14 Valentines: Sexuality
Sexuality is the topic for today's 14valentines and the essay can be found here. This story is about sexuality, in some ways. In most ways though it's me filling the need for some hot M/S action. Call it a warm up for the xf_pornbattle.
TITLE: Her Sense of Style
AUTHOR: memories_child
FANDOM: The X Files
SPOILERS: None
RATING: R
CHARACTER/PAIRING: Scully/Mulder
WORD COUNT: 921
DISCLAIMER: The X Files et all belong to The Syndicate Chris Carter and co. No infringement is intended. Please don’t abduct sue me.
_______________
It is easy to forget, sometimes that she is a woman; clad all day in power suits with FBI issue weaponry positioned on her hip and ankle. Spending day in, day out, with the boys (even the boys in question consist of Fox Mulder and whichever miscreant is helping out with the case they’re on) is not entirely conducive to recognising, celebrating, the curves and indentations she has - the marks of her womanhood.
So it comes as a surprise when, one evening a week before her birthday, Mulder asks her out.
Examining her wardrobe the day before the big night she realises she has nothing to wear. Her closet, once dotted with silky dresses, is now a drab affair of navy and black skirt suits. Where has her life gone, she wonders. Where has her sense of style gone? Despondent and dreading the prospect of turning up in the same, or at least similar, skirt that she wore to work she decides to buy something new.
When Mulder turns up at her apartment the next day, clad in a tux, she’s glad she made the effort. The dress, a simple, strapless affair that flows to the floor, accentuates her hourglass shape and leaves Mulder open mouthed. She is pleased, she is happy to discover, that she likes having that effect on him.
The restaurant he takes her to is one she isn’t sure he can afford. But he insists that it’s his treat.
“To make up for last eight years,” he tells her “Eight years of dragging you through sewers, prison gates and muddy forests. Of putting up with me.”
The wine flows and the conversation flows, and she realises that she is having fun. Unencumbered by protocol and procedure she lets her hair down, and before she realises it’s midnight and they’re dancing to 60s rock in a slightly seedy underground club that Mulder tells her is ‘awesome. Or whatever the kids say these days’.
“You know you’re beautiful Scully,” he murmurs in her ear as he pulls her close, and tonight she does know it.
Later, they stumble up the steps to her building, the stars dizzy and drunk overhead. She isn’t sure she is going to invite him in until she does, and for a moment, as he pauses and lowers his eyes, she wonders if she’s made the same mistake as he did. Read into his actions more than what was really there.
But he nods and follows her through the door, up the silent stairs. His hands are on her hips before she has her keys out of her bag, and his mouth is on her neck. His tongue explores the sensitive spots behind her ears, teasing skin that goose-bumps under his touch, and his hands creep up, up, up; tracing the curves of her body and cupping her breasts, his fingers grazing her nipples.
His touch is nothing like she had imagined it to be, if she lets herself admit she has imagined it at all. He is more confident than he should be, given her rejection of him only a few months earlier. She had always imagined that he would be awkward, cumbersome, but his fingers are deft and his tongue is nimble and his teeth graze her skin, making her shiver in the cool air.
She isn’t sure how she retrieves her keys from the depths of her purse and opens the door, but somehow they are inside and he has her up against the hard wood. His lips fix hungrily on hers and his tongue slides between her teeth, slipping inside to tease the roof of her mouth.
His hands are all over her, running over her thighs, lifting the silky dress she had bought just for tonight. The cool material shimmers and floats over her legs as his fingers beneath slide further up, tantalizing and teasing. She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her as her tongue battles with his. She bites his lip as his fingers tease the thin material of her panties down and his thumb slides over her clit. She gasps, a gulping breath of air and he drops his mouth to her neck, lapping at her skin as his fingers push deeper into her and his thumb circles her clit and she throws her head back and growls.
She feels his erection straining against her thigh and fumbles with his zipper. She runs her fingers over the head of his cock as his fingers dip into her, stroke her clit harder; as his lips fasten on her nipples. He whispers her name as she slides her hand up the length of his cock, squeezing and teasing and thrusting her hips to meet his hands.
She isn’t sure at what point she jumped or he lifted, but she is suddenly in his arms, her panties heaped on the floor, her dress hitched above her thighs. His cock slides inside her, and she is wet and warm and tight. She parts her legs and wraps her ankles around his back as he lifts her higher on his hips and turns to steady himself against the kitchen counter. They settle into a frenetic rhythm and she loses herself in the pull and thrust of his cock, his hand between them matching time to the rhythm against her clit. She calls his name when she comes, the syllables dripping from her tongue, and she isn’t surprised to find that, tonight - feeling like a woman, it feels right.
