Magnet Cove by Leyla Harrison Disclaimer: I don't own Mulder and Scully. They're the property of Chris Carter. Lucky him. Spoilers: Redux Classification: Not classified at author's request. Rating: NC-17 for sexual situations, adult themes and language Summary: Does Mulder know everything about Scully, or is there something that she's keeping from him? Note: This story is written in the spirit of the old classic fanfics -- you know the type: Mulder and Scully and no real issues other than what's going on between them. I hope the old tried and true style still stands up. Feedback would be much appreciated. ***** I knock again at Scully's door, a little harder this time. Still no answer, and no noise from inside the apartment. I wonder idly why she isn't answering. I slip my hand into my pocket and reach for my keys, flipping through the various metal pieces until I find the one marked with Scully's name. I have rarely used my keys to get into Scully's before -- usually it's the other way around. I'm always the one running off, leaving Scully to slip silently into my apartment, and so her key on my keychain hasn't had much of a workout. The key fits smoothly in the lock and the door opens silently. I step inside the apartment and shut the door softly behind me. I don't know if Scully is here. Maybe she's sleeping. Scully? Oversleep when we were supposed to catch a plane in two hours? The two don't mesh. Still, I tiptoe through the apartment, careful not to let any floorboards creak under my feet as I make my way to Scully's bedroom. Her bedroom. I haven't been in there since right before her cancer went into remission, when I had hidden myself in the darkness waiting for her, when she had come home and started getting undressed, and when I had revealed myself to her. That sounds so...sexual. I had wanted to wait until her shirt was off, but I chickened out. I got scared. I had been sitting there in the dark for hours, waiting for her in her room, and I could smell her all around me, a warm scent that I couldn't quite place. And when she started undressing, all I could do was throw out a teasing statement to try to cover my nervousness. The thought of Scully undressing in front of me reduced me to a shaking adolescent. Now, though, I advance to the bedroom with the knowledge that it is daylight, that there is nothing to be nervous about. Well, except what the thought of a sleeping Scully will do to me. God help me if she sleeps naked. The bedroom door is open, and from the hallway I can see the blanket at the foot of the bed, which is obviously unmade. Rough night, Scully? One step closer, and I'm in the doorway. And my breath catches in my throat. Scully *is* asleep. But she's not alone. Scully is on her side, and there's an arm flung carelessly across her chest, the hand curved gently around Scully's breast. Her clothed breast, thank God. The hand is attached to a body -- and that body is decidedly female. Dark brown hair falls over the other woman's face, so I can't see it clearly. But I can see her body. She's kicked the blankets down to the foot of the bed, at least on her side. She's wearing gray cotton panties and nothing else. Her breasts rise and fall gently with her breathing. Scully's covered to the waist with the sheet, although the blanket on her side is at the foot of the bed as well, and she's wearing a white t-shirt, and I'm not sure what she's wearing below the waist. The other woman's fingers flex slightly and curve more around Scully's breast, the erotic image forcing its way into my brain and imprinting itself there for eternity. I feel like I'm spying. I *am* spying, for Christ's sake. I didn't know Scully was involved with anyone. And I certainly didn't know that when she chose partners, that they had the same anatomy as her. The thought of it sends a shiver to my heart; it means Scully doesn't have an interest in me. She has an interest in other women. And *that* thought sends a little shiver down into my groin, causing my cock to grow hard almost immediately. Stop it, I chide myself. But I can't. Not when I watch them sleeping like that, not when I can see that woman's hand on Scully's breast, where I have wished a million times that mine would have been, not when I can imagine the dark-haired woman kissing Scully on the mouth, her full lips locking onto Scully's breast, her tongue darting out to flick over the nipple, her head moving lower to Scully's impossibly flat stomach... Stop right there. My cock has grown harder, painful. Scully. My Scully. I back out of the room quietly, trying not to make any noise, careful not to wake the two women. It's funny, I realize, when I get to the front door, that although the other woman was practically naked, that my arousal came not from seeing her body, but from imagining Scully's, divested of clothing -- only in my arms. I slip out the front door, praying that my partner has set her alarm, and hoping that she'll make it to the airport on time. **** WASHINGTON NATIONAL AIRPORT 9:45AM I'm sitting in a vinyl-covered seat at the gate, holding a cup of coffee. A copy of USA Today rests on the seat next to me. I bought it but haven't looked at it. The coffee, also untouched, has long grown cold. The plane to Little Rock is due to leave at 10:30, and Scully