Small and tremulous, her hands shook slightly in his as he worked to loosen the tight cords around the delicate frame of her wrists. She winced once, a small intake of breath. She never looked at him. Wouldn’t look at him.
“How did you find me?”
Her voice was small. Not Scully. Vacant. Stolen. He answered her on the edge of his teeth, never taking his eyes off those small wrists.
Until she was freed, but not. He studied what he could see of her face, bone china cast in the shadows of the old house. Horror clung to her like lichen, waiting like a held breath, like the crest of a wave poised to come crashing over her.
She held it back with the same stubborn tenacity and strength of will that made her his Scully.
“I’m fine Mulder.”
With the same stolen voice, looking at the floor. He couldn’t bare it any longer. He pressed one finger beneath her chin and lifted, forcing her eyes up to his. That’s when he saw the ugly scrape catching the light, the bruise surrounding one eye. Ice filled in where his heart should be, and his throat seized.
She gave a soft cry before falling against his chest. Suddenly, as if grabbing a life preserver in the middle of the sea, she wrapped both arms around him. He held her there, brows furrowed and nose in her hair, as she weathered the storm that was waiting.
Her eyes were puffy and rimmed in fire, and the streetlights outside the motel made the fresh bruises along her neck appear sallow. Mulder swallowed thickly as the door struggled open. He let her lead the way. She had refused the hospital. He knew she would.
She walked listlessly into the room, the cloth the monster had gagged her with still hanging limply from her shoulders. She stopped at the edge of bed, unsure of what to do next.
Mulder’s hand went out and stripped the cloth away, causing her to turn around quickly, eyes alert then pliant as he balled it up and threw it in the small trashcan by the door. She swallowed once, her eyes searching his. He pursed his lips in answer, the chords of his neck plucked with tension.
A single tear rolled down her cheek.
“Let’s get you settled in,” he said. His voice was thick, tight with quelled rage. On the drive over, all he could think of was how he had touched her. Hurt her. But worst of all, how he had shaken her…had cracked the bedrock on which Mulder had heaped the tattered shreds of his heathen faith. That small woman standing there in the straining moonlight, looking lost, looking frail, was the rock against which he had moored his strength.
He grabbed her bag, hefting it from the floor and placing it on the end of the bed. He looked to her for permission before opening it, but there was none to give. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms absently, her eyes looking at a spot on the wall across the room. He unzipped it slowly, but she still started at the sound.
Scully had packed very little for the few days she would be back in town. Two business suits, her hair products and toiletries. A pair of satin pajamas and underwear. Nothing warm. Nothing comforting.
He stole a glance at her. The absent way she’d been rubbing her arms had grown more pronounced, and she was trembling slightly. Shock, he thought. He cursed to himself.
He stood, his hands closing over hers, stilling her movements. “Scully.” His voice was careful, measured. The fire in his blood cooled some in the task of caring for her. “I want you to come into the bathroom with me. I want you to turn on the shower and close the door.”
Her liquid blue eyes swam in his gaze, unfocused and fearful. The bruises on her face stood out in garish patches on her otherwise pristine complexion, punctuated by a violent carmine splash under the sweet jut of her chin. She listened to him earnestly, nodding her head in compliance as Mulder moved to grab both of her hands and lead her into the bathroom.
He watched her turn the showerhead on, satisfied as steam begin to rise from the bottom of the tub. Scully looked up at him then, a little lost.
“Now just stay in here and warm up Scully.” He worried his bottom lip as he looked at her. “I have to go to the car for just a minute, but I’ll be right back.”
She nodded, then turned away from him. The door to the bathroom snicked closed as he made his way to the air conditioning unit. The room had the wet sort of cold common to all low budget motels, so he adjusted the nob as far as it would go before slipping into the parking lot.
When he returned with the overnight bag he always kept in his trunk, the door to the bathroom was slightly ajar. He looked through the crack in the door, his brain working to reconcile the visual kaleidoscope that reached his eye…a shock of red, white terrycloth, a creamy expanse of skin mottled with bruises.
