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Becoming Us

Chapter Text

Title: Becoming Us


Spoilers: Season 11 - This, Plus One. Season 4: Never Again


Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters mentioned herein.


Rating: M


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!

Chapter Text

Title: Becoming Us

Rating: M

Category: MSR

Disclaimer: None of the characters mentioned herein belong to me.

A/N: Thank you guys for the amazing feedback on chapter one! It’s been quite some time since I wrote fanfiction. I’m taking a small hiatus from my real-life writing, and fanfiction is just something I have loved for such a long time. It makes me so happy to know people are reading my ramblings, and enjoying them! Keep the feedback coming! <3




“How are you feeling?” Mulder asked, out of the blue. We’d been writing up reports for the last three hours, and there was a niggling ache behind my eyeballs, from concentrating too hard on deciphering toxicology reports. For a moment, I was compelled to share with Mulder that I needed an aspirin and a coffee, until I looked up at him and recognized the look of pitying concern on his face. It left me feeling cold, anxious. The very last thing I needed was for my partner to look upon me as something fundamentally broken. He wasn’t asking how I was faring up under the tremendous workload on our desk; no, he was asking how I was faring up under the strain of cancer.

“I’m fine.” I smiled tightly. He watched me, intense and scrutinising. I understood what it was like to be profiled by Fox Mulder. It was disconcerting.

“Fine,” he echoed, unsmiling. “Always fine.” We hadn’t discussed our brief, frenzied union against the wall a few weeks ago. There had never been an appropriate time, and within days of it, I’d been diagnosed with cancer. Now I felt as though I were living in two significantly different time periods: pre-cancer and post-cancer. Everything that came before was now cast in another light. I had to focus every ounce of my energy on work, and fighting the disease ravaging my body. Lamenting over the complexities of our relationship was wasted energy: it couldn’t go anywhere. We were partners. Open and shut case.

Mulder muttered beneath his breath, lowering his head to the files on his desk. I just barely heard the whisper of an insult, and my skin prickled. “What?” I asked. I was sitting at the other side of his desk, because I still didn’t have one of my own.

“I said you’re such a control freak.” He glared at me and I realised he was angry.

“Excuse me?” I reclined back, gripping the arms of the chair so tight my knuckles strained. I was somewhat blindsided by this sudden attack on my personality.

His eyes narrowed. “You are, Scully.”

“I’m a control freak?” I echoed, my voice dangerously low. Mulder was running out of time to rectify my soured mood. There was no hint of a teasing smile, no familiar twinkle in his eye. He was serious, stoic.


“Because I said I’m fine?”

He made a noise of derisiveness. “It’s not about that, Scully - and you know it. It’s about not letting me in. Me.” He jabbed his finger into his chest, his eyes hot with fire. “You want to battle all this on your own? Do you feel better, knowing you’ve left me in the cold?”

“I don’t want to dwell on my illness, Mulder,” I replied, quieter now, because his words affected me. “It won’t achieve anything, bowing down to it.” My chest felt tight, and I could barely look at him. His gaze was the same now as it had been the afternoon we’d fucked against the wall. The same potent intensity - all seeing and understanding. He looked upon me as though I were a complex puzzle he had finally worked out, and it was wholly discomfiting.

“I’m not suggesting you go into the bullpen and sob your heart out to every FBI agent in the building, Scully. I’m not saying you have to talk about cancer all day, every day. I’m asking for honesty.”

“When have I been dishonest?”

He sighed hotly. “Forget it, Scully.” Mulder got to his feet, forcing me to look up at him. “I’m about done for the day. See you tomorrow.” He powered down his computer and collected his belongings. I wanted to stop him, but if I was honest with myself, the trajectory of our conversation unsettled me. I hated being off-kilter, and if there was one person in the world who could throw me out of whack, it was Fox Mulder - and at the moment, every single day felt like an emotional white-knuckle ride - and I was just barely clinging on.

He left without a word, and the intensity of my headache had somehow doubled.





“Mulder? What are you doing here?” I was bleary-eyed, having fallen asleep in front of the television. I’d be awoken by his gentle knocking on my front door.

“Can I come in?” He carried a plastic bag branded with the name of an arts and crafts store.

“Okay,” I replied, feeling a worrying niggle of anxiety. We had left things in an awkward place this afternoon, and I wasn’t sure how we would rectify the frostiness. Mulder, on the other hand, seemed to have recovered from whatever was eating him, earlier. He slipped past me, smelling of cool-evening air and cologne. He wore jeans, boots and a leather jacket. The tightening of my loins was unexpected, but not surprising. I hadn’t thought of sex much since learning of my terminal illness.

“I’ve been thinking.”

“About how you were a colossal jackass this afternoon?” I asked, folding my arms.

“I stand by what I said,” Mulder replied, the plastic bag rustling in his hand. I was intrigued by what he’d bought from an arts and crafts store.

