Title: Becoming Us
Disclaimer: Not mine. No infringement intended.
Category: MSR, Angst, Romance
Spoilers: Anything from the series or movies, but in this particular chapter the focus is Christmas Carol / Emily
Author Note: I so much appreciate all the lovely comments from readers. Even though I became a professional writer several years ago, I’ve never found my own characters as easy to write as Mulder and Scully, so it makes me happy when you tell me they are in character and their interactions are believable to you. Thanks for bearing with me in my absences, too.
I wasn’t prepared to the cold of the east coast. When we arrived back in DC from California, the bitter chill lanced through my whole body because I’d left the temperate climes of the west coast in a short sleeved blouse and loose fitting linen pants. It was below zero when we exited the airport, and fine drifts of snow caught the icy wind.
For the duration of the flight, we had not spoken. My silence was accepted by Mulder, who sat beside me reading magazines or dozing. When I laid my head against his arm, he shifted to allow me deeper into his embrace. His touch was almost the undoing of me, for my daughter was dead. My daughter. The little girl I had no knowledge of, who had been created as an experiment. My genes, my biological code, stolen without my permission. Emily Sim, an angelic creature had succumbed to the despicable experiment she was designed for.
Now we stood outside in the freezing cold, waiting for a taxi.
“Here,” said Mulder, placing the heavy weight of his wool coat over my shoulders. He was better prepared for the winter temperatures. I turned my face towards him, searching his face. Only a few weeks ago we’d been in Indiana, making love in a cheap motel. Now this – it felt as though every morsel if happiness we claimed for ourselves somehow stoked the fires of evil that surrounded us. He met my gaze, firm and true. With the tenderness of a lover, he adjusted the folds of the coat to cover my chest.
“Thank you,” I said. He knew my gratitude was for more than the borrowing of his coat – but for the quiet understanding he had exercised during our flight, for the support he’d given me during the funeral.
“Anything you need, Scully.”
A taxi breezed up next to us, sluicing wet slush over my feet. When we got inside, I waited until we were settled in the back seat before turning my face towards Mulder. In the darkness, his face was illuminated only by the passing street lights. He was deep in thought, his teeth worrying at the inside of his lower lip. “Anything?” I asked, drawing his attention to me.
For ten or fifteen long seconds, he didn’t comprehend what I was saying – but the light dawned in his eyes. “Anything,” he insisted emphatically.
I nodded once, leaning forward. “There’ll be no stop in Arlington. Just Georgetown, please.”
There was no foreplay.
I closed the door behind us, slid the deadlock into place and removed Mulder’s coat. Within seconds, I’d removed my blouse and my pants, steadfast in my determination to exorcise the demons that were clawing their way through my psyche. In the past – with my cancer, with the death of Melissa, with my father’s demise, I had nowhere to turn to alleviate the darkness. This was new to me.
“Are you in a rush?” Mulder asked, taking far too long to remove his shoes.
“Yes.” I said, pulling roughly at his cotton shirt. I needed the warmth of his skin, to bathe myself in the scent of him. Of us, together. I unclipped by bra, tossing it aside. It skittered somewhere across the wooden floor, disappearing beneath a side-table where a porcelain lamp burned on a timer. Mulder watched, wide-eyed with surprise as I slid my panties down my legs and stepped out of them. I was naked, unrecognisable from the tentative, slightly virginal woman who hadn’t been unable to see the beauty in herself just weeks ago.
He swallowed audibly in the absolute stillness of my apartment. The only discernible sound was the perpetual hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.
I walked to the dining table, where stacks of files were piled up in a neat order. I had a meticulous system for my paperwork, and for me, everything was available to hand at any time. The control freak in me, as Mulder had so accurately pointed out. Ignoring the fact they would soon be thrown into a state of disarray, I placed my hands flat against the table and bent over – baring myself to him. “Like this.” I said.
“Jesus...” Mulder whispered, his dark eyes roving my bare backside and the slit of my pussy.
“I need to forget,” I said, my breasts pressed against the cool wood of my dining table.