“Mulder, is that you?”
Her voice was stronger, but stressed as her heart pattered against the unknown.
He made the bathroom door in three long strides, hesitating at the hinge. “It’s me Scully.” Puffs of steam seeped around the facing, tickling his nose.
“Good,” she said. It was like a held breath.
Mulder pressed into the open door, careful not to open it further. “I’ll uh…I’ll be out here when you’re ready to come out,” he said.
“No,” she said quietly.
Mulder hesitated, his long fingers pressed against the cool faux woodgrain of the door. “No?”
Scully swallowed. “Will you come in?”
Mulder pressed his lips together, a slow breath escaping his nose, and gently pressed into the room.
He found her sitting on the edge of the tub, ankles crossed, a white hotel towel draped across her front. She was turned away from him, and the long, beautiful line of her back was exposed. He followed it all the way from the graceful curve of her shoulder down to the dip of her spine ending in the gentle swell and cleft of her buttocks.
Mulder’s throat grew tight, and the hand at his side trembled slightly. An angry black bruise as large as his hand splashed across her right hip, and several abrasions and other bruises peppered the perfect canvas of her skin. When she looked demurely over her shoulder at him, he snapped his gaze up to meet hers, his face reddening instantly.
“I brought my bag from the car,” he said quietly, his voice suddenly rougher than intended. He moved in front of her, shutting the door to lock in the steam, and set his eyes over her right shoulder at the still-steaming showerhead, suddenly unable to meet her gaze.
“I have a first aid kit,” he said uselessly, feeling the blood hammer in his veins.
The sound of her quiet sniffles sharpened his focus.
“He wanted me to bathe,” she muttered between quiet sobs. The steam had gathered on her skin; her face was dewy and gleaming, but she was no longer shivering.
“Hey, hey, you don’t have to,” he soothed. He ran his hands along the smooth skin of her upper arms, now slick with steam and sweat. He let them drag up across her shoulders to cup her face. “You don’t have to do that,” he whispered. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You hear me Scully?”
The use of her name seemed to ground her, and she nodded, closing her eyes. “But I want to Mulder.” Fresh tears poured down her cheeks, and he brushed them away with his thumbs. “I want to wash him off of me.” Those sapphire eyes bore into his. “Will you help me?”
Mulder swallowed, still holding her face in his hands. “Yes. I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”
He nodded almost automatically. “Of course. Anything.”
Mulder sat on the lid of the toilet while Scully showered, thinking of the different ways he could kill Donnie Pfaster. None of them seemed satisfying enough, so he abandoned that train of thought after he heard the water turn off.
Soon Scully’s small hand snuck out of the curtain, flapping comically for the rough terrycloth towel Mulder had nursed for her during her short shower. He passed it to her without comment, placing a bundle of clothes on the vanity so she could dress in private before slipping out of the bathroom and even deeper into his thoughts.
He made her tea. The small tea and coffee service in the motel room was nothing special, but it would be hot and hopefully soothing. The teabag was still steeping when he heard the bathroom door open.
Scully padded into the room, barefoot, hair wet, his Nicks t-shirt striking her mid-thigh. Her cheeks were ruddy from the hot water, her lips plush and a deep raspberry and when her tongue snaked out to wet them, it only made them glisten, ripe and mesmerizing. She had his sweatpants balled up in her arms. He’d never seen her look more beautiful.
“These didn’t fit,” she said a little abashedly, “but thank you for the t-shirt.”
Mulder stood there for a moment, struck dumb until he remembered the tea. “I made you this,” he said quickly, holding out the cup in offering. Her eyes lit warmly, and something stirred low in his belly.
“Thank you,” she said as she grabbed it with both hands. She pursed her lips in a pretty bow and blew across the top of the paper cup while Mulder just watched her, unmoving. He tried to remember when his nerve-to-muscle communication became so delayed.
He pulled back the covers for her, and she settled in the middle of the bed, sitting cross-legged and for the first time, looking a little relaxed. She sipped at the tea, closing her eyes. “Mmmm.”