“What’s in that bag?” I asked. “Are we going to make friendship bracelets and bond?”

Mulder smiled darkly, his expression sinister. God, he was handsome. “Oh, we’re definitely going to bond.” Something in the tone of his voice made me tremble with nerves. I considered myself a highly intuitive person, and deep within my psyche, I knew where this impromptu visit was heading. Mulder wasn’t here to work, or even talk. “Follow me.”

“Where?” I asked, my voice brittle.

Mulder eyed me carefully. “Your bedroom, Scully. Now.”

“Tell me what’s in the bag.” I was not the type of woman to take orders from anyone, but something about Mulder commanding me was titillating. He looked ever so appealing, in his street clothes. His shoulders filled out the leather jacket, his thighs stretched well-worn black denim. Mulder was masculinity epitomised.


“I want to know.”

He smiled, full of devilment. “All will be revealed.” He swept his arm towards my bedroom, a wicked gleam evident in his eyes. “Do you trust me?”

Four words that made my heart crumble. “Only you,” I replied.

“Then let’s go.”

He led the way and I followed behind, half terrified, half exhilarated. For the past few weeks, since my diagnosis, I’d felt somewhat numb. It was a defence mechanism, I knew; a way of protecting myself from hurt. I didn’t want to feel anything too deeply, too strongly - because my death seemed inevitable at this point.

Mulder closed my bedroom door, and the air between us was charged with electricity. “We haven’t talked about what happened after Pennsylvania.” He would never say Ed Jerse’s name - as though it were poisonous on his tongue. “About what happened in the office.”

“No,” I agreed. My palms were sweaty. I pressed my hands to my thighs. “There wasn’t a right time.” I was too scared to acknowledge what it meant to me, for Mulder and me to be lovers.

 “You look good in jeans.” I was compelled to look downward, at the old denims I’d thrown out the second I’d shed my suit this afternoon. The knees were just beginning to fray - I imagined Mulder would have some lurid joke about how the fabric got worn. “Been on your knees a lot, Scully?” he quipped, as though reading my mind. I lifted my head slowly, affording him what I hoped was my most seductive stare.

“Not yet, but it’s still early.”

He swallowed, audibly. “Well, tonight isn’t about me. It’s about you.” He delved into the mysterious plastic bag and withdrew a handful of satin fabric. At first I thought he’d brought me lingerie, which seemed unexpectedly intimate - but when he unfurled the material, it became clear Mulder had not brought me underwear, but rather satin ties. “For dressmaking,” he explained, stretching out the soft, black strips of material. There were four long ribbons of wide satin, the kind that might be used around the waist of a dress. “And bondage,” Mulder added quietly.

My heart pounded and my mouth went dry. “You want to tie me up, Mulder?”

“Don’t make it sound all kidnapper-y, Scully.” He snapped the ribbon, testing it’s durability. “This is about control.” Our eyes met, and I felt the breath whoosh from my lungs in a hot, hurried stream. “Prove you’re not a control freak.” I should have felt as though I’d been boxed into a corner, but instead, his determination was strangely liberating for me. I was a control freak; professionally and personally. I was afraid to open myself to anyone, but especially him. To fall in love was dangerous. It always had been, but it was even more pressing that I didn’t.

“Fine,” I said at last.

“Clothes off.”

“Do you have some sort of domineering fetish?” I asked, slipping out of my t-shirt. I didn’t wear a bra, and for a second I noticed his gaze shift downward. I worked out; my body was not something I was ashamed of. Mulder didn’t answer as I unfastened my jeans and slid them over my legs. Once naked, I stood before him. “Now what?” I asked, spreading my arms. His gaze was dark, intense, aroused.

“Lie down.”

I climbed onto the mattress, thinking how lucky it was for Mulder that my bed-frame was so designed to be suitable for light bondage. It had posts and slats where he could tie the satin ribbons. My chest tightened at the thought of being completely at the mercy of another - but I did trust him. More than was advisable for anyone to trust another.

Mulder stood at the side of the bed, a tall shadow in the muted light of my bedroom. This place was my sanctuary, the room where I was able to switch off from all the misery in my life. I knew after tonight it would become the place where I had lurid memories about being ravaged by my partner - and yet I had absolutely no compulsion to make any of it stop.

My nipples had hardened in the cool air, and I lay upon my mattress like a seductress. Mulder watched me as though he wanted to devour me. His knuckles were white around the satin ties. He cleared his throat, and visibly relaxed. “Hand?” he said, and I extended my right arm. The fabric felt soft and luxurious against my skin. Mulder fastened the ribbon in a knot, affixing it to the bedpost. My stomach tightened. Loss of control, sexually, was appealing in theory  - but in reality, old habits crept in. I wasn’t suited to relinquishing control. Any control.

