TITLE: Mutual 4: Mutual in Space 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: Sex, sex and more sex. Did I mention sex? CLASSIFICATION: MSR, spicy smut curry over jasmin rice SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully finally do the deed and hundreds of fan fic readers around the world get off my back... kidding. No really, you guys have been fantastic in spurring me on to this climax (I'll stop now before someone gets hurt). Read on! Then email me. +++++++ So here we are. The gauntlet has been thrown down. When the hell I'm going to actually get a little action is a mystery greater than any mutant we've ever faced, but hey? at least the possibility of action exists. Last night, after our encounter on the balcony, I fully expected Mulder to take me home and screw my brains out. I was practically begging for it. But no. We wander back out, go through a couple sweet rounds on the dance floor (looking very partnerly, I might add, unlike? say? Walter Skinner and that girl from legal) and he offers to drive me home. So I'm thinking, ok, takes him a while, but now we'll go upstairs and finally consummate our relationship. Instead he walks me to my door, kisses me gently on the cheek and before I can say "flukeman" three times fast, disappears into the waiting elevator and is gone. Is it me? Did he suddenly discover, after six years, that I have a really repulsive smell? What the hell is he afraid of? Trust me, I've seen the salami and it's a plenty spicy slice of meat. I am not concerned about this. I just want him. Ok, it's more than that. Lately, I've been feeling? softer. I used to be this way all the time. I was sweet, innocent even. Having grown up around my dad and brothers, I still had my trademark rapier wit. But I was girly. Then I stopped having sex; fell madly in love with my insanely untouchable partner; got abducted by? well not aliens, but someone; got cancer; lost my daughter, my sister, my mind? and I became bitter. It's true. Angry and bitter. How else to explain, even after I have held Mulder's quivering cock in my hand and pulled on it like I was fully expecting him to suddenly lactate? how can I now be sitting on my couch, hating myself, hating him, hating my life for bringing me to this point? Waves of insecurity are sweeping over me like nausea. If he wanted me, he'd have acted. Right? But he has acted. Sort of. And maybe that's it. He hops into bed with Diana, for God's sake, while he's sick as a proverbial dog and I can't get him to come in and have a naughty nightcap after some of the most mind-blowing not-sex I've ever had. It's so difficult to understand, so random, so? Mulder. I just want to see him. I know if I could look at his lovely face right now it would ease my fears, my insecurities, my need. And then I could kiss him. And finally tell him. That's the rub. We've pushed and pulled and gasped and grasped and shoved and shivered and come, but we haven't said a word to each other about what it means after six years of friendship. So in the early morning, cool pink light of my apartment, listening to CNN blather on about something irrelevant to me but extremely important politically no doubt, I am slipping under a bubble bath of disbelief and self-loathing. I want to be reassured. I want to be loved. Because I love. I love Mulder so much it eats at me like an alien virus. I will be consumed by my love, eaten up and transformed into something alien to the old Scully. The bitter, nasty one who lectures the man she loves about toilet seats. I want to be reborn as the woman I was before all of this unhappiness and fear. The woman Mulder still believes me to be. That's why my temper, my disappointment, hurts him so much. It's Saturday. I can call him. I can invite him somewhere, to a movie. I can sit here and dream about eating him like cake. Or I can do nothing, which is much more in the Scully repertoire. What would old Scully do? The one they called Dana, way back before she had to distance herself from the universe. She would be professional and demure, at first. But now, after holding him in her hand, after tasting his luscious plump plum lips? she would devour him. Lick him till he dissolved in her mouth like a popsicle. Suck and tickle and let him slowly slide into her body like hot fudge melting through ice cream. Then it's decided. Current Scully can sit here on the couch moping and wondering where this is all going to lead and how did she get here and how miserable can she make herself, but old Scully is going to go get herself laid. Thoroughly. I rise and slip my feet into my shoes. It's six am. The pre-Mulder hour, when he finally falls asleep and lies sprawled across his bed in nothing but his boxers and soft bare feet. I know, I've peeked into his hotel room a time or