Chapter Text
They’d slept with each other only a couple of times, revelling in both the newness and the comfort of it all, even from the very beginning. His hand on her lower back guiding her onwards, her fingers squeezing his wrist in reassurance-- these and other gestures had been translated easily from fully-dressed in hallways to naked and panting in the bedroom.
If he closed his eyes, he could see his thumb covering the curve of her hipbone, his hands circling the entirety of her waist. He’d been closing his eyes with increasing frequency.
Like the rest of their relationship, the slide from partners to something more had been a leisurely, gradual process. Scully wasn’t accustomed to the size of him. He’d touched his forehead to hers and inched his way inside her, painfully and slowly, while she’d clutched at his hair like the reins of a runaway horse. He’d marvelled at how her hands, so gentle and considerate when she doctored him, could transform in the bedroom, becoming surprisingly possessive and feral. It sent sharp jolts of desire to his groin. When he stood in the shower, he loved the sting of hot water as it slid on the crescent moons that her nails left between his shoulder blades and on the globes of his ass. It was just like them, for him to mark her as his own with slight touches in public, and she, in return, to brand him as hers with urgent, fervent imprints in the dark.
Since the first time they’d tumbled between the sheets, gasping with pleasure, he’d noticed a slight difference in her. She stood taller, more self-assured. Her heels were suddenly sky-high and stilettoed, her skirts tighter and wonderfully less practical. To his delight, she had started to ignore the top buttons of her blouse, which now opened to a taunting level just above the rolling swell of her breasts. He couldn’t help but stare and he knew by the constant crossing and uncrossing of her legs that she enjoyed the attention she was receiving. She also seemed to enjoy taunting him. Lately, she’d been bringing fruit to the basement, mostly strawberries, and she’d wrap her lips around the berries and suck at their sugary sweetness, nibble the tips and lap at the juices tricking down her wrist with long, careful licks. When she wasn’t mouth-fucking food, she kept disappearing on him, tormenting him with what felt like deliberate absence.
Like the weekend, for instance. He hadn’t seen her since Friday. She’d gone for the weekend to her mother’s, who’d had a bad cold. Mulder had called her briefly, to see how Maggie was doing, but given Scully’s somewhat laconic answers, he realised that Maggie was in the room with her, and she didn’t feel comfortable speaking freely. He had spent most of Saturday working, with movies (that weren’t his) playing softly in the background. When the moans were loud enough to be distracting, he’d taken a break, and imagined the star as a small-framed redhead with big, inscrutable eyes. By Sunday he was counting the minutes to be in the office with her again.
When his alarm had woken him up that morning, he had looked up at the ceiling, stretched easily and wondered what the day with her would bring. The promise of her presence had sent him straight to the shower and he’d taken the time to choos a tie he knew she liked on him. Today, he leaned back in his chair, thoughtfully sucking on a sunflower seed while he watched her make careful notes on her latest autopsy report. She was rubbing the back of her neck, using the pads of her fingers to knead the muscles in practiced circles. Mulder inhaled sharply as he had a flash of her using those same fingers to touch herself, legs spread slightly in the semi-darkness, her eyes never breaking contact with his while he sat, transfixed, from the other side of the room.
He was suddenly overcome with a surge of courage. “Hey Scully,” he called out, almost before he’d realised it.
“Yes, Mulder?” she replied, more as a statement than a question, without looking up.
“What’s your favourite position?”
At first he thought she hadn’t heard him or that she was ignoring his question in the name of professional rectitude. She hadn’t stopped writing. It was only when she looked up and he saw the flush of colour on her breastbone that he knew she had heard the question and had understood exactly to what he was referring. He’d learned recently that Scully’s blush of embarrassment was the exact same shade of pink as her blush of arousal. That little tidbit had made him revisit all of his memories of her when she had seemed embarrassed and made him wonder if, in fact, she had actually been turned on instead.
She set the pen down, looked at him square in the eye, and told him simply: “I like it from behind.”
Mulder’s mouth went dry in seconds. Before he could wrestle a glib retort from the cotton in his mouth, she asked, “Yours?” She’d picked up her pen again, nonchalantly writing while waiting for his answer, a sphinx-like smile playing on her lips.
Mulder cleared his throat suddenly feeling strangely self-conscious. This was a conversation he’d never imagined having with her and it felt sexy and surreal. He spoke, directing his answer to his desk, eyeing her through his eyelashes. “Scully, for years, I’ve imagined you riding me while I sit on a chair.”
Her sharp intake of breath was hardly perceptible except for the slight heaving in her chest. She exhaled slowly and her tongue flicked over her lower lip. “And am I facing you, Mulder? Or is my back to you?”
Mulder thought he would fall off his chair. Of all the fucking follow-up questions this was the last he’d seen coming. He felt himself harden and tried to look unflustered. His voice dropped to a husky baritone and he murmured softly, “Facing me. Eye to eye.”
Scully crossed her legs and pushed a strand of hair away from her face offhandedly, but she had closed her eyes and Mulder could see that her breath was jagged and her thigh muscles were clenching against each other. The conversation was clearly having an effect on her, which she was trying to hide. They didn’t speak, and when she finally opened her eyes, there was a fiery glint in them. Her voice was rich and sultry, reminiscent of the Costa Rican jungle, when she whispered “Come here, Mulder.”
“Scully?” he faltered.