I tried to breathe, but my chest felt as though a tonne weight were laid upon it. “Relax, Scully.” At his urging, I exhaled sharply. Mulder circled the bed, like a wild cat stalking prey. He took my left arm and repeated the intricate knotting that fastened me to the bed. “God, I never thought I’d see my Scully like this.” He stood at the end of the bed, watching over me with total dominance. My Scully. He’d asserted his possession of me last time we’d had sex. It was becoming clear to me that Mulder really did believe he owned me - and I liked it.

The touch of his hand on my ankle elicited a whimper from my throat. I stiffened, realising I’d be bound at all points. Totally immobile. One hundred percent at his mercy. He fastened the ribbons around my ankles, giving a little tug to confirm tightness - and bound me to the baseboard of the bed. With a smile, he stood back to survey his handiwork. He looked satisfied.

“What now?” I asked, half choked with trepidation. The prevailing emotion, though, was arousal. Between my legs, I was already wet. My groin tight with desire.

“I’m not finished.” Mulder reached into the back pocket of his jeans, withdrawing a red strip of satin that was wider than the others. “Total loss of control.” He approached me, and I tried to take a breath when he laid the fabric over my eyes, plunging me into darkness. Without sight, I became hyper aware of my own breathing - and Mulder’s. “How do you feel?” he asked. The bedsprings creaked, the mattress dipped as he sat beside me. I felt the warmth radiate from his body, against my naked skin.

“A little anxious,” I admitted.

“Honesty, Scully.”

“Scared.” I confessed, my fingers flexing involuntarily against the bindings. “I trust you, but this is unfamiliar territory for me.

“For me too,” Mulder admitted. I held my breath. Robbed of my sight, I couldn’t predict what he was going to do. There were no visual cues to decipher, so when his hand laid upon my stomach, I gasped in surprise. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Scully.” His hand travelled upward, to the curve of my breasts. He traced his thumb across my nipple, flicking it as gently as he’d strum the string on a guitar. I exhaled in response. Without sight, I was suddenly able to experience touch so much more vividly. Mulder pinched my nipple, pulling until my back arched. Bound as I was, I didn’t move far. “There’s so many things I want to do to you, Scully.”

Wet, hot arousal flooded between my legs. An erotic promise from Mulder caused my desire to skyrocket. “Do it then; I’m not going anywhere.”

He laughed. “No,” he conceded. “You’re definitely not.”

The mattress realigned when he stood, and I heard the sound of him divesting himself of clothes: the rasp of his zipper, the rustle of his leather jacket, the thud of his boots. God, I wished I could see his naked body. Beneath the blindfold, my eyes moved frantically - following the direction of his movement. I sensed his approach - felt the warmth of him, smelled the scent of him. Yet when he touched me, I remained surprised.

“Relax,” he whispered, kneeling on mattress beside me. His hand moved over my thigh, from my knee, ever upward. When he traced his fingertips across my pussy, I was barely able to breathe. Mulder climbed between my legs, and I felt somehow vulnerable, knowing he was watching me so openly. My inclination was to cover myself, but I couldn’t. The ribbons remained tight around my wrists, rendering me utterly helpless. “You’re blushing,” Mulder announced. I knew he was smiling.

“I feel like I’m in a fetish porno,” I whispered, tipping my head deeper into the pillow.

Mulder hooked my legs over his arms and shuffled down. I felt his breath between my legs, and I sighed in anticipation. I wished I could have watched as he dipped his tongue into my pussy. “Jesus Scully... you’re so wet.” His fingers slid into me, his tongue rolling against my clit. My hips shot upward, meeting his tongue. I couldn’t breathe. Christ, years of manipulating sunflower seeds from their shells had made Mulder orally dexterous. I’d never felt anything like the sensation of his mouth working on me, teasing and flicking at my clit until I was wound up tighter than a spring. His fingers moved in rhythmic strokes, matching the movement of his tongue. I felt my orgasm burgeon in my belly, when Mulder withdrew from me.

“I want to feel you come around me, Scully,” he said, teasingly moving his fingers inside me. Within a second, he slid into me - and I felt the same blinding brilliance as before - the feeling of being filled and stretched. Consumed. He was over me, his hands on either side of my head, and how I longed to put my arms around him. “God... what is it about you?” he asked against my ear. I turned my head towards the sound of his voice, and Mulder captured my lips in a long, slow kiss. “I can’t lose you, Scully.” He whispered against my mouth, and I heard the crack of emotion in his voice. “I can’t.” He tore the blindfold from my eyes, and suddenly he was visible to me again - his handsome face knotted with pained emotion as he moved inside my body - back and forth, bringing us ever closer to euphoria.

“You won’t,” I replied, a promise I had no business making.

“Don’t...” I wasn’t sure whether he wanted to say ‘don’t make promises’ or ‘don’t die’, but whichever it was, my heart broke. He kissed me again, harder this time.