two. Two can play that needy game, Mulder. The streets are deserted (for Washington DC, I mean, not Coffeyville, Kansas or somewhere where deserted means deserted) at this hour on a weekend. A few bums, some street-types, the occasional mad jogger risking death. Today will be warm, I think. Not hot, but pleasant old building with oil-filled radiators warm. Snuggle into a thin sweater warm. Mulder's hand on the small of my bare naked back warm. Ok, that's just conjecture. I park in front of Mulder's apartment building and watch the little old lady who lives down the hall come out with a straw broom and sweep down the front steps. She glances up and sees me sitting here, undecided. I know she likes me, she's always smiling and nodding as I stride, usually pissed the hell off at someone, down Mulder's hall. This morning she senses my hesitation and opens his door wide for me, nodding and smiling and welcoming me. My way has been prepared, swept and dusted and old-lady approved. Now I just have to get out of the car. As I pass, she leans over and says something like "good morning dearie", but it's hard to tell. Mulder says she's Lithuanian. I say she's just old and has no teeth. I reply "good morning" and step inside the warm hallway. The elevator lies just ahead. I have done this before, I remind myself. But never with this intent. Ok, sometimes with this in mind, but never with the actual possibility hovering just ahead like a heat mirage. I punch Mulder's floor and wait as I travel up, ascending into my own personal hell. What if he's not happy to see me? What if I embarrass him, or myself? That is a possibility. I could seem too needy. Isn't there some rule for this? Don't come over to a man's apartment at seven am on a Saturday the morning after you've finger fucked unless you want to look like a fool? Sounds about right. 42. 42. I can't get past his door number. I glance back at Padgett's old apartment. What a sniveling little freak. As if I could consider observation a replacement for years of knowledge and belief. Am I any less guilty of stalking and obsession than he was? At least the only heart likely to get ripped out at this point is my own. Ok, dilemma number one: knock or just let myself in? I hesitate. Lift the hand, put it down, rattle the keys, lift the hand? The door opens. Mulder is standing there in nothing but his boxers (white cotton, starchy and covered in tiny baseball players) with a slight smile and the distinct early-morning musk of sleep and sweat. His morning erection has almost, but not quite, dissipated. "Hey there," he says. "Guarding the door against crazed weenie writers?" I can't move. I have seen Mulder in various states of undress many times over the years, but never have I had the distinct option of touching at the same time. He's like an ancient Greek athlete, oiled for competition. I want to be the wooden squeegee that wipes him clean. Funny how ancient history seems to be the only coherent thing available to my brain right now, including speech. "Scully," Mulder says softly. "Better stop ogling and come inside." I nod and follow him inside like Mary's little lamb, sure to go. He shuts the door behind me and stands, arms folded across his chest. I cannot speak. I feel oddly like I might cry instead. Mulder sighs. "Scully, I'd come over there and kiss you passionately, but as you haven't spoken and it's seven o'clock in the morning, I'm not so sure you aren't here to kick my ass for something." That elicits a smile and frees my tongue at last. "I just needed to see you." He nods, as if this is not a surprise, coming from Dana "I-don't-need-jack-shit-and-especially-not-you-Mulder" Scully. "I know," he says. "I was lying here wondering how late it would have to be before I could come over, wake you up and make you eat breakfast with me." "I wasn't exactly thinking of breakfast," I tell him. He blushes. Fox William "snappy comeback" Mulder blushes. Score one Scully. Taking two of those giant steps he always makes when he wants to suddenly loom over me, he is standing one bare inch from my chest. "What were you thinking of?" he asks. "I was wondering why I didn't wake up this morning with you naked in my arms?" Ok, at least I'm honest. "Ah," he says and backs up a bit. "That." And the word "that" never held so many possible meanings. Overnight. Sex. Love. Intimacy. Everything. I wince. "Yes," I say. "That." "Come sit down, Scully." I must be looking at him like a jackrabbit being led over to the fox, which is, of course, exactly how I feel. He smiles and takes my elbow gently. "Just let me explain why I haven't ravished you yet, ok? I've been thinking about it this morning? ravishing you, I mean. And I think you have a right to know why I've waited." Ok, I'm not skinned and eaten yet. Staring at the stew