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Flirting
By : Beaverhausen13
Category: S through Z > X-Files
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Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Files. I make no money from this. Church.
Chapter List
- 1-Flirting
- 1
Title: Flirting
Author: Pepperstasia Beaverhausen writing as gillianinchains
Rating: necessary NC-17
Categories: MSR RST H
Summary: casual office flirting goes way too far. Smut ensues.
Spoilers: not really
Timeline: season seven, after the whole Samantha thing finally died.
Disclaimer: The characters of Mulder and Scully DO NOT Belong to me (der-hey, unless the creator of the “X-Files” is actually a party girl from Minnesota and not a surfer god from California), they do belong to Chris Carter, 1013, etc. etc. and if I *were* getting paid for this, I would never have to eat McDonald’s ever again. But I’m not, so I do. Now, on with the show.

J. Edgar Hoover building
6:30 a.m.
Scully. Hot Damn. It’s getting hard to work with her now. Hey, a lot of questions have been answered and now my never idle brain keeps wandering to her. The way she smells, feminine and clean, with the tiniest hint of pumpkin and vanilla. Her voice, a husky blend of girlish and whisky that never ceases to curl my toes. And every other single minute detail that makes my body ache with want.
Okay, so I have it bad.
Not like you wouldn’t either.
I mean; Christ! She’s amazing.
No woman has made me harder at the mere sound of her name. Not even Salma Hayek.
I’m getting in early this morning, we have to sort through the various bullshit today, and somehow, I’m not minding sitting alone with her all day in our basement offices, going over horrendously detailed paperwork, watching her nibble anxiously on her pencil and exchanging smiles with her. It’s wonderous how much she’s smiling more, like bit by bit she’s letting her guard down. Hmmmm, interesting.
But now I see something even more interesting.
Scully. Damn.
She’s sort of *arched* over my desk, pressing her hands on the edge facing me, her back to me as she obviously stretches out her back and neck. I bite my lip, watching her round ass stuck out that way.
So I do what any normal red-blooded male does trying to deny his lust. I face it head on. I move into the office silently, but with purpose, and smack her ass quickly before she sits back down in her chair.
“Mulder!?!” she says chidingly. Was that a hint of amusement in her voice?
She regards me in a look that smacks of confusion and something else I can’t quite finger but it sure is sexy. Fuck me.
“Mulder, you just smacked me in the…you know!” her eyes glint when she says it, and there’s a hint of laughter in her voice.
Again, I find my words and actions not really coinciding with the butterflies lurching in my gut. I lean forward and say in a low, teasing voice, “Maybe I shouldn’t have *smacked*.”
Did she just blush? She looks down and clears her throat, and proceeds to launch into the details of our last completed case.
*********************************************************************************************************************
What the *fuck* is he doing? I had come into the office early this morning, grabbing a cup of coffee at an all-night coffeehouse, and had just finished reading an interesting erotica I had printed off the internet last night, when during a nice stretch, I feel a large male hand clap my ass. Then Mulder, MULDER, saunters over and sits in his seat. What?!? Why is he doing this? Why am I amused?
Not that I’m not dying to have him touch me, you see, but this is not fair. I’m aroused, alert, and he’s flirting.
Now we’re both working sedately and my mind keeps wandering to his actions. Wait a tick. I can get him back. Yeah. Tit for tat. I toe off my left heel and casually run my foot up and down his leg.
Right up to mid-thigh, to be precise.
Mulder jumps, drawing a nice line over the form he was filling out.
“Something wrong, Mulder?” I ask coolly.
Mulder regains his composure quickly, “Nothing at all, Scully.”
Did he just wink? I’m hallucinating. They’re spiking the rice dreamsicles with acid, I’m sure of it. Then it’s gone, and we’re back to filling out a million forms that yawn before us.
A half-hour passes by, before Mulder stretches out his arms and mock-yawns, “I’m going for some coffee, Scully.” he says, getting up and making his way over to me with a sexy swagger, then leaning into my ear, “You want some?” he asks lowly.
A chill runs up my spine. Fucking eh. Payback, Dana.
I squeeze at the top of his knee, “Amaretto Latte.” I practically purr, and return to my paperwork appearing unflushed. I should win an Academy Award, because I feel like pole-vaulting onto him and fucking him blind. He smells delicious. Dial soap and his own combination of man tend to make my mouth water.