“Mulder I’m going to...”

“Come,” he urged, and we came together. I was filled by his seed. He murmured my name over and over against my ear, until we’d rode out the waves of our orgasm together. We slumped together against the mattress, my limbs still bound by the ribbons .




“That took some serious balls, Mulder.”

“What?” he asked, taking a sip of wine from his glass. We’d migrated to the sofa.

“Coming to my home, demanding to tie me up.” My cheeks still flushed at the memory. We were younger then, filled with insatiable desire and boundless energy. “You must have known the odds were against you.”

Mulder shook his head. “I knew you’d let me,” he confessed, turning his face towards me. In the lamplight, he looked rugged. “You needed the release. You needed to let go of something.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, angling myself towards him.

“For tying you to the bed?”

I smirked. “For knowing what I needed, even when I didn’t.”

He smiled lovingly, our faces so close I could smell the wine on his breath. “That’s why we work, Scully.”

“Cheers,” I said, tapping our glasses together.


To be continued...

Chapter Text

Title: Becoming Us

Rating: MA / NC-17 overall

Spoilers: The whole show, past and present, but in this chapter - Detour.

Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters mentioned herein. No infringement intended.

A/N: Thank you SO much for the kudos and reviews! I’m so glad to know there is a lot of X-Files love out there, yet! Super worried about the end of this series, though... there’s an ominous feeling gnawing at my insides. I hope I’m wrong!




The bottle of wine had been exhausted and we were loose limbed with blissful intoxication. The bashful embarrassment of discussing the beginning of our private relationship had vanished, and we spoke with the easiness of two people verging on drunk. Not quite. We would never allow ourselves to be totally inebriated; it was too risky.

“Do you remember the first time you told me you loved me?” I asked. We were side by side, thighs touching, holding hands.

“After you dragged me from the Bermuda Triangle?” Mulder asked, his voice soft with reminiscence.

“That wasn’t the first time,” I countered, turning my head to watch his face. He frowned, as though his photographic memory were whirring through imaginary slides in his brain. His bottom lip protruded when he came up with nothing.

“It wasn’t?” he asked, straightening somewhat. “When was it, then?”

“About a year before,” I said, squeezing his hand. We’d never talked about this before. It was a long kept secret in my heart, a memory I held dear to myself. “Three weeks after my cancer went into remission.” He narrowed his eyes, his gaze totally focused on my face.


November 1997


“Mulder, I’m on my way in. I’ll grab the coffees,” I said, racing along the street. It was unseasonably bright; clear blue skies, filled with optimism. I was free from cancer, and I didn’t care whether it was the power of prayer, modern medicine or the mysterious chip implanted in the back of my neck. I was going to live, and I was thirsty for life. And coffee. “Where have you been buying those incredible cappuccinos, anyway?”

Every day for the last week, Mulder had been arriving at the office with two artisan coffees in hand. The blend was exquisite, as though I were tasting coffee truly for the first time. “It’s a place called The Daily Grind on 11th.”

 I admit, I was beginning to worry Mulder had something going on with one of the baristas. We hadn’t talked much - or at all - about our sexual relationship since the night he’d tied me to the bed. The memory of it was burned into my mind, and I longed for some dialogue on the topic of ‘Us. I didn’t know much about relationships but I did know it was never a good idea to pin a guy down for a conversation. Thus, a lot had remained unspoken.

“Great!” I said brightly. “I’ll see you soon.”

The Daily Grind was a modern-era coffee shop, with dark wood interiors and light fixtures reminiscent of Benjamin Franklin’s light-bulb. The elements burned orange, barely illuminating the soothing, quiet space. Soulful jazz played subtly in the background, just barely audible over the grind of beans and the hissing of steaming milk. Spoons rattled, muted chatter sat at a low enough level that, despite the hustle of the establishment, the noise was never intrusive. It was perfect.

“Hi! What can I get you today?” A cheery twenty-something woman with blonde hair and an apron emblazoned with the company logo almost skipped to the counter.

“Oh, hi,” I replied, bewildered by the choices available on the board above. Flavoured lattes, herbal teas, iced coffees, fruit smoothies, hot chocolates and caramel specialities. “Two cappuccinos, please.”

“Sure! We have Costa-Rican, Ecuadorian and Kenyan beans available today, do you have any preference?” The girl was called Callie. Her enthusiasm was both disconcerting and infectious.

“Um, my partner usually buys the coffees. He comes in every morning. Tall guy, dark hair, wears a suit. An FBI agent. Do you know him?”

“Oh sure, Mulder. Yeah, he gets the Kenyan bean.” She rang up the order, whilst I wondered if there was anything more than friendly conversation with Mulder and the cheery Callie. She was too young for him, surely? “Name, please?”


