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September 21 2008, 05:01:52 UTC 3 years ago
The War is Over: Mulder/Scully, lay down our burdens
She wakes just before dawn arrives in Roswell, her arms aching from the phantom limb that is William. Mulder is on his side, sleeping the sleep of a man whose death sentence has been indefinitely stayed. In the shadowed room, she marvels at the twists and turns that have brought them to this motel room in New Mexico.Almost everything is gone. Her son, her family, her career, her apartment. What remains is either stuffed into a small suitcase or is lightly snoring next to her.
She didn't stop to think when Skinner came to her with the plan, didn't carefully chart the consequences of her actions like she usually does. "Now," she told herself. "Now, just go." And they went and here they are, the two of them.
It's a warm morning, promising a hot southwest day, but she shivers anyhow. Mulder mumbles something in his sleep and burrows closer to her. She runs her index finger down his bare arm, watching him shiver in autonomic response.
"Are you awake?" she hears him say, his voice thick with sleep.
"I am."
He turns toward her. "It's you," he says, wonder in his voice.
"It's me, Mulder." Their noses are almost touching.
"I was afraid I'd wake alone in my cell, that this was all another dream."
"You're not dreaming."
She kisses him, this Mulder who is real and is hers. After all this time, he's here and he's hers.
He's all she has left.
He groans as she kisses him; he slides his warm hands up her pajama top. It's been so long, much too long, and she feels herself getting wet from the slightest touch of his fingers on her nipples, his legs touching hers, his smell, his taste.
"It's just us now," he whispers. "Will that be enough for you?"
She nods. "It always has been, Mulder." It has to be, she thinks.
Night clothes are shed and they are bare before each other's eyes. He gently touches the stretch marks on her stomach and she kisses the scar on his shoulder. She tries to take her fill of him, to relearn the shape and form of his body - the texture of his tongue against hers, the muscles of his arms flexing and relaxing, the sensation of his cock lengthening and hardening in her mouth, the sound of his rapid breathing. She touches herself as he slides and out between her lips, astounded at how it's all come back, like riding a bicycle. Making love with Mulder is like breathing. She could never forget.
She returns to the head of the bed to drape her leg over his hip. She hears herself gasping as he pushes himself into her, filling her to the hilt.
"Yes," she whispers, and buries her head in his neck in an effort not to cry. He strokes her hair like he's soothing a child. His thrusts are gentle at first, almost tentative, as if he's afraid he could break her. She knows what she can take; she's a strong woman. She rolls onto her back and pulls him atop her. She wants him harder, deeper, faster. She wants all of him, right here, right now.
"Scully, I thought we'd never..." he gasps.
"Shut up." Her hand presses against his lips to stop him. She doesn't want to think anymore.
The pleasure blooms in her quietly at first, gentle waves lapping at the edge of a pond, but building to a long, sweet crescendo. She feels her thighs and her arms gripping him as if he's a life preserver.
He stops and looks at her, eyes sleepy but strangely focused. "I'll never leave you again," he says. "Not willingly."
The sobs catch her as he comes deep inside her, his body pushing her into the sagging motel mattress. She wasn't going to do this, wasn't going to spoil their first days back together with melancholy or regret. "It's okay," he whispers, stroking her hair. "It's okay."
She covers her face with her hands, ashamed of her sorrow and her joy.
He kisses her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids. "Scully, it's all right to cry. Now we need to lay down our burdens. The war is over - at least for a time. We'll get up and fight again, but for now, cry..."
September 21 2008, 05:17:59 UTC 3 years ago
Re: The War is Over: Mulder/Scully, lay down our burdens
Oh that was lovely. I loved this line: Making love with Mulder is like breathing. She could never forget.3 years ago
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September 21 2008, 05:02:43 UTC 3 years ago
Necklace: Mulder/Scully, gold cross
It's a game he plays with her sometimes, more and more often once he notices what it does to her. He kisses the place where the gold cross rests over the dip of her throat, and when she squirms into his touch the necklace falls lower and he kisses it again.The metal turns warm against her body, like always, and she feels safe here, with his mouth buried in the place where hair meets skin, just behind her left ear. She feels (for a change) calm with his arms pressed into her sides, with him half-kneeling between her legs.
He kisses the line of the necklace chain where it's draped across her collarbone, and it feels so different and blazing against her that she'll be surprised, tomorrow, when there's not a red mark from the soft rush of his kisses.
"Mulder," she whimpers, and "Scully," he says, and he comes up with the cross in his teeth and drops it through her lips. He tongues it against her, sharp edges and chain and Mulder meeting on the inside of her mouth.
Her heels go up and over the small of his back, and she loves the way he groans through their kiss when his hips come down.
"Please," she whispers when he stops for air, but he's already there, he knows to be there, and it's impossible for Scully to believe that there was a time in her life before she was sleeping with Mulder.
Her hands are gripping the back of his neck, tugging him down, but he brings up one arm and then the other to weave his fingers through hers and press her, gently, until she's spread-eagled on the mattress.
It's only the second time he's ever held her down like this, and it reminds her of the first, in the spare bedroom of some outpost in Antarctica with both of them barely alive. Even with a gunshot wound he was voracious; the way he tore at her made her forget to be self-conscious about the goo in her hair and the paleness in her skin.
Afterward she risked a glimpse at herself in the mirror of the tiny, frigid bathroom, and there were buds of color on her cheeks like it was springtime in Paris.
She's feeling that now, alive, loved, the shape of her partner covering her, the push of his cock the only thing she wants to feel. She knows if she tilted her wrists against his grip he'd release her, let her roll him over and choose her own angle, but here all she has to do is lie back and be, focus on the scent and the sounds and the pressure of him taking her.
"You feel like heaven," he tells her, gazing with dark in his eyes. She bites her lip and sinks against him, softening her eyes, and a surge of triumph crackles through her when he growls her name and thrusts harder. She comes in a torrent.
He lets go, too, bracing himself on his forearms with some difficulty, but she brings her now-freed hands to his waist and pulls him lower. He hesitates, but the feel of his chest hair against her nipples is hard to ignore; she's already snuggling against him.
"You're not that heavy," she teases, but he's sucking her earlobe and doesn't answer. Then a soft bite, then he's running his tongue down the gold cross chain again. She laughs.
"I love when you do that," he murmurs into the skin of her neck.
And she thinks she could stay here, half-asleep with Mulder still buried inside her, for a very long time. She tugs him closer.
September 21 2008, 05:22:02 UTC 3 years ago
Re: Necklace: Mulder/Scully, gold cross
Smutty awesomeness! I really enjoyed the way you used this prompt, as well as the references to past time Mulder had held her down. I like the little glimpse of the past mingling with the current.3 years ago
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September 21 2008, 05:03:37 UTC 3 years ago
Silk Secrets: Scully, Mulder's tie
She's liberated one of Mulder's ties -- that's what she calls it -- because it was an ugly pattern and he wouldn't notice anyway. And it was sitting right there, on the side table where he dropped his keys, so when he wandered off to the bathroom and left her in the entryway it was like an invitation. And the tie feels good between her legs, silk kissing her in the dark deep place she has to use a mirror to see and not even really then.She doesn't imagine anything but that it's Mulder's tie, around his neck on Friday and sliding across her clit on Saturday. Her eyes roll back in her head and she grins and she wonders if he'll ever know.
September 21 2008, 05:23:53 UTC 3 years ago
Re: Silk Secrets: Scully, Mulder's tie
Hee, I like your Scully with her tie-stealing.3 years ago
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September 21 2008, 05:04:53 UTC 3 years ago
Cancellations: Mulder/Scully, Scully masturbation interrupted
He knows exactly what she was doing that morning, that morning he was supposed to be away till noon. He walked in with his coffee, and it was only as his hand tipped open the door that he registered the sound he had been hearing all down the hallway.Dana Scully moaning.
It was already too late. He met her eyes and watched them change from dark and sultry to shocked and panicked. Her face was flushed; her shirt was open; she had one hand buried underneath a row of buttons and the other plunging lower, lower in a way that made him swallow.
She was sitting at his desk.
But he only looked for a second; he turned and she straightened herself and somehow -- in the way only they could -- they'd spent the rest of the day like nothing happened.
He remembers feeling sorry, bizarrely, that he'd cost Scully an orgasm.
September 21 2008, 05:19:07 UTC 3 years ago
Re: Cancellations: Mulder/Scully, Scully masturbation interrupted
Poor Scully, deprived of her orgasm.Awesome story!