“Amaretto Latte it is.” he says, breezing out the door.
**************************************************************************************************************************
Fuck. Shit. Damn. Fuckety-fuck-fuck-fuck. She’s playing along. Whoo Johnny. Down boy.
She didn’t respond right away, either. Oh no. She would never be that fair. No, she had to wait until I was engrossed in my paperwork to run her foot over my leg. Electricity shot through my nerve endings, and my right arm jerked my tired hand across the form it had been tediously filling out. I cooled immediately, thinking of that dead baby joke involving clown shoes, and countered.
Why the fuck did I wink?
And all the gods in heaven, what is turning me into a caricature Don Juan wannabe?
After another incident involving smelling her hair and murmuring in her ear (me, of course), and a grabbing of the space above my knee (her); now I’m out at a coffee stand and I am promising myself that I will not flirt dangerously with my partner any longer. I will stick with it, too. She’s my *Partner*. Partner’s don’t do that kind of thing with each other. Baseball. Baseball.
*************************************************************************************************************************
Two days later
Mulder is pure evil. These past couple days, he’s done nothing but drive me practically mental. Who does he think he’s dealing with? God, has he just gone utterly, *completely* insane?
The flirting is sort of getting to me.
How would *you* feel if the man you had gone from being friends and a *casual* flirt with decided to take it too far?
I thought so.
Yesterday, I had the extreme misfortune of waking up and catching the 4:35 a.m. showing of Dangerous Liaisons on HBO. So of course, I was rather, um, warm when I got to work. Mulder showed up shortly behind me (again to my complete unawareness, the man’s part panther, I swear; hmmmmm) and as I sat down in my chair, he ran his finger up my spine.
Bastard.
I mean, after he got back from getting our coffee the other day, he seemed fine the rest of the morning and even the rest of the workday. Then his actions the next day, starting from that thrilling touch to my spine, have not stopped and have, as a matter of fact, worsened.
Of course I’m playing along.
So far, he has smacked my ass four times, pinched it once, brushed a “piece of lint” off my breasts twice, and on eight separate occasions grabbed my upper thigh, but who’s counting?
That was sarcasm, by the way. And it isn’t like I haven’t shared in my own level of evilness as well, grabbing *his* ass on the way to the car, using my foot to scrape his inner thigh on quite a few occurrences in the office, and blowing lightly on the back of his neck coming back from a coffee run at Starbucks.
This shit has got to stop.
What am I being reduced to? I am a professional, a DOCTOR, for fuck’s sake, and we’re flirting with each other like two teenagers who have just discovered the other sex. Not that I wouldn’t love to get to know Mulder’s sex, but that’s beyond all protocol. Bad.
Naughty. Wrong.
Now I’m sitting at my desk and I did manage to avoid anything at all stimulating this morning, so maybe I will have the presence of mind not to react.
I feel a slight lick on my earlobe as I am trying to go over expense accounts. Everything I just told you went right out the fucking window. I think I gasped and I know I jumped, and now I hear Mulder chuckling softly.
“Good Morning, Scully.” he says impishly, as I involuntarily smack him on the shoulder.
My breathing has to calm down, I think I am the brightest shade of red right now, and I hate when I blush. Shitballs.
Think of that ancient gynecologist whose eyes glaze over when he gives you that papsmear, Dana. Better.
“Morning.” I say calmly, all the while wishing I could change my seating arrangement so he can’t sneak up on me anymore.
He sits across from me and smiles. Here we go again.
************************************************************************************************************************
I am a jackass. A hopeful jackass and certainly one who can’t stick to his own convictions. I promised myself that I would try to keep my hands off; but that proved to be extremely difficult. After a while the dead baby jokes just aren’t effective anymore.
Plus, I am curious as to why *she’s* so responsive.
It’s made me think anyway. Does she want me too? Or is she pissed at what I am doing to her and is just issuing a little payback?
One thing’s for sure, Mulder Jr. has never been this awake. It’s like it’s hooked on uppers or something. I would be embarrassed, but I haven’t taken off my suit jacket in the past two days in the company of others, so it’s not that bad.
Except that she’s torturing me.
Before, it wasn’t really her fault. Scully was, well, Scully, beautiful and serious and unassuming, but now she’s…something else. Now she’s actually making a personal effort of making my life sheer hell.
