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The first awareness of my surroundings came as a bubbling sound.
Water bubbling, seeping into my consciousness. A fish tank.
I pull my eyes open groggily. A glowing fish tank. A bobbing
UFO drops, rises, drops, rises. Those are Mulder's fish. I'm
sitting up, immersed in darkness pierced by the blue green
light of a cleaner-than-usual fish habitat.
I fell asleep on Mulder's couch. Where was he? What were we doing?
I turn my head. My neck, tight from its positioning, reminds
me of the importance of horizontal slumber. The shooting pain
makes me gasp and reflexively knead the soreness away. I start
to recall bits of conversation from...hours ago? Mulder and I
sitting on his couch, talking about fate or whatever derivative
of fate has brought us to this very moment. I was so goddamn
tired. Yes. Sorry. I said goddamn. I'll make it up later.
I obviously fell asleep, and apparently Mulder covered me with
this...extremely interesting but scratchy Navajo-style blanket.
I push it aside and sit up, my elbows on my knees, rolling my
head around my neck to soothe the tension. My shoes?
Good question...
The apartment is quiet but a hum sifts through the air. A
refrigerator. The tick of a clock. Wow. He actually has a clock
that ticks. That has batteries.
Working batteries.
My thoughts drift to him. Stonehenge-capped Mulder, quizzical
Mulder, the skeptic to my believer for one, brief, monumental
moment. The tea we drank--he actually drank my tea, and didn't
turn the TV on when we came in. Suddenly, it seemed in tiny
peculiar ways that things weren't the same. Ways not many
people would notice, except for people who had spent the
better part of seven years together. Maybe the not-so-better
part at times. But years all the same.
I stand up and stretch my sore body. Sore from walking, talking,
crying, Buddhist-templing. The day had drained me in so many ways.
The glow of the fish tank reveals a dim outline of the room and
I see my shoes beside the couch. I lean down to pick them up,
then pause as my fingers graze the black leather. I'm startled
by a loud snore from the other room. His bedroom.
I run a hand through my hair, a day's worth of sweat or dirt
or whatever. I can't resist the urge to walk over to his open
doorway and peer into it. White light from a streetlamp outside
beams through the foliage at hiswindow. It allows for a
viewing of his long, muscular body, stretched out under a
comforter.
I lean against the door frame and watch him sleep. The snore
must have been a fluke. He sleeps quietly and motionless, most
likely jet-lagged. I feel jet-lagged. I hear the distant
dripping of his bathroom sink. Tiny, steady drops pattering
like my heart beating in my chest.
I'm hesitating in his doorway for no specific reason. I'm curious
about how he sleeps. What he's dreaming about and if I should
stay or go. It's late. I have places to be in the morning,
things to finish up. It looks windy outside. It might storm.
I should head back to my place, where clocks are also ticking,
appliances are humming. My DVR waiting for me with last night's
Law & Order. My bed, my soft comfortable pillows. My lonely
little bed, for a lonely little Dana Scully. And my pajamas.
If I stay here...well, I'd have to sleep in this suit, but no
matter what I'm taking off these pantyhose. I don't sleep in hose.
He looks so lonely, lying there. How many nights have we slept
alone through the years? Hundreds? Thousands, possibly? Actually,
more like over...2,000 times? The thought is harrowing in itself.
Why haven't we ever crossed the line? We've already lost so much,
gained some of it back. This deep-seeded irrational fear of physical
intimacy with Mulder...sometimes it seems so trivial. As long as
neither of us wields an ice pick or is beamed up mid-coitus there
is really nothing that would faze me at this point. So little to
lose. I'm just so...lonely? I detest the word. The assumption
everybody makes when you lead a life like mine. Or ours.
I realize I've been contemplating my life's deepest mysteries
at 1:13 in the morning, barefoot with five toes in Mulder's
bedroom. I cross my arms in front of me and enter. My feet
glide quietly over the carpet. I'm beside his bed, over his
body, and now can see he's shirtless, his tan arm and shoulder
glinting in the light. I close my eyes and breathe deeply,
imagining sliding my palm down his strong arm. The thought
twinges through me like I'm a taut wire. In a lot of ways I am.
I need to get plucked.
There is a small space beside him on the edge of the bed. I gently
sit down, my back to his body. I'm not sure why. I turn my head to
study his profile, that strong arm a dangling carrot. I trace a
light line from his shoulder down to his wrist. He rouses a little
and I pull my hand away, my cheeks flush. Maybe it's time to go.