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September 21 2008, 05:06:06 UTC 3 years ago
Do Your Thing: Mulder/Scully, unexpected chat
For years she feels herself slipping into his quests, shrinking smaller and smaller until she could swear his body rests against hers more heavily than it used to. It's only when he grows a beard and becomes someone else that she has the courage to bring it up. It's their fastest fight ever."So do your thing," he says, after staring at her for a heart-pulsing moment. "Do your thing all day, as long as you come home to me at night."
"What will you do?"
"I'll just ... I'll ... do my thing. It doesn't always have to be the same."
He's surprised her. She'll be a real doctor again, and he smiles at her smiling as he walks her into the living room wall and settles his thigh between her legs. He digs two fingers into the waistband of her pants, dips his head into the soft slope of her neck.
"I'll make you breakfast in the mornings," he murmurs.
"No, you won't," she retorts right away, and then loses it when his thigh goes away and his hand curves around her hard.
But he does.
September 21 2008, 05:56:23 UTC 3 years ago
Re: Do Your Thing: Mulder/Scully, unexpected chat
I love this, and am again in awe of how you win at condensing stuff. I love the jump between the first paragraph and the second - very effective.3 years ago
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September 21 2008, 05:06:11 UTC 3 years ago
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September 21 2008, 05:14:20 UTC 3 years ago
Eve of the Apocalypse: Mulder/Krycek, midnight
We met an hour before midnight, the day before the invasion.I'd given up being surprised that you'd survived, against all hope and all the odds; I'd given up being surprised that the aliens had regenerated your arm before you'd sold them out; I'd even given up being surprised that you'd turned out to be on the same side I was all along (more or less) – though I still questioned your motives and methods. To say the least.
I never gave up being surprised at that one incongruous streak of grey in your dark hair, your face unchanged, if a bit more weary-looking. Your beauty, as always, was startling, and I still didn't trust you.
We were older. But no wiser.
You were late. I'd almost given up when you melted out of the shadows. You knew what I wanted. You knew I hated myself for it.
I cursed under my breath at my inability to exercise what little common sense I'd ever possessed when you were around. I slammed you against the wall, needing the violent contact of my body on yours. I wanted to break your bones. I wanted to crush you to powder. I wanted to grab you and never let go.
I shoved you again, harder. You never fought back. That roused me more, and you loved it: the power to make me react.
“God, I hate you...”
“I know.” So calm. You could make me angry, but I could make you panic. And although I wanted your heart pounding, I didn’t want it like that.
“Damn you.”
“Probably.”
I pushed again; you fell, and I was on you instantly. You broke my grip and rolled. I lunged, clumsy with need; you dodged and ended up on top, letting your full weight rest – there, ah, God – just for an instant...then got up.
This was not to be borne. I pulled you back down roughly; but you flipped us again and began tearing at my shirt. I'd won; you'd given in and started it. I let the triumph show on my face, but you broke me with the raw need in your voice. “Stop it, Mulder. Just…” Hands again, clawing at me, desperate, and you were right: I gave in, too. Tore the fabric of your shirt and you were panting, I was sweating, and God your fucking belt buckle stuck...
Somewhere a clock struck the half hour. We had so little time left. We'd wasted so much.
Nothing else mattered then; we were burning. My whole being ached with the need to possess you, as if by entering your body I could invade your soul and change your essence. Your thoughts were inscrutable, but your body was mine for half an hour. It was enough.
I took you roughly; I knew it hurt you. I wanted to hurt you: punish you for what you were and for what you weren't; punish myself for desires impossible ever to see realized in this lifetime, and you, again, for rousing them in me.
“Look at me.” I thrust roughly; your eyes flew open and locked on mine. For an instant, for one impossible moment, the world was right and you were mine and I was yours.
My body was unable not to finish what it had started. I thrust again; your eyes closed; you grabbed and arched and groaned. I wanted to make you scream, but you shifted your balance, did something with your hand, and I was the one who was lost, yelling your name, cursing; finished too soon. You were muttering in Russian. Your lashes were wet.
I wanted to caress you as we disengaged, but my traitor hand would never touch you gently. I lifted and dropped it, defeated.
“Get dressed,” I said, roughly. And now, I couldn't meet your gaze. I'd left part of myself in you forever, and there was no taking it back. You knew it. But I also knew you'd keep it safe.
You stood over me. I had my head on my knees; you put your hand on my hair. You knew the truth I always denied.
The clock struck midnight. I didn't want you to go.
“Get out of here,” I said.
“Look at me,” you said, your voice husky with pain and afterglow.
“No.”
“Look. At me.” Something in your voice made me do it, and we locked eyes for the last time.
Then you were gone, back into the shadows, at the last stroke of midnight.
It was the first hour of the first day of the invasion, and Fox Mulder, future hero of the resistance, sat weeping as if his heart would break.
September 21 2008, 09:13:48 UTC 3 years ago
Re: Eve of the Apocalypse: Mulder/Krycek, midnight
Holyshityes. This is hot and painful and difficult; this is so them. I love how you give hints of a backstory with only a few phrases and word choices. I don't have much more coherent feedback to give than adfhafgadhjfa MUCH LOVE.3 years ago
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September 21 2008, 05:19:48 UTC 3 years ago
This is Not Happening: Scully/Margaret Scully/Father McCue, this is not happening
These are the things that aren’t happening in Dana Scully’s life in the late winter and early spring of 2001.*
Mulder isn’t dead.
Scully isn’t pregnant.
She doesn’t notice Father McCue at Mulder’s funeral. There is no funeral.
She doesn’t quietly break down for no apparent reason at work one day. Agent Doggett doesn’t pretend not to notice.
She has never told A. D. Skinner to fuck off and leave her the hell alone.
She doesn’t stop going to church again.
Margaret Scully doesn’t admit to her daughter how lonely she is. Scully doesn’t hear any reproach in her voice.
Father McCue doesn’t make house calls.
Scully doesn’t confront her priest about copping a feel off a dying woman four years ago. She doesn’t say that at the time it was a needful reminder for her to look to life instead of death. Or that she kind of liked it.
Mrs. Scully never lets herself into Scully’s apartment without knocking first. She never sees anything that could be considered compromising to anyone.
Scully doesn’t have inappropriate sexual fantasies involving inappropriate people. She doesn’t wake up in the middle of the night, wet with arousal and flushed with shame.
Her mother doesn’t mention that maternity clothing today is so much sexier than it was back when she had her own children. She doesn’t ask if Scully’s breasts are tender, or squeeze them to demonstrate what she’s talking about.
Scully doesn’t fall asleep watching porn in other people’s empty apartments, her hand still shoved down her panties.
She doesn’t get into a car accident. She is a careful, meticulous person and she doesn’t have any reason to be distracted at crucial moments.
Father McCue doesn’t come to the hospital, Scully’s mother isn’t there, and there are no awkward silences.
Margaret Scully doesn’t come over one evening and feel for little feet kicking inside her daughter. Her hand doesn’t stray, doesn’t drift bellow Scully’s belly, and Scully doesn’t come.
Scully doesn’t talk about what happened to anyone.
She has never been on her knees in Father McCue’s office, choking on his cock until tears come to her eyes. Her cunt doesn’t get as wet as her face.
She doesn’t have any baby names, child care providers, pre-schools or colleges picked out.
Scully doesn’t have nightmares. She doesn’t wake up to find her mother kissing her hair, her cheeks, her mouth, whispering that she’ll always take care of her baby girl. Scully doesn’t find she has fewer bad dreams after a shuddering orgasm under her mother’s tongue.
She isn’t sleeping in her parents’ bed again.
She doesn’t buy fish food, fish, or anything else for an aquarium that still holds a miniature spaceship.
She doesn’t see Father McCue’s hand linger on her mother’s neck one Sunday after she starts going back to church.
Scully has no idea how many adults can fit into a confessional.
She isn’t going to need a bigger bed.
Father McCue doesn’t like to watch. Scully and her mother don’t like the attention.
Scully doesn’t sit on Margaret Scully’s face, listening to her priest cry out in ecstasy as he ejaculates inside her mother.
Father McCue never pretends to be anyone other than himself, and he doesn’t encourage other people to, either. He doesn’t look pointedly at Scully’s stomach and say it’s obvious who’s going to play the whore this time.
A doctor, a priest and a widow don’t walk into a bar together, and they don’t leave several hours later, arms linked, singing “Joy to the World” out of key.
Scully doesn’t get off on being fucked in the ass by Father McCue at the same time as her mother laps at her pussy. She doesn’t have the best orgasms of her life.
She doesn’t sit on Father McCue’s lap while her mother kneels in front of them. This doesn’t remind her of visits to see Santa Claus and she never, ever wishes for things she can’t have.
