The X-files/S6/Ep.15-Arcadia/Mulder & Scully/NC-17
For Leyla, and to set the mood for the premier of new X-Files
*Spoilers- Whenever they talk about the X-files Gillian and David always mention Arcadia as one of the few episodes they can remember. In that episode they were pretending to be married while they investigated a planned community called Arcadia Falls. Mulder took every chance to touch her, proposition her and tease her about how she just wanted to play house with him. Scully’s reaction was the shrug out of his touch as soon as she could, roll her eyes at him and put green goo on her face to make sure he was turned off.
Her reaction seemed a little over the top for me. She clearly did not find him repulsive, so why did she act like she did every time he touched her? Me thinks the lady doth protest too much. Me also thinks that he was trying just a little too hard, like a boy pulling her pigtails because he likes her but is afraid to tell her that he really likes her.
This is my take on how that would have played out when they got home after they took out the tulpa made of coffee grounds, or as they affectionately refer to it on the convention circuit, the poo monster.*
I slammed the door of my apartment in his face when he followed me in after our adventure in Arcadia Falls. He was the last person I wanted to talk to right now, and of course the only one I could talk to about anything, ever. I was supposed to confess to Father McHugh, but I only ever really wanted to tell Mulder my secrets. It was infuriating that the one person I wanted to see me was blind.
“Scully, talk to me.” I pulled out a bottle of wine, refusing to look at him. I already knew the exact look that he would have on his face, the way he was standing there in his jeans and green sweater that brought out the same color in his eyes. I knew the way his shoulders were set, that hang dog look on his face and the genuine need in his eyes to have me talk to him. If I turned and confirmed those beliefs I would want to fall to my knees and tell him again everything that I couldn’t say.
He baits me. I know it. He knows it. His constant hip shot come-ons that he more than half means but he plays it off in sarcasm and deflection. He leads me on, tells me I know him better than anyone and then expects me to let him keep batting at me like I’m just a piece of string to his kitten.
I opened the wine and poured a glass, after I took a sip I pulled out another glass and poured one for Mulder, too. I moved to the sofa and sat down, both myself and the wine. I let him decide what happened next.
Slowly, he moved to the sofa and perched next to me, ready to run, ready to stay, ready to make one more smart ass remark about how it was time for me to make him a sandwich, or how it was ok for us to sleep together because we were married now. Even better, how all I really wanted to do was play house with him.
I had dodged his sarcasm sharpened barbs, and shrugged off his touch for weeks while we investigated in Arcadia. I had pretended that he was kidding like he wanted me to do because he was just pretending. When he took a drink of wine I waited for him to swallow before I looked at him.
Immediately, his eyes locked to mine. “Scully?” his voice was just a whisper.
“What does it take?” I asked him, my contempt and anger clearly present, though severally repressed as was I. His brow furrowed, planted deep with questions that I doubted he had the courage to speak. He surprised me.
“To do what?”
“To get you to see that what you find so amusing is anything but amusing to me?” He still looked lost. “The whole time we were in Arcadia you kept touching me and saying things that you thought were funny, as though it was amusing how much I do want to play house with you. Do you have any idea how much that hurts? How after seeing you with Dianna, seeing you in pieces after someone cut into your brain, how you told me I was your touchstone the one thing you could count on in this whole world…” I lost it then, my voice cracking with pain that only served to rouse my anger.
I was so fucking angry at Fox Mulder that I was going to explode just any second now on my lovely blue and white striped sofa. I almost laughed when I imagined the sofa with my blood spatters making the front page of the Lone Gunman’s next edition.
“How can you play with me so callously?” His jaw went slack, his eyes wide with shock under the sexy epicanthic folds of his eyes. “Are you going to play the innocent now? Act like I am being unreasonable because your insensitivity hurts me? Am I just being ‘the girl’ that the rest of the Bureau thinks I am because I don’t have a penis?” I swiped the tears from my cheek angrily. I hated be vulnerable, but every day, every jibe, every joke at my expense had run up a tab that I could no longer afford.
