hero, he had draped his arm across the back cushions, the very picture of a nervous teenager at the drive-in. She took the chance to move more closely still, the heat and the scent of him nearly overwhelming. Her heartbeat seemed to thrum through every inch of her body, and she felt certain he could feel it through her skin. She had stopped watching the screen entirely, unable to concentrate on anything but the pounding of her heart and the body of the man beside her. When she couldn’t stand it another second, she took one last breath for courage, turned in the circle of his arm, and tilted up to press her mouth to his.

The first brush of their lips was tentative, soft, toe-curlingly tender and if he tasted like wine and popcorn instead of seeds and beer, well, she was absolutely not complaining. When his tongue brushed against her lower lip, she opened for him, and the way his tongue slid into her mouth felt like coming home. Scully had thought that it would be enough just to kiss him, just to sit together on the creaking leather of his old couch, under the warm, scratchy weight of the Navajo blanket he kept there more for her sake than for his, and languidly lap at the font of his mouth until morning.

What she hadn’t anticipated, but in hindsight should have known based on years of observing his oral fixation, was that Fox Mulder would be an absolutely amazing kisser. He was slow and exploratory and unrelenting, running his tongue along her teeth and her lips and the roof of her mouth as if he could read her desires written there in braille. He nibbled at her lower lip and suckled at the upper and still she really could have just kissed, just necked him like a teenager for hours, until he cupped her jaw with one wide hand and his thumb brushed against the pulse point in her throat and she whimpered. Actually whimpered, a wholly unexpected, desperate, animal sound that she would have found utterly embarrassing had he not answered with a soft growl that reverberated down her throat and straight into her pelvis, and it was all bets off from there.

A whirl of hands and mouths and somehow she is lying half beneath him, his shirt gone and her sweater pushed up and that pretty new bra pulled down to expose one rosey-peaked breast to the dual pleasures of his hand and his mouth. When her knee brushes against his growing erection, he bites her nipple just hard enough to make her gasp. He chuckles into her skin and looks up to meet her eyes, delighted to find her pupils blown out with lust and her cheeks turning a beautiful shade of pink. Her fingers curl in his hair and pull; he releases her nipple with a sinfully wet pop and crashes his mouth into hers with a force that clacks their teeth together.

He rolls her over his body until she’s straddling him, heat blooming everywhere they touch. The soft springy hairs of his chest tickle her oversensitive skin, and he runs his hands from her shoulders, down the fine curve of her waist to grip and knead at the firm flesh of her ass. She scratches her nails across the broad plains of his shoulders - softly at first, then more firmly when he hums his assent into her mouth. The muscles of his back flex beneath her hands, and his whole body shudders as she moves them to his front, his nipples pebbling beneath her touch.

He pulls her down against him and presses up at the same time, trying to find some relief for the near-painful ache in his groin. She moans into his mouth and he does it again, and she arches against him in pleasure.

Mulder uses this distraction to pull her top off all the way, unclasping her bra with one hand and bringing his mouth back to her breast before the fabric has even hit the floor. She writhes above him, panting and gasping as he learns the right combination of lips, teeth, and tongue to make her shudder. Always such a curious mind, single-focused and driven, now turned to uncovering the mysteries of her body, and she revels in being the object of his obsession.

“I want you, Scully,” he whispers as he moves to the other breast. She arches into his mouth but doesn’t answer.

He stills, eyes wary, that lost little boy inside peeking through. Waiting for rejection, waiting for her to say it was all a mistake and walk away. With their height difference, their eyes are level now even with her straddling his lap. He brushes a lock of hair out of her eyes and gently thumbs her cheekbones. The sadness in his voice is palpable. “Do you want to stop?”

She shakes her head just slightly, her brows knitting together and her mouth moving into a particular smirk that, in the complex language of Scully Microexpressions, means I need a second to find the right words. His hands skim along her sides, walking the line between comforting, tickling, and arousing. It takes a few deep breaths before she remembers how to speak; the last one comes out on a shudder as she presses her lips to his forehead.

The credits are rolling on the TV across the room, the monster immolated and the town safe; shadows flicker over their faces as she looks into his eyes, unsurprised to find a sheen of unshed tears there that matches her own. She had thought that meeting his gaze after they had kissed - or, more accurately, after he had her nipple in his mouth and his erection pressing against her - might be awkward, but like everything else between them the last seven years, it somehow feels natural. They’re stepping across this line together.

“I don’t want to stop, Mulder,” she whispers, nuzzling along his nose, “I’ve just been thinking about kissing you for so long, I never really let myself think about what might come after.”