He turns his head and opens his eyes slowly.
"Now there's one person I never expected to see in my bed,"
he softly jostles, a small sleepy smile spreading across his face.
I smile back, but feel like a rabbit facing an eight-lane freeway.
That carrot dangling on the other side.
"You taking off?" he asks, propping himself easily up on one elbow.
He doesn't seem to care about his bare chest. I sneak a look, a
flicker of my eyes. I've seen it before. Why does it matter?
"Um, yeah. I fell asleep on your couch," I say, stating the obvious.
"I noticed." Yeah.
"I'm sorry if I missed anything you said." I place a hand on the
bed next to him. He glances at it and smiles at me.
"It doesn't matter. There's always another time," he says. "So you
taking off, Scully? It's late."
"Yeah." My voice falters a bit.
"You can have the couch, Scully. It's no big deal. Well...wait,
you can have my bed. I'll take the couch. Sorry. I'm a little
out of it." He yawns, that perfect round mouth, those ripe,
full lips. "I'll get up. Seriously, you should stay. It's
too late. I'll even make you coffee in the morning."
I don't move. Don't say a word. I look at him, searching his eyes.
He notices my concern and arches his eyebrows. "Did you have
another talk with God?"
I lean over and catch his lower lip between mine. My eyes flutter
closed as I sit frozen for a second, a heartbeat. One. Two. Three.
I tilt my head and push my mouth against his, a little nudge, and
we breathe out in unison. And then, reanimated, his lips move
against mine, gently caressing. He nudges against me too. I open
my eyes to meet his and we interrogate each other silently.
Are you okay? Is this okay? More? Less? Stop? Go?
I turn my body to him and my hand sweeps up behind his head,
threading through his hair and pulling him closer. He sits up,
lips never leaving mine, and puts his hand on my neck over my
hair. His thumb rubs my cheek, a familiar gesture but with a
new added twist.
We kiss. Kiss. Grade school kisses. Middle school kisses.
Then prom night kisses. In the back of your dad's car kisses.
Our tongues are shy, asking permission, greeting each other
tentatively before his warm tongue slides fully into my
mouth. I breathe in sharply as heat rushes through me.
I twine my other arm around his neck and he slides a hand
around my waist. We cling to each other, kisses turning desperate,
sucking on each others' tongues and letting our fingers roam over
little inches here and there.
My eyes open and he pulls away, dark and serious. I'm on fire,
waiting and wanting and wondering. "Scully, you need to tell me
where to go on this one."
I stroke the back of his neck. He's afraid. Of course we are.
"Mulder can...we stop...analyzing cause and effect? Action
and consequence?"
"That's usually your business, not mine."
I smile softly, look to the side. How do I tell him to stop
thinking and feel? My eyes meet his again.
"Let go, Mulder," I whisper, staring at him.
He presses his mouth onto mine, uninhibited now, and he pulls
one side of my jacket down, his hand tingling on my bare arm.
Goosebumps freckle my skin. The other side, the same reaction.
I feel my chest rise. My nipples pull taut against my bra as
he moves my hair aside to plant his lips on the side of my neck.
Little kisses and hot breath that drive me crazy. I run my hands
up his bare chest, over his broad, smooth shoulders. The throbbing
between my legs is unbearable and it's just beginning.
His hands slide around my waist, untucking my shirt and rubbing
my hips. Gently, methodically. I notice he hasn't closed his
eyes the entire time. He studies me, every flinch, every arch
of an eyebrow, taking mental notes. Note: Scully's hips are very
sensitive. Note: She likes her bottom lip bitten, but not too hard.
I close my eyes again, shuddering as he slides his warm, soft
hands up my stomach to cup my breasts. My hands work on his shoulders
and neck, smoothing hot skin. All the while, our mouths make love.
It took seven years to get here and it might take another
seven to get to the point. His mouth is everything I'd imagined.
Soft, intense, warm, inviting. I want it all over me. My eyes roll
at the thought. I leave his lips and pull my shirt over my head.
We're face-to-face again at another destination, panting, sharing
a foolish half-grin. His hands are still on my breasts and he softly
laughs, clearing his throat.
"Here we are," he finally says. I feel like a teenager,
exploring the forbidden for the first time. I tilt my head to
the side a little, give him a questioning look.
"Here we are," I repeat, grazing his bare chest with my eyes.
So many ways this could go. So many paths to follow. I push his
comforter aside, exposing his black...of course they're black...
jockey shorts and the clearly visible arousal underneath.