Scully doesn’t question her judgment or her beliefs or her sanity.
She isn’t going to hell.
September 21 2008, 10:36:43 UTC 3 years ago
Re: This is Not Happening: Scully/Margaret Scully/Father McCue, this is not happening
Whoa, my head is spinning. But in really good, if disturbing ways. You went there and wow. That was so very, very wrong, but amazing.3 years ago
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September 21 2008, 05:28:23 UTC 3 years ago
The Part Where You Let Go: Mulder/Scully, Diana Fowley’s corpse
“What the hell are you doing here, Mulder?”“I heard you were doing the, uh, the autopsy.”
“I am. Was,” she corrected, tying off the Y-incision.
Fuck. Proof that she probably wouldn’t be alone even in her own coffin. She could scream; really, she could, and here was Mulder, being too damn quiet. He was just standing there wearing the same stupid baseball cap he’d been wearing this afternoon, looking everywhere but at the body.
It was pissing her off.
“Two gunshots to the head,” she informed him tersely. She felt for the bald patch, then parted the remainder of Fowley’s hair and lifted the head so Mulder could see for himself. She didn’t release it gently enough, and it made a soft thud when it hit the metal table.
Mulder jerked at the noise, visibly shaken. Scully relented a little. She put out a hand, then drew it back. It dropped to her side, useless. “I’m sorry, Mulder, I shouldn’t have—I know she was your—”
“‘Friend’?” Mulder spat out. “You and I are friends, Scully. Diana and I
were more than friends. I loved her. I made love to her.”
“You wanna fuck me, Mulder, is that it?” Scully snapped.
“Yeah, I do,” he shot back.
They stared at each other. Scully felt hollow, as if her insides had been scooped out.
“I was in your head, Scully, remember? I know what you want—.”
She made a sudden, violent motion with her hand, cutting him off. She could feel her face burning up in spite of herself. Goddamn you, Mulder.
He shook his head, but it was fragile and he couldn’t handle the motion. She saw him sway before he could steady himself. She tried to go to him, but he evaded her, edging away so they were on opposite sides of the table. Scully stayed on her side.
“You look like hell, Mulder,” she said. “You should be in bed.”
“Yeah, well, the only one here is taken,” he said bitterly, managing to nod toward the corpse without actually looking at it.
Scully’s shoulders sagged. Oh, Mulder. He shouldn’t have to be here, making tasteless jokes over Diana’s body.
Dana Scully, who had been to Africa and back for this man, who was going to save the world with him, stripped off her soiled gloves and tossed them in the garbage. “Fine,” she said.
Mulder knew what she was agreeing to. His hands were already across the table, pulling at the ties on her surgical cap, getting caught in her hair. His mouth was against hers, hot and needy.
He pulled at her too hard and she slammed into the edge of the table at the hipbone. “Fuck,” she muttered into his mouth, and he buckled a little at the knees.
She looked down once by accident and saw Fowley’s vacant face beneath them. She shuddered and broke away, her heart pounding in her chest. She hated that pounding; there was nothing she hated more, ever since Padgett, unless it was being so far from Mulder’s body right now.
A part of her recognized this was a desecration, but that part was far away, and receding by the second. Scully was going to hold onto the living and not let go.
She used the low shelf on the table to hoist herself up. She knelt on Fowley, pressing her body into Mulder’s. She was going to get blood all over him. “Scully,” he mumbled into her neck. “Wanted to do this for so long—”
Scully pushed him away and slid off the table. For a moment, Mulder had her pinned between himself and Fowley, until she made him give her room to undress. She faced him, hitching herself back up so she was sitting on the edge of the table, her ass nestled against the curve of Fowley’s hip. The chill of the metal and flesh was seeping into her.
Mulder was naked now, standing in front of her, pulling at his cock. Scully could see his eyes flicking between herself and Fowley.
“You hated her, didn’t you, Scully?” he said. His hand was moving furiously and his breathing was ragged.
Watching Mulder play with himself was making her incredibly aroused. She needed him so badly. And, call her ghoulish, but she’d fantasized more than once about having sex in a morgue.
She twisted around and shoved Fowley off the autopsy table. “Yeah, Mulder, I hated her,” she said. “Now get up here and fuck me before I get cold.”
September 21 2008, 05:57:08 UTC 3 years ago
Re: The Part Where You Let Go: Mulder/Scully, Diana Fowley’s corpse
Oh my lord.This is both really hot and in really bad taste. I say yes.
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September 21 2008, 05:29:54 UTC 3 years ago
Bringing Sexy Back: Scully/Fowley, I thought you were dead
Diana Fowley was in the dressing room of a lingerie store in Baltimore when her cell phone rang.She didn’t answer it.
It was the Consortium, and they could go fuck themselves – which, face it, they were likely doing anyway.
Diana had other plans. She had a hot date tonight and she wanted to look sexy as hell. She looked in the mirror. Mission accomplished.
She was wearing a simple bra-and-panties set in a sheer fabric. She didn’t need lace or frills to distract from a less-than-perfect stomach or ass. Diana Fowley was nothing if not disciplined.
She stared at her reflection. The AC had made her nipples erect, and she cupped her left breast with one hand and started teasing the nipple with the other. Nice tits, too, she thought.
*
Diana left the bra and panties in a puddle on the dressing room floor after she’d come. She’d decided to get the same set in black instead. It was only appropriate.
After all, she was coming back from the dead.
*
At two o’clock in the morning, Diana let herself into Scully’s apartment with her key, the one Scully had given her. She knew the lock wouldn’t have changed. Years later, Scully was still waiting for Mulder to return from Antarctica.
Tough luck, Dana, she thought as she moved toward the bedroom. Tonight you’re getting what’s behind door number two.
*
Diana was happy to see Scully still slept with her gun; nearly as happy to have the barrel of it grinding into the base of her skull.
Calculated risks had always excited Diana.
Scully had her pinned to the bedroom wall, her breath hot and furious on Diana’s neck. “How do I know you’re really her?” she hissed in her ear.
“Anything–ask me anything,” Diana got out.
There was a pause while Scully thought. Diana struggled to control her breathing.
“Where did we first have sex?” Scully finally said.
“In our basement office,” Diana said immediately. “You reached—”
“Okay, okay,” Scully cut in. “We could have been taped,” she said slowly. “That doesn’t prove anything.”
Diana could feel Scully’s breasts pressing into her back. She had to stop herself from turning around; if she moved, Scully would probably kill her.
“The first time we kissed,” Scully challenged.
Trick questions, Dana? Cute.
“I’ll let you know when it happens,” Diana said dryly. After a moment, Scully released her and left the room, shutting the door carefully behind her. She took her gun with her.
*
Not a lot had changed in Scully’s bedroom: personal lubricant still in the bedside table drawer (just in case), ivory-handled hairbrush on the dresser.
Diana didn’t undress. Scully clearly wanted to be in control, and if she found Diana looking like she was asking for it, it would make her dig in her heels. It had been so damn long, and Diana didn’t want to wait.
*
Scully came back, and Diana hid her relief. She’d clearly been crying, but her face was dry and her shoulders were set. Diana saw Scully almost smile at the sight of Diana sitting her bedroom chair, fully dressed.
“I thought you were dead,” Scully whispered. Her expression softened as she leaned in to kiss Diana. She tasted like mouthwash, and when she straightened up, her eyes wouldn’t meet Diana’s.
Diana sobered, understanding that with her kiss, Scully had reached out emotionally for the first time. And all it took was me coming back from the dead, she thought wryly. Well, it did fit Scully’s profile. All it had taken for them to fuck had been Mulder’s death. That was when Scully, in her grief, had reached out to Diana physically for the first time.
Diana knew Scully wasn’t good at showing vulnerability. Instead of trust, their relationship was based on respect, reluctantly conceded, and contempt, not always concealed. And sex.
Scully had climbed on her bed and was lying facedown, her ass in the air. Diana pulled at the cool satin waistband of Scully’s pajama bottoms, anxious to get at warm skin. She looked at Scully lying beneath her and smiled.
Guess who’s got that video of our first time, Dana?
She was surprised to feel a stab of guilt. She shook her head, stared defiantly into the nearest camera, and then bent down to taste.
September 21 2008, 06:01:12 UTC 3 years ago
Re: Bringing Sexy Back: Scully/Fowley, I thought you were dead
OMGGGGG. So much to love. I salute you.Nice tits, too, she thought.
AHAHAHAHA AMAZING I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU DID IT BUT YOU MADE ME LOVE FOWLEY. :P
And psh, "door number two." Clever clever dialogue.
I'm going to drift off for a bit now and imagine Scully pinning me against a wall.
