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Calling You

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Four rings before Scully picks up the phone and puts Mulder out of his misery.

“Hm, yeah.” Scully’s voice is nothing more than a tired mumble and yet Mulder finds himself sigh in relief, and grin stupidly, upon finally hearing her voice.

“Hey Scully, it’s me. You weren’t answering your phone earlier and I – wait, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Mulder is cradling his basketball in his arms; he better not be interrupting anything. What was the guy’s name Scully kept mentioning? Jack? He grimaces when he realizes that he’s been stroking the basketball, treating it like a lover. He lets got of it, watches it fall to the ground with a soft thud, and roll away under his desk. Wishing it was Jack’s head, kind of. Mulder has been trying to reach Scully for hours now (Is Jack to blame? He’s not sure he wants to know). He is not going to tell her how close he’s come to flying out to Maine.

“I was sleeping.”

“It’s only… oh, it’s already 2 am. I’m sorry, Scully. You uhm, like I said, you weren’t answering your phone. I was worried.”

“I’m fine Mulder. Just really tired.”

“Some vacation, huh?” Mulder knows that he should say his goodbye now, let her go back to sleep. Except he’s so happy to hear her voice, as exhausted as it may sound, that he’s unable to be reasonable. He hasn’t seen her in days. He hasn’t heard her voice in hours. He can’t just hang up now.

“Yeah.” Scully yawns. “Mulder, was there anything you wanted? It really is late.”

“How’s your case going?” And why didn’t you answer your phone these past few hours, Scully? That question, he hopes, it at least implied.

“It isn’t – wasn’t – a case. Or maybe it was. Either way, it’s over now.”

“Over?”

“Yeah. Mulder, can we talk about this when I’m back? I’m still on vacation.”

“Of course, Scully. Of course. But… you solved the case?” He can hear her sigh, very explicitly, and he swears he can even hear her roll her eyes at him. What he wouldn’t give to see her right now.

“You know what? I did. I did solve the case. Now will you let me go back to sleep if I promise you can ask me anything you want to know once I’m back?

“Anything, Scully?” He grins into the darkness; he loves when she’s tired and doesn’t think her answers through. “Anything I want to know?”

“Mulder…” There’s a warning in the way she says his name, but, and maybe it’s just because he misses her, or it’s because he wants to hear it, but he’s certain there’s a touch of a challenge there, a dare. Her voice makes his groin ache, cry out for attention.

“Just answer me this… did you miss me at all?” She’s quiet on her side of the line and Mulder gnaws on his lip. It’s not what he meant to ask. His thoughts are way less G-rated right now, but before he goes further, before he decides to try what he has in mind, he needs to know this.

“No, Mulder, I didn’t miss you,” Mulder hears her voice, hates himself for even asking, and swallows hard, trying to find words, any kind of comeback that isn’t full of hurt feelings, “well… maybe I missed you a little bit.” She admits sheepishly, putting him out of his misery. “Did you miss me, Mulder?”

“More than you could possibly imagine.” The words are out before he can stop them. The relief of her admission too great, they rush out of him, leaving him breathless and feeling warm. Hot even.

“Oh.”

“Why did you think I was calling you all the time?”

“I was calling you, too.” Her voice sounds far away, as if she’s just realized something, not quite believing it. She’s not good at believing, his Scully.

“What are you wearing, Scully?” She chuckles, thinking he’s joking, why else would he be asking?, but his hand is moving down his body on its own accord. He shouldn’t be doing this. Just like he shouldn’t have told her that he’s missing her. None of this is appropriate behavior between partners and yet his hand wanders over the bulge in his pants, squeezes it. He’s never done this before but he’s certain that he can’t stop now. He doesn’t want to either.

“What do you think, Mulder? I was sleeping when you called.” His eyes close against his will. He sees her there in a hotel room, unlike the ones they usually stay in. A queen-size bed, white linen, her legs spread in anticipation. He wants to picture her there naked in the middle of the bed, her body beckoning him, but he knows her. Knows her too well.

“Hm, those…” he stops as his tongue darts out in concentration; don’t moan, he wills himself, as his hand wanders inside his boxer shorts, “those silky pajamas you love so much. Am I… am I right?” Scully’s answer is a relaxed sigh and dare he hope? His hand grabs his cock, sliding up and down slowly, just getting started. The scene in his head, it unfolds before him just as gently. He sees her there; one hand is holding the phone, the other sneaking into her pajama pants. He moans, involuntarily, and Scully gasps on the other end of the line. He no longer needs to hope; now he knows.