TITLE: Her Sense of Style
AUTHOR: memories_child
FANDOM: The X Files
SPOILERS: None
RATING: R
CHARACTER/PAIRING: Scully/Mulder
WORD COUNT: 921
DISCLAIMER: The X Files et all belong to The Syndicate Chris Carter and co. No infringement is intended. Please don’t abduct sue me.
_______________
It is easy to forget, sometimes that she is a woman; clad all day in power suits with FBI issue weaponry positioned on her hip and ankle. Spending day in, day out, with the boys (even the boys in question consist of Fox Mulder and whichever miscreant is helping out with the case they’re on) is not entirely conducive to recognising, celebrating, the curves and indentations she has - the marks of her womanhood.
So it comes as a surprise when, one evening a week before her birthday, Mulder asks her out.
Examining her wardrobe the day before the big night she realises she has nothing to wear. Her closet, once dotted with silky dresses, is now a drab affair of navy and black skirt suits. Where has her life gone, she wonders. Where has her sense of style gone? Despondent and dreading the prospect of turning up in the same, or at least similar, skirt that she wore to work she decides to buy something new.
When Mulder turns up at her apartment the next day, clad in a tux, she’s glad she made the effort. The dress, a simple, strapless affair that flows to the floor, accentuates her hourglass shape and leaves Mulder open mouthed. She is pleased, she is happy to discover, that she likes having that effect on him.
The restaurant he takes her to is one she isn’t sure he can afford. But he insists that it’s his treat.
“To make up for last eight years,” he tells her “Eight years of dragging you through sewers, prison gates and muddy forests. Of putting up with me.”
The wine flows and the conversation flows, and she realises that she is having fun. Unencumbered by protocol and procedure she lets her hair down, and before she realises it’s midnight and they’re dancing to 60s rock in a slightly seedy underground club that Mulder tells her is ‘awesome. Or whatever the kids say these days’.
“You know you’re beautiful Scully,” he murmurs in her ear as he pulls her close, and tonight she does know it.
Later, they stumble up the steps to her building, the stars dizzy and drunk overhead. She isn’t sure she is going to invite him in until she does, and for a moment, as he pauses and lowers his eyes, she wonders if she’s made the same mistake as he did. Read into his actions more than what was really there.
But he nods and follows her through the door, up the silent stairs. His hands are on her hips before she has her keys out of her bag, and his mouth is on her neck. His tongue explores the sensitive spots behind her ears, teasing skin that goose-bumps under his touch, and his hands creep up, up, up; tracing the curves of her body and cupping her breasts, his fingers grazing her nipples.
His touch is nothing like she had imagined it to be, if she lets herself admit she has imagined it at all. He is more confident than he should be, given her rejection of him only a few months earlier. She had always imagined that he would be awkward, cumbersome, but his fingers are deft and his tongue is nimble and his teeth graze her skin, making her shiver in the cool air.
She isn’t sure how she retrieves her keys from the depths of her purse and opens the door, but somehow they are inside and he has her up against the hard wood. His lips fix hungrily on hers and his tongue slides between her teeth, slipping inside to tease the roof of her mouth.
His hands are all over her, running over her thighs, lifting the silky dress she had bought just for tonight. The cool material shimmers and floats over her legs as his fingers beneath slide further up, tantalizing and teasing. She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her as her tongue battles with his. She bites his lip as his fingers tease the thin material of her panties down and his thumb slides over her clit. She gasps, a gulping breath of air and he drops his mouth to her neck, lapping at her skin as his fingers push deeper into her and his thumb circles her clit and she throws her head back and growls.
She feels his erection straining against her thigh and fumbles with his zipper. She runs her fingers over the head of his cock as his fingers dip into her, stroke her clit harder; as his lips fasten on her nipples. He whispers her name as she slides her hand up the length of his cock, squeezing and teasing and thrusting her hips to meet his hands.
She isn’t sure at what point she jumped or he lifted, but she is suddenly in his arms, her panties heaped on the floor, her dress hitched above her thighs. His cock slides inside her, and she is wet and warm and tight. She parts her legs and wraps her ankles around his back as he lifts her higher on his hips and turns to steady himself against the kitchen counter. They settle into a frenetic rhythm and she loses herself in the pull and thrust of his cock, his hand between them matching time to the rhythm against her clit. She calls his name when she comes, the syllables dripping from her tongue, and she isn’t surprised to find that, tonight - feeling like a woman, it feels right.