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September 21 2008, 05:36:22 UTC 3 years ago Edited: September 21 2008, 05:37:01 UTC
UNEXPECTED: SCULLY/MULDER, THIGH HIGHS, WHY DON'T YOU WATCH ME
It isn't exactly what he is expecting to see when he walks into the office, but that doesn't make it any less wonderful. There she is, Dana Scully, lounging back in his chair with her feet propped up on his desk, wearing nothing but a black lace bra, black lace panties, black lace thigh highs, and black four-inch stilettos. Her hair is curly, mussed around her face.He stops where he is and stares.
She grins and lets out a low laugh.
"God, Scully," he breathes, "god, you don't know how long I've been wanting to see this."
She lowers her head and looks at him through her eyelashes, draws her hand down her side and over her abdomen, slipping a finger between her skin and the lace of her panties. "Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to come and enjoy it? Who knows when this will happen again?"
Her voice is low and husky, the seductiveness of it reverberating through every fiber of his being. His pants begin to feel a bit too tight as she runs her tongue along her lower lip, biting down slightly on the right side.
"God, Scully," he repeats, "I have to be in a meeting in ten minutes. I can't...I can't do this right now."
She spreads her legs against the desk, and runs a finger along the crease of her thigh. Mulder lets out a long, slow breath and wonders if he can have a quick fuck and make himself presentable in the nine minutes and thirty-seven seconds he has until his meeting.
But then she leans forward, opens a desk drawer, and pulls something out.
A long, thin, purple something.
The left side of her mouth pulls up in a smirk as she presses the end and the something begins buzzing. "Well, then, why don't you watch me?"
He just nods. It's the only thing he can do at this point.
She pulls down her bra straps with her thumbs, draws the vibrator down between her bare breasts. She brings the tip to rest on her nipple for a few seconds, then runs it under the curve of her breast, brings it around to the top and drags it across to repeat on the other, her eyes closed, teeth pulling lightly on her lower lip.
He feels a bit awkward, just standing there watching her. He wants his own hands to replace hers as she slides her left hand under her panties and runs the vibrator over her stomach, lower and lower, circling around her belly button, then lower again. He wonders if he should leave--his pants are becoming increasingly tighter, and he has to find away to calm himself down before his meeting, but then all she’s wearing are the hose and heels and he thinks, fuck it, and begins undoing his belt.
The vibrator circles her clit, and she lets out a small moan when she finally presses against it, and doesn't have time to go any further before he's taking her by the waist, lifting her up and pressing her against him.
He takes her mouth in his, runs his tongue over her lips, then slips it in as she opens her mouth against his. His right hand finds a breast, his left presses into the small of her back, and her legs wrap around him. He presses his hips against her and she moans louder, vibrator falling to the floor as her hand loosens its grip. As she sucks on his lips, she pushes his pants down his legs and when they reach his knees, he sits down on the desk, positioning her over him, slowly lowering her onto him.
Her mouth opens, covering his chin, and her breath becomes ragged as he presses into her, her hips rolling in perfect rhythm with his. She throws her head back, presses his forehead to her chest, and he licks the skin there.
He is fucking Scully. He tries not to make any sudden movements or noises, afraid they'll wake him from his sleep because he is fucking Dana Scully and this must be a dream.
But then it suddenly isn't as her pace quickens and her moans grow louder and she's coming—oh, god, he's making her come.
He soon follows, clutching her to him, and she rests her head on his shoulder.
It's a few moments till they catch their breath, then she looks up at him, grinning slyly. "Are you going to be able to get to your meeting in time looking decent?"
He glances at the clock. "I'm two minutes late as it is."
She kisses him, long and slow and lingering. "Call and reschedule. Then I'm taking off your clothes."
The call to Skinner's office takes him all of twenty-seven seconds.
September 21 2008, 05:38:25 UTC 3 years ago
Re: UNEXPECTED: SCULLY/MULDER, THIGH HIGHS, WHY DON'T YOU WATCH ME
Arrr. You are still a genius, my dear.Favorite line: He tries not to make any sudden movements or noises, afraid they'll wake him from his sleep because he is fucking Dana Scully and this must be a dream.
♥
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September 21 2008, 05:38:36 UTC 3 years ago
JUST ANOTHER ONE OF THOSE DAYS: SCULLY, COFFEE BREAK
There are days when Scully walks into the office and immediately knows she isn't going to be able to concentrate on anything.Today is one of those days.
She enters the room to see Mulder standing next to his projector, leaning against it, just waiting for her to get there. His collar is already undone, his sleeves rolled up, and his shirt coming untucked from his pants. To keep herself from giving him any inappropriate looks, she quickly takes a sip of her coffee and sits down.
It only gets worse as he begins to ramble about the case, phrases like sexually sustained being and gains energy from orgasms rolling off his tongue a mile a minute.
Sex and Mulder, Mulder and sex. The two bombard her brain until she finds herself unable to keep them apart no matter how hard she tries. As her mind begins to wander to unchaste areas, she begins to feel that certain tingle between her crossed legs and switches them to see if the change in pressure helps any.
It doesn't.
So she taps her nails against the thermos, beating out the rhythms of whatever song runs through her mind. It's not long, though, until Liz Phair's "Flower" pushes itself in (though she doesn't even realize it until she's on the line, I'll fuck you and your minions, too), and so she gives up.
She tries to concentrate on the drink in her hand, the bitter-sweet coffee filling her mouth with each sip. She's glad she was short on milk this morning, for the extra kick of the coffee takes her mind away from him for just a moment, just long enough to keep her control.
And then her coffee runs out just as he's beginning to describe in great detail the methods used by the criminal to seduce his victims.
She switches her legs again and looks down into the thermos wondering what she's going to do now and doesn't look up until he suddenly stops speaking about sex monsters and she realizes he's saying her name.
"Scully, is there anything you need?"
"Hm?"
"You've been fidgeting like crazy and I swear you haven't heard a word I've said all morning and you've been starting into that cup for about a minute and a half now."
"No. I'm fine Mulder, really. I'm just having a hard time concentrating this morning."
"Is something bothering you?"
"No. I didn't get much sleep last night."
He gives her a look that tells her he's not buying any of it.
It doesn't help her current situation in the least and it's about all she can take.
"Do you mind if I go get more coffee?"
"Be my guest."
She walks right past the coffee room and straight into the bathroom directly to the first empty stall. Her hand finds warmth and silk and it's not long until she's having to bite her lip to keep herself quiet.
She washes her hands and checks herself in the mirror, smoothing her hair and splashing a bit of water on her face to bring down the flush in her cheeks.
When she gets back to the office, Mulder smiles and says, "Coffee room, huh?"
She can feel her cheeks immediately turn red again and it takes everything she has to keep her voice calm as she asks, "What do you mean?"
"You left your thermos on the desk."
September 21 2008, 05:41:38 UTC 3 years ago
Re: JUST ANOTHER ONE OF THOSE DAYS: SCULLY, COFFEE BREAK
I JUST LOVE YOU.Mulder + projector makes me hot.
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September 21 2008, 05:52:52 UTC 3 years ago
Sedative: Mulder/Scully, the baby's sleeping
"Mulder, the baby's sleeping..."He ignores her, tunneling under the blanket and sheet, tugging her silk pajama bottoms down to her ankles, then parting her legs with a gentle butt of his head. Only then she realizes that he shaved before bed; his face is smooth and air-conditioned cool, sliding along the inside of her thigh, and she twitches as he plants a closemouthed kiss or two.
Her heart thumps, then starts to speed up.
Mulder's tongue flicks out, and she shivers as the wet, trembling tip touches her,sliding down, then back up. Her knees sag apart, weighted by the bedclothes.
His tongue slices her open like a soft blade, the tip like fire, thrusting slowly in and out. Rain falls outside but all she hears is her own ragged breathing and the slick sounds of Mulder feasting on her. "Stop," she moans, fumbling down to push him away, even though she knows he wouldn't do this if the baby was awake, and oh God, it feels so GOOD--
His flat tongue streaks up her slit and she nearly shrieks, pressing her cheek into her pillow and gripping the corner between her teeth. Mulder flutters his tongue against her clitoris as if it were made of glass, parting her furled opening with gentle fingers. She feels her inner walls throb, luring him in. She's hot all over, a mist of sweat coating her body, silk pants bunched around her ankles, struggling against his easy,FBI-trained grip, trying to clamp his face between her thighs.
He blows on her pubic hair.
"Mulder," she hisses.
"What?" he whispers back, his voice thick.
"Please..." She wriggles, and he holds her down.
"Please what?" he asks, the bastard.