Baseball. Base…it doesn’t even work anymore. My singlemindedness is my curse, because now it’s focused completely on her. Yesterday was unquestionably nonstop. I had stuck to my promise of not touching her anymore the day before, but I walked in yesterday morning and there she was, looking delicious, and my promise went flying out the door.
So I instigated the whole thing? So what? She doesn’t have to respond in the way she has. Every time her toes go gliding up my leg, I suppress every urge in my body not to take her up against the filing system.
I walk in this morning to find her engrossed in something, but damn, is she a sight. She has her left hand cradling her head, stretching out her luminous neck every now and then, studiously writing out whatever it is with her delicate hand. Then I focus on her ear. Tell me, ladies and gentlemen, how an *ear* can be beautiful? So with the stealth of the past few days, I sneak up behind her and start it all over again. I have the urge to lick that ear, so I do. Do I not have a conscience? Has my libido taken over my free will? She gasps, jerks, and hits me in the shoulder.
“Good Morning, Scully.” I say as calmly as a Cheshire cat, complete with grin.
She smiles at me after she echoes a greeting, and I feel that all is not lost.
“So, what’re we doing this morning?” I ask.
“We have a meeting with A.D. Skinner at noon to go over our expenses for the past few months. So I thought I’d do the reports that *you* never finished on them.” she answers, propping her feet in my lap under the desk.
Down Boy.
“My feet are tired, you don’t mind, do you?” she purrs.
Yeah, sure your feet are tired, Scully. And monkeys might also be flying out of my ass right now. “I don’t mind at all.” I answer, then get hit with the dummy award of the year. My hands move down to my lap, wrapping around her feet, beautiful and small and white. Hmm, painted your toenails red? “Here, let me help you.” I run one finger up her the arch of her foot, and she giggles (yes, I said giggles) and tries to jerk her foot away. I keep a firm hold on them and smile, “I’ll try not to tickle.”
“Like hell you will.” she chuckles.
She’s actually enjoying this. I start to work, drawing deep circles into her soles with my thumbs, continuing down to her instep and heel in the same fashion. Her face. Shit. She has her eyes closed and her mouth is slightly parted and I can hear her breath coming in slow deep inhales and exhales. I start to work on her toes, and she actually bites her lip. Oh my gentle Jesus. I’m making good and sure that her feet are away from Mr. Happy, that would do me no good. In this power play, I’m the one who’s winning and I don’t need her getting ammunition for backfire. This is horrible. This is wrong. Why oh why am I doing this in the first place? I may be fucking with her, but her facial expressions are killing me.
So I stop.
“Okay, all done.” I say, patting her feet and reaching for my pen.
Heh heh heh.
**************************************************************************************************************************
My retaliation totally backfired. I feel the fool, so to speak. I decided to prop my feet in his lap to fuck with his head, and he ended up giving me the most erotic foot massage I think I’ve ever had. I almost came. The massage itself wasn’t too out there, he didn’t go beyond the boundaries of my feet or suck on my toes or anything like that, but it was so *deep* and slow, I wanted to know how those skilled hands felt elsewhere on my body. Plus, he kept watching me. Gauging my reaction, I suppose. Anyway, it was intense.
I was just beginning to wonder how sturdy the desk was when he stopped.
The bastard.
Thank god.
I coax him to help finish the rest of the paperwork by walking over and placing half of my forms in his lap. Slowly. I then realize that they’re sort of tenting. Nice, very nice. I hide a smirk as I saunter back to my side of the desk and we finish up the reports five minutes before leaving.
“Hey, we’ve got time enough for a quickie, Scully.” Mulder leans in and says upon completion.
I think of my elderly gynecologist once more and counter, “Not enough for my kind of quickie.” I say teasingly, glancing at my watch.
He raises his eyebrows and we gather up our reports. I, of course, make him carry them all, and let him go ahead of me. A-ha, leverage. I reach my left hand out and slowly squeeze his right, um, cheek. Insert evil laugh here.
After he dropped all of our paperwork onto the ground, I lean down to help him pick it up, and he follows behind me, squeezing my upper thigh and catching me completely off guard. I suck in a deep breath and we end up doing what we normally do, forgetting about it and going on to the meeting.
*************************************************************************************************************************
All through that boring, tedious meeting my mind kept entertaining me with events from this morning, like what would have happened had I not suppressed the urge to fuck her on the floor when she made me drop our paperwork. Hey, she grabbed my ass. Not just a flirtatious fly-by grab, either. It was deliberate and slow and *very* suggestive.
