Scully doesn’t shed her jacket, toeing off her heels and heading straight for the stairs instead.
“Mulder?” She calls, bag still slung over her shoulder as she trots up to the second floor. “You in your study?”
And on a Wednesday night like any other, a few months into her new employment at Our Lady of Sorrows, there shouldn’t be any urgency to her steps.
It’s just that she’s worried about him, in their big house all alone, nothing to do but stick pins into a map like a madman. It’s just that this new routine unsettles her, more than it ought to. It’s just that they’d spent the better part of four years alone together, and if being around other people is exhausting, she can’t imagine what it must be like to be truly alone.
Really, it’s just that she misses him. Desperately. Like he’s leaving her, slipping away, even though he isn’t.
Like something’s been cut out of her, organs removed by vivisection, and only the grace of God is keeping her on her feet.
“Mulder?” She wrenches open the door to his study.
The desk chair spins halfway towards her, and there he is. Scruff on his cheeks, sweater fitted on his biceps, perfectly relaxed. A smile just starting to form on his face as he looks at her. Just the sight of him, handsome and fond, reels her solidly back into her body.
“I’m home,” she says, breathless, feeling rather silly.
“I can see that,” he replies, pushing his chair away from the desk a little and holding out his hand. “C’mere, honey.”
As she reaches him, he gathers her in by the waist with one big hand, pulls her sidesaddle into his lap. Like his woman, she thinks, like a wife. She blushes, as if it has not been so for over a decade, and lets him push her coat off of her shoulders.
At work, she forgets sometimes, how small she really is. But Mulder’s palm covers nearly half of her face, and his other arm encircles the whole of her waist easily, and she feels petite as a girl as he guides her lips to his.
And if she’d worried, for a moment, that he hadn’t missed her too, the way he kisses her hello, claiming her mouth with broad strokes of his tongue, is more than enough to reassure her.
The moment he lets her breathe, Scully winds her arms around his neck, presses her lips to his forehead.
“You missed me.” He sounds almost surprised.
“I worried about you.”
“I missed you too,” he tells her, ignoring her deflection. “Working woman.”
“Your working woman,” she corrects. Wiggles in his lap a little.
“Oh, is that so?”
There’s a smirk on his face as he pulls her down for another kiss, even dirtier than the first. His hand slides down her body to give her thigh a squeeze, sending a ripple through her spine, and then back up, starting to flick open the buttons on her top.
“Mulder,” she mumbles against his mouth. “I just got home.”
“And I need to take a shower,” she says.
He buries his nose in the crook of her neck, breathes her in. Against her throat, his mouth opens, tongue dragging across the skin.
“Mm,” he hums. “But I like you like this. All mine.”
He’s half-hard against her hip, and he smells like coffee and sweat, feels like he’s been waiting. She wants to slide down onto the floor and bury her face in his crotch, rub her cheek against him until he’s stiff and cursing, kiss along his shaft until he forgets to be nice and fucks her face.
He’s kissing her again, and this isn’t what she came upstairs for, but she doesn’t want to move at all.
“You don’t seem to be making any attempts to get up,” he points out, and she needs, suddenly, to prove her point.
He’s got her shirt all the way open now, and she pushes off of his lap with effort, managing to stumble to her feet and instantly regretting it.
“Yes I am.”
Before she can step away, Mulder catches her by the waist, reaching for the clasp of her slacks. And she’s exhausted, and she needs a shower, and yet, she can feel her nipples hardening just from the sight of him.
“No,” he says, low and dangerous. “Come back.”
He knows better than to think that she’d obey any command he gave. That isn’t how they work, she and Mulder. She always been deliberately resistant to his ideas and advances, even when she secretly agrees, waiting to be convinced, or else dragged along, seemingly against her will.
And so, when she tries to back up, he anticipates the movement, grabbing her hips with both hands to keep her still.
He leans in, hot breath against her ribs, and sucks her nipple into his mouth through the thin satin of her bra. She bites back a whimper as his teeth dig into the soft flesh of her breast, and is only marginally aware of him working open her slacks and shoving them down her legs.
His hand slides between her thighs, cups her through her panties, and she feels him groan against her at the heat he finds there.
“You gonna stop pretending you don’t want this now?” He meets her gaze, dark-eyed and gorgeous and hers, and she melts.
There’s a tug at her hips, and Scully goes with him easily, straddling his lap.
He hums against her mouth, satisfied, and her blouse joins her coat and pants on the floor. Under her fingers, his hair is floppy, silky, and she tugs to make him groan. He’s fully hard now, and she’s flush against him, slippery and hot and likely dripping on his jeans.
He’s dressed still, fabric rough against her bare skin. They haven’t done it like this since moving into the house, leaving behind desperate and spontaneous in favor of the comfort of their bed, their couch, their shower. It reminds her of the afternoons he’d work odd jobs on the run and come home to a motel room or a cabin, wreathed in the scent of motor oil or grass or rust. How he’d strip her out of her robe and fuck her fully clothed, staking his claim as if she might’ve forgotten in the few hours spent without him.
Now, they spend whole days without each other. She can’t call him her husband at work the way she had at motels and rest stops, so she doesn’t call him anything at all.
And she doesn’t forget, but sometimes, she worries that he might.
“God, Mulder,” she murmurs when he lets her breathe. Wraps her arms around his head and clutches him close, tightness climbing up her throat.
“Scully, hey,” he says, gentle and coaxing, as if she might startle and run away. “I’ve gotcha.”
The sudden tenderness splits her chest open, until he is holding her together with his palms, his mouth working the soft skin under her jaw.