His cock twitched at the sound. That simple little sound of pleasure, wrought by his hands.
His eyes fell to her still-wet hair, the curling tendrils darkening the collar of his shirt. She sipped at her tea, oblivious as he returned with a towel and a brush from her bag. He stood before her as she looked up at him questioningly. He gestured to the items in his hand. “Would you like me to?”
She looked up at him softly, still holding her tea. “Sure,” she almost breathed, and then scooted up so he could slot his body behind her.
The mattress dipped significantly with their combined weight, but Scully didn’t seem to mind. She held the tea in both of her hands as Mulder sectioned her hair and gently towel dried it. He appreciated the natural curl, realizing Scully must take great pains to blow it out straight and sleek for work. With each section finished, he pulled the brush through the tresses, leaving them smooth and shining. After a few moments, Scully abandoned the tea to the bedside table, bracing her hands on her knees and consigning her head to Mulder’s ministrations.
A soft sigh escaped her, and Mulder’s jaw clenched, his heart flipping in his chest. He stole a glance at her face, and a strange serenity had enraptured her. Her eyes had fluttered closed, and her breathing had slowed. Mulder smiled, happy to have erased the horror of the past few hours, if only for a few moments.
Mulder smoothed his hands over her tangle-free hair, relishing the waves and soft curls that now framed her face. Neither of them said anything as he slid off the bed to get his bag by the door. He returned with a first aid kit, sitting on the side of the bed.
“You have a few scrapes,” he said, gingerly opening the kit. The statement was unnecessary. There was a mirror in the bathroom, and she knew what Pfaster had done to her.
She nodded anyway, her eyes large. She sipped at her tea again, although cool now, and watched Mulder’s hands as he withdrew cotton swabs and ointment with detached efficiency. Although she was no longer cold, Scully couldn’t stop the shiver that rattled her spine.
Mulder pursed his lips, watching where she fiddled with the hem of his shirt. He zeroed in on the abrasion that marred her profile…red and weeping, it had to sting.
He tipped her chin a little. “Let me see this,” he almost whispered.
She complied, frowning, tightening the skin over the scrape with her downturned mouth.
Mulder hissed through his teeth in sympathy, knowing that just brushing her chin with the swab would cause her discomfort, but it couldn’t be helped. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth as he applied the ointment, her eyes watering.
He finished quickly, dropping the swab on the bed without thought to the sheets, and pressed his lips to her bruised brow.
She gasped, the skin tender and his lips hot, but Mulder did not relent. It was an act born of an instinct to comfort, to claim, to possess. Donnie Pfaster had hurt. He had to heal.
He pulled away from her, eyes restlessly roaming her face. He found another bruise. He pressed his lips to it. Another intake of breath. He felt her shiver beneath his hands until he pulled away, steadying her with his eyes. In hers he found acceptance and questions he had no answers for. He only had actions. He only had this.
He pressed his nose into the line of her jaw, red-brown from rough treatment, and heard a grunt rise from the back of her throat. Mine now, the thought came from nowhere. He pressed his lips to the fresh hurt, inhaling shampoo and motel soap still fresh on her skin. Mine and no one else’s.
His hands were shaking when he packed up the kit, chewing his cheek and reluctant to meet her eyes. He pulled back the covers so she could stretch out, not even pretending to avert his eyes when his Nicks t-shirt hiked up and her creamy legs betrayed blotchy bruises he wanted to soothe with his tongue. Scully turned her face into the pillow, her titian hair a silken halo.
“Will you stay with me awhile?”
He almost didn’t hear her, but he did all the same. Of course I will, he thought, the blood singing in his veins, I never want to leave you Scully, I never—
She pulled back the covers for him, and he barely remembered toeing off his shoes and slipping beside her…so warm, her body was so warm, even with the few inches of space he gave her the proximity between them had his whole body feeling too tight, too much.
But it wasn’t too much. It was scarcely enough.
