Fic: The X Files: The Dirt Floor
Title: The Dirt Floor
Fandom: The X Files
Spoilers: The Truth
Rating: For Mature Eyes Only (This means porn. *gasp*)
A/N: This was initially posted to my geocities site. Reposted here.
Disclaimer: I really think that Chris Carter would do well to hire me. But until he does, I don’t get paid for this stuff. I should, don’t you think?
Summary: How unfair, to have this reunion be not in her home, trying to be quiet so they would not wake the baby, but to have it here, in this jail cell, with his own certain death before them. One visit. Grant him one conjugal visit. Even here on the dirty floor.
Scully had lost weight. Of course she’d lost weight. The last time he'd seen her, she had recently given birth, her body still flush with motherhood. Her breasts then had been larger, her hips covered with some needed flesh. Ever since the cancer had taken her strength, she’d always been so thin, so painfully thin. But now, holding her tightly against his body, kissing her for the first time since they’d made the mutual decision for him to go into hiding, he realized just how much weight she’d lost. Not caring about security cameras or even Skinner standing in the corner, Mulder wanted to pull her clothes off and make love to her. He wanted to taste her breasts and sink into her softness in ways he has only dreamed of in the past months. Last time they had been together, he’d been unable to take advantage of their mutual arousal. Oh, in the shower, the morning he’d left, he’d relieved the pressure (and felt dirty for it.) So often in the last few months, he’d woken from a dream of her riding his cock, sliding up and down, only to find the pressure to be his own hand. As time went on, release became more of a necessity yet one that was less and less satisfying. How unfair, to have this reunion be not in her home, trying to be quiet so they would not wake the baby, but to have it here, in this jail cell, with his own certain death before them. One visit. Grant him one conjugal visit. Even here on the dirty floor. He needed to touch the pale curve of her neck and the gentle swell of her breast. He needed to lose himself in the tang of her nipples. Was she still breast feeding? How would that alter her taste?
He needed to fall to his knees, to trace his tongue over the tattoo on her back – faded now, but still there, still a part of her rebellion against him and the world. A reminder of the time he’d caught up to her and right there in the basement hallway of the Hoover Building, he had pushed her against the wall and plundered her mouth with his own, and she had responded in ways he’d only dreamed of and only the grinding warning of the approaching elevator had pulled them apart. That interruption had been more than a reminder of their circumstance. It had given them time to think, time to rationalize away the kiss into a moment of mutual rebellion and desperation. 362 days later, with her quiet admission of the progression of her cancer, he’d kissed her again, with just as much passion, and they’d tumbled into bed, both sure it was the last chance they would ever have. But true to form, she’d pushed him away and rationalized her emotions. It had almost been the death of him.
They had saved each other New Years’ Night when after a gentle kiss, they decided (mutually) that occasionally falling into bed and pretending they hadn’t was stupid and detrimental to their mental health. She’d surrendered to him and oh, he’d claimed her body. Over and over, they’d come together, releasing years of pent up angst and sexual tension. Finally, there were no excuses left.
But now, he made love to her with his mouth, his fingers tangled in her now shoulder-length hair, his tongue dancing with hers as they pressed closer and closer together. Could she feel how hard he already was? He could smell her scent – she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Right here, on this dirt floor.
Skinner was talking and Mulder was answering and commenting and directing the conversation, but he actually wasn’t paying attention. All he could focus on was the taste of Scully’s hands against his lips, the smell of her perfume, the natural scent of her need of him. He hadn’t been lying. He had smelled her coming. Her scent was always there in his mind – the taste of her so recently after her climax. It was his favorite time in their love making - to lie between her legs and feel her muscles tremble around his ears. Once, after she’d caught her breath, she’d confessed that he was the only one she’d ever trusted with oral sex. Oh, she was quite the queen of the blow job (this he knew well) but to receive it had been horrific. Some college boyfriend complained about the smell and she had never been able to loosen up enough to let it happen again. Until him. Just for that, he’d dived right back in, sucking her still tender clit between his teeth, and sent her into a fit of convulsions as she cried his name over and over again. As she came down, he moved up, still teasing her over sensitized body and kissed her as he guided himself into her body. Each thrust issued another gasp, another scream. They’d both been sore the next day. It had been completely worth it.
Why the hell wouldn’t Skinner leave?
Why the hell were Doggett and Reyes coming in the room? What, did they all want to watch his erection tent his bright orange prison garb? Well, Doggett probably would get off on seeing his discomfort. Instinctively, protectively, and with all the charm of a cave-man, Mulder stepped in front of Scully. Just a bit. A reminder to Doggett just who she belonged to.
Scully would kill him for that line of thought. Oh, but what a death.
“I’ll be right there.” Scully was speaking now, her voice breaking through the haze of his confusion. They had Rohr’s body? It couldn’t be. At least the other three in the room recognized the urgency in her tone and left them alone. The gate hadn’t even swung shut before her lips were on his again.
He groaned, lifting her toward the back of the cell, to the one place the security cameras couldn’t see. This was not a room for a conjugal visit, but he had no choice and he was beyond pride. Sinking back against the wall, he settled her on his lap. Words weren’t necessary right now. They both knew the importance of this moment. He unbuttoned her blouse, lifting her breasts up above the tight lace cups. He was right. She’d lost weight and the breasts had returned to their pre-baby shape and size. Her ribs hadn’t been this prominent since her battle with cancer. Had his disappearance done this to her? Choking back a sob, he attacked the rosebuds of her nipples, his teeth nipping them into tight peaks. He knew from experience just how sensitive her breasts were and in this moment when they had only seconds, he needed this to be as powerful for her as it would be for him. She was tugging at the waist of his pants, reaching in, pulling him free. At her touch, he almost lost it completely. So long he’d had to imagine his hand was hers, but his meaty grip could hardly compare to her feather touch and the teasing torment of her perfectly manicured nails as they traced up and down his shaft.
“Dana …” her name escaped him and he leaned forward again, assaulting her breasts with his mouth. His hands worked the zipper on her pants, cursing the decision that had kept her out of a skirt. It would have made this moment so much easier. But his fingers found their target and she was wet, so wet. One finger slid into her, then two – it was all he could manage in this position. But the position allowed for the positioning of her clit right between his fingers. It wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to be buried deep within her, but if he could die with her scent on his hands, he could die happily.
So close. He was so close. His hips arched up against hers and they groaned together, their movement causing his fingers to slide deeper still. So close. She was so close. “Let go,” he whispered before his lips descended on her nipple again. The pressure of his teeth and his fingers sent her over her edge and her inner muscles milking his fingers sent him over his own. Only moments had passed, but he had been granted one of his last requests. He doubted the other would happen before his death – but maybe it was best he didn’t see William. Maybe it was best he didn’t see how the child he and Scully had created from acts so like this one had grown.
“I love you,” she whispered, her forehead pressed against his; tears streamed from her eyes. “I love you so much.”
Afraid to speak, lest he give away every last secret he carried, Mulder again reached desperately for her lips. Only when they had to break for air did he allow himself to put her breasts back into the bra cups, to button her blouse, and to straighten her hair. She looked well-fucked, but if Skinner and Doggett and Reyes expected anything less of him, then they weren’t the agents he’d assumed them to be. Only when he too was tucked away did they rise. He kissed her one last time and she hurried away, not bothering to hide her tears.
If his last moments of contentment were to be here, on this cold dirt floor, he could accept that. The future was in Scully’s hands now.