TITLE: When Scully Did Mulder

AUTHOR: Tesla 

RATING: NC-17

ARCHIVE:

SPOILERS: None

KEYWORD: Ask Marguerite.

DISCLAIMERS:

SUMMARY:

NOTES: This is inspired by Kelly, who thoughtfully e-mailed me and told me to stop writing stories, and Dave’s Catherine, who seems to think I should stop breathing altogether. Thanks, kids! Those treasured words pulled me through!

No MulderClones were harmed in the writing of this story. -----

Mulder was keeping Scully awake with his nervous tension. The bed fairly vibrated. She raised her head from her pillow.

“Hey, Mulder, just lock up when you go, okay? I’ll call you.”

The tremors ceased. Scully smiled to herself in the dark.

“You want me to leave?” Mulder said, his voice devoid of all emotion.

Gotcha! Scully thought. She looked over her shoulder. The outline of his profile was visible in the dim light from the street.

“Oh, no, I just thought you were getting up. G’night, then.” She put her head back down. He turned over slowly, and put his hand on her waist. The gesture was very tentative for a man who had just had sex. She covered his hand with hers.

When she had thought of sex with Mulder, she had never envisioned the afterglow as giggle inducing, but so it was. The actual event had featured the usual fumbling of the adult American male while undressing; at one point; Mulder had almost fallen down trying to tug his jeans off over his shoes. She had deliberately not noticed, but she ended up tossing her clothes all over the floor, pretending to strip.

(She almost had to clench her teeth to keep from getting up and folding them. The thought of her underwear lying on the floor turned inside out crisped her nerves.)

Then he had found a condom—as if both of them hadn’t been to an emergency room/hospital ward more than she changed the oil in her car. He had goofed around so long putting it on, that she lost the heat his kisses had ignited. She had decided to fake it, better luck next time and all that, when he had withdrawn and gone to work on her clit with that soft mouth.

Oh my. Scully could now forgive him for all those times she had seen him stick out his tongue. She had always supposed he did it as a reflex while he was thinking, but he still looked idiotic. She was now prepared to view his entire oral fixation with a more tolerant eye. Oh, definitely. She was even prepared to reciprocate, and show him that, as a student, she had taken the Presidential approach as to what sins merited confession.

And of course, now Mulder was lying there beside her, in full misery/panic mode. Thinking of reasons why this had been a Bad Idea. She really should have kept him from pretending he had enjoyed it, and helped him to really enjoy it. But a girl could be forgiven for basking in the luxury of the Big One.

But that was really no excuse. For a moment, she was afraid he had locked himself in her bathroom. She had to admit, despite seven years of studying him, she was still mystified by how he could subvert his enjoyment of most basic human needs. He had slept on a couch for years with insomnia; he ran until he was in pain; his diet gave him constant indigestion; he couldn’t even resent his parents for his childhood. Now after the first sex he had in years, he was miserable.

It was unAmerican. She would have to report him.

She sat up, pushing the sheet back. Mulder lay on his back, staring up at her. She could see his wide eyes in the dark, and it dawned on her that he was scared.

Now she really had to smother a smile. Didn’t he know that this moment, or one like it, had been coming like inexorable Fate for the past seven years? That she hadn’t been surprised at all?

“Mulder,” she said, “let me help you relax.”

And she did.