I slide my leg up on the bed and over him. Straddling him.
I have to know what it feels like. I can't wait any longer.
Very impatient, which is unlike me.
He gasps, laughs, pants, as my bottom lightly touches his
stiff cock. Thin, completely inconvenient and useless layers
of fabric separate us. He feels amazing. We're so hot there,
at that spot between us. His smile turns serious again
as he unfastens my bra, surprisingly quick. It shouldn't
surprise me that he's skilled at clothing removal.
As my bra falls, he examines me again, his eyes hot and
needy. I push my hands against his chest, pressing him
down onto the bed and supporting myself to hover over his
body. My weight settles down on his cock and a moan escapes
my lips. His is more of a gasp, sigh, pant.
I begin my slow descent, mouth nipping at every sensitive
spot of his flesh. His ear, neck, more neck, shoulder,
plucking at each hardened nipple. I slide my body down
to kiss his sides, his flat stomach above his waistband.
His hand tugs at my head and I glance up, tracing my tongue
along the fabric. Animal Scully. I resist the urge to emit
the tiniest growl. His eyes are actually wide with...shock?
Amazement? Glee? He's panting like a puppy.
I blow against the fabric and he squirms. I can smell his
arousal. Is it so surprising, Agent Mulder, that Dr. Scully
loves to give head? More specifically, that she has been
fantasizing about having you in her mouth for, oh, I don't
know, forever?
I tug at his shorts and he arches his hips. I discard them
and inspect him. It's not that technical, but his erection
completely fascinates me, in its length, its straining hardness,
my deep desire for it.
"Everything checking out all right down there, Dr. Scully?"
he murmurs, that soft Mulder grin. I blush and I press my
lips together.
"Well...preliminary examination indicates the subject
is currently in a state of erection most likely caused
by an increased flow of blood into the veins of the
corpora cavernosa..."
"Oh, my God, Scully," he gasps, "just suck it already."
The corner of my mouth lifts into a smile and I begin my
more detailed examination.
He slides into my wet mouth, filling it as I groan against
the tight flesh. Mulder's fingers bury deep into my hair,
his other hand clutching wildly at the sheets. He takes
the Lord's name in vain. Really, really in vain.
I'm quick to start sliding him in and out, sucking so
hard I can feel my jaw tensing against him. I want to
consume him. My tongue is all over, tracing and tasting,
delighting in how every flick makes him squirm and whisper
my name. Excited over the fact that the line of muscle
between his torso and thigh is so sensitive to my touch.
Sometimes he sighs, but I love his gasps.
I push my tongue roughly over him, rolling, never wanting
to stop but needing his mouth again. I slide my breasts
up his tense body to snuggle my cheek against his neck.
His heart is racing with mine. Who will finish first?
Oh, too funny Dana...
His fingers tickle down my spine. In the blink of an
eye he has me on my back. My head hits the pillow with
a whoosh. He rises over me with a full, languid kiss,
stealing his flavor still lingering in my mouth.
"My turn," he mutters against my lips. My heart jumps
into my throat and I gulp to send it back down. I was wet
before, but now...okay. He begins *his* preliminary
examination, his mouth open against my skin. While I'm a
nipper, he's a licker. His spiky hair tickles my chin as
he begins lavishing my nipples with soft flicks and kisses,
pushing his mouth under them. Nudging, kissing, leading a
hot trail down to my belly button. I remind myself to breathe.
He unzips the side of my skirt and removes it gently.
Augh...pantyhose. I hate hate hate...He runs his hands up
them and pulls the silky fabric slowly down my legs.
Erotic. Yeah. Erotic.
His eyes travel over my body, my heaving chest, the teeth
pressed into my lip, my soft little black panties barely hiding
my excitement. He traces my legs with all ten fingers, up
to my panties. His eyes are frozen on mine as he breathes
deeply and slips them down over my hips.
I begin to panic. Not a bad panic, more of a...when did I
shower last/what did I eat today/oh my God, this is not happening,
but it really is happening, and I'm overwhelmed by...
Mulder. Plunging his tongue deep into me. I cry out and bite
my lip again, catching the back of his head between both hands.
Every rational thought leaves my mind. I'm left with...
He laps at me hungrily and I whimper with each stroke. I feel
the pulse deep inside me and count each beat. Time slows. My eyes
open to see him looking up at me as he finds the sweet bundle of
nerves aching so badly for his touch. His rough tongue pushes over
it and I slide my feet up onto his shoulders, heels slipping a bit
on the sheen of sweat on his glorious back.
