Tuesday nights

sequel to: Forgetting

haven’t been around for awhile but this one demanded to be written at 6am this morning … I didn’t fight it … :)

just sayin’ – NSFW …

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&

She had several hundred looks, happy, despondent, elated, confused, curious, contemplative … 

But the look he caught in her eye when she suddenly pushed back from the conference table, stood and left mid-sentence of the chief in the middle of their debrief, was one he didn’t recognize. Sweat stiff, stringy hair pulled back in an efficient ponytail; grease, gunpowder, and blood still dried on her forehead and cheek; shoulders hunched in a defiant ‘fuck it’. He didn’t try to stop her, though, and neither did anyone else. He had only been half listening and had missed what might have sent her packing, but, with the slightest shrug to the chief and an angry look in return, he remained seated, paying better attention than before.

It took another hour in the room, plus 45 minutes more to finish up the paperwork, before he could finally head out to the main part of the building to find her. He killed another 10 minutes looking in every conceivable corner before finally asking the desk sergeant, “have you seen Agent Scully?”

He nodded, “yeah. She left, oh,” glancing at the wall clock, “about two hours ago.”

Automatically feeling for the keys of the one car they had between them, he found the familiar, jingling lump right where it should be, front right pocket, “do you know if she called a cab or anything?”

“No idea. She just went past like the devil was at her heels.” Knowing they were finished with the case, he knew he better ask now, “do you know if she’s seeing anyone or with …”

Too tired and distracted for that kind of crap at the moment, he nodded, “yeah, for the last two years.”

Good-natured grin settling on his face, “worth a try.”

Mulder was already halfway to her place in his head, and he gave the man a nod, “have a good night.”

“You, too, Agent Mulder.”

&&&&&&&&&&

Finding his coat, he also found hers, plus their pile of paperwork, her extra clip, and her pocket knife. She really had just up and left.

He gathered it all, dumped everything in the trunk, then drove the 25 minutes to her place, looking intently for a five foot tall red-head, sans jacket but with a decidedly angry gate. Not seeing one, he got to her apartment and breathed a sigh of relief at seeing a light on in her living room. Cab it was.

Bringing up what he needed to, he knocked lightly but when the door didn’t open, he found his key and let himself in. He knew she was there by her dirty boots under the side table but not seeing her, he came the rest of the way in, dumping his armload on the floor beside her shoes. His own shoes off, coat hung, he double locked the door, then moved into the room.

She wasn’t in the kitchen but there was a bottle of Long Island and a bottle of vodka on the kitchen table. Neither looked open and as he wondered if he should turn around and go home again, let her sleep, he heard her voice, “I’m back here.”

Turning off the light in the kitchen, he wandered down the hall, stocking feet sinking into the carpet. He didn’t have any expectations of what he would find but honestly, he hadn’t expected to see her sitting, fully clothed, on the edge of her bed. Stopping against the doorframe, “you okay?”

Defeated shrug of her shoulders, “no, but really, is that anything new?”

His smile didn’t convey anything but weariness, “you seem to have left the liquor on the kitchen table.” When that hung between them for a period of time longer than expected, he tilted his head at her, leaning it against wood, “or I can just head home? We both need at least a week’s worth of sleep.”

Her knees already up, feet hooked on the bed frame, she dropped her head of her hand, elbow against her thigh, a sigh emerging from the depths of her toes, but she still didn’t speak, leaving him to sift and interpret as the seconds ticked by.

Not sure if he was barking up the entirely wrong tree, “Third option is asking you if maybe, you would like to forget we work together but without the alcoholic buffer.”

“I tried to drink it. Tried to get my ass good and drunk by the time you got here. I even opened the Tea but then, I just … I cleaned up a little, then ended up in here, sober and waiting for you.” Scully’s eyes shut, one long blink before finally meeting his gaze, “I don’t want to drink our way out of feeling like this. I don’t want to have the only way to deal with our lives is with a blood alcohol level that would have us arrested on the spot.” Shaking her head, she spoke to the ceiling, “God-dammit. I just … I just want to … be normal … do normal things … have a normal life.”

Trying to keep his voice steady, quiet, “with me?”

She flopped back on the bed, “just go get the Long Island, would you? I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“I think you are saying that on some random Tuesday, we should go out to dinner, maybe have some ice cream, then I drop you off at the front door, and, possibly, I give you a goodnight kiss?”

Scrubbing her face with her hands, she groaned, “we don’t have random Tuesdays.”

With a quick smile and glance at his watch, “you realize it’s Tuesday right now.”

