Can you do a fic about Scully going down on Mulder in the office while he’s on an important work-related phone call?

msrafterdark:

“The 28th? No, we can’t do the 28th, Agent Scully and I are in Nebraska that week…”

He nudges the phone to a more secure position between his ear and shoulder as he flicks through the calendar his partner neatly organized. Scully is a few feet away, puttering around with the shelves, but he can’t quite see what she’s doing. Her back is to him, the sleek lines of her suit reminding him of how much he wants to run his hands down her naked back as he fucks her from behind. And then cuddle the fuck out of her. This morning wasn’t enough.

“The following month? Uh…let me look…”

He casually flips through the pages, but his eyes are still on Scully. He hears a sudden clunk as something drops from the shelf and she scuttles after it, dropping on her hands and knees to crawl beneath the desk. He moves to help her look for the object from his limited position, but he suddenly feels her hands on his shins, wordlessly telling him to stay still.

Before he can even warn her that this might not be a good idea (however much he’ll hate to say it), her hand is cupping him through his slacks, and she’s pulling down the tag of his zipper. He honestly can’t deal with this. Scully is going to go down on him in the middle of the day while he is on the phone with Sheriff What’s His Name from Whatever City, Whatever State, and he just might cry because this is Fantasy #48. They’d already taken care of Fantasy #56 and #38B last week. This woman is too good to him.

“Well it looks like we’re free on—ugh—!!”

He chokes right as he feels his partner’s little hand slip into the fly of his boxer briefs, her gentle touch clasping his delighted dick. He breathes noisily through his nose, clenching his molars as he wills himself to not make a sound.

“We…we might be able to fly down after the tenth…”

Oh God, she’s pulling him through the flap. He can feel her soft breath against his skin as she presses a kiss to the tip of his cock. For the life of him he can’t remember anyone ever kissing him there, and Scully does it every fucking time.

“Scootch up, Mulder,” he can hear her quiet request, and he obeys, pushing his hips forward so that he’s slouching in his chair. Right as he opens his mouth to speak, Scully’s own sweet mouth engulfs his length, bathing him in wet softness.

“Ffffffyeah, that whole weekend should…should be free,” he chokes out. He can feel her strong tongue flexing beneath his shaft as she takes more of him in, and his head thunks against the wall as he almost loses what little composure he has left.

“Weee might need a couple of guys for back up,” his voice is becoming steadily higher pitched, “That’s all, thou—though.”

Oh goddamn, her hands are back, one massaging his balls while the other grasps the base of him. Her mouth is relentless, and he knows he’s got about twenty seconds before this becomes unmistakable to the snuffly gentleman on the other end of the line.

“Okay, thanks sir, we’ll see you inJunethenhaveagoodday—” **click**—“Oh, CHRIST, Scully—GOD!”

With a cry that hurts his throat he erupts, his back arching as he spurts into her sweet, warm, perfect mouth. She drags her hands up and down the length of his thighs, wordlessly encouraging him as his nails dig deeply into the arm rests of his chair. He wishes he could see her. Fuck, this is unbelievable—if anyone had ever told him six months ago that the love of his life would be giving him a blowjob under the desk, he would have thrown whatever object Scully had “dropped” at their head.

“Christ, Scully,” he sniffles, his eyes watering and his head pounding. By the time he’s able to see straight she’s already stood up, her hair mussed and her eyes glittering as she straightens out her blazer. She looks pleased with herself, almost giddy.

“I will get you for that,” he vows, “Tonight. You just wait.”

Scully huffs, a playful smirk on her face, “Promises, promises, Mulder.”

They both know he will.

22! msr of course

edierone:

somekindofseizure:

Ficlet:  “Caught”

Rating:  Mature, NSFW

“What?” Mulder asks, casting a defensive jawline over his
shoulder.  “What is that look?”  

Silence.

“Look, I know that I’ve made things weird around here.  It’s been years and years of just… this.  You and me, and our… what would you call
it?  Friendship… partnership?  However you want to define it.  I can imagine how it would be weird for you.”

Nothing.

“I slept with her, okay?
I just slept with her.  It doesn’t
necessarily mean anything… I’m not saying she’s not hot enough, she’s
beautiful, she’s really beautiful, but so are you.  And she’s smart and she’s… Look, it’s not a
competition.  You can both be in my life…
Oh come on, don’t just turn your back on me like that.  I’m trying to talk to you.”

He rubs his forehead in his hands, leans forward, digging
his elbows into his knees hard enough to be sure he is awake, this is happening.  He has actually gone and done it, turned his
whole life upside down for one stupid night of passion.  Not because of anything to do with him; if he
wanted to have feelings for her, he could.  There’s nothing wrong with him.

Yes, there is.  It hasn’t been said, but it may as well.  He looks up, his eyes burning, his voice
spitting with self-loathing.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t
notice.  You think I can’t do it?  You think I’m just this shell of a man who
dedicates his life to specters and shadows and little green men.  You think it’s just porn and aliens, that’s
what my life is about, that’s all I’m capable of, just because that’s what you
see day in and day out?”

