TITLE: Mutual 2: Son of Mutual
AUTHOR: Jess
EMAIL ADDRESS: snarkypup@mindspring.com
DISCLAIMER: You're kidding, right?
DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT: Anywhere, just let me know.
SPOILER WARNING: None really.
RATING: NC-17
CONTENT WARNING: Oh come on, it's NC-17, what the heck do you THINK?
CLASSIFICATION: MSR, delicious creamy smut pudding
SUMMARY: Back by popular demand, Mulder and Scully continue to prove to
each other that the feeling is... you got it, Mutual.

Email me, I'm on a hunger strike till I get feedback.

++++++

It's been two days. Two of the longest damn days of my life. And I've
had some long days, I mean, think about it.

Ever since Mulder revealed his, well, secret to me (after my inadvertent
revelation of the same damn thing), I have been completely unable to
think of anything else. Case, what case? I've seen my partner's glorious
manhood, heard my name whispered on his magnificent full lips, and I am
now living in a constant state of sexual haze. I mean, I haven't had any
in nearly eight years. I can't be expected to process this.

And that's why we have done nothing, nada, zero about it. That, and
we're Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, Special Agents with the FBI, capable
of remarkable feats of daring-do but not doing-it. How could two grown
people go as long as we obviously have and still be sleeping chaste as
children in separate hotel rooms? Rob and Laura indeed. Remember the
twin beds? "'Night Rob" "'Night Laura." "'Night Libido."

It's almost unbearable. My body buzzes with a continuous ache, deep in
my belly, and I want to prick it, pardon the pun, with a pin and make it
dissipate out through my toes. And Mulder? God knows how he's holding
up, what with his porn-driven world of fantasy to draw from.

So here we are, on a plane somewhere over? Wyoming, I think. We are both
pretending to read through the case files, heads down in unison like two
teenagers on a first date. But we aren't thinking about the next example
of alien fetus mutation. I know this partially because it's all I can do
to keep from using this vantage point to eye Mulder's crotch and urge
it, like the fliers of a Japanese man-lifting kite, to Rise! Rise! and
because he hasn't turned the page in at least half an hour. Someone
should put us out of our collective misery. Why that person has to be
someone other than us, I'll never know, but thank heaven for
Stewardesses.

"Would either of you folks like a blanket?" asks the lovely Marge.
 
And a plan forms in my mind. The nice thing about being me, I have to
add at this point, is that I hide my inner workings well. I smile my
sleepiest, most innocent Scully smile and say (with that slight lisp
that I know drives Mulder mad) "I'd love something to snuggle under."

He actually chokes, on what I have no idea. His desire maybe? Knowledge
of Mulder's lust for me has made me bold. This is the Scully that Ed
saw. The Scully that exists somewhere beyond Flukemen and Consortiums
and Autopsies. In the mythic world of this Scully, women are called by
their first names. I am known as "Dana", mistress of spooks. That long,
slick, metallic sound you hear is my sword being drawn. 

I have obviously spent too much time with Langley.

Madge or Marge or whatever hands me a cheap blue blankie with United
Airlines embroidered on the corner, wrapped in plastic so I'll know that
no one has contaminated it with their grubby little fingers. Airlines
are so weird. I thank her and sit it neatly in my seat as I stand up.
Mulder looks at me curiously, a bit wistfully, and I ache for him. Time
to slay this dragon, definitely.

"I have to?" I gesture toward the bathrooms.

He nods and stands in the aisle to let me out. It must be hard to be
that tall and fly on a Bureau salary. In Scully's world, where we are
paid in direct compensation to the level of security we are routinely
asked to breach, Mulder flies first class.

"Thanks," I say, and eye his lean form for just a moment longer than I
used to. He notices and turns bright pink. I used to think I was
slavish, but now I'm not so sure who cracks the proverbial whip.

