Thick air, the restless ticking of the clock on the bureau. Constricting clothes, sweat clinging under her blazer, nails sharp on the back of her neck. The quilted bedspread denting beneath her.
Scully doesn’t like to break her own rules, but tonight, she won’t have to. He’ll snap soon, and all she’ll have to do is let him.
She only hopes it happens before the frustration has her climbing out of her skin with need.
The adjoining door rattles on its hinges, and she sucks in air, crosses her legs at the ankles. If Mulder doesn’t let himself in, she’ll become a co-conspirator, culpable in part for going against protocol.
As if their whole relationship isn’t already reflective of her flagrant disregard of that protocol.
A squeeze of her thighs together, syrupy weight dripping low in her stomach. A memory of his hand rubbing her through her slacks in the local evidence lockup.
And then, three knocks.
She pushes herself up with trepidation, and moves to open the door, already breathless.
It’s the sight of him that finally shatters her resolve. Shoulder propped against the doorframe, stripped down to a tank top and pants, belt and overshirt lost somewhere between their arrival at the motel and the breaking point.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he informs her, roughly. “Fuck, I can’t even pretend to try.”
His eyes, fixing on her with a kind of intensity she’d be afraid of, were he anyone else.
But he’s Mulder, he’s hers. And she can’t pretend to play by the rules anymore, either.
“Do I have to convince you?” He asks.
Scully shakes her head, once, and he’s on her.
Full and hungry, his mouth covers hers, and the weakening of her knees would send her sprawling on the floor were it not for him holding her up.
The incessant press of his tongue, his muscular shoulders beneath her palms. He’s got one big hand gripping her rear, and the other shoving her blazer off and sliding up her spine, the width of it spanning most of her upper back with ease.
She’s vaguely aware of him walking her into her room, of the backs of her thighs colliding with the bed.
“Mulder,” she says, more a greeting than anything else.
“Good?” He’s looking at her lips, but she knows he wants confirmation.
In the stale air, the musk of him makes her head spin.
“Uh-huh,” she nods.
And he latches onto her throat, hunched over and bursting with pent up energy. The teeth that sink into her skin barely hurt, but she wishes that they did.
“How d’you want it?” he pants.
Against the shelves in the evidence lockup, he’d buried his face in her neck. Cupped the whole of her core possessively until she spread her legs, and then ground the heel of his hand into her clit. She’d wanted him to mark her right there, then walk her back to the bullpen with his arm around her waist, leaving no mistaking what had just occurred.
She’d wanted to bend over for him right there, in the darkened storage room, all the more ready from the illicit setting, the risk of interruption.
Above, Mulder’s gaze bores into her, waiting for an answer.
And she wants so many things with him, every form of intimacy she can find. Tomorrow, she wants to wake up to him sweet and caring. Someday soon, she wants to deny him, cruelly, like he’d asked her to.
But tonight, she wants him to do things to her that will ruin her. Condemn her, eternally.
And if he doesn’t know that, then he’s not the man she thought he was.
“However you do,” she says.
A challenge. Take what you want from me. Take me how I want you to.
Sure enough, there’s a glint in his eye as he scans her face, and he grips a handful of her ass, tight enough to make her wince.
“Dirty girl,” he tells her, low. Slides his hand around her hip to open the front of her slacks.
Christ. If she had a little more control over her body, she’d climb him like a damned tree.
Just barely, she catches his responding smirk. And then he’s scooping her up by her thighs, and tossing her onto the bed.
The mattress jumps beneath her, and she shoves down her pants, taking her underwear with them as he opens his own.
Scully starts to scramble back to make room for him, but he stops her with fingers encircling her bare ankle. They move up to her knee, nudging her legs apart until she’s bared to his gaze, glistening and flushed.
“Been wet for hours, haven’t you?”
It’s a rhetorical question, grit out between his teeth. The fly of his pants hangs open, and she can see the rigid outline of him straining at his boxers. Her mouth waters.
Holding her knee in place, Mulder drags his fingertips up her slit, spreading her, teasing her. The pad of his thumb rubs over her asshole, just for a second, and she gasps, eyes flying wide. How had he known?
“There’s your proof,” he husks, scooping up the new rush of wetness with his fingers to slick across her clit. “ Dirty .”
“Please,” she manages, thighs straining as he circles, circles.
It’s been hours since he last touched her, and she’s pent up and carbonated, ready to burst at the slightest hint of release.
When he lets go of her, the tension makes her legs snap shut, and she whines in protest.
“On your belly,” he orders.
And normally, she would resist, make him flip her himself. But she’s leaking onto the covers beneath her, and she’s well past the point of playing games.
She scrambles to turn, propping herself up on all fours, knees planted wide in invitation. There’s a latent, creeping shame from how exposed the position leaves her, and it only turns her on more.
“No.” The rumble of Mulder’s voice.
Before she can turn in confusion, his palm lands between her shoulder blades, pushing her forwards and down, forcing her flat on the bed.
“All the way down.”
The palm slides up, pressing at the back of her neck briefly and then gripping a handful of her hair.