pot and wondering what's on the menu, but not yet dinner. We sit on that damn leather couch of his, and I am aware that the whole room smells like sleepy Mulder. If he hurts me here, I know it will be fatal. "Scully," he says. "First of all let me say that I want you. I think it's possible that I was born wanting you, and only just recognized it in the last few years. Like meeting a sibling you never knew you had and suddenly thinking? hey, that person seems like one of my family." "Sibling?" I say, incredulous. "No? bad analogy. But you know what I mean." And I do, so I nod. I can't process this, though, really. Mulder has wanted me for years? Years? It's like someone telling you that a million dollars has been buried right under your bed. All I can think of is all the missed opportunities. "Well, over the last four days I've been trying to figure out why I'm finding it so difficult to act, you know? to grab you, sweep you up and do what I've imagined doing a thousand different times. I just needed to wait? I couldn't explain it, but I think you've felt it too." I smile, thinking of the night I saw him lying on his hotel bed, naked and molten as a lava lamp. "Yes, I know what you mean." "Do you know why that hesitation is there, Scully?" Shaking my head, I find myself almost unconsciously scooting over to sit against him. "Because there's only one first time for us, Scully. There's only going to be one first moment of entry, one first glorious realization of it, one first painfully wet thrust, one first sweet interior orgasm. And I don't want to fuck that up, no pun intended, by having come earlier in the day or having some case file on my mind or? or anything. I'm not thirty-two anymore Scully, I don't know how often I can feel you around me in one night. I just wanted to wait until the moment was perfect. Till we were ready." For a moment I find myself lifted away from him, from myself. An out of body experience, if you will. I see us sitting there together, two enormously lonely people, so in love they can hardly breathe without the other nearby and we are so? beautiful and silly and sad. And ready, so very ready. I return with a realization. "Like now," I say. "We are ready now." And then I climb onto his waiting lap and start divesting myself of clothing. +++++ Scully and I are lying naked on my bed. I want everyone to understand this. Scully. Me. Naked. My bed. Just the fact that I have a bed at all is a miracle. But then, add in the other components and we're looking at some sort of astrological event. Planets have aligned. Stars have exploded. Life is good. She is tracing little circles around her belly button and watching her own body in the mirror above us. And I am lying on my side, propped up, watching and listening to her. Yes, listening to her. Because we are talking. Scully and I are talking. Will wonders never cease? We have not made love yet. So far my greatest pleasure has come from stilling her working hands and gently unbuttoning her cardigan? God, how do they get away with calling that seductive little piece of skin-tight warmth a "cardigan" as if she were Mr. Rogers? And then discovering that Scully does own underwear. Little black lacy silky push-up things that make me crazy with lust. And that slip off her shoulders with a small shrug. Then I stood her up and unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down over her hips? damn. And discovered that she likes matching lacy panties. And that I can remove them with my teeth and she'll giggle hysterically. And that if I bury my nose in her crotch like a dog she begins to moan and circle her hips into my face slowly? I am so gone at this point, she has no idea. I rose back up her, trailing my tongue up her stomach like the wolf in a Tex Avery cartoon. Her breasts? have I mentioned these lately? They are so? Scully. So adult and womanly and real and sweet with little tiny pink nipples and the softest areolas in the universe. I sucked on each for a moment, tasting musk and sweat, until she arched her back and dropped her own hand between her legs. That's when we moved into the bedroom and I began to babble like a lunatic. "?and the thing is," she's saying, "I knew even then that it was crazy, that I was drunk and I would regret it. But the funny part is, I don't actually regret it. I find it kind of sexy of me." "Roll over and show me again," I say, watching her nude butt and feeling like someone just handed me my own heart coated in chocolate. I will never forget this. She is looking over her shoulder at her own tattoo and at me looking at it. Outside I can hear my neighborhood waking up, the sounds of rushing cars and people walking? where could they possibly be going? Don't they know the entire world exists here, in the soft curve of Scully's lower