has yet to appear. And I'm a little more than concerned. Not concerned that she won't show up -- I know she will. As a matter of fact, I'm sure she'll show up within the next few minutes. Scully's never late for a flight. I'm concerned about what I'm going to say to her. If anything at all. Maybe concerned isn't the right word. What am I supposed to say? Scully, I showed up at your place -- I wanted to give you a ride to the airport. By the way, who was that dark-haired woman in your bed with her arm thrown over you as if she was your lover? I didn't want to wake you -- I just watched you for a while, then fantasized about what it would be like to wake up with you one morning, with my arms around you like that, with my cock pushing into you, waking you up gently, waiting for your breathy moans to reach my ears, knowing somehow exactly how they would sound. Oh, and by the way, Scully? Were you going to tell me that you preferred women, or were you just going to keep it from me forever? Fuck. I sip at the coffee for the first time and swallow the bitter liquid, setting the cup down on the seat beside me. "Good morning, Mulder." I look up. There she is -- looking bright, well-rested. Cheerful, even. "Hey, Scully. I was wondering when you were going to get here." My voice manages to come out smooth as silk. "I'm never late for a flight," she reminds me. I move my coffee and my newspaper so she can sit down beside me, sipping carefully from her own Starbucks cup, the steam from the little hole on the top of the lid coming out in small wisps. I'm mesmerized watching her lips as she takes another sip. "Mulder?" she asks. "Yeah?" I break my gaze from her mouth and look up at her. "Are you OK?" I'm fine, I want to tell her. I'm just picturing what you can do with those lips of yours. "I'm great, Scully. Never better." She cocks her head at me, as if she's unsure whether or not to believe me. "Okay," she finally says, going back to her coffee and scanning the headlines on the paper. I try not to look at her. I try not to imagine her moaning, writhing in ecstasy as the other woman's head rests between Scully's legs, doing what I've dreamed of for years. Christ. **** SLEEPYTIME MOTOR INN MAGNET COVE, ARKANSAS I can't sleep. I know this is nothing new -- God knows I always have trouble sleeping, and hotel rooms just make it harder. But tonight, sleep is the last thing on my mind. I've been watching Scully like a hawk today. I've listened to every word that came out of her mouth, paid attention to each subtle movement of her body. And I've come to two conclusions. The first is that my partner is much more attractive than I've ever realized before. I've fantasized about her plenty of times -- God knows, some of the most spectacular solo orgasms my couch and I have ever seen have been from thinking about her. But maybe I didn't *see* her so well before. There were a lot of things I've never noticed before. Lots of little things -- the way the light catches her hair. The way her eyes get so milky and pure when she's caught up in something. Which brings me to the second thing. I don't think I've paid as much attention to Scully as I should have. Today, she knew I was watching her, listening to her. And she seemed happier today than I've seen her in a long time. Maybe it's because I was paying attention to her in ways I haven't had time for in the past. Or maybe it has nothing to do with me. Maybe it's just that she got laid last night. I've avoided the TV, tried valiantly to not look through the pay-per-view listings. But now I can't stand it anymore. And I don't just want a shower, where I can get off and be sure that Scully doesn't hear me. I don't want to have to manufacture the images in my mind. Not tonight. I hate to admit it, but I'm a typical man. The thought of Scully and another woman of course eventually leads to Scully, another woman, and myself, although I know that I want Scully so much that I wouldn't hang onto that fantasy for long. And tonight I want to think only of Scully. I get up out of the lumpy motel bed and turn the light on. The pay-per-view listings are contained within a battered little paper pamphlet. The pages have been flipped through by many men before me, I'm sure. I check out the titles. "Back Door Invitation". Nope. "Doctor Love". Too cheesy. "True Blondes". Not what I'm looking for. "All Girl Revue". God. Why don't they just have one called "Petite Redheads Who Love Spooky FBI Agents"? I don't have much of a choice here. I pick "All Girl Revue", hoping that I don't see any redheads, and at the same time wishing fervently that I will see one. I sit down on the floor, the bed at my back, the volume down low. I certainly don't want Scully to hear this through the thin connecting door that separates us, although I'm sure that she's heard it before. Tonight, for some reason, though, I don't want her to know. The movie starts and it's just what I expected -- stupid techno porn music, bad hair, no plot. Four women: two blondes, one with raven-black hair, and a redhead. She looks nothing like Scully, I note clinically, as I watch her saunter across the set, heavy black eyeliner smudged around the rims of her blue eyes. Pick your fantasy, Mulder, I tell myself, wondering why the hell I'm doing this. Is