What exactly is she trying to do to me, anyway?
After the meeting we were informed of a new case in Maryland, in a tiny town called Egypt, pop. 275. It’s about a 45-minute drive from D.C., and we’re now about 10 minutes into it. Why does she look so incredible today? It’s a bit warm, so instead of her usual wool tailored pantsuit, she’s wearing a thinner cotton skirt suit in beige, consisting of a short jacket, a molded-to-her body scoop neck white tank top, and a knee-length skirt with a medium slit up her left thigh. The skirt clings softly to the curves of her bottom and thighs, and every once in a while, her left leg’s exposed, making me feel the need to touch her.
Like now, for instance.
Her leg is peeking out all the way to her upper thigh and I can see the barrier of her stocking and her luminous white skin.
It’s hypnotic, luckily, I *have* to drive, so I can only glance over every once in a while. Ahh, the happy place. I imagine kissing that small patch of naked skin and making her moan. This is bad. I shouldn’t be thinking this way. She’s my friend, you know? Honestly though, I can’t get my mind off her.
Scully is a poison that has gotten under my skin and consumed me. Period.
She’s reaching over to turn on the radio and ends up flipping it on the only station reachable out here. It’s Baltimore’s Z98, playing all the hot hits and is obviously the highest-powered station in all of Maryland. The song that’s playing is a dance hit by Prince; “Erotic City”. God damn.
“If we cannot make babies, maybe we could make some time, (Fuck) so pretty you and me, Erotic City come alive…”
I start bopping my head, this song has a really good beat, so soon my shoulders join my head as I half-dance in my seat. Scully lets out a chuckle.
“Like Prince, Mulder?”
“I like this song.” I answer, reaching for the volume and turning it up. I continue on with my impromptu seat dance, kicking my motions up a notch.
I wait for her to tell me to stop and concentrate on the road. But she doesn’t. In fact, she’s started moving a bit sensuously in her seat, and I realize that she’s playing along. Her hips are gyrating in slight movements and she rolls her shoulders and torso in such a suggestive fashion that I can’t help but think dirty thoughts. My god, she’s trying to kill me. It’s the only explanation.
***************************************************************************************************************************
This is fun. I never in a million years thought that Mulder and I would be sort of dancing in a car going down a remote highway in the middle of no man’s land, but here we are.
God, he looks good.
This song is too coincidental.
Hey, maybe it could be an X-file. But seriously, could this song *be* any more suggestive? I’ve been thinking about fucking so pretty with Mulder way too much lately.
I almost lost it when he started moving with the music. It was such a shock, and in a way, it kind of turned me on. I guess because he feels comfortable enough around me to not have to worry about looking foolish. I had decided that instead of my initial reaction of cracking up in hysterical laughter, that I would instead return the favor. And I do like this song. It has a good beat, and it is sort of erotic gyrating my hips in a seat next to Mulder. I’m a good dancer.
I used to go clubbing in med school, pre-Daniel, and we’d scam drinks off men and dance the night away.
I’m starting to catch off movements in Mulder’s dancing.
Distracted, G-man?
My hands move slowly, teasingly down my torso as I roll my shoulders forward. They move down to my hips and do a nice little circle, then slide down further to caress the outsides of my thighs while my whole upper body rolls with the beat. I can feel him watching me, but my eyes are mostly closed as I concentrate on moving. The song changes to an equally coincidental tune, it’s rap and the words are, well…
“I just wanna (fuck) bad bitches, all them nights I never had bitches, now I’m all up in that ass, Bitches…”
I smile, egged on by this Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg, and roll my body in a beat wrapped in pure sex, gyrating and caressing and feeling just a bit powerful as I sense Mulder’s movements stopping completely. I open my eyes and look at him, still never stopping my dance. Kill me now. He’s a bit slack-jawed, which is about the sexiest expression I’ve ever seen, by the way, and his hazel eyes are tinted with an interesting shade of green. His pouty mouth is perked slightly in an interested grin, and I’m fighting every need that I have now conveniently developed in my body to crawl into his lap and continue my dance *there*.
Stop it, Dana.
“Why’d you stop?” I ask, my voice sounding a little breathless.
“I’m having fun watching you.” Mulder leans in and answers, “Where’d you learn to move that way, Scully?”