She tosses her head. "Do it," she forces out between clenched teeth. The best sleeping pill there is, and he won't give it to her.
"Wanna come, Scully?" He slurps her in, and his tongue's a jackhammer now, striking her clit with quick jabs. Her back arches. She's almost there...she chokes back a groan. Mulder grunts, squirming against the mattress.
Pleasure rolls up her clenched toes, scorches her legs, and explodes in her pelvis with delicious agony. Mulder licks her to the next peak and the next, until she's drenched, mindless, smearing herself against his face. She feels him tremble as she falls back against the pillows, the artificial chill in the room cooling them both. She turns toward the bedside table; the baby monitor's tiny light glows a calm green.
Mulder crawls up beside her, his eyes lazy, smug and satisfied in the dimness. He nudges her hip. He's damp.
He kisses her, giving her a sample of their mingled flavors, then drops his head onto her shoulder. "Did it all by myself," he mutters playfully.
She strokes his hair. "You could have waited."
He yawns. "Nope. Couldn't."
"Didn't."
"Next time."
"Mm."
Half-asleep already, she thinks.
So is she.
September 21 2008, 05:55:00 UTC 3 years ago
Re: Sedative: Mulder/Scully, the baby's sleeping
OH YIKES. BLESS YOU.I am so glad someone did "the baby's sleeping." This lived up to all my dreams. ;)
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September 21 2008, 10:55:28 UTC 3 years ago
Re: ...Here for the Morning: Scully/Skinner, require your services
THUD.Have I mentioned that I adore Bossy Skinner before? No. Well, I do and you did him so very well. Rrrowr!
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September 21 2008, 06:28:05 UTC 3 years ago Edited: September 21 2008, 06:28:52 UTC
Virtual Fuck (The X-Files/The Office), Langly/Dwight: Bears beat Battlestar Galactica
Written with***
It's a cold day in Scranton, the kind that has HP-printer grey settling over everything, when Richard Langly is chasing the bear.
He doesn't know how it got out, exactly -- some kind of permissions accident. He and Byers were having a hack-off on Frohike's computer, trying to test out some experiment where they used every last byte of RAM at once. (Frohike was passed out on the couch, and snoring like a pneumoniac horse.) It was a good game -- Byers would take a turn downloading the records of something, and then he'd go. And he'd figured, hey, why not the National Zoo, they're bound to have a decent-but-not-very-well-policed network.
And now there's a bear.
The sole mercy is that it's got an RF-tagged collar, which means that within two hundred meters he can track it on the ID reader in his hand. He's following it into more and more populated areas, and it's puzzling the hell out of him.
He crawls through the window of an office building, and it turns out that the RFID is installed inside one Dunder-Mifflin Paper Company, on the person of a brown-haired, glasses-wearing dude who is almost as bewildered as he is.
The man wearing the RFID stares at him with a look of disdain.
"Who are you?" he asks.
"Why do you need to know?" Langley answers.
"Ah. You're answering me with a question. Clearly a sign you're trying to hide something. I used to be a volunteer deputy sheriff on the weekends. I know these things."
Langly finds himself being filled with envy. Being a volunteer deputy sheriff was something he had wanted to do since he was a young boy, but leading his current life of hacking crime, he was unable to do anything in law enforcement. He glances at the other man's computer and is delighted by what he sees.
"Are you on the Battlestar Galactica forums?"
"Another question, but this one seems relatively harmless, so I'll answer it. Yes."
"I check those forums everyday. I'm LordManhammer."
The spectacled man's face burst into a grin that some might refer to as idiotic, but Langly found himself considering one of the most glorious things he had ever seen. The man runs over to him and embraces him.
"I'm Sempai66. It is so wonderful to meet you like this."
Langly find this form of human contact strange. It has been a long time since anyone has shown him such affection. He returns the gesture and wraps his arms around this wonderful man.
He notices the entire office is staring at them wide-eyed. Phones are ringing, but no one is caring to answer them. The other man seems to suddenly remember where he is, because he pats him on the back and says, "I need to return to my job. Are you going to be in town long?"
"Yes," Langly decides. He will be in town as long as Sempai66 wants him to be. And so they exchange numbers.
***
The night is like nothing Langly has ever experienced, like nothing he ever thought he would experience. He doesn't quite know how it started, when he and his Sempai went from talking to touching, mouths heavy against each other, hands pulling off clothes and running over warm skin, desperate for touch.
He does know he's never going to forget this, how for once he feels like more than just another loser doomed to the life of a lone wolf.
He'll never regret this. He'll look back on this night as one of the best of his life, forever grateful to the man who made him feel more than human for just a few hours.
It isn't until the next day that he realizes he never got the other man’s real name.
He does a reverse lookup from the county phone records – Sempai66 is unlisted, which makes it a challenge, and Langly has to wonder why the hell that turns him on – but he wants to know what name to moan in the middle of the night with one hand wrapped around his balls, and now he does.
The best virtual lay of his life just happened, and the man he can thank for it is Dwight Kurt Schrute.
He'd had no idea that Second Life's "Bear Hunt" training scenario would be so satisfying.
September 21 2008, 06:32:43 UTC 3 years ago
Re: Virtual Fuck (The X-Files/The Office), Langly/Dwight: Bears beat Battlestar Galactica
SL.... mwahahahahahaI totally have to go make a Langly AV now.
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September 21 2008, 10:07:39 UTC 3 years ago
Re: B Movie: Mulder/Scully, or we could stay in, leather couch, ass
Oh god. Now he's going to have a Pavlovian response to bad movies. Hell, so will she.3 years ago
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September 21 2008, 09:43:27 UTC 3 years ago
Everything Dies: Mulder/Alien Bounty Hunter, gimlet weapon, everything dies
Mulder froze, his hand hovering barely an inch away from the light switch. The object pressing against the base of his skull was too cold to be a finger, too solid to be the barrel of a gun, but the threat was clear all the same."Don't turn around." The voice in his ear was like wheels crunching over gravel, each syllable spoken as if new to the throat forming it. Mulder lurched forward, a forearm pressed against his shoulders, and caught sight of a sweep of dark hair and darker leather a moment before his cheek scraped against the wall.
He chuckled. "Isn't it a little early to come calling, Alex?" His hands were already at his belt, yanking at the buckle. "It's not even dark yet." A quick shimmy and Mulder's pants slid off his hips, the motion born of months of practise. "Or have your masters given you a curfew?"
"Shut up." Krycek's body was heavy against his back, his scent filling Mulder's senses. Mulder caught a jingle of clasps a moment before his legs were kicked apart, his face shoved even more firmly against the plaster.
He smiled, lust slowly filling him, narrowing his vision to a pinpoint. "I didn't know lapdogs had curfews."
Instead of meeting abuse with sharp rejoinder, letting the game spin out a little longer, Krycek slid the slick, blunt head of his cock between Mulder's cheeks. Maybe he has another agent to fuck, Mulder mused. Maybe I'm simply the first in a long night of off-the-clock visits. The thought made him laugh out loud, earning him another shove, this one hard enough to rattle the picture beside his head.
Yet all mirth slid away as Krycek pressed in, slow and sure of himself, not at all the furtive fucking Mulder had come to enjoy. Stranger still was the sudden emptiness at the nape of his neck, the weapon removed as an arm snaked around his chest. Krycek felt lighter, somehow, and his arm was distinctly feminine: slender fingers topped by perfect nails, clenching a familiar metal tube.
He felt rather than heard the soft snick as the business end of the gimlet extended, the point pressing lightly against his neck. "I told you to be quiet." The voice was definitely Scully's, yet it was laced with that same alien rumble.
Mulder shivered, as hopelessly adrift as he was hard. How he'd mistaken Scully for Krycek was beyond him, but he wasn't one to look a lady in leather in the mouth. He clenched around her cock and was more than a little surprised when his groan was answered by Scully's own. Her thrusts quickened and what Mulder had assumed was silicone throbbed inside him, thickening and filling him until the stretch was almost unbearable. A hand slid down his body, cool fingers curving around his shaft. Scully's grip was firm, her strokes firmer, and the light scratch of calluses sent shivers up Mulder's spine.
She nipped at his earlobe, the bulk of her body keeping Mulder trapped as she loomed above him. His head swam. Nothing seemed quite right, like the world had taken a sudden step to the left and he'd failed to move with it. Proportions no longer lined up, the shapes and edges of things distorted by lust, night and the way Scully angled her hips. Square nails scraped at the head of his cock, drawing forth a shuddering gasp as his muscles spasmed almost painfully as he came.