He rolls it in circles, sucks, nibbles. Two thick fingers slide
into me and I feel myself starting to spasm around them. A much
quicker build than I'm used to, I come with my back arched, stars
exploding behind my eyelids. I can hardly breathe. I have no
chance to savor the end of my first before he drives me to my
second, threatening to break me. I won't survive. I won't.
Mulder moans against me, his fingers pumping in and out,
curling and reaching, rubbing and sucking, and I am so...
so...gone.
He slides up next to me and voraciously covers my mouth with
his. My smell and taste are all over him. I kiss back deeply,
appreciative, wanting.
"Did God talk back to you yet, Scully," he pants between kisses.
"Because you were talking to him a lot just now." He slides his
fingers blissfully inside me once again and I groan with a twist
of my hips.
"I think a prayer has been answered," I whisper into his ear.
I push his shoulder down on the bed and his fingers leave my
depths. I get to be on top. This whole thing was my idea.
I straddle his stomach and he gasps at the hot wetness
slipping against his belly. I trace his hairline with soft
fingers. His cheek, nose, lips, jaw. I hang my head over his
and our foreheads meet. My cross necklace falls against his
lips and he kisses it. His hips shift under me. I know I'm
driving him a little bit nuts but he's done it to me countless
times. Payback is hell.
"Do you want this, Mulder?" I ask, my eyes searching his
for any inkling of hesitation. He slides his hands down
my back, cupping my bottom, kneading it. He closes his
eyes and sighs.
"I've wanted this, Scully, for a really long time."
My lips hover over his and we breathe in shared anticipation.
I gently lift my hips and settle against his throbbing cock,
just to the side, not inside. We both squirm as our flesh
slides together. He pushes up and I catch him inside of me,
a little, then a little more. I roll my eyes and tense my fingers
against his chest. A little more. A lot more, thick, pulsing,
settling deeply inside of me.
I'm afraid to move. His hands, still on my bottom, grip tightly
as he lets out a slow breath. My hips rise and fall. With
the first addicting thrust of his hips there is no turning back.
We work into rhythm and we begin to grow wild. Let it all go.
His cock slides through my hot, silken flesh. I can't resist
shoving my fingers down between us to find that spot he had
earlier teased so mercilessly. He groans as I rub myself and
I feel him grow larger inside of me.
His hands flow over my body like water, ravish it like fire.
He sits up and I lock my legs around him. We rock and kiss,
our tongues penetrating as deeply as we're connected, and I
start to come again, uncontrollably. He feels me pulling him
deeper and moans loudly against my mouth. He pulls me tighter
against him and thrusts hard as I come. He bites my shoulder
and groans my name through gritted teeth. He comes hard right
after me, as I'm falling back to Earth, hugging him tightly
to me to keep from floating away.
We are melded together, searing, sweaty skin. Mulder deep
inside me. I feel finished. Like life doesn't need to move
on from this very moment. Fade to black.
Roll credits.
Mulder kisses my bitten shoulder and my neck, my lips.
His soft, cinnamon eyes are unusually relaxed.
Outside, the wind has picked up, trees knocking on the
windows like nature's applause. We both notice and smile,
slightly sheepish at the night's events.
"Are you going to stay?" he murmurs, pulling strands of
hair back from my face. I nuzzle into his neck.
"I'll probably head home. I've got to get a report in by noon
tomorrow...today I guess...and everything's at home."
"Mmmkay," he sighs, rubbing my back slowly. He lifts my chin
with a finger. "Will you come back?"
His eyes reveal a glint of hope, a dash of fear. I push my
forehead against his.
"I'll come back. I'll be back as soon as I can."
He smiles and falls back dramatically onto the bed. Without
his body I'm freezing. As much as I hate it, I slip away from
him, emptiness replacing his warmth. I tug the comforter up,
tucking him into his bed.
"Mmm. Nice." He snuggles into it. Mulder, a typical post-coital
male, is drained and groggy. And fairly cute. I gather my assorted
items of discarded clothing and pat his leg.
"I'm going to go get cleaned up in the bathroom," I whisper.
Hopefully, he has some sort of washcloth available.
"Okay," he murmurs. "In the cabinet, under the sink."
With a sigh, I give him one more pat. His eyes are closed,
his breathing deeper. My clothes in hand, I walk into the bathroom.
A stolen glance over my shoulder one more time reveals Mulder
softly sleeping. Like a baby.
A smile twitches at my mouth as I flick on the light.