Mulder reached for the light before Scully rolled over, stopping him. “I don’t want to be in the dark, Mulder,” she murmured into his bicep. Her eyes glittered in the warm light from the lamp, and Mulder nodded, placing his other hand gently on her shoulder. Mulder swallowed, looking at her where she lay in shadow, seeing the fear that still resided there.
“You’re safe, Scully.” He searched her eyes, pleaded with her in the quiet hum of the motel room. “You believe that don’t you. That I’m not going to let anything happen to you?”
Scully looked up at him where he propped on one elbow above her, blocking out the light. She could barely see his face, but she reached up with her hands, tracing its outline, satisfied when her fingers met warmth and stubble. “Yes Mulder,” a small smile gracing her lips. “I trust you with my life.”
Mulder swallowed, a hollow place ringing in his chest. He took the hand tracing his face and kissed the palm, his full lips wandering over the lines there as if divining her future. He slipped down to the abraded wrist, scratched and raw, and wrapped his lips around it.
She gasped softly as he sucked against the irritated flesh, letting his teeth drag against where Donnie Pfaster had bound her so cruelly. He wanted to erase that memory…to replace it. What had Scully said? To wash him off? Yes. He wanted to wash him off. He wanted to make him disappear.
Scully’s hand grew limp in his grasp, and she gripped the sheets with the other one. She rubbed her thighs together restlessly beneath the blankets, and her breaths were coming in short bursts.
He finally released her with a wet plop. Her eyes flew open, looking at him with a sort of guarded reverence.
“I trust you with all that I am, Scully. With all that I have.”
It sounded like a vow. He didn’t care. He fell heavily beside her on the pillow, winded and rock hard. She wasn’t close enough to feel it, thankfully, but that did nothing to make it go away.
Scully lay on her side, her back to Mulder, trying to regulate her breathing. Her wrist was throbbing in time with the ache between her legs. Being in bed with him suddenly felt…dangerous…but not in a bad way. In a way she welcomed. In a way, if she was completely honest with herself, that she had fantasized when she was alone in her bed, with her fingers between her legs and his name on her tongue.
She twisted in bed, restless and without sleep. She ached for his touch, if only in comfort, but Mulder kept a stubborn few inches between them. Feeling that echoing emptiness threatening to engulf her, she pressed tentatively into him, releasing a slow, decompressing breath in the quiet of the room.
She felt him stiffen. He hovered his hand between them, unsure of where to place it.
She hugged herself, burrowing into the pillow. “Is this…is this ok?”
His large, warm palm finally settled on her waist, rubbing smooth circles there. “Yeah Scully. It’s ok.”
He felt her flinch as his thumb grazed her ribs, heard her sharp intake of breath. He made another pass, and she shied away from him.
Heat flooded his vision, leaving his breathing ragged, uneven.
“Did he touch you,” he said through clenched teeth, “hurt you here?”
“Yes,” she breathed, chest tight at the memory. “When he grabbed me.”
Mulder ghosted his fingers over her ribs, unconsciously bunching the fabric. “Let me see.”
“Let me see where he hurt you, Scully.”
Scully swallowed, carefully shimmying the t-shirt over her hips, legs below the blankets, to hold it above her ribs. She wouldn’t look at him…didn’t know if she could bare Mulder’s intense gaze. So she stared at the wall as a calloused palm came down on her bruised ribs.
His voice was pinched, strained with suppressed emotion as his hand spread the width of her side. He lifted it, uncovering purple ovals the shape of fingers and a long, dark slash just under her breast.
He could see the soft swell of the underside of her breast as it rose and fell with her breathing. Her hands trembled slightly where she held the shirt, her face still turned away, and he watched the movement of her chest, momentarily entranced.
Until he grabbed her around the waist, flipping her onto her back.
She made a surprised sound, her eyes going wide and hands going up beside her head.
“Watch me, Scully. I want you to see.”
She caught his eyes, honey-brown in the lamplight, and nodded mutely. His thumbs were sweeping lazy arcs beneath her breasts, his palms hot at her sides. Then, Scully watched as he lowered his head.