When he finally regained his senses, it was to the feel of a softening cock slipping out from between his legs. He blinked, catching sight of a large, masculine palm uncurling as the body behind him withdrew. Mulder groaned, forcing himself to turn and slump against the wall as he reached out and flicked on the light.
There before him, closing his fly and straightening his jacket as if he were at the end of a date, was the last person Mulder expected to see. Much to his horror, his cock twitched sluggishly as he let his gaze play over the Bounty Hunter's body, imagining all the possibilities contained within such an easily shifting form.
"I thought you were dead." Granted, it wasn't the best line, but he'd delivered worse in less encouraging situations.
The alien's features shifted, slowly sliding into a painful imitation of a smile as he reached out and traced the line of Mulder's jaw almost tenderly, as if he might break. "Everything dies, Mr. Mulder. Everything but me."
September 21 2008, 10:49:06 UTC 3 years ago
Re: Everything Dies: Mulder/Alien Bounty Hunter, gimlet weapon, everything dies
Sweet grandmother's spatula! That was insanely hot and extremely cool. What a fun concept to work with and you WORKED it.3 years ago
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September 21 2008, 12:22:23 UTC 3 years ago
Why: Monica Reyes/CSM, Why
He had wafted silently in and out of boardrooms and shadows, a commanding presence. Like all those around her, she had noticed. Noticed his stance, his power and most importantly, the allure of mystery he came shrouded in. The first time they had been together, she had still thought he was someone special. Someone she could learn about or change. Someone she would have a positive effect on and learn from. Eventually she would win him over. She had thought, just for a while there, that he could be her Mulder.Now Monica knew that the perception she had held showed not only the lack of understanding she had of the relationship her fellow agents shared, but the flaws in the picture she had painted of the cigarette smoking man. Still, she came to him. She let him use her. Own her. She liked it. He had power. He had authority, influence and dominance over her. He was a void of moral uprising and conformity, confusion and righteousness. He had changed her.
He was not what she had sought, but he was whom she now creamed for. Mindless escape. Sexual pleasure. She’d never had a relationship that made her feel quite so naughty, like a school girl again, kissing behind the bike sheds, not sure if AD Skinner would walk in while she was bent over his desk, skirt pulled high, grunting as the cigarette smoking man rammed into her. Telling him how she liked it.
Telling him how she liked him fucking her was as deep as their conversations got. She hadn’t taken long to understand that. He didn’t come to her to chat. No one knew about them, but during their semblance of relationship, she had come not to care if anyone did. What moral high ground was there for them to stand on anyway? They were all just people. And if she got through her day riding the devil himself, then it was no business of theirs.
He told her what to do over time. Instructions. Masturbate in the basement before Doggett arrives, look up at the camera, I’m watching. Don’t wear any panties. Answer the phone. She was on his terms, and when he said jump, she played to his vulgarities. She’d never thought of herself as submissive, but with him it just crept up, the faint smell of cigarette smoke all that was left after she’d changed.
Monica walked into Kersh’s office, darkened by the late hour, save a desk lamp blinking on the edge of its life.
“Sit on the desk.” Their encounters sometimes started with him catching her off guard, and sometimes they started slowly like this. He beckoned her with a glowing ember. Walking over to him she pulled herself onto the desk, facing him and feeling her heart begin to quicken its pace. Holding his eye contact, her breath hastened as he placed his hand softly on her leg, more softly than most would give him credit for or expect. Perfectly calm and collected he gazed into her and through her, holding her eyes as his hand climbed higher.
“Why are you here, Monica?” That was a question he asked her sometimes, one she was yet to answer sufficiently. He never seemed satisfied with her answer, and over time, she decided it was because whatever she said, it wasn’t the truth. Deep down she didn’t know why she came here. Or anywhere for him. It made her question her motives in life. She came here because she couldn’t help herself, but that didn’t seem like a good enough reason. Perhaps because of some animalistic urge? A lack of a strong father figure or something equally as unlikely? She’d like to think she was governed more by herself than by her upbringing or evolution. More than by the stars or the moon. But she didn’t know what governed her to do this. There seemed no rhyme or reason--she just did, and as it stood, that was enough for them both.
September 21 2008, 14:14:06 UTC 3 years ago
Re: Why: Monica Reyes/CSM, Why
That was utterly wrong and ridiculously hot (which I'm almost afraid to admit). Holy hell!3 years ago
September 21 2008, 12:23:09 UTC 3 years ago
Catholic Girls: (Buffy the Vampire Slayer/X-Files), Dana Scully/Drucilla, Catholic guil
“Pretty maids all in a row.” Drucilla’s hand swept across the stars. “You’re not a maid… or in a row, but you’re somewhere,” Drucilla’s voice wandered, “and you’re mine. My pet.” Drucilla’s fingers grazed Dana’s cheek, pushing stray hairs behind her ear. Looking into her eyes deeply, she continued. “Red heads have a temper you know.” Her head tilted playfully. “Do you have a temper, my darling?”Drucilla grabbed Dana’s arm and jerked her in, crashing a kiss upon her, nipping her lower lip and smiling into her as she tasted the blood. Dana kissed back, lost in a moment of weakness, like all the moments she entertained with Dru.
She fought, lightly at first, pushing against the creature that held her now against the wall of a confessional. Not just any creature, one that had set its own life towards God long ago. The God Dana had put aside. The God she had fallen from so heavily. Disgraced, never so satisfied in sin as she was now.
Guilt was far from her mind now, her breath quickening as Dru’s cold hands ripped off her shirt, scratching her back sharply. Burning into Dana’s skin a pang of silence in ecstasy.
“I’ve got a temper, bitch.” She punched Dru and she fell backwards, shards of wood exploding.
“That’s my kitten.” Dru grinned and leaped into the game, pushing Scully out of the confessional and into the church, lit with only a few candles, and onto a pew. Straddling Dana, she began kissing her once again and biting lightly into her neck. Dana ground against Dru’s body, harder, faster, more. Head up, making noises unfit for a good Catholic girl.
Drucilla moved down Dana's body and undressed her doll, her ivory-skinned fiery redhead. She’d always wanted one. Dru licked her lips, then began working her tongue around Dana. She sucked her clit and bit into her swollen lips. Dana swore under her breath, let God’s name escape at least once as Dru made her pulse and burn.
“Where’s your temper now?” Dru asked, quite giddy in the moment. Dana bucked up into her and grunted before she smacked Drusilla around the side of the head with a closed fist. Drusilla’s demon showed on her face and she pushed her fingers hard inside Dana, biting deep into her shoulder and making Dana see stars. And eye for an eye. Scully rode her, rocking her hips. Deeper, harder, faster, louder. Dru licked the blood from her neck. “So warm,” she said into her neck. “So sweet.”
Scully wanted to melt into Drucilla, an escape bought at a high price, but she’d lived her life in risks and hunches. An eye for an eye. “God,” she whimpered,” Fuck me.”
“You’re mine,” Drusilla whispered, as she made Dana scream in beautiful agony and began to drink from her. Scully moved in and out of the world. Another beginning. She came hard around Drusilla’s fingers, fade to black.
Clyde Buckman had been right. A tooth for a tooth.
September 21 2008, 13:52:30 UTC 3 years ago
Re: Catholic Girls: (Buffy the Vampire Slayer/X-Files), Dana Scully/Drucilla, Catholic guil
HOLY CRAP! Scully/Drusilla. Holy hotness and wonderful characterization of D. Love her evil scattiness.3 years ago
September 21 2008, 12:42:23 UTC 3 years ago
BOUND: SCULLY/REYES, WET, HARDER, PRETTY GIRL
Dana Scully doesn't spank hard enough.Monica's on her stomach, tied to the bed, her wrists bound together. She's naked and shivering. She can hear her heart beating in her ears, feel her blood rushing. "Spank me harder," she says, the words sending a current through her gut.
Her breath catches in her throat. "You need to ask nicely," Dana says, her voice smooth and low.
"Please spank me harder," Monica breathes. "Please, Dana?"
The slap of Dana's hand against her bare ass is harder this time. It stings. Monica whimpers and shifts her hips, feeling a surge of wetness. Another slap and the skin becomes tender, tingling.
Monica feels the bed shift as Dana straddles her, the wet heat between her legs sliding against Monica's ass. She feels a hot mouth on her shoulder and then sharp teeth. Monica bucks up against Dana, who pulls Monica's head up by the back of her hair and looks into her eyes.
"Are you going to behave?" Dana asks with a glare. "Well, are you?"
"Yes," Monica whispers. Dana slips her hot tongue into her mouth, probing deeply.
"Good," Dana says as she pulls away from the kiss. "You're such a pretty girl."