“It won’t work with a chair that has arm rests. Come here. And lock the door.” Her breath was steady now, as she studied him through hooded lids. She rose from her chair, and stood, strangely statuesque. She waited. Mulder swallowed hard, feeling fourteen years old again, pushed into a closet with the girl next door, expected to provide her 7 Minutes in Heaven. He was light-headed and his blood had rushed south.
He stood up, acutely aware of the bulge in his work trousers, turned the lock, and made his way towards her. She watched his approach, her eyes flickering from his face to his hardened cock, her eyes dark with appreciation. She motioned to her chair, “Sit.”
He tried to read her, but besides the glimmer in her eyes, her face was set and impassive. Her self-possession had always turned him on to no end.
Feeling like a well-trained dog, Mulder followed orders and sat gingerly on the chair, his hands resting on his thighs, knuckles white in anticipation. The room buzzed with silence and he was aware of how he was trying, and failing, to still his ragged breathing. He could smell her-- the almond in her soap and the honey in her shampoo. Both blended with the cocoa in her moisturiser and mingled in the air with the smell of that which was purely Scully, a scent he had learned only recently when he’d pressed his nose against her wet slit and inhaled deeply for the very first time.
Scully bent over towards him and placed her hands on either knee, spreading his legs so that she could fit between them. She knelt, as if in prayer, and looked up at him. He stared back in reverence. They studied each other’s faces while she unfastened the top button of his pants and inched his zipper down. After what felt like the longest unzipping of his life, he helped her by shifting his hips, and she pulled down his trousers and boxers. She rested her hands on his thighs and squeezed, and when she looked at the length of him, he could tell she was still dazed by its girth. As a way of greeting, she used her tongue to work her way from his base to the tip and he closed his eyes and groaned when her tongue swirled at the head. But then, much to his disappointment, she stood up.
The letdown was short-lived when he saw that she was unzipping the side of her skirt, exposing red lace underneath, and he hissed snakelike with appreciation and incredulity. The skirt pooled at her feet as she stepped out of it, black heels, red lace, and what seemed like miles of ivory between the two. He grabbed the back of her legs, thumbs on her thighs and fingers squeezing the soft skin beneath her ass. He moved a hand to cup her entrance and stroked her softly while she almost imperceptibly rotated her hips over the palm of his hand. She was ready, dripping wet, and his cock quivered in anticipation.
He moved to take off her underwear, but she shook her head and placed her legs outside his, her breasts level with his face. He placed his nose against her skin and breathed her in while she unbuttoned her blouse, exposing more red lace underneath. He felt feverish and she felt cool under his touch. She looked cool as well, and collected, while she slowly sat on his lap inches from his erection, and leaned in to kiss him with surprising tenderness. With one hand she took his cock and squeezed it, and with the other she slid her panties to one side while guiding him to her anteroom, which felt feverish with heat. Using her heels as leverage, she slowly lowered herself on him, allowing her muscles to strain and stretch around his erection and gazed at his lips as he opened them in a silent moan.
She wasn’t rocking or grinding against him. Instead, she was using her thigh muscles to pull up to his tip to then plummet back down again to the hilt. Occasionally, she’d stay there at the head, fucking him only an inch or two in, and he grunted with exhilaration and frustration.
He cupped her ass trying to urge her down again, but she shook her head a second time, took his hands and placed them on her breasts while she continued to tease him into a frenzy, his back slick with sweat. He slid his fingers under the material of her bra and roughly pinched her right nipple, partially because he knew she liked it, and partially because he felt like punishing her for this torture. The sound of their sweaty bodies slapping against each other soon became too much to handle and he whimpered, “Oh my God, Scully. Please. Please.”
He squeezed her breast as if it were a lifeline. Sensing his desperation and close to orgasm herself, she finally relented, plunging down on him over and over again, slippery and filled to the brim with the length of him. “Scully….” he rasped in warning, “I’m getting close.”
Scully felt a new wave of lust rush through her body. She loved what she could do to him. “Come for me, Mulder. Let me see you come.” She was impatient to watch him lose himself to her. She loved leaving herself on the edge of release by delaying gratification. It made her ache and stay wet for the rest of the day. It made her feel powerful. Releasing her breasts, he took a hold of her hips and started sliding her up and down his shaft forcefully until he felt a groan rising from the back of his throat. He tossed his head back and felt himself explode inside of her and recognised a long moan as his own. She stared at his beautiful face as she clamped her muscles around him, milking his orgasm until it came to a stop. He had no sensation left in in his legs and his hands shook as he pulled her forward to embrace her, the air thick with the smell of sex and sweat.
“Scully, I want you to…” he panted
“Later.” she whispered, raking her hand through his hair. She smiled and wiggled playfully on his lap before disentangling herself from him. She couldn’t tell him how she likes to tease herself into a frenzy and stay in soaking wet panties until she can’t think straight. That these panties were drenched for him and because of him. She wasn’t sure how to explain to him that this was a power play, that she gets off when she is in control, but that she is ultimately surrendering her orgasms to him. Above all, she is certain that she lacks the words to tell him that she is in love with him, that she has been for years.
“You can bend me over on your desk, or have me on all fours in your bed—you decide.”
Mulder closed his eyes in lust and disbelief. He never, not in his life, thought he’d get to know this side of her: sexual, empowered, domineering. He couldn’t believe his luck. He wanted to spend every waking part of his life learning her, loving her.
He looked up at her and his voice came out in a throaty plea, “Can we do both?”
“Of course, Mulder,” she answered, looking exquisite in dark red lace, glistening with sensuality and the salt of his sweat . She beamed, pleased, and leaned in to lick the pout of his lower lip. “It is after all, my favourite position.”