Title: Becoming Us
Spoilers: Season 11 - This, Plus One. Season 4: Never Again
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters mentioned herein.
Category: MSR, Angst, Romance
A/N: I haven’t written a new X-Files fanfic in awhile - but the old days remain my favourite. I have always loved to imagine how Mulder and Scully’s relationship developed behind the scenes. In fact I spent a big majority of my youth imagining just that. Admittedly, Never Again was not one of the episodes I’d ever previously imagined this happening - but there you go, plot bunnies appear out of nowhere! Guys, I hate thinking I am writing to the abyss, so please throw me some comments and kudos if you like this! Thanks! <3
“My sister used to speculate you’d be a gentle lover, you know.” We were working at the dining table, files splayed across the surface. Our coffee cups were empty, our bellies full with Chinese takeaway and half a bowl of nachos we’d shared during the course of an evening. I felt a little useless, facing Mulder; this was his forte - criminal profiling, delving into the deep, dark unknown of a psychotic mind. It wasn’t an X-File, just an impromptu favour to Behavioural Sciences.
My conversational segue way piqued his interest, for Mulder glanced up. “This was something you regularly discussed with her?” he asked, pen poised over his legal pad.
“Oh yeah,” I replied, snagging a tortilla chip from the bowl. Mentioning Melissa still brought a pang of grief and regret, but the ache had dulled over the last twenty years. Her vibrant eccentricities remained clear, however - and her no-holds barred conversations over cheap white wine. “I think she had a slight... crush on you.” I’d been momentarily jealous of Melissa’s interest in Fox Mulder - because she was kooky and open-minded, vivacious and bold. She was living colour, and I could imagine Mulder falling for a woman like my sister.
I chewed thoughtfully for a moment, aware of Mulder’s gaze upon me. “I never imagined you as the gossipy type,” he said.
“Only with Missy,” I replied, a touch defensive. Gossiping was abhorrent to me, but with my older sister, it had seemed like an acceptable pastime. “We compared notes on lovers,” I added with a private smile. In my memories, I could hear Melissa’s giggles. My cheeks would burn at the stories she would tell - stories no good Catholic girl had any business knowing. Melissa Scully was fearless, boundless in her quest to experience life and everything in it. “She was a lot more experienced than me,” I whispered, brushing chip-salt off my fingers.
“I wouldn’t say you’re inexperienced, Scully.” Mulder’s gaze locked with mine for long, pregnant seconds. When he smiled, my stomach somersaulted with the same intensity it had the very first time Mulder ever tossed me a classic charming grin - a beaming smirk laden with meaning that made my heart race and my loins tighten. Twenty five years later, the sensations remained the same.
“You know that all came with you,” I replied, forcing myself to look away. At the table, at the wall, away from the intensity of being locked in a staring contest with him. “I kind of wish I’d had the chance to follow up Melissa’s hypothesis.”
“You would have told her what I was like in bed?” Mulder asked. He lowered his pen to the yellow pad, suitably distracted.
“Of course,” I replied, longing for a calming glass of wine, or a cold bottle of beer. Following the raid on our house by Russian hit-men, we’d refrained from any kind of intoxication, lest we be required to defend ourselves again.
“And what would you have said? Would you have rated me out of ten? Compared notes on technique?” He wasn’t annoyed. In fact, Mulder was intrigued. He had leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. The years had been kind to this multi-layered, fascinating man. He remained delectable - age might even have improved how he looked; the boyishness replaced by rugged earthiness. I’d learned recently that stamina was not a problem.
“Well, she would have been very interested to know you aren’t gentle.” I smirked to myself, years worth of deviant sexual memories bombarding my prefrontal cortex. It was a rush, a wave of all-consuming emotion that almost took my breath away. Mulder excelled at many things: profiling, crime-solving, swimming... but he was absolutely masterful in the bedroom.
“I can be gentle,” he protested, lowering his arms. He looked momentarily crestfallen, until he released I was not criticising his technique.
“Not the first time,” I countered.
“Those were extenuating circumstances,” he replied, and I detected the merest hint of a blush upon his cheekbones. “Emotions were running a little high.”
“Hmm,” I concurred. I could almost feel the tingle of the my tattoo at the base of my spine - a blue and red Ouroboros, snake consuming its own tail. I’d been demented by feelings of discontent, something I couldn’t explain at the time. Perhaps I longed to be as free-spirited and impetuous as my dead sister, to carry her mantle of bold recklessness. The permanent inking upon my skin had been a moment of foolish abandon, and Mulder hadn’t appreciated it. He’d viewed my interactions with Ed Jerse has traitorous, and those emotions had resulted in the fiercest, hottest sex I’d ever experienced until that point.
“What is it you want Scully?” He pushed back his chair and got explosively to his feet. I was dwarfed by him and, toe to toe, that height difference was never more apparent. “Do you want a fucking desk? Here, take mine.” He gave the desk a shove. It shunted forward an inch, causing the old barrister-style lamp to tumble over. I heard the shattering of a light bulb, but my gaze was transfixed on him. “Take it all. Would you like a new chair? What about a name plate? Would you like to take mine as well? We could tape Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully over it? How’s that?”