it an image of Scully with me that I want, or Scully with the woman I saw her in bed with this morning? I realize as the redhead goes down on one of the blondes that I don't much care. I just want Scully -- doesn't much matter which fantasy she stars in tonight. The blonde is moaning, a carefully acted moan, rubbing her nipples as the redhead laps at her, and I close my eyes. Scully. My hand slips into my sweatpants as I think of her. Imagining her. On the screen of my mind, I can see her -- naked, on a bed, her legs spread, her hands brushing the sides of her breasts, her fingers trailing softly over her nipples as they harden into tiny peaks. My cock is hard, and I slide my hand down, stroking it slowly, not thinking of Scully's small hands on me, but on herself. Her hands. One slides between her legs, spreading them wider, allowing me to see her -- wide open, glistening wet. Her two fingers slipping down to the source of the moisture, gathering some and bringing her fingers back up to her clit, circling slowly. I bite my lip to hold back a small sound of arousal. My hand jerks and I curse myself. Slow. Take it slow. In my head, Scully moans. She moans because of the sensation of what she's doing. She moans because I am watching her, and she knows it. "Mulder?" There's a soft knock on the connecting door. Fuck. I pull my hand from my sweats and quickly turn the TV off. Walking to the connecting door, I press my cheek against the cool surface, closing my eyes for a moment, trying to calm my racing heart. "Yes?" "Can I talk to you for a minute?" Opening my eyes. I lift my head from the door and check my watch. 1:30am. Scully usually has no trouble sleeping. "Sure," I answer, unlocking the door and letting her in. She's wearing a gray Quantico t-shirt and navy shorts. Her legs, smooth and firm, catch my eye. I think again of those legs spread open for me, burying my head into her as I clutch at her calves. I blink. She comes over to my bed and sits down. "Having trouble sleeping?" I ask, staying where I am near the door. "I heard you watching TV, and I guess it woke me up." Shit. "I'm sorry. I thought I had the volume down low." "It's all right. I was lying in bed trying to figure out what you were watching." Hear anything you like? I want to ask, but I hold back. We regard each other in silence for a long moment. Finally, I speak. "So, what's on your mind, Scully?" She lowers her eyes. "A friend of mine...she came over last night." Suddenly I realize that I'm not prepared for this. I head for the chair by the window and sit down, still watching Scully, her face an interesting mixture of confusion and hesitation. I fold my hands over my groin, knowing that I'm still hard, and that I shouldn't exactly show this to Scully. "She's having some trouble with the relationship she's in. And she needed someone to talk to." I nod, not knowing what else to say. "She's gay, Mulder." My throat gets tight. I have to tell her. If I don't, and she finds out later, she's going to strangle me. I know it. "Scully, before you say anything else, I have to tell you something." "If you're going to say that you're not homophobic, I'm glad to hear it, Mulder." "No, that's not it. I mean -- I'm not. Homophobic, that is. Scully, this morning, I--" I don't know what to say. I peeped at you and your new lover? I watched you sleep with her? "I came over to give you a lift to the airport. You didn't answer your door." Scully rolls her eyes, something I've never seen her do before. "We had quite a bit to drink last night," she says. "I slept pretty soundly." I'm sure, I almost blurt out. Hours of mind-blowing sex can do that to a person. "I came over -- and you didn't answer. I...Scully, I came in to your place. I used my key." Her eyes widen slightly at this. I can see that she knows where I'm going with it. "What did you see?" she asked. "I don't know," I answer truthfully, looking down at my hands in my lap. "Mulder?" she presses. I look up at her. "Look, Scully, if you're having a...relationship...with another woman, that's fine by me. I don't have any objections to it. I just didn't know --" "You think I'm gay?" she asks, her voice sharp and surprised. "I don't know what to think, Scully." She looks like she wants to either throw something at me or laugh. I don't think I've ever seen this expression on her face before. "I'm not gay, Mulder." Which means that she might be interested in me after all? "I don't know what you saw," she tells me. "But Maria was having a hard time last night. She needed someone to listen to her. Which I did. And we both had a little too much to drink. I told her that she could spend the night because she didn't want to take a taxi all the way back to Arlington, where she lives. It would have been at least $75." Scully's cheeks color a bit as she continues. "She made a pass at me. I guess that's what you would call it. She was much more drunk than I was. I think she thought I was her girlfriend." Scully sighs. "Anyhow, this morning, I woke up with her naked, her arms wrapped around me," Scully says, and I nod, remembering the image, "and her head was pounding, and she felt like a complete fool. I told her that it was all right, and she's still a bit embarrassed, but she'll get over it, I think." I release the