I hate airplane bathrooms. Ok, I just hate planes. It doesn't matter
which portion of the plane I'm currently wishing I wasn't on. The
bathroom is no worse than anywhere else. I considered, just for a
moment, giving myself a new reason to enjoy flying? namely, inviting
Mulder to join the Mile High club. But really, how sexy can it be in a
place where the toilet flushes green water? Too close to a certain other
green substance, if you know what I mean. For now, mission accomplished,
I head back to my seat. I am hoping Mulder's trademark powers of
observation will be off today and he won't notice that I've just removed
my pantyhose and stuffed them in the flap marked "sundries". I know he
won't know that I've got my underwear in my pocket, unless he's still
telepathic. 

Settling back in next to him, I cover my lap with the blue United
blanket and lean back.

"Tired, Scully?" he asks, casually, as if he doesn't care what I do,
really. 

"Oh no," I say, in that same sleepy-Scully voice. "I just need to warm
up."

He's staring at me, unsure what's going on. Oh Mulder, you are so about
to find out. 

He is resting one hand on the case file, the other is supporting his
head as he leans on the tray table. I decide to take advantage of the
hand he isn't using. And when I say 'take advantage', that's definitely
the right wording. I reach over and take his hand by the wrist. Now he's
really staring.

"Scully?" he says. I just smile. The Enigmatic Dr. Scully would like to
do a little play-doctoring with you, Agent Mulder. You see, I have this
itch?

Sliding his hand under the blanket, I rest it, gently, on my inner
thigh. My absolutely buck bare starkers inner thigh. For a moment we
both freeze and then I remove my own hand and close my eyes.

"'Night Mulder," is all I can think to say. But I do give him the smile.

For a long ticking minute, I'm absolutely sure he won't move his hand.
It would be, I'm sorry to say, typical of Mulder to blow this one. And I
mean the bad kind of blow. To decide I'm drugged or stupid or that the
Syndicate is now bugging blankies. But he seems to have come under his
own control again, because I feel the tips of his fingers, moving like
the gentle tickle of fish nibbling my toes. He circles the soft middle
reaches, where he has been placed, with all the patience of a man who is
willing to sit on twenty-eight hour stake-outs to see if someone's
eating human livers.

I can't really describe what it feels like to have Mulder's hand on me.
Suffice to say I am instantly panting, like Pavlov's pup. If I thought
drooling was sexy, I would be, damn the airline personnel.

Mulder flattens his hand against my skin, and his skin is warm and a tad
rough. He seems to be savoring the slow nature of our mutual seduction,
as am I. After all, we are Mulder and Scully, and as I've said before,
snails in the game of love. You would think, after all these years, we'd
be in for a storm of passion that tosses us both up on satiated shores
like shipwreck victims. But I know us, and we are well protected behind
our shells, creeping toward our inevitable destiny. At least it's
inevitable now. If I'd been asked a week ago, I would have said he'd
sooner stroke Skinner's secretary's thigh than mine. I once had the
strangest dream, where I came to Mulder's apartment to discuss something
with him and caught him making out with Kersh's assistant, of all
people. But never mind, back to where I sit now, with Mulder's hand
fluttering, butterfly-like, up toward the damp and humid puddle that
I've become since this began.

To encourage him, I shiver slightly and then moan as quietly as I can,
just a little gasp above the sound of the engine's hum. He pauses and I
open my eyes.

Mulder is still staring at me, but now his face is a strange mixture of
lust and fear and something else, something softer. I am not yet ready
to identify it as love, but it sure looks that way. I smile, bleary with
pleasure and close my eyes again before I can see his own answering me.
I couldn't bear that look of devotion, not until this is over and I'm
sure he wants me.

His hand snakes higher and I hear his sharp intake of breath when he
reaches the curls I have left unprotected for him. I can practically
hear his mind racing. "Scully's naked" it says. "Has she been this way
before?" I smile again and press forward ever so slightly. 

Covering me with his hand, he squeezes gently, feeling the weight of me.
I grind again and he parts me with his index finger. Now I can follow
his breathing, listening to each revealing shock. I am dripping,
glistening wet and he has just discovered this. 

And then, in a moment that will rank right up there with the time I
realized I could make myself come, I feel his finger enter me. He is
slow, he doesn't want to hurt me. My God, I think, feeling myself
contract around the slenderness of him, has it been that damn long? And
then he curls up, toward my belly and I can't help but gasp. What he's
hit, I don't know, but I'm sure it's been the subject of many a college
thesis. I am writhing. Good thing it's late, dark and the man in the
seats across from us is dozing with his mouth open. 

