Rating: R (sexual situations)
Archive: Sure thing. Please drop me a line to tell me where.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never was. Thank CC and the gang for these characters.
Summary: A warped and (unfortunately) sometimes realistic take on first-time smut.
A/N: This one’s for Sallie, who really deserves elegant prose and well-formulated plot lines. But I hope this brings a smile to your face nonetheless, Mama.
To everyone else: Don’t hate me.
“Ow!” Scully exclaimed.
“Oh. Sorry, Scully,” Mulder mumbled and shifted his elbow so it wasn’t pinning her hair to the mattress.
The night was not getting any better.
Oh, it all started out pleasant enough. The pair decided to dive into the annual holiday festivities at the Hoover Building as a way to lift their spirits after a particularly nasty case. Well, maybe dive and decided wasn’t quite accurate — perhaps a little less visibly peeved about being dragged to it by their superior was more like it. They couldn’t be forced, of course. But their
attendance was — how did Skinner put it? — “strongly suggested.”
Mulder whined about it later in the privacy of their office. Scully kept her irritation to herself, cringing inwardly in anticipation of what promised to be an inside glimpse of the depths of hell. They decided to forgo the annoyance of finding dates and go together to make the most of a bad situation. “Safety in numbers,” Mulder had said. “Besides, no woman outside these walls would understand the oddity that is these office parties.” Scully privately agreed.
It turned out Scully’s fears weren’t unfounded; this was, indeed, a glimpse of hell. With tinsel.
Bob-From-Accounting (isn’t there at least one in every office?) took it upon himself to lavish his version of Christmas cheer on an unsuspecting Scully the moment she entered the crowd. “Agent
Scully,” he murmured in her ear from behind, catching her completely off-guard. His breath was hot and smelled suspiciously of Limburger cheese. She spun to face him, appalled by his utter gall.
“Looks like we’re both under the mistletoe.” He waggled his eyebrows. It was not a pretty sight.
She looked up and confirmed that, yes, they were both under the mistletoe. Not that this was such a unique feat; there seemed to be pieces of the hated foliage hanging everywhere. Irrelevantly,
she wondered if this was someone’s idiotic idea of improving office relations.
Whatever the case, Scully didn’t have a chance to tell him to take a hike before a loud slap sounded in the room and a stinging sensation warmed her derriere. Bob-From-Accounting grinned unapologetically at her.
The little bastard just slapped her ass!
Flushed red from anger, Scully yanked him down to eye level by his ridiculous reindeer tie with the flashing red nose and told him under no uncertain terms just what would happen to the reproductive portion of his anatomy if he ever dared do that again. Bob-O had the grace to pale and took his leave as soon as Scully released him, rubbing at his now-chafed neck as he went. Mulder, of course, had missed the entire exchange, having found the buffet table.
Glaring around the room in an effort to ward off any other would-be Don Juans, Scully searched the large space for a table to retreat to. Preferably one located in a corner, away from all the hoopla. She ended up settling for one close to the exit. But not close enough.
Two things became apparent to her as she sat waiting for Mulder to extract himself from the shiny chafing dishes of food. One: her colleagues and alcohol do not mix. Two: Ginger Rossdale from Transportation was likely going to achieve her goal of bedding very available field agent under fifty in the building before the New Year tonight. Seriously. There was a pool going.
“Did you leave anything for the others?” Scully asked with a quirked eyebrow, gesturing at the mountain Mulder just placed on the table. He beamed at her in answer and she shook her head. This was the part where she nagged him about his atrocious eating habits (honestly, cinnamon rolls and spaghetti?) and he returned by looking wounded and whined that all she ate was rabbit food. Somehow, the usual exchange held no appeal tonight. Thanks to Bob, she thought with venom and murmured another slur on his parentage.
“Huh?” Mulder asked with his mouth full and eyes wide in confusion. She sighed. It was pointless getting into it.