breath I didn't realize I am holding. "What did you see, Mulder?" Scully asks. I shake my head slightly. No. I was not going to get into this with her. "Tell me," she urges, her voice soft, gentle, and I feel the erection that hadn't gone away getting more insistent. Not now, damn it. Not now. "Scully, I just...I don't know what I thought." "You thought I was gay," she guesses. "And if you were, there's nothing wrong with that," I say. "I have nothing against homosexuality." "I'm sure you don't," Scully says. Her hair is soft around her face, and her legs are pulled up, indian-style, on the bed. God. I want her so badly that I can practically feel it in my mouth. I want to taste her, to feast on her skin, on her breasts, on the soft folds of flesh that will be warm and damp, waiting for my touch and for my tongue. Get out of here, Scully, I plead mentally. Please, get out of here. "I heard the movie you were watching," Scully says softly. Stop, please... "Scully," I tell her, my voice low, "you should probably try to go back to sleep." "I'm not tired," she tells me decidedly. Great. My cock is aching now. I'm desperate, and I want her to leave because I know that the release that I want is not going to happen with her here. She doesn't want this. She doesn't want me. And if I look at her for any longer I'm going to explode. "I want to stay here with you tonight, Mulder." Her words are bold, but I can hear the fear behind them. She's not sure. Our eyes lock and we watch each other silently. I'm giving her the chance to leave, and she knows it. She doesn't leave. I get up from the chair, my erection very obviously pushing at my sweats, and her eyes go to it right away. That's my Scully -- doesn't miss a thing. She looks back up at me with a smug half-smile as I advance towards the bed. She must be able to see the predatory look in my eyes. She must know that I want her. And if she wanted out, she would have gotten up from the bed and headed back into her room by now. Very slowly, very deliberately, she uncrosses her legs and parts them slightly. That's an invitation if I ever saw one. Then I'm there, right in front of her, and her hand reaches up to touch me, to smooth her fingers down the length of me, and I close my eyes, trying not to groan. Of all the times I've imagined this, I never thought that Scully would make the first move, here in some seedy motel room in the middle of nowhere. Her cool hands are at the waistband of my sweats now, tugging at them slightly, slipping them down over my hips and my ass, and I can't stand it, I really can't, and I push her down so that she's on her back. I'm grabbing at her shorts and her panties, pulling them down in one swift motion, discarding them, and sliding her back on the bed, pushing her legs farther apart. And she's letting me, she's encouraging me, she's pulling at me and pushing me down between her legs, and then I can smell her, Christ, I can smell her. I use my fingers to gently open her, blowing on her, breathing her in deeply, then exhaling sharply onto her before my mouth goes down and I taste her for the first time. She starts squirming right away, even before my tongue begins its careful exploration. I taste her, licking at her gently. She's already so wet, and I move down to the source of her moisture and lick her there, pushing my tongue into her, and she moans for the first time. It sends a shot of arousal straight to my groin, and I know that I need her, that I need to be inside her, but not yet, no. I want to make this good for her, and I don't want to feel her walls around me until I make her come with my mouth on her. Her single moan has turned into ragged breathing, small, mewling pants as her breath quickens. She reaches for my head, not guiding me, but holding me firmly in place as her hips arch up off the bed and she presses herself more against my mouth. My mouth goes back up, to her clit, and my lips nip at it carefully, sucking it into my mouth. I slip a finger into her without thinking, and she cries out. With my mouth still moving, I can feel her walls clenching at my finger, and her body is rising up and down in a rhythm that I know means that I've found the right spot. I focus all of my attention on it, laving over it with my tongue, circling, increasing the pressure slightly, keeping the right speed. "Mulder." My name on her lips is harsh, ragged. She's close. God, she's so close. "Right. There," she manages to tell me. I already know, and I have no intention of stopping, no way, not now. Without warning she bucks up hard, and I hold her with my free hand, anchoring her as much as I can, as her moans become cries and she comes, my mouth never leaving her, my finger still pumping inside her as she rides the waves of the orgasm, calling out my name, her body frantically moving. After long minutes her body calms down and I lift my mouth from her. I can feel small convulsions as her walls still cling to me. I slip my finger from inside her, and place a gentle kiss on her belly, just above the nest of soft curls. I shed my sweats and t-shirt quickly, and then move to kiss her. She is lying on her back, her eyes closed, breathing heavily. Her shirt is still on, and she will not look at me. "Scully?" I ask hesitantly. She opens her eyes. "I wasn't