“Just stop it, Mulder!” I didn’t want to cry. God knows, I hated showing emotional weakness to this man. “I don’t want a desk, okay?” He was breathing heavily, hands braced against the edge of the desk and I knew it was pointless trying to reason with an angry Fox Mulder. “I’m going home, Mulder.”
I strode away from the single desk, the bone of contention that wasn’t really about anything at all. It was a distraction, a ruse to disguise what was really bugging me. I was halfway to the door, when his hand closed around my arm and he roughly spun me toward him. There was molten fire in his eyes. “Did you fuck him?” The brashness of his words, the uncharacteristic vulgarity, stunned me. I gawped at him for a good fifteen seconds, my eyes searching his face. I was incredulous.
“That’s none of your bus-”
“Did you fuck him, Scully?” His hands were firmly upon my shoulders now, hindering any chance I had of escape. My cheeks flamed and tears of humiliation pricked at my eyeballs. This was not what I expected when I ventured into this basement office today.
“No.” Oh, I almost had. I wanted to be as reckless as my sister had been. I wanted to experience some meaning in my life, instead of focusing on the daily grind of my career - which had somehow stalled in this musty subterranean cube filled with ancient files on the paranormal. I had no personal life to speak of, no meaningful relationship, I hadn’t experienced sex for so long, I wasn’t sure I knew what to do anymore. But when it had come down to it, as I looked into Ed Jerse’s eyes... I just couldn’t. The emptiness, I knew, wouldn’t have been filled by a meaningless dalliance with him. “Like I said, I am going ho-”
The wind was knocked from my chest, as though Mulder had punched me in the heart. For a moment, I thought he had struck me. Within a second, I realised I was sandwiched between the hard wall of his chest, and the actual wall behind my back. With every ounce of his weight, he was pinned against me. My mind reeled, and I was almost breathless was panic. “What are you doing?” He at least permitted me to finish my sentence before his mouth descended upon mine, hard and fierce.
At that moment, I should have been thinking about our careers, our partnership, the platonic-line that he’d just obliterated, but as his tongue slid into my mouth, my prevailing thought was that he was such a good kisser. His fingers slid into my hair, his other hand moved over my thigh, locking my leg around his waist. And Christ above, he was hard. Years of late night musings about Mulder were confirmed the second he thrust his hips forward.
He broke our kiss and grasped my jaw, angling my head back until my throat was exposed. “I’m going to fuck you, Scully.” His voice was ragged and harsh against my ear, raspy as if he’d been necking whiskey. His fingers were tight on my jaw - rough. In all the years we’d been partners, I’d imagined how this might transpire many times. I’d never once, in all those musings, pictured Mulder as domineering. If I weren’t so aroused, I might have been frightened. “If that’s not something you consent to, you’d better tell me now.” He ground his hips against mine, his cock unimaginably hard. “Because I can’t guarantee self control if you say no later.”
The thread of my restraint snapped, and I was like a child’s toy with a wind-up mechanism. Suddenly, I came alive. I found his lips, sought out the taste of him; coffee and sunflower seeds, and something so fundamentally Mulder. He made a noise, deep within his belly, and in that moment we were pulling at our clothes, shedding shirts, pants, thirsty for the taste of one and other. I longed to feel every inch of his skin, my hands moving over the sinewy swimmer muscles, tight and hard beneath his bronzed flesh. He felt warm all over, and smelled intoxicatingly of something I could not define.
My panties were discarded, literally torn at the seams. His hands cupped my ass, his body holding me against the wall. When he entered me in a hard, fluid thrust, I almost wept at the sensation. I was filled, stretched, a void filled by another for the first time in my life. I knew it wasn’t supposed to be like this - rough and savage - and yet it somehow it was. Manic emotions, ones we had no control over, spilled forth and we met each other, thrust for thrust. He touched me as though he had expert, secret knowledge that no one else was privy to. Even the times I’d touched myself had not elicited such a dramatic reaction from me.
Our bodies slapped together, I reached out to brace my hand against the filing cabinet. It rocked ever-so-slightly against the wall, and I knew we were creating too much noise. It was bad enough that we were doing this here, at our place of work. Where anyone could arrive at any moment. I wasn’t even sure the office door was locked, and yet somehow the risk of someone’s unexpected voyeurism only heightened the desire I felt. Let them fucking watch, I decided rashly. It was a show of utter abandon - a complete loss of control, and if I was honest, it was probably a long time coming.
“If anyone... anyone... puts their hands on you again, Scully...” Mulder’s voice was rough as sandpaper against my ear, his breath hot. “I’ll fucking kill him.” I pressed my hand to the back of his head, aroused by the show of possessiveness. At my urging, he captured my nipple in his mouth and sucked until I cried out, a mixture of pleasure and pain - both equally torturous. His tongue laved at my breast, and I never wanted it to end. I didn’t want to deal with the fall-out of this moment, or discuss what it all implied for our carefully calibrated partnership. “You’re mine,” he said against my breast.