“Your drinks will be at the end of the counter,” said Callie, and then she was on to the next customer. I shoved three dollars into the glass tip jar, and proceeded to the wooden bar at the far end of the counter.

There was a beautiful notice board mounted to the wall, with a stunning wooden frame. I noticed a poster on the wall, covered in graphics similar to old Love Hearts candies. There must have been a hundred candy graphics, but where they would have been printed with silly notes, the hearts were filled with handwritten messages. The poster said ‘LEAVE YOUR LOVE NOTES HERE’. I smiled at the sweetness of the idea, moving away from the counter to read some messages left by one lover to another. Most had nothing more than names written hurriedly in black ink: Jenny + Mitch 4ever, Chad + Alice 1997, the occasional ‘I love you’, one actual marriage proposal and dozens of blank love hearts. I wondered what it would be like to have such an easy, carefree relationship with another - and a pang of envy tugged at my heart.

“Dana!” a barista announced from the counter.

“Yes,” I replied, turning away. At the last second, my eye caught familiar handwriting and my pulse began to race. Tucked away discreetly in the top right hand corner, in the midst of a few dozen others, were the words:

S, you are my one in five billion and I will love you always, M.

I stared at the words, flabbergasted. I knew beyond a doubt that the handwriting was Mulder’s. He had a distinctive scrawl. Touching my fingertips to the note, I felt tears prick at my eyes. He would never have the courage to say these words to me out loud - not when they had such serious implications.

Composing myself, I collected our coffees and exited onto the street. Walking towards our office, my mind reeled. The part of me that wondered if Mulder was flirting with the baristas had vanished, his commitment to me never more apparent. Of course I’d known we were just fucking carnally in the two occasions we’d given into our desires. Mulder and I were made of different stuff. I certainly was not the type of woman to have meaningless flings with men, not even ones I’d known for years. No, we had given into our desire for one and other because the emotions came from somewhere deeper. More significant.

He was at his desk when I burst into the office, almost ready to confront him about his anonymous message - but his sour expression stilled me in my tracks. “Oh god,” I murmured, placing his coffee on the desk. “What’s wrong?”

“The universe has forsaken us, Scully,” he lamented, a tad melodramatic.

“When has it not?” I quipped, sliding into my usual seat, facing him. The first sip of the freshly prepared cappuccino was ambrosia upon my tongue. I closed my eyes, savouring the taste. I welcomed the sweet caffeine into my blood stream.”

“This is exceptionally shitty,” Mulder insisted, pushing a sheet of paper across the desk toward me. It was the print-out of an email from his FBI inbox. Lowering my eyes, I felt my blood run cold.

“No,” I whispered, reading the words over and over.

The email was from Assistant Director Skinner, advising Mulder and I of our required attendance at a team building seminar in Florida. Leaving tomorrow. I felt nauseous, recalling how tedious those conferences could be. All the cheap wine and cheese in the world wasn’t enough to soothe the tedium, in fact. “Do we have a get out of jail free card?” I implored. “An urgent case? An alien abduction? Sasquatch?”

“Of course not,” Mulder lamented. “For the first time in living memory, the United States of America has reported absolutely zero paranormal activities to the Bureau in the last week. None, Scully. Not even a questionable sighting of a monster.”

I groaned, meeting his gaze. He was looking at me with desperation and despair, I was looking at him with newfound understanding of his feelings for me - yet it wasn’t the time to share what I had discovered on a sweet, innocuous little message board. I gave a helpless shrug. “I guess we’re going to Florida.”

“Have you seen who we’re supposed to buddy-up with?”

“Buddy-up?” I echoed, my eyebrow quirking skyward. Mulder and I were not the buddying type.

“Michael Kinsley and Carla Stonecypher.” He stared at me, his brow furrowed with abject despair. My mind rolled through the list of agents Mulder and I might have reason to know by name. There weren’t many; most FBI agents avoided us like an airborne plague. An image clicked into place, my heart sank.

“Oh god,” I whispered, my coffee suddenly in dire need of an injection of alcohol. “Aren’t those two like ridiculous poster agents for suicide-inducing optimism and enthusiasm?”

“Jung-ho, is what you’re looking for, and yep.” Mulder took the plastic lid off his coffee and necked the whole cup in two urgent gulps. “Pack an extra clip for your Smith and Wesson, Scully. I’ve a feeling we might need it.” He arched his arm, aimed the cup, and tossed it into the trashcan.


Leon County,



“I’m cold,” Mulder said, burrowing his head deeper into my lap.

“You’re in shock,” I reminded him.

The darkness was all consuming, the skyward-reaching trees seeming to bend inward towards us, a suffocating canopy that blotted out even the merest pinpoints of starlight. Rodents foraged, their benign rustling setting my teeth on edge. I kept one arm around Mulder, the other hand clutching my weapon. Mulder’s nose pressed against my stomach, nudging me playfully.