expecting that," she murmurs softly. "The orgasm or what I just did?" "Both, I think," she answers, her voice shaky. Oh God. I've pushed her too fast. I get up, reaching for my sweats. "Where are you going?" she asks. "Scully, I --" "Don't go, Mulder," she tells me, and she reaches for me and pulls me down so that I'm lying on my side next to her, my face inches from hers. "I'm not sorry that it happened. Not at all." I don't want to ask out loud. Are you sure, Scully? She answers the question with a smile. "And if you think you're getting dressed you have another thing coming, Agent Mulder." She reaches for me and her fingers wrap around the base of my cock before I even have a moment to try to make a witty comeback. I gasp as she expertly strokes me from bottom to top, pausing at the tip to catch some of the moisture gathered there on her thumb, swirling it around and easing her hand back down. "Scully," I manage to say, and then she's pulling me to her, helping me up so that I can straddle her hips until I'm right there, at her opening. She's still so fucking wet, God, I can feel it, warm and slippery as she pushes just the tip of my cock into her, just that much, nothing more. I'm bracing myself on my hands and I want her breasts, I want to touch some part of her, desperately. I reach between us and feel her fingers still around me, and I move them anxiously, wanting to be inside her so badly, please, Scully, please... She moves her hand away and I push into her, deeply, and she cries out again just as I did when I penetrated her with my finger. I search her face for signs of distress but her eyes are closed and there are none. I can feel her clit, just barely, and I rub it softly with my fingers, not knowing how sensitive she is from her orgasm. She moans and opens her eyes. "Too much?" I ask, and she doesn't answer right away. "Yes...no...I don't know," she gasps. My cock is twitching inside her, and I'm not moving, not yet, both for fear of coming too soon and also of hurting her, and yet I'm desperate to just lose myself in her. I release her clit and my hand travels up to her breasts, pushing the t-shirt up, oh, God, her breasts... They're perfect. Just as I knew they would be. They're not the breasts of a supermodel or a porn star. They're simple, beautiful, full, with hard nipples that I can't wait to put my mouth on, just to hear her moan again. But I can't think about that right now. Right now all I can think about is the gentle tightening of Scully's vaginal walls as they pull at me, urging me to action. I gaze down at her. "Please, Mulder," she says, and that's all it takes. I'm moving in her, stroking carefully, evenly, but only for a few moments. She knows that I'm close and she wants this for me, I can see it in her eyes. And I wonder for a second why the hell we waited this long to get to this point. I'm already out of control. I can feel it as I pound my body against hers, oh God, Scully, I'm sorry, but I have to do this, I can't help it, I need you so badly, I've wanted this for so long. She's not stopping me, not in the least -- her body is rising to meet mine, trying to join the erratic rhythm of my thrusts, and I can feel the tension building at the base of my cock. It's not going to take much longer, I know that for damn sure. I hear animalistic moaning and I realize that it's my own; I'm calling her name and God's and panting, my breath coming in short gasps, and suddenly I realize that I must have hit a good spot against her body because she's coming again, somehow, her eyes widening and she's crying out, tightening around me. Christ, yes, that's it. That's all I need. That's all it takes, and I shudder and empty into her body, filling her, merging with her in a way that I never knew was possible, not even in my hottest fantasies, not ever. I don't know how much time has passed but the next thing I realize coherently is that the sweat has cooled on our bodies and my head is resting on her chest. I kiss one nipple, my lips lingering for a moment, and she moans, her body struggling to move under mine. "Mulder," she says, "God, I can't take anymore..." I lift myself up and slowly ease out of her, both of us shuddering slightly at the withdrawal. I pull her into my arms and she turns on her side, facing me, and I kiss her for the first time. Our mouths, like the rest of our bodies, are tired, and yet we kiss for long minutes, searching each other's mouths languidly. She's the one who pulls back first, but then she drops her lips to my nose and kisses me lightly. "We have to get some sleep," she murmurs. "There's so much, Scully --" I try to tell her, but she lays a finger on my lips, silencing me. "We have all the time in the world, Mulder," she assures me. "And we can start in the morning." She shifts in my arms and turns on her side, her back to me, and I curl my body up against hers, pressing close to her. She's still wearing her t-shirt, although it's rumpled and pushed up to expose her bare midriff, and I kiss the back of her neck softly. She sighs, and then I curl my arm around her, my hand curving around the swell of her breast. I leave it there. And we sleep. END ****************************************** "I'm standing on the edge of common sense here." --Dana Scully, The X-Files