“Mmm,” he hums into her skin, peppering her face with kisses before moving down her neck and along her collarbone. “Good thing I have.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrow lifts; he can hear it in her voice even though his face is buried in her hair.

“Often, and in great detail.” His lips find that same pulse point, right where her jaw meets her throat, and he grins as her thighs squeeze his. One hand cups the back of her head, tilting her this way and that so his mouth can reach every possible inch of skin; the other hand comes up to her breast, kneading and rolling. She is soft and pliant above him, allowing him to explore, making soft sounds each time he finds a sensitive spot, and his profiler’s mind is tucking each one away for later.

“Tell me,” she pants as he presses a kiss to the hollow of her throat. She slips her hand between them and presses her palm against the thick ridge of his erection, grinning as he moans into her skin. “Show me.”

"Christ, Scully. Where should I begin?" Mulder presses another kiss to her lips, so soft and tender she forgets how to breathe for a moment. He sips at her like fine wine, savoring each taste of her tongue, her lips, the ivory ridge of her teeth. By the time he pulls back she is shivering, aching to see what happens next.

"There is one thing I fantasize about quite frequently," he husks close to her ear. The scratch of his stubble is intoxicating. "I can't stop wondering what you taste like." He reaches between them to cup her, hot and throbbing, through her slacks, and her blushing nod is the only answer she can manage.

All she can do is moan in anticipation as he leans her slowly back, supporting the full weight of her in his arms, until her shoulders come to rest on the arm of the couch, his body nestled hard and hot between her trembling thighs.

She will never again be able to smell leather without remembering this moment.

He kisses his way down her body with a slow deliberation that borders on agonizing, nipping and sucking and licking every inch he can reach. When his tongue swirls into the dip of her navel she nearly cries with pleasure. He runs his teeth over the ridge of her hip bones as he parts the zipper on her slacks. His mouth leaves her body only long enough to shuck the pants to the floor, and then he is nosing along the hem of her panties.

"Fuck, Scully, I can smell you." He runs his fingers over the lacy fabric, scraping his nails along the gusset until she shakes. "You're so wet, you're soaking through."

With anyone else she might have felt embarrassed, but Mulder's words only enflame her further. She rolls her hips, shamelessly rubbing herself against him. "Please," she pants, "please touch me."

He laughs darkly, continuing to run his fingers slowly up and down the length of her slit, and rubs his stubble against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. He licks her, once, over the lace, and she bucks desperately towards his mouth. “Easy there, G-woman,” he murmurs, pressing her back down with one firm hand on her hip. “I’m living my dream, here.”

She laughs, a short huff that eases some of the tension in her gut, and tries to relax into his ministrations. He smiles as she softens beneath him, and rewards her by sliding one long finger under the sheer scrap of fabric, just barely grazing her entrance. “So wet,” he says again.

He looks up to see that her eyes have fluttered closed. “Look at me,” he says, and when she finds enough will to meet his eyes, he lifts his finger, glistening with her wetness, into his mouth and sucks deeply. "You're just as sweet as I imagined."

“Fuck,” she whimpers, and knows she is dripping. “More. Please.”

Apparently he renders her monosyllabic.

“How much do you love these?” he asks, appraising the delicate lace, the tiny stitches along the seams.

“Not at all. Hate them. Please.” She is gasping, writhing, and when he rips her panties off she nearly keens with pleasure.

He stares at her for so long she begins to feel nervous, and a flush creeps up her chest and floods her cheeks. He takes in the auburn thatch of curls between her thighs, the dark pink swell of her labia, the tiny freckles sprinkled across the creamy expanse of her skin. He drags his fingers down the length of her slit, marveling at the way her lower lips spread for him, at the moisture leaking from her sweet little cunt. “Beautiful,” he breathes.

“Mulder,” she huffs, squirming, “if you don’t quit staring and touch me soon, I’m going to shoot you. Again.”

A quick grin and then his mouth is on her, his tongue lapping at the entrance to her sex, and the first brush of his lips over her clit nearly sends her over the edge.

If the way he kissed her felt obsessive, he eats her out with something that borders on worship.

He slides one long finger inside her, then another, curling them against her front wall until he finds the spot that makes her gush and shake around him. He flicks his tongue over the hardened nub of her clitoris - slow, fast, gentle, hard - and she fists her hands in his hair when it’s just the right combination. He presses the hood back with his thumb and suckles directly on the little bundle of nerves; her belly coils tight with pleasure and she manages to gasp, “Yes, there, I’m so close, oh -” before she can’t make sense anymore.