I murmured in response, in acquiescence.
“Say it, Scully.”
“Yes, Mulder,” I replied, tipping my head back against the wall. He rammed harder into me, fierce and unrelenting.
“Say it,” he demanded, grasping my jaw again. He forced me to look at him, and I knew the second our gazes locked that we weren’t messing around. He called it fucking, we could kid ourselves that it was. It was a nice illusion, a break from reality, but we both knew it was so much more.
“I’m yours, Mulder.”
He exhaled, a hot shuddering breath, giving in to his orgasm at the same moment. “Damn right,” he whispered, pulsing hot jets into my body. I rolled my hips against him, and came in a blinding, shuddering wave. I bit down hard on my lip to resist the temptation to call out his name in long, high syllables. When I sagged against him, damp with sweat and trembling, I tasted blood where my teeth had broken skin.
“Jesus, Scully are you alright?”
“I’m fine. It’s just a little blood.” Mulder released me, and lowered me to my feet.
“No, I mean... fuck, Scully I’m sorry.” He traced his fingertips across my skin in a whispering touch, his face taut with regret. “I’ve bruised you.” I followed his gaze, to where purplish marks were beginning to mottle my otherwise porcelain skin. In the same way the tattoo branded me with recklessness, I felt secret pride in Mulder’s domineering branding of me. I shrugged.
“It’s fine,” I said.
“No, it’s really not. Jesus, I can’t believe I’ve done this. I hurt you.”
“Mulder, I’m not made of glass. Stop it.” I reached for my ruined panties, shoving them into the pocket of my jacket. “I have to get dressed.” He was already half clothed, his pants buckled. “I... I’m supposed to meet my mother tonight.” My devout Catholic mother, who would have been horrified to know her youngest daughter had given into pure, unadulterated carnal desire and been fucked against a wall. “I have to go home and shower first. I smell of sex.”
Mulder watched me. “Is this bad?” he asked, pulling his shirt on. He left it open, and I found myself staring for a moment too long at his bare chest and tight torso. If I closed my eyes, for even a second, I immediately pictured his body careering me into the wall. I was breathless all over again.
“No, Mulder. It’s fine.”
“Fine. Of course.” He sounded somewhat bitter. “What else would it be?” He turned away from me, fastening the buttons of his shirt, retrieving his tie from across the office. I wasn’t entirely sure how it ended up there in the first place. The undressing portion of the afternoon was strangely blurred, as though a potent opiate was coursing through my veins.
“I need some time to process all of this, Mulder.”
“Take all the time you need, Scully.” Aside from his hair being unkempt, there was no evidence of our dalliance. He looked composed, as though we’d being doing nothing more than writing reports.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I slid my shoes on, my heart racing within my chest as I grappled for some normalcy. It was difficult to compute what had happened. This morning he’d been Fox Mulder, my partner - and now we’d launched headlong into unfamiliar, dangerous territory.
He snagged a sunflower seed from the packet on his desk, taking the morsel between his teeth. His gaze was levelled on mine, hard and penetrating. There was silence in the office, save for the harried beating of my heart. He bit into the seed, it cracked nosily. “Bright and early, partner,” he said, his expression schooled into a picture of cool indifference.
“Bye,” I replied, opening the door and slipping out. It clicked shut behind me.
“I was worried we’d fucked everything up,” Mulder admitted, rolling his pen between his thumb and forefinger.
“God, me too.” I had refilled our coffee cups. “It wasn’t regret... just...”
“Sheer, blind panic,” Mulder supplied with a deep chuckle, the kind that still had an effect on me. “I was so overcome with jealousy, I’ve never experienced that before.” His brow furrowed. “Not with Phoebe or Diana.” Their names still managed to evoke something in me, some long buried sense of insecurity. “It was like I was possessed.”
“Possessive,” I joked, pushing away the memories of his former flames. One had not reappeared in over twenty years, the other was dead. “I was guilty of that myself.” Detective White, Dr. Bambi, Diana, Phoebe - all the women who had made a play for him at one time or another. Diana stung the most.
“Do you remember the second time?” Mulder asked, stealing the breath from my lungs. Our unexpected trip down this erotic memory lane had already left me feeling somewhat dissatisfied. Our sexual encounters would only increased in emotional intensity, and I suspected coffee would not suffice us delving into the next one.
“Wine?” I asked, getting to my feet.
“I thought we were abstaining from alcohol, in case we’re ambushed again.”
“Do you want to discuss this without alcohol?” I countered, removing an unopened bottle of wine from the fridge. White was not a favourite of Mulder’s, and I wondered if he’d bought it for me. We’d been spending a lot of time together, recently.
“Go ahead,” he replied, pushing aside the half finished mug of coffee on the table.
“How do you remember it?” I asked, uncorking the bottle.
“It was just after you’d been diagnosed...”
To be continued...
Is anyone interested in taking a trip down Mulder and Scully’s sexual memory lane? Let me know what you think please!