“Yes, because I have a market on being callous, don’t I, Scully?” I blinked as I felt my face pull into a mask of disbelief.
“Fuck do I mean? Really? You’re gonna ask me that?”
“Oh, I gotta hear this!” I grabbed my glass and took a quick drink, wishing I had a cigarette so I could sit back and enjoy the tale he was working up for me.
“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said so far, I would be surprised if you suddenly did now!” He was on the verge of yelling, leaning in toward me with a look on his face that he usually reserved for the Cigarette Man. His lips pursed together in their perpetually sexy pout as he turned his face from mine, his arm rising with this finger pointed at the floor in frustration. For a moment I wondered how all this seething passion had been beside me on the flight back from California and on the ride from the airport, concealed behind his standard pleasantly amused mask.
“I have told you again and again how I feel about you, Scully. I told you in the hallway when that damned bee stung you. I told you when you came to get me in the Bermuda Triangle. I told you in my doorway that you were my constant and you kissed me prettily on the forehead like a wayward toddler and then you walked away from me. You blow me off every time I tell you that you mean the world to me like I never said a fucking word! You have the gall to call me callous? What about you, Scully?”
He was serious. He had been serious every single time. His constant poking at me was because of his pain, not his desire to see mine. The bottom fell out of all my ideas about what was really going on here between us. Until that moment I thought all he cared about were little gray men from the Reticula. Caught in the wave of revelation I stood, looking down at him. He looked up at me, it was a rare occurrence outside of a hospital room. I held my hand out to him. He took it immediately, letting me pull him gently to his feet.
“Go home, Mulder.”
“What?” he gasped, clearly confused and disappointed.
“Go home, Mulder and put on some clothes that you don’t normally wear. Put on some clothes that represent the man you want to be in your secret heart. I’ll pick you up in an hour.” He opened his mouth and then he closed it again, releasing my hand and moving to the door. When he placed his hand on the knob he turned back to look at me, asking me questions with an expression I knew intimately. “One hour.” He nodded a slight smile on his lips as he closed the door behind him.
His apartment was number 42, the answer to life the universe and everything. I shook my head sure that he would be shocked to know I was fan of Douglas Adams. I stood outside a moment before I knocked, taking deep calming breaths as I glanced down at my three inch black heels, my skin tight black dress that hit me right above the knee. It was made of slinky material that tied behind my neck, with a low cut bodice that showed a valley of cleavage, created by my matching underwire push up bra. I liked it because it was backless, showcasing my ouroboros tattoo. My short red hair was curled, big Marilyn Monroe curls that begged a man to tame it by running his hands through it.
He answered before I was done knocking. I was sure he had been looking at me through the peephole. The idea made me smile. I wanted him that way tonight, anxious and strung tight, ready to pop like warm champagne when I shook him even slightly. The look on his face when he took in my outfit told me he was shaken, but there was nothing gentle about it.
My amusement at his reaction was swept away by my reaction to him. I saw him every day in his G-Man suits, buttoned down and up, releasing pressure through sarcasm and caustic observations that made me want to punch him and then worship him as he bled from my blunt force love.
The G-Man had changed into the GQ Man with tight black jeans, crisp white button down shirt with a sharp black sport jacket, black boots rounding it out. He had shaved, and he had used my favorite cologne that always made me think it had been made especially for him. It didn’t cover his natural scent, but rather enhanced it. He smelled like a forest in the summer sun, musky, woodsy and warm. It was a fragrance that made me what to chop him down and use his bones to start an inferno. Did he know how many car rides I had taken with him, soaking wet from this cologne and the itching need to touch him? How I counted the minutes to our latest ass end of the world motel where I could close the door to my room, and release my tension as I whispered his name?
The look on his face told me that if he didn’t know he certainly hoped that was true. Good, we were near the same page at last. “I like the man you want to be,” I told him, letting him hear how much pleasure I was feeling just looking at him. He looked me over, head to toe, slowly.