“Instinct.” I answer, “And about five years of childhood ballet.” I add, gyrating a little more.
His eyebrows raise a bit and he places a hand on my exposed left thigh, moving it around the outside exposed area and on upward, kneading my muscles while I grind my hips. His touch to such a foreign area sends frantic messages to my nerve endings, and it’s starting to make me a bit squidgy.
Then the song ends, and we’re hit with a commercial for Madame Sayer’s delicious iced tea. His hand pulls off my leg and I stop dancing. The mood is now gone.
“Ballerina, huh?” Mulder cracks.
***********************************************************************************************************************
I couldn’t concentrate on the case at all. We went to Egypt to question a few people about the possible sighting of cultists stealing house pets for sacrifice to the gods Winken, Blinken, and Nod, and I had to force myself to go on autopilot.
My mind was elsewhere, you see.
It was, in fact, thinking of Scully and I doing a dance of a totally different kind on our desk in our distant basement office.
Holy Christ, man.
Scully can mooove.
I keep imagining her hips straddling mine while she undulates them like she did earlier.
See, now she’s really making me think. My big problem is the fact of whether or not she wants to jump me as much as I do her. Shit guys, you know I love her. We’ve *loved* each other for a long time.
But this isn’t about love. This is about sex. You can love someone and have no physical attraction, but when you have that, and you haven’t acted on it, it can pose as a dilemma. In short, you tend to act way out of line.
We’re now back in D.C., finished with our reports and getting ready to go home. She’s leaning over the desk again and putting her forms in her valise, and I come up from behind (again without thinking) and wrap my arms around her waist. I pull her tight against me and kiss the top of her head with a loud smack, “I’m outta here, Scully.” I say happily.
“See you tomorrow, Mulder.” she laughs, pressing her head into my chest, exposing her neck a bit.
It looks scrumptious.
So I lean down and softly bite it.
Why oh why do I set myself up for this? I am the dumbest man on the whole fucking Earth. She gives out a noise that’s a cross between a gasp and a moan, then moves her hand between us and rubs it down my hipbone.
Janet Reno masturbating on my couch.
Bea Arthur.
Now calmed, I let go of Scully and smack her ass lightly.
“See you tomorrow.” I say, and retreat to my porn and an ice-cold shower.
********************************************************************************************************************
He’s driving me to some sort of breaking point. I had nothing but wet dreams last night about Mulder and I in many different positions.
He bit my neck.
I almost came.
It was the fact that his mouth was on my neck that did me in.
In all intents and purposes, for a split millisecond all I could think was ‘that does it’. I wanted it right then, right there. I had to touch him in retaliation and glided my hand down his glorious hipbone.
He was holding on to me tightly as well, and my, but he was at attention. I felt it pressing against my back. I was so wound up I would have snapped at any second.
Then he let me go.
Phew.
This morning I made good and sure to read some scientific reports on fungus and to have no coffee whatsoever, just in case he tries anything. I’m willing my nerve endings to numb so that if he does touch me, my body won’t react as violently as it has been. Plus I, ahem, took care of things down below right before leaving for work.
Twice. Just to be on the safe side.
So today, I am prepared. I’m sitting in his chair so he can’t sneak up behind me, and my feet are propped on the desk as I lean back, a smug, self-satisfied grin on my face as I peruse yesterday’s findings.
Ha ha ha.
He saunters in around six, looking nummy in a black suit and a ridiculous gray and red striped tie.
“Heya, Scully, what’s happening?” he says jokingly, snapping his fingers and pointing them at me.
I take my legs off our desk and counter, “Not much. Literally. There’s not enough evidence to accuse anyone of stealing 27 dogs, 39 cats, a hamster, a gerbil, and 3 cute little bunny rabbits.”
He strolls up to my side of the desk, putting his hands on the top, and leans in so his face is inches away from mine, “Case closed, Scully. Sherriff’s office found out this morning that it was a couple of entrepreneurial kids who stole them for their petting zoo at 25 cents a gander. Name of said zoo? Winken, Blinken, and Nod, after the girl, Carrie Sanderson’s, favorite nursery rhyme.”
“So, no sacrificial killings?” I smile.
“Nope. All the pets have been returned safe.” Mulder answers, wandering toward me until he is directly in front of me, pulling up and sitting on the edge of the desk.