“This is like an erotic fantasy,” he said quietly.

“It is?” I replied, lifting my gaze to the towering trees. “You regularly have erotic musings about being injured and lost in the wilderness with murderous moth-men on the loose?”

“What can I say, Scully? I have kinks.”

I chuckled, despite my concern that we might end up with hypothermia, or maimed by a shadow-man. “Is this like a confessional?” I asked. “Am I your priest?”

“Oh, that’s a whole other fantasy,” Mulder replied.

“Gross,” I moaned, swatting his uninjured arm. He laughed, and the sound warmed me from the inside out. “We haven’t discussed anything erotic in quite some time,” I hedged, clearing my throat. Mulder hummed in agreement.

“It’s never felt like...”

“The right time,” I supplied, nodding into the darkness. We always seemed to be in the throes of bad timing.

“Yeah. Plus, you know, you’ve been tired.”

“I haven’t been tired,” I insisted. My testiness was unwarranted; Mulder was not criticizing me.

“You have,” he insisted, reaching up to brush back my hair. “But you’re getting healthier again, Scully. I can see it in your eyes. And your body.” There was something meaningful in the way he spoke. I was grateful for the impenetrable darkness disguising my blush. “Don’t get me wrong, Scully: I haven’t spoken about anything, but I’ve definitely been thinking about it.”

I raked my fingers through his hair. “Me too,” I admitted, somewhat coy. “Maybe when we get out of here, we can use the furniture for something more practical than building a tower.” I felt nervous with trepidation, and excitement. On the one hand, we both knew only too well how dangerous it was to eradicate the line of professionalism between us. The Bureau would be only too eager to separate us. On the other hand, God... I missed his touch. Like an addiction to opiates, my every nerve ending tingled for him - every minute of every day.

“Don’t tempt me,” he murmured, his voice foggy with sleep.

“Get some rest, Mulder. It’ll be morning soon enough.” I let him fall asleep, his face pressed against my belly, his breath warming me. When I was certain he had lost the last grasp of his consciousness, I bent my head towards him. “I love you too.”






“I can’t believe you knew!” Mulder laughed, shaking his head. “It was a spur of the moment thing.”

“It was fate, I guess. Something compelled me to read the board.” I held his hand, finding myself falling into the old, familiar comfort of his touch.

“I didn’t think you believed in fate.”

“What else could have brought us together?” I asked, squeezing his fingers. It would be so easy to retire to his bedroom - where I knew we both wanted to be. It was the middle of the night, we were just intoxicated enough to be totally uninhibited in our desires. “The next time we were intimate, was the first time I’d say we really made love.”

Mulder turned his head towards me, his eyes glinting in the muted lamplight. I recognized what I saw there, and felt something tug at my insides. He remembered it, too. “Tell me about it,” he said, reaching out to tuck my hair behind my ear. His fingertips lingered a little too long on my cheek - and nowhere near long enough.

“It was the night you asked me to dance.”

To be continued...


Chapter Text

Title: Becoming Us

Category: MSR

Spoilers: The Post Modern Prometheus

Disclaimer: Not mine, as usual. No infringement intended.

Author’s Note: I realise it has been such a long time since I updated this, and I am really sorry for that. I desperately do not want to bore you all with the nitty-gritty bullshit in my life, because let’s face it: we read fanfiction for escapism, not to be burdened with the crap in someone else’s life – but it’s been a really difficult time for me health wise, work wise and even struggling to bring my partner home in a trying immigration case. Losing myself in this chapter was the catharsis I needed, and if you’re still here despite the long wait, I appreciate it. I know it’s not any consolation but The X-Files have been my greatest television love for twenty years (oh my god!) and I will always come back to it eventually. Always.


November 1997

“So...” I said, kicking off my shoes. It had been a long day, and the arches of my feet burned. Mulder appeared in the doorway between our motel rooms, sans neck tie. His shirt was pulled free of his pants, and I liked the downtime version of Mulder – when his hair was scruffy, when the five o’clock shadow softened the hardened angles of his features. “Dancing?”

He smiled, affording me an easy shrug. “I wanted to dance with you, Scully.”

“I didn’t expect you to dance well,” I replied, sitting on the edge of my bed. The springs gave an agonised creak, confirming that I was not even close to being the only guest to have slept on this mattress. Like many of the places available to us on an FBI budget, the Albion, Indiana motels left a lot to be desired. Still, at least it was clean. They weren’t always.

“Well... thanks? I guess?”

I laughed. “That’s not what I mean,” I insisted, leaning forward to press my thumbs into the balls of my feet. The groan elicited from my own touch was enough to draw Mulder into the room. He let the dividing door swung shut, sealing us together.

“Let me,” he insisted, sitting next to me. He cringed as the bed protested the additional weight. When his fingers slid over my feet, caressing through the silken fabric of my stockings, I allowed a long sigh to escape my lungs. He pressed his fingertips into my arch, then his thumb. “Good?”