“And who might you be?” he asked me, his own voice filled with bruised desire, finally released from its choke hold.
“Tonight, I am the President of Your State of Mind.” His eyebrows went up.
“My state of mind is a democracy,” he countered.
“Not tonight.” I held my hand out again, letting him decide if he was going send his cerebral senators home and hand me the power. He hesitated, which was not surprising, but then he took my hand, and that was surprising.
The club was called Masks. I was little place I had found deep in Georgetown when I was exploring in some of my rare downtime from work. I had known places like this before, each was slightly different but in general they were places where you could leave your everyday skin at the door and be someone else for an evening. You could drink, dance, or fuck as you pleased. There were two rules at Masks. The first was that you had to keep you mask on when you were on the public floor. The second rule was that you did not talk about Masks. It was like Fight Club for the libido, breaking the shackles of everyday in fabulously distracting ways.
Before we got out of the car I passed him a black mask to place over his face. I showed him mine, which matched his perfectly. I could see his mind racing and his breath was uneven as he assimilated what I was asking him to do. It turned him on, and that scared him. I placed my mask on and waited for him to do the same. When he did, I got out, handed my keys to the valet and walked around to take Mulder’s arm.
At the door they scanned my tattoo, and nodded us through. I could feel Mulder’s eyes on me, and on the man who caressed my back as he scanned my ink. I could hear him processing how a tattoo was like a fingerprint and mine was the keycard to open the door before us. I could also feel his disapproval of the doorman’s touch on my skin. He didn’t like someone else touching me, and I liked that GQ Man didn’t like it.
The music was pumping, the floor was dim and filled with writhing bodies everywhere. I led him right to the bar. “Patron, two shots,” I told the bartender. The bar was crowded, no room for him beside me, so I pulled him to stand right behind me taking his arms around my waist. I leaned back into him feeling something new and exciting in this strange exotic club of fusion and fantasy.
As frustrated as I was with Mulder and what I had thought he was doing, I knew I was physically safe with him. I didn’t need that, but I did want it. I loved the feeling of him having my back. His head came over my shoulder as he pulled me closer. He couldn’t hear my sounds over pleasure over the music, but I felt his body come closer as if he had. We did our shots when they came. I arched my neck, loving the warm feeling that spread through my body from the drink and the man behind me. I leaned back to the bartender, loving the way Mulder’s hands tightened on me.
“Two again, and we need a key to room 23.” He poured the drinks, looked at his computer behind the bar.
“Ten minutes,” he said pouring our second shots. I shot mine quick.
“Perfect,” I told him, running my hand down his jaw lightly. Mulder’s hands tightened again on my waist, pulling me back to him. I spun around to face him, cat like and serious with his shot in my hand. He was lighting a fire in me with the Patron expediting the combustion.
I held the shot up to his lips, my eyes locked with his, daring him to turn it and me down now that he had caught a glimpse of this part of me. His eyes drifted closed as he tilted his head back, letting me pour the drink in his mouth. When he swallowed his eyes came back to mine a smile playing on his kissable lips.
“Dance with me,” I told Mulder, stepping around him as Strange Love by Halsey came over the speakers. The beat was slow and sensuous making me match it with my body as I put my arms around his neck and pressed my body to his. When his hands came to rest on my hips I felt my own eyes drift. His touch through my dress was warm and perfect. I loved his hands, I loved them more on me. I had imaged what they would feel like on me more times than I would ever admit. It felt every bit as wonderful as I had imagined. The sensation inspired me to shift my feet, placing one of his legs between mine as I swayed my body rubbing against him. The perfect O of surprise on his face was perfection. I wanted to keep that look on his face all night. I gave myself over completely to the music and the man in my arms.