"Mulder," I whisper. "Oh God."

When he withdraws his hand, he's violently shaking, like a man with the
chills. But I'm old enough and have been in the back seat of enough cars
to know what this means.

"Do that again," I whimper. He doesn't, and I feel him withdraw his hand
from the blanket. My eyes fly open to see him inserting that single
digit into his own mouth. I am now convinced that were an alien aircraft
to intercept this plane and transport one of the passengers off into
space, I would hardly notice. Sex with Mulder? well, I always knew it
would be intense, but we aren't even having sex. We're just doing a
little naughty petting like kids at the movies and I'm so turned on I
couldn't move now if he asked me to. My legs have ceased to feel
anything as all the blood is now pooled somewhere else.

"Oh," I say and he licks his finger like a popsicle on a hot day. "Taste
good?" I ask, feeling cocky, pun intended.

He doesn't answer, only nods. Clearly he can't trust his own voice. But
his hands, he trusts. The same lucky appendage travels back up my thigh
and now searches for the slick little clump of nerves. When he finds it,
I jump, actually levitate would be more accurate. Chalk up another
x-file solved by Fox Mulder. Woman levitates in plane due to intense
flood of sensation to her clitoris. 

I am hovering now, his thumb inside me, his middle finger tickling and
pressing in a gentle pattern. Where on earth did he learn this? Maybe he
was abducted. Taken to the planet Viagra by the women of all those
Swedish porn-fests and taught all there was to know about Lovin'. He
increases the pace, matching it by leaning in close to me and breathing
heavily in my ear. This is beyond erotic. I'm now suffused with sex;
like lymph fluid, it's circulating through my entire existence.

"Mulder," I whisper. "You're going to make me come."

And for the first time since I started this, Mulder's smoky voice echoes
in my ear.

"That's the general plan, isn't it, Agent Scully?"

That's it. I'm over the edge, somehow sliding up that slippery slope and
groaning at him, around him, his tongue swirling tightly in the crevices
of my left ear.

"Oh Mulder, God? I? I?"

"What, Scully, tell me."

That tongue again, on my neck. He's still touching me. I'm going to pass
out now and we'll have to make an emergency landing in Buffalo. Won't
that be embarrassing.

"I want you."

"Ahhh." It's a moan, an answer, a plea. "I'm so fucking glad."

And then I actually giggle. Giggle with Mulder's thumb still the willing
recipient of little pleasure pulses in my nether regions. This is going
to be one hell of a delicious game.

++++++

I cannot believe this is happening. Scully, the most intensely private,
closed-up, barricaded woman I have ever know (and the only one with
walls worth bothering to scale, consequently), has just come around my
finger in the very wide open body of a 737. I think that deserves
another striped folder to add to her collection. I have been inside Dana
Scully. I don't think anyone else can appreciate the significance of
that. I have just been INSIDE Dana Scully. 

It's all that goes through my head as we collect our luggage.

Inside.

As we walk down to the rental car, Scully talking quietly about the
traffic this time of night.

Inside her body.

I drive her home, flying like a hummingbird.

Touched the sweet, plush, hot softness of her innermost skin and felt it
contract around me when I stuck my tongue in her ear. Note to self:
Tongue good. Tongue on clit, better.

Inside.

I drop her off at her apartment. God forbid she ask me up. I mean, I
only just gave her a mind-blowing orgasm on a PLANE. But I know what's
going on here. I may be completely unable to figure out when a woman
wants me, but I know when she's said "I want you" it means she does at
some point wish to have intercourse with me. Waiting is my forte. I
drive home alone.

Inside her. Jesus. I will never be able to get that thick taste out of
my head. It's been burned there. Some women are musky or sour or just
disgusting (let's be honest), but Scully was? not sweet exactly, not
spicy? tangy in the best way. Like sucking on Lemonheads or Sweettarts
in the movies as a kid. Lemonheads? that's about the size of? stop, I
tell myself. You will go insane. They will put you back in that padded
room and that will be it for you.