back? I trace her tattoo with my index finger. A snake, a circle. How appropriate for the only person who matters. "It's not so bad," I tell her in a joking voice. "It's only a little hideous." She laughs and rolls over again to lie against me. I have been in a state of near-constant erection since she touched me last night, so it is no surprise that I am erect again at just the electric nearness of her. She kisses my shoulder, working her way down my arm with little soft whispered pressings of her lips and the tip of her tongue. I am sure at some point I will wake up back on the couch, alone. "Scully," I say suddenly, or at least it seems sudden to a man who has a new understanding of "missing time". "Scully, when did you first fall in love with me? And when did you first know it?" She flops onto her back, hands on her stomach like a child holding a comfortable bear, and grins at me. "Only you would assume that me being here naked means I'm in love with you," she says mildly. I know she is stalling, so I just wait. "Ok, Mulder," she gives in. "I first fell in love with you?" I realize I have asked a great deal of her. To make sure she is all right, I lay one hand on top of both of hers and gather them up like flower stems in a bouquet. "I fell for you on our first case? you remember, sitting in your hotel room after you'd examined my naked back and pronounced me safe." Of course I remember. Those silly bites, the way she bared herself to me. Jesus, did I fall then? Was it that soon? Or was it sooner? "Ok, now when did you actually admit that to yourself?" She smiles and grows somber at the same moment. Classic Scully. "I suppose I knew when I returned from my? abduction and all I wanted was to see you, to hear your voice again. I think I realized it then, though I was too frightened of it to vocalize it." "Doesn't count," I tell her. "When did you vocalize it to yourself? When did you say? I love Mulder?" She rolls again and snuggles against me, hot and small. "Last night." Ok, that was unexpected. "Your turn," she says, though I'm sure I'm about to die of horror. Only yesterday? "Before or after?" I ask. "Before," she says, reading my mind. "But I've loved you for such a long time, Mulder. Understand that. I just stopped my mind from admitting it. I didn't want to find the truth and then be left alone with it." "You know, Scully, when I said 'trust no one', I didn't mean for you include us in that." She kisses my chest and seeks my balls with her right hand. "Tell me," she says. "Stop fucking around." "Ok, ok?" She holds my life in the palm of her hand. I try to remember when I didn't love her. That's the only way to figure this out. "I think I fell in love with you the moment I walked away from our fist meeting. I remember thinking 'ooo, she's a feisty one. I'd better be careful.' That's a sure sign, warning yourself." "Indeed," she says, massaging me, kneading like I'm two firm rolls. "And I first realized it? oh, that's easy. Remember Tooms?" She nods, kissing my neck, amping up the pressure on my balls, on me. "You said, in the car on the stakeout? 'Mulder, I wouldn't put myself on the line for anyone but you.'" "I was drunk on liverwurst sandwiches and root beer," she protests, sliding down to nibble a nipple. "Scully," I tell her, "no one has ever said anything even remotely like that to me. Ever. Not family, not friends." "Mmmm," is her only answer. Her mouth is buried in my navel. And then she is licking the very tip of my penis and blowing steamy puffs of Scully-scented air on it. We are about to do it. I can tell from the visible heat waves in the room. We are about to copulate and God help me, I am so unbelievably ready. I just hope I can hold out. I ease her back onto the bed, kiss her hard and then push her legs apart. Here we go? I have waited so long for this that I was patient with Mulder's need to be chatty. I know him, I understand him. He wants to ease into things? but enough is enough. I'm naked and horny as hell and he's so damn erect there? and I'm babbling about liverwurst. Screw it, screw mental intimacy. We've been mentally intimate for so long I can't remember when he wasn't providing snide commentary in my head. I want the physical. I want his body. When he spread my legs I thought, ok, this is a bit sudden, but at least we're finally getting somewhere. But trust Mulder, and I do, to not go that route. Instead he slides slowly down my stomach, tongue out and lapping, day-old beard tickling and scraping, hands searching until he reaches my pubic hair. "Scully," he admonishes, "you aren't a natural red-head." "I most certainly am," I tell him. "I'm natural red-head turned auburn with age enhanced by modern technology." He grins and then looks down at me. I've never had a man outside of my gynecologist examine