He looks over at the other side of the couch, where just
about twenty-four hours ago he had her, the woman in question, undressed, pressed awkwardly into the
corner of the couch.  After some heavy
petting, she wiggled out and climbed on top of him, tilted his head back over
the arm of the couch, her hand flat against his Adam’s apple.  She slid her tongue so far down his throat he
thought she might come up with change from between the cushions.  They struggled to get each other’s shirts off
at the same time, pawing like two kittens on their hind legs, engaged in a
practice fight.  

She pressed herself against the fly of his jeans until she
tore the seam of the simple underwear she’d been wearing, the ones she hadn’t
been expecting to let anyone see.  Just a
tiny tear, but enough for him to remember, enough to make him hard at the
thought of it.  And he shouldn’t be
thinking about it.  He’s in the middle of
setting things straight.

“I’m not in love with her, okay?  I mean, I know you’re not asking me that but
I need you to know.  I’m not in love with
her.”

They moved through time signatures and positions like dance
partners.  Hard and fast, slow and
tender, squeezed tight against him, at a tongue-teasing distance, spinning…
spinning… spinning.  

But it was still only one night.  

They had fucked until she fell asleep on top of him.  When his neck got stiff, he picked her up
like a princess in a forest and carried her to the bed wrapped up in his Navajo
blanket.

As he thinks of her creeping out of bed this morning
quietly, his voice pipes back up in a hoarse mumble, eager to settle questions
that haven’t been asked.  His chest is
tight with fear. “If I am in love with her then… then I’m going to need you
more than ever.  To get me through it.”

There’s a knock on the door.

“It’s open.”  

She makes a film noir out of her entrance:  files in hand, shiny red lipstick and a
rain-slicked black trench coat tied, belted tightly around her waist.  She leans her umbrella against the wall and
shakes out her hair, wavy with weather.
And he knows he’s been lying this entire conversation.  He knows he’s in love with her, he’s known
for so long he can’t remember now when he didn’t know, and that was only about
thirty seconds ago.   He goes to her,
kissing her softly on the mouth.   She tosses the files onto the counter.

“Hi,” she says, as if she’s a game show winner who’s just
chosen the right door. He is moved by the idea that she’d been insecure about
seeing him, that she wasn’t sure how he would receive her.

“Hi.  I was just
talking about you,” he says without letting her go.

“Talking to who?”

“The fish.  They’re
having some jealousy issues after what they witnessed the other night.”

“Oh,” she says as he tangles one hand in her hair.  She hooks her nails onto the trench’s belt
buckle, slides it out slowly, the material shaking raindrops onto his arms as
it loosens.  And when it falls open, his
lungs stop working for what feels like eternity.

“Sweet Jesus.”

She pulls him toward the bedroom in nothing but lingerie,
whispering conspiratorially.  “We should
go in here.  What we’re about to do could
traumatize them forever.”  

reblogging even though I think I’ve done this before because OHHHH YEAH

The Effing Stage

icedteainthebag:

Well, I didn’t plan this at all, but it’s kind of quaint that I wrote this erotica today.

CC, feel free to steal this WHOLE THING for Season 11.

Title: The Fucking Stage
Author: @icedteainthebag (AO3)
Rating: MA
Pairing: Scully/Mulder
Notes:  Dedicated to @somekindofseizure for inspiring this junket in a number of ways.

The last three weeks had been the greatest time of his life.

Not that Mulder had much to compare it to.

Keep reading

Reconnection

Gillovny RPF

Thank you so so much to @sembell for her excellent beta-reading! I love you!

(Slightly NSFW)


How did the time pass so quickly, she wonders. It feels like he crossed the door three seconds ago, but here they are, at four in the morning, in the massive garden of her rental house, surrounded by the noises of the nature, monkeys hiding in the trees, invisible insects singing in their ears and probably one snake or two crawling nearby.

It’s been a few weeks since they’ve seen each other. In other circumstances, they would be in bed already, trying to shush each other not to wake up all the children sleeping everywhere in the house. Maybe they’re getting old, she thinks. He has invited her to have a last drink outside, after dinner, after the boys went to bed, and the older ones went out. He wanted to enjoy the silence, just with her, for a couple of minutes before they “reconnected”. That’s the way they call their endless love making after a long period of separation.

But the couple of minutes became an hour, the hour turned into three, and the last drink turned into the whole bottle of Costa Rica red wine. She doesn’t drink, except when she’s at ease with someone she trusts more than herself, which means no one but him. Two glasses are usually enough to get her tipsy, so he happily drank the rest of the bottle. Finally, after six years of a complicated but beautiful relationship, they’ve found another way to “reconnect”.

She tells him about her difficulties with her boys. They’re getting older, tiny little men, as he likes to call them. They demand more independence but they’re still her babies, and it’s tough for her to find her place in their lives. He tells her about West, his struggles between allowing her to make her own mistakes and preventing her from the dangers all teenagers her age are confronted with. He told her he wished her daughter would have come with him. She reassures him. She knows what it’s like to raise a girl. She knows there’s a complicated phase, but it’s just a phase. It passes.