She makes to rub her thighs together, and he stops her, his other hand pressing between them.
“Keep ‘em spread.” He brushes over her clit, and she whimpers.
She tries to turn to look at him, but he keeps her head in place. Two fingers press inside her briefly, finding her open and ready, and she rocks back against them once before they’re gone.
“Gonna fuck you just like this,” he tells her. “And you’re gonna lay there and take it.”
Scully would nod if he wasn’t keeping her pinned with his fist in her hair, would tell him yes, please if he’d asked.
Instead, she just groans, popping up her hips up in invitation.
The bed dips as he climbs up onto it, and the span of his knees is wide, fitting easily on either side of her legs.
He’s still clothed, the fabric of his slacks brushing against her bare skin. She imagines what she must look like in contrast, this desperate and wanton, and a surge of arousal and embarrassment colors her cheeks.
His body hovers over hers, the bulk of him so close to crushing her, and then the head of his cock slides against her folds, and she is near delirious, trying to wrap her head around how he’ll feel inside of her at this angle.
“You want it?” His mouth is right beside her ear, tongue brushing over. “Want me to fuck you like this?”
“Yes,” she gasps, and she knows the blush must be down to her chest by now. “Yes, please, I want –”
The impact of him slamming into her makes her whole body shake, and she cuts herself off with a yowl, scraping her nails over the covers.
“Fuck,” he grits out, teeth dragging across her shoulder as he winds back, pushes into her again, again. “So wet for me, baby – fuckin’ tight little –”
He groans, lowers himself closer to her body, starting to pound into her like he means it.
And there’s no resistance, not with how slick she is, but he feels impossibly huge, every thrust threatening to break her down into the barest building blocks. The pleasure radiating through her pelvis is too much to conceptualize, a constant surging ache, and she feels drunk on it, numbed and tingling all the way down to her toes.
“You like that?”
She chokes on a moan, and manages to salvage enough control to nod, his fingers pulling at her hair as she does. Normally she’d be working her hips in search of an orgasm, but she doesn’t know if she can come like this.
Besides, she can’t imagine it getting any better than it already is.
“Yeah, you do,” he pants, scratching over her scalp, tugging her head back. “You fuckin’ love it.”
The bedframe is squeaking like it might give up, and she knows she must be making noises far louder, whines and moans slipping out of her unnoticed. They’ll get noise complaints, for sure.
Oh, she hopes they do.
Mulder bites at the flesh where her neck meets her shoulder, and she cries out, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. There’s no difference between the pain and the pleasure, not now, not with the perfect way he’s splitting her.
Not with the protective, possessive weight of him, covering her, wiping out everything else. Distilling her down to pure, shameless, unrestrained want.
If she could speak, she would tell him she loves him.
Mulder lets go of her hair, bracing himself on a forearm beside her head as his other hand slides between her hips and the mattress. She twists her head, craning her neck in search of him, and he crushes his mouth against hers, too wound up to kiss her with any finesse.
When his fingers dig into her clit, she gasps for air, squirming, every punishing thrust forcing her forwards into the pressure.
“Gonna come for me?” His mouth is right by Scully’s ear again, breath hot. “C’mon, baby, lemme feel it.”
And it’s too much, it’s far too much, the pleasure already so intense that peaking might knock her into unconsciousness.
But her body seizes up anyway, as if he’s flipped a switch just by saying it out loud, and her climax spreads through her, hot and rushing, painful in how good it is.
She nearly blacks out, but the shuddering of his frame atop hers and the warmth filling her up as he follows suit keep her anchored in her body.
He might be saying something, likely is, knowing him, but she’s still scrambling to gain any command over her faculties, and doesn’t hear any of it but a curse and her name.
There’s a long moment where Mulder stays propped up on his elbow, his palm warm and soothing as it strokes through her hair. She’s vaguely aware of him kissing her temple, nuzzling into the spot below her ear as he softens inside of her.
“Okay?” He says, and she manages to nod.
As he kisses her cheek, her jaw, the side of her mouth tenderly, she makes an attempt to stretch out her neck. Her heart is pounding as if she’s just run a marathon, and she can already feel how sore she’ll be tomorrow.
And then, Mulder collapses on top of her, drained, she lets out an involuntary oof.
“Oops, sorry,” he mutters, immediately trying to roll away.
She reaches behind her and grabs at his arm, keeping him planted firmly atop her.
“You sure? I might not be Muhammad Ali, but I don’t exactly fall into the lightweight category, either.”
The endorphins spreading through her like a pleasant buzz, she lets out a sleepy giggle. Of course he could make a joke, even after that performance.
“Don’t care,” she insists, shaking her head. “Stay.”
“Alright,” he says, settling his weight against her. “Just for a few minutes, though.”
He snuffles into her neck, eliciting a smile.
Scully has the vague notion that she should thank him for knowing her, for doing this for her, but the heavy, grounding pressure of him and the post coital warmth are making her too sleepy to say much.
She does remember what she’d wanted to say in the heat of the moment, though.
“Love you, Mul’er.”