“Nothing,” Scully replied and snagged a cinnamon roll off his plate. She took a larger bite than necessary out of the warm sweet bread. He smiled around his overstuffed mouth and nodded his approval.
“Count?” he asked as soon as he’d swallowed.
Scully consulted her watch and groaned. “It’s only been fifteen minutes.”
He muttered a curse and moodily dug back into his plate. Concentrated as he was on the task at hand, he never saw Scully stiffen.
Yes, Ginger Rossdale was on the prowl — and was stalking toward their table. “Agent Mulder,” she said in her annoying, simpering tones and laid a familiar hand on his shoulder. Mulder turned around and, Scully was satisfied to see, looked both surprised and appalled. Ginger was Scully’s basic nightmare with her runway-model legs and long, glossy chestnut hair. But she’d been around the block — several times. In fact, she’d been circling that bad boy for years. It pleased Scully to no end that Mulder was turned off by the woman practically sitting in his lap.
Many tortured moments later, Ginger dropped her eyes coquettishly and whispered into Mulder’s ear loud enough for Scully to hear that she was going to “powder her nose.” Scully snorted. Who the hell said that anymore? But the important thing was that the phrase carried her out of Scully’s sight.
She grinned. “You’ve been targeted.”
Mulder pushed his plate away, appetite on indefinite hiatus. “We’re wasting time talking about it, Scully. Let’s go.” He stood up and rounded the table to her side.
She stifled a laugh. “Mulder, we can’t just go–“
“Scully, there’s a very real part of me that wants to cower in the corner and cry for my mommy. That woman has fangs and I’m afraid for my mortal soul. Now let’s go!”
She did laugh now, but complied. They were out of the room before Ginger even knew they’d gone without her.
Thus, they’d found themselves at The Crow Bar (Don’t Caw, Come In), which was the only nearby place open on Christmas Eve, downing strawberry margaritas (her favorite) and Guinness drafts (his favorite). “You can’t leave me after a traumatic experience like that,” he’d insisted. So there they were.
One cheerful patron was kind enough to play “Christmas Comes But Once a Year (Or Else We’d All Just Shoot Ourselves) on the juke box. Scully decided she wasn’t quite drunk enough to appreciate the biting sarcasm of that particular ditty yet and slid down her stool to make a few selections of her own. Then she ordered another margarita to wait out the remaining songs.
After the last strains of “Merry Christmas (Screw the Holidays) faded, Scully’s first song began. By then, she was tipsy enough to enjoy the irreverent musical stylings of the last artist and tipped her head to the man she’d seen select them. She was almost sad to hear them end.
“Who the hell played Elton John?” Mulder queried, revived from his brooding examination of the beer mug in front of him. Scully hopped down from her stool as soon as Sir Elton crooned the words, “Blue jean baby. L.A. lady” and yanked drunkenly on Mulder’s arm.
“I did. C’mon,” she slurred, “You owe me a dance, Partner.”
Mulder frowned. “Wha for?”
Scully rolled her eyes, as if the reason were obvious. “Your girlfriend turned my stomach against my ci’mon roll with all that ‘sgustingly blatant innuendo. I think the least you can do is dance with me.”
He relented and they made their way to the dance floor, which truth be told was nothing more than a small clearing between the juke box and the jumble of scuffed tables in front of it. The floor itself was coated with a questionable-looking layer of God knew what.
The pair barely moved to the music, more hugging with a bit of a sway than anything else. Of course, in their minds their dance was of Fred-and-Gingerian proportions. Drunkenness is bliss.
Mulder lowered his mouth to coo in Scully’s ear, “I thought you enjoyed innuendo.” The words slid richly down her spine in the most pleasing way. It was nothing like Bob’s damp and rancid attentions. She shivered. Surprised by her unexpected reaction, he held her tighter and rested his chin on the top of her head.