In the morning, freshly scrubbed without the residue of last night's
foray into Scully fantasy land (where everything smells like vanilla and
mangos and is seen through the soft veil of red mist), I am ready to
face whatever she decides to throw my way. 

Except Skinner.

She raises one manicured eyebrow.

"Did you forget our meeting with AD Skinner this morning, Mulder?"

Gee Scully, I was stuck in a repeating time loop where you and I writhed
naked on a bed and I couldn't get out? never mind.

"Yep."

God, how idiotic. She smiles at me. 

"He's not that pissed this time," she says. "He's just mildly annoyed. I
told him you were probably? distracted by private matters."

I am dying. I must be. There is no way in hell that a living, breathing
me would be on the receiving end of a come-on by Dana Scully.

"That's exactly what it was, Scully. Exactly."

And I am suddenly aware of the tension in the room. I want her. She
wants me. And it is her turn.

"Really, Mulder," she says. "We can't have you distracted like this. It
looks bad, especially when we've just got the x-files back."

"So," I say, "what are we going to do about it?"

She just gives me that little half-smirk and shrugs. "I don't know,
Mulder. We'll see."

I hate waiting. I lied before. I hate it.

But I'm a good little soldier. I sit down at my desk and watch as Scully
sits down at hers. I'm throbbing, absolutely aching. If I were any
harder, I would stab myself and die from a slow gut wound. Scully tucks
her hair behind her ear and lowers her head to the case file. I launch a
pencil at the ceiling. Not an entirely inappropriate metaphor. She
ignores it, licking her lips as she writes something. She knows I'm
watching.

When I first realized that Scully wanted me, I was frightened for her.
For us. All these years, I'd been holding back my desire for her,
protecting her from the cataclysm that is Mulder. Fuck me, I thought,
buy a one-way ticket on the Syndicate's little train to nowhere. But
over the last few days, ever since I revealed myself to her, I've come
to the realization that this is going to happen, whether I think it's a
good idea or not. And as a result, I started thinking about
consequences. Or maybe just justifying what I am sure we are going to
end up doing.

When Scully first entered my life, I fought my attraction to her, fought
her growing hold over me, even going so far as to tell her off for
trying to reenter my life when they shut down the x-files. But I wasn't
doing it because she might be a security leak. I was trying to avoid the
very thing that ended up happening. She was abducted. Not because she
had something special, God knows they'd be too blind to see that, but
because they knew me. Then, of course, they gave her back. And nearly
took her again, with the cancer, only to hand me the cure without much
cost to me? which left me wondering. Maybe the point all this time
wasn't to take her away and drive me mad with loneliness, but to give
her back and drive me closer and closer to being madly in love. Maybe
this day, this moment, is what they've wanted all along. Because being
in love with Scully, consumed by her, keeps me sane, keeps me fighting.
And of course it distracts me at the same time, takes the urgent edge
off my quest for my sister.

Ah hell, I just decided, fuck 'em. Who cares what they want? It's what
we want, in this brief shining moment we consider our lives. We want
each other. God, what a gift that is. To find someone, know them to be a
person of integrity and beauty and then? they offer themselves to you.
How lucky can one very cursed man get?

She looks up and smiles at me, a sad, sweet little smile and my heart
starts to pound.

"You aren't working," she says.

"How very observant of you, Agent."

She giggles. I love that giggle. I could live on it, like pure oxygen,
and it would leave me perpetually lightheaded.

"Mulder?" she says, and stands to face me, her arms crossed. She's so?
Scully. So tempting and so, so off-limits. "We both know what you want.
Why don't you just ask me?"

Jesus. Where did this woman come from? I take it all back, this isn't
the Scully I know. This woman is? commanding and sexy and woah boy, as
she likes to say.

"Ask you?"

She takes a step forward and is standing in front of my desk, looking at
me the way she looks at dim-witted suspects.

"Ask me to touch you."

Right. As soon as my tongue reels back up from the floor, I'll start
talking.

"Because I want to, you know. I really, really want to."

Was I born this blessed? Did angels hover around my crib and threaten to
return me to heaven? Did a fat little fairy flit overhead and wave her
wand and say "this one shall have a gorgeous, intelligent, kind and
loving partner who shall, on the morning of Friday the eighth, offer a
hand job in his office"? 