“Mmm... so good.” I shuffled around, lying back against the pillows with my legs thrown over his thighs. Beneath my claves, his muscles were thick and firm. Heat – human body heat – radiated through his slacks, and I was reminded of the last time he’d fucked me. I longed for the skin-on-skin contact, for the delicious contact of one body against another. He held my ankle with the tenderness of a lover, and I allowed myself an all-too-brief moment of wondering what it would be like for us to be a couple.

“So you questioned my dancing skills?” Mulder asked, wiggling his fingers against the sole of my foot, tickling me. When I instinctively pulled away, he clasped my ankle tighter. “I’ll have you know I was the best ballroom dancer in all of Chilmark.”

“In a population of five hundred?” I joked, giving a pained yelp when he tickled me again. “Alright, I’m kidding. You’re a great dancer.” That part was true. When he’d pulled me into his arms to the melody of Walking in Memphis, I had expected us to sway awkwardly back and forth for a few minutes – but Mulder had flair; he had class as he slid his arm around my waist. He led me, a few steps one way, a few steps the other – but there was easy, languid fluidity to the way he moved. And his hips... lord... he felt so good, pressed against me, and the warmth of his breath against my ear as he sang along to the music. For that moment, for those last bars of the song, there was only Mulder and me in the whole world, and nothing else mattered. Nothing.

We were quiet for a few minutes as he massaged my feet, drawing all the tension out of my body. I lay with my eyes closed, concentrating on the sound of our breathing. “It would be better if you took these off.” He plucked the sheer fabric covering my legs.

I inhaled a short breath. “Then take them off.” I parted my legs an inch in invitation, a warm blush creeping across my cheeks. Historically, I wasn’t forthcoming in making sexual demands – not with Mulder and not with any man before him. It had been far too long since we’d initiated any contact, and I was beginning to wonder if all of it was somehow a momentary lapse in judgment. I didn’t doubt he still wanted me... no, that much was evident in every lingering glance we shared. But nothing had happened since that night in my apartment, when Mulder had stole away every ounce of my control.

“Open your eyes, Scully.”

As with everything he demanded, I complied. His eyes were heavy with arousal, as though this little suggestive hint of mine was enough to compress all his sexual energy into a compact ball of fusion. I felt my stomach tighten. “Are you going to fuck me?” I asked, shocked by my audacity. He blinked, slipping his hand over my leg, across my knee, beneath the hem of my skirt, along the inside of my thigh until his fingertips skimmed the lacy trim of my hold-ups.

“No,” he whispered, peeling the silk back, his knuckles brushing my inner thigh. I inhaled a shaky breath, at the same time disappointment unfurled within me. Was he having second thoughts? If he was, he was being sensible – but the suggestion of rejection tore away at my insides. He slowly brought the stocking down over my knee, careful to ensure the backs of his fingers brushed my leg the whole way. Hot wetness pooled between my legs. “No, Scully... I’m not going to fuck you.” He discarded the stocking, flicking away the scrap of flimsy material as though it were wholly inconsequential. Lifting my leg, he pressed his soft lips to the jutting bone of my ankle – his breath hot against my skin. “I’m going to make love to you.”

These were words I’d never heard before – not from Mulder, not from anyone. I exhaled, my fingers unsteady as I reached out to rake them through his hair. He turned his face into my hand, his lips pressing into my palm. “I’d like that,” I admitted.

Mulder turned his attention to my other stocking, affording the same attention to detail. By the time he’d divested me of my hosiery, I was breathless with anticipation. With my skirt hiked up over my thighs, it would have been easy for him to take me – right there, but he was unhurried as he slipped my legs off his thighs and stood. “Take your clothes off, Scully. Let me look at you.”

I found it difficult to stand; my legs were unsteady, as though I’d propelled by whole body through a twenty-six mile marathon. Getting to my feet, I realised it wasn’t just my legs. My motor-skills had abandoned me entirely and it took three considered attempts to unbutton my blouse. Mulder never took his eyes off me as he unbuckled his belt. I got the distinct impression that he was considerably more experienced in the art of seduction, and I found myself somehow lacking. I didn’t quite know how to be sexy for him. Did he want me to strip tease? To taunt him as I removed my clothes.

“Scully.” He came to me, covering my hands with his. “I wish you knew how beautiful you are,” he said, easing my blouse over my shoulders. “How every man with a pulse takes notice of you wherever you go.” I blushed, lowering my eyes to the ghastly patterned carpet beneath our feet. He touched my chin, prompting me to look back up. His gaze was steady, unyielding. “They all look at you, Scully. Along every corridor, in very bullpen... but none of them see you like I do.” Mulder traced his finger over my mouth, stroking the tender flesh of my lower lip. I resisted the urge to pull it between my teeth.