“Mulder…” She sounds impatient, as if she’s begging him to speed up, and his hand on his cock does, spreading pre-cum all over his shaft, “what… what are you doing?” Her voice just above a whisper and for a split second he fears he read her wrong, so very wrong, and his hand stops for a second, gripping too tightly, “Tell me what you’re doing… what you would do if…” she trails off, sounds shy, and he speeds up again, no longer afraid of letting her know.

“Oh Scully…” his hand follows the all too familiar rhythm as he lets Scully into his fantasy, “I would… I know where you want me to touch you, I want to touch you there, too, but… I’m gonna start with your neck.”

“I’m going to kiss you there, drive you crazy,” her breath hitches, she moans, and Mulder loses himself in the sounds for a moment, “I’m going to kiss you everywhere. Your neck, your face, your mouth.”

“Touch me, Mulder.” She whispers, pleads.

“Touch you where, Scully?”

“My… touch my breasts.” He groans this time and she answers him.

“Do it for me, Scully,” he croaks out, “Touch your breasts for me, show me how you like it.” Mulder listens to their combined panting, a symphony in the making, and almost loses it when Scully hisses in pleasure suddenly.

“Tell me, Scully. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“You’re touching… your hand is on my breast,”

“Oh yeah,” he can see it, swears he can feel the soft skin of her under his finger tips,

“You… your mouth is,” she moans, “Your mouth…” Her words are lost in her moans, in her desperate sighs,

“Do you want me to put my mouth on your breast, Scully?” He forces the words out, one by one, imaging his tongue around her nipple, licking and sucking. She stutters on a breath, and Mulder can’t help but grin; he’s doing this to her, he thinks, he’s making her breathless.

“Your breasts are so perfect, Scully. I love them, but…”

“But what?”

“I need to taste you everywhere.” Her groan is deep, vibrates through the phone, making him ache and his cock throb in his hand. “I bet you taste so good.” They both moan and Mulder feels the tell-tale tingles run through him already. Too soon, much too soon. “Scully,” his voice is full of longing, of wanting to be there, his face between her legs, kissing his way along her inner thighs until his tongue finds its goal in her wet center, against her most intimate parts.

“I need you to touch yourself for me. Touch your clit. Imagine I’m touching you.” She whimpers and he slows his movements on his cock, too afraid to come. He hears it in between her gasps and his own moans; her slick fingers moving in and out of herself, pleading for release. His balls tighten, he is almost there and doesn’t want to be, not yet, way too soon, but his hand speeds up again in a frantic pace.

“Oh my god, Mulder… talk you me, just talk to me.” She breathes, begs him.

“Scully, I wish it were me… my mouth on your clit, my fingers in you, fucking you. I wish it were your hand on my cock. Feel how hard you make me, Scully. Do you feel it? Do you wish it was me, me fucking you?”

“Mulder, don't… stop… I’m going to…”

“Come for me, Scully,” Mulder begs of her, his own release imminent, “Let me hear you.” She comes apart more quietly than he would have guessed with a soft cry, a deep groan, and finally, a whimper. Mulder lets go, listening to her, his semen spurting out of him onto his boxers and his shirts.

“That was…” Mulder says after a moment when he finds he can breathe again.

“Unexpected.” Scully finishes for him and he knows she’s starting to think. He can hear it. He can hear her tear it apart, this thing they just shared, and try to rationalize it.

“Scully?”

“Hm?”

“Don’t regret it. Please.”

“I… I don’t regret it, Mulder. I don’t.”

“Good.”

“I’m on vacation. I’m allowed to treat myself.” Mulder chuckles, then laughs a full belly laugh, and to his greatest surprise, Scully joins in. The sound of her laughter is almost better than hearing her come. Almost.

“Scully?”

“Yes, Mulder?” She still sounds tired, and he is going to let her sleep in just a moment, but there is something else he needs her to know.

“I wasn’t really kidding earlier.”

“What?”

“When I said marry me. I wasn’t kidding. I mean of course I was then but-”

“Mulder?” From phone sex to marriage proposal in under five minutes. That’s got to be a new record, he thinks.

“Yeah?”

“I’m on vacation and I’m tired. Remember what I said earlier? Before we uhm… you know?” Before they had sex. Phone sex is sex and therefore, finally, they had sex. He is still giddy thinking about it and he hopes they can soon add more situations to their repertoire. Many more. Did Scully just ask him something? Yes, she did.

“That I could ask you anything once you’re back.” He repeats back to her so tentatively that it’s almost a question.

“So wait with that question until I’m back. Good night, Mulder.”

“Good night, Scully.”