All at once, she’s afraid that a time will come when he doesn’t want her like this. She can see it, like a prophecy, an omen. One, two years down the road, him hidden away in this little room, not turning to greet her when she says hello. Resenting her, mired in conspiracy and isolation, an escaped convict watching her attempt to live her life and thinking, for the first time in years, that she would be better off without him.
She wishes, recklessly, for a fast car and a set of aliases. A motel room for three nights at most, no chance of growing apart, and no one in the world to see her except for Mulder.
She wants to tell him she loves him, but he pulls her down to kiss her before she can.
And the tides turn, moods shifting like sand, her teeth in his bottom lip and his hands groping her ass. He wants her now, and in his arms, surrounded on all sides as she is, there’s no space to think of anything else.
As Scully slides her hand between them, working at his fly, he unhooks her bra, tosses it onto the desk. His palms are roughened against her bare breasts, and she wonders what he’s been doing to make them that way. Thinks of him with an axe, cutting wood at the cabin where they’d passed their last winter before settling here.
The moment she has enough room to reach into his jeans, she slips his cock out of his boxers, relishing the way he groans, low and luscious, into her mouth. The desire to suck him overtakes her again, and she starts to shift backwards.
“Don’t,” he grits out, no doubt guessing her intentions, squeezing her rear to keep her firmly in place. “You’re stayin’ right here.”
“C’mon, just a little,” she says, wriggling in his hold. “Mulder, I wanna taste you.”
Mulder reaches up, releasing her hair from the clip that’s kept it off of her neck, and twisting a handful around his fist to tug her down.
“Well, I want your cunt,” he breathes, mouth right beside her ear, and she whimpers. “And I’ve already waited all day.”
The surge of arousal sends her nerves into overdrive, and it’s a wild rush to shove her panties to the side and get him into her. Their bodies are so accustomed to each other now that the act of joining feels more like coming home than it does adjusting, and it only takes a moment of settling before she starts moving against him.
At first, it’s just grinding, her center close against his. The perfect fullness inside, his mouth slack and hungry as he plays with her breasts. His other hand, heavy on her hip, his jeans rough against the insides of her thighs.
“Christ, Scully,” he exhales, gaze cast down to her heaving chest, her stomach. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”
The feeling of showing off for him, being wanted, makes her work her hips faster, bracketing his legs with her knees and rising away from his body on backstrokes. It’s not quite right, not until she leans back against his desk, propping up her elbows on the wood, and the first rock forwards makes her see stars.
Mulder grunts his appreciation, and pinches one of her nipples, lightly at first, then harder to make her cry out, twisting it between his fingers.
She gasps when he releases it, unsure of whether it’s in relief or disappointment. Before she can get her head straight, he’s giving the other nipple the same treatment, chuckling as she whines.
“So sensitive,” he says, praising her. Tugging, then releasing, and covering her whole breast with his palm to give it a squeeze.
“Mulder,” she pants, fucking herself faster against him, heat starting to gather low in her pelvis.
“Mmmm,” she hums.
He looks so relaxed, still, even with her riding him, and it’s only the low growl of his voice that lets her know how worked up her really is.
“Want me to touch you, baby?”
“Gonna come for me if I touch you?”
She nods, almost frantically, her thighs starting to ache with the effort.
His thumb smooths across her curls, her mound, slides between their bodies to nestle against her clit. Every impact of her hips against his winds her tighter, friction where she’s most sensitive and the head of his cock pressing just right inside her.
“‘S that enough?” He’s still talking to her, and she shakes her head, desperation making her wild.
“My –” she gasps, grinds into his touch. Her hair. “I need – Mulder…”
“Fuck,” he exhales, and then he’s scooping her up to bring her closer again, and she’s grabbing for his shoulders. “C’mere.”
With the angle change, he’s not hitting that perfect spot anymore. But he’s thrusting his hips to meet hers, and he’s close enough that she can feel his body heat through his sweater, and the way his thumb circles her clit more than makes up for it.
And then, as if he’s read her mind, he reaches up, grabs a fistful of her hair, and tugs.
Trapped between his hands, Scully can barely breathe, the rush of sensation almost like suffocation, swallowing her up. A few more frantic thrusts, and then her climax catches up with her, seizing up every part of her body, chest near to bursting, cunt fluttering and grasping around his cock.
Mulder hasn’t come yet, but as she recovers and blinks her eyes open, he ceases his movements anyway, staying still and hard inside her, as if to tell her that he can wait awhile. As the tension in her muscles starts to subside, he palms the back of her head and pulls her down for a kiss, slow and decadent.
“My working woman,” he says, low and sweet, carding his fingers through her hair.
His restraint, his affection, render her soft and liquid, putty in his hands. The way he’s staring at her, possessive adoration, pure love, is overwhelming. She feels her eyes well with tears, and closes them, shaking her head as she attempts to get ahold of herself.
He would be so much to lose.
“Mulder,” she murmurs.
She wants to run away with him a second time. She wants him pick her up from work and kiss her in the parking lot. She never wants to leave him alone again. She wants him to promise that he’ll never stop wanting her like this, and that if he does, it’ll only be temporary.
“I’ve gotcha,” he reminds her, pets her hair. Scully doesn’t think he sees it, the possible future hovering in the back of her mind.
She wants to marry him, just to make sure he won’t forget who she belongs to.
“I miss you,” she confesses, finally. “God, I just miss you.”
And he crushes her against his chest, pulls her face into the crook of his neck to hold her.
“I know, honey. I know.”