She felt the flat of his tongue against her ribs and her body jerked, jolted as if touched by a livewire, and Mulder smoothed his hands over hers to still her movements, pressing them into the mattress.
Dutifully, she watched him, felt him mark and nip and claim his way along her ribs. With every press of his lips, a promise…every swipe of his tongue, a benediction.
Mulder nibbled at the inky stripe just below her breast, hearing the hitch in her breathing when the pressure was too much, or when his nose bumped the gentle swell and the hitch turned into a purr.
Surely not, he thought, but when he met her eyes, he saw something simmering there…something unquestioning and real.
He released her, returning his hand to her sides to toy at the hem of his t-shirt which lay bunched precariously over her left nipple. Too much fabric, too many shadows, too much between them.
He brushed the back of his knuckles under breast, teasing the fabric back. His eyes never left her face. Her chest was rising steadily, one plump lip pulled between her teeth, and if Mulder’s actions didn’t free her of the fabric, her labored breathing would soon enough.
“Talk to me Scully.” Voice like sawdust and velvet, the very sound, those full sweet lips working to form the words, rose the hair on the back of her arms.
He was still brushing the underside of her breast, maddeningly slow and gentle. Watching her. Waiting.
She licked her lips, the slow rhythmic metronome of Mulder’s hand lulling her, blanking her mind into a canvas of pure bliss.
“Take it into your mouth Mulder.”
She swallowed the smirk when she saw his eyes light, the impulse all but squashed as his large hand wrapped around her breast, squeezing it soundly.
“Anything,” he choked out, staring at her milk-white breast in the full light. It was unblemished, unmarked. He would change that.
He rounded her breast with his tongue, lathing it with a groan as she twisted beneath him. Her flesh was sweet, soft, and betrayed a springiness under his tongue that only made him want to do more things to it, to her, as much as she desired.
A shaky hand drifted to his hair, caressing the softness as he licked at her breast. The throb between her legs grew more insistent, her cunt heavy and empty with need. She pressed her legs together for some kind of relief, and instantly felt a rush of her own fluids soak her panties. A blush stained her cheeks as she worked her heels into the bedsheets, restless and half mad with desire.
Mulder’s lips worked his way to the pert pink nipple, pebbled and perfect, he kissed it softly before rolling it between his fingers, watching her head fall back against the pillow, a mewl escaping her lips.
He increased the pressure until the peak was white and a strangled cry escaped her throat. He popped it into his mouth then, sucking gently, rolling his tongue around the nub until she saw stars, until her hands were restless against him, scratching at his neck and until he was forced to pull away, eyes half-lidded, lips swollen, completely drunk on her.
“More,” she gasped. Her throat scarlet, the color bleeding beautifully into the apples of her cheeks. She was pulling at his hair now, little tugs that made his dick jump even in the confines of his pants.
He complied soundlessly, pulling her nipple between his teeth and tugging at it, a hand going up to her hair and fisting it roughly. She cried out, arching her back prettily, the bruise on her jawline stretching into a lovely arc, her eyes shut tight, head slammed back against the pillow. He feasted on her at his leisure, alternately sucking, nibbling, pulling and soothing her ravaged breast. This was for her, all for her, but he couldn’t help palming himself roughly through his clothes at the sound of her sharp cries, her ragged breathing.
There were tears in his eyes when he pulled away.
“I want to make you forget,” he rasped, his eyes locked onto hers. He sank his teeth into the plump flesh of her left breast before moving to the other one. It would bruise, and she would trace her fingers over it tomorrow and remember someone other than Donnie Pfaster.
“Yes,” she hissed. “Make me forget Mulder. Make it all go away.”
She looked up at him through thick lashes. “Please.”
He swallowed thickly, hands smoothing over her taut abdomen, fingers skirting the waistband of her plain white cotton panties. He didn’t answer her. He bent low and kissed her navel, letting his tongue dip into the little recess.