He swirls and suckles on her clit, pumping gently in and out with his fingers, and experimentally runs his little finger down her perineum to brush gently over the tight pucker of her asshole. She shudders and her whimpers reach a new, higher pitch. He hums his satisfaction into her dripping sex, and that’s all it takes - she is gone, shaking and gasping and making strangled little cries that might be his name.

Mulder continues to lap tenderly at her sex as she comes down, riding out tremors and trembles until she is heavy-limbed and boneless beneath him. Her smile looks almost drunken as she cards her fingers through his hair. “Good, Scully?” he asks, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh.

She nods and hums, riding a cloud of oxytocin. He eases out from between her legs; her smile begins to fade into confusion until he slides one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her easily, and carries her down the hall to his bedroom.

His sheets are softer than she had expected, as if he had been hoping for company; she wonders if this is the first time he has prepared a bed for them, how many movie nights he has slept alone on these soft sheets after the door snicked shut behind her without so much as a kiss. The thought strikes a surprisingly sad chord in her heart.

The bed dips as he settles in beside her, and she curls into his open arms with a happy sigh. “A girl could get used to this,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to his bare chest.

“I sure hope she does,” he answers.

She drapes one of her legs over his and - “Oh.” She lifts the sheet and sees he somehow still has his jeans on, and is still sporting a rather impressive tent. “You appear to be overdressed,” she teases.

“Don’t worry about me, Scully. This has already been so much more than I -”

She puts a finger over his lips and shoots him one of her more serious looks. “Mulder. Shut up.”

And, for perhaps the first time in his life, he does.

Scully’s legs are still a little weak as she climbs on top of him, rubbing herself shamelessly over the bulge in his pants. She’s wet again already and hungry for him in a way she hasn’t felt in years. Her hair falls around them in an amber curtain as she leans down to kiss him, long and slow and deep. He’s grinning like an idiot by the time she pulls away, and she decides that looking down on Mulder may be her new favorite place to be.

She grinds down harder with her hips, the seam of his jeans pressing right where she wants it the most. He moans, trying not to buck beneath her and throw off her rhythm. He has to clench his fists in the sheets. She’s making a wet spot on his pants; he’ll have to wash them - and the sheets, and the couch - in the morning, but he couldn’t care less about any of that because Scully’s breasts are bouncing just in front of his face and she is writhing on top of him like an animal in heat. He reaches for her hips, trying to get just a little more pressure, but she grabs his wrists and holds them down.

“Nuh-uh,” she huffs. “You made me beg. Now it’s your turn.” She waits until he stops trying to lift his hands, then rakes her nails down his chest, leaving little streaks of pink in their wake.

“Fuck, Scully,” he moans, throwing his head back and thrusting up with his hips, which only makes her lift herself away. “I don’t know how much of this I can take.”

She only casts him a wicked grin before lowering her mouth to his, plunging her tongue deep inside and moaning. He is the first to break away, gasping for breath, and she waits for his eyes to find hers before she leaves a trail of hot, wet kisses down the length of his torso. He is not as sensitive as she had been, though he does jump when she runs her tongue across the firm plains of his stomach. She finds the fine trail of dark hair beneath his navel and nips and sucks her way down it until it ends at the waist of his pants.

He expects her to undo the fly and pull them off, but instead she rubs her cheek against the stiff bulge of his cock, as if to mark it with her scent. She catches his eye again, to make sure he is watching, and then runs her tongue slowly over the full length of it. She can taste herself on the fabric and is surprised at how erotic it is.

“God, Scully. Please.”

“Mmm,” she hums against him and thumbs open the button on his fly. “Begging. I see the appeal.” She slides one hand under the waistband and scratches through the coarse hair just above his cock.

“I would get on my knees but I think something might break off.”

“Then allow me.”

She kneels between his legs, pulling down his zipper and shimmying his soft jeans down the length of his legs. She has a moment to wonder at the fact that he doesn’t appear to be wearing any boxers - does he go commando in general these days, or, like the sheets, was he hoping for something to happen tonight? - and then her eyes land on his cock and she forgets how to think.

She’s seen him naked before, of course, but always under the guise of a medical professional. Glimpsing his body while treating injury or disease is one thing. Never has she seen him hard, and now faced with the full monty - or rather, the full Mulder - she is only slightly more impressed than intimidated. She takes him in her hand, pumping up and down slowly, and a small bead of precum leaks from the purple tip. Her heart jumps, her mouth begins to water, and she licks her lips as she realizes it’s all for her.