They think I’m insane, they think my lover is strange
But I don’t have to fucking tell them anything, anything
And I’m gonna write it all down, and I’m gonna sing it on stage
But I don’t have to fucking tell you anything, anything
That’s the beauty of a secret
You know you’re supposed to keep it
That’s the beauty of a secret
That’s the beauty of a secret
You know you’re supposed to keep it
But I don’t have to fucking tell you anything, anything
Everybody’s waiting up to hear if I dare speak your name
Put it deep beneath the track, like the hole you left in me
And everybody wants to know ’bout how it felt to hear you scream
They know you walk like you’re a God, they can’t believe I made you weak
We wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night
But the ending is the same every damn time, no, no, no
We wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night
But the ending is the same every damn time
When I turned in his arms, my hands came up to his neck as I swayed against him. I felt a tremor run through his body. When his head came down to my shoulder, his mouth next to my ear I heard him whisper my name. “Scully.” It was a plea. Stop. Don’t stop. Tell me this is real. Tell me you want me.
He could write an entire story with just the ways he said my name. I turned my head and met his lips with mine. I licked him, softly, tasting the Patron on his lips and wanting more. When he gasped I dived into him, my hand on the back of his head to pull me in deeper.
His hand come up to rest under my breast, his fingers splayed open to cover as much of me as he could, making my knees go weak. He felt it happen and compensated by pulling me back tighter to him, his hand sliding up just enough to caress my hard nipple in small gentle movements that were more presses than caresses. I moaned into his mouth. I was starving for him.
When I felt him press hard against my hips, his erection throbbing against my ass. I felt my body respond immediately wet and wanting all the dreams I had of him to come true right now. I kissed him deeper, rocking back against him gently in time to the music that had set my conscious mind to rest and turned me loose to just feel Mulder feeling me. It was more intoxicating than the tequila had been.
He was moving with me, taking me through our clothes in short slow thrusts with his hips that were more tension building than releasing. He was really fucking good at this. We should have stopped talking sooner. I was on the verge of pushing his hand down and under my dress when the song ended, temporarily breaking our dance floor enchantment.
I ended the kiss pulling back to place soft closed mouth kisses on his lips. He was totally gone in what we had been feeling. I turned to him, caressing his face. “Hold on, baby,” I told him, calling him by one of the secret names I used in the motel rooms next to his. He was my baby in my private world and now he was in my private world, it seemed right to let him know how I thought of him.
Taking his hand I led him back to the bar to get our key to room 23. As we weaved through the dim club the music was pounding so loud the floor was shaking beneath my feet, or maybe that was me shaking. Was I scared he would stage a coup and replace me as the president of his state of mind?
Yes, I was. I slid the key in and pulled him quickly into the room, shutting the door and locking it behind us. He looked around at the completely empty room and then looked at me. He was about to ask anyone of a dozen questions that I didn’t want to answer. Before he could speak I launched myself at him, kissing him again. Keeping the kiss going I removed our masks, slid the jacket off his shoulders, and jerked his shirt open, sending the buttons in a thousand directions all at once. The sound of my palms landing on his chest echoed in the empty room before I started to slide them up. I wanted to mark him with my nails but made myself hold back.
His hands moved to my dress pulling it up to reveal my black bra and the fact that I had skipped panties for the night. While he took that in I unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped them, sliding my hand in to take him in my hand. He gasped when I stroked him up and down slowly. A second later my bra was gone, ripped apart in his hands. When he massaged my breasts in his hands I felt a charge move through me. “Mulder,” I whispered in secret tones he had never heard before as I leaned up to kiss him again, still stroking him.
He was a strange mix of savage and tender. I had ripped away his wit and sarcasm and all that passion that was usually focused on his work was now directed at me. It was like looking at the sun, beautiful but expensive. Being the complete focus of this man would cost me all my secrets and all my defenses. He would study me under the microscope of his beautiful mind until I spilt on a thousand slides for his viewing pleasure. The image made me want him even more. I pushed his pants down, removing his boots and then his pants completely.
“Watch me,” I told him as I slipped to knees before him. “See me,” I told him as I looked into his eyes and put the tip of him in my mouth, swirling my tongue around him. “Need me,” I told him before I swallowed him completely. He was so large that I had to hold my breath when he slipped down my throat, but it was worth it to hear him make the sounds that poured out while I held him there.