Scully was never one to miss a great opportunity when it presented itself. She snuggled into Mulder’s embrace and sighed her content. “You look incredible tonight, Scully,” Mulder whispered into her ear as the music began to swell. Never mind that she was in her usual ‘uniform’ of a black skirt and white button-up blouse, sans blazer — all in all, nothing special. His simple words, said in that tone, going directly into her ear, through her foggy brain and pooling somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach melted her. Then, she melted into him.
They were out of there before Elton could count those headlights for the second time.
Hallelujah, praise the Lord and blessed be! Scully thought happily as she and Mulder collapsed onto his bed together. They were finally going to go through with it.
He continued to whisper flattering things to her as he made short work of her blouse and pulled at her skirt hem, pausing in his task only to rub velvet palms over her breasts until her nipples peaked and gooseflesh bubbled over her body. She sighed. This was so wonderful. Why hadn’t they ever–
Scully’s eyes shot open as a hand worked roughly at her clitoris for a moment, then made a perfunctory probe into her vagina before Mulder mounted and slid into her.
Scully had always pegged Mulder for a considerate and attentive lover. She imagined (more times than she cared to admit) the way he would tempt and tease her, making her so crazy with his deft ministrations that she’d be close to begging for him before he’d relent.
So what the hell was this? Two minutes of foreplay and it’s off to the races? This was not in compliance with her fantasies. Seven years of drooling over the possibilities of his fine hands went down the toilet so fast she could almost hear the gurgling flush.
One thrust. Two, three, four. She stretched to accommodate him and judged him to be a decent size — not too little, but not too much, either. All the while he grunted into her ear loudly, distracting her somewhat from the delicious warm feeling pooling in her breasts and belly. God, this was getting good despite the disappointing beginning.
And then, he collapsed over her.
Scully stiffened. Surely he hadn’t…
She wanted to cry in frustration.
Everything would be great, Scully mused on their second go-round, if Mulder could just get past my breasts. What was once stimulating before was now just plain uncomfortable. She could feel her nipples protesting and anticipated the chafing that was sure to ensue. She curled her fingers in Mulder’s silky hair, wondering in the back of her mind if she still kept the aloe vera extract in the back of her medicine cabinet.
Whatever effects her margaritas had on her before were now worn off, and so she couldn’t even blame her forays into a redeeming second chance on alcohol. If Mulder was faster than a speeding bullet with the foreplay before, he was more than making up for it with his single-minded attentions on this one erogenous zone. Hadn’t his videos taught him there was more than just the one? All her squirming only served to encourage him, rather than divert him to other areas of her body. They had gone on for an eternity this way.
Finally, he moved on. This was not what one would call a Good Thing.
Enraptured, Mulder lifted his head from Scully’s breast and gazed on her body. He grunted his approval. Scully vaguely wondered if she should start weaving baskets and filling the animal skins with water, then tried not to laugh out loud at where her thoughts had taken her. Mulder misread the strain on her face for a look of pleasure and moaned, bringing his mouth down to cover hers. Excited, Mulder began kissing her in earnest. Scully feared for the state of her fillings as he alternately sucked and tongued her with a force that would make Hoover proud. It isn’t slobber, she told herself firmly, and tried her best to ignore the trickle of wetness running down her cheek while also endeavoring to return his kiss with as much fervor as she could muster under his overbearing ministrations. So he wasn’t the dream kisser she imagined him to be. So he had the endurance of a virgin on prom night – so what? This was Mulder. She could live with that.
God, her tongue ached.
Once he was finished gnawing at her face, he returned to nibble at her nipples again, much to her dismay. He pulled away long enough to shoot her a cocky “I’m the man” grin and went back to work. After a few minutes of that, Scully began to notice an insistent jabbing sensation on her left leg.
What the–? Was he humping her leg?
The last thing she wanted was a repeat of earlier events, which is just what she would get if he continued to stimulate himself on her leg. Frustrated and past being polite, Scully rolled their bodies over so that she was on top and slid down onto his erection until he was fully sheathed.