Monica waits, knows there's more lurking behind those piercing blue eyes.
"And pretty girls like you deserve to be fucked."
Monica loses all of her breath.
Monica feels Dana's breasts brushing against the skin of her back. "Don't you agree, Agent Reyes?" It's a whisper against her ear.
"Yes?" She doesn't mean for it to sound like a question. She's sure she agrees.
Dana rolls to Monica's side and reaches for the bedside table. Monica's panting starts in earnest when she hears the click and hum of a vibrator turning on behind her. She bites her lip and feels the muscles inside of her tense at the thought of what's about to happen.
Dana slides the vibrator against Monica's clitoris, making her jump and gasp. "You're so wet, baby." She slides the vibrator back and forth through the folds of delicate skin. "Is this all for me?"
"Yes." Little sparks of pleasure are already rippling through Monica's body as she moves her hips against the vibrator, desperate. She moans in regret as Dana pulls the vibrator away and brings it up to Monica's face.
"Taste yourself," she says.
Monica obediently licks the vibrator as Dana licks the other side, slowly with the flat of her tongue. Then Dana smiles. "It's good, isn't it? You taste so fucking good, Monica."
Monica pants more, collecting the few thoughts she has left. "Fuck me, Dana."
Dana arches an eyebrow. "Are you telling me what to do?"
"Yes."
They stare at each other. Dana slides the vibrator back through Monica's folds a few more times before pushing it deeply, without warning, inside of her. Monica cries out and bucks her hips, fighting the tie around her wrists. Dana flicks her tongue against Monica's neck.
"I'm fucking you, Monica, just like you asked. You like that?" Dana pulls the vibrator out and shoves it back in.
"Yes," Monica says, her voice shaking. She's already feeling her orgasm building too quickly, and she has to hold off, or Dana will be very upset.
Dana starts fucking her faster with the vibrator, at times pulling it all the way out and sliding it against her clit again. Monica squirms and moans every time it touches her sensitive bundle of nerves.
"You're all worked up. I love seeing you all worked up." Dana breathes into her ear. It's hot and it tickles. Dana is panting as she fucks her, grinding her body against Monica's side. "You think you can come like this?"
"Can I come?" Monica asks breathlessly, knowing she's a minute away from losing it.
"Yeah, you can come," Dana says. "But I want to be kissing you when you do it."
Monica presses her open mouth against Dana's, their tongues twisting together. And Monica lets go and feels the delicious release centered between her legs branch out to possibly every nerve ending known to man, and then some. She whimpers into Dana's mouth as she comes and they kiss harder, deeper.
They open their eyes. Their tongues stop battling and start soothing.
Dana pulls away with an impish smile. "How was it?"
Monica smiles back. "Hot. Like, way hot."
They kiss again.
Dana parts from her with a tug on her lower lip, another smile. "Good. Now it's my turn."
September 21 2008, 13:50:58 UTC 3 years ago
Re: BOUND: SCULLY/REYES, WET, HARDER, PRETTY GIRL
You are a naughty, NAUGHTY girl, specialtrampds!3 years ago
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September 21 2008, 13:37:23 UTC 3 years ago
the inadequacies of our humanity: Mulder/Scully, in the rain
It is late afternoon by the time he stops pacing. She can hear him, sweeping strides across the wood floor, the degenerative habit of creating his fixed path, the limbic movement of his still mind. The door opens and closes downstairs in an ill-fitting frame, dripping rainwater where cracks have grown in over the years. The rain fingers the windowpane, then turns full assault on the glass. Through it she sees the yard, and Mulder—she stands, her notes forgotten on the table. Mulder is in the center of the yard, dirt and liquefied earth coagulating at his feet. The rain batters his hair, laying it flat, demure. She wonders if this is it, if today’s the day he finally loses his mind for good. Then she is running madly out of the door into the deluge, her feet sinking in the dirt-turned-Newtonian liquid. Her hair has adhered to her forehead and neck by the time she reaches him and presses a hand into his waterlogged shoulder.
This feels like Oregon, Scully, he laughs skyward, drunk on rainwater. She yells at him to get back inside— this is insane, Mulder, it’s raining and we’re barefoot and— he isn’t really listening, looking intently at her and blinking away the drops that make it down his forehead to his eyes. Think you could spare nine minutes, Scully? he murmurs against her wet hair, his hand trailing down her side; she mumbles something about work and reports that have to be filed. Grass sticks to her toes, licking the undersides of her feet.
The water fills her lungs, dripping from the slope of his chin, permeating her skin in a lesson of endothermy. It is their universal invariant.
--
In the morning, the wet clothes strewn over the floor will be her job. He will burn the toast in an early stage of breakfast. The rain will sweep itself up off the soaked, muddy earth and through the cracks in the door.
September 21 2008, 13:50:10 UTC 3 years ago
Re: the inadequacies of our humanity: Mulder/Scully, in the rain
This was the perfect story to read after just waking up. Rich in details, graceful in execution.3 years ago
September 21 2008, 14:26:50 UTC 3 years ago
easy as pie: Mulder/Scully, Pecan Pie
“Do you ever think about the origins of pie, Scully?”“No.” Straight-faced, she reaches for his hand. Kicking her shoe off, red-lacquered toes slip under his pants hem.
His brows rise, a small smile quirks his lips.
“Ask if I care about the origins of pie.” Her foot progress upward.
They are still; except for those toes. Scully slides forward, the ball of her foot winds its way around the sinewy muscles of his calf.
His thumb traces small circles in her palm.
“Spoil sport.”
Scully takes a forkful of lemon chiffon, moving to Mulder’s mouth.
His palm in front of him, halting her progress. “You know I don’t do lemon.”
She smiles. She does know. Lemon is not for sweet stuff; it’s a contradiction. *He* is a contradiction. He who flaunts rules and bends the laws of physics sets his own rules for culinary items.
Scully swipes a finger of topping from the pie and dabs it on his lower lip. It disappears with a pass of his tongue; his eyes never leaving hers.
Secluded alcove, dim lighting, and martinis blur the lines between privacy and exhibition.
Scully wiggles, getting more comfortable. Her foot slips; small toes grasping Mulder’s calf ineffectually.
She pulls her chair in closer. The seductive tilt of her head, her deep blue her eyes, and the way her tongue wets her lips do not go unnoticed by Mulder.
His arousal is a slow burn. Part alcohol-induced with a helping of dessert with Scully. Or Scully for dessert.
Scully, also quite warm and smiles coyly. “Maybe we should try another flavor,” she purrs, pushing aside their pies. She signals the waiter. “We’d like a piece of Cherry and-,” she pauses, waiting for Mulder’s choice,”-Pecan pie.” She adds, “And bring us two Bourbons, neat, please.”
Mulder chuffs, sinking a bit lower in the chair. “I do declare, Ms. Scully,” he begins in a slurred version of Southern charm, “You’re trying to get me drunk.”
“That’s not all I’m trying, Mulder.”
Mulder leans in.
Scully watches with rapt attention, the candlelight focusing on his full, pouty, bottom lip. She licks her own lips in response.
“Let’s swap.” Scully downs the remainder of her Bourbon in one elegant swallow.
“Swap what?” Realization dawns, Mulder’s eyes alight with mischief and seduction. “I want your cherry, Scully,” he leers.
That earns him a response. Scully’s foot is back, this time, climbing to the inside of his knee. And she has a plump, crimson, cherry between her thumb and forefinger. It moves toward him.
Her big toe draws small circles on the fabric, moving to his inner thigh. “And you shall have it, Mulder.”
Scully winks and rests her elbow on the table. She and Mulder are a hair’s breath apart. His fingers encircle Scully’s wrist and draw it closer to his mouth. As his lips close on the fruit prize, her foot inches higher; closer to another prize package.
The heat of glowing carnal embers suffuse Scully’s cheeks, eyelids half-closed in desire. Mulder’s tongue is warm and raspy wetness as it swirls around her fingers. He does not release her, even as the cherry makes its way into his mouth.
Scully draws in a breath.
Mulder’s legs part. He shifts yet again, quite aware of just how hard he has become. Then, his eyes flutter closed, his grip on Scully’s wrist tightening.
“Look at me, Mulder,” she whispers. Gently prying his fingers loose, she takes both his hands in hers, their fingers intertwining. She tips her head, attempting to look into his eyes. The candle burns low; lighting and alcohol-infused haze colored by mutual lust makes sustained eye contact challenging.
“You’re making it a bit difficult,” he nearly groans. He wiggles his hips, allowing her toes further access, and groans yet again. “Scully…” He bites his lower lip.
And Scully licks hers.
“Yes, Mulder?”