His hands tangled in my hair for a moment before he pulled me up, forcing me to release him. He moved me back to the wall as his tongue plundered my mouth. When he raised me up, bracing me with his hips and hands he attacked my neck in soft sucking kisses that made me shiver. One of his hands slipped between my thighs, touching me like he had been practicing to please only me. In less than a minute he had me ready to come for him. I wanted him to feel it, too. My hand came down to stroke him once, twice and then I put him at my entrance. He pushed into me, pinning me to the wall with his deep penetration of my body.
We try to escape ourselves, sometimes by any means necessary, but in the end we come back to who we are. It was true of us both. I was lost in thoughts of how much I cared for this man that I had healed and held for so long before we got here. Mulder was lost in words, because that was who he was. He talked, and I heard him.
“I love you,” he said in my neck as he moved inside me. “I can’t remember what my life was like before you…” his voice faded as he lost himself to pleasure and inarticulate grunts and groans that my body understood as clearly as his sweet words. “You make me whole, Scully.” He pulled back then and looked into my eyes. “You’re everything to me. I’m no good without you. Oh, fuck!” he moaned.
His words were pushing me to the edge every bit as much as his body. He was telling me nothing that he had not said before, but it was different because he wasn’t trying to protect himself from my rejection of his love for me. I wanted to give him in kind, come out of my head and show him my heart.
Looking into his I told him, “I did want to play house, Mulder. I did, I wanted to fuck you right there in Arcadia, X-files be damned. I just wanted you inside me like this. I love you, too. So many hotel rooms with you right there beside me. Did you hear me come screaming your name?” As he heard my words I felt him shake as if from a blow, jerking inside me. “I did, so many nights, just wanting you to come to me, to take my body and make me yours.” I was so close now, his deep thrusting strokes touching all the places I needed him to touch. I loved this power over him, this ability to completely undo him with my body and my words.
Suddenly he bit my neck, gently but it was enough to make me come hard on him. I screamed his name like were lost in the corn field again. He kept moving, never stopping as I squeezed him, begging him to join me, but my strange lover refused my invitation.
Lost in my bliss I felt his hands come down under my hips and then he flipped us, his back to the wall, as he slid down, still buried inside me. He kissed me as he angled his hips out so I could ride him, his hands coming to my breasts to tug gently on my nipples. He was winding me up again. I started to move on him, slowly at first, then picking up speed. His mouth replaced his hands, sucking my nipples massaging them with his hot slick tongue. I was right back on the edge again, six thrusts from heaven as he pushed up beneath me. “You feel so good,” I told him as I leaned up to let him push into me deeper from below. “Let me make you feel good, too, baby.” I kissed him, drinking his latest passionate volume of “Scully,” as I felt him let go, whimpering as I came with him again.
He was an amazing lover. I don’t know why I was surprised. Mulder was amazing at everything he did. He held me to his chest, kissing the top of my head for a few minutes to catch his breath. Then he rose and helped me dress, placing my mask back on with a soft kiss, before he put his on. I was so fucking turned on watching him walk out with his shirt hanging open. I wished again that I had marked him to that all the occupants of Masks could see that for at least for this moment he was mine.
We left the club and drove home in a silence that was full of questions unasked and exposed raw emotions. When I wasn’t the president his state of mind it was filled with so many other things. There was no room for the woman I shown him tonight. I was needier than endless UFO hunts that offered him nothing but took up all the space in his life.
I walked him to his apartment, my hand in his. He stopped outside the door and turned to me with his mask in his hand. “You just happened to have this?” he asked me.
“Ask me what you really want to know,” I told him, tired of half questions and whole lies between us.
“Have you done this before with other men?”
“Where did the mask come from?”
“I bought it with you in mind a few months ago.”
“You planned this?”