As the discussion goes, time passes. Piper and her friends come back and go straight to bed, avoiding the judgmental look Gillian would have given them if they stood too close to her, smelling their breath or seeing their eyes.

The moon is bright and high in the sky, and it’s so late that even the animals around them have gone silent.

It’s time to get up and go to bed, she thinks. Time for the old fashion way of reconnecting. But her head spins and his back hurts after sitting for such a long time. They’re indeed getting old.

As soon as she lays down, her eyes close and sleep invades her. She doesn’t need more anyway. She feels warm and safe knowing he’s just here besides her. Smelling his scent and hearing him breathing is enough for tonight. She feels his large arm enveloping her waist, a soft kiss being dropped on her bare shoulder, and a muffled “I love you” is whispered into her ear. She’s falling asleep.

Is someone knocking at the door? Is it for real, or only in her dream? Why is he moving? She felt so good with her body pressed against his and her nose buried into his neck. Who is he talking to? She can’t proceed right now. What time is it anyway? 6? 9? Noon? Whoever you are, go away, close the door behind you and let me lay on top of him for the rest of my life, she thinks. Maybe they hear her. The door closes. “Go back to sleep, bird” she hears him say. That she can do.

He’s moving again. It’s sunny outside, she can feel it through her eyelid. The nature has woken up, and so does he, apparently. His lips trace the soft line of her neck to her collarbone and his large hands roam along the side of her thighs. She keeps her eyes closed, she doesn’t want to wake up yet. She fears if she moves he’ll stop, and she doesn’t want him to stop. He licks her stomach, just under her pierced navel, making her shiver. The kiss he drops on her center, over the lace of her panties, was unexpected and deeply appreciated, making her jump a little and finally, she opens her eyes.

His hair is messy, sticking out in every direction and the soft beard he grew during the night makes him look younger. Sexier. She helps him removing her underwear, lifting her butt from the mattress with a smirk and her eyes lock with his.

“What time is it?” she suddenly worries.

“They’re all gone to the beach, we’re alone.” he doesn’t answer her question and bites the insides of her thighs.

She doesn’t regret they didn’t do that last night. They would have had to be silent and careful when the only thing she wants is to lose herself in his mouth. She hadn’t known her back could contort itself like that before. Only the back of her head and the flat of her feet are in contact with the mattress. Her whole body levitates with pleasure as he devours her, swallowing every drop of her femininity. He raises on his knees between her thighs. He couldn’t be more handsome than this morning, lit by the rays of sunshine piercing through the shutters, naked and hard in every sense. His thick cock stands strong, pulsing and twitching as her eyes rove over it, and she bites her lower lip in anticipation and desire. He slides between her lips, presses against her oversensitive clit, and effortlessly slips inside her. She watches him moving, his muscles are contracted in ridges and his jaw is clenched. He’s already holding back, she can tell. He’s beautiful. She feels him inside her, but she wants to feel him all around her. She wants his heaviness above her, she needs his mouth, his tongue, his neck. She wants her hands on his skin, and his on hers. She pulls on his arms to drag him closer, and he speeds up once his face is buried in the crook between her neck and her shoulder. The friction of his groin on her clit sends her in heaven. No doubt she would have woken up everyone with the loud scream that now escapes her throat as she comes all around him, soon followed by his deep grunt and her “fucking Christ” chuckled against his cheek as he pulls out.

She kisses him just like she breathes. Without thinking about it, but needing it to survive. Her tongue melts with his, and her fingers caress the skin of his ribs.

“You okay?” he asks, probably tasting the tears that are running down her cheeks to die in their kisses.

“Yes,” she lies. “I’m sorry.”

He asks what’s happening without a word, just by raising her chin with his index finger and a piercing gaze.

“I missed you,”, she whispers, and the tears run faster. She hadn’t wanted that to happen. She has promised herself to hold back, at least for a few days before breaking down. But the shock of her strong orgasm has hit a nerve and her brain has shut down to allow her emotions, her hormones and her heart, to take the wheel. It’s never a good thing.

“I’m just tired missing you,” she sobs against his chest.

He tells her he knows, he tells her he misses her too. He holds her tight and reassures her as much as he can, but something breaks inside her when he says “soon”.

“Two more years. We can make it.”

Maybe he can, but she can’t. She doesn’t even want to. Spending two more years missing him, two more years of painful goodbyes and weeks of loneliness. Two more years of long-distance fights and desperate night calls.

She agrees anyway. It’s the beginning of the vacation, she can’t ruin it on the first day. She can’t do that to him. To them. But she knows, deep down, it could be their last one if they don’t come up with a better plan for their future.

She’s lost in her thoughts. She hasn’t noticed that he’s fumbling behind her back,making a racket with the nightstand.

“What are you doing?” she asks, wiping the tears from her eyes and shifts onto her back underneath him.

He doesn’t answer, but has finally found what he was looking for.

“Got it!” he exclaims with a shy smile on his face. Without more words puts a tiny, black velvet box on her naked stomach.