He hesitated a little before kissing his way down her flat stomach, his nose catching her obvious arousal, his mouth watering. His mouth met the juncture of her thighs, the drenched cotton crotch of her panties steeped in her scent, sweet and smoky and begging to be tasted.
He reached for the waistband of her simple undergarments, white cotton, pristine white, ruined by her juices and sexy as hell, and began to slide them over her hips when she abruptly slid back, clamping her thighs shut. Her eyes were slightly alarmed, face flushed, chest as rapid as a bird’s. Devastatingly beautiful, his Scully.
“No one’s ever…I mean…not like that,” she stammered shyly. “Not in that way.”
He couldn’t hide the self-satisfied smile that quirked his face. Good, he thought. I’ll be the first.
He smoothed his hand over her bruised thigh, pressing gently, then a little more forcefully, making tight circles with his palm. Her eyes watched his hands until she relaxed back into the pillows, staring at the ceiling.
With a sudden movement he had peeled back the blankets, revealing her to the now-warmed air of the room. He crawled between her legs, rubbing his stubble on the inside of her thighs, his hot breath raising chill bumps on her sensitive skin.
Tight coils of arousal twisted at the base of her spine, spreading out in tendrils of white-hot warmth, numbing her limbs, overheating her body with desire, with want…all for one man.
Mulder nosed her cunt through the wet fabric, the smell intoxicating even through the barrier. He wanted more than anything to get his mouth on her, to have her writhing. To make her come twice, no, three times. He wanted to give her everything. But he needed her to want that too. Delicately, he fingered the edge of the elastic, where her panties joined her hip.
“Any man who hasn’t done this for you never deserved you,” he said lowly. She could feel his lips vibrating against her clit, and she nearly screamed. She grunted, gnawing her lip. Hesitatingly, she nodded her head.
“Take them off,” she tightly.
They were down around her ankles before she’d finished the last word.
Mulder took a moment to regulate his breathing, glorying in the sight of Scully spread bare before him. Neatly trimmed ginger curls framed her swollen folds, dripping with juices, so pink and perfect. His mouth watered to taste her, to drink from her fount. She was absolutely stunning and he had to be the luckiest man alive.
He realized he was staring, and Scully was looking at him nervously. “Say something,” she said in a small voice.
“You’re beautiful,” he managed tightly. “Perfect.” “But you’re dripping wet,” he murmured against her, and she felt the vibration of his voice all the way to her cervix. “I’m going to clean you up.”
Before she could say anything, he’d licked a long flat stripe from her opening all the way to her clit, causing her to exhale roughly and grab handfuls of sheets. Mulder groaned at her taste, sweeter than he expected, with a sharp tang that he couldn’t get enough of. He licked her inner folds, varying his speed from slow lazy circles around her clit to working his tongue into her entrance, thrusting into her until she was moaning wantonly and quivering around him. Fresh wetness drenched him, and he greedily lapped it, a starving man. Delicately, he teased her entrance with one of his long fingers, and she easily accepted him, her inner walls pulling at the intrusion with an urgency that brought her hips off the bed and his face crushed against her cunt. She was panting now, her hands directing his mouth to where she needed him most, but Mulder stubbornly held back. When he purposefully avoided her clit, she grunted in frustration, the sound sending twinges straight to his cock. “Do you want to come, Scully?” His mouth quirked up at her, his chin gleaming with her juices.
“Yes Mulder,” she keened. “Let me come.”
“Not yet,” he assured her, stroking the bruise on her right hip and diving in again. He withdrew the finger, delighting in the lewd sound that rang in the room as he did so, only to return with a second.
He slicked them through her folds, pressing them lightly at her entrance, waiting for her to hilt herself.
“I want you to show me how you fuck yourself, Scully. Show me on these fingers.”
He pushed them in, the stretch of the added finger immediately evident as she moaned loudly, a wet squelch sounding as his fingers entered her and she started moving against his hand.
Mulder simply stared for a moment, mesmerized by the bounce of her breasts, her blown pupils, and the deep blush of her cheeks. He bent his head, nipping a bruise at her neck.