“So what do we do now?” I ask. This is great. He isn’t giving me that ache anymore. He’s just Mulder. My partner. My friend.
He reaches over and grabs my right arm, jerking me up from “his” chair and trapping me in between his knees.
Scratch everything I just said.
Mulder begins massaging my shoulders, “Well, after this neck rub, m’lady, we’ll spend a lovely afternoon typing up reports and going over the files and (ahem) slides for our next case.”
“Slides, Mulder? You’re *really* trying to soften me up, aren’t you?” I question, rolling my head a little.
“Is it working?” he asks teasingly, thumbing that perfect spot that’s always tense, using a slow, deep pressure that reminds me of other slow, deep things we could be doing.
“Maybe.” I manage to say, even though I’m in my happy place right now so it comes out breathy and just, wrong.
He gives me that cocky ass grin that never fails to turn my knees to water, “Maybe? Should I be massaging other things?”
I can’t believe he just said that.
Very well, we’ll play.
I slide my hands from where they had been on his knees to his upper thighs and squeeze the muscles there, just once. “I don’t know, should you?” I chuckle, “Are the slides *that* bad?”
He moves his right hand to my lower back and begins to massage there, pulling me further in between his legs. “They’re terrible.”
“Really?” Oh god, did I just purr? I know I bit my lip, because I just felt his erection graze my hipbone. These clothes are really starting to piss me off.
I look up at him and realize that he’s very close now, very close, and it feels…good. I’m surprised by the utter rightness in this sea of wrong. His eyes are a dull shade of olive and that grin has faded into something a lot more predatory. “You’re gonna hate me, Scully.” he growls.
Then his lips are on mine, and I have now dove into the abyss of wrong.
And god, do I love it.
***************************************************************************************************************************
I am a sorry ass excuse for a man. But I’m also a sorry ass excuse for a man who’s kissing Dana Scully right now, so I can’t be all bad.
It’s about time.
That’s all I can think about as I’m exploring her delicious mouth, which, by the way, tastes like heaven. I went a little crazy, I’ll admit. But she was in my arms, her hip grazing the obvious proof of my want, and she purred.
Purred.
I took that as a go ahead, and just dove in.
Wow, this is passionate. I just have this feeling like I want to eat her alive. And the most amazing thing? I’m taking it that *she* feels the same.
I pause our kiss for a split second, take a deep breath, and look at her. Wow. So this is what Scully looks like when she’s horny. Her eyes are the deepest shade of blue that I think I’ve ever seen and her face is flushed and breathlessly beautiful. It makes my heart stop a beat, she’s that fucking gorgeous. Then I kiss her so hard that our teeth clash together upon recontact. Our tongues slide together in a sensuous little dance, and my hand travels from the small of her back to her copious ass, closing in the last millimeter of distance between us as her arms circle around my neck. God, she feels good. Her teeth are nibbling slowly on my bottom lip as I suck on her top one now, her left hand is twining in my hair, and did I happen to mention that this is paradise?
Then she breaks away and now I’m scared. A slow smile spreads across her face, and I am instantly relieved.
“I’m forgetting about the slides.”
************************************************************************************************************************
Fox Mulder is one of the greatest kissers alive. Bar none. I am so turned on right now I can’t see straight.
He’s standing up off the desk, after my remark about the slides he just looked at me like I was the most wonderful thing in the world, but now he’s reclaiming me, drawing me back into his arms, back into his mouth, and as he explores my tongue in slow, deliberate strokes, his hand moves from my waist up my torso and squeezes my breast in such a suggestive manner that I can’t help but moan into his mouth.
“I want you, Scully.” he growls, skating his lips past my chin to nuzzle my neck.
Wow, he really just said that. I grab his right “cheek” and squeeze, “Okay.” I manage.
He lets go of me reluctantly, turns around, and sweeps everything off the desk save the computer. Now he’s grabbing me with the most delicious roughness and setting me on the desk with a loud thud.
Good thing we’re down here in the basement.
He swoops down on me and devours my mouth, pulling off my suit jacket in the process.
Alright, some of these clothes are history! I peel off his jacket and fling it to the other side of the room. He chuckles into my mouth as I work on his belt buckle.
“I guess you don’t know your own strength.” He jokes, pushing up my skirt.
I whip off his belt and that goes flying as well, “I guess not.” I counter, finding a nice spot on the underside of his chin and capturing it in my mouth.