me so carefully, opening me with his fingers and looking at me at if he half-expects to find gold there. "Tell me how this feels," he whispers, sounding like my gynecologist. But my OB/GYN has never, ever run one long finger up from my ass to my clit and back down the other side while staring me brazenly in the eye. "Not bad," I murmur. "Not bad. But I need something to compare it with." "How's this?" And then he does the same thing with his tongue. I suppose the fact that I gasp and lift my entire lower body off the bed may be an indication of my feelings on the subject. "Like that?" he asks, grinning like the cat who got the cream. Oh Mulder, you haven't seen cream yet. "Yeah," I pant. "Yeah, that's all right. Better than the first." "Tell me what you think of this?" His tongue again, snaking into me, pulsing and filling my entrance. I can't breath, so I can't reply. I just moan and thrust against him. Let him figure it out. He does, and moves up again, flicking at my clit like he's tasting something very hot but delicious and he can't wait for it to cool down enough to eat. I'm throbbing everywhere, tightening muscles I'd forgotten or maybe didn't know I had. His hand leaves my left thigh and one finger delves into me. I grasp his wrist, hold him there and realize I'm saying his name. "Mulder, please, oh God." "Please what, Scully? Please what?" he asks between mouthfuls of me. "Please fuck me, Mulder," I manage to get out. He pauses and stares at me. "Nope," he says and I groan in frustration. "Calm down. Someday, I intend to fuck you. But tonight, I intend only to make love to you. No fucking allowed." "God Mulder, only you would argue semantics at a moment like this. Make love to me, fuck me? I know you love me, just get inside me for heaven's sake!" That elicits a gentle chuckle from down around my upraised knees and more soft lapping at my body. I squirm, closer and closer, feeling my orgasm building beneath my pubic bone, capturing my gasping lungs and thudding heart and racing blood. He licks one more time, his wide tongue encompassing everything about me and then entering me again. I come, calling him. "Mulder, in me? in me? I'm coming." He slides up my body and guides himself to the edge of entrance. For a moment we pause, me still gasping and pulsing, his face red and blissful from his efforts. Then he is sliding into me and I am widening, accepting him. It isn't painful, not much anyway, and once he is in and slick and wonderful, all I can feel is him everywhere. He kisses me and he tastes like me and him and sex. "Oh Mulder?" I am overcome with tenderness at the feel of him there, moving within me. "You feel so good?" "Damn right I do," he murmurs in my ear and lets out one long breath, sending shivers into my stomach. "I feel? wonderful? connected? alive? in love?" He punctuates each word with a deeper thrust. We rock together, gentle and slow. Then it catches, that strange frantic animal need that sometimes comes in the middle of sweet sex. He moans and begins to push harder, moving faster and deeper than before. Lifting his body up from mine, he is staring at me. We are seeing each other, together, and it is goofily profound, like the meaning of life feels at two in the morning. This is it. This is the meaning of everything we have ever done. I lift my legs up until my knees are folded completely and he is hitting every side of me at once. "Oh fuck, Scully? shit, oh fuck!" I want to laugh at his sudden sense of awe, but I'm too sweaty and passionate to do anything other then tighten around him. I can see us in the mirror, Mulder's gorgeous ass pumping into me, my red hair plastered to my skin, sweat everywhere? I sigh and feel myself spasming around him. It's not an orgasm, exactly, but it's like a little grasping kiss. Mulder moans and kisses me again, deeply, tongue pulsing in my mouth to echo the movement of his hips. "I'm coming," he murmurs and licks my earlobe as if he'd just told me I had nice breasts. I feel him push one last hard time and then shudder, a million tiny thrusts emanating from somewhere in his lower back. He is inside me, now, literally. I sigh with the pleasure of knowledge. "Good, Agent Scully?" I smirk. "Acceptable, Agent Mulder. Though my control group right now is too small for much scientific comparison." "We can do further research, I'm sure. Establish some sort of a paradigm. A sexual standard." I can feel his soft hands caressing my sides, his hardness slowly retreating between us. The moment for separation is soon. But not yet, thank God. Not yet. "Ah Mulder," I whisper. "I could do that forever." "Scully," he sighs, lifting his weary head and kissing the very tip of my nose, "the feeling's mutual." End. No more. All done. Sex always ends it, ya know? I'm feeling chatty, email me.