“It’s Wednesday.”

“No, Miss Scully, it’s Tuesday.” Finally moving from the doorway, he walked over and stood against her knees, “hungry?”

Looking down at him, standing there all mussed up and adorable, “not really.” Before his eyes could drop to that sad angle she hated to see, “but I could go for a movie and some popcorn.”

“M&Ms?”

“Peanut ones.”

“Are there any other kinds?”

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

It was just after 9:30 when Mulder pulled back up in front of Scully’s. Before he had a chance to offer to walk her to her door, “want to come up for some hot chocolate?”

He really should go home, shower, dig the popcorn kernels out of his teeth, but instead, he turned the car off, “sure. I could go for some more sugar.”

Settled on the couch, they drank, they talked about nothing, they watched each other relax, smile, exchange oddly shy looks over the edges of chipped ceramic mugs. Once Mulder had licked the last of his chocolate mustache off his upper lip, he gave her a final grin, “as much fun as this has been, I really need to go home and shower. I’ve been smelling myself since 20 minutes into the movie.”

“I think I smell worse.”

“Doubt that.”

“Do we really want to have this contest?” Standing up quickly, before she could change her mind, she held her hand out, “come on.”

“Are you making me leave?”

Instead of toward the door, she led him down the hall, “no … take a shower.”

&&&&&&&&&&

All plans fall prey to overthinking at some point and Scully’s plan took until she was actually in the bathroom with him to crack. The door was shut, both standing awkwardly in the dimly lit bathroom, overhead light off but nightlight casting pale blue over the room. He’d had some unformed notion that maybe she meant to join him but now that they were actually here, in the room, he had no idea how to proceed. Watching her from his spot in the corner, she took a deep breath, swallowed hard once, then gathered up several towels, washcloths, turned on the faucet in the tub. Never turning back around, she then stripped and hand on shower curtain, stepped in.

Shivers ran continually up her spine and through her bones, pelvis quaking, clit tightening, nipples harder than she’d thought possible but making sure to focus on nothing but soap, water, wash, she carefully undid buttons, clasps, pulled t-shirt over head and pushed jeans and underwear down over her hips. Knowing if she looked at him, she’d lose whatever ground she’d just gained, she instead stepped under the warm spray.

Warm water was one thing; hot, vibrating, naked Mulder stepping in a few seconds later to share shower water and soaped up palms was quite another.

He had his own racing misgivings about the universe in general until he saw bare back, pale, curving hips, and rounded ass. Dropping his clothes, he took his own quick inhale, then stepped in behind her.

She was still facing away from him and, noticing the gooseflesh on her arms, her back, he leaned forward, hand over her shoulder, trying to keep it business-like, “can you hand me the soap, please?”

Her voice was all over the map as she handed him the bar, “washcloth?”

“Yes, please.”

Handing him a fresh one from the shelf just outside the shower where she had put extra moments earlier, “here you go.”

Just as she reached for her own, to begin washing her face, she felt Mulder’s settle on her neck, moving slowly back and forth, sliding smoothly down spine and across back. She hadn’t meant to make the sound but escape it did, a pleasured ‘mmmhhmm’ that automatically drove his other hand around her side to cup her breast, soap trail bubbling behind. It was his voice in her ear, however, that sent her own hand out to steady herself against the wall, “can I wash the rest of you?”

Why, of course he could, as long as her knees held her up long enough to accomplish such a hygienic task.

She doubted they would.

Words weren’t working well at the moment so he got another ‘mmhmm’ and a nod.

That was enough for him.

Washcloth continued its trek over her back, sides, ribs, dipping low over and around her ass, hand leaving breast as he squatted behind her, legs, knees, ankles, feet done. Coming back up, he then reached around, making slow work of her chest, breasts, stomach, and, with a gentle finger, he slid the cloth over and in her parts, not dwelling but definitely feeling her body sway as he ran across her clit several times. Smiling into her wet back, he completed his task by bringing the washcloth back around, slipping in and out of the ass.

Rinsing the cloth, he dropped it on the hanging rack in the corner of the tub, “hair next?”

Obediently, she stepped under the water, hair soaked in seconds, quick dollop of shampoo, lathered and rinsed in less than a minute. Washing her face just as quickly, she drew in a deep breath and turned around, taking him in for the first time.

How she was going to suffer when he put his clothes back on.

Washcloth in hand, her voice managed a “you next” while reaching for the soap he still held.