I can feel him smile, “No nylons today, Scully?” he whispers, his hands roaming my upper thighs.
My breath catches, “It was too hot.”
“It or you?” he asks mockingly, complete with full teeth smile.
Why did that just shoot a lightning bolt of want into my loins? Suddenly, I lunge at him, capturing his droopy bottom lip into my mouth and sucking on it. I need him. This has gone way past any point of civility. We’ve tortured ourselves for too long. We must have each other after seven good years of sexual tension, going home every night with fires down below. It isn’t fair, and now I’m getting my just desserts. Mulder peels off my sleeveless green top and immediately focuses his attentions on my breasts. Typical.
***********************************************************************************************************************
God, they’re beautiful. Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m a pig, but damn. These have to be the most luscious breasts I’ve ever seen, creamy white flesh spilling over navy blue lace and satin in the most decadent roundness.
Man, but I am a pig.
I hone in on her left one immediately, yanking up her bra and drawing her nipple into my mouth so fast I even amaze myself. She lets out the most amazing squeak and my cock jumps at the sound of it. I remind myself that we are at work, so we do have to speed things up a bit, but this is such an outstanding thing, touching Dana Scully like this, and she’s letting me. ME. She moves the hand she had on my ass behind her and her bra snaps open completely.
“Mulder,” she says, chest heaving and eyes dark, “Before we go any further, I think you should lock the door.”
Yes! She didn’t tell me to stop. She told me to lock the door. Duly noted. I kiss her quickly and rush to the door, locking it with a resounding ‘click’.
Then I turn around and look at her. *Really* look at her. My gentle Jesus. Her hair is mussed and her lipstick’s gone, but her lips are still a bit purple from being kissed (by ME), she’s topless, and her skirt is pushed up around her waist, showing a swatch of navy-blue satin between her thighs.
You are a kind God.
In an instant I’m back on her, kissing her anywhere I can, and she’s gasping and letting out these soft little moans, making me crazy with need for her.
Now her hands are finally working on my suit pants and she yanks them down forcefully, “We’d better hurry, Mulder.” She says, pulling me from my current position on her right breast to engulf me into her mouth. Mmmmm, yeah, this feels good, and now she’s pushing down my boxers. I work my hands under her skirt and grip the waistband of her panties, yanking them off quickly. Holy shit, this is happening. This is really happening. I push into her, forcefully quick, and now…oh god.
She’s so hot.
Oh man, she is heaven.
*********************************************************************************************************************
Mmmmmm, this is un-fucking-believable. Oh Mulder, damn you feel good. He’s pumping at a moderate speed, like he’s moving to the beat of music that I can’t hear. It’s not slow by a long shot, but it’s also not as furious as our foreplay. Just, I don’t know, perfect. Our mouths are still holding onto each other for dear life, muffling our cries into little mmmms and squeaks and abbreviated grunts.
Did I mention how good he feels?
Oh, but this is wrong. This is so wrong. We could be doing this anywhere but here. On a bed. In a car, even. Anywhere but in this office on this desk at this moment. But oh well, what are ya gonna do?
Oh yeah, right there Mulder, god-DAMMM-it.
His hand has now slid between us and he moves his thumb to my clitoris, pressing down in firm circles that match his increasing pace. Holy fuck yes. I feel the low heat begin to swell and I suck his tongue into my mouth to stop from screaming as my thighs start shuddering involuntarily.
Fuck, he’s goooood.
Ohyesohyesrightthererightthereshitdon’tstopdon’tstopfuckfUCK-FUCK!
I feel him steal my breath with a sharp intake as he follows behind me, letting out the most darling little half-groan as he lets go.
Now we’re silent.
You know how it is. We’re just enjoying the moment. Man, I just wanna sleep for days now. He’s still inside me and we’re letting our breathing calm down to a decent pace.
He nips slightly at my bottom lip after a beat, “Are you still mad about the slides?” he asks slyly.
“What slides?”
END
Blalalala! This was just a little what if. What if Mulder and Scully’s hormones finally got the better of them like the rest of us mere mortals, although according to the season finale, all of us ‘shippers were right the whole time. This smut’s for you!
“I just wanna fuuuuuck you…” ~Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg, & Devin the Dude “Fuck You”
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Flirting	By : Beaverhausen13 Category: S through Z > X-Files Views: 910 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Files. I make no money from this. Church.

Flirting