This was sooo much more like it. She slowly slid up his body, then dropped to meet him, pelvis to pelvis. Again and again she continued her delicious, rocking rhythm. She was a goddess, full of heady, feminine power. She was in control. She was–
She scowled, too irritated by the interruption to mask the emotion. It was finally getting good. “What is it?” she snapped.
He poked out his bottom lip in a way that was not at all attractive at the time. “I’m sorry, it’s just…”
Scully was at the end of her patience. “Well?”
“It’s just that — I don’t really like it that way.”
Oh. Well, isn’t this great? she thought.
“I do,” she replied shortly and rotated her hips again. He really was a nice size, she noted. You just had to approach it from the right angle. She honeyed her tones and purred into his ear, “Just lay back, Mulder. I know what I’m doing.” The angle, incidentally, was perfect. She ground away, climbing closer and closer to completion with each movement. Throwing her head back and gripping at his chest, she was determined to make as much of her flushed and naked glory as possible, sure he was salvageable, and wanting to show him this position had merit.
But after a few moments passed, it became clear that the pained expression on his face wasn’t going away. She slowed her rhythm in a moment of uncertainty, which was her first mistake. Or the most recent in a line of many, depending on how one viewed the night as a whole. Mulder took advantage of the opportunity and flipped her onto her back and entered her once again.
“Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” she muttered to herself. Mulder,
of course, hadn’t heard.
Lots of it.
After a thorough inspection of the plaster in Mulder’s ceiling, she began to name off the elements of the periodic table in her head: hydrogen, lithium, sodium…” She wasn’t sure if the well-placed gasps and moans she was emitting was encouraging him to take this much time, or if it was because of his earlier — lapse in control — but she decided to look on the bright side; at least she was getting a nice workout, right?
But the worst was yet to come. This time around, the closer Mulder got to completion, the more verbal he became. “Oh yeah, Scully. Yeah, baby. Unghhhh…”
And on it went.
The phrase “merciful release” took on a whole new meaning for Scully that night. From here on out, she decided, it will be synonymous with the phrase “eternally grateful it’s over.”
Mulder, exhausted and yet smiling like he’d won the lottery, rolled over to Scully’s side and pulled her close to him. A little disillusioned, a little bitter, Scully snuggled into the warmth of his body. After all these years, there was no denying she loved him. It wasn’t even a question. And now that they’d moved their relationship to the next level, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt this was to be a permanent thing. Neither of them would accept going back to the way things were. She frowned, getting herself used to the idea that the man she loved was talentless in bed. She pointedly ignored the unfulfilled throbbing between her legs.
Several minutes of her self-pity passed before Mulder propped himself up on an elbow and looked adoringly down into her face. “What’s wrong, Scully?”
She looked away, too ashamed to tell him the truth and feeling shallow and petty under his tender gaze. “Nothing,” she lied. “I should go to the bathroom and — freshen up.” She finished lamely. Freshen up and finish up, was more like it.
Mulder frowned. “Oh, Scully. You didn’t…did you?” He looked embarrassed. She placed a hand on his cheek offered him a small smile. “It’s okay,” she told him.
“I don’t think so, Partner,” he replied silkily and disappeared beneath the covers.
“Oh!” Scully exclaimed a moment later, eyes wide with delicious shock. “Mmm, Mulder…” Did she say “talentless” before? She couldn’t have been more mistaken.
One hand clutching the spindles of the headboard, she gasped and shuddered. With a gripping, violent jerk, she gave her silent and eternal thanks to the inventor of the sunflower seed.
A/N: The Christmas songs at The Crow Bar are my own weird imaginings, but “Tiny Dancer” by Elton John was also used here without permission. No infringement intended.
If you’ve read this far, I thank you. This was all in good fun. And if there’s ever any question of if I prefer this version of “The Main Event” to the perfectly timed, always mind-blowing versions ever-present in fanfic, just visit my web page to take a gander at my usual smut style:
Thanks to the gracious and talented Circe Invidiosa for hosting and creating this page!