“Oh Christ, don’t do that,” he moans, eyes glued to her mouth. “I’m trying to be cool here.” So of course she stares into his eyes, parts her lips, and then very slowly runs her tongue in a full circle around them.

He’s about to say something else but it cuts off with a gurgle when she takes him into her mouth. He’s too big to take in too deeply just yet, but she licks the tip of him like an ice cream cone, her tongue moving in lazy circles as she pumps him languidly with one hand. The other comes up beneath to cup the soft weight of his balls. He is salty and tangy and strangely sweet, and she moans as the taste of him floods her senses. She is so aroused it’s almost painful, and she wishes she had a third hand so she could touch herself as she sucks him. She takes him deeper, surprised at how much she enjoys this - the twitching of his thighs as he tries not to thrust, the way he is moaning her name between strings of curse words, the startling way his cock bumps against the back of her throat.

She’s just beginning to wonder if she can relax her throat enough to swallow him further down when Mulder’s hands land suddenly in her hair, pulling her mouth away from him with a wet and undignified slurping sound. “Hey,” she protests, donning an exaggerated and teasing pout. Her mouth and chin glisten with a mix of saliva and precum. “I was enjoying that.”

He sits up and slides his fingers between her legs. “I can tell,” he says, circling her clit and making her gasp. “And don’t get me wrong, I was too. But…”

He pulls her up the length of his body until she is nestled in his lap, her thighs braced on either side of his and his cock only inches from the wet heat of her cunt. “Please, Scully.”

“More begging?,” she purrs as she takes him in her fist again. She shifts so she can rub the tip of him between her wet and swollen folds until he moans. She positions him right against her entrance, his tip just barely inside. “Is this what you want?” she pants. For all the playfulness in her voice, she is trembling with want, and shudders as she feels herself dripping around him.

“Yes,” he hisses into her ear, crushing her tight against him and pressing his hips up. He slips another inch inside her. “Fuck me, Scully, please.” Another small thrust, another inch of her clenching around him.

Enough teasing, she decides. Enough begging. Enough waiting.

She doesn’t trust her voice not to break, so she only nods and kisses him as if she could devour him whole.

She slides down onto him slowly, adjusting to the width of him until he is buried to the hilt. They are both shaking now, their panting breaths a humid cloud between them. A long moment passes before she can move, before her body can handle the way he stretches and fills her. She is slow and deliberate, rising until he nearly slips from her body, then easing down to grind her clit against his pelvis. Waves of pleasure wash through her with each stroke, and she drops her head to his shoulder, overwhelmed.

He reaches down to cup her ass, spreading her wide and taking some control over her motion. They moan in unison as he begins to thrust in counterpoint to the slow roll of her hips.

It doesn’t take long before Scully begins to feel the flame of another orgasm kindle deep in her belly. The moan that comes from her throat belongs to another woman, one who is wild and wanton and apparently capable of coming more than once in a night; and oh how she wants to be that woman.

“Mulder,” she pants, “I need - I’m -” Another moan, and the coil inside her tightens further, closing off her ability to speak.

He understands, he always understands, licking his thumb and then sliding it between their sweating bodies to press hard against her clit. “Fuck, yes, Scully,” he says as she grinds down on his hand. “I want to feel you come.”

His mouth seeks out that same damn spot on her neck that started this whole thing, sucking and nibbling with the same rhythm of his thumb circling her clit. “Come for me, Scully,” he growls into her skin, and then bites down hard enough to bruise.

She shatters around him, bucking her hips wildly against him and muffling her cries of “Mulder, oh God, Mulder,” into his shoulder until she is hoarse. He tumbles over the edge right behind her, hot and pulsing, and the feel of his cock twitching as he fills her with his cum is nearly enough to set her off again.

They stay entwined for a long time, shudders passing back and forth between them, until their sweat cools and their mingled fluids begin to leak onto his thighs.

Mulder leans back first, brushing damp hair from her face so he can look into her eyes. “Hey.”

Her answering smile is almost bashful, but there’s not an ounce of regret in it. “Hey.”

“So. Wine. Fancy underwear. That sweater.”

“No boxers,” she counters. “Clean, soft sheets?”

She quirks an eyebrow, he tilts his chin and smiles.

And just like that they are themselves, again, still, always, but now with a new layer of togetherness to explore. He moistens a washcloth in the bathroom sink and tenderly cleans them both, and they curl up on the soft - if rumpled and damp - sheets together.

They do not share “I love you”s. Not tonight. Not yet. But they both feel it in the brush of the other’s fingers, taste it in the tenderness of the last kiss they share before falling asleep together.

And that is enough.

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

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