“Not really. It was what Yeats called a lonely impulse of delight. I saw it and thought of you. The symbolism of how you hide, how we both hide from each other. I thought that before we could admit we had masks on we had to take them off.”
“And that room with nothing in it?”
“I took a tour when I joined the club. I wanted that room because I wanted your complete attention to be on me.”
“And all this…passion for me lives only in your mind? It’s like you’re this whole other person I didn’t know.” His tone was part awe and part disappointment, but whether it was in me or himself I couldn’t tell.
“Yes. I put your passions first. Your quest, your needs and I was fine with that until I thought you were deliberately trying to hurt me because of how I feel about you.”
“How embarrassing. I’m a trained investigator with several degrees in psychology and I missed it all.” I shrugged and smiled sadly at him. This was it, my presidency was over. Now it was aliens and separate hotel rooms again. We would go back to separate lives, inextricably bound together in things that ran deeper than my heart’s passion for this man. It had to be enough, what we shared tonight had to be enough.
“What are you thinking, Scully?” He stepped closer to me.
“Thank you for tonight. It was incredible. You’re incredible, Mulder.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There’s no room for me in your life, not like this.”
“Scully, you’re wrong.” I chuckled, fighting to hold my tears back.
“So you tell me, all the time.”
“Stop,” he said putting his hands on my face. “No more masks, remember?”
“That was only for tonight. I know…I understand that tomorrow it’s back to business as usual.”
“Is that what you want?”
“No. But I can’t see how to make it work. I mean do you really want to talk about who forgot to pick up our dry cleaning and whose turn it is to wash the dishes as we chase strange creatures through dark fields in towns no one has ever heard of?”
“No, I don’t, but I don’t think our lives would be like that.”
“How do you think they would be, Mulder?”
“I think we’d continue to solve cases and close X-files and come home to have hot kinky sex on every piece of furniture we own, and when we finish we’d start over, or maybe get new furniture.” He smiled at me, his thumb catching the tear that ran down my cheek at his fanciful description of what came next for us.
“My life has been an adventure since the day you walked into my life. I see no reason to think that it would change because we decided to be in the same room when we came screaming each other’s names.” He smirked at me.
“You mean, you…?”
“Totally,” he said rolling his eyes and smiling at me. “I was sure that time in Tennessee you must have heard me. I’d been in that damn car with you all day, watching you squirm in your seat, your skirt riding up when you moved. Remember when I almost ran off the road and you screamed at me?” I nodded, biting my lip to curb the urge to laugh. “There was no squirrel. Well, there might have been on in my pants, but not on the road.” I lost it then laughing at the memory and the look on his face.
“I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t know why I was squirming in my seat then.” A second passed and then he got what I was implying.
“I knew it! I knew my boyish displays of agility would win your heart one day!” he crowed in the hall.
“It wasn’t my heart that was making me squirm,” I told him, wanting to see his eye go dark with passion again.
“There was a squirrel in your pants, too?” he asked me straight faced and wide eyed.
“Yes, that cologne you wear trapped him there.”
“Oh, my cologne?”
“God, yes!” I moaned, closing my eyes to lean in and sniff him again.
“I really like this side of you, Scully,” he told me, his voice weighted down with desire. “I like you teasing me and telling me that you like the way I smell. I like the way you say you love me best of all.”
“I do. I do love you, Mulder.”
“Come inside and tell me again. I need to hear it when your voice is high, when you are right on the edge of coming.” He was teasing me again. Then he shifted, placing his face right in front of me. “I love it when you come for me, Scully. In that moment you’re so beautiful I can hardly stand it.” My joker was gone and my lover was standing before me now. My knees went weak again.
When he pulled me into his apartment I followed him, still not sure how it would all work. I was sure that if he wanted to try I did, too. I couldn’t live with not taking the chance to see where this might go.
“Watch out for squirrels,” he whispered to me in the dark as the door swung shut.
*special thanks to Halsey for Strange Love and to my favorite poet W.B. Yates for An Irishman Foresees His Death*