Rating: Strong R
Classification: MSR, S7, but let’s pretend all things didn’t happen. Pre-Requiem.
Spoilers: My stories: Small Knowledge and Revelation (It probably makes sense to read them, too.) Summary: a paradigm shift and a world of pleasure.
—lovely beta by sallie
It’s been a rough year.
The whole time they’ve been together has been rough, if he thinks about it; a wild ride that kept dropping them in an Escher-built house for two. Chez X has a macabre foundation–the bones of dead sisters and fathers, one mother, and countless villains human and inhuman.
This love nest’s walls slant and tilt and there’s a staircase that leads anywhere but where they wanted to go. It’s been close to a decade of doors opening to other doors, sliding down chutes that leave you in the same room you started, and stumbling upon the scene of the crime over and over again.
They heard the secret answer to the ultimate question was hidden somewhere inside–that was the reason they were interested in the first place.
Now there are many reasons they stay.
He plans on telling her that he realizes love, like duty, is a stubborn thing.
Mulder thinks this just might be the charmed part, the part where he and Scully have finally discovered the hidden room that’s just big enough to hold a bed, books, good wine, and their naked bodies twined in the strongest of promises.
There is more to this story, and he wants to finish it, but the downy skin of her inner thigh is distracting him. He traces a snaky pattern with his index finger, sliding up from inside her knee all the way until he feels the rise of her mons. Then he trails downs the way he came until she says, “You’ve got my attention.”
He realizes that he’s insanely happy, having ended what is quite possibly the world’s longest dry spell, and that it’s Scully who ended it.
As if it could be anyone else. Of course, since it’s the two of them and not some normal couple, she had to call him in the middle of the night with a cryptic message, which he, in his typically optimistic style, interpreted to mean she must be dying.
In one of those surreal moments previously relegated to dreamland with a small ‘d,’ she demonstrated with the press of her mouth how alive she really was. He wasted no time getting them to her bedroom.
She said, ‘I love you, ‘ after they removed each other’s clothing with all due deliberation. He thought, for just split second, he might be delirious, but it didn’t stop him.
Much to his credit, Mulder was able to give the phrase ‘carpe diem’ new meaning. They’ve spent the last twelve hours intermittently sleeping and making love.
The first time, he covered her with his long body, slipped inside her so softly, so slowly, that her body opened without hesitation. She kept murmuring, asking him if it was really happening, and he finally stroked away her disbelief, rendering them both breathless. When she tightened around him, when there was nothing but heat and pulse of the world building between their bodies, she undid them both, whispering ‘forever after’ in his ear.
The second time, Scully woke him with a shy smile and her hand on his groin and dragged him into the shower. Steam and hot water cascaded over their eagerness, and she knelt under sluicing water, taking him into her mouth. She made him cry out with pleasure, swirling her tongue on that spot right under head of his cock, seconds later making him surge into the pull of her lips.
As soon as he was able, he dragged her to her feet to kiss her. ‘Delicious,’ she said, licking her lips–looking feral and territorial and hungry as hell. Mulder thought that look alone was enough to get him hard again and he was right.
He displayed remarkable powers of recuperation, soon taking her from behind for round number three, holding her against him with his left hand and sliding his right between her slick folds. She moaned and laughed and then she dissolved, and he could feel her throb against the tips of his fingers. Then he took his sweet time soaping her from head to toe, and she tried to return the favor, giggling as he captured her in the circle of his arms. There they stood, a soapy, slippery mess, with Mulder kissing the side of her neck until the water ran cold.
The fourth time is something he’s especially proud of. First of all, the fact that there was a second or third time was nothing sort of mind boggling. Mulder chalks it up to stored resources of tantric energy. But a fourth time–that enters them in the realm of the truly inspired.
They stumble their way out of the shower and dry each other off, grinning like two sex-drenched adolescents. Scully crawls into bed first, lies on her back, lazily pulling the bedding up so that she’s only partially covered, the top of the sheet barely skimming her breasts.
This is when Mulder hatches what will forever be referred to as ‘The Idea.’
After asking if she has anything to drink, he lopes off to the kitchen and returns momentarily with an uncorked bottle of Margaux and one glass. He pours himself a generous swig and drinks it, sets the glass on the headboard and climbs in, pushes the bedding away and straddles her. Leaning down to kiss her, he parts his lips and drizzles wine into her mouth. Judging from the way her skin flushes, and her eyes take on a hazy, wanton look, Mulder decides to keep improvising. He takes a sip and leaves some in the hollow just above her collarbone, then licks it away. The space between her breasts gets the same treatment.
Scully becomes vocal at this point, invoking the name of the deity, which pleases him to no end. Another sip, and then it’s a long, slow, trail of wet, winy pleasure. Margaux and Mulder’s mouth have made their way to the bottom of her ribcage, her belly and finally all the way to her slick, pink flesh. One more drink, and he’s licking her, tasting her–the bouquet and the flavor indescribable. Sweet, rich, musky, floral, she’s all of it and more, and when he starts feathering her clit with his tongue, it’s only a couple of minutes before she shatters. While she’s still reeling, still crashing like surf on the shore, she manages to reach for him and guide him inside.
After that, they both sleep until midday reaches them and Mulder’s mind begins to wax poetic.
She’s shifted onto her hip, so that she’s facing him. “Like I said, you’ve got my attention.”
“I love you.” He lingers over each word, He wants the sounds to reverberate in his head, wants them to etch permanent pathways in his dura mater.
“I was wondering when you’d get around to that… not that I was waiting or anything.” She looks tousled, and radiant and she smiles and says, “I love you, too…I think I made that clear earlier.”
“So, should one of us call in? It’s after one and neither one of us has shown up for work.” This is Mulder’s annual stab at organizational responsibility. He’s said it and doesn’t have to worry about it again until next year.
“I think they’ve figured out we’re not coming in today.” Scully eyes him carefully, “I can’t believe your mind is on the job.”
“What job?” He pulls her on top of him. Mulder thought he’d never have a reason to feel this grateful, but now he does, and he’s not going to take any of it for granted.
“Now you’re talking.” Scully begins to pepper brow with the tiniest of kisses.
“Shhhhh. Someone’s trying to make love to me.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“I might be confused, maybe I need to get up and get some fresh air.”
“Make one move to get out of this bed, and you’re a dead man.”
Mulder proceeds to show her the lengths a man will go to stay alive. Again.
Notes: This is an early Thanksgiving gift for my IWTB listmates. Whatever the future brings, I am grateful for knowing you all.