“You hear that sound Scully? How wet you are for me? You’re soaked.”
She moaned deep in her throat and he licked the source of it, her skin now tinged with salt.
Scully began playing with her breasts now, teasing and tweaking them as she rode Mulder’s fingers. A hand snuck down to play with her clit, making slow, lazy swirls around the tight bud as her breathing increased and she tightened around him. She increased her speed, all but spearing herself on Mulder’s fingers, chasing her release until Mulder pushed her back on the bed and pulled his fingers away.
“Why did you do that!?” She all but yelled in his face, but he was back between in her legs in an instant, pulling hard on her clit like he had on her breast and her orgasm was shockingly fast, turning her mind to static, thighs trembling around him, sapping her strength as she came down, consciousness wrapped in cotton as she tried to pull Mulder off her, but he was still down there, two fingers pumping inside her, fucking her through it.
She pushed up to looked at him from where she lay against the pillows, sated but a bit bewildered. “No Scully, we’re not done here,” he said with a wicked grin, and almost simultaneously the pressure deep in her womb began to build again, but this time it was a dull growing ache that sank its claws in, that settled into her body as something substantial and unknowing and frankly frightening and when the initial stages of her orgasm began to make itself known, she pawed at the sheets and pushed him away and then pulled him even closer and felt like her body itself would turn inside out until that nebulous thing that had been dangling just out of reach for what seemed like most of her adult life happened to her and when she screamed his name, body drawn taut and shaking and sweating in the twisted sheets with little memory of the last few seconds, she wasn’t sure whether to open an X-File on what had just happened or to propose marriage to Mulder. Maybe she would do both.
He crawled the length of her body, gathering her into his arms as she trembled through the aftershocks. He was murmuring things…useless words to her numbed senses that were quickly lost to the drone of the air conditioner and the darkening hour. She pressed her lips into his damp hair and sighed.
His long, lean body curled around hers, and she suddenly realized he was fully clothed.
“You ok,” he rasped. His fingers were making slow, languid rakes down her side, his nails barely scratching her skin.
“Yeah,” she said a little softly. She was eying where his neck met his shoulder, wondering how he would taste there. Her hand began to toy with his collar, fingering the small buttons.
“I wanna see you.”
Mulder swallowed, searching her eyes. “Are you sure?”
She didn’t answer him. She only sat up, edging closer to the tan skin, robed in shadow and smelling like his aftershave. She pressed her tongue there, feeling him melt against her.
His hands went up to caress her bruised back, causing her to grunt against him, but she would not be deterred. Steadily she worked the buttons with fast, capable hands, exposing inch after tantalizing inch of his skin in the thickening dark. Mulder watched her silently, his lips pursed, eyes alight with desire, the corners pinched with longing.
His shirt fell away, exposing his long, trim torso muscled and smooth beneath her hands. At her silken touch, a rumble drifted from the depths of his chest, hitting the back of his throat in the smallest of groans. His head fell back, and Scully nipped her way up his neck to the strong line of his jaw.
Her hands settled along the waistband of his pants, drifting below his belt to cup the generous girth of him through the fabric.
She looked up with him with large wet eyes. “Take these off,” she almost whispered, “or I’ll do it for you.”
He did as he was told, standing before her in the lamplight, beautiful in his nudity. His proud cock bobbing against his abdomen, precum glinting against the head.
“Come here,” she said. She scarcely recognized her own voice.
He took a step toward her, then stopped. “We don’t have to,” he said quietly.
Scully looked at him tolerantly. “I know,” she said. “I want this. I want you.”
A swell of emotion coursed through him. He would never deserve her. He knew this. But that wouldn’t stop him from trying.
He made his way to her, his eyes soft and imploring. She still wore his t-shirt, and his large palms pushed it up to expose her legs. He trailed his lips over her shins while caressing her calves, hands working their way up and down her legs before settling at the apex of her thighs. She sighed, her head falling back onto the pillow as his fingers found her again, making slow, lingering circles around her clit, then dipping into her entrance with two fingers this time, thrusting a little and then pinching her inner thigh to gage her reaction.