It may have been possible to get harder but he didn’t think it likely. Nodding, his own voice finally cracked under the pressure, “front or back first?”

“Back. Same as me.”

He was light-headed. ‘Same as’ meant hands in places.

The place.

Turning, he braced himself on the wall, much like Scully had, in preemptive prevention of hitting the porcelain once she actually began touchi…

Cloth on back, soap on cloth, someone else, someone Scully, his someone Scully washing his shoulder blades …

He could very well be dead by the time she hit the important parts.

Vast expanse of muscled back, dimpled dips above his ass and delicious dents on the sides of it … legs long, knees bony, ankles strong, thighs hard, sides planked, arms defined, chest rippled, abdomen sloped, scrotum soft …

He couldn’t help the ‘oh, God’ that rose in his throat when the rough washcloth touched him, then fell away again, returning to clean his backside.

Before he could recover from one sensation, then the other, her hand was back in front, cloth gone, fingers small and hot, using the soap still clinging to him to slowly stroke from one end to the other. His second hand went against the wall, the first not enough to keep him from slithering to the ground.

Another ‘oh, God’ broke the silence and, as Scully pressed her body against him, full length and slick as an eel, his head dropped forward, finally taking in the image of her hand on him, moving, squeezing, pressing, pulling. He desperately wanted to touch some part of her, any part of her but with modern brain capacity shrunk to primitive focus, “please, stop or else I’m not …” he lost words for a moment but rallied, “I’m going to …”

That’s as far as he got because her other hand came around, gripped his balls, rolling them lightly against her palm as she whispered, “come?”

And he did: water dancing across his back, Scully milking him dry, his feet sliding to the sides of the tub, his only hope of staying upright as her movements slowed and stopped. One final drag down his length and she let go, “I’m going to rinse off.”

Mulder understood but could only nod, looking over his shoulder to see her wash a few parts a little more thoroughly, then rinse in record time, smiling at him when she finished, “your turn.”

Waiting until she had climbed out and left him alone, he did the same, stepping out three minutes later, hair shampooed as well. She was already gone, and toweling off like he was attempting an Olympic record, he grabbed a dry towel and headed to her bedroom.

She was standing at the dresser, contemplating a drawer of t-shirts but having absolutely none of that, he grabbed her around the waist, tossing her to the bed, “there will be no clothes for the foreseeable future, young lady.”

It had been a hot button debate ravaging her mind for the better part of that three minutes so she was glad he decided for her.

What she hadn’t been expecting was landing on her back, butt on the edge of the mattress and Mulder dropping to his knees in front of her, “turnabout is fair play.”

She felt her legs being pushed apart, thighs dropping open, the cold rush of air shriveling skin until it was replaced by hot tongue and equally scorching breath.

What the hell?

Oh … oh … hell, he was …

Her back arched involuntarily, pushing his nose up, chin bumping her ass. With a grin, he put his hand on her hip, pushing her back down, “I didn’t realize you were a bucking broncho, woman. Give a man some warning next time.”

She was drunk on the world and her partner, her tongue loosened substantially more than it had ever been with their Long Island getaways. Her words carried to him across the humid air, dripping with anticipation, “let me ride you and I’ll show you what a bucking bronco really looks like.”

Holy fucking hell.

His hips began moving in rhythm with his tongue on her, his hands holding her still as best he could, until that is, he used them to spread her wide, slide his tongue as far into her as he possibly could, his cheeks pushed back against her thighs.

She bucked again and he nearly came himself, her thighs clamping down on him, holding him hostage. Moving out of her, he flicked his tongue up against her clit a few more times until she made a grumbling, throaty, moaning squeak and her hand gripped his hair, a fractured ‘don’t … move …’ keeping him still.

Letting go of him a good ten seconds later, her legs fell slack, and she began to giggle.

Giggle?

He couldn’t help the smile splitting his face.

She giggled.

She was giggling.

He had licked her clit and made her giggle.

He was quite possibly king of the world in that moment.

Crawling up the bed, he kissed her forehead before settling in beside her, “are you laughing at me?”

Turning her head, “at me. I’ve never done that before.” Rolling to her side, “no one has ever been able to do that for me before.” Hand on his face, tracing his upturned mouth, “good Lord, Mulder, can we do it again?”

Rolling toward her as well, he let his tongue lag out, “too tired and out of practice but,” running his hand down her thigh, fingers already finding the sweet spot, “everything else is working just fine.”

Throaty growl, she twisted her hips, lifting one leg for his benefit, “how are you out of practice with the copious amounts of sunflower seeds you eat?”