“Your foot…not here…”
Scully considers his words. And places the sole of her foot squarely on the length of his cock.
“Jesus, Scully.” He implores her.
“Let’s get out of here, Mulder,” she uses the ball of her foot to massage him one more time.
Mulder makes no attempt to rein in his labored breathing as he reaches for his wallet, every movement heightening his arousal.
Hand in hand, they make a hasty departure.
September 21 2008, 14:51:04 UTC 3 years ago
Re: easy as pie: Mulder/Scully, Pecan Pie
I don't think I'll ever look at pie quite the same way. And yet, I have a horrible craving for some.Wonderful!
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September 21 2008, 14:40:03 UTC 3 years ago
Countertop: Mulder/Scully, kitchen counter
Waking, he reaches for her. His hand encounters empty space, but the sheets retain her body heat. She can't be far. Rising, he scratches his belly before dragging his boxers on.She isn't in the bathroom or living room. A sound from the kitchen clues him in. Suddenly weak-kneed, he has to lean against the door frame for support when he sees her.
She's clad only in his dress shirt. Up on tiptoe, she reaches for the cupboard. The action accentuates the smooth muscles of her thighs and calves. Beneath his shirt, her buttocks flex.
His moan is involuntary.
She whirls around and gasps, "You scared me, Mulder!"
Only one button is done, at mid-breast. The shirttails flared as she spun, showing a tantalizing glimpse of her pale abdomen and the dark curls of her sex. His gaze sweeps over her, lingering at her breasts, her parted lips.
"Jesus, Scully," he grits out, heart hammering in his chest. His blood rushes straight to his cock.
In three strides he is there. He grips her hips, pelvis pushing into her belly. The motion forces her against the kitchen counter. He covers her mouth with his, swallowing the sound of her exclamation which turns into a moan.
Her arms wind around his neck as she stretches up on tiptoe again. One leg lifts and drapes over his hip. His cock is now cradled against her mons. He executes a little thrust; her fingernails score his back.
Freeing his mouth, he grunts, "Up," as he lifts her. She assists with a hop and they shift so that her ass rests on the counter. He yanks her forward. For support she winds both legs around his waist. Her arms are still around his neck; his hands are free to roam at will.
He unbuttons the shirt. Parting the plackets he palms one breast, the nipple diamond-hard. Swipes his thumb over it and she jerks, hissing his name. Hand back to her hip, he bends his head and sucks the little bud, tonguing it ruthlessly. His other hand slides up to cup her jaw, and she turns her head to nip at his thumb. She draws it into her mouth and mimics him by sucking on his thumb. He squeezes her hip and grunts against her breast.
His cock feels restrained. Releasing her nipple with a wet 'pop' he lifts his head. Her eyes are jewel-bright and her lips red and shiny. "Brace yourself," he tells her, and slides his thumb free of her mouth. She nips at it, her gaze never leaving his. He jumps at the erotic bite. She smiles, wickedly.
Her hands grip the counter as she leans back to keep her balance. He shimmies his boxers down and away. His cock bobs in the air and he watches her eye him hungrily. He places his hands on her legs, thumbs teasing her sensitive inner thighs and nudges them wider. "Now?" he asks. It's not really a question.
"God, yes," she gasps. "Hurry."
The logistics aren't ideal, but he doesn't care. She doesn't either. They manage, and he slides into her wet heat with a groan. Legs around his waist, her right hand still clutches the counter. The fingers of her left hand are curled in the hair at his neck. His left hand is on her lower back, fingers teasing the cleft of her ass.
In the precariousness of their position, he's unable to thrust fully. They rock together, face-to-face, mouths millimeters apart, breathing each other's ragged breaths. Neither closes their eyes.
She starts a rhythm with her vaginal muscles, clenching and unclenching on his cock. He has to grit his teeth and recite baseball stats.
"Witch," he tells her, and brings his thumb to her clit, pressing with each rock of his hips. Her eyes widen and her breath hitches. The insides of her thighs tremble against his waist.
He feels the ripples of her oncoming orgasm, sees the way her eyes go hazy and she bites at her lip. He speeds up the motion of his hips and thumb. Her head falls back and she cries his name as she comes. The intense contractions of her inner walls milk him into orgasm. They strain together, he on tiptoes as he empties into her.
She collapses into him, her forehead dropping to his shoulder. Feet now flat on the floor, he rests his head against hers. They breathe in tandem, hearts slowing and bodies cooling.
"Never thought I'd say this, Mulder, but I love your kitchen," she says.
He smirks. "I'm thinking of having the countertop bronzed."
September 21 2008, 14:48:12 UTC 3 years ago
Re: Countertop: Mulder/Scully, kitchen counter
Okay, I have to go smoke a cigarette.WHEW. I'm back. Holy moley, that was hot and beautifully written, which is often a tough combo to achieve. Hope you've got more to post in the battle!
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September 21 2008, 14:49:44 UTC 3 years ago
Not So Much A Half Truth, Scully/OC, one night stand
It's not something she ever thought she would do; that's a lie, she's done it before but never thought she'd do it again. Well, well that's a lie too.It's such a fib; just the thought of what she's about to do, what she's in the thick of is, is making her wet (truth be told, and she liked to tell the truth, always).
What's best, what she thinks is just fantastic is that in the past twenty minutes she has had to struggle to remember his last name, that she's pretty sure it's Thomas, or Thompson or something equally generic. Not that it matters, not that it would make any difference.
Martin (at least she remembers the first, she thinks, as his hands find the waistband of her panties and tug) doesn't have a job at the moment, is in between pay checks, is an artist, or something. What she does know, what Dana Scully knows for sure is that he was a sweet talker and had known just what to say as he sidled up beside her in line at the bank: "I hate Mondays."
It had made her smile, it had made her return his sentiment, make surprisingly-stimulating chatter with him as they waited for the queue to cycle through. He laughed, he smiled, he touched her elbow and she asked him if he'd like to get a drink with her.
He did.
Three glasses of Cabernet to his two jack and cokes and she was feeling fine, wonderful, without a care, remembering that she was supposed to be forgetting about the dull ache that the mere thought of Mulder spurred in her chest. And thus, when he'd taken her hand across the table, swiped a thumb across the flesh of her palm, just so, she gave in.
Martin-don't call me Marty-looks nothing like him; he is rugged, salt-and-pepper, rough around the edges. And to the point, "Sweetheart, I think it'd be very ungentlemanly of me to say this but, it'd make me a very lucky man if you came home with me." There are other words that she might have liked to hear but it doesn't matter much; she'd decided to see this thing through when he had said yes to her invitation.
Scully’s hand makes its way to his throat, presses his head to the side so that she can gain access to his neck. His hand against her sex, stroking, her thigh sliding along his denim-clad cock, there's nothing to think about except how wonderful and heady she feels and how she's sure Marty tastes nothing like he would.
They are naked next to one another and while she tries to remain rigid and in control, he smiles. "You're a gorgeous woman, you know that?" Whether she knows or she doesn't, that doesn't much matter because his hand cups her breast, his lips taste her skin.
And she wants to come.
When he presses into her, hot, heavy, slick, there's nothing that can keep her eyes from sliding closed and his face to flash into the cinema of her mind. It's always him, always, and even as Martin Thompson/Thomas croons wonderful nothings into her ear (lies she wants to hear, she does, she does, rides her rough, just like she wants to be fucked.
Their hands link against the sheet as he bites her shoulder; she bucks, keens out, comes around him, thinking about saying someone else's name. But she holds back, and for a moment regrets her entire evening with not-Mulder-Marty. He kisses her hairline, she smiles.
It's strange, as she lays beside him afterward, what he says to her. "I know, I was thinking about someone else too."
She should feel ashamed, awkward, but she stays until morning.
And is worried that she's a tad hurt to find him gone.
She won't do this again, she tells herself, this is the last time; lie, lie, liar. She feels hollow (she doesn't), she feels dirty (she doesn't), she feels used (not at all) and she still aches for her partner.
She does.
September 21 2008, 14:57:38 UTC 3 years ago
Re: Not So Much A Half Truth, Scully/OC, one night stand
That was excellent, hot and sad. I adored this line: She feels hollow (she doesn't), she feels dirty (she doesn't), she feels used (not at all) and she still aches for her partner.3 years ago
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September 21 2008, 15:23:47 UTC 3 years ago
Extreme Possibilites: Mulder/Scully, body swap
September 21 2008, 15:27:19 UTC 3 years ago
Re: Extreme Possibilites: Mulder/Scully, body swap
Ahahahahahahaha. Fantastic. Fantastic. Ha... hahahah.3 years ago
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