“What do you see?” I asked.

“I see this...” He ran his fingers over my arms, down and then up, across my chest and down to the lace cups of my bra. Goosebumps erupted across my skin, a shiver racing through my body. His touch was whisper soft, no heavier than the passing kiss of a summer breeze. “I see how you respond to me.” His thumbs strummed my nipples, which had hardened to aching points. “I see the woman in you, not the medical doctor, not the federal agent. Not the brilliant, focused investigator.” His fingers slipped beneath the straps of my bra, edging them down over my arms. I took a deep breath as he circled behind me, easily unhooking the clasp at my back. He pressed a kiss against my spine, and I barely recognised the sound of my own voice, or the groan that rose from my throat.

He knelt, unzipping my skirt. I held my breath as it pooled around my ankles, because I was almost naked now – and although I never wanted this moment to end, I needed him inside me. I was already embarrassingly wet, and over the scent of standard motel air-freshener, I could smell the scent of my arousal. Between my thighs, my panties were soaked. It was a testament to the affect he had upon me, for I’d never considered myself wanton before.

Mulder hooked his fingers into the elastic of my panties, easing them down over my thighs. His lips skimmed my backside, and I almost cried out when his teeth nipped gently at my flesh. His hands found my hips, holding me steady. I focused on the mirror facing me, staring at my naked reflection. My nipples were pebbled into hard points, my stomach tight with expectation. Behind me, Mulder pressed light kisses over my buttocks.

He wrapped his arms around me, laying his face against the curve of my spine, as though I were the statue of a Greek goddess and he were here to worship me. I took note of our different skin tones in the mirror; mine as light as porcelain, his darkened by playing basketball in the sun. His hand slid over my belly, down until he cupped my pussy. I bit down against the urge to cry out. My body was hypersensitive to him when two fingers, soaked in my arousal, found my clit.

“Fuck... Scully... you’re always so wet for me.”

“Oh!” Both fingers thrust all the way inside me and I wasn’t ready for the sudden intrusion. The slick sound of my juices brought another blush to my cheeks.

“Don’t do that.” He demanded, meeting my gaze in the mirror. “Don’t you dare be ashamed of this.” He removed his fingers, getting to his feet. Beneath his slacks, his cock tented the fabric and I desperately wanted to feel him. “This is human nature, Scully. This is what it means to be truly one with another person.” He brought his fingers to his lips, tasting my slick cum.

When he unzipped his pants, I was more than ready for him to be inside me. Bolstered by the way he seemed to idolise me, I nudged his chest until he sat on the bed. “I want to be on top of you.”

His hands found my hips, guiding me onto his cock. I doubted I’d ever get used to how large he felt inside me, stretching the soft, wet walls of my pussy until I fit snugly around him. He looked euphoric, leaning back against the bed, watching me as I found the confidence to ride him – slowly at first, relishing the feel of him as I rose up and sank down – out and then in, filling me over and over again. Then, as my orgasm built within me, I moved faster. He watched my breasts, bouncing in tandem and I knew that he, as a man, would find the visual stimulating particularly appealing. He reached out to pull on my aching nipples, and the gesture was enough to push me over the edge. I came, hard and fast, without any ability to control the frantic, hot rush of wetness that spilled out of me, soaking his cock.

“Jesus...” he murmured, reaching for my hips again. He flipped me over, covering me with his body as he thrust inside my pussy. He was unrelenting, almost hurting me in his endeavour to seek release – but not quite. The pain was magnificent, teetering on the line of extreme pleasure. I was face down on the bed, which protested loudly at our activities but I didn’t care – nor did I care if anyone else heard, either. I was a woman, a human being, and this... this shouldn’t have been forbidden to me, and for everything they had taken from us, they weren’t taking this.

Mulder thrust one last time into me, his thighs slapping against mine as he came. My pussy clenched around his cock, as though I wanted to draw in every drop of his hot cum.

We were slick with sweat when he pulled me into his arms, kissing me with deep longing. “Scully...” he whispered against my lips. “It’s been too long since we last did this. Let’s not wait so long again.”

We lay together for a long time, our breathing in perfect sync until we fell asleep.



“You know I’m hard, right?” Mulder took my hand, pressing it against the rigid line of his cock beneath his jeans. “Don’t look so surprised! You can’t reminisce like this and expect me not to respond.”

“No,” I agreed. “I suppose not.”

“Are you wet?”

“Mulder!” Even now, he had the ability to make me blush. “Even though we promised not to wait so long, I didn’t expect the next time to be quite so...” I frowned at the memory, the past coming back, deeply melancholy.

“Yeah.” Mulder had softened beneath my touch, and I knew he was remembering too. His eyes were filled with sadness when his gaze met mine. “Emily,” he whispered.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Title: Becoming Us

Rating: MA/E

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.


December 1998


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...