“Seeds are one thing, girl parts are quite another.”

Her hips were moving lightly against his hand, pubis to palm, “well, then, I may just stay here and enjoy this instead.”

“This is my firing hand. I can go all night.”

Stretching, her muscles shivered, “hang on.” Taking two minutes to arrange a few things, she spread out the towel in the center of the bed, then lay down, beckoning him to lay behind her, “save your wrist a little.”

He did not need to be invited twice.

Molded to her back, hard cock wedged nicely between her thighs, he rested his arm over her hip before resuming his task. Much better position, much better reach, he propped himself up on his free arm, kissing her neck while keeping his rhythm, “can we pretend we’re drunk enough to say things in the heat of the moment that we don’t really mean?”

Intrigued, “like what?”

Groaning into her shoulder, “I really want to grab that beautifully rounded ass of yours while you ride me.”

She felt his hips moving, sliding himself back and forth between her thighs, and went him one better, “how does a reverse cowgirl sound?”

He had to stop moving or else he’d be done, but he didn’t respond.

His stillness was answer enough however, and Scully smiled, admonishing him for his lack of movement in amusement, “who said you could stop moving?”

“Sorry.” Grinning into her skin, “I am so close to the mark again right here … and I recall something about wanting to fuck me but not while drunk.”

Every nerve in her body lit up again, “how close do you think you are?”

“About three seconds and a quarter of an inch.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

He marveled at how smooth and easy it was, sliding into her, hot, wet, perfection. “I love you but I’m not going to last long.”

Her fingers already helping his on her clit, “is that another one of those ‘heat of the …’ back arching, driving him deeper, ‘heat of the moment’ things?”

Forgoing gentle glides and slow movements, he took her by surprise, eliciting an intake of breath and an exhaled ‘oh, God’ from her, with several hard, thwapping thrusts. He then pulled her back, flush against him, as he came, whispering ‘I love you I love youIloveyou’ on a continuous loop into her spine.”

Knowing this definitely wasn’t a ‘heat of the moment’ thing after all, she fought his embrace, shifting off him in order to roll him to his back, climb on top, get him as deep inside as humanly or inhumanly as possible.

Slack in both mind and muscle, he moved where she wanted him to and through his dazing haze, felt her solid weight sink down on him, rhythmic lifts and drops forcing him to focus enough to take in bouncing breasts and sweat shiny skin.

He stayed hard for her as she leaned back, still riding hard, to rub her clit, a mere foot and a half from his face …

18 inches.

He took hold of her hips and met her in the middle, rising to meet her falling pelvis, the results deep enough to make her second  ‘oh, God’ of the night echo off the walls.

When he finally got his wits back about him, she was sprawled across him, her hair sticking to his lips, her warm breath steaming up his chest, “you doing okay?”

“Can this be every Tuesday night?”

Laughing at the slurred whisper of her request, he moved his head to get a clear look at her left eye, colored the softest blue he’d ever seen, “this can be every night.”

“I don’t think my body can do this every night.”

“I’m talking about more than sex.”

Scully lifted her hips slowly, kissing him as she shifted off to lay beside him, “don’t dangle things like that in front of me right now, please.”

“Why?”

“I’m weak and might agree.” Throwing her arm and leg over him, she settled in for a long night’s sleep, “I love you, too, by the way.”

&&&&&&&&&

The next morning, Scully found him with half a frozen waffle hanging from his mouth and a glass of apple juice in hand, staring intently into the fridge. He was wearing sweatpants, thick socks and a t-shirt with a hole in the collar, hair standing on end. Shutting the door, he turned to see her and nearly dropped the waffle when he smiled, “‘sup, Agent Scully?”

Wrapping her old cardigan tighter around her tank top covered upper half, she shuffled an inch closer, ratty slippers sliding smooth across the polished wood floor, “you were staring pretty hard into that refrigerator.”

Aiming his now waffle holding hand behind him, “we need to go shopping. I only found waffles, apple juice, and a questionable stack of vegetarian TV dinners. We can’t survive on that.”

Instead of smiling back, she simply studied him, calculating, recalling, wondering until, “every night?”

He adored watching her accept something as truth and he nodded, “every night.”

“Then, yeah, we should probably take today off and go shopping.”

Without taking his eyes from her, he pulled the magnetic shopping list pad off the fridge and sat down at the table, swallowing the rest of his waffle before uncapping the pen that was attached to the paper, “what do we need?”

Beside him in an instant, she tilted his head back and kissed him, “everything.”