"Um? I'm not? I can't?"

Clearly.

"I would really, really like you to."

There, spat it out. Only after looking like an idiot. But I can see by
her face, an endearing idiot. Her idiot. All hers.

She steps around to stand beside me and gently spins my chair till I am
looking her in the eye, nearly. She is short, my Scully, no doubt about
it. A compact and well-formed little package. She leans forward and
gently kisses my cheek. No good, I've had enough of that sort of thing.
I grab her face and kiss her, open-mouthed, tongue out and searching.
She responds immediately, kissing me back with the sort of mind-numbing
passion that leaves me gasping when she pulls away. She wipes her lips
and it's the sexiest thing I've ever seen.

"Enough of that," she says, though her eyes are looking at me longingly.
"I came over here for one reason only, Agent Mulder, and as you well
know, I cannot be deterred."

I do know. I've seen that look before, as have one or two mutants and
murderers. I never thought I'd envy them.

She kneels in front of me and pushes away my suit jacket. I am now
throbbing so hard I'm probably bouncing. Her small hands run over the
bulge in my pants, sending electric shocks ratcheting through my head.

"Jesus," I whisper and she giggles again, causing me to lose control of
my neck. I'm now leaning back, looking up at the ceiling. My whole body
is puddling. Pulling my shirt away from my pants, she unfastens my pants
and bumps me till I look at her. She is smiling up at me, her face full
of her need and I nearly come just staring at her.

"Lift up," she whispers and I do, humping the air. My pants, my boxers
are now pooled around my shoes. I feel like a nerd, but a very, very
happy nerd. The king of nerds. Let Frohike beat this. Or better yet,
don't let him. She is staring at me, at my penis. I hate it when women
do this. What does it mean? What are they thinking? I always figure it's
"that's what he's been going on and on about?" 

Scully touches me, sliding one hand slowly from the base of my cock to
the tip, gentle and easy. Testing. She is going to fuck me with her
hand. I know now what it means to have an epiphany. My mind cannot wrap
itself around this fact: Scully is going to fuck me with her hand. I'm
repeating it mentally over and over, when suddenly I realize that I am
gloriously wrong. Scully is going to fuck me with her mouth. Oh God.

She lets that small tongue, the one that peeks out from between her lips
when she is nervous, the one that eats tofutti ice dream and chocolate,
that one, slide slowly up my shaft and swirl like a kid with a lollipop
around the head. Her hand wraps around the base and starts to move with
her mouth. I can't deal with this. I'm unable to move, to think. A
running phrase of gibberish is issuing from my mouth. Something like: oh
god scully yes oh no oh I can't please oh god.

Sucking. She is sucking, so help me. Rivers of pleasure are coursing up
my stomach and down my legs, issuing from the wet, hot source of her
mouth. I can feel the orgasm building in my balls, in my groin,
somewhere near my ass and I don't want to think anymore. Just feel. Just
feel. Just? there. I am going to come. I have to stop her.

Reaching down, I grab her shoulder. 

"Scully," I moan. "Stop, I'm coming."

But she doesn't. And being the obnoxious male I am, I thrust into her
and let go, releasing seven years of empty beds and missed opportunities
and needy touches into her and god save me, she eats those moments like
food, devours them, licks her lips and sit back to grin wickedly at me.
I am as spent as a man can possibly be and yet already I want her again.
And again. Until we've made up for everything. 

She smiles and straightens up, brushing her skirt down, gazing at me
rapturously. 

"You have no idea how wonderful you look at this moment, Mulder," she
says. I know I am watching her though exhausted, aching eyes. She looks
like a miracle.

"Scully," is all I can say. Not I love you, or I need you, or even I
want you. Just Scully. As if that doesn't say it all anyway. As if I
haven't imbued her name with all those meanings.

"I know," she says. "I feel the same way."

Then she does something unexpected and completely inexplicable. She
walks slowly over to the end of the room behind my desk, looks up and to
my enormous surprise, flips the bird at the smoke detector.


End. Now, why aren't you emailing me?