Behind me, I heard the rustle of fabric as Mulder undressed. The warmth of his body washed across me when he stepped close, placing his large hands on my slender hips. The difference in our sizes was never more apparent than when he was touching me, than when I was completely and wholly at his mercy. This is how I needed it to be, tonight. Feral, unromantic, as close to emotionless, carnal fucking as two human beings were capable of. This was me, fulfilling a deep, biological urge. For the first time, I wondered if there was any possibility this ferocious act of copulation would result in a child in my womb. I pushed the idea to the furthest recesses of my mind, shoving my buttocks back into the rigid line of his cock.
He thrust his hips, entering me easily. I was wet for him, ready to envelope the length of him. This was the only thing in the world that could save me from myself, and I needed it. “Hurt me, Mulder.”
He made a noise of despair. “I can’t, Scully,” he said, moving gently. My walls contracted around him, but it wasn’t enough.
“Mulder, this is what I need. Please...” He must have heard the desperation in my tone, must have realised I was emotionally teetering on the edge of a dark, bottomless abyss – because his hips moved as though propelled by steam pistons. He slapped against me, fucking and stretching me until I practically wept into the wooden surface beneath my face. The table shifted, edging ever closer to my stove. The neat piles of paperwork slid, like a tower of dominoes, skittering off the table in an avalanche of paper. I didn’t care. I wanted to physically ache from the effort of our love making. My nails dug into the wood. When Mulder’s large, open palm came down against my soft flesh in a resounding slap that reverberated to my core, I cried out. “Yes!” I said. “More. Harder.” He spanked me again, enough to make my flesh sting. I was close, my orgasm building to an unstoppable, cresting wave – but I needed to wait for him; it would be his pulsing, hot cum within me that would bring me to orgasm today. The idea of a masculine, virile man filling me with his seed. This man, with his near-perfect genetic make-up. This was the only seed that should fertilise any part of me. Emily Sim should never have been created, for although she was half me... she wasn’t half of him. There could be no other way.
He leaned over my, laying his hands over mine, linking fingers with me. His lips brushed my ear. “What do you want from me, Scully?”
“Come inside me, Mulder.” As though my command were enough, his hips stilled, his cock hardening impossibly within my walls and then I felt it, the warm spurts of semen. I rocked against the table, the friction of the wood against my clit enough to push me over the edge. I shuddered around him, a mewling sound emanating from my throat as the waves came, over and over.
Mulder slid out of me. When I stood, I turned towards him and the emotions rose up through my chest, into my throat and a sob erupted out of me – untamed and furious. Within seconds, I was engulfed in his embrace, his lips pressed to my hairline. “It’s alright...” he whispered, his voice broken. I felt his body heave beneath me, a pained cry choking his throat too. “It’ll be alright,” he said, repeating the words over and over until I had no energy left to cry.
He squeezed my mind. “I’ve only seen that side to you a few times,” Mulder said. “The side of you that uses sex for emotional release.”
“I know,” I replied, linking our fingers together. When I closed my eyes I could remember the hot sting of his palm against my ass, and how the dominance of it allowed me to forget about everything else. “I wanted you to make me pregnant,” I admitted, for the first time in almost twenty years.
“I know,” said Mulder, surprising me. “Even though every bit of me knew how illogical, how impractical... how dangerous that would be... I wanted to make you pregnant.” He leaned forward, touching his lips to mine. We hadn’t kissed in so long, the sensation was enough to spark embers of desire within me. “I’ve always had a possessive streak, you know – and nothing would have cemented my possession of you, like making you pregnant. It’s caveman-ish, I know.”
I smiled. “I was always yours, Mulder.” I stroked his face. “You were possessive of me?”
“Ha! As if you don’t know. Remember your friendship with Jack from Maine?” He pretended to glare at me.
“Oh yeah...” I murmured. “You staked your claim on me when I got back from New England, I remember that. About ten minutes after you nearly poked your eye out with a falling pencil.” He laughed. That had been the first time, after everything with Emily, where I really thought I was going to be alright.
To be continued...