She squeaked, her eyes wide. It would leave a little mark, and he soothed it with the pad of his thumb.
When he felt she was ready, he added a third finger.
She groaned sweetly, canting her hips and moving against him. She was opening up now, warm and pliable and ready for him. Her full lips were partially open, her eyes squeezed tight, tits bouncing in time with her hips…and if it weren’t for his own selfish desires he could watch her like that all night.
“You ready for me Scully?” He was barely restraining himself, she was so beautiful like this.
She purred in response and he removed his fingers, licking them clean. He gathered her up, nibbling below her ear. “On your knees.”
She complied, bracing herself on her elbows and arching her back. Her perfectly shaped ass was in the air, along with that peachy cunt that he couldn’t get enough of. Mulder took a moment to smooth his hands over her buttocks and down the line of her beautiful back all the way to her neck, where he leaned over to kiss her shoulder.
“Scully I don’t have—“
“I’m on the pill,” she answered quickly. “And I’m clean.”
Mulder laughed nervously. “I haven’t had sex since the Ice Age so yeah, I am too.”
“Just fuck me Mulder.” She wiggled her ass as if to punctuate the sentence.
He lined up and pushed into her and, a few inches in, the sting and stretch had her gasping, seeing stars. Mulder paused, gripping her hips right over the bruise, hearing her grunt and her breath hitch until she was pushing back into him, urging him to move.
Mulder eased into her slowly at first, setting up an easy pace that only served to make the fire that began to burn within her grow hotter. She began to meet his strokes, arching her back into him instead of just taking it, and he seem to take the hint. One hand stayed firmly on her bruised hip, while the other snuck under her bunched-up shirt to twist at her nipple. His stuttered grunts were a constant presence in her ear as his heavy body draped over hers, almost fully withdrawing before snapping roughly into her, balls slapping against her rear. She was breathing harder, pounded into the mattress, top of her head hitting the headboard as she held onto the sheets, the blankets, anything for dear life.
What’s more, it wasn’t enough.
“Harder,” she ground out through gritted teeth. “I know you’ve got more in you Mulder.”
He laughed darkly, lowering her his mouth to bite her shoulder. “Anything for you Scully.”
He backed off her, lifting her backside hirer for a deeper angle. She cried out at the new position, feeling the beginning of her orgasm glowing sharply within her.
Mulder’s eyes danced, darker than their usual hue.
“You like that Scully?” he teased as he pumped into her. A rough hand came down on her backside, and she yelped.
“How about that…do you like that?”
She nodded weakly, whimpering into the pillow as she clenched around him.
Mulder began feeling his own climax tighten at the base of his spine, coiled for release. He kept up the frenetic pace, bottoming out, angling to hit Scully deep where it would make her scream the most, until he felt the tell-tale sign of her orgasm grip him with a vice-like ferocity.
Scully could feel the cresting wave as it hit her full force, a beautiful explosion of light that had her fisting the pillow and chasing the shadows from the corner of her mind. She could feel Mulder’s soothing hands on her, rubbing her spine, fingers laced in her hair.
He withdrew and flipped her over, pulling her shirt up as he knelt and furiously worked his cock. He came in glorious ropes of white all over her breasts as she stared up at him, wide-eyed, cheeks red.
He drew his hand through the spend and then pulled her shirt back down.
He went to wipe his hand off, but she grabbed his wrist and drew it to her mouth, licking the palm.
“I smell like you now,” she said.
Then, he kissed her.
Her lips were perfect…silken and supple as they opened to the soft explorations of his mouth. Scully tasted sharp like her intellect, but sweet like her goodness. She was everything he dreamed she would be…everything he had ever hoped for.
She released him with a soft moan, eyes sparking with pleasure. She wrapped her arms around his bare chest and closed her eyes. “You can turn the lamp off now, if you want,” she said. And he did, plunging them both in darkness.